#Garen has left the building

[gozine-translate]

Terminally-ill Genius Dark Knight - 170

170: The downfall [2]

A rugged, stench-filled swamp. In the middle of the rain, two people can be seen walking in the remote village, draped in ponchos. Under greenish light flicker, the dark raincoats, contrasting with the dark surroundings, let the rain drip off making an impressive sight. One figure was exceptionally tall, while the other was smaller, as if not fully grown yet. They were Rick and Amdusias. One of the revived 72 demons and a demonic human.

Amdusias opened his mouth as he glanced around.

[The human world is just as it was before. Still crowded with vulgar desires. Not much has changed.]

"Regardless of age, it’s always been like that, hasn’t it? It’s extremely hilarious how they’re swayed by their desires. Though, I’m sure Amdusias-nim understand that better."

Recently revived by Rick, Amdusias had been moving to secure his forces. Recently, high-ranking demons like Paimon And Jagan. There had been incidents where high-ranking demons from the 72 demons were killed. At the center of those incidents was Nox von Reinhaver.

The youngest son of one of the three Sword Emperors. Theo von Reinhaver. No matter how they think about it, it was unsettling.

Theo von Reinhaver's youngest son, despite not having a good reputation, had recently taken up the top student spot at Eldain.

Was it a coincidence?

Amdusias didn’t think so. Whatever his reasons were, Nox was growing his power to exterminate demons. He was expanding his influence as well.

Could he sit idly by and just watch? Amdusias was quite different from other arrogant and foolish demons. While many demons were overly self-confident, Amdusias moved for his own benefit.

'The danger humans pose was already proven in the 'Night of Slaughter'.'

In fact, Paimon’s death. Only three humans had been involved. Theo, Celsus, and Noah. As a result, Paimon lost his powers and was sealed. Humans had limitless potential, and Amdusias needed to figure this out for sure.

This was Amdusias's conclusion.

[Humans are dangerous, no doubt. Rick, you know it too. They’re getting stronger. If we want to achieve greatness, we must act faster.]

If humans decided to unite. A lot of nations, including the Arkheim Empire, would form alliances. In such a situation, the possibility of individualistic demons being left behind was high. Basically, the 72 demons had only come together under a powerful figure like Baal. In other words, they could unite due to the overwhelming strength of a high-ranking demon.

But what about humans?

For the sake of their own interests, humans could compromise or betray. That was their terrifying strength.

'Among them, Nox von Reinhaver was particularly more dangerous. He could become as much of a threat as the Seven Stars of the continent, the Three Sword Emperors, and four Sages.'

Amdusias. Even the arrogant Amdusias couldn’t deny it. Demons extermination. High-level and executive demons at that. He exterminated the 72 demons multiple times. That was enough to explain how dangerous he was. People with natural talents spread across the continent.

But when one with such talent moved with conviction, without hesitation, and didn’t flinch in the face of a demon far stronger than themselves? In addition, a human with inherent limitations?

He couldn’t take that lightly.

[It's possible that from the beginning, Nox von Reinhaver, no, the entire Reinhaver family has been building its strength to exterminate us.]

"The possibility is quite high. But the fact that the eldest, Garen, sided with us is puzzling. And Theo’s wife, Priscilla von Aurel, also expressed her support for our side. In my humble opinion, we couldn't exclude the possibility that Nox acting independently."

[If so then it's more puzzling, why is he targeting us?]

Amdusias frowned, as if unable to understand. Mud splashed with every step he took, emphasizing Amdusias massive frame.

He furrows his brow as he speaks.

[Why is he involving himself in a fight he can’t win? Even with many allies, it wouldn’t be strange for him to be quietly assassinated.]

"I haven’t fully figured it out either, I apologize. But I'm guessing it’s connected to his past."

[His past?]

"Yes. He apparently lost his mother to demons in the ‘Night of Slaughter.’"

[Ho… Now that's interesting.]

Amdusias grinned with a twisted smile as he spoke.

It made sense. Human emotions were a subject of study for demons.

Why were weak humans able to grow so strong? But, why did they weaken at critical moments? All answers lay in emotions.

The feeling of loving someone, and feeling of hating someone. Feeling to protect.

These paradoxically made humans stronger, yet also made them weak. To Amdusias, this was an unknown realm. That’s why he found humans fascinating.

"Anyway, it seems Amdusias-nim and I are in agreement, that Nox von Reinhafer is a potential threat."

[The others didn't think that way, which is why they're dead. Pathetic fools.]

If Nox heard this conversation, he’d be horrified. For someone in his position, who needed to hunt down all 72 demons, this was unsettling news. Especially since Amdusias, known for his arrogance, wasn’t underestimating him.

"Given the wisdom you possess, Amdusias-nim, it's only natural you would see things this way. I don’t mean to disparage the other GrandDukes, but they tended to underestimate human potential"

[Our goal, above all, is the revival of him. Even among GrandDukes, Baal is the only one who can lead us. Until that time comes, we must move cautiously. Remember, we must not draw their attention. And…]

Amdusias continued with a lower voice.

[Nox von Reinhaver and someone who could become a burden to us, Eleanor de Rivalin. Hurry and eliminate them. Money, after all, is a variable even demons struggle to control in war.]

"Yes, don't worry, GrandDuke"

Rick bowed his head, agreeing with Amdusias's opinion.

Then, the two of them arrived in the middle of a forest. This place would serve as their base, where they would strengthen their forces for a quite long time and prepare for a larger war. For them, it was a conquest. For humans, it was a battle of conquering the devil. And it would begin from this place. Only Nox was aware of this fact at the time.

However, even Nox didn’t know their exact location. The demons's base and sanctuary, or Pandemonium which refers to demons itself, was randomly located. Just as it was in the game. but with no way to confirm how much it connects to reality, Nox didn’t have many choices.

There was no other choice.

He had to dig out where they were. While they are moving secretly at the moment. Nox also preparing for his own battle. He hoped that it would be enough to completely sever the demons' life.

————————————————

'It seems I'm going to be busy for a while.'

Even though I’d survived and gained quite a bit of lifespan, I couldn’t let my guard down.

I need to be cautious about the fact that the third episode wasn’t over yet. While the major battle had ended, it was still far to reverse the situation.

Eleanor's Rivalin merchant group. Half of this is already in Rick’s hands. Even though Eleanor, the one with authority had returned alive, the situation remained dire. The biggest issue was that the imperial family was involved. In addition, that was Louis, who stands in a position completely opposite to mine. It was stifling that the first prince was acting as a dangerous factor.

Even if the Rivalin family had power, they weren’t traditional nobility. If the legitimate imperial family started suppressing them?

It would only lead to a full-blown conflict, where one side would face ruin unless the other backed down. This was probably what Rick was aiming for.

'Besides… considering the current situation, it wouldn’t be surprising if another of the 72 demons had been revived. Honestly, I wouldn’t be shocked if two or three more popped up at this point.'

The 72 demons would continue to revive. That was something I couldn’t stop. It was part of the predetermined scenario. No matter that this world, Inner Lunatic, had become my reality, and I was now Nox von Reinhaver, it didn’t change that fact.

To keep them in check, I need power. Not my own power. I need bigger power.

Precisely. I need a strong enough backing to restrain even Louis, the first prince.

"Did you seek me out to check my brother's power?"

I was currently meeting with a girl in noble attire on the top floor of Sidus' hall. She was none other than Penelope von Arkheim, one of the direct descendants of the imperial family and my potential bride—though it was more or less forced.

The princess, she was one of the legitimate successors to the throne.

I nodded slightly and smiled at the princess.

"That's right, Please lend me your strength"

I made a bold move, speaking firmly. Penelope von Akrheim, if it was her, who was working hard to protect her influences, she maybe couldn't refuse my proposal. Even if Eleanor had lost some of her influence, that was only temporary.

To recover the power, what mattered most was leadership and resources, and who possessed both? Eleanor, the great merchant, the [Golden Fox] If we join forces with her, we could ultimately bring down the first prince. This would also help to rebalance the power dynamics between factions while restoring Eleanor's Merchant Group.

"Sorry, but I don't like it."

"…What?"

I couldn't help but stunned and asked back. Why? She rejects this offer now?

Did Penelope have another source of funding? No, had she already allied herself with Louis, the first prince?

Worst-case scenarios began to flash through my mind. If things continued like this, it would be dangerous. My life was at stake. I barely managed to stop myself from breaking out in a cold sweat as I looked at her. Her golden eyes gazed at me calmly. I asked as calmly as I could

"May I ask what the reasons you're rejecting my proposal?"

"Well…"

Princess Penelope flashed a mischievous smile, more than usual.

“It’s not polite to ask your bride candidate to help out another woman, is it”

[saint-of-grief]

Even more TLT characters playing league of legends

Part 1 is here

I left a lot of characters out in my first post cause I don't think babs would play league for an example, but I'm willing to make an effort and imagine this.

NABERIUS: Ezreal one trick. Never looks at matchups, picks Varus if Ez is picked or banned. Has 2 million mastery points, Ianthe always points it out when he misses a Q. Complains a lot in the chat, but will never be as mean as Ianthe. Plays with the twins cause otherwise he has no one to play with. Is platinum.

JEANEMARY: Vi main. Saw arcane (reason I didn't mention arcane on my last post was bc I think none of the characters there would be that crazy for arcane, they'd play league even before the boom), goes duo with Isaac and they try to emulate the professional calls of the sixth, but are too chaotic to do so. Types in chat to answer people flaming or to say "mb" about bag ganks. Is gold.

ISAAC: Zed and Akali main, Kayn if he's playing jungle. Despite his edgelord champion pool, is not very toxic. Goes duo with Jeanemary, they're about to get out of elohell. Types in the chat to ask for ganks or apologizing for bad plays. Is gold.

ABGAIL: Soraka main, but willing to play ADC if with Magnus. Knows exactly how to build for each game, wards the shit out the map, carries the team on her back, passive aggressive if she thinks someone's trolling. Does not buy skins. Plays 1 game per day and then goes back to work on her research. Types "GG :)" after every win. Is platinum.

MAGNUS: Support main, mostly Leona and Braum, he started playing to spend time with Abgail. Tower dives like it's nothing. Doesn't do runes, builds Solari every game. Once he played with Ianthe in his team, took him 2 weeks to turn chat on again. Types little jokes about the champions in chat, no one likes, except for Gideon. Is silver.

DULCINEA: She's a twitch streamer and all her donations are for hospital bills. People open her stream expecting her to be playing Lilia or other cute champion, she's playing Naafiri. Knows how to play almost every lane, likes to play flex with the sixth and the ninth. Usually chill in the chat, but if you tilt her, you're gonna read some ugly things. Is diamond.

PROTESILAUS: Toplane main. He's that guys who won't come out of the toplane for nothing, not even herald, you'll put your camera on him and he's laning peacefully and farming, it's 20 minutes of game, both botlane towers already fell. Plays Illaoi or Garen, usually appears on Dulcie stream but doesn't say anything. Never types in chat, is diamond.

THE EIGHTH HOUSE: I'll do this two in one take cause who even cares about the eight house. They're that jungle and top duo that won't leave you alone, with champs like Rumble and Zac, if you're bot or mid and they're on your team, prepare to play without a jungler. Sometimes, they'll have a discussion in the middle of the game and nothing will be done. Only type in the chat if not in voice call. Both are emerald.

I'll do the OG Lyctors later.

The first post:

[jascas]

A Dragon's Tale

"It appears that Tillen is making its push further under cover of the night," Arden marked off more villages on the map. "The occupation in the north has extended by several miles."

For the past ten years, Tillen has been engaging in skirmishes with Legdlan, most of which happening on the northern border. Since the skirmishes began, Tillen has occupied several villages on and off until more recently where they secured territory and pushed the border more south.

"If they go east they'll take Beigner Port, so we should try to intercept them there," Arden explained.

"It will be difficult to intercept their troops without any fortifications to fall back on," Scor said, "What we really need is the king to get off his ass and send more troops out."

"Well that likely isn't going to happen any time soon, so we'll have to find a way to set up as quickly as possible."

"Maybe we can see if there are any warriors willing to defend the port?" Garen suggested, "It doesn't hurt to try to get some aid."

"I agree, we shouldn't forgo any help." Arden began rolling the map up. "Which means that we should get going as soon as possible. Should we pack up and leave tomorrow morning?"

Everyone in the group nodded. With that, they gathered their belongings, though it wasn't much, and began packing the containers and set them by the Soaray. Garen went with Scor to the market and gathered food and other travel supplies while Forzena and Arden organized and stored away their maps and weapons.

Obsidian sat on the roof of the building, his mind occupied. That mist dragon could lead me to him, he thought. He could track him down and find the dragon who made him this way. But he felt conflicted about just leaving them. They left their homes and joined him on this mission to take action on their own. If he left, they would die. But now he was afraid that they may die either way.

[tenderizedjestersteak]

There was a stretch of a few centuries during which Dai Bendu was considered a lost language. The story was ancient now, relatively closer to the time before the Order than the present, but many remember it well, still. The documentation of the turmoil around that time was thorough (though notably without the Dai Bendu translation to this day) – one would think the world were to end very soon, from the amount of discord the embers of a language left behind – but, being the way they are, Archivists often neglected to mention how Dai Bendu’s death and subsequent revival directly contributed to their voice being respected enough to change things in the aftermath of wars.

It was what Obi-Wan’s leaned on for his autoanthro finals’ paper, after yet another year away from the Temple. It was, all considered, a rather cynical decision: he was catching up on an oversized even for him stack of readings, Kit’s and Nara’s smug attitude while directly contradicting each other’s findings were getting on his nerves, and he had just spent time sitting through three seminars on the Sith-Jedi war. He knew too much about wars at this point, he’d thought; might as well do something with the knowledge.

The first time he went to one of those seminars he wasn’t yet fourteen. It had required permissions from the master leading his Broad History course and his own master. Qui-Gon had grimaced at the question – Obi-Wan had asked him first, because he knew asking Master Rhamal would go smoother armed with Qui-Gon’s words – but his tone was careful when he told Obi-Wan, “You’ve signed up on a lot of extra duties, padawan. They do these every semester, you know.”

“A report on this would fulfill a quarter of my course,” Obi-Wan’s replied. And I could do it, too, was what he thought. I know enough already. I can finish this thing, and then move on, and continue to move on.

“So would doing the usual quarter of your course normally,” Qui-Gon’s countered. “Or a report on mollusc messaging. That’s also a seminar they have every semester.”

It was, in hindsight, a bit funny how Qui-Gon knew barely anything about Obi-Wan, except that he would get passionate about stealth signal relay using shellfish. The thirteen-year-old kid he was back then only felt a muted sense of indignation, overwhelmed by resignation. Not to Qui-Gon’s doubt, but to his own decision. It had all led to here, he thought then. It would all lead beyond.

The kind of villains teenagers build themselves to be…

“You do not care for the thought of war, of course,” was what he’s said to Qui-Gon, then, if he still remembers correctly. Qui-Gon hasn’t sighed – Obi-Wan knows now he probably desperately wanted to – but his shoulders have sagged slightly, softening him. The man was hardly ever threatening, threatening was a weapon he used sparingly and with great caution; One can never go amiss with a bit of surprise, padawan. But his shadow still dropped long and stark.

“It’s the ideal, yes,” was what he’s said. He’s given the permission, despite this answer, and asked about the seminar when Obi-Wan returned after.

