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katy-l1988 · 3 months ago

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Zestmilla week: Day 3

Mythical Au

The Aegean Sea teemed with mythical beasts, but none struck more terror into sailors' hearts than the sirens. Zestial, battle-scarred captain of the royal fleet, had grown up hearing tales of these creatures whispered in taverns and around cooking fires—beings of otherworldly beauty whose voices could reduce the strongest men to helpless puppets.

Their song, it was said, carried on the wind like honey-sweet poison, enchanting crews to steer their ships straight into treacherous reefs. The sirens would watch from their rocky perches, golden hair gleaming in the moonlight, as vessel after vessel splintered against the stones. The lucky ones drowned quickly. The others…Zestial had seen their bones scattered across hidden coves, picked clean by creatures better left unnamed.

As a sworn protector of the realm, Zestial could no longer ignore the mounting deaths. These weren't mere monsters—they were Hades' own servants, released from the Underworld to sow chaos among the living. Each report brought darker news: entire trading fleets vanished, fishing villages found abandoned, their boats rotting at empty docks.

On the night of the new moon, when darkness lay thick as wool across the water, Zestial gathered his most trusted warriors. Two hundred men who had faced hydras and gorgons at his side now stood silent on the deck of his flagship, their bronze armor darkened with soot to dull its shine. Their target was no ordinary siren—they hunted the queen herself, whose voice was said to drive men mad with a single note.

Zestial ran his thumb along the edge of his blessed sword, its celestial bronze gleaming with faint blue light. By dawn, either her head would adorn the palace walls as warning to Hades' other creatures, or his men would join the countless bones littering the seafloor. There would be no middle ground in this hunt.

They hunted for months across treacherous waters. The sea ran red with the blood of slaughtered merfolk, their scaled bodies and iridescent tails floating in the foam like broken jewels. Zestial's men became efficient killers, learning to stuff their ears with wax and strike before their prey could sing. Each raid left more rocky outcrops silent, more underwater caves empty—but still the queen eluded them.

Hundreds of her kind fell to bronze and steel. Some fought back with tooth and claw, others pleaded for mercy in voices that could shatter marble. Zestial told himself this was justice, that each death brought safety to his people. But in the dark hours before dawn, their faces haunted him—so similar to human women in their final moments, tears mixing with salt spray.

"Captain, there's a storm brewing!" Theron's voice cut through the wind, his weathered face twisted with concern as he gripped the ship's rail. The old sailor had weathered a hundred gales, and Zestial had never seen such fear in his eyes.

"How serious is it?" Zestial's words were nearly lost in a sudden gust that set the rigging shrieking.

"Like nothing I've seen in thirty years at sea, sir." Theron pointed to the horizon where unnatural green clouds boiled up from the water itself. "The waves... they're moving against the wind. This is no natural tempest."

Lightning flashed in impossible colors—white, red, and a sickly shade of gold that left afterimages burned in their vision. Each thunderclap carried echoes of singing, a chorus of dead sirens calling out for vengeance.

"Your orders, sir?" Theron's knuckles were white on his sword hilt. Around them, the crew scrambled to secure lines, their movements frantic but futile against the rising supernatural storm.

Was that the moment Zestial heard it? It wasn’t the siren song he’d been hearing for the past few months, but a low, mournful wail that seemed to rise from the depths of the ocean. It spoke not of seduction or dreams, but of loss and rage so deep it made his bones ache. Drawn to the bow, he peered through the curtains of rain to see a lone figure perched on a distant rock. Unlike his kin, he sported no glistening scales or a handsome façade.

The queen had found them.

"Is that…?" Theron asked.

"Yes, yes it is."

Her scream tore through the night, a sound of pure malevolence that shattered minds and wills alike. Thirty of Zestial's men lurched overboard like puppets, while the rest turned their swords on each other in a frenzy. Blood mixed with rain on the deck as brother fought brother.

But Zestial remained clear-headed—an old war wound had left him nearly deaf years ago, when a Persian explosive had detonated too close to his position. Now, that cursed injury became his shield.

While the queen was lost in her destructive song, he slipped into the churning waters. Fighting against waves that seemed alive with hatred, he circled behind her rocky perch. His waterlogged armor threatened to drag him down, but he pressed on, using each lightning flash to guide his approach. The queen, drunk on her own power and the chaos she'd created, never sensed him climbing up behind her. The celestial bronze blade kissed her throat, silencing her song mid-note. The storm seemed to hold its breath with her.

"Turn. Slowly," Zestial commanded, his voice rough with salt spray.

She complied with an otherworldly grace. Silver hair like moonlit silk cascaded over her face, parting to reveal features that struck him speechless. This was no demon from Hades' realm—her beauty transcended anything mortal or infernal. Her eyes held the depths of ages, luminescent as starlight on still water. Every story he'd been told, every assumption about her origins in the underworld, crumbled before the reality of her presence.

"Come on, soldier… get this over with," she whispered, her voice now stripped of its supernatural power, revealing something achingly human beneath. "Do it!" she commanded, tilting her head to better expose her throat to his blade.

But her defiance cracked like thin ice, revealing layers of pain beneath. In her ancient eyes, Zestial saw not malice but a bone-deep weariness that mirrored his own—the exhaustion of someone who had lost too much to too many wars.

Keeping his blade steady against her throat, Zestial sank to his knees on the rain-slick stone. Their faces drew close enough that he could feel her breath, cold as deep ocean currents, against his skin. Her scent was an intoxicating mixture of sea spray and something older, more primal—like petrichor from the world's first storm. "Is it not enough?" she hissed, her words carrying the weight of a mother's grief. "Having slaughtered my daughters, do you now wish to toy with their mother?"

This close, he could see the delicate patterns in her skin that seemed to shift like sunlight through waves, the subtle glow that emanated from within. His sword hand trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the maddening desire to lower his blade, to give in to this forbidden fascination.

Then her eyes blazed with a fury that could have boiled the sea itself, but behind that rage, she must have seen something in his gaze—the way it lingered too long on her lips, how his breath caught when she moved. A knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth.

"Or perhaps," then, something softened in her gaze as recognition dawned. She leaned closer, her expression a curious mix of disbelief and wonder.

"Now you see?"

"So it’s you,” she murmured. "The man who threw himself from the cliffs… yet somehow lived."

Zestial’s heart pounded, memories flooding back to a distant night when he had nearly met his end. He remembered flinging himself from that ledge, the angry sea swallowing him whole, his broken body washing up on a hidden shore. He had drifted in and out of consciousness, barely aware of a figure pulling him from the water, cradling him as the tide receded.

“You brought me to shore,” he said, his voice thick with a forgotten ache. He remembered the faint warmth of hands on his skin, the feeling of being cared for—an echo that had lingered in his mind for years, like a ghost of a melody.

"I thought you would forget…but you returned. Always to that same place."

"Always..."

Her voice hardened, and her gaze, once tender, darkened with fury. She pulled away, her hands clenched into fists, trembling with the weight of her anger.

"Of all men, it was you," she spat. "The man I saved, the man I watched return to life—and you repay me by killing my children? Was this your gratitude?"

Zestial’s face fell, a pang of shame piercing him as he met her furious gaze. He tried to speak, but she silenced him with a look of pure loathing.

"Had I known what you would become," she continued, her words biting like salt in a wound, "I would have left you to the sea. Perhaps then, my daughters would still live. Perhaps then, we would have peace."

His voice, heavy with resignation, broke through the silence between them. "If it hadn’t been me, it would have been another," he replied, his tone weary but firm. "The king would never allow sirens to live unchecked. You must know this. You know how men are."

She scoffed, her expression twisted with pain. "And you’re no different. Just another soldier. Another man who’d take everything from us without a thought."

"Don’t speak as if you were innocent," Zestial retorted. "Your daughters have claimed thousands of human lives."

"And humans have taken millions of ours!" she snapped, fury blazing in her eyes. Her voice shook as she continued, each word laced with bitter resentment. "Humans have kills us for sport, for fresh meat, to use our bodies to fulfill their lust. We’ve been hunted for black magic, for promises of eternal life. All we ever did was defend ourselves… defend me. Their mother..."

Then, there was movement behind him. Zestial spun around, raising his sword.

"No, please don’t!" Her voice broke through, filled with desperation.

Two young sirens stood there, barely more than children, their wide eyes staring up at him with a mixture of fear and innocence. They clung to each other, trembling.

"They’re no threat…please, leave them be," she pleaded, her voice softer now, raw with emotion.

Zestial hesitated, then slowly lowered his sword and sheathed it. "They’re the last… aren’t they?"

Zestial took a step closer, gauging her reaction.

“Huh. The king desires your head as a trophy,” he explained, his voice steady but urgent. “But I won’t take your life.”

Her expression softened slightly, but skepticism lingered in her eyes.

“Perhaps a scale,” he suggested, glancing at her shimmering skin. “Or something similar. A piece of you that would convince him of your demise without taking your life. It must be something he can hold, something he can see and touch—a mark that signifies the end of your reign over these waters.”

She considered his words, the storm of emotions swirling within her. “A scale…” she murmured, looking at her daughters. “It would have to be a significant one, one that proves I am no longer here.”

“Yes,” Zestial agreed, a glimmer of hope igniting in his chest. “Just a single scale, and I will ensure you and your daughters remain safe from the madness of men.”

"Alright then."

Zestial returned to his ship, the weight of his secret heavy on his shoulders. As he stepped onto the deck, the sight of his comrades greeted him. They looked up expectantly, eager to hear of his conquest. He lied effortlessly, spinning a tale of triumph and bravery that they swallowed whole. The sky above them had cleared, and the sea had calmed, reinforcing their belief in his story. With a renewed sense of camaraderie, they set sail for the kingdom, their spirits high.

Once in the grand hall of the palace, Zestial presented the shimmering scale to the king, claiming it as a trophy from the slain siren queen. The ruler's eyes sparkled with greed as he took the scale, placing it into his crown as a precious gem.

A celebration erupted, filled with feasting and revelry that lasted for days and nights. The hall echoed with laughter and music, yet Zestial felt an unsettling emptiness gnawing at him, a discontent that shadowed the joy around him. As the days turned into nights, he began to notice something disturbing—many of the soldiers who had participated in the expedition started to disappear during the nights of celebration. At first, it seemed like nothing more than drunken escapades, but as more and more faces grew absent, Zestial’s unease deepened. He was the only one who sensed that something was amiss, while his fellow revelers remained blissfully ignorant.

One night, amid the laughter and clinking of goblets, he heard a familiar, haunting laughter that stirred something deep within him. It was the same laughter that had echoed through the chaos of the storm, a sound that cut through the haze of merriment like a blade. He turned, hope fluttering in his chest, only to be met by the haze of celebration and the faces of revelers, oblivious to the growing shadows.

Disappointed and increasingly suspicious, Zestial decided to leave the festivities behind. The joyous noise became a dull roar in his ears as he stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against his skin, refreshing yet filled with tension. Just as he began to collect his thoughts, he felt a presence behind him. Instinctively, he raised his sword, ready for whatever threat lay in the shadows. But as he turned, he was met with a chilling sight: the queen stood there, her mouth stained with blood, an unsettling smile playing on her lips.

“Good to see you, Captain,” she purred, her voice a seductive blend of danger and allure.

