#Spire's destiny experience

[microraptorreactor]

Spire's Destiny Experience 3: Who Burned Down The Library?

So for starters, I've skipped to D2. D1 was fun, but I was struggling due to my shitty PS4. Combined with finding out that the Grimoire is not easily accessible, and how im going to have to spend money on abandonware if i want to find out about Skinny Jeans Robot through anything other then a wiki page, I decided I got what I needed. I have friends who play D2, so the jump seemed easier.

(I might revisit it for Exo Stranger. She was really cool.)

for what's left of D1: I was getting into it with the whole plot about Razputin the massive supercomputer, then hit a wall with a vex fight that was definitely intended for more then one player. When talking to a friend about it (who has played destiny in the past) she said I should just skip to D2. (Tbf she was more then a little biased bc she wanted to play the game with me and didn't have a PS4.)

But now for a rant: who's idea was the grimoire. Who put all the lore in a box that is also super susceptible to web rot. They should have used Warframe's codex, which is hosted in the game and won't evaporate unless the game also disappears.

But anyways, Vex cool, Exo Stranger extra cool (I am gay for her), the awaken sure are. a group of people.

D2 thoughts: I wish I got this thorough of an opening with D1. I now know what's happening. That's nice lol.

This is just the same opening but with less snow. Labeling my new exo (who is exactly the same as the old one) Pyre-20. Her ass got rebooted.

They changed the intro from when I played this in like 2019. Who is this man. I dislike him already. Why did he get separated from his squad. Why couldn't he just go with them? I appreciate him trying to keep me out of harms way though. Too bad Pyre-20 is NOT listening to his ass.

Then my friend logged on and we played half the recap quests. RIP Cayde-6 you were a dumb fuck back there but clearly people liked you. They sure gave this himbo a whole lot of political importance huh. (Who adopted the hunters after their collective uncle died?)

Exo stranger is still so cool. Love her.

[arsene-inc]

GilaRPGs and the Novaverse : Getting the setting out of the game line

Or What is a game line really ?

Getting out of the game line to develop a setting. What does it mean ? Well there's no better start than an exemple so let's check what Spencer Campbell or GilaRPGs is doing.

Actually no, a better start is defining the terms. Curse you leftovers from uni. So what is a game line ? In the TTRPG scene, it is usually thought as all the games that shares a Name, or all the books that share the same setting AND system. We all know the D&D line even if we sometimes wish we didn't. But there's other lines : Pathfinder, Nephilim, Knight, Vampire the Mascarade, etc...

Multiple editions ? Supplements ? That's a line, don't cross it.

But if games with the same setting and the same system are of the same line, what about game with the same setting but different systems ?

A New Challenger appears : Spencer Campbell, one of my fav. His name is often reason enough for me to buy.

(translation for a future video on my french ttrpg channel)

I could talk about the evolution of LUMEN toward a diceless,healthless system, how every other games influence this transition. I'll leave you waiting on this one.

In short, one of his big games is Nova, inspired by Warframe, Destiny and the likes. To summarize : Sun exploded. Nobody knows why. Sun shards implanted on the planet. Now the night won't leave me alone.

A Measly lot of years later, the power of these shards can be harnessed, Humanity can continue. Sparks are invented, mecha-armour to explore the Dusk and defend settlements from their many ennemies. Cause we weren't alone when the sun exploded.

Well I said invented but some Sparks...... One of them was inspired by Satan and the only thing we know about it is thus : The Sky went red and it appeard out of the Dusk. Great. No reason to worry at all. It's not like you can't make a horseman of the Apocalypse party with some other Sparks... (something my player actually did, these edgy mfers) The setting is very succint, it's a small book. But it's the Start of the Novaverse.

No, we can also find Luna and Nest in the same setting. Interesting detail : they focus on two of the enemies' factions found in Nova. And none of them have the same system. Well that may be a little exaggeration. Dusk also exists with a similar system and on the Sparks side.

Before writing about them, I will note that supplements for Nova exist. Nova Dusk Denizen. Zine sized, each zine on a singular faction with more lore, more enemies, more tactics for the GM.

So Dusk is the first new game of this Novaverse. The first to use the LUMEN 2.0, now diceless and based on ressources. For me, it's a debate if Lumen and Lumen 2.0 can be considered the same system. More importantly, this is not a supplement. This is a full game. A modular game (another discussion for the future). Nova's focus was on combat, action. Dusk is not. It is exploration. The monsters usually die in 1 hit. Clearly two distinct experiences.

Then Spencer crowdfunded and published Luna. Another change. Here we play a Nova enemy faction : The Lunar Cult. Their goal : infiltrate a city and convert its sun shard for holy moonstone. This is not the type of adventures Lumen is built for. So the game uses the Resistance system, from Spire and Heart, a more adapted system.

This rpg also does something I appreciate more and more : One type of story only, we know what we want and we will play it in a fewshot campaign, 5 sessions max.

To go back to the original question, I ask of you : Same lore, same setting, but is it the same line ? It is a different experience and a different system after all.

Last May, GilaRPGs crowdfunded Nest. Back to Lumen 2.0, still an enemy faction : the Corvus Dominion, an avian alien race. And again, a game for fewshots. Since nothing has been published about it yet,I can't tell you more.

Same setting, sorta same system, but another game.

Thus what is a line ? How do you conceive it ? A base game and supplements ? Including the various editions of its base game ?

It's not like I can't use these games for Nova. Here we have two problems for the sparks to solve. How about multitable ? Between Nest and Nova ? Between Dusk and Nova ? The players of one game reacting to the actions from the other game and vice verse ? Wouldn't that be an interesting experience ? Wouldn't you want to try ?

Plus, the novaverse is not Spencer's only setting like this. He also has Obron, starting with Rune, his solo game inspired by Elden Ring and Dark Souls, where we play an Engraved. Then comes Reap, also solo in Obron, same system, but this time, you're a necromancer.

Since the game designer opens his game to 3rd party content (another reason to love him), someone had the great and terrific idea of a Realm that works for both games. Both characters are there at the same time. On the Rune side, you fight the Necromancer. On the Reap side, you fight the Engraved.

Now we leave the Rune system to go back to Lumen 2.0 again, with a group, for Thorn, also happening in Obron. And that's all I will say about it, the game is not completed yet.

I love this concept, especially with smaller games. While not zine sized, Spencer's game usually count around 50 pages.

We can focus our game on one type of story, of adventure in a particular setting, with an apropos system. Then make another game in this setting but for another story, another system adapted to this story. No more breaking your brain to try and make a size fit all system.

Generally, with a game it's the system that gets out of the line. We create an SRD for other creators. (Don't be afraid to use SRDs , they're here for you) It's rarer to take a setting and make a new different game in it.

Imagine the possibilities : Multitables with different games, reacting to each other, especially if they have opposed goals. There are players who love a setting but hate the system, the types of adventures the base book proposes. Now they can find a game for them in this setting.

 It is (or is it ?) a new direction for ttrpgs. The world of darkness games may profess to happen in the same world, but I always found them too separated. It is something I think about when creating my own games. What would happen if I take this and change the system ? We can find similar ideas in other games.

Starfinder and Pathfinder share the same setting, the same system, bur with different scopes, in different genres.

Spire and Heart : same setting, same system, different stories. Knight and Parias share the same setting too, for the system, it is the same base, but one is heroic horror, the other is survival of the outcasts. The french author Vivien Féasson also does something similar with Perdus sous la pluie. 3 games in the same setting but one is an horror experience, one is exploration and settlement building, and the last is Life in the biggest citadel.

Let's see what sort of discussions this causes...

Wait a minute ! Isn't Obron the name he gave to the planet in the Novaverse game Dusk ? What is happening ? What secrets are you hiding Spencer !?

[ranticore]

answering oc asks all in one bunch as promised

@fair-lead

don't worry about the broken emoji it's the only one of the set so i know which question it is hehe

🪽does this character believe in a higher power?

Yes! Ishmael has a strong belief in the same higher power that every other settler of his time believed in - Atom Genetech, of course, the corporation that developed him & the other GMO humans of Siren. The reverence held towards Atom was practically religious - the Company was the reason for being there, the Company was always watching, the Company had mysterious designs upon this world which most people were not privy to.

Unlike all of us, Ishmael knew for a fact that he was designed exactly to be the way he was. He had a creator. But he also had a belief in destiny, and that it was his destiny to have been born into that strange twisted form. Once he accepted that he was never going to become normal, he had to accept that he would always be like That. Therefore it was his destiny to suffer, and the creator, his creator, made him for the sole purpose of recording that suffering.

🪱 would this character move a worm off the pavement or save it?

When he was growing up, Ishmael had not much feelings for the smaller animals around him. He was never taught to view them as anything other than strange aliens to be documented by people smarter than himself. But once he was released from active study (he got too big and uncooperative) and spent more time in the seas of Siren, the natural world, he was able to observe the smaller creatures in situ, and he found a lot of peace in that. Once he began to recover from his entire childhood, he was an emotional wreck, feeling things all at once and far too strongly and unable to dissociate from those feelings anymore. And many of those feelings involved a deep, aching pity and empathy for the animals around him, to the point where he tried to be vegan for a while. So yeah he'd move a worm off the pavement lol but only at that point (and he'd beat himself up for not doing the same in his earlier years)

⚖️ how do they seek justice?

Through violence.

@sleepvines

👛 what is always with this character?

His glasses are the obvious answer but I also think he carries with him a small library of literature wherever he goes - mainly guidebooks of deciphering ancient languages and navigational charts that point the way to the ruins of the first settlements on Siren. He already can't fly so it gives him a little bit more freedom to carry around heavy stuff than other shortwings (and, anyway, Huarva does the carrying). Hidden among his scrolls cases of important archaeological guides and lexicons you will find a collection of adventure serials which he avidly collects; monthly releases of chapters written by some of the most famous novelists of the Spire.

🪷 what gives this character inner peace?

I don't think he experiences inner peace tbh. His life is extremely hectic and dangerous and his favourite activity is debating people under the table, he might find a peaceful mindstate a little boring. He might enjoy a moment of silence while crossing the sea on the raft towed by Huarva but it would be very quickly broken by him needing to say something; he can't just sit with himself. He has to DO something.

@magmacannon

🐁 how are this characters ethics?

Qedivar: actually not too corrupt all things considered (and corruption is the way of the things at the university). When he discovered the Truth at the end of his archaeological quest, he knew that it was information he should release publicly (i.e not behind a paywall and also not after the other scholars had edited out all of the juicy bits), and he was faced with an ultimatum - release it, and risk his life, or keep it hidden and accept the nice promotion the scholars dangled in front of him. He chose to release it instead.

Ishmael: all fucked up, bouncing between extremes (as I said above). He was never raised to be someone who acted ethically or unethically, he was raised to be studied. He was never given lessons or even a good example to follow, especially since all he knew for a LONG time were the lab techs who were not ethical towards him. So an important part of his character is that he turned around and enacted the same bad treatment on the only people of the settlement he considered 'below' him, the beta phocids. He got better later, after developing a friendship with Cherta, but it was always a bit of an uphill battle to get him to behave normally, he was always hard to be around, always offputting, and had no benchmark for 'normal'.

Mia: not quite so high stakes as the other two but he is a terrible gossip and is not above opening other people's mail just to spectate on the private lives of others. Other than that he does his job well and makes sure the letters are delivered on time, which i guess is ethical?

♟️describe how they would play chess, if they would.

Qedivar: he'd be good at it for sure but overly defensive, maybe not taking advantage of as many openings as he should.

Ishmael: overturns the board the first time someone captures one of his pieces

Mia: gets 75% of the way through the game, loses interest

🦇 biggest material fear (ie heights, bugs etc)

Qedivar: heights is probably accurate. He can't fly. He also hates sipho nymphs (which resemble winged silverfish and are about a foot long) because of how they wriggle.

Ishmael: needles

Mia: drowning; a practical fear, as he spends so much of his time on the wing over the sea. He is buoyant and can rest on the water, unlike many longwings, but bad weather can be so dangerous over open water. So probably a fear of storms as well.

🛡️how does this character protect themself and others?

Qedivar: he's very bad at this. He'll try to argue, use his words, but he's a scholar and quite insulated from the real world. He can fight shortwings as part of a spirited thesis defence, but if someone really wants him or his friends dead there's not much he can do about it. He is a songbird.

Ishmael: with violence

Mia: just fly away man what's all the fuss about lol

⚖️ how do they seek justice?

Somewhat naively, Qedivar believes that justice is inevitable, and that if enough knowledge is spread, if enough people see Facts and Truths, they will naturally come to the most just conclusion on things.

Mia hasn't had to seek justice really since all he does is deliver letters and stuff but he has a 'live and let live' attitude and up to a certain degree of severity, he's probably not going to seek justice at all.

i know that guy

🪷 what gives this character inner peace?

Inner peace? what the hell is that

♟️describe how they would play chess, if they would.

If you could play a glass cannon in chess i think it would be like that. It's all attack all the time, but the defence is lacking. He IS good at 4 player chess because his opponents' attentions are divided and his bad defence isn't such an issue (unless they team up on him).

🐌 do they carry their home with them or is it a place?

He has no special attachment to any place of residence; his actual home, where he's supposed to be living, is mainly a place to store stuff (the bed is dusty at this point). He does get homesick about Ferru but more for the practical, everyday stuff than any intangible concept of Hometown(tm). He misses the climate, the food, but not the people.

🪓 would they make it to the end in a horror movie?

Not in a million years would John be a final girl. He wouldn't be the first dead, but he would be the intellectual/sciency character who tries explaining the horror away as EMF waves or whatever, and when he inevitably dies, it changes the tone dramatically because now we know it's Serious.

[vir-tanadahl]

Into the Past

Summary: Originally written in 2015, this work has since been rewritten. After the defeat of Corypheus, Solas vanished without a trace. In her search for answers, Ellana Lavellan, desperate and determined, began experimenting with the dangerous time-altering magic of Alexius. One misstep, and the spell spiraled out of control, hurling her into the distant past. When she regained her bearings, Ellana found herself in ancient Arlathan, in the heart of a grand masquerade ball. Dressed in unfamiliar finery, she navigated the opulence of the elven empire, her heart pounding as her eyes locked with a masked stranger—the unmistakable presence of Fen'harel, the man she once knew as Solas. The encounter rippled through time, altering her destiny with him in ways she could never have foreseen. (Find on Ao3)

Ellana’s gut twisted the moment the device whirred to life. She knew she shouldn't have listened to Dorian. His smug grin and charming wit had worn down her better judgment, coaxing her into playing with the time-warping magic Alexius had left behind. With Corypheus defeated, she'd thought they had time to explore such curiosities. She should’ve known better.

The second the magic flared, it all went wrong. The device crackled, pulsating with an eerie green glow as it twisted her surroundings into a swirling, smoky vortex. Before she could react, it pulled her in—its smoky green maw swallowing her whole.

Ellana’s heart raced as she landed with a thud. The world around her was quiet, too quiet. Panic rose in her chest as she surveyed the scene, the familiar dread of another mistake washing over her. Tall grass stretched out endlessly in all directions, brushing against her waist, glowing under the golden light of the setting sun. The air was thick with silence, a vast green sea shimmering in the fading daylight. She wasn't supposed to be here.

‘Cassandra is going to kill me,��� she thought, the weight of that certainty grounding her, even as her pulse pounded in her ears.

She scanned the horizon, searching for anything that resembled the world she knew. The stillness of the meadow only deepened her sense of isolation. She was alone—no soldiers, no companions—just her, standing in the middle of an unfamiliar place, with the low hum of magic lingering in the air like an afterthought.

As she turned, something caught her eye in the distance. Her breath caught in her throat as she squinted, her heart skipping a beat. She could scarcely believe it. But there it was—something she never thought she'd see.

In the distance, the landscape shifted, revealing a towering forest unlike anything Ellana had ever seen. The trees stretched impossibly high, their trunks thick and ancient, as though they had been standing for centuries. Between the trees, crystal spires twisted and curled like vines, blending with the foliage in a way that seemed both natural and magical. The shimmering structures glowed faintly in the fading sunlight, casting an ethereal glow over the landscape.

Ellana's breath hitched as her gaze followed the trees upward, where she spotted a collection of manors and chateaux nestled within the branches. Their elegant, flowing architecture blended seamlessly with the forest, as if grown from the earth itself. And there, in the spaces between, she glimpsed what might have been shops, their intricate facades winding through the canopy like the fingers of a forgotten age.

"Arlathan…" The word left her lips in a breathless whisper. Awe and disbelief coursed through her as the name hung in the air, reverberating through her mind. The memory of one of her first conversations with Solas flickered before her, unbidden but undeniable. Her heart ached at the thought of him, the pain as fresh as it had been the day he left. She had pushed thoughts of him aside, burying the emotions deep. Maybe that was why she had agreed to meddle with unstable magic—anything to keep her mind from wandering back to him.

But now, here she was. The city of her ancestors stretched out before her, its forgotten beauty pulling her forward. With nowhere else to go, Ellana moved toward the towering woodland, her feet carrying her over the soft grass. The Well of Sorrows’ voices echoed faintly in her mind, guiding her like a compass, whispering fragments of wisdom and forgotten truths as she made her way through the ancient city.

Reaching the forest's edge, she paused, taking in the sight before her. Streams of water crisscrossed the forest floor, their crystal-clear currents weaving between the trees, converging in the heart of the woodland. The rivers glimmered like silver threads under the dappled sunlight, each one winding its way toward the center as if drawn by an invisible force.

This place—it was alive, brimming with magic that pulsed beneath the surface, waiting, watching.

As Ellana neared the heart of the forest, the quiet hum of nature gave way to the sounds of life. She could hear faint chattering, the shuffle of feet on soft ground, and the clink of objects being moved. Her pulse quickened. The presence of people filled her with both curiosity and apprehension. She kept her steps light, staying close to the tree line, hoping to go unnoticed.

Peering through the gaps in the trees, she saw them—elves. They moved between small huts, each section of the village separated by the winding rivers and connected by simple, arched bridges. The huts themselves were modest, crafted from wood and stone, yet they radiated a quiet elegance that reminded her of something lost to time. The elves wore robes of soft hues—strange, yet familiar, their flowing fabrics reminiscent of the ancient tales Solas had once shared.

Ellana’s hand instinctively tugged at her own robe, grateful for its simplicity. It allowed her to blend in, at least for now. She took a deep breath and stepped forward, slipping into the village with careful, tentative strides, her head lowered to avoid catching anyone’s gaze. Her heart pounded in her chest, each step feeling like it might give her away.

But despite her attempts to remain unnoticed, the eyes of the village were drawn to her. As she passed by, she caught glimpses of the elves watching her, their expressions puzzled, their work slowing as they turned to stare. She lifted her gaze ever so slightly, enough to catch the vivid markings on their faces—*vallaslin*, the intricate tattoos sacred to the Dalish, though these seemed older, more intricate, carved with symbols she barely recognized.

The air thickened with tension, and Ellana’s stomach twisted as whispers spread among the villagers. She had failed to slip in unnoticed.

Suddenly, the chattering ceased. One by one, the elves bowed their heads to her, their confusion melting into something almost reverent. Her breath caught in her throat as she stood frozen, unsure of what to do. Why were they bowing? Her mind raced, searching for explanations, but only one thought emerged clearly:

They thought she was someone she wasn’t.

Ellana’s heart sank as her fingers brushed her cheek, the absence of her vallaslin a stark reminder. Solas had removed her markings after she drank from the Well of Sorrows. ‘These are slave markings. They think I’m some kind of noble,’ she thought, her throat tightening. Her eyes flickered over the villagers, noting the various vallaslin etched into their skin: the bow of Andruil, the fierce lines of Elgar’nan, and the graceful curves of Mythal on the face of a small child.

