#I think I moved ever's guild mark a little higher up

[pencilofawesomeness]

HTRYDS Headshots Part 3

Team Thunderstorm

I decided to make little icons for my htryds au peeps. Solely for potential meme use. Nevertheless, it was nice to draw the babies. For now, it’s just major FT guild members, but as the AU progresses, or as memes necessitate, I shall add later. (And edit these links.)

Their unofficial color scheme is purple and green, apparently. 

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

[221bshrlocked]

masked in desperation

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word count: 6044

Warnings: Verbal Degradation. Physical Humiliation involving Din making reader wet herself. Dirty Talk. Penetrative, Non-Protective Sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong por favor). Rough then Soft Din. Don't worry, this is consensual and there is aftercare involved.

No summary because I don't even know what to call this? All you guys need to know is that this fic is based on/inspired by the following asks [x] [x] [x] [x]

A/N: Uhhh this is new for me so I'm sorry if I didn't get the dynamic involved with a humiliation kink right. Please let me know how I could correct anything should there be something off. This was supposed to be rougher...but I turned soft midway because nervous Din makes me warm. I hope you like it nonetheless though. Comments are hella appreciated. And you can add yourself to the taglist here. Enjoy and please don't @ me once you finish this fic. And I apologize that it took long, this semester was hell.

It was an act of crazed desire concealed beneath irritation and anger, irritation with you for managing to claw yourself into his heart and anger at himself for allowing you to do so freely. He couldn't deny his feelings anymore, not if he wanted to retain whatever sanity he had left around you. What started out as nothing but stress relief and a way to help with the pain left behind by Grogu leaving turned into Din wishing he could stake his claim on you every moment of every day so you wouldn't seek anyone else out. Not that he genuinely believed you would. Still...

And it wasn't like this was any different from what the two of you usually do. At least that's what he says to excuse his twisted behavior, to not dwell too much on his sick, possessive fantasies.

It was driving him mad. He wanted to mark you up, always did during those passionate nights, loved watching as you tried, and failed, to cover up his love bites and handprints from the guild members. But he also craved to feel the same way. He wanted to bear traces of you on him so people knew how much he cared for you, perhaps even recognized the hold you have on him. The only problem was, no one would ever see the angry nail scratches and bite marks you left every night on his skin because of his beskar. So this, this would do the trick, even if it was barely noticeable, even if it would be gone when he washed his beskar, even if the two of you would be the only ones who knew what happened behind closed doors.

The weird thing was, he doesn't even know how he got to this point. Well, that's not true. He can actually trace his way to this moment, but he feels ashamed to do so? Reluctant maybe. It didn't matter what he was feeling at this point. All he knew was that he needed to watch you as you humiliated yourself in front of him, and had no power to do anything about it. Perhaps it was because, deep down, he wanted to show you that he'd accept you no matter what. He wanted to prove to you that he may just be worthy of having you in his arms. He wanted to assure you that he would be committed to you until his dying breath. And this, in some way, was the solution.

Before he can reevaluate and dwell too much on his decision, he fills a cup with water and heads towards you, ignoring the Marshal's glances as he approaches you and taps on your shoulders.

"Yeah?" You turn around, and Din forces himself to stand his ground when he sees your smile growing wider as you take the water from his hand. "Oh aren't you sweet. Careful, or else they'll think you're growing soft." You tease him as you down the cup of water and hand it back to him before returning to fixing the ship. He says nothing as he walks back towards the cantina, and resumes his quiet meditation.

And that's how it goes for the next couple of hours. He brings you a cup of water every so often, murmuring something or other about how he doesn't have time to take care of you if you suffered from a heat stroke before leaving immediately. Din quietly thanks the maker for your discomfort with public refreshers, because this plan wouldn't have worked if you decided to go to the cantina or elsewhere to relieve yourself. He's locked his ship's refresher and made sure to not be anywhere in sight when you sought him out to ask about the issue with the door.

He feels himself grow harder when he notices you squirming as you work on the ship, softly palming himself through his pants when you halt your movements every couple of minutes to either cross your legs or push your hand between your thighs to attempt and alleviate some of that pain. A part of him feels horrible for putting you through this, but something tells him it will be worth it in the end. Din Djarin isn't a man of prayer, but he pleads to whatever higher power that created you that this wouldn't backfire and make you leave him.

As the twin suns slowly set beneath the sky, Din moves away from where he's been hiding and heads towards the ship, making sure he is in your line of sight as he walks up the ramp and towards his armory. He quickly takes out the durasteel cuffs from where he's set them, hiding them behind his back as he pretends to head towards the cockpit.

However, he stops when he sees you rushing past him and setting all of your tools aside. You're mumbling angrily beneath your breath when things begin to fall over, growling when you try to fix them a couple of more times, and they continue to fall.

"Motherfucking shit," Din hears you swear as you carelessly try to set the box again and it falls over. Shaking your head, you turn around and sprint past him again towards the refresher. His eyes never leave your shaking form as you push on the refresher button numerous times and nothing happens.

"Pfassk! Din, how angry would you be if I broke this fucking door right now?" You try to grab the gun on his holster but he is quicker than you, slamming his hand on your own to prevent you from taking it.

"Extremely." His answer is short and straight to the point, mostly because he can't trust himself to respond to you without giving himself away.

"God please I- I need..." You hesitate and try to remove your hand from him, only to feel his hold tighten around your wrist. He thought you'd break and confess what you needed to do due to your desperation, but you don't, holding your tongue and looking up at him quizzically when he removes your wrist and clasps one side of the cuff on them.

"Din, what- what're you doing?" You look down and watch as he clasps the cuffs on your other wrist and ensures that they aren't too tight around your wrists before he locks them. Before you can ask him again, Din drags you across the ship and into the cockpit, ignoring your annoyed murmurs as he sits down and pulls you onto his lap.

You squirm around and try to get up but Din’s hold on your waist tightens and he slides you against his beskar until you fall into his chest. He says nothing as you push away and try to maneuver yourself so your legs aren’t wide open. He chuckles lowly when he sees how much you’re struggling, finally allowing you to put some space between the two of you. You rest your back against the controls board and take a few deep breaths before you stare at him.

“Can you please let me go?” You ask patiently, and hope he sees how genuine and serious you’re being. When he sits back but keeps his hold on you, you know he isn’t going to make this easy.

“Why?”

“Because I- I need to take care of something,” you look away when you respond and Din feels his cock twitch in his pants at the sudden shyness taking over.

“How about you let me take care of you?” He takes his gloves off and throws them aside, smiling to himself when he sees you shiver as he moves his hands up and down your body. You watch him like a hawk and you feel yourself growing wet for a moment, but you realize this reaction is the last thing you want to experience in his presence right now.

“Wait Din- just...it’s not like that.” You bite your lower lip and stifle a moan when he cups your tits and softly flicks at your hardened nipples.

“No? And yet here you are melting at my touch...your body knows me mesh’la, it’s blooming for me and I’ve barely touched you. Sweet girl, don’t you want me to make you feel good? I’ve been thinking about you all day long, about kissing you until you’re breathless...and biting you until you have my mark everywhere. Don’t you want me to show you just how much I’ve missed you?” Din knows he’s not being fair but the way your eyes are glowing with lust is enough to ground him so he could carry out his plan.

“I- I do...fuck, Din- I really do. I barely think of anything else...but I really need to-” You shut your eyes and groan as soon as you feel Din’s hand descend down your chest and rest on your lower stomach. He supports your back as he slowly begins to push against your navel, watching with fascination as your face contorts from pain and pleasure the harder he pushes on your muscles. You’re not sure what’s happening for a few seconds until you manage to open your eyes and look at him. His visor prevents you from seeing what he’s thinking but none of it matters when you feel him shift underneath you before he eases up. You sigh in relief but Din repeats his actions, only this time, he’s becoming a little more aggressive with his touches.

"N-no wait please I-"

"What's the matter mesh'la? You're usually fucking me like a loth-cat in heat by now, begging for me to have my way with you...take what I want until you feel properly fucked and filled with my cum." Din leans forward, never once easing up as he begins to move you over his beskar-clad thigh. There’s not much you can do due to the cuffs and how much advantage Din has over you in terms of muscle and size so you do the only thing that’s left.

You beg.

"Please, please Din I- I just...I need to-" It takes every ounce of control not to let go of your body’s function and you realize you’re not making much sense when Din cuts you off again and asks you what you want.

"Need to what? Go on sweet girl, tell me. What do you need?" His motions become more rough as he alternates between shoving his hand against your bladder and moving your clothed heat across his thigh. Din wants nothing more than to push you to the floor and fuck you until you can’t remember anything but him, but he tries his best to keep himself in check until he gets what he wants.

"I'll do anything Din just...need the- the refresher. I'm so- so...maker, please wait-" The controls dig into your back the more you lay on them but you can’t find it in yourself to care because a different kind of pain shoots down your spine when Din brings you closer to him and hikes your shirt up. His palms are warm against your skin and you hate how good they feel because this was not how you saw the day going with him.

"You know the safeword. Say it if you want me to let you go and I will." His tone shifts and you throw all caution aside as you confess to him why you need to leave.

"Din please...I really need to pee. I- I'll come back right away but I- oh it's too much, t-too much." You think he’s going to apologize and let you go when you tell him but all your admission does is cause him to momentarily stop before he wraps his arms around you and stands up. He’s pushing you up against the wall, not caring for what you just said to him or how rough he’s being as he nudges his leg in between your thighs and resumes his antics from before.

"I know."

The curt response washes over you like ice and your eyes begin to water as soon as Din takes off his helmet and you see him smiling down at you. You don’t know that you’re shaking in his arms but he leans down and nuzzles into the crook of your neck to commit the moment to memory. He loves the effect he’s having on you and although a small part of him feels bad, he doesn’t bother or care to hold back as he brings himself flush against you, the action causing his beskar to push deeper against your navel and have his desired effect.

"Din?" He thinks your whimpers might make him cum right then and there but he takes a deep breath before he pulls away and looks down at you. He’s sure that his eyes don’t convey an ounce of guilt at the moment, the opposite actually, and it only brightens his smile as he pulls down your tank top strap far enough to give him access to the top of your breasts. Din moves closer to you and lays lazy kisses across your heated skin, all the while attempting to grab your attention so he could tell you what he wanted.

"Why do you think I kept handing you water all day ner ka'rta?"

"W-wha-?" Your sniffles pull at his heart but he knows that you’re not in any physical danger and that all you need to do is whisper your safeword and he’d let you go. When a tear drop trails down your chin and hits his forehead, Din has to pull away to take a better look at you. He hates how much he loves the way you’re looking at him right now, like he’s simultaneously a villain and a savior to your predicament.

"And who do you think locked the refresher? Sweet girl… I thought you were smarter than that." Your surprised gasp adds more to the innocence he’s seeing in you and it’s the last straw before he holds onto your waist and begins to move you across his thigh again.

"You what?"

“Go on pretty, I know how much you’re trying to hold it in. ‘m not letting you go any time soon,” Din talks down at you and if you weren’t trying to prevent yourself from embarrassing yourself in front of him, you’d think it was the sexiest tone he’s had with you yet. But it’s getting more difficult to control your bladder and even though you get the sense that he will probably win in the end, you still try to hold off as much as possible.

“Look at you trying so hard...prettiest fucking sight in the galaxy. And do you know what makes it even better? I can smell how much you want me...this tight, wet cunt is begging for my cock. You can have me sweetheart, you can have me right now if you want. But you know what you have to do.” You’re shaking in his arms and plead pathetically when he applies more pressure on your navel. You try to ask him why again but you can’t find the words and resume moaning his name as he uses you.

And that’s what he’s doing. He’s using you. Like he owns you. Like he has the right to control every muscle in your body. You’re not sure what it is that made him act like this all of a sudden and you know it ultimately doesn’t matter because like he said, he won’t be stopping any time soon. It’s just strange that he wants this. He wants you to embarrass yourself. He’s practically helping your body let loose so you could wet yourself. You try to convince yourself that nothing about this should be turning you on, but the way his eyes are hazed with lust and desperation makes you reevaluate your thoughts and you manage to look up at him as he begins to speak again.

“It’s okay mesh’la, you can let go. Let go, now! Make a mess sweetheart. Make a mess of me, I won’t fuck you till you ruin my beskar and make this ship dirty. Go on. Or do you want me to help you again?” Din isn’t sure what’s come over him but he doesn’t hold back anymore, slipping his hand underneath your pants and pushing hard on your bladder until he feels your thighs squeeze around him.

“D-din fuck...oh- my...maker I- I can’t-” You throw your head back as you fist your hands into his cowl, holding on to that last bit of self control before you’re no longer able to. As he lifts his hand and pushes again, the thread breaks and tears slowly roll down your cheeks as you frown up at Din when your bladder gives out. Din looks into your eyes one last time before his attention moves south and his jaw clenches tightly when he notices the material of your pants grow darker the more you relieve yourself.

He doesn’t bother to stop, continuing to apply pressure on your lower stomach as a day’s worth of water floods down your legs and onto his beskar. He watches with fascination as his pants grow wet as well before he hears the faint sound of droplets falling onto his ship. You follow his line of sight and whimper in embarrassment when you notice just how big of a mess you made. There’s a small puddle forming where the two of you are standing and your nervousness only grows when you see how wet Din’s pants are.

When there’s nothing left and your shaking subsides a little, Din removes his hand from you and returns it to your waist, squeezing the skin he has access to so he wouldn’t strip you and fuck you in the middle of your mess. Every time he moves his foot, he can hear the soft splashing sound of the puddle underneath him and it only makes him harder. When he finally looks at you, he’s met with the most vulnerable expression he’s ever seen on you and although he wants nothing more than to kiss you and apologize, he allows himself to go just a little further until he sees you’re no longer able to put up with him.

“D-din...you- you made me, I-”

“Oh sweet girl, I made you do nothing.” The look of shock on your face is worth the hassle and he watches as you pout your lower lip before more tears leave your gorgeous eyes.

“You’re just a filthy girl, wetting yourself in the middle of my ship and not caring how dirty you’ve become...you really couldn’t hold it in cyar’ika? Look at this, look at the mess you made of my armor. You know how valuable beskar is and yet you pissed all over it. And my ship!? Didn’t we just clean this ship pretty?” Din could feel you melting into him with every word that passes through his lips and when you look away from him, his smile falls and he quickly grabs your neck, turning it straightforward so he could look into your eyes.

“No, you don’t get to look away from me when you’ve just pissed all over yourself and me. Maybe I should change your name, call you ad’ika from now on.” He has to hold back from smiling when he sees the moment you recognize the word. He’s only ever used that word whenever he talked with Grogu and you knew exactly why he was bringing it up now. “You’re my little girl aren’t you? My filthy, pretty little ad’ika who can’t fucking control herself and marked me up like she has the right...like she owns me.” Din watches as your expression softens a bit at his last admission and he trails his gaze down your nose until he is only focusing on your lips.

You can’t help but also stare at his lips and Din uses the brief moment of distraction to unbutton your pants and slip his hand into your panties, humming in approval when he feels the wet fabric scratch deliciously at his knuckles. You gasp when you feel his fingers softly rubbing your slit and as you look into his dark brown eyes, Din slips two fingers into your wet cunt and stops.

“Fuck, you’re so wet ad’ika, so warm and wet and ready for me.” He nudges his fingers deeper into he finds the spot that makes you see stars. You know immediately what he wants to do and reach for his arms as he grows closer to you. When they begin to get in the way, Din takes hold of the cuffs and raises them high above your head until the cuffs are glued to the wall. He can’t stop from smiling down at you, all stretched out and ready to be thoroughly fucked. But he doesn’t give in just yet.

“Din it’s...you’ll get dirty. I- I don’t want you to-”

“I don’t fucking care,” he growls as he leans down and bites shoulder again, moaning against your skin when he feels your cunt clench around him. “That’s it, open up for me...let me make you feel good. I- I want you to scream my name sweetheart, scream my name as you make a mess of me. Please...I need it, need- maker...need you to drench me again.” His words twist something inside of you and you lean back as he moves his thick fingers in and out of you until you feel that familiar pressure all over again.

“Oh Din...your fingers f-feel so- so good.”

“That’s right ad’ika, only I get to touch you. Only I get to watch you come undone...only I get to wear your scent, your beautiful fucking wet scent. I- I won’t wash this armor sweet girl, not when you’ve marked it...marked me, this much. Go on, be a good girl and make a mess of me. Let me walk around with the smell of you etched on my fucking beskar.” You whimper at the filthy whispers Din breathes against you and just as you’re about to come, Din grabs your pants along with your damp panties and pushes them as far down as he could. You bite into your lower lip as he tries to push his digits deeper into you, and when you finally manage to turn and look at him, you hold your breath as you see the way he’s looking at you, into you.

“Cum for me. Now.”

The quiet order, along with the pace of his touches, breaks you and you force yourself to not shut your eyes as your pussy throbs around his fingers, a wave of euphoria washing over you so swiftly you think you’ll faint. Din momentarily turns his attention to your heat once again and he hisses when he feels you coming on his hand just as you squirt on his beskar and the floor of the ship. You’re unable to form a coherent sentence as Din refuses to slow down and your eyes water again when the hold he has on your waist becomes more painful than before.

“Maker...you’re perfect.” Din kisses your neck as he finally decides to slow down but the way he continues to rub your clit with his palm does little to calm your nerves and you don’t realize how much you’re shaking until everything quiets down and all that you can hear is the sound of Din’s heavy breathing and your own heaving and sniffling. You wince when he fully removes his hand from you and helps you out of your pants and shoes. He takes a step back and groans when he sees how spent and ruined you look as you stand on your tiptoes and try to calm down.

As you try to catch your breath, Din unlocks both cuffs and throws them aside, reaching down and grabbing your ass so he could support your weight against him. You jump on instinct and moan when you feel the cold beskar against your skin as Din grinds into your soaked heat. He doesn’t waste another moment, diving in and claiming your lips until he could feel your teeth nipping at his tongue. He makes sure he has a good grip on you before he moves to the refresher and as soon as the two of you are standing in front of it, he pushes a code into the pad and unlocks the door. You pull away for a moment to look into his eyes, the silence of your gaze knocking the breath out of him as you hide into his neck. It takes but a second for Din to realize that he shouldn’t try to push your limits any further for the night.

His touches grow softer as he carefully sets you down on the floor of the refresher. Din can see you’re shivering from the cold room and makes quick work of his clothes and armor, choosing to leave his boxer briefs on so you wouldn’t think of anything else. He leans down and taps twice on your shoulders so you could raise them above your head. As you do, you look everywhere else but him and the gesture is a little too raw for Din because as he strips you down to nothing, he’s leaning down and kissing your forehead until he feels you relax in his arms.

When he’s satisfied with your slowing heart rate, he stands up and turns on the water, making sure to stand in front of you and block you from the cold water until it turns warm. Even though he doesn’t particularly enjoy it, he turns the hot water just a little further, knowing how much you preferred it when it struck your skin.

Grabbing the bar of soap you bought from the last hunt, Din sits down and rests his back against the cold metal of the wall before pulling you towards him.

“Come to me mesh’la.” His voice is much more controlled and mellow than minutes before and you melt back into him as soon as his skin comes into contact with yours. You rest your back against his shoulder and sigh heavily when his hands begin to massage your arms. The scent of flowers hits your nostrils in seconds, making you relax even more as the soap washes away any trace of what you and Din had just done.

Din kisses your shoulder and neck as he rubs the soap on your chest and stomach, keeping his touches as appropriate as possible to distract himself from the hardening issue he was struggling with. Although he prefers you all sweaty and dirty, he makes sure to wash every inch of you, knowing that you probably needed to feel clean after...after what he’s done.

He pushes your back until you’re leaning forward far enough for him to wash your back as well. His breath hitches when he sees evidence of his touches on your skin from previous nights. Some of them have turned a light blue color while others were still purple.

Fuck. He didn’t know his grip was this harsh. He was a little guilty for bruising your skin, your lovely, beautiful, gorgeous skin. But the more he saw as he rubbed the soap over your back, the more pride he felt in his chest at the knowledge that he was the only one allowed to mark you.

“D-din…” You moan his name when he pulls you back into his chest and you feel his hands descend lower to wash your thighs. You think that he’s going to touch you where you ache for him but when he focuses on your thighs, you realize that he wasn’t going to go anywhere near your throbbing cunt.

“I’m here sweet girl, let me take care of you.” His whispers are laced with promises and affection and you’re not sure what to make of it. He’s never been this intense, this touch-starved, even this controlling. There’s something about the events of the night that tug at your heart and you wish you could ask him what has changed all of a sudden. But you don’t, instead repeating his words from earlier over and over again as he continues to wash you.

He told you, although indirectly, that you had the right to...to mark him, to own him. He begged you to drench him so everyone would know that he’s yours. That you’re his.

“Din please,” overcome with emotions, you slap the bar of soap away from him and use his surprise to your advantage, quickly turning around and holding onto his broad shoulders as you straddled his thighs.

“Ner ka'rta, we don’t have t-” Din keeps his hands to himself as he feels you rub yourself on his clothed cock. You instantly cut him off, molding your lips with his in a bruising kiss until his arms wrapped around your back. When you knew you had him, you pulled away and laid kisses across his handsome features. He was a moaning mess in no time and when you took hold of his chin and pushed it back, Din felt like he was travelling through the stars, the rough nips you were leaving across the jugular of his neck making him notice just how needy you were.

The hot water cascaded down your back as you assaulted Din’s skin and when you felt him grab your waist and begin to move you across of him, you knew he wasn’t going to deny you from what you wanted. Needed. Craved.

“I need you...now, please Din. I need to feel you inside me.”

“But-”

“Please? Oh maker, I- you said...you said you’d give me your cock if I wanted. And I do. I want you, I want your cock. I- you promised. I- I’ll do anything.” The sound of your desperate pleas sends a shiver down his spine and Din nods frantically just before you pull him out of his briefs.

“You- you’ve done enough for me cyar’ika. So so much. And I- I...oh-” Din throws his head back and shuts his eyes as soon as you lower yourself on his hard cock. He thinks he’s going to cum right then and there, but then you’re moving on top of him and squeezing him so tightly and he realizes that he needed to feel more of you. You cry out his name over and over again as he twitches against your tight walls, and when his eyes snap wide open and look at you, you can’t help but lean forward and bite into his shoulder to keep some semblance of control.

“S-sweet girl...lovely girl, tell me you’re mine.”

The short request causes you to falter in your pace but Din decides to take over again, wrapping his arms around you as he begins to move you on top of him.

“I- I’m yours Din, I’m yours. No one else can fuck me like you, n-no one can kiss me and touch me and take care of me like you...gods, you’re amazing. And you’re mine,” Din groans when he hears the last of your words and he nuzzles into the crook of your neck as you continue to whisper sweet things to him.

“You hear that Din...you’re mine. You- you belong to me, you touch only me...you, oh maker, you fuck only me. This cunt is yours baby and your cock was made for it. Made for me. You l-love only me. Right Din? P-please I’m...already so close. Tell me Din because you know...know that I love you. I love you. No one else. J-just you-”

Din is sure he might be suffocating you with how hard he’s hugging you right now but he doesn’t seem to notice because all he can hear is your declarations of love and commitment. Neither of you have ever come close to being this intimate but his earlier actions apparently unlocked something in the two of you.

You loved him. Even though he could be kinder, and was definitely too broken. You still loved him.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. P-pfassk...I love you mesh’la. Only you...always you.” Din comes with a cry when he feels your nails digging into his back and he growls as his cock throbs inside you until he’s filled you with his cum. But he doesn’t stop, instead maintaining his pace just to see you fall apart one last time. It’s all too much and not enough, and he’s already oversensitive from coming but he has only himself to blame considering how much he edged himself the entire day. When he hears your gasps turn quieter, he knows you’re close and slithers his hand between your bodies to flick your clit. You moan into his shoulder as you quickly peak one last time, the touch of his fingers reminding you of what he’s done earlier and in a matter of seconds, you’re clenching around him so hard to the point where you’re not sure if you’re experiencing pain or pleasure.

Neither of you say anything as you slowly return to yourselves. When Din moves to try and turn the water off, you accidentally dig your nails deeper into his shoulder and make him hiss.

“S-sorry.” The small apology does something to Din and he decides that he needs to do this now and not when the two of you are in his cot. Twisting his hand into your hair, Din pulls it back until you’re forced to look at him. You stare at each other for what feels like hours before you lean forward and kiss him. It’s much slower and kinder than the earlier kisses and you smile when Din unintentionally thrusts into you. He pulls away and returns your expression when he sees how genuine it is.

“I think I should be the one apologizing ad’ika.”

You know what he’s referring to and you think that perhaps he’s beginning to feel more guilt at what he’s done but you brush it aside with a joke so he knew there was nothing of concern.