"How...?" he stammered, surprise etching his features as he struggled to comprehend her presence in the heart of the royal stronghold.

She laughed, a melodious sound that sent a shiver down his spine. "Did you really think I was bound to the sea? I can walk as you do, captain. The waters do not confine me; they only enhance what I am."

"But why are you here? What do you want from me?"

"From you? Nothing. I just came to claim your soldiers' debts."

Zestial's brow furrowed in confusion. "Debts?"

"Each life taken in my waters has a price, Captain. You already paid, but they haven't."

He felt a chill run down his spine. "You mean to take revenge?"

"Not revenge—retribution," she clarified, her gaze unwavering.

Zestial's expression hardened as he contemplated her proposal. "What if I offered to pay their debt with my life?"

She laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that sent shivers down his spine. "You think too highly of yourself, Captain. Your life isn’t worth the weight of a single scale from my daughters."

He clenched his fists, desperation driving him to find another way. "Then what if I offered to be your slave? I would serve you, and only you. I would give you everything—my loyalty, my labor. A home, food, riches… I would dedicate my life to you and your daughters."

Her laughter faded, replaced by an intrigued glint in her eyes. "A bold offer, indeed. But what makes you think I would want a human as a servant?"

"I can be useful," he insisted, stepping closer, urgency in his voice. "I know the ways of men, their weaknesses. I can help you navigate their world. Together, we could forge an alliance, one that could protect your kind from further slaughter."

The queen studied him, her lips curling into a thoughtful smirk. "You would willingly give up your freedom for a chance to save your comrades? How noble."

"Not noble—practical," he replied, feeling the weight of her gaze. "If I can secure peace between our peoples, perhaps I can prevent more bloodshed. And if I must pay for their sins with my own life, so be it."

She considered his words, her expression shifting as she contemplated the implications. "Very well, Captain. I accept your offer. But remember this: once you enter my service, there is no turning back. Your life will belong to me, and I will decide your fate."

Zestial nodded, determination filling him. "I understand. But I will not falter in my commitment to you."

"Then we have a deal," she said, a glimmer of satisfaction in her voice. "Now, go and retrieve what is owed. Your journey begins now, my devoted servant."

Pd: If you want to know more, I could write more.

#hazbin hotel #carmilla carmine #fanfic #carmilla hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel zestial #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbinhotel #zestmilla #zestmillaweek #sirens #mermaids

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writingforstraykids · 8 months ago

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Whispers of the Moon - Birthday Special

Pairing: Minchan (short mention of Felix / very short mention of the other boys)

Word Count: 6325

Summary: In the heart of Seoul, beneath the gleaming skyscrapers and ancient palaces, lies a hidden world of magic and mystery. Chan, a gifted healer, and Minho, a shapeshifter hiding as a sleek black cat, find their destinies intertwined in this enchanting underworld...

Warnings/Tags: magical!au, shapeshifter!minho, healer!chan, angst, fluff, strangers to lovers

A/N: The happiest birthday to my dear unnie @zehina. I actually went all nerdy and wrote loads about the world as well since I know you love it (and included the rest of the boys that way hehe). I hope you like it, love🖤

Seoul, South Korea's bustling capital, is known for its towering skyscrapers, historic palaces, and vibrant street markets. It is a city where ancient traditions and cutting-edge technology coexist in harmony. However, beneath its well-lit streets and modern facades lies a hidden realm—a magical underworld known only to a selected few. This subterranean world, rich with history and mystery, operates parallel to the everyday life of Seoul's residents, governed by its own rules and inhabited by beings from myth and legend.

The gateway to Seoul's magical underworld is not a grand archway or a secret door; it is a modest, unassuming teahouse in the bustling district of Insadong. The teahouse, known as "Moonlit Haven," has been in operation for centuries and has been passed down through generations of the same family. Its wooden exterior and traditional hanok architecture blend seamlessly with the area's historic atmosphere.

To the ungifted human, Moonlit Haven appears to be an ordinary teahouse serving fragrant teas and traditional Korean sweets. However, those who know the secret can access the portal to the underworld by ordering a special tea called "Moon's Whisper." Upon drinking this tea, a shimmering door appears at the back of the teahouse, leading to a stone staircase that descends deep into the earth.

The staircase spirals downward, lit by glowing blue lanterns that float in mid-air. The walls are adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes with magical creatures: the nine-tailed fox, the dragon king, and the heavenly warriors. As one descends, the air grows cooler and tinged with a faint scent of jasmine and pine.

At the bottom of the staircase, a grand archway looms, its surface covered in glowing runes. This is the true entrance to Seoul's magical underworld, a threshold between the mundane and the extraordinary. Stepping through the archway, one is immediately enveloped in a world unlike any other.

The magical underworld of Seoul, known as Secret City, is a sprawling subterranean metropolis that mirrors the city above but with its own unique twist. The sky here is an eternal twilight, illuminated by floating orbs that mimic the phases of the moon. Streets are paved with luminescent stones, and buildings are constructed from materials that shimmer with an inner light.

Secret City is divided into several districts, each with its own distinct character. There is the Enchanted Market, where vendors sell potions, enchanted artifacts, and rare ingredients. The Celestial District is home to beings of great power, including dragons and celestial foxes. The Whispering Woods, a dense forest of silver trees, is said to be haunted by spirits and home to elusive forest guardians.

The residents of Secret City are as diverse as the city itself. Humans with magical abilities live alongside mythical creatures. Among them are the Gumiho, nine-tailed foxes who can shapeshift and possess immense magical power. There are also Dokkaebi, goblins, mischievous but generally benign beings who love to play tricks on humans. Dragons, both Eastern and Western varieties, make their homes in the Celestial District, guarding ancient secrets and treasures.

The city's governance is overseen by a council of elders, composed of representatives from each major group. The council ensures harmony between the various inhabitants and that the secrets of Secret City are kept from the surface world, which is why any sort of magic is forbidden in the mundane world.

The Enchanted Market is the heart of Secret City, a bustling bazaar where the air is filled with the scent of exotic spices and the sound of lively discussions. Stalls line the streets, their wares illuminated by lanterns that float overhead. Vendors shout out their goods, from enchanted scrolls and rare herbs to mystical artifacts and talismans.

One of the most renowned vendors in the market is Master Hyun, a potions master whose shop, "Elixirs of Eternity," is a treasure trove of magical concoctions. Shelves upon shelves are filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes, each containing liquids that shimmer with otherworldly light. Master Hyun is a man of twinkling eyes and ethereal beauty, always ready with a story about the origins of his potions.

One of his most sought-after potions is the "Dream Weaver," which allows the drinker to enter the dreams of others. Another popular item is the "Phoenix Tear," a potion that can heal any wound or ailment. Master Hyun's potions are known for their potency and reliability, making his shop a favorite among both the magical and non-magical residents of Secret City.

Another notable figure in the Enchanted Market is Ji-Sung, an artifact dealer whose collection is the envy of many. His shop, "Treasures of Time," is filled with rare and powerful artifacts from across the ages. Among his prized possessions are a mirror that shows the true nature of any being, a fan that can summon the wind and a sword that can cut through any material.

Ji-Sung is a mysterious figure, always dressed in elaborate silk robes and adorned with jewelry that seems to pulse with magic. He is known for his keen eye and sharp wit, and it is said that he never forgets a face. His shop is a place of wonder and danger, for while many seek his artifacts for their power, they often come with a price that is not measured in gold.

The Celestial District is home to some of the most powerful beings in Secret City. Dragons, with their majestic forms and ancient wisdom, reside here in grand palaces that float above the ground. These palaces, constructed from crystal and gold, radiate a light that can be seen from anywhere in the city.

Each dragon in the Celestial District guards a specific aspect of magic or nature. There is Aran, the dragon of water, whose palace is surrounded by a moat of liquid silver. There is Seraphine, the dragon of fire, whose abode is perpetually surrounded by a ring of flames. These dragons are both protectors and advisors, and their counsel is sought by the council of elders and other residents of Secret City.

Sharing the Celestial District with the dragons are the Gumiho, or nine-tailed foxes. These beings are both feared and respected for their immense magical power and their ability to shape-shift into beautiful women or men. The Gumiho live in harmony with the dragons, their abilities complementing the dragons' strength and wisdom.

The leader of the Gumiho is Jeongin, a fox spirit with silver fur and piercing dark eyes. Jeongin is known for his grace and intelligence, often acting as a mediator in disputes and a strategist in times of conflict. His palace, the Silver Moon Pavilion, is a place of beauty and tranquility, where the moonlight dances on the surface of a crystal-clear lake.

The Whispering Woods is a dense forest of silver trees, their leaves shimmering like moonlight. The woods are said to be haunted, with whispers echoing through the trees that speak of forgotten secrets and ancient magic. The path through the forest is winding and treacherous, known only to a few who dare to venture into its depths.

The Whispering Woods are guarded by forest spirits, ethereal beings who protect the ancient magic within the trees. These spirits, known as the Guardians, are invisible to most and reveal themselves only to those they deem worthy. They are led by Elder Bin, a spirit of great wisdom and power who has watched over the woods for centuries.

The Guardians are both protectors and guides, aiding those who seek knowledge or refuge in the woods. They are also the keepers of the Sacred Grove, a hidden sanctuary where the most potent magical energies converge. The Sacred Grove is a place of healing and renewal, its waters said to grant visions and its flowers capable of curing any illness.

Among the trees dwell the Spirits of the Lost, souls who have wandered into the woods and never found their way out. These spirits are not dangerous but rather sorrowful, seeking closure or redemption. They often appear as faint, glowing figures, their presence marked by a sudden chill in the air.

The Spirits of the Lost are guided by Lix, a gentle and compassionate spirit who helps them find peace. Lix is a beacon of light in the darkness of the woods, his soothing voice and kind heart offering comfort to those who have lost their way. Under his guidance, many spirits have found the closure they seek and moved on to the afterlife.

Scattered throughout Secret City are hidden temples dedicated to various deities and elemental forces. These temples are places of worship and power where the faithful come to seek blessings and guidance. Each temple is unique, reflecting the nature of the deity or force it honors.

One of the most revered temples in Secret City is the Temple of the Moon, a place of serene beauty and quiet reflection. The temple is built from white marble, its domed roof adorned with silver filigree that glows softly in the moonlight. Inside, a large pool of water reflects the light of the floating orbs above, creating an ethereal ambiance.

The Temple of the Moon is dedicated to the moon goddess, Haneul, who is believed to watch over Secret City from the skies. The temple is tended by a group of priests known as the Moon Brothers, who perform rituals and offer prayers on behalf of the city's residents. The head priest, Brother Seungmin, is a wise and gentle leader, his presence bringing a sense of peace and tranquility to all who visit the temple.

Another secret society is the Shadow Blades, a group of elite warriors and assassins who protect Secret City. They are skilled in martial arts and magic, and their training is rigorous and demanding. The Shadow Blades operate from the Shadowsong Keep, a hidden fortress deep within the Whispering Woods.

Commander Ji-Won is the leader of the Shadow Blades, a formidable warrior known for being both ruthless and just. Under his command, the Shadow Blades carry out missions to protect Secret City from external threats and internal strife. They are the unseen guardians of the city, their presence felt but rarely seen. Minho is one of them, slowly working his way up the ranks but facing struggles with his colleagues. He’s not as powerful with magic as most of them but has the ability to shapeshift into a cat, making him perfect for secret missions. Which pissed a lot of people off.

