#Meade would be a ranger maybe

[a-loose-collection-of-ants]

I am a strange little creature who only experiences joy by combining all my interests into a weird soup, and basically what I'm trying to ask is if the aides were D&D characters what would their class/subclass be?

[skyeet-the-writer]

Lady of Enmond

Chapter One: Ale and Disappearings of Little Folk

here it is. another hyperfixation. see, i would promise ya'll updates for other things, but i promise you all nothing. plus i'm in college and i'm already depressed. BUT lotr always makes me better so i mayyyyy be updating this one as i rewatch the movies. again, no promises. BUT let me know if ya'll want me to continue anything else, and I'll see what i can do!! love you guys! x.

legolas greenleaf x female!reader

summary: y/n is accompanying her friend, aragorn, on some mission given to him by gandalf the grey. she doesn't know what it is and doesn't care as long as she has ale in her hand, but she quickly changes her mind when a little-folk vanishes before her very eyes

word count: ~3.1k

warnings: cursing, weapons drawn but not used, mention of death/killing

next>

Sitting in this dark corner of the Prancing Pony, you try to busy yourself with working on your second pint of mead, ignoring the looks both you and Aragorn are getting. No, it's Strider out here.

"You've been staring at those four Hobbits for almost an hour," you mutter to him, tracing your finger along the rim of your mug. "It's getting a little odd, friend."

Strider just grunts, a pipe in his mouth.

With a roll of your eyes, you drop the subject for the moment. Aragorn has always been a mysterious man, quite broody. It's a surprise you're even friends with him.

Aragorn has been your friend for many years. You first met him in a pub while off venturing away from your secure forest village of Enmond. You had always hated staying in one place and, as heir, you never had much of a chance to leave and explore, always too busy with your duties.

You had accidentally bumped into him while taking back a glass of mead to your table. You apologized profusely and quickly steered out of his way, much too afraid of this tall and cloaked character. But you allowed him without hesitation when he kindly asked to sit at your table. In hindsight, it was quite foolish, though how else are you to meet new people?

As time passed and you both went your separate ways, you kept in touch with ravens, occasionally meeting up for a night of drinks and dances. As time passed, he revealed his past to you and yours to him.

He's one of your only friends now.

Yet you're still not quite sure why you're here with him. He had sent you a raven not a fortnight ago explaining this task given to him by a man in a cloak and a tall hat. Gandalf. You knew the name, everyone did. The wizard had instructed he protect these Hobbits in their coming journey, as one of them was carrying something of great importance.

Of course, you went along. You could never say no to an adventure.

Tapping your foot to the tavern songs, you soon found yourself lulling into the comfort of the Prancing Pony. It was no different than any other inn you'd been to, still just as cozy and lively as any. It was your second favorite place to be, probably.

You're not sure how much time has passed and you soon finish your mug. You ask Aragorn if you should have another, but even you know better, as your words are already slurring together.

Aragorn gives you a smile under the hood and puts your empty mug in front of himself. "I think you've had quite enough, Y/N."

You shrug and sink into your seat. "I guess you're right, as usual. You always seem to be right."

Aragorn just laughs lightly and returns his attention to the small-folk. You follow his gaze and see one with curly hair talk to the barkeep. They both turn to you and you tense up slightly. Over the chatter of the bar, you can just make out what they're saying.

"One of them rangers...What his right name is, I don't know. But 'round these parts he's known as Strider."

The barkeep quickly moves away and the Hobbit repeats the name. Aragorn's pipe puffs and you resist asking for it. With your head gently thumping on the stone, you sigh. You're bored. What are you waiting for? Maybe you should order another ale? You're also hungry, maybe you should order the Thieve's Stew? You've seen a few people with it, and it looks quite delicious.

And so you wave over a barmaid, a quite pretty one at that, and ask, "Excuse me, but could I have a bowl of your Thieve's Stew?"

She smiles and nods. "Yes, my lady, that'll be right up."

You thank her and watch as she walks towards the back.

Aragorn gives you a look and you shrug. "What? I'm hungry. I'll let you have some."

He laughs and shakes his head.

Aragorn keeps his eyes on the Hobbit as the lady brings you your stew, setting it down in front of her. With a smile, you hand her a couple of silver coins, winking. She grins, stows them in a pocket, and walks away.

In your bowl is a delicious meal. It smells very meaty and brothy. It looks like it has noodles and beef, two of your favorite things. With a fork, you quickly dive in, relishing the excellent taste. It's yummy and hearty, something different from your village's high-vegetable diet. Not that your father's cooking isn't fantastic, either.

You quickly devour half of the bowl before you look up at Aragorn. "Want some?"

Aragorn doesn't answer you, and he is instead watching something intensely. Following his gaze, as you spoon another bite of stew into your mouth, you see that the Hobbit that was previously talking to the innkeeper is messing with something small in his hands. He's twirling it, and his eyes close.

That's not normal.

"Baggins? Sure, I know a Baggins."

The Hobbit's head whips towards the bar, and you follow. There's another Hobbit sitting at the bar, a pint in his hand. He seems a little buzzed, his cheeks all flushed and red in the candlelight. He's talking with a group of men and gesturing in the other Hobbit's direction.

"He's over there," he says. "Frodo Baggins." He gives him a small wave before turning back to the men. "He's my second cousin, once removed on his mother's side. And my third cousin, twice removed..."

You don't hear the rest of his speech, watching Frodo, the Hobbit sitting at the table, stand quickly and make his way toward the bar. He seems...panicked? You slowly lift another spoonful into your mouth. Aragorn's hand drifts down, removing the pipe from his mouth.

"What is he...?" you ask slowly, words muffled from the noodles.

Frodo quickly grabs the Hobbit's arm, but stumbles over a foot, falling towards the ground. As he falls, something drops from his hand. A small object glints up in the air before falling back down. Aragorn sits up straighter. The group of men watches Frodo fall, but as the glint reaches the floor, Frodo lifts his pointer finger up. To catch it?

Then he vanishes.

You gasp, lifting a hand to your mouth as men gasp, pointing at the group where Frodo once was.

"What the hell?" you ask, dropping your spoon. Your eyes must have deceived you, there's no way he just vanished. That's not possible.

Aragorn stands quickly, hood pulled even lower over his face. "Help me find him, Y/N."

You gape at him, standing and grabbing your cloak. Is this what you were waiting for? "Help you find him? He just vanished, Strider!"

Aragorn does not seem to hear you, however, scanning the room quickly. Quick, loud conversations break out, and fingers are being pointed towards the bar where people are scrambling around, shouting.

You scan the bar. You see the three other Hobbits make their way towards each other, whispering, looking anxious. Where is the other one? Frodo. Was that his name?

Finally, you spot him beside a table. He's shaking his head, panting, and looking around. He's sweating, too.

"There," you say to Aragorn, but he's a step ahead of you.

Quickly, he grabs the Hobbit by the shoulder and hauls him up and towards the stairs. Taking this as your queue to follow, you walk back towards the table. Shoveling the last two bites of stew into your mouth and throwing several coins on the table, you grab your bow and quiver, and follow.

Walking up the stairs two at a time, you catch up with Aragorn and see him shove Frodo into an empty room. You catch the door and shut it, keeping your hood over your head.

The Hobbit stands as you latch the door. "What do you want?" he asks apprehensively.

"A little more caution from you," Aragorn tells him rather than answering. "That is no small trinket you carry."

"I carry nothing."

"Indeed."

What is going on? Was that glint the item Gandalf told Aragorn the Hobbit would have? What was it, then? Clearly, it was small and metallic. Not a knife nor a dagger, perhaps a piece of jewelry? A ring, perhaps, or a bracelet.

Aragorn makes his way towards the window, extinguishing the candles. "I can avoid being seen if I wish. But to disappear entirely?" He turns back to the Hobbit and removes his hood. "That is a rare gift."

You stand beside the door, somewhat awkwardly, a hand on your dagger hilt. You remove your own hood, shaking your hair out of your face. The Hobbit, Frodo, looks confused, looking between the two of you.

"Who are you?" he asks. You note that he sounds much less frightened than you would have assumed. After all, he was shoved into a room by two Men. If it were you, you would be at least a bit scared. Though, perhaps Hobbits are different. You don't know much about them, in fact, this is your first time having a conversation with one.

"Are you frightened?" you ask and Frodo turns to you.

Slowly, he nods. "Yes."

Maybe you were wrong.

"Not nearly frightened enough," Aragorn says, keeping his voice low. "I know what hunts you." There's something hunting the Hobbit? Over what? You really should have asked more questions before you joined up with Aragorn. He always does this.

Aragorn glances at you and approaches the Hobbit. You take a step forward. Behind you, on the other side of the door, you hear footsteps, several of them, all heavy. Your nerves light on fire and at the same time Aragorn draws his sword, you pull out your dagger and turn on your heel towards the door. You'd rather it be your bow, but you couldn't pull it out in time.

The door bursts open and the other three Hobbits barge in, each holding a different blunt object. One has a chair, another holding just his fists. One has an entire candle stick.

"Let him go!" shouts the one with just his fists. "Or I'll have you both, Longshanks!"

Smiling just slightly, you sheath your dagger, heart still pumping. "You have a stout heart, but your fists will not save you."

Aragorn steps forward. "You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They're coming."

"Who is?" you ask quietly, more to yourself. You need answers.

"Who are you?" asks one of the Hobbits.

"I am Strider," Aragorn says. "This is Khaya. And you four are in much danger."

The three hobbits look to Frodo and he says, "We can trust them. They know of Gandalf."

"He is the one who sent us," you say, looking at Aragorn with furrowed brows. You two have gotten pretty good at communicating without words, with just looks, and he gets your meaning. You want him to explain what's going on and he nods.

"Come," he says, approaching the door. "You must be tired, and we cannot stay here. Follow me."

He catches your arm as he ushers the confused Hobbits from the door and says, "I'll explain, I swear. But, could you make this room look like the Hobbits are sleeping here? Their pursuers will look here and we must throw them off trail."

You normally do the weird requests Aragorn has without question, and now is no exception, as it seems so urgent. "Of course. Where will you go?"

"The inn across the way. Use Underhill to find us."

"Alright."

"And be careful," he says, seeming impatient. "And fast. Tonight, I will explain."

"You better," you poke him in the chest and then push him. "Go. I'll be fast."

And then he's gone with the four Hobbits and you're alone. Make this room look like Hobbits are occupying it? Easy. There are already two beds, you just need to stuff pillows under the sheets to fool whoever it is that's chasing them. Hopefully, they're stupid enough to fall for it.

Quickly, you get to work, shoving pillows under the sheets and punching and fluffing them to make them look more humanoid in shape. Of course, you hope you got the height right, having to estimate. Maybe you need to add another one just to be safe?

Not long later, you're satisfied with your work. Besides, you should probably leave, Aragorn seemed impatient. So, taking one last look at your work, you leave the room, latching it shut.

Making your way back down the stairs to the main bar, you see it's still buzzing with the news of Frodo's vanishing, literally, but people are beginning to stream out. Silently placing a small pouch of coins on the innkeeper's stand, you leave the warm, bright bar, and enter the dark, cold night. It's no longer raining, that you're grateful for.

You spot the other inn Aragorn was talking about and walk across the muddy street, keeping your head down. Now, you're weary of everyone.

This inn is similar to the one across the way, just much quieter and less busy. The innkeeper is an older woman and she hums at you when you enter.

"Good evening," you greet her with a smile. "I'm looking for an Underhill? My companions were a bit ahead of me in our travels."

The lady smiles at you. "Yes, of course. They checked in not too long ago. Up the stairs, last room on the right."

You bow to her. "Thank you. Safe night."

With that, you head up the stairs and knock on the door before entering. The Hobbits are already in the two beds, passed out, absolutely knocked out. They must have had quite a night.

"Oh, wonderful, they're passed out," you say sarcastically, locking the door behind you. Aragorn is sitting beside the fire, his feet kicked up casually, but his hand is resting on the hilt of his sword. You sit beside him and lean back, the fire warming your legs and making them prickly like they always are near a fire.

"How did it go?" asks your friend.

With your eyes shut, you answer. "Fine. Hope I did a convincing job. Whoever is chasing them best be stupid enough to fall for that trick, though. Stuffing pillows under the blankets." You scoff, mostly at yourself.

The room is silent, save for snores and the fire crackling. Aragorn is the first to speak. "I apologize for not informing you enough of why I asked you to join, of our being here. Everything just happened so fast..."

You open your eyes and shrug. "It's fine. We have time now, though. First of all, let me ask; what is that Hobbit carrying?" You've lowered your voice now, not wanting to wake them.

Aragorn sits up and leans toward you. "The wizard told me he carries a ring. A ring of great importance, an old ring."

"A ring?" you ask with a raised brow. "Okay. Sure. Why is this ring important? Is that what made him vanish into thin air?"

Aragorn nods and you know he's not joking.

Your mouth falls open, but you quickly regaining your composure. "Okay, okay. So, then, who's chasing him?"

Your friend takes a deep breath and looks around the room, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Do you recall the old tale of Sauron and the Rings?"

The fire flickers and a chill runs down your spine. "Yes, my mother told it to me and my siblings to scare us before we went to sleep. Sauron gave the races rings. I think it was three for the elves, seven for the dwarves, and nine for the men. But he also had one for himself."

"Yes. What happened to the men who received the rings?"

"They went mad with power, they eventually died. People said, though, that their souls were tied to the rings and to Sauron, so they didn't die. My mother said they turned into these shadow-men called Ringwraiths and they've been searching for Sauron's lost ring ever since."

As you say it, the pieces fall into piece. Now, everything clicks. With a gasp, you stand, staring at Aragorn. "The Hobbit has the one ring and the Ringwraiths are after him?"

Aragorn nods. "Yes."

"Shit," you say, running a hand through your hair, and sinking back in your seat.

Silently, you stare into the fire, the wood crackling and popping. A spark lands on your boot and you watch it fade and smoke. Your mind is whirling. You knew that Sauron was once real, that was a fact, there were record of the battles in the Second Age. But you thought the rest were stories, of the rings and the men and the Ringwraiths. But Aragorn would never lie to you.

Finally, you look at him and ask, "What now? What do we do? We can never lose them. If what my mother said is true, than they don't eat or sleep. All they'll do is look for the ring and kill anyone who gets in their way."

"Galdalf instructed me to take them to Rivendell," Aragorn answers, his thumb brushing over the hilt of his sword. "From there, we'll let Lord Elrond decide what to do. He'll surly know the right course of action."

He's right, you know that. Rivendell. The realm of the elves. The Last Homely House. Of the First, depending on where you were coming from. You've never been there, but you know Aragorn had been. Over the years and your adventures together, he told you a lot about himself, something he never did with others as far as you knew. He was always a secretive one. Of course, you're sure he didn't tell you everything, but he did explain how he was raised in Rivendell by Elrond himself after his parents died. He also mentioned how he fell in love with Lady Arwen, Lord Elrond's daughter, her beauty untold. You've never met her, but now, you might.

With a nod and a deep breath, you fold your arms. "Aright. How far is Rivendell? A few days travel?"

Aragorn nods. "Yes. Now, rest up. I fear the Ringwraiths will be here soon, and we'll need to flee when they get here."

He doesn't have to ask you twice. Between the ale and the food, you've been tired for a long while. Leaning your head in your hand, you doze off, dreaming of your home village nestled deep in the woods far, far from Bree.

[hallothere]

41 with... Lothrandir maybe? 👀

41. Panic attacks (and tw for associated content)

Alone was easier, most of the time, as opposed to being around other people. This is it, this is the thing that kills you. It's here, and it's coming and there's no stopping it now. Other people often had tells that were hard to stomach. A raised eyebrow. Alternatively, a frown. Techeron's face would pinch and his brows would crease up while he fought back the urge to use the 'And what's making you think that?' he asked when schooling. It's over. Feel that? That's death. That's already here and it's not stopping for you.

When he was alone, he could lie down, press the heels of his hands into his eyes and counting his breathing. Sometimes for an hour, sometimes less. He would have a quiet place to cry or to be sick. Being sick... that was one of the worst.