“Not sure what you’re talking about Din,” you leave a quick peck on his nose as you rest your cheek on his chest and hug him tightly. He recognizes what you’re doing right away and decides to not fight you, instead maneuvering you off of him to shut the water off. You try to stand but your legs give out immediately. Forutrantly for you, Din is there to catch you and he ignores your complaints as he carries you out of the refresher and into his room. You watch as he brings two towels and proceeds to dry you off, handing you the other one to dry your hair. You giggle when he almost stubs his toe as he comes back with a set of new clothes.

Din ignores your comments when you ask him why he was handing you one of his long sleeve shirts instead of your own, quickly putting on a pair of boxers before throwing the towels back into the refresher. When he comes back, you’re already comfortable and warm in his bed, the sight of you sniffing his pillows causing him to think of a multitude of thoughts. He brushes them all aside when you make room for him and ask him to come to you.

As he slithers underneath the covers, you waste no time and move closer to him until you’re sure you’re touching every inch of his skin.

“Are you okay mesh’la?” Although you know what he’s referring to by that question, you don’t bring up the topic, instead nuzzling into his chest. The sigh of content you hear tells you that he’s not overthinking what happened too much, and it signals for you to do the same because even though you never expected the day’s events, you can’t help but admit to yourself that one thing which you know Din will bring up when the two of you have properly rested.

As strange and sudden as it was, Din’s treatment of you turned you on.

Translations:

Mesh'la - beautiful

Cyar'ika - beloved

Ad'ika - little one

Ner ka'rta - my heart or my soul

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - I love you

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Din Djarin: @a--1--1--3 @tanzthompson @mrs-ghuleh @caitlynmarty

[what-the-witch-stuff]

Landings Through the Grapevine

Chapter 1: Introduction

Masterpost: here

Go to:  Ch.1   |   Ch.2   |

Pairing: Elliott x OC

_________________________

It was a quiet morning in Stardew Valley. Birds were singing faintly in the distance and a hazy mist hung in the air, transforming everything not directly close into blue-ish hues and indistinct shapes. The sun had just risen over the horizon, chasing after the last traces of pink in the otherwise clear, blue sky. Not one cloud was in sight.

This was indeed a pleasant surprise. The villagers had feared for the constant downpour, that has persisted for the last couple of days, to delay the annual spring festivities. But now, only the wet squelching sound under the farmer's boots disrupted the idyllic scenery, as she made her way around the forest clearing, where the annual Flower Dance would be taking place. Undeterred by the early hour, the preparations were going just as planned, though they were far from finished. Riley herself had only a few decorations left to hang up, but they were still waiting on a cart to bring a few chairs and parts of the sound equipment.

A loud continuous thumping echoed over the meadow as Robin was still busy with setting up Pierre's booth. The noise was shortly interrupted, as Robin readjusted the planks she was working on, before spotting the farmer.

“Good morning Riley! Oh, you cleaned up nicely.”, Robin greeted her cheerfully and looked her over. Though Robin had apologized for ever doubting Riley's ability to take over her grandfather's farm, it were comments like these that made conversing with the carpenter a bit difficult. As Riley still didn't know Robin too well, the double meaning of the statement was not lost on her. But today, the farmer wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, hoping that Robin was just a little aloof sometimes.

'Don't rock the boat now. Think about the barn upgrade' .

So, she forced herself to just smile and wave before turning back around and the noise of the hammer picked up again. For the occasion, Riley had indeed ditched her usual overall and stained-shirt combo, in favour of one of her nicer outfits she used to wear back in Zuzu City. The only thing left from her usual farming attire was her sword which, clearly visible on her left hip, marked her as a member of the Adventurer's Guild.

While she had been quite pleased with her decision at first, something about the outfit had triggered a weird feeling. It had taken some time for her to remember, that she had not worn these clothes since the fatal day, that she had quit her job at Joja Corporation. However, by the time Riley had come to that realization, it had been far too late to change into something else. The whole morning, she had tried to push the thought away, as today was supposed to be a good day, after all. The farmer was usually not the person to care much about traditions. Nevertheless, after walking around in clammy work clothes for the past week, even Riley was looking forward to the Flower Dance. It had been a little awkward during her first year, as she had been completely new to the community. And while most villagers had been rather welcoming towards her, it were customs such as the dance that still made her feel like an outsider.

'Well, what do I expect?' , Riley asked herself, while carefully climbing a ladder, to hang a couple of pastel-coloured, flower garlands into the lower branches of a tree. “This is my second year after all. Shane came to live with Marnie and Jas three years ago. Leah and Elliott moved here, roughly around the same time. They might be part of the town now, but otherwise, all of them are kind of outsiders too.” Even so, and the thought made her pause mid task with a snort, that was probably also due to their very  individual  personalities.

“Well, at least someone is having a good morning.”, remarked a deep voice from below. Speaking of the devil. Shane was looking up to her, an unreadable expression on his face and dressed in the traditional sky-blue uniform, all attending Bachelors would be wearing to the dance. In his hands was a bowl of pepper-poppers from which he ate one ever so often, while watching her work.

“Oh wow Shane, I would say you cleaned up nicely too but I might be lying”, Riley replied with a grin, to which Shane just rolled his eyes and kept chewing completely unfazed .

“Fuck you. I know I look just fine, so you can suck it!”, he grouchily mumbled, though it sounded more like he tried to convince himself rather than her. “You sure do, buddy”. Finally happy with her work, Riley descended the ladder to greet her friend properly. “And you would look even better, if you stopped stuffing your face like a pig!”.

“They're my favorite”, he protested childishly and provocatively grabbed another pepper.

“And I spend a lot of time making them all by myself.”

“I helped too”

“No, you flaked to play soccer with Jas and Vincent!”

Shane's expression bore a cheeky grin, probably anticipating to say something rude. But the pair was interrupted by Pierre, calling out for their help to unload the cart that had finally arrived….

Since Marnie was still in a not-so-secret- relationship with Mayor Lewis, she insisted on taking part in the preparations of any official festivity. Many of the dishes, decked onto a couple of large folding tables, had been prepared the previous day at Marnie's farm, with Riley chipping in her labour and even part of her harvest.

“What happened to breakfast, you greedy gremlin?”, asked Riley, saving the half empty bowl from Shane's grasp, to return it to the buffet. The gremlin in question trailed behind, pretending like he was not sulking over the loss of the food:

“As you like to remind me, microwaved pizza is no proper breakfast”. At that Riley raised both eyebrows in mock-astonishment:

“Oh, so now the good sir suddenly cares about what  I have to say ?”

“So Riley, you're not dancing?”, Marlon asked in between sips of punch.

The sun had risen higher in the sky, and the cool morning had turned into a bright midday. Everything was set up and ready. Soft music played over lively conversation, as bit by bit all villagers arrived. Riley didn't really know what to do with herself, when she could no longer hide behind tasks and actually had to socialize. Seeing Marlon standing in a far corner of the meadow, one hand calmly resting on the hilt of his sword while overseeing the scenery, presented a great excuse to escape dreadful smalltalk. They were well acquainted by now and she had not seen him in a while, other than when she visited the Guild directly. It wasn't too weird, if she made use of that affiliation, right?

If Marlon felt disturbed through her presence he didn't let it show. He just nodded in acknowledgement and together they watched the Spring Maidens enter the clearing, garbed in white from head to toe, with lacy floral decorations sewn onto their dresses and flowers in their hair.

“I think, such ' spirits ' might have other things to worry about right now”.

Unfortunately for her, even Marlon seemed talkative today and Riley answered him reluctantly: “No. As far as I am concerned, the couples dancing stay mostly the same. Wouldn't want to disrupt that order, y'a know”, That was not entirely true, though. The other reason was that a certain someone would most likely turn her down if she'd ever asked him. And Riley was not willing to open THAT can of worms anytime soon. Marlon hummed in understanding: “I see. I just thought, since you're a farmer, you might want to participate.”

“What does being a farmer have to do with that?”

Marlon looked at her, the brow above his remaining eye slightly raised in surprise: ”The flower dance is an ancient fertility ceremony. Back when the village still believed in the spirits of this land, the dance was held to gain their favour for the upcoming harvest. Surely you wouldn't want the spirits that make things grow on your bad side, ey?”.

Riley was not sure what to make of this new piece of information, so the farmer and the monster hunter fell back into silence. Looking around, the meadow didn't really look like an old or magical place to her. It most definitely didn't feel like one either. Compared to the eerie solitude of the Community Center and the claustrophobic depths of the mines, the clearing seemed so very ordinary. On the other hand, it wouldn't be the first time that the Valley proved to be full of surprises. One year ago, Riley was some disillusioned worker's bee in a corporate nightmare. Now, she belonged to a world where magic was real, wizards lived in secluded towers, monsters hid in the depths of the wild and animals could talk. Or rather, Riley could suddenly talk to them (?). Overall, the land was full of entities and forces, Riley didn't plan to meddle with, let alone offend. For a moment she got worried enough, that she almost asked Marlon directly, if he thought the Junimos would truly be cross with her, for not attending the dance. But she decided against it, as someone might end up overhearing their conversation. Surely, Marlon was one of the few people in Pelican Town, who knew about the otherworldliness of the valley. He had probably seen more than Riley would ever experience in her lifetime. But this wasn't the time and place to talk about such things openly.

“And they better have their priorities straight. If they ever dare giving me shit, for not doing that stupid dance, I'm out. Have fun rebuilding the Community Center without me !”,  

was what she did not say. “Besides, wouldn't it look silly to be wearing a sword with such a dress?”, she jokingly gestured in the direction of the Bachelorettes, but to no one in particular. Marlon, again, shortly averted his eyes from the crowd to look at her, in what one might consider to be amusement: “Silly? Kid, that sword is a badge of honour. Of course we wear it to any occasion, men and women alike. Back in the days, Old Linda wouldn't be caught dead not wearing her sword. Also made the lads keep their hands to themselves, if you know what I mean.”, at this he cackled quietly to himself and took another sip.

“What happened to them? Linda and the other women in the guild?”, Riley asked curiously since Marlon rarely was so chatty. “What do you think? This was way before your time. They're probably dead or very old. Some got married, moved to the city and forgot all about their old lives here. ….Your grandma was one of the last”.

Marlon's eyes were back on the gathering, but there was something harsh crossing his features. Riley didn't know what to say. So she just kept watching him in hopes he would elaborate on that. But he remained shrouded in silence. She knew that their conversation was over for good. And knowing Marlon, he wouldn't want to talk about it anytime soon either. So, she tried pushing her questions into the back of her mind and rather focused on the gathering at hand, where the female villagers were now the centre of attention.

The first Bachelorette she saw was the blue haired bar-maid who was hard not to overlook, thanks to her outgoing personality. Emily's dress was full of ruffles and detailed embroidery and made her look even more whimsical. Like a fairy, she was all smiles and joy, half-dancing half skipping over the grass barefoot, as her skirts flowed and billowed along her every movement. If Clint was trying not to stare at her directly, he unfortunately wasn't very good at it. And with concern, Riley noticed the disdain in his eyes when she hugged Shane and started chatting excitedly. Abigail was the polar opposite, in the way she acted all nonchalantly and kept her posture extremely casual. She smirked and rolled her eyes at anyone complimenting her dress, but soon settled into her usual group of friends and as far away from her parents, as physically possible. Haley posed a little to better show off her new dress and happily chatted with Jody and Caroline about the cut and some issues she had with shipping.

It was then that Riley caught a glimpse of auburn in the crowd and her heart skipped a beat, when she saw Elliott and Leah chatting with Marnie and Harvey. He looked handsome (but then Riley always thought he was) with his blue overcoat complimenting his fair skin tone, while contrasting his coppery hair. Leah, who didn't seem too interested in the conversation at hand, ended up catching her gaze and gave a small wave. Riley felt like she missed a step on a staircase and could hardly control the nervous flutter in her chest, when Elliott turned his head in her direction too. His noble features turned from confused to an amused smile as he spotted her. And just like the gentleman he was, he gave her a courteous nod. Riley could not help, but smile back warmly with butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

It was silly.

But a crush was a crush.

Ever since Elliott had invited her for drinks during a chance meeting at the saloon, Riley had been head over heels for the cocky and slightly eccentric writer. He was charming in his good old fashioned way. Not only did he look like the figurative embodiment of a Jane Austen character. He also played the part: always most polite and private in an outside setting and so very concerned about the impression he made on others. But once rather tipsy, Elliott had been much more forthcoming in what was actually going on in his mind. Riley fondly remembered how she couldn't stop laughing after unexpectedly hearing Elliott say ' shit ' for the first time.

It was nice. …

Just a shame, that his interest in her had not survived the night. While they had parted in good spirits, the next day, their interaction was back to pleasant conversation and occasional discussions on his drafts. Riley respected that. Of course she did. But that didn't stop her from developing quite a passion for fishing, in hopes to see him standing at the docks when battling his usual writer's block. For a moment Elliott looked as if he tried to excuse himself from his current company. He kept looking back at her with, what almost seemed like, impatience as he waited for Harvey to finish talking. But then, Mayor Lewis announced for the dance to begin and Elliot took Leah's hand, to gracefully lead her to the middle of the clearing, along with the other couples.

[kaiju-z]

Seon Adventures, Episode 37: The Client

When last we left off, Akar’Niel showed himself before the adventuring party, the Cultbusters for the 2nd time in two weeks time, after their group finished the most important part of their dungeon delving quest within the Tomb of the Fallen King.

With his re-introducing words of “Did you miss me?”, Akar’Niel takes the stage.

And there he was, leaning on a pillar.

Face to face again, this time before rest would overtake them, Akar’Niel makes himself known to the party. The Half-Elven man is met with a mix of intrigue from Jun and Luck, distaste from Mournimar and Belli and a careful study by Malak.

Morgan surely would be by his partner’s side due to the surprise appearance, while Arryn? Arryn was taking a well needed rest, oblivious to the conversation that was transpiring.

With the semi-hostile atmosphere coming from the party, Akar’Niel reveals to the lot of them that he is the client, who requested the fetching of Ena, currently in Luck’s possession.

From the initial interrogation, it’s hard to tell much about his intentions with the blade, aside from keeping it gathering dust in the tomb, or a museum to just be gawked at. However - Belli and Mournimar gather that he’s asking intently about the sword, but based on his physique, there’s a reason he’s not trying to wrestle it off. And Jun? 

Jun knows he lied and knows who River is. There’s an eyebrow twitch, when Luck asked why it mattered to him. He’s very emotionally invested in this artifact.

Furthemore, he tells the party he is of the Circle of Shaksban, the exclusionary spellcaster guild in Crystalgate. To try and gain the party’s trust, Akar’Niel offers himself to be placed under a Zone of Truth spell and willfully fail his save.

Belli casts said spell and a question and answer series begins, wherein he re-affirms he is who he is and what his intentions for the sword are. To hand it to the Darksbane Army for use, specifically, as they are considered by many, in different tones, as “the noble sort”.

During the talk, while Belli slips up and mentions that there’s only one human in their party, despite Luck wearing his disguise, Jun takes note of something about Akar’Niel.  She can see his eyes have a bit of a yellow flicker that moves like a vine in the wind. Furthemore, There’s almost like a faint breeze going through his hair, despite there being no wind?

The conversation carries on for about as long as the Zone of Truth permits, with an air of tension being raised from a half-suspicious and half-amicable side of the party. And Ena herself speaks to Luck, when he asks her what her take is on this arrangement.

Ena finds the party’s client a smug man, but is indifferent in who wields her, as long as blood can be shed. A bit unnerving, if honest answer from the weapon of a late king.

A deal ends up being struck, where the party agree to return Ena themselves, rather than hand it over at this moment to Akar’Niel. And that whenst he checks on the group the sound of wind chimes will follow.

With his departure, the six go to sleep, taking a long rest.

And in the morning? Luctan brings out the Dragon Skull for Malak to question. After debating what the questions should be...

Malak casts Speak With Dead. And for flavor and more amicable conversing, he asks in Draconic:

- 1. ”What were the names of you and the other dragon that attacked?”- “I’m Izyr. Lord of the Sands. My companion is Zamberrut , the Barbarian.”

- 2.“What destroyed the dwarves and dragonborn?” – “A magic not even I know.”

- 3. “Do you know who cast it?” – “The wizards. The magic users, who enforced my brother and I.”

- 4. “Do you know any of their names or locations?””I don’t know their names. They gave us fake ones.”

- 5. “What were the names they gave you?” – “We met with a man, who called himself Nehren and a woman, who called herself Seriza.”

Curious.

Very curious. And requiring further questioning.

Malak would ask again, after sharing his findings with the party.

- 1. “What did they use to compel you and the other dragon?” – “The same thing it always is. A fuck ton of cash.” They were bribed!

- 2. “What did the people that compelled you look like?” – “Well, the tiny one had a weird face, gray hair. Very old. And the woman, a heavier set woman. Human?!”

- 3. “Where did you first meet them? At the mountains, a little bit north of here. Right near the border.”

- 4. “Were they wearing any identifying marks? Jewelry, anything. Special cloaks.”- “No? I don’t think they did. This was like five years ago, man. One of them had this three headed dragon guy, which I found weird.”

- 5. “Did he have 3 heads or a symbol with 3 heads?”- “A symbol.”

Interesting info. They were hired. But it wasn’t clear if it was the work of the council. But one of them was a Fornas worshippers, the little graying man. A 3 headed Dragon symbol meant just that.

Why though? Why would a Fornas worshiper do this sort of cruelty?!

The party once again agree to proceed to Guan.

And so begin the days of travel once again.

On the first day, they go north and come across what one can tell are the remains of a town, just based on the slight shapes. There are visible peaks of what was once the town of Hertis. The travelers could hear faint whistling as they’d pass through. A jaunty little tune.

How jaunty? Jaunty enough that it slaps!

Following around a corner of the remains of a building, the group finds themselves in front of a lone tent. A campsite. This here seems to be a homemade farm with tomato plants in buckets. And the whistling is coming from inside the tent.

As though we are heard, the tune carries on with it’s performer stepping out to see their guests. And it is a female Kenku, 3ft tall and carrying firewood in her arms.

Most of them hadn’t seen one since the tournament, from the team of rogues, but as she speaks in a variety of intriguing voices, Luck and Belli remember hearing of this particularity of the Kenku before. They were cursed to not speak in their own voices, so they learned to mimic others’.

“Well hi!” Zooter would say in one voice. (which we later learned OOC was of the gril from session 3 or 4, who flirted with Belli).

From what the group can gather, Zooter, as she introduces herself, is a lil’ survivor, making a life out here for themselves.

The Cultbusters and the lone citizen, Zooter exchange pleasantries and foods. With the party giving her dried meats for a potato, much to her delight. To a point where she even states that if they ever need a safe spot to rest the night, she will offer them one.

(Seriously, Zooter has such a cool mix of voices. Scorpion among them.)

Surprisingly, from the corner of their eyes, Luck, Belli and Mournimar can see the inside of the tent. What the surprising thing is the small shrine to Ebriosus, which eventually also comes to Jun’s knowledge.

And she reaches into her wares, pulling out tens of platinum coins, which she hands Zooter and the two bond over their connection through Her.

Excited, Mournimar buys of the plant that would grow into the intoxicant “Steam Root” and through some big brain thinking, decides to plant it in the pot Malak bought for him.

(And many weed jokes were had.)

“You know? I loved you from the moment I saw you.” Zooter would say to Jun in another familiar voice, which she herself would specifically and only her recognize.

Later down the line, the group would carry on with their journey, parting ways with Zooter, the friendship made that day cherished forever.

And some good progress is made in travel.

On day 2, nothing really happens. If there’s any nasty shit in the desert, they see and avoid it. But that night, as they settle down, take their usual watches and the like, Jun has a dream to herself.

Day 3. That evening comes to a close and on the next day it’s very open dunes. They travel on more rocky/mountainous terrain. Very hilly. (And they are alive with the sound of music). Their awareness of our surroundings is good enough to where we’re safe. They sleep and nothing happens.

Day 4, the sand is less and the rock is more. Still wasteland, still no water They come across small streams at least once a day.

On the evening of the 5th day, Malak has a specific dream as well.

On day 6... They climb to the top of a little canyon that’s going on. Because they’re higher up, there’s no risk of danger. They get a feeling that for the next few days they’ll be pretty safe.

The 7th day comes and goes and on the 8th, Luctan has a dream. A promissing dream.

Then comes  Day 8.  Smooth as fuck.

Day 9.  They march and march on through and Arryn informs his travelmates that at this point today? They’ve been in Guan for a few days. He didn’t want to mention anything, ‘cause he didn’t want to jynx the group when they passed the border on day 6.

On day 9  the travelers come across to a barely a settlement. A few tents. Some lizard folk, the occasional kobold too. No farms, but there are caravans. We can tell they’ve been there for a while. On the outside, there is one Lizardfolk, more beefy than the rest.  And he is digging a hole. Diggy-diggy-hole.

He welcomes the party and proclaims that they are coming through in a good weather season. “Isn’t it lovely?“ Sand storms and humidity. Yep.  It’s been wild.

He introduces himself as  Eknam, the town burrier. So essentially, he is the undertaker of this settlement. Low on town people, but he’s optimistic that things are turning around. One of their ladies is swollen. So, it might be a big clutch!

They lost their town location, but what’s left of them, they’re called the Gromlets.  Eknam’s idea was Bog Creatures, but they have no bog.

They’re trying to find a place that’ll support them and the water supply isn’t tainted?! Aside from the side effects, there’s the whole limbs dropping off if you drink water 2 years in a row?!  Due to their resistances, it takes longer for the Lizardfolk to be affected, but for others? Much-much quicker.

Malak offers help and eventually clears the water for several days with Purify Food and Drink, while speaking to the settlers in draconic: “Hello, I’m the water technician. I’m here to clean your pipes.”

Greatful, Eknam welcomes the lot of them to Guan.

Eknam notes, upon us mentioning where they’re headed, that they’re going in the right direction of the capitol. Only have to go east and if they don’t get to it, they’d go north.

After some more directions, regarding going through the canyons, Eknam mentions that if the party bring them anything interesting they’d enjoy, they’d welcome the Cultbusters into the family.

While the directions are given,  Jun shifts into a lizard folk and searches for the pregnant lady, whom she finds in an open tent, resting comfortably, big and next to an egg that had recently been laid by her.  Bless her.

Jun congratulates her, before going off to search for the strongest camp person. Who would be Eknam in this case. The expecting mom’s a bit confused about the congratulations, but is grateful.

It is then that Jun talks with Eknam.

She asks him to keep her safe and sound from any harm. Eknam would ease her concern for what could be by stating how she is their highest priority. Always watched. Noting how every settler in the area kept a close eye on her tent.

“She is always our priority.”

Before the party leave, they give them some stuff to help them along with the developement of their settlement. Clothes and the like.

With goodbyes being made, the party would carry on to the next leg of the journey.

Previous Episode / Next Episode

[newsiegirlscribbles]

There was no mistaking it, this was the watch of Emilianna Robinson.

 It was such a fine name for such an unkempt girl, and known by most of Londinium in curt, snapping words from neighbor to neighbor or in sighs over shaking teacups. Suffice to say, the well-to-do had looked much more favorably upon charity galas and the “poor, underprivileged children” eleven years, eleven months, and a day ago; now, the beneficiaries’ pocketbooks were used more often to swat the first pint-sized terror to get close enough more than anything else. What nobody seemed to realize, Millie thought, was that Emmy was right impossible, and became more so with every other social worker that was laid off with a government-funded check that said the job was important, and a bank statement that said they weren’t. Millie had worked at Robinson’s Foster Care long enough to realize that Emmy was more headstrong than anything else and wasn’t nearly as bad as she could have been. 

The seal that came issued on all the gingham skirts, faded blouses, and pressed blazers that couldn’t have been updated since the fifties or so had long since been mended and re-mended, torn off by thorns or hedges in pursuit of some rabbit to chase or tree to climb on all her clothes; her flats were scuffed and worn from much of the same activity. Her hair was curly, the colour of wheels that have traveled a long way on dirt roads, and tied back hastily in twin pigtails. No matter how presentable she was when she left, Emmy had a remarkable talent for acquiring scraped knees, freckles, and streaks of earth, blood, jams, or whatnot on her clothes with the declaration that she’d do it again.

 (“You should have seen the other bloke.” she had quipped once with a wince and a smile as Millie had swabbed the clip that would become the faint white scar on her shoulder with the last of the alchemist’s Essence of Kingsfoil.

The social worker raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you lose this fight?”

