#Storm's End

[gifharbor]

— Vhagar sensed his coming first. Guardsmen walking in the battlements of the castle's mighty curtain walls clutched their spears in sudden terror when she woke with a roar that shook the very foundations of Durran's Defiance.

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON | 1.10 'The Black Queen'

[anon-e-miss]

Storm's End

(I've been playing sims again now that my mods are behaving. Decided on a fresh mer play and this is what you get)

“Are ya sure this is the right place, Ori?” Jazz asked as they stepped offer the small ferry.

“Only one Damaxus,” Punch replied. “This ain’t what I expected.”

Lilleth sang their songs from the trees as oilgulls squawked overhead. Fishing boats lined the docks, the crews call out to each other. Mechanisms boat the fresh cyberfish right off the boats, despite the drizzle. There was a roar of laughter and then another. The mood was happy and light. It was nothing like the docks in Polyhex. Even when the sea was willing give up a net of cyberfish, no one but the desperate would dare eat anything dragged up from the murky, sewage filled waters. The sea around Damaxus was anything but murky and there was no stink of waste. As far as the optics could see, the ocean surrounding Damaxus was clear turquoise, and apparently brimming with life. It was nothing like the stories Punch had told, a smugglers haven, a wretched slum. Damaxus, to Jazz’s optics, looked like paradise.

“When were ya last here?” Ricochet asked. “Twenty vorns?”

“Even in twenty vorns,” Punch said. “A turn around like this... I’d call it a miracle if I believed in such things.”

“Auntie Dipole’s ‘round here somewhere?” Jazz asked.

“Mhm,” Punch replied. “Maybe she can explain all this. Port was so rough, Lockdown even gave up on it for Primus’ sake.”

They walked past Dipole twice before the spotted the wirey femme among the crowds of mechanisms going from boat to boat, selling their bounty. She hopped down from the bridge of a pretty yacht, surprising all three Polyhexians. Punch let out a happy whoop and hugged his old friend. Dipole looked like a strong breeze could blow her over but she always had. At the same time, she did not look worn but determined but bright and alive. She yacht she was serving as cook on was docked in Damaxus for repairs, having run into trouble with pirates. Jazz blanched at the thought of her near death but his auntie seemed unfazed. She had ordered the captain to sail for Damaxus, even though he had wanted to sail for Polyhex, to sail under the safety of her canons. The yacht’s owner had sided with Dipole and as they had raced into the seas near the island, a great squall had come up and all but blown them into port where the pirates had crashed into the rocks and been scuttled.

“When I saw the red sky with dawn, I knew we’d be safe,” Dipole declared. “Red sky against this light-cycle, that’s why all the boats have come. A storm is coming.”

“Storms always comes to Damaxus,” Punch replied.

“It’s different now,” Dipole replied. “No hurricane has reached land in a decavorn, at least. Not a boat that’s minded the skies had been lost.”

“Seems too good to be true,” Punch declared, frowning.

“Sure, but I’m not going to turn up my olfactory ridge to a gift from the gods,” Dipole replied.

“Ya know a place where we can stay for a few ‘cycles while we get our bearings?” Jazz asked.

“Oh sure, there’s the inn,” Dipole said.

“Damaxus has an inn?” Punch asked, sounding dubious.

“Lovely Praxian family runs it,” Dipole explained. “They’ve got a little pub too. There’s no ordering anything, you eat whatever they have mind to serve that cycle. It’s always good.”

“Where’s the inn?” Jazz asked.

“Lockdown’s old perch,” Dipole replied. “At some point they bought the land and built their place right up from the beach. Its a pretty little place.”

“Surprised he ain’t come to take it back,” Jazz said.

“Lockdown hasn’t had much luck with Damaxus since the sea changed her spark,” Dipole replied. “If any of his ilk had given them trouble, I haven’t heard. I did hear Swerve got caught snooping in their wine cellar. Had him running scared, whatever they did.”

“H’uh,” Jazz murmured.

“H’uh indeed,” Punch replied.

