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niseamstories · 4 years ago

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10 Lessons on Realistic Worldbuilding and Mapmaking I Learned Working With a Professional Cartographer and Geodesist

Hi, fellow writers and worldbuilders,

It’s been over a year since my post on realistic swordfighting, and I figured it’s time for another one. I’m guessing the topic is a little less “sexy”, but I’d find this useful as a writer, so here goes: 10 things I learned about realistic worldbuilding and mapmaking while writing my novel.

I’ve always been a sucker for pretty maps, so when I started on my novel, I hired an artist quite early to create a map for me. It was beautiful, but a few things always bothered me, even though I couldn’t put a finger on it. A year later, I met an old friend of mine, who currently does his Ph.D. in cartography and geodesy, the science of measuring the earth. When the conversation shifted to the novel, I showed him the map and asked for his opinion, and he (respectfully) pointed out that it has an awful lot of issues from a realism perspective.

First off, I’m aware that fiction is fiction, and it’s not always about realism; there are plenty of beautiful maps out there (and my old one was one of them) that are a bit fantastical and unrealistic, and that’s all right. Still, considering the lengths I went to ensure realism for other aspects of my worldbuilding, it felt weird to me to simply ignore these discrepancies. With a heavy heart, I scrapped the old map and started over, this time working in tandem with a professional artist, my cartographer friend, and a linguist. Six months later, I’m not only very happy with the new map, but I also learned a lot of things about geography and coherent worldbuilding, which made my universe a lot more realistic.

1) Realism Has an Effect: While there’s absolutely nothing wrong with creating an unrealistic world, realism does affect the plausibility of a world. Even if the vast majority of us probably know little about geography, our brains subconsciously notice discrepancies; we simply get this sense that something isn’t quite right, even if we don’t notice or can’t put our finger on it. In other words, if, for some miraculous reason, an evergreen forest borders on a desert in your novel, it will probably help immersion if you at least explain why this is, no matter how simple.

2) Climate Zones: According to my friend, a cardinal sin in fantasy maps are nonsensical climate zones. A single continent contains hot deserts, forests, and glaciers, and you can get through it all in a single day. This is particularly noticeable in video games, where this is often done to offer visual variety (Enderal, the game I wrote, is very guilty of this). If you aim for realism, run your worldbuilding by someone with a basic grasp of geography and geology, or at least try to match it to real-life examples.

3) Avoid Island Continent Worlds: Another issue that is quite common in fictional worlds is what I would call the “island continents”: a world that is made up of island-like continents surrounded by vast bodies of water. As lovely and romantic as the idea of those distant and secluded worlds may be, it’s deeply unrealistic. Unless your world was shaped by geological forces that differ substantially from Earth’s, it was probably at one point a single landmass that split up into fragmented landmasses separated by waters. Take a look at a proper map of our world: the vast majority of continents could theoretically be reached by foot and relatively manageable sea passages. If it weren’t so, countries such as Australia could have never been colonized – you can’t cross an entire ocean on a raft.

4) Logical City Placement: My novel is set in a Polynesian-inspired tropical archipelago; in the early drafts of the book and on my first map, Uunili, the nation’s capital, stretched along the entire western coast of the main island. This is absurd. Not only because this city would have been laughably big, but also because building a settlement along an unprotected coastline is the dumbest thing you could do considering it directly exposes it to storms, floods, and, in my case, monsoons. Unless there’s a logical reason to do otherwise, always place your coastal settlements in bays or fjords.

Naturally, this extends to city placement in general. If you want realism and coherence, don’t place a city in the middle of a godforsaken wasteland or a swamp just because it’s cool. There needs to be a reason. For example, the wasteland city could have started out as a mining town around a vast mineral deposit, and the swamp town might have a trading post along a vital trade route connecting two nations.

5) Realistic Settlement Sizes: As I’ve mentioned before, my capital Uunili originally extended across the entire western coast. Considering Uunili is roughly two thirds the size of Hawaii the old visuals would have made it twice the size of Mexico City. An easy way to avoid this is to draw the map using a scale and stick to it religiously. For my map, we decided to represent cities and townships with symbols alone.

6) Realistic Megacities: Uunili has a population of about 450,000 people. For a city in a Middle Ages-inspired era, this is humongous. While this isn’t an issue, per se (at its height, ancient Alexandria had a population of about 300,000), a city of that size creates its own set of challenges: you’ll need a complex sewage system (to minimize disease spreading like wildfire) and strong agriculture in the surrounding areas to keep the population fed. Also, only a small part of such a megacity would be enclosed within fantasy’s ever-so-present colossal city walls; the majority of citizens would probably concentrate in an enormous urban sprawl in the surrounding areas. To give you a pointer, with a population of about 50,000, Cologne was Germany’s biggest metropolis for most of the Middle Ages. I’ll say it again: it’s fine to disregard realism for coolness in this case, but at least taking these things into consideration will not only give your world more texture but might even provide you with some interesting plot points.

7) World Origin: This point can be summed up in a single question: why is your world the way it is? If your novel is set in an archipelago like mine is, are the islands of volcanic origin? Did they use to be a single landmass that got flooded with the years? Do the inhabitants of your country know about this? Were there any natural disasters to speak of? Yes, not all of this may be relevant to the story, and the story should take priority over lore, but just like with my previous point, it will make your world more immersive.

8) Maps: Think Purpose! Every map in history had a purpose. Before you start on your map, think about what yours might have been. Was it a map people actually used for navigation? If so, clarity should be paramount. This means little to no distracting ornamentation, a legible font, and a strict focus on relevant information. For example, a map used chiefly for military purposes would naturally highlight different information than a trade map. For my novel, we ultimately decided on a “show-off map” drawn for the Blue Island Coalition, a powerful political entity in the archipelago (depending on your world’s technology level, maps were actually scarce and valuable). Also, think about which technique your in-universe cartographer used to draw your in-universe map. Has copperplate engraving already been invented in your fictional universe? If not, your map shouldn’t use that aesthetic.

9) Maps: Less Is More. If a spot or an area on a map contains no relevant information, it can (and should) stay blank so that the reader’s attention naturally shifts to the critical information. Think of it this way: if your nav system tells you to follow a highway for 500 miles, that’s the information you’ll get, and not “in 100 meters, you’ll drive past a little petrol station on the left, and, oh, did I tell you about that accident that took place here ten years ago?” Traditional maps follow the same principle: if there’s a road leading a two day’s march through a desolate desert, a black line over a blank white ground is entirely sufficient to convey that information.

10) Settlement and Landmark Names: This point will be a bit of a tangent, but it’s still relevant. I worked with a linguist to create a fully functional language for my novel, and one of the things he criticized about my early drafts were the names of my cities. It’s embarrassing when I think about it now, but I really didn’t pay that much attention to how I named my cities; I wanted it to sound good, and that was it. Again: if realism is your goal, that’s a big mistake. Like Point 5, we went back to the drawing board and dove into the archipelago’s history and established naming conventions. In my novel, for example, the islands were inhabited by indigenes called the Makehu before the colonization four hundred years before the events of the story; as it’s usually the case, all settlements and islands had purely descriptive names back then. For example, the main island was called Uni e Li, which translates as “Mighty Hill,” a reference to the vast mountain ranges in the south and north; townships followed the same example (e.g., Tamakaha meaning “Coarse Sands”). When the colonizers arrived, they adopted the Makehu names and adapted them into their own language, changing the accented, long vowels to double vowels: Uni e Li became “Uunili,” Lehō e Āhe became “Lehowai.” Makehu townships kept their names; colonial cities got “English” monikers named after their geographical location, economic significance, or some other original story. Examples of this are Southport, a—you guessed it—port on the southernmost tip of Uunili, or Cale’s Hope, a settlement named after a businessman’s mining venture. It’s all details, and chances are that most readers won’t even pay attention, but I personally found that this added a lot of plausibility and immersion.

I could cover a lot more, but this post is already way too long, so I’ll leave it at that—if there’s enough interest, I’d be happy to make a part two. If not, well, maybe at least a couple of you got something useful out of this. If you’re looking for inspiration/references to show to your illustrator/cartographer, the David Rumsey archive is a treasure trove. Finally, for anyone who doesn’t know and might be interested, my novel is called Dreams of the Dying, and is a blends fantasy, mystery, and psychological horror set in the universe of Enderal, an indie RPG for which I wrote the story. It’s set in a Polynesian-inspired medieval world and has been described as Inception in a fantasy setting by reviewers.

Credit for the map belongs to Dominik Derow, who did the ornamentation, and my friend Fabian Müller, who created the map in QGIS and answered all my questions with divine patience. The linguist’s name is David Müller (no, they’re not related, and, yes, we Germans all have the same last names.)

#enderal #dreams of the dying #worldbuilding #resource #writeblr #writing tips #mapmaking #cartography #illustration #realism #writeblogging #novelwriting #writing research #research #writing

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tiredspacedragon · 3 years ago

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Happy FUCKING 810NICLE Day, y'all! I've got a lot of stuff I want to post today, so I'm getting started at the end. Have some Stars revamps. Or, total redesigns, really. Built from scratch in a set-plausible design intended to stick as closely to their original looks as possible while still fitting into the scale and aesthetics of Bionicle's later years.

Tahu was designed as a hybrid between his original Toa Mata appearance and the aesthetics of the Adaptive Nuva. He's an Inika build, representing that the Adaptive Armour is (partially) active, but has the slimmer silhouette of his Mata days (Plus a back gear, if you can believe it. It's not visible in any of these pictures, but it's there. Doesn't do anything, but it's a fun little decoration). I wish I could have given him fully orange limbs to match the set better, but the red hardly looks bad. I'm particularly proud of how I managed to incorporate the Stars armour pieces on the larger build, especially since it means I can do...

...this. All six of the original Golden Armour pieces still fit perfectly onto this Tahu, though I've taken the liberty of swapping out the shield for a bigger, more practical piece. He's very shiny.

Gresh has slimmed down a lot since his days as a Glatorian. In-story, I imagine this would be a result of ditching the ornamental, overly showy armour worn by most Glatorian in favour of lighter, more effective combat gear that compliments his new Air powers. Like Tahu, I was able to carry over his Stars set armour, though not quite as elegantly. He's a bit of a stick figure, but I still love him, especially since he's the only one of the six whose colour layout is basically exactly the same as his official set, part for part, with the exception of a black neck.

2010 Takanuva is supposed to be the Toa of Light in his normal form, just with his colours altered to camouflage himself as a Toa of Ice to avoid drawing attention to himself. So, here he is scaled up into a Metru build to keep him at the proper size. I didn't feel like painting anything here, so his torso's colours are off, but I can't say I care that much. He also has a working gear function, sooo...bonus!

Also, I don't know about anyone else, but I always thought it was ridiculous that Takanuva would discard his Power Lance, an amazing tool that not only channeled his powers, but also amplified them, in favour of the Twin Light Staffs, which do nothing of note except exist as a pair. So, have this headcanon: At some point during the reign of Teridax, Takanuva's Power Lance was broken. Unwilling to surrender the advantage the tool gave him, Takanuva fashioned the broken pieces of the lance into the Twin Light Staffs, specifically opting for two as a nod to the twin Power Swords traditionally wielded by Av-Matoran. Thus is the thought process for using Air Sabers as the heads of his staffs in this revamp.

Nektann is a Piraka build. And that's about it. I kept his hands, feer, and weapon from his set form, and slapped 'em on a basic Skakdi body. Took a bit of work to get his head on, but nothing too wild. After that, it was just a matter of attaching his spines to his back and arms and he was done. Technically, Nektann is supposed to be larger than the average Skakdi, but I haven't figured out a way to make that look good as of yet, so this is all I've got for him, for now.

Also, in the realm of revamps that are just tweaks to existing sets, have Winter 2009's Skrall, now in lime green and without a shield. New feet though! Yeah, this one isn't terribly creative on my part, but it is what the figure should look like, canonically speaking, and that's what I was going for, so I'm satisfied.

At least this guy gets the satisfaction of being the only one of the bunch with a launcher.

And finally, the Rahkshi of Heat Vision, alternatively and unofficially known as Zirahk. The Rahkshi design, oddly enough, was not difficult to translate into Inika scale at all, thanks to the pieces of the Stars set. The neck plugs into the front of an Inika torso with ease and the spine attaches to the back just as easily. There's even enough room to wedge a little Kraata of Heat Vision in there. I'm still amazed I have one of those. Anyway, the big challenge here was the size. Did you know Rahkshi are supposed to be 9 FEET TALL?? Because I found that out only recently. Naturally, a stubby little Rahkshi was't gonna cut it, I had to make this lad TOL.

And as you can see, it's still too small! As is, Zirahk is taller than an average Inika build; not quite as much as it should be, but it's as good as it's gonna get, methinks.

And to close, another group shot. Once again, happy 810 everybody. More to come.

#bionicle #810 #bionicle stars #tahu #gresh #takanuva #nektann #skrall #rahkshi #revamps #now they have knees

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magic-is-something-we-create · 3 years ago

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Woolwyrm Designs

hi hello the funky weasel dragon is done! they ended up being blends of not just mustelids (weasels + otters), but also hebridean sheep, emperor geese, and pimelodella gracilis (a kind of catfish)

anywho, some quick worldbuilding:

Woolwyrms live in the southern reaches of Emarye, among the seasonal frost of the Nightwoods. Though carnivorous and large, they often prefer fishing in the rivers in the summers, and hibernate in deep burrows during the harshest months of the winter. Their forelimb wings, and additional secondary wings along the body (more pairs indicate an abnormal length - the most recorded is currently four pairs of secondary wings) allow them to glide between trees. While active and lively, they prefer to spend more time playing and dueling with their horns than hunting, and usually take an ambush approach to their prey.

Some domesticated breeds become weighed down by wool, and thus are sheared every few weeks to keep healthy, and produce many of the textiles worn throughout Emarye. Their horns also serve as material for beads, weapons, and ornamentation, and grow back over the course of several mating seasons.

A transcript of the notes and sketches will be below the cut! And, because I filled so much of the page with just three sketches, you can look out for a part two sometime in the future!

[id: A sketch page featuring the design of a long, wool-covered dragon. It is titled “Wool Wyrms”, with an @alittlewarlord tag serving as a subtitle. The notes and images, in order of left to right and top to bottom, are as follows:

1. A large, detailed drawing of the creature. It’s body is long and lithe, like a ferret, and is covered in a thick, knotted wool that is white on top and dark blue on the underbelly. Its front paws peek out from wings that form their forelimbs, and a smaller set of wings sprouts from just past the rib cage. Feathered crests line its back, and it has two pairs of horns on the back of its sheep-like head.

2. A note that points to the face. It reads: “Live in Emarye, specifically the Nightwoods.”

3. A note that points to the blue fur of the underbelly. It reads: “Biggest source of wool for Emarye. Also the horns make [very] good beads, and regrow!”

4. A note that points to the horns. It reads: “Grow [between] 2 and 6 horns, a la Hebridean Sheep”

5. A note that follows the curve of the back. It reads “long” in a comical, drawn out script.

6. A sketched silhouette of the dragon, next to the silhouette of a person bending to look it in the eye. A height marker above notes that the top of the dragon’s skull in this posture is 5.5 feet or 1.7 meters above the ground.

7. A close-up sketch of the dragon’s head. It has four horns, two of which stick straight out from the back of the head, and two of which curl around its ears. It has long, catfish whiskers growing from the upper lips, and yellow, rectangular-pupilled eyes. The bare, pinkish skin of the snout blends into light blue scales, and then into thick, knotted wool.