Throughout its history, Secret City has been protected by heroes who have risen to defend the city against threats, both internal and external. These heroes, known as the Chosen Ones, are individuals of great courage and power, often possessing unique abilities that set them apart from others.

No hero is complete without a healer, and in Secret City, that role is filled by Chan, a gifted healer whose touch can mend even the gravest of wounds. Chan is a member of the Temple of the Moon, his gentle nature and healing magic bringing comfort and hope to those in need. He carries a staff, the Moon's Grace, which enhances his healing abilities and allows him to channel the power of the moon goddess.

Seoul's magical underworld, Secret City, is a place of wonder, danger, and beauty. It is a city where the mundane and the extraordinary coexist, where ancient myths come to life, and where the balance between light and dark is constantly maintained. The residents of Secret City, both human and mythical, live in harmony, their lives intertwined by the magic that permeates their world.

As the gateway between the two realms, Moonlit Haven reminds visitors that there is more to Seoul than meets the eye. For those who dare to seek it, a world of magic and mystery awaits, hidden beneath the bustling streets and modern skyscrapers of South Korea's capital. In Secret City, the impossible becomes possible, and the ordinary becomes extraordinary—a true testament to the enduring power of magic.

Minho had always been different. As a member of the Shadow Blades, the elite warriors and protectors of Secret City, his abilities made him a target of both admiration and envy. Unlike many of his comrades, he lacked powerful magic but possessed a unique talent: the ability to shapeshift into a sleek, agile cat. This ability made him invaluable for espionage, slipping unnoticed through shadows and tight spaces. However, his success and the recognition it brought only fueled the resentment of his peers.

The tension reached its peak after a particularly challenging mission. Minho had been instrumental in retrieving a stolen artifact from a rogue mage, but his success was met with scorn rather than praise. Whispers of jealousy and accusations of favoritism swirled among his colleagues, resulting in an unjust decision by his superior officers. They accused him of withholding information and acting independently, charges that were untrue but impossible for Minho to refute without pushing himself even further away.

"You think you're special because of your abilities," spat one of his fellow warriors. "But you're just a liability. We don't need someone who can't follow orders."

The decision was swift and brutal. Minho was stripped of his rank and cast out from the Shadowsong Keep. The sense of betrayal cut deeper than any blade. He was alone, exiled from the only family he had known, forced to fend for himself in the vast, mystical underworld of Secret City.

With nowhere else to turn, Minho fled through the Whispering Woods, a dense forest known for its haunting beauty and perilous magic. The silver leaves of the trees shimmered in the eternal twilight, casting an eerie glow on the winding paths. Here, the whispers of ancient secrets and lost souls filled the air, a symphony of sorrow and mystery.

Exhausted and wounded from his escape, Minho made a desperate decision. He transformed into his cat form, hoping the change would allow him to navigate the forest more easily and evade any pursuers. The transformation was both a relief and a curse, offering him agility and stealth but stripping him of his human voice and hands.

As a cat, Minho's senses were heightened. He could hear the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and the soft murmurs of the forest spirits. His fur provided some protection against the chill, but the pain of his injuries persisted. Despite his resilience, the journey through the Whispering Woods was grueling, each step a struggle against fatigue and despair.

Lix found him curled up beneath a tree and noticing his injuries he knew there was only one way to save him. He scooped him up from the ground and soothingly caressed his head, able to tell there was more to him than just an innocent, hurt cat.

After days of wandering, they finally reached the Temple of the Moon, a place of serene beauty and powerful magic. The temple, constructed from white marble and adorned with silver filigree, stood as a beacon of hope amidst the dark woods. Its domed roof glowed softly, reflecting the light of the floating orbs above. Lix set him down on the ground and gently shoved him forward. “I’m not allowed to enter, but you are, little friend. Go and accept the refuge they have to provide.”

Minho hesitated at the entrance, his feline instincts wary of the unknown. He had heard of the temple's head healer, Chan, a gifted young man whose touch could mend even the gravest of wounds. Desperation outweighed caution, and Minho limped into the courtyard, collapsing near the temple steps.

Moments later, a figure emerged from the temple. Chan, carrying a staff that radiated a gentle light, approached the injured cat. His eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the wounded animal, but his expression quickly softened into one of compassion.

"Poor thing," Chan murmured, kneeling beside Minho. "Let's get you inside."

Chan carefully lifted Minho and carried him into the temple. The interior was as serene as the exterior, with moonlight streaming through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the marble floor. Chan placed Minho on a soft cushion and gently examined his injuries.

"You're in bad shape, but we'll get you fixed up," Chan said soothingly. He placed his hands over Minho's wounds, and a warm, healing light emanated from his palms. The pain began to fade, replaced by a soothing sensation that spread through Minho's body.

As the healing progressed, Minho watched Chan with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity. Chan's touch was gentle, his expression focused yet kind. There was something inherently calming about him, a presence that put Minho at ease despite his recent ordeal.

When Chan finished, he sat back and smiled. "There you go, little one. You should feel better soon."

Minho meowed softly in response, his eyes conveying the gratitude he couldn't express in words. Chan chuckled and scratched behind Minho's ears. "You can stay here as long as you need to. I'll take care of you."

Days turned into weeks as Minho recovered under Chan's care. He adapted to his new life at the Temple of the Moon, observing the daily routines and rituals from the shadows. In his cat form, Minho found a strange sense of peace. He was safe from his past and had a chance to start anew.

Chan grew fond of the cat he had rescued, naming him "Moonshadow" for his sleek, dark fur and the way he seemed to blend into the twilight. Minho, in turn, became Chan's silent guardian, following him around the temple and offering companionship.

Whenever Chan was away, Minho would revert to his human form, cleaning the temple and performing small tasks to help ease his guilt for deceiving him. He hoped that his actions would repay some of the kindness Chan had shown him, even if Chan never knew the truth.

Chan, however, began to notice the small changes around the temple. Rooms were tidier, supplies were replenished, and the garden seemed to flourish under an unseen hand. He attributed these miracles to the blessings of the moon goddess, unaware of the true source.

Five months later

In the eternal twilight of Secret City, the Temple of the Moon was a sanctuary of tranquility and magic. Within its serene confines, Chan sat cross-legged on a plush cushion, his gentle eyes scanning the pages of an ancient tome. The moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows cast a colorful, ethereal glow around him, creating an atmosphere of peace and contemplation.

Beside him, Minho, in his cat form, stretched lazily, his sleek black fur shimmering in the soft light. As he yawned and settled into a more comfortable position, his eyes never left Chan. There was a bond between them that went beyond mere companionship—a connection forged through trials and a deep mutual understanding.

Chan noticed Minho’s gaze and smiled warmly. “Hey there, Moonshadow,” he said softly. “Come here.”

Minho’s ears perked up at the sound of Chan’s voice. With a graceful leap, he landed beside Chan and began to nuzzle his head against Chan’s outstretched hand. Chan’s fingers moved instinctively to scratch behind Minho’s ears, a spot that always made the cat purr contentedly.

“There we go,” Chan murmured, his voice soothing and gentle. He could feel the vibrations of Minho’s purrs under his fingertips, a rhythmic reminder of the trust and affection between them.

Minho closed his eyes, leaning into Chan’s touch. The sensation of Chan’s fingers running through his fur was blissful, and his purring grew louder, filling the quiet room with its soothing sound. It was moments like these that made all the hardships and uncertainties of their lives seem distant and unimportant.

Chan chuckled softly. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

In response, Minho rubbed his head against Chan’s cheek, a gesture of affection that made Chan’s heart swell with warmth. The simple act of being close to Chan brought Minho a sense of security and happiness he had never thought possible before meeting him.

“You’re such a sweet kitty,” Chan whispered, continuing to scratch Minho’s head and under his chin. Minho’s purrs grew even louder, and he started to knead Chan’s chest with his paws, his claws retracting just enough to avoid scratching the fabric of Chan’s robe.

Chan shifted slightly, leaning back against the cushions and creating a more comfortable space for both of them. Minho took this as an invitation and climbed onto Chan’s chest, circling a few times before curling up in a tight ball. His tail wrapped around his body, and he rested his head on his paws, looking up at Chan with half-closed eyes.

“You look so peaceful,” Chan said, his voice barely above a whisper. He rested one hand gently on Minho’s back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Minho’s eyes closed fully, and he let out a contented sigh. The warmth of Chan’s body, combined with the rhythmic motion of his hand on his back, lulled him into a state of deep relaxation. His purring continued, a soft, steady sound that seemed to resonate with the very essence of the temple.

For Chan, having Minho close was a source of immense comfort. The bond they shared went beyond that of a healer and his pet; it was a connection of souls, a partnership forged over time. Chan found solace in Minho’s presence, a sense of completeness that he had never experienced before.

As the minutes passed, the tranquility of the moment deepened. Chan’s thoughts drifted, the worries of the day fading into the background. All that mattered was the gentle weight of Minho on his chest, the soothing sound of his purrs, and the warmth of their shared affection.

Minho, on the verge of sleep, shifted slightly and nuzzled his head against Chan’s chest. He felt safe, cherished, and loved—a stark contrast to the loneliness and betrayal he had once known. In this sacred space, with Chan’s heartbeat as his lullaby, Minho found a peace that transcended the physical realm.

Chan continued to stroke Minho’s fur, his touch light and tender. He could feel the trust dripping from the small creature in his arms, a trust that was both humbling and empowering. Chan knew that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, their bond unbreakable.

“I promise to always take care of you,” Chan whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

Minho’s purring intensified for a moment, as if acknowledging Chan’s words. Then, gradually, it began to fade as sleep overtook him. His body relaxed completely, his breathing slow and steady. Chan watched him with a soft smile, his own heart filled with a profound sense of gratitude and love.

The Temple of the Moon, with its timeless beauty and serene atmosphere, bore witness to the deep connection between Chan and Minho. In this sacred place, under the watchful gaze of the moon goddess, they found a moment of perfect harmony—a testament to the enduring power of love and trust in a world filled with magic and mystery.

As Chan closed his eyes, his hand resting gently on Minho’s sleeping form, he knew that their journey together was far from over. But in this moment, they had everything they needed: each other. And that was enough.

One evening, as Chan prepared for his nightly prayers, he looked at Moonshadow, who was curled up on a cushion nearby. "You know, sometimes I feel like there's more to you than meets the eye," Chan mused aloud. "You're special, aren't you?"

Minho's ears perked up, and he watched Chan with wide, curious eyes. Chan smiled and continued, "I think the goddess sent you to me for a reason. Maybe you're my familiar, a guardian spirit to protect and guide me."

The words struck a chord in Minho's heart. He had always felt a deep connection to Chan, a sense of duty and protectiveness that went beyond mere gratitude. Perhaps there was truth in Chan's words, a destiny that had brought them together.

That night, Chan performed a ritual to bind Moonshadow as his familiar. He drew intricate symbols on the ground, lit candles, and recited ancient incantations. As the ritual reached its climax, a surge of magical energy enveloped Minho, strengthening the bond between them.

Minho felt a profound shift within him, a merging of their spirits that filled him with newfound purpose. He was now bound to Chan, his protector and companion, their fates intertwined by the magic of the moon.