The village seemed to breathe around her, its rhythms unfamiliar yet laced with a forgotten history. The rivers converged ahead, forming a shimmering lake that reflected the waning sunlight. Rising from the lake’s center was a palace—sprawling and ornate, its towers stretching skyward. Two wide bridges arched toward it, connecting the grand structure to the village. A steady stream of carts moved along one of the bridges, heading for the palace gates, their wheels creaking under the weight of goods.

Ellana hesitated, unsure of her next move. She spotted a villager nearby, a girl who couldn’t have been more than fourteen, and stepped forward to ask for help. But before she could utter a word, the girl’s eyes widened with fear, and she turned, fleeing as though Ellana were a threat. The others noticed, quickly dropping their gazes, avoiding eye contact as though they feared her, too.

Reluctantly, she turned her attention to the palace. The bridge loomed before her, its stone cool beneath her feet as she began to cross. Each step echoed in her ears, mingling with the creak of the distant carts. The weight of her situation pressed down on her—trapped in Arlathan, with no way to reopen the portal that had brought her here. Solas’ face flashed in her mind, his voice reminding her of the delicate, ancient magic at play.

Her options were slim. The Well’s knowledge whispered in her mind, but offered no immediate answers. She would have to be careful, fluid in her approach, if she was to find a way back. Whatever answers lay within the palace, she would have to take them—no matter the risk. One way or another, she would find her way home.

As Ellana neared the palace gates, lost in thought, she was jolted back to the present by a sudden collision. A young elf, dressed in simple garb and bearing the vallaslin of Mythal, stumbled into her. But something about the markings caught Ellana’s eye—they were not quite like the vallaslin she knew, subtly different in their design, more intricate, as if imbued with an older magic. The girl immediately bowed low, her tone flat but respectful.

"My mistake, my lady. I humbly apologize," the girl said in fluid, ancient Elvish, her eyes lowered.

It took Ellana a moment to process the words. She had understood the language effortlessly—a tongue she had barely been familiar with in her time. The realization sent a wave of unease through her. ‘I can understand them…’ she thinks to herself, realizing the Well of Sorrow is translating for her.

"N-no, it’s okay," Ellana stammered nervously, unsure if she will be understood. She watched the girl closely, waiting for a flicker of confusion. But the elf only straightened slightly, her expression unchanged, no evidence of confusion. The girl can understand her.

The girl spoke again, her tone as polite as before. "Is there anything you need before the masquerade, my lady? Shall I escort you to the changing room?"

Ellana blinked, her mind racing. ‘Masquerade? Changing room? None of this made sense, but her heart beat a little faster with the realization that the girl saw her as someone of importance—perhaps even nobility. She was trapped in this strange time, with no clear answers, and now a masquerade was involved?

"Masquerade?" Ellana repeated, trying to keep her voice steady. "The changing room?"

"Yes, of course, your dress will be there along with any cosmetics you may have brought," the young elf continued, though there was a slight pause in her voice before she added, "Though there are always extra gowns if the tailor’s creation doesn’t please you. I shall escort you immediately, my lady."

Ellana nodded, hiding her uncertainty behind a polite smile, falling in step behind the girl.

As they walked deeper into the palace, Ellana couldn’t help but feel more disoriented with every turn they took. The grand halls seemed endless, each corridor more elaborate than the last, with soaring ceilings and walls adorned with intricate carvings that shimmered under the soft glow of enchanted sconces. She was utterly lost, with no idea how she would ever find her way out again. The weight of her situation pressed down on her with each step.

Finally, they reached a set of heavy velvet curtains. "Here you are, my lady," the girl announced with a respectful bow, pulling the curtains aside.

Ellana stepped into the room and was immediately overwhelmed by the sight before her. It was a sprawling chamber, filled with row upon row of gowns and robes in every imaginable color and fabric. The soft rustle of silk and the gentle murmur of voices filled the air. Across the far wall, vanities were lined up, each one occupied by elven ladies with their hair being brushed and makeup carefully applied by attentive slaves. Some were being laced into elaborate gowns, while others sat in elegant repose, their gazes distant as they were tended to.

Ellana stood frozen for a moment, the sight both mesmerizing and suffocating. She felt out of place, an intruder in a world she didn’t belong to—a world long lost to time. Her fingers twitched at her sides, and she fought the urge to flee, knowing she had no choice but to keep playing her role.

"Oh, my..." Ellana muttered under her breath, her bewilderment only growing as the weight of her situation pressed down on her. She was going to have to attend this masquerade, whether she wanted to or not. Asking the slave to take her back to the village would surely raise suspicion. But if she blended in at the party, perhaps she could trick someone into giving her the information she needed—maybe even a way out.

Another girl approaches, breaking through her thoughts. "Would you like me to assist you in selecting a gown, my lady? Or shall I fetch the one that was prepared for you?”

Ellana hesitated for a brief moment before nodding. "Yes, thank you," she said quietly, the words leaving her lips before she could second-guess herself.

The slave first guided her to an unoccupied vanity, the large mirror reflecting Ellana's pale face and long, unkempt hair. As she sat, the girl began to gently comb through the tangles, each stroke steady and practiced. The repetitive motion was almost soothing, though Ellana’s mind remained far from calm.

Her gaze wandered to the mirror, and that’s when she noticed it—a brand on the back of the slave’s hand. It was faint but unmistakable, a mark etched into her skin like a scar that had healed over long ago. Ellana’s stomach churned at the sight of it.

"What’s that mark?" Ellana asked, her voice careful as she gestured to the girl’s hand in the reflection.

The woman seated next to Ellana chimed in, her voice carrying a hint of idle amusement. "Oh, she’s had her magic cut off."

Ellana turned to face the speaker, her gaze landing on a striking figure. The woman had impossibly curly blonde hair that cascaded past her waist, each ringlet bouncing slightly as she shifted. Her silvery-gray eyes, however, reflected clear disinterest in the topic at hand. Beside her, a slave marked with June's vallaslin massaged oil into the woman's long locks, the scent of lavender drifting between them.

"She’s... tranquil?" Ellana asked softly, feeling her hair being gently pulled into a loose Orlesian braid, a style she recognized from her own time.

The woman shrugged, her elegant posture unaffected by the weight of the conversation. "Tranquil?" she repeated with a faint frown. "I've never heard such a term for those who have been branded." Her voice carried an air of superiority, as though the topic was beneath her. "We simply cut them off. Magic is a gift, not a right." Her words were as casual as if she were discussing the weather. "I am Imra," she continued, finally turning her sharp gaze to Ellana, her shoulder lifting slightly in an elegant shrug. "And you?"

"Ellana," she answered quietly, turning her attention back to the mirror. “What an unusual name!” Her reflection stared back, her braid now fully formed and gently pulled to one side. The slave’s hands moved with precision, delicate yet efficient.

"Showing off the neck is quite popular," Imra commented, her smile painted in a bright, vivid red. Her eyes gleamed with amusement as she spoke, seemingly entertained by the rituals of the masquerade. "Tell me, who do you plan on courting tonight?"

Ellana’s heart gave a small lurch at the question. ‘Courting someone? She barely knew where she was, let alone who would be attending. Still, Imra’s question hung in the air, and the eyes of the nearby women seemed to flicker with interest at the prospect of courtly intrigue.

She forced a small smile, hoping to mask her unease. "I’m... not quite sure yet," she said, turning back to the mirror to hide the uncertainty creeping into her expression.

Imra chuckled softly. "Playing coy, are we? Smart girl." Her voice dripped with knowing. "There are many powerful individuals attending tonight. Best to keep your options open."

Ellana’s stomach tightened, her mind racing. She was no noble, no political player in this world, yet here she was, surrounded by the intrigue and vanity of an ancient society. And worse, the deeper she slipped into their world, the more it resembled a gilded cage.

Imra laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Oh, of course! The Pantheon hosts this grand celebration once every century, or so. I'm hoping to catch the eye of a certain lord from west Elvhenan, though I won't tell you who." She winked playfully, her voice dripping with intrigue.

Ellana’s heart skipped a beat. "The Elven Pantheon? They’re... here?" she squeaked, her voice betraying her disbelief. She had no idea how to proceed, her thoughts reeling at the implications.

Imra raised an eyebrow at Ellana's reaction but nodded, as though the presence of gods was merely another detail of the evening. "Naturally. This is the time when families present themselves, hoping to gain favor and blessings. It’s a great honor, though costly. Each family must offer something to gain entry into that part of society. It’s usually slaves," she added, her tone casual despite the weight of her words, "but there have been... other contributions."

She paused thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing slightly before she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, all the Pantheon except for Fen'harel, of course. He doesn’t keep slaves. It is said he frees them."

"The Dread Wolf?" Ellana gasped, her shock evident. ‘Did the Dalish get this wrong too?’ Her mind raced with confusion. Before she could process the revelation, Imra’s expression twisted into horror.

"Do not speak his name like that! Are you deranged?" Imra hissed, her earlier lightheartedness vanishing. Her voice was sharp, her eyes wide with fear and indignation.

Ellana hesitated, startled by the outburst. "I'm sorry," she stammered, trying to soften the tension in the air.

Imra glared at her, her silvery eyes cold. "Just don’t let anyone else hear you call him that," she warned icily, her voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "You might not get off so easily next time."

"Actually," Imra’s gaze softened, a fleeting vulnerability slipping through her haughty exterior, "I’m surprised. Most girls your age find the god quite attractive. I did too, once." She giggled lightly, as if sharing a secret.

Ellana blinked, taken aback. "Girls my age?" she repeated, confused. The slave had just finished applying the last touches of makeup, and as Ellana glanced at the mirror, she gasped. Her reflection was nearly unrecognizable. Her eyes appeared darker, smoky, intensifying the golden hue of her irises, while her lips were painted a deep red, a striking contrast to her complexion.

Imra's eyes sparkled with amusement at Ellana’s surprise. "Yes, surely you’re about seven hundred years old, no?" She arched an eyebrow, then smiled approvingly. "You’ll attract quite a bit of attention tonight."

Ellana’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Seven hundred?’ The absurdity of it all was overwhelming, but before she could respond, the slave marked with June’s vallaslin spoke up, her voice calm yet deferential. "My lady, it is time to choose your gown."

"Quite right!" Imra agreed, already moving away from the vanity, her excitement for the evening palpable. "See you at the party, Ellana," she called out with a knowing grin, gliding off to find her own dress.

Ellana watched her go, the weight of her situation pressing down on her once more. She had to stay focused, had to find a way to blend in. But the longer she stayed in this time, the more alien everything felt.

The slave stood by patiently, waiting for her direction. "Shall we find your dress, my lady?" she asked, her tone polite but distant.

Ellana turned to her, her mind still spinning with the surreal nature of this world. Something tugged at her—something more than just the foreign customs and lavish surroundings. She hesitated, then asked gently, "What is your name?"

The slave paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face before she answered, her voice quiet, almost resigned. "I do not remember, my lady. Most masters call me ‘pet,’ if that pleases you."

Ellana’s heart ached at the confession, a hollow sadness creeping in. ‘How long has she lived like this?’ The thought haunted her as she moved toward the rows of gowns, her fingers grazing the fabrics. “That is not suitable…” she whispered under her breath, shaking her head.

The slave remained silent, but her hands moved quickly and deftly, helping Ellana sort through the gowns. After a moment, she pulled out a dress and held it up for Ellana to see. "How does this fare, my lady?" she asked, her tone as neutral as ever.

Ellana’s gaze fell on the gown—a rich, dark purple with a strapless heart-shaped bodice, intricately adorned with lace and sparkling jewels. The embellishments caught the light, glimmering softly. The bodice tapered just under the bust before flowing into an ethereal, silky skirt that seemed to float as it moved. It was stunning, almost too much so.

"That’s beautiful," Ellana murmured, running her fingers along the soft silk. "But... is it appropriate?" she asked, her uncertainty clear. She had no idea what was considered acceptable for a gathering of this magnitude, let alone in an era so far removed from her own.

The servant nodded with quiet assurance. "It is appropriate, my lady."

Ellana sighed softly, still unsure. She had no time to worry about fitting in perfectly, but every part of this world felt precarious. "Well," she said reluctantly, "I suppose this will do." Her voice held a note of resignation, as if she was accepting her fate for the night.

The girl bowed slightly and led her toward a nearby changing room. As Ellana followed, she glanced once more at the slave, the weight of her earlier words still heavy on her mind. She couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of responsibility—not just to escape this world, but to understand it. To understand these people, these lives lost to time.

Inside the small, dimly lit chamber, the slave worked swiftly, removing Ellana’s simple gown with practiced hands and helping her slip into the borrowed dress. The dark purple fabric clung to her in all the right places, the jeweled bodice shimmering faintly in the low light. Once the gown was secured, the girl held up a delicate golden mask, draped with thin lace. Seven small blue gems glowed faintly, casting an eerie light across the mask’s surface.

"I believe this mask will be sufficient, my lady," the girl said quietly, offering it to Ellana.

Ellana’s breath caught as she felt a subtle pull from the gems. Her fingertips brushed over them lightly. "Is that... lyrium?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. There was something unsettling about the gems, a power that hummed beneath the surface.

The girl nodded silently and began fastening the mask to Ellana’s face, her hands gentle but efficient. When she stepped back, she looked Ellana over, her expression impassive. "You are ready, my lady."

Ellana exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. "Will you be taking me to the ballroom?" she asked, hoping to delay any further interaction with the strange world she had been thrust into. The girl hesitated for a moment, thinking it over, before nodding and leading the way.

As they approached the grand vestibule doors, footsteps echoed behind them. Ellana barely had time to react before a man stormed toward them, his body radiating anger. His eyes locked on the slave. "There you are, pet," he snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. He grabbed the girl’s arm roughly, his fingers digging into her skin.

The girl showed no fear, her face emotionless as she replied in a measured tone, "I was helping."

The man’s face twisted with rage, and his hand shot up, ready to strike. Instinctively, Ellana stepped between them, her heart pounding in her chest. "I’m terribly sorry," she said quickly, her voice laced with forced sweetness. She could feel the eyes of the hall on them, the air thick with tension. Her pulse quickened as she glanced up at the man’s masked face, his raised hand still poised to strike.

The glare that met her through his mask was cold, unyielding, but Ellana held her ground. "Your slave," she said, barely able to hide the bitterness that clung to the word, "has been most helpful. I distracted her from your orders. The fault is mine." She smiled politely, though her voice carried a steely edge. "I hope you understand, with all the preparations for the ball. It’s easy to lose track of time."

The hall had gone deathly quiet. Every eye was on them, the weight of judgment heavy in the air. The man’s hand remained raised, his fury simmering beneath the surface, but he hesitated, uncertain. Ellana’s heart raced as she waited, praying her intervention had been enough to diffuse the moment.

The man made an unintelligible noise, his fury barely contained, before lowering his hand. "Fine!" he snapped, his voice sharp and venomous. "Get out of my sight!" he barked at the slave, who walked away with the same emotionless composure as before. He glared at Ellana, his gaze full of unspoken warning, before turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd without another word.

The hall, which had fallen deathly silent, began to stir once more as chatter slowly resumed. Conversations picked up where they had left off, but Ellana couldn’t shake the gnawing sensation that all eyes had been on her during the exchange. ‘I’ve made myself noticeable,’ she thought uneasily. Standing up for a slave—especially so publicly—was bound to attract unwanted attention.

Keeping her movements as quiet and discreet as possible, she slipped through the vestibule and into the grand dance hall. The shift in atmosphere was palpable. Soft music floated through the air, graceful and ethereal, a perfect complement to the elegance of the elves who mingled, their laughter and quiet conversations weaving through the melody.

Ellana kept close to the walls, her heart pounding as she tried to avoid drawing any more interest. Her eyes flitted over the scene—a sea of finely dressed elves, their masks glittering in the soft glow of candlelight. In the center of the hall, couples twirled gracefully in the large dance area, their movements fluid and practiced, as if this was second nature to them. The air hummed with opulence, but Ellana couldn’t help but feel like an outsider, watching a world she didn’t belong to.

Her gaze shifted to the second level, an elevated platform that overlooked the dance hall. There, perched above it all, sat the Elven gods and goddesses. Ellana’s heart skipped a beat as her eyes landed on them.

The divine figures were unmistakable, their presence commanding the attention of anyone who dared glance their way. Yet as Ellana’s gaze lingered on them, an unsettling realization crept in. As unmistakable as they were, they looked... normal.

Ellana didn’t know exactly what she had expected gods to look like, but it wasn’t this. The Elven Pantheon, beings of legend, whose stories had been passed down for centuries, seemed almost too ordinary. Seated above the crowd, draped in finery, they looked like any other group of highly important elves attending the grand masquerade. Her brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of it. Falon'Din and Dirthamen, the twin gods, their disinterest almost palpable, looked like skilled and regal elven nobles, not beings of unfathomable power. Even the others, whose presence should have been awe-inspiring, appeared more like ancient aristocrats than divinities.

Ellana’s heart pounded in her chest, the weight of her confusion pressing down on her. ‘These are gods?’ she thought, her mind racing. The tales she had heard growing up, and even the stories Solas had shared, had painted them as beings beyond mortal comprehension. She had expected something more—something that would immediately convey their power and grandeur. But these beings looked… just like elves. Larger than life, perhaps, but still grounded in the world she knew.

The discrepancy gnawed at her, unsettling her more than she cared to admit. It was as if the veil of myth had been torn away, revealing something uncomfortably close to reality. Were these truly the beings who once shaped the world? The ones who inspired fear and reverence? Or were they something else entirely—figures built on legend, but whose true nature had been lost to time?

Her mind spun with questions she had no way of answering. As she kept to the shadows, she couldn’t help but feel the distance between the gods and the mortals below them, yet that distance was far less than she had imagined. They weren’t larger-than-life figures towering above the crowd—they were simply a part of it, watching from above.

She notices the figure with the golden bow strapped across her back could only be Andruil. Her fiery red hair, cut short and jagged like Cassandra’s, framed a face that seemed perpetually alert, eyes scanning the crowd with a predatory intensity. Much like the goddess the Dalish revered, Andruil appeared to be on the hunt for something—or someone.

Beside her stood another red-haired woman, though her hair was less vivid and cascaded down her back in long waves. Ellana surmised this must be Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper. Though her posture was serene, there was a quiet strength to her, as though she carried the weight of a protector.

A few feet away, Ellana’s eyes caught a smaller woman with pure white, wavy hair—Ghilan’nain, no doubt. She seemed engaged in a hushed conversation with a man who had cropped auburn hair. June, Ellana guessed, his quiet demeanor matching the tales she had heard of the god of crafting and creation. The two appeared absorbed in one another, their attention focused more on their conversation than on the splendor of the ballroom.

Farther away, two figures sat in regal stillness, towering over the rest, their presence impossible to ignore. One was a woman with dark, flowing hair and an air of authority so palpable it made the space around her seem to hum. Mythal, Ellana thought with certainty. Beside her was a broad-shouldered man, his features hard and unforgiving—Elgar’nan, the All-Father. Neither of them wore masks, and yet they seemed more aloof and distant than the rest, their eyes surveying the ballroom with a cool detachment.

Ellana’s heart raced as she scanned the room, her mind whirling. ‘One is missing.’ She quickly took a sip of the wine she had just picked up, her throat tightening with the thought.

Fen’harel.

Her thoughts quickened, and she began to take magical precautions, quietly weaving protective wards to prevent the voices of the Well from reaching out toward Mythal. The last thing she needed was to attract the goddess’s attention. As she worked, a chill ran down her spine, and a voice broke through her concentration.

