#I want it to be visible that the ferryman is not glowing

[darie-vox]

He tells me things that must be true,

Like there’s a world where I can take flight,

where I can freely move

The lirycs from here^

Also a singular closeup bc tumblr will eat at the resolution </3

[mercury-lurks]

The Ferryman

T-Mobile blinked his eyes open, finding himself laying on the floor of a familiar boat. He takes his time sitting up and surveying his surroundings, the runes littering his body glowing softly but not hurting.

The boat he was in was a little thing, much like one a fisher would use out in a lake. The wood has been meticulously sanded to a soft texture, little dips in the grain indicative of fingers digging into the pliable material. There was a lantern hanging off of the back of the little boat, crackling with a purple flame and blowing gently from side to side as the boat moved forward.

He picked himself up and sat on the back seat, looking up to meet the eyes of The Ferryman. Well, truthfully, The Ferryman did not have eyes- only a viscous black substance dripping down from his forehead, curling around his skeletal nose and leaving space for a wholly black mouth. His skin, although showing little, was a sickly purple. He was tall, far too tall to be anything but intimidating, with flowing black-to-white hair almost down to his feet, tied in a loose braid. Twin horns jutted out from his forehead, that same infinite black as the rest of his body. Two of his arms were rowing the boat, with the other two folded in his lap, useless in matters like these. His upper arms and his thighs did not exist, able to be passed through with T-Mobile's hand if he wanted to, but his lower limbs moved as if tethered to his body by them, although he knew they did not need to.

The Ferryman smiled at him, and T-Mobile had the impression he was being looked over with a careful gaze.

"Welcome back, Avarice," The Ferryman said, his mouth an empty pit of black. T-Mobile knew he had teeth, but was thankful he had not angered The Ferryman enough to see them.

"Hey, Ferry. Didn't think I'd be back this soon, huh?" T-Mobile leaned back in his seat, making sure not to topple off the back.

"I suppose not. Pray, what destroyed you this time?" The Ferryman already knew, of course, nothing seemed to slip by the man. Man was taken lightly, as nobody really knew what his deal was, and he seemed happy to not give any details.

T-Mobile sighed, his fingers itching for a cigarette. "Phantom did. Ripped me right open."

The Ferryman hummed, tilting his head. "I see." He said nothing more following, letting the boat lapse into an uncomfortable silence.

"So…" He drummed his fingers on the seat. "How's everything been down here?"

"The sands of time keep flowing, souls need to be put to rest, and the Throne of Greed remains empty." He looked out over the River Styx, the tall towers of Lucifer's Palace visible in the distance. Five lights were on in five towers. Avarice's tower had begun to fail without his presence keeping it alive. Two other lights were off, meaning two other Sins weren't in Hell at the moment. Lucifer's light remained on indefinitely.

T-Mobile scoffed. "I thought it was taking over my duties."

The Ferryman did not respond to that. "How is your life, Avarice?"

He glances down at his hands, crisscrossed and circled in glowing runes, frowning. "Couldn't be better."

Turning his gaze towards T-Mobile, The Ferryman sent shivers up his spine. "Do not lie to me, Avarice."

"Fine. My life sucks. I fucking hate being Topside, I hate not having access to my powers, I hate Pride and Luci and whoever the fuck else and the only thing that's making it better is some dumb kid I met at a church." He spat, crossing his arms and glaring up at The Ferryman.

"How is the child doing? I've missed hearing your stories, you know. It's in my opinion that you should die more, if not just to visit me." His voice lilts as if telling a joke. T-Mobile laughs anyway, because he knows that's an honest attempt at trying to be sociable and funny.

He looks back out over the calm waters, the only disturbance being The Ferryman's rowing. "Fox is doing fine. He's got a family now, and they're so good for him. Apparently James is his mom now, which I wasn't expecting, but I'm glad they have each other. 'Course, I miss when it was just him and I roaming the world, but it was never sustainable for him. He needed people around him who loved him, who listened to him and all that junk. I don't exactly fit the bill."

The Ferryman stopped rowing, the atmosphere turning quiet. It wasn't uncomfortable, so T-Mobile knew that the being before him wasn't angry. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, I'm me, y'know? I don't do that lovey-dovey stuff that he wants in his family. I'm just kinda there."

There was a lengthy pause, and T-Mobile wondered if he had done something wrong.

The Ferryman leans forward and grabs his hands, holding them as if he was made of glass. And he very well may be in this moment, as he knew The Ferryman could shatter his soul to pieces. "Surely you do not believe that? Avarice, little one, you speak of your ward as if he hung the stars in the sky. I know your soul like the back of my hands, and I see plainly how much you cherish that boy."

T-Mobile is unable to meet his gaze, and his eyes fall to their interlocked hands. For a brief moment he wishes it was Pride instead holding his hands, but quickly pushes that feeling aside. He sighs, shrugging.

"Yeah, I like the kid just fine, it's just-"

"If you are about to say that he does not love you back just the same as you do I will throw you off of this boat, Avarice." The Ferryman interrupts, stroking the backs of his hands with his thumbs.

"No, I-" He pauses, tears gathering in his eyes. "Ferry, he knows how bad I am, he's seen the things that I've done. I'm a demon, I can't just get rid of that part of myself. He knows, but-" Tears track down his face, and he doesn't try to stop it. He knows there is no hiding from The Ferryman. "He still looks at me and smiles. How can he after everything? I was horrible to him, to his family, to people that didn't deserve it, and he still smiles at me like he doesn't know."

The Ferryman reached up and wiped away his tears, kneeling on the floor of the boat to be at eye level with him. "He sees what I see, little one. Everyone is capable of change- a soul is not static. You are characterized by greed, yes, but you are not defined by it. And you may have been a demon, but you have grown and changed into a friend I can be proud to have. You are wonderful my dear, and the only person that can't seem to see that is you."

T-Mobile's eyes widened, the telltale tingling of his body healing clueing him into the fact he may not be here long enough to unpack all of that. "Ferry, I-"

The Ferryman puts a finger up to his mouth and shushes him gently. "Rest easy, little one. Go be with your family."

The edges of his vision began to blacken, and he reached out to grab The Ferryman.

He was gone before he could even touch him.

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 8, sponsored by ADHD

Not being flippant, I absolutely have ADHD and can’t take any medications without getting heart palpitations. Hyperfocus, whoo!

Yeah, I enjoyed writing this one way too much. Chapter is here. I remain extremely grateful to @lostmypotatoes for not only the concept, but letting me jerk the characters around on her behalf. Enjoy!

The streetlights were starting to flicker on as the sun drifted below the horizon. Despite the chill wind, the crowds were shoulder-to-shoulder at the booths lining the street, and the glow from open doors illuminated a continuous flow of people moving in and out of shops and taverns.

One of the busiest establishments was a large inn not far from the castle. Standing patiently outside it was a lone, black-haired young woman; several passers-by waiting to join the line paused for a second look at her. She was dressed simply enough in a dark gown and white shawl, but her skin shone pale and flawless in the streetlamp, eyes lined in black and lips a dark crimson—very striking, even among the other women and a few young men wearing high-contrast makeup for the holiday. She'd done her best to achieve that effect, and found she rather enjoyed the attention; it was a relief that no one had—

"Heyyy, young lady," slurred a voice in her ear. "You lost?"

—hit on her yet. Frisk sighed and shifted her weight away from the beery stranger. "My husband will be out in a moment, thank you. Goodbye."

The man scoffed and leaned in closer, trapping her against the people standing in line. "Aw, darlin', don't try to pull that on me. Where's your weddin' ring?"

Frisk blinked. She hadn't accounted for anyone being drunk and observant. "Really, sir, I'm asking you nicely. Go away, or my husband will probably break your arm."

"Pffft! Right, right." The man made a grab at her shoulder. "C'mon, let's—"

Something large, swift, and angry loomed behind him. The bones of the stranger's hand went grch as a bigger hand grabbed it. Before the man could react, a glass mug smashed into the back of his head, bouncing him off the brick wall and sending him sprawling. "'Scuse you, asswipe," the newcomer said conversationally.

"Sa—honey," Frisk reproved him, accepting a mug. "You promised not to make a mess."

"'m not makin' a mess, kitten. I'm cleanin' it up." Even in his disguise, Sans towered over most of the people in the street, especially the one moaning on the cobblestones. The human-shaped boss monster draped a long arm around Frisk's shoulders, glaring down. "Ya wanna fill me in on yer conversation, pal? Sounded pretty interestin'."

The man scrambled to his feet and hobbled off into the crowd. Sans watched him go, as if debating whether to follow, then checked the people around them. No one seemed fazed; the few paying attention were pleased to see justice served, and at least one man indicated Frisk and made congratulatory gestures at him.

Sans was more than content to stay like that, but Frisk elbowed his side, wiggling her shoulder. "Sorry," he muttered, removing his arm. "Just tryin' ta stay in character."