“Oh, I see Tripwire, that’s their grandbitty, he’ll know if they have rooms,” Dipole exclaimed and she waved to a first tier youngling who was walking down the dock with a basket full of fish. “Tripwire! Overhear, Dearspark.”

“Hello Ms Dipole,” Tripwire greeted the femme with a dip of his doorwings. Though he had the telltale doorwings of a Praxian, his other features were distinctly Polyhexian, namely his audial horns and the shape of his mouth. He dipped his doorwings to Jazz and his kin. “Hello, Sirs.”

“Tripwire, do you by chance know if there are rooms in the inn available?” Dipole asked. “My friends have come from away.”

“Oh yes,” Tripwire said. “Two or three. It’s good you’ve come before the storm.”

“We got the last ferry o’ the orn,” Jazz declared. “Now we know why it’s the last.”

“You’ll be save on the island,” Tripwire assured them. “The rain’s going to pick up any klik, follow me to the inn.”

“I can carry that basket for ya,” Ricochet offered, miraculously coming out of his ennui for a moment.

“Thank you, Sir,” Tripwire said. “Grandgeni sent me to get more cyberfish. Lots of sailors in from the wet looking for a hot meal, even if they aren’t staying at the inn.”

“We ain’t sailors but I think he’s gonna have three more plates to fill,” Jazz declared.

“That’s okay,” Tripwire said. “We always have enough.”

“Fraggin’ skiff...” a sailor cursed. The mechling turned to look and the grizzled seafarer looked aghast.

“Language,” Tripwire scolded. The mech’s shipmates roared with laughter.

They walked on. Tripwire’s manners were formal. Sure, Damaxus was not turning out to be the dilapidated slums Ori remembered, it was still a fishing port and the mechling’s manners seemed a little out of place. Yet, the mechanisms working the boats seemed to enjoy him. His accent sounded Praxian to Jazz’s audio horns though he had encountered few of his frametype. Apart from the small clues in his appearance, there was no suggestion of Polyhexian heritage in his accent or formal manners. Perhaps his family had made their lives as sailors before settling on Damaxus, as much as Praxians were noted to keep to their own, Polyhexian spread far and wide in search of work and shelter. The already tough living condition of the Wastes had only been worsened by vorns’ long droughts and Straxus’ greed and corruption. Ori had not been expecting paradise in Damaxus, and clearly it was tripping him up but they could work with this. There were lots of boats going to and fro, what would one more be to the islanders?

“Grandori, do we still have rooms?” Tripwire dipped his doorwings as he greeted the mech cover the desk. “Ms Dipole’s friends came to visit.”

“We have two,” the elder Praxian replied. “One small private room and one with two berths.”

“We’ll take’em,” Jazz replied, offering the innkeeper shanix to pay for the rooms. “Ori’ll have the private one, Rico ‘n me’ll share the double.”

“Please enter your designations on the register,” the innkeeper said. “Tripwire, take the fish to your grandgenitor and then you are free to do as you will.”

“Okay, Grandori,” Tripwire replied. “Thank you, Sir for carrying the basket for me. Have a good stay, Sirs.”

“Great mechling,” Jazz said.

“He is,” the innkeeper replied. “Jazz, Ricochet and Punch. I am Camshaft, my conjunx managing the bar at the moment. Please allow me to show you to your rooms and then I will show you to the pub. I imagine you are hungry.”

“That’d be much appreciated,” Jazz replied. Thunder so loud it almost shook the inn roared over helm, the innkeeper did not flinch, his guests did.

“The inn has generators,” Camshaft assured them. “Our power has never gone out. Though Downshift prefers to serve a fresh catch, we have fuel stores enough to keep everyone well fuelled for a stellar-cycle.”

“Wow,” Ricochet said. “Ori could appreciate that sorta preparation.”

“I can,” Punch agreed.

“This way,” Camshaft guided them out into the rain. Their rooms were in an outbuilding, Ori’s on the bottom and Jazz and Ricochet’s on the top. A sitting room with a piano occupied part of the bottom floor. “If you need anything, at any joor, please ring the bell and one of us will be of assistance.”

