#Skirmish Gold Coast

[serpentface]

Traditional women's dress in Bylaea. Left to right: Rodi-Byla, Saloche, Varkhata-Byla, Uswa-Byla, and Ugarre-Byla

Bylaea is a large island to the north, predominantly inhabited by humans and elowey organized into five major nations. Four speak a shared Bylaean language and share a close degree of cultural ancestry (those who use the '-Byla' suffix, meaning 'folk'). The Saloche are the only exception, who are not originally from this land and have gradually immigrated over a period of centuries.

Bylaeans are heavily interspecies peoples. Varkhata-Byla kin structure is unique in its fundamental dependency on having both human and elowey members in a clan, but all Bylaeans draw little to no fundamental distinction between the species, and share a belief that humans and elowey were once the same.

----

A rough map of Bylaea showing the approximate territories of each people

Varkhata-Byla: A human and elowey people who occupy the northern coasts and the surrounding lands, and depend heavily on the sea for sustenance. They are the most prolific sailors and traders of all Bylaeans, and have the largest population outside of their homeland. They believe themselves to be the first people of Bylaea, and that all others (aside from the Saloche) are their descendants. This has historically manifested in various degrees of territorial paternalism and aggression, as some believe that Bylaea should belong to the Varkhata entirely. Their relation with all other nations tends to be testy and Varkhata clans rarely marry outside of their people.

(Design notes- this is a bridal dress. It contains gold and silver, precious metals mostly acquired in trade from off the island)

Rodi-Byla: A human people. The Rodi are the most populous Bylaeans, occupying the rainforests and mountains of the south-southeast. The Rodi credit themselves as the inventors and masters of the ski, which is vital to hunting efforts in the winter. The Rodi are also the most intensive agriculturalists, and have cleared away large swaths of rainforest for crops. They have been introduced to the domestic moose of Ursval in recent history, and are its most enthusiastic adopters in Bylaea. 

(Design notes- Braiding and tying one's hair into a mock beard is a common hairstyle for Rodi women. She also wears a moose and boar tooth necklace, and a jacket depicting geese- all culturally significant animals to the Rodi)

Ugarre-Byla: A predominantly human people who claim most of the coastline of the Goosefeather Gulf and the Gulf's waters. They have a testy history with the Varkhata and have fought multiple wars over the north coast of the Goosefeather, but have a generally positive trade relation with the Rodi and frequently intermarry.

(Design notes- this necklace is made of polished coral. Ugarre women of marriageable age shave their eyebrows )

Uswa-Byla: An elowey people who live mostly along the Great Salmon River, with populations scattered sparsely across the marshy southwest of Bylaea. The Uswa rely heavily on the rivers, lakes, and swamps in their territory for sustenance, and are uniquely poised to exploit it given the physiological adaptation to water found in northern elowey populations. They have historically skirmished with the Varkhata, and have positioned themselves as allies to the Saloche in recent centuries.

(Design notes- This woman wears paint to emphasize bare areas of facial skin, which is considered attractive. Mother of pearl beads and buttons are sewn into her clothing. This headdress is particularly elaborate and would likely be worn at a wedding or festival.)

Saloche: A human people from across the northern sea. The Saloche homeland was a relatively small island to the north, which has been slowly swallowed by the sea over the past millenia. They started migrating a few centuries back, and settled primarily into mountainous regions that were not heavily occupied, though land conflicts are frequent with the Varkhata-Byla in particular. They do not share a common language with other Bylaeans and do not refer to themselves with the -Byla ('folk') suffix. Saloche migrants also reached the Moorlands (island chain southwest of Bylaea) and parts of the northern Dainlands.

(Design notes- This woman wears a traditional feathered hood made from crow and flightless grouse feathers. Saloche women shave their heads.)

[ultraflavour]

7 Fantasy RPGs to fill the D&D-shaped Hole in your Life

So. It finally happened. Either Hasbro, or Wizards of the Coast, or someone else associated with Dungeons & Dragons finally did something so fucked-up that you've decided to swear it off entirely.

The problem is that for decades, there has been one obvious answer to the question of "What game with Dwarves, Longswords and Wizards in it should we play" and that was D&D, every time. Even their strongest rival in the past couple of decades was just an older version of D&D with a spit shine.

Now you find yourself adrift in a sea of possibility, with no signposts. There are names you've heard, but you have no idea which ones you'd actually be interested in, because you had always just assumed you'd be playing D&D until the heat death of the universe.

So let's take a look at a few games that want to fill that D&D-shaped hole in your gaming life, and examine what they're offering.

Disclaimer: I'm not covering the entire breadth and depth of the TTRPG industry here. I'm specifically going to be covering Fantasy RPGs that should appeal to D&D fans here. So if I didn't cover your favourite indie RPG, sorry. But there has to be a "First step" outside of the D&D bubble, and each of these games should fulfill that need.

The Other "Kitchen Sink" Game: Pathfinder

If you can't bring yourself to keep playing the corporate game, but you still want something that offers as close to that gameplay experience as you can possibly get, your best bet at the time of this writing is probably Pathfinder 2nd Edition.

I say this as someone who very much did not vibe with the original Pathfinder, or its "D&D in space" sister product Starfinder. But at this point, I'd absolutely tell a newcomer to jump into Pathfinder 2E before I recommended they buy any WotC product.

To their credit, the 2nd Edition of Pathfinder does much more to, uh, find its own path by diverging from 3.5 edition and implementing new systems that take it into uncharted territory. The "Two Actions Per Turn" paradigm is often cited by its proponents as being a meaningful improvement over the 5E way of doing things.

The "TTJRPG": Fabula Ultima

One of the biggest success stories of the early 20's was Fabula Ultima from NEED Games in Italy. It came seemingly out of nowhere to win the ENnie Gold Award for Best Game of 2023. Since then it's become notoriously difficult to find in print, though it's still freely available as a PDF.

Fabula Ultima is a "TTJRPG," modelled after Japanese fantasy video games like Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, Phantasy Star, Breath of Fire, etc. While it's firmly planted in the Fantasy genre, its gameplay will also very recognizable to fans of those types of games.

The major benefit of this conceit is that you can probably already picture how combat in FabUlt works in your mind: Two rows of characters take turns jumping and slashing at each other, or casting magical spells to harm, heal, or apply status conditions. There's no concept of "Spacing," but the game still manages to be mechanically intricate with lots of varied class abilities and status effects to apply.

D&D refugees looking for a game where you simply pick a class and fight some monsters, but aren't too particular about how they do that, will find a lot to love here. FabUlt leans much more heavily on storytelling mechanics than D&D does, so players who've been looking for something a bit more "Theater of the Mind" should be well taken care of here.

Final Fantasy Lancer: ICON

Like Fabula Ultima, ICON is a TTRPG that takes heavy inspiration from JRPGs, specifically tactical games like Final Fantasy Tactics and Tactics Ogre. It's from Massif Press, who also authored the surprise indie Mech combat hit Lancer.

And like Lancer, ICON is a game with two very distinct rulesets: Outside of combat, a "Fiction-first" narrative system inspired heavily by Blades in the Dark; In combat, a grid-based tactical skirmish game reminiscent of D&D 4th Edition. All backed by the gorgeous art of its author Tom Parkinson-Morgan, who also writes and illustrates the comic Kill Six Billion Demons.

ICON separates its "narrative" class system from its combat class system, giving each character two distinct character sheets that come into play at different times. Because those two systems don't have to cross over very much, each can be as intricate or as rules-light as it needs to be to promote the type of gameplay most appropriate for the situation.

The Old-School Gateway Drug: Shadowdark

If you ever took a few steps outside of the walled garden that is D&D in the past few years, you will likely have read or heard of the OSR, or "Old-School Revival/Renaissance." Proponents of the OSR are players who yearn for an older style of Dungeon Crawling Survival Horror game that hearkens back to the early days of D&D, before the players became akin to superheroes.

Shadowdark aims to be a game that bridges the gap to that style of gameplay, without being totally unfamiliar to players who only ever learned 5th Edition mechanics. It's "Old-School gaming, modernized."

Aside from simply being a modern take on a D20 fantasy game, it freshens up gameplay using a mechanic called the "Torch Timer." It turns light into a resource that dwindles in real time. This serves to elevate the tension of the game as every minute that passes is one less minute of light on your torch. And when the torches run out, well... You can probably guess what happens next.

5th Edition with the Serial Numbers Filed Off: Tales of the Valiant

Tell me if you've heard this one before: Wizards of the Coast introduces sweeping changes to its "Open" license model, leading existing 3rd-party content creators to create their own version of an older ruleset to protect the viability of their backlog. It happened in the past, but what are the chances that happens a second time? Ha!

