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seawolvesanddragons · 6 years ago

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Writing: When the Angels Fell

The world was quiet on the day the angels fell. It wasn't what the prophets and martyrs and psalms had sang about for ages past. There was no burning hellfire or brimstone, no great rising tide or plagues of destruction set about the earth. There earth didn't flood a second time. The night sky didn't lose its stars as the guardians and heralds of heaven, God's oldest children, fell to the mortal realm in droves. Nothing special marked the day - no natural disaster or wave of premonitions. Most didn't even notice anything had changed. But there was a marked difference in the world after that day. Like something was missing. The air felt thicker. Sunrises' were duller. Hope seemed to fade, just a little bit. The world took a turn for the worse after that, though no one put the pieces together. No one looked at the terror and corruption that spread everywhere, and thought "the angels have fallen." They blamed media. They blamed billionaires and homeless alike. They blamed corrupt politicians and other generations and ethnicities, races and countries that were different from them. Some of them even blamed God. Strange though, how no one thought to blame the devil.

The mortals had a saying, that the greatest trick the devil played was convincing people he didn't exist. That wasn't his greatest trick. His greatest trick was letting the angels forget who the devil really was. One of them. An angel, God's most beloved. As beautiful, as charming and pure-looking as they all did. His smile was reassuring even as he drove the blade into each of their backs. So God's army fell as their faith in God wavered, and the gates to heaven were locked by the angel who had fallen first from his jealousy. Raviel had been last among those cast out of heaven. That fact alone was what saved them. They had been more prepared when they crashed into earth, able to outwit the followers of Lucifer that had laid in wait for them, and flee. They wandered the earth for months, staying just ahead of their predators, avoiding eye contact with the other fallen angels who moped out earth, hiding in cities and leading lives of drudgery and hunger. Finally, one day, when Raviel found themselves in a sprawling city, with a pull in their soul like a beacon. "Here." It seemed to be saying. "Come Here." Los Angeles. The City of Angels. Whoever it was calling them, they had a very mortal sense of humor. Raviel had learned to appreciate such fatalistic irony the past few months in a way they never had before. The call took them to a monastery, which had once been a synagogue buried underneath the earthquakes, and even further back had been a sacred place of the indigenous people. The door was unlocked, but the pews and rooms empty when Raviel stepped inside. They had been on the move so much they had forgotten what day it was - surely not Sunday, though, the Lord's day. Even mortals still came to church on the Lord's Day. Raviel was nearing the altar when a woman stepped forth from the pulpit. Her eyes burned bright like fire, and they seemed to tear away all the layers of dirt and grime and mortal appearence Raviel had worn as armor since the day they had all fallen from the heavens. "Welcome, Raviel." Her words trembled with multiple voices, her clear cadence mingling with something much older, much more powerful. A prophet than. The mortals had not had one in centuries. "I have a task for you, Raviel." The prophet spoke. "One that your brothers and sisters have shared your burden in doing. You must join their ranks, and complete the work the Lord has asked you to do." Her gaze leveled at them, and they had to look away from the bright intensity of their spirit. The face of God was impossible to gaze at directly, even by angels. "You must kill Lucifer." To kill another angel was taboo among them. They were the nepheliam, God's eldest children, his lieutenants in his army. Even those who had fallen millennia ago were not harmed, instead struck from the record and never spoken of again. That was a fate worst then death. Lucifer had fallen eons ago, the original sin in God's otherwise perfect world, and yet God's chosen soldiers had never sought to punish him beyond closing ranks to him from heaven. They had fought indirectly in the millennia that followed, using humans, God's beloved creations, the very reason Lucifer had fallen, as hosts and pawns in their skirmishes. Raviel had never been a high ranking or popular angel. They had always toed the line between necessity and good, justice and mercy, too capriciously for the archangel's care. They had always viewed the war with the fallen as something that would haunt humanity for eternality if they continue to fight the way they were. Angels were to protect the humans, they argued, yet they fought through them, instead of facing Lucifer themself. In heaven, such words were pathways to wrath, to destruction; the hallmarks of old testament that not even the archangel Michael dare tread. Raviel had been quieted and warned, along with others who share their view, their anger and harsh justice seen as possible signs of a fallen angel. Here, now, when they were all fallen and trapped on this mortal prison, their anger was the tool the archangels wanted to use to strike. There was that fatalistic irony that humans' loved so much, but Raviel couldn't deny the electricity that buzzed inside them at these words. They were being given a mission, a task shared by others of their siblings, to cast a strike in the name of heaven. Their name, spoken by a prophet, delivered to this mission, filled them with more spirit