#and the combat skills they learned from grievous

[michaelmyersbignaturals]

stupid ass self insert that doesn't make any sense in the canon. but who cares I'm having fun and being free

[tossawary]

It's so funny that Palpatine is also a skilled lightsaber duelist and fighter, enough to take on 4 Jedi masters / war veterans at once and easily kill 3 of them (everyone except Mace Windu almost immediately gets wasted), and then to go on to beat Yoda too later. Like, it's funny to think about the logistics of it all. Who exactly has Palpatine been practicing with here? How often has he been hitting the gym in the past 15 or so years?

Up until that point in "Revenge of the Sith", it looks like Palpatine's main skill is manipulation. He doesn't really look like he's sunk a lot of points into melee combat. Supposedly, he trained Darth Maul, but Maul got wrecked by Obi-Wan Kenobi as a padawan and has been "dead" for over a decade by the time Palpatine is confronted by the Jedi and suddenly opens a can of whoop ass. Dooku is a skilled duelist, sure, but Dooku has been running the other side of the war, so he's not sneaking into Coruscant on a regular basis to be Palpatine's evil gym buddy.

Also, when is Palpatine finding the TIME to train that fiercely? He has a desk job! He has TWO desk jobs! He's the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic and also secretly running both sides of the war, all to slowly build up his Galactic Empire. His schedule must be packed. His time management skills are the real legendary dark powers here. He has to regularly be going straight from meetings with Republic Senators and the Jedi Council into video calls with General Grievous and the Trade Federation. Where on his calendar is this man putting his evil workouts where he waves around a red lightsaber?

I really don't like the idea that Palpatine is just so formidable in the Force that he doesn't ever have to worry about spaceships falling from orbit or keeping in shape. He's definitely not a normal guy, but he is also just a guy, given that Darth Vader eventually throws him off a Death Star bridge to kill him (temporarily, if we're going by the sequel trilogy, which I... don't). I understand that at this point in time, Palpatine is possibly super-boosted by the Dark Side thanks to the sheer weight of misery he's inflicted on the galaxy thanks to the war, so he's feeling GREAT, strong and fast and ready to rumble, but I don't think pure power in the Force alone should necessarily translate to staying flexible despite your desk job and having refined sword skills?

So, I guess I have to assume that Palpatine has a collection of personal dueling droids somewhere that regularly get wrecked by a lightsaber or something? Is there a gym maintenance droid somewhere rebuilding these other droids and chugging happily along learning every week (it gets its memory wiped on a daily basis) that the Supreme Chancellor secretly likes to play with lightsabers like a Jedi LARPer? Not an uncommon hobby! There are fan conventions for that!

[attackfish]

I know this is a controversial take in this fandom, but I actually don't think Legend of Korra did Katara dirty. Like I see a lot of people who complain about the fact that she didn't have a statue, and she never became Southern Water Tribe chief, and she was just the Avatar's wife, and was just a healer, and like I don't know what show these people were watching.

No, Katara never became chief, nor did she ever express a desire to be chief in any of her appearances. Yes, she was the Avatar's wife. Yes, she was a healer. But like, what do we actually see of Katara's life in the Southern Water Tribe after the war?

We see Katara as a master healer and waterbender, clearly well respected by the Order of the White Lotus, and training the next Avatar. We also see her in an extremely well appointed rehabilitative therapy center, that is implied to be hers, working with Korra. Korra talks about learning healing from Katara, who is one of if not the best waterbending healer in the world, and we see Katara's state of the art rehabilitative medicine center. This is how Katara chose to use her skills, in a way that is completely separate from being Aang's wife. And given how lovely and either new or well taken care of everything looks, I would argue that she probably isn't even retired. We are shown her as a world renowned rehabilitative medicine expert at the top of her game.

And the field of rehabilitative medicine is such an interesting choice for her. Rehabilitative medicine is the field of helping people who have been severely injured not only heal, but gain the skills to have the best lives possible after their injuries. It's something that somebody like Katara who wants to do the most good would absolutely be drawn to as a healer after the war, since both people who had fought in the war, and non-combatants, would have the kinds of grievous injuries that would benefit from rehabilitative medicine. Given the state of healing and technology at the end of the war, Katara might even have been a major pioneer in the field, in fact I think we're meant to read that as the case.

Katara as we see her in the show is not opposed to being a healer. She just doesn't want to be denied the ability to fight when she and her friends are facing conquest, death, and danger, and her people are facing elimination. After the war, Katara would do what she always has done, and look for ways to help. Once the fighting is over, the Katara we see in the show would embrace healing and helping the war wounded rebuild their lives.

Heck, we actually see her with a patient, Korra, who was injured in battle, and she's clearly very practiced at dealing both with the physical parts of recovery and the psychological. Katara has always wanted to help her people, and there were few things her people needed more after the war, than someone willing and able to treat the victims of the war.

I think the reason so many people see Katara's career in healing is because of a fantasy media tradition of healing being the weak, girly magic given to the designated girl of the group, secondary and even silly next to fighting. But that't not what we're shown in the show. That's something brought in from outside, and I think if we ignore this negative connotation that healing has in the fantasy genre, it becomes obvious that a better comparison for katara's career path is that of head of orthopedic medicine at a world class hospital, who volunteers with Doctors Without Borders.

I got a lot of problems with Legend of Korra, but I think they handled Katara pretty dang well.

[thechaoticfanartist]

Before The Storm

Gen

No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary: Chancellor Palpatine has been captured by General Grievous. As Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi rush to his rescue, Grim Kennet fears for the outcome. She knows more than anyone how much rests on the upcoming battle.

Character(s): Grim Kennet (OC), Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi

Relationship(s): Grim Kennet & Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Grim Kennet

Additional Tags: Missing Scene, Pre-Star Wars: Revenge Of The Sith, Hurt/Comfort,

Note: For @occreatorexchange prompt bingo fill "missing scenes"

Read On A03

Palpatine had been captured. Revenge of the Sith had begun.

Well, not yet. They were still on their way to Coruscant. But knowing that this was the beginning of the end was enough for Grim.

While Obi-Wan and Anakin discussed battle plans and strategy to rescue the Chancellor, Grim went off on her own to find a space where she wouldn’t bother anyone. Finding this place she ignited her lightsaber beginning to train. She didn’t work on more simple moves either, she practiced some of the most complex moves she knew of.

This had become a standard routine. Whenever Grim was stressed she would lose herself in lightsaber practice. It had become part of how she had quickly learned and become skilled with her lightsaber combat, even enough to hold her own against Sith Lords, even if she had lost those fights. Although these training sessions often left her exhausted and overworked.

Grim had always dealt with anxiety for the future. She knew what was to come and did everything in her power to change the events. Except now Revenge of the Sith had started and she didn’t know if she had changed anything for it, and it might be too late to do so now.

Obi-Wan and Anakin were discussing a plan when they noticed that Grim was not with them. Obi-Wan frowned remembering how worried Grim had looked when he had told her the news. She was always worried about something, but he had never seen her as worried as she had been then.

“Have you seen Grim?” Obi-Wan asked Anakin.

“I think I saw her run off to be alone somewhere,” Anakin admitted.

He sighed. She was training again. He had noticed that it had become a coping strategy for her when she was stressed, although he had tried to get her to take up meditating more instead. She would not listen to him and continued to overwork herself to distract herself. “I should probably talk with her,” said Obi-Wan. He did not need his Padawan to overwork herself right before a battle.

“I’ll go with you, Grim has seemed to be stressed a lot lately,” said Anakin.

“She has. There’s been a lot on her mind I think, but she won’t talk to me about it. A lot like another Padawan I once had.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “I was not that bad.”

“No,” agreed Obi-Wan. “You were worse.”

“Hey!”

The two Jedi found Grim and just as Obi-Wan had thought she was training to distract herself from her emotions. They stood there for a moment watching Grim before Obi-Wan decided to alert her of their presence. “Grim,” he said.

At her name she turned around and Obi-Wan and Anakin saw that she had been crying too. Grim deactivated her lightsaber and clipped it back to her belt before wiping away her tears. “Yes, Master?”

“Are you okay, Tiny?” Anakin asked her.

“Yep,” said Grim, sounding as stressed as she was.

“You don’t sound okay,” said Anakin.

“Are you stressed?” Obi-Wan asked.

“No, what gave you that idea?” Grim asked, rolling her eyes. She knew Obi-Wan could tell she was stressed, Anakin too.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Grim, we’re worried about you. You’ve been stressed a lot lately, Anakin and I have both noticed.”

“Well the Chancellor has just been captured by General Grievous of course I’m fucking stressed!” snapped Grim. “I bet the two of you are as well! I mean the entire future of the galaxy can depend on us and this mission! Am I not supposed to be stressed about that?”

“You’re allowed to feel however you want, but you shouldn’t overwork yourself,” Obi-Wan told her.

“And definitely not right before a mission like this,” Anakin agreed.

Grim sighed, frustrated and still so very stressed. “Maybe you’re right, but this- everything depends on us.”

“Not everything, Tiny. Just the whole Republic.”

“Oh yeah, no pressure at all. Just the entire Republic.” Grim rolled her eyes.

Anakin had no idea that everything really did boil down to this. All three of them. Their choices could change everything or keep it all the same, and the entire galaxy would feel the repercussions good or bad. Anakin’s choices most of all.

Anakin tried to give Grim a playful smile but he was worried too, and she understood.

“Maybe we should discuss this,” Obi-Wan suggested.

“Discuss what?” Grim asked.

“Our stress. You’re not the only one who is worried, Grim,” he said. “Maybe if all three of us talk about what we’re worried about-”

“No,” Grim and Anakin both said. Neither one of them were willing to share their concerns with the others.

Obi-Wan sighed, both his Padawans were so stubborn and they would never communicate with him when he tried to help them. “It was just a suggestion.”

“We should go over how we’re going to rescue the Chancellor again,” Anakin suggested.

“That’s hard to do when we don’t know what to expect,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “We’ve already gone over some plans-”

“Yeah, but Tiny wasn’t there. She should know the plans.”

“Kick Sep butt, save the day, get back home,” said Grim, rolling her eyes. “I know the plan, same as always isn’t it?”

“This is a rescue mission so the goal is to get the Chancellor back to Coruscant safely, not destroying as many droids as possible,” Obi-Wan reminded her.

“Who said I can’t do both? Whoever turns the most clankers into scrap wins.”

Anakin grinned, the challenge reminded him of old times with Ahsoka. He chuckled a little. “You sound like Snips, Tiny.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “She sounds like you, Anakin.”

Grim couldn’t help but laugh. “How dare you suggest I sound like Skywalker, Master.” She joked.

“What’s wrong with sounding like me?”

“Do you want a list?” Grim asked.

“Hey!”

Obi-Wan shook his head with a small smile. “You two seem to be in better spirits at least.”

Grim’s smile fell. “Oh no, far from it Master. Just trying to ignore it.”

“Well you can’t just ignore your fear, Padawan.”

“I know. I think I’m going to meditate now. Maybe you’re right and it will do better than just training.”

“I’m glad to see you taking my advice. Just don’t miss the mission briefing.”

Grim gave a lazy playful salute. “Of course not, General.”

Obi-Wan shook his head with a smile. He and Anakin left to prepare for the upcoming battle.

Grim sat down and crossed her legs. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing first and then sinking into the Force.

Grim could see the light. She never truly saw the dark of the Force. She saw an absence of light. In the galaxy there was lots of light. Some brighter than others. On this very ship there was this.

The clones were there. Unique in the Force. Grim was able to tell each one of them apart.

Anakin was there. His light bright and dull at the same time whilst flickering in and out. On the edge of darkness, although the flickering was slow. More akin to seeing a visual of deep breathing with the pace. The Padawan wondered how long his light would last. If it was a dying flame she could not save.

Obi-Wan was there. His light was a beacon of it. He was the light. Bathed in it. To Grim it seemed as if the dark could never touch him. Obi-Wan was the brightest star in the galaxy to her. Matched only by Yoda who was as bright and strong as a sun.

Grim reached out further. Trying to reach towards where this battle was led. The feeling there was strange. There was the bright light of the Temple and all the people in it. The light of the regular people of the world. Then the missing void in the space above the planet. Most times there was light above the planet but Grim felt nothing…well almost nothing. She felt some of the living people in Grievous’ fleet as well as a little for Grievous himself. But the droids were nothing, and so were the Sith.

She couldn’t rescue Palpatine, saving him kills the Jedi. Grim knew this, but she also knew she couldn’t just directly kill the Chancellor in cold blood. Not only would that be treason it would reflect horribly on Obi-Wan and she couldn’t have that. But she couldn’t let him live either. She needed a way to be more discreet. She needed a plan.

The Padawan knew this mission was dangerous. With the right cover she could frame his death as an accident. She remembered the scene where Anakin and Palpatine were running through the empty elevator shaft before the ship was righted and they almost fell. If Grim could cause Palpatine to fall in that scene, well nobody would blame her.

It would be the perfect cover. She just had to wait.

Her plan relied on Palpatine’s for as much as she hated it. She just had to alter things. She could do that. She’s done it before.

She smiled a little. A plan in mind. She could save the Jedi. She had to. If she didn’t then everything she had done would be for nothing. She would not accept that.

Grim focused on the Force for a little longer. Keeping her mind on the light.

Her comm beeped. “Grim, you’re going to miss the briefing,” came Obi-Wan’s voice.

Grim’s eyes fluttered open. “Sorry Master, I’ll be there shortly.” She jumped up and ran to the war room, using the Force to boost her speed.

Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Cody were standing at the holotable waiting for her. Grim slid to a halt, before she hit the table. “I’m here.”

“That was fast,” said Obi-Wan.

“Didn’t want to miss it,” she replied. She went and stood in her usual spot between Obi-Wan and Cody.

“From what the Council has informed me, Chancellor Palpatine is somewhere aboard ‘The Invisible Hand,’ we should expect large resistance from the Separatist fleet.” Obi-Wan said.

