#THERE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A CHECK FOR DREAMER? DID I KILL HER TOO FAST?????

[transgenderfivepebbles]

so limbus company is actually easy when you're not 15 levels too low for everything

[bshpkntrck]

A Madness Shared By Two Siren Battle

Spoilers for A Madness Shared By Two. Under the cut TW for self harm mentions and blood

A haunting song filled the night air as most people slept. Brown eyes opened and without a second glance to the sleeping form next to him he started to head to the sound. It belonged to a red headed woman standing by the lake. "Hello Petey."

"Such a good boy Petey coming out here to see me. Although it pains me to know you're married now you won't be for long you'll be here with me. "

"Over my re-dead body bitch! Get your slutty hands the fuck away from him!" Her blue eyes looked and was met with a pair of icy blue eyes that didn't look too happy about being awake.

"Patrick?! You're supposed to be dead!"

"I am and I'm going to prove to you my song is stronger than yours!"

"So you really wanna battle a siren Pattycakes? You know what will happen and then Petey will be mine anyways."

"Don't call me that and don't call him that. I'm going to win this or die trying."

“You? You never liked to sing you’re too shy and you probably can’t sing but go ahead try.”

The both of them started belting out Hallelujah. Pete’s brown eyes were glazed over still and in his minds eye he saw blue eyes but who they belonged to he couldn’t quite place….

Halfway through Patrick’s knees started to wobble and fell down starting to vomit. “Give it up Pat you can’t beat a siren I don’t know how you’re back but I was the one that convinced Gerard to kill you so I COULD have Pete.”

Blue eyes flickered yellow before lighting up in angelic blue/white glow. “You just signed your own death certificate.” Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand Patrick started to sing again…although the song was different.

“It's all a game of this or that, now versus then

Better off against worse for wear

And you're someone who knows someone who knows someone I once knew

And I just want to be a part of this

The road outside my house is paved with good intentions

Hired a construction crew 'cause it's hell on the engine

And you are the dreamer and we are the dream

I could write it better than you ever felt it”

Pete’s hands started to twitch the image behind his minds eye started to develop. He still saw blue eyes but the red hair was fading and turning more strawberry blonde..

“So hum hallelujah, just off the key of reason

I thought I loved you, but it was just how you looked in the light

A teenage vow in a parking lot, 'til tonight do us part

I sing the blues and swallow them too”

 Pete was still by Ashlee’s side and she was singing too. Patrick knew battling a siren could make him sick..but he didn’t care this was for Pete the only anchor to this life he had…besides the kids which he wouldn’t have if not for Pete.

“My words are my faith, to hell with our good name

A remix of your guts, your insides x-rayed

And one day we'll get nostalgic for disaster

We're a bull, your ears are just a china shop

I love you in the same way, there's a chapel in a hospital

One foot in your bedroom and one foot out the door

Sometimes we take chances, sometimes we take pills

I could write it better than you ever felt it”

Patrick looked at Pete and he was still next to the skank. Patrick could feel the vomit rising in his throat again but yet he still sang..hoping the next part would get his husband back.

“Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelu-

Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelu-

(Hum hallelujah, hum hallelujah, hum hallelujah, hum hallelujah)

A teenage vow in a parking lot, 'til tonight do us part

I sing the blues and swallow them too”

After the last line Patrick was keeled over in the bushes vomiting again. Gods it was worse than morning sickness he had with all the kids (well maybe not the twins) put together. When he felt a hand on his back he looked up and baby blues met wide eyed browns.

“Trick? You okay?”

“Yes and no.. I feel like shit but..you’re here. So that’s a plus.”

“HOW HOW COULD YOU CHOSE HIM OVER ME?! HE’S FAT AND UGLY! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE MINE PETE!” She fired  an energy orb at the pair and Patrick’s eyes widened in his current state there wasn’t much he could do…

Before the energy orb could hit them an energy beam countered it. “Don’t you EVER EVER call him fat and ugly again. He’s perfect in every way. Selfless,beautiful and overall a perfect pure creature. He’s a lot stronger than you and he held back. He held back because he knows I don’t like to see him get consumed by his rage.” One of Pete’s arms was around Patrick the other outstretched where he had fired the energy beam from.

“Come on Petey come back to me.” She started her siren song again and once again brown eyes started to glaze over.  Patrick pale and blue eyes lacking their normal fire stood up.

“Really we’re doing this again? I beat you once I’ll do it again!”

“You can’t beat a siren..Tricky.”

“Watch me. “ Again he took a breath and shakily started to sing.

“Don't panic

No, not yet

I know I'm the one you want to forget

Cue all the love to leave my heart

It's time for me to fall apart

Now you're gone

But I'll be okay

Your hot whisky eyes

Have fanned the flames

Maybe I'll burn a little brighter tonight

Let the fire breathe me back to life

Baby, you were my picket fence

I miss missing you now and then

Chlorine kissed summer skin

I miss missing you now and then

Sometimes before it gets better

The darkness gets bigger

The person that you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger

Oh, we're fading fast

I miss missing you now and then”

He wobbled and looked over at Pete whose eyes snapped back to normal at the sad melody. This was what Patrick and Pete always sang to each other when the other down.  

“Making eyes at this husk around my heart

I see through you when we're sitting in the dark

So give me your filth

Make it rough

Let me, let me trash your love

I will sing to you every day

If it will take away the pain

Oh and I've heard you got it, got it so bad

'Cause HE IS the best you'll never have

Baby, you were my picket fence

I miss missing you now and then

Chlorine kissed summer skin

I miss missing you now and then

Sometimes before it gets better

The darkness gets bigger

The person that you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger

Oh, we're fading fast

I miss missing you now and then“

Tears pricked at the corner of Patrick’s eyes as he finally started to collapse forward. He would’ve hit the ground if Pete hadn’t dashed forward to catch him. “Okay that’s it we’re done here. Stop trying to lure me away from him…he needs me and I need him. We’re soulmates you stupid cunt. You could’ve asked me out in school but you didn’t you were a bitch then and you’re a bigger bitch now. Having a pretty face and voice doesn’t mean you can lure anyone in. Patrick’s got a PRETTIER face and ANGELIC voice and he doesn’t need it to seduce me. He does that by being himself.”

From Pete’s arms Patrick groaned. “Shut up..I do not.”

With a fast shimmer they were back home and Pete carried Patrick up the stairs. “Pete..baby you don’t have to do this I can walk.”

“Nope absolutely not you exhausted yourself in that battle.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“You’re being stubborn and won’t admit it.”

Patrick pouted but didn’t protest when Pete laid him down in the bed especially when he laid next to him.

“Now lets go back to sleep especially since I know how much you hate being up early.”

A kiss to his nose and a low grumble that sounded like shut up as Patrick snuggled into his arms.

Patrick wasn’t sure how long he was asleep for when he heard it…the haunting siren call. Blue eyes glazed over as he untangled himself from Pete and slowly started to head towards the source of the noise.

Pete was a much lighter sleeper than his husband and felt him get up. He assumed maybe Patrick was going to the bathroom or maybe to check on Mycah. But either way he shouldn’t be walking alone..he was still weak from his battle with the siren. And that’s when Pete could just faintly hear it….that bitch was going after Patrick..

When Pete had found them Ashlee was singing by her lake and Patrick…Patrick was crucified against the tree..blue-silver blood dripping from his wrists and his head hanging down against his chest. “WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK DID YOU DO TO HIM?”

“Who says I did it darling? I’m just singing my song..for a lonely broken heart…yours.”

“My heart isn’t broken..its filled with rage that I’m going to kill yo—“ He was cut off  by Patrick’s shrill screech as she sliced her nails down his arm causing more of the blue-silver blood to flow.

“Come on Petey you’re a vampire aren’t you and this one..he’s the head white angel how  tempting that must be for you. I promise I’ll take care of you just come kill him like a good vampire.”

Vampires were naturally drawn to white angel blood it was like catnip to a cat to them. Patrick wasn’t just a white angel..he was the head white angel so his scent was one million times more alluring than any of his followers. Throw in that Patrick was well Pete’s other half and it was infinity more times alluring than any scent in the world. Pete’s eyes flashed red and his fangs extended. He ended up biting his own hand first. “I won’t hurt him… I hate drinking his blood. Leave him alone…I’ll go with you.”

“Pete…no..” Patrick’s eyes were becoming more focused and the cuts on him had vanished. Pete didn’t know his husband could heal without using his hands. He did however know how strong Patrick was so he wasn’t surprised to see him break free of his binds once his cuts were healed. “I can beat her I just need the energy…I need you.”

“You’ve tried Tricky and you failed. You gave in so NICELY when I was torturing you earlier.”

Patrick frowned as he saw what had transpired before Pete got there.

“You came I didn’t think I could lure a celestial being such as you..usually it’s creatures of the night. We’re going to have some fun before I kill you.” 

Next thing Patrick knew he was crucified against the tree tight wire digging into his wrist causing the blood to start dripping.  The pain was excruciating and it reminded Patrick of his past..his dark past that almost cost him Pete. 

“Thinking of him? Don’t worry he’ll come then he’ll be mine.”

“I don’t care what you do to me…leave him alone.”

“Whats on your mind Tricky? Mean little ole me could fuck your mind better than Gerard ever could..or what about your dear old parents?”

Instantly Patrick froze and went completely rigid. Memories of curling in the corner hiding while adults screamed saying magic was make believe and to grow up to be a real man not some fag waving a wand flashed into his head. Pale white hands covered his ears and he started to rock back and forth.

Pete was at a loss..he had never seen Patrick like this…what did this devil woman do to him? “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?”

“Nothing..yet he’s weak Petey how can you expect him to protect you?”

“I don’t need him to protect me! Leave him alone!” 

“Why? You’re going to kill him.” With a few words a wall of water rose up and lifted Patrick in the air before freezing so it imprisoned him. Ashlee hopped up to him cutting his shirt down with her nails and then dragging her nails over his right shoulder where the tattoo of Pete’s name was.  Blue eyes opened wide and he started to scream again thrashing against his icy binds as the ice dug into him and more blood started to pour out of previously healed wounds.

Pete followed her because he needed to wake Patrick up there was no way he could win this fight alone.“Patrick! Patrick wake up I’m here…I’m right here Trick… and I am so so so sorry.”

“He can’t hear you. As far as he knows he’s this scared little teenager again that was hopelessly in love with his best friend that was just out of his reach.  So since that’s true..I’ll make sure to erase his memory of you permanently.” She finally reached down to his left hand where streaks of blue-silver blood trailed and almost helped lubricate his ring finger allowing her to pull off the silver band.

When Pete saw her remove Patrick’s wedding band the bloodlust in his subsided but the anger rose to a fever pitch. He would never forget the day him and Patrick got married. Bathed in the warm glow of Patrick’s angel palace a place that Pete by all regards didn’t belong. But Patrick was firm and said for the light to exist it needed a little dark.  That was what was engraved on those wedding bands. Alongside the date and a brief signature.  He remembered dipping Patrick all the way down to kiss him in front of all their friends and how Patrick despite turning a beautiful shade of pink (it clashed with the all white that he was wearing) allowed it and even was the one to attempt to deepen it. The way they had waltzed around to their wedding song was magical. 

Pete was at a loss. He didn’t know how to save Patrick. If roles were reversed Patrick would’ve had him safely in his arms by now.Even when Pete was named head vampire Patrick didn’t bat an eyelash about going to the vampire kingdom with him for the coronation ceremony.Even though it put him in extreme danger given how attractive a white angel’s blood was to a vampire. But no Patrick this pure and beautiful selfless creature walked confidently hand in hand with Pete and smiled when Pete was told it was him, he was the new head vampire.  At that moment he finally felt worthy of Patrick. Even though he was older than Patrick he always felt like Patrick was out of reach, he was smart, he was strong and he could command the white angel army easier than he could fall asleep. Pete sought out Patrick’s advice about ruling a species and Patrick just shrugged and gave him that smile with those blue eyes. “Just be yourself.”

Ashlee had raised the prison even higher and sent a wall of water crashing into Pete knocking him back down to the ground.Fists clenched after looking down his left wrist where Patrick’s name was inked into his skin forever.  Using his super ability to jump fifty feet in the air he landed on the ice prison where Ashlee was still clawing her nails into Patrick who wasn’t screaming anymore and was just staring straight ahead like he was…oh god he couldn’t be.

“Get your fucking disgusting hands off him and I won’t punch you hard enough to make your ancestors feel it.”

“Awe but Petey….I’ll comfort you..sorry for the loss of your sweet sweet husband but face it. He was a little geek and you two just didn’t fit together. You’re better off without him—“ The punch when it came was hard and Pete felt like he was borderline going feral.  “Give me his wedding band RIGHT NOW OR I’LL TEAR YOU APART PIECE BY PIECE.”

The next bunch of events happened so fast it was a blur. The two of them were wrestling and Pete had to admit she was strong considering his super human strength. Dear gods Patrick couldn’t really be dead could he?

Her sharp claws dug down his arms and he screamed at the pain and slashed at her with his own claws.

“Ice carcerem!” Now Ashlee was imprisoned in an ice prison just like she had done to Patrick and Pete was grateful he remembered a few spells from his school days.

“Now I am going to tear you apart limb by limb. You’ll pay for what you did to him. I don’t know how to destroy a siren but I’ll figure it out!”