/end id]

#my art #ehlverse #woolwyrms #emarye #ill rb with the taglist in the morning i just want to post now bc im proud of it :D #my.art

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stormy-seasons · 2 years ago

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lost/found snippet

“My Xiao, what would you like for a reward?” Morax asks gently that same night, cradling Xiao’s face gently with a hand. Xiao blinks at him, momentarily lost for words. Morax caresses their face gently, and repeats his question. Blushing, Xiao softly asks, “Are there limits to what I may ask for? Beyond... beyond the boundaries you have set before?”

“No, my Xiao. What do you have in mind?” Morax prods gently. Xiao blushes even more fiercely. “Would... would you allow me to... submit and kneel for you? And... and to be permitted the indulgence of having you renew the physical marks of your claim, preferably through ... through sex?”

“Ah, sex where I am the receiving partner!” Xiao quickly adds when Morax’s expression turns mischievously intrigued. “Please, my lord? I’ve missed you.”

Morax caresses their face once more. “Hm. Yes, I think we can do that. Go, disrobe and wash up once more, then wait on my bed for me, my Xiao. Hm... yes, kneeling on the covers, I think.”

They obey.

Morax smiles to see them waiting for him, nearly trembling with eagerness. “One last question before I begin, Xiao. How... intensely would you like me to reward you? Are there sensations, such as pain, that you do not wish to experience at this time?”

... just how interestingly educational was Morax going to make this? “... I am open to learning new things in this area from you, my lord. If you wish to educate me on how pain, too, can be pleasurable, that is fine. I would... like if I could feel your claws, at some point, as well.”

“I see. Would you object, if I choose to... draw things out a little?” Morax asks, tapping a finger against his chin in thought. Xiao considers what that might mean, and blushes until the tips of their ears feel hot. “I.... anything. Anything, as long as it pleases you –”

Morax kisses them silent, gently. “Noted, and appreciated. May I bind you?”

“Yes, yes, please do so.” Xiao nearly begs. Their fervent enthusiasm seems to draw a frown from Morax – what is wrong about that? Xiao wonders. They just... they just would like to yield themselves up, to rest beneath Morax’s instruction. But whatever Morax’s misgivings are, he doesn’t pursue Xiao’s statement further, gently pressing them to lie on their back, and arranging them to his satisfaction. Xiao’s hands are moved above their head, and their wrists gently looped about with soft, silken rope. The rope, then is bound to the headboard, with plenty of slack – Xiao twists around to look at it, then turns to Morax, “Please, tighter?”

“Later, my Xiao.” Morax rumbles in their ears. “Let me finish arranging you first.”

He loops rope into something like a cuff around their ankles, and binds their ankles – again, with plenty of slack – to either side of the footboard. Slowly, Morax runs appreciative hands down the length of Xiao’s bared and open body, as though re-familiarising himself with every part of Xiao. “You came back from the battle unmarked by enemy blows – truly, your ability to recover is most excellent.”

He withdraws from the bed, and rummages in the drawers of the bedside table, saying, as he does so, “I had intended to offer you this eventually, given your preferences – now seems as good a time as any.”

Morax turns back to the bed, and Xiao represses a soft gasp of surprise – he has a collar in hand. A subtly luxurious leather collar, ornamented in places with glimmering amber scales – Morax’s own scales? An unmistakable claim. Morax slowly extends his hand, giving Xiao plenty of time to protest – they simply tilt their head backwards in response, baring their neck. Their lord’s hand is very gentle, as he wraps the collar around them. It feels... gentle, much more comfortable than the last time someone had bound their neck. Morax kisses them gently, before doing... something. The collar seals shut around Xiao’s neck, without any obvious seam or buckle.

“Beautiful.” Their lord murmurs, stroking their throat – and his collar – slowly. “The suede is comfortable against your skin? Xiao?”

They cannot quite manage the focus needed to properly form the respectful – pleading – words to thank him, and to ask for more. Xiao nods, eyes very wide, their mouth slightly parted for air. Morax swoops in to kiss them again. “Shall I bind your capacity to orgasm until I see fit to release you, my Xiao, or would you like to ... practice your self-control?”

Through the rising foggy haze of arousal, Xiao tries to think. Which would please Morax more? Shyly, they answer, “Practice my self-control, to better please you, my lord.”

#my fic #genshin fic #zhongxiao #lost/found

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monstersandmaw · 5 years ago

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Male ice dragon x cursed female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is a one-off special story that I wanted to write as a huge huge thank you to a very generous person who supported me on Patreon and also on ko-fi. I don't normally do this, and although this is not a commission, I did chat with them about what they would like, and I've wanted to write an ice dragon for a long time, so that worked for both of us! Thank you, 'The Silent Pariah'! Hope you enjoy it! It's been on Patreon for a week, and went down really well, so it’s time to share it here!

Content: reader is cursed to turn into a more monstrous form at night, and is locked away in a tower, guarded by an ice dragon. There's a bit of a misunderstanding, some angst, a bit of fluff, and some smut. Words: 5124

Dusk drifted down around the stones of the castle, bringing with it that daily, familiar crawling under your skin. Night was a time for monsters and shadows, for creatures less than human, and for hiding away, but you welcomed it with open arms as you had for years.

Your bones started to grow warm, your nerves ringing and prickling, and you knew it wouldn’t be long now.

Turning your back on the courtyard of the deserted castle, you left the balcony and made your way inside through the beautiful, hand carved doorway and into the bedchamber beyond. Sliding your dress off your shoulders, you stepped out of your clothes and felt the change sweeping up inside you, rising like a flood of unbridled power and raw joy. Laughing, you bowed forwards like a supplicant at a shrine, and when you straightened no more than a few minutes later, breathing hard and sweating, the creature that blinked its reptilian eyes back at you from the mirror on the far wall was not the nobleman’s daughter with the blood of kings flowing through her veins.

Blueish black, scaled skin covered your cheeks, the delicate scales leading your gaze towards pointed ears, just barely visible through the thick hair that fell around your now inhuman face. Blinking slowly as your gold, crackle-glazed eyes readjusted, you rolled your shoulders and flexed your taloned hands. With skin the colour of shadows at midnight, and a spine-studded whip of a tail, you slid on a simple linen tunic and turned for the spiral staircase.

Outside, through the walls of the castle, you could hear the enormous wing beats of the only other soul who lived in this vast castle, each flex of his wing strong as a storm wind as he came back to his roost at sunset.

“There you are,” came a deep, sonorous rumbling voice as you stepped out into the evening air, still revelling in the change.

Looking like a thousand shards of moonlight, the dragon adorned the crumbling curtain wall of the castle, delicately perching there with the grace of an ornamental bird.

“Irien,” you smiled. “Good day?”

Polite as ever, he inclined his head, slowly blinking sapphire blue eyes and smiling softly to reveal a maw full of deadly teeth. The dragon stretched out one of his elegant, muscular forelegs and climbed down from the wall, over the old stable block, and into the courtyard like a cat slinking down a flight of steps. His ivory talons barely made a whisper on the slate roofs of the tumble-down old buildings, and with his silky-white wings tucked neatly against his scaled back, he flowed like quicksilver.

“Mmm, yes,” he purred, lowering his head almost to the ground in greeting and closing his eyes again as you ran your hands over the glass-hard scales of his face. Each one was the size of your palm there, but as they slid further down his glacially pale body, they grew large as your whole hand, some even bigger than that. “So warm,” he laughed, nuzzling your fingers playfully and breathing his icy breath against your fingers.

“I’m not that warm. It’s not my fault you’re basically an icicle,” you snorted and he laughed, drawing his neck up like a swan.

Suddenly he scowled and turned serious, his whole body tensing.

“Company?” you asked.

You’d been through this charade together before, and something always sank a little in your chest when you thought about what the arrival of a knight and his little posse might mean. Would they have some magic with them this time that negated the ageless magic of the dragon? Some spear sharp enough to pierce his scales? Some trick he’d never heard of? Perhaps a ballista borrowed from the dragon hunters of the south? Would this be the day that your curse would be broken and you’d have to leave the relative freedom of your castle for the gilded cage of marriage?

Irien looked back at you, his eyes hard and stern as he watched your internal struggle play out in a series of scowls across your face. “Same as usual?” he asked.

“Drive them away,” you snarled. “I have no interest in breaking this curse so I can go and live like a brood mare until I produce the requisite number of appropriately-gendered offspring, thank you.”

With a savage snarl, he beat his wings, once, twice, and launched himself into the air. His ensuing war-scream could have split the night sky in two and it made your ears ring and your vision blur.

Irien was relatively young for a dragon but he was still nearly a hundred years old, and there wasn’t a trick or strategy he hadn’t yet encountered from some upstart young knight, hoping to win fame and fortune at the end of a lance. Oh, and the chance to break your curse. Somehow that always seemed to be an afterthought with these men.

“No one ever bothers to ask if I even want ‘rescuing’,” you muttered bitterly as you watched Irien sail away like a galleon on the unseen currents of air.

He circled the central tower of the old elven castle once to get a measure of how many there were, before spiralling down in a whirling corkscrew, breath blazing shards of ice down on the unfortunate troop somewhere beyond your view below. It wasn’t that you didn’t feel sorry for the way they died - at least it was quick - but you couldn’t help the sour sting of spite that lanced through you whenever Irien announced that there was another lot at the abandoned castle’s gates. Your parents still hadn’t given up on ridding the family of the stain of your curse.

Irien was back within five minutes, landing gracefully beside you, breathing hard from the exertion of flying and drawing on his reserves to create the ice-laced breath inside him.

“Were there many this time?”

He shook his head. “Only six in total.”

“Banners?”

“Grey and yellow field with a black raven.”

You turned away in disgust. “Those were Halvard’s men,” you said. “My father’s closest adviser.” Lifting your shadowy palm, you curled your fingers and inspected the black claws before turning your hand over and watching the way the moonlight glinted on the leathery scales on the back of your hand.

Monstrous. Vile. Cursed.

Lock her away!

True love’s kiss! The only way to break it!

Dragonskeep is the only place for her now. She cannot be seen.

The shame of our family…

Irien’s soft, concerned rumble behind you drew you back from your ragged collection of memories and you turned with a half smile. “I pity you sometimes, you know?” you sighed.

“Me?” he asked with a soft chuckle, falling into step beside you as you wandered off, vaguely thinking of heading towards the rambling rose gardens at the back of the castle. “Why would you pity me? You’re the one locked in here with a dragon who keeps eating the men who come to rescue you.”

“True. I used to think you were no better than them,” you admitted. “Those first few years after they dumped me here…”

Since then, you thought he’d rather come to think of you as part of the castle furniture, or even just another thing in his hoard to guard and protect. It was better than nothing, you supposed, and you had the books in the old elven library for company, and the vegetable garden at the back that you’d been restoring since you were sixteen, and a rather impressive number of stone sculptures ranging from the ‘uniquely abstract’ to something halfway decent. The masons who had abandoned the stone workshops in the gardens of the castle had left their tools behind, like children’s toys abandoned.

He scowled, clearly a little affronted, and shuffled his wings like a chilly bird. “Why? Have I ever given you reason to think badly of me?”

You stopped and raised an eyebrow at him. “You accepted their gold and gems easily enough when they showed up on your doorstep with a newly-cursed thirteen year old and struck whatever bargain it was with you to keep me here,” you pointed out. It felt so long ago now, but you’d never forget the first time you’d seen him. You’d burst into tears and begged your parents not to abandon you here.

Irien had the good grace to look embarrassed at that, turning his snowy head away and grunting awkwardly. “I… Well, I did, yes. But when I asked why they wanted me to take a girl under my protection ‘until such time as her true love can break the curse’, I have to say I was frankly appalled.”

Something ugly twisted inside you at his words. Perhaps it was the recent reminder of the world’s disgust at your ‘condition’, and their determination to change you back, but hot outrage boiled up inside you at his words. “Appalled? So you do think the way they do?”

“What?”

“This!” you blurted, halting and angling your face so that the moonlight glinted on the scales there and on the jaw full of fangs. You stared him down with blazing, inhuman, yellow eyes. “You do think this is disgusting, just the way they do?”

“I thought you didn’t care,” he replied haughtily. “I thought you didn’t care about the curse at all.”

“I don’t!” you practically shrieked. “But I do care about -” you cut off suddenly, feeling as though the ground were rocking beneath you. All these years, he’d just been tolerating your company because of the regular shipments of diamonds and cut gemstones that your parents added to his vault of hoarded wealth in an attempt to keep all but the most determined suitors at bay.

“Care about what?” Irien asked in a softer voice.

“What would you know?” you hissed, turning away and marching towards the tower where he couldn’t enter without bringing the whole lot down around him. “You’re made of ice anyway.”

You left Irien standing in the courtyard and marched up the stairs back to your chambers. You heard Irien lingering in the courtyard, but eventually he took wing and left the castle for his preferred roost on the cliff just above it. It was a long time before you got to sleep that night.

When dawn came the next day, you didn't bother getting out of bed til late in the day, and you clung to the shadows of the library instead of going out to tend to the garden. It was a warm day, and the plants would need a water, but you just couldn’t face meeting Irien now. For all the time that you’d been here, you’d always assumed that he’d seen past the effects of the curse.

It had taken you almost a year not to be afraid of him, but as the months had ticked by after that, and he’d shown you the castle grounds and how to take care of the abandoned elven fortress; how to feed yourself and even how to read ancient elven so that you could access the rest of the books in the library; you’d come to think of him as more of a guardian than a guard. Had he just been humouring the cursed little girl all these years, despite the fact that you were a woman grown now?

Late in the afternoon, just as you started to feel restless again with the gradual sinking of the sun, a faint tapping reached your ears, coming from the far end of the library. The room stretched the full length of one of the newer wings of the castle complex, with light flooding in on either side through huge windows, and at the far end it terminated in a wide balustraded balcony where former scholars would no doubt have gone to get some air during their studies.

You poked your head out from behind the bookshelf where you’d been studying best way to rid a certain garden herb of aphids, and squinted along the clear aisle between the rows of shelves. There, at the balcony at the far end, you could just glimpse Irien, gently tapping a claw on the glass. He was far too large to fit his body onto the terrace, but he could perch elegantly on the rim like a butterfly on a teacup.

Grinding your teeth, you fleetingly considered simply ignoring him, but in the end you straightened and dumped the book on the floorboards. Grim-faced, you marched up the length of the room and opened the leaded-glass door at the far end, coming to a halt in the centre of the balcony with crossed arms.

“I think,” Irien carefully began the moment you were outside, “That we may have had a misunderstanding yesterday.”

Your scowl deepened.

“Hear me out?” he asked, clearly well aware of your tendency to bolt at the first sign of discord.

Reluctantly, you nodded. As far as you knew, he’d never lied to you before.

Out here in the fading sunshine, with the low light flashing in prismatic ripples along those pearlescent scales, he looked… Frankly, he looked like a dream, and something ached inside you the longer you gazed at him. The graceful lines of his lithe, powerful body, the delicate, leathery membrane of his white wings, his ivory claws, the crystal spikes that adorned his head like a crown and continued down his lissom neck to his shoulders, only to start up again at the root of his tail and end in a fractured cluster of crystals around the tip of his tail; everything about him spoke of elder magic and of something ancient, something lost and forgotten from another age, despite his relative youth. He was intoxicating.

