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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 1 year ago

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Begged & Borrowed Time (xxv, ao3)

Chapter twenty-five: It's dipping time. (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

Azriel’s blood left a dark trail behind them.

Through winding hallways and past windows overlooking the grey and rough-waved sea, it stained the floor as they cut towards the heart of the castle. Enveloped in walls of such cold stone, even the memory of warmth felt like a fever dream in this place, and yet Cassian did not shiver— only stared resolutely ahead, following the path the king of Hybern set, even as his eyes scanned the walkways, still hoping for a chance to escape.

And every now and then, Az hissed when the poison in his blood spiked.

The king’s way of reminding them, Cassian supposed grimly, of who was in control.

The cruelty of it made him fix his gaze on the back of the king’s shoulders, focusing on the lack of armour. The king wore only a simple tunic— no leather or plate metal in sight. Nothing but cotton covered that hateful span of muscle and flesh. Suddenly Cassian was wondering how quickly they could get Az to a healer if he were to give in to his instincts and plunge a blade right through the back of the king’s neck— right there, right at the base of his skull, where neck met spine. His fingers twitched towards the blade at his hip, but Azriel’s steps stuttered, and—

Not quickly enough.

Cassian didn’t need to be a medic to know that they wouldn’t make it beyond these walls before the poison stopped Azriel’s heart.

Anger swelled in his chest as he looked at his brother’s face— the bloodless cheeks and eyes clouded with pain. Az’s shadows had fled, and though his siphons were trying, weakly, to shine, they could manage nothing but a faint azure glow.

The desire to bury his dagger to the hilt in the king’s neck burned through Cassian’s veins, and the hand he had supporting Azriel’s back curled into a fist as they reached a wider hallway, one with double doors at the end crafted of a wood so dark it was almost black. Guards and courtiers lined the hallway, standing silent sentinel, and as they made their approach, the doors were thrown open to reveal—

A throne room.

Vast, empty, and made of the same cold stone as the rest of the castle, the king of Hybern’s throne room was functional and bare, not a glimmer of gold in sight. Tall windows lined with lead overlooked the cliffs, but the night outside was dark and moonless, an unbroken swathe of black pierced not by a single star.

Like the night itself was shying away.

The king’s boots echoed sharply as he strode through the centre of that cavernous room. It was almost entirely devoid of furniture save for the dais where a throne sat waiting, and as the king mounted the steps and claimed his seat—

It was made of bones, Cassian realised with a jolt.

Human bones.

His stomach turned, taking in the sheer number of yellowed bones that made up that throne. Hundreds. Hundreds of bones had been fused together, each one of them representing a life lived— a life stolen by the king who saw no value in humanity at all. Cassian’s jaw clenched.

Was this the future they could look to, if the king succeeded in tearing down the wall? If he won the war to come? Nothing but darkness and emptiness and thrones made of human bones?

They came to a halt several yards from the foot of that awful dais.

Jurian took up a spot behind them, right beside the doors that swung closed with a resounding, definitive thud. Before them the king leaned back into his throne, arms braced on either side. He tipped his head back, lifted his chin; the arrogant stance of a man so confident in his power that he didn’t even look down at his newfound prisoners as he canted his head to the side and spoke to the shadows clinging to the corners of the room.

“Well?” he said cooly, his voice slashing through the silence. “I’ve upheld my end of the bargain. I expect you to uphold yours.”

The shadows did not stir, and no voice answered from the darkness. Yet the king looked expectantly at the patch of shadow in the corner, and Cassian frowned, because surely there couldn’t be something else they had missed. They had already endured the attack on Velaris, and walked right into the king’s trap down in the depths of the castle. Azriel had been shot. Surely the gods had finished fucking with them by now.

But as the High Lord of Spring stepped into the light of the candles, Cassian thought bitterly that perhaps the gods weren’t finished with them at all. Perhaps they were only just getting started.

Tamlin’s golden hair was dull beneath the weak light of the candles, and his face was drawn, lips pressed in such a thin line that they almost disappeared entirely. He stepped forward, further into the light, and Rhys growled, shifting on his feet. Azriel let out a small sound of pain as the movement tugged at the arrow still buried in his chest, and Cassian could only glare at the High Lord of Spring— and at Lucien, who stood behind him with a face so entirely expressionless, even Cassian could tell that the Autumn prince wanted to be there as much as he did.

“No,” Feyre breathed from behind him, and Rhys snarled once more, softer now, like the gasp that had slipped from Feyre’s lips had wounded him, a knife between his ribs.

Tamlin kept his face carefully blank, but he dared nevertheless to take a step towards the woman that had broken his curse. Even Azriel tried to lift his head at that, his fingers twitching as if they had any hope of reaching a blade.

“No,” she said again, louder now, shaking her head as if reluctant to believe this was real— that the man she’d once loved stood before her now, in league with the king who held them captive.

For a moment there was silence.

Rhys was the one to break it.

“What was the cost?” he asked coldly. “For this alliance— what was the cost?”

Tamlin said nothing, and seated atop his throne, the king smiled like cat.

“We made a bargain,” he shrugged. “I give you over,” - he nodded at Feyre - “and he allows my forces entry to Prythian through the Spring Court. We will use his lands as a base as we remove that wall.”

"You’re insane,” Cassian spat, levelling his gaze at Tamlin— at the High Lord who, once, a long time ago, he had almost considered a friend.

But Tamlin kept his eyes on Feyre, and only on Feyre, like she was worth whatever price he had been forced to pay. Like he’d pay it again, tenfold.

He extended a hand.

Waited for her to take it.

But Feyre shook her head sharply and took a step closer to Rhys.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she hissed.

Cassian lifted his gaze to the king— dropped it to Tamlin, and Lucien behind him. The latter’s face was pale, almost expressionless save for the slight crease in his brow. But Tamlin didn’t blink as Cassian glowered, as he shot him a glare that said he wouldn’t let them take Feyre anywhere she didn’t want to go. He didn’t need to look to Rhys to see that the same murderous expression coloured his face too.

His brother would burn this castle to the ground before he saw her in Tamlin’s arms again.

Tamlin took another step. The forest-green of his tunic was almost black in the dim light, and deep shadows sat beneath his eyes. The planes of his face were sharp, and there was a haunted look there, a desperate look, as his face twisted into a grimace. He reached for Feyre once more, one pale hand extended, fingers stretching until—

Feyre winnowed out of his reach.

She reappeared right beside Rhys, close enough to touch. How she’d done it, Cassian didn’t know. He fumbled for his own power, tried to graze it with his fingertips, but still there was nothing— nothing but what felt like a wall of solid stone that stopped him from doing anything. Turning his head a half inch, he looked to Mor, who flexed her fingers as if she were trying and failing to call her power too.

Tamlin stumbled, eyes wide, and when he reached for Feyre again—

Rhys snapped.

He lunged forwards, one arm sliding smoothly around Feyre’s waist and pulling her back to his chest. His other hand curled into a fist, darting out and connecting hard with Tamlin’s cheek. The Lord of Spring hissed as the blow cracked his jaw, and Cassian might have let out a low whistle, had Rhys’ sudden movement not meant that Azriel’s entire weight suddenly fell on him. Az gasped, one hand fluttering to the arrow still embedded in his chest, but Cassian kept him standing, his fingers grappling for purchase through the blood that soaked Azriel’s leathers. Mor lurched to take Rhys’ place before Az could slip any further towards the ground, taking one arm and slinging it over her shoulders.

Tamlin frowned as he wiped blood from his nose. “You see? They are monsters.”

“I’m not going with you,” Feyre repeated. Behind her Rhys growled in agreement as Cassian scanned the room again, searching for any viable kind of exit. There wasn’t one. “You spineless, stupid fool for selling out out to him!” She flung her arm out, pointed at the king. “Do you know what he wants to do with the Cauldron?”

Tamlin blanched, but the king only smirked, still lounging on his throne. His fingers splayed across bone, eyes gleaming with a kind of malice that had Cassian’s fingers drifting again towards the hilt of his dagger. And when one ancient hand unfurled, waved lazily through the air, Cassian watched as the spark in those eyes turned sinister.

A wry smirk tugged at the corners of that thin, cruel mouth. “Oh, I plan to do many things with it,” the king said.

And Cassian didn’t know why, but something about the way the king’s lips curved, the hunger in his eyes… it had horror coiling in his stomach.

It doubled down when the king clicked his fingers— when the Cauldron appeared between them on another raised platform close to the throne. Shivers skittered up Cassian’s spine. He didn’t know what he’d expected to feel, being in the presence of the vessel that had created their entire world. Reverence, perhaps. Awe, certainly. But there was none of either, only a kind of apprehension that made his bones feel weak, a terrible, ominous feeling that slicked through him like oil. And as Tamlin reached for Feyre once a-fucking-gain, as Lucien stepped forwards - as if hoping to try and bring Tamlin back, make him see sense - Cassian couldn’t take his eyes off that Cauldron, or the king, who tilted his head before nodding once to the great black doors behind them.

With a hiss against stone they opened. And through the high archway, four humans stepped slowly into the room, ones Cassian hadn’t thought to ever see again. The four remaining human queens— and with them, a whole host of guards. Some fae, but most of them like the Attor, all wings and claws and teeth. If Cassian had harboured any lingering hope of fighting their way out… it died then, when he saw just how dramatically outnumbered they were.

“You will find, Feyre Archeron,” the king said from his place above them, “that it is in your best interests to behave.”

Cassian’s heart thudded in his chest, and in the moment that followed, the bond there flared to life before pulling painfully taut, like a bowstring about to break.

The queens parted.

More guards streamed through the open doors, and the bond yanked harder, so hard that for a moment Cassian couldn’t breathe.

There were muffled footsteps, whispers— a single strangled sob.

And through it all Cassian picked up a familiar heartbeat, one that was even more intimately known to him than his own.

And when he finally caught a glimpse of what it was the guards were leading through those doors—

His strength failed him.

Because dragged through the crowd that had gathered and hauled before the king of Hybern, wrists tied and mouth gagged, with the pale tracks of old tears staining her cheeks…

Nesta.

His Nesta.

His mate.

Elain was there too, and a scream built in Cassian’s throat, a roar, because—

He had known something was wrong.

He’d known it in his marrow, and his gut twisted now, as sharply as if someone had taken his dagger and plunged it through his stomach.

He could have stopped this.

If only he’d gone below the wall himself two days ago instead of sending a shadow, if he’d refused to relent until he’d seen her with his own two eyes…

He could have stopped this.

And now his mate was standing in a torn nightgown, barefoot on the stone floor, with the skin at her wrists rubbed raw by the coarse rope they’d tied her with.

And when she shivered…

Cassian’s heart was torn from his chest, leaving nothing but a hollow cavity behind. Before he could think, he’d dropped Azriel’s arm and slipped beneath it, lunging forwards and leaving Mor to take all of Azriel’s weight on her own.

But Cassian didn’t care.

Couldn’t care, could see nothing but Nesta’s face, the steel-blue of her eyes piercing even despite the distance between them. He barely heard Feyre’s strangled gasp, the curse that left her lips.

He unsheathed his blade, feeling it sing in his palm. His anger burned quick, hot, searing right down to his bones, settling inside the hollow in his chest that housed a rage so complete there could never have been hope of containing it.

“Don’t touch her,” he snarled, interrupting the king and the human queens— their conversation one of eternal life, of the king granting it rather than taking it. Cassian didn’t understand— didn’t care enough to understand. His chest heaved. “Don’t you dare fucking touch her. Let her go— let both of them go.”

The king smirked, mocking and cruel. “Or what, General?”

He tilted his head as Cassian’s wings flared behind him. The blade in his hand suddenly felt unnecessary. Killing power rumbled through his veins, searching for an outlet, and his fingers ached with the force of it. He’d slaughtered a village once, when he found out his mother had died. What might he do now, as he looked up to his mate, held against her will?

Suddenly the urge to rip the king apart with his bare hands was one he didn’t want to suppress. Cassian wanted to relish in it. Wanted to cleave the bastard’s chest in two and feel his old, vindictive blood spill across his knuckles. He didn’t want to end his life clean, with a blade. No— when he glanced to Nesta, standing by Elain’s side as tears streamed silently down her sister’s face…

Cassian wanted to remind each and every one of them that he’d earned the title Lord of Bloodshed.

His fury turned molten, and when the king smirked once more—

Cassian lunged, the most basic, primal instinct within him surging. He didn’t think, didn’t breathe, only moved— hands reaching for her, an agonised growl leaving him as he held his blade aloft—

“I’d brace myself, if I were you,” the king said blandly, turning his head to the queens as he lifted one hand from the arm of his throne.