“We won’t be any trouble,” Jazz assured him. Punch nodded.

The innkeeper left them to settle in. There was a set of washracks to share between the three of them, which was better than most of the inns they had found themselves in over the vorns, certainly better than the caves. They had little to unpack, all three of them kept their arms close at servo in their subspaces. They might have been planning to blend into the detritus to get their work done but Jazz could not complain. Their rooms were clean, comfortable and warm. It was a far better way to spend a dark-cycle or two as they made a new plan. Thunder boomed again and Jazz appreciated the room over his helm that much more. No one would hear them scheme, in any case, not with their rooms being in their outbuilding and the storm crashing outside.

“It could be worse,” Jazz insisted. “It’s a whole aft island. We can find a spot to to make our base ‘n go from there.”

“Mecha might snoop,” Punch countered.

“The scum that used to be here woulda too,” Jazz countered. “If only to see if our take was worth stealin’.”

“Mm,” Punch hummed with discontent.

“Rico?” Jazz asked his brother. Two helms were better than one against Punch.

“What?” Ricochet asked.

“Do ya got... any thoughts... bout anythin’?” Jazz asked, frustrated with his twin’s disinterest.

“No,” Ricochet replied, looking out into the storm. Jazz and Punch both stared at him a moment... No?

“Shoulda left ya wit yer genitors,” Punch crumbled. “Get yer helm in the game, Ricochet.”

“I guess we should eat,” Ricochet declared.

It might have been a mistake to bring Ricochet along. He had not been the same since he had tangled with Lockdown off the coast of Simfur. Though he had come out alive and maybe even the victor of the match, it had seemed to Jazz like the winds had been sucked from Ricochet and he had been living and working mostly on autopilot. He had not wanted to go back out to sea and maybe this was their punishment for strong arming him into coming. It had been Geni’s idea. Rumbler insisting that what Ricochet needed to find was out here, somewhere, where he had lost it. What that was, Geni had shrugged when Jazz had asked. His spark, his will, his drive, all Rumbler had been certain of was that Lockdown was to blame for Ricochet’s current state. If Jazz only knew what Lockdown had done, Jazz might have switched things up and gone after the bounty hunter to even the score. Although, it was Ricochet who had Lockdown’s servo in a jar in his berthroom, and not Lockdown.

“What’ll it be?” Downshift asked. The innkeeper’s conjunx looked like he could play bouncer if their business ever needed one. He had small ridges on his helm that could have be audio horns. His facial features were not quite classically Praxian, like his conjunx. Perhaps Tripwire had picked up some recessive code.”

“Three soups of the ‘cycle,” Jazz said. The pub was packed. Sailors and fishermecha say sea shanties off key. “Uh... things ever get outta servo?”

“They know better,” Downshift replied. “Which means their friends do and they keep themselves in line. No one wants me, or Primus forbid, Cam, breaking up a fight. They’d never live it down. I’d see it.”

What did that mean? Jazz wondered. He would have to talk to Swerve and see what exactly went on when he had that run in with the innkeepers. Before they set up roots here, they needed to know all the players. If the innkeepers had replaced Lockdown as unoffical warlords of Damaxus, they need to choose a different place to serve as their base. Ratchet needed supplies. His patients needed supplies. The Deadend needed fuel, really they needed everything. From Darkmount, Straxus’ clamp down was spreading. If this kept up, the uprising would be suffocated. Whatever Straxus claimed, he would not lift military law or end the special prosecutions when the last traces of “dissent” died off. The uprising as an organized whole had emerged from them.

