#and vanguard is too brute-force for him

[braindamagedrizz]

Wait I was going through your stuff and you said that Ruizx (I cannot remember how to spell for the life of me I am so sorry) was an arcstrider AND a dawn blade? Fascinating

No worries LOL I misspell Ruxiz's name so much too, He also can be called Rui if that's easier to remember! Okay so the whole thing with Ruxiz's Dawnblade/Arcstrider thing was basically in one of the stories I've made for him, he was in a self-proclaimed exile after faking his death and pretending to be a Warlock awoken that was working under The Spider in The Tangled Shore before Spider hit the road. Ruxiz eventually got found by these cultist Awoken where were like, actively denying Mara Sov's reign and had a patriarcal system going on. (Bare with me here, there's more to the story im just summing it up) ANyways, these cultist Awoken were hunting down an Ahamkara that had entered the Sol System and they called upon The Vanguard. Ruxiz is still masquerading as a warlock while under the control of this cult (Not even the cult knew he was a hunter), so everyone was like 'wtf is wrong with you why can't you use warlock abilities'. So, allying temporarily with The Vanguard, Osiris eventually offers his aid in tracking down this ahamkara and engages with Ruxiz who at the time was going by 'Rui', and his Ghost as 'Maroon'. Osiris basically pulls out his years of being Felwinter's student on this poor hunter, assisting him and trying to teach him how to use his Dawnblade despite being Lightless and he to was like. "What the hell, why can't you activate your Dawnblade, stop crying!" It was basically this entire thing of Osiris just getting very frustrated with Ruxiz because Ruxiz is obviously a Hunter, he's a gunslinger when using Solar, but by some miracle eventually did activate a Dawnblade before it set him on fire. Long story short, local hunter disguised as Warlock gets yelled at for 3 weeks by angry lightless warlock until he brute forces himself into activating the super of another class. Ruxiz being a hunter does eventually come out further into the story, but by that time he's used his Dawnblade multiple times and eventually began using it alongside his Arc spear. Ikora knew the whole time because of her hidden LOL --- Basically me going 'haha what if we could use the abilities of other classes' then forced Ruxiz to endure Osiris.

I'd like to state that this story came before I made Ruxiz's custom subclass and replaced the Dawnblade aspect, so this is just one of many of Ruxiz's little 'storylines'. This entire story is a mess, and it has so many plotholes but I love it dearly because it's my first creation and I made it when I first joined the fandom.

[starrymused]

Dabi (Touya Todoroki) is the eldest son of the Pro Hero Endeavor, driven mad due to his father's abuse and selfish actions, became a villain to enact revenge. He is a member of the League of Villains, a former member of the since disbanded Vanguard Action Squad, and now one of the nine lieutenants of the Paranormal Liberation Front.

Having been trained by his father, Endeavor, at a young age and undergoing rigorous self-training, Dabi has proven to be a powerful villain, one of the most vital members of the League of Villains' Vanguard Action Squad, as well as its de facto leader. After joining the League, has proven himself a dangerous criminal. Dabi has a practical handle on his powerful yet hazardous Quirk, which not only grants him control over his self-generated blue flames that are stronger than normal flames (which increase in temperature due to his hatred towards his father) but also proficient wide-range capabilities.

Dabi primarily fights from a distance, shooting fireballs, generating flamethrower attacks, and releasing bursts of fire at close range. His primary offense is using the brute force of his Quirk to overwhelm his enemies. Defensively, Dabi can burn away attacks and even generate massive firewalls to surround his targets. With this skill and power, he can incinerate an entire group of opponents in seconds. Overall, Dabi has the capacity and ingenuity to contend with many adversaries who outnumber him.

Dabi's Quirk finesse also enables him to fly and hover in the air, much like his father and youngest brother. In the Paranormal Liberation War, Dabi began utilizing his father's Flashfire Fist techniques in combat and was able to burn through Best Jeanist's Carbon Fibers instantaneously, overpower Nejire Hado of U.A's Big 3 members, and won against Shoto (also using Flashfire Fist) in a battle of flames. The disparity in their abilities was so great Dabi could hold back and defeat Shoto with a single Jet Burn without killing him.

Abilties.

Pain Immunity: As told by Kyudai Garaki, Dabi's immolation as a child had caused severe damage to his body and nervous system, to the point where it is now difficult for his body to detect pain. This pain insensitivity is shown when a clone of Dabi barely reacts to Eraser Head breaking one of his arms. This condition allows Dabi to use his Quirk freely and ignore the potentially fatal burns it inflicts on his body, allowing Dabi to persist even when his body begins to burn away.

Enhanced Durability: Despite his charred appearance, Dabi is fairly resilient. A noteworthy feat is that he survived being completely incinerated by his flames and spent three years comatose. Kyudai Garaki even found it amazing that Dabi could live into adulthood, despite only being given a month to live with his burned and ruined body.

Cold Resistance: Dabi is resistant to extreme cold or ice-based attacks, a trait he inherited from his mother. This impermeability gave Dabi an advantage during his fights with Geten and Shoto.

Photographic Memory: Dabi possesses a uniquely keen eyesight that enables him to copy any moves he sees fit his needs without requiring special training. Having watched Endeavor over the years, Dabi was able to copy and utilize some of Endeavor's most powerful Ultimate Moves. Dabi's photographic abilities were proficient enough for him to memorize and copy Shoto's Phosphor, a technique that took Shoto several months of training to craft.

Keen Intellect: Dabi possesses good judgment and is very keen and observant of everything around him, whether reading someone's intentions or weaknesses. Dabi is also known for psychologically engaging enemies, questioning their motives and morality during combat.

Personality.

After renaming himself Dabi, he became a stoic, aloof, confident, and focused individual who rarely shows emotion. While rather crude and violent, he's cautious, choosing to retreat when Mirko arrived to aid Endeavor and made sure not to divulge too much information to Hawks about High-End because of the infancy of their relationship. Overall, Dabi is a highly enigmatic individual who trusts no one, preferring to do things alone and in his way. He also gives off the impression of knowing more about certain people than he lets on.

Despite his usual expressionless behavior, Dabi finds joy in establishing himself as a villain fighting what he believes to be false heroes, an ideology proposed by his apparent inspiration, Stain. Dabi is dedicated to Stain's mission and desires to destroy superhuman society, sharing his belief that one person with the necessary conviction can do so. He is shown to share Stain's sentiment that heroes are hypocritical and unworthy of their title, but unlike Stain, he does not seem to seek a society with better heroes, believing that true heroes don't exist. Despite his devotion to the Hero Killer's creed, Dabi does many things that Stain would not, such as attacking innocent bystanders and helping the League get revenge against Overhaul, while also being motivated by his vengeance against Endeavor. In the end, Dabi only uses Stain's ideals to cover his motives and justify his crimes against the hero society.