And before Cassian could blink, before he’d taken more than a handful of steps towards that dais, there was a blast— a flash of white so blinding, so searing, that it was all he could do in the split second he had to spread his wings to protect Mor and Azriel behind him— to take the hit he knew Azriel would not survive as Rhys threw Feyre to the floor.

And just before the sharpest and most acute kind of agony consumed him, just before it took him to his knees, he looked up and met Nesta’s widened gaze, heard her heartbeat stumble.

Or was it just his own that skipped, seemed to falter?

His knees hit stone with a punishing crack, a rattle that sent him to his hands.

Agony.

Burning, burning, burning.

His wings— he couldn’t feel them, couldn’t move them, and all he could feel was the floor slick beneath his palms, the sticky warmth of blood spilled, and— when did he get on the floor? And was all this blood his? Or Azriel’s Or both?

He tried to move, but—

A scream was lodged in his throat.

Pain speared through his spine, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t move, couldn’t move—

His wings were—

His wings were shredded, and every tiny movement was the most excruciating kind of pain. It rang through his bones, a blazing fire that left nothing in its wake, and he could barely even breathe but—

He heard someone shout his name. A woman, and he knew that voice—

Gods, he knew that voice.

It was muffled, her voice almost silenced by the cotton they’d used to gag her, but only almost, because she screamed his name and he heard it, and he knew, oh even through the pain that eclipsed everything else, he knew her.

Violent need surged through him, a wave that dragged him under. His terror was depthless, a chasm with no end, and every nerve in his body begged him to rise, even as the slight turn of his head sent a fresh cascade of pain tearing down his spine. His need to get to her was too great to fathom, and even when his fingers tried and failed to find purchase on the floor slick with his own blood, he knew he needed to get to her, needed to save her, and—

Don’t touch her.

It was all he could think, all he could breathe, and if he could speak he would scream.

Don’t touch her, don’t touch her, don’t touch her.

A dim kind of awareness began to filter back in through the pain, but Cassian didn’t understand what was happening— the king was speaking, and one of the human queens answered, the words eternal youth echoing off the stone. But Cassian could hardly hear beyond the ringing in his ears, couldn’t concentrate on anything but the agony in his wings and the sight of Nesta standing across the room, her eyes fixed on him, like she was screaming too, trying to get to him as desperately as he was trying to find the strength to rise and reach for her.

Something like a sob clawed its way up his throat.

He didn’t know what to do.

His body begged him to stop, to rest, to close his eyes and sleep, but— she was there, he could hear her heartbeat through the darkness and the pain and the weight of the blood that seeped from his wings, every pull of it a draw that made him long to close his eyes. His arms shook as he forced himself to lift his head, the infinitesimal rise of his chin a monumental effort that his body could only barely take. On the back of his hands, his siphons were hardly glowing.

There was a pleading in his bones, but he ignored it. What good was his life anyway, if Nesta were harmed? What would be the point in him surviving Hybern’s shadowed halls if she did not?

His skin was slick with sweat - or was that just blood? - and he trembled again as he tried to rise. His head dropped towards his chest as he struggled against the pain, against the roaring in his spine, his wings. Each shift was a sharp, flaring sort of agony, the kind that had stars bursting behind his eyes, his vision eclipsed by bursts of white.

His life was measured in minutes now, seconds, and it wouldn’t matter, if only he could lift his head. If he could just get to his feet and tear the ropes that bound her wrists, get her off that dais and away from this brutal place.

Time slipped away, the minutes passing like melting wax— thick and slow.

The wounds to his wings were sharp, but as Cassian watched his mate be held against her will, a different wound was inflicted, one dealt with a dull and rusty blade. One that would take far longer to heal, if they ever made it out of here. He didn’t think he’d ever forget it, the way her eyes flared with anger and fear and grief and pain. It would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life, if it happened to extend beyond the next few scattered seconds.

He pushed up onto his palms, hands slipping in the pool of blood beneath him. He knew Mor was a handful of feet away, knew Azriel was only just clinging to life, but Cassian wasn’t looking at them. Wasn’t looking at Rhys either, or Feyre, or Lucien or Tamlin. He saw their mouths open in an argument that he was too far gone to hear, and all Cassian could do was look to that dais and note the faces of the men who had their hands on his mate.

Even through the agony, he memorised them.

He was going to kill them.

He didn’t know when— as soon as he could get up, as soon as he could reach for the blade he’d dropped when he hit the floor. He was going to kill them and make it slow.

And then, as his vision began to blur—

Something was said.

Nesta’s eyes widened, another scream breaking free of her as the guard holding Elain forced her forwards, towards the Cauldron. Sound began to filter back in, and Cassian could hear Feyre begging, pleading with the king of Hybern. Lucien ordered the king to stop, and Tamlin began shouting too.

This wasn’t part of our deal— stop this.

Stop this.

It mingled with Feyre’s last aching please, and then—

Cassian watched as Nesta bucked and thrashed against the hands that held her as Elain was lifted up into arms that didn’t care if she struggled. The guards took a step towards the Cauldron, and Feyre fell to her knees as—

Elain was thrown into the Cauldron and swallowed whole by the water within.

Nesta screamed.

Cassian’s blood curdled in his veins, and this time he managed to force himself up onto his elbows, even though his lungs protested and his breaths began to shake. He lifted himself an inch from the floor, tried to rise, tried to stagger to his feet, but he couldn’t, still couldn’t move—

His wings were decimated, and every inch he shifted was a pain so complete it made him dizzy. But Nesta was screaming, tears slipping free of her face, and fucking hell—

The wounds he’d been dealt were nothing compared to that.

Hadn’t he vowed to protect her?

Another sob slipped through his gritted teeth as his fingers slipped once more in his own blood. He tried to breathe, but it came out as whimper. Tried to speak, but it came out as nothing more than a hiss.

His vision was beginning to go dark at the edges, but after a mere handful of seconds that felt like an eternity, he saw Elain be tipped out of the Cauldron.

Magic hung in the air, thick and cloying, and as the water spilled across ancient stone, Cassian collapsed back onto his hands, unable to hold his own weight.

The middle Archeron lay shivering in the puddle of water the Cauldron left behind, and though Cassian saw Lucien rush forward, saw him drape his coat over her shoulders, he heard nothing but Nesta’s muffled screams, renewed now, when Elain tilted her head to reveal the newly arched points of her ears. He saw the words you’re my mate be uttered by the Autumn prince too, a horrified kind of surprise lining the planes of Lucien’s face, but—

“The hellcat now, if you’ll be so kind.”

Cassian bottomed out as the king’s voice echoed.

Don’t touch her, he thought once more, as Nesta kicked when the guards holding her led her towards the lip of the Cauldron that had remade her sister.

Don’t touch her, he begged, to any deity that might listen.

Darkness beckoned, threatened to pull him under, but Cassian groaned— thought he heard himself scream. Agony bloomed in his spine, in his heart too, and he couldn’t take it, couldn’t take much more—

His wings twitched as he tried to get up again, fighting against the pain with every single piece of shattered strength he had left. His vision swam, his ears were ringing, and still he couldn’t move—

But he managed to rise back onto his hands, screaming, breathless, as his chest lifted a fraction from the floor, but even as he dragged himself just a half an inch forwards—

Nesta was thrown into the Cauldron.

And he saw her hand extended, saw his bracelet still tied around her wrist before it was submerged.

And all he could think was—

I never told her I loved her.

And now he was going to die, in this castle, on this floor, watching as strangers’ hands forced her into that Cauldron, took her life and broke it.

He would have roared, had he the strength. Would have brought the castle down around them, if only he could lift his head.

And as time slowed to a crawl, the blood in his veins slowing too, he could have sworn he felt her heart stop— felt it fail down the bond that stretched between his soul and hers.

The entire world had been tipped from that Cauldron, and now Cassian watched as his entire world came free of it too, and when Nesta was tipped out and lay soaking on the cold stone floor…

Cassian grieved.

Mourned.

“She’s…” he managed, but it was broken and quiet, swallowed by the shouting that had erupted in the throne room.

Nesta scrambled to Elain’s side, on her knees. Her skin was pale, her limbs longer, and when her head fell forward to pull Elain into her arms, Cassian got his first look at her ears— perfectly pointed. Perfectly fae. Something deep within his soul cracked�� broke. Her heart was pounding— he could still hear it, still feel it calling to him, but whether it pulsed with fury or with terror, Cassian didn’t know.

He tried to speak again, but the room went dark at the edges.

Mine— that’s what he was trying to say. She’s mine.

And as he pushed his head up, as their eyes collided across that room filled with blood and fear, he saw her breath catch— saw her drop Elain’s hand and lean forwards, as if she might run to him. As if she needed to remind herself that he was still alive, despite the blood coating the floor beneath his hands. Her lips parted, the bond tightened, and for a moment Cassian wondered if she could feel it now, the bond— feel it the way he had for so long, alone.

Did she realise— did she know what it was, that pressure in her chest?

He tried to offer her a smile or a wink or anything to ease the anguish in her eyes— but then Rhys was shouting. Tamlin was shouting. Feyre was screaming, and Mor was looking at Rhys with manufactured horror on her face.

Cassian didn’t know what was happening, couldn’t follow, and was aware of very little except the agony in his broken body and the pounding in his chest from where the bond was, even now, thrumming in Nesta’s presence. He groaned against a fresh wave of pain, a fresh torrent of blood that seeped from his wounds.

“She’s…” he tried again.

“She’s…”

“…Mine,” he breathed— but it was swallowed by the noise, and a moment later, everything went black as Cassian was finally dragged under.

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time

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the-emeralds-incorrect · 8 months ago

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modern au emeralds playing stardew valley (I’m playing sv i love this game I’m almost on year two of my new save that I made after 1.6 came out)

[creative liberties are maybe taken. I’ve never played multiplayer (btw if someone wants to play w me hit me up) so I don’t know what’s different. I’m relying on google searches]

They do the community center, obviously. Fuck Morris and Joja Corp.

Dorcas and Pandora were the first ones to find the game like, a year before 1.6. They have a few saves together, but mainly play on the hilltop farm on one that is in sixth year currently. It’s beautifully decorated, mainly by Dorcas. Dorcas first married Leah, and Pandora first Penny (for the decor, she chose strawberry but heavily debated the forest and moon one as well) and Hazel, before finally they got their shit together and confessing irl and immediately marrying each other.

Dorcas loves fishing and it’s always her first skill mastered fully. She always does that part of community center insanely fast. She also knows all the secret fishing spots that give you presents with decorations for the house.

Pandora’s favourite part is maxing out friendship with everyone, she likes doing tasks. She also loves collecting artifacts. She made the mistake of giving up their first prismatic shard to Gunther before they knew about the desert sword thingy. Dorcas likes both farming and animals, Pandora fucking loves the latter.

When 1.6 comes out and multiplayer up to eight people becomes awailable, they nag Evan, Barty, and Regulus to buy the game and start playing. They choose the meadowlands farm, ofc (“No, we’re not getting wilderness, Barty, Pandora wants chickens from day one!”).

Barty is actually the only one of the boys to have any knowledge how to play beforehand. He spent like a week straight watching YouTubers so he has a decent grasp on the basics of the game. He did not get to the Ginger Island part.

Regulus has the wiki open for the entire time. He also buys the book that shows you prices of things the first time bookseller comes (he saw the event on the calendar, checked what it means, and saved some gold up). He finds out on a solo save that he loves cooking, so they update the house as quickly as possible.

Evan’s very much winging it. He gives random gifts to NPCs and refuses to check wiki to see what they like, just relying on their reaction to see which ones he shouldn’t give them. He remembers Pandora rant about a few of them and makes a point of giving Louis, Pierre, and Clint gifts they hate. His sister finds that hilarious. He’s also the one doing the farming; he doesn’t focus on how much money it will give them, but what Regulus needs in the kitchen.

Evan is also insanely good at Journey of the Praire King. “What the fuck how did you beat it second try.” “What, like it’s hard?” (The only hard/annoying part were the hoards of ogres from stage 1, after he beat that, it was easy. He doesn’t even play these types of games often.)

Barty absolutely loves the Mines and Skull Cavern and is in charge of everything fighting-related. He makes sure they always have enough coal.