You're already dead. You just don't know it. But you'll feel it. You're feeling it all the way to the end.

The worst one in memory was with an audience. Here's the rest of your life. You're the last one. What's it going to be like, however long you have left, to be without them forever? He'd been bound, standing, feeling his heart hammering into the wooden post while the Wizard cocked his head. Amused. You know what you saw before you left. Dead. That was the sound of them dying. And he's told you the ways it happened, some of them. Do you even want to think about it? Can you afford not to?

He'd blacked out that time. He'd wept, never more thankful that the fear always dissipated on waking.

But he didn't always have the luxury of sleep. It's not really over. It's a trick, just one more in the downward spiral. You're on borrowed time. At least now you won't be alone when it hits. Be on your guard, and maybe you'll see it coming, however much good that will-

"Dagoras."

Lothrandir stood just outside the circle of the fire. There were a few Ithilien Rangers with mugs of ale, Rohirrim with mead, and the appreciative exchange happening between them. Dagoras turned and found his face. He didn't frown.

"Lothrandir. Need anything?" he asked as if he couldn't guess.

"If I could tear your from the revelry for a moment-" he paused to look at the assembled company and grinned, "-We won't be long."

Dagoras sighed heavily, for the benefit of the assembly. Lothrandir saw the mug go down to the log seat unfinished, saw Dagoras' face steel a second before sliding back into unconcerned acceptance.

"Keep my seat warm, will you? I'm getting too old for cold nights." It meant nothing. Everything. Past the line of tents and behind the heavy trunk of a culumalda, Lothrandir pushed his face into his hands.

"It... it is over? The War? The generals, at least, please tell me something is ended--"

Dagoras' face seemed to droop in recognition. Not in resignation, or reluctance. Compassion. Pity.

"The worst of it, yes." He spoke softly even for their relative isolation. "If the evidence in the air isn't enough, the evidence in your heart either-" here Dagoras set a hand on his shoulder and Lothrandir held onto it right back, "-then we can trust Mithrandir. Frodo cast the Ring into the fires of Doom, and that much has ended things. You saw him too, did you not? He wasn't some trick of the light. Mithrandir, too, seems glad, and we all know there's precious little that causes that these days."

Lothrandir managed a laugh. His eyes stung, and his head hung there a moment longer while the words sank in.

"Tell me again, then." Dagoras spoke up after a moment. "Like you did in Pelargir. Name the fear, that I might know it and dispel it."

Lothrandir took a deep breath. "That... that we didn't really win. That I have.." He swallowed hard. Dagoras didn't interrupt. "...That I have you all back, and I'm going to lose you. That orcs are going to sweep down from that hill over there and cut us down to a man."

Dagoras paused to look at the hill. "It's a worthy concern, don't mistake me." He pulled Lothrandir to his side, facing the hill, but did not insist Lothrandir look. "It's wise to be vigilant, but our Ithilien cousins scouted the hill. They did find trolls- turned to stone- and a few orcs trying to scavenge their caches. Our friend took care of those. Every hiding place of the enemy on that hill has been scattered. Better yet, the Eagles have taken great delight in picking off stragglers. I think I overheard Gwaihir compare them to fleas."

Lothrandir laughed again, deeper, and Dagoras ran a hand down the back of his head to his shoulders, again and again. Lothrandir felt something like a skittish horse, but didn't move to complain.

"Thank you" he said.

"Come find me any time. Any time at all, Lothrandir." Dagoras continued to tend to him like a frightened foal without complaint. "Or, if I'm not there, try one of the others." Lothrandir stiffened, and he felt it. "At least sit with one of them. For a minute- I'm not asking you bare your heart." More quietly, he continued, "Radanir is much the same. You may bristle, but he will try to help in his own way."

Lothrandir remained still for the measure of a few more breaths. Then, he straightened. He clasped Dagoras' hand tightly.

"Thank you." He repeated. We're alright. We're going to be alright.

[inkedmoth]

Not-Yet-Written-Fics Game

Thank you @erathene for tagging me, especially since I haven’t actually started posting anything but still have a bajillion ideas I want to talk about lmao

0. On Swift Wings – Has very much been started/written, but its where most the other ideas stem from so I’m listing it here, that way you’re less in the dark and more in low level lighting.

Rhosynel is a Messenger of Gondor, she and her Messenger bird Ilmara, are tasked with carrying a missive to a Ranger somewhere around Bree. What should be a simple trip there and back again, results in her becoming press-ganged into trailing after the Fellowship, something she is very much Against. Naturally she becomes far too attached to all of them and finds herself unwilling to leave any of them behind or let any of them die, and in a truly unsurprising turn of events, ends up becoming more than a little close with a certain Lord of Gondor.

A reluctant tenth walker Boromir lives fic which already has 50+ chapters written :’D

1. Falconer AU – Also has a lot written.

What if Rhosynel never became a Messenger? What if she took a different path in life? Rhosynel finds herself foisted into the role of falconer for the Kings new hunting birds and must rapidly find her feet despite her own doubts. Set a full year after the destruction of the Ring, this fic is entirely written for Certain Scenes™ and because I adore falconry and birds so wanted to write about that.

Also Boromir lives again. This one is less of a slow burn and more of a flash fire lmao

(was meant to be a thief au and failed spectacularly)

2. Rhosynel’s Backstory Plans – Next to nothing written, could be multiple fics

Follows Rhosynel’s path to becoming a Messenger: Her brief stint in the Southern Rangers before losing someone she loved, which prompted her subsequent career change to become a Messenger. Will absolutely include shenanigans from her Ranger years, various Messenger trips, including one to Mirkwood where she earns herself a messenger bird for her troubles. She nearly dies like, three times.

3. Arranged Marriage – vague idea

Set very shortly after the Ring is destroyed, the kingdoms are scrabbling to find their feet and stake their claims. In a bid to settle things amicably, a marriage is proposed between the daughter of a chieftain (who? where? why? all valid questions) and Captain Boromir (he lives again are you surprised yet?), neither of whom are impressed with this idea in the slightest. Possibly some political intrigue, maybe she was sent as a spy or assassin??, either way there’s culture clashes, disagreements, some pride and prejudice vibes, and whoops it started out with a kiss how did it end up like this.

(Was originally going to be an AU for Rhos again but honestly at this point I may as well just slap a different name on her and call it original lol)

4. Thorongil & Pirate Problems – vague idea

I was reading the wiki and found the sentence “Thorongil travelled to Umbar where he severely damaged the Corsairs fleet in a surprise attack” and my brain promptly decided this was a GREAT idea for a fic and that I should bookmark it for later. It would follow Aragorn and a small team travelling from Minas Tirith to Umbar, with possible detours to Dol Amroth for funsies. I haven’t got much plot beyond “go fight pirates” but I’ve written more with less info so it’ll be fiiine.

(Also potentially Aragorn x OC mischief wink wink)

5. Single word fic ideas

Mulan – Women aren’t permitted in the army, solution; be swift as a coursing river (possible one shot??)

Distractions – Boromir’s working too hard, Rhosynel has a plan to distract him, there’s a desk involved. (less like spice and more like filth)

Stables – Rhosynel backstory on meeting Faramir as a teen while she works as a stable hand, teaches him some Rohirrim and gets flustered.

Mead – People get drunk mischief happens. It’s all self-indulgent filth, I legit don’t know if I’d have the courage to write it.

Picnic – Ladies Day Out, they have a lovely picnic, ride their horses, and gossip about the men.

Missing – After the Rings destruction Boromir goes missing on a diplomatic trip, Rhosynel proceeds to go apeshit in finding him. She may or may not throw someone out a window.

Dark – Boromir takes the Ring and goes rogue, entirely @emilybeemartin’s fault for drawing Dark Boromir and now I’m feral

6. PLOT TWIST it’s a Narnia fic

Because Narnia was my first true fantasy story and I should enjoy myself.

You’re a regular modern girl who’s into home renovations to distract from your boring retail job. You find an old wardrobe at an estate sale, and repurpose its doors for your home. After a rough shift at work, you come home to kick your feet up and zone out to trashy tv, but there’s a problem. The house you’ve entered doesn’t seem to be yours. Promptly exiting it, you find yourself in the middle of a forest. What, the, fuck. That’s it, that’s all I’ve got.

No-pressure tags for @scyllas-revenge and @esta-elavaris because besides @erathene you are the only people I know who write fics lmao

[nazmazh]

Goals for writing D&D stuff last night (despite crown falling out):

Figure out what the last member of a party was going to be - I knew that they are going to be:

A Warforged

A non-military background - Some sort of manual labourer, most likely

A prisoner that had been part of a guerilla cell after their homeland was conquered

Should be a martially-inclined/somewhat tankier class, to balance out the mages on their team a bit

Once I figure out what I want to do, match them to a dice set, and start organizing things

Copy my notes from my phone about all I've pictured for them so far

Do this all rather quickly, then get into playing some more of the Powerwash Sim DLC or working on the digital puzzle I'm getting close to finishing.

What ended up happening:

Looked at list of Warforged characters I've created previously for ideas, noticed there's a few classes that I haven't used for Warforged yet - Perfect jumping-off point

Paladin's among them - Would be great for a tank, but also not really lending itself to the non-combatant background I was hoping for

Ranger is also one that I haven't used - And a couple of ideas spring to my head immediately

Bard, Sorcerer, and Wizard haven't got one yet - But there's already so many mages in this group of characters

Nevertheless, an idea for a Lore Bard pops into my head

Spend a bunch of time formalizing in my notes the overall timeline and terminology relating to Warforged in my world

Determine which of my existing Warforged characters fit into which "subrace"

Get a whole bunch of worldbuilding stuff officially written down/coordinated and put a pin in a bunch of stuff to reconcile (it happens when you write everything piecemeal, after all)

Circle back to the paladin - Idea has emerged, just not for this group. Write it all up any way - Easier than trying to remember it all any way, and if I'm making notes, might as well just write it down formally

Oath of Redemption - A former Imperial Tax Collector who avoids killing because dead people are kind of hard to get back-taxes out of.

Also, it's not her job to be executioner. Doesn't want to overstep

Basically - A take on Redeemer that's not "I must atone for my horrible crimes, I swear off lethal violence!" and also not "I'm a goody-two shoes who refuses to kill" - As a fun idea/experiment. I really like how her flavour has shaken out, tbh

Dice set (Gold-Coloured, naturally) and name (Electrum) picked out, more work put into the actual character sheet than I was planning initially - Again, easier to just get it done.

Okay - Ranger, then:

Swarmkeeper is intriguing - But what sort of peaceful manual labourer background could I tie back into that?

I mean, the obvious one is beekeeper - But I have that earmarked for a Dwarf meadery worker's background (If you're gonna have so much mead, you need someone to watch over the bees to make the honey) - And while it'd probably be fine to have two rangers with that background, I do prefer trying to change things up, y'know?

So, if not that - What? Weasels? - Well, the spectral swarm is supposed to fly around - and yeah, spirits, but maybe something different.

Birds? Eh... What kind of birds would be kept for some sort of purpose, but still swarm?

Bats? Well that'd probably word, but it's not like people keep bats. In fact, the only thing I could think of that humans use bats for is guano.

Hold on - There's an idea there. Mining/collecting guano is a pretty unpleasant job. The kind of job you'd give to a mechanical worker who lacks a sense of smell if you could, right?

Okay, so what if this Warforged guano collector was in a cave when [magical apocalypse thing] happened and the bats in the cave with them kind of bonded to their soul because of this event?

Excellent! Let's go with that!

Name: Phosphorite (for the phosphorus in the guano); Dice Set: Glow in the Dark (because of phosphorescence)

Great, print it! Except... This isn't really the right vibe for the Warforged prisoner.

The Lore Bard is not the prisoner I was writing. Could have fit certain parts, but I'm too attached to the idea of the ranger that was a manual labourer now

He's instead a helpful guide from library - Lots of knowledge of all sorts of things, handy utility-bot, etc.

Okay, so the prisoners' group now has this guy in it too.

His familiarity with certain things is going to make him actually kind of relevant when it comes to the ruins the crew was being used to clear - Might have a good ability to generate plot hooks because he could possibly understand some of the archaeological things here!

Name: Lazurite (Lapis' mineral, associate with knowledge). Working on picking a set of dice. Likely will be blue with gold flakes.

Finally, finally circling back to the other Ranger again

This one is probably the right fit for the prisoner character I initially had in mind

Beastmaster ranger, was a shepherd before the war broke out

Still has those shepherd "protect my herd/flock" instincts, and that's why they stay with the resistance fighters, despite their distaste for fighting.

What minerals are associated with shepherds or animal husbandry in any way, though? (Minerals as names is the running theme for the Warforged characters)

There's apparently a "mutton fat" jade - Mineral it's made of is Nephrite. Cool, that works for me - As a ranger I'm already inclined to pair them with green dice.

Nephrite reminds me of Nefertiti, as far as names go. Sure, this one will lean female, inasmuch as gender is a thing for Warforged anyway

Yes, I'm aware that the name relates to kidneys because of the magical properties jade was thought to have and all - But still, it works. I'm good with this. Just got to find an appropriate set of dice for her too, and I'll have it all sorted!

Oh also - If she's a beastmaster, what exactly is her beast going to be like - Have to figure that bit out still too.

Still working on getting those last two dice sets determined

Had a couple of breaks in there to deal with my tooth and have lunch.

But, uh, for starting at like, midnight last night, and still not getting to the end of my goal by 12:30 pm, feels like I kinda meandered a bit.

(And yes, I did spend quite a lot of time typing all this up here too)

This is what it's like to write when you're me - Seized by bursts of creativity, but you have no control where they're gonna take you.

[gloamingdawn]

Chapter 4

September 19th Day 1: Reunion/Afterlife

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

It had occurred to Lyn a couple of times how the Halls of Valor had been designed for giants. The stairs were wide enough apart to be a little cumbersome, tables and chairs were accessible but still a little too big for the Sin’dorei frame, but the flagons of mead — while created for larger hands — were fantastic and she did always appreciate the excess.

The thought weighed on her a little as she hurried through the Great Hall, looking for that one particular out-of-place soul that she’d put here. Helion, and the others, weren’t meant for this afterlife. She had personally ferried a range of souls — not just Elves, though those had been the most numerous. In time, once the Shadowlands were fixed, she would move them to where they were meant to be.

She was aware of eyes on her as she searched. Danica had said she would her honor and the deeds she had done, hadn’t she? If the other Valarjar now knew who she was, it wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it? Lyn straightened her posture a bit and walked directly toward the first vrykul that made eye contact with her, thanking her guiding stars that she’d learned enough of their language from the other women in Skold Ashil, “Hello, I’m—”

“The Alvilda!” His voice was rough, but welcoming, and he immediately offered her one of those too-big flagons of mead, “I have heard of your triumph this day. Impressive, for one of your kind. I am Ulf, of the Fjord. Drink with me!”

Lyn managed not to slosh too much mead over the side of the tankard as he crashed his directly against the one he’d just handed to her before having a generous drink to accept the invitation. A wolf of the fjord he certainly was — dark haired and leaner in body than some of the other men here, but he’d kept his trophy scars in death. Like most of them, he had died before his hair or beard had a chance to start going grey. “Ulf, I’m looking for another alf here — Helion. He’s fair of skin and blonde of hair. Taller than me.”

“And a great fighter, too. I know of him, he is but one of the Ljósálfar here. Your doing?” Ulf took a quaff of his own drink, curiosity evident enough in his eyes.

“Yes, through Eyir. Do you know where he stays? I would like to see him,” she had to make sure he was okay. He’d died in battle, so she knew that at the very least he would have the respect of the others here, but she knew how jarring it was to be enveloped by another culture so foreign to their own.

Ulf’s laugh rolled, utterly charmed, “An alf val’kyr! To be surprised, in death, is a blessing. Yes, he stays in the hunting grounds. He says the forest reminds him of home.”