"It's fine. You were just pulling on me a little." The High Priestess discreetly adjusted her long black wig, one of many from her predecessor's collection. She took a sip of spiced cider, impressed that he hadn't spilled any. "This is fantastic! Thank you for standing in line. This isn't too much for you, is it?" She gestured at the crowds. "Do you want to go somewhere quiet for a bit?"

"'m doin' okay," he said, but he hadn't figured out how to lie yet with a human face: he kept twitching and wrinkling his nose at strange smells or touches, and every time he scratched his neck or ear, he visibly startled himself. "'s not like I couldn' feel anythin' at all before. This is just...more." The wind picked up, and his eye twitched again.

It would have been funny if she hadn't felt so guilty. "Here." Frisk took his free hand to guide him toward a side street, marveling at how different a human hand felt than a ten-foot skeleton's—smaller, of course, but rougher, and somehow a little colder. She felt his fingers tighten and just as quickly relax, trying not to squash her. She squeezed back, and had another pang of guilt as he twitched yet again. The poor thing must have felt so overwhelmed!

The alley was cold and dimly lit, but almost silent. She released him and wrapped both hands around her mug, examining the little spices floating in the amber liquid. "Have you ever tried cider before?" she asked over the rim of the glass.

"Nope." Sans took too deep a sniff and recoiled, then brought it up more cautiously. "I had some dried apple slices once, but nothin' like this." He took the tiniest sip, smacking his lips the way she'd specifically told him not to. "Huh. Not bad." Another, bigger sip. "This's pretty good. Ya sure I can't try one of the drink-drinks they had?"

"No alcohol, Sans. We don't need you getting drunk and taking us the wrong place by accident at the end of the night."

He made an eloquently disgruntled sound, and gulped down more cider.

Frisk leaned against the wall, shivering in the breeze. Sans moved to block the wind for her, and she murmured thanks as he hunched his shoulders. The collar of his overcoat was trimmed with white fur, his shirt a bright red; his borrowed face wasn't handsome, Frisk thought, but the rough features, light hair, and blue-gray eyes made an intense and interesting picture. She liked it.

"Man, that's good stuff," the boss monster remarked, tipping the last few drops out of the mug. He glanced at hers, still half full. "Ya gonna finish that? I don't wanna wait in line again."

This was a far cry from when he'd complained about her germs on that stupid fork, but he was being good – better than good – so Frisk handed him her mug, taking his empty one to the receptacle standing on the nearest street corner for that very purpose.

As she deposited the glass, a sound at the other end of the alley brought her up short. "What's up?" Sans asked at her shoulder.

"Uh..." Frisk listened, and felt her cheeks grow hot. "We should go. We should go back right now." She pointed to the brightly lit street behind them.

Sans wasn't paying attention. "What're they doin'?" To her mortification, he downed the rest of the cider, handed the glass to her, and started ambling toward the source of the noise.

"Sans!" The priestess grabbed his arm. "I said—"

They both froze as a small, motion-activated floodlight clicked on and fully answered his question. "Huh," he said distantly.

"Sorry!" Frisk half shouted at the couple, who...why were they still going?! She dropped the mug and yanked back to the street, wondering how anyone could be that drunk already!

When she risked a glance at Sans, he looked thoughtful. "So...what was that? How were they not freezin' their butts off? You'd think they'd at least find someplace they could sit down and keep their clo—"

"Yes, you'd think!" For the first time, she wished the wind was colder on her face. The priestess stepped over to the first booth she saw. "Excuse me, ma'am. Where is the ferryman?" she asked hurriedly.

"The ferryman?" The woman behind the counter looked up and frowned in thought. "I don't know that he's here yet, dear. If he is, you'll find him near the old well on the far side of the square."

"Thank you very much." Frisk retrieved a two-dinar piece from the pockets of the dress she'd been sure to wear because it had pockets, and set it on the counter. "This way, S—honey."

"The hell are you guys talkin' about?" Sans asked as they waded back into the street, Frisk hanging on to his arm and ducking against him as crowd physics required.

"Remember, I wanted my fortune told? On All Souls Night, you're supposed to bob for apples and use the peels to tell the future, so actual fortune-tellers like to set up here. For years, I've been hearing about a man who uses some sort of card deck and is never, ever wrong. He always shows up near the river, so everyone calls him the ferryman. The problem is that he's never here at consistent times. He also charges anywhere from two hundred to a few thousand per fortune."

Sans was gaining sufficient knowledge of human society to say, "Holy shit, that's a lot. Are ya seriously gonna waste that much cash on some random guy playin' with picture cards?"

"No, I've spent all my money," Frisk said loudly, glancing around in case someone was listening, and he got the hint. The festival was fairly safe, but anything could happen in a large crowd; she was more glad than ever to have Sans with her.

They battled their way forward, the boss monster going first to carve out a path and the priestess steering him with a hand on his arm or back. "Let's stop for a minute," she said, on tiptoe, as they paused to let someone to cross the street the wrong way. "See over there?" Down a nearby side street was an avenue full of tables set with white cloths, portraits, and tiny candles. "Those are all the altars for departed rulers and other public figures. Can we take a look?"

Sans waded them across and, when they were clear of the worst foot traffic, said to her, "Never seen one before. When we have a funeral, yer loved ones spread yer dust on somethin' that meant a lot t'you, 'n that's it. They don't need ta be reminded what ya looked like every single year after that."

Frisk shrugged as they turned a corner. "There's nothing wrong with rememberi—"

The words died as they faced the other side of the street. "Oh, damn," Sans said, surprised. "Look who it is, Fr—honeypie."

The priestess numbly followed him to join several other people around a large, opulent table, boasting golden candles, a lacy cloth, fresh flowers, and a huge portrait in a gilt frame. It showed a lovely woman standing on what looked like an opera stage and waving to the audience. Her white gown almost glowed in the stagelights, as did her crown of golden flowers; more flowers lay at her feet, as if thrown by the audience, matching the bouquet cradled in her arm. She was looking up, probably smiling at someone in the balcony.

A cold hand seemed to have closed around Frisk's throat. Why hadn't she realized this would be here? "Yes?" she croaked.

"Dunno if you heard about her when you were a kid, but her name's gotta be in yer history books." Sans was tapping on the brass plate under the portrait. "I'll be damned. They actually spelled it right." He traced the engraved letters by candlelight: CHARA DREEMURR. "You know the story?" Frisk shook her head blindly. "Seriously? Welp, she fell into the Underground as a kid, and the royals adopted her. She was basically our princess till she grew up an' went back t'the humans...I wanna say it was a little over twenty years ago. Then she came back with that last delegation as a goodwill ambassador, just in time ta get blown up. Poor Tori didn't stop cryin' fer weeks."

Frisk made a politely sympathetic noise and turned away. Sans leaned in to squint at the picture, poking the canvas the way people were not supposed to. "That's messed up. Ya know what this is? This's the way her last performance shoulda ended. That's the stage they set up for her, and that's what she was wearin' that day. It was right in the middle of her last song when the thing that was supposed t'do the lights expl—"

"Are you all right, miss?" someone asked nearby. To his horror, when Sans turned around, Frisk was sitting on the curb with her head between her knees. An older man and his wife were standing over her; the woman looked up as Sans zipped over. "Is she with you?" the latter inquired.

"Yeah. Hey, sweetheart. What's wrong? Ya feelin' sick?" Sans crouched to look into her face, but she didn't move.

The older woman clucked at him like a misbehaving horse. "Look at her shaking! Get her inside and warmed up, young man!"

"Okay, okay." At a loss, Sans stood up, and crouched again. "C'mon, hon, let's go. D'you need a piggyback ride?"

Frisk was quiet, but after a moment, he received a faint nod. The boss monster turned and knelt, and the older couple helped settle Frisk on his back. "Thanks," he said as they moved away, and set off in the direction they'd been heading before their detour. At least there were some nice humans, he mused. It was a better thought than wondering what was wrong with Frisk, or how weirdly easy it was to pet-name her.

He held on tight, but not too tight, as he rejoined the crowd. Frisk was too short to hold onto his neck without throttling him, so they'd tucked her arms under his for warmth and security. She was shivering, and he could feel her heart thundering like she'd just run a mile. Everything about her was as impossibly soft as he remembered from...was it really just this morning that she'd hugged him? It felt like a year ago.

Someone jostled them, pushing her leg into him. Sans instinctively turned and snarled, "Watch where yer goin'!"

The erstwhile skeleton hadn't meant to raise his voice so much, but he didn't regret it: the crowd hastily gave way as he stomped towards the nearest building. He'd kept such a tight rein on himself since they left the castle that as long as she was acting as though this was all normal, he found that he could, too; it was actually kind of fun. But now he found himself glaring around them, almost hoping someone else would bother her. He didn't know whether it was a normal body-guarding mindset or if he'd simply gone too long without killing something.

They entered a candy shop with displays of sugar skulls, candied apples, and bottled cider. Sans found a chair against the wall and set her down, making sure she could sit up. "Heya. You okay?" he asked as she raised her head.

"I'm...I'm fine." It was as lying a lie as he'd ever heard, but Frisk did look better. She rubbed her arms and glanced around. "I'm sorry about that. ...Can I please have a caramel apple?"