I don’t see any of them being interested in minmaxxing it. Weirdly enough, maybe Barty, on like one solo save, but it’s not a priority whatsoever. They’re just here to have fun

#hope you enjoyed #marauders #harry potter #hp #marauders era #slytherin skittles #the emeralds #regulus black #dead gay wizards #barty crouch jr #pandora rosier #dorcas meadowes #evan rosier

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ofmermaidstories · 5 months ago

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I LOVE HEARING YOU TALK ABOUT STARDEW

If you don't mind me asking, how often do you play stardew valley? do you play at night? with a cup of tea?

please! i am dying to talk about it!!! i tend to play games in solid, obsessed blocks. so i’ve been playing every day for the last couple of weeks, now, but before that it’d been months and months since i touched it last. i’ll play whenever! whenever i have time, or throughout the day if it’s a lazy one. i like to play in stretches, and i consider it a treat to, so i’ll often have a snack ready or a drink (sometimes that cuppa you mentioned, often a juice box tho bc im like, five, lmao). i only have two saves!! my first one, delilah, where i didn’t know what i was doing and got bored of, really quickly—and my current one, my second one! it uses my real name, lmao, which tbh i’m not sure i like—it’s always jarring when the other characters say things to me. 💀 we’re currently in winter, in year five. the farm is called Sea Dreams, and it’s a beach property. i completely ignored the warnings about it not being for beginners lmfao, but i quite like it! beyond the romanticism of being on the beach of this like, inland sea cove, i like that the sand means only a fraction of the land is actually good for proper farming. i use the proper soil, the real soil, for my seasonal crops and then let patches of trees grow throughout the rest of the farm. my fruit trees are near the bat cave; in front of my house i grow small plots of flowers. and then by the shore i keep the animals. i’ve fenced them so they get trees and the pond and the sea as well; if i’m spending the day on the farm i’ll sometimes hear the plop! of the ducks, gliding onto the cove’s waters. they always look so contented. 🥹 if i’m there in the evenings, when it’s time for them to turn into the barn or the coop, i’ll stand on the shore and wait for them to drift back—they’re always last in, on those days.

i have a single fish pond, so far, towards the south of the property—it’s filled with sturgeon and from their eggs i make caviar. i make goats cheese and bread and mayonnaise and at the end of every season i harvest the flowers that grew and ride into town on my horse, grover, and hand them out. in the warm months my farm is covered in grass, everywhere! on the last day of autumn i cut it all down, for hay. my greenhouse is on a little island of it’s own, with grandpa’s shrine behind it: inside i grow more flowers, and fruit trees, and strawberries, blueberries, ancient fruit, starfruit. i hope to get a second mango sapling at some point, to grow in the greenhouse—my first one is now planted among my peach trees, waiting for it’s first summer.

fairy roses are my favourite flower. every autumn, during the stardew fair, i always include a pink one, one of my best, in my grange display for the competition. this year my setup included my best goats cheese; my best, aged wine. my best peach and my best orange! caviar, my fairy rose, a bottle of truffle oil and a jar of fairy rose honey, and then lastly, a tulip from spring, lavender-dawn in colour.

(i always win, and i always feel so smug about it. i hate pierre so much lmao, he’s such a dick.)

hmm, what else can i tell you? i’ve only just made it to the skull caverns! they stress me out so bad. 💀 recently tho (like, today, lmfao), i found my first dinosaur egg! and my first two prismatic shards—i saved the first shard in a chest in my barn, and with the other got a sword. the dinosaur egg is currently incubating! i’m so excited for it to live among my chickens and my ducks and my rabbits. 🥹

i really, really like the magic realism that’s steeped into the valley. beyond the atmosphere of the game (the freedom of leaving behind a life that was stifling you, and finding a home in the valley you’d never even dared dreamed of, before) the magic of the world is like, the number one factor in me wanting to write a AU for it. i like—things like the fairy stones. An old miner's song suggests these are made from the bones of ancient fairies. i like things like finding the burnished copper helmets of the dwarves; i like that we can wear one. i like that sometimes, in the night, there’s a rustle of wings and the next morning when you step outside there’s an owl statue, nestled somewhere on your farm like it’s been there for centuries. there’s a junimo hut in the secret, wooded area of pine trees on my farm. they’re too far from the crops to appear, but sometimes when i ride past in the dusk, just when it’s getting dark, you can hear the flicker of flames—the open doorway to their little home glowing. there’s also a secret altar to yoba, amid the trees; the dull steel of the sign of the vessel hidden away against the dark green. there’s just so much to it! i feel like you could dig deep, go deep, literally deep in the mines, and still not understand the world. and it makes me want to write that, lmao. the whole game just makes me want to write! just the world of it—waking up at six am, every morning. learning how to make something of the land before you, how to grow things, how to care for things, animals. walking into town to buy seeds. galloping into town, or down to the forest. one of my favourite touches, in the game, is how sometimes there’ll be a flock of birds on the path, pecking at something—and when you come along they all take flight, all together. and there’s a moment, every time, where you’re in the middle of it, the the beat of the wings—running or riding with them, almost. that’s what i wanna write about. the ride into town, slipping from the horse, breathless, in front of the general store or the saloon. i haven’t married anyone in my save, yet; i can’t decide on who i want to live with. so many of them are sweethearts. i like elliot a lot, recently. he wrote a romance novel for me. 🥺 but originally i wanted to date alex—i love his grandparents. on the last day of autumn i’ll take my fairy roses into town for his grandmother, and for jasmine. but saying that sebastian’s also grown on me; as has haley. sometimes i think i’ll just ask krobus, deep in his sewer, to move in with me instead—but i have an empty nursery in my house and sometimes i wonder if it’d be fun to have someone to have kids with.

(but then i swing back and forth on it—it creeps me out that the kids never age. 🥹 eternal toddlers, stumbling around the house. maybe i’ll have them just to see what it’s like, and then go to the witch’s hut to turn them into doves and let them go.)

if i wrote a stardew valley AU for my hero, i think it’d be just as hard to pick an endgame in-fic. do we pick izuku, and his rabbits? or bakugou and his explosions, up in the quarry? shouto, following us from the city, trying to leave behind the massive corporation that’s eating the world up that he’s set to inherit? idk! anyways. that’s off-topic. 🥹 do you play, anon??? what’s your favourite part? what’s your farm like???? do you like to have a cuppa in hand, when you settle in to play?

#ofmermaidstories-asks #the stardew tag

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ssaeri · 2 years ago

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in the deep

☆ tags: abigail x gn!reader, farmer loses all of their hp in the mines, based on the time I forgot food and a horde of slimes took me out, embarrassed myself on the coop save file by losing money right after we made some, so I typed this up, can be read PLATONICALLY ☆

“It’s a little late, isn’t it?” Marlon calls out. At the door of the Adventurer’s Guild, he tightens his tool belt, preparing for his nightly patrol of the town’s perimeter. A sharpened sword gleams at his hip. Abigail’s own weapon, though also a sword, seems like a toy in comparison to the seasoned fighter’s. “What are you doing out here?”

As he approaches, his eye narrows in recognition.

“The purple haired girl. You’re that store owner’s child, no? Your father won’t be pleased to find you here again.”

She stiffens at the mention of her dad. “I know, but—” she trails off, waving vaguely at the mine entrance. It’s close to midnight now, and other than her sword, she’s equipped with little more than a handful of spring onions and some torches, but she hasn’t seen you since you disappeared into the mines this afternoon, grumbling about prismatic jelly. “The farmer hasn’t come home yet, and I’m a little worried.”

“The farmer is a tough one. You know how they like to skirt the curfew.”

“We made dinner plans, though, and they never miss those.” She flexes her gloved hands, trying to appear braver than she felt. “I’m just going to check really quick. In and out before you know it. Maybe you’re right. Maybe they got distracted and forgot the time.”

Marlon appraises her, palm resting on the hilt of his sword, and he is clearly unsatisfied with whatever he sees because he clicks his tongue, turning away from her. “Stay here,” he orders. “I’ll do a sweep.”

“I can go with you!”

Another click of his tongue. “I’d rather not drag out a second body.”

“I can fight ,” she insists, nostrils flaring. What’s with old men and underestimating her? First her dad, and now Marlon. Granted, Marlon’s word holds more weight than her dad’s, but still. “I’ve been practicing every day.”

“Without ever setting foot in the mines? Without going into the secret woods? Without actual opponents? The farmer makes weekly trips to the Skull Caverns, and even they can get blindsided by grubs. What makes you think that you’d be less of a hindrance?” His tone isn’t condescending, simply matter of fact. “I’d be faster alone.”

Abigail’s shoulders sag. “Can I at least wait by the minecarts?”

“If that makes you feel better.”

She follows him, and just inside the cave entrance, she marks her spot. She sits on the dusty ground, slips on a small glow ring, and leans back against the minecart. It creaks with the new pressure, but soon it settles, cold against her curled spine. Marlon gives her one last warning glance—she holds up her arms in a I get it motion—before descending the ladder, pickaxe in hand.

The thing about waiting, though, is that it’s boring when you have nothing to do. She tries counting the seconds at first, but somewhere around the two minute mark, she gets distracted by the squelching sounds of slimes, the buzzing hum of cave flies. They’re so close . She could jump down to the first floor, try her hand at fighting a few, and then head back up before anyone notices. No one is here to catch her. Her fingers inch towards her weapon. They’re only green slimes. How hard could it be?

But then she remembers your wince of pain the last time she patched you up. Dr. Harvey’s clinic was closed for the afternoon, and he was somewhere by the river, so she took you back to her room and opened her first-aid kit. Slimes are tricky , you said, hissing as she applied antiseptic to your legs. Can’t wait until I get the slime charmer ring, but I can’t believe he’s making me kill 1000 slimes first.

So she sits there, dragging the tip of her sword in the dirt to make swirled lines until she’s surrounded. As she is about to erase her canvas, the elevator whirs. She jumps to her feet. When the doors finally creak open, revealing Marlon carrying you over his shoulder, she gasps, hands flying to her mouth.

“What happened?” she demands, taking in your injuries.

“Found them near the bottom of the mine,” he grunts, easing you onto your back. “Luckily, they were on an elevator floor.”

“They said that they were looking for prismatic jelly or something.”

Marlon nods. “Elevator method. That checks out.”

“Should I get Dr. Harvey? It’s late, but he’s a light sleeper.

“No need, the cuts look worse than they are. Probably just collapsed from exertion. I gave them some elixir before getting them up here, so it should kick in any second now.” He takes out a piece of clothes and wipes away the dirt on your face.

Right on time, you groan, rolling onto your side. “What the hell…?” You cough before squinting in the faint light of their rings. “Marlon? Abby? What’re you doing here?”

“Saving your life, idiot!” Abigail hisses. She’s on her hands and knees, leaning into your face to read your expression.

Marlon puts a warning hand on her shoulder. She looks back. Gentle , his gaze says. She chews her lip, supposing that her lecture could come later. Right now, with your tired eyes blinking at her, she can’t bring herself to be mad, not when when relief finally wipes the tension in her limbs.

“I was so worried,” she whimpers instead. “Can you get up?”