With a great inhale as if for courage, he began by apologising. “I’m sorry that what I said came out so wrongly yesterday,” he said. “I didn’t mean that you are appalling in any way. What has always appalled me, however, is the fact that your parents were prepared to abandon their own child to the dubious care of a dragon, and lock her away in an old elven stronghold for something that wasn’t her fault or doing in the first place.”

“Oh.” Well… when he put it that way…

“Oh,” he laughed. “I thought you might know me a little better than that after so much time together…” he added, tone bordering on huffy and petulant.

Even you had to admit that it was true. “Yeah,” you hedged. “I… I thought I did too. Maybe that was why I was so shocked. I’m sorry too… I was still in a strange mood after the soldiers came and I let it get in the way and took what you said the wrong way.”

Irien smiled gently and rumbled a slow, almost juddering exhale that you’d always found strangely attractive. In fact, you nearly missed what he said because your attention was focused on the sound. “I promise that what I said to you all those years ago still stands… the time I found you crying on the roof of the keep.”

Your lips gave a feeble twitch at that. He’d had to fly you down because you’d been too scared to climb. “And what is that?” you demanded though you recalled it perfectly well. Your eyes glittered as the mood shifted palpably between you, both tangibly relieved to be sliding back into your familiar repartee and banter, almost as if you’d not fallen out at all.

Catching the look in your eye, he gave another half-laugh. “That if you like the way you are, then it seems pretty futile to me to try to change you against your will. And personally,” he added, lowering his head a little and turning a tad bashful, “I think you’re beautiful whether the sun is up or down.”

The churning in your stomach that had been gnawing away at you since the previous evening suddenly stilled, and you smiled. “Really? I mean… it doesn’t bother you at all?”

Irien rolled his lovely blue eyes. “Not in the slightest. If anything, your ‘cursed’ form is… well…” He bustled and flustered a little with his wings, turning his gaze away.

That was a surprise. “Is what, Irien?”

“You’re stronger and faster like that; your eyes work better in the dark, and your hands seem to borrow a bit of inspiration from my kind,” he said, holding up one ivory-clawed hand so that the sunlight danced off his own talons for a moment. “And you have a tail…” he croaked.

“Sounds like you’re trying to tell me you’ve got a crush on my cursed self,” you snorted in disbelief, taking a few steps over to the balcony and resting your forearms on it. When he didn’t answer immediately, you shot him a sidelong look. “Irien?”

“I… have tried to tell myself that we are victims of circumstance… That… what I have come to feel for you is only to be expected when two souls are locked away in close quarters with each other for so long, but…” He paused and shrugged as he returned your look askance and exhaled. “Alas, I remain unconvinced.”

“Wait, is that your way of saying you do have a crush on me after all?”

He scoffed, frustrated with himself, and snapped, “When you put it in those terms, it sounds somewhat… cheap and insincere.”

His fingers flexed on the stonework, talons grinding small indents into it and sending a tiny trickle of finely-ground dust to the tiled floor of the balcony. Reaching one hand out you placed it over the leathery scales on his hand - really his foreleg - and squeezed. It was like squeezing stone, but he clearly felt the impact because he jolted a little in surprise and slid a foot down the wall from his perch. His wings flapped instinctively to keep himself in place and you almost laughed.

“So your feelings for me aren’t cheap and insincere then?”

“No,” he growled, and then with a little more grace he sighed. “No, not at all. I can’t stop thinking about you. Whenever I see someone with their troops tramping up to the gate, it’s not my hoard I think to protect.” He turned his head and blinked quietly at you. “It’s you.”

Something caught in your throat at that and tears prickled your eyes. “Irien…”

“Mmm?” he rumbled.

“Will you fly me somewhere?”

“Anywhere. Where would you like me to take you?”

Your eyes drifted over the rambling castle grounds, bathed in the golden light of early evening. Of course, now that you knew he truly cared for you, perhaps you could persuade him to fly you anywhere in the world, although it wasn’t particularly safe for his kind out there. People built cruel ballistae with bolts as thick as tree trunks to fell dragons from the sky like downed swans, but in these parts, he assured you he was safe enough.

When you didn’t answer him immediately, he rumbled your name and lowered his white muzzle to the balustrade, resting it there and watching like a patient hound while you decided. You placed your fingers on his nose and felt the chilly, frosty breath wash over them. The sheer steadiness of his presence was almost overwhelming, like he had his own gravity and was drawing you in and holding you there. You found both of your hands going to his face and suddenly you were leaning over him and sobbing.

“Hey,” he murmured, bringing one wingtip carefully to touch your shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You sniffed but the surging emotions refused to let you talk. It was too much. After a lifetime knowing you’d been abandoned here for who and what you were, to have the unwavering acceptance of the only being in the world who had shown you true respect and kindness… it left you spinning.

His pale hand closed around your waist and he pushed off the tower with you delicately in his grasp. You’d done this before, though not often, and the thrilling swoop in your stomach chased most of your tears away, leaving room for little else but wonder in your heart as the world spread out beneath you like a patchwork quilt.

Irien didn’t tell you where he was headed, and you found you didn’t care where he took you. He climbed higher into the hazy, lavender sky above, and soared over the castle wall and out into the pastures beyond where deer grazed and occasionally the massive mountain sheep would come down to enjoy respite in the warmer valley in the winter. Out beyond the open, untamed fields, a huge, glittering lake sparkled, and he seemed to be making for it as he glided along on unseen thermals.

The sun had just begun to kiss the mountain tops to the west, gilding a line of fire along their silhouettes, when he landed on the quartz pebbles of the lake shore, their colour almost the same as his own white scales. He set you down on the grassy bank just above the beach and stepped back.

“Better?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replied, bringing his head back and nuzzling your stomach affectionately, blue eyes rolling closed.

As your hands traced the contours of his massive head, he sank his body down to lie on the pebbles and curled his tail around his legs like a cat. The rumbling of his breathing soon deepened until you had to giggle. “Are you purring? Do dragons purr?”

“Only when we’re - oh - really… ahh…” he faltered as your fingertips skirted around the base of one of his crystalline horns which was, apparently, extremely sensitive.

“Really what, Irien…”

“Ah…” he gasped as you repeated the gesture. “Oh… gods that’s good…” he blurted.

You kept doing it until he rolled onto one side, breathing quickening as a tangible shiver passed along his spine. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive,” you murmured, leaning down to plant a kiss on his smooth cheek.

Half-twitch and half-spasm, his right foreleg raked a huge channel through the pebbles as he groaned long and low, claws flexed.

“Should I stop?” you teased.

“Up to you,” he rasped. “But…”

“But what…?”

He seemed to be having difficulty stringing a sentence together, which was amusing. The fact that he was so affected by your touch was definitely doing things to you as well, and as you felt the sun going down, you realised you were going to shift soon.

“But what, Irien?”

His jaws opened and he began to pant, little crystals of ice forming along his canines and over the pebbles of the beach where his head lay pillowed. His belly was pale as moonlight, the iridescent sheen only beginning on the larger scales of his sides and back, and as you gazed down the length of his body, you saw that the small slit in the sheath on his lower abdomen, almost between his legs, had begun to glisten with a pearlescent fluid. It looked swollen too, and as you caressed that sensitive spot on his head again, you watched as the very tip of his cock began to emerge from the sheath.

“You want me to keep going?” you asked, feeling your own skin heating up, partly from the impending change and partly because the sight of him getting so worked up was affecting you too.

“I didn’t… bring you here for… this,” he panted. “But I won’t stop you if you want to.”

“Do you want it though?” you asked, stepping back as your bones began to creak and shift. “Shit, sorry I’m… I’m shifting…” you gasped, reeling backwards and landing hard on the ground behind you. “I thought I had a few more minutes…”

It didn’t take long, and when you looked up, he was watching you with his steady, sapphire gaze. “Alright?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you change.”

With your new ‘monstrous’ eyes, you had an even better view of him. Where your human sight saw gentle rainbows shimmering on his scales, now you saw refracted light glittering and shattering off his spines, and the sheer depth of colour in his eyes was phenomenal. “How about another kind of ‘first’?” you asked, voice huskier now, and you began to slide the simple shirt up over your head.

The heat of his gaze made you preen a little as you revealed your dark blue, scaled body to him. His jaw parted again, mouth hanging open softly, and his tongue was visible too behind that row of enormous teeth. He was tasting your arousal on the air, you realised, like a predator.

“Gods, that’s hot,” you hissed and he tilted his head, catlike. “I want you, Irien. Is… Is that wrong?”

He shook his head. “If it’s what you feel, then it’s not wrong. I want you too, though I fear I might break you.”

“We’ll have to get creative,” you grinned, feeling your tail lashing behind you playfully.

“Look at you,” he snarled, rearing up a little like a cat about to pounce; a cat made of glass and porcelain.

His cock was not yet fully unsheathed, but you could see it - dark blue at the base, the colour of the heart of the lake behind him, with paler ridges that looked extremely inviting, and fading to pure white at the tip. It twitched and drooled under your gaze and he grunted softly. He was huge. The only way you could think to give him any kind of pleasure would be either to ride him and grind yourself along his length as best you could, or to loop your legs around it and let him fuck the space between them, and honestly, both had their appeal.

A huge drop of pre-come slid from the tip and landed on the pebbles below as his cock twitched again. He was breathing hard now, nostrils flared, and he stared openly as you stepped out of the last of your clothes, moving towards him while he stayed perfectly still. It was as if he thought you’d evaporate if he shifted so much as a muscle.

He whispered your name and you placed your finger on his lips in passing as you stalked along the length of his body. With the slightest pressure of your hands you asked him to tip over onto his side again, and he did without question.

The huge dragon folded his wings carefully behind him and then rolled onto his back as you directed him with little more than a quick touch here or there. His cock began to slide fully free of the slick sheath, and you jutted your chin upwards at his belly. He understood your request and brought his hand to the ground, palm up, for you to step into, and he raised you up onto his stomach. His hand fell back immediately to the beach beneath, limp and weak. You straddled his cock and he gave a huge, low frequency groan that made the water ripple and dance. His tail lashed violently, sending a spray of pebbles up into the air and splashing down into the water.

Slowly, teasingly, you rocked your hips over the tip of his cock and watched him leaking beneath you and all over his stomach. The claws of his hands scrabbled in the stones beneath him and his wings, stretched out on either side like a butterfly on display, flexed to their widest span. His head jerked backwards and he opened his maw wide.

“You like that?” you asked and he nodded, mute with pleasure as you picked up a steady rhythm.

“Oh gods that’s so good,” he grunted after a while, voice sounding wrecked. He bucked his hips upwards and nearly dislodged you, but you grabbed the scales of his belly and ground down harder against him, gripping with your thighs. “I’m not going… to last long,” he panted. “I’m… oh gods… oh…” and he chanted your name over and over as you worked him harder and harder.

You managed to catch a ridge of his cock against your clit and ground yourself into it before bringing your finger carefully there to help you along. When he realised what you were doing, he took one look at you pleasuring yourself and using his cock to help, gave a short whimper, before his whole body tensed up.

He came all over himself, ropes of hot release searing against your clit in a rush as his body clenched and convulsed, mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, and you found yourself coming a heartbeat later. Your fingers gripped his cock, prolonging and intensifying his orgasm as you came in waves atop his cock.

Eventually he slumped back, head knocking against the pebbles behind him, and he lay there, twitching and spent, apparently dazed and reeling from the force of his orgasm. Your legs were slick and shaky too, but as you moved off him, he managed to raise his hand to help you down.

“I’m going to have to bathe in the lake to clean off,” you grunted, looking down at yourself. “Look at me.”

“I am,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

Feeling a little unsteady still, you turned away from him and said, “Come and join me when you’ve recovered a bit…”

“Mmm,” he said, making no move at all as you strode into the lake. He was clearly enjoying the view, and it was a long time before he rolled himself over and heaved his body up to join you. When he did, he nuzzled you and let you lounge on his foreleg, half in and out of the water. He brought his tongue to your thighs and carefully laved it up and over your body, honing in on your clit which was still aching and sensitive.

Your legs parted instinctively for him and as he raked his teeth appreciatively over your stomach, bringing you up to his maw so that he could taste you better, you let yourself fall limp in his hands. It wasn’t long before he had you shuddering and moaning against his tongue, gasping his name.

He made you come twice more after that, the last time on the grassy bank above the lake shore, and as he curled around you protectively to let you recover, you rested your head against his side and sighed. “I don’t ever want to leave here,” you murmured. “Can it always be like this?”

“I’ll try,” he smiled, laying his head down beside you. “I’ll try.”

—

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ga-yuu · 3 years ago

Text

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 7~

I love how Yoshino and Kurama are literally flirting on the battlefield. Yoshino....I have already said it, but I’ll say it again, she’s the best character CYBIRD has ever created, according to me, that is. And I also love how she literally drools in awe at the sight of her male leads in every route.

WARNING!!! This story has a lot of violence, blood, and gore.

Chapter 6

-------Part 1-------

Kurama: "Troublesome woman."

He clicks his tongue and pulls me tight with one hand.

Yoshino: "........!"

Something warm touches my back as he straightened me and he positioned me in such a way so that I could lean on his chest.

Yoshino(blushing): "Kurama.....?"

Kurama: "Sit still, like an ornament. If you fidget, I'll have to do more."

As he says this, Kurama draws his sword with one free hand and lets it fly.

In the blink of an eye, the battle was upon us.

Enemy soldier 1: “....! The banner of the rebel army.”

(They saw us!)

Kurama: “Let’s go.”

One minute we’re floating and the next moment----

Kurama makes his horse dance and plunges into the middle of the battle.

I bit back a scream before I had time to reply.

Enemy soldier 2: “You’d be a fool to come in with that many hands!”

Enemy soldier 3: “Have the rebels gone crazy? Come on!”

Kurama: “It’s an annoying rumor, we’ll have to stop it soon.”

The sword, wielded with tremendous force, struck the enemy soldier in the torso.

The second blow had already flicked off the sword of another enemy, who had fallen from the saddle without a second thought.

Enemy soldier 1: “ARGGHHH!”

Kurama: “Get out of my way.”

Kurama grabs the enemy by the chest and throws him with ease.

(I can’t believe he’s so strong even without using any other powers!)

Rebel soldier 1: “Don’t fall behind Kurama-sama!”

Rebel soldier 2: “Yes, we’ll help Benkei-sama in any way we can!”

The rebel soldiers, desperate to catch up with Kurama, are also struggling with their weapons.

(Great, even though we are outnumbered by the enemy.)

As soon as he appeared, he slew five of his enemies, and his presence sent them into a frenzy and completely galvanized his allies.

But Kurama doesn’t care about that, he’s running fast.

Kurama: “Benkei is further back?”

The swords he wielded were brilliantly used to dispatch one enemy after another.

(I don’t have time to feel afraid of the enemy.)

Kurama, who is closest to me, is much more terrifying.

Despite my awe, I feel the same warmth as our bodies touch.

Kurama: “What are you thinking? Why do you keep making that stunning face at such times?”

------Part 2------

Kurama: “What are you thinking? Why do you keep making that stunning face at such times?”

(Ah.......)

As he rode his horse fast, Kurama forced my face upwards.

Uninteresting eyes look down on me.

Yoshino: “Kurama is the one who should not be looking the other way at a time like this.”

Kurama: “For me, it’s child’s play. More importantly, don’t be so cocky as to think you can hide things from me, Yoshino.”