Well... It did happen again. This time, playing the role of the "Paizo" in this scenario is Kobold Press, who loudly declared that they were "Raising the Black Flag" in response. In order to ensure that there would always be a "Core Fantasy" ruleset that would remain compatible with their content, they announced Tales of the Valiant, which would essentially duplicate the 5th Edition ruleset with a bit of a spit shine, in much the same way that Pathfinder did for 3.5 Edition.

Tales of the Valiant will be the game for the D&D player who just wanted a rules refresh of 5th Edition, but also doesn't want to keep throwing money at the corporate hegemony. It should end up being "The 5E you can feel good about supporting," and that matters right now.

Matt Colville's Big Bet: The MCDM RPG

Kobold Press was not the only publisher of third-party D&D content to have a strong reaction to the OGL fiasco. Unlike Tales of the Valiant however, Matt Colville's response was to announce a fully new Fantasy RPG system, with no expectation of backwards compatibility with any edition of D&D.

MCDM's sights are firmly set on the "Post-Kitchen-Sink" future, and to that end their game is explicitly not trying to be the one game for every possible playstyle. It's Tactical, meaning you'll need a grid to play it on, and it's Heroic, meaning characters should feel powerful, and not like they're constantly one critical hit or failed trap-sensing check away from being decapitated.

This approach might seem like a massive risk considering how insanely powerful 5th Edition became at its peak. But a record-breaking crowdfunding campaign backed by over 30,000 people shows that there is at least an appetite for something new, and that there is a like-minded community of players ready and waiting to join you.

The Critical Role Game: Daggerheart

If the Kobold Press announcement was a shot across the bow, and the MCDM crowdfunder was a bomb dropped, then Daggerheart is a full-blown asteroid, streaking straight towards Wizards of the Coast HQ.

Daggerheart is an original Fantasy RPG from Darrington Press, the publishing arm of the Critical Role media company. That by itself should mean something considering how important CR is to the D&D brand, but there's more to talk about here. Though it superficially resembles D&D in a lot of ways, it has some extremely important differences. Namely, its use of "Powered by the Apocalypse" mechanics such as "Fail Forward" dice rolling and "No Initiative" combat.

While "PbtA" has become somewhat of a loaded term in the D&D community, Critical Role has an opportunity to overcome that stigma with the sheer force of their platform. I've made this case already in the past, but if they were to use their power to do for themselves what they did for 5th Edition, it would be the most significant threat to the Hasbro Hegemony to emerge since Pathfinder. Let alone taking just a slice, Daggerheart has the long-term potential to take the whole damn pie.

And more!

The games I've listed here are all theoretically capable of replacing the Corpo game as your "go-to" long-term game. Not all of them are fully playable as of this writing, but they all represent one possible future for the "Sword and Sorcery" RPG genre.

There are of course a whole plethora of other games out there beyond the limited scope of "Medieval Fantasy" that are just as valid and just as viable, if you're feeling a bit more adventurous.

If you're looking for something explicitly tactical like a miniature skirmish game, but still in the RPG genre, and you're willing to expand your choice of genre beyond Euro-centric Medieval Fantasy even further beyond ICON, you might be interested in Gubat Banwa or the aforementioned Lancer.

If you want a game that promotes a slightly more streamlined, less mechanically-intricate approach to combat while still giving you tons of monsters to kick the shit out of, you might want to check out the "Illuminated by LUMEN" family of games inspired by the games LIGHT and NOVA from Gila RPGs. It might even inspire you to write your own RPG!

If you're more interested in the Old-School Renaissance, you might want to check out Forbidden Lands, Dungeon Crawl Classics, Old-School Essentials, or MÖRK BORG.

If you like the idea of "Old-School Roleplaying" but are also willing to step outside of the fantasy genre into Sci-fi territory, you might be interested in Stars Without Number, its Cyberpunk sister product Cities Without Number, or Mothership.

Finally, if you just want a game that focuses on telling the best story rather than mindlessly killing monsters and acquiring loot, you might want to check out Blades in the Dark, Thirsty Sword Lesbians, Girl by Moonlight, Coyote and Crow, and many more Fiction-First games in the Powered by the Apocalypse and Forged in the Dark genres.

But most importantly: Just play more games! Don't just buy them, play them! The point of this whole exercise is to replace the monopoly with a plurality, for the sake of the health of the tabletop gaming industry.

Because the next time Hasbro lays off a bunch of WotC employees, there should be a much stronger, more diverse industry for them to land in feet-first. We should all want for the people who build the games we love to feel safe in their career choice. Not just for the sake of the ones who are already there, but for future prospective designers and artists who want to make their mark.

It should be viable to be a tabletop game designer outside of just making more D&D stuff forever, because as we've seen, it's not safe to assume that we can all just keep doing the same thing we've been doing and not get bit on the ass by it.

If we want that future, we have to take it into our own hands and build it ourselves. But if there's one group of people that knows about building something very big from very little, it's TTRPG players.

[alpydk]

Desperate (RuganxReader)

He has a choke hold on me right now - So here is some hastily written smut (1300 words or so of it...)as a break from all the angst I've made recently - I will say although this is awesome, as all fanfic is, smut is not my go-to writing choice. But I needed this, desperate for it, you might say.

For a few weeks, you’ve been travelling with your party along the Sword Coast in search of a healer for your tadpole problem. A few weeks of dirt, blood, cold washes in the river and hands kept to yourself. As much as you hate to admit it in such low-class terms; you’re horny, desperate to ride someone, but unfortunately picky with your tastes. 

The vampire, Astarion had appeared the obvious choice with his flirty remarks and pristine good looks, but he wasn’t your type. Too pretty, not to mention he couldn’t handle the banter you gave back at him. Typical elf you thought to yourself. Then there was sweet Gale, a good age, good-looking but too much of a romantic, a bit too good for your liking. You ask yourself; why have red wine when there is ale on tap? Gale was more the type to lovingly caress your inner thigh and build up to some gentle foreplay for an age rather than just fuck you like an animal against the wall, the floor, or anywhere you really wanted so he was out of the running. And then there were the others; Wyll was too young, Shadowheart too distant, Karlach on fire. Lae’zel… just no. Desperate but picky…

***

Fucking gnolls and their stupid giggling. Great, now you’ve got blood on you again and the whole area is up in flames. Who in the hells was the genius to start throwing alchemist's fire? Well, at least the beasts have been taken care of. You’ve expected nothing but corpses, empty crates, and maybe the odd trip wire; Rugan is not what you’re expecting to come across. Slightly taller than you, older, weathered from a few too many fights, and most likely a few too many stiff drinks as well; and shit, when he speaks you feel that desperate hunger come back to you full force. You would happily be fucked by him against the wall, the floor, the back of this bloody cave if left alone with him. 

Ah, a Zhentarim. Typical. You’d had run-ins with them back in the city. The word around was that they were trying to take over The Guild; a few gold misplaced and a skirmish or two down by the docks, but it wasn’t your place to get involved. Leave that to Nine-Fingers to deal with. Your job was to simply keep the books in order at the keep, whilst playing both sides to keep your lifestyle comfortable, of course. Well, maybe now this could play to your advantage as well; make a little gold and if you meet up with him again then you could see what would happen. At least now you have something to think of during those lonely nights of tent life. 

You’ve always been one for voices as stupid as the concept sounds and his sticks with you. …Tighter than a Duke’s purse strings… You bite the inside of your lip thinking of other things usually construed as tight. When did your mind become so crude? Why did everyone else have to be here right now? Why can’t you just push him against that wall and have your way with him? You see him looking at you as Gale speaks; maybe he’s thinking the same thing, or maybe he’s recognised you from the keep. What does it all matter though? Desperate…

***

You both plan to make some gold selling the chest he’s transporting. You figure, what harm could it do? You find out soon after though exactly what harm; with the death of the poor lad that was with him, the death of the Zhents that had him tied and beaten to a chair, and an awakening to something you’ve never really thought about before. You beautiful bastard. Gods, what you’d give to keep him tied to that chair, to suck his cock knowing his arms are bound behind him and there’s nothing he can do but let out deep moans from your touch. That fantasy will keep you going for a few nights, that's for sure, and then maybe if you’re lucky that drink he’s promised you could turn into more, a desperate touch-starved reality.  

***

Baldur’s Gate. It’s been a long time having to make do with the odd night with Astarion, with some drow, with your own thoughts to keep you going, but you know you’ll soon be at the Elfsong Tavern and can get that sweet release you’ve been craving. Yeah, the tadpole is still slithering away in your mind, yeah there are all the other problems, like saving the world and a stone lord that had suddenly become your issue to deal with, but none of it matters in comparison to what, who you’ve been craving. Rugan…

He stands at the bar, a pint in hand. Finally, someone with a real taste in alcohol. He recognises you even out of the armour, hopefully out of the clothes later too. Things have gone to shit for him since the day in the caves, but he doesn’t want to talk about it much and you’re grateful after carrying the emotional baggage of your travelling companions. You watch as he downs the last bit of his drink before placing his hand on your thigh. He doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you for your reaction. You can already feel the warmth in your face, and you want to say it’s the drink but you both know that’s a complete lie. 