#stardew x reader #stardew valley x reader #sdv x reader #sdv abigail x reader #stardew x farmer #stardew valley x farmer #sdv x farmer #sdv abigail x farmer #stardew valley scenarios #sdv scenarios #sdv abigail scenarios #stardew scenarios #saeri writes;

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stanstanthebirdman · 2 years ago

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the losers play stardew valley

(or, I smash my two current hyperfixations together)

Ben: - usually plays with Bev and patiently waits for her to get house upgrades so he can go absolutely feral with decorating - when he’s playing alone he’s pausing the game every 15 seconds to look up guides and making sure he’s doing the “right” thing - knows how to mod the game and now everyone else asks him for help modding theirs. he agrees, but only if they let him install a horrible grandpa’s bed mod of his choosing - romances Leah

Bev: - has made the most progress out of anyone in the game - has at least three sheds just to produce an ungodly amount of wine - releases all of her stress by yelling at Pierre for not opening early enough/being closed on Wednesdays - has a grudge against Sebastian because he keeps posting requests on the bulletin board but then never leaves his room so she can give them to him - romances Elliott or Emily

Bill: - once he figures out how to mod the game he goes absolutely feral with it - new crops. texture packs. expansions. you name it and he’s probably got it. yes his laptop makes concerning noises every time he opens up the game but he ignores it - Mike, looking over his shoulder at his screen: you have a problem - Bill, happily downloading Strawdew Valley: I don’t know what you’re talking about - names his horse Silver :) - romances Haley or Elliott (and gets into frequent arguments with Bev over him)

Eddie: - “Stardew Valley is such a relaxing game!” not for Eddie it isn’t - you’ll never meet someone else who swears this much while playing Stardew - Richie watches him play sometimes and swears that he doesn’t blink while he’s really focused on something - spends most of his time in the mines, but still has a soft spot for his cows/sheep/goats - gets to level 100 in Skull Cavern out of pure spite - his dog is named after Richie - romances Shane. don’t look too far into this one

Mike: - “oh I’ve worked on a REAL farm before, I’m sure I’ll pick this up fast” - spoiler alert: he does not pick it up fast - gets completely absorbed by fishing and ends up standing there fishing in the same spot for a solid 10 hours - has a pet sea urchin in his room that he puts a new hat on every week - has a permanent grudge against Marnie for never being there when he actually needs her to be - of course he has sheep :) - doesn’t romance anyone, but does let Krobus move in with him

Richie: - “why aren’t my crops growing :(” <-- has forgotten to water his crops for the past 3 days - somehow has the best luck out of anyone with finding rare items. takes great joy in notifying everyone that he’s found ANOTHER prismatic shard and watching the group chat fill up with threats of various levels of violence - loves messing with people in co-op. if he’s not rearranging everyone’s chests he’s following them around giving them rocks every three seconds (”it’s like what penguins do, Staniel, I thought you’d be the one to actually appreciate it!”) - never actually marries anyone, but gets to 10 hearts with everyone anyways just to watch drama unfold

Stan: - has an absolutely GORGEOUS farm. everything is so neatly organized, he has color-coded chests, he’d probably have a separate notebook that he keeps with him just to write down ideal planting/harvest times - has a coop full of chickens all named after the other losers and enjoys updating them on what their chicken counterparts have been up to - got to 8 hearts with Shane just for the blue chickens. hasn’t spoken to him since - romances Penny

#it stephen king #it 2019 #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #eddie kaspbrak #mike hanlon #richie tozier #stan uris #headcanons #river rambles #long post #hoo boy i spent too much time on this #do i want to do more anyways? yes of course

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rosella-writes · 2 years ago

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WIP Wednesday

@thebookworm0001 @queenaeducan @inquisimer and @anneapocalypse have tagged me to share over the past couple days and I’ve missed them all! So here’s a lil bit of Warden Loghain for WIP Wednesday. 💚 tagging it forward to @darethshirl @melisusthewee @dreadfutures @cleverblackcat @plisuu @blarrghe @sulky-valkyrie with no pressure.

They were close. He could feel it.

Loghain had been painfully aware of the songs of the two other Wardens in the wake of his Joining — Riordan’s had been a gentle thump, like a deep drum or heartbeat, at the base of his skull. Rhiannon’s was a soft hum, as if of wind through tall reeds. As time went on, the distinct sounds of the others faded, until he wondered if he’d ever truly heard them at all.

Now that they seemed near, it was clear that it had not been imagined after all.

He could hear her, somewhere near, somewhere deep. The hum was throatier now, louder, perhaps magnified by this false Calling, but he still did not tell Merrill. It would not do to guide her astray according to a gut feeling. Instead they tracked Zevran and Rhiannon by signs familiar to Merrill, to camping habits known to Loghain, and hearsay from fellow travellers. It had brought them here, to the flooded lowlands near Crestwood village — they tucked into the hills to avoid rumours of undead near the water.

It was as he was trying to sleep in the mouth of a cave — his body as part of a windbreak to guard Merrill’s sleeping form — that the call of Rhiannon’s Blighted song almost drowned out that of the false Calling in his head. It felt as if it echoed through this cave, this land, between his ribs. He finally stood, shrugged his cloak from his shoulders, and pressed deeper into the cavern.

He worried at his sword in its scabbard with his thumb. He felt along the gritty stone walls, hardly needing the guidance but wishing for the comfort of it, and paused to light a torch someone had shafted within the rock. Loghain felt half awake, as if stumbling through a lucid dream — he knew exactly where he was going, exactly who he would find, with a surety only dreamers had. It felt inevitable that when he turned this corner, he’d hear the faraway sound of whispers. It felt destined to spy flickering fire deeper within the stone. And when he came closer and recognised the song and sound of darkspawn, there was no dread in him, nor surprise. He merely drew his sword.

The struggle was in tight quarters — stone had fallen, dust was on the air, and Loghain could make out only figures. He made straight for the shortest of them, surer than sure of what it was, and ran it through.

The genlock toppled with a surprised gurgle.

Loghain couldn’t feel one of the figures — the one that turned and twisted and kept to the fringes of his line of sight — but he recognised him by his sharp, acidic laugh of challenge. The other sang the song of rushing reeds deep in his soul, and he turned his back to her to face another oncoming genlock.

It was as if no time had passed. Her shout of challenge was unchanged in the ten years since he’d heard it last. The passage of her feet, in lockstep with his, had kept the memory of their practice. He had no fear in his heart for the genlocks that fell on his blade, nor the hurlock whose arrow thudded against his pauldron and bruised him deeply — just as in a dream, he knew they would fall. His Warden Commander was at his back.

#warden loghain #loghain mac tir #rhiannon mahariel #zevran arainai #merrill #wip wednesday #my writing #dragon age

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iridiumtrashcan · 2 years ago

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i don’t think in all my years of playing stardew that i’ve made it to floor 100 in the skull caverns LOL i made a good run yesterday and made it to floor 72 so i’m gonna bring more staircases and i think i’ll have it

#stardew valley #also hello almost 1 year later

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ridiasfangirlings · 1 year ago

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Title: Lovely, Dark and Warm (14/15)

Fandom: K Project

External: AO3

Pairings: Sarumi

Ratings/Warnings: M

Summary: Totsuka Tatara was dead, Homra was certain of that. But rumors persisted, that he had been seen wandering the alleys of Shizume, with blood on his shirt and a mouth hanging open.

In retrospect, that was how every zombie apocalypse started, after all.

Notes: My outline notes for the chapter read ‘no flashback this time because shit just got real.’

“SHIRO!”

Neko’s horrified scream echoed off the cavernous walls of the chamber of the Slate. She scrambled forward towards Shiro’s fallen body, tripping over her own heels and darting forward on her hands and knees like a cat, reaching for him.

“Fools, fools, fools!” Kokujouji — no, the Colorless King — laughed and whirled, kicking her roughly in the stomach and sending her flying. A moment later he raised Kokujouji’s sword to block Kuroh’s strike, grinning widely at Kuroh’s grave expression.

“You have stolen the body of the Gold King.” Kuroh’s voice was cold, the barely controlled fury simmering underneath a layer of worry, but the hands that held Kotowari remained steady. “It was a trap all along.”

“That’s right,” the Colorless King said, tone lilting up and down. He was swinging Kokujouji’s sword almost wildly now as if he’d never used one before until this moment, all the grace that he’d shown below gone, and yet even so he was still parrying each of Kuroh’s strikes with ease. “This body is mine, the Slate is mine, it’s all mine, mine, mine! I’ve been waiting for the rest of you to get here, so I can finally take the powers of all the Kings, and become the only King! The undying King!”

“I will not allow it!” Kuroh dodged a strike and then pressed forward, forcing the Colorless King to retreat slightly. “In the name of the Silver King and of my master Miwa Ichigen, I will slay you here!”

“Oh?” The Colorless King laughed again, stretching his arms wide. “You’ll do it? You’ll kill the Gold King, the oldest King, just to take me down?”

Kuroh flinched at that, hesitating, and Colorless took advantage of the moment. The floor suddenly seemed to disappear, replacing by swirling stars and galaxies, and Kuroh found himself unable to see anything but the Colorless King standing before him.

“Shiro! Neko!” Kuroh looked around, trying to get his footing, and one of the floating spheres around him broke off from its rotation to fly right at him. He barely managed to dodge, only to jump right into the path of another one that knocked him off his feet.

“See? This old fart’s powers are fun, aren’t they?” The Colorless King’s voice echoed around him and Kuroh tried to get his equilibrium back. Suddenly he heard a loud grunt and the illusion disappeared, the expanse of stars fading away to reveal the hard floor once again. Kuroh glanced backward towards where Shiro still lay slumped beside the Slate and then to where Neko was crumpled by the wall, curled up in pain and clutching her stomach where she’d been kicked.

“Stop it!” The Colorless King grabbed at his head and was shaking it wildly, as if something had latched onto his skull. “You aren’t needed here! Go away, go away!”

Perhaps…he is not in full control of that body? Kuroh’s hand tightened on his sword and he ran at the Colorless King, blade ready to strike.

The Colorless King moved aside at the last moment, blocking Kuroh’s sword with his own. There was a yell from nearby and the Colorless King made a wide sweeping motion with the blade, almost skewering Yata who had run up behind him with fists blazing. Yata jumped backwards and a knife flew past the Colorless King’s face. Fushimi clicked his tongue quietly at the miss and reached into his coat for another knife.

“Working together…that’s cheating!” The Colorless King’s face had settled into a mask of annoyance, eyes darting between the three of them.

“You cannot defeat all three of us,” Kuroh said, face set and serious.

“Idiots!” The Colorless King raised his arms and there was a rush of power. A gust of wind rose up, nearly knocking the three off their feet, and Fushimi turned to glance out the window. Kuroh followed his gaze, paling.

“That is…”

“The Sword of Damocles.”

Outside they could just see it, the enormous Sword now hanging above the building. For a moment it glowed golden and then suddenly that light was swallowed by something darker, as if being eaten from the inside out, until a different Sword emerged — slimmer, with a crooked hilt, and in a color like poisoned metal, almost gray, almost silver, almost rainbow with the sickly sheen of pollution. Colorless.

“I am a King! I am the only King!” Moving faster than it seemed he should have been capable of the Colorless King slammed into Kuroh, throwing him off his feet. Before Kuroh could even begin to recover the Colorless King’s sword knocked Kotowari out of his hand and then he was thrown against one of the windows hard enough to make a crack in the surface. Kuroh fell to the ground, hands open limply towards his fallen sword.

“You…!” Yata ran wildly at the Colorless King, heedless of the fact that he had no weapons but his fists, and the Colorless King turned and slammed a leg into his stomach. Yata reeled, falling back with his arms wrapped around his torso, and suddenly the Colorless King was behind him again, delivering a punishing blow to his back. Yata choked, spitting out a handful of saliva and then found himself picked up bodily and thrown, hitting one of the pedestals and shattering it, landing in a heap of twisted metal and flower petals. Yata curled up defensively, trying to catch his breath as the Colorless King approached.

Two knives flew past the Colorless King’s shoulders and he whirled just in time to block the third that would have embedded itself in his back.

“Don’t waste your time on him. I’m your opponent.” Fushimi’s voice was cold and threatening and Yata tried to raise his head to look at him.

“Saru…hiko…”

“Oh?” The Colorless King raised a hand and then paused. The smile on his face seemed to grow wider and he crossed the space between himself and Fushimi in a heartbeat, grabbing Fushimi’s arm in an iron tight grip with one hand and taking hold of Fushimi’s neck with the other, tilting Fushimi’s head upwards. He pulled down Fushimi’s sleeve, baring the scar which was all that remained of where the infected zombie bite once had been. “I see. I’m in you too.”

“What…” Fushimi’s face twisted in disgust and the Colorless King released him, allowing him to stumble a few steps forward. Fushimi’s hand suddenly opened, knife falling to the ground. Fushimi made a sound of surprise and stared down at his own hand as if it belonged to someone else.

“I can see it.” The Colorless King chuckled. “Someone tried to get rid of it but it’s still there. The little piece of me that can control everything, and there’s nothing you can do.”

“That’s—” Fushimi gave a soft hiss as his wrist twisted painfully all on its own. He staggered and the Colorless King raised an arm. Fushimi’s whole body went rigid, breathing hard, moving jerkily like a crooked puppet. The Colorless King snickered, head tilted to one side, the Gold King’s stern face stretched and unnatural with the scimitar curve of the Colorless King’s smile.

“Mine, mine, mine! You belong to me too. Once part of my power is inside your body even Kings can’t resist. Because I’m the strongest King!” He raised both hands to the sky triumphantly and Fushimi’s body spasmed again. The Colorless King raised an eyebrow, watching him. “What should I do with you? My puppet. I can make you do anything, you know? Anything I like. As long as this power is a virus inside of you you’re all mine.”

“Bastard…” Fushimi grit the word out through his teeth, nearly biting his tongue. The Colorless King barely seemed to notice, pacing around him in a wide circle.

“This will be easy. I know just what to do with you.” He clapped his hands together and Fushimi’s arm disappeared inside his coat for a moment before pulling out the gun he’d taken from the prison room earlier. “Who should we take care of first? I don’t even need to lift a finger to deal with the rest of the ants. You’ll do it for me, won’t you?”