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

1. I didn’t mean to. (+4/+4)

2. It’s just your imagination.

3. Kurama, is strong....

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

Yoshino: “I didn’t mean to imply.....that I was hiding anything.”

Kurama: “If you want to fool me, I can call your name in your ear as often as I did that time.”

Yoshino(blushing): “That’s a bit....!”

Kurama laughed in the back of his throat in satisfaction when he saw my impatience at the sound of his gifted voice.

Kurama: “Remember this, even what you feel in your heart must be something that I give to you.”

Yoshino(blushing): “So, unreasonable....”

At that time-----

(.....!)

One arrow flies towards me with a bite.

Kurama: “Don’t look away.”

Yoshino: “Kurama!”

The enemy archers look aghast when they see me unharmed.

I was the only one who noticed the swirl of transparent wind that had forcibly twisted the trajectory of the arrow in front of me.

(Wind blade...)

Kurama: “......”

Kurama, who had been trying to manipulate his ability without turning around, suddenly touched my cheek as if to confirm something.

Yoshino: “Eh...”

Kurama: “I hope you’re not injured.”

Yoshino(blushing): “No, no, no I’m fine.”

Kurama: “So be it. Humans are vulnerable.”

(That’s...)

Yoshino: “If I get hurt, will Kurama be in trouble...?”

Kurama: “I’m not in the slightest bit of trouble.”

The red of his eyes took on a dumbfounded color at my question.

Kurama: “I told you I won’t kill you for now. It’s just that once you’ve spat, you don’t swallow.”

Yoshino: “You mean you keep your promises? Even with humans?”

I look back at Kurama feeling surprised.

Kurama: “To condescend to break a self-imposed rule is like begging to be reduced to a dwarf.”

As he continued to speak, Kurama killed another incoming enemy soldier with a single slash.

(Metaphorically speaking, I thought Kurama was as terrifying as a natural disaster.)

A terrifying demon that defies logic and human understanding. That was my first impression of Kurama.

(But now, I know a bit more.)

(Kurama is just living on a different scale, neither good nor evil as I know it.)

(He’s arrogant, but reasonable, which is why I’m drawn to him without even knowing it. ....I’m sure the rebel army thinks the same.)

Kurama lightly swings his swords, which are dripping with blood, to get rid of the drops.

Even the gesture was cruelly beautiful.

Enemy soldier 2: “Damn it, stop that man!”

Enemy soldier 3: “AAAHHH!!!”

(We’re surrounded!)

Perhaps fearing Kurama, who leads the way with overwhelming strength, about five enemies attacked us all at once.

Yoshino: ”No....!!!”

Kurama: “It’s useless.”

------Part 3-----

Kurama: “It’s useless.”

On the contrary, without changing his color, Kurama makes his horse dance further in front of the enemy.

Enemy soldier 2: “Ku....”

The enemy, impatient to be out of range, struck a blow in the dark.

Kurama knocked it down with difficulty and twisted the enemy with his return sword.

Enemy soldier 3: “Eat this!”

Kurama: “......”

(I’m going to be slashed-----)

He came at me from the side, and our blades collided with each other by the skin of our teeth.

He clicks his tongue sharply and forcefully Kurama bounces off the enemy’s sword.

Kurama: “I don’t like it. Fighting for cover.”

Yoshino: ”Be careful!”

Kurama dodges a slash that comes at him from a blind spot.

Without blinking an eye, he literally flipped his enemy off, even as he slashed black hair fell in a heap.

Yoshino: “.....Kurama, are you hurt?”

Kurama: “If you’re so bored you’re asking unnecessary questions, take a nap.”(I love him!)

Yoshino: “Then I’ll have nightmares for sure!”(I love her too!)

Kurama: “You seem to have more blood in your veins than you care to admit. A few scratches won’t kill you.”

Despite this, Kurama does not let up his attack.

(It looks like you can afford it....)

As I say this, I’m not used to fighting for someone else.

From a while ago, the enemy’s sword skimmed past Kurama’s body.

Enemy soldier 5: “He’s too strong,....is he a monster!?”

Enemy soldier 6: “Aim for the woman! Let’s take her as a hostage....”

Yoshino: “Me....?”

I was horrified by all the glaring stares.

I then heard Kurama chuckled coldly above me.

Kurama: “Don’t you know that tricks are useless in the face of overwhelming odds? A little ignorance is a pity, but stupidity is a sin. Atone for it and be scattered with the dew.”

The swords wielded without mercy slaughtered one enemy after another, turning the earth red.

Enemy soldier 7: “Nnn.....”

The last person, shaking and clutching his sword, falls on his butt.

Kurama: “Stand up and I’ll kill you with honor.”

The enemy soldier shook his head in dismay, tears streaming down his cheeks as he was overpowered.

Without even looking at him, Kurama passes by.

Yoshino: “So you chose not to kill him....?”

Kurama: “He who is gripped by fear is as good as not alive. What is the use of slaying the dead?”

------Part 4------

Kurama: “He who is gripped by fear is as good as not alive. What is the use of slaying the dead?”

(-----After all.)

I felt the black wings that should have been invisible on Kurama’’s back spread powerfully.

(To be strong is to be cruel, arrogant.....and to be able to live your life the way you want to live it.)

Unrestrained and following his heart, Kurama is both terrifying and hauntingly beautiful.

(There is not the slightest deviation between Kurama’s words and actions.)

I spilled a small truth in the wind because I knew it so painfully.

Yoshino: “.....Thank you.”

Kurama: “......?”

Yoshino: “I never thanked you for your help. It was my misfortune and fault that I was taken as a prisoner, and it was Kurama who brought me to the battle in that condition, but....in the meantime, thank you for not letting me die now.”

Kurama: “Not for you. It’s for the sake of my strength.”

Yoshino: “I could feel it somehow. But if that strength is what’s saving me, I wouldn’t feel comfortable not telling you.”

Kurama: “.......Will you persist in your complacency even after being taken as a prisoner? On the contrary, you are stubborn. It’s appalling.”

Kurama’s lips twisted in a somewhat venomous manner.

(He doesn’t seem to be offended.)

(....Even though, Kurama is still scary, he can get a bit out of tune with these things.)

At that time----

???: “KURAMA!”

Yoshino: “Hm?”

A large figure broke through the enemy enclosure at once, and leaped from his horse in front of us.”

Benkei: “What are you doing here?”

Rebel soldiers: “BENKEI-SAMA! BENKEI-SAMA IS HERE!!!”

The soldiers on this side noticed and burst into joy at once.

In the midst of it all, Benkei-san’s eyes caught mine and widened.

Benkei: “------Fox princess!?”

Kurama: “She’s my prisoner.”

Benkei: “........ We’ll talk more later.”

Benkei-san quickly let out his hesitation with a faint breath.

He then stood next to Kurama and held his red miscellaneous sword in a dignified manner.

Benkei: “Get your feet up, all of you! To reward you for holding on to hope, Kurama going to give you a wonderful tomorrow.”

------Part 5------

Benkei: “Get your feet up, all of you! To reward you for holding on to hope, Kurama going to give you a wonderful tomorrow.”

Rebel soldiers: “YAYYY!!!!”

As Benkei-san’s loud voice shook the battlefield, the soldiers shouted in happiness.

(Great momentum.....!)

Enemy soldier 8: “Damn, what are these people?”

Enemy soldier 9: “We still have the advantage in numbers, don’t be afraid!”

The enemy soldiers soon came at us with a massive force.

(So fast----)

Kurama: “Hey, why do I have to give them a reward?”

Benkei: “As they say...”

It was as if they knew each other’s movements, and in an instant, the enemy in front of them was wiped out.

Benkei: “They’ve seen how strong you are. It’s a small price to pay for a name and a figure that attracts attention and gives you hope for life.”

Kurama: “You’ve got some nerve, Benkei, selling me cheap.”

Kurama, frowning like the incarnation of a grump, cut down two new enemies.

Benkei-san knocked down another enemy who had jumped out of his blind spot.

(These two are talking while killing soldiers and are in perfect sync.)

Benkei: “Shut up, man. It’s okay, being thanked doesn’t make you any less of a person.”

Kurama: “Less.”

Benkei: “Huh? What?”

Kurama: “....I don’t understand you.”

(Kurama?)

After an unusually short silence, Benkei-san also glanced at Kurama as he fought.

Kurama: “I’ve never been able to eat anything that humans offer me because it’s too warm. If I had been grateful I would have been fed up with being fed.”

Benkei(smiling): “It’s a masterpiece that you, a picky eater, should be forced to eat something you don’t like.”

After knocking down the enemy with gusto, Benkei-san turned around and smiled wryly.

Benkei: “Well, I’ll have a bite.”

Kurama: “What?”

Benkei: “Thank you for coming all this way to save me, Kurama.”

(......!)

Kurama(glares): “I’ll cut your tongue off.”

Benkei: “It’s my choice to be grateful. If you don’t like it, I’ll give you cat food.”

Kurama: “...............I don’t like beasts that flatter me like cats. I’d rather....”

Benkei: “Have good sake and snacks?”

Kurama(smile): “You understand me well. Let’s quickly end this crappy battle and return to Hiraizumi in triumph.”

Chapter 8

#ikemen series #ikemen genjiden #ikemen genjiden kurama #ikemen mc #otome #cybird #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #main story translations

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beingatoaster · 3 years ago

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I ended up using “bitten” as today’s Whumptober prompt! @whats-ursine suggested Beladio, and with some thought, I came up with someone he could reasonably bite. :D So this is some very long-ago NPC backstory! As a specific content warning, someone does lose a limb in this one.

---

Nimone's parents had told her that it was a bad idea to come north into lizardfolk territory. A bad idea to leave the court in which they dwelled, minor as it was, cold as it was, snow on the ground year-round and nothing growing around it but sturdy conifers. Nimone had wanted to see the lush plants, the lavish jungles at the equator, had decided that was worth the risk. She regrets that choice now.

There are eldarin here who live peacefully alongside the lizardfolk, so clearly it's *possible*. But the Court here is inpenetrable to her southern-born senses. It's not as if she's unfamiliar with political maneuvering, even in the fairly peaceful court where she grew up, but there's no grace to it here, no deception, no subtly, just rough, jagged violence for the smallest slights--or even, as far as she can tell, for no slight at all. The only thing she'd asked for was permission to study the corrupted ground in the Tyrant King's territory, and now....

Now she's in that forbidden place, yes, but running for her life. *"Study what you can,"* the great brute had told her, his eyes gleaming, *"while my court runs you down."*

She's a decent enough runner, or so she'd always thought, but she's used to running on crusted snow, not this entangled ground. And breathing cold clear air, not the humid haze that hangs here. It's been hours now, and Nimone is gasping desperately for air, trying not to bend over around the stitch in her side. Her feet are bruised and aching, and her clothes and skin alike have been torn nearly to tatters by the thorny underbrush. Behind her, the Tyrant King draws closer and closer, his reptilian 'hounds' snarling in a range that no traditional dog could achieve. His own roar echoes now and then through the trees, making them tremble.

Making Nimone tremble, too, because he's closer every time.

She rushes between two trees, catches on a vine, and falls, her head striking a rock. The world goes dark. What seems like a moment later, it clears again, and she blinks, feeling a blinding pain in her head, and lurches to her feet. She has to keep moving-

The 'hounds' are all around her. Great scaled featherless beasts standing on their hindlegs alone, two or three times the size of civilized lizardfolk, without the ornaments or scale-paint that those fellow-sentients wear. Each has a collar around their neck, in some parody of the Great Courts' kennel-hounds. They bend towards her, tiny useless forelimbs tucked against their chests, jaws opening wide. With them is one of the actual lizardfolk, green-and-olive, vividly striped, with a headdress of paler feathers and bright green paint along her body like twining vines. She steps forward, towards Nimone.

*"She is mine!"* the Tyrant King roars, and suddenly he's among them, shouldering his way through their smaller forms, knocking them aside with casual swings of his great head and long tail. Nimone stares up at him, at the bright red and stained white of his feathery fur, at the merciless pleasure in his dark eyes, as his head comes down, down, mouth opening, nothing visible but his shining teeth. They close around her.

The vine she'd tripped on is still wound around her ankle. And as the Tyrant King bites down, it yanks on her, pulls her sideways. She screams as those teeth close, but instead of biting her in half, the Tyrant King merely shears her left arm from her body. Nimone keeps screaming, shock and terror more than pain--she can't feel it yet, she just knows it's awful.

And yet, not as awful as it could be, as it will be a moment, as he snarls and swings his head about--only for the lizardfolk, the little green-and-olive one, to slam shrieking into the side of his head.

"She is not yours! She is *not*! I was with the hounds and reached her first, so she is *mine*, Beladio! My prize, not for you to feast upon!"

Nimone stares blankly, marveling, as the little lizardfolk dances furiously in front of the Tyrant King, her feathers puffed up, her tail lashing. She's so small next to him, and yet he rears back from her fury, squinting down at her with an expression that, for all his unreadability reptilian features, Nimone imagines must be surprise.

*"I am the King here-"*

"And I am Balinor's priestess! I am the kennel-keeper! I am the one who commands his hounds. You have broken Balinor's law before, Beladio, time and time again, and it angers him. Will you do so yet again? You know and I know that she is mine, for I guided the hounds, and I reached her first."

The great King pulls back further, a low growl rising from his chest, fury in his eye. His growl grows. He looks about expectantly at the hounds, silent, watching, and then the growl fades away.

In front of him, staring up at him, the little lizardfolk growls too. It's far quieter, higher, less impressive, certainly doesn't rumble through the air as his does. But it picks up echoes as it goes on. No, not echoes, Nimone realizes, still numb, hand to the bleeding stump of her arm as if it will stop the blue blood steadily pulsing out. It's the 'hounds,' the other reptiles, growling in tune with the lizardfolk.

Hearing that, the Tyrant King lurches back, his head swinging as if he'd been slapped. *"Have her, then,"* he snarls. *"Feed her to the hounds, or eat her yourself, if you think she's worth the eating."*

He turns away, his great tail swinging so that both Nimone and the lizardfolk have to duck, and several of the 'hounds' hiss and snarl as they're slapped by it. The lizardfolk whistles, high and piercing, and the 'hounds' lumber off after him, leaving her alone in the clearing with Nimone.

Still cupping her shoulder as if it will do anything, Nimone stares up at the lizardfolk. She's starting to feel faint and woozy, the world grey. The lizardfolk has huge claws on her forelegs, Nimone notices. They look like they were made for disembowling, but maybe she'll be kind enough for a swifter death-stroke?

"I can't restore that, not yet. But I can stop the bleeding," the lizardfolk says, turning towards her. When Nimone stares dumbly at her, she adds, impatiently, "If you move your hand."

Oh. Nimone takes her hand away. It doesn't make an appreciable difference in the blood flow, as far as she can tell. She watches herself spurt blue as if she's looking at someone else entirely, like it's someone's grotesque idea of a decorative fountain. It still doesn't hurt, which is strange--shouldn't it hurt? Why isn't she screaming? But screaming seems like so much work. She feels cold, despite the humid air, and tired, so tired she just wants to close her eyes and go to sleep right here on the muddy, tainted ground.