The next time Obi-Want went, he was eighteen, and permission was no longer required. Neither was all the asking after. It’s never been, you know, Nhạ Kì’s said, once. The required skill here is to tell when a contract is with yourself instead of the world or the Force.

The decision was cynical, but Obi-Wan can’t deny Dai Bendu’s revival project was fascinating to read about. He’s told Nara and Garen that, and has gotten two swats upside his head for perfectly direct-opposite reasons. Nara has almost reached for her ‘saber when he said the word ‘ethics’.

“It! Is! The! Same!” She’s swung her datapad inbetween each syllable as emphasis. “We are! Direct! Descendants! Close your Force-cursed mouth,” she’s waved the datapad at him next, threateningly, “if what’s coming out of it is ‘conservation’.”

“That was an important part of the opposition,” Obi-Wan’s replied. He was paying back her smugness before tenfold, and he relished in her groan-scream.

He’s come down on her side already, of course; it was a big reason why he committed to the paper. Dai Bendu is theirs, it was taught and given to them to nurture and grow, and the fact that it was conserved, walled up to the point of dying away from their collective mind for a few centuries, was somewhere between a great mistake and a crime. Too, because Dai Bendu was – and is – how one communicates about the Force; it was built for that. It evolved around that. The Order’s paid enough tears and sweats for leaving such a tool dulled and forgotten.

The Dai Bendu revival project spanned eighty-six years, and a dictionary is nowadays revised and updated once every five years. It was one of the things Anakin was a bit apprehensive about, on his arrival, one of the first things Obi-Wan noticed that strayed from what was out-loud called fearlessness his padawan had been keeping up.

“I can do it,” his padawan has said. A nine-year-old, squaring his too-thin shoulders and his too-sharp jaw, facing a language he thought was standing between him and his dream. Anakin hasn’t seen many of what he deemed obstacles by that point; his dream has just been dropped into his lap, months before, and then he has been flying. Soaring.

If Obi-Wan were thirteen then, he would caution Anakin against simply doing, against the notion that strong will alone brings fortune. If he were eighteen then, he would laugh, at how big a language seemed to someone so small.

He was twenty-five. “I have no doubt,” he’s told Anakin. “Grammatically it bears logical relations to Basic, and if you learn enough of it some other languages will come easier as well. It’s very old, and holds many adventures.”

Anakin’s relaxed at his words – it was a victory Obi-Wan would remember for a while – before asking, “How old?”

“With recogniseable writing, around seven millennias.”

His padawan’s eyes have widened at that, and then narrowed. “Does it got a word for ‘tension relieve thruster’?”

Obi-Wan’s smiled. “’Uwoh’ha conwe’. Or ‘conrai’, but ‘rai’ is more a word for the Force than for machines.” At Anakin’s surprise, he added, “Usually, though, we call it ‘arai’ga’”.

Anakin’s crossed his arms. “Doesn’t sound like a, uh. Shortform?”

“You’re astute,” Obi-Wan’s said, and marveled a little bit at the levity of it. His smile’s widened, and he’s let it. “It means ‘nonsense’.”

Anakin’s shoved at him for the offense while he laughed. He’s often used that same word to poke at Obi-Wan since; despite that, Obi-Wan doesn’t regret giving it to him that early. It’s fun to grumble – it’s kept aces and mechanics from frequently slinging around much worse so far – and it’s a good precursor to looking at the Force through Dai Bendu. A lot of first-hand experiences with the Force are often talked about as arai’ga.

They’ve slowly learned, together. Obi-Wan himself hasn’t kept up with newer words too closely; he still calls text comms sho chuwa, to Quinlan and Kit’s great amusement. Anakin, thank the Force, learned from the beginning that it’s called k’oi. They’ve learned, words and structures and specific expressions, and-- limits. What Anakin felt under shields that dulled his Force contact, there wasn’t a Dai Bendu word for. The way he sees the world, with the Force there, ingrained and undeniable and unimaginable to Obi-Wan, daiwan can’t cover. Gak cha chutoh doesn’t ring true to meditation, because toh’s stillness hurts.

They’ve learned. Anakin’s felt the frustration Obi-Wan now knows well, and Obi-Wan’s felt the inadequacy he’s tried to unlearn. They’ve learned, and they learn, still,  and Obi-Wan writes things down, hoping Dai Bendu will learn with them as well.

[shinyaxhiiragi]

* Okay this is a sequel of the story I made about the execution note the other one I made was to go with the book since we all know guren's going to be executed but this is a fan one for all those who want them to escape and survive we already know that Shinya decided to rescue his friend at the risk of his own life and used his gun to blow hole in the cell and I am sure you all sad at the end of story and got teary well here's a happy fanfiction ending*

*after blowing a hole in the wall they walked quite a ways they knew the alarm would sound soon so they found a place to hide close to where the plane's and the hanger was they managed to get pretty far but Shinya knew gruen needed to rest because of his injuries finding a small hiding spot in a wall and he takes his friend there and they wait as everyone ran around they're both beaten up but shinya you couldn't help but smile and hold his friend*

Shinya: gust a little bit longer Guren as soon as all the vampires leave l we will steal a plain and be free

Guren : I love you you idiot I know all the planes have gas in them but where are we supposed to go

Shinya : I was thinking that little Island that used to be part of Japan but after the catastrophe all the humans were killed and the children were taken so there's no vampires there it used to be a nice little fishing village in the mountains are very nice and plentiful we can go there they still have buildings and everything all we need to do is fix one up

* 8 hour passes in all vampires left the hanger to go look for them so the two of them snuck on the closest airplane and decided to go over the instructions real quick shinya would read them well girlfriend get the plane ready and soon they took off heading for the island

*is the 6 hour flight to the island that shinya mentioned so in the meantime all they could do was talk to each other and try not to get bored*

Shinya: I bet the others are worried Brothers going to be angry I ran away with a Ichinunoe*he had to giggle at that part as his friend gave him a look*

Guren : why would I get the dagger eyes when you're the one that rescued me and flew off the Some unknown Island

Shinya: I may not be blood related but I am still a Hiiragi gruen

*time passed and they finally landed on the island they landed a plane in an overgrown Forest no one could find it even if they looked over and by flying*

Guren : *have that unusual look on his face he looks sideways too looke at shinya*well now that we've landed time to claim my prize*he takes the buckles off his leg and fastens them on to shineya's arms as they were behind his back*

Shinya : n-now wait a minute I know that look I'm still a little sore from earlier

Guren : now who ran away with a Ichinunoe huh Shinya hiiragi

* Shinya. Has a deep red blush to his face as guren undid his belt and zipper and manage to take off his clothes with the belts still on his. Arms and he enters Shinya again*

Shinya : really in a old plan not on a soft. Bed your seductions work

Guren : will I'm sorry princess we gust got hear and you said some things that turned me on

*Shinya let out as sigh and look in to guren's Violet purple eyes*you know you're going to have to carry him me after this right there is going to be no way I'll be able to walk

Gruen : * he looks at Shania thinking he was pulling his leg*are you kidding a strong man like you

Shinya: I know it still confuses you a lot but I'm serious about this one

*Shinya was not kidding after they were done and they got dressed and garen ended up having to carry him all the way up the steps of a temple*

Guren : you've got to be flipping and kidding me seriously shinya I swear what am I going to do with you

Shinya: I told. You this would happen but you didn't believe me

*they enter the old abandoned Temple and found a bedroom king size bed Guren lays Shinya down in the bed and lays with him for a while they drift off to sleep

*after sleeping a while they both wake up well since they were far away and they were no longer part of the demon army there's decided to store their uniforms away somewhere Guren came out some clothes that he found in the shrine here put this on a tosses them at shinya *

*Guren managed to get his on without a problem but on the other side of the door there was a tiny peep* "umm Guren can you help me I'm a little lost at this" *Guren opens the sliding door only to see shinya struggling with his clothes *

Guren * would. Let out a sigh* come here hold up your arms

Shinya* holds up his arms blushing* t- thanck you Guren

Guren : do you want to go for. A walk I saw a dogo shop near by want some ?

Shinya* nods * yes let's go it sounds like fun

*decided to go for a walk to that shop that Guren was talking about they hadn't had one in a long time not since the catastrophe when they reach the shop guren made some with shiny as help after they were made they sat down and eat them *

Shinya: just like the old days this is something I've missed I don't miss the fighting or the paperwork I miss hanging out with you like this sharing drinks and food and just talking

Guren : I am to it's a shame the others aren't here thay would have liked it too

* time skip *

* it was now winter time and they found an old catatsu and pull it together to keep warm during the winter months they would just hold together like that sometimes fall asleep there*

*it was getting late and shinya was getting really sleepy he came out for momint just a little bit and put his head in him slap*

Guren: Shinya if you're tired go to bed

*Shinya comes out of the catatsu more and was in his lap he looks so comfortable and then move*

Shinya : no I'm good I just want to stay here just like this for a little while longer

[tachiisms]

“Furious, Siri had left the Temple abruptly. Obi-Wan had tried to find her, but she had cut off any contact with the Temple.” (Jedi Quest: Path to Truth)

There’s a blinking light on the control panel indicating a message when Siri walks back into the cockpit, newly-dyed hair still damp, and feeling out of place with the absence of her Padawan braid, chopped off and incinerated along with her Jedi robes at the first planet she’d stopped on. She’s changed her appearance, now she needs to get rid of this ship, travel commercial at least one stop, change her appearance again, then start building her identity. She could kick herself for almost having forgotten to consider the comms system of this ship. It’s one of the civilian ships available for Jedi, and for all anyone outside of the Council knew, she’d stolen it when she left, but she’d thought that Saesee was going to cover that and wipe this ship’s information from all Temple records in case it gets checked by anyone after she dumps it by selling it on a black market outpost. She can’t think who the message would be from, unless it’s something from Adi about a last minute update to the coded frequency she’s to use… 

She presses the button to check the message, and Obi-Wan’s form flickers into view. Something in her chest tightens, and for a second she considers quickly deleting the message without listening to it, but she can’t quite bring herself to. She’d known when she agreed to this that she couldn’t say goodbye, that absolutely no one outside of the Council could know anything, and that everyone else must think she had truly left the Order, that the falling out between her and Adi had been as severe and final as it had appeared to be. And yet somehow she had not accounted for the intensity of the wave of guilt that hits her when she sees the pain and confusion on Obi-Wan’s face. 

“Siri… I heard about what happened.” That doesn’t surprise her; she thought she’d felt him trying to reach out to her in the Force a little while ago, but had ignored it. . He sounds disappointed – sorry for her, even. And confused.

She doesn’t know how he’d have figured out that she took this ship… unless he asked Garen Muln. That had to be it; either he’d looked for missing ships before Saesee had erased this one, or even after it had been erased, Obi-Wan had enlisted the help of Garen, who always knew every ship in the Order. ( She could kick herself for not having thought of that earlier. At least she’d ripped out the tracking software before even leaving Coruscant, and she’d smashed the nav systems after thoroughly wiping all trace of where this ship had been. ) Even if Garen had helped him figure out which ship was missing, sending this comm was the only thing he’d have been able to do.

“I don’t know what caused this rift between you and Master Adi, but I’m certain it can be fixed – I know she didn’t recommend you for the Trials, but I’m sure she’ll take you back; Qui-Gon–”

His voice breaks, and it feels like a vibro-blade twisting in her stomach. How can she abandon him like this, so soon after Qui-Gon’s death? Isn’t her duty as a friend to be there through his grief? But: isn’t her duty as a Jedi to the galaxy, not just one being, even if that one being is her oldest friend? It is. She knows it is. She knows it has to be. But that does not lessen the guilt of feeling like she’s betraying every moment of their fought-for and hard-won friendship. 

“--Just come back to the Temple, Siri,” he continues, evidently unable to say whatever he’d been going to say about Qui-Gon. ( Probably how Qui-Gon had once taken him back, and surely Adi would take her back, too. The memory of how harsh she’d been to him at that time makes it all the harder that he’s trying to comfort her. ) “I’ll help you fix this, I’ll go with you to the Council if you want, just… please just contact me… just come home, Siri.”

The last words are so quiet they’re barely audible over the holo message, but she hears them, the faint, whispered plea just before the flickering image of Obi-Wan vanishes. 

While he had been speaking, pleading with her to come back, she’d wanted him to stop, wanted the message to end, struggled with herself whether or not to just cut it short because she could not bear the disappointment in his voice, but now that he’s gone, she wishes the message had been longer. She hadn’t seen him before she’d left; the last time she’d seen him she’d known it would probably be the last, but hadn’t let any hint of a goodbye slip out, and then she’d immediately left the Temple after storming away from her fight with Adi. But now that she’s left the Temple, now that this mission is in motion, this holo message will truly be the last time for… she doesn’t even know how long. Possibly ever.

Part of her – the scared, nervous part of her, already feeling the unfamiliar loneliness of being cut off from the Order – tells her to comm him back. ( He wouldn’t say anything. He’d never betray her; he won’t breathe a word of her contact to anyone if she tells him not to. The Council would not have to know, even Adi would never need to know that she spoke with him. Obi-Wan would take this secret to the grave, she knows he would. She can just comm him back, tell him why she left, tell him not to worry, tell him she’ll be fine, that she’ll be back soon, that she hasn’t abandoned everything she’s spent her life working for. Just comm him back -- reach out to him in the Force, something, anything, and it won’t feel like such a betrayal. ) She hesitates for a long moment, eyes fixed on the surface of the control panel where his face had been moments before, hand hovering over the buttons that could get her through to his commlink with just one touch. It would be so easy, it would just take a moment…. 

No. 

No. It’s almost physically painful to pull her hand away from the control panel, but she has to. She can’t tell him, she can’t contact him, she can’t reach out to him. She knows that, the part of her that’s committed fully to this mission ( which is all of her, it must be all of her, there can be no part of her that’s afraid of what lies ahead ) reminds her of that. This won’t work if there’s even a hint of a whisper that she isn’t who she says she is. ( She won’t be back if there’s any hint that she isn’t who she says she is. She’ll be dead. ) Clinging to the sound of his voice in that message is the last thing that ties her to the Order. She has to get rid of this ship ( she’s already negotiated the price for it with the black market trader ) and she has to get rid of the message... and any ability he might have to try to feel her in the Force. But once she gets rid of it… she’ll never see or feel him again. 

( She’ll probably never see him again, at least. But it’s the greatest possibility, and she’s already accepted that. How odd that it’s Obi-Wan, who has always been so much better at acceptance than she is, who has more than once taught her how to accept things, is now the one tugging her away from accepting the knowledge that she almost certainly won’t ever see him again. And that his last memory of her will be that she left. ) 

She shakes herself out of this hesitation. She can’t afford hesitation, she has to be fully committed. She remembers his face again, though. Years ago… her very first mission, when he’d tried to offer her advice. “Landing on a planet for the first time can be confusing,” he’d said, “There’s usually so much to see that it’s hard to focus. But in the first few minutes you can learn many things.” He’d been trying to be friendly, but she’d taken it as an offense, especially from him, when he’d already left the Order and returned to it. Remember what I told you then, Obi-Wan? I never lose my focus. Or my commitment. She won’t lose either now. 

A few deft slices with her lightsaber, and the comms station is utterly useless. Somehow it feels deeper than just the comms station, as though her lightsaber is cutting through all the years of her hard-won friendship with Obi-Wan as well, and it hurts, but it has to: a full break, complete separation from everything and everyone that had been part of her life as a Jedi. Even though it’s far beyond repair as is, she pulls the smoldering mass of durasteel and wires out from the control panel, burying her lightsaber in it until it’s nothing more than an indistinguishable heap of junk. 