You can’t tell who booked the room or even how you’ve both reached this point as you push through a door, hands already exploring one another’s bodies, tongues entwined in a frantic effort to make up for lost time. The door is kicked shut to keep your hands placed on his body and as you make your way to what you hope is the bed, you both leave behind a trail of clothing, a light cotton shirt and leather trousers with ridiculous ties. On any other day, you might tease, pulling at them with your teeth but that will not happen tonight. Tonight, you want him, you need him inside you. 

Desperate longing leads to desperate touches. Your hand is wrapped around his shaft, though it takes little to wind him up. His grabs are as eager as yours as you feel him wrap a strong arm around your leg pulling you in closer, onto him. Did you even make it to the bed? You don’t seem to care as you feel him thrust inside you, deeper than you expected after seeing how tight his trousers were, a pleasant yet welcome surprise. Shit, it’s been so long and you wanted to draw this night out, to have it build up to some enchanted moment and see fireworks but right now, you are in that cave, you are on that floor, you are up against that wall, and you are being given what you have hungered after for so long. By the gods, he is everything and more than you could possibly have ever wanted. 

You hear his breath grow heavy against your neck as he jolts into you mercilessly. You grip him feeling your heart racing and your muscles tightening, wanting to give him everything, wanting this night to last forever but you know it won’t be much longer for either of you. You feel your release building and you try to hold it off, try to think of anything else but the throbbing inside of you and just as you think you’ve regained some control you hear his growled whisper in your ear; Your name spoken from those thirsting lips.   

***

The next morning you wake up alone amongst the creased sheets of the bed you’d both shared. The trail of your clothing leads to what appears to be a sofa and you smile to yourself now knowing the full story of the night. You’ve no idea where he’s gone or even if you’ll see him again but right now you don’t care as your head rests on the pillow and the events of last night flood your brain. That beautiful bastard, Rugan, once again leaving you desperate…

[tricksterpale]

I’ve done and received a lot of art of Caspian since I first made him back in 2021 [sweats nervously in 127 total pieces of art in Caspian’s toyhou.se gallery so far]. The point is, his design and features have been refined down to a science at this point. So I thought it was high time I did a proper turn around ref of him. 

Some Caspian basic info below the cut!

This is Caspian as he first appears during Personal Story. He’s 30 at the time, a captain on the captain’s council in Lion’s Arch, and has already established himself as a pirate legend from coast to coast. He’s a career pirate and has been for almost his entire life. He’s been holding the front lines against Zhaitan’s bone ships since he first went onto account at the age of 7 but that’s been an increasingly losing battle as Zhaitan becomes more active and more tactical (and they continue to lose capable ships of the line to skirmishes and to gold). At this point in Caspian’s life, he’s at odds with the consortium who has bought a seat on the council and is meddling in a big way for the sake of commerce over defense of LA.  Other details:  -He’s very musically inclined! He likes to sing shanties (and has a lovely baritone singing voice) and play his fiddle. 

-He doesn’t have a lick of magic in his entire body (He’s tried conjuring the elements before to either disastrous or lackluster effect...) and so relies heavily on his engineering and holosmithing in fights. He fights with his holodeck, pistols, and a laser sword that doubles as his walking cane when it’s stowed in the sheathe. 

-He can’t walk without a custom leg brace that immobilizes his right ankle due to traumatic injury when he was 26 (He was struck by a scatter shot when he and his crew were betrayed by the second mate and ambushed by two other pirate crews. The medic, Merry, had to prioritize healing to his vitals over the healing to his leg since there’s only so much healing magic a body can take at once.) With the leg brace and cane for additional stabilization, he walks with a light but noticeable limp that one might mistake for a swagger. 

-Caspian is poly bisexual but doesn’t start taking his relationships more seriously until after the events of Heart of Thorns due to not having a good example of love growing up and also his intense prioritization of freedom (I may discuss this in a separate post as it’s a long story, but basically the events of Heart of Thorns forced him to realize that his feelings for his sylvari boyfriend, Daimine, ran deeper than he had been willing to previously accept....the lengths he went to save Daimine, even over the safety of his crew was eye opening for him in a big way) There’s a lot more I’d like to say about Caspian but I’ll probably do so in separate posts. If you have any questions about Caspian or comments, feel free to come into my inbox or DMs. I’m also always happy to discuss how our characters might interact with each other in the world! Caspian is very social and outgoing and loves people. Throw em his way <3

[shadeops21]

Blogger Vs Blog

Seen a few of my artist mutuals put up something along these lines for their end of year recap. Given I'm not an artist by trade, I still wanted to showcase the year I've had on my blog, probably my most active and most notable year to date.

And while it's not the first face reveal (plus I've shown my face in other media that I'm sure you can find if you look) it's probably the first after the rapid influx of followers that I've earned over the course of the year.

Thank you for all of your support, I hope to post more in 2024 and have a few projects in the pipeline already!

(Image description under the cut)

In L-to-R, starting TL:

The V1 Cosplay Guides for MWII (which was a project started in late 2022) really kicked into high gear the start of the year and was the bulk of where I gained a following. I am glad to have shared my knowledge of all things tactical apparel and gear for cosplayers, artists, and nerds alike!

Just a picture of me taken during a skirmish event I attended earlier in the year. I posted this here as I wear TF141 insignia in these events and because it helps me get in touch with my OC .

The first in the "TF Satisfaction" project, a fun idea I had after listening and watching to Benny Bennassi's Satisfaction video and thinking there should be a male equivalent.

F/A-18F Super Hornet dumping flares as it flies past for the inaugural Pacific Airshow Gold Coast. One of my top three highlights of the year, and got some amazing photos from that day.

It's me! Wearing the same camo santa hat that I wore with the Ghost selfie. Homemade, sacrificed a t-shirt for it (it wasn't fitting me anymore so it's a worthy sacrifice)

Was able to have my boy sketched up by the wonderful, talented, amazing, humble, and wonderful @sleepyconfusedpotato. The best rendition of Shade that's out there, tbh. Waiting for the day that comms open so I can have more of Shade made up!

Released "The [Un]official Modern Warfare Cosplay Guide", which was a revamp/update/retooling of my V1 guides from earlier in the year. Refined to be more accurate and more detailed, hopefully this is a handy resource for cosplayer and artist alike.

Had some fun in the lead up to the MWIII Campaign Early Access and made an anti-spoiler meme. It blew up a bit more than I was hoping, heh.

I cosplayed as Ghost! I used my own research and guide to put together a cosplay of the man himself in his urban ops kit. The number of times my buddy (who went as Price) and I got stopped for pictures was insane. It was a lot of work, but totally worth it!

[sundancers-lament]

Dear Lauren Rose,

Don’t quote me on it, but I think this civil war might close out in the next few months. Argaven’s putting the push on Orgoreyn by the west front, trying to break through the skirmish border at Alteral—might have a fighting chance, but mostly its to draw attention. He split a few companies off, one or two of his top brass and around 60 soldiers and hired swords, to flank south down along the coast. I’m with them, volunteered my men for it to keep them off the frontline. They’re green, but the skirmish in Daisho really put a light on us and I ain’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. In about a month we’ll be well behind enemy lines, start disrupting supply chains and pushing back east to meet at the skirmish border or a bit behind, if Argaven’s gambit pulls off. He’s waiting on reinforcements from Winter, some brigade of cavalry or other. I understand his push to weed the spies out; he’s got a good mind for tactics, strategy and logistics and all that. Treats his soldiers right, too. Glad I picked this company to join this time, though I’d be lying if I said it was a moral thing. Pay is better, that’s all it was. 

The men are happy to be out of the north—weather’s a lot warmer down here, and there ain’t as much mud to slog through. The sun is nice, the sea breeze cuts the heat down in the evenings alright too. We’re traveling as a refugee caravan, and the towns we pass through are mostly friendly, so food and housing ain’t been bad either. But completely honest, I’m sick and fuckin’ tired of getting sand in my damn fur. Don’t matter how much scrubbing and combing I do. I still wake up with fucking grit in my whiskers, it’s driving me half mad. Got me considering shaving again, but the ink ain’t worth explaining (even though I’m sure a handful of these fellows got rap sheets of their own. The past just don’t have no place in this job.), so I just grumble about it. Don’t know how that never crossed my mind when we used to talk about taking a trip down here—I hated the dust in Herons Fall enough already. I’m sure you’d love it though, you always lit up in the sunshine. Water’s warm, too; you’d spend hours out in the surf just swimming the day away, crazy water-loving woman you are.