Bending down towards her, the lizardfolk cups one of her forelimbs--clawed, but less viciously so than the feet--over what remains of Nimone's shoulder. She hums, a low, thrumming tone that goes up and down in some kind of tune, the sort of jangly kind the lizardfolk like that don't use the same keys as eldarin songs do. The blood stops, crusts over into a scab, and then the flesh starts to knit together, not restored but simply binding itself to whatever other bits it can touch, squeezing off the spouting artery. Nimone watches her own muscle twist into a shape it never should have borne, then the skin do the same over it, closing up with a massive spiral scar.

The lizardfolk takes her hand away and holds it out, still stained blue with Nimone's blood. It takes Nimone a long, foggy minute to realize that she's offering her a hand up. Now the pain is starting to hit, trickling in bit-by-bit through the fog. Nimone takes her hand, since she really can't not, after that, and lets the lizardfolk pull her to her feet. She moans at the movement.

"I saved your life," the lizardfolk says baldly. "So I think that's worth your name, don't you?"

"Yes. Of course." Nimone doesn't know how the laws run here, exactly, but if their customs are anything like hers, she's beholden to give it. "My name is Nimone."

"Nimone." She can feel the tug at her soul when the lizardfolk says it, and shivers. The lizardfolk smiles at her eldarin-style, showing sharp teeth in a way far more unnerving than whatever her natural expression likely would be. "You may call me the Kennel-Master, for now."

So I... belong to you now?" She presumes the lizardfolk isn't going to eat her, so there's really only one other way to interpret that.

"Mhmm." The hum is discordant, uncertain, rising in a way that would be questioning from an eldarin's throat. Nimone isn't sure if that works the same for lizardfolk. "I suppose that's one way to put it. I should be able to keep their teeth from your throat with that claim, anyway. A priestess doesn't have much use for slaves, though. No, come with me, and I'll introduce you to someone who'll have more business with you than I do. You wanted to study this place, I believe?"

"Yes," Nimone says. She steps carefully as she follows the lizardfolk away from the spot where she'd fallen, but the vine around her ankle loosens and falls away easily when she raises her foot, and no others rise up to grab her.

"Then Durothil," and though the name is eldarin, the lizardfolk says it tenderly, like a caress, "will be pleased to meet you."

#i've always had a whole bunch of backstory in my head about this trio #and how things eventually came about in the keeper's court to where they are now #so: here's a very bloody meet-cute #breaking light #(peripherally)#whumptober

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years ago

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Yamata-No-Orochi (End) Wild Things of the Light King’s Blood

Why is this series called Yamata-No-Orochi? Because the Yamata-No-Orochi is a serpent that holds the body of the White King. Why this is significant will be clear in the end. Please stay tuned. @rurifangirl by request

The old train continued its leisurely pace towards the city lights of Tokyo in the pouring rain. In the dark and the torrential downpour, one could easily imagine it was a ghost car. In a way, it was a ghost car, because the only passengers on board were two women who shouldn’t exist in the world.

One, a raven haired beauty from Russia who should have died 20 years ago in a bombing and the other, a red haired beauty from Japan who should have been a deadpool by now and until a few days ago was forbidden to see the sun.

The fiery haired girl cried quietly into the back of the head of her giant teddy bear while you, the black haired Russian, rubbed her back and whispered softly for her to let it all out. For now, you two were all you had for company.

“Hey,” you say, “I know it seems like the end, but that man loves you.”

She looks up at you with wide red pupils and then scribbles something on the pad. “But my family doesn’t like him. I’ll never see him again.”

You gently tilt her head up, placing your fingertips under her little chin. “Remember what we said? Good friends are a little crazy. Don’t let things like family make you stop believing in your good friends, Erii.”

Even though you were younger than Erii by 3 years, she already looked up to you as an older woman and nodded obediently.

“I want to be more than your good friend though.” You roll up your shirt under your bra and show her the mottling of golden scales that had started to appear since last night. “We share the blood of the White King and a common sickness. I want to be your sister.”

Her eyes expanded. She scribbled down. “I’ve always wanted a sister!”

“Did you wish for one over the sea? Because this dream has come true. Hm…” You hum to yourself. “Let’s make it official in a vow of sisterhood.”

She sat up straight, her expression serious.

You place your hand over your heart. “I, MC, hereby vow to be the Sister of Erii Uesugi. We are bound by blood and by love. We will never betray each other. We will always defend each other. And when one calls for help, we will dash to their rescue and if anyone comes between us, may they die!”

Erii scribbled down in her notebook those same words and then she signed her name, and you signed yours.

You continued to make up this silly ritual. “Now, put your hand against my hand, sister.”

Your palms met.

“Twine your fingers.”

You clasp your hands together. Once she bought into it. You reach across with your other hand and goose her ribs!

Erii squealed and then clapped her hand over her mouth in terror! But you didn’t break your smile. You only giggled. “Sisters do things like this.” You say.

Her face was red with fear but also a bit of indignation, but underneath it all was joyous warmth. “I will find a way to trick you too!”

You sit back. “Sister, I want to ask you something. How is it that you can live so long? Your physical condition is not good. I felt it when I touched you. You have so many more scales than me.”

She scribbled down for a long time before turning the page to you. “I live because of the serum injections. The injections contain fetal blood of deadpool. Because the blood is embryonic, it has a purifying and not corrupting effect.”

“Hm…” That’s why deadpool spawning tanks were under Genji Heavy Industries. They were being bred and the blood of the fetuses were being injected into Erii. “Thank you.”

“If you come with me, I will convince my brother to treat you.” She writes.

You place your hand over hers. “Don’t worry for me. I have time. I already have a man who has guaranteed my safety.”

Erii’s mouth made a little ‘o’.

“I need to return to him. So I will get off the train early. Please rest and get better so I can take you dog sledding.”

The train made its meandering track towards Tokyo. You were one stop before Matsuyama station, however, the train started to slow. It was far too late to be picking up passengers.

Erii had fallen asleep in your arms and you tilted her head away from you and reached for your deadpool claw dagger. A man in a long cloak stepped onto the train. When his foot landed at the door, the entire car tilted as though he weighed thousands of pounds! The rainwater was rising off him in a steaming cloud and when he breathed, he hissed like a steam engine.

You give Erii one last glance and decide it was not time to be subtle or afraid. You would simply disappear with this monster. You rush forward, as fast as a pouncing lioness! The deadpool under the cloak surged with blue light, lifting its cloak and revealing its dinosaur clawed feet, and its blue-black scaled body. It arced its back and opened its mouth to roar, but you throw the dagger into its throat to silence it and then take a flying leap and kick it out of the train car.

You both land hard on the platform and you snatch your dagger out from the back of its throat and land in a crouch to face it.

The beast chokes black blood a moment, lying on its back under the platform lights and then flips completely onto all fours in a single motion!

You leap backwards and it lands where you were, cracking the concrete beneath.

The train rumbles off to continue its journey to Tokyo the Matsuyama Station, while you lure the beast away from the car. It was an open air station with several spaces for busses. But the busses were no longer running. There wasn’t much cover and the streets were empty of people.

From your lesson in Genji, you understood that the nervous center is the weak point. But this beast came armed with vertebral spines to protect that sensitive area.

A strange whistling noise comes from above and you leap to one side. A dark shape pierces the ground where you stood and then lifts, carrying bits of concrete with it. The shape moved like a loose cable, waving in the air to toss aside the rubble. Then it descends! You throw yourself back, narrowly escaping being impaled! It whips and the tip slashes side to side, nearly taking your head off and tearing into your T-shirt.

The deadpool was crouching low, a distance away, but a long tail, twice as long as the length of its body, was waving. A single muscle twitch sends the barbed sword-like tail tip into the ground with stunning accuracy!

You nod once and start backing up. The beast spider-walks toward you and the tail lashes out! You leap up and the sword tail slices clear through a street lamp behind you. The lamp crashes down towards the monster and shatters. Even though the lamp missed, it was enough distraction to let you get inside its tail range. You run directly towards it. Its mouth opens to reveal six inch long sharp teeth and it lifts a hand full of daggers.

Your movements are delicate and precise, threading the needle between the deadly bite and the deadly piercing hooks to plunge your dagger into the side of its neck and draw down, slicing through its throat, but you hit only muscle. The neck itself was armored! Now that you were inside, however, you would not back away. You leap to the other side, committing little non-lethal cuts to its back that wouldn’t hurt at all, trying to find an opening through the bony plates. The beast chases you in a tight circle, spinning in the street. You can see the serrations on its teeth. The thin lines of saliva in its mouth. You breathe in its foul breath.

You have taken hold of one of its dorsal spines nearest the back of its head. So the faster it turns, the faster you turn, like a dog chasing its tail. You pierce it again and again until the spine starts to lift off its back.

Then you mount it, its blood soaking between your legs and you stab downward, looking for the spine. Frustrated and in agony, the beast rears up, lifting you nearly 10 feet in the air in an instant, screaming, tail waving. You scramble to hold on and not get thrown by the momentum. Your eyes widen as you hear that deadly whistle and you let go and crash to the ground hard.

You sit up and the beast is standing upright, mouth open in shock, the barbed tip of its own tail protruding through the back of its own head! You were like an annoying fly that landed on its head and it killed itself in its attempt to swat you. It falls forward so hard that cracks appear in the ground where it lands.

You sit wondering. You were someone who was adept at using the God’s Eyes fighting technique, but this time you surprised yourself.

Screeching tires heralded a roaring black sedan as it careered around the corner. The window was down and a long rifle emerged from it! You turned and scrambled to your feet. The bullet shattered against the wall of a building, blowing dust and stinging bits of masonry into your face. Your eyes scan for cover but there is none sufficient to shield you. That bullet was big enough to completely shatter your skull!

Your heart leaps at the sight of a tall figure in the dark who was suddenly illuminated by headlights. He was dressed in period clothing, a long red Kimono with flowing ornamental embroidery of Lycoris Radiata. He pulled a red sheath from his sleeve as you ran toward him, gasping in desperation. As soon as he pulled the sword from its sheath, a great wind gust blew by you.

The black sedan collides with that wind and bursts apart, shattering as if it hit a concrete barrier head on.

Ruri Kazama holds the bright silver blade aloft and you duck behind him, and then he brings it down hard. Another blade like wind slices the car clean in half.

“How did you know I was here?” You gasp.

“There was a report of a deadpool. I may not be a member of Hydra or of Cassell, but all Hybrid species have an obligation to clear these beasts. I’ll let my brother’s men take care of the rest of this mess. Come, we need to hide.” When he gathers you against the silk of his cloak you can smell the scent of tobacco.

Hand in hand, you run through the heavy rain to a waiting car. As soon as you’re inside, it peels off into the night, driving full speed and crashing through the deep street flooding. “Ruri Kazama. I gave you all my star-hearts.”

“I know. I’ve been looking for you, but you disappeared.”

You look up into his dark eyes. They were serious as they scanned you for injuries. You quickly gasp and cover your torn shirt with your arms. “I want to join you to help you defeat Herzog. Caesar and Chu Zihang cannot bear my presence any longer. They fear I might lose control. Caesar says I’m better with my own kind.”

Ruri turns away from you. “Then you care nothing for me?”

You gasp hurriedly. “That’s not it at all. It turns out you were right. I am a perishing flower. I just didn’t know anything. But… I’m not giving up. I don’t think my death is inevitable. And I won’t throw my life away for anyone. I don’t want you to either.”

He stares down at you and you realize that he is older than you but not by much. He is older in spirit. Looking up at him was like looking at an ancient dragon. His long black hair frames his gentle boyish face and again your eyes blur the line between man and woman.

“If you will have me, I’ll be yours.” You say. “Only, you must fight to live and not to die. You must not die for me. That is not noble. It's terrible! I don’t care what anyone else says. Understand?” You look into those eyes and you’re again reminded of an impossibly deep pool where you couldn’t ever see the bottom. His eyes were like the lake of Baikal that reached down, deep and cold into the center of the Earth’s crust.

He was silent. You feel like you’re stepping out of bounds, but you have to have this promise. This was nothing like the touching moment between you and Chance. You feel like your spilling your guts in a hurry, rushing through the vows on your wedding day. “Don’t throw your life away. Not for me. Not for anyone. Are you listening? If death comes, it comes but don’t you give yourself to it. Don’t! Find another way out. Or fight.”

His silence sent cracks up and down your fragile heart and then you remembered that you couldn’t accept this either at first. It took three times before you stopped seeking death.

Much to your shock, you return to the Takamagahara Night Club. You wonder if he’s getting rid of you. You both get out of the car and he holds out an umbrella over your head and cradles your body under his arm. Together, you walk through the doors. “You live here right? The other aces have not returned yet. Bathe and dress and meet me behind the bar.”

One of the waiters offers you a large jacket over your shivering shoulders.

His eyes are still serious and deep, but they had softened looking at you. “I accept your proposal.”

#Dragon Raja

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sheyshen · 3 years ago

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Fictober ‘21: Day 5

Prompt: “ I’m not saying I told you so…” Fandom: World of Warcraft Rating: G Pairing: Tish/Night (aka Tirastrasza/Nitraxion) both are OCs

It was a clear and sunny day, and in Tirastrasza's opinion, perfect for flying. She had spent much of the day cooped up in the Dalaran libraries sorting through scrolls older than she was, organizing and fixing enchantments on tomes whose wards were starting to fail from age. But as much as she enjoyed her time surrounded by knowledge both ancient and new she still preferred her time soaring the skies, especially alongside her closest confidant and mate.

Putting the book she had in her hands in its spot on the shelf before her, she turned and made her way out of the library. A short break wouldn't hurt anything, and then she could get back to her tasks with a clear head. Striding out she passed by a few apprentices studying their spells, some focused and writing note after note, others looking bored out of their minds. She smiled at them as she passed, their instructor nodding her way before admonishing one student that looked to be dozing off.

She paused, trying to think of where Night should be at at the moment, certain he could use the break as well. He favored the gardens so she decided she would start there.

Sure enough, she spotted him weeding one of the many beds of flowers in the main gardens. She grinned at him as she strode up.

"Tish…" while he did look happy to see her, his voice held a tinge of suspicion. "Aren't you in charge of the libraries today?"

She waved the question off, "I'm just taking a break. Care to join me?"

He thought a moment before wiping his hands on a towel. "I was pretty much finished, so it wouldn't hurt. What did you have in mind?"

"Just a bit of flying, clear my head."

"That might draw some attention." He stood, dusting off his knees. "Dragons aren't unheard of around here, especially reds, but I'll stick out too much."

"Ah, it'll be fine." She grinned and winked at him.

Or at least he was fairly sure she did. "You know it's hard to tell when you wink with your eyepatch." He followed after as she walked off, the pair heading for the teleportation crystal that would take them down to the forests below. It'd be safer to transform there than in the city itself.

"But you were able to tell." Her grin widened.

"I've spent much too much time with you since we've met. I've gotten used to your habits." He smiled affectionately at her for a moment, before continuing. "Speaking of, you did let the other one you were working with know you were taking a break right?"

She strode into the room that held the crystal, smiling at the guards as they walked past. "You mean Mey? Don't worry, she'll figure it out. Besides, we won't be gone that long."

"You should've at least left a note," he sighed, this wasn't the first time she'd wandered off without telling anyone, and every time she got yelled at. "She's going to be pissed."

She waved him off as she triggered the enchantment. The room shifted, fading around them, and in a blink, they were standing in the camp on the opposite side of the Crystalsong Forest. Walking down the path that lead to Dragonblight they hid off to the side, using the cover to shift forms.