Dabi takes pleasure in taunting heroic figures, students, and Pro Heroes alike, sadistically enjoying the pain he inflicts on others, including those he murders. Sometimes, Dabi engages in psychological warfare to unnerve whoever his opposition is while also allowing himself to cool down from his Quirk's effects. Very pragmatic in battle, he is rather savvy about how heroes operate and will exploit their natural tendency to rescue others. He is not afraid of causing collateral destruction, rarely holding back, even if it puts his allies at risk.

Dabi is intolerant of most people and can be very derisive, rude, and condescending to everyone he interacts with. He insulted Tomura Shigaraki immediately after meeting him and constantly does the same to his allies and enemies but doesn't always do it with the intention of being rude. While the League would go on to develop a strong sense of camaraderie, Dabi has remained distant from them for the most part.

However, Dabi appears to at least be capable of feeling some remorse. While he had no problem killing the Pro Hero Snatch, the latter's words appeared to have resonated with him, implying that Dabi has sympathy for those that have lost family due to villains, as well as the loved ones of those who he has killed. Yet, this remorse does not extend to his family, as Dabi has frequently contemplated their deaths for revenge against Endeavor. He also appears to have specific standards, as upon seeing Tsukuyomi arrive to save Hawks, he was surprised and disgusted by how the heroes and government were more than willing to bring young students into the Paranormal Liberation War, although he could've just been looking down on them for having to rely on high schoolers.

Dabi even displayed some semblance of kindness when he burned down Himiko Toga's old family home while she was feeling distraught over it, though he claims he only did it to twist the knife for the heroes. Despite admitting that he held no care for the other League members, he did encourage Twice to do his best for the League during the war, even hi-fiving him as he ran out to join the battle and took the time to encourage Himiko that they should continue fighting for their cause. This personality aspect shows that Dabi cares enough about his allies to support their morale when needed, even if only for pragmatic and self-serving purposes.

Following the reveal of his identity and his broadcast revealing his childhood, Dabi unveils his far more sadistic and unhinged side, expressing a maddened and gleeful expression upon confronting his father and youngest brother. With his sadism and vengeance fully renewed, Dabi thoroughly relishes any pain he can cause Endeavor, shown when he attacked Nejire Chan with his Quirk and gloated that Endeavor's flames had burned another child's future. His broadcast has also shown his steadfast belief in heroes: they use their good actions to hide and justify all their sins and use the public's admiration of them to keep it that way. He ridicules his father for believing that he could atone for his past abuse of his family and his attempts to change into a better person and does the same when revealing Hawks' father to be a serial criminal who the Flame Hero caught. Although he had previously discarded his birth name, he resumes using it after his battle with his father.

Dabi is also aware of his madness and doesn't seem to be against the idea of suicide if it can kill his father or hurt him more, as shown when Dabi attempts to immolate both himself and Shoto in the War. He also expresses how he can't feel anything anymore, not even towards his family, further cementing Dabi's apathy and showing how far he has fallen. He later confirms to Shoto that he's fully intending to go down while taking out Endeavor, knowing that his vengeance would lead him to death from the start and that killing his father while destroying everything he holds dear will be how he leaves his mark on the world.

[bruxby]

Rise of the Phoenix Guardian In a world where the line between the physical and the mystical was blurred, Luca was a warrior of humble beginnings. A human, born in the village of Elyria, he had always been an outcast. While others had gifts—whether arcane magic or control over elements—Luca’s only power was his resilience, a gift less admired by his peers. From a young age, Luca had trained to defend his world from dark forces, never knowing that his destiny was far greater than the simple life he had envisioned. His world was under siege from two terrible realms: the Reptile Dominion, a race of cunning and brutal lizardmen, and the Demonic Abyss, ruled by ancient, malevolent spirits. Together, these forces sought to enslave humanity and turn Earth into their battlefield. Luca joined the Vanguard, a human army devoted to resisting these invaders. For years, they held the line, and Luca earned a reputation for bravery. But no matter how hard he fought, it felt like their enemies only grew stronger. His comrades fell one by one, the relentless attacks draining his spirit. The battles against the reptilian warlords left scars on his body, and the mental manipulation of the demonic generals crushed his will. It wasn’t long before Luca was overwhelmed. Exhausted from years of war, he faced defeat at the hands of the Dark Conclave, a coalition of reptilian and demonic overlords. They cornered him during a raid, their combined might too much for Luca to handle. He fought valiantly, but his body gave way—battered, bruised, and broken. His spirit, too, was nearly shattered. In a final act of mercy, the overlords left him alive but crippled, certain that his flame had been snuffed out. Luca retreated into exile, his soul heavy with the weight of failure. He wandered through the Forgotten Realms, a desolate wasteland untouched by either human or enemy forces. There, he encountered a mysterious band of spiritual guides, beings who existed beyond the physical plane. They appeared to him in visions, sometimes in the form of light, other times as animals. Each of them had wisdom to share, but none offered an easy path. “Power is not in the body, but in the spirit,” said Aurelia, the guide who appeared as a radiant phoenix. “You have fought too long with brute strength. It’s time you embrace the energy that flows through all things—the essence of life itself.” Another guide, Kuro, who took the form of a great black wolf, taught Luca about endurance. “You’ve endured physically, but your mind has not been disciplined. The strongest warriors bend, but they do not break.” Through countless trials in meditation, Luca began to learn. The guides showed him how to draw on the life force of the world itself, tapping into the ancient power that fueled both good and evil. As he trained, he learned to harness the flames of the phoenix, a purifying fire that not only healed him but transformed him into something greater than a mere warrior. This energy connected him to the spiritual realm, allowing him to rise from his own ashes, stronger and more enlightened. Luca didn’t just become a better fighter; he became a protector of balance, a bridge between the human, reptilian, and demonic worlds. He now understood that destruction wasn’t the only path to victory. His true purpose was to restore harmony, not only in himself but in the world around him. Years passed in the Forgotten Realms, but when Luca returned to the world of men, he was no longer the broken warrior he once was. His new powers allowed him to transcend his physical limitations, giving him the strength to confront the reptilian warlords and demonic generals once again. This time, he didn’t fight alone. Luca had learned the importance of unity and collaboration. His spiritual training had given him insight into the suffering of his enemies, and rather than crushing them outright, he began helping others unlock their own potential, teaching both allies and former enemies the way of the Phoenix. Slowly, his enemies became his students, and former foes joined him in the fight against the greater evil threatening all worlds—an ancient entity that sought to devour the entire realm. Luca’s journey was far from easy, but his battles had changed. No longer was he the underdog fighting for mere survival. He became the Phoenix Guardian, a beacon of hope and transformation for all those who had been beaten down by the darkness. The battles that once consumed him were now moments of enlightenment, opportunities to grow and evolve. In the final confrontation with the Dark Conclave, Luca stood before the reptilian and demonic overlords who had once left him for dead. They sneered, seeing the same warrior they had broken before. But Luca was no longer that man. His newfound strength radiated from him, not as brute force, but as a calm, unshakable power. With his allies at his side—men, spirits, and even some of the former enemy warlords—Luca faced his past demons, both literal and figurative. Through his journey of self-discovery and spiritual growth, Luca not only saved his world but also showed that true power lies not in domination, but in the ability to uplift others, even in the darkest of times. The war wasn’t won with swords or spells, but with wisdom and the unyielding light of the phoenix within.