Guess it doesn’t take a big score to reach the ocean after all; you just gotta be okay with a lot of walking, and a lot of leaving things behind. 10 years under my belt and that’s the biggest I’ve learned about this kind of work—the best at this job always got no trouble with leaving. Its the ones with ties you gotta look out for: they’ll cut and run on you soon as they think they might lose something. The one’s who got nothing but the weapons at their side, they’re the ones who’ll treat you like family, watch your back no matter what. Maybe you gotta understand leavin’ to get good at stayin’, some poetic shit like that. More likely you just understand that gold is gold and blood is blood. Attachments, morals, they just keep your wallet empty in this line of work. Sometimes you get lucky, like with Argaven and this whole civil war, and you can pick the good side, trust that you’re fighting for the things you leave behind, that you can go back after and it’ll all be okay. Lots of times the good guys can’t pay up, though, and you can’t be looking behind you then. 

I’m sure the war hasn’t affected Herons Fall much, maybe a few local conscriptions. Likely it stays that way, or if it does reach you it’ll just be easy business. Always need for an alternative supply stream in war time, not that I need to tell you that. I’m sure you’re profiting off of this somehow—if anyone could figure it out it’s you. If you are, though, might want to think ahead to aftermath and shutting down your operation, if it all goes the way my gut says. Not that it’s the most trustworthy compass, I guess, but it’s all you got when you’re as familiar with leavin’ as this work takes. All that to say that I hope you’re well; hope you’re safe.

-- Tomcat

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 6.11 (before 1920)

173 – Marcomannic Wars: The Roman army in Moravia is encircled by the Quadi, who have broken the peace treaty (171). In a violent thunderstorm emperor Marcus Aurelius defeats and subdues them in the so-called "miracle of the rain". 631 – Emperor Taizong of Tang sends envoys to the Xueyantuo bearing gold and silk in order to seek the release of Chinese prisoners captured during the transition from Sui to Tang. 786 – A Hasanid Alid uprising in Mecca is crushed by the Abbasids at the Battle of Fakhkh. 980 – Vladimir the Great consolidates the Kievan realm from Ukraine to the Baltic Sea. He is proclaimed ruler (knyaz) of all Kievan Rus'. 1011 – Lombard Revolt: Greek citizens of Bari rise up against the Lombard rebels led by Melus and deliver the city to Basil Mesardonites, Byzantine governor (catepan) of the Catepanate of Italy. 1118 – Roger of Salerno, Prince of Antioch, captures Azaz from the Seljuk Turks. 1157 – Albert I of Brandenburg, also called The Bear (Ger: Albrecht der Bär), becomes the founder of the Margraviate of Brandenburg, Germany and the first margrave. 1345 – The megas doux Alexios Apokaukos, chief minister of the Byzantine Empire, is lynched by political prisoners. 1429 – Hundred Years' War: Start of the Battle of Jargeau. 1488 – Battle of Sauchieburn: Fought between rebel Lords and James III of Scotland, resulting in the death of the king. 1509 – Henry VIII of England marries Catherine of Aragon. 1559 – Don Tristan de Luna y Arellano sails for Florida with party of 1,500, intending to settle on gulf coast (Vera Cruz, Mexico). 1594 – Philip II recognizes the rights and privileges of the local nobles and chieftains in the Philippines, which paved way to the stabilization of the rule of the Principalía (an elite ruling class of native nobility in Spanish Philippines). 1702 – Anglo-Dutch forces skirmish with French forces before the walls of Nijmegen and prevent its fall. 1748 – Denmark adopts the characteristic Nordic Cross flag later taken up by all other Scandinavian countries. 1770 – British explorer Captain James Cook runs aground on the Great Barrier Reef. 1775 – The Coronation of Louis XVI in Reims, the last coronation before the French Revolution. 1775 – The American Revolutionary War's first naval engagement, the Battle of Machias, results in the capture of a small British naval vessel. 1776 – The Continental Congress appoints Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Roger Sherman, and Robert R. Livingston to the Committee of Five to draft a declaration of independence. 1788 – Russian explorer Gerasim Izmailov reaches Alaska. 1805 – A fire consumes large portions of Detroit in the Michigan Territory. 1825 – The first cornerstone is laid for Fort Hamilton in New York City. 1837 – The Broad Street Riot occurs in Boston, fueled by ethnic tensions between Yankees and Irish. 1865 – The Naval Battle of the Riachuelo is fought on the rivulet Riachuelo (Argentina), between the Paraguayan Navy on one side and the Brazilian Navy on the other. The Brazilian victory was crucial for the later success of the Triple Alliance (Brazil, Uruguay, and Argentina) in the Paraguayan War. 1892 – The Limelight Department, one of the world's first film studios, is officially established in Melbourne, Australia. 1895 – Paris–Bordeaux–Paris, sometimes called the first automobile race in history or the "first motor race", takes place. 1901 – The boundaries of the Colony of New Zealand are extended by the UK to include the Cook Islands. 1903 – A group of Serbian officers storms the royal palace and assassinates King Alexander I of Serbia and his wife, Queen Draga. 1917 – King Alexander assumes the throne of Greece after his father, Constantine I, is deemed to have abdicated under pressure from allied armies occupying Athens. 1919 – Sir Barton wins the Belmont Stakes, becoming the first horse to win the U.S. Triple Crown.

[really-simple-indexer---xn3j5bc]

Best Fishing Charters Gold Co

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[tacticalops1-blog]

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[besanii]

paper-thin

[ WangXian ; XiXian ]

--

The war is won!

Gusu is victorious!

Hanguang-wang is alive!

--

A sizeable crowd has gathered on the streets outside of the palace gates by the time Lan Wangji arrives, freshly bathed and changed out of his travel-weary and battle-worn armour into his formal robes. He dismounts as the guards approach, keeping the reins in his hand as he shows his pass; they grant him passage with a low bow, moving to the side as he leads his horse through the gates as quickly as decorum will allow.

The maids and eunuchs he passes on his way to the Hall of Mental Cultivation pay their respects with low bows and bent knees, lowering their gazes as they murmur his title with something akin to awe. He nods curtly in response but otherwise does not halt in his progress—it would not do to keep the Emperor waiting, war hero or not.

It's been over a year since he went to war, defending Gusu's coast against the invading forces of Dongying. The war had been harrowing and brutal and there were many times Lan Wangji where hadn't been sure he would survive. But he'd fought on with grit and tenacity, acutely aware of his role as a member of the Imperial family to lead and inspire his troops by example. That is, until a well-aimed arrow caught him in the shoulder between the plates of his armour, and sent him overboard in the midst of battle.

He’d survived. Barely.

The doors to the Imperial study are open when he arrives, and the eunuchs kneeling on either side of the door touch their foreheads to the ground in greeting. He walks up to the eunuch standing closest to the door.

“I am here to see the Emperor,” he says.

“Yes, Wangye,” the eunuch replies.  He gets to his feet and turns to the door, raising his voice to announce: “Huangshang, Hanguang-wang begs an audience.”

They do not have to wait long for a response.

“Enter.”

The Emperor is still dressed in his court robes despite the lateness of the hour—the afternoon court session had been over for at least two shichen already—the black silk sleeves stark against the embroidered gold draped over the desk where he works. He puts his brush down as Lan Wangji parts the beaded curtain hanging from the archway leading into the main chamber, a smile already forming on his lips as he watches Lan Wangji kneel in the centre of the room.

“Your humble servant greets Huangshang,” Lan Wangji says, touching his forehead to the floor. “May our Emperor live for ten thousand years.”

“You may rise, Hanguang-wang,” the Emperor says. "We are very pleased to see you returned to the capital alive and well. Your service to the Empire will be duly rewarded."

Lan Wangji rises to his feet, sweeping over the invisible creases of his robe and shaking out his wide sleeves.

"Huangshang gives your subject too much credit," he replies. "I live to serve the Empire and will gladly give my life a thousand times over in its protection."

"Your devotion is recognised, Hanguang-wang, and appreciated," the Emperor says. "Nevertheless, a great victory such as this should be rewarded. Come, brother, is there anything you would wish for? Name it and it shall be granted."

Lan Wangji's hands curl into fists by his side.

"Huangshang would grant anything your subject wishes?" he asks quietly.

The smile on the Emperor's face freezes. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he swallows; he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly. The smile smooths into something cooler, but no less genial.

"Anything within reason," he clarifies.

Lan Wangji exhales and bows his head.

"Your lowly subject dares to presume Huangshang knows what it is I wish for," he says, keeping his voice carefully level. "There is only one wish—one request—your lowly subject would make."