Tish shifted first, scarlet robes turning to a brilliant scale of the same color, covering every inch of her as she grew larger, her face becoming reptilian, the scars that showed underneath her eyepatch becoming more pronounced, and the bit of cloth shifted and became part of a jeweled headdress that adorned her horns. Once the transformation was complete she shook herself, the chains and decorations that she wore tinkling with the movement, and flexed her wings. "It feels like it's been so long since I had a chance to wear this form." She looked down at night, "well?"

"I can wait here for you."

"Night…"

"I'll stand out, Tish. It's best if I just enjoy what I can in this form."

"We don't need to go anywhere near the Dragonshrines or the temple. We can go to the Storm Peaks, I know you’ve been wanting to go there. Only other dragons there are proto-dragons and who cares what they think." She nodded towards the north and then the east, "or the Grizzly Hills. Plenty of plants for you to see."

He debated for a moment before finally giving in. "Fine, but not for too long." He spread his arms, shifting form. Where Tish sported crimson scales marking her as one of Alexstraszas flight, Night became covered in midnight blue and onyx scales, scales so fine they appeared as if leather or skin. He shook as he transformed, his head taking on a more sharklike appearance and his wings flexing as he reached his full size. He wore no ornamentation save a bangle on his right paw that matched his mate, but he had an ethereal glow to him as if he was constantly shifting in and out of this plane of existence.

Giving his body a final shake he nodded, "shall we?"

"Hope you can keep up!" She said as she flapped her wings hard and launched herself into the air. She circled, riding on the updrafts until he followed after, then both Tirastrasza and Nitraxion headed off towards the snowy mountains of the Storm Peaks.

He had had his concerns, nether dragons weren't common in Azeroth, much of that due to both the flights of this world (especially the blues) and his own flight believing it best that they stay in outlands, but meeting Tirastrasza had made him dare go against his matriarch's wishes and stow away on a transport back to Azeroth. They had been inseparable since, traveling across Azeroth to explore and learn and to just enjoy life.

And while he worried what would become of them if he was discovered, the thrill of being able to see this world for all its beauty made it worth it. And while he had complained about her slacking off, he got swept right up in his excitement that both had spent much more time than they had intended exploring the snowy peaks. The sun had started to set by the time the pair returned to the pathway and shifted back to their mortal forms, and it had gotten dark when they reached the camp and used the crystal to return to Dalaran.

Waiting for them, with arms crossed and glare on her face was Mey. The blood elf huffed in annoyance before greeting them, "welcome back."

"Oh! Mey! I'm so sorry, I wanted to just get some air, but time got away from me! I hope it wasn't too much trouble."

The elf smiled cooly at her. "It's no trouble at all. In fact, the tomes and scrolls you were assigned are waiting for you to finish."

Tish looked surprised, "they are? Well, that's… great, thank you, I'll be sure to take care of them in the morning when the library is open."

"Oh, don't worry. I requested access for you all night so you can finish." The smile appeared more cruel than sweet, "I appreciate your help!" She bid them a good night and left.

"Love." Night patted her on the shoulder, "I'm not saying I told you so, but… I can at least give you a hand."

She looked at him, gratitude obvious on her face, "you will? I'll pay you back, I'll cover for you next time you want to get out of work alright."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'd rather you just finish your work on time." He stepped out of the building, Tish by his side, as they headed back to the library. "Besides for a red you are terrible with plants." He shook his head, though he couldn't muffle the laugh at the look on her face.

"That was one time, and I had never seen a plant like that!" She started to laugh as well. "Fine how about I find another way to pay you back."

"After we finish work."

"Yeah yeah."

#my writing #fictober21 #wow #world of warcraft #warcraft #oc: nitraxion #oc: tirastrasza

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pyrrhesia · 3 years ago

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FF14Write - ‘Bow’

In which something just feels right in Cwenthryth Sadler’s hands.

Yangir belongs to @nerdlordholocron

Cwenthryth liked watching the archers. She couldn't say why. But, it felt like there were a lot of things she could never work out to say. She couldn't work out what to say when she'd been told by some academy brat it was rude to stare. She never knew what to say when the other girls her age... Anyway. She liked watching the archers. The range was an odd, cramped little place, but that meant the arrows still had plenty of bite in them as they thunked into their targets. She liked that sound, and the thok of them being plucked out was somehow more satisfying still. And there was an order to it. They shot. They had a target. Sometimes they swore. They got the arrows back. They shot again until they got bored and went for a drink. And certainly they rarely paid any attention to the girl lingering on the fringes, on the other end of the fence. Except ... She almost jumped when someone looked straight at her, almost fled when he came over. But she held her ground. "Seen you around here a few times." Cwenthryth scuffed her boot into the sand. "Been around here a few times." "Can't say I understand why." The elezen chuckled. "What's the glamour for a little girl?" "Ain't little," she said, sullenly. "I'm thirteen, me. Ain't a glamour, either. Glamour's someone making armour look pink and fancy but you hit 'em and it's all steel. Glamour's a cheat. This has rules. There's right. You win or you don't." "Rules, eh?" The elezen snorted. He was cresting middle age, with salt and pepper hair and extensive scars on his cheek and shoulders. "Not an Ala Mhigan weapon, this." "I'm not Ala Mhigan," said the girl in her stubbornly thick Ala Mhigan accent, a fresh tattoo still bright and angry against her skin. "You want to learn to shoot? Thirteen's a fine age to start. Late, if anything, if you ever want to handle a beast like this." He jostled the longbow in his hands, and not for the first time Cwenthryth's eyes were drawn hopelessly to it. It was without ornament, and only stood out due to its length. Yet there was something in that simple, sheer curve of wood... "I said, did you want to--" Cwenthryth hopped the fence. "Name's Cwen. Show me."

They started slow. They found a hunting bow she could string and draw comfortably. There were no naturals; she had a fine eye and a strong arm, and the old man quickly corrected the faults in her form. That got her about as far as being able to hit the broad side of the barn. For the rest, the man simply emphasised: practice, practice, practice. As if that was the sticking point where most fell flat. But when she was here, there was a clarity to life. And she wasn't on the streets, and she wasn't in her dark little house tucked into a grim slum, for all she was told she was lucky to live there given how many refugees hadn't made it through the gates. The lessons continued for a couple of years. He was a bored old man with, it seemed little to go home to. They didn't talk about their lives, and this seemed part of the attraction for them both. He said things every once in a while Cwen wasn't sure if she agreed with - "archery is an art", "the forest has much to teach us", "murder is wrong" - but for all the weird mysticism around the way he treated archery, she quickly grew the equal of more seasoned bowmen. At fourteen, he let her string his longbow. At fifteen, he let her fire it. Her muscles strained to their fullest, and her back almost gave out, and her shot scattered wide of the target and almost struck a pigeon, but it seemed like that was enough, when the next day she found out he'd left for Gridania, and left the bow in her hands.

The years passed. She trained. She made what living she could, graduating from theft to violence, and her mother stopped looking at her as a daughter and started looking at her as a crushing disappointment. Always took the money, though. Never too proud for that. One day, Cwenthryth, too, had just left. Being a Godslaying mercenary felt a little more fulfilling, for whatever reason. It had always felt a little hollow to spend so much time hurting people who didn't fight back, taking from people who were essentially like her, but weak. She still took no satisfaction in fighting, beyond that of a job well done, but something felt better about hurting things that were trying to kill you. Trouble was, sometimes, they came close to succeeding. They'd thought Garuda was down, before She swept back into being in the centre of the field, throwing aside any in her path. Cwenthryth had been closest, slammed into a pillar of rocks, felt agony in her back and her head for a sharp, split moment before rolling limp to the ground. The first thing she heard after that was a voice. "Hey, get up! You look way too heavy to drag back to camp, even for me." "Careful with her. Her back could be broken." Cwenthryth groaned. Was the massive jolt of pain in her spine a good sign? She knuckled herself upright, unsteadily, before a buckling leg immediately sent her back on one knee. "'m fine," she said, flying in the face of all evidence. Her eyes finally opened. That weird, foreign scaled thing was talking. That was a good sign. She couldn't see Garuda, either, which was also a good sign, though the last time she hadn't seen Garuda had been right before getting thrown into the rocks. She looked back at them. One of them was damp. She felt the back of her head and winced as her fingers came away red. "You alright?" "Head throbs like Rhalgr's cock," she muttered. "Can walk, though." Her other hand kept tensing, though, as though... as though... "Pity you missed it. Right after you went down, I leapt onto the pillar, jumped right over the--" Cwenthryth ignored them, smacking shoulders as she hustled by, finding... a string connecting two uneven lengths of wooden staves. The bow must have snapped under the tension, perhaps even against her own body as she'd been thrown back. She sucked her teeth. No use crying and stamping her feet. But this felt worse than any broken body she'd seen. No body ever felt that right in her hands. So she did what she always did, though tonight rather more literally than usual. She picked up the pieces, and moved on.

#FFxivWrite2021 #OC: cwenthryth sadler #the old guy isn't a canon NPC #maybe in a modern AU she'd be like an ultimate chess savant or sth

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visualreverence · 5 years ago

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A World of Dinosauroids

C. M. Kosemen with Simon Roy

My post on Simon Roy’s “Dinosauroids” is one of the most reblogged things on this blog. I love the concept because it rewrites the cosmic tragedy of the K-T Mass Extinction Event, resurrecting dinosaurs and projecting their continued evolution in ancient world that is alien but also eerily resonant. Recently Simon turned me onto The-Master-Post-on-All-Things-Dinosauroid on his long-time collaborator, C. M. Kosemen’s, site. The following post has been transcribed from C. M. Kosemen’s blog and formatted for Tumblr with @simon-roy‘s blessing.

There are two highly-popular, vexing questions about dinosaurs: What would the world look like if these strange and majestic animals had not gone extinct? And, would they ever evolve into intelligent species comparable to humans? In 1982, palaeontologist Dale Russell, after observing “… a general trend toward larger relative brain size in terrestrial vertebrates through geologic time, and the energetic efficiency of an upright posture in slow-moving, bipedal animals”, postulated the Dinosauroid, a humanoid, erect-gaited sophont which may have evolved from Troodon-like dinosaurs had the end-Cretaceous extinction not occurred.

This question occupied the minds of yours truly (seen here on the right), and world-building comic genius Simon Roy (on the left), as well. We were unconvinced by Russell’s Dinosauroid. We thought that an erect, humanoid sophont was too prejudiced towards humans to be realistic. We were instead inspired by zoologist Darren Naish’s writings on the evolution of intelligent, bird-like dinosaurs: “No, post-Cretaceous maniraptorans wouldn’t end up looking like scaly tridactyl plantigrade humanoids with erect tailless bodies. They would be decked out with feathers and brightly coloured skin ornaments; have nice normal horizontal bodies and digitigrade feet; long, hard, powerful jaws; stride around on the savannah kicking the shit out of little mammals; and in the evenings they would stand together in the trees, booming out a duet of du du du-du, a deep noise that would reverberate for miles around…”

Towards the end of the ‘00s, Simon Roy and I independently began to develop our concepts for bird-like intelligent dinosaurs. Inspired by the ravens he saw around his Canadian home, Simon drew the corvid-like dinosauroids seen above.

I, in turn, was inspired by ground hornbills, parrots, certain dinosaurs and corvids, and came up with the speculative organism seen above. I named it Avisapiens saurotheos. Simon and I soon got in touch with each other; and started developing a world and a storyline for our dinosauroids. Our collaborative efforts continued, on-and-off, until the mid-2010s. Our aim was to develop the Dinosauroids story into an illustrated story-book, which we naively hoped to sell to a major sci-fi publisher. But we soon realised that we enjoyed world-building more than writing a story, or putting a book together. We kept bouncing concepts back and forth, but never had a chance to publish them, until now. Most of the body of work you see on this page was drawn by Simon, based on ideas we created together. I also contributed some of the “cave drawings” and certain creature illustrations. This is the first time the totality of our Dinosauroids-universe works has been displayed online.

Simon and I refined the design of my original Avisapiens dinosauroid…

And created a few more sentient races to accompany them. There was one more, slightly-crow-like species of Avisapiens (a continuation of Simon’s corvid dinosauroids - Avisapiens tataricus). These two species were joined by a variety of “forest giants” (Gigantosapiens borealis), and a race of pygmies (Avisapiens minimus).

Simon’s refined studies of corvid-like, and pygmy dinosauroids.

We also designed an extensive selection of animals around our dinosauroids. We predicted that even without the K/T mass extinction, dinosaurs and other animals would have kept on evolving, and many “familiar” groups of dinosaurs would have gone extinct. We thus designed a world where the majority of surviving dinosaurs were the descendants of “maniraptoran” groups; birds, deinonychosaur (“raptor”) dinosaurs, troodonts, oviraptors and therizinosaurs. Here, you can see two boreal dinosauroids using mouth-spears to hunt herbivorous troodont quarry.

We also did not want this world to be devoid of mammals. Even during the age of dinosaurs, certain mammals evolved into large and sophisticated forms. We envisioned a world where parallel groups of mammals, similar to, but phylogenetically distinct from today’s forms, co-evolved alongside the dinosaurs during their continued reign. The scene above shows an Eurasian water-hole crowded with two species of ornithomimid herbivores (Rugocursor, left-centre; and Cyanogularia, far right); alongside robust (Afrotuberculocamelus) and gracile (Odontocervoides) species of herbivorous mammals which, for the lack of a better term, we decided to name “supermaras”.

A series of studies showing the evolution of supermaras from rodent-like multituberculate mammals. The species depicted here is Ceratomegamys.

The full diversity of cursorial “supermaras”, from left to right: The burly, tusked Odontobovis; the superficially-camel-like Tuberculocamelus; the gazelle-like Odontocervoides; the trunked, moose-like Pseudalces; and the two related forms - the big, desert-dwelling Macropseudalces; and one of the many deer-like Cervopseudalces species.

Studies of Megatapirus, large, superficially-elephant-like mammals that live in far-northern climates.

We also derived a variety of mammalian carnivores, mostly from marsupial stock. Through the honing forces of evolution, we imagined some would look very similar to the canid predators we have in the present day - the actual difference would only be in their internal and reproductive anatomies. Above, clockwise: The large, badger-like Mephitursoides; the extremely dog-like Pseudokynos; the hyena-like Krokutadasyurus.

Some marsupial predators diverged from the mammalian body-plan, and evolved into forms roughly converging with the predatory dinosaurs. The raptorial, meat-eating kangaroo-equivalent Theropodoktonos and kin are potent predators in South America.

Two more divergent marsupials: The leopard/possum Phobodidelphyoides; and the monkey-like Marsupiolemuris, a social, arboreal form with a potential to evolve intelligence.

We also wanted to have flying reptiles - pterosaurs - still alive and kicking in our world. These extraordinary animals were already in decline by the time dinosaurs became extinct. So we relegated them to only a few roles, comparable to storks and other large water-birds alive today. Above is a flock of Diluvipterus; large, filter-feeding pterosaurs. Also note the solitary duck flying on the upper-left corner.

Another, flightless pterosaur, Cygnotherium, from the islands that now make up New Zealand.

A more unusual group are the avisuchians, descendants of maniraptoran dinosaurs that secondarily converged on the aquatic bodyplans of spinosaurs (which are now extinct in this timeline). Most resembled the short-tailed forms, Pisciraptor and Brachyornithoides seen above. These goose-to-dog-sized animals inhabit rivers and lakes, and occupied a niche comparable to otters today.