Lyn smiled; that sounded like him. He’d never been a ranger or a Farstrider, but he’d always had a love of the woods. “Thank you, Ulf. That you’ve sparred with him honors me, in life he was my husband and it has been some time since I have seen him. We did not have much time to talk when I freed his restless soul from where it had been trapped. It will be good to see him.”

“And you have honored him in death through your own deeds. I will not keep you further, Alvilda. Freya’s blessings to you both!” Ulf lifted his drink and tipped his head, the silver beads in his beard and braids catching the light as he smiled back at her.

She kept the drink in her hands as she made her way toward the doors that separated out the hunting grounds from the rest of the Halls. It was the area she was the least familiar with, and she wasn’t a tracker by any means. Maybe it was coincidence, maybe it was Freya’s blessing, but as soon as she crossed from the worn tile into the fog of the portal and onto the well trekked grass path leading into the sprawling forest she nearly bowled her quarry over.

This time the mead did spill as the tankard clattered to the ground. Helion steadied her, his hands careful on the golden armor, “Lyn??”

As confused as he sounded, he was whole again. On Azeroth his spirit had kept the ragged, gaping wound in his neck that had torn the flesh off his jaw and ended his life, but here he looked the same as he had the day he’d left her for the last time. She had so much to explain, and so many stories to tell him. At least this time they actually had time.

To be surprised, in death, certainly was a blessing.

@daily-writing-challenge

[nerdythebard]

#3: Ah Muzen Cab, God of Bees

Hello again, gods and goddesses!

This time, we focus on a very unusual figure. I'll be(e) honest, I had no idea there was a separate function as the God of Bees, but apparently, several ancient religions do have somebody for that specific task. Plus, there is surprisingly very little information on Ah Muzen Cab, who holds that position in the Maya pantheon, but when you think about it, it actually makes sense: honey was believed to have medicinal properties, it has an almost infinite shelf life, and is used as the main ingredient for mead... no wonder people would think of bees as divine creatures and honey as a sacred food. Sure, why not. Let's see what all the buzz is about!

Next time: When there's no more room in hell...

Now, let's set up some goals for this build. What do we need to make Ah Muzen Cab sting:

Bees: Goes without saying, what's a god without his minions? We gotta get those lil' buzzers somehow;

High Movement Speed: Pretty obvious, you're a bee god, you gotta zoom around;

High Attack Speed: Your sting stings and many stings sting even better. Let's make sure we can get a few extra hits on our turn;

Honey: Bees are cute and their puke is delicious. We have to include it somehow.

When it comes to Ah Muzen Cab's race, there were several options. I could've made him a Simic Hybrid for the nice carapace feature; or maybe a Gith, to reference his mysterious origins; at some point, I believe I even considered a winged Tiefling... but luckily, Wizards of the Coast came to my rescue with their latest Unearthed Arcana 2021: Folk of the Feywild.

Ah Muzen Cab is a Fairy. He's not the largest of gods in SMITE, so making him a size Small shouldn't be an issue. Fairies get a ground speed AND flying speed of 30 feet each, and a +2 and +1 to two stats of your choice; let's go with +2 Wisdom and +1 Dexterity. Instead of humanoid, we're now considered Fey creature type, and we have innate, unlimited flight ability (with hovering). We know Common language and one more of our choice (I suggest Sylvan) and we get the Fairy Magic feature, which gives us two spells from the start: Druidcraft, a cantrip that lets us interact with nature in one way or another (by for example opening flower pods, making them bloom, creating harmless sensory effects, etc.), and Faerie Fire, which marks everything in a 20-foot cube range with a bright aura, essentially preventing invisibility if a creature fails the saving throw (it's normally Dexterity, but we can pick Wisdom here, and so we shall). Another curious ability is Fey Passage, which allows us to squeeze through an opening even 1 inch wide.

For Ah Muzen Cab's background, to reflect his solitude and mystery around his very being, we're gonna pick the Hermit. We get proficiency in Medicine and Religion skills, proficiency in Herbalism Kit and we get to learn one language of our choice. We're now prepared to gather pollen and make our own honey. We also get the Discovery feature, which means we possess a particularly important piece of information. It honestly can be anything, from a crucial part of the campaign's plot to something more personal (for example 1001 recipes involving honey).

ABILITY SCORES

For the quick and nimble Ah Muzen Cab, Dexterity will be our first stat. We will be a caster in some degree, and our casting ability is going to be Wisdom. Follow that up with Constitution, for some Hit Points, then Strength and Charisma, and finally we'll dump Intelligence.

CLASS

We have yet another no-multiclass build. Ah Muzen Cab is going to be(e) nature-themed, quick, and ready to deal a plethora of ranged damage. He's a Ranger (Revised) start-to-finish.

As a Ranger, our Hit Dice is a d10. We start with Hit Points of 10 + our CON modifier, proficiency with light armour, medium armour and shields, as well as simple weapons and martial weapons. For Ah Muzen Cab, I think we should go with studded leather armour and a hand crossbow to mimic his carapace and stinger. We don't get proficiencies with any tools, and our saving throws are Strength and Dexterity. We get to choose three class skills, I'd say Animal Handling, Perception, and Survival fit Ah Muzen Cab's personality best.

---

Level 1: We start this build by choosing our Favoured Enemy. That's right, using the power of fantasy racism we can select a type of creature we are most effective against. We have an option of being the natural enemy of beasts, fey, humanoids, monstrosities, or undead. I'd say to choose either humanoids or fey, but this is to be adjusted to the campaign played. What's important is that we gain +2 damage against the chosen enemy type, we have an advantage on Survival checks related to tracking an enemy of said type, and Intelligence checks to recall any information about that type. We also get another language of our choice.

Another 1st-level feature we get is called Natural Explorer. As a master of the wilderness, we receive various benefits:

We can ignore any difficult terrain;

We have an advantage on initiative rolls;

On our first turn of combat, we have an advantage against enemies that hadn't acted yet.

Additionally, we grant the following benefits if we travel for an hour or more:

Difficult terrain doesn't slow our group's travel;

The group cannot be lost (unless by magic);

Even if we're engaged in some activity while travelling (foraging, tracking, etc.), we cannot be surprised by enemies;

If we're travelling alone, we can move stealthily at a regular pace;

We find twice as much food while foraging;

While tracking creatures, we learn their exact size, numbers, and how long ago they were at our current location.

Level 2: At this level, we get to learn some spells. Although we don't get any cantrips, nor can we cast ritual spells, there are a few tricks that will enhance our build. Wisdom is our spellcasting ability and we begin with two 1st-level spell slots and we learn two 1st-level spells: Alarm lets us put a 20-foot cube under magical surveillance for 8 hours. If any undesignated creature enters the cube, we are notified of the intrusion. We can flavour this spell by creating a small hive with bees buzzing around the perimeter. Hunter's Mark puts a target on one enemy for 1 hour (or until our concentration is broken); until the spell ends, the marked enemy receives extra 1d6 damage and we get an advantage on any Perception or Survival checks we roll in order to find it. If the enemy dies while marked, we can spend a bonus action to mark another creature.

At this level, we also get to pick our Fighting Style and Close Quarters Shooter lets us eliminate the disadvantage while shooting at a target that's within our melee range. We also ignore half-covers and three-quarters covers within 30 feet, and we get +1 to our ranged attack rolls.

Level 3: Our bond with nature deepens at this level. We get the Primeval Awareness feature; we can establish some basic-level communication with a non-hostile beast - we can learn of its emotional state, or if it's under any magical influence. Additionally, we can spend a minute of concentration to detect our Favoured Enemy within 5 miles of our current position.

This is also the level at which we pick our subclass and the Swarmkeeper Conclave finally lets us get our bees!

Our Gathered Swarm is a buzzing bundle of bees, which stays with us until we die. On each of our turns in combat, the Swarm can assist us in various ways. After we successfully hit the enemy:

The enemy receives additional 1d6 piercing damage;

The enemy has to succeed on a Strength saving throw, or be moved by our Swarm up to 15 feet horizontally in any direction;

We can be moved by our Swarm up to 5 feet horizontally in any direction.

We also gain access to Swarmkeeper's Magic feature, which grants us extra spells when reaching specific levels. At the 3rd level, we'd get Faerie Fire but we already know it because of our racial features. So we either forget about it or ask our DM if we could replace it with an extra 1st-level Ranger spell.

We also get another spell: Ensnaring Strike is applied to our ranged attack. On a successful hit, the enemy has to make a Strength saving throw or be restrained up to 1 minute (or until the concentration is broken) by magical thorny vines sprouting from the ground... or perhaps a puddle of extra-sticky honey? While restrained by the spell, suffers 1d6 piercing damage at the beginning of their turn (perhaps some bees hide within the honey and sting them).

Level 4: We get our first Ability Score Improvement! Let's raise our Constitution by 2 points, to get some more Hit Points later on. Survivability is important for the quick and nimble ones.

Level 5: At this level, we get our first subclass upgrade and it's... Extra Attack. We can now attack twice instead of once during a single action. It helps with our target goals, so it's good.

We also gain access to 2nd-level spell slots. Animal Messenger lets you select a critter and charm it to act as your courier for the next 24 hours. You speak a short message (up to 25 words) and describe a target and the creature does its best to deliver your words. I don't need to tell you what kind of creature to use, right?

Your Swarmkeeper's Magic feature also gives you an extra spell: Web fills a 20-foot cube space with sticky webbing. Creatures caught in the web must succeed on a Dexterity saving throw or be restrained. Once again, we flavour web as honey and we're good to go.

Level 6: Our power of Fantasy Racism grows even stronger with Greater Favoured Enemy. We can pick another type of creatures to gain advantages against. This time, we get to choose from aberrations, celestials, constructs, dragons, elementals, fiends, or giants. We once again learn another language, and our bonus damage against both types of Favoured Enemies changes to a +4. Once again, choose whatever suits the campaign best.

Level 7: Time for another subclass upgrade. Writhing Tide lets our Swarm form a pair of wings around us, giving us flying speed of 10 feet for 1 minute. This ability seems a bit pointless, since we have a much better one from our racial background, so I would consider asking the DM if we can apply this for our party members and give them some slow flight instead.

For this level's spell, I think we should get Healing Spirit - we call upon a nature spirit (gee, I wonder what form it would take) to reside in a 5-foot space. If we or our allies movie into that space, or start our turn there, we get 1d6 points of healing. The spirit can heal only 1 + [our spellcasting modifier] number of times and disappears after the final healing. As a bonus action, we can move the spirit up to 30 feet to a space we can see.

Level 8: Another ASI! Let's put one point in Constitution and one in Wisdom.

At this level we also get Fleet of Foot, which lets us use the Dash action as a bonus action.

Level 9: We get access to 3rd-level spells: Conjure Barrage lets us magically multiply a projectile we shot. Each creature in a 60-foot cone must make a Dexterity saving throw or take 3d8 points of damage (half on a successful save), the type of which is the same as the projectile used.

We get another spell from our Swarmkeeper's Magic feature: Gaseous Form transforms us or whoever we touch into a cloud of smoke (or perhaps pollen). While in cloud form:

We have flying speed of 10 feet;

We can occupy another creature's space;

We have advantage on non-magical damage;

We have advantage on Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution saving throws;

We can slip through cracks and narrow openings;

If we're stunned or incapacitated mid-air, we don't fall.

While in this form, we cannot speak, use items, attack, or cast spells.

Level 10: At the midway point we get Hide in Plain Sight, which helps us hide so well we reach Drax levels of invisibility

When we choose to Hide, we can decide to not use any movement on our turn. If we do so, any creature that attempts to detect us receives a -10 to their Perception check until the end of our next turn. As long as we do not move, we can use this feature indefinitely.

Level 11: Another subclass feature! The Mighty Swarm feature gives us more bees than before. The damage dealt by our Swarm increases from d6 to d8; if a target fails their saving throw against being moved by our Swarm, they are also knocked prone; when we are moved by our Swarm, we get the benefit of half-cover until the start of our next turn.

We also get another 3rd-level spell: Protection from Energy gives us, or any creature we touch, resistance to one damage type of choice - acid, cold, fire, lightning, or thunder - for up to 1 hour (or until our concentration is broken).

Level 12: Time for another ASI! Let's raise our Dexterity by two points.

Level 13: We don't get new class features, but we do unlock 4th-level spells; Grasping Vine creates a wiggly plant tendril in a point within 30 feet from you, which can be directed to lash at a target within 30 feet from it. The target has to make a Dexterity saving throw or be pulled 20 feet towards the vine.

We also get another Swarmkeeper spell: Arcane Eye creates an invisible magical beacon that we can use to scout our surroundings for up to 1 hour (or until our concentration is broken). As an action we can move the Eye up to 30 feet without any distance limit; although it cannot enter other planes of existence, or pass through solid barriers, it can enter through an opening even 1 inch wide.

Level 14: We get to put a little extra sneaky to our build with Vanish. This allows us to take the Hide action as a bonus action (which pairs really well with our Hide in Plain Sight).

Level 15: For our final subclass upgrade, we get Swarming Dispersal. When we take damage, we can use a reaction to transform our body into a swarm of bees for the best representation of Naruto's Substitution Jutsu.

We gain resistance to the damage dealt to us and we teleport into an unoccupied space within 30 feet of where we started. We can use this ability the number of times equal to our proficiency bonus and we regain all uses when finishing a long rest.

We get to pick another 4th-level spell: we use Locate Creature to name a creature familiar to us and learn their location as long as they're within 1.000 feet from us. If the creature is moving, we will detect that as long as they don't live that range.

Level 16: We get another ASI! Let's cap our Dexterity with those two extra points.

Level 17: Here we unlock our spellcasting limit - 5th-level spells: Swift Quiver is a bonus action spell that turns our ammo supply into the infinite quiver of Legolas. For 1 minute (or until concentration is broken) on each of our turns, we can take a bonus action to make two additional attacks with ammo from our quiver. Combined with our Extra Attack, this lets us attack one target four times during our turn for 1d6+5 piercing damage.

Level 18: We get a feature called Feral Senses, which helps when fighting invisible enemies; when we attack something we cannot see we no longer get disadvantage on attack rolls. We are also aware of any invisible creatures within 30 feet of us, provided we're not blinded or deafened and the creature isn't using its Hide action.

Level 19: Final ASI of the build. Let's round-up our Wisdom into 18, and with one point to spare we can't do much so allocate it wherever.

We also learn our final spell for the build: Steel Wind Strike lets us do a flourish with our melee weapon, and turn it into an invisible blade of slashiness. Up to five creatures within 30 feet of us have to make a Dexterity saving throw or take 6d10 force damage. Additionally, we can choose to teleport within 5 feet of one of the targets that we hit or miss.

Level 20: For our capstone we get Foe Slayer: once on each of our turns, we can add our Wisdom modifier to the attack roll or the damage roll of an attack we make.

---

Now, let's see what came out from this build for Ah Muzen Cab.

I think we've reached all of our goals. We got our bees, we've got honey-flavour in some abilities, we get extra Movement Speed with Dash as a bonus action... we even get a good Attack Speed with Extra Attack and Swift Quiver.

Our Spell Save DC is 18, AC is 17 if paired with the studded leather armour, and we've on average 164 Hit Points.

Unfortunately, our Intelligence and Charisma scores are pretty low so any checks and saving throws involving those might give us trouble. We are also pretty much range-oriented, with just +1 in Strength.

But that's it! Hopefully you guys enjoyed this ride, and I'll see you for the next one!

Nerdy out!

[second-chance-stray]

RP Log: Riylli, Rising, and Cravs rethink a plan.

(Rising Lotus) Help me come up with a name for my Shiny Marill (Cravendy Hound) meryl streep (Rising Lotus) Mmmmmmmm nah (Riylli Aliapoh) azumeryl streep (Cravendy Hound) sdfs azumeryl

Riylli Aliapoh waves to Rising as she enters the room. "Hey, you finally made it!" She says, despite only arriving herself only about a minute ago. "Okay! Now we can finally start! The goal for tonight is to figure out a way to deal with that Rot lady! And maybe get a little drunk. But just a little, got it?"