“You? You were too busy banging Gabe to pay attention how did you ever pass scho—“

Pete wondered what made her stop talking even as he pressed his hand to skin trying to stop the bleeding. If he had fed he’d be self healing but he hadn’t eaten in awhile.

“Oh, the things that you do in the name of what you love

You were doomed but just enough

You were doomed but just enough

If you were church, whoo

I'd get on my knees, yeah

Confess my love, I'd know where to be

My sanctuary, you're holy to me

If you were church, yeah, I'd get on my knees

I love the world but I just don't love the way it makes me feel

Got a few more fake friends

And it's getting hard to know what's real

And if death is the last appointment

Then we're all just sitting in the waiting room

I am just a human trying to avoid my certain doom”’

Pete heard the haunting melody and it was a call like another siren…dear gods Ashlee was bad enough.

“I didn’t know there was another siren nearby…but still they can’t have you. I claimed you first Petey..” She started to wail as the mystery siren’s song changed to something darker…

“All the writers keep writing what they write

Somewhere another pretty vein just dies

I've got the scars from tomorrow and I wish you could see

That you're the antidote to everything except for me

A constellation of tears on your lashes

Burn everything you love

Then burn the ashes

In the end everything collides

My childhood spat back the monster that you see

My songs know what you did in the dark

So light em up…ignis anguis!”

That last bit was not a song..it was a spell..a spell Pete remembered being cast the year they all got snowed in at the magic school.  The fire snake wrapped slowly around Ashlee’s ankles.  Her ice prison was melting and the collision of heat and steam made it hard to see. 

Pete sighed softly and just started to sing softly trying to comfort himself for dealing with the after math of this battle.

“The tombstones are waiting

They were half engraved

They knew it was over”

Pete didn’t know how he was supposed to deal with losing Patrick again…

“Just didn't know the date”

He jumped about ten feet in the air when he heard someone singing with him.Was it the siren that had helped him? Were there good sirens? Maybe this one didn’t attract married men…so maybe Pete was safe, for the moment.

“And I cast a spell over the West

To make you think of me

The same way I think of you

This is a love song in my own way

Happily ever after below the waist”

And now the siren’s voice sounded familiar and Pete slapped himself. It wasn’t a siren’s voice it was an angel’s voice…his angel’s voice and he barely had time to process that when he felt lips on his. 

“How did you get out of that mess? I thought you were dead!” Not caring about covering each other in their own blood the pair found themselves in a vice grip hug. “We’re connected love as long as you live I’ll find a way back to you. Plus well I can heal myself you know. Now then.”

Pete watched as Patrick stood up and faced Ashlee. Despite being tortured he stood strong. “I believe you have my wedding band give it back and maybe I’ll remove the flames. Tell me Ashlee am I more than you bargained for yet?”

“Hey Trick? I’m glad you’re okay but I can’t get my arm to stop bleeding think you could?”

“Oh God…I’m sorry Pete..but I’m not going to heal you. You’re going to heal yourself.”

“You know I can’t…OH!”

Brown met blue (although Patrick’s eyes were more green from using his angelic siren powers) and Pete saw Patrick’s plush pink lips curve into a smirk. He walked behind his husband and held him by his waist nuzzling into his neck. “I still feel bad…”

“Sush and just bite me.”

“Trick baby..don’t you think you’ve lost enough blood..”

“I swear to fuck Peter if you don’t bite me…trust me…I know my body…and I need you.”

If there was one thing Pete couldn’t refuse it was when Patrick’s voice went low and raspy. It was like his voice dripped of sex,which right now Pete reminded himself it probably was.

~#~

Having retrieved his wedding band back from Ashlee Patrick smirked looking at Pete. “Well put it on and kiss me.”

“Babe you really want me to kiss you? My mouth is tainted with your blood and my own.” The ring was slid onto Patrick’s ring finger and he sighed softly however…

“I don’t care kiss me now so help me—mmmph!”

His hands tangled in Pete’s hair and their hips crashed against each other’s before Patrick broke the kiss leaving Pete confused. “Wait here..I’m gonna make sure she can’t bother us anymore.”

Patrick couldn’t jump as high as Pete could but he could fly and was up at the top of Ashlee’s slowly melting ice prison the clashing of his and Pete’s fire and ice spells. “Well well well what have we here?”

Ashlee looked at him and gasped. “You…you look different…you’re not fat like you were in school and you’re glowing.”

“I know and I haven’t been for awhile. You were just too blind to see.  I’m going to sing you one more song and then we’re done.”

“So wear me like a locket around your throat I’ll weigh you down,I’ll watch you choke you look so good in blue.” Closing his eyes and repeating in his head that this was for him and Pete he locked his lips on hers letting the combination of the mixture of his and Pete’s blood flow into the open cut on her lips. He pulled back smirking the spell was complete.

The fire started to rise and she started to screech. “What did you do to me?”

“Killed you with the power of love sweetheart now if you don’t mind I’m washing my mouth with soap and going home to bang my husband until the sun rises. Toodles!”

"See Ashlee i would say thanks for the memories even though they weren't that great but Pete tastes like you only sweeter...much much sweeter."

Once he was back on the ground with Pete no words were exchanged just  strong embrace. After a moment Patrick spoke up in his low, husky voice. “Can I take you home Pete?”

“Do you have to ask Trick?”

With a flash of blue they disappeared just as Ashlee turned to dust.

Pete was laying in his and Patrick’s bed naked minus his boxers and glanced at the bathroom door where he could see his husband also naked minus his boxers and undershirt. “Trick…you’re going to scrub your teeth away you’ve brushed them about twenty times. Not to mention how many times you washed your face..”

“I DON’T CARE THAT WAS VILE!”

[askthestabbystabbysquad]

M-may I please have how the slasher's met their s/o's? Please & thank you...!!

(The cute anons are making their stay here permanent!! I’m not complaining in the least. Better than anon hate!)

Michael: He stared at the male/female in front of him in shock. Were they blind? The knife was CLEARLY visible in his hands, and yet, here they were, asking him to help them with a crazed and panicked look on their faces. Perhaps they thought the knife was a fake? “Please!! I really need your help!! I’m being chased and I need help!” They sobbed, hugging their exposed arms and shivering in the cold. Then he saw a group of men approaching them, guns in their hands. He tilted his head in a confused manner, looking down at the trembling figure before him, then looking back at the approaching men. “Oy! y/n! Get back here! We ain’t done yet!!” The trembling stopped as they wailed and stood, their bleeding legs now oblivious to him.

He didn’t know what came over him, or what prompted him to put a hand on the trembling male/females shoulder and reassuringly pull them closer, but he did without any more hesitation. These men disgusted him for some reason. And the second one of them came into his reach, they founds their throats slashed. The others stood, staring in shock, the alcohol now clearly present on their breaths. They started backing away, despite having a weapon that could kill more easily than a knife. He let go of the trembling person at his side and stalked forward, glaring under his mask, ready to take them out, when he heard a gunshot and felt a sting in his chest. One of the men had shot at him, and lowered their gun, a smirk on their face. “Ha! Take THAT you freak!” He slurred, obliviously not noticing that he hadn’t fallen over dead or in pain. He killed them off, then turned to kill the shivering person on the ground, but stopped when they looked up at him. “Thank you for saving me. Don’t worry. I won’t tell…” They stated, tears falling down their faces. “And if you need help with that bullet wounds, then I’d be happy to help you.”

Jason: He’d heard the shouting and screaming, not to mention whoops from his cabin. He could tell that they were at the lake. He could hear them jumping into it. He stood, yanking the machete out of the floor, then he stormed out the door, ready to hack them apart. He walked with ease through the woods, determined to eliminate the trespassers in his territory. He wasn’t prepared to see what was before him. There was, of course, a party, but there was a male/female shouting at the others, scolding them and pointing at the speakers and telling them to turn them off. “This was supposed to be party-free and that we weren’t supposed to be making dumb decisions!!” “Whatever lame ass!” A girl snarled back, pushing them to the ground. “You weren’t even invited!” They protested, getting up slowly. “I invited myself, bitch.” The girl snapped.

They were shoved again and then had a drink spilled on them, the gang of drunks quickly turning on them, and pouring their drinks on them too. They got up and wiped the alcohol off of their faces, then glared intensely at the girl that had pushed them over. “You know what, (Insert hated bitches name here)? I’m DONE with your APPALLING behaviour! I’m sick and tired of you inviting yourself to weekend get away’s to ruin my life! I’m not taking anymore of your bullshit!” they roared, before slapping her across the face and storming off. The girl lay on the ground, holding her cheek in shock with wide eyes. Jason murdered everyone at that camp that night, then hunted down that girl, who had packed up her things and left moments after they had been pushed down and had alcohol dumped on them. He’d spent months stalking them. Their name was apparently (y/n), and they’d been under great amounts of suspicion after the slaughter. But meeting them was an accident. He’d been careless, and forgotten that they were going to garden that day. He now stood, towering over them, his machete in hand, ready to strike, when they smiled up at him. “You’re the one I need to thank for getting rid of those ass holes huh? Well, thank you Mr…. Uh… What’s your name?” He looked around in panic, before shakily holding up his hand and signing his name. They watched intently, and then smiled. “Thank you very much Mr.Jason Voorhees. I appreciate you dealing with those jerks.”

Freddy: This guy/girl was a tough one to catch. The second they’d woken up in the boiler room they’d taken off, immediately slapping a hand over their mouth. But he knew where they were He kept popping up in the corners of their eyes, and he sometimes even called their name and chuckled. “Shit shit shit! Why, of all the times I manage to fall asleep, do I have to have a creepy ass lucid dream?!?” They muttered under their breath before they turned a corner. Tired with this game of cat and mouse, Freddy popped up in front of them as they did so. “Found you bitch!” He roared before finding himself in incredible agony. They’d kicked him square in the balls and run off screaming “Not today motherfucker!!” He recovered quickly and gave chase. They were pretty fast, and seemed to be an experienced lucid dreamer by the way they bent their environment, which was frustrating the dream demon and making things difficult for him. “That’s enough! I’m done letting you play with MY turf!!” He shouted and flattened out the dream, putting them in an endless black.

They stopped running and simply dropped to the floor, crying. “Uh, the fuck?” “Why NOW of all times?!? I’m to stressed for this! I have to study for finals not fall asleep!! I only have a week left! Please, just pare me and let me pass my finals! I NEED to make my parents proud! I NEED to do this before my dad dies!!” They sobbed, their palms on their eyes and their fingers knotting in their hair. He blinked in confusion before walking closer, slowly. “Do you know who I am?” “You’re Freddy Krueger. The Springwood Slasher. I had to study your case. I didn’t think I’d fall asleep studying though and then actually meet some dead guy who killed kids!” They shouted, before sitting up, their eyes wild. “I need to pass this final. I need to graduate law school to make my dad proud. Please, please PLEASE! I’m BEGGING you! He’s only got a month left! I can’t afford to fail!” They stood and got into his face, tears streaming down their cheeks. “Uh, yeah. Fine. Sure. But might I suggest actually sleeping or at least drinking some fucking coffee? You look like shit!” He stated, and they laughed. “Yeah. As everyone’s been telling me for the past month.”

Pinhead: The male/female before him quivered in fear, tears rolling slowly down their cheeks as they pressed themselves closer to the wall as they held a badly damaged arm, bruises adorning their bodies. Their soul shone with a purity Pinhead hadn’t seen in humans for a long while. “W-who are you?” They timidly asked, fear in their voice. He responded simply by blinking and kneeling down, and taking their arm in his hand. “I was sent to collect your soul in exchange for (Insert hated persons name here)’s. But yours is far too pure to be tormented.” He stated, the male/female cowering away from him, and wincing at his touch. He studied the wounded limb, feeling the broken bone encased in the soft flesh and muscle. He sighed. “As your soul is far too pure, I will spare you, and take theirs instead. You must get this fixed, for your time will come, and I will be there to drag you to hell.” He stated, picking them up under their arms and putting them back on their feet.

The clung to his arm with their good arm. “Wait. Take me with you. Anywhere is better than here with (Hated persons name)! I can take torture! I can take abuse! I just…” They trailed off, starting to sniffle. He gave them a confused look and studied their bruised, yet angelic face closely. They looked to be ready to give up. He let his hard expression soften and took their face gently in his hands. “Your soul isn’t permitted to be in such a place as hell, and you must understand that your soul is uncorrupted, unlike so many who have gone through torment. This is why those whose souls are already corrupted are going to attempt to corrupt yours. If you do not wish to be dragged to hell and tortured until your soul is torn apart, then I suggest you stay strong.” They looked down at their feet. “But what’s it worth when I’m all alone?” They quietly asked, which made the Cenobite feel a twinge of something reminiscent of pity, or guilt. He shook his head. “If anything, do it for yourself, regardless of weather or not you are alone.” He stated, before leaving them standing in the small apartment to go and collect the unfortunate soul that had made an unsuccessful bargain to save their soul.