Sans would have given her the entire display case – the entire store – if she wanted. He still had some "allowance," as he called the portion of his salary she'd given him before they left, and procured two apples and a bottle of cheap cider for them. She tried a sip of the latter, didn't quite make a face, and tore a huge bite out of her apple instead. "Better?" he asked.

Frisk nodded blissfully. "I didn't think I was that hungry," she said around her mouthful. "We should get a turkey leg on our way through the square."

He had no objection to that, especially when he tried a nibble of caramel apple and got his teeth stuck. Frisk held in her laughter fairly well, and nobly volunteered to eat the rest for him.

She did seem better, so he allowed her to walk, ignoring the little whine in his SOUL that wanted her closer. The festival was in even fuller swing now, but he plowed his way through to a turkey leg stand and got one for them to pass back and forth as they walked. It tasted as good as it smelled, which was amazing.

Sans was on the verge of stopping to ask if she knew where they were going when she tugged at his sleeve. "There's the old well. See the river? Let's start there."

As it happened, they didn't need to start there. No sooner had they looked at the wharf than a streetlight switched on to reveal a heap of black robes smack in the middle of the street, seated behind an oddly carved table. Both the robes and the table turned in their direction as Frisk jumped and Sans held out a protective arm. "Tra la la," said the robes.

People behind them had noticed and were starting to surge forward, fumbling in their pockets. "The lady first," the fortune-teller ordered, stopping them in their tracks.

Feeling unusually self-conscious, Frisk stepped around Sans and stood in front of the table. She had a feeling that she didn't want to look too hard under that hood; its whole figure was disquieting. "I have two questions," she said. A glance behind them confirmed a growing, impatient press of people standing a few feet away, kept at bay by Sans' glare. "Er...can I ask you privately?"

"You can't." The otherworldly voice was very matter-of-fact. "More detail, more money." There was an impressive pause. "Tra la la," it added helpfully.

"I...see." Frisk dug into her pocket and flipped the lining inside out. "I saved all year for this," she said, in case someone saw that she had placed a thousand-dinar piece on a shadowed part of the table.

"Tra la no, you didn't. Ask."

The priestess cleared her throat. Fortune-telling was all in the phrasing, so she had to be very careful. "Why did the thing from my nightmares want me to hurt him?"

A tiny flash of blue under the hood. She expected to see cards or some other divination tool, but it merely said, "He does not belong here. The child has unfinished business with him, and you are its strongest connection." The figure seemed to look at the coin for a moment. "If you want to know more, don't ask me. Beware the man who speaks in hands—he won't charge you. Tra la la."

The people waiting behind them were unimpressed, and Frisk was lost, but Sans made an incoherent sound. She looked at him, but no explanation was forthcoming, just a strange expression.

Well, if there was a chance Sans could tell her something, she wasn't going to try to get more on that subject out of the strange fortune-teller. "Second question," she said, trying not to let her voice wobble. This was the big one, so she fished another coin out and slid it next to the first.

The robed head tilted, probably because she'd just put down another five thousand. "Ask."

She swallowed. "What will be the principal differences in my life should I choose to open it, versus leaving it alone?"

There was a hissing sound, as if the figure was breathing out, or in. "An excellent question, Your Eminence." Frisk winced as the crowd whispered among itself, but the voice from under the robes went on, "You're very lucky. Most changes in life result from a thousand tiny decisions snowballing into major events, and there is no telling which of them nudged you in what direction. But you, my lady, are at a crossroads. You have two distinct futures, depending on a single choice."

The people behind them were quiet now, listening in keen interest. Frisk was half-consciously holding her breath.

"If you throw the box away, your life will be much as you expect. You will have a kind, wealthy husband who will take an interest in your happiness and be a loving father to your four children." Frisk's eyes widened, but she didn't dare interrupt him. "Your current efforts will not bear fruit, but they will be baby steps towards your mutual goal, to be possibly realized by your descendants. Your life will be like that of many others, full of little triumphs and large regrets. You will have much, and you will die of old age, surrounded by caring in-laws and adoring grandchildren, able to look back on a life that was...adequate."

"Holy fuck," Sans muttered, and Frisk felt light-headed.

"Should you open the box..." The robes were silent for a long moment. "Tra la la."

Frisk could have killed him, or her, or it. But then:

"Should you open the box, my lady, your worst fears will be confirmed. You will regain more than you ever suspected you've lost. The pain of that sorrow and regret will be unbearable for a time, and they will not be yours alone. But...neither will the joy, or the love, or the power."

Another pause. Was that it?

"Tra la la. You will lose and gain one father, discard and gain one mother, and be richer for it. Your family will be innumerable, though you will bear only one child...who you will attempt to bring to see me at this very festival next year. I will not be here, and you will in fact never see me again, but your child's father will be unable to stop you from coming to check."

Frisk's mouth fell open as the crowd tittered behind them. "Next—"

"You will change the entire world, largely for the better, though you will have to work tirelessly to achieve your goal and maintain peace. You will not die an old woman, but you will have lived five times as much. Your triumphs will be great and your regrets...manageable." The figure sat back. "You may choose only one future. To attempt otherwise will grant you neither."

There was a deeply impressed silence. The crowd would probably have applauded if Sans hadn't slammed his hands on the table and demanded, "Who's the father gonna be?"

More silence. Then the crowd started snickering, then laughing, and then nearly rolling on the ground after the look Frisk gave him. It took Sans a moment to remember that they were posing as a couple, and that casting doubt on her potentially-soon-to-be child's parentage might not reflect well on either of them, and his expression made the people laugh even harder.

The robed figure didn't move, except to look at the coins sitting on the table, then at him. Sans had just enough presence of mind to fumble in his overcoat and randomly toss out two hundred. "There! Also, what happened to Kris? How's my brother doing? Was that lord guy telling the truth?!"

The robes rose and fell in a great sigh. "Don't kill anyone."

They waited, breathless. Sans gestured impatiently. "Yeah? And?"

"And..." The fortune-teller turned to the crowd. "Next, please."

[silvereddaye]

Here’s a preview of my upcoming fic, Godhood. A Greek God AU. 

Summary: Han Solo has entered Hades to find and return his lost love Qi'ra. However, shortly upon entering the land of the dead, he meets a pair of twins who offer to tell Han where Qi'ra resides . . . for a price. Han quickly realizes these two twins aren't normal citizens of the dead. They are something more. Something alive. They don't belong down in underworld, but up in the living world above. The two don't want to leave. Frustrated, Han takes Leia to the mortal realm to show her what it's really like not knowing she is the daughter of Darth Vader, god of Hades.

Chapter 1: 

Han landed with a hard thump. The ground was brittle and bit into his back, legs, and arms. He slowly lowered his head as his vision spun. The calls of the winged monsters rang loudly overheard. Despite the pain, Han couldn’t help but smile. He had done it. He had crossed the River Acheron without having to cross on Charon’s boat. Han patted the pouch that hung from his belt. He could feel the two coins still in there. 

Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. He looked behind him at the dark purple waters of the Acheron. The waves rose and fell and twisted and formed human shapes. They arms were reaching out of the waves. Their fingers falling apart into foam. They clawed and screamed. Their eyes wide. But no sounds were heard but the soft rush of the water hitting the rocky shore. Acheron was the river of pain, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that.

Han stood up and looked at the vast underground cavern. Crossing the Acheron meant he was now in the land of the dead, Hades. The cavern was dark and filled with sharp rock columns that disappeared into the darkness overhead. The ceiling wasn’t visible. Han sighed. He needed to hurry, so he started to walk along the shore. He eyed the waters uncomfortably. The dead who were unable to pay the ferryman were forever trapped in those waters. They were all too willing to drag anyone down into the depths should they venture too carelessly to the water’s edge. 

The silence grew except for the soft rush of waves on the rocky shores. The caws of winged monsters were dying out as they flew away. Han focused on the sound of the rocks crunching under his sandals. 

“Did you just ride a drexl over the river?” 

Han jumped. He went scurrying back, but stopped himself after a few short steps. He eyed the water. Hands formed the white foam of the soft waves. They were ready for the moment Han got too close. Han quickly stepped away and looked up. He froze and gaped. Sitting on a rock was a young man. A teenager from the looks of it. And he clearly wasn’t dead. 

In fact, he looked so painfully alive. More alive than Han had ever seen anyone. There was a golden glow about him. The youth had tanned skin and golden blond hair. His eyes were a bright blue like the sky. He was dressed in a white chiton tunic that was tied around his waist and leather sandals. A black stripe ran along his tunic and a red pattern above that. He carried no pouch or weapons. 

“I’ve never seen a mortal do that before,” the youth said. His voice was intoxicating. Melodious. Han wondered if he was a singer. “Why not just take the ferry?”

“I need to save the coin,” Han said. His own voice sounded rough in comparison. 

“Oh?” 

“I’m here to find Qi’ra. I need two coins for us both to go back,” Han explained. 