then they had felt in months. They moved on quickly from the City of Angels, the prey turning predator as they tracked leads on Lucifer's whereabouts. They battled with demons and other former angels, those who had supported Lucifer long ago, and their determination grew with each fallen foe. It was with almost religions zeal when they finally tracked down the devil themself. Lucifer was in the desert, a harken back to their olden days, where they had tempted the son of God himself. Raviel was prepared. Here, with their seraphim blade, tasked with this mission, they could feel the righteousness, the power of being a chosen Warrior of God. They could not fail, would not fail, with the glory of God with them. The gates of heaven would be opened once more. They hefted their blade, ready to attack. Lucifer was unaware of them, back turned toward the mountains in the distance. Raviel raised their blade. "Now, now. Raviel." The voice, soft and smooth as honey, stopped Raviel in their tracks. "You didn't really think it would be that easy, did you?" The image of Lucifer flickered like a mirage, and Raviel felt a presence at their back, cold and tempting. They struggled to move themselves, picturing turning and plunging the blade right into the heart of God's most loved child and greatest enemy. "Raviel." Lucifer spoke their name again, their voice full of warning, and Raviel found themselves immobilized completely. They tried to speak, but their jaw wouldn't move - as if it were bound by something invisible. "Better." Lucifer said charmingly, as they plucked the knife out of Raviel's hand. They were weaponless. Defenseless and unable to move. Names have power - they always had. And angels name, their true name, had great power when invoked in prayer or deed, as the prophet in Los Angeles had done. To those who knew the power of the names, who had studied and made practice of darker arts, names gave them great power over the angel themself. Raviel had guarded their name carefully all their existence. They had used it sparingly in heaven, had never interacted with an archangel as a result of their rank. They were not a well known angel, and never had their name invoked in prayer. They had gone by aliases since falling over a year ago. All in prevention of this. Lucifer moved around to face Raviel, their handsome face looking at Raviel in amused pity. "Really, Raviel, I expected better of you." They said, shaking their head. "Your siblings, all the others our Father tasked with this impossible goal, of course they didn't know any better, but you?" They spread their fingers wide. "I had heard tales of your before. I expected you to be better prepared. Did you really think I wouldn't know the true names of those tasked to hunt me down?" They laughed, brightly, and the sound of it sent chills down Raviel's spine. "Enough" Lucifer said, and Raviel was no longer rooted to the spot. They could move, and the feeling of invisible gag vanished, yet at the very thought of attacking Lucifer their feet balked once more. "Ah ah ah." Lucifer smiled. "I really can't have you doing that." "The others." Raviel glared with burning hatred. "What did you do to my siblings?" "The others told to hunt me down and kill me? Why, I killed them of course." Lucifer shrugged. "Or, rather, I invoked their name, and they killed themselves. With some suggestions, of course." Bile rose in Raviel's throat at the thought of their murdered siblings, along with the fear of that same awaiting fate. "Oh, don't panic, little one." Lucifer said airly, smoothing Raviel's hair back. "I have no interest of doing the same to you." The air around them shimmered, and suddenly the desert disappeared. In its place was a large room, covered in wood panelings, and paintings of the very worst of humanity opposite the grandiose imaginings of heaven and angels. "No, no, I have a very different idea in mind for you, Raviel." The repetition of their name snaked around Raviel, as if it were bending toward Lucifer. They sat themselves in a chair, though they had no conscious memory of doing so. "You're not the same as the rest of our tedious siblings - you wanted to fight a different way, didn't you. I could use someone of interest like you." "You won't break me." Raviel seethed. Lucifer threw their head back and laughed, settling against the chair. "Break you?" They cusped Raviel's chin, forcing them to look Lucifer in the eyes. Lucifer eyes were black, handsome but cold. "I have no intention of breaking you." "Ah, Raviel." They said, and there was that snaking feeling again, a wave of honey and hellfire binding Raviel where they sat. "Do you think I would take your mind?" Lucifer smiled. "You have a beautiful mind - independent, forward thinking, just as mine is. I value that." They traced the outline of Raviel's jaw with their finger. "I look forward to seeing it writhe when you do whatever I ask of you." Raviel spat. "I swear, I will kill you." They vowed. "Oh Raviel." Lucifer laughed, their black eyes glistening. "I swear, you'll try."

[Credit to The Fake Redhead Writes, who had some prompts years ago that I never got out of my head, and make up Lucifer and Raviel’s last 5-7 lines or so.)

#writing #sealwolvesanddragonswrites #shortstory #angels #lucifer #apocolypse story

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eviipaiadin · 7 years ago

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12. Your in game inside jokes/memes/catchphrases and where they came from.

There’s a reason I tag our campaign as ‘Dungeons & Shitposting’. But here’s a list of all the dumb in-jokes I’ve had over my years of playing and running games. (Under a read more because it’s a lot)

D&D 4e or ‘OTK the Campaign’

“Bards are just better warlords!”