[voidendron]

having some trouble getting a look I like for Role Reversal Knight!Azan, but here's some other updated Reversal looks in the meantime! Sith Warrior Leo, Troopers Xaerez & Lina, and Agent Terrin

I'm Loving how Xaerez and Terrin kinda swapped which is the scruffy/dirt-smeared face/rough around the edges and which is the well-groomed/tidy/watches their tongue between them.

may still change Lina's tattoos. I can't decide if I like trooper!Lina having similar ones to Canon Varrich or not, yet. I'll have to see how closely she follows Canon Vee's footsteps so I can tell if she'd do the same things to earn them as he did

[mythriteshah]

Visions of Winter

On the southern shores of Thavnair, the battle raged on.  Blows fell, spells blasted, and war cries filled the air all the while.  A massive entourage of Voidsent bombs had emerged nearby to assail the Near Eastern island.  Answering the call to battle as always were Thiji’s Angels, along with the local dance troupes and Matanga warriors who supported them. Sesena Sena, leading the vanguard alongside Umimi, had been withstanding the brunt of their attacks, while Lilina was putting her new Reveler’s Trance to good use, dousing the bombs’ explosive attacks with the power of water, and causing unstable detonations with lightning blasts.   Susuna, using her uncanny speed from her stints as a Rogue, kept the flanks secure, zooming around the battlefield thanks to her Red Mage abilities, while also tending to any wounded alongside Koyuki, who came from the Othard Branch to offer assistance while Yuanji dealt with Telophoroi attacks in Doma. Sosona, Meriri and Lelena provided artillery support atop the backs of adamantoise, striking at the Voidsent from their vantage points while also sealing any portals that were opening.  Luluma, together with Veeveena, supported the dancers and Matanga lest they would find themselves surrounded. The explosive menace was being contained.  Meanwhile, Thiji was astride Glacius, heading to the battle site with due haste alongside Suki.  The words of his mother echoed in his head… “Embrace your sorrow.  Accept it, and bring the beauty of winter to your friends and foes.” Then he remembered the times he participated in the Feast – the everlasting contest of might that pitted adventurers against one another, vying for dominance and bragging rights as they fought tooth and claw to be leaders of the pack.  He recalled the resplendent armor he wore: winged motifs and a figurehead of the Fury proudly displayed on his chest.   This Halonic armor was like a second skin to him during his stint as a knight, and he reveled in the glory of battle for which Halone was well known. “Your dream of becoming a Sorceress’s Knight is not dead.” It was time for the beast to be let loose once more.  But he was going to do so in his own way.  As the assault upon the shore continued, a roar was head from beneath the waves, with such magnitude that it shook the earth, commanding the attention of all as they looked toward the source of the sound.  The area went silent for a moment, then something in the water began to stir.   A pair of horns emerged from the deeps, followed by spines and glowing blue eyes.  As it approached the shore with its cumbersome gait, a hulking brute which towered over the jungle canopy showed itself, letting loose another roar that would terrify all but the Angels. “So that’s the ringleader, huh?  A Muud Suud!” Veeveena pointed out. “That thing’s technically a Gigas, right?  That means we can get some Giantsgall from its blood!” Susuna remarked.  “The Brugaire Consortium’s still outsourcing for these!” “Ever the resourceful lass, aren’t ye?” Meriri chuckled.  “Orders, Miss Sena?” Before Sesena could even have the time to give any commands, the remaining bombs fell back to the shoreline and merged themselves into a massive grenade, taking to the air and landing in the hands of the Muud Suud as it began discharging unstable fire-aspected aether.  The creature had intended to incinerate the surrounding area with an explosive fastball special! “Oh, shit…” Sosona calmly stated.  The lumbering behemoth of a Voidsent clutched the grenade in its right hand as it primed itself, rearing back in preparation to throw. “Good Matanga, fall back!” cried Veeveena.  The elephantine warriors gave a few trumpeting noises and sequential stamps of their feet in response.   Thankfully, there was a certain oddity of an Angel who did a study of Matanga language to translate… “They say that they’re going to hold this line, even if it costs them their lives!” Lilina stated.  Sesena sucked her teeth as she rose her shield. “Then we can get behind the adamantoise!  We have no choice but to mitigate the impact of the blast!” spoke one of the dancers.  With a swing of their hips, they protected the area in a pinkish barrier as Sesena dug her mythrite katzbalger into the sand, causing a pair of angelic wings to sprout from her tower shield to augment the zone of protection as the other Angels and locals took cover behind her. The Muud Suud then let loose a mocking laugh as it chucked the grenade with all its might at its victims.  Everyone did their best to brace for the impact, its massive size casting a shadow over the area.  As it touched down, it released its payload, going out in a tremendous blaze of glory, the force of the impact sending everyone skidding along the sands… The battlefield went silent again as the Muud Suud chuckled, seeming to have succeeded, but when the smoke had finally cleared, it let out a questioning grunt as it noticed something odd: the area suddenly began to snow! Sesena, raising to her feet, beheld the sight, as well as the bodies of the defenders strewn throughout the beach.  Everyone seemed fine save for a few burn marks and damaged clothing.  Even the adamantoise were relatively unscathed. “No casualties, Miss Sesena,” Luluma reported after giving a scan of the area.  “But I’m not sure how to explain this sudden weather change.” “I think I have an idea…” Veeveena interjected as she turned toward the jungle.  Out from the shrubbery layer emerged Glacius in his blissful barding, along with his mate, who began tending to the wounded with their curative abilities.  One could only imagine who next followed after them… “The Mythrite Sultan…!” gasped one of the dancers.  Whispers began to be exchanged between the others as Thiji began making his way down the beach… “Slow, small strides; eyes shut; calm demeanor; arms behind back… Analysis: this Muud Suud’s fucked, now,” Sosona concluded.  Veeveena bowed her head low as he passed by. “We held as best we could, My Sultan,” she said.  Veeveena then caught a glimpse of the items attached at his waist and gasped.  “Wait – those are…!” Thiji continued his advance until he reached the point in which the tide flowed furthest inland, his footwear barely touching the waters, staring down the massive Voidsent before him.  Then, there was the strumming of an oud which came from behind them.  Everyone sans Thiji turned their heads and saw Mimizo, a smile made apparent on her face as she approached the Angels. “Valide-” was all Koyuki could get out before she was interrupted by Mimizo. “Angels, pray join me,” she requested.  “You will want to see this.”  Without hesitation, they took the instruments and fell in beside the Mythrite Sultan’s mother, while the locals clapped to the rhythm, and Matanga and adamantoise kept time with their stamping feet.  Thiji would then brandish his weapons as he began to twirl on the heel of his foot, throwing a flurry of frost at the Muud Suud’s face so as to incite its wrath.  Easily taking the affront as a challenge, the hulking brute balled a fist and prepared to strike at Thiji.  Just as the hit would land, the Mythrite Sultan dashed with a spinning finish past its left leg, leaving behind a streak of ice blue as he did.  Now entering the water, the aether Thiji gathered kept him atop the surface as it began freezing over! “Wait… Wait…!” gasped Lilina, pointing out the spectacle.  Thiji dashed once more to its other leg as the Muud Suud attempted to retaliate, throwing a fan at its hip, which it would then let out a pained growl in response.  As he continued befuddling the Voidsent, it was becoming clearer to the audience… “The ice formations… the freezing waters… It was our Sultan all this time?” Lelena asked.   “I even feel that sadness from looking at it all… Holy hells, it was our lord!” Susuna deduced.  Thiji’s attacks and movements left behind small motes of ice-aspected aether, and he leapt in time with the clapping rhythm, leaving tiny spots of frozen water around the Voidsent to confuse it until stopping again directly behind it.  The Muud Suud rose both arms to smash Thiji into the deeps.  But too little, too slow – the Mythrite Sultan once again zoomed between the creature’s legs, returning back to shore as he began to perform a Step.  Though it gave off a different aura than the usual Standard or Technical.  This one gave off strands of blue and white as snowflakes began twirling about the Sultan’s form.  The crowd, awestruck at this unique dance form, slowly stopped their music.  Now Thiji was stepping to his own beat – which is just what he wanted. A pas de bourree, an arabesque, a glissade, a chasse, and a flourishing fouette later, Thiji released the aether stored into a powerful burst of ice and snow.  Everyone shielded themselves from the frigid gale, trying their best to catch a glimpse of the spectacle.  The Muud Suud sustained considerable damage, and as it reeled back in agony, Thiji continued his attack. With glacial agility, he skated along the frozen sea, assailing the Voidsent between graceful lutzes, whipping axels, and tricky salchows, culminating in a frigid Saber Dance which struck at the creature’s arms, pinning it to the ground in ice spikes.  Thiji then stopped behind the Muud Suud once more, jumping on and running along its back before vaulting off and performing a spinning maneuver with his fans outstretched, using the centrifugal force to levitate safely back onto land. With the Voidsent sufficiently immobilized, it was time for the finisher.  The Mythrite Sultan went all out as he performed a frenetic series of gyrations, jumps, and twirls as he collected the aether generated from the defenders’ efforts, along with the ambient ice clouds that littered the beachhead. “Is this the Crimson Lotus…?!” gasped Luluma.  “No… It’s too… blue.” “We’re not about ta die, are we?” Meriri said with a worried tone.  “’Cause that’s a lot o’ aether he’s gatherin’!” “Hold your ground, Angels; you are safe,” Mimizo reassured.  She spectated with a light grin as she watched her son show his true colors.  All of the aether he could possibly contain – and perhaps more – enveloped Thiji in bluish-white as he performed a dash toward the injured Muud Suud, glaring daggers at the creature who had dared to encroach upon his home before he unfurled his fan.  What followed was a sound akin to that of a shrill ring – he struck diagonally upwards, leaving a streak of white in his path.  He then descended diagonally downwards, landing on the ground with another white streak left in his wake.  He would repeat this attack thrice more as the aetherial streaks formed a star around the Muud Suud in a fivefold attack.  At each point was a large bluish-white lotus that twirled slowly in the air.  Upon returning to his starting point following the fifth strike, he slowly rose to an upright position before furling his weapons. What followed after a beat of silence was the violent display of exploding lotus petals as aetherial blades of silver and blue surrounded and cut into the helpless Muud Suud from all directions.  This would, of course, free the Voidsent from its bonds, allowing it to strike at Thiji one last time in defiance.  With a guttural roar, it mustered all its strength to deliver a downward slam with its fists.  Thiji was still, maintaining his position, for the climax was not quite over yet. The gashes and wounds left behind from the initial attack left behind residual ice-aspected aether, which sort of kept the beast from bleeding out.  It was because of this that the Muud Suud could still stand.  But it would not stand for much longer as the aether’s glow began to intensify, turning a bright white.  The beast ignored this reaction and continued its attack, but just as its arms were within ilms of hitting the Mythrite Sultan…