Hannibal: He stared at the rather attractive librarian that had strolled over to see if he’d needed any help. “Oh! That’s a wonderful book sir! You have very good taste!” They stated, their eyes lighting up as they looked at the selection of books he had in his hands. He chuckled. “I’ve never read it before, but surely if someone as charming as yourself has read it and confirmed it’s quality then I’ll have to read it.” The male/female blushed and looked away shyly and coughed. “O-oh! I didn’t mean anything by it. But I’m not a fan of fantasy and this has changed my mind.” They rushed over their words before disappearing to go help another visitor to the library. He looked at the book they’d been referencing and chuckled. It was supposed to be a rather unknown book, but he’d been waiting for it to appear again. The cover of the book was deceiving to most, and he knew that it held multiple recipes for cannibals, hidden in the text all under the guise of a supposedly fascinating story. He walked to the counter to check out the books he’d selected and gave the librarian from earlier a polite smile as they rushed to help him.

“Are you in a rush?” “Oh, no, I just like to work fast, simply because I never know who’s in a rush or not!” They stated with a smile, before a flash of headlights from a passing car shone in their eyes from the window behind him and momentarily blinded them, the screeching of tires loud outside. Their face flushed red in anger as they slammed a book down. “That’s it! I’m so sorry sir, but I need to make a call. Please, wait a moment.” “Do take your time. Does that happen often?” They sighed as they walked towards the phone on the far side of the desk. “Unfortunately, the teenagers have found it funny to do burnouts on the front yard of the library as soon as it starts to recover. Of course, some of them find it funny to do when they’ve found something to drink and are drunk or high, and someone was almost hit the last time this happened. Please, do be carefu-” A car crashed through the window and toppled a bookshelf as it sped and screeched out of control towards the desk. The librarian shoved him out of the way moments before the car struck the spot he’d been standing moments ago. They lay, their legs pinched in between the car and the desk, unconscious and bleeding. He stared in shock at the people piling out of the car, who were screaming and crying. One of them threw up and another passed out. Someone had called an ambulance as he tried to push the car off of the polite and charming librarian, checking for a pulse every few seconds. He intended to visit them as a thank you for saving his life.

Norman: He’d seen the car barely pull into the motel driveway when it died, and someone stepped out and began pushing it, their body quickly becoming drenched in the downpour of rain. He grabbed a raincoat and ran outside to help them. “H-hey! Do you n-need help?” He asked as loudly as he could. They turned to him, squinting on the rain. “Yes please!” A male/females voice rang out as they shoved their car once again, trying to get it to move. He ran to their side, almost slipping on the muddy ground as he did so. He shoved the car, and with their combined efforts, got it to start rolling towards the nearly empty parking lot. He helped them get some luggage out of their car and carry it inside, just as a tree snapped in half due to the force of the wind. He pulled his hood off and hurried to get them a blanket so they could warm up. “Bad storm huh?” They asked. “Y-yeah. Apparently there’s a t-tornado somewhere nearby and we’re g-getting some w-wind from it o-over here.” “Really?” “Y-yeah, somewhere in the woods.” They took a towel he’d offered them and dried off before accepting the blanket and wrapping it around themselves. “Sorry about the mud. But I saw that there was a motel and thought I’d stop in and get some gas, but it really looks like I’m staying for the night.” He smiled shyly.

“I’m n-not complaining. W-we have a lot of va-vacancies, so you shouldn’t have to worry a-about any n-noise.” “Oh? That’s a wonder why. It’s such a homely little motel. Do you do taxidermy?” “O-oh, yes.” He smiled before leading them to a room that they could stay in until the storm passed. “D-did you eat?” He asked before he unlocked the room. “Oh, no I haven’t. Are there any restaurants in walking distance?” “No, th-this is the only building for a while…” He stated, twiddling his thumbs. “I-I can make you dinner i-if you w-want.” “Oh, no I don’t want to bother you…” “I-it’s not a bother.” He smiled, getting one back. “Thank you so much. I’ll give you a hand, uh… What’s your name again?” “Norman. Norman Bates. You?” “Y/n.”

Billy: He rubbed his head, the glass shards falling off the top of it. He glared up from in his mask at the male/female that had smashed a vase off the top of his head. They grabbed a baseball bat and raised it. “WAIT! WHOA! SHIT!! HOLD UP!!” He yelled, scooting back against the carpet, his hand above his face. “Why should I?” They hissed. “Because, uh… I have a wife and kids?” “You know, usually in a horror movie, the killer is the one being bartered.” “Yeah, I- Wait! You watch horror movies?” “Uh, yes. Why?” “Then who was talking to me on the phone?” He asked, confused as all hell. “Uh, that would probably be (Insert sibling/family members name here)…” He shot up to his feet. “ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!?” He hollered before turning to the stairs. “There’s someone else here?” He growled.”Uh, yeah. You didn’t realise that?” He growled before turning to them.

“You got lucky. Remember that.” “Uh, bro, I was the one kicking YOUR ass.” “Sh-shut up!” He whined. They laughed and patted his shoulder. “Tell you what, you stay here and watch the end of this movie with me and I won’t call the police.” “What movie?” “The Shining.” “DEAL!!” He hollered, seeing that the movie was paused only five minutes in. He also noticed a lack of popcorn. “Uh, were you going to make popcorn?” He sniffed the air, smelling something burning. Their eyes widened. “SHIT THE POPCORN!!” They rushed into another room, which he assumed was the kitchen and yelled to the holy heavens above. “NO!! IT’S GONE!! ALL GONE!!” They wailed before running back out and dramatically falling down onto the couch and covering their faces with their hands. “I’ve failed to make popcorn once again.” He laughed and shook his head. “You know what? I think that I’ll leave and come back later for that movie. That’s a promise.”

Stu: He had fallen through the sunlight and was now laying on his back with a gun pointed at his face. He put his hands up, wincing when the glass under his back dug in just a bit. He looked up at the male/female who seemed to be close enough to an actual officer, but he could tell otherwise. “You…” They said, their eyes widening. “I thought you were someone else…” They stated, backing away, eyes wide and fear evident in their behaviour. “Oh? Who would that be?” “None of your business. All you need to know is that I have something I need to do before I die, and I don’t think you’ll be the one to stop me.” They snarled, glaring at him. “Do tell. Perhaps we could help each-other out a bit.” “How so?” They snarled, tightening their grip on the gun. “You want someone dead, don’t you?” They almost dropped the gun in shock. “I can see the look in your eyes, and your reaction proves it. I can kill them for you. All I need is a name and a phone number, maybe even an address. BUT!” He stood up and got closer, taking off his mask and pulling a few shards of glass out of his back. “You have to promise to help me out here.” He pushed the gun aside and got in their face.

They swallowed loudly. “I want out of here, and I want a place to stay for the next little while so the police will lose my trail.” “And you’ll kill him? You’ll really kill him?” “Do you like scary movies?” “They’re my favourite movies…” HE smiled wickedly. “If you can give me accurate information about him, I’ll help you. But if you don’t and I get arrested, that question can save your life there love. And then the others can too.” He shoved them to the floor, putting the voice changer up to his face and then he spoke. “So, what you’re saying is, you’ll let me come and go when I please in exchange for my services?” “Y-yes.” “Fine then. Who is it you want dead?” Their eyes shone with hatred and anger. “I want (Insert most hated persons name here) dead. I want revenge…” They snarled, a bloodthirsty look in their e/c eyes, their face scrunched up in anger and hatred. “Oh? Why them of all people?” “They killed my family and got away with it because they had money. Kill them and you can come and go whenever you want, and I’ll cover for you.” They stated, holding out their hand. He took it in his gloved and bloody hand, then shook it. “We have a deal.”

David: He’d heard the screaming and yelling from a while away, over the roar of his motorcycle, which drowned out most of the other noises. He signalled for the others to continue to the hangout while he went to investigate and then veered off onto the side road. He felt his teeth grind together at the familiarity of the place that he’d once called a home. He could even see where his old home had stood and it truly angered him. He could sense that someone had intruded into his old territory, which was still technically his. He sped up, urging to bike to go to it’s top speed, which still wasn’t enough, but he stayed on it, simply to keep the illusion of being human up for a little bit longer. He could already feel his fangs poking at the inside of his lower lip. He parked in front of a section of woods that the yelling was coming from the got off, strolling it at a pace compared to that of an Olympic sprinter, running full speed to reach the finish line. He really was furious as he tore into a small clearing, where a gang of people was having a very vocal argument.

“Ladies, gentlemen. What do you fucks think you’re doing here?” “Who invited you pasty?” A male asked, before spitting in his direction. He could tell these people weren’t the upstanding citizens, as was oblivious by the bound and gagged male/female in the middle of the circle, who was covered in scratches and bruises, and was probably royally pissed off judging by the way they were violently shaking to try and get out of the rope. He laughed and easily strolled forward, before flashing his fangs and letting out an angered hiss at the supposed hot-shot, who screamed and jumped back. “Freak!!” He hollered before pulling a knife and charging at the angered vampire, who then tossed him over his shoulder and walked with confidence towards the bound man/woman that had looked up at him with wide and terrified eyes. He didn’t understand why he helped them but he did so while scaring the gang that had intruded shitless, even mortally wounding a few of them. He picked them up and led them back to his motorcycle, turning back to the gang to glare. “I’m giving you all one hour to leave or I come back and finish you off myself.” He threatened before leaving the old forgotten town behind and taking the shivering human that clutched onto his back during the ride back to the city. “Thank you… What’s your name?” “David. You?” “Y/n.” They stated, before pointing at an apartment building. “I live in there…” “Then that’s where I’ll drop you off.” He smiled and did just that, giving them a tiny threat to ensure that they wouldn’t go talking about him before leaving them in their doorway.

Carrie: She saw the male/female doctors face, kindly smiling down at them the second her eyes opened. “Hello miss! Please, stay calm. We’re here to help. You were found in the woods a few days ago, but you appear to be fine, so you should be able to go home soon!” They cheerfully said. “I’m doctor y/n, what’s your name honey?” “… My name is Carrie…” “Your last name?” “I don’t remember…” She lied, watching her abilities, making sure that she wouldn’t be discovered. She’d been so tired, hungry and cold in those woods, that was all she remembered before she lost conscience. “Oh. I see. Do you remember where you’re from?” “I don’t have any family.” She firmly stated, trying to get them to take the hint that she didn’t want to talk about herself, to which they responded by shyly looking away. “Right… I’m sorry to hear that ma’am. Do you need a glass of water? Something to eat?” “No. I just want to be left alone.” She hissed moments before a light bulb exploded over the nurses head, causing them to jump and shield their head, before glaring up at the bulb. “I thought I told maintenance to fix that bulb… Sorry about that Carrie, we’ll get that fixed up right away. I’ll leave you alone for now, but please, I want you to realise that I only want to help you feel more comfortable.” They stated, smiling, before walking out.

She stared at their back before looking up at the light bulb. “I though I did that…” She shook her head, reassuring herself that she had, in fact, made the bulb explode. Her powers wouldn’t disappear, now wold they. She tried, and succeeded in lifting a vase in the corner of the room and brought it over to herself before looking at the brightly coloured flowers, just as the nurse walked back in with a maintenance man, who fixed the light bulb without saying a word as the male/female nurse huffed in the corner, smiling at Carrie whenever they caught her eyes. Once the bulb was fixed, the maintenance left and the nurse walked over. “Do you like the vase? I thought your room looked a little bland, so I brought them in. I can get more if you’d like.” “Stop being so fake.” She hissed, putting the vase on her bedside and glaring. “You’re being fake.” Their eyebrows rose and their eyes widened then they laughed. “I understand you know that it’s my job to be polite to patients, but I do want to be nice to you Carrie. I mean it. I like you. You seem different, and that’s good. You’re a calm person. Usually someone would be panicking when they woke up in the hospital.” She glared even more. “No, you’re being fake. Nobody thinks different is good.” “Well, I do. That’s different, isn’t it?” They smile, before looking at the flowers. “You know, I think I’ll bring more for you. Unless you’re allergic to pollen, that is. Then I’ll bring you some fake flowers.” Carrie groaned and slapped a pillow over her face. “…I’m not allergic to pollen.” “Good! Next time I think I’ll bring… Pink flowers.” They stated, smiling. “A shade that’ll compliment your eyes. I really like them. They’re pretty.”

Samara: Samara crawled out of the screen, hearing someone screaming at other people. “I TOLD YOU DIPSHITS NOT TO WATCH THE TAPE!! I TOLD YOU!” They shouted, knocking something over. She stood now, ready to take the lives of the people in the room, until a board came flying at her, smacking her in the face. She froze in shock. Never had someone actually fought back by hitting her with a board of wood. She raised her head a little, catching sight of the male/female who’d thrown the board, who ran out of the room, a rock in hand as their only weapon. She followed, feeling a little intrigued, but not enough to spare their lives. She followed them outside, where the two other people who had been on the room before had started screaming as soon as they saw her. Samara moved pretty slowly, but sped up just a little bit. The third, the male/female who’d been the one to hit her with a plank attacked mere seconds before turning and running alongside the road instead of crossing it. She followed them to get rid of the threat of any more injury, putting the other two to the side of her mind. She’d get them later. 