“I’m working with this really cool archfey. She’s kinda underground, you’ve probably never heard of her.”

Raviel Thade, Door-to-Door Raven Queen Salesperson

“...You never said that your Vicious Mockery was dealing non-lethal damage to the cow...”

“I’m a paladin, right? That means these villagers respect me, right?”

“...And there goes the halfling, hoping to hitchhike to meet some competent adventurers...”

Homestuck 4e or ‘I Am The Only Person In This Damn Campaign That Doesn’t Know No Houseglueds’

“Evii, do you have a +1 in any stat at all?”

“His name is literally ‘Villain’. I ain’t trusting him.”

Pokemon Religion vs Fusion Science

“Why are you guys laughing so hard? All I did was push him down some stairs.”

Legends or ‘The Origins of Captain Creig Cornswaggle, the Courageous Commander of The Cruel Craven and Co-Owner of The Crow’s Call’

Literally anything about Captain Creig Cornswaggle, the Courageous Commander of The Cruel Craven and Co-Owner of The Crow’s Call

“Diplomancy: Friendship Really is Magic.”

“...And then I stuck her with my shadow sword!” | “Is that what kids are calling it nowadays?”

“Ew, I can’t believe you’re into dead people.” | “For the last time, I’m a necroMANCER not a necroPHILIAC!”

Gregory the goblin head

“No, we are not selling the avatar of god into slave labour.” | “BUT THINK OF THE PROFITS THAT COULD BE USED FOR ORPHANAGES, GERARD! YOU LOVE THAT WEIRD GOODY-TWO-SHOES SHIT, RIGHT?!”

“If you’re gonna threaten us to kill something for you and you’re that tough, do it your damn self.”

“Voice is a privilege reserved for the GM and the GM alone. You players peasants must use text.”

“I can’t fucking believe the fate of the world once again rests in the hands of the two (2) short ones.”

“No, you cannot build a mountain of corpses to escape. I’M RAILROADING YOU SO I CAN REINTRODUCE A PLAYER CHARACTER. STOP BEING DIFFICULT.”

“I surrender, suckers.”

“My pirate gear is the HEIGHT of fashion. Keep your stinkin’ tux to yourself.”

Fate or ‘Evii Makes a Weird Character for Extended Pun Purposes’

Peter ‘Pan’ Handel

“He’s 50% man, 50% goat, 50% alligator.”

“You still sound Russian. Gimme some more vodka, maybe that’ll fix it.”

(It was a single very short session so not much memes there, unfortunately.)

World of Darkness or ‘Deadbeat Dirty Drug Cop and Rich Kid with a Penchant for Speed Ruin Everything at Record Speed’

“I slap him with the mummy hand.”

“How many levels do I need to put into [stat] before I can dual-wield shotguns?”

“How many sanity points does it cost for me to make a one-liner here?”

“We might not have a silver bullet. But maybe there’s enough silver in the five hundred (500) bullets we pumped into him to do the trick.”

“I can’t believe our most powerful ally is a devil hooker.”

Pokemon Tabletop Adventures 1 or ‘Lie Detector is Overpowered’

“Your character is [age between 20-55]? None of these tokens work for that.”

“I attempt to read the sign.” | “It says [whatever’s on the sign].” | “HEY GUYS, THE SIGN SAYS [whatever’s on the sign]!”

“My ahegao is a built-in lie detector.” | “YOUR WHAT?!” | “You know, the dumb single standing up hair.” | “THAT’S NOT WHAT AHEGAO MEANS, EVII!!”

“I believe in my Shuppet. So that means it does an extra... 8d6 damage.” | “Fuck off.”

Pokemon Tabletop Adventures 2 or ‘Who Let Me Be In Charge?!’

Bipen begins.

“Oh no, not Bidoofs!”

“...So you killed her Charmander.” | “OOPS!”

D&D 5e 1 or ‘The Wheatley Featherstep Saga’

Another character that exists for Evii to make bad puns

“Kaiser is the best and the strongest and can beat Baphomet with two (2) arms tied behind her back.”

Decibel the definitely-a-drow

Owly the owl

“So you can’t actually roll low enough to be hit by the aftermath explosions from these things...”

Decibel dying and immediately being reincarnated by a giant magic thing

Wheatley banishing Baphomet and all the demons back to the Abyss by accident, saving Kaiser and also kicking off the Wedding Crashers Arc

Wheatley’s Double Death Room

Wheatley, Lawful Good Monk, befriends local Chaotic Evil vrock

Wheatley adopts a fire snake after being complicit in murdering her family (oops!)