*BOOOOOM!!!*

A glacial explosion with force and sound not unlike that of a firework erupted within the Muud Suud’s body, blasting its arms clean off as they were flung into the far ends of the beach!  Everyone was in awe at the wintry spectacle, though they shielded themselves from the ensuing rain of blood with some convenient parasols, ensuring that Mimizo was unscathed. “GIANGSTALL MINE, HERE WE COME!” Sesena cheered to herself.  The other Angels couldn’t help but chuckle until they focused back on the shore.  The icy detonation conglaciated the Muud Suud’s body, inside and out, leaving behind a diamond sculpture of a corpse.  The tide would rock the Muud Suud’s frozen remains back and forth until it would finally tip over, shattering into a storm of dancing frost particles and lotus flowers.   And in the midst of this wintry scene of gelid spires and frigid formations… was the Mythrite Sultan, standing silently with eyes closed. “Well, we did it, girls,” Sesena congratulated with a sigh, “and in no small part thanks to our lord’s timely intervention.  Let’s see to the rest of the region before heading back to the city.” “I shall tend to our Matanga allies!  I shall make my return to the Othard Branch afterward!” Koyuki stated.  Lilina translated to their beastmen friends, to which they would graciously accept, before following them back into the jungle. “Never in my life have I ever witnessed such beauty and grace… and great sadness,” uttered one of the female dancers with a hand to her heart.   “Lady Mimizo, what know you of this spectacle?” The Valide Sultan advanced several paces forward, gesturing towards her son. “My beloved Thiji is a proud son of Thavnair,” she began.  “He has faced countless obstacles, and endured myriad hardships.  And any seasoned dancer knows that what truly separates masters of the art from fools twirling around bladed rings… is their soul.  It is the source of all emotion – it is their spirit, their conviction from where it springs.   My beloved Thiji has ever been fascinated by the colder climes.  He has developed a love for it, for winter and all things associated.  And anyone who understands the soul of winter to its core knows what lies beneath its dazzling beauty; its stark, silvery splendor…” Mimizo gave a pause as the snow fell upon her hair and cheek, basking in the scenery with the others.  All were moved by her words, most of all Veeveena, who was practically in tears.  She kept her composure, but the mere sight tugged at her heartstrings, which only made it difficult. “… It is sorrow; the silent lamentations of a damaged heart.  The Kriegstanz, though redoubtable in its own right, could not convey such emotion, for it was created solely to reverse the Danse Macabre – the Totentanz.  This dance, invented by my son, wears his sadness like a glove, and becomes an extension of himself, dominating the battlefield with the switness and alacrity that only a master of ice-aspected aether can muster.  It is a performance that expresses one’s longing… and turns it into something truly beautiful.” “What does he call it, Queen Mother?” Meriri asked.  Mimizo gave another pause before slowly turning towards the Angels to give her answer…

“… The Eistanz.”