“They will be trying to escape so we need to keep them above Coruscant until the Chancellor is safely rescued,” added Anakin.

Grievous wouldn’t be trying too hard to leave. Sidious and Dooku would make sure things worked out to keep them there. Grim, Obi-Wan, and Anakin were heading straight for a trap that only the Padawan was aware of. That’s when the thought occurred to her that Palpatine might have planned something for her as well. She was filled with dread for a moment. What would he have planned? He kept her alive for a reason. Unless that was too big of a risk now. She shook the idea out of her head. She couldn’t get distracted like this.

“Grim?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Hm?” Grim asked.

“You were lost in your thoughts.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“What’s bothering you this badly?” Anakin asked.

“Yeah kid, we’ve all seen you stressed before but never like this,” Cody added.

“A lot counts on us is all,” she said, waving away her concerned friends.

“And it has before, and yet you were never as worried as this,” Obi-Wan said.

Grim bit the inside of her cheek. They really had all noticed. “We know the war depends on this. The future of the galaxy is at stake here, I’m just worried about that. I’ll be fine.”

None of them look convinced.

She sighed. “It's just a lot, okay? I promise there's nothing else.”

“Padawan, may we talk privately for a moment?” He asked her.

She hesitated. “Okay,” she sighed.

They walked together to an empty place in the ship, Obi-Wan leading her with a hand behind her back, resting on her shoulder. Once he was sure they were alone he turned to her. His face was cast in a shadow that seemed to reflect the seriousness of the situation. “Have you seen this before? You knew exactly what happened before I told you,” he said.

She looked at the ground, rather than looking at Obi-Wan. She wanted to tell him, but her concern would only make him worry more if he knew that she was scared of what she had seen take place.

“Grim?”

“I don't want to talk about this, I'm sorry Master. Rescuing the Chancellor is far more important than my feelings anyways.”

“Just don't let those feelings distract you, or control you. You must have a clear mind.”

“I know, Master. I promise you, I won't let my fear get the better of me.”

He hesitated for a moment. “Very well, I trust you. Let's go back to the briefing now, shall we?”

“Of course, Master.”

They walked back to the war room of the ship, where Anakin and Cody were still at the holotable. They seemed to have been having a conversation when the two came back in.

Grim didn't actually bother to pay too much attention to the briefing. She already knew everything, and she knew more details than the others. She knew she should warn of the trap that Dooku had set, and yet she remained silent.

If they knew of Dooku’s hand in this, they would be prepared for him. There was the chance that if they were prepared then perhaps Obi-Wan would stand a better chance against him. As much as Grim cared for her Master, in order for her plan to succeed he would have to be unconscious for it to work.

Nobody would approve of her plan. It was treasonous after all, but it was for a good reason. They would understand that in time. She had to be as subtle as possible, Palpatine's death had to be framed as an accident.

She knew of the risk she was taking. Everything she had done since appearing in Star Wars had been a risk. Every choice she had ever made led her to this. Here and now.

When they exited out of hyperspace everything would matter. Everything she had done. Everything she never did. All of it would matter. Reaching Coruscant was the beginning of the end.

As the ship prepared to enter realspace, the three Jedi rushed to the hangar. Their fighters awaited them. The battle awaited them.

Fate waited for them.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added or removed) : @padme--amygdala @soclonely @mrfandomwars @jgvfhl @starlonkedd @shinhatigf @togrutanduin @jedi-valjean @one-real-imonkey @traygaming @aiylasdrawings @keoxus @veiled-in-stars @sentineljedi @spicysucculentz @amelia-song-pond @it-was-rose @saturnsokas @thejediprincessqueenofnaboo @veradragonjedi @arrthurpendragon @shrinkthisviolet @thebrainofoctavian

[dailycharacteroption]

Prestige Class Spotlight 12: Aldori Swordlord

[photograph by MD-Arts on DeviantArt]

It’s funny, we’ve covered a fighting style and a Second Edition Archetype based on it, but only now are we doing the original prestige class for the Aldori Swordlords and their fighting style.

For those who aren’t familiar, The Aldori style of combat was named for it’s founder, who lost a fight against a bandit lord, left, learned some sweet sword skills with a unique weapon and came back for revenge, and eventually caved and began teaching other people his techniques, but only if they swore an oath to never share the secrets of the style with anyone who had not taken the oath.

Some take this very seriously, others do not, but the fact that the former have a tendency to hunt down the latter and those they’ve taught does skew the percentage between the two by a significant margin. Whether or not a prospective swordsperson has taken the oath is inconsequential to the prestige class requirements, of course, so you’re free to play either freely, though of course being oathless means you’ll have a lot of enemies if other masters figure that out.

In any case, these swordlords specialize in the use of a longsword-length blade with a slight curve to it, making it into an effectively single-edged weapon. The style centered around it allows the weaponed to be used with surprising grace, and it is mostly meant to be used in single combat, focusing on parrying foes and creating openings to strike.

In order to pursue this path, one must have learned how to use such a blade to it’s fullest extent, including the ability to strike with dexterity over strength and perform intimidating displays, as well as skills geared towards the elite lifestyle and physical prowess associated with the swordlords, putting this option as available around the 8th level mark (6th if you have a bonus feat at first level as a human, or even faster if your starting class grants bonus feats, such as fighter.)

Dextrous attacks are a key part of the style, and these warriors utilize it with ease, causing extra harm to foes thanks to their precision.

As duelists, these warriors must be prepared to fight at any moment. As such, they learn to draw their weapon quickly if they have not already done so, and how to best use their weapon for defense if they already have done so, (as well as using their dueling sword for various duelist or swashbuckler abilities).

The mastery these swordfighters display is truly impressive, and consequently, intimidating, giving them an edge when they demonstrate it to strike fear into the hearts of others. It even helps in performance combat, wowing the crowd with impressive displays.

They also demonstrate their agility to better dodge incoming strikes.

Another strength of their fighting style is how these warriors learn to read their opponents, letting them fight more defensively while remaining accurate, and then turn around and catch sight of their foe’s weaknesses and exploit openings.

A key maneuver at the right moment, especially one that leaves a foe at a disadvantage can shatter their confidence. As such, these warriors capitalize on that and demoralize foes further when they deal especially grievous blows or succeed at a maneuver that puts them at a serious disadvantage.

A parrying sword may not always be able to block an incoming blow, but it can sure throw it off course from your vitals. As such, these duelists always go for the parry, and have a decent chance of negating crits as a result. Later on, this improves as they get better at such defense.

Not all fights are duels, and not all duels are done on fair, even footing. As such, the swordlords learn to keep mobile even when hanging from a handhold. This training also helps them right themselves without taking a hit when knocked down.

The most powerful among them can shatter not just confidence, but also discombobulate foes, leaving them unable to use their mastery and insight in the fight for a few seconds.

The Aldori Swordlord prestige class is honestly a masterclass in building a prestige class that works for as many classes as possible while still keeping it’s gimmick concise and fun. Now, naturally, this archetype is meant for martial classes, but it actively goes out of it’s way to integrate with the rules for certain classes and archetypes, from potentially granting a bonus feat meant for swashbucklers and duelists, to integrating with the Aldori Defender archetype for fighter. Additionally, the ability to suppress morale bonuses, and at max level insight and competence bonuses as part of free demoralizations you get every time you pull off most combat maneuvers and all critical hits is potentially huge, shutting a buffed-up foe down long enough to secure the victory. You can easily build these characters using fighter, swashbuckler, ranger, paladin, or even sneakier classes like rogue and slayer, and really come up with a powerful character with good defense, offence, and debuffing built right in.

Closed fighting techniques are interesting, and not just for the intrigue that comes from knowledge that outsiders aren’t supposed to know. It’s more defensive than anything else, an attempt to stave off war’s cycle of innovation and reverse-engineering. After all, a foe can’t copy, or worse, pick apart your technique if they don’t know it. On the other hand, however, such concealed knowledge does mean that there is the risk not just stagnating, but of the style being outright lost for good if nobody remains to teach it. It really depends on what you value.

Distrusting them from the moment he laid eyes on them, Argyo has hated the party ever since they came to the lashunta homeworld. What’s worse, he hates how readily the rest of his kind have accepted these strangers from the stars, and now his master is offering to teach the warrior their sacred swordfighting techniques? This is the last straw, and he may do something completely rash as a result.

They say that the caligni, the so-called dark folk, were once humans transformed by centuries of meddling from their owb masters. However, now an owb prophet known only as the Snuffed Flame seeks to develop a way to transform humans into shadow-bound servants within a matter of minutes rather than generations. As such, it has orchestrated several kidnappings, including the current arena champion Zolta.

In the land of Byarna, it is said the first dueling swords were made as copies of the legendary Foeslicer, an enchanted blade of incredibly lethal power. However, it has been so long and the weapon hasn’t surfaced, making many wonder if it was ever real to begin with. That is until a young man, a spy caught stealing secrets of the dueling sword style, is forced to draw the weapon he found during his work.

[made-some-ki-points]

Character Ideas Day 10: Wild Magic Barbarian

As the final step of your graduation from an elite military academy, you set off to slay a mighty and strange beast and present it to your mentor, finally earning your stripes as a warrior. You manage to do so, almost alarmingly easily, but you allow your ego to take over as you saunter back to your academy, quarry in tow. When you present your kill, a wide smile on your face, you are shocked to find your mentor looking horrified. Calmly yet shakily, they explain your grievous error: Unbeknownst to you, the creature you brought in was a juvenile, and it’s mother is more than likely fuming. Soon enough, you notice strange and sometimes terrible magic permeating through you, no doubt a gift from the mother whose life you destroyed. Now, you’re out to see what exactly the creature did to you, and perhaps how to stop it.

The child of prominent cult leaders, you were raised in a world of demons and dark, chaotic magic. As strange as it sounded, you actually loved it, power and money allowing you to get virtually whatever you wanted. As you grew and learned basic combat, you were called special, powerful, perhaps even a chosen one, and it made you smile every time. When you came to maturity, you were led to an altar, and a magical ritual began. Fear and doubt struck you instantly as magic began to hit you, causing you immense confusion and pain. After the ritual, you ran, your combat and very being shifting in a way that terrified you. With your home gone and your very being turned upside down, you live in constant terror, and you’re now looking for any way to make yourself feel useful. Like anything but a victim of the group you thought loved you.

You’ve worked as a bodyguard for a number of exceedingly shady characters, fighting off many angry people (understandably so, you admit) through your career. Your latest client made a deal with an Archfey, and of course, their wording was far from careful. So, you’ve been hit with a slew of spells as you try to defend your client. You had no idea why it felt like the strikes lingered, left your strikes feeling odd and unbalanced. On a whim, you try to channel the strange energy into your strikes the next time you get into a scrape, and it works. Mostly. At the end of it, you’re looking… odd, and your client has no interest in being seen with you in public. Out of work, you’re now perusing new opportunities, perhaps even one that lets you use your strange new gifts.

You come from a family of prize fighters, individuals who never kill, but who never fail to put on a spectacular show as they pin their opponent for an adoring crowd. All you’ve ever wanted was to join their ranks, become a fearsome fighter without ever killing a soul, and with some training, you join the roster quickly. However, the drive to impress is a strong one, leading you down the path of researching increasingly odd ways of improving your performance and putting on a better show. You’re nervous to use the magic you learned in the ring, but one of your parents was ecstatic to see your new skills, so you resolved to use it in your next fight. When you did, a crack or uncontrollable magic downing your opponent in one shot, you were horrified to find they weren’t breathing. You ram instantly, horrified of what your family would think, and you haven’t returned since. Now, you move in fear of yourself and the judgement of your community, though unbeknownst to you, many of your loved ones tirelessly look for you, wanting you to know that they don’t at all blame you. They just want you to come home.

A few years into your already lofty career as an adventurer, you found a magic weapon in a dungeon’s treasure room. Your friends offered it to you, with its massive size being conducive to your way of fighting. It seemed to be teeming with wild, unstable magic, and a part of you was instantly excited, ready and willing to kick ass in a whole new way. You enjoyed it for a long time, until a flare you couldn’t control accidentally killed one of your party members. Disgraced as the killer of one of the land’s heroes, you went into hiding, shameful of what happened and sinking deep into grief. Only one of your old friends still talks to you, the party rogue, and they quickly become your only real friend. On one visit, however, they deliver a piece of information that shocks you. When the body of the party member you killed was buried, many pointed out the story was inconsistent with the magic people saw, and suspicions begin to arise that it was a different member of your party that killed one of their own. Eager to reclaim your reputation and get justice for your friend, you’re on the road to investigate.

Your twin sibling, a wild magic sorcerer, was given up by your parents at a very young age, a memory that is burned in your brain to this day. Your parents reassured you that it was for the best, your sibling was dangerous, and would only cause you trouble in the future. Quickly, you vowed to prove them wrong, and if possible, find your sibling again. So you learn to fight, and to tap into the wild magic that was in your blood (though much more dormant) as well. Soon enough, you were considered a live wire, a terrifying rebel child your parents didn’t want to see again. Perfect. Now you’re on a quest to finish your goal, and find your long lost sibling. You can only hope they’re still alive and want to see you.

You are married to a ranger, who has spent their career exploring other planes and bringing back resources for their wealthy employer and hunting whenever push came to shove. Both of you are getting old, and you’ve been trying to convince them to retire, stop running firsthand into danger and settle into a life with you. Stubborn as always, they insist on one more job, a simple in and out mission in a portion of the feywild. You go to see them off, kiss them goodbye and wish them luck, and watch them disappear through the gate. Within moments, the gate fluxes and shifts, striking you with a flood of magic and then, out of nowhere, closing. Suddenly covered in a strange magic, and enraged at the bosses that forced this accident upon your family, you gain a strange sense of rage, and carry it through to whoever deserves it. Now, you’re out to punish those who took your spouse from you, or get them back. Whichever comes first.