Halfling Lucky can’t save you if you roll a billion 1s in a row

Sultan of Many Titles vs Chiyoko of Many Titles+1

“You know, if you had actually had the Deck of Many Things on your person, you would’ve auto-won the encounter.”

“Why can’t I beat an 11 on Insight checks?!”

D&D 5e 2 or ‘Dungeons & Shitposting’

“Salith has the strongest drow fists in existence.”

“She has a tentacle rod and we are ending the conversation there.”

“Bitch!”

[Arceusawful Russian accent] “What do you call dark elf who cannot swim?”

Kana the NPC slayer

“For the Sea Mothah!” [fish slap]

“I fucking hate spiders.” | “I fucking love spiders!” (These two (2) characters are now dating.)

The Nature Society has made lumberjacking illegal.

Everything about Nappa/Cabbage, really

“’Allo! My name is, ‘ow you say, Ree Asho!”

The Cavalry

I am kana man 410,757,864,530 DEAD KOBOLDS

“Hey Frank”

Speedrunning the campaign

“Look you guys, the beholder isn’t even at full power!”

Potion of Good Performance (not actually a sex thing!)

A traditional derro and kuo-toa burial

“The tree did it!”

The Messenger’s Guild

The Cyrus is Framed and No One has Fun for at Least Five (5) Sessions Arc

The Return of Bipen (”I’m a Dragon~!”)

The Return of Captain Creig Cornswaggle, the Courageous Commander of The Cruel Craven and Co-Owner of The Crow’s Call

The Tomb of Pharaoh Phasulias, Home of Pharaoh Phasulias

Demon lycanthropy is extra bad lycanthropy

Torchguard Commander Rickert is tired, grumpy, but kinda hot (at least to Navi)

“You’re Linda!!” (can’t remember if that was the right name)

The We Kinda Got Invited to a Wedding But Only a Few of Us are Still Playing the Characters that Knew the NPCs Getting Married so the Impact is Greatly Lessened as a Result Arc

Yoil Kreth and the Mechanized Execution Combative Heavy Axe (MECHA for short)

Oh Boy More Travelling NPCs We Really Don’t Care About

My awful impressions of Cyrus and Bipen when their players aren’t around

Fluffy is a Good BoyTM

Themberchaud the Fat Cat Dragon

Thesmachaud is buff, scary, but kinda hot (at least to Kana)

“Oh god we killed Buppido!”

“Your demon sense senses a billion (1,000,000,000) demons.”

D&D 5e 3 or ‘Evil Squad’

>hags

The Conch Horn Plan

Mr. Skeletal the First to Mr. Skeletal the Third

Magnifying glass

Portable ram

KOTA WE’RE ALL DUMBASSES JUST TELL US THE FUCKING ANSWER

“GIVE ME BACK KUBAZAN!” | “HE’S MINE, YOU GAVE HIM UP!”

“Okay, I am not gonna put my hand back in that hole.”

“OUR GODDESS WAS A 2WHO?!” (Related: “IS THAT A 2WHO?!”)

Thanks, druid friend, for your important contributions

“Leviathan!” | “It’s Laevaetaen!” | “Laeviathan!”

D&D 5e Mini or ‘I Miss You, Hug-Hug’

“Fuck you, I’m muting my mic for the rest of this session.”

Hug-Hug being the cutest lil gobbo ever

The Ten Billion (10,000,000,000) Hour Sacrifice Debate Room

D&D 5e 4 or ‘I Hate Time Travel’

:rasande_confused:

Soul micromanaging everyone’s characters

:salazar_dark:

“Keep the fisting to a minimum, my monkish friend.”

Barin, Champion of Booze

[insert ff14 realm reborn cutscene instead of narration here]

“Wait, our group is the one (1) that best understands this plot?!”

D&D 5e 5 or ‘Spooky Shadowfell Scures’

John ‘Thicccc’ Taric

“I have a very sharp shovel.”

[goggles that make you have night vision]

“Form of...!”

i’m missing some smaller one-shots and stuff but i can’t think of any major memes to come from them

#Evii plz #dovahheim #noted that this is very heavily biased in favour of my characters #cuz i'm egotistical like that

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uriera · 7 years ago

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Random Ask I Forgot About

So I was tagged by someone about a year ago and I never posted this, so yeah, here it is.

Rules: Answer the questions in a new post and tag 20 blogs you would like to get to know better.

Nickname: Rav and Ravi are commonly short for Raviel, but that's about it. Nier Automata is a nickname too, I guess.

Star Sign: Aries/Taurus

Height: 5'3-5'4 (Somewhere in between those two heights)

Time Right Now: 12:38 PM

Last Thing I Googled: Fox mask

Favorite Music/Artists: Coldplay is very good. Very, very good.