He hears the Emperor sigh, a low, disappointed sound, and his stomach sinks with realisation. But he had not dragged himself out of the depths of hell and back here to give up so easily. In the three months he had allowed himself to be presumed dead, laying feverish and close to death with an infected wound, it had been this one hope, this one wish that had kept him clinging to life. If he survived the war, won the war, then nothing would stop him from coming back and finally—finally—asking for the one thing he's wanted more than life itself.

When he chances an upward glance, the corner of the Emperor's lips are drawn in tight and the crease between his brows have deepened. Lan Wangji has had years to learn the shape of the Emperor's moods, even the ones he hides behind pleasantries and polite smiles, and he knows the Emperor is displeased.

"We would advise Hanguang-wang to make another request," he says finally. Do not continue to pursue this.

Lan Wangji drops to his knees. "Huangshang, you know there is nothing else I would ask for.”

“Wangji, enough!” The room stills. A sigh. “Leave us.”

The eunuchs and maids turn in unison and bow, backing out of the chamber without a word; the door to the study shuts behind them. Lan Wangji curls and uncurls his fists against his thighs, breathing heavily through his nose as he struggles to get his heart rate back under control. He hears the rustle of fabric, followed by footsteps from behind the desk coming towards him, but he dares not raise his eyes.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen says in an odd, stilted tone Lan Wangji has never heard before. “There is something you should know.”

--

Eunuchs and palace maids alike cower in the wake of his fury, scattering to the winds as soon as he passes. No one stops to question why a male member of the Imperial family aside from the Emperor and his sons is here, unaccompanied, within the gilded walls of the inner palace. Perhaps word had been sent ahead of his arrival, perhaps they had been expecting him--whatever the reason, Lan Wangji knows he would cut down anyone who dares stand in his way right now.

His mind is still reeling as he turns the corner along the once-familiar path that winds through the Imperial gardens, his feet following the route ingrained into him as a child still living within the palace walls.

He hasn't walked this path in close to fifteen years. Not much has changed: the trees and the flowers are the same--still the delicate gentians favoured by the previous mistress of this particular courtyard—only now there are also lotuses surrounding the small pavilion in the heart of the man-made pond, filling the air with their sweet fragrance. And inside that pavilion, an entirely different person is silhouetted against the afternoon sun.

A skirmish arose between Yunmeng and Qishan involving Qishan-hou's second son. 

Wen-er-gongzi was injured in the confrontation.

He takes a step forward, his feet suddenly heavy as though weighed down by boulders, dragging along the gravel. The person in the pavilion is still too far to have noticed him, but Lan Wangji has a clear view of the long black hair twisted up into a half-knot to expose the line of a long, slender neck, held in place by a fanzhan made of silver and set with blue sapphires. The sight of it makes his throat run dry.

Qishan demanded retribution for the injuries inflicted on Wen-er-gongzi. The life of his attacker.

Both Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen were each presented with a set the rare jewels at their coming of age, a mark of their status as members of the Imperial family. To see the same jewels adorning the familiar head of hair—

We believed you dead, Wangji. 

He drags his feet another step forward, the breath catching in his throat as the person in the pavilion half-turns at the sound.

We needed to protect him.

“Who goes there?” a eunuch calls, hurrying around the corner along the path around the pond. “This is Wei-xuanyi’s private garden, outsiders are not perm—”

“It’s alright, let him through.”

A lump forms in his throat so large he can barely breathe around it without pain; whatever hope of this being a cruel joke is crushed at the familiar voice. How many times in the past year has he heard it in his dreams? How many times has the memory of that voice called him back from the gates of Hell itself, when the rest of the world thought him dead?

The eunuch drops to his knees on the side of the garden path and bows his head; Lan Wangji takes this as a sign to proceed.

As a child, the garden path had always seemed wide and inviting; it had always led to his mother, the late Empress, the only source of light and happiness and home in his childhood. And yet now all he feels is dread, cold and dark, seeping out through the cracks in the surface of his façade with every step.

Lan Xichen’s words ring in his ears.

Wangji, it was the only way we could save him.

He stops at the bottom of the steps leading into the pavilion. Four steps. Just four steps, and yet his legs refuse to move, to take even just one more step forward; it is as though his body is fighting with everything it has against it. He can't move.

He is unsure how long he stands there at the bottom of the steps boring holes into the paved stones—it is difficult to keep track when one's mind is filled with the deafening roar of one's own heartbeat. It is not until the sound of footsteps, followed by a rush of activity in his periphery as the palace maids and eunuchs fall to their knees in unison, does he finally raise his eyes.

There, standing at the top of the steps, clad in soft, flowing robes of Gusu blue and Yunmeng purple, with Lan Xichen's jewels in his hair—

Wangji. Wei Wuxian—

Wei Wuxian lowers his head and bends at the knees, his fingertips clasped lightly by his hip. A demure greeting, wildly unsuitable for a member of the gentry.

“Hanguang-wang,” he murmurs. He raises his eyes slightly, enough to peer at Lan Wangji from beneath his lashes. Demure. Restrained.

The ground crumbles beneath Lan Wangji’s feet.

—I have taken Wei Wuxian as a consort.

--

Translations

Wangye (王爺) - equivalent of a Duke, usually Emperor’s brother or uncle

Huangshang  (皇上) - the Emperor; as per usual, I only use the pinyin when the term is used when directly addressing LXC

hou (侯) - equivalent of Marquis, second highest rank after 王

xuanyi (宣儀) - lit. ‘Propagator of Deportment’, a variant of the Tang dynasty concubine ranking pin (嬪) that doesn’t use feminine qualities; the second highest rank after furen/zande (夫人/贊德), used between 662-670 (possibly under Wu Zetian’s influence)

fazhan (髮簪) - hair ornament/pin

--

Notes

Title is taken from the Chinese phrase boming (薄命), which means to have an unlucky fate (usually in reference to women). It literally translates to “thin life/fate”. Inspired by a line in the song 雪落下的聲音 (the sound of snowfall; Story of Yanxi Palace OST):  此生 如纸般薄命 - this life, my fate is as thin as paper.

For those of you wondering where the hell I’m going with this—I have no fucking clue lmao. I just wanted to write WangXian angst with a dose of XiXian that doesn’t involve Dark!LXC for once. I also cannot be bothered to look back on this anymore, so any mistakes are purely cos I’ve given up working on this any further hahahahahaha *dies*

Inspired by a mish-mash of Story of Yanxi Palace (Fuheng x Yinglou reunion anyone???) and Empress of China (mostly the OST, but also the gorgeous costuming and setting of the Tang Dynasty).

Will I continue it? Maybe??? It took me weeks to even get my ass into gear to write this one snippet, I honestly don’t know if I will get around to writing more. But if it interests you, send me an ask about the ‘verse and I’ll try and expand more on it, even if it’s just headcanon form and not fic.

--

buy me a ko-fi!

--

[ainarosewood]

Healer First

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​

FFxivWrite2022 Day 20 Prompt Annon

As Aina rode Zephyr into Camp Dragonhead it was abuzz with a flurry of activity knights running hither and yon.  It was overt there had been a recent battle for there were wounded everywhere thick furs thrown on stretchers to make sure the wounded knights didn't freeze in the blowing winds.  It was also apparent that the Camps chirurgeons were struggling to keep up with the number of injured.

Behind her she heard Alphinaud murmur, “Seven hells what happened here?”

She dismounted helping the young Elezen down stating, “That matters little now what does is aiding the injured.  You head to Lord Hauchefaunt and let him know we are here. I'll be there as soon as I help the chirurgeons get things under control.  I'm sure this Lord of the Temple Knights would prefer his men be put first no?

With that she unslung her cane and waded into the throng of running knights meeting with the nearest chirurgeon.

Alphinaud signed in annoyance and did as she bade the young Elezen knew there was no changing the Viera’s mind in this.  He only hoped that her assumption was correct and that the Lord of the Temple Knights cared for his knights over proprieties of a meeting.

He strode into the main command building to see Haurchefant speaking with a pair of knights. One dressed in armor of blue, gold and black the other in silver, black and red.  All three turned as he entered and Haurchefant gave a strained smile “Master Alphinaud, pray forgive the disarray there was a recent skirmish with the Horde.  I know you were here to meet with Ser Aymeric but..”

Alphinaud raised a hand, “The knights here of course take precedence Lord Haurchefant.  I was about to apologize for the Warrior of Light has seen fit to offer her aid to the wounded before joining us.  Such is the way of those that wear the Mantle of White Magic, wounded come first I’m afraid,”

“Whatever aid she is willing to offer we will gladly accept it, Master Alphinaud.  I greatly appreciate her willingness to do so.”  The knight in blue stated.