“‘S why you should have seen ‘im, the princely genetics and shiner I gave him would make him a right poster child for this place and really bring in the folks.“) 

By some chance of fate or fair fortune, the gentleman Decennium had taken a shine to her and requested her as his apprentice. Emmy’s face had lit up with a smile warmer than the sun, kicking her heels excitedly and shaking the timekeeper’s hand with vigor, and her enthusiasm was almost--almost--enough to excuse the fact that she had broken the Most Important Rule.

 In most of Sylvaria, those with stars in their blood had a talent for magic and were destined to protect and enrich the world; in Londinium, Emillianna was destined to destroy it. She was forbidden from tinkering with timepieces by the strictest of orders, never allowed to touch the gearwing menangery that fascinated the other children so, but somehow, she had slipped and caught the notice of one of the most esteemed positions in all Sylvaria. Millie could only breathe easily in the gratitude that the girl had been entrusted with the delicate waltz of time and mechanics and not thrown to the best judgement of the people like so many others long gone to the unwound future. The watch was a gift, a contract of sorts; as Emillianna accepted it, she placed her left hand over her heart and the clock’s face lit up with a soft glow, the gears inside ticking to place. 

She had loved the watch, and she had loved Decennium and chronomechanics and the silvery glow of fluid time as it clung to her fingers and stopped every clock she touched, capturing the essence again, and again, and again. 

Which was why, when Millie saw the pocketwatch all but smashed to bits by the edge of the clock tower, and felt the minutes torn from the bells and from her day as the residuum rippled ever so slightly, she knew that something had gone very, very, wrong. 

I. In which things go very, very wrong

Emmy ducked and slipped through the crowd into the marketplace as the starchly-dressed gentleman’s shouts came to an end; once she heard the distinctive click of an unsatisfied well-to-do person’s boots stalking off, she leaned against the archway and sighed with relief. 

Catching snap-dragons was a bother; they always managed to get loose once they spotted a rose garden, which wouldn’t have been so much of a problem had the well-to-do not been so fond of fences that she always got stuck in because of course she did. 

This was the fifth garden this month.

Drat.

As she gained a better view of the scene, she saw the market larger than she had initially imagined; hundreds of people bustled from stall to stall, passageways twisted through streets, and song and chatter rang through the air. If she could just get a smidge higher, she could see more of the area and make a clean escape….and the highest vantage point wasn’t far off. 

Emmy stopped one of the nearby marketgoers, a girl with short-cropped raven-black hair tucked beneath a lavender bonnet, her corduroy skirt and aegean blazer nearly close enough to indicate a fellow Robinson’s orphan--the silver buttons notwithstanding. There was a sparkle in her eyes, almost as if she were holding back a smile. 

“Pardon.” Emmy said, tapping her on the shoulder, “Would you know which way to the gallows?”

The girl laughed, evidently amused. “Are you expected?” 

“What? No!”

“Pity.” she sighed, “It’s been so long since we hanged a thief.” 

Emmy’s face blazed scarlet. “Are you always this horrid? I’m not a thief!” 

“Well, you sure weren’t dashing like a rabbit to see this.” the girl said with a wink, gesturing to the tavern hall. She leaned in, ever-so-slightly, in a softer voice, “‘less you were hoping one of these blokes would get so absent-minded they’d take you in.” Her playful laugh cut across the market like a dog’s bark; Emmy leveled a glare, and the girl grinned back, somewhere between the sort of adorable cheer that let you get away with murder and the self-assured smirk that let you commit it. 

It was a delight to see it knocked straight off her face.

The girl raised a hand to the mark, and before Emmy could raise her a second, a sharp clip stung the side of her jaw; light hands shoved her fiercely into the archway. There must have been a clock embedded in the stone above her--she wasn’t sure how that thought sprang to mind, but she could have sworn she felt microseconds being shaken from the timepiece as the girl’s knee was driven into her chest. 

The moment was dismissed; Emmy swung her leg under her opponent’s and threw her to the ground. A swift kick bloodied the girl’s cheek; a heel to her stomach would have settled the fight ultimately, but with agility she shouldn’t have had, she rolled to her side, out of the way, stood up, grabbed the orphan’s collar, and slammed her into the archway. A hairline fracture split the clock face; Emmy raised a hand to push back, but the silvery mists of the loose time clung to her fingers as they brushed the edge of the clock. 

And suddenly

The girl moved a little bit slower. 

II. 

Emmy grabbed the girl’s shoulders and tackled her to the ground. 

Beneath the thin shine of the silver filaments, her opponent made a move to catch Emmy’s ankle with her own, but the orphan sidestepped it easily, swinging her foot out of the way and onto the raven-haired girl’s ribs. 

“Ha!” she cheered, digging her heel in just for the sake of sheer cockiness, “Not quick enough, now!” 

“Shove off.” the girl muttered, moving to sit up. “‘Sn’t fair, you used magic.”

Moments from offering her hand, Emmy resisted the urge to slap the girl. 

“Do I look like a starblood to you?” she said, laughing humorlessly, “I’d really think I’d ought to have noticed, but pardon--suppose I forgot my robes and silver spoon today.” 

The raven-haired girl sighed, accepted her opponent’s hand reluctantly, and got to her feet. Once level with her, she took her by the shoulders and shook her. 

“Are you daft? Look at the clock! Look at the time!” 

Emmy shook her head, moved away. 

“You pushed me into it in the first place! What did you think would happen?”

The girl threw up her hands, frustrated. “Well, would asking that you didn’t do...whatever you did be enough?” 

Emmy scoffed, shoved the girl back. “What are you getting at?” 

“You’re...”

She fell silent; Emmy would nearly flatter herself enough to say awestruck. Behind her, a tall gentleman, resplendent in a pressed dark suit with an emerald blazer and tie, strode closer; a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, and all but slid off as he beamed. 

“A timekeeper.” he said warmly. 

Emmy’s eyes widened as she reflexively stepped back; by the look of the intricate elliptical badge on his blazer and the brass-lined goggles in his fair hair, he must have been one of Londinium’s timekeeping guild, all but a prince. Speak of the wrong person to cross….

She held her breath as he stepped back; his hand slowed as it neared the clock. 

“Let’s see here….there are only a few seconds missing from it that have since passed, so not much damage done there...though that fracture could cause a problem the next go-around. Can’t say I’ve ever seen that done by anything besides magic.” he remarked absently, withdrawing a tool somewhere between a wrench and a spyglass from his pocket. 

With his attention on the clock, she could probably dodge. There were enough people to cover, enough loose bricks in the alley walls to lift a foot on. Sure, it wouldn’t be proper, but there were scores of orphans in Londinium. The faeborn girl started the fight, she could finish it. 

….and her former opponent was gone. Stardust to ashes. That had been her plan. 

Before she could map out a better route, the gentleman caught her shoulder. 

“Ah--not so fast. I’m not cross, don’t worry; but magic of this sort is always best recognized by the caster. Would you like to give it a shot?” he said gently, offering the tool to her, “It’s a lenity, designed to counteract effects on tempered material.” 

She took it, glanced up at the clock warily, and extended one of the legs of it like a compass to enclose the fracture; immediately, thin tendrils of temporal energy twisted along it towards her hand. The gentleman nodded approvingly. 

“Now, just bring it together and press your hand against the fracture; it’ll help if you keep a more level head about this.” 

Emmy took a deep breath, but the temporal discharge only grew thicker around her fingers as she willed the fracture to mend, the time to recontinue; it strangled her from the inside, burning her fingers as her face grew hot. Hairline cracks spread outward from the fracture; by the most basic of Sylvarian survival instincts, she swept her foot in a protective half-circle behind her. 

Forcing her heart to slow, she drew her hand away lightly; slowly, the smaller fractures began to stitch back together, time began to resume course in the marketplace, and the silvered mists of time were drawn back towards the clock, yet the last glow of it never quite left her hand. The smallest crack, despite everything, still  remained. 

Her heart beat once, and again, andagainagainagainagain

And

A g a i n 

As the faintest, ever-so-slight shine of her own time stubbornly intertwined among the manipulative. 

That….wasn’t good. 

Emmy twisted her hand toward the presence of the clock as her heartbeat registered as if at the bottom of an ocean in her ears--

Until at last, fingers outsplayed and wrist outstretched towards the temporal charge, Emmillianna Robinson fainted. 

III.

“_ss R_ns_n? Miss Robinson, are you alright?”

There was a tight hold around her left wrist, and that more than the formality jolted her to attention. 

“I will remain silent until allowed a lawyer….” she said quickly, yanking her wrist roughly out of her holder’s grip, “As is required by...Londinium Code thirty--” 

The man’s shoulders relaxed in a sigh of relief; as his laughter broke the air in short, triumphant bursts, Emmy looked up and recognized him as a Timekeeper and cut off abruptly. Stardust to ashes, well, she was as good as done for if she’d botched it this poorly. With a clap of his hands and a boyish cheer, he swung her into a twirl.

“Brava, Miss Robinson” he chuckled, resting her back on her feet, “I dare say I’ve never seen such a display like that before.” 

She cocked her head in confusion, but as he gestured to the clock, she stepped closer. As if through the refracted glimpse of a pond, she remembered the lenity, the time as it twisted around her hands, and--

She must have fixed it. She couldn’t remember it, but she supposed that’s what happened, somehow, so a grin spread across her face. “Really?” 

The gentleman shook her hand enthusiastically. “Yours is a talent to behold. I’ve been looking for an apprentice for some time; if you don’t mind my presumption, would you be interested?”

Emmy pressed her hand to the faded Robinson’s seal on her blazer, beamed a lopsided smile with all the cheer in the world. 

“I accept.” 

[toxicdogars]

DND!!

Tumblr Meets D&D - Your Muse as a D&D Character

Blue

The last of my builds for this round, we finally get to a Pokemon Adventures character, which means we actually have a heckin’ lot to base this build off of, both from the canon source and from @maskedthief‘s interpretation of her. Blue is the third trainer to rise from Pallet Town, having set out on her journey around Kanto to take part in the league tournament after stealing a Squirtle from Professor Oak’s lab. She’s run into the likes of Red and Green plenty of times, though major moments include stealing Red’s Boulder and Cascade Badges as well as selling him a bunch of fake items. There’s also the raid on Silph Co, where she helped Red and Green knock Team Rocket outa there, even pulling a few fast ones on the mistress of Psychic Types and Rocket Admin, Sabrina. We should also be reminded of her backstory, kidnapped at a young age by a giant bird and raised as one of the Masked Man’s minions. It was there she learned all about Evolution- when something will evolve, how it evolves, how fast it can evolve, etc. These are skills we should be able to translate into some forms of knowledge, which is our first goal. In addition we need to make sure her hands are fast and just as sticky and that she can move fast to wing it outta there. Lastly, let’s try to get some of her Pokemon team represented, with the bulk of them being of the Fairy Type, we should ensure that Blue has plenty of fey influence. Once again, we’ll be using Dungeons and Dragons 5th edition and all books and articles related to it.

Ability Scores

These ventures will use standard array, a set of numbers given as a sort of average stat pool. Feel free to roll for stats if you wanted to use this character, just treat this arrangement as a general order for what stats are most important. We won’t need to bother with multiclassing, so just make sure you use the stat spread as a guideline and you’ll be passing with flying colors. ...Too soon? 

Strength: 8 (Won’t really help us.) Dexterity: 15 (Main attacking stat and useful for thievery) Constitution: 10 (I don’t wanna dump it.) Intelligence: 13 (Need this to be pretty solid.) Wisdom: 12 (Definitely has decent Insight rolls.) Charisma: 14 (Definitely knows how to please people.)

Race

Let’s look at some options here. We could make Blue a Human, since she is one (as far as we’re aware) and get her a free Feat. But I think we can do that juuuuust a little bit better. Know how I mentioned the fey earlier? Let’s actually make Blue a Half-Elf. Half-Elves get the best of Humans and Elves, starting with the typical 30 feet of movement, +2 to their Charisma score (raising it to 16), +1 to two different stats of their choice (bump Dexterity to 16 and Intelligence to 14), and Darkvision out to 60 feet. It doesn’t look very easy to see outta that mask, so she definitely had to see better in low light. Not to mention it’s very handy for a thief. Her Fey Ancestry would also give her advantage on charm saves and she wouldn’t be able to be put to sleep by magic, great for staying away from insomnia and nightmares, eh? She would also get Skill Versatility, gaining two skills of her choice. I’d recommend Arcana for her knowledge of magical metamorphosis and History to cover any research on Evolution already done. As for Languages, she gets Common, Elvish, and a language of her choice. Perhaps Auran, the language of beings close to the Elemental Plane of Air? 

Class and Background

Now, for our thief-y little girl here, I’m thinking that the best way to go is Bard, her About page does mention she’s a good singer, right? Okay that’s a big fat lie and we know it. It’s obvious, she’s a Rogue. Do I even need to explain why? No, she probably stole the reason and flew on outta here. 

Rogues start with a d8 hit die (decent, not the best), proficiency in Dexterity and Intelligence saving throws, simple weapons, hand crossbows, longswords, rapiers, shortswords, thieves’ tools, and four skills from a pretty big list. Of the options listed, Acrobatics, Deception, Investigation, and Persuasion cover her agility and people skills effectively. We’ll get some more skills to aid her thieving from her background. Toss on some light armor, I’d recommend studded leather. As for what weapons to focus on, I’d suggest any Finesse weapon to pair well with her Dexterity. While there’s no real in-character option, but a rapier is pretty stylish and could evoke a sweet masked thief vibe. It deals a d8 + her Dexterity modifier in damage too, making it the strongest option for her. 

As for her background, let’s focus on her time with the Masked Man and call her an Urchin. But since we’re altering it a bit, feel free to rename it Kidnapped Youth or something like that. Take proficiency in Sleight of Hand and Perception to round off her thief-y skills. As I’ve said before, backgrounds also give you access to tools. Her Ditto could be represented early with proficiency in a Disguise Kit while proficiency in the Forgery Kit could make her just as deceptive in writing as she is with spoken word.

This build’s gonna be pretty easy, Rogue from start to finish. We’ll take a look at what Blue gets at each level and discuss ways to make use of them and cover any choices that need to be made. At Rogue 1, Blue gets one of the best things about being a Rogue, a way to make her anime as fuck with incredible skill checks in the skills she uses most:

Expertise: Choose two of your skill proficiencies, or one of your skill proficiencies and your proficiency with thieves' tools. Your proficiency bonus is doubled for any ability check you make that uses either of the chosen proficiencies..

I’d suggest Arcana to make her an expert in Evolution and Sleight of Hand to make her hands as fast as possible. For the record, proficiency bonuses start at +2 and reach +6 by level twenty, so that’s a free +12 in those stats by the end of the build. Pretty dang good if you ask me. Rogues also get their other key feature at this level, which helps them deal more damage in their turn:

Sneak Attack: Once per turn, you can deal extra 1d6 damage to one creature you hit with an attack if you have advantage on the attack roll. The attack must use a finesse or a ranged weapon.You don't need advantage on the attack roll if another enemy of the target is within 5 feet of it, that enemy isn't incapacitated, and you don't have disadvantage on the attack roll.

And lastly our girl Blue gets Thieves’ Cant, a secret language of ciphers and symbols that can carry secret messages. Pretty handy way to exchange secret communications.

Thieves’ Cant: You know thieves' cant, a secret mix of dialect, jargon, and code that allows you to hide messages in seemingly normal conversation. Only another creature that knows thieves' cant understands such messages. It takes four times longer to convey such a message than it does to speak the same idea plainly. In addition, you understand a set of secret signs and symbols used to convey short, simple messages, such as whether an area is dangerous or the territory of a thieves' guild, whether loot is nearby, or whether the people in an area are easy marks or will provide a safe house for thieves on the run.

At Rogue 2, we can satisfy that speedy goal of mine and get a way for her to soar like a Pidgeot compared to the average adventurer:

Cunning Action: You can use your Bonus Action to take the Dash, Disengage, or Hide action. Thanks to the Class Feature Variant Unearthed Arcana article, she can additionally use this bonus action to Aim. When using your bonus action in this way, you give yourself advantage on your next attack roll on the current turn. You can use this bonus action only if you haven’t moved during this turn, and after you use the bonus action, your speed is 0 until the end of the current turn

At Rogue 3, Blue can pick a roguish archetype. Arcane Tricksters gain the ability to cast wizard spells, relying on their Intelligence modifier to enchant and illuse. This means her Intelligence modifier is added to the attack rolls of spells and the difficulty check of saving throws her spells require. She gains two cantrips from the wizard list alongside Mage Hand, and three first spells, two of which must be enchantment or illusion schools with the third being free of that restriction. In case someone doesn’t know the difference, cantrips are simple magical tricks you can pull off at will, while leveled spells require expending one of your spell slots of a level equal to or higher than the spell’s level. Here’s some options:

Mage Hand: A conjuration cantrip that manifests a spectral hand that can be used to do a ton of really small things like lifting small objects, pulling levers from a distance, that sort of thing. It’s like a tiny ghost thing, which would be perfect if Blue ever picked up, say, a Shuppet or something. Especially with the benefits that Arcane Trickster gives her, as you’ll see down below. Dancing Lights: An evocation cantrip that creates lines of multicolored orbs of light, like fairy lights. It does require concentration to maintain them, but it’s still a nice little spell for its effects. Message: An transmutation cantrip that that allows the user to send a telepathic message to someone they point at, and that individual can respond telepathically. It’s like a walkie talkie, or a cell phone. A shitty cell phone. With a range of only a hundred and twenty feet. Disguise Self: A first level illusion spell that will let Blue take on different appearances. This is essentially her Ditto, able to shift her into the likeness of Sabrina, for instance.  Charm Person: A first level enchantment spell forces a Wisdom saving throw on the target, and if they fail they become charmed by her and basically become her bestest friend while they’re affected. A great way to get what she wants if her own natural charisma isn’t enough.  Find Familiar: A first level conjuration spell that has a buncha random rules, that you’re gonna wanna look up, but it basically amounts to the ability to summon a pet that will stick around and help her out. I’d recommend a pooch of some sort, and since this spell can allow the beast summoned to be considered a different creature type, it could be a fey dog. You know. Like Snubbull. 

Also at this level, Blue gains some swanky upgrades to her Mage Hand spell, letting her use it for more rogue-y things. Additionally, her Sneak Attack dice go up to 2d6:

Mage Hand Legerdemain: When you cast Mage Hand, you can make the spectral hand invisible, and you can perform the following additional tasks with it: -You can stow one object the hand is holding in a container worn or carried by another creature. -You can retrieve an object in a container worn or carried by another creature. -You can use thieves' tools to pick locks and disarm traps at range. -You can perform one of these tasks without being noticed by a creature if you succeed on a Dexterity (Sleight of Hand) check contested by the creatures Wisdom (Perception) check. -In addition, you can use the bonus action granted by your Cunning Action to control the hand.

At Rouge 4, Blue gets the first of her Ability Score Improvements (ASIs). Let’s take the +2 and put it in Dexterity, bumping that up to 18 for better hit and damage rolls with her rapier and better armor. She also gets another spell, which can be from the enchantment or illusion schools:

Color Spray: A first level illusion spell that releases brilliant light in a cone that blinds a certain amount of hit points’ worth of individuals for one round. It’s not the best way to stall a foe, but it’s certainly in character. It’s a solid use of Flash, which would have been an HM back in the day that I suspect one of her team would have had. 

At Rouge 5, Blue gets another incredibly helpful core feature that makes it a lot easier for Rogues to survive in the midst of combat. And it certainly fits her character, as the Pokemon Adventures trainers aren’t hesitant to get right up there with their foes in battles. In addition, her Sneak Attack dice go up to 3d6:

Uncanny Dodge: When an attacker that you can see hits you with an attack, you can use your reaction to halve the attack's damage against you.

At Rogue 6, Blue gains Expertise in two more skills (or her thieves’ tools) of her choice. Let’s make her social skills even more busted and take expertise in Deception and Persuasion. 

At Rogue 7, Blue gets a spell, which can now be of second level, and another key feature which makes her even harder to hit than she was before, even by some of the strongest spells in the game. In addition, her Sneak Attack dice go up to 4d6:

Mirror Image: A second level illusion spell that functions like Double Team, creating illusory clones that can draw fire, making it harder to hit the real Blue. A handy little technique that I could see Blue making a lot of use of.  Evasion: When you are subjected to an effect that allows you to make a Dexterity saving throw to take only half damage, you instead take no damage if you succeed on the saving throw, and only half damage if you fail.

At Rogue 8, Blue gets her second ASI and let’s use that to max her Dexterity score at 20 for the best hit, damage, and armor modifiers for her level. She also gets a spell from any school:

Thunderwave: A first level evocation spell that blasts a fifteen foot radius around her with damaging sound, a bit like Hyper Voice, which I have no doubt her Jiggly knows. It’s handy to have magical damage, and with such a focus on utility spells this might be the best option for damage if her rapier won’t cut it.

At Rogue 9, Blue gets another Arcane Trickster feature that makes her oh-so deliciously more capable of messing with her enemies. In addition, her Sneak Attack dice go up to 5d6:

Magical Ambush: If you are hidden from a creature when you cast a spell on it, the creature has disadvantage on any saving throw it makes against the spell this turn.

At Rogue 10, Blue gets her third ASI and lets use that to bump her Intelligence by +2 (raising it to 16) for better saves and and hit rolls. She also gets her fourth cantrip and another spell, which again must be from the enchantment or illusion schools:

Ray of Frost: An evocation cantrip that looses a blast of cold energy like some sort of beam or ray of ice. The book says it’s fired from the caster, but I see no trouble flavoring it as tossing out a pokeball to summon a mighty Blastoise to douse a foe with cold water. Some nice damage at range, since cantrips scale up with level, gaining additional damage dice.   Hold Person: A second level enchantment spell that forces a Wisdom saving throw on a foe, restraining them in place if they fail. This is your Whirlpool on Blasty or some sorta weird fairy magic from Jiggly or Clefy. Combine it with Magical Ambush to make it really hard for the enemy to pass the save.

At Rogue 11, Blue gains another spell from the enchantment or illusion schools and another touchstone feature for improving her skills, and let’s just say it’s going to make her a complete monster with the skills she has expertise in. In addition, her Sneak Attack dice go up to 6d6:

Sleep: A first level enchantment spell that uses Sing to put a certain number of hit points’ worth of foes in the area to sleep. This is a little more effective than Color Spray and hits over a wider area, but there are times when blinding a foe may be more useful than simply knocking them out. Regardless, a useful spell to have in her kit.  Reliable Talent: Whenever you make an ability check that lets you add your proficiency bonus, you can treat a d20 roll of 9 or lower as a 10.  

Seriously, consider this for a second. A Sleight of Hand check from her at this level has a bonus of +13 (5 from Dexterity, 8 from doubled proficiency). That means the lowest she can roll on a Sleight of hand check is 23. Lowest. That’s crazy. And super amazing for stealing her friends’ wallets before casually handing them back to them.

At Rogue 12, Blue gets her fourth ASI and lets use that to bump her Charisma by +2 (raising it to 16) to make her all the more sociable and manipulative.

At Rogue 13, she gets another spell, which can now be of third level. Blue apparently decided that it wasn’t good enough to be stabbing people and casting spells at the same time and decided to make it so she can really fuck up a single person that was getting on her nerves. In addition, her Sneak Attack dice go up to 7d6:

Fear: A third level illusion spell that forces foes to make a Wisdom saving throw or be frightened by some terrifying visage. Why not show her enemies a massive shadowy bird of doom? Oh, they aren’t afraid of birds? Ouch. I suppose ya could spook ‘em with something else though.  Versatile Trickster: As a bonus action on your turn, you can designate a creature within 5 feet of your Mage Hand. Doing so gives you advantage on attack rolls against that creature until the end of the turn.

At Rogue 14, Blue gains another spell from any school and a feature that may not be perfectly in character, but it does extrapolate on how low to the ground her ears can be. And I see nothing wrong with giving characters features that build on their canon:

Tidal Wave: A third level conjuration spell that releases a massive wave of crushing water, dealing bludgeoning damage over a wide area should the targets fail a Dexterity saving throw. This is the best approximation of Blasty’s Hydro Cannon I could find. Blindsense: If you are able to hear, you are aware of the location of any hidden or invisible creature within 10 feet of you.  

At Rogue 15, Blue gets a really handy way to mitigate that lower Wisdom score, something I’d wanted to deal with since the beginning. In addition, her Sneak Attack dice go up to 8d6:

Slippery Mind: You gain proficiency in Wisdom saving throws.

At Rogue 16, Blue gets her fifth ASI and honestly her stats look pretty fine, so let’s exchange that ASI for a Feat, and I’d recommend a way to give her more skill proficiencies- as in the Skilled Feat. She also gets another spell from either of her restricted schools:

Skilled:  You gain proficiency in any combination of 3 skills or tools of your choice. Round off her survival skills by taking Survival, Nature, and Animal Handling.  Invisibility: A second level illusion spell that does what it says on the tin, turning Blue invisible for the duration, as long as she maintains her concentration. Really dang handy, and something I suspect could be possible with Ditty, reflecting the light around them to turn invisible or something.