“Die.” Fushimi tried to turn the gun on the Colorless King but his arm refused to obey him. Instead he lifted the gun, aiming the barrel right at his own head.

“Saruhiko!” Yata managed to catch his breath enough to yell, his heart suddenly beating so fast he almost felt dizzy. He tried to gather his legs from under him but he couldn’t quite manage, pain spiking through his knees as he fell back onto the floor.

“Shut up, Misaki!” Yata could almost swear he’d heard an edge of panic in Fushimi’s voice and it made him feel even more anxious. Saruhiko never panicked. Saruhiko was the calmest guy Yata knew, cold and merciless like a knife in the dark. If Saruhiko was panicking then they really were screwed.

“You don’t want him to worry? Why don’t you take care of him first then?” The Colorless King’s voice was soft this time, amused like a child, and suddenly Fushimi’s arm moved again, lowering the pistol away from his own head and pointing it straight at Yata instead. Fushimi’s eyes were wide and bloodshot, and he seemed to be growing paler by the minute.

Yata tried to get up again but this time he felt a strong burst of power weighing him down, the Colorless King exerting just enough of Kokujouji’s power to keep Yata held in place.

“Go on.” The Colorless King stood right behind Fushimi, the twisted smile of a fox splitting his face, and Fushimi’s breath seemed unable to come out except in short gasps. He reached out with his other hand and tried to force the barrel of the gun down but his body wouldn’t obey, finger just brushing the trigger. “Little puppet. Kill him.”

“Fuck you.” The words came out clearly but there was a hollow cast to Fushimi’s voice that made Yata’s body move instinctively to rise — he had to get over there, he had to help Saruhiko — but the power pushed him down hard again and he couldn’t get his feet under him.

“You’re mine,” the Colorless King said, right in Fushimi’s ear, and it felt like the words were resonating in his entire body. “You have to do what I say. Just like this body, and all the other ones in the entire city. All of you are just my soldiers, doing what I want. And I told you…to kill him.”

Saruhiko… Yata’s voice wouldn’t work but he tried to convey it with his eyes, hoping that maybe just this once the two of them could understand each other. It’s okay. It’s not your fault.

Fushimi’s finger pressed on the trigger and Yata closed his eyes, waiting for the shock of pain he knew was about to come.

One shot. Two. Three.

Then silence, broken by the rising hysterical laughter of the Colorless King, and the sound of Fushimi’s knees hitting the floor as his legs gave out.

Yata sat there crouched on the floor, the sound of the shots ringing in his ear, and steeled himself…and then he realized that the Colorless King was still laughing, and he hadn’t felt a thing. Yata’s eyes flashed open and he stared, uncomprehending — the Colorless King was laughing and Saruhiko was there on his knees, breathing hard with a haunted look on his face, and three bullet shells lay there on the floor two feet away from Yata’s position.

But…he missed, so why…

“Nyaa…” The smallest sound made him turn, and that’s when Yata noticed it: Neko, still curled up against the wall where she had fallen, but with one eye cracked open and a hand outstretched towards where Yata was lying.

The Colorless King had been so focused on Fushimi that he hadn’t even realized that Neko was using her powers, and the bullets that had been meant for Yata had hit an illusion that only the Colorless King and Fushimi could see. Even now the Colorless King was more focused on gloating than on making certain those bullets had hit home and the pressure that had been holding Yata down had completely disappeared. Yata slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, trying his best not to make any noise, and one of his hands brushed against cold metal. A long metal rod had been dislodged when Yata hit the pedestal, and Yata gave a grim smile as his hands closed over it. It was no baseball bat but it would do.

Thanks for the save.

“No one can stop me now!” The Colorless King threw his head back and power hummed in the air. “I am the one and only King! Everything in this world, it all belongs to me!” He turned to look at Fushimi, still collapsed on the floor, and raised the Gold King’s sword. “One last thing to take care of…”

“Don’t you lay one fucking hand on him!” The scream tore itself from Yata’s throat. The Colorless King didn’t even have time to react, sword tumbling from his hands as Yata’s metal pole slammed against his body and sent him flying. He hit the ground roughly, skidding a few feet and landing in a heap of golden robes.

Yata stood between him and Fushimi, metal pole held tight in his hands, glowing on and off with bright Red sputtering power. The Colorless King lay motionless for a moment before curling in on himself, grasping at his stomach. Behind him the Dresden Slate’s light flickered like a dying flashlight.

“How? How? How dare you lay a hand on the greatest King!” He stood, legs unsteady underneath him, and Yata held up the metal pole defensively. “I’ll kill you!”

“Just try it, asshole.” Yata was keenly aware of Fushimi still dazed behind him and Neko further away crawling slowly towards Kuroh. He needed to keep the Colorless King’s attention on himself, no matter what.

“Heh.” The Colorless King’s face twisted again, mouth stretched impossibly wide, and he reached for his fallen sword. “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill all of you!”

—

Munakata dodged another punch, parrying with the hilt of his sword. Mikoto’s movements were stiffer than he remembered, clearly moved by a power beyond Suoh Mikoto’s normal violence, and the dissatisfied look on Mikoto’s face proved it.

“Draw your sword already Munakata.” Mikoto gave Munakata a flat look. “You’re not gonna get anywhere with just that.”

“You have been bitten, that much is clear,” Munakata said, voice steady. “But you are not dead yet, are you, Suoh?”

“Might as well be,” Mikoto said as his body moved on its own again, attempting to strike Munakata in the head, and once more Munakata parried.

“The Colorless King has been feeding you, has he not? He hasn’t allowed you to die, because he cannot take your power if it is lost in death.” Munakata’s eyes darted briefly to one of the trays thrown haphazardly in the corner.

“I get to send his little minions running every time they bring something.” Mikoto tried to shrug but his body wouldn’t entirely let him, and he aimed a kick at Munakata instead. “It passes the time.”

“But you are alive.” There was something almost triumphant in Munakata’s smile, as if a theory of his had been confirmed.

“Depends on how you want to look at it,” Mikoto’s voice was mildly exasperated, as if Munakata was a traveling salesman who wouldn’t stop his pitch. “Does it matter? You know what your duty is, Munakata. Didn’t think I’d have to be the one to remind you of it.”

“The duty of the Blue King is to keep the peace,” Munakata said stiffly. “I am aware of the condition of your Sword, Suoh. But I also feel there must be another way to solve the puzzle in front of me.”

“Hmmph. You’re an idealistic guy after all.”

“The Blue King’s job is to kill you. However…” Munakata’s voice was firm and his gaze didn’t waver, defending himself again with only his scabbard. “As Munakata Reisi, I will save you.”

“Gonna take more than those ideals to save anything. Don’t be an idiot.”

“Perhaps that is unlike me, to indulge in this kind of sentiment,” Munakata admitted. “Even so. There are some things on which I will not waver.”

“Such an annoying guy.” Mikoto chuckled, hands lighting up red. “It’s a shame I don’t get to kick your ass on my own, Munakata.”

“I look forward to a proper match once the Colorless King has been defeated,” Munakata responded, grinning. “Truly we did not have as much time to become acquainted as I would have liked.”

“What a shame,” Mikoto responded dryly, moving to aim another punch at Munakata’s midsection.

Suddenly the power in the air seemed to waver and Mikoto paused mid-movement. He raised his arms above his head and sent a wall of flame upwards, through floor after floor.

“…Suoh?” Munakata blinked, confused.

“Heh. Looks like that guy’s been distracted.” Mikoto’s movements were labored but clearly his own, forcing control back over his own body. “Don’t know what did it, but he’s not focused here anymore. You better go while you can.”

“You should come as well,” Munakata said quickly and Mikoto shook his head.

“He’s not all gone yet. You stopped here for a reason, right? To give those guys a fighting chance. You gonna waste it by being stubborn?”

“I do not intend to waste anything,” Munakata stated, hooking his sword back onto his belt. Blue power shone in the air, creating stairs leading upward through the hole Mikoto had created. “My own powers seem to have regained some strength as well. Hopefully this means Fushimi-kun and his companions are holding their own.” He paused, one foot on the blue stairs, and looked back at Mikoto. “Suoh…”

“Go on, Munakata.” Mikoto waved a hand at him dismissively.

“I expect you to be present when I am ready for our rematch.” With that Munakata disappeared up the stairs, running as fast as he dared towards the top the of the tower.

Mikoto slid back down onto the floor, hands behind his head. He reached into his pocket and then gave a heavy sigh. He was finally out of cigarettes.

Outside, the Red Sword of Damocles remained hanging in the air, slowly crumbling to pieces.

—

Yata’s body tensed, hands tightening on the metal rod. It was still glowing Red, this time strong and steady, but his eyes didn’t move from the Colorless King, waiting for the next strike. Even so he just barely managed to defend as the Colorless King swung his sword, the full power of the Gold King weighing heavily with each movement of the blade. Yata parried the sword and then jumped out of the way, ducking under another sword slice and trying to bait the Colorless King into following him.

I’m not gonna be able to keep this up very long. The Colorless King’s movements were a little stiffer than before but he was still moving so fast that Yata could barely keep ahead of him, the Gold King’s body clearly far stronger than Yata had anticipated. The only advantages Yata had were the surprise attack he’d just inflicted and the Colorless King’s clearly unhinged mental state that was causing him to swing the sword wildly, all the cold and calculating power that he’d used when he’d ambushed them earlier totally gone. The Gold King’s sword flashed through the air again, inches from Yata’s head, and Yata did a clumsy backflip to avoid it. His eyes darted back towards where Fushimi remained on his knees, seemingly in a daze and completely unaware of what was going on around him.

Saruhiko… Yata bit his lip, unable to swallow down the worry crawling up his throat.

“Keep your eyes on me!” The Colorless King howled at him and Yata quickly threw up the metal rod to block the sword again. It glanced off his weapon, metal screeching against metal, and again Yata fell back and rolled to his feet, breathing hard. The Colorless King took one step towards him and then stopped, turning to follow the line of Yata’s gaze. The wide grin split his face again and Yata realized a moment too late that his earlier glance had been noted.

“Don’t—” The words hadn’t even left his mouth before the Colorless King turned away from him, heading towards Saruhiko instead. Yata dashed forward, heedless of the danger, cutting in front of the Colorless King and throwing up the metal rod.

The Colorless King’s sword glanced off of it again and there was a sudden spike of pain down Yata’s arm, his wrist twisting painfully as the metal pole was wrenched from his grip. A glancing blow sent him flying, landing hard on his hands and knees inches from where Fushimi remained kneeling.

Yata painfully forced himself to his feet. He was weaponless beyond his fists, bruised and bleeding and it hurt to stand. Even so he got to his feet, swaying, and spread his arms wide.

“I already told you, bastard,” Yata said through gritted teeth, eyes burning. “Don’t you lay. One. Fucking. Hand. On Saruhiko.”

“Misaki…?” The voice behind him was soft, wavering like a lost child’s, and Yata couldn’t even turn around to smile at him. The Colorless King approached and Yata stood his ground.

Suddenly the entire building seemed to shake and the Colorless King stumbled, hand clutching at his chest.

“Impossible…” The words came in pieces out of the Colorless King’s mouth. He looked up and beyond Yata. “Impossible! I am the only King!”

“No.” Kuroh’s voice behind them made Yata turn. Kuroh was standing on the Dresden Slate, Neko at his side, the two of them supporting Shiro’s unconscious body. Kuroh’s hand hovered above the sword that pierced the Silver King’s chest. “You are not suited to be a King at all, much less the only one.”

“Get away from that!” It was nothing but a shriek as the Colorless King stumbled forward, Yata and Fushimi all but forgotten. Kuroh didn’t even flinch, placing Shiro’s body against that of the Silver King. Kuroh’s hand closed over the hilt of the sword and in one single practiced movement pulled it out of the Silver King’s chest.

The Slate glowed a bright blinding silver, and Adolf K. Weismann opened his eyes.

—

Two bullets sunk into the skull of the approaching undead and Kusanagi heard the trigger of his gun click emptily as he turned to face more of the horde. Out of bullets, and this was the last of the weapons he’d brought with him. With a sigh he reached into his jacket, hand on his lighter, and his eyes darted to Mihashira Tower in the distance.

The Red and Blue Swords of Damocles had appeared in the sky some time ago, but his powers weren’t anything like steady. Still, just seeing Mikoto’s Sword had given all of Homra a new burst of strength, the proof there in the sky that their King still lived.