It was at this moment that Veeveena, unable to keep it together any longer, fell to her knees in tears, succumbing to the powerful emotions drawn by this scene, coupled with Mimizo’s explanation.  Sesena hurried over to her fellow Angel to comfort her. “You okay, Miss Veeveena?” she asked as she rubbed the Advisor’s back.  Veeveena quickly dried her tears and met Sesena’s gaze. “Yes… It’s just… so beautiful… so powerful,” she replied, staring once more at Thiji, still motionless and silent.  “Could this… truly be the man to whom I may one day be wed…?” “Dear Sesena, pray maintain your current orders and ensure the surrounding environs are safe,” commanded Mimizo.  “Miss Veeveena shall escort us back to the city.” “Yes, Valide!” acknowledged Sesena, leading the others back into the jungle, and leaving the three alone to their devices. “I’ve known that handsome Lord Thiji for many years,” Lelena began as she ordered her adamantoise away, “but never in my life did I imagine him being this… well, powerful!” “None of us did,” Luluma followed.  “But if there is one thing I’ve learned from all we’ve seen, it’s that anything in this realm is possible.  It is clear now why he is no longer embracing the life of an adventurer.” “A true king doesn’t seek war, but always prepares fer it!” Meriri exclaimed. As the beachfront was clearing out, Veeveena and Lady Mimizo were finally left alone, with Thiji still in the distance.  The Valide Sultan slowly lifted the Advisor to her feet and comforted her with a reassuring hand to her shoulder. “My Lady,” Veeveena said in a hushed tone as she choked back tears, “am I truly worthy of this man��?  Could I truly help fulfill his dream…?” “If you were not, dear Veeveena, I would have not taught you so well,” Mimizo softly replied.  “As Valide Sultan, it is my duty - my charge - to seek potential suitresses and train them to become worthy prospects for my son.  But remember: this our last resort per our deal.  A lot may happen within the next two summers, so we will leave this to the hand of fate.  But I meant well what I said to you moons ago; he will have his Sultana, for a man of such elegance and kindheartedness is deserving of such."

"Valide, let me go to him... He must know... my lord must know," Veeveena pleaded, her grip on Mimizo tightening somewhat.  The Queen Mother chuckled as she shook her head.

"No, dearest," she declined.  "You need not rush this.  The effects of the Eisenstanz are influencing you.  While your heart may be true, it is still far too soon.  I wish to give my son this chance - to see if his Sultana is truly out there somewhere, waiting for him."

Veeveena once again dried her tears and smiled, getting herself back together.  Grasping her weapons in hand once more, Veeveena steeled herself and was prepared to escort Mimizo back to the city proper.  "Glacius.  Suki.   Pray watch over my son," the Valide Sultan requested, to which they would nod in acknowledgement before joining him at the shoreline. The Mythrite Sultan, now alone with his thoughts, had his gaze fixed out towards the sea for about a half-bell’s worth.  Glacius and Suki sat quietly by his side to keep their master company.  Lifting his gaze to the heavens, the clouds would slowly part, giving way to the light of that silvery star that always shone its light so proudly amidst the evening sky.  Thiji squinted his eyes at it, seeming to revile its luminescence, but his countenance softened after a moment, his annoyance subsiding as he would slowly climb on Glacius’ back and giving him the order to move.  His trusted companion took to the skies with his mate following suit, leaving the frost-kissed shore alone until it would eventually dissipate into diamond dust...

“I always despised You, Menphina... but I see now as to why You share the domain of ice alongside Halone.  ‘Tis no small wonder why the Wanderer longs for You so.  But it is thanks to You and the Spinner that I have tapped into a new strength, and with Halone ever at my side, this power will help ensure Thanvair’s protection, as well as the safekeeping of my allies.  There are still moves to make before the adventurers set their sights eastward.”

Glacius eventually dropped his master off at the balcony of his bed chambers in the Main Branch Headquarters, where Nyra was eagerly awaiting Thiji’s return.  Once done so, he ordered his chocobos to assist the Angels in their efforts, and they would fly off into the jungles below.  He then laid upon his sofa, relaxing with a pitcher of Winter Lassi that remained from his previous conversation with his mother.  He scoffed before taking a long sip, gazing back at the moon...

“I was never one to question Mother’s judgment, and even though I carry my sorrows with me... perhaps, when all of this is over... she will finally come to me.  ‘Til then, they will have to deal with Thiji sor Higuri, Mythrite Bachelor, and the Knight bereft of a Sorceress.”

[capricornus-rex]

What You Fear To Lose (2)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by: Anon | Prompt:

Okay so maybe a fic where Cal keeps having nightmares and visions when he meditates of the reader dying and the events leading up to her death. He starts being really protective and the reader tries to reassure him shes fine. But on a mission things start happening that he saw in the visions before the reader dies and gets really on edge. You can decide how it ends, aka reader dying in cals arms to make me cry or him saving her to also make me cry! Sorry if this is too much!!💕

Tags: Near-death! Reader

Previous: Part 1 | Next: Part 3 | Masterlist

2 of 3

The next morning, Cal woke up realizing that he was late for the morning briefing; he rushed to the room where Cham Syndulla and his fighters are gathered. He finds you standing at the far back, away from the crowd, yet listening intently to the leader.

“Hi,” Cal huffed, gasping for air as quietly as he could. “Did I miss anything?”

“Oh hey, not much. Cham was just getting started,”

You filled him on the minor details before the Twi’lek got to the chunk of the plan; pointing which teams go where, when to strike, and who to avoid. Later, Cham turned to the two Jedi which prompted you to step forward and the people gave way for you.

“This section is the most crucial—and obviously the most well and heavily-guarded—with your weapons and knowledge in better combat, you two are our only chance of ever achieving our objective. You must destroy the main shield generator so we can have a better chance in taking it down with aerial assault. Can I count on you, Jedi Knights?”