At Rogue 17, Blue gets another Arcane Trickster feature that makes her the bane of enemy casters. Considering her smarts and her knowledge of Pokemon, it does make sense that she’d be able to put her magical know-how to fuck up other people’s days. In addition, her Sneak Attack dice go up to 9d6:

Spell Thief: Immediately after a creature casts a spell that targets you or includes you in its area of effect, you can use your reaction to force the creature to make a saving throw with its spellcasting ability modifier. The DC equals your spell save DC. On a failed save, you negate the spell's effect against you, and you steal the knowledge of the spell if it is at least 1st-level and of a level you can cast (it doesn't need to be a wizard spell). For the next 8 hours, you know the spell, can cast it using your spell slots, and the creature can't cast that spell until the 8 hours have passed. Once you use this feature, you can't use it again until you finish a long rest.

At Rogue 18, Blue gets yet another feature that makes her really damn hard to hit. Kinda terrifying if ya ask me, she’s lookin’ more like a DBZ character with how many options she has to dodge:

Elusive: No attack roll has advantage against you while you aren't incapacitated.

At Rogue 19 Blue gets her sixth ASI and lets also trade that one in for a Feat. I’d recommend Alert, so she’s always making use of her skills to keep an eye on things. She also gets another spell from one of her restricted schools, which can now be of fourth level. In addition, her Sneak Attack dice go up to 10d6:

Alert: Always on the lookout for danger, you gain the following benefits: -You can't be surprised while you are conscious. -You gain a +5 bonus to initiative. -Other creatures don't gain advantage on attack rolls against you as a result of being unseen by you. Charm Monster: A fourth level enchantment spell that does what Charm Person does to people but to monsters. it forces a Wisdom saving throw, and if the monster fails they become Blue’s best friendy-wend. Very handy to stop marauding monstrous beastly Pokemon if ya ask me.  

At Rogue 20, Blue gets her another spell from any school, and her capstone feature, and a pretty solid one at that:

Mordenkainen’s Faithful Hound: A fourth level conjuration spell that yes, may seem a bit odd of a pick, but it’s actually kinda nifty. It summons an invisible dog that guards you for eight hours, chompin’ on anything that gets in Blue’s way for 4d8 piercing damage. Now I said that her Familiar could be Snubbull, and I stand by that, so I suggest you use this spell to emulate her Nido instead. The loyal Nidoqueen already behaves like a guard dog, so it seemed pretty dang fitting to me.  Stroke of Luck: If your attack misses a target within range, you can turn the miss into a hit. Alternatively, if you fail an ability check, you can treat the d20 roll as a 20. Once you use this feature, you can't use it again until you finish a short or long rest. 

See what I mean? A once per short rest instant win button. Call it her Dex Holder plot armor if ya want. 

Final Thoughts

Know how I said Clair was terrifying? Blue is just as much, if not moreso. I’ve already talked about just how busted Expertise is and how good it is on someone like Blue, but let’s look at just how many of her skill checks are going to be amazing. There are eighteen skills in the game, and Blue has proficiency in eleven of them. Hell, she practically has proficiency in the hidden nineteenth skill, Initiative! Alert gives her a bonus that’s only one off of her proficiency, so yeah. Not to mention that four of the skills she’s proficiency in will never roll lower than a 20 on the die, seeing as her +12 proficiency bonus stacks on top of Reliable Talent’s ability to turn anything under 10 to 10. That’s just. Really damn good. The few skills she’s not proficient in are just ones she probably wouldn’t need to take anyway. With only seven skills left, her allies could easily handle them. I mean. Yellow definitely has the Medicine and Religion skills covered, both Green and Red have Athletics no doubt. What’s left? Performance? She’s not good at singing. Stealth? Why be sneaky when you can waltz right in and take what you want? Intimidation? That’s more Green’s thing. Insight? That’s more Yellow’s thing. And ah. That’s all the skills left. Yeah. Blue’s a freakin’ skill monkey. And she’s got great damage with her Sneak Attack and plenty of ways to get advantage so she can always get the big damage off. Not to mention her spells make her a threat even at range, mixing in magical damage to boot.

There’s not many cons. I mean… spell slots are a limited resource, sure, but that’s why you gotta be picky about you use them. We also never boosted her Constitution, leaving her with pretty low hit points throughout the build, even with maximum rolls on the hit dice. But that’s why I always say you roll for stats- You’re more than likely going to get a roll you like better to at least get a small bonus. My advice? If you can get a Constitution score of 14 as a Rogue or some sort of caster, then you are perfectly fine as is. And if ya don’t have the Con, Blue still has a ton of ways to avoid damage with all those features from Rogue. Seriously, twenty levels of Rogue makes for a stupidly infuriating game of cat and mouse, and I’m sure Blue would love that.

I hope you enjoyed this. Feel free to tell me how wrong I am with my choices.

[pumahat]

The End of Eternity.

The first chapter to a story I am writing. Please Enjoy.

I hate executions. Simple as that.

              Walking down The Grand Basilica’s Western Hallway, Doffer Mao pondered, By the all the gods out there, why does this hallway have to be so long? Maybe there was a point in it, the agonizingly long walk did seem to give prisoners enough time to reflect on their ‘sins’ as they were led past dozens of paintings and statues depicting the ‘glory’ of the Mages. It very well could be the case, but as the Grand Mage of fifteen years, it’s unlikely Mao would ever know what went through the minds of those soon to be purified. Then again, Mao realized, this was a hallway exclusive to master mages.

                After some time admiring the ancient masterpieces of the western hallway, Mao finally approached the large ebony doors at the end of the road. He smirked. And I shall look upon them and dub ‘The Black Gates of Death’. Knocking four times, Mao patiently waited for the doormen to let him into the chamber. Four minutes of dull silence was broken by the soft groaning of the ancient doors. The doors; ancient and still strong, fifteen feet tall, each five feet in width, and five inches of solid ebony wood; masterpieces in their own respect. Although not ornately designed like the rest of the Basilica, the doors held an ominous, almost demonic aura to them. Pitch black doors leading to hell.

Mao remembering his history lessons from decades ago, knew that the wood for the doors were taken from the oldest and largest of the ebony trees of Gods Grave to the east. The cutting of these trees was blasphemy at the highest level to the ‘pagans’ who worshipped the old gods of nature, but a fitting symbol of domination from the heavily Heratik[1] Mages Guild. Even after witnessing these doors open more times than he can count, it was always astonishing to watch the three men it took to open each door, and even then, the process was slow.

                “My dearest apologies for the wait, Grand Mage.” huffed the shortest of the young apprentices in charge of manning the doors. From the nervousness of the apprentices’ face, Mao assumed that he was new, not used to approaching the grand mage.

                “Nonsense child. You’ve done your job as was instructed,” He paused before adding: “Next time you’ll be a bit faster, yes?” as he passed the apprentice, Mao placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder and strutted past, glancing at the expectedly stunned face nodding back at him. In the thirty years as a member of the Mages Guild, Mao has never met another ranked Mage who really respected the apprentices. Most mages who get ranked past adept more often than not acquire a distasteful superiority complex, a curse that makes many see themselves as ‘above’ simply because they held the title “Mage,” they let power get to their head. He knew that this pride is what prevented many from rising higher in the Guild, pride is the pillar and the ceiling. Laughing to himself at the thought of the apprentice that manned the door taking Mao as a role model, he entered the waiting chamber.

                Striding through the great ebony doors into the waiting room, towering over everyone else with long graceful strides and gaunt stature, the Grand Mag Doffer Mao stood out like a redwood in a forest of beech, a giant amongst men as the saying goes. Without stopping, Mao promptly approached the small dull door at the end of the waiting room. Placing his hands on the magical seals locking the door, he focused energy from deep within his core out towards his fingertips. Pouring raw power into the ethereal manometer[2], Mao spun and twisted the magic circles of the manometer into varying positions and altering their sizes to create an intricate design, the deep scent of lilies filled the immediate vicinity as the room hummed with gentle green light. After several minutes, he stopped pouring magic into the manometer and pushed gently on the symbol of a gyrfalcon engraved in the center of the door. The symbol twisted and melted into the door, granting him access as the magic circles dissipated into the void. The magic seals were designed to give access only to those who could accurately release the proper amount of magical pressure while completing a complex series of magical puzzles, a feat only those with skills above that of a Grand Master could accomplish.

Once unlocked, the dull doors shimmered and melted away revealing themselves to be made of pure white mithril. The doors glowed like the full moon in the dark waiting room, with the floating everspark sconces as dim stars in the night sky. The radiant doors stood just as beautiful as the day Mao first set his eyes on them. These doors depicted various Guild stories; from men discovering the arcane arts, to the conquering of the Corellan continent, to the building and completion of the Grand Basilica as it is today some five hundred years ago. Yet for all their beauty, they could not hide was ugliness beyond.

Entering his private viewing area, situated several feet over the rest of the arena, Mao scanned the chamber with his mismatched eyes; one a pale sapphire, another a brown so dark it was almost black. Although called the Chamber of Purity, there is nothing pure about it. The entire arena was suffocated by the stench of charred flesh and dried blood that seeped out of every crack.

Sitting down on a monstrosity of a red velvet Mao couldn’t help but hold back his urge to vomit. The rotten stench of death. According to the Mages Manifesto, the Chamber of Purity can only be cleaned during the equinoxes and solstices, when (according to scripture) ‘the One True Goddess was close enough to see the blood of her enemies washed away along with their sins.’ An old barbaric concept that Mao has petitioned to remove from legislation time and time again but has always faced resistance from the Grand Jury; the Judicial and Legislative body of the Guild. At the very least, the logic behind this is more colloquially known that the cleaning calendar is based around natural energy levels and the aligning of celestial bodies, like how legally the world is flat, but every educated human knows it is a sphere.

Taking up the entirety of the Grand Basilica’s Western Wing, the chamber itself could easily fit close to a hundred comfortably throughout its colosseum-like seating arena. The large domed ceiling was roughly a hundred feet high. Ancient spells etched into the stonework caused the ceiling to seemingly to vanish, summoning various types of clouds and weather phenomena that could be altered through spells and magical auras. The only thing that broke this illusion of a roofless chamber was the ‘Eye of Judgment’, a wretched mechanical monstrosity of magnifying glasses and rune-etched metal, a reversed telescope of sorts, that was situated slightly off of the center of the dome. As Mao looked up at the Eye, he felt as if it was the eye of the heavens, with whatever gods up there looking down upon the world heavy with divine judgement.

Normally only the Jury, Mao, and twenty or so Master candidates were granted access to the chamber, except, this time, in addition to the usual suspects, some nearly fifty expert and adept level mages as well as a handful of the absurdly ornate True Goddess Clergymen occupyed the rest of the normally sparse seating arena. Someone wants to make a show of this, He thought, analyzing the situation. Based off of the current political climate, it was most likely a statement against the Cast Movement. Mao resisted the urge to bite his fingernails. I can think of no one else who would waste this much time and resources for such a trivial thing other than our Supreme Judge. Ah! And there he is, waltzing in.

Slamming through the air like thunder breaking the silence, Supreme Judge Clivus Corduroy roared in his deep booming voice calling the attention of all in attendance.

“Today! My fellow mages, we once again are blessed to witness the purification of another disgusting Eternal. Today on the seventh day of First Harvest, in the year twenty-nine eighty-seven after the Last Storm, we are joined by not just our brothers, but by several esteemed members of the True Clergy. With their presence let it be known that our journey to cleanse the world is truly just and filled with divine purpose. Now as the sun approaches her peak, let us bring forth the wretched Creature.”

‘Wretched’ doesn’t even start to describe what was once a man, Mao said to himself.

Dragged out by chained limbs, stripped of the decency of both hair and clothing, the prisoner was less of a man and more of a pile of bones held together in a thin bag of worn, lifeless skin. Mao couldn’t see much of the prisoner from this distance and requested a zoom scope from a nearby servant. When it arrived, he found the Creature to be more disturbing than he had thought.

The Creature hunched over, stood no taller than the two guards dragging him in, each of which were of average height and build. Although if he had been standing straight, Mao guessed that he would’ve easily towered over everyone in the room by a full head, most likely the same height as himself.

Gaunt, atrophied limbs hung down from his empty torso like ropes, no strength left in his body to even move them. Mao shuddered to himself at the level of abuse the Creature was clearly subjected to. His fingers and toenails ripped off; bulbous and red lash marks throbbed with little time to. Tattooed across his body were ornate pagan symbols of fire, one side of his body representing life, the other representing death, elegantly faded from age and damaged with torture scars of blades and lashes. It was castrated, burned, clearly strangled, stabbed, and beaten. It has died several times already. But what truly revolted Mao was the discovery that the Creature was covered in an unusual amount of spider veins. At first, Mao guessed that it was somewhere around the mid-thirties to early forties but looking closer he realized that they weren’t ordinary spider veins; unlike the normal blue that came with age, they were a bright unnatural green: the telltale sign of magical torture.

This form of torture was banned by the Guild twenty-five years ago, it was deemed unethical due to the extreme process of forcibly shooting waves of raw magic into the victim’s blood stream. Once forced in, the victim was subject to the full manipulation of the owner of said magic becoming puppets on strings. You could break bones and force them back together you could tear muscles and force them to keep moving, anything you wanted to do to the victim was in the realm of possibility. Once injected with the magic the victim became yours to control.

“You sick bastard, Clivus,” Mao cursed under his breath.

Focusing back on the scene unfolding before him, Mao looked into the Creature’s empty defeated eye. They didn’t seem to notice anything in the room around him. Yet something strange happened as the Creature was moved to the center of the arena. His empty eyes suddenly filled with flames of purpose as they looked directly at Mao- no, not at Mao, rather they looked into Mao, into his very being and soul. His heart caught in his throat; his eyes locked in an embrace with the Creature’s now beautiful deep amber eyes. He felt the urge to speak, to answer the voice that called to him in his mind. It tried to show him something, a name, a face, something was there. He could feel it was on the verge of existence in his mind, like the first rays of light of the rising sun. “Serve me” it spoke, and what could Mao do but accept?

In that exact moment within moments, the sun’s beams flooded into the arena through the focusing lenses of the Eye of Judgement. It was a dazzling spectacle, beams of refracted lights moved throughout the arena. With each passing beam, warmth flooded into the arena. The crowd was entranced, they gasped in wonder and joy, murmurs could be heard throughout the crowd. As everyone stared in wonder at the beams of light, Mao couldn’t help but stare at the poor Creature. That’s when he felt it.

“By the gods…” Mao whispered as his attention drew from the Creature’s amber gaze to Mao’s own hand. Slowly branding him was the symbol of the Fire Djinn Agni, the two faces of fire. Life and Death. Creation and Destruction. Light and Shadow. A balance. As he was about to lift his hand to the sun to look at the newest addition to his tattooed body, he found he didn’t need to shine a light upon it, as the brand itself glowed like dying embers. Forcing his eyes off of the wonder appearing on his hand, he looked back at the Creature. But no more did those intense amber eyes look at Doffer Mao. Now they gently closed in peaceful acceptance of his fate. Though this creature was barely human, he still retained his dignity.

Slowly the Creature was shackled to the X-cross in the center of the arena by his hands and feet. Then doing the honors himself, Supreme Judge Clivus Corduroy marked on the Creature three points with ink. A dot on the forehead, a dot on the heart, and a dot below the sternum. Representing Mind, Soul, and Body, respectively; the three aspects of existence. Once Corduroy retreated back to the control panel situated close to the Eye, the purification began.

Using the magic of the twenty master candidates, the Eye of Judgment was adjusted, aimed, and focused. The light of the sun splitting into three concentrated beams of light each precisely aimed over the three corresponding ink dots on the Creature’s body. Slowly the candidates began chanting and drawing magic circles in the air, pouring their magical energy into the 3 beams of light. As the energy flowed through the beams the Creatures skin began to blacken into charred flesh.

“More power! Make him scream!” barked Corduroy, his eyes a firestorm of rage. Following the Supreme Judge’s order, the candidate’s skin began to glow with their focused power, the air filled with magical pressure, and the dust off the ground began to stir into wild tornadoes dancing across the floor. The scents of charring flesh, rotted corpses, and magical essence was a medley of aromas unlike anything else in the known world. Soon enough the charred skin flaked away revealing a bubbling broth of melted muscle and boiling blood. Yet the Creature did not scream.

As frustration and anger filled the Supreme Judge and the candidates, the room of onlookers began to join in. The mob’s fury was a raging inferno, while the Creature, in stark contrast was at peace. Unable to believe his own eyes, Mao drew and casted a magnification spell onto the zoom scope to get an even better look at this Creature. Quite audibly, he gasped to himself in disbelief. Looking at the rage and frustration in Corduroy’s face Mao chuckled to himself. The bastard is truly crazy, He thought. Gripping the arms of his chair, Mao was at the edge of his seat. It was a rare event to see something defy the Supreme Judge Corduroy for this long and watching the anger and frustration flow from his colleague’s face brought a sick pleasure from Mao, he was almost rooting for the prisoner to retain his strength. His face grinned a grin he hasn’t felt in decades, not since he was back in his adventuring days has Mao felt this much excitement.

As much as he hated it, he wanted it to last an eternity. The screams of Corduroy bellowed like the sweet sound of the pipe organ Mao played in his youth. Mao was lost in this sick pleasure. Then came blood curdling scream that disrupted both Mao’s pleasure and the roaring of the crowd.

The Creature writhed in pain. His tensing muscles straining against the leather restraints, fingers moving in a sporadic repetition between a death grip and being sprawled out in all directions. Its torso flailing left and right shaking with so much force that the cross struggled to hold the pained Creature. The Creature struggled more and more to move with the dance of death, his convulsing head slamming against the headboard with so much force that boiling blood seeped from the head wound. Mao could imagine it now, seeing with his mind’s eye as Judgment’s Eye cooked the Creature’s skull like a boiled egg.

Wondering why the Creature is reacting only now, Mao scanned the arena. He noticed that some of the candidates began chanting hyper-sense tomes, designed to increase one’s overall awareness, but in this case altered so that the chant focused one’s pain receptors. The Creature had been resisting death with its fire magic, only now, that protection slowed the inevitable.

This scene of terror went on for almost half an hour before it lost both its strength and its will to live. Slowly but surely the beams of light empowered by the magic of twenty master candidates bored three precise holes through the Creature. It’s lifeless corpse still suspended to the cross by its arms and legs. As the beams of light faded away, judgment has been cast and the room of rage because a chamber of holy silence. Melted meat dropped from the corpse, muscle beneath the skin was noticeably torn and ripped, leaving strange indents and gorges in its charred flesh. The Creature’s amber eyes had long since bubbled and melted away, leaving empty sockets infinitely deeper in strangeness. Smoke radiated from flesh that had turned to smoldering piles of ash. The Creature’s final death was marked by countless others.

After several long minutes, it was the deep brooding voice of Supreme Judge Corduroy that broke the silence.

“Brothers, clergymen. The deed,” he paused.  “…Has been done. Another blasphemous Creature purified from this world. We Mages have done our part in this holy cleansing. Now let us leave the final prayers to the clergymen who have joined us today on this momentous occasion.” Pausing and scanning the room, letting the clergymen speak their holy prayers in ancient Mottenese, Corduroy noticed the disappointment on Mao’s face and held his head high.

After the prayers finished, his voice boomed once more. “Today was more than just the purification of another pagan beast, today is the day we show our strength to the world. Today we show that these ‘Eternal Hosts’ are not people like some would claim. Neither are they the weapons of world domination that the Tyrant to the east want us to think. And they are not eternal. No, these Creatures are no more than rabid beasts, beasts that defy the laws of nature and the laws of Holy Truth. And what do men of logic, men of holiness, men of power do to rabid beasts?”

“We put them down! We punish their sins! We purify their souls!” the mob roared in delightful unison.

“Yes! My brothers and clergymen, today we denounce Lord Cast’s ideas that the Eternal Host’s should be weapons of war. Today we denounce Jordane’s belief that they deserve the same rights as us, the pure. Today we denounce the Eternal Host’s and all those who support them!” Corduroy boomed.

Oh great, he’s talking about me.

“Today my friends, we shall unite our forces with the One True Church and purify this land. Today is when we ask of the Empire to join us and help us purify all of the known world in the name of the One True Goddess! The Goddess of Truth!” The Supreme Judge concluded with deep finality.

Roars of excitement and blind allegiance moved through the crowd like the waves of the sea. The tide of their energy pushed and pulled with the movements of Corduroy’s body. Soon enough the crowd was a mind of its own, Corduroy’s seeds of destruction had taken root. A coy smile flashed on Corduroy’s face. Mao could do little to reverse what he had started; Mao was but one man with little to no allies that could help. Not even all the power and influence he had would be of help now, this was not a matter of magic or politics; this was people falling into the age long plague of rage and hatred. Simple, pure, and near impossible to break let alone bend.

Time was of the essence, and to Mao there was not enough time to get everything done. He needed to act fast before Corduroy could have time to strike. This was a different type of battle. Corduroy had taken the first step, now everything depended on how Mao responded. He could cower in the corner and let Corduroy take the lead, or he could strike back. He moved before he had the chance to even contemplate the possible risks and rewards for either choice. Thinking won’t be enough for this task. It was time to step out of the spotlight and into the shadows.

Being the Grand Mage for decades, Mao has gained too much notoriety within the capital. His face was already known as well as his disposition against the unification of the church and guild. Precautions would already be in place in order to either coerce Mao into submission or to eliminate him as a threat. That final speech was simple, it labeled Mao as an enemy of the new world. He had felt this time was coming, but he did not expect it to be so soon.

He needed to leave the city and go underground. From there, his action could go more unnoticed. A big fish in a small pond made too many disturbances, but out by the sea they would be little more than ripples amongst the crashing waves. Quickly moving out of the arena before the crowd dispersed, Mao moved through the Grand Basilicas halls and stairways. Although the path was roundabout and at many points he moved in circles, he needed to cover his path. Confuse the Jury and their pawns before they could be moved into positions likely to end in checkmate. After some time, he began smudging his trail. Within the palace walls it was impossible to completely hide his trail, powerful spells ingrained in the walls, ceilings, floors, and foundations of the Basilica tracked movement of everyone within. Mao knew this as well as some counter measures. It’d buy him some time, and that was all he needed.

Like time mended a wound into a subtle scar, Mao did the same to his trail, dulling it and confiding it to only the immediate vicinity. Although not completely gone, at a glance one would look right over it. He hoped. It’s never a sure thing, some people like trained mages may be looking for tricks like this; others, usually palace guards untrained in the magical arts, would look for the blatantly obvious. He hoped the latter would be sent after him.

In the center of one of the hallways in the eastern wing, somewhere around three quarter’s down the hall’s length Mao placed his hand on the wall by the tips of his fingers palm up and rotated his hand counterclockwise. Just as the seal unlocked, Mao could hear the movement of people down the hall. Quickly Mao walked through the seal as if he walked through the wall itself. Once through, he spun around and quickly placed his hand back in the place he left it off on the other side, palm down, and turned it back clockwise, resealing the door.

With a sigh of relief, the aging Grand Mage pressed his back against the now solidified wall. He could hear the soldiers moving on the other side of the wall as if it were paper thin, but they would never be able to hear him from his side. Although simple in theory, he had used a very powerful and complex spell in order to guarantee that he remained hidden from the palace’s watchful eyes. The spell itself simply locks whatever the caster wants and can only be opened by the caster or whoever knows the exact steps to open or manipulate the seals. Simple yet effective. After enough time went by, Mao had decided that he had regained some energy and began the long descent down the stairway in front of him.

Suddenly thoughts of fire began blasted into his mind as his branded hand began to glow and sizzle with heat. He knew what was happening. He needed time to research, before it gets out of hand. I must keep moving.

Down and down he went for what seemed to drag on without end. An ancient spiraling staircase built into the earth marked the secret entrance into Yggdrasil, an underground labyrinth of tunnels and passageways that spread out across the continent. Through here Mao knew he could escape without being followed. The vast tunnels were essentially invisible to magic. According to rumor, when the Guild and other groups decided to map the vast tunnel system during the war against the Native Corellans some three centuries ago, they discovered that the tunnels themselves were naturally absorbent of magical energies. This meant that any magic used from within the tunnels would die out extremely quickly. He hoped these were more than just rumor, he needed to hide from arguably the most powerful source of magic on the continent.