A promising student at a prestigious monastery, you seemed destined to become the next great monk of your region, defending your kingdom with honor. However, during a routine training exercise, you encountered a magical trap, launching a torrent of unstable magic toward you. After recovering, you found yourself unable to manage the steady movements that were once so easy for you, Ki now suddenly seeming completely inaccessible to you. Distraught and confused, you drop out and head off to find your own way, using the combat you learned and the magic that bombarded you to try and find purpose in your now chaotic life.

While fighting off a street level bandit, you are killed with a well placed knife, but thankfully immediately revived. However, you wake up feeling… strange. Turns out the patron of the cleric who revived you is a well established rival of the god you were raised to follow, one whose holy symbol you carry on you, and it seems their magic clashed. Badly. Now, you’re stuck in a miasma of magic that only seems to come out when you’re enraged, and more than anything, you’re looking for an escape. Ideally, one without any divine input.

You are the guardian of an elemental plane, wild magic a normal part of life and work for as long as you remember. One day, you encounter the first visitor in years, a Druid living nearby who was simply curious to see who you were. You were smitten instantly. Every time they come to visit, it makes your day, and slowly love blooms between the two of you. A schedule develops too, and you quickly grow to look forward to their visits. Until, one day, the visits stop. Distraught and desperate to find them, you set off to hopefully reunite, and maybe begin a life away from work, together.

[finalfantasyxivwritings]

Looking at that ‘familiar AU’ like 👀 so what kind of relationship do you/the reader have with each of the old Etheirys characters?

Barring no significant discoveries in canon for how familiars are perceived on Etheirys, their existence--and therefore the kind of relationships they keep to other creations and their masters--is primarily shaped from the familiar's own purpose of creation.

Companionship is the most common reason intelligent familiars are created, followed closely thereafter by research assistance and the aid of common day-to-day duties. Some still have much broader purposes; peoples of Etheirys with particularly strong creation magicks can and often have created familiars with expansive curiosities and aetherical abilities in their own right.

These familiars are not inherently prohibited, but carry a great responsibility upon their creators to nurture their minds with rich experiences so that they might further grow. Neglect and abuse to one's creation, intelligent or otherwise, is a grievous injury to one's reputation, not to mention a punishable offense.

-

Hades (Emet-Selch) is a busy man with a multitude of duties often put upon his shoulders, so his familiar is likely someone originally needed to help him with various day-to-day tasks instead of companionship in the strictest sense. As time goes on, Hades would find himself encouraging his familiar to flourish in their sense of purpose and fulfillment. It isn't all that often that someone can put up with him for long periods of time, and he would come to admit that it's nice being around someone who genuinely enjoys his presence beyond the seatholder of Emet-Selch. Comforting, even. It is for this reason that Hades is quite protective of his familiar despite the fact that he rarely shows the same level of adoration towards anyone else. Hythlodaeus is neither a man of politics or secretive research, so he would have no use of a familiar created with such affinities. Instead, his familiar would be for companionship more than anything else--and he would treat them no less than such. Though it is somewhat uncommon, Hythlodaeus would allow his familiar a very wide level of interpersonal and social freedom not just to learn about the world around them, but simply to develop as a person however it is they desire, even if one of those very things is learning a form of combat. If they so wished, he would be more than happy to teach them the skills of an archer and bard alike. Hermes, as the Chief Overseer of Elpis, would have a most unique familiar. They would not only be created to help with his duties, but also to learn about each of the creations they help to care for and observe, though this would never be given as an obligation or set of orders to follow. Hermes' familiar would instead be given a wide berth of freedom to roam about Elpis as they liked, encouraged to no end to sate their curiosity while Hermes himself is simply endeared by them and finds a great joy in seeing them experience the world as a familiar of companionship in all but official title. Venat would not create her own familiar, but has been known to take on the care to the familiars of others. This comes from a balance of genuine love for all things as Hermes, but the genuine sense of pragmatism as Hades. She in turn would never see herself as anything other than an equal to her familiar in most ways and empowering them to seek growth in knowledge, wisdom and experience--frequently calling upon the aid of the current seatholder of Azem to offer these familiars the most unique experiences across the star.

[pokesplendor]

carmela’s team from my pokemon shield playthrough! not as happy with this bunch... info beneath the cut!

Graves - Inteleon - she/he - lesbian White - cis woman - age 30

Graves came from a very unconventional background prior to entering into the League circuit. Having raised since she was young by Interpol for undercover operations, she was there and experienced things a child shouldn’t for the sake of ‘justice.’ Who’s justice is really to question in this situation, as she never had a say. It’s only once she reached legal age did she take a ‘vacation’ and decide to try the league. That’s where she re-encountered Ella, who she had met on the job in the Champion’s guard. She uses her combat skills she gained from her rigorous upbringing, which you’d think would cause her to dominate the field, but that isn’t the case. She’s actually fairly bad at it. 

She has a bit of a problem interacting with others. She was trained in how to act natural, friendly, and unassuming, but she doesn’t know how to not act. What’s Graves’ personality? Well, she’s a crybaby whenever she’s alone. Little things upset her, her anxiety ramps up her paranoia, and she keeps it all saved beneath the surface until she’s alone and then she cries. Other than crying in her off time, she’s a voracious reader, and particularly likes poetry.

If Graves could ever be honest with herself, she’d admit she’s fallen for Ella quite hard. That bright ball of sunshine brought a smile to her face in a way she hadn’t experienced before. But she wasn’t able to voice her feelings, and Ella is now sadly taken. She’s also a poor leader, along with a poor battler, and she doesn’t garner much respect from her team. She’s often spoken over by Crusher.

Crusher - Sirfetch’d - she/her - lesbian White - cis woman - age 34

Crusher likes to think she’s a gallant, chivalrous knight that leaves women quaking with soaked undies are her arrival and her deep, rusty voice sends shivers up their spine when she announces herself, and she’d like to think that everyone wants her around, but she’s wrong. She butted her way into Graves’ team, seeing its lack of, well, many things, leadership, power, attractiveness… They obviously would benefit from her accompaniment. She didn’t care what they had to say, she was going to be on their team and they were going to worship her for what she brings to the table. She’d like to think she’s wanted, but honestly, not very much so.

As if it wasn’t evidence enough, Crusher is extremely up her own ass, overconfident, and unfortunately, with enough power to back up her words. She’s a demon on the field, knocking enemies out with a single sweep sometimes. She works out on the regular, and doesn’t wear armor to show off her many (sexy) battle scars. Otherwise, she’s into collecting antique tea sets and little glass kittens to display back home. Her house is full of them.

Crusher likes to think (man she likes to think a lot of things) that everyone on the team is slightly in love with her, when she is tolerated at best. Goliath likes her, but Goliath likes everyone. He spots for her when they’re working out together, and she respects him for his strength. She’s especially hard on Thrasher and Maverick for not pulling their weight until they evolved, citing them as a weakness.

Goliath - Grimmsnarl - he/they - gay Japanese - nonbinary - age 21

Goliath hails from the Glimmwood Tangle, from quite a large and loving family, but he got it in his head that he had to see the world beyond the forest clearing, he wanted to see where all the people braving its endless maze to reach the gym were about, he wanted to know! A regular yearning princess wishing to see what’s beyond her tower she’s been trapped in. And this is the family business Matilda had to leave her swamp for, bringing his ass home. She got there a little too late, however, already picked up by Graves’ group and registered into gym fights. He couldn’t leave! He made a promise to help! And look at his cool new friends.

When not spent daydreaming about adventures he could be having, he likes to keep in shape. His family home requires constant upkeep, lest the magical wood overgrows anything manmade within a few days. He likes to read, despite struggling with it due to his dyslexia, and he hopes to write his own book one day about what he’s experienced, he wants to have an adventure worth filling a book with. He’s a very positive lad, a happy one, who tries to share the happiness with those around him.

Goliath is still young, but he’s pretty sure about who he is as a person, he knows where he stands on morals, and her own identity as well. He’s chivalrous and kind, always trying to get the team to work together and get along. It has varying results. Grievous loves to mother him, and he likes to think he’s pals with Graves. Despite being younger, he tries to protect Thrasher and Maverick.

Blitz - Centiscorch - she/her - queer White - cis woman - age 33

Blitz, like Graves, was raised by Interpol for infiltration and undercover work. Unlike Graves, however, while the Inteleon was sanded down to being a weak, anxiety-ridden mess, it only strengthened Blitz’ nerves of steel, causing her to become cold and calculating. She only joined the League circuit because she had a mandated vacation following losing her leg from the knee down, and she didn’t want to get rusty on her skills. Not to mention she saw Graves attempting to lead and failing at it and thought she’d stick around to demean her for her lack of anything worthy of use for Interpol’s workings.

She doesn’t have many hobbies, she likes working out, staying fit, and occasionally cooking some ultra healthy superfood, but it’s not like cooking is her passion. She doesn’t understand why people think you need to have a life outside of your work, she’s perfectly happy to just always be on the job and do as it demands. She smokes, but only the occasional cigarette so as to not negatively affect her health. She’s a woman of few loves, few words, and she thinks that’s just fine.

Blitz scoffs when the team tries to have any sort of ‘get to know each other’ exercise. It’s never in good faith, and just ends in disaster so she tries to avoid it. Grevious tries to mother her on occasion, for whatever reason, she never had a mother and she doesn’t want one, so she doesn’t understand why her face gets flushed and hands get sweaty when the dragon’s around.

Maverick - Corviknight - she/her - lesbian White - trans woman - age 32

Maverick is a failed knight from olden times; she was sealed in a tomb in the slumbering weld with her previous king as a way to protect him in the next life, only to be revived by Graves and Ella exploring the area. Being awoken in modern times, she had a lot to learn and get used to, part of it being her king is no more. The body is gone, and the tomb ransacked. She failed, and this weighs heavy on her shoulders through the journey. She agreed to follow Graves, sensing a nobility to her, Ella already having Thomasin by her side while Graves had no one. She is skilled in battle, if not unsure of herself due to her failings during both in the past, and while she was asleep.

She holds herself to high standards, almost impossible for her to meet, but no one else. She does not expect others to keep up her strict training regime, it is for her alone to shoulder the burden of being known as a failure. Despite that statement, Crusher constantly challenges her, and they’re often sparring with one another. In her off time, she enjoys weaving and is learning the modern trades of ‘sewing’ and ‘crochet.’ She enjoys making clothes for herself and others.

Her strict lifestyle doesn’t give her many moments to herself or to consider her feelings for others. She dedicates herself to a cause and thinks of little else. However she enjoys Grevious’ company. She does notice the occasional stares from others, such as Thomasin from Ella’s team, and she wonders what it could mean. Does she resent her for not joining Ella? It seemed only fair at the time.

Grevious - Dragapult - she/her - bi Vietnamese - trans woman - age 45

The ghost of a test pilot that went down during a new dirigible’s trial run over Galar. Her body was never found, believed to be incinerated by the blast, and her spirit has hung on to the area as she never got a proper burial. Graves, hearing her plight, followed her to her remains, giving her the burial she deserved. Freed from her prison, she was free to pass on, but she denied doing so, she had to repay Graves for her service. And so, she was conscripted to the gym challenge, one she had seen many travelers pass by speaking of such a thing and she was always curious just what exactly it was. She had heard things of course, but nothing is better than first hand experience.

Grievous is a very noble person, but not too stuffy either. She loves a good joke, she loves puns, and she loves giving people a good fright with her ghostly status. It’s all in good fun, she’d never do anything malicious or something that would genuinely harm others! She loves to fly, she had always loved to fly, and dying didn’t exactly rob her of that love. Now she can do it without a plane! She spent so long as spirit, she kind of forgot what having hobbies is like, and she’s trying new things!

She’s a very motherly person, and, being the oldest of the group, feels very maternal towards all the young little ones around her. She’s particularly concerned for Graves and Blitz upon hearing around their upbringing. That’s no way to treat a child! She does her best to tend to the others of the group. Though she would be lying if she didn’t say that Crusher pushed her buttons more than once.

Thrasher - Obstagoon - they/them - lesbian Black - transmasc nonbinary - age 24

Thrasher comes from a foster home full of wayward kids who grew up on the downward spiral of life, and they themselves weren’t an exception. Originally from Spikemuth, they never knew their parents and their foster home travels were rough. No one seemed to want to keep them, and at one point they got sick of it and ran away from home. They ran and ran and never looked back, and found a job working in the professor’s lab in Postwick. They didn’t ask them where they were from, nor tried to contact anyone else, so it was good for them. They met Graves early into their gym circuit and decided to join her to perform some field work for the professor.

They’re quite down on themselves, never feeling like they’ll accomplish anything of worth. They couldn’t be a good child, they’re not a good battler, it took them a while to come into their own, and Crusher needling them constantly didn’t help. In their spare time, they play guitar and sing covers of existing songs. They don’t have a knack for writing, just another thing they fail at. It’s been a tough life, and they stumble along the way constantly trying to get to a better tomorrow.

Thrasher is a shy sort when it comes to their feelings, they haven’t been engendered into showing their vulnerable side to others. And Graves’ group isn’t exactly what you’d call family. But it’s a nice change of pace and they almost feel… wanted. And Grevious is a nice addition to their life. To have such a motherly person doting on them is, well, a dream come true.

[wanderinginksplot]

Rex + Engineer!Reader

This is the prequel to the Rex + Blanket Fort + Kisses one-shot found here on my masterlist. As this is a prequel to that story, you don't need to have read it for this to make sense. And as you could probably tell from the picture, this takes place during the Onderon arc.

Rex x gn!reader: intended to be early romance, but could be read as platonic.

Word Count: a bit more than 3,400

Warnings: canon-typical violence, including spoilers for the Onderon arc (S 5, E 2-5) of Star Wars: The Clone Wars

---

"And Captain Rex will train everyone in the encampment on basic combat skills and maneuvers," General Skywalker announced.

You didn't pay overly much attention to that. The general was younger than you had anticipated, but he was clearly used to combat and had the kind of authority usually honed through commanding large groups of soldiers. Still, you knew his order didn't apply to you and moved to slip away from the area. Your schematics needed a lot more work before the rebels could attack without bringing buildings down.