There was a pause. You stepped closer to the hologram, your head panned across the very edge up until the blinking red square on the map that indicates the objective. You turned back to Cham and your signature confident smug plastered all over your face.

“Trouble seems to be our only selling point. Why don’t we give the Empire a free trial?”

Cheers filled the conference chamber, brandishing their weapons of all types, and fighters poured out of the mound—a handful rode in their mounts, whilst several continued on foot.

You and Cal were on the vanguard, with a designated assault squadron flanking you for cover.

This was only the beginning phase of the plan. The assault squadron that charged with you traded shots with the baffled Stormtroopers that were standing by and keeping watch at the main entrance. The pair of Jedi assisted the fighters as they faced head on with the melee-wielding Stormtroopers.

“Requesting reinforcements! The main entrance is being overwhelmed by rebels!” a Stormtrooper cried out helplessly before taking a shot from a blaster rifle.

“Go, Jedi! Half of the squad will cover for you once you’re inside!” Cham bellowed.

“Come on!” you beckoned Cal and he ran by your side.

The two of you come across a human barricade of Stormtroopers between the entrance of the stronghold and you. The barricade was spearheaded by a rocket launcher-wielding trooper, he already had a single shot loaded into his weapon, and all he needed was to pull the trigger.

A torpedo comes popping out of the barrel of the weapon. With your combined lightning-fast reflexes, you and Cal worked together—with his Force-Slow, he hindered the slug in mid-air, ripples in the air encased the large bullet, and your ability to manipulate the flow of objects using the Force comes into play: your hands weaved the air in a continuous spinning motion to which the slug motioned in a similar manner until it now faces the opposite direction. Cal then released his focus on the bullet and sends it flying back to the row of Stormtroopers—including the one who shot it.

The entire stronghold is now on high alert, but the two of you eluded the eyes of the Stormtroopers marching across the hallways until you could reach the objective. Neither confidence nor arrogance have a place in this mission, so going in quietly was the best option. The hallway you prowled through was similar to the fortress in Nur, though neither of you sense anything… yet.

“Cham, we’re inside the stronghold. Stormtroopers are coming your way,”

“Copy that. We’ll be ready for them, they haven’t thinned out my numbers yet!”

You and Cal sprinted through the hallway, eager to get to the objective. Along the way, the Stormtroopers have started pouring into your direction and you have no choice but to fight through it.

“Calculating attack success probability.” The Imperial security droid monotonously annunciated as you dodge-rolled its uppercut punch.

This was already the third wave of enemies. The Jedi were beginning to anticipate that the next wave is bound to be more difficult than the last.

“They killed our droid!” a Stormtrooper whimpered.

“Oh no, now they look mad!” another followed.

To the Stormtroopers’ eyes, the blinding beams that are your sabers dazed them, messing up their aim and footing in effect; the Jedi were fluid and lithe with their attacks and general movements that none of the Stormtroopers’ blasters can find its mark.

The arrival of a Purge Trooper in the skirmish somehow became their beacon of relief. Humbled by the presence of the black-clad trooper wielding a massive electrohammer, they’ve technically placed all their hope of survival in their more tenacious, high-tier comrade.

“Two Jedi? Looks like my lucky day!” the Purge Trooper hissed through his helmet.

You made yourselves busy with the inferior Stormtroopers first before setting your sights on the Purge Trooper.

“Puh! They never even stood a chance anyway!” the enemy taunted, striking the floor with the pommel of his weapon.

Cal exchanged glances with you and for a moment, there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. With each of you running on the walls on either side and leapt off at the end with an overhead strike, you took the Purge Trooper by surprise but he was quick-witted enough to deflect both attacks.

“Oh-ho-ho!! A worthy challenge!” he chortled.

The joint stunt you did with Cal somewhat enabled the Purge Trooper rather than intimidate him, now he’s gotten more brutish with his attacks albeit sluggish—which you took advantage of. Cal immediately engaged him as a diversion while you sneak in and exploited an opening, regardless how narrow that window of opportunity might be.

To your surprise, the Purge Trooper deflected your sneak attack with his own gauntlet! A cocky snicker muffled through his helmet and he literally has his hands full with both of you. A hard kick to the shin from Cal caused the brute to lose his footing and it granted you a short time to finally kill the Purge Trooper.

You pulled your saber away from his gauntlet and while he fumbles, you released a triad of slashes across his body, severing his armor in half until an ember-encrusted gash across his body steals away the last breath in his lungs. The two of you stood there with your mouths agape while sucking in air.

“Well then… that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Cal blurted.

You threw yourself into Cal’s arms, not even as a response to his remark, but simply out of your heart’s content. You took Cal by surprise, he felt your fingers crumpling the back of his jumpsuit as you cling onto him. You drew the strength to pull away and shyly avert your eyes from him.

“Sorry… I just couldn’t help it… I don’t know what came over—”

He ignored your nervous rambling of reasons, he cupped your cheeks and his lips met yours for the very first time. His thumb caressed the fullness of your cheek as his tongue sneakily dips into your mouth. Of course by instinct, you kiss him back—tenderly sucking the bottom of his lip as you held him by the neck.

Even when he has pulled away, Cal followed up another kiss—but tender and short.

“Now isn’t really the best time but… I just wanted you to know it before shit goes down.”

You breathed out a chuckle, “Oh Cal, I know… I know.”

There was an exchange of awkward but endearing smiles, accompanied by snickers in between.

With your heads back in the game, you find your way to the place where the red blip on the map showed.

“There’s the door!” you squealed.

The blast door starts to open, slowly revealing a tall, hulking figure standing on the other end.

Your path was cut off by the Fifth Brother, a gray, hulking brute whose helmet made him resemble a Zeffonian or the guardian in its tombs.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he hummed, brandishing his dual-ended lightsaber.

“Wouldn’t you like to know!?” you snarled back.

Your lightsabers hissed back as you assumed stances. The Fifth Brother remained indifferent.

There appeared to be no room for small talk. The two Jedi faced the Inquisitor head on. Even though the dark warrior was outnumbered, his strength was twice the combination of your strength and Cal’s.

Meanwhile, Cham Syndulla was beginning to get worried why you and Cal were taking so long. He had feared the worst—and it has come true.

The Inquisitor has lured his enemies into the other side of the blast door, leading you into the exact place where you needed to be: the main shield generator chamber. Sitting at the center of the vast room is the pillar coated with electric currents—in other words: your target.

He’s made this duel much trickier. The walkways that lead to the main pillar had no railings, they lead straight into the abyss of the shaft, and it limited your space, thus forcing you to be more tactful with your movements.

“Careful!” Cal cried out.

“I know!”

The Fifth Brother’s fighting tactics was similar to the Ninth Sister’s, however, he moves in a feather-like grace despite his physical appearance—rendering his elusive and dexterous with his attacks. It was too impractical for both of you to keep on charging, it was a given fact that if he saw that strategy, he will just tire both of you out until he emerges victorious.