As Chan's familiar, Minho took his duties seriously. He remained vigilant, always on the lookout for potential threats. His heightened senses allowed him to detect dangers before they could reach Chan, and his presence provided comfort and reassurance.

One day, trouble arrived in the form of dark mages seeking to disrupt the balance of magic in Secret City. These mages, practitioners of forbidden magic, targeted the Temple of the Moon, believing its powerful magic could be harnessed for their nefarious purposes.

Chan was in the garden when the attack began. Dark figures emerged from the shadows, casting spells that warped the air and sent tremors through the ground. Chan's staff glowed as he raised a protective barrier, but the dark mages' assault was relentless.

Minho, sensing the danger, leapt into action. He transformed into his human form, his body a blur of motion as he intercepted the attackers. With a combination of agility and ferocity, Minho fought off the dark mages, his cat-like reflexes and strength giving him an edge.

Chan, focused on maintaining the barrier, was unaware of the true identity of his savior. He glanced over in shock as he saw a young man fighting with the grace and power of a guardian beast.

Despite his best efforts to hide his true nature, Minho's ears were visible, a telltale sign of his shapeshifter abilities. As the last of the dark mages fled, Chan lowered the barrier and approached Minho cautiously.

"Who are you?" Chan asked, his voice a mix of awe and confusion. Their eyes met and Chan’s eyes widened recognizing those soft brown orbs he’d come to love so much. His eyes wandered up where Minho’s dark cat ears peaked from his messy brown hair. "Are you... Moonshadow?"

Minho hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yes, I am. My name is Minho. I'm a shapeshifter, exiled from the Shadowsong Keep. I've been living here in my cat form, afraid you would kick me out if you knew the truth. I know we aren’t very welcomed around here.”

Chan's expression softened, and he reached out to touch Minho's shoulder. "You protected me, Minho. You've been by my side all this time, helping and watching over me. I don't care about your past or your abilities. You are my familiar, and I am grateful for everything you've done."

Tears welled up in Minho's eyes, a mix of relief and gratitude flooding his heart. "Thank you, Chan. I promise to always protect you, no matter what."

Minho’s revelation had lifted a weight off his chest, but it also left him feeling vulnerable. Living as a shapeshifter meant hiding his true self, something he’d grown accustomed to. Yet, in front of Chan, he was completely exposed. For Chan, the revelation was a mix of shock and intrigue. The gentle healer had always felt a special bond with Moonshadow, but knowing that the affectionate cat was also a brave young man named Minho deepened that connection.

Their daily routines continued, but with a newfound understanding. Minho still shifted into his cat form, now more out of comfort than necessity. He still enjoyed curling up on Chan’s chest, feeling his rhythmic breathing and the warmth of his body. Chan, on his part, welcomed Minho’s human presence when he transformed, appreciating the help around the temple and the companionship Minho offered.

The first night after Minho’s revelation, Chan found it hard to sleep. He kept glancing at Minho, now in his human form, tidying up the temple’s main hall. The moonlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting a soft glow on Minho’s face. He moved gracefully, his actions efficient and almost mesmerizing to watch. Chan felt a strange flutter in his chest, a mix of admiration and affection.

“Minho,” Chan called softly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Minho turned, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. “Yes, Chan?”

Chan hesitated, then smiled. “You don’t have to push yourself so hard. Come sit with me.”

Minho’s expression softened, and he abandoned the broom he was holding, walking over to where Chan sat. He settled down beside him, their shoulders almost touching. There was a quiet intimacy in the moment, a shared silence that spoke volumes.

“I never thought I’d find someone like you,” Chan admitted quietly. “Someone who understands and accepts me for who I am.”

Minho looked at him, his eyes sincere. “I feel the same way. You’ve given me a place to belong, Chan. For that, I’m grateful.”

They sat in silence for a while, the bond between them growing stronger with each passing moment. Chan’s hand moved almost instinctively, reaching out to hold Minho’s. Minho’s fingers intertwined with his, the simple touch sending a warm feeling through both of them.

As days turned into weeks, the relationship between Chan and Minho deepened. They developed a rhythm, a balance of shared tasks and quiet moments of companionship. Minho’s presence brought a sense of stability to Chan’s life, while Chan’s gentle nature provided Minho with a sense of peace he had never known before.

Chan’s duties as a healer often took him to various parts of Secret City. Minho, always in his cat form, accompanied him, providing silent support. He became Chan’s shadow, always alert and ready to protect him if necessary. Their bond as familiar and master was strong, but it was the bond of friendship and growing affection that truly defined their relationship.

One afternoon, while Chan was tending to a patient in the Celestial District, Minho, in his cat form, explored the area. The dragons and celestial foxes were impressive, their majestic forms and ancient wisdom evident in every interaction. Minho’s keen senses picked up the subtle undercurrents of power and respect that flowed through the district.

As Chan finished his work, he called out for Minho. The sleek black cat appeared almost instantly, weaving through the crowd with ease. Chan smiled as he picked Minho up, cradling him gently.

“You always know where to find me,” Chan said, scratching behind Minho’s ears. Minho purred in response, nuzzling against Chan’s cheek.

Their return to the temple was peaceful, the twilight sky casting a serene glow over Secret City. Minho transformed back into his human form once they were inside, stretching his limbs as he did so.

“Another successful day,” Chan remarked, setting down his staff.

Minho nodded. “You’re an amazing healer, Chan. The way you help people… it’s inspiring.”

Chan’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. “Thank you, Minho. But I couldn’t do it without your support.”

Minho’s heart swelled at the words. He was finding it harder to keep his feelings for Chan hidden. The healer’s kindness, dedication, and the way he made Minho feel valued and appreciated—it was all becoming too much to ignore.

Their bond grew stronger with each passing day, but so did Minho’s feelings for Chan. He found himself drawn to the healer in ways he hadn’t expected. Chan’s smile, his laughter, the way he cared for others—it all made Minho’s heart race.

One evening, as they sat together under the soft glow of the moonlight, Chan turned to Minho with a thoughtful expression. “Minho, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Minho replied, curious.

“Why do you stay in your cat form most of the time?” Chan asked gently. “I mean, I understand it became your natural state by now, but you can be human whenever you want. Why do you choose to be a cat?”

Minho looked down, his ears twitching slightly. “It’s… complicated. When I’m in my cat form, I feel safe. I can protect you without drawing too much attention. And it’s easier to hide my true feelings.”

“Your true feelings?” Chan echoed, his curiosity piqued.

Minho hesitated, then took a deep breath. “Chan, there’s something I need to tell you. Ever since you took me in, I’ve felt this… connection. It’s more than just being your familiar. I care about you deeply, more than I’ve ever cared about anyone. But I’ve been afraid to show it, afraid that you might not feel the same way.”

Chan’s eyes softened, and he reached out to take Minho’s hand. “Minho, I care about you too. You’ve become an important part of my life, and I can’t imagine it without you. I think… I think I’ve been feeling the same way.”

Minho’s heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

Chan nodded. “Yes. I’ve been trying to understand these feelings, and now I realize that I’ve fallen for you, Minho. Not just as my familiar, but as someone I want to be with.”

Minho’s eyes filled with tears of relief and happiness. “Chan, I’ve loved you for so long. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Chan pulled Minho into a gentle embrace. “You don’t have to hide your feelings anymore. We’ll face this together.”

Minho clung to Chan, the warmth of his embrace filling him with a sense of belonging. They stayed like that for a while, holding each other under the moonlight, their hearts beating in sync.

With their feelings out in the open, Minho and Chan’s relationship took on a new dimension. They were no longer just healer and familiar; they were partners, united by love and a deep sense of understanding. Their bond grew stronger, their affection for each other evident in every touch, every glance, every shared moment.

Chan continued his work as a healer, and Minho remained by his side, providing support and protection. They faced challenges together, their love giving them strength and resilience. Secret City, with its magic and mystery, became a backdrop for their blossoming relationship.

One day, as they walked through the Enchanted Market, Minho in his human form, Chan took his hand. “I have a surprise for you.”

Minho looked at him curiously. “What is it?”

Chan led him to a small shop filled with beautiful artifacts and magical items. The shopkeeper, a kind young man, greeted them with a warm smile.

“Welcome, Chan. I see you’ve brought a special friend today,” he said.

Chan smiled and nodded. “Yes, Minho is very special to me. And I want to give him something to show how much he means to me.”

Jisung’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, I have just the thing.”

He led them to a display case and pulled out a delicate silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon. “This pendant is filled with protective magic. It will keep the wearer safe and strengthen the bond between two hearts.”

Chan took the pendant and turned to Minho. “I want you to have this. It’s a symbol of our bond and my promise to always be there for you.”

Minho’s lip quivered slightly as he took the pendant. “Thank you, Chan. I’ll cherish it always.”

Chan fastened the pendant around Minho’s neck, and they shared a tender kiss, sealing their love with a magical promise.

Their love continued to grow, but so did the challenges they faced. Dark forces still threatened Secret City, and Minho and Chan found themselves in the midst of several battles. Their bond was tested, but their love gave them the strength to overcome every obstacle.

One evening, as they returned to the temple after a particularly difficult mission, Chan collapsed from exhaustion. Minho caught him, his heart pounding with fear. “Channie, are you okay?”

Chan smiled weakly. “I’m just tired, Minho. I’ll be fine.”

Minho carried Chan inside and laid him down on a soft cushion. He tended to Chan’s wounds, his hands trembling with worry. “You’ve pushed yourself too hard, Chan. You need to rest.”

Chan reached up to touch Minho’s face. “I’ll be okay, Minho. I have you by my side.”

Minho’s eyes filled with tears as he leaned down to kiss Chan’s forehead. “I love you, Chan. Please take care of yourself like you do with everyone else.”

“I love you too, Minho,” Chan whispered, closing his eyes. “Thank you for being here with me.”

Minho stayed by Chan’s side, holding his hand and watching over him as he slept. The trials they faced only strengthened their bond, their love a beacon of hope and resilience in the face of darkness.

As time passed, Minho and Chan’s love continued to flourish. They built a life together, their bond unbreakable and their hearts intertwined. Secret City, with its magic and mystery, became their home, a place where their love could grow and thrive.

One evening, as they sat together under the moonlight, Chan turned to Minho with a smile. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

Minho nodded, his eyes filled with affection. “How could I forget? You saved me, Chan. You gave me a place to belong.”

Chan took Minho’s hand, their fingers intertwining. “And you gave me a reason to believe in love. You’ve made my life complete, Minho.”

Minho leaned in to kiss Chan, their lips meeting in a tender, loving embrace. “I promise to always be by your side, Chan. Forever.”

Chan smiled, his heart filled with joy. “Forever.”

As they held each other under the soft glow of the moonlight, Minho and Chan knew that their love was eternal. In the magical underworld of Secret City, their hearts had found a home in each other, a love that would endure through any challenge, a bond that would never be broken.

Together, they faced the world, their love a guiding light in the darkness. And in each other’s arms, they found a love that was truly magical, a love that would last forever.

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

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hayatheauthor · 1 year ago

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How to Pick The Perfect Weapon For Your Characters

When you’re writing a novel every small element has its own purpose. From the lush setting to the intricate plot, each detail is carefully chosen to convey a message, evoke emotions, and immerse readers in the narrative. One such crucial element is the character's weapon.