"And where are you running off to?" a muscular man with light hair asked, stepping into your path.

You gave a tight smile. "Classified, sorry."

The man nodded toward the general. "General Skywalker says everyone needs combat training."

"Oh, not me," you reassured him. "I'm a contracted engineer, not one of the Rebels. I'm just here to make sure they destroy as little of the infrastructure as possible while they take back control."

"And do you live in the encampment?" he asked.

You narrowed your eyes at him, feeling sure this was a trap. Eventually, you gave a short nod.

"Then you'll be training with me," he said firmly. "Captain Rex, 501st Legion."

You reluctantly shook the hand he offered and introduced yourself, finishing with, "-but I'm strictly an engineer."

"We're worried that this isn't likely to end without one or several attacks on this encampment," the captain told you. "A few hours of training could save your life."

"And a few hours of work on the city's schematics could save the lives of countless civilians," you argued. Sending that he would continue trying to convince you, you shook your head. "The Gerrera siblings are the ones who hired me. I'll let them make the final choice."

"And I'll leave it to the Generals," Captain Rex agreed.

Clearly not taking chances, he marched off toward where Steela Gerrera and Lux Bonteri were talking with Generals Skywalker and Kenobi, as well as a Togrutan female you vaguely remembered as being a commander.

"Generals, Commander," Captain Rex greeted with a crisp salute. You rolled your eyes. Soldiers. "We were hoping you could settle a difference of opinion."

"A difference of opinion?" General Kenobi repeated with a frown.

"What opinion would that be, Rex?" General Skywalker asked.

The captain explained the situation while you stood in silence. Steela met your gaze at several points during the conversation, looking concerned each time.

"We're only here to train the rebels," General Skywalker said after Captain Rex had finished talking. "Not anyone else."

"All of us are rebels," Steela argued, ignoring your signals that you didn't want training at all. "Just by being here in opposition to the Separatist forces, we are all considered a threat to their power."

"A contracted employee is different than someone who joined your cause because they believe in it," the commander countered, wrinkling her nose. "We aren't offering training to mercenaries."

"We're talking about an engineer, not someone hired to perform assassinations," Lux contributed. "What could it hurt?"

"Generals, Commander," Rex said, his quiet voice somehow drawing their attention. "I think every member of the rebel group needs to be trained. I think it's important."

"Rex…" General Kenobi sighed, but Skywalker interrupted before he could expand on his thoughts.

"I trust Rex's instincts," he told the older general. "If he thinks everyone needs to be trained, we'll make it happen."

You made a frustrated noise before you could stop yourself. "I don't need training. I'm an engineer. I don't work in combat situations."

"That's the thing about combat," Skywalker said with a shrug. "You don't always have to look for it. Sometimes, it comes to you. Especially in wartime."

The group split up immediately afterward, seemingly having come to an agreement. You followed Steela, determined to make your case and get back to your schematics.

"Steela, you know I'm not here for fighting," you said, jogging to catch up to the young woman who had hired you. "It isn't part of my contract."

"It isn't, you're right," she agreed. "But I would think carefully before I turned down a chance to learn such a valuable skill considering how dangerous the galaxy is right now. Surely this could be helpful as a freelancer traveling the universe alone?"

You didn't have an immediate answer to that. Steela clearly noticed, nodding solemnly at you before turning away. "The choice is yours to make."

You gritted your teeth, but your feet refused to move from the spot. To your left was the strategic tent and your unfinished set of schematics. To the right, the Jedi were helping the rebels set up some kind of training ring.

"Well?" a voice prompted. You already recognized it as belonging to Rex.

You stood still for a beat longer before giving a loud and heartfelt groan as you turned toward the freshly constructed training ring.

---

You were bad at fighting.

It wasn't really a shock to you. You had never been particularly graceful or good on your feet. That was why engineering had been such a draw - all mental work, almost no physical.

Rex, to his credit, turned out to be a surprisingly good teacher. He had kept everyone basically together as they learned new skills and practiced as a group. Still, he was determined that you would learn to defend yourself and here you were, fighting to shoot targets in the dying light, long after everyone else had scattered.

"I'm sorry," you apologized yet again as you missed. You were half an hour into intensive shooting lessons with Rex and you had yet to hit a single target.

"You don't need to apologize," he assured. "We'll just keep working until you get it down."

"I don't know if I can," you admitted, lowering the heavily modified blaster pistol until it was resting on the table in front of you. "We're losing the light and it's a bad idea to illuminate any more of the jungle than we have to."

"That's true," Rex agreed, rubbing at his neck while he studied the unharmed target. After a moment, he took the blaster pistol from your hands and holstered it at his side, then removed the holster belt as well.

You nodded sympathetically, hoping you could call it a night and put in a few hours of work on your schematics so the day wouldn't be a total waste.

Rex sighed, removing the subtly armored jacket he had been wearing during that day's training. "I guess we'll… we'll just have to switch to something less impacted by visibility."

"Wait, what?" you had time to ask before the stoic captain flat-out tackled you.

You were aware enough to know that Captain Rex had twisted to take part of the impact himself, but you still hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. In that moment of hollow gasping, Rex had pushed you onto your stomach and pinned your hands behind your back.

"The first rule of unarmed conflict is that you can't let anyone surprise you." Rex paused for a moment. "Actually, that's the first rule of any kind of conflict."

"Is the second rule that you shouldn't suffocate your sparring partner?" you croaked out, turning your head slightly so your face wasn't actively being pressed into the dirt anymore.

Rex laughed. It was the first time you had heard anything other than firm orders from him and you paused. It was a nice laugh. You were forced to gather your thoughts a moment later as he released you and helped you to your feet.

"You probably won't see a lot of hand-to-hand fighting with droids, but the armies aren't capable of anything beyond following orders. The armies are commanded by sentients, and those sentients are often closer to the armies than you would think."

"I have no intention of going after Grievous without a weapon," you joked. "Preferably more than one."

"You should stay away from Grievous no matter how many weapons you have," Rex advised. "But this is good to know, anyway."

"Actually, I agree with that," you said, surprising you both. "I'm a freelancer. Anything that helps me defend myself in a potentially hostile situation is a good thing."

"Okay, let's work on your hits, then," Rex suggested.

What followed was two full hours of unarmed combat practice. Rex was always the target, letting you throw punches and kicks against his open palms. When he realized that you were pulling your strikes because you were afraid to hurt him, he found a padded guard among the assortment of equipment the Republic had sent along.

Eventually, though, you were panting and bone-tired. Rex seemed to realize that without you saying anything.

"One last set of strikes and you're done for the night," Rex told you. It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to you.

But as you punched, Rex moved the guard you had been aiming for. You shot him a look, but he only held the guard up, wiggling it slightly. You set up again, but Rex pulled away at the last second, dodging your fist to bop you on the shoulder with the guard.

"What are you doing?" you asked, exasperated. "You said this was the last set."

"It is. Or, it will be as soon as you actually manage to make contact."

You grimaced at him. This time, when he twisted the guard away, you turned with it. You were focused on keeping your footwork correct and your hit strong. You never even saw him move his foot between your ankles, but with a light tug, you were on the ground again.

"Seriously?" you asked from your spot in the dirt.

Rex laughed again, and this time, you didn't enjoy the sound at all. "Do you think your opponents are going to stand there and let you hit them? They're going to fight dirty - they always do. You just need to-"

As it happens, you never did learn what you needed to do. Rex had stepped too close, and your engineering experience told you that his ankles were at an angle that made him vulnerable to a hit. You kicked his ankle lightly, barely making contact, but it was enough to send one of his feet careening against the other. Rex stumbled, failed to regain his balance, and fell.

All of this was done on instinct and you felt as surprised as Rex looked when he landed on his butt in the dirt next to you.

"Good job," he said, breathless but sincere.

"Thanks," you accepted with a grin. "Does that mean I surprised you?"

"Not a bit," he denied, deflating your ego a bit. "I knew you were capable of it. You're an engineer. Engineers like angles and math. That's all combat is, adjusted for whatever you think the other side is going to do."

"Wait, that's… that's a really good point," you mused slowly. "Can I see your pistol again?"

Rex didn't move. "If you shoot me, you'll surprise me in the wrong way."

You snorted. "I'm not planning on shooting you, Captain. I just want to test how the application of math might help me."

After eyeing you for a moment, Rex stood in an enviably graceful motion and hauled you to your feet as well. Wordlessly, he handed you one of his blaster pistols. He had warned you before you began shooting that he had made numerous alterations to them, but you were still surprised by the weight of the weapon in your hand.

This time, instead of relying on instinct - point, aim, shoot - you worked to apply some logic. When you were sure about your angle, you squeezed the hyper-sensitive trigger and watched the resulting beam of weaponized light hit the target.

It wasn't a perfect shot, of course. Math couldn't fix everything. Still, you had hit the target and you cheered aloud, echoed by Rex's congratulations behind you. You had the presence of mind to set the pistol down before you turned, then Rex was grasping your forearm in the odd way warriors shook hands.

"Great job!" he told you warmly. "You're getting better."

"Thanks," you accepted, trying to vocalize your gratitude. You probably could have been offended by the tone of surprise in his voice, but you chose to overlook it.

"Now we just have to dial in your aim and get you comfortable with firing at moving targets, especially during chaotic situations."

Despite your best efforts, you felt your expression fall at that. Rex laughed again. When had he gotten so cheerful? "I'm kidding. That can be done tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" you repeated doubtfully.

Rex folded his arms across his chest and stared at you steadily. "In one session, you've gone from unable to shoot a gun or throw a punch to knocking me down and hitting a target. If you can keep that pace of improvement, you'll be a force to be reckoned with."

"Or at least be able to stop clients who try to cop a feel," you added.

Despite his darkening expression, Rex's tone was unconcerned. "I'm sure you could break the hand of any di'kut dumb enough to try it now. With some training, you'd be able to tear that hand off completely."

And so you continued to train with Rex after everyone else had finished learning to disable tanks and other intense activities. During the day, you finalized schematics, studying holoimages of Onderon’s capital city of Iziz. Your goal was to record your best guesses for the most and least structurally-sound sections of the city.

The dedication the rebels showed for the safety of the Onderonian people was a big reason you had agreed to take this job. Despite what the Jedi seemed to think, you weren't actually a mercenary. You chose your jobs very carefully, and if something didn't match your morals, you would respectfully decline.

Between schematic work in the day and training at night, your time with the rebels flew past. Captain Rex continued to be patient and helpful as you worked to master the combat moves he taught you - ones decidedly more focused on self-defense than the moves he taught the rebels. The first day you had beaten him in a grappling situation, he had beamed up at you with dirt on his face and told you how far you had progressed. The squeezing of your heart at the praise warned that it was probably good that the captain and both Jedi generals were withdrawing from Onderon shortly, leaving Commander Tano to assist with the remaining rebel efforts.

Despite your determination to stay out of the conflict, you had eventually been forced into it when the Separatist armies had attacked the rebel base. One of the rebels you had known by appearance if not by name had been hit by blaster fire before he could use the rocket launcher held in his hands. He had held it up to you, begging with his eyes that you take out the ship that had fired on him before it could do more damage.

You had accepted, and the ship was a roiling ball of flame before you could make yourself nervous about shooting anything other than Rex’s now-familiar blasters. You tossed aside the rocket launcher and found a discarded blaster. From that point until the combat had ended, thoughts of schematics or building solidity were gone from your head. You were as much a part of the rebel group as anyone else, and you watched with the same horror as Steela Gerrera fell to her death, despite the best efforts of Commander Tano.

The funeral was lovely. Onderonians didn’t believe in mourning for their dead. Instead, they truly celebrated all that the departed had done to create a better society… and Steela had done a great deal.

When things had ended, you were sitting on a raised set of stairs overlooking the ceremonial area. The dais holding Steela’s cloth-draped casket was filled with people far too important for you to bother. You were glad to see Saw speaking with King Dendup. After he had handed you the agreed-upon payment for your services - despite your many attempts to refuse the credits - Saw had left, ignoring the sympathy you tried to offer. He needed to speak with someone, and if that someone was the man he and Steela had worked so hard to save, so much the better.

“Nice ceremony, huh?” someone asked from behind you, and you twisted a bit to find General Skywalker standing there with Captain Rex beside him.

You nodded, but you could feel that it was a half-hearted motion. “Steela was so young. She had a lot of promise.”

“She died fulfilling the mission she set out to finish,” Captain Rex countered. “She knew the risks and thought Dendup was worth it. Her choices were her own. All we can do is respect them.”

With a joyless smile, you said, “Doesn’t make it any easier.”

“It never does,” General Skywalker admitted, sitting next to you. Rex’s comlink chimed and he stepped a respectful distance away before answering it.

Skywalker sat beside you in silence for a while. Normally, you would speak first just for sake of politeness, but you weren’t feeling that generous. You let the silence linger while you watched the activity on the dais.

“Have you ever thought about using your talents for the Republic?” the general asked eventually.

“I thought I was a soulless mercenary?” you asked before you could think better of it.

“And I thought you didn’t work in combat situations,” Skywalker countered. “But I’ve seen the battlefield recordings. You handled yourself well.”

You glanced over at him in surprise. “Are you trying to contract me on as a soldier?”

“Force, no,” he denied quickly. “As an engineer. I sent samples of your work to a friend of mine who works as an engineer in the private sector and they were impressed. The GAR is struggling to find good engineers comfortable working in combat. The pay is a bit lower than you’re used to, but it’s steady work.”

Ah, he had cut straight to the heart of your problem with freelancing. The fight to survive between jobs meant that anything extra you were making was eaten up by the time you were hired on again. And your morals meant that jobs weren’t nearly as frequent as you would like them to be. But being in constant combat… Yes, you had survived this time, but that didn’t mean you were rushing to repeat the experience.