"How kind of you to protect that slave, all things considered," a voice chuckled softly beside her.

Ellana froze, her blood turning to ice. ‘No.’

The voice was unmistakable, deep and filled with a dangerous amusement. She didn’t dare turn her head. ‘It can’t be…’Her pulse quickened, her mind racing, but her body refused to move.

Slowly, she exhaled, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched the stem of her wine glass. The presence beside her was far too familiar, and despite all her efforts to remain calm, the sound of his voice sent her heart into a spiral.

Ellana slowly turned to face the speaker, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes locked onto stormy blue ones that were all too familiar. ‘Solas…’ she cried silently, the name echoing in her mind. But as her gaze swept over the man standing before her, she realized, with a sinking heart, that this was not the Solas she knew.

Instead of a smooth, bald head, this man wore tightly woven chestnut dreadlocks that cascaded over one shoulder, the sides of his head meticulously shaven. His smirk was unmistakably arrogant, a sharp contrast to the quiet, thoughtful mage she had known. Yet the resemblance was undeniable—his face was that of Solas, but his presence was entirely different.

"Have you lost your voice now?" he taunted, his tone dripping with haughty amusement. He stepped closer, his eyes boring into hers with an unsettling intensity. "I doubt that," he added, his voice smooth and mocking. "I heard you quite clearly a few moments ago."

Ellana’s heart pounded in her chest as he closed the distance between them. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating even, and yet she could barely process it. ‘Solas is Fen’harel…’. The truth of it slammed into her like a weight, and she struggled to keep her composure.

Swallowing hard, she lifted her wine glass and took a sip, hoping the motion would calm her trembling hands. "I haven’t lost my voice," she managed to reply, though her voice was tight, a little too forced.

Fen’harel’s eyes narrowed slightly, amusement flickering behind them. He noted the tension in her stance, the subtle hesitation in her tone. ‘Nervous,’ he thought, silently filing the observation away. His arm moved to rest against the wall just above her head, leaning in closer, his towering frame dominating the space around her.

"Are you nervous, my lady?" he whispered, his voice dropping to a dangerously seductive tone, his breath brushing against her skin as he inched closer. His eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of knowing how his presence affected her.

Ellana’s pulse quickened as she felt him encroach on her space, her mind scrambling for a way to escape. His proximity, the familiarity of his face but the strangeness of his demeanor—it was too much. Her thoughts were a whirlwind, and before she could think twice, her body moved instinctively.

Without a word, she turned sharply and began walking away, her movements quick and deliberate.

For a split second, Fen’harel was stunned. He watched her retreating form, amusement curling his lips into a smirk. A low chuckle escaped him, the sound dark and amused. ‘Well, that’s new,’ he mused, his gaze tracking the sway of her steps as she hurried away from him.

With a leisurely pace, he began to follow her, his amusement growing. ‘No one has ever walked away from me quite like that,’ he thought with a hint of humor, his eyes never leaving her as she weaved through the crowd.

Ellana rushed out onto the balcony, her breath shallow as she gripped the cool stone railing. "No, no, no," she muttered to herself, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions spiraling inside her. The evening air kissed her skin, but it did little to cool the fire burning in her chest. Closing her eyes, she focused on breathing, her heart racing beneath her ribs. ‘The Dread Wolf… Solas… literally took me, she thought, the irony hitting her hard. A small, bitter chuckle escaped her lips as she shook her head, disbelief flooding her senses.

Unbeknownst to her, Fen’harel had followed. He stepped out onto the balcony, his movements smooth and quiet. With a flick of his hand, he dismissed the guards standing nearby, sending them away without a word. The doors clicked softly shut behind him, the noise barely audible over Ellana’s frantic thoughts.

She was too lost in her own mind to notice his presence. He leaned casually against the railing beside her, his smirk deepening as he studied her. The trickster’s amusement was palpable, his eyes alight with a mischievous gleam.

"Well," he said with a low chuckle, "I’ve certainly never had that sort of reaction from someone like you before." His voice cut through the night, laced with laughter, making her freeze.

Ellana’s breath hitched as she slowly turned to face him, her pulse quickening once more. There he was—Solas, but not. Fen’harel. The Trickster. The Dread Wolf. Her mind reeled, and for a moment, she couldn’t form the words stuck in her throat. His eyes sparkled with amusement, waiting, almost teasing, as if daring her to acknowledge what she now knew.

She swallowed hard, licking her lips before finally speaking. "You’re..." she began, her voice trembling slightly before she caught herself. Her mouth felt dry, her thoughts a blur. "You’re Fen’harel," she finished, the weight of the name heavy on her tongue.

Fen’harel’s keen gaze flickered over Ellana, sensing her unease even as she tried to keep her composure. “That is correct,” he confirmed smoothly, his tone unhurried. She continued to stare him down, defiance simmering in her eyes.

"What did you mean by ‘someone like me’?" she asks, her voice firm as she took a step back, increasing the distance between them.

He tilted his head slightly, meeting her gaze with casual indifference. "Young. Female," he replied plainly, with a nonchalant shrug. "Typically, the young ladies are quite... intrigued by me. You’re the first to run." His laughter was soft, but it carried a note of amusement that only seemed to heighten her tension.

Her face remained stoic, her eyes unwavering. "No," she said, her voice sharp, cutting through his playful demeanor.

Fen’harel’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, his tone flirtatious, as he took a step closer, closing the space she had created.

"No," she repeated, her posture rigid, her resolve unmoving.

He studied her, intrigued by the resistance in her stance. For a moment, the teasing smile faded from his face, replaced by something quieter, more calculated. His eyes lingered on her, noticing the subtle tension in her expression, the way her jaw tightened, as if holding back more than just words.

"You’ve been hurt," he said quietly, his tone shifting to something darker, more perceptive. It wasn’t a question—it was a statement, spoken with the certainty of someone who had seen pain before. The lightness in his voice had vanished, replaced by a blunt assessment of the emotions she tried to conceal.

Ellana flinched ever so slightly, but her expression remained hard, giving nothing away. She hadn’t expected him to pick up on it so quickly—his ability to read her, to cut through her defenses, unsettled her. He is the one who hurt her, some thousand years in the future.

Ellana remained silent, her arms wrapping around herself defensively. Fen’harel’s gaze didn’t waver. "What fool would leave you?" he mused, his tone casual, yet there was an edge to his words. "Even behind the mask, I can tell you’re beautiful."

Her eyes flickered, betraying a momentary glimmer of pain before she answered. "A trickster," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the weight behind the words struck him with their clarity.

"Ah…" Fen’harel murmured, his curiosity piqued. His gaze sharpened, intrigued by her answer. He moved to sit on a nearby bench, his body relaxed as if he were settling into a game he already knew the rules to. "Come, sit," he beckoned, motioning to the spot beside him. His eyes never left her, watching closely for her reaction.

Ellana hesitated, her arms tightening around herself as she glanced at the bench, the space next to him looming like a challenge. "Is this a game?" she whispered, her voice tinged with wariness.

"Not at all," he replied smoothly, though there was no trace of mischief in his voice now, only a calm honesty. He leaned back against the bars, waiting. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she stepped forward and sat beside him, her posture rigid, every muscle tense as if ready to bolt.

The silence between them was heavy, but Fen’harel wasn’t one to leave space unfilled for long. "Tell me what happened," he said softly, his tone gentle but commanding, as if he already knew there was a story buried beneath her silence.

Ellana’s breath hitched, her chest tightening as the memories clawed their way to the surface. ‘If I can’t speak to Solas in the present… why not speak to him through the past?’ The thought both emboldened and frightened her. She swallowed hard, gathering her courage, though her body remained stiff with tension.

"He didn’t want to distract me from my duties," she whispered, her voice strained, as if the very words were a burden she struggled to release. Each syllable was soaked in the pain she had never fully allowed herself to voice, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on her. It was easier to speak to this version of him, where she could pretend, just for a moment, that her words wouldn’t go unheard.

Fen’harel’s gaze didn’t waver, though his smirk softened into something more thoughtful. He could sense the depth of her hurt, even if she tried to keep it contained. Her stiffness, the trembling edge to her voice—it was all too telling. He leaned in ever so slightly, his curiosity piqued by the delicate balance she was trying to maintain between her grief and her composure.

Ellana’s eyes flickered toward him, a flash of vulnerability crossing her face before she quickly looked away. Her mind raced. She had thought of this conversation a thousand times, but it never played out like this, with the ache of the past feeling so immediate, and his presence—so familiar yet so foreign—unnerving her at every turn.

Fen’harel’s gaze narrowed slightly, his curiosity deepening. "Was he one?" he pressed, his voice low, probing. “A trickster?”

She shook her head, the memory too raw to keep buried. "Not at all. He had something he needed to do—something on his own. He didn’t want my help." Her voice trembled, though she fought to keep it steady. "And then… he left. He left without saying goodbye."

Her words trailed off, the weight of what she had been holding back since that day pressing down on her chest. It wasn’t just the day Corypheus fell that haunted her—it was the day Solas vanished. He had told her what they shared was real, made her believe in something deeper, and then he disappeared without a word. The ache of that departure still stung, fresh and unrelenting, no matter how much time had passed.

Fen’harel observed her quietly, his smirk fading into something more contemplative. He didn’t interrupt, letting the pain she had buried resurface, knowing the name of the man she spoke of without her having to utter it aloud. He was fascinated by how deeply it still cut her, how it lingered in every word she spoke.

Fen’harel hummed lightly, a sound that was both contemplative and amused, before rising to his feet. With a graceful flourish, he turned to face her, bowing with a flourish that made the air between them seem lighter, more playful. "May I have this dance, my lady?" His hand extended toward her, his stormy blue eyes locked on hers.

Ellana blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking from his hand to his face. "Shouldn’t I be the one bowing to a god, not the other way around?" she joked weakly, her voice tinged with a mix of humor and disbelief.

Fen’harel straightened, a laugh bubbling from his lips, clearly not expecting her response. "Please, do not bow," he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. His laughter felt strange—so familiar and yet so foreign in this moment. He pauses for a moment, “and while powerful, I am not a god.”

A flicker of confusion danced across her features at his remark about not being a god, but there was no time to linger on it. Her brow furrowed as she eyed his outstretched hand, suspicion darkening her gaze. “Why are you being nice to me?” Her voice was low, edged with wariness as her eyes flicked back to his face. “You’re supposed to be cocky and arrogant.” Her words came out like a challenge, distrust curling around each one as she kept her focus on the hand she refused to take.

His laugh came again, light but sincere. "I am cocky and arrogant," he admitted, his smirk never wavering. "But I find myself... drawn to you. And I’d like to find out why." His tone shifted, becoming more serious, more curious. His hand remained extended, waiting.

The weight of his words made Ellana pause, her breath catching in her throat. There was a strange sincerity in his voice, something that tugged at her in a way she hadn’t expected. After a beat of hesitation, she nodded and placed her hand in his.

Fen’harel’s touch was firm but gentle as he guided her back into the grand dance hall. The moment they entered, the crowd seemed to part like water, making a path for them as they walked toward the center of the room. All eyes were fixed on them—gods and mortals alike—whispers spreading like wildfire through the gathering. The Dread Wolf, dancing with this unknown woman. It was a scene no one could have predicted.

Ellana kept her head high, her back straight, though her heart raced. Every gaze, every whisper was like a weight on her shoulders, but she met it with resolve. If they were going to watch, she would give them something worth watching.

Fen’harel stepped onto the dance floor, his movements fluid, effortless. As the music swelled around them, he drew her closer, guiding her into the rhythm. Their steps fell into sync, and though she kept her guard up, the dance itself felt like an unspoken conversation—a dance of power, of curiosity, of something deeper.

"Everyone is staring..." Ellana whispered, her voice tight with discomfort as she tried to maintain her composure. The weight of so many eyes on her made her skin prickle, and she could feel the tension creeping up her spine.

Fen’harel’s response, however, was anything but subtle. A wolfish grin spread across his face, his enjoyment of the situation evident in every step he took. "They are," he said confidently, his tone filled with amusement as he pulled her even closer, his hand firm on the small of her back. His delight in the attention was palpable, while she struggled to remain at ease.

Ellana’s gaze flickered toward the edge of the dance floor, where she noticed the remaining members of the Elven pantheon gathered, whispering amongst themselves, their eyes trained on the two of them. Her discomfort only grew. "So are your..." she hesitated, her lips tightening as she searched for the right word, "friends..." she grumbled under her breath.

Fen’harel cocked his head to the side, glancing in the direction of the gods. "So they are," he confirmed with a nonchalant shrug, clearly unbothered by their watchful gaze. His attention remained on her, and with a sudden shift, he sped up, guiding her into quicker, more intricate steps in time with the rising tempo of the music.

Ellana’s breath caught as she struggled to keep up with the pace, her heart racing not just from the swift movements, but from the intensity of the situation. ‘Why does he enjoy this so much?’ she wondered, her frustration simmering beneath the surface.

With a playful flourish, Fen’harel dipped her, his grin wicked and full of mischief. His hand slid slowly down the curve of her leg, lifting it to rest against his hip. The boldness of the gesture sent a shiver through her, and she gasped softly, her heart hammering in her chest.

"You are cocky," she whispered, her voice breathless, the accusation laced with a mixture of frustration and bewilderment. His grin only widened, gleaming with the satisfaction of having gotten the reaction he sought. He was pushing her, testing her boundaries, reveling in how easily he could unsettle her.

Her heart ached with the weight of it all. This was Fen’harel, the Dread Wolf, a being of ancient legend—and yet, he wore Solas’s face, the man she had loved. The man who, in this moment, did not exist. ‘Whatever events made him into the Solas she knew…’ she thought bitterly, ‘hasn’t happened yet.’ The pain of that knowledge twisted inside her. She longed for the Solas she had known, the thoughtful, compassionate mage, not the trickster who now held her in his arms.

Before she could gather her thoughts, Fen’harel pulled her upright, drawing her close enough that their faces hovered just inches apart. His breath brushed against her lips, and she felt the electric charge between them, heavy with unspoken tension.

His hand moved to her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle as he stroked her skin with a tenderness that caught her off guard. Slowly, deliberately, he brought her face closer to his, his gaze never leaving hers. He was watching her carefully, waiting for her to pull away, to protest—but she didn’t. She couldn’t. The confusion, the pull of familiarity, and the ache of longing kept her rooted to the spot.

And then he leaned in.

The kiss, when it came, was electric, sending a shockwave through her. It was as if time itself had bent around them, the moment reminiscent of their first kiss in the Fade. That same spark of connection flared to life, stirring something deep within her that she had thought long buried.

But it wasn’t Solas who kissed her now—it was Fen’harel, a stranger in a familiar skin.

Her body responded instinctively, memories of that first kiss flooding back, but her mind was a whirlwind of conflicted thoughts. She knew what he was, knew what he would become. Yet in this fleeting moment, the ache of her loss, the longing for what they had shared, overwhelmed her.

When they finally pulled apart, the air between them was thick with tension. His eyes searched hers, as though trying to gauge her reaction, his usual arrogance tempered by something softer, something more real.

But Ellana couldn’t meet his gaze for long. The kiss had stirred emotions she wasn’t ready to confront. Her heart ached for the man who does not currently existed—and for the one standing before her, a shadow of what had been and what was yet to come.

The grand ballroom trembled, a low rumble building beneath their feet. Ellana stiffened in Fen’harel’s arms, her senses sharpening as the vibrations intensified, rattling the chandeliers above and causing the delicate glasses lining the tables to clatter.

Then, the tremors grew violent.

Decorations fell from the walls, the ornate vases shattering as they hit the marble floor. Gasps filled the room as the assembled guests turned in confusion and alarm. Fen’harel’s grip tightened on Ellana, his playful expression giving way to something more serious, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room.

In the center of the ballroom, where moments ago dancers had twirled in elegant grace, a swirling vortex began to form. The portal—the very one that had spat Ellana into this world hours earlier—was reopening, its smoky green light twisting and expanding with a terrifying energy.

The air crackled with magic, and one by one, six shadowed figures were flung from the mouth of the portal, crashing to the floor. The guests recoiled in shock, stepping back as the six figures lay motionless, scattered across the ballroom like broken dolls.

Ellana's heart raced, her breath catching in her throat as she pulled away from Fen’harel, her eyes fixed on the portal. The energy radiating from it was wild, unpredictable, and she could feel the familiar pulse of its power tugging at her magic. The room fell silent, every eye on the figures who had fallen from the sky.

"Not again..." Ellana whispered, barely able to process what was happening. Her gaze shifted between the portal and the six figures lying on the marble floor, dread creeping into her chest.

Beside her, Fen’harel stood perfectly still, his eyes glinting with curiosity and wariness as he assessed the situation. He didn’t move, but there was an unmistakable tension in the way he watched the portal, as though he were waiting for the next act of whatever chaotic force had been unleashed.

The portal swirled ominously, casting flickering green light across the ballroom.

Relief flooded Ellana’s chest as she recognized the figures on the floor—her companions, her chosen family. She barely had time to think, her heart racing as emotions overwhelmed her. Without warning, she grabbed Fen’harel by the collar, pulling him closer, and slapped him with such force it echoed through the ballroom.

His head snapped to the side, and when he turned back to her, fury burned in his stormy blue eyes, mixed with raw confusion. The sting of her slap still fresh on his skin, his thoughts raced—her sudden kiss, the opening of the rift, and now this. It was all too much. "What was that for?" he snapped, his voice low, a mixture of anger and bewilderment.

He was taken aback, his arrogance slipping for just a moment as he tried to make sense of her actions. They had just shared a kiss filled with a fire he hadn’t expected, and now she struck him as if that kiss had never happened—as if the rift spitting out her companions wasn’t turning everything upside down. The swirl of emotions in the room mirrored the chaos inside him.

Ellana stared him down, her expression unyielding. "You’ll find out in about a thousand years—give or take a century," she spat, her voice filled with bitterness and a depth of hurt he couldn’t quite place. The fury in her eyes told him everything and nothing at the same time, and for once, the Trickster was left off balance.

Fen’harel stared at her, confusion flickering across his face. The tension between them crackled, the weight of things left unsaid hanging in the air.

She hesitated, her breath catching as her heart raced. Her voice was quiet but firm when she finally spoke, the weight of unspoken emotion hanging in the air between them. "You’ve been gone for a month," she said, her tone steady, though it trembled at the edges, betraying the torrent of feelings she was holding back. "In two days, I’ll meet you in Crestwood. The place where you left."

His brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his stormy blue eyes as he processed her words. He was caught between the chaos of the moment—the portal, her companions emerging, and the intensity of her presence. The air between them crackled with tension, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

She paused for a beat, biting her lip as if debating what to do next. Then, with a sudden surge of emotion, she gripped his collar again, pulling him toward her with a ferocity she hadn’t felt in years. Their lips crashed together, her kiss full of force and passion—like she was pouring all the things she could never say into that single moment.

It was more than just a kiss. It was a release of everything she had been holding in—frustration, longing, the pain of his absence, and the confusion of seeing him now, knowing what he would become. Her lips pressed against his with an intensity that spoke of all the moments they had shared and all the moments that had been stolen from her. It was fire and fury, desire and heartache, all bound together in the desperate need to feel something real, something that could ground her in this swirling storm.

Fen’harel’s initial shock melted away as he responded, his hands tightening around her, pulling her closer. The kiss was electric, charged with the passion they both couldn’t contain. But beneath the fire, there was an undercurrent of something far deeper—an understanding that this moment, this kiss, carried the weight of a thousand unsaid words and the unspoken truth that still lingered between them.