                The wheels of change slowly began to turn, no matter what Mao could do, he was only one man. He needed to act, he needed to succeed. Unfortunately, the people of the Empire had to wait for his help, for now what needed to be done could not wait. Staring down at the mark on his hand, he felt an urge, a tugging as if someone were pulling him gently by a string. The job of guardian and guide, and slave, has been pushed into Mao’s arms, he recognized the signs.

Shit.

It was called the Calling, something he’s only read of down in the archives of the Basilica, but without a doubt this was it. From what he could remember the Calling is a form of magical bonding created between an Eternal Host and their target, it was a string of fate- no matter how far the two that are bonded go from each other they are connected. Now the descriptions written down were vague and honestly sounded like a bunch of ramblings of a madman, it went something like …Once the host and target are bonded through time and space, the minds are melted. Not through thought but through feeling, through urges and power. Magic. Strength. Emotions will guide your way, and where your emotions falter so will the body… The general gist Mao was sure he would further understand with time. For now, the issue with the Empire, Church, and Guild had to wait. As a matter of fact, Mao realized that if he let the three fight amongst themselves, he may be able to have more time to find the new Eternal Host and… and what? Keep them safe? Mao wasn’t sure what would happen, maybe in time if he cannot find the new Host, the pain of being apart would turn Mao crazy, maybe it would kill him, maybe it would drive him to kill the new Host. Maybe it would do nothing at all, if the Host never truly awakens, Mao guessed he could live with the subtle burning in his hand.

Unlike most people in the Empire, Mao never found any reason for the hatred and prejudice towards Eternal Hosts, it wasn’t their choice to be given the powers that they have and as a result they were to be systematically executed. It was punishing before there was a crime. It was fear. Eternal Hosts are beings between existences, Humans are beings of the mind, Animals of the body, and Eternals of energy and the spirit. A Host was the combination of them all.

                Reaching the bottom of the stone stair, he sat and caught his breath. I’m forty for the fuck’s sake, I’m not built for exercise. He groaned at the strain of getting back on his feet, stretching his legs, and cracking his spine brought some relief to him. Sighing, Mao moved toward the entrance of the tunnel, and picked up one of the old torches from off the wall.

At first, he tried to ignite the torch on his own but remembered that the tunnels would suck up any magic in them. It wasn’t pitch black down there, there were luminescent fungi and glowing veins of earth magic throughout the tunnel and small cavern that made up the room he stood in. He suspected that the source of the magical absorption may be from these glowing veins, but he couldn’t be sure as the Guild ceased research on the tunnels two centuries ago when faced with conflict from the arriving Akarrans lead by Lord Akira. Yet the prospect of a torch’s warmth brought a smile to his face, Mao unfortunately left his favourite winter robes back in the High Keep of the Basilica, the thought never occurred to him that the tunnels would chill to the bone, it seemed age had taken his wits from him as well as his strength.

After some time, Mao’s search for something to help ignite his torch came up fruitless. Resolved, Mao quickly ignited a flame hovering over the palm of his hand and in a swift stroke ignited the torch. It took to the flames quickly and soon it was healthily ablaze. Before he could let anymore magic become drained from himself, he quickly cut off the flow of energy into the flame and, like a Gaslamp, the flame winked out of existence leaving Mao alone in the cave with only the light of the torch and the glowing mushrooms to keep him company. The feeling of the magic being sucked out of him was astonishing, he could only describe it as if the air he breathed slowly became… less. It was a feeling he didn’t want to keep on experiencing, but it became evident that he would have to repeat this process of quickly igniting torch for warmth several times before he would find a looters city or an exit out into the wild.

                As a First Rate pyromancer, he knew he could last quite a while repeating this process. Granted he didn’t like the feeling of his magic sucked out of him like drinking out of a straw, but it was necessary.

Hours went by down in the tunnel and there was no end in sight, forks in the road occurred every now and then but generally they were marked up in the old tongue which Mao could read. He relished the idea of not seeing any signs of civilization for a while, it left him alone with his thought, time to think without really thinking.

For the thousands of years that the Guild has stood, it was the center of learning. It was where knowledge was unrestricted, as long as you had the skill to understand it. It was where magic flourished, and where logic was the most important trait a mage must have. But ever since Corduroys’ ascension to Supreme Judge ten years ago, the Guild has become more and more religious. More and more irrational zealots fill the halls that once nourished logic and thought. The fate of the Guild was all but certain as of today. No more would the Mages Guild be the center of the learned, now it will be the training ground for Battle-Priests and holy warriors built to cleanse the world of arbitrary threats like the Eternals, who are simply people born with immense magical capabilities. Thinking this much was more too much work for Mao to do right now, his day has seemingly never ended and continuing this walk now would do him little.

After finding a small cave hidden by an old mine cart, Mao decided this would be his place of rest for a while. The cave was little more than a hole in the wall barely big enough for him to lay down but offered much needed privacy in the unlikely event some vagrant or traveler walked by, so it sufficed. As he lay there, resting on a pile of smooth stones with only the light of the glowing mushrooms keeping him safe from the darkness of the cave, he found that instead of worrying about the impending war, or pondering about what uncertain future lay ahead of him, or planning his next move in the great game, he dreamed of fire.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

End of Prologue.

 [1] (her-Ah-tick) The major religion of the Mott empire. The belief in the “One True Goddess, Hera, otherwise known as The Mother.”

[2] Device that measures pressure levels

[fallen029]

Hey so I just saw your miraxus post about Master finding out and I was wondering if you could do one where they (miraxus) tell the guild about them getting married

I’ve touched on this before (I feel like I say that in response to every request, but hey, I have a bunch of one-shots), in Clandestine and here’s the original request that spawned this one. Wedding Wars also has a secret marriage (sort of) in it’s plot, so here’s that. Anyways, thanks for asking for so much guild stuff, guys. I forgot how much I liked writing the chaos of them all together. 

.

They were arguing about which job to take, Natsu and Lucy were, because he wanted to go on this cool sounding quest for treasure while she wanted to go the much safer bet of journeying to find a bandit with a reward clearly marked while his was ambiguous. Following a long discussion over just what ambiguous was as Happy snickered in the background, Lucy had nearly won the slayer over to her side when it happened.

Just as she was preparing to snatch the job down and skip right over to the bar, to ask the Kinana to put in the request for them, the guildhall doors opened and in walked Mirajane. And Laxus. Which was weird on it’s own because Mira rarely entered during midday; she’d usually been around for quite awhile. And he wasn’t much of an afternooner, honestly. Laxus either came in at the crack of dawn, to snag a job, or slumped in late in the evening to start his drinking off early before hitting a more apt bar.

But there they were, right around noon, walking in together.

And oh, it was clear they were coming in together. Not just happened upon the doorway at the same time. No. Laxus had an arm tossed over the woman’s shoulder and she had this giddy look about her. A real one. Different than the usual facade of one she put on.

Neither had been seen in a week as Mirajane had claimed to want to take off, a rarity, but a welcome one, everyone felt, and Laxus was prone to long absences, but the sight of them then, wrapped up in one another, was more than a cause for concern.

Lisanna, who was filling in and helping Kinana tend bar in her oldest sibling’s absence, rushed right over at the sight of Mirajane there, once more, in the guildhall, but found herself skidding to a stop as both she and all those around them took notice of the obvious oddity.

“Mira,” she began slowly and uncertainly as she glanced between the two. Mira was grinning brightly and Laxus looked off. “What’s, uh, going on?”

“Well,” her older sister started as, in the hall now, she looked all about as, slowly, the noise died down and everyone began to wonder much the same. “Laxus and I got married.”

“You what?” was the resounding noise from all those present.

Happy, in fact, fell from where he was fluttering about above them, right onto Lucy’s head.

“Hey, cat-”

“Am I,” he asked her, “dreaming?”

“Married?” Natsu looked to Lucy. “Is that what she said?”

“Would you both,” Lucy complained as she reached up to grab the Exceed and shove him off on the slayer, “shut up? I have to go talk to Mira.”

Everyone did in that moment. Save three people who had to talk to Laxus.

“What is she speaking of, Laxus?” Freed was the most impassioned. “We demand answers!”

“Answers,” Bickslow’s baby’s agreed as the man himself was slinking through the crowd, so he could get real close to Laxus and Mira. Mostly Mira. For, uh, inspections reasons. “Papa needs answers!”

“Marrying a Strauss?” Evergreen fanned herself as she stood from the table she definitely was not just sharing with the male member of said family. “Who would ever even concieve such an idea, much less- Elfman!”

He shoved her, full on, out of the way then, to get to Mirajane. “Big sis, I think you’re delirious! Come sit down. Did Laxus slip you something?”

“My boss here,” Bickslow snickered as he was beside the glaring Laxus then and giggly Mirajane, “slipped her somethin’ alright, didn’t ya, boss? Huh? Hey, Mrs. Boss. Can I call ya that? After this whole thing goes sour, you can be Mrs. Ex. Ya like that?”

“Fuck off.” And Laxus shoved him away finally as Mirajane only stared. But he was far from the only one at their sides.

“You cannot,” Lisanna, coming to grab her sister and drag her away from the slayer, “be serious, Mira. How did this happen? You-”

“Marriage is a serious commitment.” Erza had risen from her seat at a table with Cana and Gray, but didn’t make a move towards the pair. No. She just stood and seemed to be glowering somewhat. “One that you must plan for. Even years, decades, perhaps, out. Do you even own a wedding dress, Mirajane? Have you even dreamed of the perfect one? Bought many, even, perhaps, over the years? Hmm? Is no one else concerned with this?”

“I think,” Cana muttered to Gray who remained sitting, just glancing all about because, yeah, this sounded like the exact fuckery that happened on a day when everyone was around, “I mightta had too much to drink. Did Mirajane say that she and Laxus are-”

“Married?” Suddenly, they were joined at their table. Err, well, Juvia didn’t so much sit at the table, but rather, practically, in Gray’s lap, nearly causing him to spill his ale all over himself. “That is what I fear I heard as well. Could you imagine? Marrying someone you only know through random encounters at the guildhall? That will be nothing like our wedding, in the coming months, will it, my darling Gray?”

“Our what?” he complained while trying to shove her then, out of his lap.

“She doesn’t even own a wedding dress.” Still standing, Erza fumed enough for all of them. “How is this fair? It is unjust!”

“It was a surprise,” Mirajane insisted to all those around. Lucy finally had shed the dead weight that was Natsu and Happy (for the time being, at least) and shoved her way through the others so she could stare at her best friend as she spoke. Mostly though, Lisanna’s gaze was the one that the oldest Strauss sibling was holding. “Really. Laxus asked me and then we decided, while we were on our trip-”

“You went on a trip with him?” Elfman raged from where he stood. “What kind of man goes a trip with another man’s sister without saying something to him?”

“Probably the kind that marries her without saying something,” Wakaba suggested around a cigar to Macao who stood by with crossed arms and a glare.

Made sense though.

“Your grandfather isn’t going to like this,” Macao said simply as Laxus, finding his gaze, glared right back. “You know that?”

“I don’t like it,” Lisanna wailed then as she stared up at her sister with tearful eyes. “I mean…Laxus? Mira? Really? Him?”

“Hey!” Bickslow was shoving up then, from where Laxus had tossed him. “Boss! Ya gonna let her talk down to you now? She’s your sister! Put her in her place! Like this.” And he looked to Lisanna then. “I mean…Mira? Laxus? Her?”

“That’s right, Bickslow.” Freed was rare to pick on a defenseless woman (he felt Lisanna pretty defenseless), but desperate times called for desperate measures. “We will crush Lisanna for her insolence!”

“I mean, I dunno about that, dude,” Bickslow snickered as his babies cheered on the idea, “but if that’s what you’re into-”

“Hey!” Elfman, reinvigorated, was shoving his way to the front then. “You will not talk to or about my sisters like that, you-”

“I will so long as she speaks in of Laxus that way,” Freed retorted with a glare.

“Now, now,” Mirajane tried to appease them all though, at the moment, her main focus was pulling Lisanna in for a hug. “You’re all brothers now. Play nice.”

“The hell they are.” Laxus could not hold his tongue for much longer. “They ain’t my brothers.”

“Well, Elfman definitely is, now, dragon, so-”

“Dragon?” Lucy repeated. It was drown out, however, by Happy landing on her head and saying the word to a much higher volume. As she tried to shake him off though, she felt a shove in the back as Natsu was beside her now.

“Hey! Laxus! Where do you get off, huh?” the pink haired slayer complained.

“Probably on Mrs. Boss, I’d assume,” Bickslow snickered which made Elfman rush to attack him, but then Freed was drawing his sword on him and, well, it was a brawl from there.

Still, Natsu’s desire to fight was washed out as he had his eyes on a better prize.

“You can’t marry Lisanna’s sister and not at least fight me for her,” Natsu growled and he shoved Lucy again, this time to get passed her and Laxus was so frustrated then, with the entire thing, that it was just a single crack of thunder, over the pandemonium already going on, that ended the Salamander right where he stood.

“I knew,” Pantherlily complained, over at the table he and Gajeel were still at, the former standing atop it while the later just grumbled about the racket, “I shouldn’t have come in today.”

“Oh, it’s alright, Lily,” Levy giggled. She was sitting with them, before, but stood now, craning her neck to see over everyone, watching the events unfold. Still, she reached over then to pull the black Exceed into her arms and rub at his ears, so he didn’t have to cover them with his paws. “Just a little thunder.”

“A little?” he griped as Gajeel only snorted, still grumbling.

“Who the fuck gets married nowadays anyways?” he griped, more hung up on the idea rather than the participants. He couldn’t give a shit what Laxus did, at all, so long as he left him the hell alone and Mirajane, well, he was on the outs with her after an incident in which he definitely didn’t steal her guitar before she was going to preform at the hall because it wasn’t fair that he wasn’t allowed to preform too. Nope. Definitely didn’t happen. “It’s stupid.”

“Well,” Levy thought, hardly glancing at him. “I might get married someday. I’d hope.”

He choked some, on his drink, before grumbling once more, though this time it was something along the lines of, well, maybe, if someone was really into that idea, it wasn’t so bad.

“Elfman!” Evergreen was the one yelling then as she stepped over the fallen body of Natsu as well as Lisanna, who’d detangled herself from her sister just to go check on him (one shot of Laxus’ lightning and he was pretty bad off) “Let Bickslow go!”

“Never!” He had the other guy in a headlock then as Freed kept shouting at him that if he didn’t release him, he’d be forced to stab him. The man’s wooden dolls weren’t doing so great either. “Not until he apologizes to my sisters!”

“My,” Bickslow gasped out, “sisters too. Now.”

“No,” Laxus growled as Mirajane was shoving at him then, telling him to get everyone to calm down, “they’re not!”

“How can you get married, Mira,” Erza was yelling still, “without a wedding dress? How is it, even, that someone who might have a wedding dress or seven on hand is not gifted the bless of a wedding?”

“Seven?” Cana slurred with a frown as even Juvia stopped peppering Gray with hugs and kisses at the number.

“Perhaps even eight,” the scarlet swordswoman admitted as her cheeks turned much the same.

“What would you even do with that many?” Gray asked, also at least somewhat interested. Maybe. He wans’t sure. He also felt in awe of the woman. “Erza?”

“I like,” she defended as, slowly, she sank back into her seat, “to have options.”

“Or,” Juvia decided then as her eyes glazed over and she imagined the exact scenario, “you could just have seven separate weddings. With your beloved. Tell me, Erza, do you have one of those? Or-”

“Wh- This isn’t about me!” She frowned at all of them. “This is about the irresponsible decision that Mirajane has made.”

“Yeah, marrying a guy without knowing him is kind of more my thing,” Cana offered, also in awe, it seemed, at such a thought.

“What?” Erza huffed. “I meant getting married without a proper dress.”

But there were much bigger concerns, up at the front, as Mirajane had begun to try and at least explain, a bit, to the others. To ease the tensions.

“There is no way,” Lucy said as she refused to go aid the fallen Natsu (he and Happy were getting on her nerves that day, purposely, like always), “that the two of you have been dating that long, Mira. And none of us knew. Not even Lisanna. No way.”

“I agree.” Lisanna had the dazed Natsu’s head in her lap, but still managed a suspicious glance up at her sister. “If this is some kind of a joke-”

“It’s true,” Mirajane insisted as, finally, Laxus went to break up the guys from their brawl, barking out orders now not only to Freed and Bickslow, but Elfman as well.

“I don’t have to listen to you,” the muscular man growled. “Laxus. Who are you to me?”

“He’s your older brother now, I think,” Happy offered and wow, no, Elfman never considered that.

As he tossed Bickslow from him and into Freed, he got the glares of all three members of the Thunder Legion, but it was his sudden tears that threw Laxusoff.

“Oh, Mira, how’d ya know?” Elfman sobbed. “I always wanted an older brother. And now ya married this guy just to give me one?”

“Well,” Mira began uneasily. “Not exactly, but-”

“Why is he hugging me? Demon, get your brother off me!”

“Demon?” Happy didn’t even give Lucy a chance to question it that time.

“This has to be some sort of setup,” Lisanna kept up, “or something. Sis. Please, tell me that-”

“Would I have this?” Mira asked as she held up her hand to them then, flashing the bright diamond of an engagement ring. “If it was just a joke?”

“U-Uh, hey, Laxus?” Suddenly, Lucy was focused on the seething man who was still being hugged by his brother. “Remember all those times that you were so interested in many going out on a date? Well-”

“Don’t be a gold digger, Luce.” Natsu was better then, sitting up as he rubbed at his head. “Anyone can get loaded, when they’re S-Class. It’s not an accomplishment.”

“I would feel accomplished,” Happy remarked as it was Mira’s head he landed on then, so he could stare down at the ring on her finger. “If I bought a woman that. Is Carla around? Don’t let her see this, Mira. It’ll really undersell that fish I was gonna split with her.”

“This,” Erza complained as, finally, she slammed her hands down onto the table with such force it nearly toppled Cana’s barrel, “is absurd. To be so wasteful with your jewels. I am unimpressed! Disapproving, more like it.”

“Didn’t you just say you spent hundreds of jewels on seven wedding dresses?” Gray asked with a frown.

“Eight,” Juvia whispered.

“And what,” Erza growled at them, “of it?”

“N-Nothing! My darling was merely wondering, is all.”

“T-That’s right! Just curious!”

Levy sighed though, still hanging back with Gajeel and the now soothed Pantherlily. “Imagine. Having a diamond like that. It’s beautiful.”

Gajeel set his jaw. “Not that big. Or nice.”

“You haven’t even looked at it, so-”

“Probably doesn’t even taste good.”

“You don’t eat them, Gajeel!” Lily yelled at him as Levy just stared with wide eyes at the implication.

Mirajane though was all giggles as her sister, ditching out on the no longer downed Natsu, came to stand her hand and examine the ring closer. “Dragon proposed to me, the first night of our trip together-”

“A real man,” Elfman sobbed as Laxus finally shoved him off, “is great at surprises!”

“-but then, the last day we were there, we just thought, you know, why wait?” Mira finished as Lisanna turned her wide, blue eyes onto her sister’s similar ones.

“Because of us, Mira,” Lisanna insisted softly. “I mean, I’m in shock right now, so this is really going to hit me later, but I thought we were always going to, you know, plan weddings together. Yours, mine. Now what?”

“You can still have one. A big one. Laxus will fund it.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Laxus can give you one right now.” Mira looked to the slayer. “Make Freed or Bickslow marry Lisanna. Please. Just so we can have a pretend wedding.”

“What exactly do you think I do, Mira?” Laxus complained. “Huh? Just go around bossing people-”

“Laxus? Question.” Freed even rose his hand. “Are Mira’s commands now as binding as yours? Since you are one in the faith? Are you? One in the faith?”

“The faith of what?” Laxus complained.

“We are,” Mira assured him.

“If Mrs. Boss has the same power as the boss, then I guess we gotta listen to her.” Bickslow sighed. “Okay, Lisanna, even though you’re our sister now, I guess you and Freed gotta get hitched.”

The rune mage bowed his head. “I will do my duty.”

“Don’t call marrying me a duty,” Lisanna carped as Natsu and Happy snickered uncontrollably.

“How many toes will their kids have?” Bickslow mused to his dolls and any who were willing to listen. “Since they’re siblings now? And gonna bone and all that?”

“Can we please,” Evergreen begged then, looking to Laxus, “go somewhere and talk about this? Seriously?”

But that was where they were exactly at the moment as it was then, from all the commotion, that the Master awoke from his midday nap in his office. With a yawn, he’d strode out into the bar expecting to have to break up some sort of fight or something or other over a job request, maybe, or a drunken spat. As he glanced about though, seeing everyone crowding around the entrance way, he wasn’t sure what was afoot and rushed over to where Erza sat.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked the woman. Typically she could handle such disturbances on his behalf, but she seemed to be stewing rather than assisting at the moment. “Erza?”

“Laxus and Mirajane,” the swordswoman got out threw clinched teeth, “have gotten married. Without a wedding dress! Or even true love. What a disgrace.”

“What? Married?”

And it only took a moment. The man grew then, sizes above his natural height, causing the entire guildhall to fall into silence once more.

“Laxus,” growled his super big and super scary grandfather. Mirajane, for some reason, was the only one that giggled at his current state as Makarov’s head brushed the roof of the multiple story building. “What is the meaning of this? Married? I thought you told me you were going to just propose to her first?”

“You knew?” came the group complaint of the hall and, at it, Makarov deflated slowly. Figuratively and literally.

“Yes, well,” the man sighed as he returned to his normal state. “Perhaps a bit, but-”

“We’re in love.”

But that didn’t come from Mira.

Instead, as she beamed from his side, Laxus spoke, arms tossed over his chest as he refused to make eye contact with any of them.

“Ain’t that all that matters?” he griped and, even though Erza still was pretty pissed about he dress and Gajeel was definitely gonna take a least a bit of a nibble of that engagement ring when he got the chance, yeah.

That was all that mattered.

[batsintheshadows]

Answers at Last

Time passed, and things became normal somehow. Not normal like they were before, but a new kind of normal. A normal that involved buildings instead of trees, masses of strangers in one small school instead of a small gaggle of peers learning together, being made fun of by some of the crueller children for being “weird” in a thousand different ways, and standing up to it over and over until they wouldn’t come near him anymore. A normal that involved training with Vord in the evenings after dinner, running along the rooftops to try and get another look at the angels. Not too high. Usually. Though Fenir thought privately that once you reached a certain height there was no more danger in going higher. You were dead either way if you fell. Still, even if Vord had accepted that Fenir loved to climb, that was no reason to worry him further. Best to keep trying to reach the clouds to a minimum.

He still remembered the day the doctor had come calling at Vords request. Another elf, but with jellyfish tendrils and gills that made the bile rise in Fenir’s throat when he looked at them.

“Oh yeah!” She’d said with a smile as Vord recounted how Fenir had scared him. “I was the same way growing up. Elves tend to do that you know! Climbing contests are a great way to bond!”

And that was that.

Fenir supposed he should have been grateful that Vord hadn’t gotten one of the Selesnya healers. They might be better at what regular folk needed and willing to work for trade, but he just couldn’t bear to be around them. Their magic whispered constantly. A curse to drive his mind away. Sweet like a sneaky sort of poison, or berries eaten in the wrong season. The only choice was to get away from it as fast as possible.

He hadn’t wanted to say that it was all for nothing. That the cheerful jellyfish elf made him feel the same way. Her magic didn’t feel the same though. It stared. Measured. Poked and prodded. It was like being in a box full of eyes that was slowly filling up with water. No escape.

He’d gone totally feral again. Fenir was ashamed of it, but there it was. He’d come to behind a cabinet, shaking, sore, and exhausted to the point of passing out once more.

  After that, he’d had to explain. The jellyfish chewed some sort of sweet gum as he spoke, scribbling furious notes on how magic felt. On the eyes that came with hers and the whispering choke that came with the priests’ and the uncaring, unfeeling sickness in the mossy room. Like being an ant under a boot, careless of what it crushed.

Vord just looked worried, like always. There were so many things he worried about. Little and big. Brushed teeth and bullies. Going to school and going feral.

Fenir didn’t complain though. He felt like he should be old enough to take care of himself, but if he was being honest…he couldn’t. Not here. Nothing he knew from growing up applied here. Even the pitiful magic he’d let himself learn wouldn’t come. Though Fenir didn’t grieve for that. It had always come too easily, too destructively. It was better if he couldn’t accidentally break anyone again.

The doctor had asked to examine him again, promising it wouldn’t hurt this time, and Fenir had let her. Amazingly, she had been right. Her magic barely felt like anything at all. It was all just as clinical as anyone would expect a doctor to be.

She’d babbled about research papers and experiments, something Vord had stoutly refused in spite of her cries that this was something entirely new that had to be studied. They’d shouted rather a lot actually, but in the end Vord had won, and they walked away.