A character’s weapon is their best friend, sometimes even literally in cases like Magnus Chase. This seemingly insignificant tool can be a symbol of their essence, values, and role in the story. This is why it’s so essential to pick the right weapon!

As an author of both thriller and SFF, I decided to create a quick guide to help you learn how to pick the perfect weapon for your characters.

Swords: The Symbol of Honor and Valor

Swords have long held a special place in the realm of storytelling. They are the embodiment of honor, valor, and the chivalric code. Whether it be thriller, action, or even romance, stories have sported brave princes and knights bearing swords from decades. Characters who wield a sword are perceived as strong, determined people with a willingness to make sacrifices for their cause.

Some writers often associate swords with the main male protagonist, however, this weapon would be a great fit for any character who is perceived as a force to be reckoned with. The cliche prince on a horse with a shiny sword might paint a clear image, but don’t limit yourself to literary stereotypes.

Types of Swords

Contrary to popular belief swords come in various shapes and sizes, each with its unique attributes.

Longswords: These versatile weapons are known for their balance, allowing for precise strikes and powerful swings. Longswords are often associated with knights and heroes. These are the type of swords a typical prince would wield.

Katanas: Elegant and deadly, katanas are the traditional swords of Japanese samurai. They represent discipline, precision, and the way of the warrior. Katanas are also often used by antagonists.

Rapiers: Slim and agile, rapiers are the choice of swashbucklers and duelists. They symbolize finesse, quick thinking, and style in combat.

Ideal Characters

If you’re finding it difficult to decide whether or not your character should wield a sword, here are some personality traits and physical qualities to go off of:

Courage: Swordsmen and swordswomen are brave, unafraid to confront danger directly.

Honor: They uphold a strong sense of morality and adhere to a code of ethics. However, this also applies to antagonistic characters who often fail to see the flaws in their ways.

Chivalry: Sword-bearing characters display manners, respect, and hold themselves to high regard.

Physical Prowess: Proficiency in swordplay demands agility, strength, and dexterity, this usually comes with a fit if not lean physique. If your character is more of a brute then swords might not be the best pick for them.

Examples in Literature

Throughout literary history, swords have been embraced by iconic characters. You have chivalrous heroes like the legendary King Arthur wielded the mythical sword Excalibur, a symbol of his destiny and nobility. However, there are also notable villains such as Luke Castellan from Percy Jackson.

Luke’s character starts off as a minor protagonist who is akin to a mentor figure but he slowly turns into a major antagonist. Many people often associate swords with protagonists, however, they can also be used by powerful antagonists with a strong mindset who are determined to have their way.

When crafting a character who wields a sword, consider these attributes and the symbolic weight that comes with this choice. Swords are not just weapons; they are embodiments of valor and the unwavering spirit of your characters.

Daggers: The Stealthy and Cunning Choice

In the world of weaponry, daggers hold a unique allure. These swift blades are the embodiment of stealth, cunning, and the art of silent confrontation. When a character wields a dagger, it signifies their mastery of subtlety, their ability to navigate the shadows, and their readiness to strike with precision when the moment is ripe.

Unlike swords, daggers have been used more uniquely throughout literature and are wielded by various character types. However, they are often associated with the sarcastic quick-witted characters or quiet calculative ones.

Types of Daggers

Daggers come in various forms, each tailored for a specific purpose:

Stilettos: A stiletto's slim, needle-like design is tailor-made for covert operations. It's the weapon of choice when subtlety and concealment are paramount, often associated with assassins and spies.

Dirks: Dirks are the Swiss Army knives of the dagger world. Their broad blades enable both offense and defense, making them versatile companions for characters who value adaptability.

Throwing Knives: Characters who wield throwing knives are the sharpshooters of the dagger realm. Their skill lies not just in close combat but in launching these deadly projectiles with uncanny accuracy.

Twin Daggers: Twin daggers, a pair of symmetrical blades, represent a double-edged approach to combat. Characters who favor this style emphasize agility, dual-wielding techniques, and the element of surprise.

Ideal Characters for Dagger-Wielding

Characters who favor daggers share a distinct set of traits and characteristics:

Stealth and Evasion: Dagger-wielding characters excel in the art of remaining unseen and slipping through the tightest of spots.

Cunning and Strategy: They rely on their wits, strategy, and clever tactics to outmaneuver opponents who might possess greater physical strength.

Resourcefulness: Daggers are versatile tools that require characters to adapt to their environment. Whether in a dimly lit alley or a sun-drenched courtyard, they use what's at hand to gain an advantage.

Quick Reflexes: In close combat, precision and agility are essential. Dagger-wielders are known for their ability to react swiftly to changing circumstances.

Examples in Literature

In the realm of literature, characters who master the art of daggers often exude enigma and resourcefulness. Unlike sword-wielders who are seen as flashy and bold, those who use daggers are capable of slinking through the shadows and using their weapon to sneakily complete their tasks.

Arya Stark from George R.R. Martin's "Game of Thrones" series is a great example of this. Arya's journey is intrinsically tied to her slender dagger, Needle. It becomes an extension of herself, embodying her resilience and resourcefulness.

Another example would be the assassins in the "Assassin's Creed" series. These stealthy characters employ an array of daggers for precise and silent takedowns, epitomizing the cunning and agility associated with this weapon.

Crafting a character who wields a dagger opens up possibilities for intrigue, stealth, and the art of subterfuge.

Axes: The Brute Force of the Battlefield

Axes, with their sheer power and imposing presence, are the weapons of characters who favor raw strength and ferocity on the battlefield. These formidable tools are more than mere instruments of destruction; they symbolize the unyielding force that some characters bring to their quests and conflicts.

Unlike the other weapons listed in this blog post, axes are possibly the only weapon where I would advise you to go with the stereotypical ‘big, strong person’ image associated with this weapon. This is because axes are impossible to wield on a regular basis by someone who isn’t physically capable of handling their weight.

Types of Axes

It is common knowledge that axes come in various forms, each designed for specific purposes, but here are the most common types of axes used in literature:

Battle-Axes: These massive, double-bladed weapons are designed for cleaving through armor and enemies alike. They are the embodiment of relentless strength and often used by the antagonist’s henchmen or guards.

Hatchets: Hatchets are compact, one-handed axes known for their versatility and practicality. They are often associated with survivalists and woodsmen.

Tomahawks: Tomahawks are single-handed axes with a historical significance, representing both tools and weapons for Native American characters.

Ideal Characters

As I mentioned above, there are certain traits associated with characters who use axes that you would be better off following. However, that is not to say you have to go along with the stereotype to the T. Think of characters like Hagrid, who fits the physical and mental requirements for an axe-wielder yet is portrayed as a loveable character.

Some traits you should keep in mind to use as a reference point for axe-wielders are:

Bravery: Axe-wielding characters are unflinchingly brave, charging headlong into battles without hesitation.

Ferocity: They are known for their unrestrained aggression and determination in combat. However, they can also be quiet and keep to themselves in daily life.

Physical Might: Proficiency with axes demands exceptional strength and endurance.

Resilience: Axe-bearers can endure heavy blows and keep pressing forward.

Examples in Literature

In literature, characters who wield axes are often forces to be reckoned with. They’re those powerful characters that leave a lasting impact on your readers. Think of characters like Thor, Brienne of Tarth and Gimli.

While this weapon is generally associated with magical beings like dwarves and giants you could also have fun with it. Maybe a hot-headed female elf prefers using an axe rather than swords and bows like her peers, or a princess could have picked up on how to use a hatchet while watching the guards train.

Remember, axes represent not only power but also the indomitable will to face adversity head-on.

Bows and Arrows: Precision and Patience

In the realm of weaponry, few choices demand as much finesse and discipline as the bow and arrow. These elegant yet deadly weapons are the preferred tools of characters who value precision, patience, and the ability to engage their enemies from afar. As the arrow leaves the bowstring, it represents not only a physical projectile but also a testament to the archer's skill and the unwavering focus required for this art.

Types of Bows

Archery encompasses a range of styles, each offering unique advantages and reflecting the character of the archer:

Longbows: Known for their simplicity and sheer power, longbows have been used by legendary archers throughout history. Drawing a longbow requires considerable strength and skill, making it the choice of archers who value raw force and accuracy.

Compound Bows: Modern archers often favor compound bows, which employ a system of pulleys and cables to provide mechanical advantage. This design makes them easier to draw and hold at full draw, ideal for hunters and those who value both accuracy and ease of use.

Recurve Bows: Recognized by their gracefully curved limbs, recurve bows store and release energy efficiently. These bows are versatile, often used in competitive archery where precision and consistency are paramount.

Crossbows: Crossbows are handheld devices that offer unique advantages, particularly in terms of precise aiming and ease of use. Archers who value accuracy and a quick reload often choose these weapons.

The Ideal Archer

Characters who become proficient with bows and arrows exhibit a distinctive set of attributes and skills:

Patience: Archers are masters of patience, waiting for the perfect moment to release their arrow, whether in the heat of battle or during a hunt.

Precision: They possess an uncanny aim, able to consistently strike distant targets with pinpoint accuracy.

Stealth: Archers can engage their enemies from a concealed vantage point, using the environment to their advantage.

Stamina: Drawing a bow requires not only finesse but also physical strength and endurance, especially when handling longbows.

Examples in Literature

In the world of literature, characters who master the art of archery often personify these traits:

Katniss Everdeen from Suzanne Collins' "The Hunger Games" series is the perfect example of a typical archer. Katniss's skill with a bow becomes a symbol of her survival and resilience in a dystopian world, her weapon is something she can rely on and trust. It isn’t as flashy or bold as some of the other characters’ weapons, however, her weapon’s, often-overlooked, proficiency helps her overcome her opponents.

Another good example would be Legolas from J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy. Legolas, an elf archer, is renowned for his exceptional accuracy and agility, traits that make him a formidable member of the Fellowship.

When crafting a character who wields a bow and arrows, delve into their temperament, motivations, and the patience required for their style of combat. Bows and arrows represent not only precision but also the ability to strike with calculated efficiency from a distance.

Magical Weaponary: Enchanted Tools

Magical implements, imbued with mystic energy, are the tools of wizards, witches, and characters who harness the arcane forces of magic. These enchanted objects represent not only power but also the mastery of spells, incantations, and the unseen forces that shape their world.

Types of Magical Weaponary

Magical implements can take various forms, each with its unique properties and associations:

Wands: Wands are slender instruments often associated with precision spellcasting. The type of wood and core material can influence their magical properties.

Staffs: Staffs are longer and more robust than wands, often associated with wizards and sorcerers. They provide greater control over magic and are sometimes used as a support in physical combat.

Orbs: Enchanted orbs or crystals are used for scrying, divination, and channeling magical energy. They are linked to foresight, vision, and mystical insight.

Runestones: Characters who use runestones possess knowledge of ancient symbols and magical scripts. These stones are often used for inscriptions and rituals.

Amulets and Talismans: These enchanted jewelry pieces provide protective or augmentative effects to the wearer. They can be worn as necklaces, rings, or bracelets.

Ideal Characters

Characters who wield magical implements typically possess specific traits and qualities:

Magical Aptitude: Wielders of magical implements have an innate or learned mastery of magic, allowing them to cast spells and manipulate mystical forces.

Intellect: Magic is a craft that requires knowledge and intelligence, and characters with magical implements often excel in both.