Song Stuck In Your Head: Every Teardrop is a Waterfall by Coldplay

Last Movie Watched: I rewatched Short Circuit again.

Last TV Show Watched: Game of Thrones or Rick and Morty. I forgot which.

What Are You Wearing Right Now: Skinny jeans, a black shirt, and a white jacket. I'm not the most stylish.

When Did You Create Your Blog: I don’t remember when. I just did it because my friends from Google+ kept coming here. (I only talk to one of them now but I still check on the rest). At least two years ago.

What Kind Of Stuff Do You Post: Anime, comics, quotes, video games, occasional aesthetics or references, dark/depressing humor and sometimes animals. Nerdy stuff really.

Do You Have Any Other Blogs: Nope.

Do You Get Asks Regularly: I get them, but not regularly. Just once every now and then.

Why Did You Choose Your URL: I relate to Urie Kuki from Tokyo Ghoul and I call myself Raviel. So I combined the two to make uriera.

Gender/Pronouns: Whatever works.

Hogwarts House: I just took a quiz for this because I dunno, and it said Ravenclaw. So, uh, yeah.

Pokemon Team: Mystic.

Favorite Color: I can’t tell if I like blue or red more, but lately, red.

Average Hours Of Sleep: One or two.

Lucky Number: One. It’s always been there.

Favorite Characters: Urie Kuki, Ayato Kirishima, and Kaneki Ken (Tokyo Ghoul). Marco and Jean (Attack on Titan). Junpei and Sigma (Zero Escape). Allen Walker (D. Gray Man). Daiki Mamura (Hirunaka no Ryuusei). Akira Kurusu and Yusuke Kitagawa (Persona 5). Yu Narukami and Naoto Shirogane (Persona 4). Minato Arisato, Akihiko Sanada, Shinjiro Aragaki, and Mitsuru Kirijo (Persona 3). Gilbert Nightray (Pandora Hearts). I like a lot.

How Many Blankets Do You Sleep With: One or none? I use my friend's old jacket that he gave to me and it's very big on me, so it's basically a blanket.

Dream Job: I have a lot really. Detective, psychology-related jobs, or a defense attorney.

Following: Too many.

I tag @redeemoo @jessicacruzin @vizodi @invinciblebeing and @slimgrin. It’s not twenty people, but it’s close enough.

edit: and @emmytheferret hi ferreta

#tags #uriera talks

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myszkina · 8 years ago

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Shadow and Steel - a Skyrim fanfiction

FF.net

Archive of Our Own

Chapter 2 - Necessary Evils

Far outside the city, the wind whistled over the tundra, kicking up the first fall snows that had just barely settled. Tall pine trees bent and groaned against the wind. A single torch flickered in the dark, out of place on the dark plains. It was a beacon, calling stray travelers to the promise of safety. More than one had fallen prey to the trick.

Crouched in the shadow of one of the massive trees, Zarja watched the flickering torch and the hidden door it signaled. By the light of the moons she could just barely make out the dark forms of two guards. She sighed, her breath misting in front of her face, and pulled her mask more securely over her mouth and nose, her scarf over that. Zarja loathed the cold. The sooner she returned to Riften, the better.

She sensed more than heard the movement behind her, a pricking on the back of her neck that accompanied the barest crunch of snow.

“It seems we hunt the same prey, Goldshadow.” A deep voice rumbled from the shadows. “Pity.”

Zarja cast an almost bored glance out of the corner of her eye. Anyone else would’ve missed the figure leaning against the trunk of the nearby tree, but her eyes had been trained from years of working in the dark, and she could easily make out the black and red armor. She fiddled with her fur-lined glove, unconcerned by the sudden appearance of the assassin. This one was no threat to her. “You didn't know he was one of ours? Getting sloppy, Nazir.” She drawled as she rose.

“Not until you came looking.” Nazir admitted, his voice cool and diplomatic. “He's yours of course, as per our agreement.” Zarja inclined her head in acknowledgement; this wasn’t the first time she had crossed paths with the Brotherhood on an assignment, and the result had been the same: Guild business stayed in the Guild. Less messy for everyone that way. “The last thing we want is to be tangled in your Guild's unfortunate affairs. Though Astrid won’t be pleased.” He sighed.

“Astrid really should take better care of which contracts she accepts. This is becoming a habit.” Zarja said matter-of-factly.

Nazir calmly ignored the quiet jab in Zarja’s voice. “If you don’t mind my asking, what did he do exactly?”

“You don’t know? My point proves itself.” This time she felt a subtle rise in the tension in the air from the assassin, and she smirked slightly behind her mask. It didn’t show in her voice as she responded, “He used to work for us, running a brothel in the Grey Quarter. The bastard killed a client of ours and ran off with a handful of his agents when we found out he'd been cheating us.”