Though the storm outside was still going strong, the thunder had moved on. With Ricochet and Ori both recharging, Jazz slipped out. He needed to calm his processor before he could hope to recharge. Jazz only wanted a walk, that was what he told himself, if he spotted anything that might be useful to their business in Damaxus, that would just be a welcome bonus. It was frigus in Damaxus but the storm brought rain and not snow. Like Polyhex, snow was a rarity if not a complete unknown to the island. It was cold enough but Jazz’s insulated armour could hold him through worse than this. He walked past a pretty pond set up in the courtyard of the inn. There was a light glowing from the shallow depths. A shrine to the spirits and a bath for the lilleth were on the edge. It was rather wild, something to Jazz added to its charms. He could smell the sea and the storm and he walked towards it. If Lockdown had made his base here, there might be smuggling coves nearby. Even if they were too close to the inn to be of use to them, there might be abandoned stores that could be.

“Oh, excuse me,” a voice that sounded like the sea itself spoke. Jazz looked up and saw a Praxian coming out of the trees, a nude Praxian.

“Oh no, excuse me,” Jazz said quickly. “I swear I wasn’t gawking or nothin’. I’m just out to clear my helm... I hope’m not trespassing.”

“The grounds are free for guests to visit,” the Praxian said. “I am Prowl.”

“Prowl, ‘m Jazz.”

“My procreators mentioned last klik guests from Polyhex,” Prowl declared. “You were fortunate to miss the storm. What brings you out in it now?”

“Just... restless,” Jazz replied. “I guess I interrupted... somethin’.”

“Oh, yes,” Prowl said. “It is tradition in Damaxus to shower in the rains. They are a blessing, after all. Would you like to join me?”

“Join you?”

They showered in the rain, but only for a moment. Prowl stepped close and invited Jazz to touch and he was not mech enough to deny the beauty. Almost ethereal, the curvy Praxian was something out of a fantasy. His exact frame shape was something Jazz had not seen. He had broad hips, thick thighs and a large, round aft. Under the cover of trees and greenery, Jazz crouched between them as he gave Prowl as taste. The Praxian moaned sweetly as Jazz lapped at his golden folds, cupping his heavy wells, teasing his stiff golden nozzles with his own servos. His waist was snatched, giving him a perfect hourglass all without armour. He could have made statues of Prima jealous. Jazz cupped the beauty’s wells as he filled him from behind, taking his time to ensure Prowl felt nothing but pleasure. Prowl’s moans were beautiful. Jazz twisted the Praxian’s nozzle as he rocked his hips against his delicious aft. He overloaded Prowl with his digits, glossa and spike before flooding the beauty’s belly with his spend.

“Recharge well, Jazz,” Prowl told him as they separated. Exhausted by his efforts, Jazz was sure he would.

[archangel-lucerys]

"But he has an errand to complete and a message to deliver"

That boy saw the biggest monster alive and had a one track mind of his mission, he was the best and bravest of them all 🥲

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

Was trying to think of another time after "Blood & Cheese" when Jaehaera Targaryen had a role in the story until her child marriage to her cousin to end the conflict?

Sure, when she's helped to escape during the Fall of King's Landing, when Larys got Aegon II and his surviving kids out of the Red Keep and the city via the secret passages. (A small role, but thankfully not as tragic as her brother Maelor's.) Though Jaehaera was one of those targeted by Rhaenyra and her "knights inquisitor" bounty hunters, the Kingsguard Ser Willis Fell got her to Storm's End safely.

She was at Storm's End for about a year and a half, while Rhaenyra ruled in KL and also after Aegon and the greens retook the city. While the council debated what to do with their hostage Aegon the Younger, including the option of marrying him to Jaehaera, she was still with the Baratheons. After Aegon II's death and after the peace agreements, Jaehaera was escorted back to KL by Lady Elenda Baratheon's father and three of the Four Storms, and of course Willis Fell. (Who became Aegon III's Lord Commander since, uh, he and a rookie were the only Kingsguards left...) And then Jaehaera and Aegon married.

Now, if you're asking if they'll do more with her in the show, since Maelor doesn't exist... 🤷‍♀️ your guess is as good as mine.

[asoiafreadthru]

A Game of Thrones, Jon III

“I don’t care,” Jon said. “I don’t care about them and I don’t care about you or Thorne or Benjen Stark or any of it.

“I hate it here. It’s too…it’s cold.”