Discipline: Effective spellcasting demands discipline and concentration, traits exhibited by wielders of magical tools.

Morality: The ethical choices made by characters with magical implements can impact their magical abilities and alignment.

Examples in Literature

Picking the right magical instrument for your character can either be very easy or difficult depending on the extent of magic bearers in your book. If your book is akin to Harry Potter you can simply pick one magical weaponry and assign it to a group of characters. Maybe your wizards and witches use wands while your warlocks use staffs.

However, in a book like J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings" series, where you have one specific magic bearer like Gandalf, you would have to pay more attention to the type of weapon you assign to your character. Gandalf's staff is not only a tool for his magical abilities but also a symbol of his wisdom and power. If you were to assign a wand to a character like Gandalf it wouldn’t have the same air of sagacity as a staff.

Modern Firearms: Technology and Precision

Modern firearms represent a significant departure from traditional weapons, harnessing technology and precision to deliver deadly force with incredible efficiency. These weapons are the choice of characters in contemporary settings, from gritty crime dramas to action-packed thrillers.

Firearm Types

Modern firearms encompass a range of types, each tailored to specific purposes. I’m sure you can find a more detailed list anywhere online but here’s a quick list of the basic types.

Handguns: Pistols and revolvers are compact, concealable, and ideal for close-quarters combat or self-defense. They require steady aim and quick reflexes.

Rifles: Rifles are versatile long-range weapons known for their accuracy and power. They are favored by marksmen, snipers, and characters who need to engage distant targets.

Shotguns: Shotguns deliver a spread of pellets, making them devastating at close range. They are often used in home defense scenarios and for hunting.

Automatic and Semi-Automatic Firearms: These firearms offer rapid-fire capabilities, making them suitable for characters facing multiple adversaries or engaging in intense gunfights.

Ideal Characters

Characters who wield modern firearms possess specific attributes and training:

Firearm Proficiency: Proficient characters are well-trained in firearm use, understanding safety, reloading, and maintenance.

Mental Toughness: They must maintain composure under pressure, as firearms can be unforgiving in high-stress situations.

Training and Experience: Characters may have military or law enforcement backgrounds or undergo specialized firearm training.

Mindset: The choice to use firearms can reflect a character's willingness to employ lethal force when necessary.

Examples in Literature

In literature, characters who wield modern firearms are often found in genres like crime fiction, espionage thrillers, and action-adventure novels:

Jesper Fahey from Leigh Bardugo's "Six of Crows" is a sharpshooter with a passion for firearms. He brings a unique blend of humor, charm, and unerring accuracy to the crew of skilled criminals known as the Dregs. Armed with his trusty revolvers, Jesper showcases not only his prowess with firearms but also his quick thinking in high-stakes situations.

Jesper's character reflects the complexities of using firearms in a gritty, high-risk world. His marksmanship skills not only contribute to the crew's endeavors but also serve as a storytelling element, illustrating the fine line between life and death in their dangerous heists.

I think he’s a great example of the type of character readers would typically associate with loud flashy firearms.

Unconventional Weapons: Creativity and Surprise

unconventional weapons are like hidden treasures waiting to be unearthed. They offer writers a canvas upon which to paint unique and memorable characters. These characters don't just march to the beat of their own drum; they make their own drumsticks, turning the ordinary into the extraordinary.

Whips, Chains, and Musical Instruments

When you think of weapons, whips and chains might not be the first things that come to mind. Yet, in the hands of a skilled writer, they become symbols of precision, control, and the unexpected. A whip's crack can be as powerful as any gunshot, and the rattle of chains can send shivers down spines. And what about musical instruments?

The sweet melody of a flute can lull enemies into a false sense of security before revealing its true potential as a weapon. Writers have the freedom to explore these unconventional choices, creating characters who surprise, enthrall, and captivate readers.

Creativity Knows No Bounds

Unconventional weapons are a playground for creativity. Writers can let their imaginations soar, crafting characters who wield items that defy convention. Whether it's a character fashioning a weapon from the environment or turning a seemingly mundane object into a deadly tool, the possibilities are endless.

Want your hero to use a bouquet of roses as a weapon? Go for it. How about a character who wields a garden gnome like a hammer? Let your creativity run wild. Rachel Elizabeth Dare threw a hairbrush at a titan, Alice uses a flamingo as a croquet mallet. When it comes to unconventional weapons, you really don’t have any limits.

I hope this blog on How to Pick The Perfect Weapon For Your Characters will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey!

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bigsoftmarshmallow · 5 months ago

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What would the Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Hyrule Warriors, and Tears of the Kingdom) & Demise dress up as for Halloween?

Ganondorf (Wind Waker)

Costume: Davy Jones from "Pirates of the Caribbean"

Why: Given his connection to the sea in Wind Waker, dressing as the mythical captain of the Flying Dutchman would be fitting. The tentacled face, pirate attire, and command over the ocean’s creatures would appeal to his sense of power and his dominion over the seas.

Ganondorf (Ocarina of Time)

Costume: Dracula

Why: As a character who embodies both nobility and darkness, Ganondorf might choose to dress as the iconic vampire. The allure of Dracula's ancient power, immortality, and ability to mesmerize others would resonate with him, mirroring his own abilities and ambition to dominate Hyrule.

Ganondorf (Twilight Princess)

Costume: The Headless Horseman

Why: This Ganondorf, with his connection to the dark and eerie Twilight Realm, would find the legend of the Headless Horseman appealing. The ominous presence, riding through the night to strike fear into the hearts of the living, matches his dark, foreboding nature and love for instilling fear.

Ganondorf (Hyrule Warriors)

Costume: Ares, the God of War

Why: With his battle-hardened experience and desire for conquest, Ganondorf might choose to embody the Greek God of War. Ares represents power, bloodshed, and the chaos of battle, all things that this Ganondorf thrives on, making it a fitting costume.

Ganondorf (Tears of the Kingdom)

Costume: A Dark Sorcerer/Warlock

Why: Given his extensive use of dark magic and manipulation of life forces, Ganondorf from TotK would likely dress as a powerful dark sorcerer or warlock. With flowing robes, arcane symbols, and a staff crackling with dark energy, it would reflect his mastery over ancient and forbidden magics.

Demise (Skyward Sword)

Costume: Hades from Greek Mythology

Why: As a being who embodies darkness and the underworld, Demise would find Hades, the god of the underworld, a fitting choice. The connection to the afterlife, dominion over souls, and the god’s fearsome power align well with Demise’s own nature as a demon king.

These costumes align with each character's personality, strengths, and the themes they embody within their respective games.

#mallowresponse #legend of zelda #ganondorf #ganon #demise #ocarina of time #wind waker #twilight princess #hyrule warriors #tears of the kingdom #skyward sword #ai use #use of chatgpt

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desmon1995 · 3 months ago

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The Wonder Wheel of Nostalgia : How the Warriors navigate the past to point us to a better future.

In the realm of iconic, rough-and-tumble portrayals of New York’s late '70s and early '80s gang culture, The Warriors stands as a time capsule. Everything from its hyper-masculinity, intense action, and Marvel-comic-inspired costumes embodies the gritty, unfiltered spirit of an era. But as much as we celebrate its slick visuals and electrifying energy, it’s essential to remember where it all began—a book by Sol Yurick, a Marxist author and youth counselor. Yurick’s 1965 novel intended to deliver an unvarnished depiction of gang life, challenging the glamorized portrayals perpetuated by West Side Story. In his hands, the Warriors weren’t lovable antiheroes but violent, unsympathetic young men, shaped and shattered by the harsh reality of their world.

Where the film cut some of the grittier edges, trading raw brutality for pop-culture appeal, the concept album—helmed by Lin-Manuel Miranda and Eisa Davis—reclaims some of Yurick’s original urgency, but with a twist for our times. Here, The Warriors becomes more than a showcase of thrilling gang warfare; it’s a powerful commentary on how beginnings shape not only individuals but entire communities, especially those marginalized and boxed in by systemic forces. There’s a reason why the streets of New York and its gang-ridden alleys serve as an urgent backdrop, not just a setting: The Warriors were not born into violence by choice; they were molded by it.

In Yurick’s original novel, the Warriors were exclusively Latino and Black, a poignant decision that underscored the book’s social message. The novel’s Warriors are not romanticized; they are hard-edged, often cruel, shaped by a world that offers them no other outlet. Unlike in the film, they don't earn sympathy—they embody what it means to be caged by circumstance. Yurick was giving us a third-person view of life in the hood, drawing from his years as a counselor, highlighting how neglected environments breed neglected people. The film adaptation preserved much of this tone, though it softened the edges enough to allow mainstream audiences a measure of comfort, even admiration, for its characters. This Hollywood filtering gave the story a mythic, almost heroic quality that ignored the darker undercurrents and turned the Warriors into icons of cult cinema.

Enter the concept album. When Miranda and Davis announced a reimagining of The Warriors for the 2020s, responses were mixed. There was intrigue, nostalgia, and some backlash from purists who felt that a modern take would inevitably water down the harsh realities of the original. And sure enough, there was debate on social media about whether the adaptation would be “too sanitized”—some fans even wanted the album to keep the raw misogyny and homophobia to convey just how twisted these characters could be. But such demands misunderstand what this concept album achieves: The Warriors isn’t about mindlessly mirroring the past; it’s about examining what that era taught us, and how we can use those lessons to tell a new story that resonates with today’s audience.

In this reimagined musical landscape, we are invited to consider the complexities of systemic oppression in a way that respects the story’s roots yet speaks to the present. Here, the American government and social elites are the true obstacles—the forces that keep the Warriors and others like them trapped in cycles of poverty and violence. Through their collective songs, we hear how the Warriors are more than just a gang; they’re a family, navigating a world that’s rigged against them, offering each other the love and support the system denies them. Found family isn’t just a theme—it’s a survival tactic, a way of enduring when traditional structures fail. Cleon’s leadership and Swan’s resolve aren’t just virtues; they’re necessary, traits honed through hardship, proving that even amidst brokenness, there’s room for loyalty and connection.

This choice is significant. Unlike the book’s purely third-person brutality, the concept album allows the listener a chance to root for the Warriors, not because they’re morally untouchable but because they’re trying to survive and carve out meaning in a society that gives them none. In reworking the story, Miranda and Davis don’t ignore the Warriors’ flaws; they amplify them within a framework that shows how the Warriors’ lives are a reaction to oppression, not just innate lawlessness.

One standout is the reimagined character of Cyrus, who becomes a revolutionary. Her call for gang unity isn’t a misguided attempt to “own the city” but an idealistic stand against the power structures that have confined the Warriors and everyone like them. Her assassination is a symbolic echo of history, a reminder that every leader who dares to challenge the system is met with the same tragic end. It’s an allusion to the untimely deaths of revolutionary figures, from Elijah Parish Lovejoy to Fred Hampton ., grounding The Warriors in the rich yet tragic lineage of resistance. Even without the visuals, the stakes feel visceral; the cops aren’t there to “keep the peace” but to maintain the status quo, allowing the powerful to exploit the disenfranchised. And though the Warriors are flawed and sometimes brutal, they are humanized through each other—an echo of community in the face of unrelenting hardship.