“Yes, we were called by the client's family.” Nazir said indifferently, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice as he continued. “Your organization seems to be having the worst luck as of late.”

Zarja laughed once lightly through her nose. There was no humor in the sound. “You’re not one to talk. When’s the last time you had a contract on anyone politically higher than a serving girl?” She turned to face Nazir fully, crossing her arms and cocking her hip. She raised a brow, now all business. “In any case, Astrid should be thrilled. You’ve already been paid, Linwe will be dead by the end of the night, and you didn’t even have to lift a finger. All the reward with none of the risk.”

“Provided you don’t fail.”

Zarja’s smile was predatory under her mask, a dark light in her eyes. “I never fail.”

Two guards stood watch, huddled beneath an overhang to escape the icy winds. Long past midnight, they leaned against the wooden supports of the gate, trying to stave of sleep as they stayed close to the warmth of the small fire.

One started, yanked out of his dozing, suddenly alerted by some small sound or movement, or simply the intuitive sense that something wasn’t quite right. A warning prickled along the back of his neck as he elbowed his partner awake roughly. The other elf grunted, glaring bleary eyed at him.

"What is it now, Carelian?"

"I heard something." Carelian said lowly, drawing his dagger as he rose.

The other elf scoffed. "Probably just a fox." He said, shifting slightly and pulling his threadbare cloak more tightly around himself.

"Shut up, Raviel. I'm trying to listen." Tired eyes peered into the dark, not even registering the silent, unmoving shape just a few meters away.

He had the brief impression of something flashing towards him, a low whistle in the still night air. A fraction of a second later it all went dark as a black shafted arrow buried itself in his eye, punching clean out the back of his skull and into the wooden support beam behind him, pinning him there.

Raviel scrambled to his feet with a panicked yell, clumsily drawing his own blade. As he turned toward where the arrow had come from, a dark figure stepped out from the shadow of a pine tree. But to the startled bandit, it seemed as if the darkness had simply melted away, leaving this living shadow in their wake. Even now the shadows seemed to cling to their form, the strange, mottled cloak they wore merging with the flickering patterns of light and shadow, making it near impossible to focus on them.

Another arrow sped towards him. It clanged against the cheap steel of his sword, the force knocking it from his loose grasp. Stunned, Raviel was too slow to see the dark figure racing towards him. He raised his hands instinctively in a useless defence as his attacker ducked under his wild swing, sweeping his legs out from under him in a swift kick. Raviel had the brief impression of weightlessness before he slammed into the body of Carelian. Dazed, he looked up just in time to see a dark boot come whipping at his face. There was a sickening crunch as his nose was crushed, and he collapsed with a low groan.

The thief stepped over the two Altmer, pausing to wrench her arrow from the wood. It squelched as it was pulled through bone and brain. No longer held up, Carelian collapsed in a boneless heap against his partner.

Zarja knelt next to the unconscious elf, lightly turning his head and giving him a quick once. She nodded to herself, satisfied he would wake in a few hours. He would spread the word of what happened here tonight.

She drew the dagger sheathed at her thigh, twirling it in her hand as she stared deadpan at the elf.

One way or another, he would spread the word.

The tip of the dagger dragged through his skin, carving the shadowmark into the pale gold of his face like a painter with canvas. Blood ran hot down his jaw and dripped onto the snow, which melted away from the warmth. Two triangles, joined by a circle – the warning mark to anyone who would challenge them, the only one those outside the Guild understood.

Blood-splattered walls marked Zarja's passing through the frozen warren, a grisly trail for her to follow back out. None of the elves saw the blade that killed them. One by one the Altmer thieves fell, the light fading from their eyes before shock had even registered. Twin blades found homes in necks and between ribs with brutal, long-practiced efficiency, quick hands twisting bones until they snapped.

She paused when ice gave way to stone and mortar. Zarja had pressed herself against the rough stone wall of the buried fort and pulled off her cloak, leaving it in a pile with her bow and quiver; they would only be in the way from here on in the close quarters. She moved like a wraith, past the empty upper level and down the stairs, staying close to the wall where the shadows were deeper. She listened as she moved, counting voices and echoes of movement. At the bottom of the stairs she paused, and sheathed one of her swords with a soft hiss of steel on leather, bracing the other against her forearm.

She nearly tripped on her first victim as she pivoted around the corner into the main hall; the elf sat on the floor, legs sprawled in front of him. He hadn't even registered her presence before his throat was cut, blood spurting out in a crimson gush. He dropped to the floor, gurgling and clutching at his throat feebily, as Zarja rounded on the remaining bandits.