“There’s something wrong with your connection to magic.” Vord had explained during training. “So certain types of magic make you sick.”

Fenir laughed bitterly, parrying a strike just like Vord taught him last week. “Sick. That’s one way to put it.”

“It isn’t hopeless Fenir. You’ll never be able to feel truly comfortable around it, but there are ways to lessen the effects.”

So a different kind of training started. One with amulets and charms to weaken the magic. With rigorous mental training to fight back the worst of the effects. It was exhausting, and Fenir cried several times. But it had been worth it to be able to walk by the Selesnya and Simic folk on the street and not feel ill looking at them. After three years, he could just about hold a short conversation with them. And though their still magic stared and whispered poison, made him want to curl up and hide, Fenir found that he could stand his ground against it.

Still, it was best to avoid them wherever possible.

  Vord wouldn’t let Fenir come when he patrolled the street at night, insisting that he sleep instead. But when it was daylight and Fenir had spare time, Vord encouraged him. Gave advice and warnings. They covered much more ground between the two of them, working day and night. For all the times Fenir resented getting the easier job, mainly giving out supplies, he didn’t think he was ready to face some of the things Vord did, even with all the training he’d been doing.

And he was getting good, though Fenir tried not to let it go to his head. But three years worth of daily training and climbing and wandering would give anyone skill, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. Though most of the school Vord insisted he attend was comprised of those with no plans on joining a guild, there were also a good chunk that had family in the Boros. Fenir had fallen in with them quickly, pestering them for stories and getting in enough scraps to earn a few fast friends with his spirit, much to the chagrin of his teachers. He’d kept silent about Vord’s true history though, at the man’s request. Instead he said he’d been adopted by a guildless shopkeeper, and Fenir’s friends had accepted that.

They didn’t press him on why he’d been on the streets in the first place, something Fenir was grateful for. He could barely talk about it with Vord, and he knew that Vord wouldn’t judge him. It had taken a long time to feel comfortable enough to explain waking up in another world. Fenir had sat on the edge of his seat, certain he was about to be declared mad. Instead, he had promised to research. If there was an answer to be found, Vord swore that he would find it.

“But don’t think you’re getting to skip training.” He’d said, laughing at the idea that Fenir would ever try to do such a thing.

Fenir had smiled, but not laughed with him. Thinking about coming to Ravnica bought his mind to close to his parents.

He still hadn’t told Vord what had happened to them.

“Not today at least.” He’d said, trying to shake the cold from his heart.

  They didn’t always spar. It was a bad idea with Vord’s wounded leg. But Fenir liked it when they did. It was a real test of skill. Much more to think about that practising drills on a dummy. Sensing his bad mood, Vord always seemed to know when Fenir had something on his mind, Vord picked up his practise blade and fell into his battle stance, smiling as his pupil mirrored him.

“Alright Fenir. Let’s see how you’ve been improving.”

It had become an easy rhythm for Fenir. To dodge and feint. To parry and thrust. He wasn’t as good as Vord was, but that’s why he was learning. The world narrowed as his focus turned completely to the fight. The feeling of blood singing in his veins. The fiery joy that came with every success and cold determination with every mistake.

He sidestepped neatly as Vord lunged for him, taking advantage of the opening to try the disarming move he’d been practising. But Vord had feinted. Fenir was wide open to the overhand strike Vord sent his way.

Raising his arm was an instinct, and if Fenir had been training with a shield today it would have been an excellent one. As it was, it was a lapse in discipline. Or a perfect example of it.

Whatever it was, it shouldn’t have made such a bright light. And it certainly shouldn’t have sent Vord flying across the courtyard.

Fenir blinked, black spots clouding his vision from the sudden radiance. “Vord?” He called, too afraid to get close.

Thankfully, his mentor sat up quickly. “Razia’s sword! I didn’t teach you that!”

There were still wisps of light around Fenir’s arm. Not quite in the shape of a shield, but close enough to be recognisable as one. “No. No you didn’t.”

Magic again. Different than before, but still out of control. Like the time he’d made his battle beetle too big and it had nearly killed his opponent. Or the time he tried to make a tree bear fruit and had accidentally sprouted the seeds in his own stomach from the berries he’d had for lunch.

Fenir rubbed his stomach idly at the memory of the pain, but Vord didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy smiling.

“That was an outstanding move! I didn’t realise you had such a talent for magic!”

“Nor did I.” Fenir looked at his feet, stunned to realise there were scorch marks around him. “Are you hurt?”

Vord waved his hand like he was shooing an annoying bug. “I’ve had worse.”

Well, that was something at least. At least the damage was minor this time. “Sorry about…that.”

“You’re kidding right?” Vord’s grin was as wide as his face, too excited to worry about someone seeing his fangs. “Think you can do it again?”

“Maybe?” He’d done it once after all. And it hadn’t been that bad. Powerful maybe, but not as destructive as it could have been.

Picking up on his hesitation, Vord signalled for a time out, taking a seat on the steps to the apartments. “You can tell me if something is wrong you know.”

Fenir grabbed a cup of water and drank deeply to avoid answering. Hoping that somehow Vord would figure it out so he didn’t need to say anything.

“I can’t read your mind you know Fenir. Well, I can. But I don’t want to. What’s wrong?”

“What if…” There was too much history to convey in just a few words, so Fenir settled on explaining the next best thing. His fears for the future. “What if my magic goes crazy and someone gets hurt?”

“We’ll train to make sure you don’t. I may not be an expert in magic, but from what I learned during my time in the Legion there are two parts to it.” Vord took up the practise sword, holding it out for Fenir to examine. “You didn’t learn to use this without improving your physical power, but if power was all there was to your fighting you wouldn’t be half as good as a dedicated soldier. It’s all connected. Passion and restraint. Power and skill. You have the fuel. Now let’s make sure you can control the fire.”

There was something comforting in that. The idea that this was exactly the same as the sword. Fenir had hopped up readily, and though channelling this sort of magic was new to him, he’d managed to summon the shield twice more before they’d had to call it quits.

So that was another kind of new normal. Magic training. Different again, but fun. So many ways to go about it too. Magic quickly became an art of expression for Fenir, even more so than the sword.

Spells to spur Fenir onward, outlast his tiredness and keep his guard up. Spells to make the practise sword burst into flames and spells to protect himself from blows. Spells for himself and spells for his allies. A thousand small ways to change the way each and every one of them was cast. To make them all his own. A shout here, the right gesture there. All worked into the fight until every move was a complicated dance of Fenir’s own design. Complex but drilled over and over until Fenir was certain he could do it in his sleep.

  And so things continued for another year or so, until Vord waited up past sunrise for Fenir again, a book in his hands.

“I think I finally found it.” He said, a worn out grin on his face. “You aren’t crazy Fenir.”

Fenir had taken the book. It was heavy, old yellow parchment covered in dust that made him sneeze. Aside from the bluish runes along the spine, it was utterly mundane. Untitled and unadorned.

“Where did you find this?”

Vord shrugged. “I have a certain reputation, even without a badge. Just don’t lose it or damage it. I really don’t want to end up catching the attention of some very unscrupulous people any more than I need to.”

Mindful of Vord’s words, Fenir began to read.

And then read the opening three more times just to be sure.

“A Planeswalker is a person that can what?” He asked in disbelief.

“Travel to other worlds. Sounds familiar doesn’t it? Turn to page eighty-four and tell me if I’m wrong.”

Careful not to tear the pages, Fenir flipped through the tome. The words that stared up at him were everything he needed. Water to extinguish the lingering flames of doubt he had in his sanity.

ZENDIKAR

Though little information on other planes has come to Ravnica, we have more intel on Zendikar than most. It is a wild plane, landscape constantly shifting due to what its inhabitants call the Roil…

“That’s it.” Fenir whispered. “That’s where I’m from.”

It hadn’t been made up, or crazy, or a misunderstanding. It had been real. As real as the last four years here in Ravnica. He looked up at Vord, blinking back tears. “It’s all real.”

Vord didn’t say anything. He just watched Fenir flip through the book, taking in the names and one or two page descriptions of all the planes. Not much more. He turned past plane after plane until he found what he was looking for.

The experience of planeswalking seems to be unique to each planeswalker. From what information we have gleaned, the planeswalker has no control over the first plane they visit, but develops some level of control directly after. It seems as though planeswalking is much like any other sort of magic, though it seems impossible for those without the natural gift to replicate it. The exact method of how planeswalkers harness their power is still unknown, though casual observation suggests similarities to mundane spellcasting.

“I-I need to figure this out.” Fenir stared at the book, shaken to his very core. “How do I use this?”

“Ah. You’re… going back then?”

“No!” Fenir didn’t even need to think about his answer. Even if Vord’s tone hadn’t been unmistakably full of pain, it would have been the same. There was nothing left for him in Zendikar but bad memories. Whatever disaster had killed his parents must have killed off everyone else too. They’d had plans. He still knew them all by heart. Rescues for those that got trapped. For his parents to die like that… everyone else must have too. Fenir tried to force a smile. To make a joke. To keep things light and happy and look forward, never back. “How am I gonna be a Skyknight if I go back to Zendikar?”

It was like watching a sheet dropped to the ground, the way Vord crumpled in relief, all the tension draining out of him. “Of course. How could I forget how driven you are? But you do plan on leaving?”

Fenir stared. Leaving? That sounded so permanent. “More like…training. If I really have these powers, I need to know how to use them properly.”

“And the only way to do that is by using them.” Vord nodded. “In that case, I have something for you.” He reached behind the chair he favoured, revealing an expertly made sword. Nothing flashy, no jewels or impractically fancy metalwork, but when Fenir drew it, he found it to be perfectly balanced.

“It was mine once.” Vord said as Fenir tested the blade. “I meant to give it to you once you joined the Legion. But it seems like you have need of it now.”

It was crazy, absolutely crazy, that Fenir was considering this. It was even crazier that Vord was encouraging it. “You really think I’m…ready? To do something like this?”

“No. No one is ever ready for this sort of thing.” Vord grinned at Fenir’s shock. “It’s not something you can prepare for. But if you’re asking if I think that you can handle yourself? I do. And I should know, I trained you myself.”

It was weird, how uplifting those words were. How they spurred Fenir on until he felt like he had to leave right now.

“But.” Vord continued. “You shouldn’t be gone for more than three days at a time. You can’t expect me to be worried about you for longer than that.”

It seemed a reasonable enough rule, and Fenir nodded his assent. “I’ll try. Anything else?”

“Make sure you have a good memory. I’ll be wanting all the details.” Vord looked at the windows that threatened sunlight. “Remember to tell them you were sick when you go back to school. I’m not enough of a fool to think I could stop you now. Just don’t make a habit of it.”

“I won’t.” Fenir took a deep breath, trying to feel the power that had ignited in him that day and sent him rocketing out of his grave.

It came far easier than he expected. Reality was laid out before Fenir, and he laughed breathlessly.

“I’ll see you soon Vord.”

And then he soared. Reaching out towards anywhere, hurtling so fast he thought he was going to come apart at the seams until he came to rest after an eternity of an instant. The sky was storm dark, the wind howling like a wolf locked in a crypt. Over the edge of the cliff Fenir found himself on, a swamp stretched out to the horizon, no end in sight.

It was cold. It was dark. It was depressing. But Fenir had never felt better.

I am a planeswalker.

[ginger-bread-official]

All I Want for Christmas

He stood in the snow covered street looking silently up at the second story window of the Three Broomsticks. The falling snow was ignoring him as it fell with all the grace nature could offer. Only the unlucky flakes met his stubborn body and sat in his over grown hair, beard and tattered clothes. While the snow ignored him, he returned the treatment, only acknowledging the flakes when they settled on his lashes. He had been standing there for nearly ten minutes, praying to any higher power that he would get a look at her. The light was on so he knew she was there. It had been nearly six months since he had seen her. Six months he had lived amongst the ferals. Six months of thinking of her every night, keeping her close to his heart so he wouldn’t lose himself in the monstrosity that was the wolf pack. He could hear the bells of a church singing through the night announcing that it was quarter to midnight, Christmas nearly over.

He had surfaced from the underground for the holidays desperate to see Harry and the faces of those he loved. It was a risk leaving so close after the moon, but if he stayed one more minute he was sure his humanity would have been lost. Christmas had been comforting beyond measure, despite the minister’s  surprise visit, and Lupin was really enjoying himself. Well as much as one can when Molly is laying on the guilt thicker than dragon hide. She had said that Tonks was spending the holidays alone, something that twisted his insides with guilt and regret. That paired with the information that her patronus had changed left him no choice but to find her. He told himself that it was out of concern, that he wanted to console her over the loss of Sirius (for surely that was what change her patronus). Him breaking it off between then had nothing to do with it. His ever burning love for her was no factor in his decision to stand out in the cold for nearly half an hour just waiting for a glimpse.

Suddenly there was a shadow looming on the ceiling of the room. it was moving closer and then a person accompanied it. But it didn’t look like her, the hair was wrong and this person was much too skinny, almost sickly. However, she did have the same pale heart-shaped face as Nymphadora, and she did have her signature weird sisters shirt on. The impostor Tonks walked around the room a bit, passing the window every few minutes unaware of the audience outside.

She was so thin. So pale. Surely that wasn’t her. The witch finally noticed him staring from he highroad of Hogsmead. She stared at him for a minute, unsmiling. She left the frame of the window and reappeared minutes later opening the front door of the tavern donned with a black coat wrapped around her body.

“Are you Remus Lupin?” She asked with authority. Nothing like the fun loving witch he had fallen in love with. Though it was definitely her. She was paler, slimmer and much more somber, but it was her. Merlin she was beautiful.

“Yes.” He answered.

“Prove it.” she said. He noticed she wasn’t holding her want out. Either she was sure he wasn’t an impostor, or she was defeated and cared not for her safety.

“How?” he asked. Her eyes still deep and soulful didn’t hold the light of mischief he still dreams about.

“When was the first time you told me you loved me?” now tears glistened in her eyes. He felt his voice catch in his throat. 

“Your birthday, after we spent the day picnicking in the park with snuffles.” his head flooded with memories of the warm spring sun and sweet fruit from their basket. Her lips tasted like the strawberries they packed that day. She knew what she was doing to him. She was making him relive possibly the best moment of his life, for moments after he kissed those strawberry lips she repeated his words back to him.

“Can you show me where Greyback attacked you when he found out about us?” something dark shifted in her eyes. He had turned it around on her, now she was reliving the event that proved a relationship with him would only mean harm to her. Her face remained passive as she unwrapped her coat and lifted her shirt hem a few inches to reveal three claw marks down her side, curling at her hip. He nodded solemnly remembering his curse and how it ended them.

“What are you doing here Remus?” she asked wrapping her coat around her body again.

“You didn’t come to Christmas at the Burrow.” he answered hoping it was believable. Hoping she couldn’t sense how much he was craving to be near her.

“You’re the one who told me not to contact you. Being in the same room counts. Don’t cha think?” her expression was hard and her arms crossed.

“You know I only meant when I’m underground.” he ran his hand through his greying hair, “Molly was asking for you and I know the kids missed you.” 

“They’ve got alot more important things to worry about than little old me.” he went silent for a moment.

“I would have liked to see you.” he said in a small voice.

“You can’t have it both ways Remus. You can’t tell me to stay away and then say you want me around.” her words cut him deep

“I still want to be friends-”

“No you don’t. I know what you want Remus, and you know what you want, but you’re just too stubborn or noble, or whatever you want to call it.” 

“I didn’t come here to make you upset.” he saw the fierce temper rise in her

“Then what did you come here for? I’m still waiting on that answer.”

“I told you Molly was worried-”

“Wrong again.” she interrupted “Don’t try and act like you’re here for someone else Moony. Its the middle of the night. Its bleeding freezing out. Why are you here?”

“I missed you okay!?” he raised his voice leaving a silence between them. She looked at him and he thought he could see a phantom of a smile. “I miss you every damn day and not seeing you drives me mad! Its wrong and you should be with someone else, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I just-” he lowered his voice and stepped closer to her. “I just needed to see you.” it was quick, so quick it might have just been an imagination, but he thought he saw her eyes change color

“Glad you admitted it.” she said

“I shouldn’t have come. I’m just making it worse.”

“You could make it better for the both of us.” She sniped

“You know I can’t”

“Like hell you can’t! All those daft reasons you keep giving me are bollocks and you know it.”

“They are not! You deserve better than I could ever give you and I’m trying to help you see that.” He felt like he was pleading to a wall. A very beautiful wall

“You’re helping me see what a coward you’re being.”

“I’ve risking my neck everyday for the order how is that being a coward?!”

“Because you aren’t afraid of the fight Remus, so you don’t run from it. You’re afraid of loving me and so you bolt.”

“I wanted to give you space to get over me. So you could move on, find some one who deserves you.”

“You think I can just forget about you? Well I can’t, because I love you damn it, and thats not going to change.”

“And how can you be so sure of that? That you won’t wake up one day and realized you’ve tied yourself down to a monster.” She looked hurt almost as if he had called her the monster. There was a beat of silence between them. She reached into her pocket pulled out her wand and in a quiet voice said

“Expecto Patronum.” out of her wand a silver creature erupted. The four legged animal bounded around the pair of them settling next to Tonks. Instead of seeing a replica of snuffles Remus saw a regal she wolf sitting silently next to her master. He was in shock. The wolf howled silently at the moon, but Remus could swear he heard the low song coming from the wolf. 

“You are not a monster.” She took a step to him as the wolf vanished without a sound. All he could do was stare at her. A pull strained his heart, a pull to her. He stepped to her closing the gap between them. In one swift motion he grabbed her waist, cupped her face and lowered his lips to hers. He was sure that his overgrown beard was rubbing uncomfortably against her soft skin, but she didn’t seem terribly troubled as she wrapped her harms around him and press herself further into him. The warmth of her lips melted any cold lingering in his body. He had dreamed for months about having her back in is arms, kissing her lips, loving her openly. She moved against him attempting to draw him if possible closer. 

‘You’re not a monster’ her words rang in his ears. He allowed himself to believe it for a moment. A monster wouldn’t have gained the love of someone as precious as her. They had matching wolves, matching souls, and if that was the case then he knew he wasn’t a monster. Everything he had hated in himself had been represented in his wolf patronus. Everything he fought against during the moons. But if she had accepted it, love him enough to take on even the icon of his flaws, then what was stopping him.

She was running her hands through his hair, scraping lightly with her nails. she tasted of vanilla and her scent washed out any heavy feelings in his body. They parted form one another breathing heavy whilst looking into each others eyes. He saw for the first time in six months the smile that chased all darkness away. In the distance the church bells rang out for the midnight hour, ending Christmas day.

“Glad I could sneak in a Christmas snog.” Tonks joked with the glint of mischief returning to her eyes. Remus huffed with amusement.

“You always know how to ruin a moment.” He said in jest.

“How about we resume the moment inside?” Her fingers were playing with the long hairs on the back of his neck. He knew it would be easy to lose himself in her embrace once more. To fall back in to the love they shared, but he wanted better for her. She had this miraculous way of making him feel worthy of her love, but society proved him wrong every time. He couldn’t give her all that she deserved, the only thing he was good for was a bad reputation and a impoverished and dangerous existence. reading the silence that followed her question Tonks added “I don’t expect you to change your mind in an instant Remus.” He raised his gaze to meet her piercing eyes, “just let us have tonight.” her hand traveled to his weather worn cheek, “You’re all I wanted for Christmas you know.” She smiled softly as her thumb caressed his cheek. His hand raised to meet hers and hold it in place, soaking in the warmth of her touch. 

“I wish I was more deserving of you.” He felt his eyes sting with threatening tears. He had never wanted anything more, but he knew he was the worst thing for her.

“I wish you could see that you deserve so much more than you were given.” She raised to her tip-toes and softly brushed her lips against his. She pulled away from the sweet contact pulling his hand with her. Slowly, as if not to alarm him with quick movements, she lead him inside and up to the room she rented from Rosmerta. He followed, too weak to deny himself the embrace of the only woman he ever loved. Whatever was in store for the the next morning, whether it be heart break or a sweet reunion, didn't matter. All that mattered was how they had finally felt whole once more. For even the lone wolf has a thirst for love.

[xaligos]

The Dragon Lord and The Northern Dawn

It was another day in Stormwind, or at least that is no doubt how it seemed. Unbeknown to most denizens of Azeroth, a meeting between two noble orders was taking place. One that might greatly shape the course of the war between the Horde and the Alliance. The Dragon Lord Xamon of House Targaris had traveled from his home of Azurelight Sanctum in search of members from the Northern Dawn, a guild that was owned and financed by House Silverdawn. As far as he knew, their estate drew great wealth from a lucrative mine resting in the heart of their territory, and that they were a prominent force slowing down the advance of the Forsaken beyond Thoradin's Wall.

His own estate was not located very far from theirs, and Targian Dragon Magi had utilized Divination magic to locate a deposit of a particular mineral - a deposit located on Silverdawn land. This mineral would be crucial to the development of a massive project House Targaris was undertaking, and that deposit was the closest and most ideal location. Times had been incredibly trying in recent years, the Kingdoms of men had weakened considerably - many Lords were primed to look out only for their own borders. This made the idea of approaching the Silverdawn, a risky one - for they could have easily begun work to search for the material themselves, after being made aware of its existence. Yet, believing diplomacy would prevail it was decided that approaching them with some form of an arrangement would be the best course of action.

Stormwind was a large city, perhaps the biggest man had ever made - even nobility could be hard to track down, what with so many people concentrated in one area. Though his journey would bare fruit when a tip was received that a few members from the Northern Dawn had met outside the Stormwind Stockades, and were engaged in discussion. Following this new lead, Xamon made his way there, to find that his source had indeed spoken truth. 

Before him were three individuals, all armored in a variety of attire. He himself had come dressed fairly light, adorning familial targarian robes. They were made of fine fabrics, but modest in appearance. The Targarians were known for not drawing too much unwanted attention, and as the head of his House Xamon was perhaps a paragon of this virtue. As he neared the group, one among them took notice. It was a woman, and the only of her cohort to bare the crest of the Silverdawn. Why that was so, who could say? Though it certainly marked her as a leader among the party.

Xamon's posture and general body language did not change as she approached him. A dialog ensued, with him explaining that he had come in search of someone baring the very crest she wore. Naturally, she inquired as to why he sought them, and what he had heard about the order. To which he responded.

"Only that the order is in someway connected to the Silverdawn Mines. My House is currently underway with a massive project, and we are need of aid. We are willing to fairly compensate for such assistance, but I am afraid the details cannot be discussed here, and certainly not without the presence of the head of House Silverdawn. I've come a very long way to find them - if you know anything - please..."

Her suspicions must have been put to ease, for her response would be far better than he could have hoped for.

"I am the political council head of The Northern Dawn, and also the one you are looking for... I am Silverdawn, Countess of Silverdawn mines."

Just as she had formally introduced herself, another of the group approached. It was a Dwarf, a race whom Xamon, and indeed many humans held great respect for. Xamon acknowledged the dwarfs approach with a modest and respectful bow of his head.

"Master Dwarf."  He said. Attempting to articulate his respect for their race - for he knew not the Dwarfs rank or personal station.

The Dwarf merely responded with a grunt, crossing his arms as he did. The respect of Dwarfs was not easily earned, something Xamon knew all too well, and in truth - admired. The Countess took it upon herself to introduce him, giving further credibility to her claim of being the head of House Silverdawn.

  "This is Doffrag, a dear friend of mine. He knows me more than anyone else in Northern Dawn."

Doffrag let out a snort.

"I knoo ye more then I want ta...I'm jus' stuck with ye."

Xamon allowed an extended look to fall upon Doffrag. He would no doubt play a significant role in the near future. What's more, the question of how he became so close to the Countess sparked a measure of intrigue within him, and it would be something worth exploring - if time and circumstances allowed. He was not really one for small talk, and this made it hard for such details to ever come into his knowledge. Be all that as it may, his response did little if not nothing to allude toward these inner thoughts.

"Very Well, it would seem I am in good company then. Is there somewhere we can speak, less openly perhaps?"

The Countess motioned to the set of buildings nearby. "Will that do?"  She had very little time to pick a location, and Xamon's arrival had been unexpected. Thankfully the building she had gestured to was one of Stormwinds most prominent libraries, and but a stone's throw away from the common area just outside the Stockades where they currently stood. Xamon merely responded with a curt nod and the group made way for the entrance of the building. When they had entered they were greeted by the caretakers, with one of their party taking point at the door. The man who had stood guard had remained remarkably silent thus far. While Xamon had not passed any particular attention to him, his awareness of the man's presence was absolute. Who was he? What role did he play within the Silverdawn? Even more so than the dwarf, he had peaked Xamon's curiosity. Why had he not spoken thus far? For some reason the man's aura marked him as more than mere muscle for higher. Indeed, the way he seemed to carry himself suggested that there was more to his character than met the eye. Time would tell.