Cravendy Hound sweeps a neat pile of sawdust into the corner and then disappears into the back to put her broom away. Contrary to Riylli's suggestion, she comes out with her arms full of bottles.

Rising Lotus walked in and immediately took a seat at the bar, leaning back against the counter. "Do you think it's a good idea to plan while drinkin'? Also you missed bar night last night!...well I 'spose you didn't miss much though. Slow night."

Riylli took her seat beside Rising. "...Wasn't really in the mood." She muttered, waving her hand dismissively. "And were only gonna get a little drunk, remember? Just enough to spark our creativity!"

Rising Lotus shrugs and give Riylli a dismissive wave. "Don't worry I get it, between Mivo an' Mayumi. Nothin' wrong with takin' a night to yourself, you were missed though." she gave Riylli a smile and a thumbs up, spinning on her stool after to eye up the selection.

(Riylli Aliapoh) ("Only a little drunk")

Cravendy Hound deposits everything on the counter, leaving scant room for cups. "Just enough to spark our creativity, aye."

Riylli Aliapoh 's ears folded back a bit at that, not sure how to respond. "I'll... Show up for the next one then... But you better keep those two away from me, got it?" She said, turning to grab whichever bottle nearby had 'Mead' written on it

Cravendy Hound: "A guy came in and showed us 'is lack of eye. Pretty gross." Cravs turns to open the cabinets behind her and places a stack of empty cups at the far end of the counter.

Riylli Aliapoh: "W...Why'd he go and do that..?" Riylli made a face of disgust at the thought. It was probably for the best that she had not been there

Rising Lotus: "Aye he did, looked super gross...though I guess Crav's asked him to show us, an' your not NOT gonna look at that if given an' opportunity right?"

Cravendy Hound: "I told 'im to! Wanted to know if it was just for show," Cravs laughs. She ducks down for a second and pulls up a set of ingredients - frozen pineapple, oranges, cherries and a bit of mint. "...I nearly died gettin' these pineapples awhile back, so. 'ere, I'll make us somethin' tasty."

Riylli Aliapoh stuck out her tongue at Rising. "No way, that's gross!" She grumbled, taking a swig of her bottle. She raised an eyebrow at Cravs' words. "...How do you almost die gettin' pineapples?"

Rising Lotus "They better be tasty if you almost bit it tryin' to get 'em. An' I suppose they could fallen on her, prick her with them pointy parts." she thinks for a few moments. "...do pineapples grow on trees? I know those hard brown things do.."

Cravendy Hound 's mouth sets in a hard line. She pointedly ignores Riylli's question and focuses her attention on juice the fruit.

Riylli Aliapoh gives Rising a worried look at Cravs' reaction, but decides to change the subject. "...Anyroad, all that aint important. We gotta figure out a plan to deal with Rot after all! So... Uh... Any suggestions..?"

Cravendy Hound: "They grow in bushes, actually."

Rising Lotus "So they ain't related to pine trees or cones at all then? Why they called that then?" considering she forgot why they were here before they started drinking, it looked like it might be a long night.

Cravendy Hound: "Well, speakin' in a general sense...we could do somethin' legal, illegal, or in between." Cravs pours a bit of pineapple and orange juice in a glass full of ice, and then dumps the rest of the ingredients in. Vodka, cherry, mint. "I....I don't know, actually? Just know the bush they grow outta doesn't look like a pine tree."

Riylli Aliapoh: "Focussss" She hissed at Rising, shooting her a glare. "Pineapples aint important right now! Aint you supposed to be the smart one outta all of us?"

Cravendy Hound: "Oy, and why ye gettin' 'ung up on the 'pine' part? What about 'apple'? Doesn't look or taste like an apple at all!"

Rising Lotus looks at Riylli for a few moments, the turning to Cravs. "... I don't know if that's a good thing, I mean.. smart enough to not do some of the dumb shit you to do I 'spose...but I guess that's jus' cause one of us has to be alive to take the other two home. Huh."

Riylli Aliapoh: "Wha-? I don't do dumb shite! You've seen my magic, I'm really smart!" She insists, immediately getting sidetracked as well.

Rising Lotus "...you're right... it doesn't taste or look like an' apple...an' I think we all only are smart in like, some very particular areas really. I mean I dunno, I never felt that smart...cept for like fishin' an' fightin'."

Cravendy Hound: "Oy, we're 'ere to talk plans, right?! So come on! Drink up, and get those juices flowin'!" Cravs pushes the bottles aside and deposits cocktails in front of Rising and Riylli.

Riylli Aliapoh eyes the drink suspiciously, but eventually gave in and replaced her mead. Her ears flickered as she tasted it, looking up to grin at Cravs. "It's good! I was worried it was gonna be all bitter like that other stuff you... Er... L-Like other drinks. In general. Y'know..."

Rising Lotus took a long drag from the drink, giving a nod of approval. "What other stuff you drinkin'? I mean I 'spose a lot of booze is bitter." she took another swig, blinking a few times afterwards. "...plannin' though...I think we ought to be careful, loanshark types aren't shy when it comes to doin' nasty things to folk they don't like."

Cravendy Hound: "Is knowin' magic a measure of smartness? Like, couldn't ye just use it on instinct? Then it'd be dumb magic." Cravs rambles as she picks up her own glass to sip on. She beams at Riylli's compliment. "Aye, can't beat a good fruity drink every now and again."

Riylli Aliapoh: "Of course magic is a measure of smartness! All the big mages are real smart folk, like that leh-vee-yur guy!" She said, before suddenly shaking her head. "Wait, no, planning dammit! I say the best way to get rid of her is by gettin' the law to lock her away, like Cravs planned. Just... think we should go about it a different way."

Rising Lotus: "I'm sure she's in the pockets of some of the Yellow Jackets though, coin is worth more than justice most the time. Used to hear 'bout it from my ma all the time growin' up. She'll weasel her way out probably."

Cravendy Hound nods to Rising's words. "Aye. The type where if ye cut off one head, two more will take its place. We definitely should avoid killin' anyone, cause that'll just make things worse."

Riylli Aliapoh glares at Cravs. "Of course were not killing anyone! Were the good guys, we don't do that kind of junk." She said, crossing her arms defiantly. "She can't be in the pockets of ALL those... 'yellow jackets' though, right? Just gotta make sure whatever we pin on her can't be covered up"

Cravendy Hound: "Lever-err...? That's the pipsqueak that was responsible for all that Crystal Brave stuff, right? Or was it...Urrre-ranger." Cravs rubs at her temples as she tries to recall. So much had happened while she wasn't 'paying attention.'

Rising Lotus "That an' we'll probably be arrested ourselves, along with what Cravs said of course!" she took another sip. "Hmm... most folks like her, place to hit where it'll hurt would be her wallet." she rubbed her chin "How many ways does she got gil comin' in?"

Cravendy Hound: "That was my main goal, actually. If people know she's sellin' stolen goods, then even if she pays off the Yellow Jackets, 'er reputation is sure to tank. And then, she won't 'ave the cash or time to mess round with Baldur."

Riylli Aliapoh takes another sip of her drink, clearly enjoying it judging by the way her ears wiggled. "...So how do we go about doin' that? Steal the stolen stuff from her? Or... Set a trap maybe..?"

Rising Lotus "Maybe get somethin' everyone will know will be stolen? Then when she tries to hock it she'd get caught?" she shrugged,  nearly draining her drink with the next sip. "Jus' need to make sure it's somethin' big...but somethin' she wouldn't recognize." she nodded a few too many times at her words, must of been a strong drink.

Cravendy Hound: "...if we steal the stolen stuff from 'er, then it'll just look like we stole it. And I don't think she'd be bold enough to try to sell somethin' that's well known."

Riylli Aliapoh: "...Then... What if we try buyin' somethin'? But set it up so the yellowjackets are there to see it happen?"

Rising Lotus shook her head "Naw, we'd never know if they'd be on her side or not..

Rising Lotus leand on elbow as she ponder, sipping up the remnants of her drink. "What... if...we trick her into stealin' from another type like her...someone more powerful?"

Cravendy Hound: "...It /could/ work. But she sells spice, so 'ow could we prove it was stolen? A bag of salt is as good as any."

Riylli Aliapoh thinks for a moment. "Well... What if it aint yellowjackets..? What if we used the wood wailers? Or the brass blades? Theres no way she'd be in the pockets of those guys, so... If we pull her out there with good enough bait..."

Cravendy Hound raises a brow at Rising's suggestion and thinks to herself. "Might blow up in our faces, but that's an interestin' idea."

Rising Lotus: "I mean that's an option, but she probably has a pretty set territory right?" she slid her glass forward towards Cravs, not so subtly wanting a refill. "It's have ta be somethin' big to bring here out here or in Thanalan."

Cravendy Hound: "Hm, well. Brass Blades ain't worth a penny, but the Wood Wailers might be stiff enough. Problem is gettin' 'er all the way out 'ere." Cravs refills Rising's cup.

Riylli Aliapoh seeing Rising do it, Riylli outstretches her cup as well for Cravs to refill. "Well, you were tryin' to get her attention with milkroot weren't you? I'm guessin' that's what that toad ooze was for at least..?"

Cravendy Hound pours Riylli a generous refill. "Aye, well...the toad ooze is supposed to be the bait. Somethin' that my friends would steal and then peddle to Rot."

Rising Lotus happily retrieves her glass and takes a sip, smacking her lips together after swallowing with a refreshed sigh. "She we still try that? I mean I 'spose we never got a chance to see what happened. Otherwise is there any other powerfull folks that we could trick her to steal from?"

Cravendy Hound: "It'd be more like, convincin' my friends to steal from someone powerful, and then hopin' Mindred buys it 'ot. Lady doesn't steal stuff directly...which means there's a risk that the blame'll end up fallin' on my friends instead."

Riylli Aliapoh noticably winced a bit as Cravs mentioned her friends. "W-What if I tried to sell it to her instead?" She speaks up suddenly. "She doesn't really know me, and everyone thinks Keepers are all criminals anyroad."

Rising Lotus grimaced at that idea. "I dunno, she did meet ya after all... an' you didn't come of as the most...knowin' 'bout business..ish." she hiccupped after getting to the end of her sentence, following it with another swig. "I 'spose if anythin' it is an' in with her..kinda..connects us an' Heartwood too though."

Cravendy Hound gives Riylli a long, hard look, and then finally shakes her head no. "Ye don't look the criminal part of ye ask me. And...I'm worried. Wouldn't we only be able to pin it on Rot if ye actually committed a crime?"

Riylli Aliapoh: "If she thinks I'm stupid, that just means she'll suspect me less!" Riylli insists, "I could easily find somethin' she'd want. I don't even gotta get it myself! Theres this little... Well... A black market I guess is what you'd call it. It get's pretty regular raids from the wailers, but everyone always ends up there again after a bit. If she's there when a raid happens, she'd get locked up for sure!"

Riylli Aliapoh: "I'm a Keeper. That makes me the 'criminal type' in most peoples eyes. Just ask Mivo"

Rising Lotus still looks a bit hesitant. "Do you think she'd go that far out Cravs? An' if this all happens, an' she does get locked away, how she gonna know that...err I mean, How is she not gonna suspect somethin'? She does know who ya are an' stuff, might send some of her lackeys after you, us, your clan."

Cravendy Hound picks up the carafe and tops of Rising's glass absentmindedly...pouring until it overfills. Somethings itching at the back of Crav's mind. "Do ye go to these black markets often? Riylli, do ye...are ye wanted?"

Cravendy Hound: "If we could get Rot to go to one of these black markets, it could just work. But I agree with Risin', it seems risky, and it could come back to bite ye Riylli."

Rising Lotus wasn't paying attention until it ran over her hand. "Hey, HEY!" she quickly reached her hand over to push Crav's hand back enough until she wasn't spilling, flicking her soaked digits in the woman's direction before sipping from the very top of her glass.

Riylli Aliapoh: "I-I do not!" She said quickly. "It's just... Before I started my adventurin' work... My clan didn't exactly have enough gil for medicine and stuff. So... We'd go sell pelts and stuff there... Gridania wouldn't let us sell with them, so we didn't really have a choice... But we never did anythin' bad! All our stuff was caught fair and square, no poaching or anything!"

Cravendy Hound: "...Oh, blast it." Cravs looks around for a towel to soak up the mess.

Riylli Aliapoh: "And if she gets caught up in a raid, theres no way she could blame that one me! We'd just... have to figure out a way to time it somehow... I'm sure someone in Heartwood must have connections, right? All we need to know is when, then we just gotta set up the deal!"

Cravendy Hound lets out a sigh. "Well, Riylli, ye sound used to dancin' round the Wailers. But if ye ever end up tossed in gaol, Risin' and I would be 'appy to pay the bail. Right?" She glances over at the other Roegadyn

Cravendy Hound: "We'll need a real good bait to lure Rot all the way to Gridania /and/ to a black market."

Rising Lotus "I 'spose it sounds like the most...thought out plan we've had all night." she shrugged, sputtering into her drink a bit at mention of paying Riylli's bail. "What? I mean, sure...long as it ain't way expensive or nothin'. How much it cost to be black market sellin'?" she cocked her head as she pondered what they should try to sell. "Well, what she like outside of her normal dealin's? Does she collect anythin'?"

Riylli Aliapoh crosses her arms. "They could never catch me." She mutters, turning away as she let the other two discuss bait

Cravendy Hound: "If the bails too expensive then we could..." Cravs punch a fist into her hand, and then cracks her knuckles. "...but, quietly."

Rising Lotus: "We'd need to pick a bit first before we go out an' steal somethin'." she glances around Crav's room. "...or maybe borrow somethin'? I'm sure we must have somethin' 'round here folks would want to get their hands on."

Riylli Aliapoh turned her head back. "H-Hey! Even if the wailers are mostly a buncha racist assholes, ya still can't do stuff like that! I said they won't catch me, the shroud is my territory remember? Even the Keeper's they got in their ranks wouldn't be as fast as someone who lives out there"

Cravendy Hound: "Anyway, 'ow we gonna lure Rot to the market? Sell stuff so cheap that she 'as to go check it out? Or, maybe if we find someone she trusts, and convince 'em to bring 'er there."

Rising Lotus grumbles "We need to get somethin' she's interested in! That'll bring her in, maybe tell someone she knows 'bout it so she'll come all this way." she took a long drink, mumbling into her drink about repeating herself.

Riylli Aliapoh: "Rising's got a point. Somethin' around here should spark her interest. She sells spice you said..? I bet Luma has some of that!"

Rising Lotus: "Or maybe somethin' really out there...folks with lots of money like weird dumb things."

Cravendy Hound: "Interest is one thing, trust is another...Rot's gonna be cautious, especially outside of 'er territory." Cravs crosses her arms and leans back as she tries to rack her brain people she could pull a favor from. "...Do ye think Momori might know Rot?"

Riylli Aliapoh: "Well... She seemed a bit sketchy, but I only ever met her once or twice. You guys'd know better than me"

Cravendy Hound chuckles a little when Riylli brings up Luma. "HAh! Bakin' and usin' spice is different from sellin' it! But...ye know. Haila might 'ave somethin' cool to sell."

Rising Lotus sneered. "I don't like the idea of ownin' her any favors...but aye Haila might have somethin' she'd be interested in. Or maybe some Gobbie stuff, sure some of that weird metal junk probably is expensive."

Riylli Aliapoh: "But he'd still HAVE some! And probably some rare Golmore stuff too since he's with Haila! I bet that'd get Rot's attention for sure!"

Cravendy Hound: "I'd gladly owe a favor to Momori if it means we can get Rot to come, cause I'm still not sold on the whole 'us sellin' crap to lure Rot' front. Wouldn't random people also want to buy shit?! What if she doesn't come and we just end up makin' a profit?"

Cravendy Hound blinks at at the mention of Golmore. "H-huh?! What in the bloody 'ells is Luma and Haila gettin' into...Bah. The less I know, the better."