“Qi’ira? Your love?” The boy’s eyes sparkled as he asked. For a second Han was standing under the night sky. Thousands of stars lit up the sky. Then he was back just looking into the boy’s eyes. Han blinked and then blinked again trying to clear his head. Did this boy ever blink?

“Yeah,” Han said slowly. “I promised I’d come back for her. And . . . I meant it. Even if that means coming into Hades itself.” 

“How long ago did she come to Hades?” the boy asked. 

“What?” 

“How long ago? That will depend on where she is at in her journey.” 

“I uh . . .” 

Han paused as he looked at the youth. The youth had mentioned mortals. Was he not a mortal? The youth jumped off his rock and grabbed Han’s arm. It felt warm and soft yet strong. 

“Come,” he said and pulled Han away from the river. Up a rocky incline they went. The walls of the cavern slowly appearing out of the darkness. In the wall was a jagged opening. A slice within the rock. The boy pulled him into the tunnel. 

Then the youth started to run. His hold on Han was tight, so Han was forced to run with him. He tried to say something, but found his mouth felt thick. As if filled with thick honey. He was barely keeping his feet under him. His free arm waved wildly about. Any moment now Han would trip.

But soon, light grew ahead of them. Soon they came out of the tunnel into another large cavern. They were in a forest of tall trees. The trees were thin and tall with white bark and silver leaves. Short gray grass grew among the roots. 

“That way,” the youth waved to their right, “is the Asphodel Meadows. That is where ordinary souls go to reside. That way,” the youth waved to their left, “is the Mourning Fields where those who wasted their lives on unrequited love reside.”

“Hey, it wasn’t unrequited love,” Han barked defensively. 

The youth laughed. It sounded like bells. Like the ones they rang at the temples of the gods. “Good luck then,” he said. 

“Uh yeah. Thanks,” Han said. 

The youth nodded and saluted Han with two fingers. Then he turned and walked off into the trees. Han took a steadying breath and walked into the forest. It was quiet, but there was a soft sound almost like a rustling of leaves. Or whispers. 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He could feel eyes on him. He turned his head this way and that, but all he saw were the trees. Though a few times he swore the knots in the tree bark looked like faces and their branches like arms. He tried to look down at his feet as much possible. 

The trees were neverending. His feet were tiring. He debated on resting, but decided that it would be for the best to keep pushing on. Eventually the trees thinned, and he found himself at the edge of another river. On the other shore stretched a grassy plain that rolled gently with soft hills. Pale green and white grass swayed gently, but Han saw no one in them. Perhaps the dead were further in. 

He walked to the pebbled shore. He glanced for a crossing or a bridge or even a boat. Would a boat require payment? He stared at the waters. Unlike the Acheron, these waters were smooth. Almost as smooth as glass. The water seemed to glow a light blue. Would it be safe to swim in? Han walked up to the water’s edge. He could feel the chill of the water on his toes. 

“That is the Lethe,” came a feminine voice. 

Han was startled, but didn’t jump. He turned to see a young woman standing nearby. At once, she reminded him of the youth he met before. She was dressed similarly in a short white chiton tunic. Her hair was twisted back into buns on either side of her head. Her eyes and hair were warm brown. 

And she glowed. Warm and golden. Her chest rose and fell. She was alive. 

“Luke was right,” she said as she walked over to Han. Her voice was silky and smooth. He closed his eyes for a second to enjoy it. “There is a mortal here. Is it true? Did you ride a drexl over the Acheron instead of paying Charon?” 

“Uh . . . Luke?” 

“My brother, whom you supposedly met.” 

“The blond haired kid?” 

She nodded. Her large doe eyes looked at him unblinking. 

“Then yeah, I met him.” 

“So, you’re looking for your lady love?” the girl asked. 

“Yes.”

“What’s her name?” 

“Qi’ra.” 

“Qi’ra. Qi’ra,” the girl said as she rolled the name around her tongue. She looked around in thought. “Hmmm. And you are?”

“I am Han. Han Solo.” 

“I am Leia,” she said. “And that is the Lethe River. It is the river of forgetfulness. Drink its waters and you shall forget everything you have ever known. The shades of the dead are required to drink its waters so they forget their earthly life.”

There was a sharp pain in Han’s heart. So even if he found Qi’ra, she wouldn’t remember him? 

“She may not be there yet,” Leia said picking up on his woe.

“How am I going to know? How am I going to find her?” 

“I could help,” Leia said with a smile. 

“You would?” 

“Not for free of course. First rule of Hades, nothing here is without a price.”

Han’s hand went down to his pouch which held his coins. “I can’t part with these. I need them to go back.” 

“Oh I don’t want coins,” Leia said. “Now let me think.” 

She kicked a pebble. It bounced into the river. It didn’t make a sound nor splash. It was simply gone into the waters. Only a small ripple to mark its passage. 

“Leia! Leia!” a voice in the trees called. A voice like bells. A voice like laughter. 

Leia sighed and rolled her eyes. The young man from earlier ran out from the trees. He trotted over to them. 

“Leia,” the youth said. Hadn’t Leia called him Luke? “It’s almost time for the feast. We must go prepare. You know how father is.” 

Leia’s face lit up and she turned to Han. “That’s it! You want to find your dear Qi’ra? Very well. Attend the feast and dance with me.”

“What?” Han said. 

She smiled. “I will see you there!” she said with a laugh that reminded him like summer rain and ran into the trees. 

“Wait? What feast? Where is it?” Han called after her. He turned to her brother. The youth only laughed. He walked up to Han and patted him on the shoulder. 

“Come now,” he said. “Can’t go to Lord Vader’s feast dressed like this.” 

“Wait? Lord Vader?” Han exclaimed. 

Luke grabbed Han’s arm and pulled him back into the trees. They passed through the trees in a matter of steps, though Han had traveled through them for a great length. They entered a tunnel and wove their way through various passage ways. Eventually, the passages started to lighten with a red light. They exited the tunnel into a much larger tunnel. Raging down the center was a river of molten lava. 

“The Phlegethon,” Luke said casually with a wave of his hand. “The river of fire. If you follow it upstream to its depths, you shall reach the pits of Tartarus.” 

A thick knot formed in Han’s throat as he thought of the prison for sinners. Luke was moving on and Han quickly followed him. A narrow stone bridge crossed the raging river. Luke walked across it without care, but Han was much more careful. He could feel the heat. Sweat dripped down his face and back. He tried to focus on the bridge. On his steps and not on the water that looked like flames. 

Upon reaching the other side, Han sighed in relief. He wiped his face with his arm. The further away from the river he got, the colder it seemed to get. Had it always been this cold? He also noticed a change in the rocks. They seemed much more smooth. Carved. In fact he started to see carved columns and decorative motifs. 

Soon, they were no longer walking through a tunnel, but a hallway with towering ribbed stone columns on either side. The hall extended into a large room. Rows and rows of columns stretched into the dark, except for a hint of  distance glitter. The first piece of the glitter they came across was a gold coin. Then Han noticed a second and a third. Then a pile. 

As they moved on, the gold coin piles grew and grew. Soon the whole floor beside the path they walked on was nothing but gold. Then it became more than just coins. Statues. Jewelry. Gems. Slabs of swirling marble. There was a large red crystal that towered taller than Han. The place was piled with treasure. Even in the distance, between the columns, the treasure grew and grew into rolling hills. 

“What is this?” Han whispered. 

“The Treasury of Hades,” Luke said. His voice light. Unnerved. 

“I thought . . . I mean I’ve heard tales but . . .” 

“Didn’t think it existed?” Luke said with a laugh. 

Lord Vader was the god the underworld, and as such the god of the riches it held. Han himself had kneeled and banged his head and hands against the floor in hopes Lord Vader would hear his prayers and grant him riches. Luke stopped by a pile and dug through the treasure. He picked up a necklace and then casually tossed it aside. 

“What are you doing?” Han hissed quietly. 

“You can’t go to Lord Vader’s feast dressed like that,” Luke said. 

“I can’t go wearing stolen treasure.”

“It’s not stolen,” Luke said. “We’re merely borrowing it. Just be sure to return it before the keepers do their count.” 

Luke said it so nonchalantly. Without a care.

“The keepers?” Han asked. 

Luke pointed up and Han followed the finger up to the ceiling. It was dark and Han couldn’t make out anything. But he kept looking and he was sure there was something . . . moving . . . up there. Something slithering. Something with scales that glittered just like the treasure. 

“I think this will do,” Luke said as he held an armful of treasure. “Still more work to do. Let’s go.”

Luke led Han back out of the treasury, over the raging fiery river, and back into the tunnels. As they continued through the underground maze, Han realized he had no idea how to find his way back. How would he return the treasure? Find Qi’ra? Even find his way back to the Acheron? 

Noise started to echo in the tunnels. Loud squealing and grunting. It wasn’t long before Han started to smell a foul stench. He plugged his nose, but Luke carried on in his normal carefree way. The stench and the sounds grew worse. They exited a tunnel onto a raise pathway. Below them stretched animal pens. Inside were hundreds of squealing pig-like animals. They were huge and hairy with four tusks. They all rolled around in white stinky mud. 