There were also long-tailed Avisuchians such as the Natatoraptor seen above. These animals inhabit open waters, and nested in estuaries and beaches.

A contemporary scene from Eurasia shows commensal life between mammals and dinosaurs. Two Pseudalces browse peacefully alongside two kinds of large ornithominids, Archganseria and Brontonyx. A tiny, heron-like troodont, Anatolocursor, can be seen between them, looking for small animals flushed out by the large herbivores’ movements.

Nevertheless, despite co-existing with large mammals, dinosaurs are more diverse on this world. Herbivorous dinosaurs, such as these derived ornithomimids, constitute a large part of dinosaurian diversity. Above left are studies of Ganseria, a common, medium-sized browser. Above right, clockwise from the top right, are portraits of Ukkuloganser, another medium-sized browser; Nyctodromon, a nocturnal digger; Adzuganser, a small omnivore; and Pyramidoganser, a crested form native to the Nile Delta.

A scaled study of Brontonyx, a heavyweight ornithomimid herbivore.

Portraits of many cursorial dinosaurs from across Eurasia: 1- Leptoganseria, a mountain-dwelling ornithomimid browser found on the mountains of what is now the Caucaus. 2- Ikiridectes, a troodont that mostly hunts small digging mammals. 3- Aktardektes, a small ornithomimid that has specialised for cracking hard-shelled nuts. 4- The gracile, juvenile variant of Brontonyx, (6) which occupies a completely-different ecological niche as a generalist omnivore. 5- Rugocursor, a widespread, broad-beaked ornithomimid with many species, common across North Africa and Eurasia. 6- The adult form of Brontonyx, a gigantic ornithomimid that feeds on trees, and defends itself with heavy claws. 7- A vulture-like Cynornithoides, an extremely bird-like troodont, a frequent commensal of Avisapiens and related intelligent species.

A variety of Rugocursor, a mostly-herbivorous ornithomimid with adaptations for running.

Various troodonts, small-bodied, sometimes very bird-like omnivorous dinosaurs, distantly related to the Avisapiens lineage. Left, shaded study of Variocursor, a common, heron-sized, striding predator on small animals. Right, from top to bottom; Vuuria, a herbivorous form common across Eurasia; Boreocursor, a cold-climate predator, related to the Variocursor seen on the left; and Paravuuria, an omnivorous form.

The last descendants of hadrosaurs, the famous “duck-billed dinosaurs”, still roam in South America. The hoofed, sheep-sized Ornimastax seen above left, is a typical example. Australia, as in our world, is home to an unusual radiation of forms whose relations to animals on other continents are not very clear. Brachygullagong, seen above right, is a troodont-like form whose duck-like skull and batteries of grinding cheek teeth have secondarily converged with those of the hadrosaurs.

The largest herbivores on this world are long-necked, scythe-clawed ornithomimid relatives known as avititans. The largest species on Eurasia is Avititan bicolor, seen above in scale with a human figure.

Avititans owe their ecological success to their strong social structures and their care of their young. Here are two Eurasian avititans with their offspring. Yellow-tailed enantiornithine tick-birds, Parasitophagus leucurus, can be seen on their backs.

Oviraptoriformes made up another important clade of dinosaurs in this world.

Descended from bird-like ancestors, various clades of these animals live on as important omnivores, scavengers and even predators in many ecological niches. Above is Eblisornis, a common species found throughout Eurasia.

The bull-bird, Bosornithoides erythrops, is the largest and most prominent oviraptoriform on the Eurasian continent. It subsists mostly on plants and fruit, but will eat carrion if given the chance.

Hunting the wary and dangerous Bosornithoides is an important rite of passage for dinosauroids. The animals require coordination and group-work to bring down, and hunting one is a bonding experience for batches of young-adult nestmates. This ritual not only cements the dinosauroids’ social standing in their tribe, but also bonds the hunters together for the rest of their lives. The four hunters-to-be in this picture are accompanied by a couple of jackal-birds (Cynornithoides), domesticated pets that are almost as smart as the dinosauroids themselves.

Many dinosaurs dabble in carnivory, but the main predatory niches on this version of Earth, are occupied by a diverse radiation of paradromaeosaurs, descendants of the famous “raptor” dinosaurs and kin. Paradromaeosaurs have diverged considerably from their ancestors. One lineage, known as the rhynchovenators, replaced their teeth with sharp, raptorial beaks.

The male and female of the common boreal rhynchovenator, Rhynchovulpes agilis.

A lean-legged Egyptian rhynchovenator, Rhnychovulpes aegypticus, atop a dead multituberculate mammal. The key to rhnychovenators’ success is their added tenacity and stamina. Even a small rhynchovenator can overcome comparatively large prey by continually harassing and chasing it into exhaustion.

The bald-headed Osteophaganax regalis is a common scavenger encountered across the Caucaus Mountains. Its males develop striking, black-and-purple wattles on their faces during spring.

Two more derived troodonts. Left, a tree-dwelling arbosaur, Toucanops dixoni, from one of the diverse and little-understood clades found across the South American continent. Right, the lean, narrow-beaked Halophagus sp. from fossil deposits in what is now China. This group evolved specialisations for marine diving and probably saltwater drinking, before becoming extinct during the Miocene.

The dominant guild of maniraptoran predators, the tyrannoraptors, evolved from “regular” dromaeosaurs with powerful, biting jaws. Some species living today, such as the Savannahdromeus shown above, are still very similar to the earliest forms. Despite its small size, the smart and social Savannahdromeus are apex predators thanks to their pack-hunting behaviour.

Another basal tyrannoraptor, Pantherdromeus - is a solitary hunter that is common across much of Eurasia. It probably represents a diverse and subtly-variable species complex.

Solitary, basal tyrannoraptors eventually gave rise to the terrifying main-line tyrannoraptors in the last twenty-million years. The evolution of these animals was marked by the reduction of their wings and the enlargement of their legs, and jaws. Their tails developed into stiff and rod-like balancing organs. In some respects, they were the evolutionary echoes of the big-jawed, running tyrannosaurs, which had become extinct earlier on, during this world’s version of the Eocene period. Unlike tyrannosaurs, however, tyrannoraptors had well-developed social behaviours and intelligence; which, when coupled with their fast speed and terrific jaws, turned them into formidable apex predators. Above are the adolescent and mature forms of Metadromodaemon phobetor, a mid-sized hunter found in the Middle East and North Africa.

A scaled drawing of Wotandromeus bicolor, the terrifying, large-headed hunter of European forests.

The seven-metre-long Melanorodromeus euceratus - also known by the Dinosauroids as “black thing” - is the largest predator on mainland Eurasia; but even larger forms are reputed to exist in Siberia and North America.

Let us now return to the Dinosauroids, their culture, and art. Above is a brief study illustrating the divergence of the two species of Avisapiens; A. saurotheos and A. tataricus, from ancestral eu-troodontid stock.

Especially A. tataricus shows considerable variation in beak shape, length and colouration. Above, right are the colouration of the Eurasian (top right, bluish-black), and Northeast Siberian (above right, yellowish-brown) races. Above, left shows a spectrum of variation in A. tataricus beaks. The cross-beaked and long, curved beaks occasionally crop up in certain bloodlines, which also have augmented song-memories. These individuals are revered as shamans in certain A. tataricus tribes; or are immediately killed-off as harbingers of doom in others.

Above, the extensive variation in the head shapes, beak lengths and crests of various races in A. saurotheos. The bottom-right sketch depicts a hybrid individual between A. saurotheos and A. tataricus.

A powerful hunter of A. tataricus, from the Carpathian Mountains, showing a stone axe and bent spear that are characteristically used by this particular tribe.

An artist/shaman of one of the settled A. saurotheos tribes living around the Balkans. He paints on animal skins stretched taut across circular frames, and paints using ground-up soil and other pigments, wielding a brush made from a wing-feather. The skin canvas also double as drums.

Art is one sure-fire way of identifying an intelligent species. This skin-painting shows a spear-hunter and prey, a painting by the aforementioned shaman.

Painting of a god or hero-figure with red tail feathers.

Painting of two shamans divining the future from the entrails of a dead flying animal.

Painting of a hatchling being trained by a village elder.

Studies of an A. saurotheos wanderer with a travel harness; and a duo of A. tataricus migrants with a domesticated bull-bird, a relative of the oviraptoriform Bosornithoides mentioned above.

The view from an Avisapiens saurotheos village, showing the species’ characteristic nest-houses, and a pair of semidomesticated Cynornithoides jackal-birds playing in the village square. Note the heads mounted on tall poles, a sign of reverence to the spirits of the departed.

Detail of a brooding nest constructed by Avisapiens tataricus. Most tribes of these species are migrants that range across Eurasia, few build permanent structures.

Sketch of an A. tataricus wearing a travois-like travel harness.

Study of an A. saurotheos wanderer with travel gear.

A detailed study of the burly A. tataricus native to the Caucaus Mountains, complete with weapons, travel gear and ornamental cape.

Sketches of war-like A. tataricus tribes native to the Eastern Mediterranean region. These tribes are known for their ferocious (if impractical) war-masks.

Studies of two different warriors from two different Avisapiens tataricus societies.

A resplendent A. tataricus warrior from the Levant, wearing an ornate head-dress of feathers, and an obsidian-studded war-mask.

Studies for Avisapiens spear-throwers and wooden-slat armour; from a comparatively advanced period on this species’ societal development.

An A. saurotheos shaman entertains hatchlings with fireside tales of spirits and other worlds.

A band of slave-keeping A. tataricus warriors during a raid to an A. saurotheos village. A young shaman is captured and de-clawed.

Simon Roy and I also dwelled on the far-future evolution of dinosauroid technology. The sketches above of a “knight”, moon lander and an astronaut were produced, but we did not pursue these scenarios seriously.

Let us conclude our visit to the dinosauroid tangent-universe with one last look at our artist/shaman, his village, and his paintings. Somewhere in deep time, they are still alive, and still waiting to tell us of their adventures.

A painting of an avititan family.

A painting of the dangerous, predatory “black thing”.

A painting showing numerous animals at a watering hole.

A painting showing an A. tataricus warrior.

Stylised paintings of spear-wielding Carpathian warriors.

Painting of a ferocious Aegean headhunter.

A stylised painting showing an immature dinosauroid.

Stylised painting of a warrior confronting a spirit-creature.

Stylised painting of a powerful Caucausian mountain warrior.

Painting showing a ghoul-like oviraptoriform animal.

Painting of one of the sky-gods worshipped by A. saurotheos.

A complex painting showing four A. tataricus warriors hunting a bull Bosornithoides.

Simon Roy and I may return to the dinosauroids universe one day with a real story; but truth be told we enjoyed world-building far more than inventing stories and characters.

- 2008 - 10/2019.

#worldbuilding #speculative biology #speculative evolution #dinosaurs #dinosaur art #dinosauroids #paleoart #creature design #c m kosemen #simon roy

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years ago

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The Dragon Egg (Parts 26-29)

Final parts for @secrettunnelatla

Azula is several unique and distinct layers of anxious. There is the first layer; the typical stresses that come with knowing that she is in for a make or break moment. The layer beneath that is a knowingness that a break is going to be particularly devastating for her. And below that is knowing that Blue Talon is in the room over, that she will once again be forced to listen to Chan’s botched version of her abuse story.

Under that layer is knowing that the subject of said story will be in the crowd, she has already spotted him striking up conversation with Wan Shi Tong after being snubbed by Raava and Vaatu.

And then there is the deepest layer. Hama has invited herself to the performance, after she so adamantly refused to take her advice to not perform. The old bat tried her damndest to dissuade her. Worse still, the woman’s concerns are more than valid. After finally confessing that she had done cocaine, albeit only a little, Hama lamented that that’s more than enough to explain her baby’s low birth weight. And more than enough to put her into early labor. Early labor when her age alone already put her at risk for that. “You can go into labor any time now.” The woman had put it. She can’t say that she doesn’t feel as though it is a possibility. The contractions are becoming more regular.

She holds out her hand and their makeup and SFX artist carefully dresses her fingers with blue claw tips. The fix her up with dragon contact lenses and carefully paint shimmering scales onto her cheeks, neck, and hands.

The woman hands her a sugary blue drink, it is the one comfort she has tonight. With luck it will give her tongue the blue effect that she is looking for.

They fashion her hair into a messy bun and begin working on her undercut. She hopes that it will be another seamless blend between metal and opera aesthetics. With her locks in a pile on the floor they dress her hair with ornaments and hand her, her prop mask--the final piece to her costume.

It has been some time since she has worn something form fitting and she has to admit that she is a little nervous to do it for the first time in front of so many people. But the design team that Zhao had hired for her is masterful, they have crafted a dress that works well with her baby bump. The scales are positioned in just the right ways to shimmer over and around the bump. And they are rather comfortable, more so than she anticipated them being.

“Azula, you have a visitor.”

“Tell Seicho that I got her flowers and we can talk after the show.”

“It’s...uh...it’s Chan and I think that the other two are here as well.”

“Send them away.” Zhao calls from across the room. “We don’t have time for drama.”

“What do they want?”

The woman shrugs. “I didn’t ask.”

“You can let them in.”

Chan is anything but discreet when staring at her belly and even less so when they fall on her chest. Perhaps if she didn’t want to risk breaking her faux claws she would have given him a good slap. “What do you want?”

“To wish you luck.”

“I don’t need luck. I have skill.” She pauses. “And I didn’t leech off of someone else’s material.”

“We’re not going to be performing those songs.” Ruon replies.

“We should though.” Zirin mutters.

“I figured that it would be disrespectful.”

“You figured that out quite late, didn’t you?”

Ruon sighs. “Maybe, yeah.”

“And let me guess,” she turns to Chan, “you decided that you want to be a father.”

“Fuck no!” He replies abruptly. “I don’t want anything to do with the baby, okay.”

“Then I want nothing to do with you. See yourself out.”

“Azula.”

“I am quite busy. Zhao can lead you out if you can’t find the exit yourself.”

She watches him leave with Zirin tethered to his side. “Sorry about those two, Ruon mutters. If it makes you feel any better, we’re going to be going with our new surf rock image after this concert. I convinced them to take up a new band name and give you the rights to Blue Talon.”

At least she can go into her performance knowing that at least one of her former friends isn’t morally bankrupt.

She gets one final visitor before she takes to the stage. Raava pulls her into a careful hug and kisses her on the cheek. “I am delighted that you were able to make it.”

“I couldn’t possibly miss this.” She replies. “Not for anything.”

Her baby shifts.

.oOo.

She is cradled in an egg, a large shimmering thing blue in color and shot with veins of gold. The hiss of a smoke machine lets her know that it is almost time. By now Zuko has emerged from a pile of simmering soot.

She hears a bang and she knows that his fiery wings have burst to life. She makes a note to incorporate pyrotechnics into her shows after giving birth. She hears the crackle as his phoenix wings flare. And in tendrils of curling smoke with the mightiest roar she can manage, she emerges from her egg.

Slipping back into her harsh vocals is like slipping back into a well worn and favorite robe, somehow it always fits just right. Somehow it is always comfortable. She is aware of her limits, well aware and they have several plans to work with them. Should breathing become too difficult, she will gesture for Zuko to fill in. She will resume with an adjusted set of clean vocals.

For the time things are going well, she is still pleasantly reeling from the explosive applause that came with her appearance. Her surprise appearance.