Riylli Aliapoh: "Well... First we just gotta find out when the next raid is comin'. Once we know that, then we can figure out a way to convince Rot to show up on that particular night. Dangle some bait in front of her she can't resist! I can make sure it don't get sold to anyone before she arrives so she gets caught red-handed"

Rising Lotus "You know how she is, you sure you want that? Probably end up.. takin' one of your limbs or somethin' after sayin' she jus' needs a hand with somethin'.." she rubs her forehead " After the other day when all that happened I jus' wouldn't trust her."

Cravendy Hound opens her mouth, about to say something to go against Rising's concern...but can't find anything to say. It was true - the lalafell was objectively shady and untrustworthy. But it was those same qualities that made her think Momori would be able to pull the strings necessary to get Rot to show up.

Cravendy Hound: ".....Yeah, well, if she takes my 'and, then I can get a cool robot one."

Rising Lotus pounds her fist on the counter. "You ain't losin' your damn hand if I can help it!" she exhaled through her nostrils sharply. "Ngh..well if we are gonna go through her...maybe I should be the one to ask. She don't know much 'bout me, don't need her usin' your reputation in Limsa against ya." she drummed her fingers on the counter while she nursed her drink.

Riylli Aliapoh raises an eyebrow, but tries to stay on task. "Well... If one of you gets Momori on board, and the other gets some exotic spice, I can focus on finding a seller at the markets we can trust. Then we just need the info on the next raid's date! Momori claimed to have ties to the alliance, so maybe she has connections in the wailers as well?"

Cravendy Hound wags a finger at Rising. "There's no point in worryin' about somethin' uncertain! Damn lalafell might not even be able to 'elp us, so...Let's start by figurin' out about the raid and gatherin' stuff to vendor. The frog ooze can be our first product. I gotta get rid of the stuff somehow."

Riylli Aliapoh grins, clearly rather pleased with how this evening had turned out. "Gimme the toad ooze, it'll be real popular at the market since it makes milkroot crazy potent, so it'd make a great bribe to get a merchant on our side!"

Rising Lotus grumbles more as she finishes up her drink. "Well if we are gonna talk to her let me know an' I'll find her an' ask her..while avoided kickin' her 'cross the room." Her face was looking a bit flushes after she finished her second (and a half with her sloppy top off from Cravs) drink.

Cravendy Hound points at a barrel in the corner with her shoulder. "Ye can pick it up whenever. Just don't open it...apparently, agin' it makes it more potent, as well as smelly."

[jackjots]

#1 Podcast

Wayward Guide for the Untrained Eye 30 Day Prompt

Day #1 “Podcast”: 

(I do not own any other characters or place names outside of Shelby St. Ranger, this is just for fun)

There’s a driveway about one mile long that cuts into a foothill that surrounds Connor Creek. At the end of the driveway, is a small cabin with a garden that is as simple and as boring as a garden can be. 

When I, Shelby St. Ranger, moved there it had been an overgrown mess of something that had once been someones complex and colorful paradise. I’d left it for a little while, but eventually it depressed me to walk by the dead plants so I bought some gloves and gardening tools and tore everything up. It took up a weekend, which was good, since there wasn’t a lot to do in Connor Creek. This in itself was supposed to be a good thing, so I could work on my novel. Although my characters would often be battling each other and drinking mead in great viking halls, my own life was simple and plodded along. I’d moved from the city once I could afford to, and it was fairly cheap to live in Connor Creek so it actually had been a smart choice in many ways. But I hadn’t expected to be so deeply, deeply bored. I’d discovered the walk to town was pleasant, as not many cars went on the main road, and it helped when I hit writing blocks or just pure FOMO (fear of missing out) that was unfounded as the town inched along as much as I did. This was especially needed at night.

The only place open after 5pm was the Dead Canary. Despite my boredom, I’ve always been an introvert, so I kept to myself. Unfortunately, everyone already knew who I was before I had even moved in. It only took two visits before the bartender would greet me with my usual order and give me a quick “How’s it goin’ Shelby?” It became a habit for me to sit in the least visible place in the corner of a booth and write down little ideas that would pop into my head.

One night, a man with the energy of a rabbit came in and spotted me. “You’re the new one in town, Shelby right?” 

“Yes?” I had pushed my notebook aside, a very detailed doodle of a hexagon that had eyeballs betraying the fact that I couldn’t think of anything to write at the time. 

“My name is Ryan Reynolds. I’m running for town council, I was wondering if you’d heard about the race?”

I nodded. “I’ve seen the posters.” 

“Good. Can I count on your vote?” 

“I’ll have to do research first, I can’t just vote for you because you introduced yourself to me.”

His eyebrows almost hit his hairline. “Fair. Fair, very fair. Just do your research...how do you plan to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Your research.” 

“I imagine on the internet?”

“It’s so spotty. And believe me, if you google my name, it can be very confusing.”

“Right.”

“So you’re better off asking me questions directly.”

“Can I do it some other time? I’m working.” I sipped on my beer. 

“Of course! Anytime. You know, there’s people coming to record a podcast about what’s going on here at Connor Creek.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you all about it, tomorrow night?”

“Sure.” He went back to the bar and his voice became white noise as I started back to my notebook and slowly the characters in my head came back to me and I wrote a few paragraphs. 

Unfortunately, I never had that second talk with Ryan Reynolds. 

I had struggled back and forth with myself if I should go into town that next night. I didn’t usually go two days in a row, but I’d already written 20 pages that day and felt like a drink was well deserved. However, the idea of talking about local town politics did not appeal to me. I thought if I went early, I’d probably miss him. Which was true, but not for the reasons I thought.

I was almost done with my beer, and had taken to drawing those S things I’d mastered in elementary school when I heard the door and the voice of Sheriff Madison. I peeked around the corner and saw two people with their backs to me. I didn’t recognize them, and realized I was acting like a nosey local, so I went back to my doodles. 

That was when I heard they were working on a podcast. Intrigued, I jotted down their names and the company they worked for. I’d have to wait until I was back home to try to connect to the internet to look them up. It would probably be a frustrating endeavor, but my interest was piqued for the first time outside my novel in the months I’d lived in Connor Creek. Why would anyone from the city cover the election in such a small town? There had to be more going on. Or maybe I was just creating something to get excited about. I sighed and tore the page, crumpled it up, and put it in my pocket. It was an old habit to put trash in my pocket, from years of don’t litter training pounded in my head. 

I tried to sneak out, but as soon as I got through the door, I heard someone scream.  I didn’t meet with Ryan again, because he was dead outside. I saw the podcast people come out and I watched as the town started to spill out around the scene. I walked home, feeling a bit numb. I had been avoiding him, and now he was dead. I don’t know why I felt guilty, but I did. 

On my way home, there was a crumpled paper white against the grass, dimly lit by the moon. Above the paper was a bush of white roses that made the paper stand out even more. I picked it up out of habit, but before I stuck it in my pocket I noticed print on it and opened it up. Ryan Reynolds’ face stared up at me from his campaign poster. I folded it and put it in my pocket. 

I logged online and started looking up information about the election, but as Ryan had suggested, it was impossible to find anything about him. And the town was hardly on the net. I’d have to go to the library, I decided, like it was the 90s again. I sighed and slumped back in my chair. Something in my pocket poked me and I took out the crumped piece of paper that said “Artemis and Paul” and “APN”. I typed the names into the search engine and drummed my thumbs as the search went through. It took a while to load them, but I started to listen to Artemis and Paul’s old podcasts, and found four hours had passed. I learned they were twins, and that Artemis was always digging into even the smallest stories for some meat, while Paul seemed happy with making puns and observations that always gave the stories a lively feel I enjoyed. 

Finally turning it off, I saw how late it was and almost got up from the computer when I thought more about Ryan Reynolds. I didn’t know much about the town and had become expert at avoiding hearing gossip, which was also easy as they were still weary of me - except for the Miner Mole owner Titus Makin. He’d been very welcoming, but he kind of reminded me of a snake. He mostly wanted to talk about city life since he knew that’s where I was from, but was very disappointed that I didn’t share his views that the town needed to grow more. I’d been at the bar (a mistake I stopped making soon after and started hiding in the shadows of the booths) when Titus had sat next to me and waxed on about progress. I said I moved to Connor Creek for a reason, and that reason was peace, quiet, and trees. That’s all I had wanted. Now that I thought about it, that was the night Desmond, the bartender, started to treat me like a regular. That suggested something that started to put other pieces into place. I looked up Miner Mole, and found some talk online about them changing the face of Connor Creek through the silver mines. The idea of the town changing rapidly didn’t appeal to me, as I’d left all of the behind for a reason, and I found a new appreciation for boredom at the worry that I would soon find myself in a bustling budding city. But what did this have to do with Ryan Reynolds' death? And why was there investigative podcasters here before he was even dead? 

I set my alarm for a trip to the library the next day, and found some sleep deep in my bed covers. 

[thetravelerwrites]

Dumont (Part 2) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Elf Ranger/Male Tiefling Barbarian Additional Tags: Exophilia, Tiefling, Elf, Kobold, Half Elf, Human, Rogue, Bard, Barbarian, Ranger, Mage, Wizard, D&D, Dungeons & Dragons, Sex, Third Person Perspective Words: 2242

Another commission for @ocsmutpocalypse. Dumont and the party stop in a town to rest, and Kharis makes an important decision. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Sanoh, Rupert, Norman, and Dumont traveled together down the road to the next town, hoping to find paying work, while Kharis lay on Dumont’s back, eyes closed and arms behind her head as if sunbathing. He was walking on all fours as he often liked to do, and his back was so broad that she had no worry of falling off. She seemed to enjoy this mode of travel quite a lot and did it whenever the weather allowed.  

“Why do you do that?” Sanoh asked. “You treat Dumont like a horse and it’s weird.”

“He likes it,” Kharis said, rolling on her stomach and scratching gently at the base of his spine. “Don’t you, bubba?”

“I do like it,” He replied. “It’s nice to have you close by.”

“Aww, my big boy,” Kharis said, laying her cheek on his back. “So sweet to me.”

Sanoh snorted and shook her reptilian head. Rupert smirked at her and took her hand.

They came to a crossroads that had a signpost and stopped.

“Ah, good,” Rupert said. “Dumont, can you read the post? We’re going to Vasenville. Which way should be go?”

Dumont had spent most of his life living with a guardian who couldn’t read, therefore he’d never learned how to read himself. Rupert had been spending time with Dumont and was teaching him a number of things, including reading. Dumont was a very quick study, much to Rupert’s surprise. It was easy to underestimate Dumont’s intelligence based on his size and monstrous looks. paired with the fact that he’d had little to no education before meeting the group.

Dumont’s unblinking eyes looked at the post carefully for a moment, after which he said confidently, “left.”

“Good! Very good!” Rupert said, clapping a hand on Dumont’s upper arm, which was thicker than Rupert’s entire body. “Left we go!”

Dutifully, Dumont led the way toward Valenville.

Dumont tended to get a lot of funny looks when he went to different towns. He was a tiefling, but he was born… not quite right. He was far too large for his kind, nearly twice the height and width of even the tallest and burliest of tieflings. The bone of his lower jaw was exposed, and his eyes were large and bulging with no eyelids to cover them. He brick red, had no hair on his body, and his horns took up all of his scalp with blood-red veins running along them.

He was an unsettling person to look upon if you weren’t used to him, and it had drawn the ire of some of the towns they had gone to. His traveling companions were quick to jump to his defense, and Kharis was a force to be reckoned with when she was angry, but Dumont understood better than they did. His guardian, the priest of the church where he was raised, always kept him hidden and out of sight, not for a lack of love for Dumont, but for fear of what others would do to him if they found him.

He was lucky that the first people he met after his foster father’s death were kind. It would have been easy for a less than scrupulous person to use his innocence and naivete to enslave him.

As usual, he got a lot of stares as he lumbered through town with Kharis sitting across his shoulders, a leg dangling from either side of his head and a hand on each of his horns to steady herself. She narrowed her eyes and hissed at people who gawked at Dumont, and that was usually enough to force most people to avert their gaze.

Another problem Dumont had in most towns was that the inns they stayed in often weren’t large enough to accommodate him. Many times he couldn’t even get through the front door, so he ended up having to stay in the cellar, stables, or out in the back behind the building. in those cases, Rupert and Norman would set up a tent for Dumont to curl up in.

Thankfully, the stables were empty of horses and open for free shelter for those who couldn’t pay for an inn. Dumont laid out his large leather bedroll on the straw and settle himself for the evening as the others made their way toward the tavern. Kharis promised to return with his dinner.

He missed his friends when he had to sleep away from them, but it wasn’t much different than sleeping in the bell tower of the church, so he didn’t mind it so much. Still, he was lonely.

After an hour, Kharis appeared with a large jug of mead and a platter of food, mostly de-boned meats and bread. He had no lips to chew properly, so he had to tear his food with his claws, chomp it once or twice with his large, sharp teeth, and then swallow it whole.

“Here you go,” She said, sitting with him. She looked around at the stable stall and sighed. “I’m sorry you’re reduced to sleeping in pen like an animal.”

“I don’t mind,” Dumont replied. “It’s free and plenty large enough for me, at least.”

“Well, I mind,” Kharis said venomously. “It’s demeaning. One day, I promise to take you to a place where you’ll fit through every door.”

“Is it like a church or a cathedral?” He asked.

She chuckled mirthlessly. “It might as well be, except the only god they really pray to is politics.” She looked off into the middle distance. “Maybe I shouldn’t take you there after all.”

“Would I embarrass you there?” Dumont asked. He often wondered if she found the attention he drew uncomfortable. He certainly did. After spending his entire life in the shadows, the sudden swarm of gawkers everywhere he went was disconcerting to him. He felt like the constant spotlight on him was a detriment to her journey.

“Absolutely not!” She said sharply. “If anything, they would embarrass me in front of you, the pompous twits, not the other way ‘round. And if they had a word to say about you, they’d be dealing with me.”

“Well, you are scarier than me,” Dumont said, laughing a little.

“Damn right, I am,” Kharis said, jutting her chin up.

“It would be nice to go to a place where I fit into proper buildings and things, though,” Dumont agreed.

Kharis looked him up and down, a coy smirk on her face. “I can think of a couple of places you fit very well,” She said suggestively.

Dumont often didn’t understand the context of people’s tones, like sarcasm or seduction, so when Kharis said things like this, it often confused him.

“Where is that?” He asked guilelessly, but when she began to unlace her bodice and untie her pants, and he whispered, “oh.”

“Hungry?” She asked him as she stripped down.

“For you, always,” He said.

She pulled the stall doors closed and walked to the opposite wall. “I want to ride your shoulders like I did this afternoon, only in reverse. Want to try?”

He nodded his head and came close, picking her up under her thighs and pushing her up against the wall, pinning her there and throwing her legs over his shoulders. His long, long tongue came out and pressed itself against her outer lips, massaging up one side and down another. Over the two months they had been together, she had taught him many techniques she enjoyed, and he used them to great effect. His immense strength and eagerness to please also worked greatly in his favor.

“Mmm,” She mewled, breathing heavily. Her hips moved of their own accord, and her lips swelled and heated as her arousal grew. She gripped his horns as he circled the bud with his tongue without actually touching it, stretching the pleasure and denial out as long as possible. Dumont had learned to tell when she was enjoying it and when she began to find it frustrating, and as soon as he felt that anxious tension in her body, he flicked the tip of his tongue against the pearl, making her hiss sharply.

He growled lowly, vibrating his tongue against her, the tip of it teasing her entrance as the broad part of it contracted against her clit, rubbing it up and down. Her entire pelvic area was sandwiched between his jaws. Her fingernails raked the back of his shoulders and across his neck.

“Inside,” She gasped, and Dumont obliged, thrusting his tongue into her roughly, quick and hard. She cried out, bracing against the wall hard. He held her hips fast in his grip so that she couldn’t escape and ravished her with his tongue. She was now making a lot of noise and he was a little concerned she would draw concerned passersby.

Finally, her orgasm crested and ebbed and she sighed in satisfaction, her eyes closed. He pulled her down from the wall, turned her over on her stomach, and pulled her hips toward him as be began unlacing his trousers.