Hopefully. Mixed in with the Red glow Kusanagi could just make out other marks on that familiar Sword — the cracks that wove along the surface, crumbled and broken in places, but also held together by some sort of cloud that Kusanagi couldn’t entirely make out, a hazy black that made his eyes hurt if he stared too long. It wasn’t a good sign and he was well aware of it but there was no time to think about that now when they were still surrounded by undead, not even when a third Sword appeared above the tower. It seemed as if every remaining undead in the city had converged here at this spot. Scepter 4 and what remained of Homra were managing to hold their own, barely, but it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

Blue flashed past his shoulder and Kusanagi turned his head in time to see a zombie behind him get sliced in two. He smiled thinly, backing up to stand beside Awashima.

“Thanks for the assist, Mademoiselle,” Kusanagi murmured and Awashima gave him a cold look.

“Pay attention to what’s around you,” she said sternly and Kusanagi clicked his lighter.

“We’re not lookin’ so good, are we?”

“We will hold the line.” Awashima’s voice was firm, thick with unshakeable resolve, and Kusanagi blew a fireball of Red at the zombies heading towards them.

“As long as we can,” he agreed. Awashima glanced at him, one eyebrow raised, and then she finally smiled.

“If we can only buy enough time…” Awashima’s voice was cut off by the sound of shuddering earth and she looked up suddenly at Mihashira Tower.

Three Swords of Damocles still hung in the air: Blue, Red and Colorless. There was a bright light spilling forth from the very top of the tower, shooting upward before forming into a bright silver Sword.

“Huh,” Kusanagi murmured, and before Awashima could even reply all of the zombies in front of them abruptly dropped to the ground, unmoving corpses once more.

“We…won?” Off to their left Awashima could see Hidaka standing shakily, still holding his sword. The other members of Scepter 4 and Homra exchanged exhausted glances, everyone still tense in anticipation of some sort of trick, but the undead all remained where they had fallen.

“Captain…” Awashima said softly, looking back up at Mihashira. “Were they successful?”

“Seri-chan.” Kusanagi put a hand on her shoulder. They were both weary but he knew that neither of their duties were done yet, not when they were still in the dark as to what had just happened. “Come on.”

Awashima nodded, yelling out some quick orders to Akiyama as she sheathed her sword. Kusanagi gestured at Kamamoto to take things over for now and then he moved alongside her, and together they made their way towards the tower.

Mikoto…you’d better be alive.

—

“No!” The Colorless King’s screech of anger echoed through the room, the Gold King’s Sword falling from his hands as he stumbled wildly towards the Dresden Slate. “Give it back! Give that power back!”

“I think you’ve done enough now.” Weismann’s voice was soft but with a stern undertone — and still Yata recognized it, the voice of Isana Yashiro. One of Shiro’s hands lay across his previous body, silver strands coalescing around the open wound from the sword and stitching back together skin and bone. The same thin silver strands danced along the edges of the Slate, and where they touched it the strange dark mist that seemed to be hovering over it dissolved like a fog cleared away by the sun.

“It’s mine!” The Colorless King raged and Kuroh stepped protectively in front of Shiro, sword drawn. “I woke it up! I put pieces of me everywhere, controlled it all! I am the only King! I am—”

He cut off, staring down at the sword piercing his shoulder.

“I’m afraid that you are not fit to be a King.” Munakata’s voice behind him was firm and final.

“You!” The Colorless King’s face shifted and changed, brows knitting together as if in concentration and when he spoke again his tone was the low serious voice of Kokujouji Daikaku. “It seems…you took your time, Weismann.”

“My apologies, Lieutenant,” Shiro said quietly, stepping forward towards him. “I suppose I needed a little….push, is all.”

“Stop it!” the Colorless King screamed again, Kokujouji’s body jerking forward as he wrestled for control. “I will not—” The voice changed mid-scream. “I believe it’s time for you to remove yourself, young ‘un.”

“You…you…” The Colorless King swung his head back and forth, fingers digging into his forehead. His eyes suddenly landed on the figure slumped by the doorway — the single dead Rabbit guard, who had not moved all this time. Kokujouji’s face twisted momentarily in a smile and then there was a streak of white and the Gold King collapsed, Munakata’s sword still in his shoulder.

“My apologies, Your Excellency,” Munakata murmured and Kokujouji chuckled, breathing hard.

“You missed the vitals on purpose. You’re soft, Munakata.”

Before Munakata could reply the body of the Rabbit in the corner rose stiffly, a familiar laugh rising into the air.

“Not finished! I’m not finished yet! I will still—”

The sound of a gun firing echoed in the air and the Colorless King’s body was suddenly stained with blood. He raised his head, following the line of the shots.

Fushimi was on his feet, gun in hand.

“Shut up, bastard.”

“Worms!” The Colorless King’s voice rose in pitch as he clutched at the wounds, mask falling askew as blood spilled from his mouth. The body lurched and stumbled, trying to make for the door. “I can still…I can still…”

“Don’t think so.” Red power flooded the Colorless King’s vision and as his body began to burn away he turned his face towards the window where he could see the Red Sword of Damocles still hanging in the sky, held together by a soft silver light.

The Colorless King screamed one last time and then his body was completely engulfed by flames. The scream rose higher and higher in pitch and then cut off abruptly, and at last the Red power faded to reveal that nothing remained of the Colorless King. Mikoto leaned against the doorway, a slight smirk on his face.

“No blood, no bone, no ash.”

#k project #sarumi #Fushimi Saruhiko #Yata Misaki #and all of the other reindeer #fic #only the epilogue left to go now #I hope everyone enjoyed the extra Sarumi in this chapter I've been waiting years to post this part

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racingbarakarts · 7 months ago

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Stardew update: my husband and I finally got our first prismatic shard!!! He turned it into a sword so we would be safer in the skull cavern and then we went mining. Got to level 40 in one go!

Next we unlocked the volcano island. We got lots of golden walnuts and I am terrified of the volcano. But Leo is cute. So excited, I’ve never made it this far :D

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friendshipcampaign · 7 months ago

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Session Recap 1/4/20 - Bird Murder, or Burder

Together, the party succeeded at deciphering the message that had been left with Amaranth’s things in the chest – correctly deducing out that the key it had been encoded with read “NOWHERE” – to find that it read:

My Dearest Callen,

Technically these little trinkets are a bonus—you didn’t ask, but surely you deserve some sort of interest on an investment that’s been missing for so long. D has recorded their value and will be sending along a full report. I intend to receive a signature from your representative upon delivery as proof I’ve upheld my end of our little arrangement. For your own part, do have fun with your new toy. She did lose one of her companions in the altercation—that pathetic little elf. I could have made her remember losing more, but I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the satisfaction of breaking her yourself.

Now, as agreed, I expect you to stay out of Veritas unless called upon. This is a delicate operation, and if your interference throws off the balance I am sure that neither of our patrons will look kindly upon it. You can resume your search for flotsam once everything is securely under control. It shouldn’t be long now. The demons are hardly bothering to hide, and the city is desperate for a savior.

Cordially,

The Lady of the Golden Brand

Amaranth, in particular, looked extremely nauseous at the text of the letter, but still managed to point out that there was a watermark of a white hart on the paper, suggesting the cult might be active at the White Hart paper mill. The group also discussed the fact that, according to the papers Thodri had given Kriv, there was an Elderberry Deckle at the Cavern paper mill who’d put an ad in the versos about looking for a tiefling named Dandelion Deckle.

Ditto asked Tiktik if they would be up for any spying that day, and when they agreed, transformed them into a beetle, so they’d be ready to snoop. The group discussed whether it made sense to deal with the devil cultists or the breaches being opened by the demonic cultists first—though the fact that Esmerelda’s letter made it sound like the former weren’t too concerned with the latter seemed potentially even more ominous than the breaches did. They also talked about the fact that it seemed like Tress was being kept at one of the paper mills, and agreed it probably made sense to investigate them. As the group prepared to head out, Palava called Erwyn over and cast Death Ward on him.

“Just a little extra protection,” he said, squeezing his shoulder.

Alembic suggested sneaking the party out of the city in the demiplane, which meant when everyone headed inside, they saw the sculptures of Volfred that Amaranth and Nora had made, which Kriv shrank down to a more manageable size and moved after heading over to his goat.

“What do you think of the images of me they have created?” Volfred asked him.

“That one is pretty good,” Kriv said, pointing to the one Nora had been working on.

“Yes, the dwarf has more patience for these things than your tiefling friend.”

When Ditto referred to Kriv by his alias, Volfred asked about it and Kriv explained the party was on the run, but did not elaborate on everything that had happened since. With the party waiting for a bit in the demiplane, Kriv did take the opportunity to look at the mail that he’d recieved

Voski, meanwhile, consolidated some of the skull lamps Tenny had made into a chandelier.

Eventually, the demiplane door opened up and Palava waved enthusiastically at the party to let them know they’d gotten outside of town successfully. On their way to the Cavern papermill, Ditto sent Tiktik to spy on the White Heart, but they really only saw workers hanging up sheets of paper in the mill. The group knocked on the door to the Cavern and were greeted by an elderly halfling who introduced himself as Elderberry. When Voski mentioned they were there because of his ad in the versos, his demeanor changed, asking if they knew anything about “DeeDee,” and the group asked if they could speak with him in his office.

Voski explained to Elderberry that the party was in a somewhat similar situation, searching for a friend of a friend who was also a tiefling that had gone missing. Elderberry explained that DeeDee had gone missing on Blomhath 18th, nearly a week ago. He said it felt as though the watch had just stopped trying to follow up with missing persons reports. It was also explained that he’d adopted Dandelion, whose parents hadn’t been expecting a tiefling.

After Voski asked if Elderberry had a working relationship with any moembers of the watch, and he explained that some of his employees had minor infractions in the past, which meant the city watch occasionally bothered them. Around that time, a goblin Elderberry referred to as Zero briefly interrupted the group to ask if everything was alright. When Voski asked about the mercenaries working in town, Elderberry admitted he didn’t have a very high opinion of them, but there was no curfew out by the mills. Kriv asked if anyone unusual had come into the mill prior to Dandelion’s disappearance. He said there wasn’t anyone he could think of, but that the other mills got more unusual clientele.

Suddenly, Ditto, who had been oddly quiet for much of the conversation, asked if she could have a look around the paper mill because she’d never been in one before. Elderberry agreed, but as she was zooming out the door of the office and into the mill, Erwyn Messaged her to ask if everything was alright.

“I think… that goblin…” she said, “I think that Tiktik knew them… bye!”

The others continued their conversation with Elderberry. Erwyn asked about some of the individuals that had been coming and going from the other paper mills, and Elderberry mentioned that the White Hart in particular had been so busy that Vatman, the proprietor, cancelled the papermaker’s subset of the stationer’s meeting for the first time ever last month. He also mentioned that there was a distinguished-looking fire genasi who’d been putting orders in there.

Ditto succeeded in finding Zero chatting with a big bugbear, and told them that she’d been together with Tiktik the goblin a long time ago. Zero immediately asked if she was Ditto, and suggested they duck into the rag-sorting room to talk. They told Ditto that Tiktik told a lot of stories about her, though they suspected that not all of them were all the way true – things like her tying guards shoelaces together, Goz the Great, how when she met Tiktik she shot fire at a guy and they had to flee. It turned out that Zero knew about the package Tiktik had left with Knife.

“Knife was sure you’d come back, but I didn’t know,” Zero said. “I kind of thought you’d just be a weird story.”

“Well I guess all of us are weird stories eventually, right?” said Ditto.

Zero told Ditto that Tiktik had been her adopted aunt. Apparently Zero and Brenga, the bugbear they’d been talking to, had come into town together and Tiktik had taken them under her wing. They told Ditto that Tiktik had talked about her a lot, but especially towards the end, and commented that a cuna wasn’t finished until the person it was intended for got it. Ditto told them it made her feel sosoceni – a goblin word she’d learned from Tiktik, though she and Zero both laughed at how she still struggled to pronounce it. She asked it it would be weird if she gave them a hug, but Zero said it was alright – though after giving them a tight squeeze, Ditto warned them that she and her friends were looking into some stuff and Veritas was really dangerous right now. She also told them about how she could cast Sendings, and that she’d try to warn them of any danger if she could.

“It’s magic. It’s like wizard shit. I can do so much wizard shit now, it’s crazy. I don’t know how to deal with it,” said Ditto.

Ditto then rejoined the rest of the party, who were preparing to leave. Once they were outside, Amaranth and Palava asked Ditto if she’d seen anything interesting, and she explained about the connection between Zero and Tiktik. She emotionally said she hoped everything turned out okay for everyone at the Cavern, because she was really fond of them all now. Kriv patted her as she explained.