Luke walked down the path until they came to an empty pen. He placed the treasure on the ground. 

“Come here,” he said. Han walked over and wondered what was next. He wasn’t expecting Luke to grab his arm and throw him into the white stinky mud. He was surprised at how easily Luke had done it. By the gods, the kid was strong! 

At once, Han was flailing in the sticky mud. He was soon covered in the stinky mess. 

“What? What was that for?” he shouted. 

“You smell,” Luke said with a smile. 

“I do now!” 

“No. You smell like a mortal. Like someone living. I don’t think you realize my sister’s request. She’s asking you to go to the feast of Lord Vader, the ruler of Hades. All sorts of beings will be attending as guests. None of them mortal. You have to go into the feast and dance with my sister without being found out your a living mortal.” 

Han stilled. He sank into the mud some more. “What happens if they do find out?” 

“It’s best not to dwell on that. Come on, get out.” 

It took a few moments of struggling, but eventually Han pulled himself out of the mud. Luke collected the treasure, and the two returned back to the tunnels. This time Luke only led him a short distance to a wooden door. They opened it to find a rather normal looking room. A small fire was in a fireplace. A wooden bed was shoved into one corner. A small table with two chairs in another. Clay cups and bowls sat on it. 

Luke dropped the treasure on a table and at once started to dig in a trunk in the corner. He pulled out a large black fur coat. He draped it over Han’s shoulders. Then he returned to the trunk and pulled out a large skull. It looked like it belonged to the pigs. It was thin with four tusks. He placed it on Han’s head as if it were a helm. 

Then he took the jewelry and started to place it on Han. There was a large gold necklace with several chains. A huge red ruby hung from the center. There were a few bangle bracelets and two large rings. Luke laced a few thin strands of gold along the tusks. Then he picked up a piece of coal that had fallen out of the fire. He used it to mark all over Han’s face. 

“I guess that will do,” Luke said as he tossed the coal back into the fire. 

Luke opened the door and Han followed. They exited the room into a street . . . Han looked around. They were on a road. A paved road with stone buildings. Not a tunnel with squealing and stinky pigs nearby. The road led up a large sharp hill. Houses and buildings were everywhere. Yellow and blue fire lit up windows and large braziers lit up the streets.

It was a city. A whole city underground. It wasn’t a simple village. It was possible it was bigger than Han’s citystate of Corellia. Han had to tilt his head back to see all the up the hill. At the top was a large building. No, a palace. 

“That’s the palace of Lord Vader,” Luke waved at it. “That is where the feast is taking place. Just follow the roads up.” 

“Wait what about-” Han said, but already Luke had ducked back through the door and shut it. 

[adventureswithdnd]

Campaign Prequel Part 3

I ran two more solo sessions with Leona, so I’ll try to summarize them.

After falling asleep in their room at the Solus Inn in Milltown, Leona and Akari awake early the next morning. They get breakfast downstairs, where they find out that the girl who was serving them was Serena. Leona informs her that they had run into a very drunk Trig the previous evening. “Oh, not again. Did you at least help him get home?”

“Uh, no,” Leona begins, “but he did ask us to tell you that he thinks you’re pretty.”

After this statement, Leona and Akari quickly finish eating and run out the door. On their way toward the ferry, they pass by Trig, still passed out in the middle of a dirt road. Leona bends down and shakes him awake. “Hey, uh, I told Serena that you love her. Can I have the map now?” Trig, hung over and confused, takes a few moments to sit up. Leona explains the situation and again asks for the map. 

“Oh, to Copper Woods? Yeah, uh, okay.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out an old piece of paper that’s rolled up. “Yeah, you have fun with that.”

“Great, thanks, bye!” Leona and Akari dash off to find the ferry. They notice some signs posted along the road that say, “Ferry - Free passage to citizens of Solara.” The signs have arrows pointing towards the small dock on the riverbank, and Leona and Akari easily find the ferry. 

They greet the ferryman, a slightly heavyset man who dryly tells them to get in the boat, which is narrow and could fit no more than 10 passengers comfortably. His gaze is unbroken from a sundial that stands beside him. He watches for several minutes, motionless and silent, then suddenly turns away from the sundial. “Alright, let’s get on with it.” 

On the boat, Leona spends the first hour in prayer to Sarenrae. As she finishes, someone taps her on the shoulder. Turning around, Leona sees a young girl who excitedly asks her if she is a Solari. When Leona says yes, the girl exclaims, “That is so cool! I want to be a Solari too.” 

Leona laughs. “How old are you?”

“Six. This many.” After a moment, she holds up the correct number of fingers.

“Only six more years to go before you’ll start your training, then.”

“Do not encourage her.” The huffy voice comes from an older girl seated beside the younger one. They appear to be sisters. “Malkyn and I are of nobility. We have no reason to become warriors. In fact, doing so would be ridiculous, a disgrace to our family!”

“If you’re nobility,” Leona interrupts, “why are you on a free ferry to Meridia?”

The older girl’s face turns bright red and she shuts up. Malkyn waves silently to Leona, smiling a little at her sister’s irritation.

Ahead of Leona, a female elf sits, proudly fanning herself with a wooden fan.

“Miss? Aren’t you going to get sunburnt?” Leona asks her. The elf looks over her shoulder, huffs, and turns back around. “Your ears,” Leona insists. “Won’t they get sunburnt, sticking out from your hair like that?”

The elf stops fanning herself and turns around. “That is nonsense,” she snaps haughtily, but she brushes some of her hair to cover her ears anyway.

Later in the day, Leona and Akari hear someone behind them walking up the boat. “Excuse me.” A figure asks to sneak by them, and Leona and Akari move apart on their seat to let the other passenger step between them. It’s a male elf, tall, with a bow and quiver strapped to his back. He smiles at the two of them. “My name is Variel. I wanted to introduce myself, since you both seem to be adventurers such as myself.”

As they exchange names and pleasantries, Leona notices Variel’s quiver has a cap on the top, and she gathers that it has yet to be used. After some time, Variel returns to his seat.

Just before they dock for the evening, Leona glances down the river and spots-- no, surely it’s a trick of the light-- and island with people who, oddly enough, appear to be blue. Once the boat is pulled onto shore and she has managed to set up a tent (provided by the ferryman), she tells Akari she’ll return shortly. 

Leona walks calmly down the riverbank until she’s close enough to the island to see it more clearly. She notices something is off about the island, but she can’t quite place it. On the island, she sees two tall blue humanoid figures, both armed. They see her, exchange brief whispers, and one dives into the water to speak with her.

Walking up on the shore, Leona sees that this person, whatever they are, has bright blue skin and sleek, darker blue hair. They ask her if she possesses any cloth or metal she would be willing to trade. When she explains that she does not, the creature grumbles for a moment before inviting her to swim back to the island. Leona, however, rejects the invitation. “I just came to see who was on the island. I’m not actually interested in seeing it. Thanks.” The creature nods curtly and dives back into the water, joining his companion on the island in seconds.

As Leona starts walking back toward camp, she catches a flash of blue in the reeds beside her. She grabs her holy symbol around her neck and casts a quick spell to prepare for combat.

“Whoa.” A small blue child steps from the tall grass, eyes fixed to Leona’s glowing necklace. “How did you do that?”

Leona softens a bit at the sight of the child. She spends a few moments explaining what spell she cast (Virtue). She casts it again, this time on the child, who gasps. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

Leona explains that unfortunately, she can’t, since her spell-casting has taken years of training. The child, slightly disappointed, then asks Leona for a favor. “You’re human, right? So, you can’t swim that well? Would you mind racing me? I’m the slowest swimmer out of all my friends and if I could beat somebody... Maybe they wouldn’t give me such a bad time.”

After a bit of debate, Leona accepts the challenge and takes off all her gear. They count off and dive into the water together, and the child easily passes Leona, making it across the river and back before Leona even reaches the other side. When Leona joins him on the river bank again, he thanks her for racing him.

“See,” Leona jokes, “you’re not such a bad swimmer. And everyone will believe that you could beat a human.”

The child laughs. As thanks, he offers her a gift, a pouch of shells, and warns her not to get them wet. Leona thanks him and asks for his name. “Brom,” he tells her. 

“Brom-- that’s a good name,” she says. “Take care.”

The two part ways as Leona walks back to camp. When she gets there, she notices that a fire has been started, and Akari and Variel are sitting around it. Variel is obviously flirting with Akari, who looks visibly uncomfortable.

Leona sits down and asks the two of them if they know any folk songs to sing. Suddenly, from one of the tents, they hear a voice shout, “Songs? I have plenty of songs.” Berinon, the ferryman, stumbles out of his tent, a lute in hand. He seats himself by the fire and starts strumming a lovely tune. His singing, however, is less than lovely. Leona convinces Akari to join her in singing, too, so they can drown out Berinon’s out-of-key yelling. At one point, the female elf leans out of her tent, shouting at them all to keep it down. The group around the campfire laugh and keep singing into the night until, one by one, they go to sleep.