“Yes,” She breathed. “Yes. Yes, please.”

Dumont lined himself up, saliva from his jaws dripping on her buttocks as he leaned over her, he pressed himself into her dripping wet entrance. She whimpered over and over as he slowly slid as far inside as he could reach before causing her pain and pulled back out again. He started slow, but quickly gained pace as time went on.

“Oh, fuck,” She said through gritted teeth.

He bent over her body and grabbed her by her waist, lifting her up so that she was flush with his body. She reached back and grabbed his horns, howling with pleasure and he slammed into her. He knew she loved the feeling of being held up by him like she weighed nothing more than a ragdoll while still being in complete control at the same time. She was always in control.

A door opened someone outside of the stall, and a voice called, “Is everyone all right in here? I heard screaming--”

“Fuck off, asshole, I’m getting laid!” Kharis shouted at the intruder, and the door shut again quickly. “Don’t stop,” She ordered Dumont. He was happy to obey.

He could feel the now familiar wall of ecstasy welling up in him, slamming into his body, reaching from his head to his toes, his body locking up, and he roared, spilling into her repeatedly. Under his hand, he could feel her belly swell slightly from the amount of his seed pushing its way inside.

As she lay under Dumont, boneless and gasping, and he rolled to the side to prevent crushing her, they heard the door open cautiously again.

“Are you sure--”

“FUCK OFF!” Kharis yelled, and the door slammed shut.

“You don’t have to snap at the poor man,” Dumont wheezed. “He genuinely thought you were being hurt. He was doing a good thing.”

“He was interrupting my play time,” Kharis said, unmoved. “He deserved to be chided.”

“I’m afraid we may have terrified him,” Dumont said. “He may never come into this stable again.”

“Good. Let him think it’s haunted.” Kharis got up, wiped herself down with a spare cloth in her pack and lay on Dumont’s chest, fully naked. “You know, I have thought about it a lot.”

“About what?” He asked, confused. “Haunted stables?”

“No!” Kharis said, slapping his chest playfully. He jumped, like he always did to make her laugh, though it didn’t hurt at all. “About bringing you to that place I told you about. I sort of left without saying anything to anyone, so I should probably check in so they don’t think I’m dead.”

“Why did you leave?” Dumont asked. “You don’t talk much about your family. Were they cruel to you?”

“No, not cruel, but we… were weren’t much of a family, really. I’m closer to you and the party than I’ve ever been to them, and I’ve known you all less than six months.” She lay her head on him and sighed. “I think we do love each other, just not the way normal families do. I don’t know if that’s a product of our station, or if we’re just not predisposed to familial bonds, or what. It’s just the way it’s always been.”

“That sounds sad,” Dumont said.

“Yeah,” She agreed. “I suppose it is a little sad. But I do miss them. I should go back, and I’d like you to come with me. The others, too. What do you think?”

“I’ll go wherever you ask,” Dumont said. “I’m with you.”

“Aww,” She hugged him, or tried to, since her arms had no chance of making the full circle around him. “You’re so sweet.” She sat up on him, straddling him, with her hands braced on his chest, looking down at him with a shrewd expression.

“What’s the matter?” He asked.

“If… if I told you I had lied about some things, would you be angry?” She asked tentatively.

“It depends,” He said, cocking his head curiously at her. “What things?”

“Well… My name isn’t Kharis, for starters.”

“Oh. What is it?”

“It’s… Enania. Enania Enjor.”

“That’s very pretty,” Dumont said.

“Thank you,” She said, laughing nervously. “But that’s not all.”

“Tell me, then,” He said. “Don’t be afraid.”

She smiled softly. “Well… I’m not a ranger. Well, I am, but I’m something else, too. Something I was before I became a ranger.”

“Which is?”

She winced. “A princess.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[flowerflamestars]

Hello love, hope you are well 🥰 I noticed you've posted/reblogged a bit of witcher content lately, and I was wondering if you would ever consider writing anything for it?

Maybe! Eventually? Possibly. 

I have nothing strictly planned right now, caveat being I am literally only familiar with the netflix content- so it would definitely be super AU.

But anyone who follows me knows I love a raging woman and Yen is just like *chef kiss* THE RAGE,THE BEAUTY, the messy not necessarily wanting a kid for real but wanting what fucking men and the system would deny her at ANY COST. 

The ship I’ve seen the most content for though is, Geralt/Jaskier??

I’d go the most AU there: Geralt, built like a brickhouse forest ranger. His national park is huge for the revitalization efforts of native wolf populations, his first career was a wildlife biologist. He’s out there grumpily doing The Most for everything that walks swims or crawls.

BUT 

Bordering his park, a property abandoned for years and years after the implosion of a commune, the grandson of the original artsy menance who haunted Geralts predecessor has shown up freshly washed out of grad school to turn the property into a flower farm. 

Jaskier grows tulips!

Tourists love tulips! (Geralt hates tourists.)

Jaskier decides that no, he’s not going to take another look at his as yet unfinished thesis on the legacy of chivalric codes in European composition- HE! is going find huckleberries. In the woods. He is going to go into the woods for fruit to make jam to sell to tourists and everything will be FINE

Jaskier gets lost in the woods.

Geralt, of course, finds Jaskier wandering around, half soaked from tripping over the roots of a very majestic tree he was addressing his stress to and promptly falling into a stream.

Jaskier is 80% he’s accidentally incited a vision quest and Silver Haired Forest God is a VERY good hallucination. Who then, naturally, proceeds to wrap him in an emergency blanket, bully him into rehydrating, and somehow with about five words total and shockingly good snacks make Jaskier feel completely better.

What proceeds is a courtship for the ages.

Jaskier mourns very publically in the cute tourist artsy town half an hour away about Silver Haired Forest God only for half the residents to be like yeah? Geralt? 

THEY ALL HAVE A STORY

He rescues cats from trees. He magically fixes maybe murderously haunted espresso machines. He once glared a bear out of town. He keeps bees and gives all the old ladies free honey. 

And Jaskier, bless his heart, is like Okay. OKAY. fifty fifty chance? Sixty forty? He gave me cookies- no straight man is carrying around lemon lavender shortbread, right? Or has that perfect of hair, RIGHT?

(Old lady in the background: he makes those cookies! But the hair is natural, dear. Her companion: a natural phenomenon, maybe.)

So Jaskier takes up hiking.

Geralt, meanwhile, knows exactly who Jaskier is because Local Gossip. Could he just go say hi? Sure. Will he? God, absolutely not. 

He sends him homemade get-well mead. Actually starts telling tourists the correct direction to drive to find the farm. Shows up after an unseasonable spring flood to fix a fence with his own hands.

Flower farm employee who talks to Geralt, extremely aware of her bosses crush that is Visible from Space: You want to try the back acre? Its a mess back there.

Meanwhile, Jaskier, stomping to the back acre where he’s trying out some new cultivars, to himself: hiking is the worst! it has been months, months! Maybe he only talks to wolves. Or animals in distress. I could be an animal in distress again.

Geralt, loping up silently and noticing Jaskier crouched down in a flower bed, half hidden behind a sunhat, red cheeked and adorable, with great feeling: Fuck.

Jaskier, who has excellent hearing jumping up, brain processing nothing but Large, and thwacking Geralt in the face with his flower gathering basket: jesus fuck

Since the basket mostly missed him, Geralt kind of laughs? And rolls with it? Picks up what Jaskier flung, gently tips back upright the pot de-marking the path that Jaskier had knocked over. 

And Jaskier is Dying. DYING. He’s been looking for hot man! for months! But Hot Man found him when he’s like, covered in soil and sweat and literally wearing one of his dearly departed grandmother’s hats because no one bothered to tell him mountains are actually secret sunburn hell. 

There’s stuttering. And pontificating. And Jaskier not at all thinking oh my god his eyes his hands his throat his- TALL

But he eventually manages to ask Geralt why he’s there. 

And Geralt smiles. Hands him back his basket that he’s been holding the whole time, straightens from the cute little lean down scrunch he was affecting to hold Jaskier’s eyes and it all like, well, I thought I’d fix your fence that got destroying in the storm. 

And then buy you a drink.

[saxxxology]

THE CURSED - Ch.8

Being an English Princess in 1739 is everything for Y/N, a Princess from a prosperous, powerful kingdom, to be happy about… until her parents arrange for her to marry a Prince from a nearby kingdom against her wishes. Unable to join her on her journey, the Royal family hires the Winchesters, two experienced Rangers, to guide her. However, the Princess and the younger brother begin to display affection for each other, and when her heat threatens her life, Sam makes a possibly deadly decision to save it.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~2300

OVERALL WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics (heat/rut, claiming, knotting), age gap, smut of varying levels, descriptions of injury and gore, a tad of dub-con and 18th-century sexism from time to time, occasional bits of angst, fighting, and violence, eventual minor character death

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy and @quiddy-writes - please heed all warnings! Please keep in mind that this series is set in the 18th century - society is not what it is today. I do not control where your eyes go; if you feel disturbed or think something may trigger you, it is your responsibility to either stop reading or scroll past.

Buy Sam’s scent from my Etsy shop

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Series Masterlist

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

When winter began to arrive, Sam and Dean busied themselves with fixing the cottage up. Snow had already begun to fall in some areas, and they couldn’t afford to wait any longer to prepare the home. Sam refused to stay in town for the winter, fearing that his presence might make the townspeople uneasy, so Dean and Jo volunteered to help the couple transform the home so that it would keep them safe and warm.

The women cleared off the old slate, grass, and tested the strength of the wooden beams and boards. When they were satisfied that they would hold, Sam and Dean began bringing massive bushels of grass down from the hills, using Shadow and Pala to carry them. Y/N and Jo spread the grass across the roof, and then slid large slabs of slate and rock over it to hold it down. Dean poured buckets of water from the lake over the seals to test for leaks, and when it passed the test, they all counted it as a job well done.

The four of them managed to do that in one day. Sam’s next concern was food. The cottage had a small cellar that was built back into the hill, just large enough to store two barrels of grain and a couple racks of cheese. They had to fit enough food to last three weeks inside; with winter, travel to the main town would be almost impossible, and food would run out quickly, even more since Y/N was another mouth to feed.

They rode the horses into town and ambled steadily around the marketplace. Sam selected two wheels of soft cheese, twenty pounds of dried, salted pork, and arranged for two barrels of honey mead to be put into into their wagon. While Sam gave the shopkeepers their earnings, Y/N wandered a couple stalls away to look through an assortment of winter vegetables.

“Any pennies to spare, m’Lord?”

Sam looked down to see a beggar huddled against the wall of a building, wrapped in a tattered old blanket. Sam fumbled in his pocket and pulled out six spare pennies, which he dropped into the man’s shriveled hand. “Get yourself someplace warm and something to eat.” He said. “You shouldn’t be out here in the cold.”

The man mumbled his thanks, and Sam crossed to the vegetable stall and found Y/N sliding a few potatoes into her rucksack, handing over three pennies in exchange. He placed his hand on her lower back and offered a smile to the owner of the stall, who lowered his eyes in fear.

“Come,” he gripped Y/N’s hand in his own and continued down the lane. They loaded the saddlebags with their goods and said goodbye to Dean and Jo at the beginning of the trail.

Like most visits to town, they returned home just as the sun began to set. Sam unpacked the saddlebags as Y/N began a fire inside, and when he entered, she was setting a pot of water on the hearth.

“What’re you making?” He asked, setting their bags on the table.

“Supper,” she replied with a smile, “I figured that since we’ve gotten beef, I could cook that with some potatoes and carrots.”

Sam shrugged out of his cape and draped it across the end of the bed before stepping out of his boots. “Want some help?”

“Sam, I love you dearly,” she stretched up and kissed him, “but I believe that you should allow me to prepare our meals.”

Truthfully, Y/N’s cooking had much improved much since she’d begun life in the cottage. The necessity for fine food was a product of her culinary education, personal standards, and the fact that Sam was a mediocre cook at best.

Sam nodded. “Very well, then.”

“Besides,” Y/N slipped her hand down between their bodies and gripped him softly through his trousers, “I’ll always find this much more entertaining than your food.”

Sam grabbed her and kissed her, hard. “You keep that up, I’ll have you right here, right now. Make love to you until you're shaking and can't remember anyone’s name but mine.”

She giggled as he indeed wrestled her onto the bed and kissed over her neck. “No! No, let me up or I’ll never finish dinner!”

“In that case,” Sam grabbed her skirts and started to push the layers of cloth up, “I’ll just eat you instead.”

She laughed and pushed against his chest. “After dinner you can do whatever you like, but I would appreciate a full stomach, if you don’t mind.”

Sam grinned and rutted himself against her thighs. “I could give you a full stomach right now and save you the trouble of cooking.”

Y/N gasped and smacked him on the shoulder. “You’re a horrible man, Winchester! You’ll get no dinner at all if you continue to behave like that.” She pushed him off and listened to him laugh behind her, and she couldn’t help but giggle at his forwardness.

Their life as lovers had quieted since their first month together, and as happy as Sam was to take her whenever either of them felt the urge, they reserved those energies for when they needed them. He knew his next rut would be upon him soon, and Y/N was due for a heat near the end of the month.

What he couldn’t explain was why she hadn’t borne a child yet. They’d first made love right at her most fertile point, and continued at the point of her heats every month. She should have been heavy with child by now, but her stomach was flat as ever, lessened even more by the effects of running around the mountains and hauling bucket after bucket of water from the lake to the cottage.

He stayed quiet, instead reclining on the bed and watching her intently. She expertly cut and seasoned the meat with garlic and dried herb leaves before tossing both slabs into the pan with spoonfuls of fresh, creamy butter.

“Y/N?”

She slid the hot pan into the embers at the base of the hearth and turned to face him. “Yes?”

“Have you ever thought about raising a family?” He asked.

She tilted her head and began chopping carrots and potatoes on the tabletop. “I have you, and Dean, and Jo. You’re my family.”

“I know we are, but…” Sam swallowed and looked at his hands, “have you wondered about having a child?”

She continued cutting the vegetables, but didn't reply for a few seconds. “I’ve thought about it, yes.”

“And?”

She sighed. “I feel… I feel too young.”

“You’re mature beyond your years,” Sam rose and went to her side, watched her sweep her handiwork onto a plate, and then crumble more spices and herbs over the pieces. “You’re smart and strong and beautiful and you would be a perfect mother…” He set his palm against her stomach and watched as she looked down, laying her own fingers over his. “I don’t understand why… why we haven't conceived yet.”

“I don’t know why either…” she whispered, “but I do know that I feel too young to be a mother. I’m only eighteen, you’re almost a decade older than me. And there’s your curse… it could pass to the baby.”

“I wouldn’t allow that.”

She turned to look up at him. “We don’t know that, Sam. But for now, I’m content to just be.”

Sam nodded and kissed the top of her head before backing away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to press.”

She shook her head and carried the bowl to the fireplace, where she tossed another spoonful of butter into another pan, let it sizzle, and then slid the vegetables in. “It’s all right,” she sniffed and stirred her ingredients with a spoon, “maybe it’s me.”

“What?”

“Maybe I’m the reason we’ve not conceived.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, I just… I have a feeling. I’ve not had a cycle since my second heat with you and…” she shook her head, her brow pinching as she frowned. “Can we not speak about it?”

He nodded and walked to her, kneeling by her side and cupping her face in both hands. “I swear never to mention it again unless you’d like,” he murmured. “How long until supper?”

“Not long,” she rested her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around him. “Here, clean the table, we can talk about better things once we eat.”

***

“You said earlier that I could do whatever I like.”

Y/N dropped the pillow in her hand as Sam wrapped his arms around her from behind. He nibbled at the shell of her ear and cupped her breasts in both hands. “I’d love to hear you moan for me.”

Y/N giggled and tipped her head back so Sam could press a soft kiss to her lips. He had just returned from pushing the two stones over the windows and the chill of the night was still on his hands, not aided by the water he’d used to clean them. “Your fingers are cold.”

Sam growled playfully and pulled her skirt up to slide his hands between her thighs. “Will you let me warm them up?”