Interestingly, the album doesn’t downplay the violence. It doesn’t gloss over the fact that the Warriors are engaged in brutal battles with both rival gangs and a hostile police force. The danger is real, palpable. For every moment of hope, there’s a reality check, a reminder that survival isn’t guaranteed. The album explores a grimmer, more complicated version of optimism, one rooted in a will to endure rather than naive hope. After all, cynicism is a luxury these characters can’t afford.

And while some may argue that Miranda and Davis’s interpretation is “liberal idealism,” it’s worth noting that revolutionary spirits rarely fade; they adapt, especially in times of political division and systemic failure. In today’s world, where socioeconomic divides and racial profiling still dominate headlines, The Warriors holds a mirror to the past and present. It asks us to consider the cumulative impact of systemic neglect and discrimination, reminding us that what society normalizes shapes public perception.

This retelling of The Warriors also raises another question: how do we balance nostalgia with progress? How do we celebrate iconic works of the past while acknowledging the problematic undertones they might carry? Media analysis is more intense now, partly because we’ve come to understand that popular culture doesn’t exist in a vacuum—it shapes, reinforces, and sometimes even distorts public opinion. By exploring the lives of female and queer characters in the Warriors’ ranks, Miranda and Davis tap into perspectives that the original iterations ignored. Their take isn’t an erasure; it’s an addition—a recognition that marginalized communities deserve the full spectrum of representation, from hardship to humanity.

There’s no denying that the concept album will challenge some fans, especially those who are attached to the original for its raw energy. But change isn’t inherently a loss. Instead, it’s an opportunity to rediscover something meaningful. Like a sleeper hit that finds its audience slowly, the album may build momentum over the years, perhaps reaching listeners who weren’t even born when the film came out. And maybe that’s the point: allowing this story to evolve naturally, allowing new generations to find their own meanings within its timeless yet timely themes.

By giving The Warriors new voices, this concept album doesn’t rewrite history; it contextualizes it, bringing new life to a story that speaks volumes about who we are, where we’ve been, and where we still have to go. And in a world where representation is power, this story feels like a necessary continuation, rather than a nostalgic return.

#lin manuel miranda #eisa davis #warriors musical #bipoc representation #analysis post #discussion

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realm-of-the-mythic-warriors · 2 years ago

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#AI Art #Myths of Villainy #Character Bio #Realm of the Mythic Warriors

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dankar-camoran · 4 months ago

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After Paradise and Prelude to the Dragonfires

Scipio remembers landing a killing blow on Mankar Camoran, after a chaotic melee that by all rights should have killed him, and Mankar's spasms as he died. He remembers seeing Mankar's two children mirror those spasms, with Ruma dropping a dagger at his feet, and it's only now that he realizes that she had been a hair's breadth away from opening his throat when he killed her father.

He remembers looking for Eldamil, and catching sight of him just as he slumped to the ground at the same time as the Camorans did, and panicking as the palace started to shake, wondering if something had gone horribly wrong. He thought he had made a mistake somewhere, or that Mankar had planned for this, and that there would be no escape from Gaiar Alata as it collapsed. He would join Mankar and the souls of the Mythic Dawn as the realm fell forever into the Void, dead and more than dead.

And the very last thing he remembers is reaching for the Amulet of Kings, tearing it from Mankar's neck, and looking for a way out of Carac Agaialor, because he hadn't forgotten why he'd come here. If he did end up falling outside of Reality, he'd find his way back, because he told Martin he'd bring the Amulet back. If he did end up falling below everything that ever was, he would simply roll as he landed, and start climbing back towards Tamriel, Cloud Ruler Temple, and Martin.

But Scipio doesn't have to fall, roll, or climb. He's standing in the great hall of the temple, and he's surrounded by all of the Blades, each looking at him with unbridled awe, but he doesn't register their expressions at first. He's too focused on standing as still as possible, afraid that the slightest movement will suddenly cause this place to collapse the way Mankar's Paradise did.

"Blades! Do homage to Martin's Champion!"

Jauffre's voice causes him to release the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Simultaneously, the Blades around him draw their swords, and something in him screams danger and he makes to do the same, before realizing his blade is already unsheathed, in his left hand, still sanguine and dripping from the battle that had ended less than a minute ago.

The awed faces become a mixture of confusion, concern, and wariness, but the Blades do not deter from Jauffre's order, and they kneel around him, swords pointed to the ground, silently hailing him. He manages to make eye contact with Baurus, who, though visibly worried, is smiling at him, and it's only then that he starts to feel safe.

He takes a step forward, only for pain to shoot from his legs, arms, sides, back, everywhere, and he cries out and falls to his hands and knees, dropping his sword. The warriors leap to his aid, beginning the process of removing his armor. He hadn't kept track of all the wounds he accrued while in Mankar's Paradise. He was no fool and knew how even the smallest cuts could kill if left untreated, but he refused to treat them with anything more than minor spells and sips of potion. So long as he lasted long enough to get the Amulet back to Martin, he could handle any and all afflictions. He refused to let them kill him until he had done what he set out to do.

Some of his oldest injuries weren't even from any battles in Gaiar Alata, but from before his venture into Mankar's demesne: the trek through the Great Gate, into the depths of the Deadlands, or from the great battle that preceded that point. Although he'd been advised to give himself more time to recuperate, he insisted that he go to Gaiar Alata as soon as Martin was able to open the way there. He was sure it wouldn't take the Mythic Dawn long to start opening more Gates and launch an all-out assault on the Temple in a last mad effort to kill Martin. He would let his wounds close only with the jaws of Oblivion.

So, as he feels his cuirass and greaves and boots pulled from him, and the first tingles of spells on his body, Scipio lifts his head and asks in an exhausted yet firm tone, "where is Martin?"

Jauffre's hands remove his helmet, allowing drenched hair to fall over his face, "Martin is alright," he says, and Scipio allows his head to dip, realizing how much it aches to hold it up, "he's been preparing for the coronation, and thanks to you, we have everything we need for that process. He, ah! He's here now!"

Scipio's head snaps right back up to where it was, and he makes to stand, despite the agony it causes him. It's easier now that his armor has been removed, but he still struggles and shakes as he carefully plants his feet and rises. There, in front of him, is Martin Septim, and something in his eyes is bringing tears to Scipio's.

"You found a way back!" He says in a gasp filled with relief that feels as if it mixes with the lingering restorative magic of the Blades and amplifies it. "Does this mean..."

Jauffre and the rest of the Blades try to pull Scipio back down, but he resists, and they relent, not wanting to cause more agony. His gaze never leaves Martin's face, though he has noticed the magnificent robes he's wearing and the way his hair is done. He looks regal, and dignified, and utterly petrified, and Scipio's immediate instinct is to ask him what's wrong, before remembering how he himself must look: caked in a mixture of sweat and blood not entirely his own, wearing only a thin shirt and short britches, and smelling like an offering to Namira.

But there he is, the man who will save the world, with all the accouterments of an Emperor, save one. Scipio takes a small step towards him, careful not to stumble. Martin makes to assist him, but he holds up a hand to stop him, let him know that there's nothing to worry about.

He finally answers Martin, finding some strength for his voice at last as he says "Mankar Camoran is dead."

Martin looks as though he's not sure how to react to that. His face shifts from astonishment and relief to what may be some satisfaction, but that fades quickly. Scipio wonders if, despite everything Camoran has done, all the people he's responsible for killing, despite his destroying of Martin's own home and forcing him on this path, the man who is to become Emperor is still a priest first, and refuses to take even the smallest pleasure from the death of another, no matter how monstrous. So he simply says, "You did it. You defeated him." It sounds to Scipio's ears as if it's meant to comfort him, as if Martin is saying,"You're done. You're safe. I won't ask anything more of you. You've done so much, too much for me already." His legs are trembling, and his face is beginning to feel hot, but Scipio stands resolute, knowing the truth: he's not done yet.

It's something Martin is aware of too, all the moreso. He's had months to prepare for this: the journey to the palace, the coronation, and the lighting of the Dragonfires, as he begins his life as Martin Septim the First, Emperor of Tamriel rather than Brother Martin the Priest of Akatosh from Kvatch. He seemed like he had made peace with it during the last few conversations he and Scipio had had before the battle for Bruma, but even if he had, it surely must feel different now that it's so very near. This destiny that looms so large even at a distance must be unfathomably colossal now that it's so close.

And so when Martin asks "Then you have it?...You have the Amulet of Kings?" the trepidation in his voice does not betray the fear that Scipio may not have the Amulet, but that he does indeed have it.

Scipio lifts his right hand, realizing that his knuckles are white and his nails are digging into his palm from his grip on the Amulet. He had forgotten he was holding it, had been holding it since he seized it from Mankar's fresh corpse. His grip loosens slowly, achingly, as he looks at it, checking it for anything that may mar Martin's fine clothes. Once he's satisfied that it will not, he presents it to the heir, and can't help but to smile as he says "This belongs to you."

He immediately regrets the smile and quip when Martin does not take the Amulet, and instead looks at it as though it were a venomous snake, and reaching for it would cause it to strike him. "Belongs to me?" He begins, so quietly it's as if he doesn't realize he's speaking aloud. "So you and Jauffre have said. If it is true, if the Emperor really was my father, then I should be able to wear it." He slowly lifts a trembling hand to grab the Amulet, his birthright, his destiny, his curse. "Only those of the Septim blood can wear the Amulet of Kings."

The agony Scipio had felt before, is still feeling, pales in comparison to what it feels like to watch this. Martin looks like a man sentenced to die, his voice is haunted, and his fine robes suddenly look ill-fitting and wrong on him. He's not an Emperor, he doesn't want to be an Emperor, and yet he and Scipio have spent the past several months doing everything they could to get the Amulet back and make him Emperor despite what he wants. But now that the Amulet is here in front of him, it is abundantly clear that Martin, although relieved the Amulet is out of Mankar's clutches, still does not want to put it on, if he's even physically capable of doing so.

Scipio doesn't want him to either, and so, as Martin finally grasps the chain of the Amulet, he gently places his left hand atop Martin's to stop him. There's an infinitesimally small look of relief that comes with the surprise on Martin's face, and it lets Scipio know that this is the right decision. "I can...may I put it on you?"

Martin nods his consent after a moment, and he bends forward slightly. There is still no small amount of apprehension on his face, but he has relaxed somewhat. This way it feels more like one of the many things he's asked Scipio to do in the past: unpleasant but necessary, and something he had no way of knowing how to do himself. It's more bearable this way, if only just.

With a deep breath to steady his hands, Scipio takes either end of the Amulet's chain and reaches them across Martin's neck, and as he leans in to fasten it, he takes care not to make any more contact than is necessary, given the contrast between how pristine and perfect Martin looks and how repugnant he himself looks. It may have been easier to go behind Martin to put the Amulet on him, but there is something too reminiscent of placing a noose around someone's neck in that, and he doesn't want this to be any harder than it has to be.

When at last, the Amulet is fastened, Scipio leans back and stares at the man in front of him to see if he looks more like an Emperor. Martin blinks twice and swallows, and there is a shift in his shoulders and stance as if he's simultaneously had one burden lifted from him and another set in its place. The Amulet stays fastened, and does not slip off. There is no spark, no proclamation from the heavens about Dragon's blood or the Covenant; there is only a man in extravagant robes wearing an extravagant amulet who is wondering what the rest of his life will be like, now that he's wearing it.