Her target moved much more quickly than her, but she was always one step ahead of them. She was always on their heals. She now moved at an average jogging pace, anger clouding her thoughts as they ran faster over some train tracks, a train farther along down. They stopped and looked back at her, a large pipe in their hands. “Leave me alone. I didn’t watch your tape!” They snarled, pointing the pipe at her. She tilted her head, only a few inches from the tip of the pipe. “I didn’t! I swear! I left the room when the tape was put into the VCR!” They stated, trying to move to the side so they could run away, fear clearly written on every inch of their face. She watched them make a dash for the tracks, but their foot touched the metal bar, and a jolt of electricity sparked as they were thrown backwards. The train then passed, the wind blowing violently as they lay, unconscious by her feet. They had a burn mark on their now empty hand from the hot metal of the pipe, which had been thrown out of their hand when they got thrown. She starred at them for a bit, before crawling into their phone and giving the emergency dispatch their location. She didn’t know why, but she left them be, choosing to go after the other two. She planned to pay the male/female a visit later on to see weather or not they truly watched the tape or not. 

[clonerightsagenda]

Most of this popped into my head way earlier this year, but I thought I’d polish it up for this update.

So here’s a double eulogy, I guess, for a character I finally came to love when I had to kill her.

“Dreambubbles can be disorienting at first,” Tavros says to a gathered crowd of ghosts. Stating the obvious is a major part of his orientation speech for new recruits.

You lean against the hull of his flagship just out of view, arms crossed. This latest batch was a team effort, same as the one before. You’re not allowed to go out on solo rescue missions yet, only to serve as bait. Apparently you’re “unreliable”, like you weren’t FLARP champion of your hiveblock with all the achievements to your name.  All the important ones, anyway.

You’ve heard the speech plenty of times, first as its victim and now as an observer. You want to jump onto the deck and shove him out of the way so you can set the record straight. “Listen up, losers. We’re not important. We’re not here for a reason, except that we messed up or someone stuck a sword through our backs. We’re dead weight, dead. Get used to it and get moving, unless you want to be dust too.”

That wouldn’t “send the right message”, though, so instead you scowl while Tavros drones on. One day. One day you’ll do it, once you’ve figured out where to go next and are ready to bail. A fitting farewell to this juvenile playacting, to remind them what real go-getters look like.

“There aren’t any obvious boundaries between one place and the next, which you might have noticed,” Tavros goes on. The Boy Skylark can win some achievements for self-evidency, anyway. “And the bubbles themselves tend to, merge together or drift apart. That’s normal. You should just expect that, um, the only thing to expect here is everything changing all the time.” You roll your eyes. Eloquent. “Even you!” he adds. “You’re not bound, to be whoever you were before you came here. Whatever that might be. Even if there are things you feel bad about, or wish you could change. If you take enough steps here, the place you’re in could change into a field, or a mountain, or a lake. There’s no reason, that if you take enough steps, you can’t change into something else too.”

Feel good wiggler crap. You’ve always hated these speeches.

#

“Why are you working with this freakshow?” Eridan asks.

Tavros assigned you to deal with him while he adjusts. You guess your not-leader figures Eridan will respond to a higher blood better, and he has the sense not to ask Feferi to grubsit. So when someone has to deliver marching orders to your newest recruit and you’re not off roaming the fringes of the Furthest Ring, that’s your job.

“I wanted revenge,” you say, tossing the map with Tavros’s latest coordinates in his direction. He doesn’t catch it. Another Eridan helped plan the fleet placements, putting that military history obsession to work, but you’re not going to tell him if he doesn’t ask. “This was a way to get it.”

“Not charging directly at the big bad and getting your ass kicked?” He scoffs, polishing a smudge only he can see off his rifle. “You have changed.”

“I’m biding my time.” You say it loftily, to suggest plans are already in motion. After all, this was supposed be a temporary arrangement, a way to regain your strength and sense of purpose. Then you’d find a new, bigger plan, a way to take English down once and for all.

It’s been sweeps. You haven’t come up with one yet.

Instead you’ve settled into whatever this existence is, a team member whose role is not being part of the team, bait for a destroyer of worlds. It’s not all bad. Gets the adrenaline pumping, for sure, which is vital in a place that lulls you into quiescence. Even though the Furthest Ring isn’t a natural home for Light players, you’ve gotten good at it. If there’s anything you’ve got a knack for, it’s adapting to places that want to kill you.

You learn how to let memories bubble up from inside you and warp your surroundings into shelter and places to hide. You learn how to leap from bubble to bubble when they’re not quite touching, bracing yourself for the chill of the Furthest Ring and the song of the horrorterrors scraping like frozen blades across your mind. You learn the fickleness of luck (winning a coin toss doesn’t matter if your sister stabs you in the back) and wrap fortune around only the outcomes you’ve thought through. It’s like one of those too-clever storybook genies, twisting your wishes, taking you at your word and leaving you scrambling to set things right. Luck must be handled with care.

English has a lot of luck to steal, at least. Everything works out in his favor in the end – that’s more than luck; it’s certainty. You can’t do much with a probability of 100%, but you can slow him down and leach off bits around the edges, making him a hair too slow and yourself just fast enough. You can dart around the margins of his story, for now.

There are moments where it’s tempting to make your successful outcome exclude you, when oblivion calls with its seductively easy way out. This place drains you. Fighting is hard. But sitting still and remembering is nearly as bad. Everyone’s haunted by their memories. Some are just lucky enough that they can’t see the ghosts.

#

The first time you try the savior gig, it doesn’t go well.

Tavros finally lets you off your leash, mostly because English is gunning for two different locations at once. The whole Time hero thing is a real pain in the ass sometimes. You navigate to a shadowy place made up of forests and deep gorges. Finding dreamers is difficult in the gloom, but eventually you draw together a crowd by tugging their attention your way, another Light trick you’ve learned.

“Hey everyone,” you say. “I’m going to be your rescuer today.”

An Aradiabot sneers. “You? You think you’re helping us?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” you demand. “Is it illegal on some notice plastered up somewhere I didn’t read?”

“It’d be unprecedented.”

Leave it to her robo-clones to hold a grudge, just because of a little bit of murder. “I’m all you’ve got, I’m afraid. Any takers?”

No one else says anything, but they don’t start moving either. What’s their problem? Can’t they see that this is important?

You coax and bully and cajole (but you don’t use mind control, not with the memory of glowing eyes and grasping hands still fresh) but they’re slow to move and there’s no time. “Fine,” you snap. “Tavros can come get you here. I’m supposed to be the bait anyway. I’ll lead English away. But if you can possibly bear it, it might be a good idea to head in the opposite direction.”

You hear later that about half of them made it out, the other half hit by a strafe of reality-shattering power before English turned to chase you through a land of flashing colors and fireflies. “We rescued ten,” Tavros says. “That’s good.”

“Good?” you repeat. You either win or you lose; there’s no half and half draw. You lost, and you lost because of you. Why didn’t they listen? You recall the disgusted curl of Aradia’s metal lips and are reminded of that brief time in Tavros’s mind, the uncomfortable sensation of looking at yourself from the outside in. No one ever seems to like what they see.

Obviously they’re not looking right. Who knows you better than yourself?

#

Other Alternian dreamers’ gazes on you feel different after that. The Beforans don’t know you, but you don’t want to run into any Araneas or Meenahs (and definitely not Kurloz) so you keep to yourself. That’s your purpose, after all. Keep English away from anyone important. Keep him focused on you.

There aren’t many humans in the bubbles. Their Time hero was careful (afraid) and kept as linear as he could. Your session was too long, too many ways to get things wrong or the wrong sort of right. Aradia needed an army to keep the Black King in check, and she got one. The many ways your species could fuck it up is splattered in bloody colors all across the Furthest Ring.

You do run into him a few times. He’s almost always living in a memory that doesn’t include you, or he knows Alternians only as messages over Pesterchum. If you step into his hive, his eyes slide right past you.

Once, though, you open a door in a land of dark landmasses and cogwheels rising out of lava that reminds you of Karkat’s, walk right into a human bedroom, and nearly jump out of your skin when he says, “Hey.”

“You know who I am?” you ask.

“I know what you are,” he says. “Don’t think we ever talked.”

“No,” you say. “Not out there or in here. None of your selves want to remember.”

“Can’t blame them.” He rubs his eyes, and you see a sliver of white from behind the shades he insists on wearing as they slide up the bridge of his nose. “My friends. Did they get out ok?”

You haven’t heard from anyone living in sweeps. Is the game over? Would you still be here if it was? “I haven’t seen many of them around,” you say. “I think they might have a chance at winning.”

“That’s good.”

You study him – the human Terezi adopted, who you’d taken quick glances at just to see why she’d waste her time on him. You still don’t get it. Except that he does a bad job of hiding himself, and she loves it when people put themselves out there for her while pretending it’s a challenge. Among the humans, his guardian seemed the best at preparing him like Alternia tried to do, but it didn’t work very well. The cracks are obvious.

Did she think yours were obvious too?

“Well, I must’ve taken a wrong turn,” you say, and turn to go. You get your mind right before you twist the knob of the door you just came through, and it opens this time onto the Land of Little Cubes and Tea.

“Nice trick,” he says.

“You can join up, if you want,” you say over your shoulder. “We’re collecting.”

“Nah.” He retreats to his desk, opening a copy of Pesterchum where every contact is stuck on idle. “I did my part. Leave me to play my shitty video games in peace until the Incredible Hulk ushers me past the great beyond.”

#

You send a message to Aradia, since she’s the one who ministers to lost souls brooding forever in their personal memory-holes. She’s good at it, too. “How did you turn into such an expert therapist?” you ask her once, while taking a breather atop a floating lily pad. The last narrow escape involved crawling through clinging vines, and the grasping tendrils ruined your braids. You disentangle your uneven attempt at fixing them and start over. “I don’t remember that being in your skillset.”

“I wasn’t an expert, not at first.” She waves her latest convert away and then plucks at one of your clumsy plaits. “Here, let me.” You flinch – when was the last time someone touched you? – and she clicks her tongue. “You’ve got a knot here. I’ll have to tug. Think you’re tough enough?”

“Sure,” you say, and try to relax like this is normal, like the last person who did this sweeps ago didn’t go up in smoke.

“That’s not the first Latula I’ve talked to,” she says as she works. “Or even the tenth. They have different memories, but a lot of the pain underneath is the same. Eventually you learn the right things to say, even if it’s by trial and error. It’s not hard to sound wise then.”

You remember her kneeling down as you lay sprawled on white sands and wishing your second life was over. “You don’t have that practice with me.”

“No. But it wasn’t hard to guess that you’d want to do something, after what had happened. Beyond that, you’re right. I don’t know what you’re afraid of, or your regrets. But I’m not sure you do either. Besides…” She ties off one braid and moves to the next, easing apart the strands and smoothing them out. “A lot of the dreamers are here because of me. It’s not my fault, entirely, but I still made them. Shouldn’t I make sure they’re happy, as much as they can be?”

Causality tangles you up sometimes, like the twisted corpses of your lusus’s victims dangling like sad party favors from her webs. How much can you say is yours, in a multiverse where so much is foretold? You contacted the humans because of their Jack. Their Jack was able to enter your session because of you. Which comes first? Whose fault is it? Does it matter?

“Do you think I did bad things?” you ask.

“Yes,” she says.

You’re stung by her tone more than anything else, how her fingers don’t even hesitate at their work. “But I didn’t mean to. And there were extenuating circumstances for basically everything. I could list them off. Extenuation after extenuation, like you wouldn’t believe.”

“You didn’t ask me if I thought you had reasons for what you did,” she says, exchanging a smile with a far-off Porrim. “You asked me if you did it.”

There’s not much you can say to that. There usually isn’t.

#

Sometimes you spend some time with the others, before your Light hero aura draws English in too close and you have to leave again. Ghosts come and go, but the group from your timeline has become tight-knit, and sometimes they loosen the weave enough to let you in.

“Vriska!” Nepeta calls. “It’s been sweeps.”

Nepeta has taken to the bubbles well, rubbing shoulders effortlessly with her hordes of alternates, swapping stories and giggling like it’s not uncanny at all. Wherever she is, Feferi is never far behind. You spot her now a little ways back, signing with a Meulin. She picked up Beforan Sign Language fast, saying it would’ve been helpful for working underwater. All of you know the simpler words and use them to communicate in close quarters when danger is too present for speech. You learned “help” first, fist on palm, thumb up, variations in meaning based on the motion of your hands. I help you. You help me. We help each other.

You can’t follow what they’re saying now, but you do catch the sign they’ve created for Lord English: “E” hands held cupping the eyes like the hollow eye sockets of a skull. At least that’s what it’s supposed to look like. It makes you think of people covering their faces in fear, but that’s the kind of thing you’re not supposed to point out. Bad for morale. Like telling people that you’ve been all over the Furthest Ring, and there’s a lot less of it than there used to be.

“Have you heard about our plan?” Nepeta asks, as Feferi jogs over to join her.

“Plan?”

“We’re not supposed to spill the details yet, remember?” Feferi nudges her with her elbow and grins, showing off rows of shark teeth. The sight reminds you of Meenah’s sharp smile, and you swallow. “We have to make sure it works first. Then we’ll tell everyone.”

“A few more practice rounds would be a good idea. Do you think you can talk Sollux into helping out again?”

“He’ll be grumpy about it, but I’ll try.” Feferi waves at you and sprints off again. She’s animated for a dreamer, but then most people who stay close to Tavros are. Dreamers you have to harangue to even make them look your way perk up at the sight of him, soaking up his assurances that they matter, that they can still grow and change and do things, like Kanaya soaked up sunlight. Is this what the Summoner or Karkat’s ancestor were like, all those sweeps ago? No wonder the Empress wanted both of them dead.