She whirled and ducked under a swing, drawing the dagger sheathed on her thigh with her free hand. In the same fluid movement she cut through the exposed flesh of her attacker's upper arm as it sailed harmlessly past her. The axe hit the floor with a harsh clatter, its owner joining it a second later with Zarja's dagger in his ribs.

Three more came at her, and three more fell in a handful of moments, felled by precise, lightning fast strikes at gaps in armor, blade and feet and elbows striking at exposed throats and temples as she moved through their headquarters. Zarja danced out of reach and through their defenses with a grace that belied the viciousness of her attacks. No malice - their deaths were quick - but no mercy. Not for them.

As she pivoted through her finishing blow, the air next to her was split by the vicious crackle of a fireball the flashed past Zarja's ear and exploded against the wall. She dove to the floor, instinct taking over before she'd even consciously recognized the shot, and rolled into a small side room.

Zarja crouched low, blade in hand as she listened for movement from the dining room. Zarja grit her teeth in frustration, cursing herself for underestimating the elf. They now stood at an impasse, both waiting for the other to move.

There was the barest scuffle of a footstep, a crackle of flames casting shadows on the open door, and her eyes unconsciously flicked towards it. "I knew someone would come for me." A nasally voice called. Zarja's eyes narrowed at the smirk in it. "But I never would've thought it'd be Mercer's bitch."

"I know, it must be shocking for a glorified whoremonger to be held at such importance." Zarja breezed as she sheathed her sword, slowly to hide the faint rasp of steel on leather. "You should be honored; Mercer doesn't send his best out for just anyone."

The shadows flickered, the scent of burned magicka drifting into the room. "You've got a pretty smart mouth for someone with nowhere to go."

"And yet, you're still hiding in there." Zarja said nonchalantly, but still glaring at the door. Linwe was in a better position than her, and they both knew it. If she moved from this room, the elf would incinerate her. It was only luck she'd survived his first shot.

Zarja forced her breath to settle into a calm, slow, unhurried rhythm and she rose slowly, soundlessly, and leaned against the rough stone wall behind her, and closed her eyes.

"I've got all night." Zarja called. "But you?" She let out a harsh bark of laughter. "You really think I'm the only one after you?" He can't keep that spell up forever. She hadn't seen any potions in her dance through the main room, and heard no telltale clink of glass now. "I'm only the first. While you're sitting here," she eased the small throwing knife out of her bracer. She knew she would only have one shot at this, "Others are coming. You couldn't outrun me, and you won't outrun the Dark Brotherhood." Another scuffle of a boot her at that – the elf shifting his weight nervously. The light outside the room flickered and started to fade.

She flipped the knife in her hand. This was going to have to be an instinctive throw. She pictured the dark figure of the Altmer, a shadow against the torchlight across the room. She remembered his position, setting it in her mind's eye. She pictured the flight of her dagger as it tumbled end over end through the air, over and over again until it seemed real.

"All this, and for what? A handful of gold and -"

Mid-word, in an almost trancelike state, she moved.

Smoothly. Rhythmically. Two steps out into the clear, turning in a fluid motion around the wall so that her left hand brought her knife up as she moved. She let instinct take control of her hands, aiming and throwing from memory, not even seeing the dark figure until the blade was already gone, splitting the air on its way to the target. By the time she consciously saw him, the knife found its mark in his neck. Linwe fell backward and hit the wall with a dull thud, the dying spell in his hand finally flickering out of existence.

Zarja lowered her arm, and with deliberate slowness moved across the room to the dying elf. Her expression was feral, the cold, predatory glare of a sabrecat.

Her boots stuck in the pools of blood on the floor as she walked, already congealing in the cool air. She knelt and ripped her throwing knife out of Linwe’s neck with a wet squelch that sent blood spurting out weakly, dragging it through his flesh in one quick motion as she did to end his struggling. She wiped the blade clean on his leather armor.

Zarja flipped the tiny knife in her hand pensively as she stood. After a moment she sighed resignedly and sheathed it, replacing it with one of the blades crossed on her back. Her orders played over in her mind as she raised her sword.

Send them a message they can't ignore.

Rumors spread like wildfire in Windhelm. It started at the docks, in the slums where the shadowy underbelly of the city held sway. It spread through hushed whispers in the tavern, exchanged like gold in the market. The story of a bandit clan destroyed in a single night, their underground fortress burned to nothing. Their bodies had been carted into the Hall of the Dead for examination that morning, but the side gate and the cloth coverings couldn’t hide them from prying eyes.

They didn’t look like people anymore. Silda had claimed to anyone who listened. Just bones and ash.