You grimaced. “I appreciate the offer, really, but I don’t know if it’s for me. Combat engineering isn’t really my specialty.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short,” General Skywalker told you seriously. “I’ve seen samples of your past work, and a lot of it is on worlds that have a lot of fighting. I’m sure you know that none of your structures have sustained extreme damage, no matter how much combat was happening around them. That’s an impressive record.”

“You researched me?” you asked, feeling a little stunned.

“Well, the Republic likes to know who they’re hiring. But honestly, I’m not the one who did the research,” Skywalker said, looking past you. You followed his gaze to Rex, who was suddenly very intently looking at his comlink. With a mischievous grin, the general added, “I think my captain has taken a liking to you.”

You fought back a grin, turning away from the captain, and your eyes fell on Steela’s casket once more. Suddenly, keeping a straight face wasn’t as much of a struggle. “If I said yes, what would my official job duties be?”

“You would oversee a group of construction experts - both civilian and enlisted - using maps and satellite footage to find the best possible choices for locations to build bases, bridges, or other structures to help us complete campaigns,” he answered easily. “Preferably, to win campaigns, but that’s more on us than you.”

“And would I work with your group?”

“The 501st?” Skywalker asked, sounding surprised. “I’m not sure, but probably. We’re a planetary landing battalion, so we always need someone who has the knowledge of places to build. You might have to stay behind on some planets to supervise base construction, but you could always catch back up with us. Is that something you would want?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “If I did agree to that-”

“I’m no good at negotiations,” he interrupted with a self-deprecating smile. “You speak clearly about what you want and I’ll do what I can.”

“I’ll work for the Republic,” you said, feeling the nerves twist in your belly. “If you can make sure I’m permanently attached to the 501st.”

“Deal,” General Skywalker accepted immediately, holding his hand out for you to shake. “Welcome to the 501st.”

---

A/N - I assure you that there is no timeline of any sort happening in my writing, so don't think too hard about where this should fit into the narrative. It won't end well.

Thanks for reading!

Next | Masterlist

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[pyrrhiccomedy]

Hello ☺️, I’ve heard from your lovely lady companion Emily that you’re a very seasoned DM! I was wondering if you had any advice for beginners to DMing when it comes to things like improvising and making sure your first session has an impact on the players as their introduction to the world. Any advice at all would be a lifesaver! Thank you ☺️✌🏻

holy shit, a question about DMing. you have freed me, stranger. I can stop blogging about Troy (2004). 

First of all, I’m really excited to hear that you’re going to be DMing for the first time! DMing is understandably intimidating, but it’s also incredibly creatively fulfilling, and it’s something you’ll still be learning how to do better after 25 years. 

Okay, so let’s talk about session 1.

Your first session has a lot of lifting to do. You want to make an emotional impact, you want your players to learn about the world, you want to convey tone and genre, and you want your PCs to have a chance to band together and form quick connections.

I really can’t say enough good things about session 1 being about An Escape, because an escape scenario immediately poses a whole bunch of really valuable questions.

What is a crime in this world?

Who are your natural adversaries?

Why should you trust & rely upon your new party members?

What is violence like in this game? This says a lot about your game’s tone.

What will the next few sessions be about?

Literally, in 3 of the last 4 campaigns I’ve run, session one was An Escape. I’ll walk you through the set-ups for 2 of them (the third is a one-on-one campaign, so maybe not as useful to you).

In Vampire: the Masquerade, the party (all vampires) woke up staked to the ground in the basement of an abandoned school, captives of the fanatical inquisitorial group, the Society of Leopold. None of them had met each other before, all of them were confused, angry, scared, and low on blood.

What is a crime in this world?

Just being a vampire is a crime. You can be brutally attacked, captured, and murdered for being what you are. Your only recourse is to fight for your life.

Who are your natural adversaries?

Vampire hunters. They are not as strong or as fast as you, but they have dirty tricks up their sleeves and fanatical conviction on their side, and they do not see you as human.

Why should you trust & rely upon your new party members?

Without them, you will not escape your predicament. You know you can trust them because you have a common enemy. Each of them will have a chance to solve a problem with a unique skill that you do not possess, driving home that you can solve dangerous problems together that you could not overcome on your own. 

What is violence like in this game? This says a lot about your game’s tone.

Fast, flashy, bloody, and dark. Descriptions of injuries are savage; heads get torn off, chests get ripped open, shadows pinwheel wildly as the sole hanging light in the ceiling gets knocked around amidst the violence. But there’s a slick cool to all of it. You are in real danger, but you are also capable of dealing out grievous and acrobatic harm.

What will the next few sessions be about?

Upon your escape, the Prince of the city charged you all with seeking out the leaders of the hunters. Best not to disappoint him.

In my Call of Cthulhu campaign, the characters were all prisoners on a bus to the gulag, in Russia in 1938.

What is a crime in this world?

Literally anything, if you have displeased the wrong people. One of you received a letter you shouldn’t have seen. Another one wrote seditious poetry. Another was rude to a secret police officer during an investigation. Another literally has no idea why he’s here. There is a cold, kafkaesque indifference to the notion of fairness in this world. You have been disenfranchised and shipped off to do hard labor for almost nothing at all. Do not bother to look for reason in the machinations of the state.

Who are your natural adversaries?

The NKVD. They are all-powerful, all-seeing, and brutal. They could kill every last one of you right here in the snow, and so long as they filed the correct paperwork afterwards, there will be no follow up investigation. They have the key to the vehicles, they have warm clothes, they have all of the guns, they have the radio that is your only way of contacting the outside world. You don’t even have coats that will keep out the freezing wind. If you want what you need to escape this place, you will have to take it from them.

Why should you trust & rely upon your new party members?

You will be shot, if you try to escape alone. The tundra is vast and the NKVD are always watching. Your only hope is to cause confusion and hope that your numbers count for more than your jailers’ guns. And once you’re out, into Siberia? conditions are so hostile you have no choice but to band together for survival.

What is violence like in this game? This says a lot about your game’s tone.

Almost instantly fatal. You are shown fellow prisoners (NPCs) get headshot by the NKVD captain and drop to the ground, dead. Another NPC has a broken leg, and cannot participate in combat at all. If you get hurt, that’s it. There are no health potions or magic spells that will mitigate the effects of bullets and the biting wind.

What will the next few sessions be about?

As you escaped, you saw strange apparitions across the snow, which caused the radio to malfunction. You are fleeing in your stolen truck from the NKVD, but where are you going? Where can you go, except towards the mystery?

Escapes are great, too, because as a DM, your list of things you need to prepare is pretty concrete. You need:

- Mooks

- A boss for the mooks

- a map of the immediate area, so your players know what avenues of potential escape they have

- a couple of NPC fellow prisoners for them to talk to & for you to kill along the way (alternately, this can be a great way to link the party up with future quest-givers straight from the jump).

- A list of possible resources to aid in their escape that they might be able to get their hands on (a fire axe? a radio? a car?)

- A couple of ideas for spanners to throw in the works (if things are too easy/going too quickly, maybe this NPC fellow prisoner turns on them, hoping to curry favor with the NKVD; maybe one of the hunters has a flamethrower to force the vampires to double back; maybe it starts to snow with white-out conditions, maybe something is being filmed right outside and the vampires can’t bust through the steel doors without potentially breaking the Masquerade).

Another great thing about escapes is that they’re geographically isolated. So you don’t need to have The Entire Starting Zone figured out from session 1: you just need to know about this one truck stop in Siberia, or this abandoned school in Queens. When they gain access to the wider world, the session ends, and you should have an idea of where they want to go next.

And if any of their captors survive, you may have an act 1 villain on your hands. Don’t get too attached to the idea that any of them WILL survive; but if they do, and the party bears them a grudge, find them a place in the story, flesh them out as an adversary. Your Big Bad means nothing to them yet, but Captain Volkov, the NKVD captain who pursued them across the ice like a relentless automaton, scares them.

Another thing I like about escapes is that they feel very natural. There is no quest giver; they have an obvious goal they can all agree on, and the obstacles to achieving it are built into the situation. It’s a solid framework for an adventure that you can pack a lot of worldbuilding detail into along the way.

Good luck!

[emilia3546]

Shadowsinger -Part 19

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter*

Masterlist with all previous chapters

*****

With Azriel double checking their plans to get into the Mortal Palace, Gwyn was free to help Nesta and Emerie in designing a training program for the Illyrian females. Most of them had clipped wings, only the youngest did not, so any training would be land-based, and there wasn't enough time for aerial combat for those who could fly anyway. Gwyn hadn't even considered them being on the front lines, but they could perhaps form an auxiliary force, the last line to break, the surprise that the rebels weren't expecting. Still, not everyone wanted to train, and not all of them could bear to fight, not when they might face fathers, husbands, brothers, sons on the other side of the battlefield. Even those who could not, or would not, fight could still be helpful though. It had been Emerie who had suggested that Madja and Velaris' healers run some medical training for those who preferred to help in that way. Nesta's eyes had darkened with rage at the thought of the grievous injuries that would undoubtedly be sustained when the fighting broke out, and Gwyn threw an arm over her shoulders, knowing that she was recalling Cassian's injuries from the last war.

"The most important thing will be on the battlefield," Gwyn mused, "The issue with our healers is that they are based at camps, so casualties can't reach them. If we can get a group of medics on the battlefield, at least trained to defend themselves if necessary, but with the key skills to keep casualties alive until they can be seen by a healer, we'll be in a much better position. Especially if those medics are female, they'll be ignored and overlooked." Nesta nodded her agreement, and Emerie suggested a few females that she knew who might be interested in such a role.

"Every Illyrian female knows some basic healing skills, but nothing that would work on a battlefield, we'll have to get word out quickly, and hope that the males don't object." Nesta grinned, 

"Oh, they won't object, not if I personally send out invitations to classes. They think I'm a witch, and they're scared shitless of me, my presence on a battlefield might hopefully convince the rebels to think twice, although, perhaps not, if they're willing to rebel against their High Lord and Lady."

"Oh they'll definitely think twice about fighting you, sweetheart," Cassian chuckled, starling all females as he strode through the open door and kissed the top of Nesta's head, she shrugged, 

"I'll just have to make them think that I'll cast a spell to cut their balls off," Cassian laughed again,

"Such a beautiful, violent female," he murmured, casting his gaze across the training plans,

"Any changes you suggest?" Gwyn asked, keen to break up the way both Nesta and Cassian had looked at each other just then,

"It's pretty good, but I'd focus a little more on hand-to-hand combat, we don't have time to fully build up to swords, perhaps fighting knives would be better. They're lighter, and females are smaller, quicker, lighter than males, knives would allow them to use that to their advantage in a fight, even against a male wielding a broadsword." Gwyn noted down Cassian's suggestions, leaving the final decisions to Nesta and Emerie, it would be them, after all, who oversaw the training, Gwyn would be working with Azriel to remain one step ahead of the rebels, and the queens.

Gwyn noted the room slowly filling up, but it didn't bother her, it didn't bother her that with Amren was that dark-skinned male whom she hardly knew. She merely acknowledged his presence with a nod, her attention fixed on finishing her portion of the the plans, leaning back in her chair, and stretching. Azriel was the last to arrive, automatically making his way across to Gwyn and resting a hand on the back of her chair. She tipped her head sideways to slightly touch that hand. Azriel would never be one for public affection like Cassian and Nesta, but, like Cassian, he needed that contact, needed the contact he had been denied for so long to remind himself that she didn't hate him, that she loved him, that he was worthy of her love, had always been. Even Amren had stifled a smile at Gwyn's subtle display of affection, and Theia was practically beaming with joy at the way Azriel had relaxed at Gwyn's touch, the tension in his muscles releasing before he spoke,

"Gwyn and I have finalized a way into the Mortal Palace. We will have to go alone, and ordinarily, I wouldn't even suggest bringing her at this point in her training, but she has contacts within, and outside the Palace. She is our way in, and our way to send reports back here. We'll spell the reports, but only to one person, I can't work a spell more complicated than that." He looked to Rhys and Feyre, "Who do want me to spell it to?" Feyre shuffled in her seat,

"Rhys." Rhys made to complain, but Feyre raised a hand, "He has more experience, and will know the key things to look for, especially with reports from you, you know each other's way of working better than me, I'm still learning how to be High Lady. And," she added with a sigh, "I have to feed Nyx several times every night, I'm tired, I might miss something." Rhys sighed but nodded,

"Spell the reports to me then. When can you expect to get in?"

"We'll leave tomorrow," Gwyn answered, "There's only a few final preparations needed, Azriel can winnow us onto the continent, but we'll have to travel the rest of the way on foot, by air it'll be too visible, and to winnow any closer might set off wards, besides, some of my friends live a few miles out. We should be able to get into the Palace within a week, unless we come across something unaccounted for, I'd expect the first update about a week after that, give or take." Azriel nodded, 

"I'll only be wearing two siphons most of the time, and we won't be in full armor, the aim is to get in disguised as a rebel warrior and his wife." He paused for a moment, and Gwyn nodded, encouraging him to continue after a moment's hesitation. "Gwyn will be noticed at once as out of place," Azriel turned to Rhys, "Can you glamour her to appear Illyrian? You only need to give her wings." Still, wings were the most difficult part of that request, if he couldn't make a glamour look realistic, Gwyn had already agreed to allow them to attempt to shift her into an Illyrian body. Rhys pursed his lips,

"I can try, but I don't know if I'l be able to make them move naturally if I'm not there, the innate magic may not be enough." Gwyn knew that, but she still asked him to try, and closed her eyes at the touch of night-flecked power on her. "Just move about a bit, Gwyn, let me see if it works without me actively moving it around." She got up, walked a couple of laps on the room, threw a couple of punches at the air, turned around quickly, but her face fell at the silence around her,

"It's not working is it?"

"No, I'm sorry," Rhys muttered, "The only other way would be to shift your body into that of an Illyrian. I can definitely do that, and then reverse it when you're back, but it would involve me changing your body." He said carefully, slowly gauging her reaction

"I know." Gwyn said, her chin held high as the glamour lifted, "Az already warned me, and it's okay. I trust him, and everyone in this room," there was a moment of surprise in Rhys' eyes as he glanced towards Varian, "Even him. He has been nothing but kind and respectful, and he has already earned all of your trust, I would be foolish not to trust him as well, if all of you do, he must have proved himself several times."