Nepeta’s as cheerful as she always was, but her time here has given her an inner stability you lack. She settles beside you. “I like your bracelets.”

You twist the smooth bands around your wrist. Some of Meenah’s fashion sense stayed; you weren’t copying it all just so she’d like you more. Maybe Alternians as a rule thought fashion was stupid, but Alternians weren’t right about everything. “Thanks. I like your vest.” It must be new, but the cloth is already as ragged as the rest of her clothes. Even when she’s not prowling through jungles, her hands are busy plucking at loose threads or picking at gaps in the weave.

She taps what looks like one of many scales studding the fabric. “I got it from another me. She liked my coat, so we traded. It’s fun to change occasionally.”

You tug at your hair – in a ponytail today – and wonder if she means to tease. “You don’t think it’s weird, meeting other versions of yourself?”

“Why would it be? It’s nice, seeing all the different things I’ve done, like living a million lifetimes with a million possibilities. Of course, not all of them are as lively as us. But they can teach us things.” She nods over at Feferi. “Learning about her other self on Beforus helped her see the problems in her ideas of reform. Although knowing us lowbloods alone might’ve done the trick! Sometimes you need another perspective to navigate, like our maps where you need a bunch of coordinates to know where to go.”

You and Tavros haven’t spoken again about your brief time in each other’s minds. Sollux and Eridan pretend it never happened. Feferi and Nepeta are the only two who emerged without unease, although Feferi does joke that it helps to have four hands again. What would it be like, to not mind someone seeing you that closely? “Are you two matesprits?” you ask.

She blushes olive and punches you on the shoulder. “Don’t be nosy!”

“Fiiiiiiiine. I thought you liked that kind of gossip.”

“It’s different when it’s about you.” The blush hasn’t left her cheeks.

“I won’t pry then. But if you need me to find you some chalk in a memory to update your shipping wall, let me know. I find lots of great loot out there.” You turn out your empty pockets for her inspection. “I’ll have to bring back presents next time. We can have a late perigree’s eve party. Or early. I can’t keep track, but we’ve probably missed a hundred or so.”

“I’d like a celebration. Even if it’s a ‘we survived this long’ party.” Nepeta digs her nails under the edge of another scale on her vest. “Sometimes I forget you’re from our timeline,” she says frankly. “You’re a lot nicer now.”

You stuff your pockets back in your pants, unsure of how to respond. “Thanks?”

“Sorry if that was rude.” She sneaks a look over at you from underneath her bangs. “I meant it as a compliment.”

“There’s not much of a standard of comparison. There aren’t any other mes out there.”

“Even if you can’t see them walking around, you can meet the versions of yourself that you used to be.” She taps her chest. “They’re all still right here.”

“I’m not looking for enlightenment in your rumblespheres,” you say, and she snorts so loud you start laughing too.

#

Sollux approaches you not long after. You’re not sure if he’s half dead again now that Eridan’s back. He doesn’t like to be asked. His lisp is still gone, replaced by the hollow tones you remember from Aradia’s post-death days. “I still don’t trust you,” he says.

“Hello to you too.”

He ignores you. “AA thinks it’s not her place to judge, and Nepeta and Feferi always look for the best in people. But me? I remember what you made me do. You liked it.”

He’s right. Oh, Scratch helped talk you into things, but the sick twists on top? Those were yours. Making Tavros fly off a cliff like Pupa Pan, sending Sollux to kill Aradia for you – you prided yourself on getting people where it hurt them most. It showed you were clever, someone not to be messed with. You’d meant to leave an impression. Looks like you succeeded.

“I’ve kept you safe here,” you say.

“And I want to know why. You never do anything if there isn’t something in it for you.”

You hug your knees. “Eridan asked the same thing.” Maybe that’ll put him off.

“I hate the bastard, but he’s got a point.”

“I want English to suffer,” you say, because it’s the truth. And to your surprise, the next bit is too. “And I want to be better than him.”

He scowls. “At least he’s impersonal about killing us.”

Did he come out here to insult you? Look at yourself from another perspective, Nepeta said, so you try. It’s tricky, but so is shuffling through a life and death’s worth of memories and dragging them out into the world. Mental acrobatics keep you safe these days. What memories would he have of you?

Vriska Serket, Mindfang wannabe and power gamer extraordinaire, always ready to leave her team without their strongest player in the middle of a melee if it meant netting more xp or the choicest treasure. One time you deliberately stepped on an alarmed panel to summon an emerald basilisk for its drops, even though no one else near you had the levels to deal with it. You’d only laughed when it plowed through them and nearly reduced Tavros’ gel viscosity to zero. Even on Alternia, land of a bunch of rowdy wigglers with no self-control, you’d built a reputation as someone who left broken people and broken things in her wake. Now you’re all trapped in a shrinking space with a killer who’s got your scent. You may be the expendable one, the distraction, but you have the power to kill them all just by sitting still. No wonder he’s worried.

“I’m not planning anything,” you say. “No scheme that’ll blow up in my face, no duplicitous double crosses. You don’t have to worry about me, I promise.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you, just like that?”

“Tavros trusts me.”

He snorts. “He’s an optimist. But I’ll believe him more than anything you tell me.”

You look up at the cracking void, at all the damage English has left behind that the rest of you could never fix, not in a million sweeps. “That’s probably for the best.”

#

Time doesn’t pass the same way here. You’re old, so old, but you can’t age, and so you never grow out of ancient hurts or childish arguments. Those things keep most of the dead chained down reliving their petty problems until English blasts them to smithereens. That works in the gods’ favor. Maybe the dead are happier that way too; you don’t know.

You try to avoid Terezis. You’ve never seen the one from your timeline. She’d be older now; you don’t know by how much. You haven’t seen another you out here either. God Tiering so early, most of them probably faded in doomed timelines. The ones who died would have been easy prey for English’s rampage. You don’t want to talk to these fellow sisterless members of Team Scourge. You’re not looking for each other.

One does talk to you, though, when you’re shepherding people into a cave that turns into paneled meteor hallways that turn into a beach where Tavros’ ship is waiting. She’s lingering behind, and English nearly catches you. The first memory that springs to mind as a hiding place is your old clubhouse deep in the Alternian forest. You both squeeze inside the structure of fallen branches and propped up boards, and she runs her fingers over a curling Mindfang drawing. Sheesh, you were embarrassing. Can she see it? You don’t know if death has restored her eyesight. Her eyes are white now, just like yours.

“Sorry for the crummy accommodations,” you say. “I don’t want to lead him after the others, so we’ll lie low for a while and then jump somewhere else.”

“It’s fine,” she says, hunkering down on a locked treasure chest. “I haven’t been here in a long time.”

“Brings back memories, huh?” You look up, where light filters through the cracking roof. The two of you share this part of your past, at least.

“Lots.”

“What happened to you?” you ask, cautiously. With the way timelines work, you’re not sure whether the Terezi who would’ve died if you’d gone after Jack exists as a dreamer or only as a possibility. One day you’re afraid you’ll run into one who’s here because of you.

She sighs, digging her fingers into the seams between the planks of the treasure chest. “Most of us died fighting the Black King. Feferi’s lusus getting prototyped was a big mistake. Aradia reversed, of course, but… a psychic blast isn’t Heroic or Just, and you must’ve come back before she doomed the timeline, so you didn’t show up here.”

“I’ve never met another me,” you say. “Probably for the best. We’d get into fights. Too many strong personalities; you know how it is. I’m always right, obviously, but what happens if I disagree?”

She snickers at that, like you’d hoped. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard her laugh. No one else has one like it. “I was worried about her. We’d never completely patched things over after FLARP, and she was always so reckless. We were supposed to be in charge of a whole world once we won. I didn’t know if you could handle that. I’m glad I met you, even if you’re not her. It’s nice to know you turned out alright.”

“That’s me,” you say. “Turned out great.” And then, to change the subject, you add, “We kind of won. But something happened, right at the end, so we never got to rule over the humans we made. You’re right, though. We would have messed it up.”

“So you won. How did you die?” she asks.

“I made a mistake,” you tell her. “That’s all.”

You could have kissed this one, maybe, a replay of the one time you’d bumped noses and clicked teeth in the real version of this clubhouse and then never spoken of it again. But you don’t. You want the Terezi who knows everything, the truly colossal magnitude of your mistakes, to look at you now and say she’s glad you turned out alright.

#

“They call me the Salvager?” Tavros asks.

You’re sitting on the edge of the flagship after a successful retrieval. You still ask before dropping by, even after all these sweeps. At first it was annoying. Did he want you to wear a collar with a bell? Now, after seeing the doubt in others’ eyes when you come to their aid, you understand a little better. Continuing to ask permission is a peace offering. He’s never said no.

“That’s right, boss.” It’s a joke, but you don’t load the term with irony like you used to. “Someone picking up the garbage.” You wave away his affronted expression. “Metaphorical garbage. Providing succor to lost souls, if you like that better.”

“So it’s a good thing, then.”

“Usually. Some people think you’re in league with English, since you show up with him right ahead of you or right behind. I straighten them out.”

“And they listen to you?”

You shrug. “I’m getting well known too.”

“Do they call you anything?”

“Not as far as I know. They say you must be lucky, and that’s all thanks to me, so maybe that should be my title. Fortun8.” You count. “Nope, only seven letters. We can’t go breaking long established patterns, not at our age.”

“Do you think you’re lucky?”

You flick a splinter of dream-wood off into the sand. “Luck is a tricky thing. It’s not always what you think it is. Maybe it’s unlucky to die, but… I don’t know what I’d be like if I hadn’t. I don’t know if I ever would’ve stopped running into trouble and getting people hurt. So maybe things worked out ok.”

He nods. “They did for me. I’m not saying what you did to me wasn’t bad, because it was, but. It could’ve ended worse.”

“Yeah,” you say, “it could’ve.”

#

The next time you serve as anything more than bait, you arrive in a bubble that mixes the spires of Prospit with the craggy cliffs you recognize from home. Most of the trolls you see are Beforan, a crew you mostly avoid to dodge the drama. And you thought your teammates were obnoxious. An Aranea looks your way, but you don’t meet her eyes. The last thing you need is her “learning” from you again. John has come and gone, bearing news of his session’s near-disaster. You know what your brief stint at role-modeling cost.

“Listen up, everyone,” you call. “This is important.”

“I remember you,” Karkat’s ancestor says. Great, are you in for one of his speeches? “You wanted us to listen before. You stole our minds.”

The army feels like a lifetime ago. That version of you died with Meenah and Aranea. So many versions of you have died. But he doesn’t know that. There’s a crowd of spirits looking at you with a mix of confusion and suspicion. There’s a killer Lord of Time on his way, and there are a few minutes for you to make this count. What will make them trust you? What will make you trust yourself?

You take a breath and look at yourself from the outside in.

Who is Vriska Serket? Your past is checkered like the Battlefield with versions of yourself created for survival or approval, emulation or redemption. What you neglected to ask Nepeta was how to tell which one was really you. You can imagine her laughing and pointing to herself again, saying “This one, silly. And all the others. I’m me.”

Maybe there’s something that’s truly you, a core to your soul that persists between timelines. Maybe you’re something you make, piece by piece and day by day. Maybe you’re made by other people, what they see and what they think. You can’t control that. All you can control is what you do.

So you don’t say it wasn’t your fault, or it’s all in the past, or it could’ve been a whole lot worse. You say, “I’m sorry.” You say, “This time, I’m here to help.”

And this time, they listen.

#

On your own again, you watch paradox space crack and shatter around you. The death of multiverses puts on a display to put anyone else’s light show to shame. English is like you, the ultimate power gamer, smashing his way to a high score, uncaring of everyone crushed along the way. You can only ever stay a step ahead of him, only barely keep the damage under control. Maybe you think that’s enough, repurposing your luck, making a billion wishes to undo the damage the first ones caused. One day you’ll have to stop running, turn around, and look him in the eye. But beating him won’t redeem you. Another you learns this, dueling Jack not in a blaze of glory but with corpses at your feet and hatred in your heart. A possibility, a lesson you never got to learn.

That’s your whole existence, teetering on the brink of revelation, balanced on a knife’s edge between hero and villain, afraid to drop off because you don’t know where you’ll land. Skaia tells you that narrow space in-between is how you stay alive, after all. Who would you be if you’d ever stopped running? Would you be you?

Behind you, Lord English tears his way through space, smashing reality into splinters and shards. The bubble you’re in breaks off at your feet to make a cliff opening out into nothingness. Far below you, you can see another bubble, pearly-white and almost as small.

One day you’ll turn around and face him. One day your past will catch up with your present, and both of them will be over. But not today.

“Catch me if you can,” you say, and jump.

[cleopatraas]

A Court of Wings and Chiara (acowar spoilers)

Anonymous asked: I just finished ACOWAR and ugh I kept thinking about Chiara the entire time! Please make a post where you have head canons or something and she's in ACOWAR. I need it, I need to know what she would have done in those scenes.

For everyone who doesn’t know Chiara is my original character. Rhys’s sister, Tamlin’s mate, High lady of the Night Court. 

I’ll be honest with you. I literally just finished ACOWAR last night and I forgot what half the book was about. So this...is gonna be rocky. 

This turned out to be...super long and I really hope you guys read it even though it’s long. And I will do a  cut...only for you guys. 