The next morning, the ferryman wakes up early and orders everyone to hurry into the boat. They need to get on their way if they want to make it to Meridia by sundown. 

In the ferry, Leona says her morning prayers again. She also speaks to her deity, Sarenrae, to find out more information about the strange blue people she met last night. The goddess tells her that they are Undine, humans (outsiders, really) that can trace their ancestry to the Plane of Water.

The day passes, more boring than the last, as the ferry winds its way west along the Solusridi. In the afternoon, the boat and its passengers find themselves descending into a swamp. Berinon has to pilot the boat between trees and occasionally shove the boat off of fallen trees that block the way. In the muggy afternoon, Leona and most other passengers are dozing off. 

Suddenly, the boat rocks. From behind her, Leona hears Variel’s voice call out a warning: “Am--” He is interrupted by a dart to the neck, and he tumbles into the river.

Looking around, suddenly alert, Leona notices a couple of frog-like humanoids, each in separate trees. She locks eyes with one of them, and it slowly lowers the pipe it had just used to shoot Variel. Near the front of the boat, in another tree, sits another of these creatures. 

Leona, thinking quickly, directs a spell at the monster ahead of her, ordering it to attack its own ally. The frog leaps out of its tree and swims towards its companion before climbing the tree and stabbing the other frog, rather suddenly. Confused, they fight one another for a few moments until Leona casts her next spell. The entire tree catches on fire, and so do the creatures standing in it. They jump down from the tree and climb into the boat. The frog with a sword targets Leona, while the other jumps on Berinon.

Variel climbs back into the boat in that moment. “Don’t worry!” he exclaims, pulling out his bow. “I’m here to help.” But as he reaches for an arrow, Variel realizes that all of his arrows emptied into the river when he fell in. He pulls out a dagger instead and throws it at the frog. The dagger sticks into the creature’s shoulder. Leona draws her scimitar and slays the monster, which falls backwards into the water. 

The other creature, which has been clambering over Berinon, panics and leaps away, hiding behind a nearby tree. Leona casts a final spell (firebolt) and the entire tree and frog are burnt to a miserable crisp.

After the fight, the ferry and its passengers continue, slightly shaken, onward to Meridia. As dusk settles on the Solusridi, they see buildings rising in the distance: the city’s Temple and the palace of the Queen of Solara.

[scottishhellhound]

Writober Day 1

I’m a couple days behind because work and sleep got in the way. 12 hour shifts are not conducive to writing schedules, nor is having to get enough sleep between shifts, but! I digress.

I’m attempting the writober challenge set up by @writerofwriting to try and get back into the swing of things, so I can prep for Nano this year.  These prompts will mostly feature my original characters from my in progress novel series that I’ve been writing for the last few years. 

I am very rusty and my grammar is atrocious, but enjoy anyway, haha.

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse/rape; extreme violence, mild swearing, death.

#Writober Day 1: Prompt: Burn

Orange light danced across the faces of the three men seated around the roaring fire, logs snapped from the heat and flames crackled.  They sat in a loose circle and listened as one man played a set of reed pipes, a slow, soft song to help them fall into the land of dreams.  Another, much older than the other two, lay stretched out on his bag on top of his sleep roll, and the third sat across from both of them, sharpening a large, iron hunting dagger, the hiss it made as it rubbed against the whetstone an eerie counterpoint to the soft tones of the reed pipes.

The man who was stretched out picked up a rock that was next to his hand and threw it at the man playing the pipes, with a disgusted snarl.  "Play something that's less depressing for Zeus' sake."

The musician rubbed at the spot where the rock had bounced off his forehead, glaring at the older man.  "You know, Father, you could have just asked me to play something else.  There was no need for violence."

"Still your wagging tongue Theron, and play something less depressing, or just be silent.  I do not care which, so long as I cannot hear the sound of your voice." He turned away from his son and towards the third member of the hunting party, Aktaion, the Prince of Thrace.  "Heed my advice Aktaion, never have children, they will cause you nothing but grief and hardship, and impose upon your good will."

Aktaion continued to sharpen his dagger, only shifting his eyes slightly to look over at Demos, to show the man that he was listening.

"I regretted having all three of my children, none more so however, than Melantha.  At least Theron and Xander, Hades have mercy on his soul, were useful," Demos didn't notice the tightening of Aktaion's hand around his dagger and whetstone, or the narrowing of his eyes as he continued to rant about the uselessness of his one and only daughter.  "Girl could barely cook, burned water seven times out of ten, was squeamish over skinning or dressing game, and clumsy as a day old duck.  I'm surprised I let her live for as long as I have, I have no idea how many times I wanted to put that child out of my misery, she was good for nothing, other than something pretty to look at."

Aktaion had to visibly restrain himself from leaping across the fire and attacking his new Father-in-law, who again didn't notice the growing rage of the young Prince across from him.  All thoughts of just asking them to be quiet and calling it a night went the way of his enemies, however, when Theron decided to make his already unwanted opinion known.  "Along with being beautiful, my dear sister also made an excellent bed warmer."

Demos chuckled lecherously, "That she did son.  I'm sure the young Prince will find that out for himself soon though, if he hasn't already."

Aktaion saw red, and so did Demos, as the hand that held the dagger snapped out like a striking snake, beheading his only remaining son.  Demos could only stare in horror as the head of Theron fell forward off his neck and hit the ground with a sickening thud.  Blood spurted out of the now headless body, spraying every which way as the body wavered before finally falling towards the one who had ended the young nobleman's life.  Blood spattered across Aktaion's face and chest, adding to the demonic figure the Prince made, teal eyes glowing a sickly red from the flames, teeth bared, chest heaving as he tried to control and channel his rage.

"Murderer!  How dare you kill my son!  I'll see you hanged for this,"

"SCILENCE!" Demos fell silent though his mouth remained open for a few seconds longer, as if he still wanted to rant at his Prince.  "How dare I?  How dare I!  You, someone who has just admitted to raping your daughter, your own flesh and blood, ask me a question like that."  Aktaion stalked, a lion circling already wounded prey looking for just the right spot to land the killing blow.  "How dare I indeed.  How dare I suffer to let you live a moment longer on this Earth.  There's a special place in Tartarus for child abusers and rapists, I hope you enjoy eternity there.  Send my greetings to the Ferryman when you meet."

Aktaion grabbed the front of Demos Chiton and hauled the elder man off the ground, plunging his dagger into his chest, through the area just left of his heart and out his back.  He twisted the blade once, twice, before wrenching it out with a roar of pure hate.  Blood rushed out of the wound covering both men in the noble's not so noble blood.  He let the man drop, a disgusted look on his face, though the look was not because he was covered in blood.  He reached over grabbed Theron's body's ankle and dragged it over to where his father now lay dying, the old man gasping for breath.

As Aktaion turned to walk over to their supplies he heard Demos make a feeble, but still audible cry for help.  He frowned and crouched down in front of his soon to be former Father-in-Law; he titled his head regarding the dying man, watching blood bubble at the corners of his mouth.  He wrapped one large hand around the elder mans necked and applied as much force as he could, and continued until he heard a satisfying crunch, the sound of the mans trachea collapsing, a smile on his face.

Satisfied that he would no longer be interrupted he made his way over to the packs and riffled through them until he found the lantern oil that his Mother, Cassiopeia, had insisted he pack.  He returned to the dead and dying men and emptied the contents of the jar over them, ignoring the pitiful and pleading look Demos was giving him.  He smashed the jar against the ground next to Demos' head, pieces of the shattered jar bit into the man's skin.  One landed next to his eye, cutting it, and the man instinctively clenched them shut to avoid them being damaged.  Seeing the man's eyes shut gave Aktaion an idea; he walked back over to his pack and retrieved a much smaller knife than his dagger.

Once he returned to the slowly dying man's side he knelt down next to him, one knee on the ground the other on his head, holding it in place.  He then proceeded to cut off Demos' eyelids, ignoring his muted screams.  With one hand clenched in the old man’s white hair.  He worked slowly and diligently, being careful not to cause damage to his Father-in-Law's eyes, he wanted the old man to see the punishment he was being dealt.  Once that was done he plunged his small dagger into the noble's spine, severing the spine at mid back, making it so that he could no longer move, and therefore had no chance of escaping Aktaion's special form of retribution, which he was exacting on his absent wife's behalf.  Satisfied that Demos could not escape his fate, he moved the head of the noble's son so that Father and Son were looking into each others eyes.  He walked back over to their campfire, which still roared cheerily, heat washing over his body drying the blood to his chest and face.

"I want you to be able to look into your son's eyes so you can watch as you burn, and watch him burn.  So that you may see all that you should have loved but didn't, go up in flames.  I would preferred to have had you able to hear yourself scream as you burned, but that might draw people's attention before the fire can do its work.  I wouldn't want to deprive Hades of more subjects.  Enjoy eternal damnation."