The Fifth Brother dealt a hit on your shoulder, afterwards he used the Force to push you away from him just so he can target Cal next.

When Cal got a little too close, the Fifth Brother landed his elbow against the boy’s jaw, disorienting him until he staggers backwards. He interrupted his fall by holding onto the edge of the bridge, the Inquisitor stood by the edge and hovered his foot just an inch above Cal’s fingers.

“No, get away from him!” you violently pulled the Inquisitor away from the ledge, making him return his attention to you.

He watched you bring yourself back up to your feet. You winced as you got both feet flat on the floor. The Inquisitor almost gutted you open by the abdomen—luckily, the thick fabric of your jacket only made the strike into a graze but it still burned on your skin. You looked at your arm, deep red blood dribbled and stained your tattered sleeve, and the seared flesh peeked through the slit that the Inquisitor has cut on your clothes.

“Pitiful! Stand up straight, girl!” he roared.

Cal immediately pulled himself up and saw that you weren’t in your best shape, but the Inquisitor had no regard to that and marched right towards you. The Inquisitor’s large hand braced your neck and hoisted you up from the floor, your legs kicked as you struggled for air, your small hands couldn’t loosen his crushing grip around your throat.

“This is the fight I was promised? Pssh, shame.”

Cal’s heart sank the moment the Fifth Brother drove his lightsaber into your abdomen. He didn’t even grant you to dignity to stand up straight as you prepared to face him.

The sensation was excruciating. Your body didn’t know whether to cough to recover from the choke or gasp for oxygen as you felt like you were a balloon that’s been ruptured open and is quickly running out of air.

You found Cal’s eyes, wide and wrought with anguish, and it slowly curdled into a seething rage—a dangerous seething rage that can be weaponized when the tables have turned.

[author-morgan]

Phobia ☤ Alexios

thirteen - ashes to ashes

masterlist

“Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.”

Fate decrees two kindred souls from two different empires will find one another, and the spear shall be made whole again.

ON A BLOODY altar at Apollo's feet is a dead eagle. A clear warning from Hera's corrupt priestess, but far from enough to dissuade the Eagle Bearer from his cause. "We must be getting close," Alexios announces.

An infant's cry pierces the silence and Irene immediately sets off. The cries emanate from a temple not far from the forest altar. Not thinking about the possibility of a trap, she moves forward. Alexios catches a glint of dark steel in the dying light of the sun and grips onto Irene's waist and pulling her behind a tree. "Cultist guards," he whispers. Then he is gone -moving through the underbrush toward the temple with sword and spear in hand.

He moves like Achilles. Distracted, the princess doesn't notice the brute until he is upon her. She twists out of the way and out of his spear's reach, then retaliates with a flurry of slashes. Yet is unable to move quickly enough to avoid being struck by the point of his kopis. A quick burst of white-hot pain erupts in Irene's thigh. She ducks beneath the man's arm and thrusts the broken spear through his neck, twisting the hilt until he falls to his knees -limp.

The cries of the baby grow louder. Alexios eyes' dart between the final vanguard, the temple, and Irene. She sees his hesitation and motions toward the temple. "I can handle this!" Irene tells him and the Eagle Bearer nods, darting toward the temple doors.

The princess looks up at the Cultist guard. He's at least two heads taller with dark steel armor and a heavy shield. His face hidden behind a helmet and fearsome mask molded in the visage of a bearded man. The vanguard laughs as he tosses aside his shield thinking it will be an easy fight. "I'll crush your pretty skull!" He goads, taking a lumbering stride –swinging a battleax in a wide arc.

Irene steps back then dashes forward, sliding between his legs and popping up behind him. She drops her sword and thrusts the broken spear up into the unprotected skin beneath his arm with both hands until the point pushes through flesh and cloth, rising out of his shoulder. He howls, arm falling lame and stumbles on his feet. The princess is unable to pull the spear free before he turns. She recollects her sword with a cruel smile. It's been weeks since she felt the thrill of battle rush through her veins.

The guard drops the battleax and struggles to free his sword. She dodges the first sloppy swing and ducks underneath the next, nimble as a nymph. "Stay still so I can kill you!" The brute growls. Irene stops in front of the guard, her blade lowered. When the guard lifts his arm to strike, she lunges forward -ripping the spear from under his arm in a violent spray of blood and plunges her sword into the gap between his armor and mask.

Pulling the blade back, Irene watches blood sluice down the dark steel arm. The guard claws at his open neck for only a second then falls back to the ground, unmoving. Sheathing both sword and spear, she's caught off-guard by the smell of smoke and hollow silence.

Smoke and flames spill out from the temple when she opens the doors. "Alexios?" There's a shadowy figure moving through the smoke. He exits the flames carrying the crying babe and gingerly places it in Irene's arms, his sight entirely focused in the direction Chrysis had escaped to.

"Stay here," he utters and she nods looking down at the baby in her arms. Alexios disappears into the shadows. As Irene begins to rock the babe, its cries quiet down then stop completely when she begins humming softly.

"My son!" A woman exclaims. The princess looks over the woman and passes the child to her, unsure if it is the right decision. "Where is Chrysis?" The woman asks, glancing around hoping to see the priestess who promised to cure her son.

Irene frowns. "She lit the temple on fire with your son inside!" And Alexios.

"Chrysis is a priestess of Hera!" The woman shrieks, clutching the babe to her breast. He had begun crying again at the raised voices. "She does what needs to be done!"

Throwing her hands up, Irene shakes her head -disbelieving. "She left your baby to burn alive!" The woman grows silent and looks down at her son, unharmed save for the scent of smoke in his swaddling. With a slow breath, the woman offers her thanks and leaves down the path she came.

When Alexios returns Irene knows Chrysis is dead. Among the first of many Cultist that will fall on the broken spear of Leonidas. They make camp next to a stream near the burned temple. Come the morn they will return to the Adrestia and continue on the journey to find his mother.

Irene rolls onto her side -back toward Alexios and tentatively touches the tender spot on her thigh. The blue linen of her chiton is both stiff and damp. In the light of the stars, the princess sees blood on her fingertips.

A long shadow approaches her. "Up," Alexios says after being nigh silent since he returned.

"Not now," Irene laments, waving him away. It is late, and she is tired after a trying day that has presented more questions than answers.

"Up," he says again. Sluggish, she rises and frowns at the thick branch he places in her hands. Alexios knows Irene is a capable fighter -but she relies too heavily on the shadows. "Stealth will not always be your ally," he tells her, swinging his branch toward her torso.