One last breath as she looks around the little ship for the last time: the last bit of Coruscant and the Order she’ll see for…however long it’ll be. The last link between whoever she’s going to be and who she was. She wraps strips of leather and rags around her lightsaber to disguise it, then carefully secures it in the pouch at the small of her back, attached to the belt that hides beneath the long vest and bulky jacket she’d bought at the last outpost she’d stopped at before this one. Then she picks up the remains of the comms station and leaves the ship. She dumps the lump of melted, twisted metal into a dumpster, then walks over to the trader she’d sold the ship to. 

“Forgot to mention the comms are broken,” she says, tossing a couple of credits back to him before disappearing into the crowd.

[faeiriefire]

You have been recruited by the freshly appointed Monsignor of Ytarr to investigate the murder of the late Father Wycroft. A servant girl of the local church has been accused as the prime suspect of Wycroft’s murder as she has been the only eyewitness to step forward. Using her frank vernacular, she proclaims her innocence stating that the church is a house of deceit rather than that of reverence. While trying to keep locals at bay, the Monsignor has tasked you along with several other skilled adventurers to investigate the church and discover the truth behind the slaughter of Father Wycroft.

DISCLAIMER: In no way is The House of the Setting Sun affiliated or attacking any religious institutions. This adventure is a fictional work that may be used in one's own adventure or a standalone event. Thank you for your understanding and please enjoy.

This adventure can be customized to any size or level. The House of the Setting Sun can be used as a small side adventure, a standalone one-shot, or a starting adventure for a new campaign. The characters listed below can be changed to your liking for how you would like to run your session.

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Areas of Interest:

Conclave of Union

The Conclave of Union is nestled within the heart of the town of Ytarr. The building is a towering, Greco-Romanesque building adorned with vines of wisteria blooms. A gilded, bronze placard in the shape of liberty scales decorates the frontal frieze. The building acts as the residential courthouse.

Sanctuary of Etheré

The Sanctuary of Etheré resides in the Noble district of Ytarr. The building is a Churrigueresque, multiple story building with ornate buttresses and a high bell tower. Attached to the left side of the church is a well-kept graveyard, in which some of the soil seems oddly... fresh.

The Glorious Cabbage

The Glorious Cabbage resides betwixt the Farmer and Noble district of Ytarr. The Tudor-style building serves as both the town tavern and inn for weary travelers. An aromatic column of smoke from the kitchens provides a homey atmosphere for the locals as well as foreigners. The floorplan of the tavern is vastly open, to the point that visitors can have a small glimpse inside the kitchens. The upstairs has an indoor balcony that overlooks the heart of the tavern; along the posterior wall of the upper floor are oak doors to the rentable apartments. Despite the peaceful atmosphere and appearance, the Glorious Cabbage is a well-known spot for patrons that have a night job as thieves and assassins.

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Important Non-Playable Characters:

Monsignor Windsor Alpendusk, Male Half High-Elf

Description: A rather slender man in his early thirties, he is a man of the robe and lives life quite piously. His black hair is peppered with grey streaks on either side of his slicked hair. His eyes are brown and warm, which allude to being awfully innocent.

Personality: Windsor is quite charismatic and caring to all those who grace his presence. He has a bad habit of over-extending himself to help others rather than focusing on his own needs, which makes him prone to exhaustion. The Monsignor is afflicted by bouts of anxiety regarding the well-being and safety of others within Ytarr.

Voice: A bit on the louder side but he is very well-spoken and optimistic despite his anxious episodes.

Monsignor Windsor is the newly appointed priest of the Sanctuary of Etheré. He was the man to hire you and your allies to solve the murder of his predecessor. The Monsignor is one of the few who believe that the servant girl is indeed telling the truth about the church.

Monsignor Windsor Alpendusk is a protagonist. He is not guilty of the crime, though some have gone so far to suspect him.

Father Garen Wycroft, Male Human

Description: Wycroft was a wiry man in his early fifties who frequently would visit different parts of Ytarr in casual robes when not performing a sermon. His hair was a dark grey that was slicked on top. His eyes were blue and beady.

Personality: On the outside, Father Wycroft was rather caring and gentle. However, he has a secretive side in over-indulgence; ranging from alcohol to lewd exploitation. His secrets were well-kept with the Nobles of Ytarr but there was some discussion, months prior to his death, in regards to having Wycroft step down.

Voice: Tired and ragged from belting in his younger years.

Father Wycroft's body had been discovered at the altar of the Sanctuary of Etheré. While he was a wiry man, he was by no means unhealthy or ill. His death was unexpected and foul play has been determined in his demise.

Father Garen Wycroft is an antagonist. He played a part in summoning the Lady of Debauchery to Ytarr after making a seemingly "fair" deal with a demon. The deal? Immortal life and a mistress, of course!

Lottie Whitmight, Female Human

Description: Lottie is a well-shaped woman in her early twenties, she wears a maid's attire as she frequently helps clean the church and its property. Her hair is red and silky, which lays to her mid-back when it is not pulled back into a plait. Her eyes are doll-like and hazel.

Personality: Lottie is very warm and outgoing. She is known for being quite outspoken around Ytarr. She has a bad habit of getting too interested in town gossip as she is overly interested in others. As a town native, she seeks to find some form of entertainment in her "dull, monotonous" life.

Voice: More on the high-pitched side but not crass or annoying. Her voice is almost song-like.

Lottie has been accused of the murder of Father Wycroft. She has come forward as the only eye-witness of his death as she had gone around town in a panic describing, "a foul, terrible evil resides in the crypts of Etheré". The party will have the option to break Lottie out of prison to have her aid you in catching Mara in her true form at night in the crypts.

Lottie Whitmight is a tertiary character. Despite being accused of murder, Lottie is innocent; she did not kill Father Wycroft. Rather, she was the witness of Wycroft aiding Mara in summoning more demons to usurp the Nobles of Ytarr in order for his wish to come true.

Mara Clearhelm

Description: Mara is a slender woman in her late twenties, she dons vibrant robes and antique, wiry jewelry. Her hair is brown and wavy, which caps the tops of her shoulders.

Personality: Mara is shy and reserved on the outside. On the inside, she is quite sadistic and selfish; driven to her own goals of pleasing her own carnal desires. She first came to town 6 months ago and has been the gardener at Etheré. The truth behind her arrival is that Wycroft had made a deal with her as well as lower-ranking demons to aid him in achieving his own goals. She is a master of manipulation and trickery so gaining the trust of others is easy for her.

Voice: Sultry and full. Her voice can be addictive for some.

Mara has been the groundskeeper of Etheré for the past 6 months. She will have rare interactions with the players at first as she comes across as "shy". However, she is reserved in her actions and voice because she is analyzing each person and how she can manipulate you into trusting her.

She will help provide you with many details regarding the moments before Wycroft's death and where he was last seen. But she will provide false information on where he actually died and the circumstances around his death. Only after the party either realizes she is lying or has Lottie's assistance will she show you her true form.

Mara Clearhelm is an antagonist and the main battle in the one-shot. Mara's true form is that of a succubus; she is a Lesser Consort to Asmodeus. Her true title is the Lady of Debauchery, as she tricks others into selling their souls for their "Earthly delights and wishes". She is a manipulative combatant, who will regularly charm healers and disabling damage dealers.

✿✿✿

The rewards for defeating Mara will be up to you as a DM. This one-shot can be used as a standalone or could be a Game Zero for the Descent into Avernus or any game involving the Nine Hells.

[miighted]

How does Demacia structure its military? How are promotions to a higher rank obtained - solely through valor on the battlefield, or...?

world building prompt / accepting 

                the structure of demacia’s dauntless vanguard is discussed in detail in in “first shield,” though it is unknown if the body of the general demacian military is structured in the same way or not ( through inference, it does not seem to be the same ).  “it was tradition that the dauntless vanguard be always at full strength— sixteen complete companies, each consisting of sixteen shields of eight soldiers.” ( page 20 ). those numbers add up to an exact number of 2,048 soldiers for the dauntless vanguard. each shield is lead by a shield-sergeant as well. from the above quote we also know that a lapse in numbers in the vanguard rarely lasts long, and the book tells us further that places are filled by either soldiers from the battalions ( demacia’s general army ) or extremely skilled and exceptional recruits. an example of each is cithria of cloudfield, a soldier from the ninth battalion who joins the first shield in place of a fallen soldier, and alys morn who was chosen directly from the training grounds for her skill and potential. all of this information can also be found on page 20. as a fun little note, before garen joined the dauntless vanguard, he was apart of the fourteenth battalion and was trained by the current shield-sergeant of the first shield, merrek.

                there is also a degree of specialization among each shield as well discussed in the novel. “while first and fourth were armed with shields and swords— the traditional armament of the demacian solider— eight carried the immense brightsteel kite shields commonly known as bulwarks. they were almost twice the size of a regular shield, such that only the largest soldiers were able to wield them effectively. bulwark units formed impenetrable walls on the battlefield, as difficult to breach as the defenses of the capital itself.” ( page 23 ). 

                from all of this information, it does seem that the brave accomplishments of a soldier in battle are not the only avenue for a soldier to advance in rank. alys morn is a good example of this, who was selected during her training to join the first shield, an extremely high honor considering the eight soldiers of the first shield are the absolute best of the best and the company that the sword-captain of the dauntless vanguard will be closest to. skill and potential are recognized and readily welcomed among the demacian military, and also very passionately cultivated. if a soldier shows potential, then they are given the training, resources, and and recognition needed to produce the best soldiers possible. this, along with the exceptional discipline of the demacian militar, is likely another reason why the demacian military functions so well and remains to be such a strong force. 

                birthplace, status, wealth, age, and race all have no barrings on a soldier’s standing in the demacian military either. the first shield is comprised of a number of very colorful individuals from all kinds of backgrounds and personalities, from ruthless to charming, from commoner to stoneborn. merrek is an older sailor, kriel is a stoneborn, cithria is a commoner, and garen himself is a noble born demacia, but his birthright was not what earned him his position in the end. he and cithria both were apart of the standard demacian battalions, and all of the soldiers of the vanguard endure the testing, as it is called, to gauge their potential for joining the dauntless vanguard. the merit of one’s own actions, skill, and potential is what matters among the military and its ranks. status has little to no barrings on how well one can serve a position, especially because demacia needs to have the absolute best they can have in their positions of leadership and among the vanguard in order to defend their smaller country from the many threats pressing against their borders. 

                demacia’s military embodies much of the general morals of demacia in their structure and discipline. soldiers train constantly so that any company or battalion can work as effectively as a unit as possible; unity is a strong principal in demacian culture and is reflected in their military as well ( the notion of ‘all for one and one for all’ is very prevalent in demacia ). garen himself defies expectations as a leader by questioning his orders more so than is expected because he believes that soldiers who know why they fight will fight better, that even if only one of them is left standing they can do all they can to achieve victory. all of this leads to the dauntless vanguard functioning so damn well despite their forces often being outnumbered. 

[dreamweaversofficial]

Year Two, Chapter Two

“What if swans were called ‘dwans’?” Garen asks. Lyric stares at him, which he apparently takes as an invitation to continue. “What if one was called Dwan the rock by his friends. His last name will be Johnson, for no apparent reason.”

“Dwan the rock Johnson,” Lyric repeats.

“Yes.”

She presses her index fingers to her lips. Pulls them away slowly. Sighs. “I feel like you’re not taking my emotional turmoil seriously.”

“I feel like you’re not taking Dwan the rock Johnson seriously,” he replies.

Pouting, Lyric slides towards the opposite end of the couch. “I’m serious! Bad enough you have to leave, but to be stuck with short, dark and edgy?”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Garen says sympathetically, offering her a single shoulder pat, “but you’re shorter than her by a solid inch and a half.”

“I catalogue that inch and a half once a month,” she hisses through clenched teeth.

“I know,” Garen soothes. “It’s creepy and obsessive.”

“Go away.”

Her friend makes a note on a yellow pad. “I’m just saying that if I indulged you every time you wanted to talk about Reema, we’d discuss her for hours.”

“Ugh,” Lyric says definitively, and turns regretfully back to her textbook.

Dreamweaver training was sparse, with only the most necessary precautions covered, the text reads. Non-magical humans needed more protection than the few available dreamweavers could give. This occasionally led to rifts between the communities, with magical families attempting to strike the balance between keeping themselves and loved ones safe while protecting the world from dreameaters.

However, as more and more magical children began popping up (see A History of Dreamweaving, A. J. Kerint) more funding was provided. One of magical history’s most famous financial backers, the King family, supplied most of the funds to build Mentality when several of their own were revealed to possess magical abilities.

“The Kings?” she says aloud, wrinkling her nose. “Like Cirro?”

Garen snorts. “Exactly like Cirro. His great-grandfather is a big shot around here.”

“He never mentions it,” Lyric mutters. “You’d expect that to be the kind of thing someone flaunts.”

“I think they’re -”

A resounding crash shakes the room. The textbook flies out of Lyric’s hands, crumpling the inside, and Garen whacks his arm against the wall. She dashes over and picks it up, frantically smoothing the wrinkled pages. He rubs his shoulder with a hiss.

“You good?”

“Sore, but I’ll live. You?”

“Alright,” Lyric replies, eyes darting to the door. “Do you think we could be under attack?”

“Impossible,” Garen refutes, though his face goes slightly pale. “Mentality’s warded to high heaven.”

Mentality is warded to high heaven. It’s also the last place a dreameater hoard would swarm - no non-magical dreams to feed off of. Dreamweavers, in the case of the prophetic track, siphon dreams off of normal humans. Otherwise, dreaming is minimal. There’s nothing that would lure the creatures to the school.

Still, the thought chafes at Lyric like an uncomfortable sweater she wishes she could shrug off. Garen hesitantly opens the door. The hallway’s empty but for a few tentative second years glancing through doorways, hazy smokescreen in place. Lyric curses herself for forgetting her magic.

“Let’s check it out,” she suggests. “We’ll be careful.”

“That’s an awful idea,” Garen argues, pulling on his sneakers. He rolls his eyes. “Let’s go.”

Smirking, Lyric follows him out the door, the two of them pulling shrouds of shadow around themselves. Concentrate, she tells herself firmly. Cool, dark, calm. Garen sticks close, glancing back occasionally to see if she’s following. Lyric places a hand on his back, lightly. I’m still here. Keep going.

It’s easy, the shadows. Too easy, at times, when the most she wants is to pull them around herself like a well-worn quilt. Light is harder - pushing through burning muscles, focusing a burst of energy into a single fingers, hot like the sun. Like she’s skimming her hand along the stove, close enough to warm but not to burn.

Her hand bumps solidly into Garen’s back. They’ve stopped.

“Garen?” she whispers, sidling out from behind him. “What -”

“Never, in all my years -” a woman is yelling, arms flung to the sky and voice high pitched. “A student do this much damage?”

Lyric finds herself thinking that she’s glad they’re covered. Then, when the teacher shifts and she sees the girl receiving the lecture, she finds herself thinking something else.

“A student,” Garen repeats, horror and awe-struck. “Sage skillets.”

“Miss Salten,” the professor continues, “Someone will be hearing about this!”

Lyric exhales. “Probably Cirro’s dad, if his family are coughing up the funds for repairs.”

“I hope not,” a voice says.