As the group approached the other paper mills, Ditto sent her familiar Tiktik to snoop on the White Hart paper mill again, through whose eyes she noticed that the workers in the mill seemed to be working a little suspiciously in unison. Through a door, she also saw a white tabaxi with a black mark over their eye, who looked like the one the group had seen during the fight at Inner Truths—though they weren’t sure if he was the original or a duplicate.

Erwyn offered to try detecting fiends in the area, and the group settled down among some trees so he could focus. He picked up on something that looked like a raven on the roof of one of the paper mills, but that actually pinged as a devil. As his awareness spread and hit the city walls, he felt a building wave of demonic presence that hurt his head and eventually grew overwhelming.

The group discussed options for distracting or sneaking past the “raven,” deciding they should probably take it out before they headed into the mill. Since it seemed worth looking for ways to sneak in the building before engaging it, everyone did some investigation, but came up empty—though Kriv did manage to find some nice medicinal herbs in the process. Tiktik’s investigation at least turned up a door leading to the lower part of the mill, but with no windows looking in.

Amaranth hid some of the foliage nearby in order to get the element of surprise. Ditto linked to the Arcane Shuttle, in order to cast a distraction once it was placed, which she gave to Erwyn, who she then cast Invisibility on. He dropped it in an unassuming spot and hid himself in the foliage as well. Ditto cast a rustling sound through the shuttle, and the devil hopped off the roof and into the trees to investigate.

Once the devil was in range, Amaranth, threw the ice dagger at it, utterly obliterating it. The party then sprang into action. Ditto cast Mage Armor on herself as the group rushed to the door of the paper mill. Palava slipped slightly on the way, and Kriv helped him up and along. There was a heavy lock on the door, which Amaranth was able to pick easily. Kriv cast Aid on Ditto, Erwyn, and Voski as the group headed inside.

It was dark inside the mill, prompting the dragonborn to don their scarf and goggles respectively. There was another locked door inside, which Amaranth proceeded to check for traps before unlocking it. She opened the door and snuck in, entering a room full of manacled humanoid shapes–including the tabaxi proprietor. She silenced him before he could cry out, saying they were here to rescue him.

As the others entered the room, Ditto recognized some of the other figures in the room as the employees of the paper mill. Erwyn and Voski noticed several piles of papermaking rags in the corners of the rooms which had some kind of spherical glassware underneath them that looked suspicious and potentially magical. Kriv used Divine Sense, but didn’t detect any fiends nearby. Amaranth went to attempt to unlock a set of manacles, but Voski, who had noticed something carved into their edges, gestured for her to wait.

Voski asked if there was some kind of a spell on the manacles. Vatman, the proprietor, replied that there might be as “they” had a lot of magic, warning about oozes that could take you out of your mind. Palava knelt down to examine the manacles, then the glass vessels in the corners of the room, saying that they were linked–and the latter were triggered to explode if the manacles were tampered with. Kriv reassured some of the prisoners, asking them to stay quiet but promising they were going to get them all out. Palava put a hand on Vatman’s shoulder, making the same promise and casting Calm Emotions–though not before asking for permission, in case the prisoners had had enough of magical effects.

Voski had wandered back into the first room, where she had noticed some strange discoloration near a ladder leaning against the wall. She tried sending a Message in Esmerelda’s voice down below, since it looked like there might be a trapdoor, saying “Tressamine, darling, how’s my favorite assistant?”–to no response. Ditto investigated the trapdoor area and noticed that there seemed to be a metal layer underneath it, with some sort of spell on it. Voski tried casting Dispel Magic on it, causing the spell to vanish.

She tried sending the same Message, a little more irritably the second time, and heard back “Oh, I think we’re making very good progress.”

Voski informed the others Tress was down there, but might still be compromised. She tried messaging her in Esmerelda’s voice again, saying she was thinking about getting some food in town and asking if she wanted anything. Tress replied saying she liked the spicy dumplings at a particular stall. Voski then tried asking via another Message what the schedule was that day, and was told that Kereft was in, as usual–though Tress added that he was being unhelpful, as always.

“Kisses,” said Voski in Esmerelda’s voice, finishing the Messaging exchange.

“--W-what?” replied Tress.

After Voski let the others know Tress wasn’t alone, Kriv broke the trapdoor open to reveal a room with stacks of paper, and iron cage, and an oddly fancy chair, as well as a door to another room. Kriv tried Divine Sense again, and while it didn’t detect anything, he noticed an ooze flowing from beneath the bars of the cage. Quickly, he dropped the ladder down so the party could rush downstairs.

Amaranth went after the ooze and successfully beat back the smaller ooze that had flowed through the cell with a powerful attack. Kriv went after it next, hitting it twice and casting Diving Smite on the second of his attacks, which allowed Erwyn to run past, maintaining his Invisibility. Voski cast Vicious Mockery on the smaller ooze, saying “Oh, you’re still here?” and it recoiled, at this point barely holding itself together.

Kriv and Amaranth felt a tugging on their minds from the ooze, and while Kriv was able to fight it off, Amaranth ended up frozen in place, unable to move. Four tendrils separated themselves from the larger ooze and morphed into humanoid figures=–one of which took the form of Vatman-–that drew swords and screamed out incomprehensibly. Alembic then closed his eyes and focused on an aura that strengthened the minds of those standing near him. Ditto cast Magic Missile on the smaller ooze, which destroyed it, and then flew up towards the ceiling.

Palava remained up above, saying he didn’t want to leave the prisoners, but still was able to lean down and cast Sacred Flame on the larger, remaining ooze. Amaranth—who had regained the ability to move when Ditto destroyed the smaller ooze—tried rushing past the four gooplicates, meaning one got an attack in on her, but succeeded in attacking the larger ooze twice.

Kriv turned to Voski, “Do you want me to go get her now?”

“I think we’re beyond secrecy now,” she replied.

He ran to the door on the other side of the room, only to discover it was locked, so he busted it in physically. On the other side was a room filled with alchemical equipment, as well as as Tress and the fire genasi that Palette’s footage had shown in Inner Truths. Kriv attempted to position himself between Tress and the genasi, and as soon as he got close, there was a sudden shift in her eyes and she looked horrified. Furious, Kriv cast Wrathful Smite on his hammer. Erwyn followed Kriv into the other room and cast Ray of Frost at the genasi, causing his Invisibility to drop. He then asked Tress if she was okay.

“Physically,” she replied.

Voski attempted to whack one of the gooplicates near her with a sword, but failed. She then asked Ditto to give her the shuttle. Inside the other room, the genasi moved away from Kriv, who was at least able to smash him with his hammer, adding a Divine Smite for good measure. The genasi pulled something that looked like a tuning fork from his belt, and grabbed a flask with arcane markings on it that looked like the ones the group had seen upstairs.

“Put your weapons down,” the genasi said threateningly, “Or all the prisoners will die.”

#session recap

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temperedgods · 9 months ago

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Part 1 Chapter 8

Didn't finish part 2 yet, other stuff came up. I think once I am done posting part 1 I am going to change to maybe biweekly or monthly posting since it really took a lot less time to post than was to make.

Free Palestine

Lucan and Kracak slipped away from the group. The two wanted some time away from their new friends, somewhere to decompress and went searching for that place in Gregora.

Despite the pitch black night sky Gregora was bright as day from street lights and venue signs burning bright.

The two found Violet Bridge, a nightclub covered inside and out with purple neon lights. The place felt bigger on the inside. Even at half capacity it still felt crowded.

While loud music and the warm bodies packed in one room most would find it uncomfortable, it was a different pace than the sounds of gunfire and cold caverns.

Violet Bridge had a mixed drink menu named after various spellcasters. Curious, the two ordered their own respective type of spellcasting. Lucan’s had a grassy almost mushroom taste while Kracak’s drink was floral and smooth. Kracak pounded the entirety of her drink and threw a few silver marks on the bar.

“I see some other Paravas across the dance floor.” She yelled, still drowned out by the music.

“To see if they know anything?” Lucan asked.

“No, I wanna dance with them.” And Kracak turned away to the dance floor.

Lucan smirked and nursed his drink. He wasn’t going to let his guard down but he wanted to enjoy himself somewhat.

Someone sat at Kracak’s seat and ordered a paladin. The Halcyon opened the conversation.

“Your friend is really enjoying herself here.”

“Yep, she likes to cut loose every so often and after the past few days I don’t blame her.”

Lucan eyed the woman’s drink as she pulled some of it back.

“Are you a paladin?” Lucan asked.

She giggled.

“No, a sorcerer actually. That drink is alright but I do like our paladin’s almost chocolate taste over the sorcerer’s minty taste.”

“Do you work here?”

She smiled.

“I do, actually. My name’s Nijali.”

“I’m Lucan. My friend over there is Kracak.”

The two looked over and saw Kracak dancing with 3 other paravas. They were brightly colored and clashed with Kracak’s dark feathers but they really enjoyed her presence.

Nijali looked at Lucan’s appearance closely and saw his loose fitted black shirt and pants.

“Y’know you do look like you just came from a funeral.” Nijali commented.

“Well maybe I did.” Lucan said coyly.

Nijali grabbed his left sleeve and rubbed it between her fingers.

“This is really soft.”

She tugged on it and caught a glimpse of his necromancer seal. The seal showed a bleached skull growing moss on the cranium and behind sat a cracked tombstone all within a ring made by a venomous snake. Not only did she see that but also a tattoo of a book that animated slight movement and legible text of a spell to summon a wraith.

Lucan recoiled his arm back.

“Sorry.” Nijali apologized.

“No, it's fine. Most people don’t really know that about me, most others don’t like to know I might be a harbinger of death.”

“Are you?”

“I’m a doctor, I don’t want to see anyone die.”

Nijali cracked a half smile.

“What about the other tattoo?” Nijali asked. “I’ve never seen one like it.”

“Oh the book? Yes it’s an enchanted tattoo, I can store the text of spells in it so I don’t need to carry a grimoire. Most others need to but this cuts down on what I bring with me. That and it looks cool.” “It does look really cool. What spells do you have on it?”

“Well a few conjuring spells, some healing spells, that type of stuff. Oh! And a charm spell, it’s always something handy to have around!” Nijali chuckled.

“I think your charm spell is working.” She said putting her hand on his.

“Well that’s the best part,” Lucan replied back “I didn’t need that spell.”

Lucan and Nijali pulled close and kissed. Lucan pulled away for a moment and grabbed a few marks from his pocket. Nijali stopped him.

“Don’t worry it’s on the house. Follow me.”

Nijali grabbed him and whisked him away to a hidden staircase at the back of the club.

Kracak only saw Lucan being brought up there for a moment but got the idea.

The group sat outside in the front garden of the bed and breakfast Charlie found.

Dusk was setting in as the shadows grew long over each building. Lawrence was having a cigarette while the others talked about spells while petting Riley. Joseph had gone off to handle some sort of wizard business he did not elaborate on and Kracak and Lucan had gone off by themselves.

“Lawrence,” Charlie asked. “Did Lucan and Kracak say when they were gonna be back.”

“Nope.” Lawrence said while exhaling.

“Did they say- anything?” Jordan added.

“Not really.” Lawrence pulled a drag.

“So, they’re just out there. By themselves?” Malan continued.

“And we don’t know where they are.” Morgan completed the thought.

“Not at all.” Lawrence answered. “They’re big kids, they can handle themselves.”

“But the Dismayed are after us.” Charlie continued. “They could easily get those two.”

“I doubt it.” Lawrence quickly remarked.

“But they tried doing that with us.” Jordan quipped while gesturing to themself and Morgan and Riley.

“And that went so well for them before?” Lawrence asked back.

The rest of them murmured between each other and Lawrence looked at his watch.

“We should be having a visitor in a moment actually.” Lawrence announced, extinguishing his cigarette and getting up.

He moved to the gate of the garden and looked down both ways of the street. He turned back, concerned at finding no one.

“Strange, she said she’d be here right about now.”

A figure dropped from the top of the bed and breakfast, hitting the grass with a soft and loamy thump.

“Ah, welcome! Glad you could join us!”

A figure was shrouded in the deep shadow of the house, taller than everyone else, even the absent Lucan. The figure pulled from the shadow and revealed to be a woman clad in wooden and leather armor. She had long orange hair and carried a double bladed battle axe.

Charlie erupted from his chair, flinging it far behind him.

“Shelly!” He yelled, running to her. They two embraced after being separated for this long.

“Charlie! It’s so good to see you again!” She boomed. A sweet but strong voice as she gave him a bear hug. The two held each other for almost a minute.

Morgan, Jordan and Malan looked at each other.