Warning: if there are typos...I will literally jump off a bridge. Because I’m sure even after proof reading, there will be at least one (1) typo that hates me. 

The Meeting: aka the Court of Dreamers is reunited. 

Feyre and Chiara are best friends, they are sisters. You can pry this from my cold dead hands. They ALMOST went from enemies (because of Tamlin) to friends (this is what they are now) to lovers (but...there’s Rhys) but I’ll be honest. I ship these ladies so much. 

But they’re just weeping and crying and clinging to each other and Chiara hisses, “I’ll kill him with my bear hands if he touched you” I have nothing that rhymes except sisters before misters, but basically they’re that™ friendship. and Feyre is like “No, no. It’s fine, it’s fine” 

Chiara is the only person who recognizes Lucien’s trauma. She was there. In the Spring Court. I do not™ care about the timeline, these two were friends. And she just...talks to Lucien. And she hears him talk, and talk, and talk. But she doesnt react, tries not to clinch her fists, and then she hugs Lucien and promises him that, “You’re safe here. I’ll protect you with my life. If you want - you are my court now, Lucien. This home, these people, are yours. When you are ready” 

Summer Court Attack: aka that time when Tarquin put everyone in their place 

Chiara shows up a little late (you’ll know why later), but boy she’s in Illyrian leathers and she’s flying with the Illyrians with Cassian, taking down Hybern’s aerial army. And they’re both working so well together, because you can PRY this from my cold dead hands but they were always super close and Chiara always got him through his kills, especially his first ones. 

Chiara can feel Rhys, through that sibling bond, that slimmer of magic they share. She checks on Feyre and Mor, but she knows her besties got this covered, and then she faces that hologram projection of the King of Hybern. And she and Rhys are side to side, the Siblings of the Night Court, Death Incarnates, or whatever other titles Rhys had, and they’re both getting ready to be martyrs (siblings who are idiots together, stay together). But then the projection goes poof and the ship and all those warriors go Mist™  

Chiara feels so bad about what they had to do to get the Book and she was genuinely starting to feel something for Tarquin? (Or Varian or Cresseida. I will captain all of these ships). That was in ACOMAF and in that time Chiara was finally...healing. After Tamlin, after Amarantha, and she just...saw something in those bright blue Summer Court eyes. And she had to betray them. 

Chiara keeps her Court in check™. There will be no disrespecting Tarquin in his own court. She just lays her hands before him, pleading with her eyes, regret, so much regret, written clear on her face. 

“You stole from me”

“I know”

“You could have just asked me” 

“Tarquin, I know. But I won’t say sorry, those are useless words. But I am. You don’t have to take the blood rubies off our names, but know that we saved you today. And I would gladly drag more Illyrian solders, I would gladly drag my family out here to do it again. Nothing owed, ever.”

“Get out”

And she’s just?? She doesn’t know what to do. She bows and then takes her Court and goes to check on the wounded. And into the night and all throughout the day, you see one Illyrian female tended to every wounded she can find: both Summer Fae and Illyrian. 

Chiara isn’t in a lot of scenes because she’s got BUSINESS to take care of. (and also because I really can not remember a lot rom ACOWAR)

The High Lord Meeting: aka the scenes where all my wigs were snatched and I still haven’t gotten them back 

The Court of Dreamers came to slay. No masks, no lies, all wings. Chiara walks in front, but she’s wearing simple trousers and a tunic, everyone else can be fancy. Some earrings, chokers, bracelets and rings here and there too, of course. But at some point in her life she had to stop being a little girl and be a ferocious High Lady. And if everyone else in pants, then so is she. 

She has a crown on her head and I’m shaking at the imagery. She has stars in her hair, nightmares in her eyes. She looks behind her, at her Court, and she nods. She gives an extra nod to Nesta (you can pry this friendship out of my cold dead hands. Try it). And then she walks into the room, her wings flaring behind her. 

She meets all the High Lords’ eyes and then Mor squeals. I love her friendship with Viviane and Chiara used to be friends with Viviane too....before Amarantha. And she just watches Mor and Viviane and gives a polite smile and then sits down. 

Tarquin shows up, like the truest boss he is. Chiara’s heart squeezes. She tries to catch Tarquin’s or Varian’s eye, but they won’t look at her. Beron and the Brood show up, eek. 

Everything is going...as well as it can be, UNTIL TAMLIN WALKS IN, IN ALL HIS PETTY GLORY. And that tug, that tug that is so small, so fragile, makes their eyes meet. And Tamlin’s nostrils flare and Chiara grips her chair tightly. 

But Chiara is the Bigger Person™ and she gets up and walks over to Tamlin and holds her hand out. Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel are on edge. Mor, too. They’re the only people who know the entire story, of what went down, what went wrong. 

Tamlin sneers at her so she sneers back and huffs and goes to sit down on her chair, letting her wings flare. And Tamlin’s eyes roam over them, and something like sadness fills those green orbs. 

Then Amarantha comes up in the conversation...and it takes everything for the Bat Brothers to not snap at Tamlin and Beron. But Chiara sits with a removed silence, tilting her head to the side. Titles are flung - “High Lord Killer” which causes Tamlin to cringe, and other titles as well. (Yes. Chiara killed Tamlin’s father, beheaded that fool for killing her mother, then she left his brothers to her brother and father. And Tamlin killed her father. I told y’all their story is ...)

“You call me High Lord Killer, Beron, as if you don’t understand those three words. Would you like me to give you a live demonstration?” Helion snorts. Thesan chokes. 

“How did it feel to kill your mate’s father?”

Chiara tilts her head to the side again. “It felt glorious to get revenge for my mother if that’s what you’re asking, Beron, and if not, I would like to get to the topic at hand. Hybern”

But then the Winter Court comes up...(Rhys and Chiara both sacrificed themselves to Amarantha to keep Velaris safe. Rhys did it because he wouldn’t let his baby sister do it alone) 

“We stopped her from killing you, Kallias. We had no idea what the costs would be” Chiara falters and her eyes go to Tamlin for a moment, before she looks away. “I thought keeping her busy would distract her. But she sent Rhys instead”

Azriel protec™ but he also ATTAC™ ERIS FOR INSULTING CHIARA.

Chiara protec™ but she also ATTAC™ BERON FOR INSULTING HER AND RHYS.

Skip, skip, boring political stuff, Tamlin being petty, the usual. 

Skip!

Helion comes to their room. And Chiara smiles and she hugs him and Feyre is like “Wut?” and Chiara shrugs, patting Helion’s shoulder. 

“You two....Chiara please tell me not every High Lord is in love with you” Like Feyre is trying to piece the pieces together and she looks to Mor, Cassian, and Azriel for help and Cassian and Azriel are watching Helion, and mor is just giving small thumbs up and a wink. 

“Of course not, silly. Beron is old enough to be a pile of ash by now, and quite frankly, I have better taste than that. And Thesan has better taste than me” She™ Did™ That™. And Feyre snorts and mocks her. 

“Have fuuuuuun”

“I will”

Chiara saunters off and Feyre whistles and Mor joins in, clapping and I love girls supporting girls no matter what. I just...I love it. 

You could literally drag me away from this friendship, beat me, tie me to a tree, and I would somehow find a way back to it. 

Skip, skip, skip. 

Skip!

The Second Attack On The Summer Court: aka where I decided to finally disown Tamlin for 2 seconds 

Also the moment Chiara decided her fist belonged on Tamlin’s fast. Hard. Fast. Many times. Julian?? Redemption arc?? Idk him. But sure, let’s keep it. 

Chiara fights side by side with Tarquin and Varian and I’m literally wiping tears at how precious it was. Varian at her back, Tarquin at her side, they fight together. Shadow and water, blinding and drowning, cutting down enemies. They never falter and finally FINALLY their relationship is repaired and I can ship them in peace. Who? I still don’t know yet...

Chiara flies over to Cassian and she finishes cutting down enemies and Cassian takes down the commander like the TRUE BOSS is his. And it was just amazing and yet again, Chiara tends to the wounded, the High Lady, the High Lord Killer, getting on her knees and healing people who are supposed to be “far below her” 

She disappears for a bit and doesn’t appear until the second battle (You will know why)

The Second Battle: aka where everything went down hill so fast my mind was spinning 

Anytime Cassian and Chiara fight together I get literal chills. ANY TIME ALL FOUR OF THE SIBLINGS FIGHT TOGETHER I LITERALLY COLLAPSE ON MY KITCHEN FLOOR. Azriel is somewhere behind her, blue light flashing. Cassian is to her left, red light flashing. And Rhys is cutting through soldiers on her right, green light flashing (Rhys isnt High Lord so he has does have all those powers so yes he has seven Siphons and they’re green). 

But the line...it starts to crumble. She loses sight of Azriel, then Cassian, and then Rhys. And she doesn’t know which brother to go to first, which person to cut down to get to them faster. And she always has this fear...this fear that she won’t get to them fast enough, like she didn’t get to her mother fast enough. That all she will be able to do is get revenge instead of saving them. 

She feels Feyre tug at the bond. And she spins around, looking up at Feyre. I need you. And Chiara shakes her head, she can’t leave her brothers, and Feyre doesn’t need anyone. You got this. Go. Be safe. 

(Remind me again why I don’t have them dating?)

CHIARA. SEES. CASSIAN. FALL. She’s fighting and she finally got to Azriel and Mor is with Rhys and all four of them are trying to get to Cassian, but then that stupid commander cuts her brother down. And she screams and a wave of magic finally takes out the Hybern forces. 

And she and Azriel are running to Cassian and she lifts him up without a second hesitation and Azriel is right there with her, holding Cassian’s guts in, and she’s sobbing and telling Cassian to stay with her, and Rhys is below them, making sure they’re protected. They’re flying through the sky, Mor winning below them, trying to get their brother to a healer, before it’s too late...

Feyre comes back with Helion, the latter just nodding at Chiara once. Chiara barely sees it, she’s covered in Cassian’s blood, sitting by his side. But she has so many tricks up her sleeve...she needs more sleeves. 

The Cauldron, Elain and The Rescue: aka that moment where none of us were scared but we were all low key scared

Nesta locates the Cauldron and Chiara squeezes her shoulder gently, her hand on her lower back. (Remind me again why I don’t have them dating either?) “You did well” and Nesta gives the slightest bit of a small maybe?? And Chiara gives one right back and...great. I swear Chiara is shippable with literally everyone, even that ROCK. 

The Cauldron takes Elain or however that happened?? I still don’t understand it, but let me not question it or I’ll drive myself crazy. Chiara insists on joining Feyre. She grabs her shoulders, “You sisters are my sisters, Feyre. We are family. We do not leave one behind, one link could break us all. I’m going with you”

Chiara is in the shadows with Azriel, watching over Feyre in Ianthe™ form. Jurian saves Briar (?? its just unrealistic he didn't save himself) and then they’re on the run. Azriel is carrying Elain, Feyre running behind him, and Chiara is running behind her, trying to keep a shield up.

Chiara pushes Feyre forward and she hisses “Fly” and Feyre shakes her head, gripping onto Chiara. “I won’t leave you, I won’t leave you, I won’t leave you”, but Chiara pulls out a long sword and she shoves Feyre harder. “Fly! That is an order, Feyre Archeron!” 

(I swear they’re dating. Rhys who?) 

Feyre sobs and Chiara wipes her tears and she pushes her after Azriel. “Go, I’ll give you a lead” And she turns around and cuts a hound in half, staring the King down. Chiara pulls out another long blade, and as the hounds jump on her, and beast slams into them. 

YOU MIGHT AS WELL SKIP THIS IS IF YOU DONT SHIP TAMLIN AND CHIARA 

Chiara whispers, “Tam” and the beast looks at her, before they go after the hounds together, Chiara cutting them down, Tamlin attacking them, working together, as a team. She looks back and a hound runs past her and she leaves Tamlin and chases it down, but it gets to Azriel and she screams as it shreds his back. 

She turns back around and keeps fighting by Tamlin’s side, until she feels the wards break. Tamlin shifts and she grabs his hand and they run, their fingers linking. Chiara tosses her weapons aside 30 steps, 20 steps, 15... 10... 5... and she launches them both into the air, grunting, holding Tamlin against her, flying through the break in the ward. 

And she looks down at Tamlin and they share a look, before Tamlin winnows. Chiara catches up with Feyre and Azriel, and Elain and Briar, and she guards their backs, trying to heal Azriel in mid air. 

When they get back, Chiara collapses in Rhys’s arms, gasping for breath. “He saved us” And Rhys just strokes her hair, holding his sister as she finally, finally cries for what she lost. But she stops crying, because she knows what she can gain. 

THE COURT OF DREAMERS: aka the scene where my emotional dramatic self finally started crying

This is it. The final speech. Chiara has given a lot to her brothers, her cousin, her friend. She has given one or two to Feyre, but none to Elain or Nesta. She sighs and leans against her sword and gives a sad smile. 

“I’m glad I met all of you, and I mean that. I truly mean that. I don’t know where I would be without you...likely cowering on my own throne or dead” Chiara smiles and turns to Rhys. “To the first brother I knew, who gave me the world on a silver platter, no questions asked. Who protected me from the world with a silver sword, with maybe a few questions asked” Rhys smiles. 