When she finally broke the kiss, her breath came in short, uneven bursts, her face inches from his. She stared at him, her eyes filled with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. Without another word, she turned on her heel and ran, leaving him standing there, speechless, with the taste of her still lingering on his lips and the burning imprint of her kiss still echoing in his mind.

"Boss!" a familiar voice bellowed, and Ellana’s heart lifted as she saw Iron Bull, massive and imposing, emerging from the portal. His grin was wide, his massive sword at the ready. She ripped off her mask, holding it tight, her joy spilling out uncontrollably. "Bull!" she screamed, running toward him.

Perched on Bull’s broad shoulders, Sera sat with her bow drawn, her eyes scanning the room with suspicion. "Stupid mages and their stupid magic, yeah? This isn’t normal!" she shouted, directing her frustration at Dorian, who followed behind them with an air of calm, casually fixing his hair as if they hadn’t just been thrown through time.

"Stupid Tevinter mage!" Sera bickered, narrowing her eyes at him. "You caused all of this!"

Dorian scoffed, waving her off with a dramatic flourish. "Oh, please! It wasn’t intentional," he replied, clearly annoyed. His eyes roved over the scene as he assessed the situation. "Though I must admit," he said, with a hint of amusement, "it appears we’ve landed in the middle of a party. Quite the Orlesian court affair, I’d say."

The ballroom was in chaos, nobles gasping and retreating as the sight of Ellana’s companions registered in their shocked minds. The whispering increased, but Ellana had no care for the gawking eyes or the judging glances. Her heart was full, and her mind raced as she took in the faces of her friends.

Cassandra grunted as she landed beside Dorian, her sword and shield raised, scanning the room with sharp focus. “I believe we should focus on the task at hand,” she declared harshly, grabbing Dorian by the arm and yanking him back toward her. The urgency in her voice left little room for debate.

"Now you say so, Seeker?" Varric chimed in, his tone dripping with amusement as he notched an arrow into Bianca, his ever-reliable crossbow. His eyes flicked toward the approaching pantheon, tension simmering beneath his easygoing facade.

Dorian smoothed out his robes, more annoyed than unsettled. "You rudely dragged me away from Court to time travel into another Court, Dorian? My dear, you certainly know how to impress," Vivienne drawled, her voice rich with sarcasm as she readied her magic, the faint shimmer of arcane energy crackling in the air around her.

Ellana, despite the chaos and the rift still pulsing behind them, felt a surge of joy at seeing her companions again. Her heart leaped as she took in their familiar faces, the sharpness of their banter filling her with a sense of belonging. But her relief was cut short as she looked across the room to see the Elven pantheon standing in formation, their postures rigid, their gazes cold. The gods were preparing for a fight.

Fen’harel stood at the edge of their gathering, staring at the scene with shock etched across his usually impassive face. Before he could react, one of the twins—Falon’Din—grabbed his arm and pulled him closer, their eyes locking onto the intruders with an intensity that sent a shiver down Ellana's spine. The tension between the two sides was palpable, the gods' confusion quickly giving way to a looming threat.

Andruil, her movements swift and deadly, was the first to act. With a graceful flick of her wrist, she sent an arrow sailing through the air toward the group. Vivienne, always poised and prepared, conjured a shimmering barrier in the blink of an eye, deflecting the projectile with a cold, amused smile.

"Dorian, my dear," Vivienne said, her tone light despite the situation, "do be careful, will you? The Veil is terribly thin here. I’d hate to see something get through."

Varric smirked, his eyes narrowing as he aimed Bianca. "She’s got a point, Sparkler. You sure you’ve got this under control?"

Ellana’s heart raced, torn between the joy of seeing her companions and the terror of the looming threat from the pantheon. "Dorian, please tell me you know how to get us back!" she cried, rushing toward him, throwing her arms around him in a desperate embrace.

Dorian hugged her back, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. "Of course," he muttered, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "If we can manage to gather enough power..." His voice trailed off nervously as he glanced over at the Elven gods, who were now advancing toward them with lethal intent.

“Eh? Look at all this stupid elfy crap! Look at them all dressed up in their elfy bits, hah!” Sera jokes as she makes eye contact with Fen’harel. “Is that Solas, with all his elven glory, what’s that shite?” Sera howls from her spot on Iron Bull’s shoulders.

“Sera, you are an elf! And it’s not Solas.” Ellana snaps at her as Dorian mutters about different types of power. “Yeah, boss? Well, it sure looks like him.” Bull adds. Cole, who was hidden behind Iron Bull, adding, “He has his face. Magic flows, similar yet different. He is not him yet.” He expresses, a sense of knowing.

“Who are you?” Elgar’nan bellows in anger as flames surround the group. “Damn mages,” Varric mutters in distress.

“Dorian, my mask!” Ellana pushes the mask into his hands. “The gems are lyrium shards. Seven of them. Can you use them to power the device?” Ellana rushes out as her and Vivienne cast a barrier spell to protect them from the flame.

"Yes!" Dorian yelled with glee, diving into his work as arcane energy crackled around him. His fingers moved swiftly, tracing intricate patterns of magic, while the rest of the group formed a protective ring around him, weapons and spells at the ready. Ellana’s eyes flicked between her companions and the Elven pantheon, her heart racing as she saw Fen’harel muttering angrily with Elgar’nan.

Elgar’nan stood taller than the rest, his broad shoulders tense and his long black hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck. His face was flushed with fury, his angular jaw clenched as he glared at the Dread Wolf. The two gods bickered fiercely, their voices too low for Ellana to hear, but their body language told the whole story—Fen’harel wanted to stop the conflict, but Elgar’nan, with his imposing stance, was clearly ready to strike.

"We can’t attack them!" Ellana cried, casting another barrier to deflect incoming arrows and projectiles. The magical force shimmered around her, but it was clear they were under immense pressure. "We can’t kill them—it’ll ruin everything!"

Varric, standing a few steps behind her, notched another arrow into Bianca. "Shouldn’t we be attacking now, Rosy?" he asked with his usual calm, even as chaos surrounded them.

Ellana threw up her hands in frustration, letting out a strangled cry. "Now you give me a nickname? Rosy? Really?"

Varric chuckled, even as he eyed the approaching figures warily. "It’s better than Twinkles!" he called back, the tension in the air momentarily lightened by his playful banter.

Ellana shook her head, her focus snapping back to the growing threat. She and Vivienne were casting area spells in tandem, their magic shimmering across the room in an intricate web, keeping the pantheon’s attacks at bay while maintaining the barriers against any incoming projectiles.

"We can’t kill anyone!" Ellana repeated urgently, her voice rising over the din of battle. "If we do, it’ll destroy the timeline. My people are descendants of them!" she snapped, her eyes flicking toward Mythal, who had stepped forward with a commanding presence.

Mythal’s golden eyes burned with the same intensity that had haunted Ellana when they first met. Her long, straight white-blonde hair flowed behind her as she approached, her high cheekbones giving her an air of regal authority. A powerful fireball hovered just above her hand, flames swirling and crackling, poised to be unleashed.

Ellana’s heart skipped a beat. She could feel something pulling at her, tugging at the edges of her consciousness. The voices of the Well, those ancient whispers she had kept at bay for so long, began to stir, echoing in her mind with newfound urgency. The magic was breaking free, forcing a connection she wasn’t ready for.

Her breath hitched as the voices surged forward, flooding her thoughts with a torrent of ancient knowledge. And then, like a crack of thunder, the connection was made.

Mythal’s eyes widened in shock, her golden irises glowing as she froze mid-stride, the fireball flickering in her hand. She turned her gaze toward Ellana, her expression one of surprise, realization dawning in her features.

"Hold your attacks!" Mythal’s voice boomed across the room, shaking the very walls with its force. The gods halted, their movements stilled by the power of her command. The fireball in her hand fizzled out, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

Ellana staggered, the connection with Mythal pulsating in her mind, raw and overwhelming. She could feel Mythal’s presence—her knowledge, her power, her understanding—mingling with her own. It was too much, too fast, but it had bought them a moment.

The entire ballroom seemed to hold its breath as Mythal's command rippled through the air. Even Elgar’nan and Fen’harel, who had been locked in a heated argument, fell silent. The tension in the room was palpable, every pair of eyes fixed on the goddess as she stepped forward, her golden gaze unblinking, locking onto Ellana.

"You drank from my well," Mythal stated, her voice steady, with a flicker of amusement dancing beneath the surface. Her long blue gown trailed behind her as she approached, every step measured, every movement regal. She came to a halt before the group, her eyes narrowing as she examined Ellana with a curious intensity. "How are you not dead?" she asked, the question laced with genuine curiosity, though the flame that reignited in her hand hinted at her readiness to change that.

Ellana hesitated, trying to remain composed under Mythal’s scrutinizing gaze. A nervous laugh escaped her lips. "You know," she said, her voice tight, "I probably should be. I ask myself that question far too often."

Mythal raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by the casual response. Her eyes darkened, and the flames in her hand flared brighter, casting flickering shadows across the ballroom. She was still poised to strike, and the room’s tension thickened as it became clear that one wrong word could reignite the fight.

Ellana growled in frustration, stepping forward with determination. "Look, I had no other choice but to drink from the Well," she snapped, her tone firm but edged with desperation. "I respected your temple. I willingly drank from the water."

Mythal’s gaze remained fixed on her, unreadable.

"You willingly became a slave?” Fen’harel’s voice cut through the air from behind Mythal, sharp and incredulous. His eyes burned with something unspoken, his question laced with both disbelief and a subtle anger. Mythal raised her hand, silencing the Dread Wolf with a single gesture, though his gaze remained fixed on Ellana.

"I didn’t know the price at the time," Ellana responded quickly, her voice tense but unwavering. "But my freedom, for the freedom of the greater good, is a trade-off I had to take."

Mythal hummed thoughtfully, her golden eyes narrowing as she studied Ellana with a chilling curiosity, "what is stopping me from commanding you to kill your friends, leaving you trapped here?" Her voice was dangerously calm, and with a slow, deliberate movement, she stopped walking and motioned for Ellana to come forward.

Ellana’s heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t falter. She signaled for her companions to stand down, though she could feel their collective tension rising. With careful steps, she moved toward Mythal, every muscle in her body tense as she prepared for whatever might come next.

"You," Ellana answered directly, her voice firm despite the tremor of nerves in her chest. "You are what’s stopping you."

Mythal raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the elf’s boldness. Her eyes gleamed with something unreadable as she began to circle Ellana, her gaze scanning her as though she were a puzzle to be solved. The would-be goddess’s presence was overwhelming, her power tangible in the air, but Ellana held her ground.

"Hm," Mythal mused, her lips curling into a slight smile as she completed her circle. "And so the tune begins."

The faintest chuckle escaped her lips, a sound that sent a shiver down Ellana’s spine. Mythal’s keen eyes lingered on Ellana for a moment longer before she abruptly turned away, her robes trailing behind her. The room, which had been so thick with tension moments before, seemed to exhale.

"Go, girl," Mythal said, her voice carrying the weight of finality. "Return to your own time." With a dismissive wave of her hand, Mythal accepted Ellana’s fate, as though she had seen what she needed to see.

Behind her, Elgar’nan’s face twisted in anger, his fury barely contained. His eyes flared with rage, his broad shoulders tensing as if he wanted to lash out, but he did not argue. Even Fen’harel remained silent, though the intensity in his gaze had not lessened.

Ellana felt a surge of relief, but it was tinged with the bitter knowledge of what had transpired. She had stood before gods and walked away, but the weight of their judgment still hung heavily on her. She turned rushing back to her companions, her body trembling from the tension of the encounter.

"It is ready when you are, Inquisitor," Dorian announced, his voice steady despite the lingering tension. He handed Ellana her mask, but she didn’t reach for it, her gaze locked on the man who had once been Solas, the man who now stood across from her as Fen’harel.

His face was a storm of frustration and confusion, his eyes hard and unrelenting. She frowned, her heart twisting painfully, but she wouldn’t apologize. Not for the kiss, not for the slap, not for her choice to walk away. There was nothing left to say, and she knew it.

"Alright, everyone stay close, unless of course, you want to stay here!" Dorian called out with a flourish, breaking the tension as the portal flared to life once more. The air crackled with energy, and the group began to gather.

Ellana hesitated for a moment longer, her hand gripping the mask. Her eyes flickered back to Fen’harel one last time—no words passed between them, but the silence was heavy with everything unsaid. With a quiet breath, she let the mask fall from her fingers, the sound of it hitting the ground sharp in the stillness. She moved closer to her companions.

"Get ready... and NOW!" Dorian shouted, his voice full of authority as the group rushed toward the swirling energy of the portal. In an instant, the room and the gods faded from sight, and the chaos of the past slipped away.

The portal spat them out with a jarring thud into the familiar surroundings of the Great Hall of Skyhold. For a moment, there was only silence as they all caught their breath, the weight of their journey settling on their shoulders.

“Damn," Varric said, breaking the tension with a grin as he brushed off invisible dirt. "That is something to write about." He reached down, helping Sera to her feet, who shook herself off dramatically.

“You mean the elfy bits or the magic-y bits?” Sera quipped, yanking out a chair from a nearby table and plopping down into it with a sigh. "Because both were pretty messed up."

Ellana allowed herself a small laugh, the familiar sounds of Skyhold easing the tension in her chest. They were home.

"Boss," Iron Bull rumbled as he pulled both Dorian and Cole up onto their feet. "Let’s not do that again, alright?" Cole, with his usual innocence, chimed in, “The Iron Bull isn’t afraid.”

Dorian, of course, couldn’t resist the banter. He flashed a broad smile and adjusted his robes, clearly pleased with himself. "I thought it was a fantastic field trip," he said with a gleam in his eye. “Too bad we couldn’t stay longer.”

Vivienne and Cassandra exchanged glances as they watched Ellana rush toward the throne, her hands shaking as she snatched up her staff. The urgency in her movements was unmistakable.

"Where are you going?" Cassandra asked, her voice sharp with concern as she quickly followed the Inquisitor down the steps and outside into the courtyard. Her eyes narrowed, noting Ellana’s frantic pace—and the fact that she hadn’t even bothered to change out of her gown.

She ignores the question. "Cassandra, stay here. That is an order," Ellana commanded, her tone firm, though her voice carried the weight of something far more urgent than a simple mission.

Cassandra gritted her teeth, but pressed on. "But where are you going?" she demanded again, her frustration growing as they entered the stables. Ellana’s face was set, her jaw clenched with determination that Cassandra recognized all too well—it was the same look she wore when she was about to face a danger only she believed she could stop.

"I am headed to Crestwood," Ellana replied shortly, her words clipped, barely giving Cassandra a glance as rushing out of the great hall and towards the stables. Cassandra grunted in disapproval, her brows furrowing deeply as she watched Ellana ride off without another word, her red hart galloping away into the distance. The sight filled her with unease. Whatever was driving the Inquisitor, it wasn’t something Cassandra could ignore.

As Ellana disappeared into the horizon, Cassandra let out a slow breath, the tension coiled tightly in her chest. She had seen Ellana like this before—too determined, too willing to face something alone.

"I’m not letting her go off without protection," Cassandra muttered under her breath, her resolve hardening. She marched back into Skyhold with purposeful strides, her thoughts already racing. When she found Leliana in the war room, the spymaster raised a questioning brow.

"The Inquisitor has left for Crestwood," Cassandra said firmly, her voice low. "Send your spies to follow her—discreetly."

Leliana’s eyes sharpened, her expression unreadable. She gave a slow nod, already understanding the unspoken weight behind Cassandra’s words. "Consider it done," she replied, turning swiftly to make arrangements.

When Ellana arrived in Crestwood, the world around her had already been swallowed by darkness. The cool night air clung to her skin, and the soft rustling of leaves in the wind was the only sound that broke the stillness. Her heart raced as she dismounted her red hart and quickly made her way to the place where they had last been together, where the memory of their intimacy still lingered like a phantom touch.

But the clearing was empty. He wasn’t there.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, trying to keep her voice steady even as frustration clawed at her chest. She stood still for a moment, her breath shallow, eyes scanning the empty space, as if he might suddenly appear from the shadows. But there was nothing. Just the cold wind and the aching silence that pressed in from all sides.

Her hands clenched into fists, trembling with the weight of her emotions. “He has to show,” she whispered, her voice shaking. Her mind raced, replaying their last moments together, the promises and the hope she had carried with her since his departure. “He has to!” she nearly screamed, the desperation in her voice echoing through the darkness.

She wanted to cry, the frustration burning in her throat, but she couldn’t—she wouldn’t. Not yet. There were still two more days. He had two more days, and she would wait.

Ellana paced restlessly, her mind a swirl of emotions—anger, longing, uncertainty. ‘What if he doesn’t come?’ she thought, her heart tightening with fear. But she shook her head, forcing the thought away. No. He would come. He had to.

She settled onto a rock, the tension in her body refusing to ease. The night stretched on around her, the stars glinting coldly above as she stared into the empty space before her, her thoughts filled with the man who would become the man she knows as Solas.

It was the last night she would wait. The last night she had allowed herself to cling to hope. Ellana had fashioned a makeshift bed out of dried leaves, the crackling of them under her weight a quiet reminder of how far she had come—rushing off with nothing but the clothes on her back and her staff in hand when they had returned to the present. She hadn’t even thought to pack supplies, her mind too consumed by the desperate need to see him again.

Now, as the final night stretched on, the air was bitterly cold. The dress she wore—still the one from the past—did little to shield her from the chill. She wrapped it tighter around her body, pulling the thin fabric close, trying to trap any warmth she could find. Her breath formed small clouds in the night air, the silence around her broken only by the occasional rustle of the trees.

She was tired—so tired. The weight of days spent waiting, hoping, had finally caught up to her, dragging her eyelids down like lead. The weariness seeped into her bones, and though she fought to stay alert, to stay awake in case he came, her body was betraying her.

The stars twinkled coldly above, indifferent to her struggle, and the ground beneath her was unforgiving. Ellana shifted slightly, trying to make herself comfortable on the bed of leaves, but the ache in her chest was far deeper than any discomfort of the earth beneath her. It was the ache of uncertainty, of hope slowly unraveling, fraying at the edges with every passing hour.

Her eyes fluttered shut, just for a moment. She told herself it was only to rest, only for a heartbeat, but the exhaustion was overwhelming. Her thoughts grew hazy, and the edges of her vision blurred as sleep began to pull her under. She fought it, gripping her staff tighter in her hands, but the fatigue was winning.

As her body gave in, Ellana felt a final pang of frustration—why hasn’t he come?—before sleep began to claim her, wrapping her in its heavy embrace. The last flicker of consciousness clung to the hope that when she woke, he would be there, waiting for her.

But the silence of the night remained unbroken, and as her eyes drifted shut, the darkness closed in around her.

The sharp snap of a twig jolted Ellana from her half-sleep, her heart racing as her eyes flew open. Panic surged through her, the cold air biting at her skin as she scrambled to sit up, her fingers instinctively tightening around her staff.

She turned sharply toward the sound, and what she saw froze the breath in her lungs.

Behind her stood an enormous black wolf—the Dread Wolf—its size rivaling that of a horse. The creature's coat gleamed in the pale moonlight, but it was the eyes—six abnormally large, glowing red eyes—that held her paralyzed with fear and disbelief. They gleamed like burning embers, fixated on her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

“Solas?” Her voice cracked, barely more than a whisper, as the recognition clawed its way out of her chest. It couldn’t be. Not like this.

The wolf, towering and silent, lowered its head toward her. There was a moment of stillness, an unbearable weight hanging in the air, before a swirling bright light enveloped the beast. The blinding glow twisted and spiraled around its form, and as the light slowly faded, the wolf was gone.