Her lips curl into a smirk as her initial, teaser verse echoes about.

“It’s good to see you all again!” Zuko calls.

The claps are damn near deafening.

“I’d like everyone to give my sister an extra pleasant welcome, we wouldn’t be here without her pestering and nagging.”

“You’re an ass, Zuko.” She scans the crowd for her father. She finds him, arms folded, the most hideous snarl on his face. She imagines that the two bottles on the table will be empty by the end of the night.

“Tonight, a dragon joins the Phoenixes!”

Tonight, a dragon will take flight. TyLee pounds out the first notes on her drum. The crowd is already abuzz with a frantic energy. An ecstatic energy. An energy that has been slowly building band by band. She can only imagine how frenzied they will become by the time it is The Tui Las’ turn to take the stage.

She doesn’t have the energy to move and flounce about as she usually would, so she stands upon a raised platform with glittering ashes at her feet, singing into the microphone while thin wisps of smoke furl and unfurl around her.

Mai’s guitar thrums, she can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that the woman can so liberally headbang, it is washed away by the sight of a banner unfurling from the balcony. She sees, in glittering acrylic paint, the maw of a dragon, its forked blue tongue thrashing. She can’t quite make out the words upon it, but she knows that it is for her. For her and her alone. Likely a gift from one of the fanclubs that had caught wind of her surprise enrollment. She closes her eyes as Mai’s solo wails on. And it is sound, everything is pure sound.

For a moment anxiety and trepidations give way to elation. To the highs of success and adoration. To the thrill and liberation that only music can bring. She tilts her head back and spreads her arms out. The spotlight glints off of her dress.

And while Zuko runs through his part, Azula points to the banner. She makes eye contact and sticks her tongue out, mimicking the image on the banner. The light twinkles upon her tongue piercing. And the crowd goes feral.

Zuko helps her down from the platform as she works her way back into the song. Her head spins with euphoria as the last vestiges of her misery, fear, and helplessness are shaken away by Zuko’s bass.

She makes a mental note to learn to play an instrument too. Perhaps the drums, she can’t name many lead vocalists who also play the drums. But she can do it, right now, she can do anything. The dragon is in flight and her wings are powerful.

She transitions into her operatic vocals. By now she is somewhat breathless, but it is alright. This is the sound she needs. The sound that is on her albums. The sound that has granted her so much attention. It is all her own. Indisputably so.

Zuko grins at her as she lowers the mic, a job well done. He gives her shoulder a little squeeze. And then he steps back. And Mai steps back while TyLee comes forward.

Zuko and Mai lay their instruments in the egg and TyLee sets her drumsticks at the bass of it. An offering to the dragon. They lay themselves down in those glittery ashes and wait until it is their turn to rise once more.

The stage goes black and then the light falls on her. A single beam that paints her body in a radiant halo.

As a forest falls into a hush before a storm, the venue falls into a silence so complete. Complete until she decides to break it. Break it with a voice like wind sifting through curtains. Like a summer storm rousing bells into a frenzy. Something powerful and light all at once. Something both airy and sturdy.

The spotlight is growing uncomfortably hot, and there is a new energy in the air. She doesn’t think that she has ever been paid such close attention and from so many people at one. She slides into the next note. The baby shifts. The breath she draws is sharp, she improvises a high note to accent it. There is a murmur of amazement.

A small smile play on her lips as she transitions into the next set of notes. The theater throws her voice back at her and she throws it back at the theater. It is a deviation from what she had planned but it is easier somehow. Easier and otherworldly. It is an experiment, a risk. This whole night has been a risk, what is one more? The night is going too well for her to not garner successful results.

As her last chorus begins, her wings unfold as shadows on the back wall. The smoke machines cough out plumes until she is lost in the smoke. And with her body fully enveloped, the stage fades to black once more.

She isn’t sure what to make of the tangible silence to follow. Not until it erupts into a deafening applause.

And then come the sparks, the sparks and flames and Zuko, Mai, and TyLee spring back into action for a bombastic finale. She feels much bolder now, unstoppable. Perhaps if her solo had been even a degree less successful she would have come down enough to know that she is pushing too hard.

As things are, she is taken by the night, by the magic of sound and melody. By the connections; to Zuzu, to Mai and TyLee, to the audience… These connections, for a time, block out a different connection. A connection she should be feeling by nature.

She slips back into her harsh screaming vocals and just in time. She holds her note as the first sharp pang bursts through her core. She screams louder, harder. By all means, it is the best scream she has ever done on stage. She isn’t sure if she is dismayed or relieved that the audience thinks that it is just part of the show. Most of the audience anyhow, Hama goes rigid. She grits her teeth as Zuko sings through his part. She feels a cramp like no other. And she sees faces. There is her father his expression is something conflictingly smug and shamed, he turns his head. There is Seicho, wincing. And Raava, she hasn’t seen that brand of concern since her mother died. She can’t find Hama.

The music cuts suddenly and with it, her dreams and aspirations.

Zuko hooks her under the arm.

“What are you doing?” She mutters, “you need to finish the show.”

“We need to get you to the hospital.” Mai replies.

“Or, at least, to Hama.” TyLee adds.

___________

Y’all are gonna have to forgive me lol, I don’t know too much about childbirth and I couldn’t find some of the answers to the questions I had about c-sections. That said, this is your warning if childbirth and surgeries make you squeamish.

She wants to cry. Cry for the pain and cry for her lost dreams. She had been so close. So, so very close.

And now she is here in a hospital bed, here in excruciating pain that anesthetics can only seem to take the edge off of. They give her commands, they tell her to push and breathe. They are vaguely reminiscent of the mock sessions that Hama has taken her though. But her head is too dizzy to truly do anything beyond hear the orders.

She picks out Hama’s face, but the woman mostly lingers back waiting to be called on for reminders and forgotten rundowns on her condition and medical history. She thinks that Seicho is there too, banished to the other end of the room so not to obstruct.

Azula screams again and they demand that she pushes. She thinks that the push she gives is more instinctual than a response to the order. There is another reminder to breath. She can’t do it. She is growing faint.

She thinks that this baby is going to rip her in two. Spirits, she could have sworn that they said it would have a low birth weight. Spirits, she can’t imagine what a standard weight baby would feel like.

Tears are running down her face but she barely registers them. And then she hears the words Caesarean section. Her face pales further and then further still when they mention that the baby’s heartbeat is unstable.

It is just as well, she doesn’t think that she can keep herself awake to deliver this baby naturally. She clutches the bed sheets as they clean her abdomen. They say something to her, something that she doesn’t catch. She thinks that they are trying to explain what they are doing.

She feels a hand holding hers. It is Seicho’s. Woefully and resentfully, she wishes that it was Ozai’s. Her father should be here. He should be holding her hand. He should protect her when she can’t do it herself. And this time she doesn’t think that she can.

“It’s alright.” One of the doctors promises. “You’re going to be fine.”

To her horror, they keep her awake. They carefully fix the IV into her arm and administer a regional anesthesia. Agni, she wishes that they would just put her out entirely.

“You did good tonight.” Seicho says.

“Mmm hmm.” Azula mannages as they begin to make the incision.

“Really good. You should see what they’re saying about the performance.”

Azula grits her teeth, “that I’m a fool for performing eight months pregnant.”

“No! Okay, well, some people are saying that…”

She must admit that Seicho has just provided her with a rather solid distraction. “They have no right to say anything about…”

Seicho laughs. “But they’re also saying that it was impressive that you could do it at all. And that your performance was amazing, they were only disappointed to see it cut short.”

“Are ‘they’, the audience or the judges?”

“Both, I think?” Seicho replies. “The competition is still going on of course, but your odds of winning still look pretty good according to the live updates.”

Azula’s grimaces at a tugging sensation that radiates up her abdomen.

“Are you in any pain?” The doctor asks.

She shakes her head, “it’s not comfortable though.” And the discomfort seems to last hours. The doctors insist that it had been only an hour and twenty-minutes. And for that hour and twenty-minutes she doesn’t even get to hold her baby.

“She’s being transferred to the NICU.” They inform her. “It might be several days, possibly weeks until you get to hold her. We need to get her stable first.”

Azula can only nod. She is lucky that her baby is alive at all.

______________

Her baby comes with a list of risks and warnings. Obligations and an extensive list of follow up appointments. Here and there she does interviews, ones wherein she promises that she is still very much active, that new songs are in the works and that she has several music video ideas in mind. Ones wherein she announces that she plans to collaborate with From Ashes to Phoenix more and that she plans to take up drumming while on maternity leave. That interviews will be less frequent and that her first tour isn’t slated for at least a year.

She thinks that she is driving Seicho mad with anticipation, she has only been promising her a real date for ages now. But she has things to attend to first. She is putting the finishing touches on her nursery, while profusely but silently thanking Zhao’s wife for providing her with the toys and baby care supplies that she had neglected to buy herself. What Zhao and his wife don’t provide comes in the form of gifts from Iroh, Zuzu, Mai, TyLee, Raava, and Vaatu. Chan has given her a gift as well but a boob pillow isn’t exactly the sort of thing that she wants in her baby’s crib. She supposes that it’s the thought that counts. It is a small little gesture, something that has her inclined to think that he doesn’t want to sever ties with her completely. She puts that to the side for when she has time to deal with it.

“This is so exciting!” TyLee gushes.

Azula is nearly inclined to say that TyLee is more excited to see the baby in her mother’s arms than she is.

“You must be thrilled.” Seicho notes.

Truth be told there is a shot of nervousness too. She hadn’t had enough time to consider what kind of mother she would be. And that in itself is a red flag. Surely she can be no worse than her own father.

The doctor beckons her into the room. “Are you ready to meet your baby?”

Azula nods.

“Did you pick out a name yet.” Inquires another doctor as the first leaves to retrieve her baby.

Azula nods again. “It’s Anzu.”

“That’s so pretty.” TyLee smiles.

“Thank you.”

The doctor emerges. “Here she is.” Gently the woman transfers Anzu into Azula’s arms. She is a precious little thing. Soft, squishy, and terribly small.

“Is she going to stay this small?” Azula asks.

“Most likely, yes. Even if she wasn’t a pre-term baby, you are rather small.”

Azula flushes lightly.

“That’s her polite way of saying that you’re super teeny!” Seicho ruffles her hair.

Azula holds Anzu’s head against her breast. It doesn’t remain there for long, Azula finds that the baby is a wiggly thing. She opens her eyes but they don’t seem to find focus on anything in particular. Azula holds out her finger for the girl to grasp.

“She’s quite a fussy one.” The doctor notes. “Preterm babies tend to have irregular sleeping and eating patterns, so that’s something to prepare yourself for. We’ll be keeping her for another week, just to make sure that she stays stable, but she’s just about ready to come home.”

“I’ll pass the warning onto Zhao.” Azula replies as she strokes Anzu’s hair. “Have you been playing music for her like I asked? I want her to be a musician too.”

“We have.” The woman assures her. “Mostly classical music for now. But she is fond of zither music and the pan pipes.”

Perhaps she will learn to play the zither and the drums. “You know how to play the zither, don’t you, TyLee?”

“And the harp.”

“I can play an accordion!” Seicho declares.

“You can?” Azula furrows her brows.

“Sure. I just can’t play it good.” Seicho shrugs.

Azula sighs, she isn’t sure of just what kind of upbringing Anzu is going to have. With Seicho as a fill in father. Though Zhao, his wife, and Iroh show more promise. At least she has options. Options and a solid support system.

A musical career and motherhood. She will make them both work somehow.

____________

She lets Zuko, Mai, and TyLee tag along. Zhao and his wife have kindly extended her a much needed night off and she is spending it in Seicho’s chair. “I don’t need hand holding, Zuzu.” She rolls her eyes as Seicho brings the needle to her chest. “If I can handle childbirth, I can handle another tattoo.”

“You were numb for the childbirth.” Zuko points out.

“I suppose that I was, yes.”

Seicho makes great time, at this rate they will have time to go out for dinner after the tattoo has been finished. Already, she has the outline of the dragon egg and she is working to surround it with music notes.

Azula closes her eyes and relaxes as much as the constant needle bites will allow. Her mind wanders away from the tattoo parlor and to the stage. It is strange to think that it has only been a month since Audio of Agni. A month since she was able to hang her award certificate on the wall of her recording studio.

She almost can’t distinguish the buzzing of her phone from the whir of the tattoo gun as it pumps more shimmering blue into her skin. She declines the call.

“Who was it?” Zuko asks.

“It was father.” She mutters. “He’s been calling a lot lately.” A lot since he realized that his gleaming little star is shining perfectly fine without him. Much better in fact, without the pressures that he puts on her.

“What does he want?” Mai grumbles.

“Who cares.” Zuko scowls.

Deep down, she does. Deep down she misses him. Misses his praise and his subtle and hard to acquire affections. Misses the man he was before the booze. “Do you think that rehab would help him, Zuzu?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“I think that you shouldn’t make it your problem.” Seicho pulls the tattoo gun back and shrugs. “You have a baby and a career to worry about and that’s plenty. You can talk to him when he calls you to tell you that he went to rehab on his own.”

And yet her heart aches for the people that she has cut out of her life. She supposes that she has let enough people in to balance things out. She has friends now, real friends. She has a brother, an uncle, a spunky, highly agitating, girlfriend. She has that dolt Zhao and she has her baby.

She has more than she had lost.

“I don’t need him.” She finally replies.

“Good.” Zuko replies. He has made more progress of his own, perhaps more than even she. He’d built From Ashes To Phoenix from nothing. He’d kindled the flame and then doused it and then flared it up again higher than before. All that remains of his troubles are a series of faint puncture scars on his arms.

“When does your tour start, Zuzu?”

“The beginning of next month. Are you gonna see us play?”

“I’ll let you know when Anzu tells me.” She laughs.

“Well, let us know when you’re touring again, we’ll see your show.”

“I sure hope so, TyLee, you guys will be the opening act!”

“Stop moving so much!” Seicho exclaims.

“Sorry.” Azula mutters. She watches as Seicho moves the tattoo gun across the egg. Somehow she has managed to create an effect not dissimilar to that of her Audio of Agni dress. She pauses to swap out the ink colors. Her hand is so dainty and elegant as she fills in and shades. Finally she pulls it back and hands Azula a mirror. She doesn’t need it to know that Seicho’s work is as fine and painstaking as ever. That it is perfect. That it is worthy of being on her skin.

Seicho gently applies a layer of antibiotic ointment.

“Are you sure that you don’t want me to make adjustments to that tattoo while we’re here?” Seicho gestures to the dragon curling around her arm.

“I’m sure, Siecho. I need this tattoo as it is.” There are nights when it is painful to look at. Nights when it is a glaring reminder of the people she lost. The friends who betrayed her, who almost reaped her of everything she had. But it is also a reminder of what she had tamed and reclaimed.

For better or for worse, Blue Talon is a part of her. Just as much as Anzu and the music industry. And for better or for worse, Blue Talon is a mark on her skin. Just like Anzu.

Tattoos aren’t art, she decides, they are stories. Profound ones. And Seicho has a particular way with words. A particular way of helping her tell her story.

“Alright then, we’re all done here!” Seicho pecks her on the forehead.

Seicho locks and darkens the parlor. She takes Azula’s hand. TyLee takes her other one. And Mai takes TyLee’s free hand. Zuko completes the chain. She walks down the street. A dragon among phoenix.

She thinks that it is best this way.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Azula/Cupholder girl #Fanfiction

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