She shivered and fell forward onto the bed, laughing out loud when Sam turned her onto her back and reached for her bodice. “You won’t get me riled up if you touch me with cold hands.”

Sam hauled her back to her feet and made quick work of her dress, letting the entire outfit drop to the floor, “Then I’ll warm them like this.” He watched her lie back on the bed and stripped himself, not going to touch her again until they were both naked. He slid one hand up her belly, up between her breasts, and dipped two fingers into her parted lips.

Y/N eagerly closed her mouth, the edges of her teeth sharp, tongue and lips warm as she sucked on his fingers like she’d learned to suck on his cock. Sam moaned and reached down to take his hardening member in his free palm. He pumped his fingers between her lips, feeling her tongue sweep over them. When he tried to pull them free, she gripped his wrist and held his hand steady.

His cock throbbed in his hand, and looking down, he saw her growing wetter, her folds glistening with arousal. “I want to be inside you,” he muttered.

She pulled her lips off his fingers with a quiet popping noise. “Than take me, Alpha. Take me, I’m all yours.”

Sam knelt between Y/N’s thighs and pulled her into his lap, hands cupped under her ass. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him softly as he hoisted her up, lined his manhood with her entrance, and allowed her to slide down. Like always, her body accepted him with some resistance due to his size, and Sam kissed over her throat as she relaxed to allow him deeper.

His thrusts were gentle, long, slow rolls of his hips up into her wet, willing body. Her breathy moans filled his ears, and he stayed quiet only to avoid spoiling them with his own. When she tightened her grip on his shoulders and urged him to go faster, he lay her on her back and stretched over her, feeling her small hands against his back as he pressed deeper into her until he met resistance and couldn’t go any farther.

“Give me your hand,” he whispered, taking her fingers in his. He pressed her palm against her lower belly and thrust up, grinning wickedly when he knew she could feel him there, inside her. “I’ve felt you there many times, but you’ve never felt it yourself…”

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, “I never thought I could…”

Sam replaced her hand with his own and pressed down, changing the angle of his hips so that he could hit the spot that made her entire body shake. She stiffened and cried out, her nails digging hard into his lower back. Sam groaned, but the pain shot down to the root of his cock, making his thrusts stutter, hips smacking into the cradle of her body.

She came with a quiet cry, her legs shaking as she hooked them tighter over his hips, mouth open against his shoulder. Her climax burned, hot in her belly, warm as it flowed through her blood until she was dizzy and high off the ecstasy.

He stiffened above her and let out a gasping groan as he pressed closer, deeper, and spilled himself, filling her to the brim as his thighs shook with the force of his own orgasm. He collapsed on top of her, panting hard as his cock pumped the last of his release into his Omega’s womb. Under him, she strained, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. When he relaxed, she reached down and smacked her hand across the firm, smooth skin of his ass.

“What was that for?” He asked, gripping the hand she’d smacked him with. “I’ll get you back for hitting your Alpha like that, little Omega.”

“Mm, you like the pain,” she tilted her head and gazed up at him, “you cum harder when I dig my nails in, like this,” she pressed her nails into the curve of his ass and felt him lurch forward, groaning with the sensation.

“Maybe you’re right,” Sam rolled her on top of him and brought his palm down on her ass, watching as she jumped with the sting. “But you like it as well, Princess.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve not called me that in months.”

Sam grinned and sat up to kiss her. “If you’d like, I could start up again. Call it a nickname.”

“And what should be your nickname?”

Sam arched his eyebrow. “Oh, I think Alpha should suit me just fine.”

“Well then, Alpha,” Y/N cupped her face and kissed him softly, “I do believe we should bathe and sleep.”

He grinned and pressed his palm against her ass. “Sleep naked, I hope?”

Y/N moaned and tipped her head back so he could kiss down her throat. “Anything you wish, Alpha.”

If you want to see chapter 9, reblog and leave a comment! Feedback is my fuel!

TAGS FOR THIS SERIES ARE CLOSED

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[musophobic-saviour]

Love

Please.

Please, no.

He had his mind made up. He’d been certain of his motivation, since the moment Katya had told him there was a chance.

He would burn the world again, ten, twenty times over for even that sliver of a chance.

Anna would live. For this end, Artyom was ready to die. 

But he would not die, not a moment before he kissed her lips once more.

“Artyom?”

The Rangers eyes drifted open lazily, ignoring the lights dancing in his eyes and the screaming of his geiger. A light, slender hand brushed across his mask, the big blue eyes that met his squinted in a stern, yet loving glare he was all too familiar with.

“It’s time to get up, love.”

Sweet, sweet Anna. Artyom slowly, with a lot more effort than was normally required, stood and began to follow his wife. She wore no gear, and so was surely a figment of his subconscious and the radiation, but Artyom did not care. This was Anna, his Anna, and he would follow her to the ends of the Earth and back.

He blinked, and she was gone, but he did not panic. She was with him still, he knew. 

He entered the Institute, odd muttering and groans assaulting his ears, but he paid them no mind. 

He could see it now. She would open her eyes, confused. Then she would smile, throw her arms around him, he could almost hear her. 

“I knew you’d make it, Rabbit. You always do.”

Then she would learn about how many rads he’d taken, and she would yell at him. He was so looking forward to hearing her yell at him again. He would relish that fight. Yes, like a dehydrated man relishes clean water.

He reached the top of the ladder, that odd eyeless ape coming into view. It reminded him of a librarian in a way, but blind, unable to see him at all. He let out a chuckle, and a broken molotov and three expended shotgun shells later, he learned to be quiet.

He learned to be quick, too. Two shots to the head, from Millers railgun. That would do it.

His ribs hurt. It was hard to breath. Maybe he’d punctured a lung, he didn’t know. He wasn’t a doctor. 

Heh. He remembered when he’d fallen in love with her. The exact moment. A little beggar had come up to them both on...well it wasn’t really a date. Going to the surface was rarely romantic. They’d just come back, and the kid, couldn’t have been more than six, tugged on Annas sleeve. 

“You’re a Stalker, right? Do...do you think I could have a bullet?”

They’d just gotten back from the library, had to use up their MGRs on a couple of Librarians. Anna just took the magazine from her rifle and handed it to the girl. There must have been twenty rounds left in there.

So tired...

“Did you not find it, love?”

She sat in a wheelchair to his left, shirt stained with blood, coughing into her hand as he knelt next to her.

“N-no, I will! I just-”

“It’s okay, Artyom. You tried your best.”

He’d never been truly angry at his wife before. Frustrated, yes, annoyed, of course. But the young man from VDNKh slammed his fist into the tile wall, feeling one of his phalanges crack, and he yelled at her for the first time in his life.

“STOP IT!”

He looked back up, and a desiccated corpse sat in the chair. He felt hot tears gather at the corners of his eyes, and he stood, holding his rifle more gingerly than before. No. No, it was here somewhere.

He’d proposed to her in the spring. He had the ring made by Andrei, a simple thing made of stainless steel. Gold and silver were rarities in the metro. He’d taken it to a special shop in Polis to have it engraved, a simple scene of a running rabbit.

Miller had voiced his disapproval, but if anything it made Artyom more determined. It was after sparring. They were both sweaty, disheveled, and probably smelled awful, sat next to each other on the bench. He just didn’t have it in him to wait anymore.

He held out his hand, the ring in his open palm. 

“Marry me, Anna.” Anna was always so aware, so in tune with her surroundings, that he’d never seen her that surprised before, wide-eyed, caught without something witty to say. 

He was afraid she was going to say no for a moment, before she grabbed him by his shirt and kissed him.

It had to be there.

Please. God, Jesus, Buddha, Allah, whoever is listening please let it be here. 

It couldn’t not be.

He would find it. 

Anna would get better.

He would build her a house on the shore, with a great view and good fishing.

They would all sing songs around a fire on the beach, drinking mead and laughing at the stupid things they’d done on the road.

They would argue over baby names. He wanted to name their son Sukhoi, and their daughter Sasha. He would hold her hand even as she crushed it, cursing his name to the heavens, and he would cherish every fucking second.

A case. Yes...yes, that must be it!

Artyom could barely lift his arms at this point, but he pulled that container open with all of his might, slamming the case on the table, opening it up.

Five doses. Yes. Yes! This will do!

He laughed to himself, and was answered by a growl from the doorway.

[rose-red-ink]

Shadows and Thrones, Chapter One

Hey everyone, thanks for showing interest in my book! I’ll be adding a link to this and subsequent chapters on my masterlist page. Hope you all enjoy. 

Chapter 1

Everything began to fade away; the bed beneath me, the press of the metal headset in front of my eyes, the quiet birdsong outside my window. The world faded to black as my mind was teleported to somewhere far away and nowhere all at once.

The world of Shadows and Thrones, the newest VR game on the market. The darkness around me started to swirl with muted color, consolidating into a generic female avatar standing a few feet in front of me.

Dozens of menus popped up, offering height, weight, hair color, race, skin color, fighter class, and more things to choose from than my overly-excited brain could settle on. A grin on my face, I set to work.

My boots touched down with a soft crunch in a beautiful pine forest. The trees stretched tall and green above my head, swaying gently in the breeze. The sharp scent of pine needles touched my nose, and I couldn’t contain a tiny gasp. Full-dive virtual reality really was amazing. A thrill rushed in my chest, a familiar ache to run and climb and explore every inch of this new world.

‘And then what?’ a little voice whispered in my head. ‘You’ll explore this world, it’ll be all fun and exciting for a few months. It won’t make you happy.’

I shook my head. “Shut up.”

I was here, the sun shining in a dappled pattern over my avatar’s skin, a whole new world stretching out before me. I didn’t have to be thinking about all that, I shouldn’t.

I took a deep breath through my nose, taking in the scents of pine and damp earth and freshly baked bread, somewhere off in the distance. Probably a town, one with a tavern.

I could find some other players, try to join a guild, or even just a party for a few days as I got used to things. Maybe people might want me in their guild, if I didn’t mess up too much.

Squaring my shoulders, I walked towards the direction of the smell. As the trees thinned out, I could see a village across the fields of grass, chimney smoke rising into the clear blue sky. Perfect.

The tavern was filled with players of all races crowded around tables. An NPC barmaid pushed past me, delivering mugs of mead to a drow and some kind of water spirit race, before bustling back to the bar.

Everyone seemed to know everyone else, groups of friends and old guilds meeting up. A girl in low-cut armor lounged in the corner, hitting on whoever walked by, and acting super friendly to any girl players who wandered past.

I steered clear. I’d played enough video games to know who those kinds of players were.

But as the tavern filled with more players, my hesitation grew. My eyes drifted to the notice board. I could put up a sign, saying I needed a guild to join, but that could yield...uncomfortable results.

So I sat on a bar stool, picking at my long fingernails, for what seemed like forever.

After nearly an hour, I sighed and resigned myself to just making a notice board post and hoping whoever picked me up wasn’t too creepy.

Looking for guild!

My name’s Risty Blackburn, I’m a level one shadow rogue, leaning towards a DPS role.. Looking for a guild to join. No spam or roleplaying guilds, please!

ID contact number: 78349375841

‘You really think anyone’s going to be interested with that? Just log out and stop wasting your time.’

I winced, tearing down the notice. I mentally called up the menu screen, reaching for the logout button.

I tapped it. Nothing happened.

I frowned. Tapped again.

The tavern still bustled around me.

Maybe the headgear took a couple minutes to shut down? The instruction manual said it was supposed to be instantaneous, but this was a new game. They probably had to work out a few bugs.

I waited five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.

Then, my stomach flipped. An elf player stood, reaching for his menu, and disappeared in a flash of light.

He was logged out instantly. Was something wrong with my VR gear? Or the game?

I hurried over to the table he had just left. A dwarf man and some sort of cat woman looked up at me expectantly.

My stomach dropped. “H-hello.” I managed. “I, uh, have either of you had a problem logging out? I saw your friend did, but mine isn’t working.”

The dwarf rolled his eyes. “It’s not that hard, noob.”

He pulled up his menu, pointing to the logout button. “See? Right here.”

Frustration boiled inside me. “I know.” I snapped, pulling it up. “But it doesn’t work.”

I demonstrated, the button still yielding no results.

The cat-woman frowned, looking at my screen. “That’s weird…”

The dwarf sneered. “Go figure it out yourself.”

The cat-woman smacked his arm with a disapproving glare, before looking back to me. “I’d go to the city hall. There are some friendly NPCs who can help with any glitches.”

I nodded, thanking her.

So I just needed to get bug sorted out. That was all. Everything would be fine. But I couldn’t shove aside the sinking feeling in my chest as I left the tavern and into the coming sunset.

Something was off.

“What the hell do you mean?!”

The enraged roar was what greeted me as I walked into the city hall. An elf man was yelling at an NPC with a politely blank expression.

“You do not meet the requirements to log out right now.” the computer-generated man said calmly.

“If you say that one more time--”

“You can’t log out?” I interrupted. Which I immediately regretted as he whirled on me, green eyes blazing with anger.

“Figure that out all by yourself?” he snarled. “The stupid logout button doesn’t work.”

I shrank back. “Mine doesn’t work either.” I managed. “That’s why...why I’m here.”

He looked at me with narrowed eyes, before moving aside.

“Talk to him,” he ordered.

I hesitated, before walking quickly past him, in front of the NPC.

“Hello,” I said quietly.

He smiled politely, his settings reset to talk to me. “Good evening, adventurer. How may I help you?”

“I can’t log out.” I explained.

He smiled. “Alright! I’ll pull up your profile and see what I can do. Please stay patient.”

His expression went blank again.

“This takes a while.” the elf explained. He kept fidgeting, picking the sleeves of his long cloak. From his clothes and the starter’s bow slung over his shoulder…

“You’re a ranger, right?” I asked.

He looked down. “Oh...yeah.”

I nodded. “It looks...nice.” His avatar did look good, it was clear he had spent lots of time on it. His skin was light brown, with long black hair loose around his shoulders. His eyes were dark green, like the pine forest I had spawned in. But his eyes kept darting around impatiently, never settling on anything for too long.

“Did you need to log out for something?” I asked.

He grimaced. “I...yeah. I just got a message from my sister a few minutes ago, she went into labor. I’m gonna miss the birth of my new niece or nephew if this bug doesn’t clear up.”

I winced. “Ugh, I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.” he scratched the back of his head. “Sorry I was yelling.”

I smiled. “It’s alright, I understand. You’re probably freaking out a bit for your sister, right?”

He gave a tight, stressed laugh. “Yeah. But I mean, her husband’s taking her to the hospital, and my mom is with her...she’ll be okay. It’s just irritating.”

He shook his head, as if trying to clear out his intruding thoughts, and held out his hand. “Anyway...I’m Lorson Clearwater”

I shook it. “Risty Blackburn.”

He grinned. “Okay, that’s a cool name. And a neat avatar.”

I couldn’t help my smile. “Yeah, it took me an hour,” I admitted.

My avatar had long, dark red hair, turning to golden blonde as it reached the tips. Her skin was dappled with freckles, and she wore simple black leather armor under a reddish-brown cloak. A couple simple daggers were strapped to her belt. But the best parts were the ears and tail. They were those of a fox, and the same red-brown as the cloak, tipped in white.

“Kitsune is a pretty cool race. I figured I’d go classic, though,” he admitted, looking down at his avatar.

“Nothing wrong with classics.” I reminded him cheerfully.

He smiled, some of the tension seeming to leave his face. “Right? Elves are awesome.”

“Ms. Blackburn, I’ve finished your scan.” the NPC interrupted.

I turned, heart pounding. “Thank you. What did you find? Can I log out?”

The NPC smiled. “You do not meet the requirements to log out. Thank you.”

Four hours later, Lorson got a message from his mother that his sister had given birth to a healthy baby boy. She was annoyed he hadn’t been there. He told her something had come up, that there was an accident, but he was okay.

Lorson and I couldn’t get any more answers out of the NPC, so the two of us had gone out of the hall, and sat on the marble steps. He’d halfheartedly suggested we go try out the combat system, but I’d just shrugged. The excitement I’d felt for the game’s release had been replaced by a cold, leeching dread.