Haurchefant heartily agreed then stated, “Allow me to introduce Ser Aymeric, Lord Commander of the Temple Knights,”

Alphinaud bowed to the man and stated, “A pleasure, Alphinaud Leveilleur at your service.”  

He then stepped to the side as a knight rushed up, bowing to Ser Aymeric and speaking rapidly.   Alphinaud moved to a corner of the room and simply observed the ongoing process attempting to get a slight idea of the man they were about to be dealing with.  

His first impressions were favorable.  It seemed Aymeric was keen to listen to his subordinates and was more concerned with their well being than what they had achieved against this Horde commander.  A surprising thing in Alphinaud’s opinion given that the Ishgardians regarded the war with the dragons as a holy crusade.  He would think the leader of the main force would be a bit more zealous in his efforts against his foes.  But it seemed Ser Aymeric was more concerned for his knights than their glory.  Such a pragmatic attitude would serve well at the negotiation table.

Any thoughts of this sort of negotiation happening shortly were dashed as another knight rushed in to inform them that Svara had appeared near Steel Vigil.  It also seemed from the knights report that Aina had chosen to join the fray to help stop the attack. 

Within moments all those who had been in the Camp were headed north to join the battle and with all hopes bring down the dragon.  Once they arrived the battle was fully raging and Alphinaud could see Aina was the one directly in front of the dragon, the White Mage keeping its attention on herself as the knights moved in positions to bring it down.  

The young Elezen summoned his carbuncle and sent it into the fray next to the Viera hoping to give her as much support as he could while staying back with the casters of the Camp and adding his own spell work.  He could see it wasn’t long before Ser Aymeric himself and the lady knight that had been with him had moved to fight alongside the Viera.  She in turn shifted her efforts from combat to support of the full contingent of knights that sought to bring the dragon down.

Being beleaguered from all sides the dragon sought the sanctuary of the skies only to be denied it by a well placed Holy Cast by Aina blinding the dragon and causing her to crash back down onto the ground beneath her.  The knights wasted no time and set about hitting her in her most vulnerable spots.  In moments their blows met their mark and the dragon's final scream rang out and her body twitched in the death throes.

Knights swiftly scattered so they were not caught by the thrashing beast grabbing wounded comrades and retreating.  Aina herself was last to leave making sure the beast was not tricking them the Lord Commander and his fellow knight also standing with her to ensure the same as far as Alphinaud could tell.

Once satisfied the beast was indeed dead the three of them made their way to were the rest of the knights were heading back to the Camp Aina moving ahead of Aymeric and the lady knight in order to catch up with the wounded and once again offer aid.

Aymeric looked at the young Elezen as he approached and stated, “Once things are settled we shall have our meeting Master Alphinaud.  I am eager to speak with both you and Lady Aina.  Till then,”

Alphinaud nodded in agreement and gave a bow to the older Elezen as he himself began moving amongst his men speaking with as many as he could and as well as the chirugeons.

“Till then indeed, “ the young arcanist murmured to himself before shaking his head and offering what aid he could as well.

[shepherds-of-haven]

You have me curious about the Pirate Queen Sadye 'Fuming' Cross. Can I get some facts and a brief history about her? Please and thank you! ♡

Hi there, I haven't given too much thought on Sadye, and what I do know is very vague and piecemeal! Basically, she was a pirate "queen" who started off as a standard pirate crewmate, robbing merchant ships and notably other pirate ships of their bounties in order to make a living. She gained notoriety for being made captain of her own (albeit small) ship at a very young age, probably around 15 or 16, and was historically recognized by her flaming red hair and incredibly striking voice. The circumstances of her first captainhood are scarce--some people say that she had snuck onto her first crew disguised as a boy and worked her way up the ranks, others say gender had nothing to do with it and that she was simply recognized for her unusual cunning and skill at military tactics as well as force of will and extremely loud voice, which was said to pierce the air like a cannon shot. All anyone really knows is that her first ship was named The Red Damnation, and that her crew both feared and revered her. She was said to be the toughest, fiercest captain around, and notably never suffered any of the mutinies that pirate captains were known to experience at least once in their careers.

Sadye's early career as a pirate was distinguished due to her unique personality, but it wasn't super notable until she made it her life's goal to exclusively attack the Autarchy and its military ships, ultimately severely damaging the Navy of the Sun's fleet over the course of ten years or so. The reasons for this nautical war are also very unclear: some myths assert that Sadye's lover was killed by government naval sailors in a gunfight, others claim that she had heard her hometown was burned to the ground in a skirmish or Diminished uprising against the Autarchy. Whatever the reason, Sadye then devoted her life to exacting her revenge on the Autarchy, forsaking the typical pirate quest for gold in exchange for wreaking maximum destruction and damage against Autarchy military ships and crippling its naval fleet. Under that banner, it's said that she was secretly funded by underground rebel forces, and she ultimately attracted and led an entire fleet of her own ships: 20 man'o'wars, 10 sloops, and 500 pirates, corsairs, and mercenaries to sail them all. (That was a fuckton of ships to sail under a single leader, if you couldn't tell.) This was how she became known as a pirate queen, and took on the name of Sadye "Fuming" Cross.

Notably, details on Sadye's actual skills beyond that of a military commander and legendary sailor are scarce. Many insist that she was an expert shot with a pistol as well as a fearsome fighter with a cutlass, but beyond that, no one even knows what race she was (Norm or otherwise), and reports on her appearance (outside of her bright red hair) varied drastically. There was even speculation that Sadye employed body doubles, installing captains with slightly varying looks on her ships and instructing that the crew refer to them by "Captain Cross" in order to disguise who the real Sadye was, and to prevent Autarchy assassins from slipping onboard. She was even so cautious about the Autarchy's search for her that she reportedly never stepped foot on land again, after beginning her war against them. There is some historical evidence that she might have been a Mage, or at least Mage-blooded, which would have explained her striking hair, as well as some reports that she was able to rain fire down on other ships from the sky or change her appearance... though this also could have been simple clever schemes and military maneuvers on her part.

Because the Autarchy was ultimately humiliated by Sadye's fleet, they actively deterred information about her from spreading, so historical facts are scarce and most of Sadye's legacy is borne from myth, legend, hearsay, and rumor. It's believed that her campaign against the Autarchy was successfully waged for at least 10-15 years--an incredible amount of time after the brutality of the Castigation, but the Autarchy had not yet conquered the sea--and if this is true, then she would hold a place in history for being one of the most successful rebels to stand against the Norm government. It evidently got so bad that the Autarch himself personally invited Sadye to Haven to parlay and broker peace; supposedly, Sadye returned that he was welcome to visit her on The Red Damnation, claiming that they were equals since they were both monarchs (being a queen in her own right), and then sent him a whole-ass anchor and said that it would be weighing his body down in the deeps if he ever dared to go near the water.

Eventually, however, news of Sadye's fleet finally stopped, and it's extremely unclear what happened to it. Various historians claim that the entire fleet was sunk in a storm; that Sadye was finally caught by the Autarchy and hung in the Sesz Isles; that she tired of her endless quest for revenge and retired in the Ivory Isles under a false name and identity, dying of old age after having many children; that she attempted to cross the Sea of Storms in order to get the Autarchy off of her trail and either made it to the Southern Continent or perished in a vortex; or that she died in her defense of a pirate colony off the coast of Kresh.

If you buy the cutlass that supposedly belonged to Queen Sadye from Chandry, Chase (if you have high friendship or romance with him) will make a comment as if he's met the pirate queen himself during his corsair years, but the height of her career was at least 100 years ago, so who knows with him...

[nanshe-of-nina]

Favorite Historical Fiction || In a Dark Wood Wandering: A Novel of the Middle Ages by Hella S. Haasse ★★★★☆

When Louis thought of his father, he remembered him so, teaching, his pale face with strong arched eyebrows in the shadow of his hood; the long nose had the tint of old ivory. He had a large, sensitive mouth. It was a face that gave a preponderant impression of sadness and suffering; it was clear from the lines that ran from his nostrils to the corners of his mouth that old age had come to him prematurely; but his brown eyes were sharp and lively, the eyes of a man of great understanding and clear insight.

Charles V seemed to have been born old. Before he came of age, he had known enough trouble to make him realize the relativity of all things under the sun. In his sickly body lived a spirit which coldly and calmly surveyed a France ravaged by war and pestilence, a welter of famine, chaos and boundless misery, in which he began to create order, following a system that did not meet with a positive reaction from the people around him, the pretentious and haughty nobles who had not only lost battle after battle against the English invaders, but had brought their own country to the point of ruin by squeezing the commoners and peasants dry. He rendered them harmless by surrounding himself with advisors from the bourgeoisie, men who were tirelessly zealous in their newly awakened social consciousness. Gradually, by proper organization of the armies, he freed the country from the pillaging bands of roving mercenaries who came from all over; he let the English exhaust themselves on unimportant skirmishes—now on the coast, now deeper in the land again; buildings rose up—forts, palaces, the towered Louvre, the Bastille and a long series of connecting halls in Saint-Pol.