In its place stood Solas.

He didn’t meet her eyes. His posture was tense, his face shadowed with regret, as he stood before her, not the man she had known, but something far more powerful. Something ancient, something dangerous. He didn’t move. He simply stood there, his gaze fixed on the ground as if the weight of the moment was too much for even him to bear.

“That was not…this is not…” His voice was barely audible, and when he finally spoke, it was laced with a quiet sadness, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “This is not how you were meant to find out.”

His words hung in the night air, sharp and heavy, but he still wouldn’t look at her. His presence—the same man she had loved, the same face, yet somehow entirely different—was overwhelming. The quiet dignity he once carried now felt like the gravity of something ancient, something burdened with centuries of secrets.

Ellana’s heart pounded, her mind racing to make sense of what she had just witnessed. The truth that had always lingered at the edges of her awareness had finally revealed itself, and yet standing before it, she found herself unsure of what to feel—shock, disbelief, or the ache of betrayal that had been simmering inside her for so long.

“Solas…” she whispered again, her voice trembling, the name foreign on her tongue in this new reality.

"You lied. You lied about everything!" Ellana’s voice cracked as the words tore out of her, her fists clenched tight, shaking with rage and hurt. Tears streamed down her face, hot and uncontrollable, as the weight of his deception crashed over her like a wave. She had held onto hope, onto the man she thought she knew, but now that hope was unraveling before her eyes.

Solas shook his head, his expression filled with a regret that only deepened the ache in her chest. “I am Solas,” he said softly, though his voice trembled with the burden of his truth. “I was Solas long before I became Fen'harel.” His tone sharpened as he continued, a bitter edge creeping into his words. “And even if I had told you the truth… would you have believed me? Or would you have clung to your legends that paint me as a monster?” His voice broke, filled with anger and hurt, his frustration palpable.

Ellana’s breath hitched, her sobs rising in her throat. “I would have had you trust me,” she cried, her words shaking with the intensity of her pain.

There was a silence between them, heavy and suffocating, before she heard the soft shuffle of his feet as he moved closer. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, not yet. But he was near—closer than he had been since the truth unraveled.

“Ir abelas, ma vhenan,” he whispered, the words thick with sorrow. His voice was gentle now, the anger and bitterness fading into something raw, something regretful. Slowly, he reached for her hands, his touch soft but hesitant, as if he feared she might pull away.

In her hands, he placed the golden mask—the very one she had worn in the past, a thousand years ago, when they had danced, when the world between them had been far less complicated. The weight of it felt heavy, like a symbol of everything they had lost.

Ellana stared at the mask, her breath catching in her throat. “You kept this?” Ellana sniffled, her voice wavering as a small, sorrowful smile tugged at her lips. She held the golden mask in her hands, the weight of it both comforting and painful, a reminder of what once was. Her eyes, red with tears, shifted to Solas, searching his face for answers.

“I deserve an explanation,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together as she tightened her grip on the mask. Her knuckles turned white as the weight of everything—his lies, her feelings, the shattered trust—pressed down on her.

“You do,” Solas replied plainly, his voice carrying the deep, steady cadence of a being who had lived too many lifetimes. Before she could react, he stepped forward, gently pulling her into his arms. The warmth of his embrace contrasted with the cold air around them, and for a moment, despite everything, she allowed herself to melt into it.

“Perhaps,” he continued softly, his hand brushing through her hair, “you should have changed before rushing here, ma vhenan. You’re wearing an antique, after all.” His voice held a gentle quip, a flicker of the humor he once shared with her. His attempt to lighten the moment was subtle, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

Ellana let out a quiet snort, her tears subsiding as she managed to let out a half-laugh. “You’re an antique,” she replied, her voice still thick with emotion, but now tinged with a sliver of amusement. It was a brief, fleeting moment of their old dynamic—a glimpse of what they had been before everything had spiraled out of control.

Solas smiled. He tightened his arms around her for a beat longer, as if he, too, was holding onto the past in the same way she clutched the mask. His hand rested gently on her back, the movement soothing, though the enormity of everything that lay between them remained.

“That is not inaccurate,” Solas chuckled softly, the sound low and familiar. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, a gesture that was both comforting and bittersweet. The warmth of it spread through Ellana, grounding her in the moment as if they were the only two people in the world.

She looked up at him, her heart aching as she lifted a trembling hand to his face. Her fingers traced the sharp lines of his high cheekbones, the curve of his nose—features she had memorized long ago, back when things had been simpler. “Don’t leave again,” she whispered, her voice breaking with the weight of her plea. “Please, don’t.”

Her fingers lingered on his face, as if by touching him, she could anchor him to her, keep him from disappearing into the shadows of the world he had once vowed to leave behind. The ache in her chest was overwhelming, the thought of losing him again unbearable.

Solas’s expression softened, and he gently took her hand into his own. His lips brushed against the tip of her finger in a gesture both intimate and filled with unspoken emotion. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t hurried, nor desperate—it was soft, aching, as if pouring everything he could not say into the touch of his lips against hers.

Ellana’s breath hitched, her body melting into his for a moment. She let herself get lost in the kiss, her hands gently resting against his chest. But then she pulled back, her breath heavy, her heart pounding. Her fingers lingered against his chest as she looked up at him, her eyes searching his.

“There is a time for that later,” she whispered, her voice breathless, but firm. “You have a lot to tell me, Solas.”

Solas’s gaze darkened slightly, the weight of what she said pulling at the fragile moment they shared. His expression, though still tender, now carried the shadow of the burdens he had carried for so long. The truth that had been hidden, the stories untold—everything that he had kept from her.

He stared down at her, his expression shifting as the weight of his thoughts consumed him. His stormy blue eyes, once filled with fire and defiance, softened as they searched her face, as if trying to commit every detail to memory. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken truths, before a small, almost reluctant smile formed on his lips.

Without a word, he gently pulled her down beside him, drawing her close until her head rested against his chest. The warmth of his body wrapped around her, and for a moment, Ellana allowed herself to feel the comfort of being in his arms again, despite everything that lay between them.

He let out a deep sigh, his hand gently stroking her hair as he began to speak, his voice low and steady. Ellana remained silent, listening intently as he unfolded the story that had been hidden from her for so long.

He spoke of his past, of the ancient world she had glimpsed, the time when he was both Solas and Fen’harel—two identities that had collided into one. He told her about the Elvhen, the world as it had been before the Veil, and the power that had once been theirs. His voice was calm, but heavy with sorrow as he described the actions he had taken to tear down the thrones of the gods, to break the chains of his people.

He paused briefly, his fingers tracing idle patterns against her arm, before continuing. He spoke of the Veil, the great barrier that separated the waking world from the Fade, and of the orb—the artifact he had created, the one that had fallen into Corypheus’s hands. The consequences of that loss still weighed on him, an invisible burden that she could sense in every word he spoke.

His voice wavered slightly as he explained the future he envisioned—the removal of the Veil, the restoration of what once was. "I intend to bring it down," he said quietly, his voice filled with a quiet determination. "To restore what the world lost when I created the Veil.”

Ellana’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she tried to process everything he was telling her. The removal of the Veil—the destruction it could bring, the chaos it could unleash on the world. She had known his plan, in theory, but hearing him speak of it so plainly, with such conviction, made it feel all the more real. All the more dangerous.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His face was etched with regret, but there was also a resolve in his eyes that she couldn’t ignore.

"That’s your future?" she asked softly, her voice filled with a mixture of fear and sorrow. "Destroying the Veil... regardless of the cost?"

Solas looked down at her, his hand still resting gently on her back. He nodded, his expression grave. "It is the only way to restore what was lost," he murmured. "But it comes with a cost. One I do not expect you to agree with."

Ellana’s heart twisted painfully in her chest. She had feared this, had known it, deep down. But now that it was out in the open, spoken aloud between them, it felt like a chasm that could never be crossed. And yet, there was still that part of her that ached for him, that longed to change his mind.

But another part of her—the part that had always admired his vision, his drive, and the way he saw the world—agreedwith his plan.

As she rested against his chest, Ellana could feel the weight of her conflicting emotions pressing in on her. On one hand, the thought of tearing down the Veil, of unleashing chaos on the world she had fought so hard to protect, filled her with dread. She had spent years as the Inquisitor, saving Thedas from destruction, guiding people to safety, mending the fractures of a broken world. How could she now stand by and support something that could destroy it all?

And yet, there was another side to her, one that resonated deeply with Solas’s vision. His words—his determination to restore what had been lost, to bring their people back to the greatness they had once known—stirred something inside her. She had seen glimpses of that ancient world, felt the raw power of the Elvhen, the freedom and beauty that had been stripped away when the Veil was erected. She could understand why he wanted to restore it, why he believed it was the only way forward.

She could feel the tension building in her chest, the pull between her sense of duty to Thedas and the longing to see the world as it could be—a world without the Veil, without the barriers that had divided them from the Fade, from magic, from what was once a rich and vibrant existence. There was a small, dangerous part of her that wanted to see it happen, that needed to know what that world could be like.

Ellana pulled back slightly, lifting her gaze to meet Solas’s face. His expression was unreadable at first, but as their eyes locked, she saw it—the deep well of regret, the weight of centuries etched into his features. He was quiet, waiting, his breath still as though anticipating her next words, her judgment, as if bracing himself for her to tell him he was wrong. His eyes, stormy and filled with sadness, seemed to plead with her without uttering a word.

For a moment, Ellana hesitated. She could feel the tension in her chest, the pounding of her heart as her mind raced. The man she loved—the man who had lied to her, who had hidden so much—was asking her to understand.

But he did not ask her to walk beside him in a plan that could tear the world apart. Yet, as she laid there, with her back resting against his chest, she couldn’t deny the pull. The vision he spoke of, the restoration of what was lost, it stirred something deep inside her. Something that couldn’t be silenced.

She took a slow breath, steadying herself, feeling the gravity of the choice she was about to make. Her fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of his robes as she looked up into his eyes, her voice low but steady.

“What do we need to do?” she asked.

[lepiota-cybe-yippee]

Could you talk more about Adeline? She seems to be a really interesting character

Well- To give you the backstory- Princess Adeline Valeo was born into a world of secrecy and shadows, her existence shrouded in the mysteries of her royal lineage and the protective measures taken by her father, the king of Nijrede. From the moment she entered the world, her life was marked by the delicate balance between her divine heritage and the mortal realm. Born in the heart of Nijrede, the capital city of Lavinia, Adeline's early days were filled with the whispers of court intrigue and the weight of her family's expectations. Her mother, once revered as the spirit of victory, had chosen to forsake her divine duties for love, a decision that ultimately led to her fall from grace. Adeline's father, burdened by the consequences of her mother's choices, sought to shield his daughter from the scrutiny of the outside world. From a young age, Adeline knew nothing beyond the walls of the royal castle, her world confined to the lush gardens hidden beneath its towering spires. In this secluded sanctuary, she found solace amidst the vibrant blooms and winding pathways, her spirit as free as the butterflies that danced in the sunlight. Yet, even within the confines of her gilded cage, Adeline's spirit remained unbroken. Enthusiastic and endlessly curious, she possessed a boundless imagination that soared beyond the confines of her sheltered existence. Her days were spent in pursuit of knowledge and adventure, her laughter echoing through the tranquil gardens like music. Despite her father's efforts to shield her from the harsh realities of the world outside, Adeline's curiosity only grew with each passing day. She yearned to experience the wonders of the world beyond the castle walls, to see the beauty of her homeland with her own eyes, and to forge her destiny. But as she grew older, Adeline began to sense the weight of her father's expectations pressing down upon her. With each passing year, the whispers of courtiers grew louder, their eyes lingering on her with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. It became clear to her that her father harbored doubts about her ability to rule, doubts born from her mortal heritage, and the stigma of her mother's choices. Yet, despite the doubts that clouded her father's mind, Adeline refused to be defined by the circumstances of her birth. She embraced her dual nature, embracing both her mortal flaws and her divine lineage with equal measure. And though she remained hidden from the world, she knew that her spirit could never be contained.

(this is her Gilded cage under Nijride's Castle. I use a lot of different names for it but i generally refer to it as The Forgotten Garden)

[youcantdateosmosisjones]

Sparrow is such a tragic figure to me.

Despite spending most of their childhood in the slums, they still had moral building blocks and dreams for the future- only for Theresa's plan with Lucien to fuck up so exponentially that Sparrow is traumatized for life... but whose pain is steered back to be utilized to support Theresa's agenda. One way or the other. Wether or not she cared about Sparrow doesn't really matter, because she still got what she wanted in the end.

Right? So Sparrow spent years of their life dedicating themself to their quest for revenge (oblivious to Theresa's plan); sacrificing their own life in the process; only to not only loose everyone along the way, but also get stranded by (potentially) the only semblance of family they had left.

How you play the game morally, and the wish you make at the end is super important to your own interpretation of Sparrow- but in MY game Sparrow literally cannot break from what their motivation drilled into them. Duty; sacrifice; destiny; all that crap... But, like, it goes beyond the mission. The one time they committed to something purely because they wanted to and they could (having a family), they were 1) separated from them for the majority of the time because of the mission, and then 2) Lucien straight up had them killed. Same with her dog. So yeah no their entire life experience fucked them up pretty good in terms of how they view pursuing personal desires.

So, naturally, when it comes time for them to make the wish they're still committed to the 'greater good' because that's what a hero is supposed to do. It's how they were raised, and the only thing that makes sense to them. So many people suffered like Rose did at the hands of Lucien, and the only way Sparrow believes they can make up for the lose of their lives is by sacrificing their own. They truly do believe that if they are whatever the people need forever that one day the guilt from loosing whatever life they, Rose, and everyone else could've had will one day disappear- as if it's a debt to be repaid.

But, like, that's not Sparrow. That's the hero figure they turned into. Sparrow is the fucking shit. Living it up in taverns, "fuck it, we ball", and going on silly little adventures was Sparrow's whole thing. And then the Spire happened and they got all weird- but that's a whole other discussion for a whole other post.

Sparrow gets left behind with no compass or proper resolve, but is also a grown ass adult... now what? They go about the next few years just doing quests and favors for the people, right. It's a simple life that fills the time, and hey; maybe one day they'll finally reach inner peace. Get a small farm in the countryside, learn to live off the land, and enjoy the small joys of nature as the world no longer needs you. You did a good thing, and now you can rest- NOPE, NEVERMIND. THERESA'S GOT SUN TO SAY.

So yeah those barely processed feelings from before and the mindset that caused them so much difficulty resurfaces and they spend literally they rest of their life dedicating themself to a half-thought out political campaign for... some reason they don't even really understand. They still help out the people and try to help the kingdom wherever they can, but like... they don't understand why? They don't even know how to run a kingdom. I feel like they would've found it amusing if they allowed themselves to feel the sense of joy and pleasure they've been deprived of for so long (especially since Rose's dream of living in the castle rubbed off on Sparrow all those years ago), but they just... can't, anymore.

I think having a family again helped. At least a little bit. It was... different. Sparrow was constantly terrified of the future awaiting one of the two, but tried not to let it affect them too much. I mean, they didn't grow up in the same place that they had, and that's enough to being them a little bit of relief. They'd do all the could to leave behind a promising start to them- knowing that they wouldn't be there to guide them. God, they hope they have an easier time than they did.

Sparrow dies relatively young, and without internal peace or resolve. They never got to truly feel proud of the good they did, even about their greatest personal triumph. They will only exist as how they impacted the world.

[theblackbookofarkera]

Ivory Spire

The Ivory Spire looms over Hazut-kleg, a beacon of power and mystery. The tower, carved from pure white stone, rises from a colossal base of black obsidian that dwarfs the surrounding buildings. The contrast between the light and dark materials creates a striking impression, as if the tower is a bridge between two worlds.

The Ivory Spire is the home of the Tall Priests of Haztura, the most revered and feared clergy in the city. They serve the patron god of Hazut-kleg, Haztura, a god of the mind and the secrets. Haztura is a distant and aloof deity, who rarely intervenes in mortal affairs. The Tall Priests seek to commune with him, to gain his favor and his wisdom.

The Tall Priests ascend the thousands of steps that spiral around the tower, reaching the highest levels where the air is thin and cold. There, they believe, Haztura can hear their prayers and pleas more clearly, and perhaps grant them a glimpse of his divine plan. The Tall Priests wear long robes of ivory and silver, and adorn their heads with metal crowns that amplify their thoughts.

A large crack runs along the length of the tower, a flaw that has never been fixed. The crack is a reminder of the tower's origin, a legend that few dare to speak of. It is said that the tower was once a weapon, a device that could unleash the power of the mind and bend reality to one's will. The crack was the result of a failed experiment, a cataclysmic event that nearly destroyed the tower and the city.

The Tall Priests claim that the crack is a sign of Haztura's will, a test of their faith and devotion. They say that the crack will grow and widen, until one day the tower will collapse and bring the end of the world. They say that this is the destiny of Hazut-kleg, and that only those who serve Haztura will be spared. They say that the Ivory Spire is the key to salvation, or to doom.

[katieskarlette]

Between Wrathion and Sabellian... who has your vote? 👀

I've been asked this several times, and been thinking about it. I think part of why it's hard for me to decide is because I think there are some great stories to be told either way.

If Sabellian becomes Aspect, Wrathion would have to find a new purpose in life, or do freelance Earth Warding, so to speak. He'd be free to choose his own path in a way he has never been, which might be a blessing in disguise. Or Sabellian could turn out to be a bad guy and Wrathion would have to lead a coup. Or Sabellian could turn down the position because he realizes that Wrathion is what the flight needs for a fresh start, untouched by corruption. Lots of potential there.

If Wrathion becomes the Aspect, it could be a glorious culmination of all his efforts, a sort of "and he lived happily ever after" destiny...or it could turn into a disaster because he's immature, brash and impulsive. Or it could start out bumpy but we could watch/help him grow into the role. Or Sabellian could lead a coup against him. Or Wrathion could turn down the position because he eventually realizes his own shortcomings and recognizes Sabellian's superior experience. Tons of potential there, too.

Or...Ebyssian could show up and try to make Sabellian and Wrathion stop fighting about it, and everyone is like, "Wow, now there's a level-headed dragon who can smooth over conflicts, is uncorrupted, and has leadership experience. Let's pick him instead." I know a lot of people have suggested this with varying degrees of seriousness, but I actually wouldn't mind if it became canon. It wouldn't mean Wrathion and Sabellian would have to go away and not be in the story anymore; if anything it would free them from obligations and let them get up to different shenanigans.

That's from a writing/storytelling viewpoint.

If I was a black dragon myself, I'd either have been hiding somewhere on Azeroth, trying to evade Blacktalon assassins since Cataclysm, or I'd be arriving with Sabellian from Outland now. In that case, I'd be more inclined to vote for the devil dragon I knew.

If I was deciding as a mortal (i.e. non-dragon) character in Azeroth watching this all unfold, I'd be more apt to side with the guy I've worked alongside for years. I watched him geek out over mogu and mantid artifacts in Pandaria. I accompanied him through the August Celestials' challenges and heard the genuine fear and despair in his voice when he spoke of his apocalyptic visions of the Legion's return. I read the logbook detailing how he saved some of Admiral Taylor's troops from death cultists in the Spires of Arak. I saw him risk life and limb to take down N'Zoth. Yes, he's made mistakes, but so do we all. He means well and he's not afraid to throw himself into the action in pursuit of his goals.

As for game mechanics and purely personal sentiment, of course I'll side with, and do quests for, my precious son on my main character. That doesn't mean the first alt I get to 70 will, though...