What if I tried dying?

“You can’t log out either, can you?”

A voice made him look up. Two more players stood in front of him. A girl with short, dark purple hair plopped down on the steps, visibly fuming. Her long staff and dark blue robes meant she was a mage or some kind of spellcaster.

“This is BS.” she snapped.

The other player with her smiled apologetically at Lorson and I, before sitting down next to her.

“We’ll figure it out, Kaia,” he said gently. His heavy armor, golden hair, and broadsword marked him as some sort of tank, probably a paladin. “We’ve already sent a troubleshoot request, we just need to wait.”

He sat down next to the girl in the blue robes, giving them an apologetic smile.

I glanced above his head, the name there was “Edun”.

“I was supposed to video chat with some friends tonight, but the stupid NPCs say I can’t log out!” Kaia snapped. “What the hell are the “qualifications for logging out”? What does that even mean?!”

“I’d be happy to explain, miss.”

We all looked up to see a generic human player standing a few feet away. I frowned. His player name and HP bar weren’t visible, which I didn’t even think was possible.

“And who the hell are you?” Kaia sneered.

The man smiled. He had a kind, if not generic face. “My name is Adrius. I’m the reason you’ll all be staying in this game, for the foreseeable future.”

[thelastspeecher]

Hihi! What about a Stangie DnD verse type AU? Or, if you don't play DND a ton, an AU where the Stans are dragons and the Gucks are human farmers in a medieval style setting. In both of those, first meeting type scenarios.

Day 01   Day 02   Day 03   Day 04   Day 05   Day 06   Day 07   Day 08Day 09   Day 10   Day 11   Day 12   Day 13   Day 14   Day 15   Day 16Day 17   Day 18   Day 19   Day 20   Day 21   Day 22   Day 23   Day 24Day 25   Day 26   Day 27   Day 28   Day 29   Day 30

So, I don’t play D&D a ton, mostly because I’ve been struggling to find a group to play with, as well as the time to do a campaign.  But I have played D&D in the past, and have spent enough time obsessing over the lore and creating character that I feel like I was able to fill this order sufficiently.  So here, have wood elf ranger Angie meeting half-elf rogue Stan.  Enjoy.

Word count: 1457

              Stan crouched down, trying to makeout the magic trace he’d been following. He straightened up with a soft swear.

              Can’t see it anymore.  If I everreally saw it to begin with.  Neverlearned how to track, never learned how to do magic shit.  Stan sighed. Well, I’m boned.  And so is Ford.  Something pricked the back of his neck.  He froze.

              “Turn,” a voice commanded.  Stan turned around slowly, his hands held inthe air, his mind racing as he tried to decide how he’d talk himself out ofthis one.  Those thoughts went away atthe sight of the woman pointing an arrow directly into his face.  He grinned.

              I always forget how damn hot elf ladies are.  No wonder Pops went after Mom.  The elf woman stared him down, her hazel eyesfierce.  A few strands of blonde hairstrayed from her braid, dangling in her face, standing out starkly against hercopper skin.  She was also a full headshorter than him, something that amused him greatly.

              “You’re a bit short for an elf,aren’t you?” he asked, slipping into Elvish. The elf blinked, clearly surprised by the language change.  Then the scowl returned.

              “Yer a bit mouthy fer someonewith an arrow in their face,” she retorted, switching from Common to Elvish.  Stan bit back a laugh.  Most elves spoke with prim, clipped grammarand pronunciation.  But the way shebutchered the Elvish language was more like the way his mom would slur after afew too many glasses of mead.

              “I’ve been told that before,”Stan said with a shrug.  “So, are yougonna shoot me or what?”  The elfhesitated, clearly trying to decide what to do. After a moment, she aimed down at the ground and shot her arrow into thedirt.

              “Who are you?” the elfasked.  “And what are ya doin’ in thesewoods?”

              “The name’s Stan.  Stan Pines. I’ve been tracking my brother, but, ah, I’m sorta shit at it.”  Stan eyed the elf curiously.  “Hang on. You’re a ranger, right?”

              “Yes.”

              “Think you could help me trackhim?  I mean, rangers are supposed to begood at tracking, I think.”

              “I am excellent at tracking,” the elf said.  She shook her head.  “But I can’t help you.  I’ve been trackin’ my own brother.  Can’t help other folks with theirs until mineis home safe.”

              “…Fair enough,” Stan said after amoment.  He shoved his hands in hispockets.  “So, you protect these woods?”

              “With my siblin’s, yes.”  Stan raised an eyebrow in surprise.  “My fam’ly don’t adhere to convention much.”

              “Judging by how you apparentlyhave multiple siblings and speakElvish like a drunk, yeah, I’d say so.”

              “Watch it,” the elf snarled.  “I’m not exactly a fan of humans.  They’ve caused too much trouble here.”

              “I don’t doubt that,” Stansaid.  “But I’m not a human.”  He pulled his long hair back into a ponytail,revealing his pointed ears.  The elf’smouth fell open in a small ‘O’.  “I takeafter my pops more than my mom, but I’m only half-human.”

              “Huh.”  The elf seemed genuinely intrigued.  “Don’t meet many half-breeds ‘round here.”  Stan grimaced.  “Sorry, that term was uncalled for.”

              “Nothin’ I haven’t heard before,”Stan mumbled.  The elf cleared herthroat.

              “So, yer trackin’ yer brother.”

              “Yeah.”

              “Hmm.”  The elf chewed her lip thoughtfully.  “I- I s’ppose it wouldn’t hurt to at least sendya in the right direction.”

              “Really?  You find out I’m half-elf and suddenly you’reup for helping me?”

              “No!” the elf saiddefensively.  She nudged a clump of dirtwith her toe.  “Yer quite thesmooth-talker, that’s all.  I wasconsiderin’ helpin’ ya before ya mentioned you weren’t full human.”

              “Oh.  Yeah, that checks out.”  Stan winked exaggeratedly.  “I do have a way with the ladies.”  The elf blushed fiercely; her cheeks turnedgreen, rather than pink.  She coughed.

              “Don’t press yer luck…Stan, wasit?”  Stan nodded.  “Don’t press yer luck, Stan.”  She looked down at the ground.  “By the way, my name’s Angie.”

              “Angie?  Really?”

              “It’s a nickname.  My full first name is rather unwieldy.”

              “My mom’s is like that.  She started going by Gigi when she opened upher shop, just so that people could pronounce her name.”  The elf began to go through a small bag tiedon a loop to her belt.

              “What kind of shop?” Angie askedpolitely.

              “Uh, fortune-telling.  She’s a diviner.”

              “Huh.  Came across an elf diviner’s trailearlier.  Maybe it was her.”

              “No, she’s in the city.”  Stan stared at Angie.  “But my brother’s a diviner, too.”  Angie froze. Slowly, she looked back at him.

              “Why is yer brother missin’?” sheasked.

              “I’m- I’m not one hundred percentsure.  I think it might have something todo with this person he’s been working with, to expand his field of vision orwhatever.  My brother- he’s never beensatisfied with how much he can see with his magic stuff.  I guess he got a hold of some guy who said hecould boost his abilities, and things went south.”

              “What do you know about theperson that claimed he could help yer brother’s abilities?”

              “Uh, not much.  His name’s Bill.  And I don’t- I kept hearing Ford using some weirdlanguage to talk to him.”  Angie swore loudly.  “What?”

              “Yer brother’s name is Ford?”

              “Yeah.  Why?”

              “My missin’ brother was workin’ witha diviner named Ford.  I don’t knowexactly what was goin’ on.  I stay out ofwizard stuff when I can.  I’ve got plentyto do as it is, protectin’ the woods from fiends.”

              “Fiends.”

              “There’s a lot of ‘em ‘roundhere.  Guess the fabric between planes isthin or somethin’.  I ain’t quite surewhy they keep showin’ up, just that they do.” Angie huffed irritably.  “And theykeep tryin’ to mess with the good folk, lead ‘em astray.  They’re enough of a problem that they’re sortof my specialty.”

              “Makes sense.”

              “But anyways, like I said, mymissin’ brother was workin’ with someone named Ford, who was a diviner.  Shortly ‘fore he went missin’, he got a holdof me.  Asked me some questions aboutfiends, since I’m the expert.  I askedhim why he was curious all of a sudden.  Hegot this real nervous look and said that he wanted some information before hemade a decision about what he would do. And no one’s heard from him since.” Angie eyed Stan carefully.  “This…Bill.  Think he could be a fiend?”

              “I mean, maybe.”

              “If he is, and yer brother’smissin’ ‘cause he got mixed up with Bill, I can track him easy.  Like I said, it’s my specialty.”

              “That would be great.  I’ve been trying to track him myself, but Idon’t know what I’m doing.”

              “Clearly.  The only thing yer doin’ right is bein’quiet.  Everything else yer doin’ wrong.”  Angie grinned.  “I’ve been followin’ ya fer a while.”

              “Well, when you break into housesfor a living, you get pretty good at being quiet,” Stan said offhandedly.  Angie laughed.

              “I s’ppose it would,” she said.  Stan frowned. “Surprised I’m not put off by ya bein’ a criminal?”

              “A bit.”

              “Eh.  I’ve worked for and with shadier people.  Ya meet a lot of iffy folks in the deeperparts of the forest, where the wild magic runs thick.”  Angie got a faraway look in her eyes.  “It’s really somethin’ else.”

              “Uh, okay.  So, about that tracking?”

              “Oh!  Right.” Angie stuck her bow in her quiver. “Where’d ya last find yer brother’s trail?”

              “I lost it around here,” Stansaid, looking at the ground.  Angie strodeto his side and crouched down, inspecting the dirt and leaf litter with acareful eye.  She grimaced.

              “Yep.  I can see yer brother’s trail, all right.”  She stood again.  “I can definitely see somethin’ fishy goin’on with it, too.  Demon might’ve taken him.”  Stan sighed.

              “Somehow, I’m not surprised thatmy brother got mixed up with a demon.”

              “Hopefully we’ll find him andsend that sucker what took him back wherever he came from.”  Angie looked off into the woods.  “And hopefully my brother will be there, too.  I- I’ve been havin’ a rough time findin’ histrail.  It keeps goin’ cold, and I haveto retrace my steps.  But if yer brotherworked with mine, then I think that’s my best bet at findin’ him.”

              “Sounds like a plan to me.”  Stan paused. “Wait, I don’t have to pay you or something, do I?”

              “Nah.  I’m doin’ my job.  Rescuin’ folks from demons.  Not to mention, I’m gettin’ somethin’ out of it,too.”

              “Good.”

              “The trail heads east.”

              “…Which way’s east?”

              “That way,” Angie said, pointing.  Stan took a breath.

              “All right.  Lead the way.”

[wildname]

Red Wing

Echoing out across the harbor were songs and laughter of a celebrating people. The village of Hullton threw this festival every year, a sign of thanks to the knights who guarded them, the Light who watched over them, and to the fishermen who risked it all to feed them. The mixing smells of mead, cooking fish, and dozens of baked sweets mingled in Thalin's nostrils. He had missed this festival, for years he had been away, in both Booty Bay and far beyond.

"Knight-Commander," came a voice. The drifting knight looked over to the smiling features of Sir Fairwind, tipping a foaming mug to him, "You're dozing, Sir. We all know Goody Ann will have your ass for that." A round of laughter echoed around them. Knights and well regarded folk of the village.

Thalin chuckled and took a sip from his own mug. It was a sweeter mead, aided with the hints of vanilla. "I'm not dozing, Alexios," he replied. "Just thinking."

"Best be about who your first squire should be!" barked a raspy voice. Sir Baris, Thalin's uncle and former Knight-Commander, had been wheeled out for the festivities. He was so much more gaunt and frail then he had been but a few months ago, but there was still fire and piss in the man. "A good knight always takes a squire, else our oaths and morals die with us!" A murmur of approval and nods echoed his sentiment. "Sir Bernard of Northsire has a son, might be a good pick."

Sir Bernard was a elder knight, known for his piety and skill upon a horse. He was also a bigot and purist when it came to humans. More than once he displayed disgust with the Starfallen lodge and Knight-Magus Gildras. His son wasn't much better. Brandon was a spiteful shit and a coward. Many times in training, Thalin had to walk away. Sparring became nothing but a beating.

Thalin knew why Sir Baris put those two forward however. Sir Bernard was the most likely successor to the order if Thalin were gone. This would've been an attempt to mend the offense and support the order.

Knight-Captain Marigold glanced between the two, sipping her mead. She patted her legs and stood. "Sirs, maybe give Sir Thalin a moment to think it over may be in order? Here," She said, walking over and pulling on the larger man's arm. "Take a walk and mull it over. Walks alway clear my head." Sir Baris waved off a hand, letting the two part. After they were well out of earshot, Marigold spoke, "He's right, not about Sir Shithead but about getting a squire. You're not errant anymore."

Thalin nodded softly. "Yeah... But I'm not sure I'm ready to take on a child like that."

"Says the man leading a coalition of knights and quel'dorei rangers?" Dame Marigold retorted with a snicker. "All you have to do is teach them what you know."

Thalin sighed. She made a simple but good point. "Well, who do you think it should be?" he asked, glancing over. Dame Marigold was always in charge of the pages should their knights be away, surely she'd have a candidate.

The woman laughed and tugged him along. "I know just the lass."

The small square had cleared out for the festival, all the merchants and goers were along the beach. Thalin peered out into the area, Marigold pressing a finger to her lips, telling him to stay quiet. A young girl with bright red hair spun about the patch of dirt, a wooden blade in hand. Her footing was self practiced, her grip was off, and she left herself so open. But there was fire in her sky blue eyes, wait... Long tappered ears poked out from her fiery locks. A half elf?

Thalin looked down to Marigold who seemed to beam with pride. "She's getting better," she murmured to herself. Just as she said so, a clattering sound caught his attention.

"Dammit!" the girl shouted, laying on the ground with a pant. Her clothes were a ratty shade, clearly not the first tumble. Thalin smiled softly as he strood out. The girl's eyes were closed but her ear twitched, and she rolled about, grabbing her "blade". She cried out as she swung, and grunted when she felt it stop. Her eyes darted open, glaring before shock took over. "M-m'lord!?"

Thalin chuckled, holding the wood in his hands. It was a mere few inches from his head, and a sharp sting reverberated through his hand. "Please, call me Thalin." He let go of the sword and inspected her posture. Her back was straight, head held high, and her right foot forward. She knew things. Thalin looked back to his female knight, putting two and two together, then down to the girl. She stared up at the man with sheer terror. She couldn't be more than ten, maybe twelve by Thalin's judgement. "You know... Its polite to share your name when someone shares their own."

She blinked once and dipped her head in a sort of bow. "Fabianna! M'- uh... Thalin." She corrected herself. Light, the girl was a nervous wreck. "I'm so so so sorry for uh, almost hitting you! I just got caught up and angry and-"

Thalin held up a hand to cut her off. "You're a fighter. I can see that. Tell me Fabianna, where's your family?"

She blinked twice, glancing off to the side and spoke quietly. "My mother died... A year ago. And I don't know my dad, Sir."

Thalin's smile faded, "I see... And your blade? How'd you get that and who taught you?"

Fabianna perked up at that, "Uh, Dame Marigold did, Sir. She knew my mother and how much I wanted to be a knight and gave me this book with pictures to practice from and-" on and on she rambled. Thalin could only chuckle.

"Here, Fabianna, how about I ask you one more question?"

"Uh... Alright?"

"What would you give to be a knight?"

The girl's eyes widened, taking a moment to just process his question. "I... I've got nothing to give, Sir. But," her face shifted, determination taking over. "I'd put my blood, sweat, and tears into it. There's nothing else I want more."

Thalin smiled brightly, holding out his hand to the girl. "Well then, here's my offer; I'll take you on as my squire, and all I ask is you give me this fire for everything we train on. Deal?"

Fabianna's ears twitched with a bright spark in her eyes, "Deal!" she shouted, grabbing his hand with her's.