“Mercury’s left eye!” Lyric yelps, stifling herself with her palm. “Where did you come from?”

“You aren’t being all that quiet.” Cirro points out, hands jammed in his pockets, and cranes his neck to look at the scene. “What happened, an earthquake?”

Reema stands amidst deep cracks in the ground, scored into marble-like flooring. The divots start at her feet, slim, then widen into jagged, angry lines, stretching outward until they just barely touch Garen’s feet. She eyes the desolation as if admiring the artistry of it. As the professor yells, hands waving wildly, the girl takes a deep breath and smiles.

Lyric feels, suddenly and confusingly, like she’s going to throw up.

She wants away from the yelling, from Reema smiling with her eyes closed like she’d rather dig her nails into the floor and tear, from Cirro’s facade of boredom when he talks about his father. Lyric grabs Garen’s arm, and finds she can’t stomach the contact.

“I’m going back,” she whispers, releasing him.

He eyes her cautiously. “Want me to come with?”

“Nah,” she shakes her head. Brushing him off as politely as she can. “I’ll see you at the room later. Going for a walk.”

Garen rolls his shoulders back. “I’ll probably go out to the field.”

“You guys are so codependent,” Cirro complains, pushing himself off the wall and strolling back in the direction of the second year dorms.

“We’ve all got to have someone to care about,” Lyric mutters back. There’s no flinch, no tightening of his eyes, no clenching of fists. But somehow Lyric knows she’s hurt him - a comment for a comment. An eye for an eye.

The nausea grows worse, and she thinks about the ruined floor.

I’ll stop being a brat when everyone else does, she decides, settling into a nook by the door to the fields. Cirro passes by her, unseeing, his face drawn. He pauses a few steps away, and Lyric pulls the shadows back around her in thicker numbers. His pocket vibrates.

“Hello?” he says into the receiver, frowning. “Oh. Mom.”

There’s a pause. “So he’s heard - no. Of course not. Yeah, some girl in my grade. I don’t - who knows why. I guess she’s pretty good at runes, so that could be it.”

“It’s not -” Cirro presses the phone closer to his ear. He scuffs his shoe across the ground, rolling his shoulders back. “I guess she’d have to be pretty powerful. No. Associate with her? Gabriel’s tooth, you’ve got to be kidding. I’m not going to start - no. Yes, mother.”

His face pulls inwards. Like he’s striking the line between controlled and crushed, lids shuttering, body tensing. “My studies are going well. No, nobody’s beaten his score. My brother has ‘left a lasting mark on this institution’. Is that - that’s all?”

Lyric holds her breath as he exhales silently, relaxing his body.

“Goodbye. Give them my -” Here Cirro halts, pulls the phone away from his ear, and stares down at it. “Love.”

What is it with this year and hearing things I don’t want to? Lyric demands silently, pressing further back against the door. The swishing of fabric rustles down the hallway, and she dares to look, catching a glimpse of Salza.

“C?” Salza greets him, slowing her jog to a stop.

“Hey,” he says back. It’s a very good attempt at sounding okay. As if he was going for condescending and missed the mark.

She glares, but there’s no heat behind it. “Don’t give me that. What did he want now?”

“It was my mother,” Cirro replies, straightening. “An impromptu informal discussion.”

“You always talk like that when you get off the phone with one of them,” Salza muses sadly. “Come on.”

“Go back to your jog, or you might not make the team this year,” he spits.

Salza just links her arm through his, guiding him gently back into the dorms. “You’re my friend whether you want to admit it or not. And I’m yours. So just - follow my lead, okay?”

And as if the enticement to follow was the only thing he needed, Cirro deflates, and lets himself be carried along.

Teen drama is so much more complicated in this school.

.

.

.

“Listen up!” their professor announces, clapping his hands together. “Today, we’re having a special guest.”

Eyebrows raise, a few curious glances are thrown, and there’s an audible snort.

Professor Ozik casts an appraising eye around the room. “And by guest, I mean a dreameater.”

Chaos.

“What?” a girl at the back - Mandy? - screams, bolting out of her seat. A few others look like they share the sentiment, throwing their hands over their heads and ducking away. Reema’s eyes are wide and dark. Beside her, Devon’s shoulders are tense, face closed off. Salza and Cirro steal panicked, yet determined looks at each other, edging in front of their respective roommates.

Garen throws his chair aside, ready to cast a spell. Lyric hefts her notebook like it’ll have any effect. Her gaze flits to their instructor.

He’s grinning, somewhat sheepishly, at the class, and she calms. “It’s a drill.”

“Not exactly,” the professor admits, “but I swear it’s well contained. Nice reflexes, you three.”

Salza, Garen, and Cirro relax. With a flourish, Professor Ozik pulls a cage from under his desk. It’s covered with inscribed runes. Binding, keeping, holding, trapping. From inside it, shrieks ripple outward.

“Keep your wits about you!” Ozik yells, strapping earmuffs onto his head. “This is a siren!”

“What’s a siren?” Cirro’s roommate demands.

“A type of dreameater!” Salza calls back, hands over her ears and eyes snapped shut. “It lures you in with whatever attracts you!”

As if the creature can hear her, the cries turn from outraged to coaxing. The room starts to smell like sea salt. Plugging her nose, Lyric turns away, shaking her head. Idly, she wonders if the creature would feel like worn leather.

Cirro’s nose twitches. “Vanilla.”

“Does anybody else hear singing?” Salza’s roommate asks, eyes going dreamy. Salza attempts to cover their heads with their jackets.

Garen stands stock still at his desk. His hands don’t cover his ears, instead drooping at his sides, and he sniffs the air suspiciously. “I don’t smell anything, and I certainly can’t hear over the awful screeching.”

Oh, Lyric thinks, and a second later, Garen says aloud, “I guess that makes sense.”

Lyric bumps him with her shoulder in an encouraging kind of way. He bumps back, pleased.

“Did you know?” she murmurs, voice low under the siren’s wails.

He shrugs. “In hindsight, I suppose it was garen-ly obvious.”

“You’re so proud of yourself.”

“Get it? Garen, glaring?”

“As much as I appreciate moments of self discovery,” Salza yells over the noise, “can we shut this thing up now?”

“Glady,” Garen yells back, shouldering past the other students. He casts a shadow over the cage, plunging the creature into darkness and calm.

“Bravo,” Professor Ozik declares, clapping again. Not a few glares are leveled at him. “That’ll be an advantage on the field.”

Lyric turns away, snorting, and scribbles a few notes into her book. She looks up at the screeching of chairs, people settling back into their seats, and her gaze trails to Devon. They’re watching their roommate carefully.

Reema’s eyes are glued to the cage.

“Excellent rune work, no?” Ozik points out, following her look. “I hear you’re not too shabby with runes yourself, Miss Salten.”

“I’m too good for them to lose,” Reema corrects absently. Then she scowls.

[hawkeykirsah]

The Crystal, the Blade, the Jedi

Characters: Padawan fem!Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon Jinn, others Rating: Teen and up for language Words: 3115 Summary: After losing her lightsaber on the previous mission Obi-Wan has to ask the Council to allow a trip to Ilum so she can build a new one. Will everything go smoothly?

1.

Chewing her lip, Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon meekly to the Council chambers to give the mission report. The mission to oversee negotiations to form a government between two opposite factions had been a success, apart from one little detail. Or not so little, from her point of view. After all, she had lost her lightsaber. Yes, they had caught the insurgents trying to sabotage the negotiations, but why was it that their diplomatic missions always ended up with them chasing criminals through factories or mines or crowded public spaces? And why did she have to be so unlucky?

This was the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to her, she was sure of it. 

Qui-Gon’s only response had been “Let’s hope the Council will let us take a trip to Ilum before sending us on our next mission. Or I’ll have to go alone while you stay at the temple until the initiates are slated for their trip, and then you go with them.” 

Staying back at the temple while her master went on missions just because she had lost her lightsaber? The thought alone made her insides squirm. She would surely be everyone’s laughing stock.

She hurried to keep up with the tall Jedi’s long stride but every now and then he slowed down just enough that she didn’t have to break into a run. He finally came to a stop in front of the Council doors and turned halfway around. “Remember what I told you last night when we got back. I’ll give the report, but you request permission for the trip to Ilum.”

Obi-Wan shuffled uncomfortably. “Yes, master.”

She followed Qui-Gon into the chamber, standing a step behind him and one step to the right while he gave the report. It had essentially been a simple mission without any complications, but that just made her dilemma all the more embarrassing.

“All, that is, Master Jinn?” Yoda asked.

“From my side, yes,” Qui-Gon stated, folding his hands. “Though my Padawan has a request.” He stepped aside.

Obi-Wan shot him a quick glance. Then, ears burning, “Would it be possible for Master Jinn and me to take a trip to Ilum before our next assignment?”

Her voice wavered slightly, but didn’t break.

“Ilum?” Yoda asked. “Special reason for this there is, young Obi-Wan? Hmmmm?”

She looked down at the floor and mumbled, “I lost my lightsaber.”

Couldn’t the floor open up and swallow her? Surely no padawan had ever been in such an embarrassing situation.

“Tell us what happened, Padawan,” Master Sinube said.

She looked up at the Council. “It fell into a melting pot. It was hooked to my belt but it got stuck somehow when I tried to squeeze through a gap, and the clasp came undone.” 

“You saw it fall into the melting pot?”

Obi-Wan nodded miserably. “I tried to catch it, but it bounced off the walkway and out of my reach.” She wished Qui-Gon would say something, but her master simply stood there, listening silently.

“Did you try catching it with the Force?” Master Mundi asked.

“No,” she whispered, flushing even more. “I … didn’t think of that.” She fell silent, waiting for the Council’s decision.

The Council members glanced at each other, a silent conversation passing between them. Master Yoda sat motionless, fingers resting atop of his gimer stick. Time stretched and Obi-Wan tried hard not to fidget, watching some shake their heads minutely. Her stomach dropped. They wouldn’t let her go. She would have to stay at the temple until the next group of initiates went to Ilum and practice her saber forms with a training saber like a youngling. Qui-Gon would be sent on missions without her and she would have to do her saber practices with a borrowed weapon. Finally, they reached a consensus and nodded, some more reluctantly than others.

“Granted your request is,” Yoda said, opening his eyes.

“Thank you, masters,” Obi-Wan replied, bowing. She caught Qui-Gon’s gaze. He nodded once and they took leave from the Council, returning to their quarters. Obi-Wan cast a quick glance at Qui-Gon Jinn. Still her master said nothing, made no further comment. She wasn’t sure why but the lack of criticism almost rankled more than if he had admonished her.

“We will leave for Ilum in the morning,” Qui-Gon told her as they stepped into their quarters. When there was no reply he finally looked at her. His padawan stood dejectedly next to the door looking much like a bedraggled tooka. “Obi-Wan,” he sighed, “you’re not the first padawan to lose your lightsaber and you’re certainly not the last. The whole thing has taught you something, hasn’t it? Next time you know to check your saber clasp after attaching your lightsaber to your belt.”

“Yes, master,” came the subdued answer.

Qui-Gon placed a hand on her shoulder. “Come, I’ll make us something to eat and you can ask your friends for the coursework of the past week so you don’t have to make up even more when we return. And after that we prepare for Ilum. We might have to stop at the quartermasters. I think your winter cloak could be too short.”

“Can I go ask Bant? I don’t know if Garen, Reeft, or Quinlan are here,” she asked. Reeft and his master had left the same day they had and she knew the other two were also gearing up for new missions.

“Certainly,” Qui-Gon replied. “I’ll let Tahl know you’re coming. Don’t be too long.”

Obi-Wan took off, racing to her friend’s quarters as quick as decorum allowed. Bant was already waiting when Obi-Wan rang the bell, bouncing happily up and down at seeing her friend.

“Obi-Wan! When did you get back?” the young Mon Calamari asked excitedly. “The last few days have been so dull! You missed Garen. He and Master Rahra left for a mission three days ago, but Quin and Reeft are due back soon.”

Obi-Wan smiled briefly at her friend, stepping inside. “We got back last night but we’re heading out again tomorrow.”

“What? So soon?” Bant exclaimed.

Obi-Wan shuffled her feet, her fingers tangling with her padawan braid. “Yeah.” 

“How come?”

“Obi-Wan, is that you?” Master Tahl Uvain called, stepping out of the fresher. “Don’t stand at the door, come in and sit down for a moment. Qui-Gon told me of your little mishap,” the Noorian Jedi said kindly, “and he said you’re taking it much too hard. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Bant stared at her friend. “Obi? What happened?”

“I lost my lightsaber,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “I didn’t hook it onto my belt properly and it fell into a melting pot and, well, melted. We’re heading to Ilum tomorrow so I can find a new crystal.” She looked at Bant imploringly. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Bant nodded solemnly, “Not a word.”

“Thank you. Could you give me the coursework I missed?”

“Sure, hold on.” Bant went to her room and reappeared a few minutes later, handing Obi-Wan a small stack of data pads. “I think this is everything.” 

“Thank you, Bant. I’ll try to get it done by tonight.” She pulled her friend into a hug and then turned to Tahl, bowing. “Master Tahl.”

 The blind Jedi tutted. “I can hear you bowing, Obi-Wan. Stop that,” she said, pulling Obi-Wan into a hug of her own. “Don’t fret, and good luck on Ilum. And tell Qui-Gon I want you both over for dinner when you get back.”

+++

The trip to Ilum was uneventful. Obi-Wan hadn’t managed to catch up with all the coursework in one afternoon, so she had taken the remainder along. Apart from finishing the coursework she had meditated with Qui-Gon and done her duties aboard the ship. Now she sat in the co-pilot seat watching the icy planet grow larger in the viewscreen. She gazed at it apprehensively.

“Nervous?” Qui-Gon asked without taking his eyes from the planet ahead.

“A little,” she admitted, trying to focus on their entry of Ilum’s harsh atmosphere.

Qui-Gon glanced at her. “Trust in yourself, Obi-Wan, and trust in the Force. It means you no harm. You managed as a youngling, and you will succeed again.”

She nodded, returning her attention to her workplace as Qui-Gon began the approach for Ilum. As soon as the ship entered the atmosphere shear winds began jostling it. Qui-Gon kept a tight grip on the controls, guiding the vessel to its landing spot near the temple.

The ship touched ground with a soft thud. Obi-Wan grimaced at the swirling snow outside and went aft to dress accordingly before heading for the airlock. Qui-Gon stepped next to her, also dressed in a warm tunic and a thick, warm winter cloak. He pulled on his gloves. 

“Ready, Padawan?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, eyeing the frosty planet with mild distaste.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the entry hall,” Qui-Gon told her. Obi-Wan nodded, and together they stepped on to Ilum’s icy surface, crossing the snowy plain before them to enter the temple. The doors swung open, and they stepped inside. Qui-Gon placed his hands on her shoulders and she looked up to meet her master’s gaze. “Remember, trust in the Force. Let it guide you and don’t give in to your fears.” He smiled. “But you know all this. After all this isn’t your first visit to the caves.”

“I know, Master,” Obi-Wan returned, not especially liking the reminder.

“Good. I’ll be waiting here.”

Hesitating briefly, Obi-Wan glanced back over her shoulder before entering the tunnel labyrinth. Qui-Gon stood there, tall and imposing, but with a small, encouraging smile on his face. She turned again, facing the tunnel. With a soft grinding sound the entrance to the tunnels closed behind her, engulfing her in darkness. She stood rooted to the same spot while her eyes adjusted to the new light conditions. Light shafts filtered daylight into the tunnels, bathing it in a dim glow. Ice crystals glittered in the pale light.

