#Watching those rows of hearts just flash and disappear as Gem gets hit with the TNT and then launched down was gut wrenching

[tybalt-you-saucy-boi]

Also keep in mind the timing on Grian's manually operated TNT trap on the portal. Scott saw it immediately and ducked to the side, sparing him from most of the damage. Gem had no time to move and got it head on, bringing her way down and taking dozens of hearts. Impulse came in last and didn't hear Scott's warning but was only hit by the aftershock. Grian's trap just happened to maximize damage on Gem, but if he had gotten either Scott or Impulse head on instead they would have instantly died. That's how much damage it did.

And Cleo left, which was honestly probably the best outcome for Scar not only because he got the hearts, but particularly because Gem and the Scotts would have taken her out much easier than Grian, and regained some of that power. If they had all been at 30 hearts Grian would have won which is mind-boggling. Gem would have died on impact, and Grian would have had enough health to finish off Scott and Impulse cleanly and they wouldn't have had as much time to chug apples.

Everyone left on that server knew that they needed a seven person alliance just to take on Grian, and I thought it was overkill at first because I mean, with Gem and Pearl's hearts, Scott's track record, Scar's thorns, and especially Gem, Scar, and Joel's PVP skills and stacked gear, it seemed like a no-brainer that they would take the win against Grian in any sort of fight. And they still nearly didn't.

All four of them had their season end because of that fight, even though only Grian died.

*Secret Life Spoilers*

This is a bit late but the gravity of how absolutely terrifying Grian was in the Secret Life Finale just truly Dawned on me and I had to come here to Rave (yes with a capital R) about it.

90 hearts. I counted he took 90 hearts -not including golden apple hearts- from Gem and the Scotts with both his trap and fighting them. Even if you deduct the 10 that Gem gained for killing him that's 80 hearts permanently gone from what was possibly the most well off team on the entire server before that point.

And to make matters more shocking Grian had no time to use golden apples in his 1v3 and only had 22 hearts whereas Gem and the Scotts ate golden apples while teammates provided cover. Before this Gem had 48 1/2 hearts, Impulse had 30 and Scott had 35 1/2. After Grians trap and fight gem had 5(+10 for killing Grian), impulse had 7 1/2 and Scott had 11 1/2. Like what!?!? That's insane.

If he'd gotten 2 or 3 good hits on either Gem or Impulse they would've died that's how close he got to gaining 10 more hearts and prolonging his fight -or perhaps even winning it. I am still in shock from this and every time I think about it I seem to unearth some other fact about it and just feel astounded all over again.

Also GO SCARRR WHOOO. He really deserved that win he played it real smart.

[fr-owlistuff]

crumbling

The consequences of disabling magic in Phos Myrrlathos are lasting and far-reaching.

Warnings: nsfw, mild sexy content, some violence, unedited as always

Magic was brutally bought to heel in the city of Phos Myrrlathos, smothered silently in the dead of night. It did not happen all at once, and trickles of it still clung to painted doorways and good-luck charms as the sun crested over the distant horizon.

Vigilant gold-plated guards roamed the streets that morning, and if their numbers had suddenly swelled no one remarked upon it. The scent of freshly baked bread took over the streets and fishermen carried their hauls up the hill to be sold in the marketplace. Gulls called to each other up in the sky as the city beneath them awoke.

No one saw the shadows that pulled people from their homes, slung their limp forms over broad shoulders and then vanished into shadowed alleys. If anyone noticed how the guards seemed focused on certain shops or houses, they soon forgot about it. Children danced around the newly erected obelisks spread throughout Myrrlathos, and busy parents either whisked them away or smiled, amused, down at them.

The day dawned bright and resplendent, with blue skies and nary a cloud in sight.

Marrok’s eyes swept over rows and rows of all kinds of flowers and plants, taking in the withered shapes of what had been perfectly healthy specimens only the day before.

His calloused fingers gently touched the stems and leaves, and he watched some of them turn to mulch in his hands. Dead, all dead. And he couldn’t do a thing about it.

His lined face spoke of a deep weariness. He closed his eyes and tried not to give into the deep sense of uneasiness rising from his chest.

Hircine was gone; Marrok had kept the younger man tethered to this existence and away from that cursed forest for as long as he possibly could. He still didn’t know what was going on, but what he did know was that Hircine now roamed free and unprotected.

He had met Hircine a long time ago, when no lines were carved onto his face, in a shadowed clearing where sunlight fought to reach the forest floor. He’d found the small spirit trapped and injured, and had nursed him back to health. Hircine, he later learned, was a fey creature, a gentle and innocent spirit born of the forest, but shackled to it. The forest was a harsh mistress, even to those who worshiped her.

And now the forest would claim him again.

Marrok’s hands shook as he locked the door behind him. He hesitated only for a second, unaware of the eyes that tracked his progress, before heading for the Ebon Forest.