“Yes. Cold and hard and mean, that’s the Wall, and the men who walk it. Not like the stories your wet nurse told you. Well, piss on the stories and piss on your wet nurse. This is the way it is, and you’re here for life, same as the rest of us.”

“Life,” Jon repeated bitterly. The armorer could talk about life. He’d had one.

He’d only taken the black after he’d lost an arm at the siege of Storm’s End. Before that he’d smithed for Stannis Baratheon, the king’s brother.

He’d seen the Seven Kingdoms from one end to the other; he’d feasted and wenched and fought in a hundred battles.

They said it was Donal Noye who’d forged King Robert’s warhammer, the one that crushed the life from Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident.

He’d done all the things that Jon would never do, and then when he was old, well past thirty, he’d taken a glancing blow from an axe and the wound had festered until the whole arm had to come off.

Only then, crippled, had Donal Noye come to the Wall, when his life was all but over.

“Yes, life,” Noye said. “A long life or a short one, it’s up to you, Snow.

“The road you’re walking, one of your brothers will slit your throat for you one night.”

[its-actually-minicika]

HELP??

This scene would have been too powerful if the showrunners left it as it was intended. We were so robbed :")

Still, this is HUGE. How much was Aemond supposed to regret Lucaerys' death at Storm's End, and how much of it did we just overinterpret?

Was what we saw on screen, during those last moments, even regret? Or was it more shock of the situation he'd created, and realisation of what's to come?

I love this. This is amazing and I won't be shutting up about this.

[daenysthedreamer101]

House Baratheon of Storm's End

House words - "Ours is the Fury"

House colors - Gold and Black

House sigil - A black, crowned stag on a gold field

Region - Stormlands

Culture - Andal

Language - Common tongue

Religion - Faith of the Seven

Seat - Storm's End

Members of the family tend to be tall, have black hair and blue eyes

[lady-of-the-spirit]

asoiaf fans explain to me the religious lore? because we've obviously got the faith of the seven and the old gods but then also there are goddesses in storm's end like elenai? what is she? is she more like the drowned god, with her and gods like her are kinda their own separate religion?

[mejcinta]

Look, killing male Strongs is just a harmless sport. Alys can explain.

[zetaaa]

Once upon a time, in a fortress by the sea...

[ser-arthurs-dawn]

The Stag and The Wolf

And all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams are where thy dark eye glances, and where thy footstep gleam - in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams. -E. A. Poe

[ladystarksneedle]

[anon-e-miss]

Storm's End - 2

“Ack,” Jazz rubbed his shoulder where he had bumped it against the post.

Maybe fragging the innkeepers’ creation had not been the smartest impulses he had ever followed, Jazz had no regrets and he hoped he had left the sensual Prowl with none either. If the opportunity arose, Jazz had no doubts that he would think with the same processor and jump into bush or berth with the provocative beauty. He bumped into the door frame as he slipped, or tried to slip quietly back into the room he was sharing with his twin. Just thinking about Prowl had him losing his composure. Ricochet lifted his helm, his ennui broken enough to allow a frown. Jazz shut the door, quietly behind him. It was likely Ori had heard him go out and come back. Punch would wait for light-cycle to pry. Rico through off his blanket, frown morphing into a sneer. Even angered, his shoulders were slumped. Where the frag was his pride? What had Lockdown done to him?

“Ori will scrap ya if ya went ‘n got drunk at the pub,” Ricochet warned him. “‘N I won’t save ya from’m.”

“Ain’t drunk,” Jazz defended himself. “Just went for a look ‘round. Cold got to me more than I thought it would.”

“Cold?” Ricochet sounded dubious, and that was fair. It was not a great lie.

“Cold as Mortilus’ teat when the rain’s comin’ sideways,” Jazz said. Ricochet shrugged.

“Shower then,” he said. “If you come down with the sniffles Ori’ll give ya Pit. “He’s in a snit ‘bout this place as is.”

“Ori’s ‘bout the only spark I can think o’ that’d get in knots seein’ a turn ‘round like this,” Jazz declared.