“To my other brothers, who saved me even though they claim I saved them. Who saw butchering and darkness far greater than I can comprehend, who trusted our mom, who grew up with us. Who gave me the strength,” She squeezes their hands “When I needed it”

“To my cousin, my best friend, the light of my eye,” Mor smiles and her hands shake at her sides. “Who made me realize that I was not alone, that I was not the only female fighting. Who made me realize why I was fighting and kept me fighting”

“To my scary, scary tiny firedrake” Amren scowls and Chiara laughs. “Thank you. For simply existing, for simply being curious, for simply allowing me into your life. What an honor it has been” 

“To my Feyre,” Feyre grins and she doesn’t even care. She flings her arms around Chiara’s neck and Chiara wraps her arms around her waist. “Who brought the light Under the Mountain. Who taught me...who showed me that it was okay. It was okay to love again and I did. I love you fiercely. Who suffered at the hands of my mate, but still loved me back. Who loves my family, my brothers, and one in particular. Thank you so much, Feyre Archeron, I will never be able to thank you enough” (Why are THEY NOT TOGETHER IM MAD AT MYSELF AT THIS POINT)

And then she turns to Nesta and Elain and holds out her hands. Elain takes her hand and Nesta stares at it, so Chiara just almost lets their fingertips touch. “To my newest sisters, who I haven’t even begun to understand, to know, to love. But the time we’ve had together, I have seen your strengths. I am glad to have you at my side. I have seen your weaknesses and I am glad to protect those with my life” 

Chiara looks at the empty space somewhere in the circle. “And to the one I lost - I may have lost you, but I have gained so much more. And I hope you do too” And they all join hands and it turns into a group hug and even Nesta MAYBE joins.

And I swear to God...

THE FINAL BATTLE: aka everything was moving so fast and I’m still trying to figure out what happened

EVERYTHING HAPPENED SO FAST CAN SOMEONE JUST PLEASE TELL ME WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED? 

All I know is...Chiara had so many plans up her sleeves and here they are. She was a little late to the battle, but that doesn’t matter, MY GIRL HAD SOME PLANS. 

She made a bargain with The Boner Carver, The Weaver, Bryaxis, AND whatever that Book summoned (Remember that? You know...the huge plot hole that was never addressed again? Like...you do realize they probably have beasts and monsters and whatever creatures trying to get to Hybern/Prythian/wherever the Book is bc Feyre put the Book together...but okay)

I don’t know how bargains work, I don’t care, I just know Chiara, High Lady of the Night Court, DID THAT, and now has some amazing tattoos all over her back and arms. Because...that’s how it works right? 

But honestly I just love the aesthetic of the shields breaking and then Chiara is standing there, in Illyrian FEMALE armor, her arms up and then the glamors fall and she has all these monsters and?? Like yeah she probably sold her soul for this to happen, but is that the point? No. 

She’s just controlling...all of them. Never been done before. Literally never been done before. The true High Lady of the Night Court. She just looks behind her and smiles “Bone appetite” and then disappears and GOD I love her?? So much. 

And then she’s back like five seconds later and she’s flying through the skies....with Illyrian females behind her. “Cassian!” She screams for her brother to get up here with her, as she leads the females to war aka what we were all waiting for but never got?? That’s where she’s been. Saving and recruiting these females, training them, being the best person in Prythian history. 

And Cassian is just gaping at her and then he grins “Not bad, little sister” And she scowls and leaves Cassian with the Illyrians - male and female, fighting side by side, in the air, as one. And she winnows in next to everyone else, a grin on her fast. 

“That a good enough army for you, brother?” And Rhys gives her a small smile and then he’s gone, fighting with the troops on the ground. Chiara makes sure Azriel stays™ because his wings are damaged and she will not have her brother hurt. 

“It’s not enough,” Azriel says and Chiara looks at him sideways. “Have ye so little faith in dear ole sister?” She mocks gently, looking down at the battle. She looks at her wrist, as if looking at a watch. “They just need to hold the lines”

The Cauldron goes off?? I don’t know how that happened, but it does. RIP Bone Carver. Forever missed. Chiara tackles Cassian when he flies back to them, because she almost lost him and she sobs, looking back at Nesta. And Nesta gives her a small smile and she nods. And I’m not even remotely sorry when I say that this? Could totally be a ship. 

I don’t know what else happened, it was all moving so fast, but Chiara got Miryam and Drakon to come. The ORIGINAL gangster. I love her...with everything I have. She flies into the skies once again, taking Feyre with her, Cassian taking Nesta. 

Chiara just greets them and says “You came” and Drakon ruffles her hair gently. “You came banging on our wards��� “Wards are so tedious, Drakon. You can thank me later” and everyone is just gaping at her like...what?? when did you do all this?? She did it when everyone was being jealous of everyone and doing god knows what other useless stuff. 

She and Cassian command the Seraphim, Peregryms, and Illyrians. Fighting as one, driving back the aerial army. We have the humans and Vassa and Papa Archeron. Chiara leaves Cassian and she fights side by side with the High Lords, side by side with Tarquin and Helion. 

THIS WOMAN. THIS HIGH LADY. SHE CAME OUT AND DID ALL THIS. 

Chiara ends up by Cassian, Nesta, Feyre, Amren, to hear that terrible plan that almost got Cassian killed? Yes. THAT one. And Chiara begs him not to go and Rhys appears and Chiara is shaking her head and yes, she’s the first High Lady, yes she’s so powerful, but she’s still just a baby sister who needs all her brothers. 

And Cassian kisses her cheek gently and pulls her closer, smiling against her hairline. “I love you, Chi. I never got to thank your mother-” Chiara presses her hand against his mouth “Our mother, Cas, and she needed...wanted no thanks from you. She loved you...so much” 

And Cassian smiles and moves her hand “Then let this be the way I show her I have protected you” and Rhys and Feyre hold her bask, kicking and screaming, as Cassian takes off with Nesta. (the worst?? most idiotic?? plan?? i have ever witnessed?? but ok)

And then...so much more went down?? And I remember like...a fourth of it. But it was all pretty dramatic and everywhere. 

Skip, skip, skip.

Skip!

YOU MIGHT AS WELL NOT READ THIS IS YOU DONT SHIP CHIARA AND FEYRE 

Feyre and Amren are at the Cauldron and Chiara is down on the battlefield with Rhys and the other High Lords. And Feyre reaches down their bond, a bond from so long ago, a bargain Chiara gave her when they were Under the Mountain, a bond Chiara offered to take away; a bond Feyre refused to let go, a bond they both found comfort in, found warmth in their coldest times, and Chiara freezes. 

And it’s like even from where she is...all the way down there... She looks up and she sees Feyre and Feyre sees her. And that bond, it glows. And they both smile at the same time, a smile of thanks, of gratitude, of love, of kindness, of being loved, and giving the love; of needing each other, of holding each other up when they both wanted to fall, of shared memories and sweet talks, of short walks and long runs, of flying and training - all in that one smile. 

And then Chiara shifts into her beast form and Feyre grabs onto the Cauldron and maybe, just maybe, that’s the last time they’ll ever share that smile again, ever feel that bond again. 

(At this point...they’re married, right? Like it’s obvious they’re so in love)

More stuff happens...that I can’t remember...Amren is unleashed. Seriously, what was she? Actually, don’t tell me. She was The Devil and anything other than that is a let down. 

Hybern loses. We win. No one dies that we care about except the Suriel. Basically what happens. 

Rhys’s Death: aka we were all pretending to be shocked or we were all actually shocked that he “died” and came back to life?

Rhys’s death would have been so much more powerful....if Feyre wasn’t the only one who reacted. Everyone else looked like they were watching a squashed bug die. It felt very emotionless to me, but ....

Chiara screams loud enough to break the battle field when she sees her brother lying there, motionless. She looks over at Cassian and Azriel quickly, but she darts to Rhys, pulling his head in her lap. And she just stares at him and her worst fears have come true - she didn't get to save him just like she didn't get to save her mother - she can only get revenge. But...she cant even get that? Because who is she supposed to kill? She killed Tamlin’s father for killing her mother...but does she kill Feyre? The Cauldron?

No. She just sobs over Rhys’s body and straightens his armor and tries to make him look nice, because he would want that. She grips his shoulders and wipes her tears impatiently, gritting her teeth. And there’s this moment...where she’s alone. Rhys, she believes so deeply, that he’s with their mom (and hopefully not their dad). And yes, Cassian and Azriel are her brothers, but she had this bond with Rhys. And she cant...she cant feel it. 

So she glares at the High Lords, her eyes red, tears staining her cheeks, “Bring him back.” and it’s not Chiara saying it. It’s the High Lord Killer glaring at them, snarling at them, clutching onto her brother, the one killed by the Cauldron. The one killed by the thing that blessed her. The irony, the tragedy. 

“I will kill you if you don’t bring him back” But she takes a deep breath, her hands still shaking, and she’s still falling apart. And Tarquin steps forward, kisses her forehead, and does that whole magic thingy. Then Helion, Kallias, Thesan, then she does it, pressing her hand against Rhys’s chest, whispering into his hair. 

“Tamlin,” She breathes. “Where is Tamlin? Where is my mate” And she looks around, still holding onto Rhys. And Tamlin steps through the crowd and she stares up at him, and its deja vu. She’s crying over Rhys, as she cried over her mother. And he’s just staring at her...doing nothing.

And maybe Tamlin sees that. And he gets down beside her, kisses her forehead and whispers, “I’m sorry. Forgive me, for all of this, for everything and more” And Chiara sobs into his shoulder and she watches as his magic sinks into Rhys’s chest. 

YOU MIGHT AS WELL SKIP THIS IF YOU DONT SHIP TAMLIN AND CHIARA 

Tamlin holds her against him and she’s sobbing into his chest, gripping onto his shirt. And he’s stroking her hair, looking at Rhys. And then that bond...that bond between them. Maybe it finally has the means to get stronger now, maybe it doesn’t. But it’s still there, and they will always have hope. 

And Rhys opens his eyes and reaches for Chiara’s hand, whispering “I saw her,” and Chiara screams and pounces on him and even Cassian and Azriel pull him into a group hug and he just whispers, “She’s so proud of us” And he’s talking about their mom and I am SO DONE breaking my own heart. 

“You saw mom?” Cassian’s voice breaks and it turns out IM NOT DONE BREAKING MY OWN HEART because Rhys has one arm wrapped around Azriel, the other wrapped around Cassian and Chiara and he nods, smiling. And Azriel has tears running down his face and Chiara she asks... “Did you tell her I was sorry”

And Rhys says, “There was no need to”

The Meeting: aka everyone in the same room so who dies first? surprisingly no one. but we’re all very cranky. 

Chiara tackles Lucien in one of the biggest, cutest bear hugs there is. And Lucien spins her around and she laughs, burying her face in his neck. He’s wearing Illyrian leathers and Chiara squeezes harder and Lucien whispers, “My High Lady” and Lucien is a part of her court now and Chiara smiles and kisses his cheeks. 

Blah blah, politics talking, I was half asleep reading this scene, to be quite frankly honest. 

But then there’s this scene, it’s just the Bat Siblings and Tamlin left in the room and Chiara stares at Tamlin. And he stares back and swallows. “Could we have been happy? If I fought that day, fought at all?” And Chiara lets loose a breath and she gives a pathetic shrug. 

“We can’t know. Something else may have come along, Amarantha was another barrier between us, Tamlin”

“If I hadn’t tried to break the bond-”

And Chiara shakes her head and she walks forward, hugging him slowly, kissing his cheek. They both shudder and she breathes in his scent. “I don’t want to focus on the should have, could have, would haves with you. We either work or we don’t. We either start trying now or we don’t.”

She brushes his cheek and kisses his brow “Tell me your decision later” and she walks out and the Bat Brothers follow her.

Chapter 81: Aka Rhys’s POV and how the book should have ended but didn’t.

Rhys is standing out in the garden and Cassian, Azriel, and Chiara go to him. The latter with a drink for him and Rhys takes it. They all stare at Elain’s garden and Chiara sits down, looking up at her brothers. 

And they just all share these smiles and Chiara laughs softly, downing her drink. “No more wars for at least another five hundred years. Or more. Please” And Cassian agrees and he lounges in the sun with his sister and Chiara smiles and plants her head on his shoulder, holding his hand. Azriel sits beside her and Rhys sprawls out by their feet and they all share jokes and they laugh. They have a family, yes, they have their Court, yes, but they also just have them, the four of them, siblings no matter what.

Feyre, Elain, Nesta, Mor, and Amren join them later and Chiara looks at her Court of Dreamers.

And she looks to the skies, to the stars that haven’t come out yet, but have definitely answered, and she whispers “Thank you”

THIS WAS SO LONG I LITERALLY SPENT HOURSE ON THIS. And I know it’s not going to get any notes and I’m cringing at the very thought, but I worked so hard on this and I might as well share it. So lease, just please, leave comments. 

[ciathyzareposts]

Game 345: Challenge of the Five Realms: Spellbound in the World of Nhagardia (1992)

If you count the subtitle, I think this is the longest title so far.