The two of them are startled by a shout of triumph from the Blades, as they kneel before Martin, and when Scipio looks back at this, he manages another smile and makes to kneel himself. But before his knee can touch the ground Martin suddenly grabs his shoulders, acting much more quickly than Scipio has ever seen him act outside of battle. When this grasp is met with a wince of pain, it softens, but still remains, as the two men lock eyes. The look on his face is so grim that it frightens Scipio, and his heart pounds as he sees the tears beginning to fall from Martin's eyes.

"Don't you dare," He pleads. He doesn't request. He doesn't command. He pleads. "Don't you dare."

A levee breaks somewhere inside, and his vision blurs and his lips tremble and his breathing quickens as he allows Martin to embrace him, and he returns it, no longer thinking about the fine clothes or his own filth. All he can do is bury his face in Martin's shoulder, finding sanctuary in his hair. All he can say is "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Scipio feels a hand on his head, smoothing out the mess of his hair and there's a familiar tingle of restorative magic through his body. He realizes what Martin is doing, and wants to tell him to stop, but the words don't come, just cries and coughs and more apologies. He lets Martin heal him, and holds onto him as if letting go would cause him to fall down below, past Oblivion and into the Void, and he's so much more terrified of that prospect than he was before, because now he's with Martin, where he's supposed to be. He doesn't want to fall, he doesn't want to leave Martin's arms. But Martin won't let him fall. Martin won't let him leave. Martin holds him, heals him, strokes his hair, and speaks with a voice that wavers less than Scipio's, and will echo in his mind for the rest of his life.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"You're alright."

"I'm sorry."

"I've got you."

"I'm sorry."

"I've got you."

#tes #elder scrolls #oblivion #martin septim #Had an idea bouncing in my head for a long time and ehlnofeys story inspired me to put it down for posterity #my writing

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marvelshifter111 · 1 month ago

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Aquarelle

- the mermaid kingdom in my mermaid DR

Aquarielle is a sprawling underwater kingdom hidden beneath the shimmering waters of Saint Lucia’s western coast. Built into coral reefs, volcanic rock formations, and bioluminescent caverns, it’s a realm of beauty, mystery, and ancient magic. Its population of merfolk live in harmony with the ocean, serving as guardians of marine life and keepers of old secrets.

Key locations in Aquarielle

The Coral Palace

The kingdom’s heart, constructed from vibrant corals, seashells, and pearls.

The throne room features a glowing, crystal-like pearl said to hold the kingdom’s magic.

Surrounding gardens are filled with rare, luminous sea plants.

The Bioluminescent Grotto

A sacred cavern where the walls glow with bioluminescent algae.

Used for ceremonies, gatherings, and connecting with ancient mermaid spirits.

The grotto has healing waters rumored to mend even the gravest injuries.

The Abyssal Archives

A sprawling underwater library carved into a deep trench.

Contains scrolls, artifacts, and stories of mermaid history, surface dwellers, and marine life.

Guarded by ancient sea creatures that only the kingdom’s scholars can command.

The Moon Pool

A mystical pool at the edge of the kingdom that reflects the phases of the moon, even underwater.

Allows mermaids to connect with the surface world and harness lunar magic.

It’s a secret spot where you and your friends gather to plan or seek guidance.

The Grand Bazaar

A bustling marketplace where merfolk trade goods like polished pearls, enchanted seaweed, and shark-tooth jewelry.

Vendors offer potions, enchanted items, and information about the surface world.

Kingdom Culture

Royal Family

A mermaid queen rules Aquarielle, chosen not by birthright but by her connection to the sea’s magic.

Advisors include sages, warriors, and marine-life ambassadors.

Traditions and Celebrations

Festival of the Tides - A celebration of unity, with merfolk dancing in swirling currents and releasing glowing orbs into the water.

Ceremony of the Pearl - A rite of passage where young merfolk must retrieve a pearl from the dangerous Abyssal Trench.

Language and Communication

Merfolk use a combination of melodic vocalizations, gestures, and bioluminescent patterns to communicate.

Magical conch shells amplify voices or carry messages across long distances.

Conflict and politics

Environmental threats

Pollution from the surface threatens the kingdom’s fragile ecosystems.

A battle against illegal fishing or dredging could serve as a key storyline.

Internal Rivalries

Some merfolk questions the kingdom’s connection to surface dwellers, leading to political tension.

Rival factions might seek control of the Coral Palace’s magical pearl.

Mythical Creatures

Neighboring sea creatures like sirens, krakens, or water spirits could challenge the kingdom’s peace.

Visual aesthetics

Shimmering, iridescent light filters through the water, creating an ethereal glow.

Homes are built into coral reefs, seashells, or giant sea anemones, with intricate designs made from pearls and sandglass.

Schools of colorful fish, jellyfish lanterns, and flowing seaweed create a dynamic, ever-moving environment.

#shiftblr #reality shifting #desired reality #shifting community #reality shift #shifting #shifting realities

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nyahkmenrah · 1 year ago

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My theory on how the tablet works!

I’ve been thinking about the tablet a lot (as one does), and I believe I’ve cracked the code.

This is going to be long, buckle up.

So we know from the 3rd movie it's blessed by Khonsu and activates under the moonlight, needed to be exposed to moonlight every so often to retain its power. The fact it's been blessed by a god implies that the Egyptian gods and their realms actually do exist in this universe. We know there's an underworld because Kah tried to open it up in the second movie. Weather other pantheons exist is unknown, but the Egyptian one absolutely does in this universe.

Since the is an underworld and thus an afterlife, I think that the tablet works by placing the soul of a person/being into the object it's bringing to life.

The whole reason the tablet was created was so Ahk and his parents could be together forever even after death, the whole point of it is to resurrect the dead. So the enchantment is one that takes the soul of a dead being and places it back into the body as long as it's nearby enough to the tablet, and under the light of the moon/ charged with the moon. I do find Khonsu an odd choice for resurrection magic, since he's not really a death god. But he is a moon god and watches over night travellers, both living and dead. So the fact the tablet brings the beings back to life at night checks out.

1. What can come to life?

We also know that objects that aren't a corpse like Ahk can be animated. Like the minis and wax figures. Not just people but animals like Dexter and Rexy. So I think the rule there is that as long as it resembles a living being, real or mythical it can come to life.

2. Who can come to life and how?

If the figure represents a specific person (Teddy, Sacajawea, Atilla etc) the tablet will place that persons soul into the figure and that person will come to life with the memories, personality etc if that person carried by the soul.

If the figure doesn't represent a particular person, the tablet will find a soul that somewhat matches the figure and use that. Like the minis. Because let's be honest there's no way the museum named every single mini and modelled them all after real people. So the tablet saw a figure of a Roman general, found the soul of Gauis Octavius who was a known Roman general and placed his soul in the figure. It saw a cowboy, and picked a soul from that same area and time period to place into the figure. The real Jedediah was actually a mountain man, but mountain men and cowboys are similar enough the tablet made that figure Jedediah Strong Smith anyway.

In the case of animals, the same rule applies. If the figure represents a particular animal (like the space monkey Abe from the second movie) it'll put that soul in the figure. If it's just a random animal it'll just put a random animals soul that matches the species and time period.

And in the case of mythical creatures, it'll create a kind of puedo-soul to fill it. Lancelot isn't actually a real person, but it is likely he was inspired by real people. So the tablet saw a figure meant to be lancet and took the soul of a knight that inspired Lancelot, made some tweaks and put it into Lancelot figure. And with creatures like the giant snake thing (I can't remember the name) from the third movie it did something similar, taking several snakes souls and giving each head one of them. Similarly, the Anubis-Jackal guards that protect Ahkmenrahs exhibit are probably pseudo-souls created using warriors/guards and jackals. Made with the intent to protect Ahkmenrah and his belongings.

With the artworks, it again depends on who or what the art is depicting. If it's just a scenery, it'll simply open up a kind of pocket dimension (like the ones Larry jumped through in the 2nd movie) that resembles the scenery. If it's depicting a real person, it'll put that persons soul in. If it's depicting random people it'll place a soul from the time period in. As well as creating a pocket dimension of that place and time for the people to exist in.

Like the the photo of the solider kissing the nurse, it took a the souls of people from the time period and placed them into the photo. In the case of this particular photo, the subjects in the picture are unknown although some contenders exist, and are still alive. So the tablet kinda just took a random set of souls from the time and shoved them in, the man being kissed in this tablet pocket dimension photo ended up being Joey Motorola who was one of the people who invented the mobile phone. Larry accidentally created a time anomaly that day, when he dropped his phone in the painting and Joey picked it up, reverse engineering it to make the phone.

Btw Joey is played by Jay Baruchel, who is the voice of Hiccup and I can't ever un-hear him as Hiccup from my HTTYD days. So when he talks in the movie I was all "omg hiccup?"

Anyway-

3. How real are the living figures?

We know they can be hurt, as when Jed and Octavius were still in their enemies phase of their enemies to lovers arc, they whack each other up and react in pain. We also know they can eat and drink, since there's a set of advertisement skits for the 3rd movie that shows them eating and drinking. For people like Ahk, real corpses reanimated it'd simply just be their bodies reanimating and the tablets magic allowing them to function. In cases where they're missing organs, like Ahk being mummified as thus having his organs taken out or, being made of wax etc and not having organs, the tablet with simulate them. Allowing them to eat, drink, get tired and out of breath after running etc.

So yes, that means you could probably do the no pants dance with one of the exhibits because they'd have simulated organs.

But, they can't die. Not unless the tablet does. We see them start to loose life in the 3rd movie. Ahk stars to mummify and the others start to act up and freeze. But we know they can't die any other way because Teddy literally got chopped in half in the first movie and was able to just melt some wax to put himself back together. Jed and Octavius definitely should have died in that RC car crash too, but they lived. And if Jed ended up covered in sand by that hourglass, he's likely not fully die since he can't, but he'd definitely be in constant agony breathing in sand and basically endlessly suffocating. And we've established they can still be hurt, so he'd be... alive but very traumatised. Not fun.

The tablet simulates restores or simulates bodily function by putting that soul into the vessel. It's magic keeps them alive until the sun comes up.

4. Other powers.

We do see that the tablet can do some other things, in the first movie when Ahk says some commands to it and it pulls all the exhibits back to the museum. That is a power I can understand since you know, Khonsu, watcher over travellers. Makes sense the tablet can draw people to a meeting point.

It can also open portals, as shown in the second movie. Now you could argue the painting pocket dimension things are portals, which is just a side effect of brining in animated objects to life. I'd assume the only portals it can open is the underworld one, since the original purpose of the tablet was to resurrect the dead, you might need to get the dead from the underworld for that. And those painting ones which wasn't the initial plan, just a side effect.

But that's all we really see it do. So I don't really know what else it could do.

TLDR:

The tablet was originally made to resurrect the dead, being blessed by Khonsu. The tablet works by placing a soul into a vessel, allowing it life. The soul carries the memories and personality etc of the person it once was. The vessel it's in has simulated body functions. It can also draw people to a meeting point and open portals. All of this does fit with the kind of powers Khonsu would be able to grant as a moon god and watcher of night travellers both living and dead. It needs moonlight every so often to stay 'charged'. It responds to the ancient Egyptian language, certain symbols of tiles in a particular order and likely can only be activated by Ahkmenrah and his families use.

And there you go, that's my theory on how the tablet works. That's all I got for now, I'd I find anything else I'll add it in.

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