Closing her eyes, Obi-Wan reached out tentatively with the Force, listening for her crystal. Faint whispers danced around her, teasing her and slipping away before she could make out more.

“Let the Force guide you.”

Her master’s advice echoed in her mind and she stretched her senses further, brow furrowed in confusion. She heard - felt? - more than one crystal, not like last time. Last time the call had been clear. Her old crystal had led her unerringly through the tunnels. Now it felt like she was being pulled in several directions and she didn’t know where to go.

Obi-Wan opened her eyes and began walking down the passage slowly. Snow crunched under her boots, her breath left icy puffs in the frigid air. At the first crossing she paused, sinking back into the Force. There. This time it was more clear. She continued walking, the Force leading her closer to her crystal. Or, one of her crystals. The other song was just as insistent, but further off.

She stepped into a high chamber. The Force urged her on. Leaping over a crevice, she crossed the chamber, coming to a stop before an icy slope at its far end. She began climbing, the song clear in her mind now. Finally her fingers closed around the sharp edges of a crystal, and the Force sang, sending her into a vision of a blue saber deflecting blaster bolts. She could taste smoke and burnt air, she could feel the saber in her hand, strong and familiar. The vision faded away, and she gasped at the power she had felt. Carefully, she pried the crystal out of the rock. It came loose and she looked at it, cool and soothing, cradled in her palm. She placed it in a special pouch on her belt and climbed nimbly down. 

At the foot of the slope Obi-Wan halted, listening for the Force to guide her. She jumped over the gap again and turned to another passage. The Force whispered insistently, leading her deeper into the caves down a narrow passage. The path slanted downward, and she followed, wandering deeper and deeper into the mountain. Paths branched off, but she ignored them, always continuing downward, as if being pulled forward by an invisible thread.

The air grew warmer, almost stifling the deeper she went, the ice covering the walls and floor slowly turning to bare rock. The crunching sound of snow under her boots gave way to the grinding of gravel. It grew darker, no more light shafts illuminating the way. Soon the last light faded away, plunging the passage into darkness. Obi-Wan slowed, her heart beating rapidly. Her path lay forward.

“Kriff,” she muttered. Calming herself with a few deep breaths she went on. “Kriff, kriff, kriff.”

She pulled off her gloves and tucked them into her belt, reaching out with her hands to feel the way, her fingertips grazing the rough rock. Water dripped and trickled around her. Tentatively she walked on, using the Force and her outstretched hands to guide her way.

The path went on, winding its way through the bedrock, small clefts and caverns opening on either side but the Force urged her ever downward.

Obi-Wan lost all track of time as she trudged on in the complete dark. It felt like hours had passed. Her stomach growled loudly and she pulled out a ration bar, the sound of the wrapper unnaturally loud in the silence of the tunnels. She ate slowly, one hand still on the wall for guidance as she went on.

Suddenly the air changed, no longer feeling so stifling. A light breeze brushed over her face. She stilled, reaching out with her senses. The faint sound of water lapping the shore reached her ears, the smell of water stronger than the earthy scent of rock. 

Forwards, the Force urged. Go on, on.

Carefully she continued until she reached the edge of the water. Closing her eyes, she reached out with the Force again. The cavern was high and the water seemed to stretch from one side to the other but her quarry lay ahead. Obi-Wan slowly walked along the water until she could go no further. Frowning, she retraced her steps, continuing in the opposite direction. Another barrier blocked her way. The only way to avoid the water was to climb. Or she had to swim.

Obi-Wan swallowed. She was not a bad swimmer but braving an underground lake in a pitchblack cave? That was at least as bad an idea as scaling the walls. 

Come to me, the Force whispered. So close, so close.

A shiver of anticipation ran down her back. No, she knew with sudden certainty, she had to go in the water; she had no choice if she wanted to find the crystal calling to her.

“Karking Sith hells,” Obi-Wan groaned, sliding the warm cloak off her shoulders. It dropped to the floor with a soft swoosh. She undid her belt and obi, placing them on the cloak, followed by her boots, tunics and trousers. The air felt cold on her naked skin. She stepped forward.

The water was icy.

“Fuck!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, stepping further into the water, cold waves lapping at her thighs, her stomach. Swearing profusely she dove into the water, its cold stealing her breath away. She gasped, swimming forward with powerful strokes. It was probably a good thing Qui-Gon could not hear her. He would have a few things to say about her choice of words. After a few meters she stopped, treading water as she reached out again through the Force.

She was close.

Slowly, she swam on. The Force screeched in warning and she reached out, touching a rocky surface. 

Down, the Force murmured.

“Oh, kark.” Down. Obi-Wan swallowed, realizing her rebreather was still hooked to her belt. Which, of course, was laying on the shore. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She could always swim back, it wasn’t that far, but the Force was insistent. 

Swim down.

“Trust in the Force,” Obi-Wan muttered. “Let it guide you.”

Not that she had a choice. The darkness was complete. She had to trust the Force if she wanted to find the crystal. She fought down the urge to scream, taking several deep breaths and plunging into the black water. Panic constricted her throat and she struggled not to gasp for air. Instead, she opened herself fully to the Force, letting it flow through her. The crystal flashed before her inner eye and she kicked her legs to reach its position. She reached out, grabbing a handful of sand and propelled herself upward, the sharp edges of the crystal digging into her flesh.

She broke through the surface, spluttering, but her fingers firmly closed around the crystal. Breathing heavily, she swam back to the shore.

Obi-Wan stepped out of the water, teeth chattering with cold as she groped for her clothes. Her numb fingers fumbled with the clasp on the pouch she wanted to put the crystal in. Finally she managed to open it, and dropped the crystal inside.

The Force roared around her. Images assaulted her, and she fell to her knees.

 - Urgency pounding through the Force. Running as fast as she could, air burning in her lungs. A ray shield. A red-black zabrak wielding a double-bladed lightsaber. The red blade impaling Qui-Gon. A hoarse cry escaping her throat, full of anger and grief. The zabrak grinning at her, a terrible, condescending grin, kicking Qui-Gon’s lifeless body to the side. The familiar weight of two blades in her hands, clashing against the zabrak’s saberstaff. The Force swirling around them, dark and menacing, a maelstrom of anger and grief and fear, pulling at her, pulling, pulling -

The vision faded away.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and she gasped for air. Sobbing and hands shaking, she got dressed. Water ran down her back from her dripping hair. She pulled her hair into a short ponytail, squeezing out as much excess water as possible. Finally she draped the cloak over her shoulders and pulled up the hood to cover her wet hair. 

She stumbled back toward the passage, mind racing, her hand drifting to the pouch holding the two saber crystals. Should she build one saber with two crystals? In her first vision she’d only had one lightsaber but in her second on there were two, so maybe it meant two lightsabers. Or maybe a saberstaff? No. No, the vision had shown her two lightsabers. She had never really considered Jar’kai, not in earnest at least. She may have dreamed about it once in a while, but that was it.

Cold and exhausted she let the Force lead her, only paying half attention to the path chosen for her. All she wanted was to get back to Qui-Gon and the ship.

[dragonheart-swtor]

"Send us a blindfold, send us a blade, Tell the survivors, help is on the way. I was a blind fool, never complained. All the survivors singing in the rain. I was the one with the world at my feet, Got us a battle, leave it up to me.”

- Blindness by Metric

So... yeah, the song Blindness by Metric gives me a lot of feelings for Garen and the Jedi Knight storyline in general - that theme of “People don't stop needing you just because you're not there,” of constantly taking up the burden no one else can or will bear, over and over again. So, background practice to a very sad song.

(Image Description: Two digital full-color and shaded images. The first image is of Garen, a Twi’lek woman with light green skin and striped lekku in half-plate armor, her lekku swinging to the left as if blowing in a breeze. We look from behind her as she looks out over a battlefield of sandy-colored ground studded with brown spikes of rock. Gray buildings, walls, and barricades are visible, as are the silhouettes of people firing blasters at each other across the battlefield. Blast craters stud the ground in several places. The sky is dominantly pale orange, with shading as if it’s an overcast sky lit by sunset. Garen herself is also lit as if she was between us and the light source, dominated by rim lighting. The second image removes Garen and just has the background of the first image. End ID.)

[lostinfantasies38]

Tease

Characters: FHawke/Varric Tethras

Rating: M (explicit language, minor sex scenes) [oneshot]

"Hawke?  You feelin’ okay?" Varric looked at his friend and was more than a little unnerved by the anxiety in her eyes as she took in their surroundings.  He and Hawke had been sucked in by a desire demon stalking Darktown. They had only come to this part of town so she could get some more poisons from Tomwise and he needed a face-to-face with one of his Coterie contacts.

Neither of them was wearing their usual armor, which meant that they did not have the extra spirit resistance runes they had obviously begun to rely very heavily on. Even though Varric still had Bianca and Hawke had her father’s staff (and probably six daggers hidden on her person, for extra security) they had not been prepared when the demon pulled them in with her purple tendrils.

"I'm perfectly fine, Varric." Hawke's melodic voice lied.  Even jangled as his nerves were, her voice washed over him and yanked the tangled knot of "I can't deal with this shit, so I'm just going to pretend it's not there" that he had kept under wraps for a good three years.

Varric stared at her, hyperaware of the tight set of her shoulders and the white knuckles on her staff.  Her long black hair that was usually swept in a ponytail when she was working was braided and slung over her shoulder today.  Those piercing blue eyes could freeze a man in his tracks, even without the hard edge in them, at the moment.  And her mouth did not have its characteristic lilt, as though she could be expected to drop a terrible pun any second.  Now it was drawn into a severe line that had alarm bells ringing in his head.  

 The dwarf glanced around, but they didn’t seem to be anywhere that he recognized.  It was just blank, gray wasteland as far as he could see.  “Where are we?”  His voice came out more quietly than he meant it to, giving away some of his own nervousness about their situation.

Hawke’s eyes never stopped scanning the area as she answered.  “We’re in the Fade.”

Varric rolled his eyes, but she didn’t return the sarcasm with her own, like she normally would have.  “I know that.  I mean where in the Fade?  Aren’t there like...realms or something?”  Hawke nodded absentmindedly.

“I can’t be sure where we are exactly.  It was a desire demon, right?”  Her blue eyes caught his honey ones searchingly. 

“Purple?  Nipple shields?  Creepy tail?  Yep, desire demon.”  Hawke snorted and gave him a ghost of a smile and Varric allowed himself to relax just a little.

“Then we must be in her realm.  Though, I am surprised how long it’s taken her to show up.”  Varric cocked Bianca beside her and he could see some of the tension in her shoulders dissipate.

“We should move, Hawke.  Staying in the open like sitting ducks is not a good idea.”  Hawke nodded and together they scouted the gray terrain.  A shape shimmered like a mirage in the distance giving Varric a queasy feeling in his gut, but there was nowhere else to go.  Hawke looked just as unsettled as he felt, however they quickly made their way to the building, in spite of their misgivings.

As they neared the structure, Varric realized it was Hawke’s estate.  Hawke held her staff at the ready and glanced at him for his affirmative nod before she pushed open the door.  Nothing attacked them when they entered the foyer and it looked exactly like the one in Kirkwall.  Hawke’s table with a month’s worth of unread mail, her order sheets for potions and runes, even Dragon was curled up in his usual spot in front of the fire. Everything was normal.

A giggle and running sounded from upstairs.  Varric made for the stairs, but Hawke grabbed his arm and began to frantically drag him back to the door.  “Hawke?” 

He glanced at her in confusion and saw the deep red blush on her face going down her neck and even further.  Her eyes were wide and she was panting in her desperation to escape, but the running gained on them since Varric was slowing them down as he tried to twist his arm from her grasp.  “Mama!  Mama, don’t go!”

Shit. 

A whimper escaped Hawke’s lips right before her hand touched the door handle.  Varric was frozen by the words spoken in a child’s voice behind them and stared at his friend.  He was afraid to turn around and find that her deepest desire was to have half-elven children with Broody.  Isabella told him about the night she and Fenris spent together and how the elf abandoned her afterwards.  The pirate was forced to hog tie him to his stone chair for three hours until he calmed down and stopped raging about going to Hightown to beat him senseless.

Hawke’s entire body was vibrating in terror, but she turned around anyway.  “Mama!  You’re home!  You were gone longer than you said you’d be, but it’s okay.  Uncle Anders has been helping Orana watch us.”

“Bethany.”  Hawke’s voice reminded Varric of a rusted gate scraping open for the first time in decades.  Unable to take the suspense any longer, he turned his head to see this figment of Hawke’s imagination.  The little girl couldn’t have been more than six years old with her mother’s dark, sleek hair and mouth, a button nose, and laughing amber eyes.  There was something off about her, besides the fact that she wasn’t real, but Varric couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

A baby cried upstairs and Hawke dropped her staff to run in the very direction she’d dragged him away from and Varric followed, in case it was a trap.  Who was he kidding?  This whole damn scenario was a trap.  The girl disappeared into smoke when Hawke ran past her and he shivered – now he followed her because he refused to be alone with all the creepy shit.

Hawke paused outside the door that had been her mother’s and Varric placed his hand gently on her arm.  There was so much that was said between them in that touch and with a shaky breath Hawke pushed open the door exposing the cradle in the middle of the room.  He could see the chubby arms waving in the air under the blanket and for reasons he didn’t understand his heart lurched when Hawke reached down and picked up the babe. 

He expected the baby to disappear when she picked it up like the girl did, but it remained solid.  Hawke sank to her knees and cried softly against the child who quieted at its “mother’s” touch.  It was too personal.  It was too deep.  He didn’t do deep, especially with Hawke, and he felt like an intruder.  Varric turned slightly to walk away when the girl reappeared and put her hand on Hawke’s shoulder. 

“Mama, don’t cry.  Garen missed you, but you’re home now and he’s happy again.”

A chill passed down Varric’s back at the boy’s name.  Hawke cried louder and pointedly avoided looking at him.  The girl looked at him for the first time and then the pieces began to fall into place.  Her limbs were too short for a human child, especially one of her age, and her eyes were not the same color brown that Aveline once described Bethany’s as being.  If Anders was her “uncle,” then she didn’t get that color from him.  And Fenris had eyes that were the exact same shade as moss.  That only left one…

“Hello, Papa!”

His knees buckled and he fell on the floor willing his heart into a steady rhythm again so he could breathe, because right now he was sucking in air like a fish out of water.  Both children winked out of existence into the ether and a throaty laugh echoed throughout the house, but it did not reveal itself.  Which was a blessing because neither of them could have even attempted to stand, much less fight off a demon in their current state.

“Hawke,” Varric croaked.  She shook her head and turned away from him.  “Maeve, please,” he whispered.  The mage jumped at the use of her given name, so rarely used, and suddenly he felt guilty about that.  He moved closer to her.  Slowly, slowly, treating her like a scared cat that could lash out or bolt at any second.

“Mages aren’t allowed to get married and have families, Varric.”  He froze halfway across the room as her raw vocal cords produced sounds that weren’t so gut wrenching.  

“That doesn’t stop it from happening.  Look at your parents.”