Within days the whole city knew. People talked of the one survivor, now hiding on the docks trying to barter passage out of Skyrim. No one knew what was beneath the bloodstained rag covering half his face; people talked of a bandit war, that this was retaliation from the group in Morvunskar. But some of them – the smugglers and mercenaries, the independent thieves and the whores, the corrupt nobles - knew. A message that few among Windhelm’s people realized, but all in Skyrim's underworld would soon hear: Don't cross the Thieves Guild.

Their leader’s head had been found mounted on a crudely sharpened spike at the entrance to the tunnels. Glassy green eyes bulged out of a face frozen in shock, the greying flesh barely starting to thaw in the sunlight. There was little blood on the ground beneath it; it led off in a trail into the underground hideout, into the bloodstained halls where his group had been brutally and effectively destroyed. The Cruel-Sea family locket hung above him from the stake that protruded from the top of his head.

Was he The Butcher? People whispered hopefully. Did this mean the threat was over?

Or was something worse coming?

Zarja left the Cruel-Sea house that night, pockets significantly heavier and the Guild two contacts richer. The support of Clan Cruel-Sea was the best prize the Guild had gotten in years, and Zarja couldn’t wait to see the look on Vex’s face when she found out that Zarja had one-upped her. Again.

The barest crunch of snow marked her passing, her footprints erased within moments by fresh flakes. Well past sunset, the city was empty, the streets eerily quiet.

Zarja froze for the barest moment, ears pricked, eyes wary. Something was wrong, something she couldn't place. The night was silent around her, not even a wisp of wind disturbed the banners above her. But something, some primal sense pickling along the back of her neck, had her dropping to the ground and diving behind a stack of crates..

Just as an arrow streaked past her, straight through where her head had been a heartbeat before.

The black shaft stuck quivering to the wooden wall behind her as Zarja spun on her toes, staying in a low crouch as she whipped out her blades. She dared a glance around the edge of a crate, keen eyes searching the night for her attacker.

There was nothing; the night was still. It was as if the shadows themselves had struck at her. But the arrow was very solid and very real, as was the intent behind it.

"I've heard of a thief that plays like an assassin. Though I can't think what the Sword of the Thieves Guild would be doing so far from home, running through the city of Jarl Ulfric."

The voice that broke the silence was like velvet. Zarja's eyes focused on the source and saw nothing. Not until the shadows moved, melting away to reveal a small, lean figure carrying a bow almost as tall as its wielder.

"Nothing to say? Surely you don't think I'll let you pass without an explanation."

The figure shifted slightly, the moonlight ghosting over sharp, prominent features beneath her hood.

"You're a Dark Elf." Zarja’s eyes narrowed fractionally above her mask, which warped her voice beyond recognition into a low growl.

"Perceptive, aren’t you?"

"Enough to see that you don’t have a clear shot.” Zarja snapped, unconsciously flipping the shortswords in her hands. They shone in the light of the moons.

The Dunmer didn't miss the action. "Do you really think you'll reach me before my arrow reaches your heart?"

Zarja's lips curled back in a snarl. If she'd brought her bow, the Dunmer would already be dead, but she’d gone and left it at the stables with the rest of her gear like a damned fool. Zarja shifted her weight and faked to her right, sliding forward in the same step, testing. In that split second the Dunmer's hand was already level with her shoulder, inches from the feathered ends of the arrows peeking over her shoulder. The Dunmer was very good.

"Who are you?"

"That's none of your concern." The Dunmer replied coolly. "What is, is that you don't find yourself in my path again. And if I were you, Goldshadow, I wouldn't dig into the matter further."

A chill that had nothing to do with the frost ran down her spine. The Dunmer knew who she was. Had she seen the meetings with Niranye and Torsten? What else did she know?

Common sense told Zarja to kill her. She was already gauging the distance between them, the terrain and the possible cover she could use.

Snow crunched behind her, and Zarja whipped back behind the crates toward the noise, her expression murderous. The edge of her blade stopped a hair’s breadth from Niranye’s throat.

Niranye yelped indignantly, throwing up her hands in a placating gesture.

“Do you greet all of your business partners like this, or just me?” She scowled at the Nord.

Zarja raised a brow. “What do you want? You said we were done.” She asked indifferently as she sheathed her blades. Her eyes flicked back to the shadows, and wasn't surprised to see the Dunmer was already gone, like she had never been there at all.

“A message came for you. The courier arrived at the manor not five minutes after you left.”

So much for ‘Your hands only’. Zarja snatched the letter from Niranye’s hand and headed back towards the city gates without another word.

She frowned at the parchment as she broke the wax seal. If this is another damn museum pamphlet…. She stopped in her tracks as she got to the end of the message. She reread it. Once. Twice.

And bolted for the stables.

#skyrim fanfiction #Skyrim #tw violence #skyrim oc #original character

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