He dropped the burning torch onto the body of Theron and watched for a few moments as the body burned, helped along by oil soaked clothing.  Once he noticed Demos start to silently scream in agony he smiled demonically and shouldered his pack.  He didn't look back as he faded into the wilds that surrounded his former campsite, flames dancing happily behind him as they burned up this new and fleshy fuel.

[avalindin]

To Hell and back

Loki fic

Chapter 4: Plain and simple anger

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Previous Chapters: 1 2 3

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Her body arched as far back as her bones would allow. Her lungs filled with cold, fresh, putrid air as she gasped for breath. She slumped to the rough dirt underneath her with a grunt.

“The hell?”

She looked up, unable to understand the changed settings around her. Imogen stood as a small fragment inside a cave with walls high enough for the ceilings to disappear into darkness. Torches lined the walls in every direction. In front of her was a small pier with a long rowboat. She could spot a hooded figure but she could sense that it didn’t belong to the deep voice that helped her.

It held up its small hand and held it out to the boat. Sharp howls made her jump as she started to the boat. It wasn’t until she was next to it that she saw Nalek, Roysce, and August, all slumped and in a daze.

“Gus!”

The hand of the hooded figure stopped her.

“Payment.”

“Are you... Look at me, I don’t fucking have anything!!”

The hooded figure sounded as if he sighed and wrapped his hand around her neck.

“Payment.”

Imogen held on to his hand as she gapsed for breath. Her feet kicked back and forth to try and get some air for herself but it was of no help.

“Please,” she choked.

“Imogen!”

Her eyes were about to see Loki take a single step before he was stopped in his tracks by something unseen. The figure turned its’ attention back to her. He raised his hand up to eye level and snapped his fingers. Imogen dropped from his grip with the shattered bits of the golden collar to rain around her. She coughed herself silly and pushed herself up to her knees in fury.

“You could have just said give me the collar instead of choking me out!”

She rose to her feet and swung her arm forward. She wasn’t ready for the growl that dropped from her mouth or to injure the figure with the growing dark talons that had grown from where her nails were. Loki looked to Imogen as she shook in fear of her change.

She tucked her hand under her arm to not dwell on whatever she was. Loki kept his attention to her long after his own collar was broken and the pieces left where they fell.

The growls of Hela’s creatures grew closer as the figure stepped onto the boat. They both followed behind and sat on seperate ends of the boat. In the distance, the torches extinguished one by one, filling Imogen with fear as she took her brother’s hand.

“Don’t be scared. Everything will be alright. Hot Fuss.”

The figure raised his hands and moved in a fluid motion to make the boat move. August fell forward as Imogen caught him and rocked him with help of the boat.

“Come on. We didn’t get this far just to die on a Disney Criuse.”

Hela rounded the corner, riding on the back of her endless sea of creatures. She snarled, taking her time to guess which one she was going to skin first. The ferryman would suffer the most for sending her in the wrong direction. Probably to the suggestion of her pathetic husband’s powerful brother. She knew beneficantly married the wrong one.

The boat was so close as the first of her creatures made the peir and dove into the river for them. She stopped her parade once she heard the shrieking howls of her creatures as they slowly evaporated through the surface of the water. She scaled the rickety wooden pier and huffed in defeat. Again.

She was not used to the feeling of failure.

“Bastards!”

Imogen jumped at the scream of woman that stopped chasing them.

“What the hell does she want with us?”

“All that matters is that we put as much distance between ourselves and her.”

Loki looked back as the boat began to turn the bend. He caught the eye of the anrgy woman with dark hair. Her rage was familiar. He turned back and looked up to the void glares of the other men.

“What do you think happened to them?”

“I had to subdue them for the remainder of the ride.”

The figure reached up for the edge of its hood and pulled the dark fabric back to let a rolling wave of coiling and braided blond hair fall to its’ waist.

“Well,” sighed the figure as its’ voice grew maturely feminine.

Imogen could see the shock and disbelief in Loki’s eyes. The woman in the dark robes looked over the side to see her face in the black glowing river.

“Mother?”

“I’ve never been a woman before.”

“Before?”

“Yes, child. When I ferry, I can take the form of one taken to make the journey eased a bit.”

Loki didn’t need a memory to remember the devistation when Frigga was slain by the Dark Elves.

“Can you tell us what happened before we got here?”

“My master warned me of the harlot to step through the portal. She is a danger of sorts but no matter how hard she tries, she cannot kill him.”

“The woman that’s been chasing us?”

“Indeed. Her name is Hela. The firstborn daughter of Odin.”

A flash blinded his eyes as he could recall the events leading up to Ragnarok. He remembered everything, even the vengful glare of his entitled sister.

“Loki!”

The woman held up a hand up to Imogen to stop her.

“Do not interferre with him. He will be fine.”

His visions cleared. He straightened himself and for once, refused to meet the gaze of Imogen. She kept her own mouth shut as her eyes roamed the open caves around her. Her hand stayed tightly wrapped to August’s. She looked down to the water and could see the small ripples of light floating by. Few took shape, making her realize where they were.

“This is the river Styx.”

“Yes.”

“So you would be Charon.”

“Intuitive.”

“That’s why you took the collars.”

“Why,” asked Loki, ready to ease his way back into a conversation.

“That’s what we’re taught in school. The ferryman gets gold so that we can pass on the river.”

“Why not swim?”

“Because it’s not like the Mississippi. You go into the river and you die. Besides, I don’t know how to swim.”

“Actually, the river would age you within seconds. The water would be stolen from your skin. Your bones would break from the preesure. In the blink of an eye, you would wither and cease to exist. Any bit of living human would turn these souls wild.”

“Would it hurt?”

Imogen didn’t know why she would ask.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been in and no one has been that foolish.”

“Why can’t you swim?”

She looked over August’s shoulder to Loki.

“Because I just can’t. It’s complicated and if it’s all the same, I don’t feel like talking.”

“Fine. Ferryman, why were they subdued?”

“It was only minutes after Hela left that they appeared. So many colors fired from them. It was a raging fit to see them attack each other. I could not stand for such a thing so I put them in a trance. They should return to normal once the journey is complete.”

“Yeah, then they’ll start ripping each other’s throats out.”

“Someone has to know what happened. I don’t trust Roysce.”

“Nalek has some flaws as well.”

The shadow’s words filled her ears and it was every man for themselves.

“There is a traitor among you.”

It was survival now and she had to push her unknown feelings for Loki aside.

“Trust no one.”

“I want to get August off the boat first. He’s never lied to me but if something should happen, I want to be the one to deal with him.”

In the distance, she could see the river take another bend. The ceiling became visible as it narrowed down into a series of tunnels. Something wet touched her bare foot, alarming her. Her eyes everted down thinking there was a hole in the boat but she saw blood coated on the side of her foot. She followed the trail up past August to a pool resting at Roysce’s foot.

Loki caught on to her worry and looked to Roysce and his pale skinned body as it rocked form side fo side.

“Loki!”

“Remove his tunic!”

Loki steadied himself and moved as quickly as he could to Roysce. In the light of the dim torches, Loki could find the start of his wound and worked to make the bleeding stop. He’d forgotten about the shadows deal about his powers.

“I can restore your power and your memories, your highness.”

“Why couldn’t I use them?”

“Because you forgot the person you were. She didn’t teach you to cast with your head. You cast with your heart.”

In the prescense of such an omnious being, he felt small. Though Imogen had placed him aside to focus on the road ahead, he felt... human.

“How can I focus when my every sense is clouded?”

“You feel connected with the woman? That your aching heart is yours to lay as tribute at her feet. How sentimental for the bastard tyrant.”

“What?”

He wasn’t ready for the momentary fit of the shadow. It’s hand shot up and wrapped tightly around Loki’s neck as he fought to breathe. It only made the fingers tighten more. He could feel his face turn red as he tried to pry them away but the cold breath at his ear made him petrify.

“Nothing you do will change the past. You gave many souls that did not belong here. I can hear them screaming even now. Sooner or later, she will see the monster that you truely are.”

The shadow raised a nail and pressed it into Loki’s forehead. The long nail pierced his flesh and the further it went, the faster his body turned limp and the dreaded instances of the life he forgot. The shadow let go just enough to whisper in his ear one more time.

“Good luck winning her favor when she finds out the truth...”

He used his fear and anger to rip Roysce’s tunic in two and tie it tightly above his wound.

“We’ll get him off the boat first before he bleeds out. One of us has to know how to heal him.”

Charon was silent and stepped away from the blood as he used his powers to hurry and get his passangers off his damn boat.

“Do not let him bleed...”

“Loki, get him! I’ve got his legs.”

Imogen didn’t wait for the boat to reach shore as she pulled Roysce and Loki along to the edge. Loki was first off onto the pier with a steady hold to his companion. Imogen wasn’t so lucky. She took a single step slipped from the blood under her foot. Roysce’s leg and hers hit the side of the boat with a single drop of his blood to fall into the river.

Imogen could feel the boat rock wildly underneath her as she kept her hold on Roysce. The river blinded them as the brilliance started from the spot Roysce’s blood fell and spread out in every direction. Imogen tried to find her footing but was stunned to see herself float above the boat and the height of the pier but she wasn’t the only one.