Hawke spun around and clawed the front of her clothes.  Her eyes were wild – frantic, panicked, and when she spoke again there was an edge to her voice he’d never heard.  “I do look at them.  They were never happy because worrying about the templars kept them living in fear.  So, WE lived in fear.”  Varric winced.  “I was afraid every time I sneezed that I would set the curtains on fire like I did when I was nine.  Bethany and I grew up knowing that even outside of the Circle we could never be normal.  We could never have husbands or children.”  She laughed hollowly.  “All I’ve ever wanted was to be a mother, but I can’t.  Magic is too strong in my family.  I’m bound to have mage children and I can’t ask them to live on the run like I did.”

A knife twisted in his gut.  “Is…is that why the kids are mine?  Because you hope the dwarven blood will dampen the magic?”

Hawke couldn’t make eye contact with him, but a blush was blooming across her skin again.  She wasn’t giving him any other indicators that he could read, whether positive or negative, but it stung all the same. 

The estate winked out and left them sitting in the gray wastes of the Fade again.  Another building shimmered in the distance and without a word or sparing a glance at each other, they shouldered their weapons and moved guardedly towards it.  It wasn’t long before the upside-down sign of The Hanged Man became visible.

“Oh, goody, it’s my turn apparently,” Varric muttered to himself.  He pulled open the door and it spit them directly into his suite instead of the main tavern.  All their friends, including Hawke and Varric, were sitting around his table playing Wicked Grace.  It could have been any of the hundreds of times they’d played over the last three years, but he recognized it immediately and he backed away until he bumped into a bookshelf.  Hawke watched him out of the corner of her eye as the memory unfolded. 

“Oh, I’m terrible at this game.  I’ll never get it right,” Merrill pouted as she lost another round. 

Isabella laughed sweetly.  “Kitten, you’re not good at it because you play with a bunch of cheats.  Here, take this.  Drink with us and hang out, but don’t worry your pretty little head about Wicked Grace.”  The pirate handed her a steamy romance novel and Merrill’s eyes lit up.  

Hawke chuckled.  “When you’re done with it, let me know, Merrill.  Isabella claims that’s the sexiest bodice ripper she’s read in a while.”  Merrill nodded and started reading.  She wasn’t three pages in before her ears were flaming red. 

Varric shook his head and chuckled softly at the crazy women in his group of friends.  He was especially aware of the raven haired mage next to him and the heat that radiated from her.  It took him a long time to realize it was her magical aura.  He leaned over on the pretense of stretching his side and angled his leg closer to her.  Memory Hawke didn’t notice, but Real Hawke did.

Two rounds and four more mugs later, everyone was becoming sloppy drunk, even Varric.  No one really paid the dwarf and their leader any mind as they leaned in close when they talked.  It was common and had become more so after their Deep Roads excursion that was only six months behind them. 

Varric, Hawke, and Anders refused to speak of the two months they spent trapped underground, afraid they would never see daylight again.  All their friends knew was that it had been traumatic and that Varric and Hawke were plotting the myriad ways to kill Bartrand. 

Memory Hawke was speaking to him and casually laid her hand on his, ungloved for once, but she missed the way he shivered involuntarily at the contact.  Merrill called to her down the table, distracting her so he could grab his mug and hide the ragged breath he exhaled before he took a sip.  When she turned back to him, his face was a perfectly schooled mask of friendliness again.

He shuffled the deck for the last round – he could hear Edwina yelling that everyone needed to be out in an hour.  Varric was so flustered by her presence that he missed Isabella’s slight of hand and she fleeced them all that night.  But he didn’t really care either.  Everyone began to pack up, except for Hawke.  She waved them all goodnight and made sure that Isabella would see Merrill home safely.  Anders shut the door behind them and it was just the two of them – alone. 

It was Real Varric’s turn to studiously avoid his friend’s eye.  Shit, fuck, damn it, damn it, shit!  

Memory Hawke looked up from her mug and sighed.  “Varric, I have a question.”

Memory Varric was trying to play it cool, spreading his hands wide magnanimously.  “I might have an answer, depending on the question.” 

Hawke ran her finger along the rim of her mug a little nervously.  “Are you angry with me?”  Varric sputtered and looked at her incredulously.

“Should I be?” 

Hawke fluttered her hands and she bit her lip uncertainly.  “Well, the Deep Roads were…trying.”  Varric snorted into his mug, but didn’t interrupt.  “I was a little…uh…handsy at times.  Mostly with you and I…” She laughed softly.  “I’m sorry, it’s stupid.  I’ve just felt guilty about it, because you…didn’t seem to…shit, this is awkward.  Forget I said anything.”  Hawke stood abruptly, but was stopped when he grabbed her wrist.

“I didn’t what, Maeve?  We’re friends.  If I hurt your feelings or offended you, I want to know, so I don’t do it again.”  He smiled gently and she ran a hand through her long hair as she sat back down.

“You didn’t seem…to reciprocate…my handsy-ness.  I was afraid I crossed a line.”  A hollow laugh passed her lips and she dropped her voice to a whisper.  “I thought I was going to die.  That we were all going to die.  And Maker help me, I didn’t want to die without…”

“A tumble?  A great shag with a handsome dwarf?”  Varric teased to lighten the tension and Hawke gave a real chuckle.  He squeezed her hand and smiled.  “It wasn’t that I wouldn’t have – it’s just...”

“Bianca?”  Varric closed his eyes so she couldn’t tell that he was lying and nodded his head.  A feather light touch brushed his stubbled jaw and he snapped them open again, trying to figure out if the electricity that danced on his skin was her magic or simply her.  Hawke smiled wistfully.  “Well, I can’t fault you for that, Varric.  I just wanted to make sure we were good.  Sometimes you go out of your way to avoid touching me and our fights a little more stilted than they used to be.  I miss us being more…organic.”

Varric smiled.  “I’ll work on it.  I think the Deep Roads rattled me more than I realized, but I’m getting back in the swing of things.” 

“Good.  I’ve missed you.”  This time when she stood, he did not stop her.  With a final goodnight, she slipped out of his suite and the tavern. 

Once the door closed behind her Varric bent over and laid his forehead on the cool stone.  “Forgive me, Maeve.  I’m such a coward.  I should have told you the truth.  I think you replaced Bianca before the Deep Roads and I wanted…I couldn’t…Fuck.  I’m so sorry.”  Real Hawke watched in stunned silence as Memory Varric sat up and wiped traitorous tears off his face before ambling drunkenly to bed. 

Varric shivered when the demon’s laughter echoed throughout his suite, but he still couldn’t look at Hawke.  The silence stretched between them until it threatened to swallow both of them whole.  He finally risked a glance at his friend and saw silent tears rolling down her face and he felt sick.

“I-I couldn’t...I can’t…” Varric paused to take a steadying breath.  “I can’t talk feelings.  Bianca kinda ruined me there.”

Hawke opened her eyes and her striking eyes were brimming with anguish.  “That’s not the problem, for me at least.  This is a memory.  Mine was my deepest, darkest desire that I hid even from myself.  But now I know that I don’t rank highly enough for you for that.  I’m only surprised the demon hasn’t shown me a heartbreaking vision of you and Bianca running off into the sunset.”

Varric grimaced.  He wanted to explain that he loved her, but the words turned to ash on his tongue.  He wanted to tell her that he had too much respect for her and he was too much of a coward to pursue her because he was afraid of losing her, like he lost Bianca.  But even he knew they would sound hollow and she wouldn’t believe them now.  He’d lost his chance.

The laughter was back this time with form.  The demon clapped sarcastically at their expense.  Hawke spat.  “Tease.  You aren’t even a full desire demon.  You only dangle pieces of enticing visions to ensnare.” 

Tease smiled wickedly.  “It worked for you, didn’t it?  And now you’re here,” she waved her hand and the tavern disappeared.  They were back in the graylands.  “You said you wanted to see the dwarf’s deepest desire.  The one he hides even from himself,” she purred while a clawed hand lifted his chin.  He moved to punch her in the fucking mouth, but he was frozen.  She was speaking only to Hawke, because she was the mage and Tease wanted to own her.

Hawke spared him a quick glance, but then she turned her full attention to Tease.  “What is your price?”

“Let me merge with you, mage.  We can be Hawke together and we can bring so much...pleasure to so many.  Think of it as giving back to the community.”  The demon laughed and Varric felt his length harden.  Tease noticed and swung her hips at him.  “See, Hawke?  How easy it can be...and how delicious?”

“Show me first.  I want to guarantee you won’t go back on your word.” 

Tease flicked her tail and then shrugged.  “Have it your way, my pet.”  The demon waved her hand building substance over them again and disappeared with a seductive chuckle.

Hawke was surprised to see they were back in her estate.  Her bedroom, no less.  Varric was sitting at her desk, but it was full of his Guild documents and ledgers.  Even his father’s signet ring was sitting beside the red wax for sealing letters.

 She glanced at Varric, who was unfrozen, but had his head buried in hands.  Without even looking he knew what he would see.  His fantasy of Hawke and himself in her mansion, living in the open as lovers.  His deepest desire.

Turning back, she watched another version of herself walk into her room and was momentarily thrown off by the oddness of it, before she refocused her attention.  She was wearing finery, but they weren’t her usual maroon, they were dark green and black.  House Tethras colors, she realized.  Hawke paused in the bedroom and smiled softly at the man working hard to keep the family business running.  She moved up behind him and slid her arms around his chest.  Varric sighed happily and put down his quill to run his hands over hers.

“Long day,” Hawke asked.  Varric nodded into her cleavage and then nuzzled them appreciatively.  Hawke leaned over and kissed him, slow and languid, as though they had been lovers for years and knew just how the other liked it.  Still leaning over him, her fingers gently moved down his chest and began to unclasp his duster.  “Let me make you more comfortable,” she breathed in his ear and Varric moaned.

He snaked his hands around her waist, amazed by how small she was all these years later, and let one hand trail up her back along her spine to gently knead out the day’s tension from her back.  Hawke sighed contentedly at his touch and stood up to help pull his duster over his head.  Varric hopped off the chair, clad only in his breeches, and scooped Hawke up in a practiced move and carried her to bed.

The bed was different.  It wasn’t dwarven, but it was lower to the ground than a regular bed, so he didn’t have to scramble in and out all the time.  He laid her gently on the plush mattress, slowly pulling the tie on her robe, and breathed her name.  “Maeve.”

“ENOUGH!”  Hawke waved her hand and the vision disappeared.  Varric was staring at the ground, but she needed to know.  Within a couple of steps, she towered over him and lifted his chin.  “Tell me…is it true or is it a lie?”  He raised his honey eyes to hers – the ones that she always imagined their children would have, because she loved them so much.  His face looked pained, regret perhaps?  His eyes, though, they were full of hope…of want…of desire.

Hawke stepped back with a gasp and clutched her heart.  “Why,” she rasped.  “Why didn’t you tell me?  Maker, Varric…do you – do you know how long I’ve loved you?”  Tears were pouring from her and her lovely mouth was screwed into an unnatural shape by the force of her sobs.

“Probably as long as I’ve loved you, Maeve,” he whispered.  It was a relief to say the words aloud, but the admission was too late, he could see.  All the woman in front of him currently felt was betrayal.  “I’m so sorry.”

Hawke’s eyes jerked up to meet his.  “I just sold my soul to find out what you should have told me years ago.”  She flung her arm behind her.  “We could have had that!  For the last three years, that could have been us and Maker’s breath, I would have been so fucking happy!”

“You don’t have to do this, Mae – Hawke.”  Varric swallowed hard at the way her eyes flashed when he tried to use her given name.

“Yes, I do, Varric.  This is not a normal part of the Fade.  We’ve been enthralled and our bodies are dying on the outside.  If I don’t do this, we don’t wake up and…you die.  No matter how hurt I am right now I could never, ever wish you dead.”

Laughter echoed all around them and Tease materialized between them.  “Such a smart mage, you are.  We shall make a fabulous team, my pet.  Now, say goodbye to your dwarven friend.  Once we merge, I promise that your love for him will end and there will be no more pain.  We can find more lovers.”

Hawke stood firm before the demon and she raised herself to her full height.  “The spell holding him is released prior to my possession or we don’t have a deal.  If you fight me, you lose your host, so be smart about this.”    

“Hawke, no!” 

Tease waved her hand and he was frozen and silenced.  Varric jerked against the invisible bindings and screamed even though there was no sound.  Tease ran a clawed finger across Hawke’s beautiful face.  Azure eyes met honey while the demon smiled and licked her lips.  “Done.”  Tease snapped her fingers.

Varric woke with a start, rolling off the cot in Anders’ clinic and violently vomiting everything in his stomach until there was nothing left, except bile.  Anders rushed over and cast a few diagnostic spells and sent him some healing for the nausea.  Spotting Hawke on the cot next to him, Varric dashed over and shook her shoulders.  “Wake up, Maeve!  For fuck’s sake, wake up!” 

Anders and Fenris were both required to restrain him while they peppered him with questions.  He couldn’t answer any of them, it would have taken too much time so he looked at Anders and said, “Tease has her.”

Justice flared blue and white hot, bringing with him the smell of ozone, as the spirit raged at the knowledge that one of their own was held hostage by a demon.  “If she had been possessed, she would be awake by now.  Maybe she has tricked this demon and fights it in the Fade?”

Varric raked his hands through his hair and screamed obscenities to the Maker and Andraste and the damned Ancestors, for good measure.  That’s exactly what she did!  That’s why she wanted him to wake up first.  That’s what the final look was for – she was fucking sacrificing herself for his stupid, sorry, good-for-nothing dwarven ass.

“There is nothing we can do,” rumbled Fenris. 

Justice shook his head.  “Not on this side.  We don’t even know where she might be in the Fade, but if she bests the demon she will wake because the spell she is trapped under will break.  But if she loses, she will wake possessed.”

“What if…” Fenris paused.  “What if she dies in the fight?”  Justice spared a sad look for the mage and did not answer – which was answer enough. 

Varric had run out of curses and energy.  He sank to the filthy floor without a care and stared at her laid out as if sleeping on the cot, instead of fighting a demon for him in the Fade.  Tears ran down his cheeks of their own accord and for once, he didn’t even hide them.  He deserved the shame, the ridicule, the guilt.  He couldn’t rid his mind of the heartbroken expression on her face when she realized that he loved her that deeply and never told her.  That he probably never would have because he was a coward.  He was too worried about himself to think how his reticence would hurt her until it was too late.  Now, she was doing the most noble (stupid) thing one could do for another – die for them.  Her devotion to him far outstripped his own.

That wasn’t actually true.  Varric thought back to the Deep Roads and the night the darkspawn attacked their camp.  Blondie had given them a heads up so they were prepared for the assault.  They just weren’t prepared for the sheer number of them.  Halfway through she and Anders were about tapped on mana and there were no more lyrium potions.  He was out of bolts, but he snagged a recurve bow and all the quivers with arrows still in them, so he was okay.  He just had to be careful to not get surrounded.

Varric saw a Hurlock alpha with its horned helmet heading for Hawke from behind and he tried to aim at the knee, but the darkspawn was faster than he was.  Realizing he’d never get a shot off before he reached her, Varric rained arrows on the field to slow him down and then ran to her.  He shoved her out of the way and took the hit with the shield that had been meant for her.  It threw him across the battlefield and he would have died had Justice not erupted out of Anders in that moment and given the mage the mana he needed to cushion his landing.  Instead of smashing his brains across the Deep Roads, Varric only ended up with a headache.  And now that he thought back to it, the noise in the background that he always assumed were darkspawn was the sound of Hawke screaming his name hysterically while he flew.