"That he has," Rhys mused, and offered Feyre a questioning glance, falling silent for a moment before Feyre broke the silence, 

"We think it'll be better if I do this, I have more experience with different types of shifting, and I have shifted myself into an Illyrian form many times. I've also seen, and felt the magic's imprint, when Tamlin shifted others into different forms, Rhys has only ever shifted himself into his beast form. Gwyn nodded, altogether more comfortable with Feyre's magic, as a female, it somehow felt familiar, less alien and frightening. "This will probably tingle a bit and feel odd, but it won't hurt." Gwyn mentally braced herself, almost flinching at the tingle in her shoulders, then expanding across her whole body. She opened her eyes once the tingling had faded, she felt the same, but the moment she moved something felt wrong, different. Her balance was off, something pulling her backwards. She flexed her shoulders, and a whoosh of air alerted her to the wings now flaring out behind her. She flinched at the sound of breaking china,

"Sorry," she muttered, and wriggled the wings around a bit before figuring out how to close them. The one thing that she had expected to bother her didn't, the weight of the wings was less than she'd thought it would be, and her training had built up her muscles so that she could carry them easily without worrying about dragging them on the floor. 

"You could fly if you wanted to," Feyre said, "I've made them look clipped as that's what would make sense, but the tendons and muscles beneath are normal, and I don't expect there'll be much time for you to learn to fly anyway, but in an emergency you will be able to." Gwyn nodded, "You should get used to moving around with them, and fighting, it feels a bit different to usual, your center of balance is shifted backwards, so it just takes a bit of getting used to." 

"I'm sure it will, we have until lunch tomorrow to get ready, so hopefully I'll be re-balanced by then. It should definitely be before we reach the Palace at any rate."

*****

Gwyn had adjusted to the wings remarkably quickly, the walk to the training ring seeming to be long enough for her to figure out how her balance needed to shift. She warmed up normally, albeit a little slower than usual, but she didn't seem to have any issues, not ones that she needed Azriel's help with anyway.

"Okay, just practice unfolding and folding your wings for now, we can do something more once you're comfortable with that." Gwyn nodded, and flared out her wings, faster than before, and stumbled backwards, Azriel stifled a chuckle at her surprise, but she folded them in, then out again, and kept her balance. She kept going until she could do it while walking around, sitting down, drawing a weapon. She cursed Azriel's name soundly when he made her practice doing it while running and drawing a weapon at the same time, a wooden practice sword. Gwyn had questioned what the point was in using a practice sword, but as she clipped the corner of a wing and tripped up, rolling to regain her feet she just glared at him. "Go again," he chuckled, "Any child can do this,"

"Any child can do this," she mimicked, glaring at him, and he laughed,

"I do not sound like that," She just huffed, but did as she was told, falling several more times before she fixed her timing and drew the sword from a sheath at her side consistently without falling. The moment she was confident with that, Azriel switched the sheath to one down her spine. She could do it standing still on the first try, but the moment she started moving, her wings moved a bit, and she kept hitting them, sending her sprawling onto the floor. She groaned, but kept getting back up, slapping away Azriel's hand when he extended it, a multitude of profanities falling from her lips each time. He could barely hold back his laughter at the sight of Gwyn, usually so balanced and elegant, falling on her ass, and swearing enough to put even Cassian to shame. Still, a beautiful rosy blush was now staining her cheeks, and she was panting slightly in the sun's punishing heat. "One more." He called, and Gwyn flipped him off before taking off at a sprint, and whooping in delight when she drew her sword without incident, looking back at him and grinning with undisguised joy. "Take a break."

"No. I want to fight," she complained,

"Break. Once we start combat training we'll go until you're ready to drop, break. Now." He left no room for argument, but Gwyn still rolled her eyes as she nudged past him to get to the water he'd brought out. She'd made a hundred such gestures, but each time he couldn't help the rush of delight that washed over him that she was able to be this comfortable whilst alone with a male, let alone that male being him. She was still experimenting with the position of her wings, but stopped when she noticed Azriel's attention, muttering something about overbearing busybodies before practically bouncing up to him and demanding that they move on to combat. Azriel couldn't help but match her energy, not as she grinned and almost danced on the spot when he agreed, but he did make her walk through her patterns first, demonstrating them so that she could see what he did with his wings. He did warn her not to think too much about them though, with the muscles at the base, they would re-balance subconsciously, even though she hadn't been born with them.

As with almost everything he had ever thrown at her, Gwyn took back to fighting with surprising ease, enough that he was confident to agree to spar at the end of their training session. He moved a little slower than usual, his blows lighter than usual, giving Gwyn a little extra time to balance to parry each blow and then retaliate. She, however, did not hold back, and at times it felt like she was trying to knock Azriel's head off, and very nearly succeeded at one point, with Azriel only just dodging the blow and ducking under her blade to force her to turn. As she spun round, the momentum forced her wings out, and she struggled to balance, flaring them out further, and Azriel yelped when she smacked him across the face, having failed to step far enough back. Gwyn froze at the sound, finally regaining her balance and whirled to find Azriel taking a few steps back to a healthy distance,

"Oh, I'm sorry!" She rushed towards him, and pulled his face down, inspecting the slightly reddened skin of his cheek, and tutted to herself, "Sorry," she whispered again, and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek, "There. That's better," she said, "I think we'd better call it a day there, I'm getting tired, so I'll just end up doing that again otherwise." Azriel nodded, then gently caught her wrist, turning her back towards him,

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just, I don't know," she shrugged, "I'm fine though, I'm fine," he raised an eyebrow at that, she seemed to be convincing herself more than him,

"Pre-mission nerves?"

"I guess," she sighed, "I'll be fine once we've got there."

"I want to show you something, how I always got over it." Gwyn smirked at that,

"And what would that be?" 

"Hold on," that was the only warning Gwyn got before he scooped her up and launched upwards, leaving her screaming and throwing her arms around his neck. Azriel flapped again, rising up and up and up, until Velaris was just a mosaic of lights below them, he leveled out and Gwyn whooped in delight, before smacking him on the arm,

"Asshole!" She hissed, but Azriel just chuckled and pretended to drop her, making her squeal again, and cling on to him tighter, burying her face in his neck, "I hate you," she mumbled, but still relaxed into him, and pressed another kiss against the cheek her wing had smacked, 

"Really hold on now," Azriel murmured, this time waiting until she was clinging on before offering her a cocky smirk, and falling out of the sky. A scream tore from Gwyn's throat as they fell, tumbling through the air, his wings blowing up around them as the wind rushed past, whipping Azriel's hair around his face. Quickly Gwyn's screams turned into shouts and whoops of delight, the wind tearing her hair out of her braid, sending it flying out behind her, and Azriel laughed, truly laughed, pulling her in for a kiss. He clutched her tighter against his chest, flipping over so that he could see the ground, and Gwyn screamed again as it approached,

"Pull up!" She screamed, "We're going to crash!"

"Trust me," Azriel murmured in her ear, and she trembled at his voice, almost imperceptibly arching into him at that little reminder of last night. She buried her face in Azriel's neck again, not even opening them at the rush of wind as he flapped hard, mere feet from the ground just outside the city. He circled lazily upwards, cruising over the city, and Gwyn finally opened her eyes, and smiled,

"Can we do that again?" Azriel grinned, 

"Going to keep your eyes open this time, Valkyrie?"

"Going to try and kill me again, Shadowsinger?"

"Never," he murmured, but gave no warning before folding his wings in again and plummeting towards the earth, holding Gwyn so that the wind rippled against her own newly formed wings. The look of wonder on her face as she felt the wind was unrivaled in beauty, and Azriel clutched her hands, "Do you trust me?"

"Always," she hesitated only a heartbeat before taking his hands and turning onto her belly, holding Azriel's hands in front of her, 

"Wings out," she did as he said, and he did so at the same time, the wind slowing as it caught their wings. Azriel angled towards an updraft, and Gwyn laughed with joy as she was pushed up in the air, with her wings automatically catching the breeze. She whooped again, and let Azriel guide her through Velaris' winds and currents, leaving them both wind-chilled but laughing uncontrollably when he pulled her into his chest and dove through their bedroom window. "Nest step, flying on your own." He whispered, and Gwyn shook her head disbelievingly, 

"That's a big step."

"Need me to hold your hand?" Azriel teased, and Gwyn's competitive gleam reappeared in her eyes,

"I'll be flying better than you in no time." She declared, sweeping off to the bathroom before he could respond. He chuckled to himself, still staring after the female who had made him open his heart to the world, who had seen the shadows and the person he sometimes had to be and had decided to love all of him, flaws and all. It made his heart ache with love, greater than he'd ever felt, he didn't need a mating bond, he didn't need what Rhys and Cassian had, he just needed her. He just needed Gwyn.

[dailycharacteroption]

Alternate Class Review: Samurai part 2

 Utility and Builds

 And now we’ll take a look at the abilities of the samurai as a class.

Like the cavalier they are based upon, the samurai has the ability to challenge a foe, increasing their damage against them but making them vulnerable to attacks from other sources. This reflects the samurai’s traditional focus on singling out another foe to duel. Curiously, however, the text does not mention if the target of their challenge must be able to understand the samurai the way the cavalier version does, so best ask your GM on that one.

They also gain a mount, much like the cavalier, which makes sense as samurai were meant to be mounted combatants firsts, specifically archers. However, don’t expect them to get any of the cavalier’s charging-themed abilities.

They also gain an order like a cavalier, reflecting their devotion. For those seeking an authentic samurai experience, one is expected to take the order of the warrior, the black daimyo, or ronin. The first two reflect the traditional devotion a samurai might have to their lord, the first being more honorable, the other upholding the veneer of honor but being exceedingly brutal and cruel, while being ronin reflects their outcast nature. However, this is a fantasy game, so if you want a samurai devoted to a religion, or a mystic philosophy, or to their friends and allies, then by all means go for it.

The first ability that sets the samurai apart from the cavalier, however, is their resolve. Their determination is so strong it gives them a reserve of energy to push past their limits, most notably by removing debilitating conditions, giving them greater chances to resist attacks on their body and mind, and even help them stay standing and conscious when they would otherwise fall.

Additionally, these samurai learn to perfect and specialize in a traditional samurai weapon, notably katana, longbows, naginata, or wakizashi. They can draw these weapons in swift, fluid motions, deal lethal blows more easily, and even learn techniques that improve their performance with that specific weapon type that are normally associated with the fighter class.

True to their origin as mounted archers, they have a reduced penalty to their accuracy when firing a bow while mounted.

Like the cavalier, samurai also have a banner which they can display, granting the same sort of buffs to allies that can see it.

Not as concerned with guiding other troops, these warriors focus on learning more personal combat techniques.

Eventually, they also learn to use their resolve to ignore pain and reflexively twist to mitigate the impact that a grievous blow would have on their vitals.

While retreat is a tactical move that even these honorable warriors occasionally use, sometimes honor demands facing down a foe no matter what. As such, samurai can choose to make a stand against a foe they have challenged, ignoring fear entirely and resisting debilitation, and even fighting on when others would fall unconscious. However, they can only do so sparingly, and if they are forced to retreat anyway, the act shakes them up, preventing them from challenging foes for at least a day.

Like a cavalier, the samurai also eventually dogs their challenged foe so insistently that they become too focused on them to properly defend themselves against other attacks.

Their banner also improves like that of a cavalier as well.

A master samurai utterly refuses to die, and as long as they have a decent amount of resolve remaining, they can stabilize, even if they can’t keep fighting anymore.

The most skilled samurai can enter a last stand, declaring a special challenge against a truly dangerous foe. In this state, they ignore pain, reducing the harm that foes deal to minimum except against the most grievous wounds, and refusing to fall to weapons or blows other than that wielded by their challenged foe, though spells and supernatural harm could still cut them down. Even still, they fight on even as they are bleeding out till their last breath, but they must keep fighting to maintain this stance.

 Of course, there is an alternate capstone from Chronicle of Legends. In the case of the samurai, they improve the range at which others are inspired by their banner, and can rally with it with less effort.

Other, more general capstones they might have include Great Beast, for a mount of truly legendary greatness; Perfect Body, Flawless Mind to improve their bodies and minds to the pinnacle of their species; The Boss, representing them becoming a great general, teacher of their code, or a proper landed noble in their own right; With This Sword could grant them a truly legendary weapon or suit of armor; or the appropriate Won’t Stay Dead, for a samurai that no mortal can truly defeat for long.

 Overall, the samurai is much less about supporting allies in melee as the cavalier (but the banner does provide roots of that), but is much more focused on having tools for every combat situation, having superior range and mobility while mounted, excellent offense, and the defensive abilities to tough out most things that foes throw at you. Depending on your choice of order, you may be an impervious tank or a tank that can also bring down deadly blows and support allies as well. Weapon specialization also matters, as that can inform your strategy and feat choice as well, whether you focus on archery, naginata polearm builds, or the katana or wakizashi (or both at once)

In the most optimal scenario, a samurai will be able to pepper foes from afar while mounted until the battle is joined, either staying mounted or dismounting to fight on the ground.

 That about does it for today, but tomorrow we’ll cover the handful of archetypes that the samurai got!

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s R&S - Ashes

🍒This R&S (浴火) is part of the Dream Heart Lake event which has not been released in EN🍒

This R&S makes reference to Tilted Time, so do read that first if you haven’t!

Cancelled Gavin R&S:

> minor’s memos

> tilted time

> little bro’s self-cultivation

> Ashes ♡

[ Chapter One ]

It is the thirteenth day of hunting down the wanted criminal.

This is Gavin’s first actual participation in auxiliary work, which is completely different from the simulations on ordinary days.