Most of all, I love both characters and their stories, and don't like to see fans bashing one to support the other. They both have flaws and strengths, and (barring Old Gods turning puppet masters again) I think they both would be fine Aspects.

I also don't want to set my heart on a particular outcome because that's just setting myself up for disappointment. Even if Blizzard's storytelling seems to be improving with this expansion, their recent track record has made me wary. I love the black dragonflight story so far, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it continues to be awesome, but if it takes a nosedive I won't be utterly shocked. Best to keep my expectations low.

So, uh...short answer? Wrathion.

[spartanlocke]

Lightfall spoilers below

I am once again wishing everyone who complained that the Traveler “stole our kill” during the Red War a very stubbed toe.

Thanks to all the bitching and moaning for what was a very fitting and impactful moment in Destiny’s story, Bungie has become convinced that the Guardian must always be the one to kill the bad guy, otherwise players might feel that they were “robbed.” And we can’t have that, now can we?

Ever since Caiatl was introduced as a character she was driven by her desire to kill her father, she said over and over again that she would be the one to kill Calus, so we all thought she would, because Bungie seemed to be building up to it and it’s fitting for her.

Instead she stays behind and we just shoot Calus to death.

Calus was defined by his desire for power. His endless hunger for everything. Something that the Witness nurtured into a imperishable need to be the end. He is hedonistic, yes, but he was cunning and powerful and had the killcount to prove it. He didn’t just laze around and let everyone else do the work for him, even though his subjects did help, he conceived the plan, moved the pieces, and got his hands dirty. Not only does lore not from his biased PoV confirm this, but see it ourselves when he was introduced as literal raid boss, fighting the Guardians to see if they can prove their strength. He fights Ca’our in Spire of Stars, he uses his run-down robots to kill intruders, he murders hundreds of his own subjects to feed the Egregore; he’s literally a one-man army fueled by megalomania.

But he doubts the Witness, doubts that it will fulfill his desire to be the very last at the end, so what does that say about his motives, his desires, which come to conflict with the Witness’s?

...Apparently it says he just sleeps through the whole campaign until the Witness yells at him to get back to work, then we just shoot him to death.

All those years of buildup and carefully constructed characterization, thrown away because players told Bungie that our Guardian needs to always land the final blow.

Anyway, hope y’all are happy, Bungie gave you want you wanted!

.

.

.

UPDATE: OKKKK got all that out of my system, feel better now.

Despite that I will say that all in all, I like Lightfall! There were a lot of things it could’ve done better but overall I really enjoyed the experience! Strand is tricky to master but I am really enjoying it, the environment and music are 11/10 as always, and the Cloudstriders (Nimbus my beloved) continue to be a very intriguing addition to the story and I love the entire concept of the CloudArk and allowing the citizens to be part of the patrol zones without actually being there. I’m a bit disappointed we still don’t know what the Veil is but it’s normal for Bungie to reveal things in bits and pieces rather than all at once. Also like the foreshadowing Nezarec is getting, feels a bit on-the-nose but I find it preferable compared to how Rhulk just appeared out of nowhere (no shade though VotD definitely made up for that)

Some people are saying the campaign felt like a filler and while I can kinda see it, I can also see why Bungie would’ve done that. The whole reason we're getting The Final Shape is because Bungie realized three expansions was not enough to conclude all the plot threads they were building, so they had to include another expansion to make room. Lightfall‘s conclusion allows them to temporarily Vault the Witness allow the Witness to exit the stage so they can focus on concluding the stories of Xivu Arath, Mara Sov and Clovis Bray before finally taking on the Witness in The Finale Shape.

...I just hope Bungie does them more justice than they did Calus and Caiatl.

[awellboiledicicle]

[stumbles in with my pre-passover gummy bears]

GUYS FABLE/ELDEN RING AU THOUGHT

what if Theresa is able to see in other worlds because an outer god chose her and now she’s using the Spire like Marika used the Erd Tree, just in a far more contained and secretive manner?

What if The Tarnished of No Renown is the sibling of Logan and the hero of brightwall? Like long ago one of the Tarnished in Godfrey’s army settled in Albion--against all common sense-- and had kids with a Hero and it spiraled from there. Perhaps the weirdness of the Lands Between contributing to how weird the fourth type of hero is in general.

Imagine if they’d died on the same expedition where Logan faced the Crawler and the damage was just too great to be countered by Hero Blood. All they remember is cold and pain and laughter... followed by darkness. Then, decades later, they awake to the cave they died in. A glitter of gold worming its way from their palm to their chest. With it, an intense need to go somewhere, but where? Enter Theresa. They recognize her, of course they do-- Sparrow spoke of her often. The tone and impression of these talks varied, but she was still a common topic. Mostly good, though. Mostly. She tells them that death, it seems, is no longer their destiny. So she tells them that they must go on a journey, one even grander than their parent went on--far, far afield, beyond the wall of fog even the best cartographers were puzzled by.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Theresa teleports them to the Chapel of Anticipation with no further guidance than “Seek the Elden Ring” and imparting upon them a guild seal so they may grow in experience. 

They get knocked out falling from the cliff and are sick of caves. Just deeply sick of them when they wake up later. 

They assume Varre is a bandit and is just happy to not be instantly attacked. They assume everyone in the Lands Between is either insanely skilled or insanely brave for being outside. Melina chooses them because they seem rather impossibly determined.. and totally not using runes. When she lays a hand upon them, she can see the memories of thousands of beings interwoven into their very being. See the runes sitting untouched as their very soul plucks information from these slain spirits clinging to them and then... consumes it. Becomes stronger from it. She doesn’t know what they are, but she knows them not to be a tarnished. She chooses them regardless because she has... no other real option.

They do honestly, with complete confusion, ask Margit what the fuck he is while they’re fighting though. “You’re too big for a Hobbe, too thick to be a balvarine-- did your mum fuck a troll?” This does nothing to stop Margit’s dislike of them.

The Roundtable just assumes they’re tarnished and.... old. Or just sort of dim. Which is not true, their knowledge base is just.. Albion and Aurora centric. Some Samarkand and northern land info, but not much.

I imagine they wouldn’t wear armor and that would make everyone either impressed or deeply nervous.

Ooh Theresa could appear about midway through their quest to try swaying them to give the physical manifestation of the Ring to her upon quest completion. To ‘safeguard’ as she has the Spire. But Hero here has been learning and growing attached to this place and is reasonably sure the lands between would have some major, major bad news come if the ring physically left. “world in its influence collapsing” bad news. “Scarlet rot running rampant because the greater will isn’t keeping it in check” bad. But it could turn out she was pulling a Fable 3, turning them against everyone else so it would be easier to manipulate them so her outer god could take over. She could probably convince them that they would be countering the god of rot, appearing at a grace in Caelid and talking there. Melina stays hidden during Theresa’s invasions.

Ooh that could spur them trying to gather allies over just killing things, because then there’d be a structure to the land they’d inherit-- a net of influence to air recovery. A reason to apologize for calling Margit’s mother a trollfucker. Especially given they’d find out its Marika at some point and go “oh, well. uh. oops”

Oh no i’m drafting this in my head and it owns bones.

[star-wars-writing]

Return of a legacy - Chapter 3

As Alaenna and Mace Windu, flanked by the loyal cohort of clone troopers, made their approach to the Jedi Temple, the air seemed to thicken with unspoken history. 

The Temple itself, a behemoth of ancient design, rose defiantly against the Coruscant skyline, its spires like fingers stretching towards the firmament, attempting to touch the very essence of the Force.

The city's relentless energy subsided here, giving way to a profound silence that reverberated with the echoes of millennia. The Temple's walls, steeped in the light of dawn, shimmered with a golden hue, each stone a silent guardian of the peace within. The air was alive, not with the sounds of the city, but with the quiet hum of the Force, a sacred chorus felt only by those attuned to its call.

Alaenna's steps were hesitant, the weight of her destiny heavy upon her shoulders. Her gaze traveled up the impossibly high columns, each one carved with the intricate histories of the Jedi who had come before her. The grandeur of the Temple was not just in its architecture, but in the weight of the legacy it carried—a legacy she was about to inherit.

Beside her, Mace Windu's presence was as commanding as the Temple itself. His voice broke the silence, steady and reassuring. "Remember, the Temple stands not just as our home but as a symbol of our service to the galaxy. Let it ground you."

Alaenna nodded, her throat tight with the enormity of the moment. "I feel as though I am stepping into a dream—or perhaps from one," she confessed, her voice a mere whisper against the grandeur that enveloped them.

The clone troopers, their armor a stark contrast to the Temple's ancient stones, moved with disciplined purpose, a silent guard to the unfolding prophecy. Their helmets hid their expressions, but their postures spoke of respect and a keen awareness of the gravity of their charge's introduction to the Jedi Council.

Commander Ponds, leading the escort, glanced back at Alaenna, his voice gruff but not unkind. "This place... it changes you. You'll see." 

His words, though cryptic, carried the weight of experience.

As they crossed the threshold, the interior of the Temple opened before them, a vast expanse of wisdom and tradition. 

The air here was cooler, infused with the scent of ancient texts and the soft, pervasive glow of holocrons. The buzz of distant conversations filled the space, a tapestry of lessons imparted and knowledge sought.

Padawans paused in their training to stare, their eyes wide with curiosity and an unspoken question: Was she the one from the visions, the harbinger of change? Their masters, cloaked in the dignity of their rank, regarded her with a more practiced subtlety, yet she felt the intensity of their scrutiny as if it were a physical touch.

Mace led her through the halls, a path he had walked countless times, each step a measure in the rhythm of the Force. "The Council awaits," he said, his voice betraying none of his thoughts. "They will see in you what I have seen. Be honest, be open, and let the Force guide your words."

Alaenna drew a deep breath, steeling herself for the meeting that would decide her fate. The Council Chamber's doors loomed before her, the gateway to her future. With a glance at Mace, she stepped forward, ready to face the Council and, in doing so, embrace her destiny within the hallowed halls of the Jedi Temple.

Alaenna stood before the ornate doors of the Council Chamber, her fingers tracing the ancient grooves etched into the wood—symbols of the Force in its myriad forms. The doors were a boundary between her old life and the destiny that murmured through her veins. The clamor of the Temple's activity hushed as if in reverence to the moment she faced.

She turned to Mace Windu, her guide in this labyrinth of future and past. 

“Master Windu,” she began, her voice a blend of trepidation and resolve, 

“what lies beyond—is it the future I've seen in my dreams?”

He regarded her with a gaze that held the depth of space itself. 

“The future is a shifting tapestry, woven by our choices,” Mace replied. “Trust in the Force, Alaenna. It flows through you as strongly as any Jedi I have known.”

The voice within, her ethereal compass, stilled to a whisper that brushed against the edges of her consciousness, offering no guidance, only the certainty of its presence. She felt the weight of countless gazes upon her—the curious, the doubtful, the hopeful—all converging on this fulcrum of her fate.

The doors parted, a silent herald of her entrance, revealing the semicircle of the Jedi Council. The chamber was a sanctum of serenity, the air thick with the residue of deliberations that had shaped the galaxy. The Council members, stewards of peace, regarded her arrival with an array of expressions—some like open books of encouragement, others as inscrutable as the void

**** 

Whilst Alaenna had stood in front of the council there was something more going on. In the heart of the Jedi Temple, the Council Chamber thrummed with an unspoken anticipation. The high, arched windows cast long, ethereal shadows across the ancient stone, bathing the room in a solemn, almost mystical light. At the center, a young woman stood, her presence a quiet storm of potential and mystery.

Alaenna's eyes, wide with a mix of reverence and nervousness, flicked across the faces of the Jedi Council. The weight of their gazes, heavy with curiosity and scrutiny, pressed upon her, yet she held herself with an innate grace, a stoic calm belying her inner turmoil.

Plo Koon, his mask hiding any outward reaction, felt a deep, resonating connection with the girl. As his gaze settled on Alaenna, a flicker of recognition sparked within him. This was the one from his vision, the one the Force had whispered about in silent echoes through the corridors of his mind. There was a sense of destiny entwined with her very essence, a feeling so profound it resonated in his very core.

Beside him, Obi-Wan Kenobi's usually composed demeanor was laced with a subtle intrigue. His keen eyes, honed by years of discernment, studied Alaenna with an intensity born of deep contemplation. In his mind's eye, the vision he had experienced – a vision of a figure cloaked in light, a harbinger of change – overlaid perfectly with the girl before him. It was a realization that stirred a rare uncertainty in him, a sense of monumental purpose that was both exhilarating and daunting.

Alaenna, acutely aware of their stares, felt an inexplicable pull towards the two Jedi Masters. It was as if invisible threads of the Force were weaving a connection between them, a bond that transcended mere physical presence. She could feel their thoughts brushing against the edges of her consciousness, like leaves caught in a gentle stream.

Mace Windu, his expression inscrutable, observed the silent interplay. He sensed the unspoken communication, the ethereal dance of emotions and realizations occurring before him. His mind, always calculating, recognized the significance of this moment – the convergence of prophecy, destiny, and choice.

The air in the chamber seemed to thrum with an unseen energy as each member of the Council reflected on the gravity of the situation. The Force swirled around Alaenna, a tangible presence that whispered of great trials and greater triumphs.

In this sacred hall, where so many fates had been decided, Alaenna stood at the precipice of her journey, a journey that would intertwine with those of Plo Koon, Obi-Wan, and Mace Windu. A journey that would shape the very fabric of the galaxy.

Their thoughts, though unspoken, resonated with a singular clarity – they were witnessing the dawn of a new era, one that this young woman, Alaenna, would play a pivotal role in forging. The weight of history, the hope of the future, all rested in the balance, teetering on the edge of the unknown.

As the Council meeting concluded, there was much to be done, many challenges to face, but in this moment, they had glimpsed the future. And in that future, Alaenna shone like a beacon, a guiding light amidst the shadows of uncertainty.

Whilst the council meeting went on, Alaenna, her figure small and solitary, sat cross-legged on the cool, smooth floor outside the Jedi Council chambers. The vastness of the Temple loomed around her, its grandeur and ancient wisdom echoing through the silent halls. She felt adrift in a sea of history and expectation, a single leaf caught in a current much larger than herself.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, her gaze fixed on the ornate door of the Council chamber, awaiting Mace Windu's return. The only familiar face in a sea of strangers, he was her anchor in this bewildering new world. The clone troopers, her temporary companions on the journey here, had departed, leaving her in this place of intimidating serenity.

Alaenna's mind churned with thoughts and emotions, a whirlwind of uncertainty and wonder. The pull she had felt towards the two other Jedi in the chamber, Plo Koon and Obi-Wan Kenobi, lingered in her consciousness, an unexplained yet undeniable force connection. Who were they? Why did the Force draw her to them? Questions danced like shadows at the edge of her understanding.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to center herself. The Force around her was a living, breathing entity, its whispers both comforting and confounding. It was like a melody she could almost grasp, a song sung just beyond the edge of hearing. 

In the stillness, she sought clarity, reaching out with her feelings to touch the invisible threads that bound her to this place, to these people.

In the quietude of her reflection, the Force seemed to respond, its voice a gentle caress against the turmoil of her thoughts. It was a reassurance, a subtle guidance, coaxing her to trust in the path laid before her. She didn't have to prove herself; she simply had to be, to exist in harmony with this ancient energy that coursed through her.

Meanwhile, unseen by Alaenna, a few curious Padawans and Jedi Knights passed by, casting surreptitious glances towards the newcomer. Whispers of her unique arrival and the Council's interest in her had already begun to circulate. To them, she was an enigma, a puzzle that piqued their curiosity and speculation.

Inside the Council chamber, the Jedi Masters continued their deliberation. Mace Windu, his thoughts occasionally drifting to the young woman waiting outside, knew the weight of responsibility that rested upon their shoulders. They were not just training a potential Jedi; they were shaping a destiny that could alter the course of the galaxy.

As Alaenna sat there, enveloped in the embrace of the Force, she felt a budding sense of belonging. This was where she was meant to be, where her story would unfold. The answers she sought may not have been clear, but she felt a growing confidence that, in time, all would be revealed.

The sound of the chamber doors opening gently roused her from her meditation. She looked up to see Mace Windu emerging, his expression a blend of solemnity and kindness. 

Mace Windu stepped out into the corridor, his eyes immediately finding Alaenna. She looked up at him, a mix of apprehension and hope in her eyes. The grandeur of the Jedi Temple seemed to shrink around her, focusing all attention on this pivotal moment.

Before Mace could speak, Plo Koon and Obi-Wan Kenobi approached, their strides purposeful yet measured. Alaenna watched as the three Jedi Masters convened, a trinity of wisdom and power.

She could feel the weight of their discussion, even if their words were lost to her.

Plo Koon, his voice modulated through his mask, spoke first. "Master Windu, we must discuss the vision – the one that led us to her." His gesture towards Alaenna was subtle yet filled with significance. The Force around him seemed to hum with a quiet intensity.

Obi-Wan, his expression thoughtful, added, "The Force has been insistent in its message. We are to guide her, to be not just her teachers but her protectors." There was a solemnity in his voice, a recognition of the duty that the Force had entrusted to them.

Mace regarded them both, his deep-set eyes reflecting the gravity of their task. "I have felt it too," he admitted. "The Force is unusually clear in its intentions. She is not just another Padawan. Her presence here is the will of the Force."

Alaenna, observing from a distance, felt a surge of emotion. The connection she had sensed earlier with these two Jedi – it was real, a thread woven by the Force itself. She could almost hear the echoes of their conversation, the resonance of their shared destiny.

The Council had expressed a desire to understand her, to observe and evaluate. But the Force had already spoken, its voice unequivocal. These three Jedi were to be her mentors, her guides on the path she was to walk.

As Plo Koon and Obi-Wan spoke with Mace, their conversation was observed by others. Jedi of various ranks paused in their tasks, their curiosity piqued. The arrival of a new and unique Padawan, especially one surrounded by such mystery and significance, was a rare event.

Mace turned towards Alaenna, motioning for her to join them. 

As she stood and approached, a sense of destiny enveloped her. This was more than a mere meeting; it was the beginning of something monumental, a turning point in the tapestry of the Force.

Plo Koon and Obi-Wan regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and respect. In her, they saw a reflection of their own journey, a reminder of the ever-unfolding mysteries of the Force.

"The Council wishes to take time to know you, Alaenna," Mace began, his voice firm yet kind. "But we three feel the Force's insistence. We are to be your masters, to guide you in ways that perhaps even the Council does not yet understand."

Alaenna nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. The honor and responsibility were overwhelming, yet she felt a deep-seated readiness.

In the grandeur of the Jedi Temple, silence often spoke louder than words. As Alaenna and her three Jedi Masters – Mace Windu, Plo Koon, and Obi-Wan Kenobi – traversed the intricate hallways towards a more secluded spot, their journey was marked by a profound quietude. This silence was not awkward or heavy, but filled with a tacit understanding, an unspoken communion that resonated deeply within each of them.

Alaenna, walking alongside these legendary figures, felt a surreal sense of displacement. Just moments before, she had been a stranger in this vast temple, an unknown entity amidst the sea of history and tradition. Now, she walked with those who would become her mentors, her guides in this new and mystifying world of the Jedi.

The air around them seemed to thrum with the Force's approval, its energy a tangible presence that enveloped the group in an unseen embrace. Alaenna could sense the subtle currents of the Force, its ebb and flow echoing the rhythm of her own heartbeat. There was a harmony in their steps, a synchrony that transcended physical movement and ventured into the realm of the spiritual.

As they moved through the Temple's less frequented corridors, they passed ancient murals and statues, silent sentinels of the Jedi Order's storied past. These artifacts whispered tales of valor and sacrifice, of knowledge and enlightenment. 