The King was extremely frugal and sober; he had no desires to be gratified at the cost of the exchequer and the prosperity of the country. Day after day he kept punctually to a regimen of work and relaxation. The pleasures of the table meant nothing to him; he ate little meat and drank diluted wine. He loved his family, his work; above all, however, he loved his books—and the writers, philosophers and astrologers who lived in great numbers at his court. France had raised itself from the morass of misery into which it had fallen; the eyes of all Christendom were fixed again upon the heart of the Western world.

“Le Sage” he was called in his time; the wise, the thoughtful one. So he was seen, with his books and his scriveners, governing from his library; so Louis saw him when he thought of his father: leaning against his reading desk, the fingers of one hand between the pages of a manuscript, and the other hand—permanently paralyzed as a result of the poison given him as a youth by his archenemy Navarre—resting in the folds of his mantle.

As long as the King lived, much care was expended on the education of both boys—a succession of excellent tutors instructed them in all accomplishments essential for princes of the blood and, perhaps because of the direct supervision of the King, this instruction was more thorough than would have been the case in other circumstances. And as was customary with him, the father looked to the future. He was rightly concerned about his health. The inheritance he was leaving—a reviving France, barely-allayed hostilities with England, discontented nobles who waited, hand on sword, in their castles for a chance to rehabilitate their positions, and an awakening populace of commoners and peasants—this inheritance was a dangerous toy for children or reckless youths. In addition, ambitious rivals, the King’s brothers, waited near the throne—the avaricious Anjou, the crafty Burgundy, the cold, sensual Berry and his brother-in-law Bourbon, meddlesome and pompous—in truth, a pack of vultures which could never be feared enough.

Therefore, the King set up a guardian trust consisting of various high dignitaries of the Church and some of his advisors—among them Philippe de Maiziéres and Clisson, later constable of France. These men were part of the group which the King’s brothers and knights referred to tauntingly as ‘the Marmousets’—the fools. Charles V expected that these tested servants would be a temporizing influence on the far-from-disinterested Regency of the Dukes. At the same time he decreed that his son should be considered to have come of age on his fourteenth birthday.

Even as the King lay dying, the Dukes swooped down upon the Regency. With their armies they came riding from their domains to challenge one another in turn for the greatest power. The King lay in his death agony, surrounded by his court; at his feet knelt his sons, his friends, his devoted servants. While he was receiving the sacraments, a bitter argument raged in the anteroom between his brothers which resulted in Anjou ransacking the deserted rooms of the palace. Furniture, golden tableware, jewels were carried off with no further comment. Anjou withdrew as regent; with the plundered gold he could carry on a war for the possession of Sicily, to which he lay claim. Bourbon, Berry and Burgundy now fastened their claws in earnest into the crown of France, which at Reims had been placed on the head of a twelve-year-old boy.

[mtr-amg]

In this Government, not a single Minister has been held accountable for anything at all. Not one. For anything. A few may have retired hurt to the backbench for a while but they always return revived and rejuvenated. Some of the things for which Ministers should be held accountable (but weren’t) and for which one might expect to see lasting consequences (but haven’t): Brother Stewie ripping us off for internet connections, listing his parents as company directors for an organisation unknown to them, and masquerading as an official Government representative on a private business trip to China. Michaelia Cash refusing to talk to the police when they investigated her office over leaks to the media and then lying about it. Sussan Ley using taxpayer dollars to get her flying hours up to keep her pilot’s license and buying herself an apartment in the Gold Coast along the way. Bridget McKenzie, Senator Sports Rorts herself, now apparently in charge of a Bush Fire Relief Fund busily dispensing money to areas unaffected by the bushfires. Angus Taylor, where to start? A man whose list of scandals is so great, I had to add this extra clause to capture the last and actually least egregious, the monumental self-own that was his skirmish with Clover Moore. Christian Porter, an accused rapist, who moved on Witness K and Bernard Collaery, a whistleblower hero and the lawyer approved by the Inspector-General of Intelligence, fought to try them in secret, and then destroyed the Family Court. Porter’s wing-man, Alan Tudge sleeping with a staff member while promoting himself as a family man and, pre-election, flinging $666,000,000 of taxpayers’ money around in marginal seats for ill-conceived carparks. Barnaby fucking Joyce. This mob shovel money to their mates – really, lots of it, and even more this year with the truckloads of COVID-dollars delivered directly to the bottom line of greedy chancer companies via the poorly designed JobKeeper scheme Josh Frydenberg stubbornly refuses to reexamine – while maliciously, callously denying it to their perceived enemies, like the arts and universities, the ABC and CSIRO – you know, the good stuff. They watch the world burn and venerate fossil fuels and pretend all is cool, defiant in the face of the world’s dismay. They undermine the significant reform of the NDIS, hollowing it out instead of solving its teething troubles. They’re already watering down the few recommendations they implemented from the Banking Royal Commission. When the mother of a veteran who died by suicide Julie-Ann Finney asked them to take the issue of veteran suicide seriously, they offered her a Mother’s Medal. They actively persecute the most vulnerable, allowing their wages to be stolen, humiliating them with the Indue card (which has the added bonus of delivering more money to their mates), abandoning them to poverty on JobSeeker, occasionally hounding them to the grave with their relentless and unlawful Robodebt pursuit. And all the while they deliver their drab punitive homilies in self-righteous, censorious, smug-as-hell tones. Honestly. This mob.

[fortvscue]

╰  (  florence pugh. cisfemale. she/her. ) welcome back to hogwarts,  ALICE FORTESCUE ! you’re a SEVENTH year from GRYFFINDOR, right ? i’ve got your school file right here. it says you’re a TWENTY THREE year old PUREBLOOD, is that correct ? this file even has a personality entry, saying you’re ALTRUISTIC & STEADFAST as well as DOMINEERING & WELL-MEANING. is that why you’ve chosen to JOIN THE ORDER ? would you look at that ! it says here other students also describe you as : laughing so hard your stomach aches, the warmth of a palm pressed against your own, bandaids over day old scratches, a backbone like steel and leaving a faint smell of bubblegum wherever you go. how interesting. oh well, see you in class !

Gryffindor, Seventh yr. Former Sacred 28-er turned ice cream makers daughter, now Head Girl with a heart (mostly) of gold. Duelling Club professional, Herbology club afficionado and Seeker on the Quidditch team with a Snitch tattooed behind her left ear.

Was born a Fawley, the last of her line, the daughter of Andromache Travers, betrothed to Antioch Fawley, the only surviving son of the once great Fawley family. Her childhood was a happy one, though one that was still filled with the indoctrination of purist society, and she grew up unaware that the views her parents were raising her with weren’t the norm.

Her mother died when she was eight - vanishing sickness took hold quickly, but Dragonpox was what took her. Her father when she was ten - he hadn’t needed to work, he’d been left a fortune by family members who died too soon, but he decided to work anyway, and was caught in a collapsing Egyptian tomb. 

She was more or less adopted that same summer by Hugo Fortescue, a family friend who had been widowed in the same explosion that took Antioch (and, yes, her father was named after that Antioch. The Peverell one.) 

Suddenly she lost almost everything she had ever known. Yes, Hugo was a pureblood, though not a member of the Sacred 28 owing to him having immigrated from France only a few years earlier to be with his wife, but he was by no means wealthy. Or, perhaps, he was a lot more frugal than Alice was used to her family being.

Gone were the parties and little excursions to her friends houses, the fancy dresses and lessons on etiquette and what to expect from the Black’s and the Lestrange’s and the Rosier’s and Yaxley’s and Shacklebolt’s, the echoing halls of her manor of a home and the cold reality that while her parents loved her, they did not always treat her as such.

Living with Hugo - and her now adoptive older brother, Florean - was a learning curve that she hadn’t ever anticipated. She was suddenly faced with the reality that everything her parents had drilled into her, all of it was a lie. None of it was true. The innate kindness they’d tried to force out of her, the natural love of humanity and awe of muggles that they’d tried to burn out of her, that was true. What wasn’t was the lesson that they were superior that they had drilled into her head, that had been why she felt so out of place here, because their blood was pure.

She didn’t want to admit it, not then, but her childhood was tainted. It’s something she struggled with for a long time, hell, even now she struggles with it - that, really, she isn’t a Fortescue, even though that’s the name she totes, the name she is more than proud of - that her family, her blood, were people who hated anyone that was different. 

For all intents and purposes, Hugo and Florean were more like family than her parents ever were. They made time for her - Florean, even then, was her overprotective big brother - the one that would take a jinx to the chest for her, the one that would torment anyone who hurt her, the one who would wake up too early to learn how to braid her hair because Hugo was always too busy to do it. 