The criminal’s name is Qianyu, and his modus operandi is so cruel that it makes one’s hair stand on end. The Evol he possesses is temporarily unable to be analysed, and his excellent anti-reconnaissance skills have prevented the pursuit from proceeding normally. The situation does not look optimistic. 

This town is not large, and there are few places to hide. Even so, there’s not a single trace of him. Unless another explosion occurs somewhere--

Just as the captain of this current mission marks the previous explosion on the map, a ball of fire rises up less than ten kilometres away from the STF office. 

What follows is the sound of explosions reminiscent of thunder. 

It’s ear-splitting.

“Since it’s the daytime, there aren’t many people in the village. We’re currently confirming the number of casualties, but this entire village... is considered destroyed.”

Hearing yet another piece of grievous news, the pen in the captain’s hands snaps completely.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

It is Gavin’s second year in the Special Police Academy, and he has been assigned to this difficult task force. Aside from him, ten names belong to newbies like him, and thirty names belong to experienced Evol Special Agents. He didn’t think the situation would escalate to such a worrying state.

Gavin watches as charred bodies are carried out from the debris. What plays in front of his eyes seems to be another scene of a big, curling fire. It scorches him till his eyeballs hurt.

Liye walks over to him, his voice hoarse: “I suddenly feel that I’m very useless.”

Gavin gives him a glance, and Liye continues: “There was a time I thought my abilities could enable me to save many people. But it doesn’t seem to be the case.”

Gavin doesn’t speak, and simply clenches his fist. 

Liye, like Gavin, is a second year in the Special Police Academy who possesses a healing Evol. As comrades in the same squadron, Liye very much wanted to be Gavin’s partner during the task force formation. But from the looks of it, the organisation didn’t hear the prayer in his heart.

Liye also remembers the first time he met Gavin. Back then, they happened to just enter their second round of training. which involved arresting and fighting. When Gavin was brought into the training grounds by the instructor, he carried only a simple backpack, and the shirt he wore even had a few traces of dried blood.

Liye looked at Gavin’s face, which was filled with blackish-green hues. His interest was piqued. He knew very clearly that entering this Academy required one to go through a monstrous trial. And out of all the new students, Gavin suffered the most severe injuries. 

Was he too weak? Was it really okay for him to be here?

Liye thought about this silently, and he ended up getting punched squarely in the face.

A fellow trainee comrade looked at him apologetically, and then grumbled: “Why aren’t you fighting properly? What are you looking at?”

Liye wiped away the blood at the corner of his lips, sighing that his opponent couldn’t control his strength. But he didn’t experience any pain at all, and he had already gotten used to it since early on. He waved his hands, signalling that his comrade could continue.

During their evening rest, Liye discovered that the new guy was called Gavin. His comrades’ assessment of him consisted of just a few words: Cold, arrogant, and aloof.

It happened to be Liye’s turn to go patrolling that night, and he saw Gavin on the field. He was undergoing mandatory additional training in order to catch up with their current progress. Liye was just about to greet him, but ended up on the ground when Gavin failed to retract his punch in time.

When Gavin returned to his senses, he saw Liye on the floor, completely unscathed. Liye even shot him a smile. 

-

[ Chapter Three ]

Gavin furrowed his brows.

Liye climbed back to his feet and said: “I didn’t get to say hello. I’m Liye, and am a new student like you!”

Gavin turned away from him, continuing with his training:

“Stay away from me.”

Liye felt that Gavin couldn’t continue this way.

So of course, he didn’t listen to what Gavin said about staying away from him. On the contrary, he got even closer to him. For example, when it was Gavin’s turn to do night patrolling, Liye would secretly sneak downstairs to greet him. When Gavin was eating, another set of cutlery would inexplicably appear next to him. There were no need for questions - it belonged to Liye.

Liye didn’t have any intentions aside from feeling that Gavin was someone with a story. He was unwilling to watch him coldly isolate himself from his comrades and live a solitary life, especially when the fighting classes required a comrade to practice with...

The other comrades also felt that Gavin’s coldness made it difficult to get close to him - there were even multiple “Gavin is too cold - let’s put a stop to his power” challenges. But at the end of the day, they all belonged “to the same species”. Furthermore, Liye was such a peacemaker. Also, there was a time when a picture of a girl was discovered among Gavin’s articles of clothing, leading to collective hollering. 

As time passed, Gavin was no longer as resistant as before. Of course, he was still the same, not revealing much expression on his face.

Gavin’s fighting skills were top-notch. Even though he emerged as the best among the trainees in almost every course, his fighting was the “best of the best”. Several comrades who exchanged blows with him ended up with extremely shocking “decorations”. This made Liye even more surprised - why was such an amazing person in a pitiable state at the very beginning?

Gavin hurriedly caught Liye’s punch. Liye, with a face full of bruises, wasn’t sure how many times he had been thrown onto the ground by Gavin. Before a minute passed, the bruises had already vanished without a trace.

Someone shouted from the side: “Gavin, there’s no need to hold back - this brat doesn’t feel pain!”

Liye immediately waved his hands: “Even though it doesn’t hurt, I still sustain internal injuries!”

In the sixth month since joining the Academy, Gavin received a command from the main instructor. 

Gavin stood in a military posture in front of a large, solid wooden table. On the chair behind the table was a man, sitting straight and proper in his seat. He flipped through Gavin’s materials. After a while, he raised his eyebrows in amusement.

He lifted his head and looked at Gavin, asking: “You fight well?”

Gavin’s posture was as straight as always, and his voice was light: “So-so.”

-

[ Chapter Four ]

Once the words left his lips, the figure vanished from the chair. In a split second, Gavin leaned his head to the side, raising his hand to steadily catch the fist coming towards him from his rear left, and the other fist ready to deal a blow against his opponent. However, the other party flashed to the open window a full two meters away from him. 

The man laughed loudly and applauded: “Your speed is okay.”

He could see it - this youth was very stubborn. Gavin looked incredibly cold, but what was colder were his moves. 

Gavin saluted the man and quickly returned to position, standing straight.

The man squeezed his shoulder and said: “The 8th Warriors Competition will be held in two weeks. We will send you to fight.”

Gavin was aware of this competition. Not long after he enrolled, he happened to overhear his comrades mentioning it. During the competition, every country would send its most stellar new elite student to go through live combat in various areas. It would test the students’ holistic abilities, including - but not limited to - fighting skills. The student who emerged as champion would represent the country and receive the highest honour and stand on the podium where every Evol Special Police would know him.

This is where Evol Special Police from all over the world can interact and learn from each other, engage in the first battlefield of competition, and is the only stage recognised by the International Special Police organisation. 

Gavin refused without even thinking: “I’m not going.”

The man’s hand stiffened: “This isn’t a discussion.”

Gavin glanced at him: “There are people in the team who can fight better than me and want to participate.”

The man smiled and asked: “Is that so? Give me one more reason.”

He had brought in so many officers with special abilities - when receiving such an opportunity, all of them would be generous with expressing their gratitude. This was the first time someone had rejected him.

Gavin answered: “I didn’t come here to win a medal.”

When he heard this, the man chuckled and patted his shoulder. “I can respect you, and give you time to consider. But you must know that if you choose the Evol Special Police, you’re choosing to give up the freedom to act independently.

Not long after, the news of Gavin’s refusal to participate in the Warrior’s Competition spread throughout the entire organisation. Some comrades boldly flicked his hair and whistled, expressing that it was a very cool move. After pushing his comrade to the side, Liye’s big face appeared.

“When you refused, did you feel like you were explosively cool?!”

Gavin found Liye’s exuberant smile incredibly strange. In a rare good mood, he arched a brow and asked Liye: “You want to go?”

Thinking about it seriously, Liye said: “It’s not a matter of whether I want to. But if I have the chance, I might give it a try.”

“Why?” 

Liye crinkled his eyes: “My siblings admire the police the most. If I can become the most amazing policeman, they will definitely be very happy.”

In the end, Gavin didn’t participate in the Warrior’s Competition. The person who was sent was another student with the surname Bai. 

-

[ Chapter Five ]

On the thirtieth day of hunting down the wanted criminal, the two confront each other for the fist time.

He doesn’t know how long they were engaged in combat, but Gavin finally figures it out - this person’s Evol is the ability to construct barriers. No matter how one shoots, he will not get hurt. His only weakness is probably the head. Gavin stares at his head region, his eyes sharp. 

He isn’t sure how many explosives Qianyu is carrying - perhaps even Qianyu himself is a powerful bomb. It’s just that in this arrest, too many comrades have fallen.

Qianyu takes a punch from Gavin, and the force from the fist of wind causes his entire body to slam against the ruined wall. The moment he falls, a group of Special Police surround him.

Qianyu stands up, wiping off traces of blood at the corner of his mouth. He sneers: I didn’t expect that I’d fall at the hands of a small Special Police officer.”

Under the dazzling sun, a gust of wind lifts Gavin’s white windbreaker, causing it to flutter.

Looking at the youth floating mid-air, Qianyu suddenly glares and releases a roar. In an instant, his body muscles become swollen and firm, and even the colour of his skin turns a different colour - it becomes slightly blackish.

Gavin widens his eyes slightly, reacting immediately--

“Be careful!” Gavin shouts. As he dives downwards, he quickly pulls the nearest brother with him and drops to the ground.

There are an unknown number of powerful explosives detonating at the same time. The air rushes past, broken stones flying haphazardly.

The loud noise almost shatters Gavin’s eardrums. His head seems to have been fiercely hammered by something heavy, but he can still feel the rubble shifting against his body.

After an inordinate amount of time, the thick smoke dissipates. This place seems to have been stepped on by a giant beast, and has turned into a ruin.

-

[ Chapter Six ]

Gavin pushes away the stone weighing down on him. Suddenly, he spots a familiar figure not far away, lying in the pit, face down. His hands are outstretched as he supports himself off the ground, as though protecting something.

Gavin recognises that it’s Liye. Gavin does everything he can to push the stones away from Liye’s body, and sees his face coated in blood. There is also a broken stone piercing Liye’s abdomen, and from it continuously oozes viscous liquid.

Gavin lifts his body and finds two small figures curled up and unconscious - two children who couldn’t evacuate in time just now.

Liye sees Gavin’s face, and smiles: “You...”

Gavin removes his jacket and desperately presses it against Liye’s abdomen, which is bleeding uncontrollably. He roars: “Shut up!”

Liye smiles again: “Don’t be so fierce towards me, it hurts...”

Gavin clenches his fists, and hears a weak voice: “Are the two children okay?”

Gavin nods.

Liye channels a trace of a smile: “You must remember to bury me next to my siblings, or they will be scared.”

Gavin looks at Liye’s weak smile and suddenly feels ten thousand arrows impaling his heart.

Liye’s voice is so soft that he can barely hear it: “I used to blame myself a lot. Even though I have Evol, I couldn’t save my siblings...”

Gavin tightens his grip on Liye’s hand. He knows. He understands. Liye seems to want to say something, but his head is akin to a broken puppet. Just like that, it hangs loose on Gavin’s arm, devoid of life.

Gavin scans his surroundings. The ruins are filled with people who had stood in front of him just a few minutes ago, alive and breathing.

The corpses of his comrades are unidentifiable. It turns out that in their very first actual combat, they would face life and death. 

It felt like yesterday when they had smiled and hooked their arms around his shoulders, beckoning him to eat with them, mocking him for hiding a picture of a girl... 

No matter how cold his expression was, they would always respond with a smile.

When they went to fighting classes together, everyone would wave their hands and avoid him from afar. Only Liye would crinkle his eyes and say: “I’ll practice with you.” No matter how many times he was thrown to the ground, he never complained.

Everything that happened seems to have vanished in an instant.

There’s nothing left.

Gavin lies down amid the ruins, the scorching sun constantly stinging his eyes. From his cloudy vision, he sees the helicopter hovering above his head, and familiar voices near his ears. Some are angry, some are cold, and some are sad. He places a hand on his chest--

There, the girl’s photograph is completely intact. Only a corner of it has been stained wet with the blood continuously trickling downwards. He seems to hear the song played and sung by the girl - softy, gently, slowly and leisurely entering his body, and invading his heart. 

He remembers the book that was once held in the arms of the girl. The one he couldn’t understand no matter how he tried - “Byron’s Poetry Collection”--

For my part, I’ll enlist on neither side.

[Note] In Chinese, the line translates to: Neither “Life” nor “Death” can constrain me.

Maybe now, he can finally understand it...

Gavin smiles broadly.

-

Other cancelled R&S: here

[geodax]

For a prompt, how about ObiGrievous as rebel operatives during the time of the empire?

Touch

Grievous cackles as he sprints out of the Imperial base, Obi-wan at his heels. The base explodes behind them, fire and smoke billowing into the sky in one of the strongest explosions they’ve had the opportunity to set off in weeks. The rebellion cell they’re working with doesn’t appreciate the dramatic antics of Obi-wan and Grievous, so they are usually instructed not to blow anything up. Today is an exception.

Grievous flings himself off the nearby cliff. He trusts Obi-wan to prevent him from splatting against the ground below. It is a trust that had taken years to build. What had started as a grudging respect for each other’s combat abilities had quickly devolved into a tense allyship after the Republic fell. They had escaped Utapau together, nearly killing each other several times as they fled the system and the Empire, but surviving in spite of it. Grievous had tried to stop Obi-wan from returning to the ashes of the Republic. It would only have resulted in the Jedi being killed or captured.

Obi-wan had ignored him. Grievous had feared he was dead for months before Obi-wan suddenly showed up, terrified and alone, in front of the rebel base Grievous had taken control of. The people were all former Separatists, even more unwilling to submit to the Empire than they had been to the Republic. They had been moments from killing Obi-wan or worse when Grievous decided to step in. They were on the same side now. Things could be different between them.  

They had left that cell and found another, one where Obi-wan never gave his name and no one acknowledged who Grievous was. They fell into a rhythm, fighting the Empire and watching each other’s back, though Grievous could tell Obi-wan hated it. Grievous had killed so many of Obi-wan’s family, had taken their sabers and used them against children. They had talked about it, eventually, though it had taken the two of them nearly being killed by an unstable hyperdrive to do so.