“Holy shit,” Jordan whispered “She’s real? I thought when he said something about her to me it was like a shock hallucination.” “You can have those?” Morgan asked.

“Sometimes.” Malan answered.

“Friends!” Charlie announced, now standing beside Shelly, arms interlocked. “This is Shelly. When I was brought to High Wolf by those eagles she took in me and taught me their ways. And floored me with her beauty and prowess to annihilate anything with her giant battle ax.”

Shelly looked at him. “Giant eagles?”

Lawrence moved forward and intercepted the question.

“Right yeah that. Listen, Joseph gave me the whole story about that, so we can talk about that. Shelly, Charlie, would you like some tea while we discuss this?”

Both trained their gaze on him.

“Sure?” Shelly said confusedly.

“Wonderful. Both of you please follow me and we can discuss this in private.”

Lawrence went behind them and opened the door to the house. Charlie walked in first and Shelly behind him, ducking slightly under the door to not hit her head.

The 3 were inside for a while, the sun ducked under the land and the moon rising up high. The rest were outside, just enjoying the cool night when they had finally come out.

“I apologize if that was too much for you to take in at once.” Lawrence assured them in a very pleasant tone. For everyone there, it was the nicest he had ever sounded. “Elder Isaac has always been difficult to work with but I never imagined that of him.” Shelly responded.

“Like I said before, I can always take care of it.”

“No no,” Shelly interrupted, “We can take care of this issue. Thank you, we are grateful to the Mikaels and their eternal friendship with Janall and her children.”

“Of course, their friendship is always welcomed.” Charlie grunted.

Charlie looked at everyone.

“Me and Shelly have to go take care of some things back at High Wolf. But don’t worry, we’ll be back to deal with Naturius! He won’t see what’s coming!”

He grabbed Shelly’s hand and the two quickly exited out of the front garden. Shelly turned back and told Lawrence.

“Someone else was going to come by here. She caught me as I was trying to get here but she wanted to make sure we handled our things before she got here.”

Lawrence raised an eyebrow when a look of terror splashed on his face.

Shelly turned back and the two ran off into the darkness when another figure came out of the darkness waving to Lawrence.

“Shit.” Lawrence muttered.

A woman dressed in leather pants and jacket with bulletproof underclothing ran through the gate and up to Lawrence. And she was armed to the teeth exactly like Lawrence.

“You could’ve called me when you had some trouble, y��know that right?”

“I had enough help Julia.”

She peered over to the rest of the group sitting at the mesh table. Riley quickly came up to say hello. The rest were unsure at this new arrival right after Shelly.

“Well clearly you had quite the party.”

Lawrence turned to the group.

“This is Julia. My younger sister. She was off dealing with a Lich while we had our Dismayed problem.”

Julia scoffed.

“Oh he’s not that much of a problem. I can deal with him anytime I want to.”

Lawrence cocked his head.

“If he becomes a problem again, I can handle it.” Julia assured. “This is much more important, helping out you and your friends. But other than the one guy who really loves that warrior girl, it sounded like you had more. Where did they go?” “They had their own business to attend to and they’ll be back by morning.”

“Good to know. And who are these lovely spellcasters then?”

Julia looked over to Morgan, Jordan, and Malan. William slinked deep into his chair.

“Oh this is the paladin and cleric throuple. I worked with Morgan and Jordan before, the paladin and the first cleric. The Whisper, I only started working with her a week ago.” “Hey!” Malan shouted and jumped from her chair. “That’s, only, allegedly.” Malan sunk back into her chair.

“The Whisper?” Jordan asked.

“Oh I’ve heard about you!” Julia said excitedly. “Yeah I’ve heard a lot about your sharpshooter skills!”

“How did you, when did you know-” Malan stammered.

“Knew it from when you shot the dismayed soldier and I didn’t hear a sound from that tree you were hiding in. Your name is self-evident my friend.”

Jordan leaned over to Malan.

“Y’know being a bit of a legend is actually really cute.”

Malan smiled and blushed slightly.

“I do have to ask who is the other guy here that isn’t a spellcaster.” Julia asked, looking directly at Will sunk down in his chair.

“That’s Will, he’s important to the group. And me.” Lawrence responded.

Julia mouth went agape and she strided to Will.

“Hi Will! It’s so nice to meet you! Lawrence has told me a lot about you actually” She extended a hand out to shake his. He got up quickly and stormed out of the garden.

Lawrence had pain shoot up his spine.

“I’m sorry, I need to go talk to him.”

“Don’t worry, we have enough time to talk later. Go get him.”

Lawrence strided through the garden and after Will.

“Will! Will! Could you stop please?” His voice sounded desperate.

Will turned to Lawrence.

“You could’ve said she was coming here.”

“I didn’t know she would be here. I swear she was dealing with that Lich and it should’ve kept her busy for 2 months.”

Lawrence grabbed Will’s hand

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to help me with that. She doesn’t know about all of you yet but she probably does now.”

“So she doesn’t trust me?”

“No. She trusts me and trusts who I trust. And, I trust you the most.”

Lawrence put his other hand on Will’s.

A sense shot up through both of them, others were there with them in the alleyway. =

“Shit.” Lawrence said under his breath.

Three emerged into their direct vision.

“Well this one was a surprise. That’s true.”

Lawrence saw the presence of the three figures closing in and saw their Cervi forms. Their deer forms colliding with the cobblestone and trash cans of the alleyway.

“Will, you have probably already met Janall.”

The bright eminence stepped forward. With antlers in the feminine form taken, Janall the goddess of nature made sure any form would announce she spoke for nature.

“You’ve met Janall. But these are my son and daughter. Liz and Jason, please say hello to Will.”

The two Cervi waved hello to Will.

“I'm glad I could meet you here Lawrence. These two have been asking about an adventure for a long time now and I think they're ready to go.”

“I would love to see them out fulfilling their lineage of demon slaying but this isn’t the one for them. They seek to cause massive harm to nature, and everything else that stands in their path. “

“Then we'd be great to help, seeking vengeance for our mother and her life work.” Liz exclaimed.

“I wasn't finished, Liz.” Lawrence put a hand on her shoulder.

“That vengeance could easily become blind rage. I don’t want either of you fighting if you can’t see the forest for the trees”

“Your father has a point.” Janall colluded.

“But you're the god!” Jason exasperated.

“I am but this is also a fight between Lunaren and Solaren. I’m not going to upset either of them, I’ve already meddled enough with the new champion already. Mikaela is already getting a lot of shit for Lawrence being involved but you two might push it over the edge.”

The twins looked down at the cobblestones, defeated.

“When this is over you two go to High Wolf. Charlie will guide you into becoming fighters like they are. I think you would really like him too.”

Both sullen, they agreed.

Lawrence gave a consolation hug to the two of them.

“It was very nice to meet you Mr William.” Liz told Will.

“Please, uh, call me Will. But I am very glad to meet you two.”

Will cracked a pained smile at the two. They were absolutely enamored with him.

“Could we see the other form?” Jason exclaimed.

“That’s very rude to ask Jason!” Janall doted.

“I would love to but it may not be wise to do that inside city limits. The forest is a much better location to see that.” Will replied. He was floored that these two knew about it.

“Did you give that to him mom? Therians are so pretty it sounds like something you would do.” Julia asked.

“It wasn’t my doing. Grimbergen, she- blessed William with this.” Janall danced around the word ‘cursed’.

“We will need to thank her sometime!” Jason exclaimed.

Will had never heard anything like this, compliments of his other form. The closest to it before was Riley. Riley had accepted him, as did the others, but Riley was unable to communicate that other than through actions. Others seemed indifferent to his curse.

“Dad told us about some of your adventures! We’d love to hear about your adventures Will!”

It continued like this for the rest of the night, Janall had slipped away and let their father look after the kids for the time.

Charlie was beyond ecstatic to see Shelly again. He was upset that the two couldn’t immediately catch up. He only got a few moments while Lawrence made tea to explain how he got to High Wolf while sitting at the dinner table inside the bed and breakfast.

“So I was in Kentshire as I usually was. The winter market was set up so I got one of those butter breads and some wine while I had a break.”

“Salt rounds?” Shelly asked “Right, that's the name of the bread. It’s the one I made for you. Anyways, enjoying those as I had like 20 minutes away from the duke when out of nowhere these two giant eagles fly out of nowhere and kidnap me. Dropping my bread and spilling my wine all over me. Which is why it looked like I had been hurt when you cut that monster down when you first saved me. Did I ever thank you for that time?” Shelly blushed.

“You have thanked me multiple times in many ways Charlie.”

“Well let me thank you again.”

He pulled in close to Shelly and kissed her quickly.

“Also,” He added when pulling away. “That’s also a hello and how are you.”

Shelly laughed.

“I’m fine Charlie, thank you for asking.”

Lawrence looked over right after the two had kissed, raised an eyebrow, and turned back.

“So yeah I was kidnapped by eagles. But I thought Elder Isaac told all of you this?” “He didn’t actually. He just said that you had defected from the kingdom.” “I wish! I would’ve defected but I didn’t have much of a choice then. But he said nothing about the eagles, or even this?” Charlie’s necklace was underneath his shirt and he pulled it out to show off the silver antlers.

“Mom gave this to me as a kid, she said it was important. I kept it in my trunk back in Kentshire.”

Shelly pulled back to Charlie and looked at the antlers.

“That’s the sign Charlie is the champion of Janall.” Lawrence announced, holding three cups of tea in his hands. He dropped one in front of Shelly and Charlie and kept the last in his own hands.

“Charlie is the rightful champion of Janall. Whoever in your clan claims to be that, is a usurper.”

“That would be… Elder Isaac.” Shelly answered, unsure of her own realization.

“And it sounds like Isaac also kept out the fact that Charlie was brought to you by the common way a champion is chosen, by two giant birds stealing them.”

“But Elder Isaac has been one of our longest living elders! He couldn’t do this to us!”

“Something must’ve changed his mind unfortunately. I should make it clear this isn’t an indictment of you and your family. This is on him, trying to exploit his own position.”

Shelly looked at Charlie as he and Lawrence continued the conversation. She thought about how he was always interested in whatever was told to him about High Wolf, always asked questions but never in outright defiance. And how Isaac always was hostile towards him, even initially bringing him into the group.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” Shelly blurted out.

Charlie and Lawrence snapped to her. Charlie put his hand on hers.

“Shelly, you don’t have to do anything. If anyone should take care of this, it should be me.”

“No one could accept that, even if you proved that you are the champion. I am a lifelong member, it is common for one of us to cut another down.” “There is the other third option.” Lawrence added, pointing to himself. “No one would know and I could send him to the bottom of the Haraphtic ocean. With some convincing and a few gems, his body is completely devoured by fish in the matter of a day. And you can just say Northwin took care of him and no one would be the wiser.”

Shelly got up followed by Charlie then Lawrence.

“I will handle this. But I would appreciate Charlie to come with me. Everyone does miss you.”

“Really? That’s sweet to know they like me.”

“They did like your guitar playing. I think Alan might have a bit of a crush on you from that alone.” “That’s adorable. Well him and his little crush.”

Lawrence guided them back outside to the rest of the group.

“I apologize if that was too much for you to take in at once.” Lawrence asked them in a very pleasant tone. One of the nicest tones any of them had heard from him before. “Elder Isaac has always been difficult to work with but I never imagined that of him.” Shelly responded.

“Like I said before, I can always take care of it.”

“No no,” Shelly interrupted, “We can take care of this issue. Thank you, we are grateful to the Mikaels and their eternal friendship with Janall and her children.”

“Of course, their friendship is always welcomed.”

Charlie looked at everyone.

“Me and Shelly have to go take care of some things back at High Wolf. But don’t worry, we’ll be back to deal with Naturius! He won’t see what’s coming!”

He grabbed Shelly’s hand and the two quickly exited out of the front garden. Shelly turned back and told Lawrence.

“Someone else was going to come by here. She caught me as I was trying to get here but she wanted to make sure we handled our things before she got here.”

The two quickly made it out of the city and prepared for their full sprint back to High Wolf. Before that they made a little fire and kissed each other.

“I’m sorry about Isaac.” Charlie admitted.

“It’s okay, he’s an asshole. But I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

Charlie looked deep into her eyes and said what weighed on his mind since leaving.

“Shelly, I love you.”

Shelly had always remembered the moment before Charlie left with him saying those words. He certainly said it with his expression but never out right. Now his face was full of regret, but he was earnest about his feelings.

Shelly put a hand on his cheek.

“I love you too.”

#wizards #werewolves #druid #paladin #warlock #cleric #dragon #sorceress

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