His breath ghosted in the air and he huddled into the blankets all around him.

It was so, so cold.

Ashkiin shivered and blew into the warm cup of tea in his hands. The heat seeped from the cup into his skin, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the cold. Nothing was.

His fire was gone. He recalled the feeling of repulsion that had once overtaken him at the sight of the flames he conjured. The day burned bright and welcoming outside his window, but for once he had no desire to wander the cobbled streets performing for an audience of awed bystanders. Not that he could anyway, not as he was.

A masked head landed gently on his shoulder and Ashkiin sighed at the feeling of fingers ghosting over his torso and finally resting on his hips. Lips nibbled lazily at his neck, and a pleasant shiver ran down his spine. He let out a raspy moan when teeth bit down a little less gently and dragged over the sensitive skin beneath his ear.

He felt like he was being consumed.

Sometimes it was hard to even remember his own name, but he didn’t mind it. His old life was behind him and he welcomed whatever came next.

Kastian’s eyes glittered beneath long, dark lashes and the feathers braided into his hair caught the light, contrasting with his darker skin. Wild. Feral. Beautiful. Ashkiin’s blindfold fell down onto the sheets and his fingers tingled with the need to touch, to see.

At first he was confused by the bright shape in front of him, but then he blinked once, twice, and felt the whole world cease its motion. Shock hit him like a punch to the gut as he looked down at his unfurling fingers. His hands. His arms. 

He could see.

“Magic always demands a payment, whether you know of it or not.”

He looked over at the man by his side, let his eyes drink him in like a starved man. Ashkiin reached out.

Suddenly the bright day outside held a newly awakened appeal.

Downstairs, in a cramped room whose walls were decorated with bleached bones and overflowing jars of teeth, Brimstone grimaced down at the wooden table in front of her. Her bone runes were spread out all over the table and Brimstone’s eyes followed a path between them, reading a story no one else could follow.

She might appear ageless, but her hands were no longer those of a maiden. She leaned down, the bones in her hair clinking together as she took one of the runes into her hand. A cold smile stole over her lips as she observed the rune.

“Not long now, sister.”

There was a barrier in front of him.

Oleksander frowned, stretching out his arm to assess the anomaly. His fingertips tingled as his hand went in, and none was more surprised than him when nothing happened. He was too used to things blowing up in his face; sometimes literally.

His frown became more pronounced. Something wasn’t right here. Taking into account that he was about to enter the heart of the Lysistratum Imperium, Phos Myrrlathos, he knew that this wasn’t good news - especially for his business.

He edged closer to the barrier and narrowed his eyes. His blindfold made him appear weak and blind; and he was blind. Sort of. But he wasn’t weak - or dumb.

The golden bracelet around his wrist was nothing to gape at. A circular band of gold-plated metal, there was absolutely nothing interesting about it. No runes, no gems, no engravings. Oleksander studied it for a minute before launching the bracelet over the barrier.

When it landed on the other side, the gold plating had disappeared, and a band of metal wire stood in its place.

The curses that burst forth from his mouth would have made a sailor gasp.

She looked for him for hours, frustration and fear mingling in her chest as the sun went down.

The Underbelly was reeling from the sudden lack of magic, traders and relic collectors, potioneers, alchemists and spell-weavers running around like headless chickens. The illegal Underbelly marketplace was in shambles. It would not be opening up any time soon.

LittleRed had seen more people assassinated today than she’d seen in the whole previous year. She knew Underbelly opportunists would seize the chance get rid of rivals and enemies, especially those who relied on magic.

She just prayed she’d find him before the rest did. She prayed it wasn’t already too late.

His house was empty, his bed unmade and the sheets twisted around themselves. Everything else seemed untouched.

And so it would remain for weeks and months to come. LittleRed would come back the next day and the day after that and many other days following the disappearance of Vasilisk; she would turn the small house upside down in a frantic search for any sort of clue. For any sign that he had gone to ground, had protected himself, had known what to do. She would ask around for news of any kind, but Vasilisk would remain stubbornly elusive.

As far as anyone knew, friend and enemy alike, he had simply disappeared.

They saw him in brief glances, a vague shape in the corners of their eyes that wasn’t quite right.

He stalked their fields, stepped over their crops and spirited away their cattle.

They only found the blood later, and bones sometimes. Other times they found nothing at all except for the hair-raising feeling of being watched.

There were tales of fey green eyes in the dark. Of blood-splattered fangs flashing in the moonlight. Of howls echoing in the space between the trees.

They knew nothing of the hunger in his belly. Of the painful shivers and ripples of wild magic under his skin. Of being teared apart and pulled together too many times.

There are roots digging deep into the crevices of his mind. He doesn’t know how much of himself is his own anymore. He was gobbled down and what spit him out kept most of him in its greedy belly.

Now it was his turn.