After finding a quiet location in the recesses of the library, the Countess, Doffrag, and Xamon took their seats.

  "Now then, what is it you wish to speak abou...."

The Countess rose from her chair, her sentence left incomplete and instead a new one baring different context took its place.

"Forgive me, but an urgent matter has called my attention and I must depart. Doffrag will finish this conversation in my stead."

"An' I'm nae as nice as her thoo."

Doffrag retorted.

Xamon believed the Dwarf was testing his resolve, or at least that it is how it seemed. "Is he trying to scare me?" He thought to himself. No, that likely was not the case. Dwarven humor was very gruff, it was possible that he was attempting to be a little funny. However, unsure if this was truly the case Xamon simply avoided feeding into the comment. He understood having a demanding schedule and didn't seem particularly or noticeably bothered by the Countess' departure. He had found who he was looking for, and she had seen him. Not to mention the company she was leaving him with. If Doffrag and her were indeed as close as she had lead him to believe, he was confident anything discussed between him and the Dwarf would reach her. If not, he had ways of ensuring she found out.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me."

Was all he said as she walked out, though whether or not she heard him was uncertain as she offered no response and was nearly out the door by the time he finished thanking her.

Doffrag casually moved into her seat in a manner that suggested he had done this before. "They are close." he said in an inner dialog he held with himself. They now sat across from one another, and both seemed uninterested in slowing down the pace of the conversation despite the Countess having to leave. 

"To the matter at hand then?"

Xamon had traveled a long way and was not one to waste time. Though, something subtly caught his peripheral attention. A second conversation had ensued, between the silent "guardsmen" who had taken up post outside the library, likely to stop prying ears and eyes. Someone had approached him, and finally words emerged, the silent guardsmen was silent no more. 

" Hello."

The newcomer said. With the Silent Guardsmen responding in kind.

"Afternoon. Can I help you?"

"Elf with a bow, told me to speak to you about adventure and employment."

The Silent Guardsmen nodded once, and a feint smile curled from his lips.

"Ahh, I see. I think we might be able to help you."

He stepped up to the newcomer, looking him over. After a moment of inspection he extended his right hand to the man in greeting.

"Gazrael Gnarledmane."

Alas, his name had been spoken. Continuing to focus on that conversation would have been rude, even if he was capable of splitting his attention evenly between the two. After hearing the name of the Silent Gaurdsmen Xamon allowed his ears to let the dialog between the newcomer and Gazrael fall into obscurity.

"My House has officially drafted up blueprints for the refurbishment and reconstruction of Thoradin's Wall. For generations we have specialized in designing some of the Alliances most sound fortresses. This project will combine Dwarven, Elven, and human Architecture. We believe that there is a particular mineral located near or under your mine. Our Scryers are quite certain of this. I've come to see if your order would help us mine it and in exchange we will refurbish your entire estate with this new mineral."

Doffrag let out a long sigh, propping his feet up onto the table,

"She had ta handle something with a comrade of ours. I'm takin' over noo.".

He smirked a little,

"So yer hoose made the blueprints fer the wall eh?"

Xamon nodded - he seemed to be quite understanding of the matter.

"Yes Master Doffrag. We assisted in its initial creation long ago, and we have created a new series of plans that will see Thoradin's Wall  remade into the greatest wall that has ever been built. To accomplish this though, we need a material that elven, human, and dwarven masons can work with and that will compliment each of our.... tastes. A huge deposit of said material is believed to be located underneath the Silverdawn Mine."

Doffrag raised a brow as he grabed a cigar from his pouch and put it between his lips. Mumbling through the butt of the cigar,

"So ye want the huge deposit under the mines eh? Well lad ye cannae get stuff fer free, what can ye offer in return? Cause ye understand we coold -sell- it an' make a profit ye knoo?"

Xamon nodded in agreement. What Doffrag had said was very true, however...

"Indeed, you could - and the alliance would be poorer for it. The deposit is on your land, in truth it belongs to you. Yet, my family aided in designing the Scarlet Enclave, a fortress that was only toppled by the full might of the Lich King and his greatest champions. In return we would redesign your order's outpost - to your specifications of course. However, with our Architectural expertise, it would easily become the marvel of the Alliance. There is a great deal located underneath you, enough to at least start the project. What we didn't use you're welcome to keep and sell, make your profit this way. The Forsaken have already breached the wall. It's only a matter of time before they reach your doorstep if they haven't already. "

Doffrag snapped his fingers and a thin ark of lightning hit the end of the cigar lighting it just enough,

"Mm...Design oor ootpost an' build a smaller defensie wall aroond it. If ye can do that? The deposit is yer hooses.".

The Dwarf took a long drag off the cigar, blowing the smoke away and allowing for a momentary pause between them.

"Does yer hoose want ta be within the ranks of the Northern Dawn?"

"I am glad this conversation has progressed diplomatically. Aye Master Doffrag, that is certainly within our power to do. In regards to your question about my House joining the ranks of the Northern Dawn. That is why I came personally. As the head of my family I also hold command over our martial forces. Aid us in building this wall, and you will have the full support of House Targaris and all her resources. I will subscribe myself under your leadership and follow the commands of your Guild, as per the Alliance Hierarchy. Unless the King himself came down for your arrest - I don't suspect you'd have a reason to question our loyalty."

Doffrag took another drag off his cigar, this time blowing the smoke out of his nose,

"Then we're at an agreement then. Jus' knoo soon enoogh I'm nae goin' ta be the one in charge of this stuff fer long...Fedra is bringin' the shark of Ironforge within' oor ranks...An' his wealth dwarfs, nae pun intended, hooses gold.".

He takes his feet off the table and extends his burly dwarvish hand, "Welcome ta the Northern Dawn...Dunnae do anythin' that has me on yer ars."

"Orders are orders. As long as this change in hierarchy does not impede the construction and we're allowed to use this mineral  - it shouldn't be a problem. Thank you Master Dofragg, I believe prosperous days for the Alliance are soon at hand. It was a pleasure to have met you, and I am certain we will soon be seeing much more of one another."

Xamon met the dwarfs hand with a respectful and firm grip of his own.

Doffrag nodded slowly,

"Aye. The Alliance will take back the North. Death ta the Horde an' their berasties."

  Xamon wasn't all too sure what he meant by "berasties". Dwarves could be difficult to understand, even for someone as versed in their language and culture as he. Though with their talk at its end, the two departed for the door.....

@the-royal-courier

[vieuxnoyesrp]

     Kate Argent  ⚜  Hunter  ⚜  35  ⚜  The Incendiary  ⚜  ESTP  

Whatever doesn’t kill me …

Though she grew up the very definition of a tomboy, Kate Argent never had the slightest interest in being ‘one of the boys’. And why should she, when she had the good fortune of belonging to a family where the women called the shots? She wouldn’t trade that; and she sure as hell wouldn’t trade the many womanly charms she had at her disposal. It was the sort of guile that reduced her inferiors to mindless, salivating drones eager to jump through hoops for so much as a wink or a sly smile.There was no waiting around for the odds to stack up; if an opportunity wasn’t present - Kate would create one. 

She’s been that way as far back as she can remember; it’s the mark of a visionary, like her father before her. Gerard had a vision for all of them - something that’s been known from day one. Every family had their secrets; theirs were just a little different. The Argent legacy went back a good four hundred years and had not tarnished with age. They remained every bit the powerful and wealthy aristocratic family of werewolf hunters. To her elder brother Chris, it always seemed a responsibility, a burden. To Kate - it was an aspiration, a mark of pride.

So she trained, she hunted, she killed until she’d mastered every single one of the weapons in her father’s armory. Her favourites were always the handguns; there was nothing quite like the feeling of explosive firepower in her hands that came with a good sniper rifle or a sawed-off shotgun. And while Chris debated the ethics of their hunters’ code (’ "Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent"), she never wavered from her own ambitions. Kate never questioned it - she never saw reason to. Everyone made their choices in life; werewolves and vampires had to take life in order to become what they were - taking theirs in return was simple justice. 

    {Oh no, honey, I’m an angel, I swear. The horns are only there to hold up the halo.}

The older she grew, the more apparent it became that she - and not Chris - was the true chip off the old block; the one who could carry the Argent name higher, further - If only her father would see.  But what she lacks in patience, Kate more than makes up for in both skill and spunk; and she’s seen firsthand how daring gets one further than caution ever will. It was the beginning of an ever-growing wedge between the siblings; Chris favouring temperance and the middle-ground, while Kate dismissed such values as marks of the lukewarm and the faint-hearted. So she took matters into her own hands. Always a people person, a natural leader, Kate looked at the shambles of the New Orleans Hunters’ Guild and knew that her coup de grace wouldn’t be beneath its tarnished flag. She would, she could think bigger. Using her family’s extensive contacts, Kate began orchestrating the single largest coordinated attack against werewolves in recorded history. After carefully profiling packs up and down the East coast, five packs were selected. All of them isolated, comprised of inter-related mongrels, easy to gather in one place. The attacks were all carried out within one month of each other–swift, brutal, and efficient. It was just sheer luck that they got wind of a pending attack in the French Quarter at the very same time. 

                                                           … Had better start running.

Already preparing to personally execute the assault on the Hale pack, Kate passed word onto Ensaf Masri, a close friend of hers who was fighting to take the reins of the NOLA hunter’s guild back in hand. Kate was surprised and disgruntled when she heard that the hunters had aligned themselves with vampires, though the resulting decimation was rewarding. Such a move wrested complete power of the Quarter from the waiting hands of the hunters, the power she had imagined rekindling after her onslaught, and invested it even more powerfully in Marcel Gerard. Preferring to distance herself from the Hunter’s Guild in New Orleans, Kate has spent the past few weeks preparing a new, coordinated attack; bigger and deadlier than the last. A subscriber to the mentality of ‘work hard, play harder’ - Kate is eager to sit back and reap the rewards of her latest plan. These rewards? They come in coffins.

Web of Connections:

Allison Argent: If Chris has one thing to redeem him, it’s most certainly his daughter, Allison. It’s been a few years since she last got to see the girl, but she remembers Allison to be as spirited and sly as she is alternately sweet and docile. Really, Allison’s practically her mini-me; so Kate likes to believe. She really hit it off with her niece and she’s certain that the more the girl grows, the more they’ll have in common. Until then, Kate’s happy to play ‘cool aunt of the year’ to the teen she hopes will grow up to be just like her.

Caroline Forbes: This blonde bitch made the mistake of trying to feed off of her one night as she was leaving a bar. After a quick take-down, Kate recognizes her as Police Commissioner Forbes’ ditzy daughter, Caroline. She'd done her research on the who’s who of New Orleans and PC Forbes was no small figure to overlook. Interrogating the commissioner only confirmed Kate’s suspicions that she knows and is abating her daughter’s new lifestyle. So she gave the woman a choice - and the daughter a deadline. Caroline has one month to end her own existence as a fanged abomination, or Kate will do it for her. If the girl had any dignity, she’d have chosen to die in the first place; rather than to complete the monstrous transition. Any decent human would’ve chosen death over life as a blood-sucking undead.

Rogan Jones: If she arranged the who’s who of New Orleans into a hierarchical pyramid of who she doesn’t want to kill - few names would remain, and of those, Rogan Jones would be at the apex. She knows everything about the clandestine Arcane Society that an outsider can know - and all the dirty details about Rogan’s personal life that an outsider shouldn’t know. It wasn’t easy to come by, but it certainly helps that her family name can loosen more than its fair share of tongues. Still, there are several aspects of his life and precious society that remain under lock and key - and Kate wants in. She’s certain that Rogan would be an impressive ally to have under her thumb, and she’s willing to use any trick in the book to see whether the man is as pliable as he is powerful. Be it a platonic proposition - or the more classic method of charming her way into his bed. His wife doesn’t look like she’d mind.

Davina Claire: For a girl who’s barely finished with her Barbies, Davina Claire’s sure causing a lot of ugly headaches in the Quarter. There’s no love lost between Kate and the witch-folk; they are after-all, only a small step up from the weres and the vamps infesting the globe like a virulent disease. But she’s wiser than to try and split a bullet three ways. After-all - been there, done that. So she’ll do the witches a favour and capture the illusive Harvest Girl before offering her up on a silver platter in exchange for as many favours as she can squeeze out of them. Maybe it’ll help her eliminate the dogs and the dead in New Orleans... And if not? Well then she’ll just have to start the species cleanse by burning the occultists at the stake herself.

Matt Donovan: Admittedly, most of the people of interest on Kate’s radar are targets. Matthew Donovan is a notable - and according to Kate - generous exception. She’s met the guy a couple of times when he - get this - ‘volunteers’ at the NOPD. Bless his sweet little soul. Still, he’s smart, curious, and mature - which is saying a lot for a guy his age. She doubts the NOPD will satisfy his thirst for knowledge, and seeing as he’s into community service, Kate thinks her line of work could be right up the young man’s alley - if pitched correctly, of course. He has potential; if nothing else she’s certain of that. So the huntress intends to do a little pro-bono herself and take the guileless human under her wing. 

Also mentioned in the following bios: Chris Argent, 

Plot Teasers:

While Kate has more than accounted for all the external threats she faces thanks to her line of work and the choices she’s made, she’ll soon find that discord is often all the more dangerous when it comes from within...

Kate's been almost obsessive in her search for more information on the Arcane Society. Little does she know that she's about to get through those locked doors much, much sooner than anticipated, but perhaps it'd be better for Kate if these particular doors had stayed locked.

On the soundtrack of her life: Horns - Bryce Fox (x)

FC: Jill Wagner, non-negotiable.

Fortunately for you, Kate is  O P E N!! | Follow

[shitloadsofwrestling]

“The Continental Lover” Eddy Mansfield [1981]

Eddy Mansfield was a professional wrestler who got his start in the 1970s. In 1981, Mansfield defeated Eddie Gilbert to become the NWA Florida Television Champion, as seen above. Mansfield would soon gain a big reputation in professional wrestling, but not one for good.

Prior to WrestleMania hitting the nation, Mansfield appeared on 20/20, a television show that examined the stories surrounding hot topics in the media. In the interview, Mansfield began explaining “secrets” from the locker rooms of professional wrestling, including explaining “blading” by cutting himself during the interview, all in an effort to “help the boys” or so he claimed. According to several wrestling historians and people who knew him well, Mansfield was upset about his position in wrestling and, knowing it wasn’t going to advance any time soon, decided to bury the very business in which he’d worked to create a name for himself. By doing so, Mansfield had spat in the face of every wrestler who’d ever worked for him, every promoter who ever paid him for his work, and every fan who’d ever paid to see him.

Mansfield recalls the 20/20 piece:

What happened was that I was moving to New York and I was thinking that this damn wrestling business needs to change a little bit and that it needed to be slanted more in favor of the boys for medical benefits and hospitalization insurance and benefits in general. I knew a union wouldn’t work; Jesse Ventura tried to do that (in the WWF) and Hulk Hogan ratted him out. So, that got killed and that would have been great for the guys. Now I don’t know that a union will ever happen, but I had an idea.  Since we were on television every week, why don’t you let us join AFTRA or the Screen Actors Guild and let us pay our own money (dues)? Promoters don’t like responsibility when it comes to wrestlers. You are just a piece of meat, and not even an employee. I don’t know how they get away with that stuff but anyway that’s how it is. Now if we could join AFTRA or SAG where we could have paid our own dues, you know paid in our pension or welfare or whatever it was that we needed to pay, as guys got older we would have something to fall back on. As a wrestler, your insurance payments are so frigging high because of the business that you are in. It’s like stuntman insurance. If you are a stuntman in Hollywood, your insurance is higher because of your calling in life; you take bumps every day. That’s like wrestling. So it was my idea for that to come across in the 20/20 piece, but it turned the way they wanted it to do. They interviewed Vince McMahon, and I never had a problem with Vince. They interviewed David Schultz who is a friend of mine to this day. Last February, I was with David and his wife and my wife for dinner when he was here in Orlando. David is one of my dearest friends and always will be. They (20/20) did things that I had asked them not to do with the piece. Every person that they showed was my friends and they got that from Ole Anderson. I had nothing, and still have nothing against Vince McMahon. 

he piece that I did took wrestling from backdoor to the Mecca that it is today because it put it in a spotlight. That was the highest rated show they had until Bernie Goetz, the man who killed the people on the subway. It took professional wrestling and really made it legit. The following year after I did the 20/20 piece, it was highest revenue gross year (at that point) in the history of the wrestling business.  I do want to say this though if I could. After the 20/20 piece, a lot of people who do not know me have done their best; and I am referring to a lot of other promoters too, to have erased my name from the wrestling business. I held over twenty titles, and a lot of them to this day are not even listed in Wikipedia. When you start looking for them, you can’t find them. They wanted me to disappear. That’s what is really strange to me; I helped them, I didn’t hurt them. [x]

Among his other claims, he came up with the phrase “230 pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal”, and he claims that when Roddy Piper left California, he came to Eddy and said “Eddy, I’m leaving and I want to pass the torch to you.” Whether or not anything Mansfield has said is true, his appearance on the program got him blackballed from several wrestling companies. It was considered widely disrespectful to “give away secrets” of the wrestling world, as it’s mostly known as a fraternity that you don’t just “get into”. In fact, on that same 20/20 piece, “Dr. D” David Schultz slapped interviewer John Stossel for asking if wrestling is fake.

Believe it or not, this interview didn’t mark the end of Mansfield’s career. In fact, Mansfield opened his own wrestling promotion, and produced for several wrestling companies, including the ill-fated XWF in 2002.

[obscuraxrp]

The smoke settles to reveal CHALUAY JETATIKARN, also known as CJ, a 26 year old yeti-blooded of Sunseong. They are an ex-children’s television personality who appears to be adept with enhanced strength, muscle mass enhancement, size enhancement, and inaudible movement --- but like most things in Sunseong, there must be more to them than meets the eye.

FACECLAIM: (Tina) Suppanad Jittaleela, actress

APPEARANCE:

(HUMAN) CJ is mostly human in appearance with the exception being their canines are notably pointed and slightly longer than most humans, and can extend into full on fangs when they are angered or engaged in a fight. Due to the slow speed at which Yeti age, CJ tends to look quite young despite being in their late twenties. Furthermore, the muscles beneath their skin tend to harden (like ice) when in motion or even just flexed a bit. It’s a pronounced enough feature that they’ve learned to side step others when walking or move to catch clumsy folks at arms length in an effort to keep the unsuspecting (read: humans) from running into their body like it’s an ice wall, and getting knocked unconscious.

(YETI) CJ can shift at will or accidentally when distressed into a tall erect furry, clawed and fanged giant “abominable snowman” being. However their fur grows almost continuously so long as they are out of range of cold climates. If not vigilant with daily clipping, they’ll grow a full on flowing silky dark brown fur pelt within a couple of days time (as the “undercoat” fur is also a natural health defense response to the higher heat found of non-mountainous regions).

BIOGRAPHY:

With icy mountains and fury in their eyes, and the shadow of a fur pelt covering flesh, they tore their career to shreds.

Fiction and reality collided on the busy sound stage that day. Even they don’t know why they did it, or what was the final crack that had caused it. But everything came crashing down all at once. It could have even been the way they could barely keep their eyes open in the make-up chair after pulling three weeks worth of multiple back-to-back “Green Tea & Biscuits” merchandising fan meet appearances for Lotte stores. Could have been the painful crooked row of half healing razor nicks on their legs that a lifetime of intense shaving had only made more tender. Maybe it was the way Manager wouldn’t take any their calls, wouldn’t come home even though they had IMed 119 so many times that day and yesterday night, that their thumb was now sore. Could more than likely have been the fact their credit card had been declined twice that day. Perhaps it was even the mean way some strange woman pretending to be a coordi lady had showed up in their dressing room and shoved an evil sickly yellow envelope in their hands with a hissed “you’ve been served”.

Or maybe…

Maybe.

They were just too damn hot…

There was no air. There was always not enough air, but on that day it was so much worse. The “sticky riceball” dance bit was a distant incoherent haze in their memory as the bright camera lights cooked them over done in sweltering quilted cotton and itchy stiff felt. They hated the “sticky riceball” dance bit. At twenty-six years of age they should not have to still sing about being a lonely brown rice ball waning to be be “friends” with toasted seaweed, when neither was even that tasty to begin with. They would have rather been singing about some real food. Why did no one dance about juicy chops or steak? On ice.

It was still too hot. Thinking of food made the heat even more unbearable. Suddenly they didn’t care. Not about Manager’s demands that they sing happily always–because–business. Smile. Be cute. Make the live audience kids laugh.

Manager wasn’t there.

There was no reason care.

They didn’t want to be “cute” anymore. Didn’t feel like being a “good” little trooper. They weren’t a trooper. They were too damn hot! They missed mountain slopes frosted over with cold and snow, where humans were far apart. Anger edged out duty and with spite in the flurry of their movements they snapped. They’d make their own cold. Somewhere things were shattered and claws marks appeared on the len of Camera A. Why did it feel so good? Tiny people running to, fro and screaming. So much screaming! They ran too, because finally getting to chase all little meaty things felt so good. Felt right! The screams almost sounded like music, the jagged red sad kind, which somehow fit since their vision was red and inside they been jagged and sad for a long time.

When it was over, they were alone but for the team of suits that had gathered. Poor thing. The suits could only do but so much. Manager had done so many things wrong, so many bad things and they were so young. It was a lot of money to bribe so many mouths to stay shut after an episode like that–but there was pity too. After all look what that scum had done to them? Seventy-five percent of all their earnings? No taxes paid ever?

It was decided stress had to be the deciding factor. Of course. Yes. Stress, mismanagement and definitely not something else. After all it was a kids show. They had never been anything but the most professional host before that day. Except now no one would ever trust their kid on the same stage with them ever again. They had threw a person into the audience (among other things), annihilated the set and everyone had seen. They had made all the kids cry. The suit thought it lucky if no one sued.

It was over. A punishment to fit the crime: never return to Seoul, never show their face on children’s broadcast again. It was the suits who suggested Sunseong, and since they know of nowhere better at the moment–Sunseong it would have to be.

CHARACTERIZATION:

–“Manager” bought CJ from a Thai exotic animal smuggling outfit when they were a toddler and smuggled them into South Korea. Manager also trained them to be a child performer once they realized what they had was actual “halfway to human”.

–Before the “incident”, Chaluay, was very outgoing and friendly (playful even). As a children’s television host they had been trained right from childhood by Manager to be charming, engaging and “fun”. They’ve always followed the unwritten rule that all kids show hosts, must act excitable and zany, if not downright bonkers on air.

–Off-air CJ was never really “allowed” to be out of character either(which is why the “incident” has really damaged their self-confidence over all). They’re not even sure who they are anymore after a lifetime of being turned “on” for cameras and people mostly not over the age of seven.

–Children still remember CJ, and unless they wear a hat and shades in public they will usually attract a crowd of leg hugging preschool kids rather quickly (as “Green Tea & Biscuits” reruns are still currently in syndication and quite popular). Even elementary and middle schoolers (who don’t think they are “too cool”) still hit CJ up for selfies and autographs.

–The network censored delayed and then edited out CJ’s in-studio Yeti meltdown before it went live and promptly cut in old footage of cartoons and puppet skits to cover the parts full of studios destruction. The kids that were in the studio audience, Biscuit’s human suit actor and the child extras who played the “Tea Pals” on the sound stage that faithful day were paid off handsomely and slapped with gag orders to not talk about what happen with press.

–CJ feels really truly terrible about throwing and hurting the human actor in the “Biscuits” suit. “Biscuits” actor was the only human injured in the rampage, mostly cause they tried to talk CJ down from the shift and got in the way. The older actor and CJ had been long time partners right from the beginning of the show. He was the closest person CJ had to being a friend.

–CJ is still paying off an income tax evasion judgement, a breach of contract fines, property destruction fines, Biscuit’s suit actors medical bills, credit card debt–and all the other mess Manager left them with. Not to mention the slew of supernatural friendly lawyer fees and the ungodly large bribes it took to keep the meltdown from leaking into the press and keep CJ out of the radar of DSEM and The Aequitas Guild. The debt is significant enough that CJ will probably spend the rest of their life and future endorsement and/or licensing royalties to pay it all off.

SPECIALTIES:

Supernatural Strength RANK II. (40 points) CJ like a Yeti is glaringly, obviously super/unnaturally stronger than a human being. At the moment they are a “Type I” strength category and can hoist a maximum of about 18-20 tons (i.e 36000 lbs or 16329.3 kg), so roughly they can pretty easily flip a city metro or Type D yellow school bus over on its side. 