“Ya know how Ori feels ‘bout surprises,” Ricochet replied.

Jazz showered, though the rain had washed all evidence of his nocturnal activities from his frame. To a degree it was to warm himself, because the rains were cold, but it was more to maintain his meagre cover. It should not have been enough to satisfy Rico but Jazz thought the root of all of it was that Rico just did not care what Jazz had been up to. They should have left him home and Jazz would tell Geni as much when they made their first delivery. Rico was a liability, not just to himself but to all three of them. What would happen if Lockdown or some goon like him turned up? What would happen if one of Straxus’ enforcers came, warrant for Ori in servo? Would he have the fight in him or would he just sit back? If they came at him, would he even fight back? Jazz had asked his twin over and over what was wrong, what had happened but all Rico had ever said was nothing and so there was nothing Jazz could do to help him. Feeling helpless made him angry and of course, that was of no help.

Rico may well have been feigning recharge when Jazz returned from his shower. It did not matter since Jazz did not have the glyphs, did not have the slightly idea how to reach him. He had been trying for vorns, so, so many vorns. That was at least in part the reason for his restlessness. Mostly, Rico kept aloof from them these cycles and Jazz did not often have to live shoulder to shoulder with the shadow of his twin. The respite with Prowl had been a blessing. Jazz was physically spent and it was enough to let him crawl into his rented berth and to dial down into recharge. In the light-cycle, they would look at getting some answers about the goings on of Damaxus. There would be no answers for the goings on of Ricochet’s processor.

“It’s a fierce storm,” Punch observed as they stood under the overhang. The clouds were so dark, it was hard to even tell it was light-cycle. “Any boat out in this is in for a fight.”

“Seen a few like this growin’ up?” Jazz asked.

“More than a few,” Punch said, “on both sides of the sea. Lots o’ funerals wit no frame to mourn.”

“I never noticed the sky so red in Polyhex,” Jazz noted, “as it was yester-cycle. Didn’t hear talk ‘bout stayin’ in port ‘cept for the ferry.”

“Maybe a volcano?” Punch thought out loud. “Some sort o’ magnetic energy that changes the sky in these parts. There’s a reason for it. There always is.”

“Maybe we outta see what’s cookin’,” Jazz suggested. He looked to his twin, who was staring out into the storm, brooding in silence. Ori’s jaw tensed and then, whatever it was he was thinking, he shook off and he wrapped his arm around Rico’s shoulder.

“Come on,” he said.

Despite the weather, the pub was full, or perhaps the weather was even to blame. A group of sailors surrounded a piano and they played a jaunty tune. As he had been during the dark-cycle, Downshift was manning the pub. It was so full, over full even, that Prowl appeared to be helping him with the loud. Jazz realized he had to act like they had ever met. Certainly he could not ogle the mech while his progenitor watched on, that seemed like a good way to die. Even if Jazz thought he stood a fair chance against the mech, since fair was not how he fought, the saboteur figured there was not a mechanism in this room that would not back the innkeeper up and those were not odds he wanted to test. As group of diners waved them over as they were vacating their table. Even as they sat, Prowl appeared with mugs of steaming energon.

“We have tisane as well,” he declared. “I am Prowl. Progenitor has energon pockets with cinnabar sauce and opal soup with steamed talc on the menu this light-cycle.”

“Thank ya,” Punch said as Jazz was momentarily glossa-tied. “I would appreciate ruby tea if ya have it.”

“We do,” Prowl replied. “I will bring it right out.”

“I wonder if that’s the mechling’s originator,” Punch wondered out loud. “He’s certainly a proper young mech.”

“Mm,” Ricochet replied.

“Maybe,” Jazz replied. The mechling in question dipped into the pub just long enough to wave to his grandgeni before he ran off, to school most likely. He did not know why but Jazz could not quite believe Prowl was the originator to the mechling. Why though, he could not say.

“Thank ya,” Punch thanked Prowl for the tea as the Praxian set a mug down. “Have ya been here long?”