Despite all the unlearning she did - and still is doing, believe me, she knows she isn’t perfect, but she’s angrier than ever and learning more and more each day - she still remained close with several of her childhood friends. They’d come visit her in the ice cream parlour, and she’d sneak them a scoop or two before abandoning her post to run around Diagon Alley with her.

That started to change as she grew - as she became a teenager, and suddenly she was listening to muggle music, and watching muggle tv shows, following Florean out into muggle London for the first time, but certainly not the last. She started to lose friends when they couldn’t understand why she was abandoning them, when to her, she wasn’t. They were so important to her, some still are today, even if she isn’t proud of that, proud of being friends with people on both sides. 

When she got her letter to Hogwarts, a couple of years after being allowed her own wand - under Hugo’s strict supervision (okay, so it wasn’t necessarily always strict, but he said it was to anyone who dared ask him why she could sometimes be found waving her wand in the middle of the ice cream parlour in the middle of Diagon Alley), she knew exactly where she was meant to be.

She’d already gone through a “phase” of getting into skirmishes with people who, in her eyes, didn’t know how to treat people with respect. It’s something that’s definitely mellowed, though that instinct, that protective flare still hasn’t faded, not even now. It was obvious to any of the people who knew her, who knew her as a Fortescue, that she was going to be sorted into Gryffindor - nobody was less surprised than Alice when it barely took a second before she was swept off her feet.

Her fascination with muggle music and love of art only grew at Hogwarts - her natural ability with plants made certain Alice always found a home in the Greenhouses, and her wand’s natural inclining to defensive magic made it easy to thrive in Defence Against the Dark Arts. 

Trying out for Quidditch is a no brainer - she’s not so graceful on her feet on the ground, more often than not tripping and skinning her knees, Drooble’s gum bubble popped as she goes, but on a broom? She knows how to be graceful there, in the air, not quite so high as to be above the clouds, but high enough to be above their heads. She’s not meant to be trying out for the Seeker position - she thought maybe Chaser, or Beater, but Seeker was where she found herself, and where she’s stayed ever since.

Now she’s in her last year, she’s found that so much has changed. The world is on the verge of war, and Alice knows she’ll end up fighting - she wants to be an Auror, she has done since she was fifteen and met one in the ice cream parlour, looking for a lead. She just doesn’t know how far this will go - how far she’ll let herself go, how far they’ll all let themselves go. She only knows that she won’t ever back down.

- x -

middle name: marguerite. 

languages spoken: english, french, latin (duh). 

body modifications: five ear piercings. two tattoos. a golden snitch behind her left ear, one that moves and flaps it’s wings. a lion on her ribcage.

hobbies: photography, quidditch, herbology club, eating ice cream. being the most badass head girl hogwarts has ever seen. (in her own words, of course).

orientation: bisexual (and biromantic) af. let her have kissed girls and boys.

wand: yew wood and phoenix feather core. twelve inches. rigid. excellent for duelling, and by definition, defense against the dark arts and charms. (also with a dark and very fearsome reputation, she’s learned.)

boggart is herself turning into an inferi. that’s cool. totally not somehow a metaphor for how afraid she is of losing herself and her mind.

patronus: elephant.

amortentia: cinnamon being sprinkled across freshly baked cookies. her mother’s perfume. pink blossoms falling to the ground in the midday autumn breeze. pumpkin pasties, the way the hogwarts kitchens always make. seawater crashing against the coast. bouquets of tiger lily on the dinner table. firework sparks. droobles best blowing gum, bubblegum and blueberry mixing. water hitting tea. laundry, freshly done, just out of the dryer. woody cologne. 

birthday: october 9th, 7:54pm.

zodiac: libra sun.

egyptian zodiac: horus. 

positive traits: altruistic, steadfast, compassionate, loyal, personable, passionate.

negative traits: domineering, well-meaning, self sabotaging, messy, clumsy, closed off.

expanded aesthetic: laughing so hard your stomach aches, the warmth of a palm pressed against your own, bandaids over day old scratches, a backbone like steel and leaving a faint smell of bubblegum wherever you go, running hands through your hair, coffee with three sugars and no milk, eating ice cream for breakfast, leather jackets emblazoned with flowers, never letting your camera get dusty, potted plants on your window still, pressing kisses to people’s cheeks, standing by the sea as it crashes against the shore, sleepless nights buried in text books, wielding authority with a laugh and a smile.

[theimpossiblescheme]

Oh, man, I'm late to this but I saw this one and I just...10 with Alonzo and Mungojerrie (and Rumpleteazer)?

“I trust you’ll be attending tonight’s conference, Alonzo?”  Macavity phrased it as a question, but everyone knew there was only one answer he’d accept.

So Alonzo squared his shoulders accordingly and tightened his jaw as he nodded.  “Somebody’s gotta watch the doors.  Make sure these… pampered shorthair types don’t try to sweet-talk their way out of a deal.”

The Mystery Cat smiled—at least, he turned up the sides of his mouth and flashed his teeth—and gave his own nod in response.  “Good answer, dear boy.  Now if you’d be so kind as to send for Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer—”

“They won’t be attending.”

One scarlet brow quirked upward, and Alonzo knew it could mean a number of things.  Genuine confusion was rare, dry sarcasm likely, and scornful displeasure most common.  “Oh?”

“Word on the street’s they went and got themselves caught.  One of Scotland Yard’s police dogs.”  The lie slipped out of him so naturally, he wondered if he should be worried, but right now there were bigger things at stake.  Of course, he betrayed none of this and only gave a wry smirk.  “Guess it’s what they get for lyin’ down on the job. Especially a job for you.”

“Hm… it would hardly be the first time,” Macavity drawled.  “And I suspect it shan’t be the last.  I do wonder sometimes why I keep them in my employ…”

“’Cause they’re the only ones dumb enough to go into Pollicle turf?” Alonzo ventured.

“It’s not a question of intelligence.  It’s a question of how much one is willing to dirty one’s fur with their blood.”  His tone was so nonchalant, so bloodless as he briefly unsheathed one jagged claw for effect, that Alonzo felt his ears pin against his skull in spite of himself.  “I suppose I shall have to bail them out tomorrow morning.”

“I can take care of that, sir.”

“Oh, no—I shall need you at my side in case of further incidents after tonight.  Żyleta will go to the station after them.”

“… With all due respect, do you think Żyleta can really hold her own against police dogs?  She didn’t do so well in the last Soho skirmish, and I know that area better than she does.  I’ll be fine.”

For a moment, Macavity studied him through narrowed gold eyes, and Alonzo stayed stock-still under the gaze he’d grown uncomfortably familiar with.  Finally, he averted it.  “Very well.  But you will not stay out for more than an hour.  I do have an organization to run, you understand.”

“I do understand. Thank you, sir.”

Macavity waved a paw at him and turned on his heel.  “Upstairs, the Mouser’s Palace ballroom, tonight at eight.  You will be on time.”  The click click click of his nails against the hardwood floor followed him out of the room, and Alonzo felt his spine turn to jelly as he relaxed.  That had gone better than he anticipated.  Shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears—a constant remnant of Macavity’s presence—he slipped over to one of the crates lining the walls of the cellar and pried it open.  “All right, you two, the coast is clear.”

Rumpleteazer spent no time in latching herself onto Alonzo’s waist and hugging tightly, and Mungojerrie’s grinning face popped up behind her before he clambered out himself.  “Thanks for the cover, mate—I really owe you one. Can’t have any of our marks recognizing us at a conference, y’know?”

“Maybe if you weren’t so clumsy, Vincenzio wouldn’t have recognized you at all,” Alonzo sniped back. It was just like them, to burgle one of their boss’s business partners right before a major meeting.  Just their brand of brave stupidity.

Jerrie didn’t seem too bothered, but his grin did take on a somewhat sheepish edge.  “Ah, well… you win some, you lose some, eh?  Either way, thanks a lot.  You really did save us a lot of trouble.”

“Yeah, well, don’t make me regret saving you.”  But he couldn’t force that much bite into his voice.  Not with Teazer still hugging him like this—it was impossible to be truly angry at her, at least.  And the two of them were helping Demeter, so he needed them alive.  That was how he rationalized it.  And as he pried Teazer’s paws away and let the duo scamper off, he felt an odd heaviness in his chest watching them… though not a completely unpleasant feeling.

It definitely wouldn’t be the last time, he knew that much.  Maybe he should dread that prospect more than he did.

“Thanks again!”  Teazer called behind her in a loud stage-whisper and blew a playful kiss in Alonzo’s direction.  This time, Alonzo only raised a paw.  Think nothing of it.