Muscle Mass Enhancement RANK I. (20 points) CJ can increase the muscle mass (across their chest, arms, and legs) by flexing of their muscles and joints. It in essence allows their muscles to solidify with an ice like strength, stamina and durability. 

Inaudible Movement RANK I. (20 points) Like their Yeti ancestors, CJ can strike or stalk with complete and absolute inhuman silence and speed, allowing them to move around, attack, hide or stand without disturbing most beings (humans in particular have a hard time following their movements). 

Size Enhancement RANK I. (20 points) Full blood Yeti are recorded to possibly be between sizes of eight and 15 feet. A fully furred out CJ can shapeshift at will from a small 170 cm to much more Yeti like 214 cm. 

Ice Generation RANK 0. (Innate ability, 0 points) CJ can reduce the kinetic energy of liquid atoms by concentrating on it, thereby lowering total substance temperature, and effectively making it colder, ranging from slightly chilly levels to slight crystallizing into frost. Mainly useful for making their own slushie drinks and cocktails. 

Montane Adaptation RANK 0. (Innate ability, 0 points) CJ is able to thrive and adapt to very cold elevated conditions where the air is thin and the climate consists of frost or even blizzard like conditions, as they possess adjusted breathing capacity, high air-pressure tolerance, sub-zero immunity and an immunity to the effects of vertigo or similar disorientation as well as the ability to move on the mountains without artificial help. CJ is far more tolerant to the direct and indirect effects of scaling inhospitable high peak locations like Mt Fuji or even Mount Everest than humans or animals. 

Temperate Fur Generation RANK 0. (Innate ability, 0 points) CJ generates dark brown fur over their entire body, giving resistance to high temperatures, and even some physical damage. They have almost no control over their fur as it is a natural camouflage and defensive response to environmental, emotional or external temperate stimuli. 

 Fangs/Claw Retraction RANK 0. (Innate ability, 0 points) Like CJ’s fur, fangs and claws are natural defensive usually triggered by adrenaline. Ancient Nyalmo Yeti are in most cases were carnivorous and predatory. 

 Enhanced Hearing RANK 0. (Innate ability, 0 points) CJ hears with amazing clarity, distance, and even frequencies outside normal range. A high predator species, Yetis can decipher layer upon layer of differing sounds/conversations, locate the source of noise and detect slight prey movements. 

 Night Vision RANK 0. (Innate ability, 0 points) CJ has excellent night vision, and that is a left over adaption from their cave dwelling heritage. It’s not quite as powerful as a full blood Yeti might have, but it’s leaps a bounds better than a humans. With that said their eyes do reflect back pin points of eerie blue light in the dark much like a cats might.

[chameleonspell]

181: communication

"I'm getting to that!" The molecrab turned a little too vigorously, and had to steady itself on the battlement while it re-aligned its eyeholes. "But prophecy's not simply a matter of... I'm just trying to... it's a complicated question! For example, what do you mean by 'truth'?" The squid didn't roll its eyes, as they were lidless lenses of pale violet crystal, but it rocked backwards with a derisive snort. "You're seriously asking me--" "No no no!" The crab shook rapidly, its muffled voice reverberating in tandem. "I don't mean in some guarshit philosophistical, black-is-white, nothing-is-real-so-you-can't-prove-me-wrong kind of sense, I just mean... prophecies come from dreams and visions, correct?" "Yeah..."

"But a lot of dreams are obviously nonsense, agreed? I'm not saying they're all nonsense - it's been argued fairly persuasively that dreams are one of the channels Aetherial spirits and Daedric entities can use to communicate with Mundus. I've also heard of someone claiming to be speaking from the Dreamsleeve, but I think that must be a misunderstanding, I don't see how a soul could survive intact in the Dreamsleeve. Anyway... while I can't imagine it's common, and I've certainly never had one, I'm willing to accept that inter-planar communication through dreams is possible. Communication. Which would be a true dream, up to a point, in that it's not completely created by your own mind. But simply being a valid communication from an Aetherial spirit, and especially not from a Daedra, still wouldn't guarantee that a prophecy was true, in the sense of, 'legitimately destined to happen'." "Look--" Seeing its attempt at interruption washed away like a twig in a tsunami, the squid sighed, and slumped against the stonework, nails scraping a nervy, not-quite-rhythm. "And this is still the case, if the spirit in question, or... all right, let's say Daedra. For the sake of argument, it's a Daedra. Even if we assume that this Daedra has legitimate knowledge of the future, through... Aetherial pan-temporal awareness, or whatever, debatable as that seems, given the ridiculous behaviour of most Daedra... even if... Oh, and if we assume that they're speaking in good faith - though gods know why anyone would assume that. But let's be charitable, let's allow, purely hypothetically, that Daedra can see future events, and communicate them accurately to their chosen faithful through dreams and visions--" "Hold on--" Another half-hearted interjection from the squid, doomed to failure, as the molecrab was hurtling unstoppably towards its emphatic crescendo. "None of that matters! Because here's the thing, it doesn't work that way! Prophecies can't ever be accurate, because by communicating the future, you're changing it! The future isn't fixed - look at the Elder Scrolls! Or, actually, don't! Don't ever look at the Elder Scrolls, because while they contain, allegedly, the past, present and future, they're inherently chaotic and mutable, and trying to understand them sends you blind! Reading them changes them, and changes you, and not for the better!" The molecrab threw up a hand. "As I understand it, anyway. This is all basic Mysticism, you'll have to petition the  Psijiics if you want something more onto... chrono... metaphysically precise." Julan pulled off the cephalopod helm and spat dishevelled strands of hair from his mouth. "Iya, I understood about three words of that through this blighted thing, but I wasn't arguing, only asking. We both agreed it was more important to come here and check on the Guild, than it was to search for that shrine to Azura again, so--" "Put that back on," snapped the crab, "you're a wanted man." "Maybe, but I'm also a hot, irritated man who can't breathe properly, and who thinks if we've walked into a trap, be it Temple or Camonna Tong, it's too late to avoid it now, and wants to die free." A short silence from the molecrab. "Fine," Iriel said, emerging, pink-cheeked, from the crabshell, "but we're putting them back on before we leave Wolverine Hall." Julan's Divine Intervention amulet had brought them to Sadrith Mora's Imperial fort. Camonna Tong no longer prowled its halls, as Imperial troopers refuse to tolerate that sort of thing indefinitely. However, from their current position on the highest battlement, Iriel and Julan could see thick clumps of Dunmeri figures lurking near the walls of Dirty Muriel's. The cornerclub windows were dark and still. Julan fidgeted. "We should just go. Whoever that priestess went to fetch, it can't be good." "Who should have kept their helm on downstairs, then? Gods, it's like you want to get arrested again. It might be my name on that list, but it's your physical description! But honestly, she was Imperial Cult. Unless you think she's buckling on her secret Ordinator armour, as we speak?" Julan smirked at the memory of the confused entry in the bounty list posted on the Fighter's Guild door. "Chasing white guar, the lot of them." One foot was shoving his bag to and fro across the tower-top. "I just can't deal with all this waiting, right now." "As opposed to the rest of the time, when you simply adore sitting arou--" "Sheogorath, give it a rest. You're having a good day for words, I see. Been saving them up?" "Yes. And possibly." Iriel's mouth twitched tight for a moment. "I feel like a flask of astroprasium carbonate solution." "Is that good?" "It's... fizzy." Now it was his eyebrow that twitched. "And salty, and hard to keep the cork in." Julan squinted over the battlement, gauging the distance to the cornerclub. "There's more of those fetchers down there than I've ever seen. You're sure you can't cast invisibility?" "I'm sure I don't want to try. The same way I don't want to try skooma, to see if I get re-addicted or not." He joined Julan in looking over the edge. "I might manage Slowfall." "Blighted hells, no! Maybe I can--" The trapdoor creaked, and they both spun around, but instead of a Tong glove, or an enamelled gauntlet, a willowy golden hand was lifting it. When a head of shimmering blond hair joined it, Ire recognised the Altmer evoker from the Mages' Guild, a floor below. "Iriel!" he cried, clinging to the ladder with his other hand, but still swaying from the exertion. "In Xarxes' own truth, I thought I heard your voice!" "You did," Ire admitted, ignoring Julan's triumphant expression, and his sotto voce, "Keep your helm on, Julan." "Iriel," the newcomer repeated, as he clambered gracelessly onto the tower-top, "do you not remember me? I am Helende's good friend, Tusamircil of Aspenreach." When Iriel continued to stare, he added, "She requested I lend you a pair of russula umbersilk anabreeches, once." He forced a tepid smile. "Oh." Ire said. "Yes. Thanks." He opened and closed his mouth a few times. "If you ever want them back, you'll have to help me get over to the cornerclub." Tusamircil's already arched brows shot higher. "Oh, no, my intention was quite the reverse! This is why Helende asked us to watch out for you! To tell you that you must certainly not return to the cornerclub!" "You spoke to her?" Julan demanded. "When? What's going on over there?" "I really couldn't say, but it all sounds terribly dangerous. But please wait one more moment, she left you a missive she believed would explain everything." With that, Tusamircil's head vanished again. When he reappeared a little later, he had a small, sealed scroll, which he handed up to them from his precarious position on the ladder. Iriel opened the seal, and sighed at the thief-code marks that greeted him. Julan remembered more than he did, though, and between them, they decrypted the following: Dear Iriel. And probably the other one, I suppose. Very well, Julan, no hard feelings now. It's time to move on, in all possible ways. We can't hold out here any longer, but we can give the old place a good send-off. If Dren wants to send an army, we'll throw a surprise party for them. There's going to be cake. It's made of all sorts of alchemical horrors, and M is "baking" it in the furnace, as I speak[crossed out] write. E has rigged the entire place with trigger-spells. He's making it look like his traps outside are failing, but it's a ruse, to draw them in. It's almost time for tea, but you mustn't come join us for this one. The others are already gone and safe. Getting the guar out quietly wasn't easy, though still easier than C. But once it was clear S wouldn't leave without P, P wouldn't leave without B, and B wouldn't leave without C, there was only one solution. They've all gone to S's camp. B obviously still fallen from S's starry heights, but once she (to her great irritation I might add) couldn't bring herself to kill him, she found there was considerable profit in his attempts to make up for it. So it goes. Not my summon-circle, not my scamp-fight, as they say. If you read this and the club is still standing, then get clear, fast. It won't be long, and if all goes well, Dren will be livid. There should be enough corpses in there for them never to guess who, if any of us, escaped. Don't give them evidence otherwise. M&E are staying until the end, to ensure everything goes off. I'm trusting E to get M out in time, so they better not get any silly ideas from those ghastly novels the two of you are so keen on. My ride will be along shortly. Not sure what's next, but you can contact me through T in Tel Mora, once the dust's settled. That's my last order: stay in touch. This may be the end of the Guild on Vvardenfell, but we're still family. For now, though, lay as low as you can. Almost forgot. Another letter arrived for you. You'll want to read this one, I think. Much love, H. Iriel looked at Tusamircil. "Another letter?" "I imagine it must be in here." The mage hauled something else up the ladder, with obvious difficulty. Julan helped him get it onto the tower-top: a sack. In it was a selection of Iriel's possessions, skimmed hurriedly from his attic room. "No time!" Julan caught Ire's arm, as he began investigating the contents. "You saw what she wrote, we have to go!" He ran to the battlements again. "Was the cornerclub chimney smoking like that, before? We have to get to the docks!" He rounded on Tusamircil. "You mages teleport people! Can't you send us somewhere better than one of your blighted guildhalls, in a city full of guards?" Tusamircil's chin jerked upwards. "While not a guild-guide myself, I am married to one, and in frequent conversation with many arcane specialists among my friends and colleagues in the Summerset expatriate community. As I understand it, the limitation of destinations to licensed locations is rigidly enforced, for extremely--" "Hey," Iriel was glaring at him, frowning. "Were you the loose-tongued jizzbiscuit who told so many people I was here, that my fucking ma found out?" Tusamircil swallowed. "I'll fetch my wife." Iniel of Rillowbeck's violet eyes were as round as the rillow-blossoms that cover the banks of the stream, running from her home-town to nearby Lillandril. "Can you really be suggesting I transport you along..." she licked her lips and dropped her voice "...unregulated channels?" "Yes," Iriel said, flatly. Her long lashes fluttered as she blinked, thoroughly scandalised. "Impossible! Even if it were permitted, it's much too great a distance. When there's no receiving chamber to focus the--" "As far as the docks, then!" "I can't! It's too close to Tel Naga and the Council Hall! If the Telvanni detected illicit teleportation, I could lose my licence!" "Well, you have to get us out of here somehow! The pair of you owe me for spilling my location to my ma and her poison-pen!" "I..." She faltered, playing with a loose strand of scarlet hair. "It's extremely valuable, so I confess I'm reluctant, but I do have a scroll of win--" "Yes!" Iriel was suddenly animated, almost glowing with excitement. "That. Give me that, please. Now, as in, very immediately, yes." next: 182: apology previous: 180: here beginning: 1: numb

[dizzy-and-friends]

Kaori “Xenon” Yaguri: Desert

“Hello. This is Kaori Yaguri, on board the survivor-shuttle ‘Xenon 001’ I have no engine power, and the host ship was destroyed in a collision. Half of my shuttle is inaccessible due to vacuum. Mayday, Mayday.”  The short band star-wave® radio hissed back at me. Just like it always did. The ambient garbage waves of the stars caused it to lap and sway like the shores of California.  “In other news, it’s my 24th birthday - and Xenon’s third. Xenon had a growing pain today, the circuitry on my surveyor panel fused during a solar flare. I was able to sheild my self in the main cabin using the old space suit. Its going to be out of air soon, i’m down to my last six canisters. Seven had a leak, turns out.”

This was the best way to maintain my sanity - and to keep the radio waves alive with my signal. If a ship would get close enough, they’d receive my emergency shortwave broadcast. An alert would pop up on their sensors and they could tune in if they wanted to. ... You’re supposed to do it any way, but distress beacons are so good these days that is not usually a problem. 

“I was able to scavenge some wires and other stuff out of the main cabin. and performed our weekly check on the food preserve. We fixed the surveyor’s panel, and i was able to apply rotation to the ship using a piece of tape and slice of ham -- had to make the screen think i was holding the dish-alignment button down for three days. This rotation will keep Xenon from losing power to her own shadow over solar arrays. The colony of spiders i had with me have died, the last one starved - i could no longer support it, and the gnat farm had a crack in it after i knocked it over, so they are all eaten. ”

Every morning i wake up, turn on the shortband, talk to .. no one.  then leave the short band on for as long as i have the power to do so, letting the galaxy listen in on my private conversations. I once watched a ship sail right past us because i didn’t have the short band on long enough for them to find me. I didn’t even know they were there till the sun shined on their aft. “I’ve finished programming my first game, Shattered Ship, the art looks a little stupid but for a two dimensional game, its pretty fun. I’ve had a lot of time to work on the random event generator, and the crew finally stopped killing each-other every time there is a torpedo fire. I’ve moved on to finish working on that adventure game i started last year, about the desert planet. I dunno, seems ambitious. We’ll see.”

Xenon is all I have left now, she is my sister and she is sick. Her power coils won’t last another two years, they’re 2 years past warranty. Her antennae is gone, broke up in a low-orbit pass through mar’s atmosphere. We’re scheduled to pass by again this year, If we’re too low -- Well i’ll probably die unless Xenon’s parachutes still work. If we’re too high, I’ll be flung into solar orbit with the euro care systems, where I’m most likely to be found in another year. ”All things considered, Xenon is really quite happy today. Her batteries are pretty much full, the solar array is only down to 80% maximum efficiency which is great, considering how hard it is to sleep with the blast-panels open at night. means I won’t get locked inside the crew quarters again this week. But out heat waste is minimal and we’ve got plenty of spare parts now that i got the door controls to the cabin working again.” If the mars colonists have their defense radar pointing at me when i pass through, they’ll know its a rogue shuttle, might even notice the distress signature... But i’m from earth so they’ll probably just let me drift another three years till i show up again.

“I read the manual, last night, the service manual - Xeonon’s diary. She says these emergency signals are saved on a data storage somewhere in the ship, as part of the black box. I don’t know how much storage there is, or how much these take up - but the idea that some pooor soul is going to listen to me drone on for three years is terrifying. If there is enough of this material to turn into a book, and then sell it - leave some money for my daughter, if i die. In about six more hours I’ll pass by Kathy-sixsix again, the signal buoy, marking our third year in this eccentric orbit. I’ll be leaving another message for Kathy, the radio operator for this area - maybe she’ll get it, i don’t know. It took forever to build the second net, I don’t know what I’ll do if I miss again..” I stayed up all night two days ago to make sure i would be awake to see Kathy-Sixsix on the surveyor radar - it gives me a better idea of when I’ll have to get out into the space walk with the net. Kathy-SixSix is part of a network of surveyor buoys, with radio dishes set to record, and analyze radio data from other solar systems. It still picks up 16 year old news from the Proxima Colonists. Surely my short band.. and.. annual vandalism are enough to get some ones attention? “Kathy-SixSix this is Kaiori Yaguri, on board the survivor-shuttle ‘Xenon-001′. We’re on course to attempt another netting of your buoy. I have the net’s anchor welded with the backbone of the ship now. One of use is going to be very unhappy in a few hours. I’ve already prepared a Message in a Bottle for you to collect assuming the magnets do- But then, the Buoy responded. “Shuttle Xenon, this is buoy six six. If you’re hearing this, the buoy has detected your radio signature and is responding automatically. This message is two hours long, you need to hail the buoy. Any way you can, I’m not allowed to be on a shift longer than twenty four hours. I’ll have my friend listen for you, If i’m not here. ” It was a very plucky, childishly feminine voice. Reminded me of a flight cadet freshman. I was so happy to hear another voice, another person. It wasn’t on a song, or a radio-advertisment. It was a one-way-broadband audio superhighway into my heart. She knew my shuttle by name!

“The surveyor’s guild is ready to pardon all damages to the buoy, and we have located your daughter, Artemis. Acting Captain Yaguri, we have secured several hooks to the outer-hull of the buoy on break away welds. There will also be a local unpaid intern assigned to Kathy-sixsix every fourth hour for two hours. If you agree to the terms of a contract, the surveyor’s guild would like to do a series of interviews on your journey....” The message was official, and long. But i could hear her, Kathy, the buoy operator.  I had listened to my own voice for so long, and Xenon wasn’t equipped to talk. Kathy sounded gorgeous, and also a little sad. “Kaori, this is Kathy. We’ve been picking up your radio logs for the last three years, and I’m sorry. For everything. It is my job to listen for voices like yours. Once we had your signal code on record I was able to keep track of your transmissions. I’ve been listening to your stories about your friend.. I’m at the part where she died. I guess now i know how the story ends, but. I’m so sorry. I .. wasn’t listening to the emergency signals, never even checked them. No one ever flies out here without an escort, there is too much debris. Your ship’s fabricators are already willing to make a settlement with you, since your engines failed. And.. I’ve been letting your daughter listen to every signal we decode. You’re quite the hero back on earth, it turns out. No ones been able to find you, even the teams on mars let us know if they see any thing weird on radar. The fabricators even put out a finder’s fee, like you’re a lost dog or something. Shuttle Xenon, this is buoy six six. If you’re hearing this, the buoy has detected your radio signature and is responding automatically. this message is two hours long, you need to hail the buoy. Any way you can, I’m not allowed to be on a shift longer than twenty four hours. I’ll have my friend listen for you, If i’m not here.” “Kathy-Sixsix, this is Kaiori aboard the survivor shuttle ‘Xenon’. I have your message loud and clear, I’m six hours from the mark, and I have no ships on my radar. Please, someone respond. If i have to agree to some fucking contract, I agree, sign me up, what ever just 

GET ME HOME.

Then i waited.

“Shuttle Xenon, this is bouy six six. If you’re hearing this, the bouy has detected your radio signature and is responding automatically. this message is two hours long, you need to hail the bouy. Any way you can, I’m not allowed to be on a shift longer than twenty four hours. I’ll have my friend listen for you, If i’m not here. Your daughter has been doing better in school, the Surveyor’s Guild has put her in a junior academy. Her father had to ask the reporters to stop harassing her so much. He was accused of profiting off your situation a few months ago, and some one dedicated a song to you at the music awards. It.. was a cover of Major Tom.. I’m sorry. No one asked for this. The new flight marshal was instated a few days ago, and wants to put no fly zone for rookie pilots in the debris cloud , to ensure no one ever has to be stuck out there ever again. You have to have a B level rating or higher to fly non-commercial. I don’t know if that’ll help. Seems weird to put a no-fly-zone somewhere where people are more likely to be stranded or worse. Don’t smugglers hide in NFZ?”

I watched the radar until it was nearly time to do the space walk. two hours until mark, and i had to get ready to deploy the net. But first i wanted to hail the buoy. The radar was still empty.

“Kathy-SixSix, Xenon here, when the Guild assigned Unpaid Interns to watch for my passing, did they check the pilot’s flight rating? 

Am I currently in a no fly zone?

I have to get ready soon. I’ve got a better net and a better anchor this time. I’ll be able to tow, or destroy the buoy. In either case, something will happen and I’ll have more scrap material to build an antennae out of. Or the spine of the shuttle will collapse and I’ll be dead, or clinging to the buoy. I’ve got a tool-bag i can fit all the spare air canisters in.... jesus christ please respond. Kathy, please. Give me a better option.”

I waited, tears in my eyes as I stared into the bandwidth monitors, waiting for the static signals to change. This was all I had left.

“Shuttle Xenon, this is buoy six six. If you’re hearing this, the buoy has detected your radio signature and is responding automatically. this message is two hours long, you need to hail the buoy. Any way you can, I’m not allowed to be on a shift longer than twenty four hours. I’ll have my friend listen for you, If i’m not here.  It seems like people, rookie pilots mostly, have taken to scratching their name and their rating in Buoy sixsix’s paint using their repair tools. There were six or seven names when the trend started, I counted seventy last time i went out to repair it. Maybe one of these enthusiasts will come out and try to add their name to the buoy. One way to survive would be to anchor onto the buoy some how. Your relative speed is quite high, so you’d need to slow down. I’ve added some commercial air tanks to the repair storage on the buoy. the keys are magnetized to the underside of the buoy's new collision-safety lantern, opposite of the ion drive. I’ve been talking to your daughter about things that might help keep you company.  I had to go, it was time. I needed an antennae, and the buoy had several just flying about last time i left. I managed to knock several loose.  Maybe they magnetized to the buoy or stabilized near the buoy in some kind of Dzhanibekov spin.  I’m probably not lucky enough for that.  Out here on the magnetic surfaces, watching the buoy slowly get closer to me and Xenon, i could not see anything other than the buoy. No ships, no debris. Just a floating hunk of spare parts. I had 30 minutes to set out the net, one hour to stabilize it and another thirty to get safely inside the ship before i created another debris cloud. There wasn’t any A-ARCS left in my suit, i burned that a long time ago just trying to slow the shuttle down, so i couldn’t jump ship and transfer to the buoy itself. Once the net was ready to catch the buoy, I was on my way back inside. I drifted through the rear cabin’s hull breach, used the fixtures to navigate inside and was lucky enough to have an emergency airlock between every major substation on the shuttle.  Just slip out of the suit, disconnect the canisters and then strap my self into the surveyor’s console. “Shuttle Xenon, this is buoy six six. If you’re hearing this, the buoy has detected your radio signature and is responding automatically. this message is two hours long, you need to hail the buoy. Any way you can, I’m not allowed to be on a shift longer than twenty four hours. My co-workers no long wish to take additional shifts to fill that time. It was really hard to get people on board with your net idea. No one wanted to rebuild a buoy, but now that you’re such a celebrity, the cost of our public image seemed rather high. There are these videos on the web, about how to get you safe. It started with a simple mag-tow and RCS burn.. the whole thing devolved into more complicated plans over time. You could, for example, tie together sixteen thousand socks, and create an elastic brake that you lasso around one of the hooks we welded onto the buoy. The buoy would tear the socks and you’d slow down just enough to.. well, collide with mars but we’d know where you were going. Oh that reminds me, don’t dissemble the parachute systems for any reason. A lot of junior academy simulations are showing how easily you could enter mars atmosphere this coming year, and you’ll want those to be operational. You’ll have to set them manually to deploy when there is enough atmosphere for them to grab onto, though. The maintenance guide on board with you should provide the information on how to do that. I’ve gotta go to bed, when i record the next message I’ll read you a chapter from a book your daughter said you like. Be sure to stay tuned in for that when ever this gets added to the message loop. Its been six months since I set this message and now i am adding to this loop, it can only fit 2 hours of data..editing it is a nightmare though. sucks, right?”