To Alaenna, each step felt like a journey through time, each turn a page in a book yet to be written.

The Jedi Masters, each lost in their own thoughts, shared a collective sense of responsibility and anticipation. 

Mace Windu's mind was a fortress of contemplation, considering the implications of their unofficial tutelage. 

Plo Koon, with his deep connection to the Force, felt the rightness of their path, a certainty that they were acting in accordance with the universe's greater design.

Obi-Wan Kenobi's thoughts were introspective, reflecting on the potential and challenges that lay within their new pupil.

Finally, they arrived at their destination – a secluded garden known only to a few within the Temple. This hidden oasis, nestled away from the eyes and ears of the rest, was a sanctuary of peace and reflection. The air was cooler here, the light softer, filtered through the leaves of towering trees that stood as age-old guardians.

In this isolated haven, the group came to a halt, their journey of silence reaching its end. The garden, with its gentle sounds of nature and soothing ambiance, offered the perfect backdrop for contemplation and connection. Here, away from the formalities and expectations of the Council, they could begin to understand each other, to forge the bonds that would define their shared journey.

Alaenna took a deep breath, the scents of blooming flowers and ancient wood filling her senses. She felt a deep sense of peace, a connection to the world around her that was both new and as old as time. The Force flowed through her, a whispering wind that promised guidance and wisdom.

The Jedi Masters stood with her, their presence a comforting assurance. They were her protectors, her teachers, but in this moment, they were also her companions on a path that was yet to unfold. The Council's approval was a formality; in the eyes of the Force, their bond was already formed, a union of destinies intertwined by the will of the cosmos.

Alaenna sat cross-legged, her posture an embodiment of openness and attentiveness, as she faced the three Jedi Masters. Mace Windu, Plo Koon, and Obi-Wan Kenobi positioned themselves in a semi-circle opposite her, their expressions a harmonious blend of curiosity and solemnity. The air around them was ripe with a sense of profound anticipation, as if the garden itself was holding its breath, awaiting the revelations to come.

Obi-Wan, his face a mirror of gentle encouragement, initiated the dialogue. "Alaenna, would you share with us the beginnings of this journey on Elysiar?"

Her voice, soft yet unwavering, began to weave the tapestry of her life. "On Elysiar, in the orphanage, I was always an outsider," she said, her eyes momentarily distant as she revisited memories long past. "There were no parents to claim me, no family history to define me. Just a series of endless questions and a feeling of being perpetually lost."

Mace Windu, his stoic face reflecting a deep internal processing, nodded slowly. He understood the weight of uncertainty, having been brought to the Jedi Order at a very young age himself, stripped of a conventional upbringing. "That sense of isolation," he pondered aloud, "it can be a powerful catalyst for self-discovery."

Plo Koon's voice, resonant even through his mask, carried a tone of empathy. "And these dreams you speak of, they were a part of this discovery?" he inquired, recalling his own experiences with the Force's mysterious ways during his early years at the Temple.

Alaenna met his gaze, a flicker of kinship in her eyes. "Yes, Master Plo. They were more than dreams. Visions, perhaps. Glimpses of places I'd never seen, echoes of voices I'd never heard. They set me apart from the others, made me realize there was a world beyond that I was somehow part of."

Obi-Wan leaned forward slightly, his eyes reflecting a compassionate understanding. His own upbringing under Qui-Gon Jinn had taught him the value of listening to the Force's whispers, no matter how perplexing they might seem. "These visions, they were a guiding light for you, albeit an unclear one," he mused.

"Yes, exactly," Alaenna responded, a sense of relief in her tone at being understood. "They were like a beacon, calling me to a destiny I didn't understand but felt compelled to follow."

The Jedi Masters listened, each absorbing her words, relating them to their own experiences of growth and discovery within the Order. Mace Windu's early years had been marked by a strict adherence to the Jedi Code, Plo Koon had always been keenly aware of the Force's guiding hand, and Obi-Wan had learned the importance of balance between emotion and duty.

"As a youngling, I too felt the pull of the unknown, the lure of a destiny beyond the visible," Mace shared, his voice a deep rumble of shared experience. "It is a path all Jedi walk in one form or another."

Plo Koon added, "The Force speaks to us in many ways. Your visions are a unique expression of this communication."

Alaenna absorbed their words, a growing sense of belonging enveloping her. Here, in this secluded garden, with these wise beings who had experienced their own journeys of discovery and acceptance, she felt a newfound kinship. 

In the hushed serenity of the garden, Plo Koon's presence was like a calm, steady beacon. His masked face, though impassive, did not conceal the warmth and empathy that radiated from him. As Alaenna recounted her experiences, she felt drawn into a sense of safety and openness under his gentle guidance.

"Alaenna," Plo Koon began, his voice modulated yet infused with a gentle curiosity, "when these visions come to you, are they merely disorienting, or do they also bring a sense of understanding, a connection to something greater?"

She clasped her hands together, her fingers intertwining as she searched her memories. "They often startle me, appearing unexpectedly," she explained, her voice tinged with a mix of awe and uncertainty. 

"But over time, they've become a part of who I am, guiding me, showing me fragments of something larger than myself."

Mace Windu, observing intently, added his perspective. 

"Visions can be a gift and a challenge," he said thoughtfully. "In the Order, we've seen visions guide but also lead astray. How do you perceive these visions? As an active participant, or an observer?"

"I've felt both," Alaenna admitted, her brow furrowing. 

"Sometimes I'm witnessing events, other times, it's as if I'm living them. It's a delicate balance, discerning the line between the two."

Mace Windu nodded, recalling the Jedi Order's complex history with visions. "Your understanding of these visions is crucial. We aim not to suppress them but to help you navigate and understand their place in your connection with the Force."

The conversation within the garden, a sanctuary of whispering leaves and soft sunlight, deepened as the Jedi Masters and Alaenna delved further into the nature of her visions.

Obi-Wan, his blue eyes reflecting a thoughtful depth, leaned in slightly. "Alaenna, in these visions, do you ever encounter symbols or messages that recur? Sometimes the Force communicates in patterns that might hold significance."

Alaenna paused, considering his question. Her eyes momentarily gazed into the distance, sifting through the myriad images and sensations of her visions. "Yes, there are symbols. Circles entwined, a tree with sprawling roots, and sometimes, a voice calling from afar. I struggle to understand their meaning, but they feel important, like pieces of a puzzle waiting to be solved."

Plo Koon's response was contemplative, his voice steady. "Such symbols are often the Force's way of speaking to us. The tree could represent growth, connection, the very essence of life. And circles... they often symbolize unity, infinity, the cycle of life and the Force."

Mace Windu's demeanor remained analytical yet open. 

"Understanding these symbols could be key to interpreting your visions. They might be guiding you towards a deeper understanding of the Force, or your role within it."

Alaenna listened, her mind racing with the possibilities that their interpretations opened. She felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation at the prospect of unraveling these mysteries.

"The voice you mentioned," Obi-Wan inquired gently, 

"does it feel familiar to you? Or is it a presence you're yet to understand?"

"It's elusive, like a memory I can't quite grasp," Alaenna responded, her voice laced with intrigue. "But it's comforting, almost like a call to something I'm destined for."

The three Jedi Masters exchanged thoughtful looks. Alaenna's visions, rich in symbolism and emotion, were more than mere dreams; they were a conduit to the deeper whispers of the Force.

Plo Koon, breaking the brief silence, offered reassurance. "These visions are a part of your journey, Alaenna. They're a gift, albeit one that comes with challenges. Our role is to guide you in understanding them, to help you listen to what the Force is trying to tell you."

Alaenna felt a profound sense of gratitude and connection to her mentors. Their willingness to explore her unique experiences with the Force, to help her decipher its cryptic messages, gave her a newfound sense of purpose and belonging.

As the conversation meandered through the intricacies of Alaenna’s visions, the fading light of the day lent a soft glow to the garden. The atmosphere, rich with the exchange of ideas and interpretations, was both exhilarating and exhausting for Alaenna. Each question from the Jedi Masters unveiled layers of her experiences, compelling her to delve deeper into her own understanding of the Force.

In the midst of discussing a particularly vivid vision, Alaenna couldn't stifle a yawn that escaped her lips. It had been a day of overwhelming change and revelation, and the toll was evident in her weary expression.

Mace Windu, ever perceptive, noticed her fatigue immediately. His stern exterior softened momentarily. "Alaenna, you must be exhausted," he remarked with a touch of concern. "We have delved deep into your visions, but we must also remember the needs of the body and mind for rest."

Alaenna, slightly embarrassed by her involuntary display of tiredness, nodded in agreement. "I apologize, Masters. It's been a long day, and I'm not even sure where I'll be staying."

Mace Windu offered a reassuring smile, a rare break from his usual solemn demeanor. "You need not worry about that. I have arranged for you to stay in a spare room within my quarters. It's secure, and considering the unique nature of your arrival and training, it seems prudent to keep you close rather than with the initiates."

Alaenna's eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. "Thank you, Master Windu. I appreciate your thoughtfulness," she said, her voice imbued with a sense of relief.

Obi-Wan chimed in with a gentle chuckle. "You'll find that Master Windu is always two steps ahead in planning. Rest well, Alaenna. Tomorrow is another day, and we have much to explore and learn together."

Plo Koon, his tone warm and fatherly, added, "Rest is as important as training in understanding the Force. It gives us time to reflect and rejuvenate. We shall continue our discussions after you've had some rest."

As they rose from their seats, Alaenna felt a profound sense of care and belonging envelop her. The thoughtfulness of her masters, particularly Mace Windu, in ensuring her comfort and safety, was a new and welcome experience. It contrasted starkly with the uncertainty and loneliness of her previous life.

Walking back to the quarters with Mace Windu, the corridors of the Jedi Temple seemed less daunting than they had before. Her mind was still abuzz with the day's revelations, but a sense of peace had begun to settle within her. She was no longer a solitary wanderer on an unknown path; she was part of something greater, a journey intertwined with the destinies of those who were now not just her mentors but her protectors and guides.

As she settled into the spare room in Mace Windu's quarters, a simple yet comfortable space, Alaenna felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. Lying down, she closed her eyes, the conversations of the day echoing in her mind. She drifted into sleep, not with visions, but with a comforting darkness that promised rest and renewal for the days to come.

*****

In the vibrant ambiance of Club 79, a favorite haunt for the Republic's clone troopers, Ponds reunited with his former batch: Cody, Wolffe, Fox, Bly, and their younger brother-in-arms, Rex. The club's atmosphere was abuzz with energy, the air rich with the camaraderie that only those who share the bond of battle could understand. Neon lights danced across their armor, casting a kaleidoscope of colors over the group as they gathered around a table, a temporary respite from the relentless tides of war.

The mood was jovial, yet when Ponds began to recount the tale of their unexpected detour and the discovery of Alaenna, a hush fell over the group. "She's unlike anyone I've ever seen," Ponds started, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and respect. "Beautiful, yes, but there's something more about her, something... otherworldly."

Cody, ever the skeptic, leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. "What makes her so special?" he asked, his tone indicating both curiosity and a hint of disbelief.

Ponds, undeterred, continued. "When we landed on that planet, it was like the Force itself was pulling Windu to her. She's got this connection to the Force, sees visions, things beyond our understanding."

Wolffe, intrigued, leaned forward. "Visions, you say? What kind of visions?"

Ponds nodded, recalling the conversation he had with Alaenna. "Visions of the past, maybe the future. She struggles with them, trying to understand what they mean. She mentioned something about a time of peace across the universe, something grand and profound."

Rex, the youngest of the group, listened intently, his expression thoughtful. "Sounds like she's got a heavy burden," he remarked, his voice laced with empathy.

Bly chimed in, his interest evident. "And Windu? How does he fit into all this?"

Ponds shrugged slightly. "He's drawn to her, feels a connection through the Force. He believes she's important, maybe even key to something bigger than any of us can imagine."

Fox, usually more reserved, added his thoughts. "If Windu's involved, it must be serious. The Force works in mysterious ways, and if she's connected to it like that, who knows what role she could play in this war."

As the conversation unfolded, the initial light-heartedness gave way to a deeper, more reflective mood. The story of Alaenna, as told by Ponds, painted a picture of a woman caught between worlds, her connection to the Force a beacon that drew the attention of one of the most powerful Jedi Masters.

The clones, each battle-hardened and accustomed to the black-and-white realities of war, found themselves pondering the shades of gray that Alaenna represented. In her story, they saw not just the tale of a mysterious woman but a reminder of the vast and often unexplored mysteries of the Force and the universe they were a part of.

As the night progressed, laughter and banter resumed, but the seed of curiosity planted by Ponds' tale continued to linger in their minds. In the midst of their brotherhood, amidst the clinking of glasses and the drone of club music, they had been given a glimpse into a mystery that extended far beyond the confines of their familiar world, a reminder that the galaxy held wonders and enigmas yet to be unraveled.

But the minds of Wolffe, Cody, Rex, Fox, and Bly were elsewhere, each lost in their own thoughts, grappling with the story Ponds had shared.

Wolffe, a leader known for his pragmatic approach, found himself unusually intrigued by the tale of Alaenna. Her visions, her connection to something as enigmatic as the Force, stirred a sense of curiosity in him that went beyond mere fascination. He wondered about the implications of such abilities in the war they were fighting. 'Could she change the course of this conflict?' he pondered, his gaze unfocused, lost in the maze of possibilities.

Cody, sitting with an air of contemplative leadership, was equally thoughtful. Known for his tactical mind, he weighed the strategic importance of a Force-sensitive individual like Alaenna. 'Could she be a valuable asset, or a potential risk?' he mused. Cody's training under General Kenobi had taught him the unpredictability of the Force, and Alaenna's mysterious abilities only added layers to that complexity.

Rex, the youngest and often the most empathetic of the group, felt a different kind of concern. His thoughts went to the personal toll these visions might take on Alaenna. 'What burden must she bear?' he wondered, his expression somber. Rex understood, perhaps more than the others, the weight of carrying a secret, a responsibility that set one apart from their brothers.

Fox, typically reserved and introspective, considered the security implications. His role as the leader of the Coruscant Guard had attuned him to the nuances of protecting key figures. 'How do we ensure her safety, especially with such unknown factors at play?' he thought, his mind already running through various scenarios and strategies.

Bly, meanwhile, was more focused on the human aspect of Alaenna's story. 'What kind of person is she, beneath the mystery and the visions?' he pondered. As someone who often observed before acting, Bly was interested in understanding Alaenna not just as a Force-sensitive individual but as a person. Her impact on General Windu, a Jedi known for his stoicism, had not gone unnoticed by him.

As the night wore on and the conversations drifted to other topics, the thoughts of Wolffe, Cody, Rex, Fox, and Bly remained partially anchored on the story of Alaenna. Each, in his own way, recognized that her arrival marked a shift, a ripple in the fabric of their war-torn galaxy. Her story, a blend of mystery and potential, had opened a door to questions and possibilities that resonated with their own roles in the unfolding saga of the Clone Wars.

*****

Alaenna awoke to the muted light of dawn filtering through the window of the spare room in Mace Windu’s quarters within the Jedi Temple. For a moment, as she lay in bed, the unfamiliar surroundings gave her pause—a gentle yet stark reminder of the new reality she was now a part of. The room was simple, almost spartan, but it carried a sense of tranquility that was new to her.

Lying there, her mind began to drift through the events of the past two weeks, a whirlwind of change and revelation. The conversation with Mace Windu, Plo Koon, and Obi-Wan Kenobi from the previous day resonated within her, their words echoing in the quiet of the morning.

She remembered how Mace Windu’s deep voice had filled the space around them in the garden, his words a blend of wisdom and caution. "Understanding these visions is crucial," he had said, emphasizing the need to approach her gifts with both openness and care.

Plo Koon’s gentleness and understanding had been a comfort. "Your experiences with these visions are unique, yet they connect you to the wider experiences of the Force," he had reminded her, his voice modulated yet imbued with warmth.

And then there was Obi-Wan, whose thoughtful demeanor and insightful questions had helped her to see her visions in a new light. "Do you ever encounter symbols or messages that recur?" he had asked, encouraging her to delve deeper into the meanings behind her experiences.

As she reflected, Alaenna felt a mix of emotions. There was a sense of awe at the path unfolding before her, intertwined with a deep-seated uncertainty about what her visions meant and how they would shape her destiny. The weight of the unknown pressed upon her, yet there was also an underlying current of excitement, a feeling of being connected to something far greater than herself.

Alaenna sat up in bed, taking a deep breath as she gathered her thoughts. She felt a profound sense of responsibility, not just to understand her visions but to use them in a way that would contribute to the greater good. The Jedi Masters had shown her a path of guidance and learning, and she was determined to follow it, to uncover the truths hidden in the cryptic language of the Force.

As she rose from the bed, the first rays of sunlight streaming through the window seemed to cast a golden glow across the room. It was a new day, a new beginning in her journey with the Jedi. With each passing moment, the sense of being part of something larger, something deeply meaningful, grew within her.

Alaenna dressed quietly, her mind still reflecting on the conversations and the lessons to come. 

Stepping out of her room, Alaenna's senses were immediately greeted by the comforting aromas of breakfast. In the kitchen, Mace Windu stood, his attention momentarily absorbed by something on his datapad. The scene was unexpectedly domestic, a stark contrast to the solemnity and intensity of the Jedi Master she had witnessed in the Council chamber and during their discussions.

Mace looked up as she entered, his usually impassive expression softening slightly. "Good morning, Alaenna," he greeted, setting aside his datapad. The kitchen, like the rest of his quarters, was functional yet welcoming, a reflection of the purposeful life he led.

"Good morning, Master Windu," Alaenna replied, her voice still carrying a trace of wonder at her new surroundings. She took a seat at the small table where breakfast was laid out. The spread was simple but nourishing, befitting the Jedi's austere lifestyle.

As they began to eat, Mace Windu's demeanor was more relaxed than Alaenna had seen before, a side of him that was seldom revealed in the formal settings of the Temple. "How are you settling in? Did you sleep well?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice.

Alaenna paused, a spoonful of food halfway to her mouth. "I did, thank you. It's a lot to take in, but I'm grateful to be here, to learn and understand more about the Force... and about myself." She took a bite, the flavors of the simple meal grounding her in the moment.

Mace Windu nodded, his gaze thoughtful as he listened. "It's a significant adjustment, stepping into this world. The path of a Jedi is not an easy one, but it is fulfilling. You're not alone in this journey."

Alaenna smiled faintly, comforted by his words. "I appreciate your guidance, Master Windu. Last night, I thought a lot about our conversation in the garden. About my visions, the dreams, the voice... It's a puzzle, but I'm ready to uncover it."

Mace took a sip of his tea, his eyes meeting hers. "Your visions are a unique connection to the Force. We'll explore them together, carefully. Understanding them is part of understanding your path as a Jedi."

As the early morning light bathed the kitchen in a warm glow, Alaenna and Mace Windu sat across from each other, their breakfast conversation unfolding amidst the tranquil ambiance.

Mace, with a reflective tone, began to outline the structure of life within the Temple. "Our days here start with meditation, Alaenna. It's essential for centering oneself in the Force, for finding balance."

Alaenna, her curiosity piqued, leaned in slightly. "Meditation... I've always found my mind to be restless. How does one find calm in the midst of so many thoughts?"

Mace's eyes, usually so guarded, held a flicker of understanding. "It's a practice, a journey to stillness. In time, you'll learn to quiet the mind, to listen to the deeper currents of the Force."

The conversation shifted to the physical aspects of Jedi training. "Physical discipline is as important as mental discipline," Mace continued. "Lightsaber training, combat exercises – they're not just about skill, but also about understanding the flow of the Force, of using it to guide your movements."