Eaach of the group was lifted by Charon’s glowing hand as his feminine face twisted with anger.

“I told you not to let him bleed. Now, she can cross over the river. Get off my damn boat.”

Once his hand sealed into a fist, everyone was throw from the boat and into the side of the dark walls. Imogne tumbled to the ground on top of Roysce as Loki rushed to them.

“Move!”

He cupped his glowing hand to Roysce’s leg and used a spell to heal him before he could bleed out. Imogen reached to check him but was stopped by Loki.

“Don’t touch him. He is dangerous and we need to leave him here.”

“No one’s getting left behind. What’s the matter with you?”

Charon ignored the group and hurried to move his boat from shore.

“Oh, dear,” he sighed aloofly as his form began to disappear, “he will not be pleased to hear about this.”

Hela sat on the edge of the shore and tried to calculate how to cross the water. In the distance, her eye caught sight of the river as his darkness turned to light. A grin appeared on the corner of her mouth.

“To err is human,” she giggled as she drew her sword and stepped onto the surface of the glowing waves as it reached the shore.

Imogen jerked her arm away from Loki, not understanding why he was acting the way he was. The groans behind them made Loki shoot to his feet.

“We need to collect Nalek and August now. Tend to your brother.”

Imogen was a single step behind Loki as she felt a hand wrap tenderly around her ankle. She ignored Loki’s word and knelt over Roysce as he took his time to wake.

“Roysce? Are you okay?”

“Fucking bitch...”

“You were hurt but Loki healed you. We nee...”

Roysce’s hand shot up and choked the life from Imogen. He easily flipped her to the dirt and stradled her as she squirmed. A grin stretched across his scarred face that terrified her. The flirtacious look in his eye was now replaced with obession and so much need.

He saw in her own as they turned black from her powers.

“It a shame and frankly, that bastard should have let me bleed out. I’m really going to enjoy killing him but first things first. Try not to change on me, little viper.”

Roysce lunged forward and pressed his lips firmly to Imogen’s. If his grip to his throat was making it hard to breathe, then his added weight onto of her made it all the more difficult. She scratched and punched at him with no promise of him stopping. She could feel the growl from his throat on her lips. His hand slowly inched down her body to the edge of her tunic as tears spilled over the side of her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, “I’m going to hurt you too...”

Loki helped August sit up as he fought his dizziness. Once his vision stopped spinning, he saw Loki and punched him in the nose. He knew it was well deserved from what happened on Sakaar.

“That’s for putting my sister in danger. I give you one rule and you fuck her over anyway! Where is she?”

Loki looked to Nalek slowly waking by himself. He could feel August shove him back. He followed the lean male’s angered glare to Roysce pinning Imogen to the dirt with the vengance he was afraid of. He though back to Sakaar and knew if Imogen had her memories, she would have stayed far away from Roysce. Before he could cast a spell to break the bastard’s neck, August planted his feet and blasted Roysce off her with a single blast of a deep percusion of his voice.

Roysce hit the wall, breaking a torch with is back. He cried out in pain as he swatted to put out the fire on his naked skin. Imogen choked and coughed to relieve the pain in her neck. Loki and August pulled her away and looked to the bruise marks on her neck. She flinched as Loki’s cold humming hand touched her skin.

“Don’t move. I’m almost done.”

She swallowed a single time and could feel relief in her brother’s arms.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I told you he was dangerous. Let’s go.”

A loud screech filled the cave as everyone rushed to cover their ears. It mirrored the same painful sound from the beginning of their journey. Loki grabbed Imogen and August by the hand and made them run. Nalek followed as he gathered his robes and fled. They ran alongside the river, their hearts pumping. The shrieks grew closer and so did the wall as they were left with no more ground left to run.

The river trapped them in and Hela was easily closing in on them. All they could do then was go up the wall to the tunnels above. They climbed the jagged rocks, not wanting to look back. Hela stopped and looked up as they tried to escape.

“How precious. I should really give them another second.”

She used it to make a needle from one of her shadows and aimed up. Hela flung her wrist and watched the needle fly up into the air. Nalek looked over his shoulder to the needle aimed for Imogen. He jumped to the rocks underneath her. It pierced him paining him for a moment as his head spun. He fought the fatigue and climbed higher.

Roysce was the last up the rocks as the shadows snapped and clawed below him. His veins were filled with fury and it helped him race up the wall. He was going to kill them all but he wanted to get to Imogen first. His body slowed from the blood loss, he remembered getting wounded by the old man. Such power he forgot.

His hand glowed red and Roysce raised it, feeling the flicker of red crackles. A chuckle fell from his throat as he whipped his arm back and flung a cluster of red lightning high up the wall. It missed August and Loki overhead by a few feet. With the force of Roysce’s powers, the group did teeter but none fell.

Nalek looked over his shoulder to the snarling young man. He reached the top first and helped to pull everyone else to safety. Loki helped August rest, leaving Nalek and Imogen for themselves. August sat up and Nalek grabbed Imogen. His guilt from taking Emmilette’s life was weighing him down but with Imogen being the strongest person, she would lead them out of Hell, but soon they would know.

Imogen was nearly over the rocks when she shrieked in pain as something sharp stabed her leg. Nalek looked down to Roysce with his hand around her leg and his glowing red nails dug deep into her skin. A ball of dark colored matter collected in his palm and knew what he was about to do was the right thing.

“Get off the wench, Bastard!”

He roared as he sent his hand forward with the matter to consume Roysce. He cried out in agony, his veins scorching as the dark replaced the red in his skin. Imogen could feel her leg burn from his nails. She didn’t want to look. Her feet shot down and knocked Roysce in his face. Nalek looked for her as blood streamed from his nose and his unconscious body let go of the rocks to fall into the growing sea of shadows below.

Imogen felt strange as Nalek pulled her over the edge and down the tunnel to Loki and August, both on seperate sides. With what was left of the light, he could see both men holding themselves back. Their faces turned red with each passing second.

“What’s happened?”

August turned his head and his bloodshot eyes.

“A-Anger...”

Nalek was thrown to the rocks. He shielded his good eye and tried to regain himself.

“I know it was you, Nalek.”

He saw Imogen’s silhouette taking its’ time to tower over him. There was no reason except to spare his live than to tell the truth.

“I-I am sorry. I didn’t have a choice.”

“She didn’t need to die.”

Her anger wasn’t subtle but it was beautifully controlled, striking more fear into Nalek. It was his good dead to not go unpunished. He deserved what was coming.

“You killed her,” stuggled August.

“Hell has no conception of time. When I gave her the water... I am sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” she growled as she began to heavily pant, “I’ll make you are.”

“No!”

Loki stopped in front of her and it only made things worse. She lunged for him, swinging wildly as August tried to pull them apart. When he did, he used her sister’s momentary confusion to show some mercy to Nalek.

“I hope she kills you slowly. Go.”

Nalek ran down the pitch black tunnel with his hands out in front of him as Imogen shot to her feet. Loki was stunned as August slowly advanced forward to his sister. The look of colorful madness was in her eyes as they glowed red.

“Okay,” reassured August, “Normally they go blue but I’m okay with change.”

“What was that?! The shadow said there was a traitor in the group and you just let him go?”

“Just take a breath.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Loki blanked and saw Imogen dart down the tunnel.

“Shit! Follow her, go!”

Loki ran with August and summoned a beam of light to follow Imogen before the last of the torch light disappeared. August had some trouble but Loki backed away a bit between him and his sister to make sure neither got lost.

“It wasn’t her talking! It’s this realm.”

“What is it?”

“Anger. Can you stop her without hurting her?”

“I can if I must.”

A scream filled the tunnels as they followed the spell to Imogen. The ran until the tunnel ended, opening with what was an unreal sun shining down on them. She’d found Nalek and he, as well as her, was fighting to end the other. Loki snapped his fingers and sent them apart. August rushed for Imogen before could attack again.

He stumbled, crashing into her as they both fell over into the opening. Loki and Nalek cried out for the both of them. There was a second as a sharp prick was felt in the back of their head. The anger was gone. Imogen was now filled with fear instead of anger as she was August fell to the ground a few hundred yards below.

She wasn’t sure what happened. When she looked to August falling next to her, an instinct took her over. She exhaled and felt her arms stretch out on both sides. Her nails shortened and turned to talons. She leaned forward and wrapped her claws gently around each of August’s arms. Her red wings spanned out and lifted them both just short of the ground.

The force of her wings looped them up through the air to tumble down as Imogen was thrown from her transformation. She rolled back into her regular body and looked as the red in her disappearing feathers turned blue. She didn’t shake with the exception of her head as she tried to uderstand what had happened.

August laughed and slapped his sister’s shoulder.

“Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about. Look who’s back!”

“What the hell was that?”

“Immie, don’t you remember?”

“No...”

August rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around his sister.

“Whatever. We’re still alive and that fucking counts.”

She enjoyed the warmth of August as she passed out in his arms.

_____

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