“We have had the inn here for twenty vorns last saltus,” he replied.

“It’s a lovely place,” Punch declared. His mood had certainly improved with recharge, and probably a great bit of plotting. “We didn’t catch the designation when we checked in.”

“Storm’s End,” Prowl replied. “A storm washed us in and my originator has an interesting sense of humour.”

Rico actually ordered an energon pocket for himself without any prodding. Jazz and Punch both ordered the soup. They ate mostly in silence, as close to companionable as they had for some time. All around them, their fellow diners chatted. Listening was the fuelled was the easiest way to gather some intel. Jazz listened as some sailors spoke up pirates in the area, ahead of the storm, and the hopes that they will have cleared out before the skies did. Though Damaxus had once with a pirate harbour, times had changed. It seemed, after their port had been destroyed by the last big hurricane, they had not bothered to rebuild and even though the locals had, they had not tried to comeback and reclaim their own turf. Why? The islanders, a mixture of the descendants of Prima’s tribe from before the Age of the Thirteen Primes and Polyhexian and Urayan sailors and fishermecha, did not look like they would be able to put up much of a fight. No one whispered of any fear from pirates or poachers in this harbour. Why? Had Lockdown and Cannonball lost their touch that badly?

“I think I’d like to see just what spooked Swerve,” Punch declared, after they left the pub.

“I was thinkin’ the same,” Jazz said.

Swerve’s place was on the other side of Damaxus. They drove past an orchard as they drove east, with crystal trees and vines. Though the crops were dormant now, they looked to be in healthy, as far as Jazz could tell. It was from this side of the island Damaxus shipping trade largely operated. The Polyhexian bartender’s patrons were a mix of sailors and labourers. It was around lunch time and most of them were on a break from work. The east side of the island seemed to be prospering as much as the west and though there were warehouses and trade offices, it had not be taken over by big business. Most of the businesses around the bar were island owned. That in and of itself was a miracle to Jazz. What businesses even survived in Damaxus would owned by Straxus’ cronies. What little prosperity existed was for them alone.

“Hello Swerve,” Punch greeted the bartender.

“Punch!” Swerve exclaimed, visibly startled though he was trying to hide it. He looked around with little jerking movements of his helm and saw Jazz and Rico with him. “My mechs... It’s been... a while.”

“We were just in the area,” Punch said. “Stayin’ at the inn... heard ya had some trouble wit the innkeepers?”

“No... no trouble,” Swerve replied, shaking his helm.

“Really?” Punch asked. “Because I heard they caught you sniffin’ round their cellar,” Punch replied. “I heard ya ran scared. Just what did a couple of prim Praxians do that had a mech from the Dead End so shook up?”

“Nothin’!” Swerve replied. “Nothin’!”

“Swerve...” Punch lowered his tone and Swerve flinched. “I know the inn was build on Lockdown’s ole lair... were ya lookin’ to score on the scraps he left behind?”

“I just got turned around,” Swerve said, a lie but a largely harmless one. “They turned the old smugglin’ tunnel into an engex cellar... It’s were they make their engex ‘n kremzeek.”

“Ya own a bar,” Punch said. “Ya got yer own brews, what would ya care ‘bout theirs?”

“Some of their distillations are... just fraggin’ awesome, Mech,” Swerve replied. “They’d make a killin’ if they’d pair up wit one o’ the big brewers on the mainland but they don’t give a frag. I wanted to see what they’re doin’ so different. We both get out stuff from the orchard... I just don’t know what they do wit it that makes it... I found a recipe book. Eh... Camshaft caught me, didn’t hear’m come down the stairs. Didn’t hear’m ‘til he wanted me to. Told me to get on my way. Had me cornered. Before I could even take a step, Downshift was behind me ‘n he told me I’d stay on my side o’ the island if I knew what was good for me.”

“I hope ya weren’t plannin’ to rough up Camshaft in order to get away with their recipes,” Punch said.

“‘M insulted,” Swerve replied.