They talked about Kalee and what happened to Grievous’s own people. They talked about the aggression chips implanted by the Trade Federation that the rebel cell had found in Grievous’s head and had removed. They talked about the Jedi and their death. They talked about the loss of everything Obi-wan had known. They talked about what they had done and the feelings they had for each other, the mutual respect that was slowly turning into something more.

It had resulted in a tentative truce between the two of them and eventually a friendship that turned them into one of the most efficient strike teams the rebels have.

Grievous’s body slows before he is gently set on the ground, courtesy of Obi-wan’s Force abilities. The Jedi lands lightly beside Grievous, sending a thrill of awe up Grievous’s spine.

The thrill of seeing Obi-wan in action has only grown these past few years, especially as they learn to use their abilities in tandem, though neither wield lightsabers now. Obi-wan couldn’t bear to see Grievous use the lightsabers of Jedi he killed. It was too dangerous to be seen with a lightsaber now regardless, so they had both give them up.

They make it to their ship and off the planet before the enemy catches up to them. Obi-wan knocks them back with a skillful use of the ship’s blasters, though he still aims to disable rather than kill. He is still holding onto the hope that the clones aren’t the monsters they’ve become. Grievous believes it’s rather foolish, but Obi-wan would not be himself if he turned away from the Jedi’s teachings. They’ll attack the Empire, blow up their bases and sabotage supply lines, but more often than not, Obi-wan would set off an alarm that would send the Imps running, saving the clones’ lives. Though sometimes, they don’t have the luxury of choice.

They jump into hyperspace, but not before Obi-wan has to switch to lethal tactics. The stars blur and the ship falls quiet.

“Are you okay?” Grievous asks. Even after they talked, it was still awkward to ask after each other’s feelings. Both are private people, but they need to talk about these things, or it will eat them alive.

“No,” Obi-wan says. He leans back in his chair. His hands are shaking, and sorrow is written across his face. “I shouldn’t have had to kill them.”  

“There’s not an answer for everything,” Grievous says. They’ve tried to talk to the clones before but had never made any progress. It always resulted in the clone killing himself, not matter how hard they tried to free him from the Empire. No one had the answers they searched for. The only explanation they had was that the clones had always been willing to kill the Jedi. Obi-wan didn’t believe it, but he could find no other explanation.

“They were our friends. We loved them,” Obi-wan says.

Grievous hesitantly places a hand on Obi-wan’s shoulder. Obi-wan doesn’t flinch away. Instead, he leans into the touch, trusting Grievous. “I know. I’m so sorry,” Grievous says. He gently cups Obi-wan’s cheek and strokes his cheekbone, careful as always to avoid hurting Obi-wan’s delicate skin with his sharp metal claws. Obi-wan places his hand over Grievous’s, accepting the comfort Grievous offers. It is delicate and tentative and strange, but it feels right.

“We’ll find the truth someday,” Grievous says. “I promise.”

[lost-immortality]

The complete line-up of D&D boys!!

Full descriptions of the classes/subclasses under the cut!!

From left to right (the names will take you to the individual image for each of the boys!)

Swapfell Sans- Way of the Open Hand Monk- Monks of the way of the open hand are the ultimate masters of martial arts combat, whether armed or unarmed. They learn techniques to push and trip their opponents, manipulate ki to heal damage to their bodies, and practice advanced meditation that can protect them from harm.

Underfell Sans- Multiclassed: Arcane Trickster Rogue/Berserker Barbarian- Some rogues enhance their fine-honed skills of stealth and agility with magic, learning tricks of enchantment and illusion. These rogues include pickpockets and burglars, but also pranksters, mischief-makers, and a significant number of adventurers.//// For some barbarians, rage is a means to an end – that end being violence. The Path of the Berserker is a path of untrammeled fury, slick with blood. As you enter the berserker's rage, you thrill in the chaos of battle, heedless of your own health or well-being.

Underswap Papyrus- College of Lore bard- Bards of the college of lore know something about most things, collecting bits of knowledge from sources as diverse as scholarly tomes and peasant tales. Whether singing folk ballads in taverns or elaborate compositions in royal courts, these bards use their gifts to hold audiences spellbound. When the applause dies down, the audience members might find themselves questioning everything they held to be true, from their faith in the priesthood of the local temple to their loyalty to the king.

Underswap Sans- Trickery Domain Cleric- Gods of trickery are mischief-makers and instigators who stand as a constant challenge to the accepted order among both gods and mortals. They're patrons of thieves, scoundrels, gamblers, rebels, and liberators. Their clerics are a disruptive force in the world, puncturing pride, mocking tyrants, stealing from the rich, freeing captives, and flouting hollow traditions. They prefer subterfuge, pranks, deception, and theft rather than direct confrontation.

Underfell Papyrus- Oath of Vengeance Paladin- The Oath of Vengeance is a solemn commitment to punish those who have committed a grievous sin. When evil forces slaughter helpless villagers, when an entire people turns against the will of the gods, when a thieves' guild grows too violent and powerful, when a dragon rampages through the countryside – at times like these, paladins arise and swear an Oath of Vengeance to set right that which has gone wrong. To these paladins – sometimes called avengers or dark knights – their own purity is not as important as delivering justice.

Sans- Lore Mastery Wizard- Lore Mastery is an arcane tradition fixated on understanding the underlying mechanics of magic. It is the most academic of all arcane traditions. The promise of uncovering new knowledge or proving (or discrediting) a theory of magic is usually required to rouse its practitioners from their laboratories, academies, and archives to pursue a life of adventure. Known as savants, followers of this tradition are a bookish lot who see beauty and mystery in the application of magic. The results of a spell are less interesting to them than the process that creates it. Some savants take a haughty attitude toward those who follow a tradition focused on a single school of magic, seeing them as provincial and lacking the sophistication needed to master true magic. Other savants are generous teachers, countering ignorance and deception with deep knowledge and good humor.

Papyrus- Champion archetype Fighter- The archetypal Champion focuses on the development of raw physical power honed to deadly perfection. Those who model themselves on this archetype combine rigorous training with physical excellence to deal devastating blows.

Swapfell Papyrus- Great old one Warlock- Your patron is a mysterious entity whose nature is utterly foreign to the fabric of reality. It might come from the Far Realm, the space beyond reality, or it could be one of the elder gods known only in legends. Its motives are incomprehensible to mortals, and its knowledge so immense and ancient that even the greatest libraries pale in comparison to the vast secrets it holds. The Great Old One might be unaware of your existence or entirely indifferent to you, but the secrets you have learned allow you to draw your magic from it.

[s3rendip1tous]

Star Wars OC:

G E N E R A L I N F O R M A T I O N

Name: Josren Ifol

Age: 17

Species: Miraluka

Gender: Female (she/her)

Birth: 37 BBY

Affiliations: Luka Sene, Jedi Order

Era: Clone Wars

P H Y S I C A L I N F O R M A T I O N

Height: 5’ 6”

Skin tone: Light

Eyes: None

Hair color: Brown

Hairstyle: Ponytail with messy bangs

A B O U T T H E M

Homeworld: Alpheridies

Language(s): Miralukese, Galactic Basic Standard, Binary

Personality: Josren is a very emotional and expressive person. She has to since she has no eyes and half her face is covered by a mask. She also makes up for this by using the force to convey her emotions if they're strong enough, causing other force-sensitives to feel similar emotions.

Backstory: Josren Ifol is the daughter of Zadek and Aileeh Ifol on the planet Alpheridies. She lived a relatively comfortable life and, when she displayed more advanced abilities with the Force, she was brought to be trained and educated at the Luka Sene. For many years, she lived and learned with her brothers and sisters until Jedi came to Alpheridies looking for force-sensitive beings to help fight in the war against the Separatists. Being the naive and eager girl she was, Josren was quick to volunteer and fight at the age of 14. Many of her people, including her teacher warned her and tried to convince her otherwise, but Josren wanted to try and help people all over the galaxy. So, she left with a few others to Coruscant and to the Jedi Temple. She was initially taught the beliefs of the Jedi and taught how to fight with a lightsaber. Training went by pretty fast since the girl was already taught the basics of combat during her time at the Luka Sene. She also had to construct and learn how to wield a lightsaber. Although this time, instead of combat being a means of self-defense, it was to be used in the means of attack. The training is what started opening her eyes to how contradictory the Jedi were—supposed peacekeepers fighting in a war.

She was assigned to Jedi Master Kit Fisto as an apprentice. Her first mission was helping her master track down Viceroy Gunray where she met Fisto's former padawan. They soon found out it was a trap. Most of their clone squad had been killed by Grievous and Josren became angry over their deaths and wanted revenge, the anger translating through the force, causing Nahdar to become angry as well. Josren herself starts to calm down each time Fisto reminds the two but Nahdar doesn't calm down until eventually, Nahdar is separated from the two and ultimately killed by Grievous in a duel. The two then go to escape, fighting off Grievous and his droids before flying away. After this mission, they mourn over the deaths of the clones and Nahdar and Kit teaches Josren how to control her emotions more since he could feel through the force that she was projecting her emotions through it. This makes Josren feel guilty and responsible for the death of Nahdar, making her hesitant to use the force as often as she used to. Yoda then offered to teach Josren a few lessons after Kit Fisto reported to the Council what happened and help her regain her confidence and have better control.

Soon, Josren and Master Fisto were assigned to go to the Ord Cestus medical station in order to gather supplies and aid for Master Windu and get them ready to be shipped off on Ahsoka Tano and Barriss Offee's ship. When word got out that Geonosian brain worms had taken control of the ship, Josren became increasingly worried for the people on board, especially for Ahsoka whom the young padawan had befriended. When they eventually boarded, Josren was quick to care for the Togruta and make sure her friend was in stable condition. It was also there that she met Barriss.

Once regaining her confidence, Josren rejoined her master and helped fight in the war. In her free time, she’d often meditate or look through the archives to expand her knowledge in both the Force and combat, befriending Jocasta Nu.

When Order 66 took place, Josren was at the Jedi Temple. She was doing her usual studying when she heard blaster shots. Investigating, she found the 501st marching into the Temple and shooting at other Jedi. Josren was about to fight when a hand grabs her shoulder. Jocasta stops her and shoves a sack into her arms, a youngling sleeping in it. Jocasta ordered Josren to leave the temple and run far, far away. Josren did as she was told, escaping to the Underworld of Coruscant with the child in hand. She soon left the planet altogether. Only then did Josren take a breath and try to use the force to sense if any other Jedi were alive. She found only death, fear, and pain.

Likes:

-Flying ships

-Competition

-Destroying droids

-Meditating

-Danger

-Jedi Archives

-Learning

Dislikes:

-The cold

-Injustice

-Hypocrisy

-Caff

P O W E R S / A B I L I T I E S

Skills:

-Force: She is very connected to the force. Able to see extremely well using force sight, she's a bit more advanced than most her age with the force, especially thanks to her teachers at the Luka Sene training her pretty early. She's able to do basic things such as telekinesis, but also force jumps, jedi mind tricks, occasionally getting visions, and other force sub-powers. As she trains, her perception of the force becomes even stronger and her trust in it helps her learn abilities pretty fast compared to other jedi her age. She also uses the force to compensate for the lack of experience she has in combat since many combatants have been training for the better part of their lives while she has only trained for around 2 years. Some special force techniques she learns to use are animal bond and psychometry.

-Jar'Kai: She often used this technique and wielded two lightsabers, both usually in the unorthodox reverse grip. Although she still trained with one lightsaber in order to not be so dependent on both sabers.

-Form IV, Ataru: She utilized this form often thanks to her acrobatic skills and her master himself a user of this form. Often, Josren will maneuver her way around her opponent using flips and handsprings. It's also handy when trying to dodge blasters. She used this in pair with Djem So, using acrobatics to dodge and disorient her opponent before unleashing a number of powerful blows.

-Form V, Shien/Djem So: One of the first forms she learned, Josren utilized this technique often. Although pretty incompatible with Form IV, Josren used it because she preferred the reverse grip the form made so easily capable. She mixed it with the acrobatics of Ataru, dodging then striking with many powerful blows. She also used it to deflect blaster shots, often using her lightsaber to deflect them toward a chosen target.

-Marksman: She has great aim. Josren is able to deflect blaster shots with her lightsaber and hit her intended target spot on. She also has skill with shooting a blaster itself, hardly missing.

-Pilot: She's able to fly a ship extremely well and maneuver her way out of tight places. She's also able to fire the ship's guns accurately to knock down another ship.

Inventory:

-Blue Shoto Lightsaber

-Purple Shoto Lightsaber

-Credits

Limitations and Weaknesses:

-Reckless: She tends to jump into battle thanks to her enthusiasm, often not seeing the big picture and putting herself and a lot of others in danger. She becomes less and less reckless as she gets older, but sometimes she can't help it

-Weak in combat: She's only studied the different forms of lightsaber combat for about two~ years. On top of that, she added a second lightsaber to her repertoire. To compensate for this lack of skill, especially in lightsaber battles, Josren relies on the force since she's been practicing and perfecting her connection all her life.

-Overly emotional: She often projects her emotions into the Force, causing not only others, but also herself to be emotional and distracted.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

Family:

-Zadek Ifol

-Aileeh Ifol

-Veros Ifol

-Demral Ifol

Master: Kit Fisto

Friends:

-Ahsoka Tano

-Barriss Offee

-Riyo Chuchi

-Jocasta Nu

Droid(s):

-R6-D3

E X T R A S

Quotes:

“Die you stupid droids!"

"The Jedi are arrogant hypocrites"

Theme Song: "Hang on a Little Longer” by UNSECRET, Ruelle

Trivia:

-She is herbivorous

-Josren is flexible enough to be a contortionist

-She holds her lightsabers in a reverse grip

-Worships the deities Ashla (light side of the force) and Bogan (dark side of the force)

-Studies the way of the jedi in the Old Republic Era

-Often studies/guards the library in the Jedi Temple