On shaky legs, Varric stood and walked over to Hawke.  He took her hand gently and ran his thumb over her knuckles and pressed his lips on the back of her hand.  He noticed that Fenris and Anders had slipped out some time ago, but at this point, he wouldn’t have stopped even if they were still there.  He had wasted enough time with Hawke and was not going to miss any damn more.

“Please, Maeve.  I was an idiot.  A Maker-damned ass and I know I screwed up royally, but please...please don’t leave me.  I-I don’t know what to do with myself when you aren’t around.”  Varric chuckled softly.  “I love your laugh, your smile, the way you light up an entire room as soon as you walk in.  I love your fucking terrible jokes, even though I pretend to hate them.  You have been the one constant in my life for the last three years.  I know I can count on you through thick and thin.  Damnit, Maeve – I love you so damn much.  If you wake up, I swear I will spend the rest of my life making up to you the time we lost.  Just open your beautiful eyes.  Please, please, please.” 

Varric laid his forehead tenderly on her abdomen and prayed harder than he had ever prayed in his life.  His mother was probably rolling over in her tomb with the knowledge that her son was Andrastrian, but he never did care for dwarf shit anyway.

He had no idea how long he stayed that way, but he woke up in that position and moaned happily as fingers massaged his scalp and toyed with his hair.  Wait, what?  Varric jerked upright and saw her brilliant eyes staring down at him, her lips pulled up into a warm smile.

“Maeve,” he breathed and she laughed softly to keep from waking the other patients.  “Is it really you?  No…passengers?”

Hawke smiled wider.  “No passengers, I promise, but I do have a friend in the Templars who could double check.  For everyone’s peace of mind.”

Varric kissed her hand.  “I’ll go get Keeran.” 

Hawke chuckled again.  “You don’t have to worry about demon possession with me, but I could swear you just read my mind, Varric.” 

“I’ll have him check me, too, smartass.”  Varric gave her a shaky smile and turned to leave, but she caught his hand.  They stared at each other for a moment, at a loss for words, until Varric very slowly leaned down holding her stare as he went, in case she changed her mind.  Their lips met for the first time that wasn’t a fantasy and Varric closed his eyes so he could focus on just her.  Hawke.  Maeve.   

So much was said in that first sweet kiss and more was said later that night after Keeran declared them both free of demons and Varric lead Maeve home through the cellars.  The story of Hawke’s elven lover was an invention created to throw off the Seekers and the Chantry, but they came for him anyway, since he was the author of the book.  He was recruited into the Inquisition and was present during the battle at Adamant, but no one realized it was Hawke’s lover who paced restlessly outside the rift. 

Their second time in the Fade together was even more terrifying than the first and he was praying again that she would follow him out.  Varric could see movement behind the tear in the Veil, but it wasn’t until the Inquisitor stepped through that he could see Hawke.  Varric shoved through the gathering crowd and fell in front of her.  She gave him a weak smile, while he in return, kissed her soundly in front of everyone and didn’t stop until he heard the cheers and shouts behind them.  Hawke grinned, blue eyes flashing mischievously, and Varric chuckled. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered and kissed her through her laughter and the sounds of approval from the crowd.  He promised her that first night that he would never tease her again.  And he aimed to keep it.

[broomballkraken]

Title: Never Really Over, Chapter 1: Never Forget You

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Pairing: Sylvain/Lorenz

Word count: 2570

Warnings: None

Summary: Count Gloucester vehemently opposes Lorenz’s relationship with Sylvain, going so far as to threaten to disown his own son, and that causes Sylvain to make a heartbreaking decision in response. When a year passes and Lorenz receives devastating news, he will have to decide for himself if going along with his father’s wishes is worth losing his one true love forever.

“Sylvain, please button up your shirt. Did you forget that I am introducing you to my father today? You must look presentable.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties in a bunch, babe.”

Sylvain snorted to suppress his laughter as an absolutely sour look crossed Lorenz’s face. They had just arrived at the Gloucester estate, after saying goodbye to all of their friends at Garrag Mach and making the journey through the Alliance. With the war over, Lorenz had much to speak to his father about, but the first thing he wanted to do was to introduce him to Sylvain, his new fiance.

“Here, allow me.” Lorenz said, stepping closer to Sylvain to button his shirt, while Sylvain combed his hands through his wild orange hair to try and tame it.

“Thanks, babe. That’s sweet of you.” Sylvain purred, stealing a kiss from Lorenz’s lips before he could pull away, causing the latter’s face to flush. Lorenz couldn’t help but smile, though, eyes sparkling with adoration as he gently took Sylvain’s hands in his.

“You, my darling, are the sweetest of them all.” Lorenz said, and it was Sylvain’s turn to blush madly. Lorenz’s fingers roamed over Sylvain’s hands, stopping when they brushed over the golden engagement ring on his left ring finger. “I am excited to be introducing you to my father as my fiance. He can be rather...difficult at times, but I am sure that he will approve of us being together. You are an exceptional, noble man who is hard not to love.” Sylvain barked out a laugh.

“Really? You used to hate my guts, remember?”

“...I was young and foolish back then.”

“Yeah you were. You could have missed out on a catch like me if you didn’t come to your senses!”

“...You are insufferable.”

Sylvain laughed again when Lorenz pushed him up against the vanity and kissed him roughly, hands moving to grasp at his waist and tangle in his hair. Sylvain groaned and clung to Lorenz’s back, his tongue eagerly pushing passed Lorenz’s teeth to mingle with his own.

“H-Hey,” Sylvain breathed when Lorenz finally pulled away to trail kisses along his jawline and neck, “You’re messing up my hair.”

“Mmmm,” Lorenz hummed against Sylvain’s skin, causing the latter to shiver, “Your hair was already a mess, my dear. It truly is a wonder that anyone takes you seriously as the heir to House Gautier.”

“Well, you’re the one marrying me. I’m surprised that you’d risk your reputation like that.” Sylvain teased, winking when Lorenz chuckled and lifted his head so that he was looking him in the eye.

“It is well worth the risk, Sylvain. I certainly will never find a man or woman that I adore more than you.” Lorenz said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he caressed Sylvain’s cheek with the back of his hand.

“Aw, Lorenz, you’re embarrassing me…” Sylvain said, smiling as he rest his forehead against his lover’s.

“I cannot help it, darling. You look so endearing with a blush on your cheeks, and that sheepish smile never fails to send my heart a flutter.”

“Heh, I can think of something else that’ll send your heart a flutter…”

“Oh? Please do enlighten me, love.”

“With pleasure.”

Lorenz’s eyes slid shut as he waited for Sylvain’s lips to meet his again, but they were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Lorenz pursed his lips in annoyance as he turned to look at the door.

“Come in.” he said, and a timid-looking maid opened the door, quickly bowing as her eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

“Count Gloucester has returned from his outing, s-sir. He is waiting for you in his study.” she said quickly. Lorenz straightened up immediately and nodded.

“Ah, good. Thank you. We will be with him shortly then. You are dismissed.” As soon as the words left his mouth, the maid bolted from the room. Sylvain snickered while Lorenz sighed and shook his head.

“My father is far too hard on his staff here. They are all scared half to death of him, and of me.” Lorenz mumbled. Sylvain smiled softly and took his hand, entwining their fingers together as he placed a quick kiss on Lorenz’s cheek.

“It’s alright, babe. I know you’re a big softy on the inside.” Sylvain said, laughing when Lorenz’s face scrunched up, “You’re father sounds pretty scary though. I may not survive my first encounter with him.”

“Please, Sylvain. You make it sound like he is a monster or something.” Lorenz said, rolling his eyes, “He may be intimidating, but he is reasonable...most of the time.”

“Alright, I’ll take your word for it.” Sylvain said, and the two men left the room and made their way to Count Gloucester’s office. They stopped outside the door as Lorenz finished fussing with Sylvain’s clothes and hair. Sylvain rolled his eyes as Lorenz cleared his throat and knocked on the door.

“Father? It's Lorenz.”

“...Enter.”

Lorenz shared a glance with Sylvain, who shot him a wink that made a small smile cross his face. He opened the door and they both stepped inside.

“Ah, Lorenz, welcome back.” Count Gloucester said, not looking up from his paperwork. Lorenz had been away fighting in the war for quite a while, but his father had not changed a bit. Garen Laurentius Gloucester was a proud man, completely dedicated to his role as Count. It was something that Lorenz admired, even though they rarely saw eye-to-eye on how to rule the County of Gloucester.

“Thank you, father. I am glad to see that you are doing well.” Lorenz said, taking a slight bow in respect. Garen still hadn’t looked up from his writing, and Lorenz frowned. His disinterest was really nothing new, but it never failed to make Lorenz feel slightly deflated. Sylvain was quiet at his side as he took Lorenz’s hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

“Yes, yes. Unfortunately, the end of this blasted war has only increased my workload. Already the lesser noble houses are fighting over the rights to the territory near the Great Bridge of Myrddin…” Garen mumbled, sighing deeply as he set his quill down and finally lifted his gaze to meet Lorenz’s. Lorenz straightened his posture, an uncomfortable feeling prickling up his spine as his father eyed him with a judgmental look. Garen’s head turned as his attention went to Sylvain, and his eyes narrowed.

“I see you have brought a guest with you.” Garen said, his eyes flicking to where Lorenz and Sylvain’s hands were joined, and a deep frown appeared on his face.

“Ah, yes.” Lorenz said, smiling as he took Sylvain’s arm and pulled him forward. “This is Sylvain Gautier, the heir of House Gautier of the former Kingdom.” Sylvain bowed his head politely.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir. I-”

“I know who the Gautier family is. What is he doing here?” Garen interrupted, completely ignoring Sylvain, whose eyes narrowed at the rude behavior. Lorenz glanced back and forth between them, and he hesitated when he saw the familiar look of anger on his father’s face.

“Um, well,” Lorenz said, clearing his throat to try and chase the unease that was building deep within his gut, “we are-ahem-that is, I have come to announce our engagement, father. With your blessing I would like to-”

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“I...I beg your pardon?” Lorenz asked, blinking in confusion. He flinched when Garen slammed his hands on his desk as he shot out of his chair, the furious look on his face shocking Lorenz into silence and making his eyes go wide. Sylvain took a step backwards, his hand quickly falling from Lorenz’s.

“As heir to House Gloucester, you have an obligation to find a noble woman to marry, Lorenz, so that you can produce a suitable heir! I don’t know how you ended up with a man, and a Kingdom man at that!”

“But father, the Kingdom no longer-”

“No! I will not allow this!” Garen yelled, slamming his hands on the desk again. Lorenz paled as a lump formed in his throat. Why...why was this happening? He felt like he was having a horrible nightmare that he could not wake up from.

“Father, please...I love Sylvain, and he loves me too-”

“Love? Love has nothing to do with your obligations and responsibilities as heir to House Gloucester!” Garen sneered, “If you neglect to properly perform your duties, I will be forced to take...drastic actions.”

“B-But…”

“Be a good son and find a noble woman to marry,” Garen said, condensation dripping from his voice like venom, “or I will be forced to strip you of your entire inheritance, and disown you from House Gloucester for good.” Lorenz recoiled backwards, as if he had been physically struck, and what little color remained drained from his face. He barely heard the sound of the door slamming behind him over the roaring of his heartbeat in his ears.

“F-Father...You cannot possibly be serious…”

“I am always serious, Lorenz. You should know that by now.” Garen said, huffing as he sat back down in his chair. He picked up his quill and pressed it to a piece of paper, his eyes drifting back up to Lorenz. “Your...friend seems to have seen himself out. Do be sure to send him on his way as quickly as possible.” The icy tone of his father’s voice sent shivers down Lorenz’s spine, and his eyes widened when he finally realized that Sylvain was no longer in the room with them.

“Oh no...Sylvain!” Lorenz exclaimed, gasping as he turned on his heel and ran out of the room. He sprinted down the hallway, narrowly avoiding barreling over a few servants, and he threw open the door to his room. A quick look around told him that Sylvain had been here, as his belongings and travel bag were no longer intermingled with his own. Lorenz cursed under his breath and ran back out of the room, his destination being the stables.

‘No no no, this is not happening!’ Lorenz thought, his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to keep himself from descending into a full-on panicked state. He made it to the stables just as the sky opened up and it started raining steadily. Lorenz paused when he was inside to catch his breath, and he looked up to find Sylvain about to mount his horse.

“Sylvain!” Lorenz said, rushing over to his lover and grabbing his arm. “What...Where are you going?”

“I’m going home. Back to Gautier territory.” Sylvain said, his tone unreadable as he stared intently at his horse. Lorenz’s heart felt like it had turned to lead and dropped into his stomach.

“I-I don’t understand-”

“It’s over, Lorenz!” Sylvain yelled, yanking his arm from Lorenz’s grasp as he turned on him, his normally beautiful brown eyes marred by anger and hurt. “I’m leaving you.” Lorenz stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief, his brain unable...no, unwilling to process what was happening right now.

“But-But...I love you, I want to be with you. I...surely I can convince my father to-”

“It won’t happen.” Sylvain interrupted, scoffing as he turned around and mounted his horse. “I can already tell that your father is set in his ways and won’t change. And I won’t let him just cast you out like that.”

“Sylvain, just listen to me-”

“I know how important your nobility is to you, and I know how important I am to you. It’s an impossible choice to make, so I’m making it for you.” Sylvain said, bidding his horse to move so that his back was to Lorenz, “It was stupid to think that we could ever live a happy life together...that we could ever make us work.” The whispered words hit Lorenz like taking multiple gauntlet punches to the gut, and his eyes welled up with tears as he reached out a shaking hand towards Sylvain.

“Please, Sylvain,” Lorenz choked out, tears streaming down his face as he prayed that this final, desperate plea would not fall on deaf ears, “Please...I...I love you so much...d-do not leave me.”

“Lorenz…” Sylvain’s voice cracked as he tightened his grip on the reins. He glanced over his shoulder, a small smile on his face that did not reach his watery eyes, “T-Thank you...for always loving me for me, and not just because I have a crest. I’ll...I’ll never forget you.” He didn’t wait for Lorenz to respond as he bid his horse to move, galloping out of the stables and into the pouring rain.

“Sylvain, wait!” Lorenz screamed as he sprinted after out after him. The rain had gotten even worse, stinging as it pelted his face with help from the whipping winds. He knew it was a vain effort to try and keep up with a horse on foot, so Lorenz could only watched helplessly as Sylvain got farther and farther away before disappearing into the distance.

“No!” Lorenz let out an anguished wail, and his foot slipped in the mud and sent him face-first into the ground. Lorenz pushed himself to his knees with trembling arms, his eyes unable to focus as he stared blankly at the ground. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Why was this happening? Sylvain...the man that he loved most in the world…he had actually left, and left for good.

Unable to contain his feelings of sorrow, Lorenz started screaming at the ground, the sound barely audible over the howling winds and torrential downpour. Hands clenching into fists in the mud, Lorenz’s fingers scraped roughly against rocks and other debris. He felt no pain from his mangled nails, however. The gross reality of losing the one he loved the most overpowered the pain and all of his other senses as he continued screaming against the storm surrounding him.

Lorenz did not know how long he sat there, stuck in the mud by the crushing weight of his anguish, but he eventually cried himself out and forced himself to his feet. He was left soaked to the bone and his hair clung messily to his face, and his legs were stiff and shaky as he struggled to stay standing. His throat had gone raw and his breathing hoarse, while his aching eyes were sore and puffy. A trembling hand went to clutch at his chest, right over his heart. His heart...his completely and utterly shattered heart.