         Challenge of the Five Realms: Spellbound in the World of Nhagardia

United States

MicroProse (developer and publisher, under its Microplay label) 

Released 1992 for DOS

Date Started: 2 November 2019

I’ve been looking forward to Challenge of the Five Realms for a couple of years. The team behind it, working at Paragon Software, had been responsible for the 1990-1991 spate of licensed Games Designers’ Workshop (GDW) disasters, including the two MegaTraveller games, Space 1889, and Twilight: 2000. Each of the games had its qualities, but in general, the sense was that Paragon had taken on too much too fast. The games’ poor reviews and sales led to the collapse of Paragon and its purchase by MicroProse in 1992. Now, the team, working for more competent managers, was free to develop a game without any GDW restrictions. Would it be better or worse? I’ve been anxious to find out.

It takes a while to get into Challenge. It begins with a long, unintentionally hilarious, animated opening sequence with fully-voiced dialogue, the second 1992 game to do so (after Ultima Underworld). It accompanies a long backstory in the game manual. The two don’t fully gibe with each other, but I’ll do my best to summarize below. First, we get a female voice on a black screen welcoming us to the kingdom of Alonia, one of the titular five realms, “where folklore and myth are a way of life.”             

I know this isn’t the only flat world we’re going to see this year.

            We have a brief glimpse of Nhagardia, a flat, oval world. Because it’s flat and does not rotate, the parts that support life have always known eternal sun. This revelation sent me off on a bit of Googling. I have a basic understanding of why planets are naturally spheres due to the way their formed by aggregating rotating collections of matter. I also understand how gravity favors orbs and thus works over time to turn any shape into a roughly-spherical one. What I wondered–and still wonder, since I couldn’t find enough discuss on the topic to satisfy me–was whether the slow process of gravity pulling a large amalgamation of matter into a sphere necessarily outpaced the same processes that give the same body an atmosphere and the conditions necessary for life. That is, if some weird freak of accident did result in a flat-ish “planet” (I realize the definition of “planet” presupposes a sphere, but you know what I mean) in stable orbit around a sun, would it be possible for such an object to trap an atmosphere and create complex life before the natural tendencies of gravity made a sphere out of it? How would gravity even work on such an object? Could an atmosphere truly exist? 

Discussion welcome, but back to the game. We move from planet level to Castle Ballytogue, which must be based on Ballyutogue from Leon Uris’s Trinity. It is the year 1000 “A.S.” The pompous King Clesodor is haranguing his advisors for not allocating enough funds to the New Year’s celebration. “I want this to be the greatest celebration in Alonia’s history,” he demands. The manual doesn’t have any credits for the voice actors, but I’d swear that Clesodor is voiced by Maurice LaMarche, testing out a precursor to “The Brain” voice that he’d bring to Animaniacs the following year.              

Clesodor meets with his advisors.

             Clesodor takes some time out from his party planning to yell at his son, the Prince, for idly reading a book. “I swear, the boy is just like his mother. Witches and seers and myths. What kind of king will you make if all you care about are mindless stories? A king is a ruler, not a dreamer!” The first bit about the mother is all the more harsh if you’ve read the backstory and learned that Clesodor’s wife, Queen Feya, is in fact dead, killed in a tragic accident at “the cliffs of Mahor.”

(I had to take a break from the game at this point to call Patrick, the British friend that I’ve talked about before. Back in 2007, we were traveling along the west coast of Ireland. He happened to mention that the last time he was there, a few years prior, he’d heard on the news that a British tourist had been killed while falling from the Cliffs of Moher. The same night, we got into Galway, checked into a hotel, turned on the TV, and immediately caught the opening headline from the local newswoman: “Tragedy in County Clare today as a young man fell to his death from the Cliffs of Moher.” Ever since then, we have this ongoing joke that every Irish television news broadcast begins with a report of yet another death at the Cliffs of Moher. Maybe you had to be there.)               

The idle prince idles.

          The perspective now shifts to the Prince, a complete milquetoast, who is reading a picture book that should be far below his age. It’s called The Legend of Nhagardia. Recently, the Prince, worried for his father’s health, had followed from the castle a mysterious stranger who had met with his father in private. The stranger turned out to be an ex-sorcerer named Shiliko who had been summoned to help stop the king’s recurring nightmares. Unable to do anything, Shiliko had cast a placebo spell. When confronted by the Prince, Shiliko gave the boy the book.

The book tells the story of an ancient emperor named Shamar who, seeing that the end of his life was near, set off on a quest to extend it. Before disappearing, he divided his crown and power among his five territories. Alonia, the terrestrial realm, was given to King Adama. The elf Sandro took over Fraywood, the forest realm. Oberus ascended to rule the skies in Aerius. Lorelei, the (curiously male) king of Thalassy, took over the ocean. And inside the depths of the world, the gnome Kyke became the ruler of Alveola. Over time, the portals between realms closed and the rulers lost contact with each other. Clesodor is presumably a descendant of Adama.            

The original must have been huge.

               Suddenly, there’s a disturbance by the window and a fearsome apparition appears. The cloaked, scaly, black-skinned creature introduces himself as Grimnoth. “Though I come to you now as a mere apparition, heed my warning,” he says. “I will return to your world on New Year’s Day and claim power over your kingdom. You will surrender your crown to me on that day.” He continues by warning Clesodor that even in his “astral form,” he can destroy him.           

The kingdom is menaced by Xusia.

           Clesodor of course mouths off to Grimnoth, so Grimnoth extends his hand and vaporizes Clesodor and his advisors with a ray of light.            

Grimnoth’s spell destroys two courtesans before it reaches the king.

         “Nooooooooooooo,” the Prince shouts.             

“Do not want!”

            Addressing the Prince, Grimnoth says that he’s put a plague of darkness on the world, and if the Prince brings the crown to him at Castle Thiris on New Year’s Day, he’ll lift the darkness. This seems a little unfair. Before he killed Clesodor, Grimnoth was prepared to return to the castle to collect the crown. Now he’s making the Prince trek hundreds of miles to bring it to him. Thiris is in the center of the world, the seat of the former Emperor Shamar, now abandoned and monster-ridden.

The Prince vows to avenge his father and begins by ransacking his mother’s belongings, finding among them a reference to a witch named Cagliostra, who Clesodor had banished. “Father, I know you thought I was a dreamer, but I’ll avenge your death. I’ll make you proud!” the Prince declares, just before a hand appears from off-screen, and someone clocks the Prince over the head with a mace, knocking him unconscious.          

This just isn’t his day.

           Paragon’s titles had all featured a MegaTraveller-inspired character creation process by which each character went through a career in a military branch or profession (or both) which shaped his or her skills and abilities. Since the protagonist of Challenge–the Prince–has more of a fixed background, I didn’t expect the character creation process to be quite the same. It isn’t. Instead, the game feeds you a number of situational questions and asks how you’d react to them.              

One of many, many questions in character generation.

            This is often described as Ultima IV-style character creation, but it’s not. Ultima IV‘s scenarios were about pitting one virtue against another to help determine what virtue primarily guided your moral compass. Challenge‘s questions are more about pitting various skills and abilities against each other, ultimately determining if you’re more of a fighter, mage, diplomat, or thief–or a balance among them. I lost track of how many questions the game asks–I think it is in the ballpark of one hundred thousand–but it later struck me that the “quick” option, which just rolls random numbers for your attributes and abilities, performs just as well.

There aren’t that many skills, making me hope that unlike the GDW games, this one actually uses all of them. “Stealth,” “Crime,” and “Fly” were all set to 0 when I started (the lowest score I got was otherwise 20), so perhaps it doesn’t use those.          

The game’s attributes and skills. The Prince takes a level in badass in his portrait.

          The game finally begins when the Prince wakes up in his mother’s bedchamber, head throbbing, bereft of equipment or supplies, including the crown that he’s supposed to bring to Grimnoth. He soon runs into Hastings, the dead king’s seneschal, in the next room. Hastings explains that when the king was killed, his knights looted the castle and fled with its riches to Duke Gormond of Vinazia, who despises me. Rumors are already spreading that the Prince killed his father. Hastings recommends that I forget about Cagliostra, but if I’m determined to seek her out, her old friend Sir Oldcastle hangs around the Boar’s Head Tavern. Hastings stays to guard the castle after giving the Prince a key to a chest.                       

Encountering my first NPC.

           Challenge‘s interface is axonometric with continuous movement and real-time events. A row of icons offers party options, disk options, navigation options, spell options, combat options, and speech options. Of the developers’ previous titles, it most recalls Space 1889, but with some elements tossed in from other games. For instance, if you’re trying to speak to a moving NPC, you can use the “Hail” option to get him to stop; this is from MegaTraveller 2. Most commands have redundant keyboard backups except (annoyingly) movement, which has to be done with the mouse. One key I’m using a lot is (P)ause, every time I stop to blog or something, because commenters have warned me that the game has a time limit. “Ridiculously short” is how one described it.

I naturally started exploring the castle. As Hastings said, most of the court had fled. Sir Feldoth and Sir Elault still guarded the ramparts. Imrid the Manservant was wandering the lower halls and begged me to just give Gormond the crown. A couple more servants, Horric and Horville, were in the basement. Horric told me that a thief carried of a chest with the queen’s insignia on the lid. Dialogue so far has been entirely scripted, with the Prince (or I guess, King) responding to questions on his own.           

“I do not know, but you will die for your failure!” is an option a really good RPG would have given me.

              Finally, in one room, I found a broadsword, axe, long bow, rapier, and arrows. You basically have to hover your mouse over all objects that you think you might be able to pick up. As far as I can tell, chests and wardrobes and such are just decorations, as there is no command to open them and (F)ind never seems to do anything.         

Finding some weapons at last.

           In the kitchens, Wilagon Blacklost gave me the Holy Book of Equus, which has a spell called “Truth.” I tried to learn it, but the game told me that I wasted half a day and failed. I tried again, and it told me that I destroyed the book. I reloaded and figured I’d save that for later. The kitchens also had a variety of spell components and food.

Outside the castle, some flowers and other objects joined my list of spell components. A rough character at the end of the drawbridge offered to give me a hint for 100 gold pieces. Since I started with 1,000, I paid him. He said that there are a couple of loudmouths at the local tavern who claim to have stolen the queen’s treasure chest.

I continued exploring the castle outskirts. In one shop, a man offered to sell me spells for small fees. Almost every one I chose required components that neither he nor I had, except for “Warding Spell,” “Open Lock,” “Lightning Bolt,” “Inner Noise,” and “Slow.” Paying the man didn’t actually get me the spells–just books that give me a chance of learning them.             

Some of the spell shop selections.

        Elsewhere, I found a  healer, a pawn shop, a weapon shop, a food store, an armor shop, and a tavern. At the tavern, I bought some chainmail and equipped it. The inventory system seems needlessly complex. From your character screen, you can go to “inventory” (which never seems to have anything) and separate buttons for your pouch inventory, your backpack inventory, and your chest inventory (you start with no chest). But you can also go to “garb,” a screen with a paperdoll of the character, which also has links to inventory, pouch inventory, backpack inventory, and chest inventory. Spell components seem to show up in none of those places.            

Part of the confusing inventory system.

          In the tavern, I met Sir John Oldcastle and several of his friends. Oldcastle had been a skilled swordsman, but he was banished by King Clesodor for drunkenness. He is clearly based on Shakespeare’s Falstaff, although a bit more competent. I tried to enlist him into my cause, but he mocked me by calling me “Miss P.” and said that he doubted I’d be able to stand up to Duke Gormond. He agreed to join me and help me find Cagliostra if I would bring him the Widow Frazetti’s fabled jeweled brooch.             

The tavern from the outside is a nice looking building.

          As I explored, it became clear that several houses had been looted in the chaos following the king’s death, including Frazetti’s. I ultimately tracked down the bandits, the Hammerhand brothers, to a bar in the western part of the map. They were drunk, which made the subsequent combat a little easier.             

An NPC shows a shocking lack of respect for the king and his neighbors.

           Combat appears to take place in several phases and draws heavily from the MegaTraveller system. In the first phase you place your party members on the combat map, which is the same as the regular map without the surrounding command interface. Once combat begins, you issue orders for each character–target a particular enemy, cast a spell, defend an area, or move–and then unpause the game. Characters act on their own until you pause again and issue new orders.            

The game has me fight the second Hammerhand brother as the first lies dead above me.

           In short order, I killed the brothers and looted their bodies for my mother’s chest, the Frazetti brooch, and a bracelet that they pillaged from another NPC. I returned the brooch to Oldcastle, who joined me, but it occurred to me that I should have tried returning it to the Frazettis first.

I also found the house of the wizard Shiliko. He had hung himself. A note nearby indicated that he blamed himself for the appearance of Grimnoth and all the chaos that followed, but it didn’t explain his reasoning.              

Shiliko’s hut, with Shiliko hanging in the upper-left.

       At this point, I think I’ve exhausted exploring the castle. Judging by the world map, there are a couple of other cities in Alonia to visit, and then the other realms. Oldcastle said that we’d find clues for Cagliostra in the city of Farinor, so I suppose that’s where I’ll go next.             

Oldcastle insultingly joins the party.

         It’s been a relatively promising start. Although aspects of the animated sequence were a little goofy, the backstory is strong. The interface is a little clunky but not overly so. I like that we’re already seeing side-quests–one of the few things that Paragon did well in its previous titles. Dialogue is verbose enough to actually give characterizations to the NPCs, but I wish there were more options from the PC’s side. Overall, I look forward to my next session and seeing how the game develops.

Time so far: 3 hours

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/game-345-challenge-of-the-five-realms-spellbound-in-the-world-of-nhagardia-1992/