Alaenna nodded, a mix of anticipation and nervousness in her eyes. "I've never held a lightsaber before. The idea is both exciting and a little daunting."

Mace offered a reassuring smile, a rare softening of his usual stern demeanor. "Every Jedi remembers the first time they ignited a lightsaber. It's a significant moment. You'll be guided every step of the way."

As they delved into the educational aspects of Jedi life, Alaenna's mind buzzed with questions. "What sort of subjects does one study as a Jedi? I assume it's more than just combat training."

Mace's response was filled with a deep respect for the Order's teachings. "Our studies are vast and varied. History, diplomacy, philosophy, science – knowledge is a cornerstone of our way of life. A Jedi must be as wise as they are skilled in the Force."

Alaenna absorbed his words, her expression a blend of eagerness and contemplation. The prospect of such comprehensive learning was both thrilling and overwhelming.

As they finished their breakfast, the sunlight streaming through the window seemed to cast a hopeful radiance over the room. Alaenna stood, her posture reflecting a newfound determination.

"Thank you, Master Windu," she said, her voice tinged with gratitude and resolve. "I'm ready to learn, to grow into this path I've chosen."

Mace rose as well, his gaze upon Alaenna both evaluative and encouraging. "The path of the Jedi is one of constant learning and growth. I have no doubt you'll rise to meet the challenges it presents."

After breakfast, as the morning light spilled across the room in golden waves, Mace Windu stood up, his presence commanding yet reassuring. "Alaenna, I think it would be beneficial for us to join Masters Plo Koon and Obi-Wan Kenobi for a joint meditation session. It will be a good introduction to how we harmonize our individual connections to the Force."

Alaenna felt a flutter of nervous excitement at the suggestion. The thought of meditating alongside such esteemed Jedi Masters was both an honor and somewhat intimidating. "I would appreciate that, Master Windu," she replied, her voice steady but her hands betraying a slight tremble.

Mace observed her reaction, a gentle understanding in his eyes. "Meditation is a foundational practice for us. It's where we clear our minds, listen to the Force, and seek inner balance. It’s a time of reflection and peace."

As they walked through the corridors of the Jedi Temple towards the meditation chambers, Alaenna's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The grandeur of the Temple, with its towering columns and serene statues, filled her with a sense of awe. 

The weight of history and tradition that permeated these halls was palpable.

Upon reaching the meditation chamber, they were greeted by Plo Koon and Obi-Wan Kenobi. The room was bathed in a soft, ambient light, the atmosphere imbued with a palpable sense of tranquility. Plo Koon’s masked face turned towards them, his body language open and welcoming. Obi-Wan, with his calm and composed demeanor, offered Alaenna a gentle smile.

"Welcome, Alaenna," Obi-Wan said warmly. "Meditation is an essential part of our day. It helps us connect with the Force and with each other."

Plo Koon's voice, modulated and deep, added, "In meditation, we find clarity and serenity. It's a space where we can lay down our burdens and listen to the whispers of the Force."

They all settled into a circle, sitting cross-legged on the floor. The room's energy seemed to shift, becoming more focused and serene. Alaenna, taking her place among the Masters, felt a surge of gratitude mixed with apprehension.

As they closed their eyes and the meditation began, the room fell into a profound silence. Alaenna tried to steady her breathing, to still the racing thoughts in her mind. She felt the presence of the Masters around her, their calmness a guiding force.

Mace's voice, soft yet clear, broke the silence. "Let your thoughts flow like water, Alaenna. Acknowledge them, but do not hold onto them. Let them go, and focus on your breath, on the here and now."

In the hallowed meditation chamber, a sanctuary of stillness and peace, Alaenna found herself surrounded by the gentle presence of the Jedi Masters. As they all settled into a circle and closed their eyes, a profound silence enveloped the room, broken only by Mace Windu's guiding words.

"Let your thoughts flow like water, Alaenna. Acknowledge them, but do not hold onto them."

Alaenna attempted to follow his instruction, but her mind felt like a tempestuous sea rather than a tranquil river. Thoughts, doubts, and anxieties churned within her, refusing to be stilled. The more she tried to quiet them, the louder they seemed to become. A wave of frustration washed over her; meditation, it seemed, was a battle she wasn't prepared for.

Plo Koon's modulated voice added another layer of guidance, "Feel the Force around you, Alaenna. Let it anchor you in the present."

She tried to focus, to sense the Force as she had been taught, but it felt elusive, just beyond her reach. Her heart raced, and her breaths came in short, uneven gasps.

Sensing her struggle, Obi-Wan's voice reached out to her with a calm reassurance. "It's natural to find this challenging at first, Alaenna. Meditation is a skill that develops over time. Be patient with yourself."

Alaenna opened her eyes for a moment, stealing a glance at her mentors. They sat in serene repose, their faces the very image of peace and balance. In contrast, she felt like a leaf caught in a storm, unable to find her grounding.

Closing her eyes again, she took a deep breath, trying to heed Obi-Wan's words. 'Be patient,' she reminded herself. Slowly, she began to focus on her breathing, each inhale and exhale a point of concentration.

Mace Windu, aware of her struggle, offered a final piece of advice. "Embrace the present, Alaenna. Meditation is not about perfection, but about awareness. Be aware of your thoughts, your feelings, and let them pass without judgment."

Gradually, Alaenna felt a subtle shift within her. The raging thoughts began to lose their power, dissipating like mist under the morning sun. She felt a gentle warmth, a sense of the Force's presence, enveloping her in a comforting embrace.

As the meditation session came to a close, and they all opened their eyes, Alaenna felt a mixture of relief and accomplishment. Though she had struggled, she had also persevered. The understanding and patience of her mentors had been a guiding light, showing her that this path was as much about learning and growth as it was about mastery.

The Jedi Masters observed her with a quiet respect. They had witnessed the first steps of her journey into meditation, a journey that would be filled with challenges but also with profound growth and understanding. They knew that in time, Alaenna would find her way, her connection to the Force growing stronger with each passing day.

[microraptorreactor]

Spire's Destiny Experience 2

so uh. Wow. Okay. Things are picking up quick.

ARE THERE ANY LIVEING GUARDIANS. I know it's because I'm playing One but I've seen all of three other players, and I've found more dead ghosts then npcs. Tbh this is adding to the vibe of post-apocalyptic city.

The further I get through the story the more worried I get for my guardian. And everyone, really. Poor Pyre-19 is getting shoved into increasingly dangerous situations with little to no warning. Seemingly the other liveing guardians are too busy to give more advice or assistance then a bit of equipment and a point in the right direction. I feel like this whole organization is suffering from "I have to keep moveing because if I stop the cracks will start to show" syndrome.

The moon is scary. What is it with me and media where the moon makes me deeply uneasy. Moon's haunted and all that. The stranger exo lady is cool but oh my god WHY ARE WE SENDING MY FRESH GUARDIAN INTO THE WORLD'S TOMB????? Like maybe I'm overthinking this, but either:

A: somehow the Hive (I think?) Being ready to invade Earth isn't that important, or this happens all the time.

B: my Ghost didn't tell anyone important what was happening.

C: the Traveler thinks the guardians are expendable. Or its desprate enough to treat them as such. To be honest, I'm starting to lean towards this one. Mostly because of all the dead ghosts and guardians I've been seeing, and how my ghost has just been treating their ghosts corpses as nice little info packets about the area ahead. Maybe I'm overthinking this, but things are looking really really bleak for the traveler/guardians.

I did a little side research about Exo, that whole reboot thing is wild. It does let my brain make peace with Pyre-19 not questioning anything, homegirl has woken up unable to remember anything 19 different times lmao.

I feel like she would search for something, anything, that's even a little familiar. Sure, she's lost all her memories before, but usually there's time to figure herself out again before dealing with any horrors.

Heres a photo of Pyre-19. I need to name her ghost lol just calling him 'ghost' doesn't feel right.

[zonerobotnik]

Maybe you can write a story that's about all the deleted scenes and concepts from the storyboards.

The mindtrap as a ring.

Hector being conscious while serving Cassandra.

Cassandra crying as she runs away with the moonstone.

Cassandra looking like a feral animal after her tower was destroyed.

Calliope meeting Zhan Tiri at the beginning of Race To The Spire.

Sugracha with a violin.

Eugene being under Sugracha's control.

The original decay song:

Wither and decay Dark bleed into light Take what once breathed life And give it to the night

Varian's bedroom.

Varian's original nightmare vision where he gets trapped in amber with his father.

Varian cradling Rapunzel's face while she's in the decay-trance.

Cassandra's Lady-In-Waiting song.

There's so much wasted potential.

Uhh...I only recognize a few of these, could you resend them with links to the posts talking about them? Mindtrap Ring: The mindtrap as a ring would be really, really dumb, there's a reason they scrapped it. You would have to get close enough to Cassandra to smash the ring to save the Brotherhood and that's not gonna be easy. She would have no reason to just hide it in the tower if she can just wear it as jewelry. Hector: Hector being conscious for Cassandra gloating to him, that I can do. I think I used it in one of my fics before, but I can't remember which one. MoonCass Crying: Well, I mean, she was crying in "The Moon Calls", but I don't think that's what you mean. This is one of the ones I need a link for to see. Feral MoonCass: Again, I need a link to see Cassandra looking "like a feral animal". Zhan Tiri meeting Calliope: Wait, there's a storyboard of Zhan Tiri meeting Calliope? I mean, I know they canonly meet, but I assume this is at the start of it? Sugracha's Violin: Sugracha's violin is just a prop. Unless you can show me something that has her using it as a weapon, it's just a prop for her to lure people into a false sense of security before she brings out the tree. I'd have to take a LOT of creative liberties to figure out how to use that. Brainwashed Eugene: Eugene being one of Sugracha's victims, that's easily doable. Alternate decay spell: I probably won't be using the alternate incantation, just because I'd have to adjust it too much for it even be a second verse and I really like the final version. Varian's bedroom: Uhh…we don't spend enough time in Varian's bedroom for it to matter and I have definitely used it in fics where we do. Varian's dream: Varian has some pretty vivid dreams, I could have him experience this one. Cradle face: I've done this one, used it in "Twisted Destiny". Lady-in-Waiting song: Where the heck would I fit Cassandra's song, especially since there's no tune? We've already got "Waiting in the Wings" for its purpose, and I also actually don't like it.

[travelwithgarima08]

5 Famous Castles to Visit with Your Family

Castles have always fascinated people with their grandeur, history, and timeless charm. If you're planning a family vacation filled with history, adventure, and breathtaking architecture, visiting castles should be at the top of your list. Whether you choose to wander the halls of Prague Castle, revel in the fairytale charm of Neuschwanstein Castle, immerse yourself in the regal history of Windsor Castle, admire the Renaissance beauty of Château de Chambord, or soak in the Scottish heritage of Edinburgh Castle, each of these magnificent castles offers a unique experience that will captivate both young and old.

Here are some of the famous castles to visit with your family:

Prague Castle: Our first stop on this castle adventure is the magnificent Prague Castle, located in the heart of the Czech Republic's capital city, Prague. Prague Castle offers a captivating blend of Gothic, Romanesque, and Baroque architecture, making it a visual delight for visitors of all ages. With Prague Castle tickets families can explore St. Vitus Cathedral, the Old Royal Palace, and the charming Golden Lane. Don't forget to enjoy the panoramic views of Prague from the castle grounds.

2. Neuschwanstein Castle Neuschwanstein Castle, nestled in the picturesque Bavarian Alps of Germany, is often referred to as the "Fairytale Castle." Built in the 19th century, this castle was the inspiration for Disney's Cinderella Castle. Its turreted spires, white walls, and dramatic hilltop setting make it a captivating destination for families.

3. Windsor Castle Windsor Castle, situated in the charming town of Windsor, England, is the oldest and largest inhabited castle in the world. Families can explore the State Apartments, St. George's Chapel, and the magnificent Queen Mary's Dolls' House. Witnessing the Changing of the Guard ceremony is a memorable experience, and the vast Windsor Great Park offers beautiful gardens and open spaces for picnics and leisurely walks.

4. Château de Chambord In the heart of the Loire Valley in France stands the exquisite Château de Chambord, a masterpiece of Renaissance architecture. This castle is renowned for its distinctive French defensive design, featuring turrets, spires, and a double-helix staircase said to have been designed by Leonardo da Vinci. Families can explore the castle's magnificent interior, including the stunning double-helix staircase, royal chambers, and the rooftop terrace offering panoramic views of the surrounding countryside.

5. Edinburgh Castle Perched on Castle Rock in the heart of Scotland's capital, Edinburgh Castle is a historic fortress that dominates the city's skyline. Families can explore the Crown Jewels, the Stone of Destiny, and the Royal Palace within the castle's walls. The One O'Clock Gun is a daily tradition that fascinates visitors of all ages. The castle's strategic location provides breathtaking views of Edinburgh and the surrounding landscape.

[yashvitours]

What are the Places to Explore in Chittorgarh?

Are you fascinated by palaces, kingship, architecture, or rich history? Then you should not miss the chance to visit Chittorgarh, a place that is steeped in history and culture. Yashvi Tours and Travels, Gandhinagar, offers you an exclusive opportunity to explore the captivating realms of Chittorgarh, where every corner reveals a new story of glory and romance. With us get customized holiday packages for domestic and international tours. Join us on a journey that will take you back in time as you discover the splendid heritage of Chittorgarh’s royal past!

Majestic Chittorgarh Fort

A Citadel of Legends witnesses the awe-inspiring beauty of Chittorgarh Fort, a masterpiece of architecture that symbolizes the courage and pride of Rajasthan. As you walk along its ancient walls, you will see the traces of a bygone era, where heroes were born, and legends were made. Admire the exquisite palaces, where every carving and painting reflects the splendor of a golden age. Behold the Vijay Stambh, a towering monument of victory that stands tall in the sky, commemorating the glorious deeds of the past. From its top, enjoy a panoramic view of the city, a living museum of history.

Palace of Rana Kumbha

Palace of Rana Kumbha, where Royalty Reigns Supreme Enter the Palace of Rana Kumbha, a sanctuary of elegance and grace. Marvel at the architectural skill that has preserved the grandeur of an era long gone. Wander through halls decorated with colorful frescoes, each one telling a story of power and culture. Feel the presence of history as you stand where great rulers once stood, shaping the fate of Chittorgarh. And within this palace’s walls, find the Meera Temple, where the melodies of devotion still linger, keeping alive the spirit of a poetess in love with God.

Padmini’s Palace

An Emblem of Love and Sacrifice Follow the footsteps of romance to Padmini’s Palace, a haven surrounded by serene nature. As you stroll through its passages and look through arched windows, you will be transported to an era of legendary beauty and noble sacrifice. Imagine the charm of Rani Padmini, whose reflection enchanted many hearts from the calm lotus pool. The stories of her bravery and loyalty to her husband will touch your soul, forever linked with the spirit of Chittorgarh.

The Towering Victory of Rani Padmini

Unveiling a symbol of resilience and bravery, we present the magnificent Kumbha Shyam Temple to you. Prepare to be amazed as its soaring spires reach for the heavens, honoring the courage of Rani Padmini and the warriors who fought with her. Let the intricate carvings tell tales of war, heroism, and the unbreakable spirit that defines Chittorgarh. As you stand in its sacred presence, you will feel the vibrations of victory and the legacy of a dynasty that stood firm against all odds.

Kalika Mata Temple

A Spiritual Odyssey In the heart of Chittorgarh’s fort, discover the divine dwelling of Kalika Mata Temple. Climb the gentle slopes, leaving behind the world’s noise, as peace envelops your every step. In this holy place, immerse yourself in the soothing chants and the aroma of incense as faith works wonders around you. Let the breathtaking views from the temple’s height take your breath away, a gentle reminder of the vastness of creation and the harmony of all things.

Chittor Sound and Light Show

A Spectacular Experience As night falls over Chittorgarh Fort, get ready for an unforgettable experience that will illuminate your senses. The Chittor Sound and Light Show is a dazzling display of lights and music that narrates the saga of Chittorgarh’s glorious past. Watch as the fort comes alive with colorful projections and dramatic sound effects that recreate historical scenes. Feel the emotions as you witness battles, sieges, sacrifices, and celebrations that shaped Chittorgarh’s destiny. The show is a must-see attraction for anyone who wants to relive the magic and mystery of this ancient city.

Conclusion

Chittorgarh, the gem of Rajasthan, unveils a world where time stops and history comes alive. Yashvi Tours and Travels invites you to experience the majesty, romance, and courage that define this remarkable city. Explore the towering fortresses, immerse yourself in the stories of legendary rulers, and witness the devotion that fills the air. Chittorgarh beckons you to embrace its charm and mystery! Get the best customized holiday package today!

Article Source : https://www.yashvitours.com/what-are-the-places-to-explore-in-chittorgarh/

[timekeepertwister]

The Operation Portfolio of “Operation: Time Twister”

🥖 The Operation Portfolio is our roadmap of the ongoings of “Operation: Time Twister” as well as several concepts proposed as to where we can potentially uncover key objectives, misplaced Cookies, and miscellaneous temporal anomalies.

Prologue

0 - Records of Destiny - Some opening files to introduce major characters and plot elements relevant to this AU. [CASE CLOSED]

Case 1: Compiled Control

1A - The Frost Miko Incidents - [Active] - Croissant Cookie’s group has been launched through time in an incident following an inspection of Confrontation A/D-V-8.1945 as assigned directly by the Director, landing them in a past- albeit recent- time of the Dark Cacao Kingdom. As numerous departments within the TBD scramble to arrange a team to return everyone to their proper times, it seems like another group of incident resolvers has gotten themselves involved in this mess because of Subject R-II/T-22…

1B - Misplaced Magicians - [Triangulation Pending] - We are still working to determine the location of Cinnamon Cookie, Wizard Cookie, and Cream Puff Cookie after they were temporally displaced following a confrontation with Subject C/L-33 in the City of Wizards. But the signature seems to have gone haywire…!

1C - Y3 Intelligence... - [Processing] - Present Day Investigation. Ongoing. Destination: Beast-Yeast

1-Ongoing - The Resolvers’ Incident - [Pending Investigation] - Following the aftermath of actions incited by C/L-33 on [12/24/2020], a chain of events unfolded that sent 7 Cookies and an unidentified number of humans of Outer Earthbread back in time away from their proper coordinates in an unmarked eastern region of the world. In order to gather information on the whereabouts of the latter group of humans and to provide insights on whether anyone else was affected, the Disaster Response Division- led by Strawberry Shortcake Cookie and assisted by the High Priestess from the Pomegranate Village and a resident of the World of Dreams- has gathered a number of pertinent witnesses to testify about their experiences and the events that unfolded in their presence.

Proposed Cases in Other Time Sectors

Root of the Subconscious Lilies

Is the Cake a Lie?

Knightmare of Hollyberry Palace

Nine Tails of Another Odyssey

Bittersweet Paralysis

Forgotten Yogurcan Expeditionary

Homestead Onslaught

Trouble in 10 Elixir Tavern

Boomudan Detour

The Dark Ages of Lilywhite Vanilla

House of the Dragons

The Lofty Starcloud Spires of Lilywhite Space

A Precarious Boulder

Return to the Danger Zone

Chaos Reaped Together

Proposed Timeline Inspection Cases

Path to Paradise

Night Terrors of the City

Not Just A Clown…

Mission: Royal Timeguard

Odyssey of Bravery

Another Side of Mayhem

Recalled Timeguard

Jellypocalypse Now

Suggested or Collaboration Cases

None… yet! Inquire within to suggest another Case later… and bring your own AUs too.