Another choked sob escaped from Lorenz as he stumbled back to the house and immediately went to his room, ignoring the inquiries from the concerned maids in his trance-like state. Locking his door behind him, he collapsed onto his bed, not having the strength or will to clean himself up beforehand.

Turning onto his back, Lorenz grabbed one of his pillows and pressed it against his face, screaming into it as another fit of devastating misery coursed through him. He prayed that he would wake up and this would have just been a horrible nightmare, but deep down, he knew this was indeed his nightmarish reality. As exhaustion finally took hold and forced Lorenz to sleep, his final thoughts were of the indisputable fact that his chance at living a happy life filled with love was over, and nothing, absolutely nothing, would ever change that.

[mlek13]

Summer, Year 6: University

My University lot has a lot of hangers on, so I decided it was time to move some of them out.  Jonathan Durden graduated several semesters ago, but hasn’t left since he had nowhere to go.  He doesn’t seem interested in any of the newer single college students, so I decided it’s time for him to move elsewhere.  If he doesn’t end up marrying Chloe Fancey (who he was previously engaged to) he might end up as an extra sharing an apartment with Benjamin Farmer, Patrick Peasant, and anyone else that I don’t have a place for yet. (Also, I really should have fixed his botched makeover before I had him move out.)

I didn’t take a picture of them this round, but I also decided to move Kamala Langerak, Tarquin King, and their son Rama out of the university lot, even though Kamala and Tarquin haven’t graduated yet.  They’re subhood sims, so I really only moved them into the university lot as potential romantic prospects and they have only had eyes for each other.  They’ll continue their family (somewhere) in the subhood.

Owen Mace started university at the beginning of this season.  His mother is a subhood sim, but his father, Nolan Durden, was from the main kingdom.  It will be nice to have him back in the fold.

(Moving Kamala and Tarquin out glitched up my game and I had to add Owen to the family twice.  I don’t think he aged up properly the second time because he still looks like a teen despite being a young adult.)

Studying hard there?  “Hey, we’re building body points!”

Willa Royal, daughter of Princess Petunia and Thaddeus Durden becomes a toddler.

Lucretia Durden joins the university household on the second day of the season.

She can’t wait for Prince Elton to officially move in.  He gets an early preview of campus life.

The Durden twins finish their last final exams

and are ready to celebrate graduation.

They already have plans for the future.

Garen asks Pasiphae to marry him.  She happily agrees.  It’s a step down for him in social standing, but I think he’ll enjoy helping her run the tavern.

Thaddeus, Petunia, and Willa move onto their own lot to start their lives together.

New students are moving in as quickly as the graduates move out.

Eli Cade, Prince Elton, and Sophie Burgos start university on the last day of summer.

Brett stops by to visit Sheridan.

I really wonder if he’s going to end up leaving Clarissa for her or not.

Sabrina Burgos goes into labor.  The baby’s father, Evan Cade, is right there with her to witness the event along with several other gawkers.  (He doesn’t look very helpful though.)

It’s a baby girl named Isabelle.

According to Sophie, rumor has it that someone else in the house is pregnant . . . wouldn’t know anything about that would you, Elton?

(I take pictures from the back to avoid showing too much, then struggle to recognize my sims.)  It looks like Princess Sheridan has more options than just Brett Burgos.  She and Owen get very cozy together.

Evan and Eli may be cousins, but they don’t see eye to eye.

Most of my university sims are paired up pretty nicely.  There’s Evan and Sabrina, Lucinda and Elton, (maybe) Sheridan and Owen. Sophie is still single, as is Eli.  The crystal ball tells me Eli is a good match with Princess Dahlia.  She’s a bit old for him, but it’s a possibility.

[dat-assize]

LFRP -- Liliana Stone (Mateus)

.:The Basics:.

Age: 30, but she appears in her younger 20's. Birthday: 10th Sun, First Umbral Moon (February 9th) Race: Midlander Hyur Gender: Female Sexuality: Heterosexual Marital Status: Married

.:Physical Appearance:.

Hair: Naturally white and recently cut much shorter, she also often dyes blue lowlights into her hair to give it more depth. Eyes: Lilac purple Build: On the overweight side, hourglass-shaped. Distinguishing Marks: A beauty mark under her lip on the right side. while wearing certain seasonal clothing, people can see large, healing scars across her right shoulder and left hip. She also has faint, white, henna-like markings across her body from the collarbone down, very difficult to see normally. Common Accessories: She's never seen without her wedding ring displayed on the appropriate finger. She also has a small first aid kit and light gilpurse on her person, and a book always strapped to her somehow. She's often followed by one of many variants of Carbuncle, but it's mostly Topaz.

.:Personal:.

Profession: Doctor, Co-Commander of Fireborn, Allagan researcher (and budding technician!) Hobbies: Reading and/or studying, Gardening. She's also been found to feed the stray animals around the housing district. Languages: Common, Hingan (up to a base conversational level, but it’s still choppy at best). Since she has the Echo, it tends to translate for her, but she's trying her best to learn without it. Also, as she's spent the better part of her life around it, she can now pick up on Allagan text pretty easily. Residence: Formerly Ul'dah, currently seeking a new home with her free company. Birthplace: Sharlayan Religion: Lily is nearer to atheist than agnostic, but she will invoke Thaliak or Althyk out of reflex. Patron Deity: Althyk Fears: Failure, being forgotten, the ocean, the past catching up to her

.:Relationships:.

Spouse: Garen Stone ( @whiteheartedwarrior ) Children: Roysia Ashe-Stone Parents: Gendo Shidan (Father - Whereabouts unknown, presumed dead), Sugimi Sashihai (Mother - Deceased) Siblings: None of blood, but she considers many of the Fireborn her family. Other Relatives: Presumably she has family alive in Doma or Hingashi, but she hasn't made an effort to search for them. Pets: Her various Carbuncles, a Korpokkur named Koko and an unnamed Morbol Seedling that hides from Garen in the gardens. She has more, but these are the ones of greater note.

.:Traits:.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted Disorganized / In Between / Organized Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded Calm / In Between / Anxious Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable Cautious / In Between / Reckless Patient / In Between /  Impatient Outspoken / In Between / Reserved Leader / In Between / Follower Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic Optimistic / Realist / Pessimistic Traditional / In Between / Modern Hard-working / In Between / Lazy Cultured / In Between / Uncultured Loyal / In Between / Disloyal Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

.:Additional Information:.

Smoking: She tried Garen's pipe once but didn't like it. She does enjoy the smell of the smoke, though. Drinking: Rarely. Before Roysia, she used to drink a lot more, but after childbirth it's become a thing to do on special occasions only. Drugs: Nothing recreational, but she does experiment on herself with her own developed medicinal drugs.

.:RP Hooks:.

-- In need of a doctor? Lily's pretty well known in Ul'dah, and perhaps word slowly spread of her move to Gridania! She favors mundane and holistic remedies, but will turn to magic if the situation is an emergency. She specializes in treating stubborn mercenaries and children.

-- Sharlayan? Maybe they grew up together! Rivals? Friends? Just fellow students? Perhaps you were one of her mentors! She needs more Sharlayan friends and foes alike.

-- Till the sea swallows all! Lily is a First Lieutenant in the Maelstrom, though she's mostly a pencil-pusher. That's not to say she doesn't have merit, of course. She serves mostly as a wartime strategist and paperwork monkey for her higher-ups.

-- Come to me with anything else you might be able to think of!

.:OOC Details:.

-- I do not ERP on Lily, or any of my alts. That's just my personal preference. Romance RP (with the exception of Lily, of course) is not out of the question, though.

-- I work, a lot. Like 50 hours a week a lot. As such, I don't have as much energy to devote to constant replies anymore. If you feel like I'm ignoring you for any severe length of time...chances are I forgot, in my stupor! Don't be shy about poking me and seeing what's up.

-- Discord is definitely the easiest way to RP with me, though I will RP over Tumblr and in-game as well. My replies in-game will more than likely not be as lengthy as Tumblr's or Discord's, though. Message me if you would like my Discord.

-- I play on Central Time and am a night owl, for the most part!

-- I also heavily enjoy the content factor of XIV, and also play different games. As such, I may disappear/be unavailable for replies for periods of time. I'll let you know ahead of time when I'm going to be scarce, and will try to keep up with replies still the best I can!

[tygrmule]

The Thunder’s Roar - Volibear Top

This article considers Volibear in the Top lane.

In my quest for a new champion pool, I find that picking just one champion has been hard. I like different champions for different reasons. Tanks, Fighters, Assassins, Divers, Protectors, etc.

While going through my search, I recalled the days of playing 'olde Warwick' and how, when I decided to main him top lane for a bit after I had played  Rengar top, that playing old Warwick with simple to no mechanics made me learn more about the game. As such, it made me determined to find a simple champ that I could play to help me continue to learn about the game while playing in lower elos.

As I looked for that more mechanically simple champion, I came across Garen, Pantheon, Wukong, Shyvana and Volibear, amongst a number of others.

Enter Volibear, The Thunder’s Roar.

I admit, At first, I wasn't too familiar with Volibear. He would come on my radar from time to time when playing vs him in Bots games and getting surprised by his Bite (W) execute. It would often catch me off guard. Other than that, he didn't seem interesting enough to play.

That said, recently, I decided to try him out and see how he would fit into the game and how he would match my play style.

So join me as I have a closer look at Volibear.

Volibear is a mechanically simple champ. No skill shots involved. Just a point an click Q and W execute, some area effect with his E. Playing him leavs room to focus on decision making. He is a melee champion. In terms of delivering damage Volibear relies on his auto attacking primarily, with his abilities providing some secondary source of damage.

Let's look at his abilities. His passive allows him to heal up after having his health reduced down to a certain level. His Q is a movement buff and an empowered attack. The movement buff is furthered increased in movement speed if you are running at an enemy champ. If your Q autos an enemy, it flips the enemy behind Volibear. His W buffs his auto attack speeds. In addition, after 3 auto attacks it unlocks the ability to 'Bite' which is an empowered attack. This ability scales with Volibears bonus health and can execute a low health target as it's damage also scales with how low the intended target is. His E is a form of CC that has different effects depending on if it impacts enemy champions or minions. For enemy champions, it acts as a minor knock back and delivers some damage. If the enemy champion is diving towards Volibear (which I will refer to as diving in) they suffer more damage. For minions, his E acts as a fear which forces the minions to stop auto attacking and forces them away. His R is an empowered auto attack that has a chain effect causing magic damage to up to 8 enemy champions and minions.

His role? Based on my analysis, I feel that Volibear can serve as a classical peel tank. His E could be used to prevent dives and interrupt channels, his Q could be used to peel an attacker that dove in on a champion you want to protect. His passive allows Volibear to absorb more damage.

Volibear could be used as an initiator. He could run towards an enemy and flip he/she back. IF, his team can follow up and attack that enemy with sufficient enough damage, the enemy will likely be out of the fight. This type of play needs more thought and some coordination with your team. They need to be able to follow you and, the moment you flip an enemy behind you, to start damaging that champion so that he or she are killed or severly damaged and need to exit the fight. If Volibear is left with enough health or HP of his own, he should be able to rejoin your team and create a 5 vs 4 situation so that you can use that advantage in numbers to get an objection from the enemy team, like a tower or a dragon.

Items to build on him. In league of legends, you can build any item on a champion. Nothing prevents you from doing so other than needing Smite as one of your summoner spells in order to purchase jungle specific items. That said, for each champion, there will be some ideal ways to build the champion. Remember, you earn gold over time and by last hitting minions. So it's best to use that gold as efficiently as possible. Defensive items. When in lane, you will likely be taking some damage from your lane opponent and the others champs that try to gangk you in line (e.g. the Jungler, Mid laner, support). Based on how the lane is going, purchase defensive items that helps you absorb the damage much better. Some suggestions. Sunfire Cape, because he tends to stand in the middle of fights a lot, building this item gives Volibear an additional damage source to enemies standing near Volibear, and the health add more value to Volibear's W scaling and his passive. Additionally, in lane it will help Volibear push waves or clear waves more easily. If against AP damage, Spirit Visage. Not only does this item help with providing you more Magic Resistance, Health and some cooldown reduction, it helps you recover health more quickly when out of combat or when you passive health regen activates. Keep in mind, in League of Legends, it's always best to build per the situation. If you are facing a top laner that deals physical damage, build health and armour. If you are facing a top laner that deals magical damage, build health and magic resist. In the laning phase I find that playing defensively and focusing on safely farming cs is very important to my strategy with Volibear as the ideal state for Volibear in the mid to late game is for Volibear to be tanky enough to absorb damage, for him to be able to enter a team fight and fight with the enemy team, to zone out a threat, to disengage a diver, to be able to initiate a fight. Lastly, Volibear's passive and his W's Bite damage scale well with health. Use that knowledge to your advantage when choosing what to build on Volibear during the laning phase.

Even though Volibear has his Q that allows him to rush at an enemy, I find that he can be poked out or kited. Watch out for this in lane and when grouping for a team fight. This is where surviving the early game and building items to be able to better avoid and absorb the poke is better as Volibear needs to get within melee range to do damage so he needs to be able to take punishment while playing his role.

Tips Laning phase, I find it's best to play safe. Stay in lane to absorb experience (xp), try to get as many last hits on the minions (cs) while being safe and paying appropriate respect to your lane opponent. Don't die. It's better to miss some cs and just absorb the experience than to try to get all the cs, get damaged while doing so as you put yourself in a bad position when trying to get that cs, and to be stuck under tower or to be dove or gangk and then to lose the laning phase of the game. For Volibear, you want to develop the skill to survive the lane as well as you can, and to use that skill of staying decent in lane to maintain the same levels as your lane opponent, to use the cs gained to buy defensive items to help you stay competitive in lane and to be able to impact the mid to late game where you can join your team to fight and to secure objectives and push side lanes.

Mid to late game, remember to use your tankiness to your teams advantage. If I and or my team had a poor laning phase, it may mean I am weaker than the poke I will receive from the enemy team. Therefore I take on a peel role, trying to avoid being poked, trying to keep my health regen passive up, trying to prevent dives with my E, using my W and R for straight on brawls, for using your Q to peel any person diving your team's carries or to grab their damage dealer and toss them into the team. If I had a decent laning phase and my team can do some decent damage to a target, I could look to initiate more often, trying to position myself so that I can zone the enemy away with the threat of me charging at them, with me (hopefully) being able to safely absorb damage so that my team can force objectives.

Playing Volibear has been fun. I'm not sure if he fits my style of play, but I've had fun playing him in top lane and truly understanding my role, how to lane, when to team up, when keep a side lane pushed, how to exert some pressure on the map, how to roam, etc. For that reason alone I am adding him to my champion pool while playing in lower elos.

If you are new to league, if you are looking for simple champion to main in the top lane for the new season, I recommend that you give Volibear a try.

Here are a few videos that talk about or demonstrate Volibear that I felt were decent references.

Jay Sea - VERY STRONG & EASY TO PLAY | Volibear Top | Depths of Bronze to Diamond Episode #77 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_4k4ywi074

Dong Huap - Why Volibear is Finally good after 3 years https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P1q081Gz4Y4

domisumReplay - VOLIBEAR vs JAX (TOP) | 3 early solo kills, KDA 6/0/0, Dominating | Korea Challenger | v8.24 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vq1l18CqQJ4