“They didn’t lay a digit on ya,” Jazz said. “But they got ya runnin’ scared. Didn’t even threaten to break yer legs, like Dipole would if ya got hold o’ her cookbook.”

“It’s not what they said, it’s how they said it,” Swerve replied.

“How’d they say it,” Jazz asked.

“Calm like the eye o’ the hurricane,” Swerve said. “‘N ya know what comes after the eye.”

“What about Lockdown?” Punch asked. “He come ‘round anymore?”

“I’ve heard he’s tried,” Swerve replied. “I heard one o’ his goons came in on the ferry ‘n tried to suggest the demon Praxians owed him a cut.”

“And?” Punch asked.

“Downshift told him to get lost without lookin’ up from his stew pot,” Swerve said. “I hear the aft made some threats ‘gainst his pretty creations ‘n conjunx while some o’ his customers saw’m out.”

“And?” Punch asked.

“Fell off the ferry on the way back to Staniz,” Swerve said. “Sharkticon got’m before anyone could help.”

“‘N ya think the innkeepers had somethin’ to do wit it?” Punch rolled his optics.

“Well... they coulda,” Swerve replied. “Coulda pushed’m off.”

[archangel-lucerys]

I think about lucerys and all the potential for greatness lost due to some man's ego, how he had the makings of a great dragon rider of his generation in the coordination of arrax and luke to shake off vhagar for as long as they did was any indication.

And this is not just a show addition even in book when arrax panics hearing vhagar's roar lucerys immediately takes control of him

Understand arrax is the youngest riding dragon and vhagar the oldest (not count storm cloud because he was panic riding)

Lucerys realising he's about to be hunted immediately setting to calm arrax, first preparing him to be vigilant, speaking in valyrian only theough out the chase, maneuvering expertly and escaping vhagar teo times successfully and after arrax panics he regains control

And we know from the opening of the strom's end scene and the flight back how hard it was for them to fly in the storm, these were added scenes to show how this is not an easy flight for them but they tried their hardest with a much powerful enemy on their tail

He Would have grown to be the greatest dragon rider.

Like he had more situational awareness than most grown People! He is panicking internally but that did not stop him from being vigilant and alert to vhagar and aemond's movements

So much potential and future gone because of one mistake and ego of a far lesser man

his main weakness was the small and weaker body of his dragon due to age, same with jace and baela had their dragons been older they would have had such an advantage but simply because they're still softer is was easy to rip them apart, be it with other dragons or arrows.

[thaliajoy-blog]

New Legendary Ladies of The World of Ice & Fire series. First, Elenei :

"The songs said that Storm’s End had been raised in ancient days by Durran, the first Storm King, who had won the love of the fair Elenei, daughter of the sea god and the goddess of the wind. On the night of their wedding, Elenei had yielded her maidenhood to a mortal’s love and thus doomed herself to a mortal’s death, and her grieving parents had unleashed their wrath and sent the winds and waters to batter down Durran’s hold. His friends and brothers and wedding guests were crushed beneath collapsing walls or blown out to sea, but Elenei sheltered Durran within her arms so he took no harm, and when the dawn came at last he declared war upon the gods and vowed to rebuild."

"Five more castles he built, each larger and stronger than the last, only to see them smashed asunder when the gale winds came howling up Shipbreaker Bay, driving great walls of water before them. His lords pleaded with him to build inland; his priests told him he must placate the gods by giving Elenei back to the sea; even his smallfolk begged him to relent. Durran would have none of it. A seventh castle he raised, most massive of all. Some said the children of the forest helped him build it, shaping the stones with magic; others claimed that a small boy told him what he must do, a boy who would grow to be Bran the Builder. No matter how the tale was told, the end was the same. Though the angry gods threw storm after storm against it, the seventh castle stood defiant, and Durran Godsgrief and fair Elenei dwelt there together until the end of their days."

[copperarsenite]

the clear day by emwithoutnumber

Argella Durrandon, the bride.

orys baratheon x argella durrandon / a song of ice & fire fanfiction

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