Irene parries his first strike and circles away from him, keeping her mock-sword in motion -continually changing her guard and stance the way Hydarnes had taught her. Alexios slashes down at her head and she counters -raising the stick high and striking horizontally. Her blow offsets his and the edge of the stick scrapes against his cheek.

She thrusts the stick toward his throat, the same way she would've her spear. Alexios catches the stick, pulls it from her grasp and uses them both to knock her to the ground. The princess glares at him. You fall, you die. Knocking away his hand, she stands with renewed vigor. This time their movements are more akin to a dance. Each striking and gliding out of the way but the match ends no better. After landing a blow to Alexios' shoulder, he trips Irene and is quick to place the stick at her chest. A killing blow.

When Irene rises again, it's clear she is irritated. Her movements carry more force and come faster. He sidesteps a swing but doesn't anticipate her sleight of hand. The stick cracks against his side. Alexios drops down to one knee with a grunt and turns -the stick thwacks against Irene's thigh -striking the same place the cultist guard had. Her concentration falters at the burst of pain, and Alexios knocks her to the ground with his shoulder.

She looks up at him, chest heaving and sweat beading on her brow. "I've killed you thrice now," he says, pointing the stick at her throat. Irene lashes out in frustration, throwing him off balance and flat onto the ground. She leaps at the opportunity and twists his arm backward, pinning his head between her thighs in a vise grip. Alexios struggles, taken aback. "Point taken," he gasps, gripping onto her upper thigh with his free hand -something warm coats his fingers.

She lets him up then pulls her knees up to her chest. "I'm not opposed to sparring," she tells him, "just not tonight."

He holds his hand up for both of them to see in the dim firelight. Blood coats his fingertips and when Alexios looks over her he sees the blood trickling down her leg. "Malákas," he curses, "you're hurt."

"I'm fine," Irene grits out, hiding the stained patch of linen with her arm. She'd managed with far worse wounds before.

Alexios shakes his head and moves closer to her, he feels guilty for not realizing she'd been injured sooner. "I don't understand why those gifted in healing ignore themselves," he muses. Every physician he's ever come across shows selflessness on the verge of self-neglect. Irene almost laughs at how true his observation is. She stretches out her leg and pulls the hem of the chiton up past the injury. It's a small gash struggling to scab over.

Shivers creep down her spine when his fingers brush over her heated skin -damp cloth wiping away dried and fresh blood alike. She disguises the involuntary shudder as a wince and doesn't understand why every time they touch it feels like her body in burning from within. "Sorry," Alexios breaths, thinking the calluses on his rough hands are the cause of her discomfort.

"No," the princess lies, "it's not you."

He takes the clean strip of linen binding his sister's baby blanket and places it over the cut, gently wrapping it around her thigh. It is the least he can do after she'd treated his wounds in Athens so diligently. "How about we make a deal?" Alexios proposes, hand still lingering on her thigh. "We won't hide injuries from one another."

Irene searches his face, finding herself drawn to his eyes -they reflect the warmth of the fire and are flecked with gold. "Deal," she concedes.

IN THE DISTANCE a pirate ship is aflame and sharks feast before the Aegean can claim the corpses and vessel. The Eagle Bearer's crew had made short work of the would-be robbers and now he stood back at the helm of the Adrestia polishing off the blood staining the blade of his sword and spear.

"He fights like a demon dressed as a man! Like Achilles himself!" Barnabas exclaims and the crew chants his name. Rumors were quickly spreading across the Grecian mainland and islands of the misthios with an eagle and broken spear. A legendary warrior many said. Others claim he is a demigod or descended from ancient heroes.

Alexios shakes his head and glimpses Irene from the corner of his eye -sharpening the edge of a dagger. He's found something far more impressive. "But have you ever met a princess with a body count, Barnabas?" Alexios realizes his mistake as soon as the word leaves his lips. When he turns, Irene is standing behind him, arms crossed and face twisted with anger.

Barnabas glances between her and the commander and understanding dawns on him. "Princess!" He cries in surprise, never thinking his old ship would see a royal seafarer. Though now that the captain looks over her again, he can make out the features of Persian nobility. Barnabas stoops down in obeisance and Irene's cheeks grow hot. The other lieutenants and crew members look up at her with wide eyes, their mouths agape.

"Sorry," Alexios mutters, hand nervously rubbing at the skin on the back of his neck. He feels like a fool. She accepts his apology with a curt nod, but still storms off to the opposite end of the ship.

Herodotus is only amused by the scene unfolding. He had been among the first to discern her lineage –before even Perikles would ever confide such a secret in others. People whispered she bore an uncanny likeness to the Persian princess, Amytis –taken before her time– and with good reason. "Her mother was Amytis of Persia," the historian explains, though the historian does not know of Irene's father save rumors.

"By the gods," Barnabas exclaims, still in disbelief, "I saved a princess!"

Alexios gives Irene time to herself before he steps up next to her –still plagued with the guilt of letting a secret like hers slip past his lips so carelessly. He opens his mouth to apologize again, but Irene is quick to avoid the topic. Apologies cannot bring back anonymity, no matter how sincere they are. "You say this Xenia is a pirate?" She inquires.

He nods, crossing his arms. "That is what Aspasia told me."

Irene thinks she remembers Aspasia mentioning Xenia before, but she cannot recall for what purpose. The pirate general commanded a fleet of ships from Keos. She turns to Alexios. "I don't think she'll take kindly if we accidentally sink one of her ships." The princess can only hope the bireme they encountered earlier did not belong to this Xenia.

[phthalology]

HUSH

Along came a Hunter, loping quiet through the pines. Early spring rain dripped from branches and needles, soaking the springy moss that carpeted the ground. The Drifter didn’t hear the Hunter approach. He sensed him in the Light instead, a sharp call from Sun to Sun, and looked up from the corpse of a nine-foot-tall Colossus. No one should have been out here.

There was no reason for them to be, not while the sun was going down, and not this far beyond the patrol beacons. Drifter could barely see his hands in front of his face, but he could sense the intruder. The Hunter wasn’t planning to stop. Typical Guardian—curious until they saw the corpse had already been picked over. The Light knew something the man did not. Drifter couldn’t risk having a person this strong see that he was out here, alone, picking off Cabal that the Vanguard might want to track.

“Good eatin’ on one this big,” said the Drifter into the humid dark.

The Hunter’s feet finally made a sound as he stopped short and noticed. “What are you doin’ out this late?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Drifter straightened up. He shook the jade pieces in his hand, pried from the decorative strip over the Colossus’ functional back plate, so the Hunter knew he was taking something. Less visible would be the much taller silhouette of the glaive he had used to pry them out. Tucking the weapon under his arm and leaning on it would make him look almost as in control as when he was on the Derelict’s gantry. It was good to let this kid know what was about to happen.

Still the Hunter (young, green, brave) didn’t know what the Light could really do. Drifter felt the sparks of Solar fire wanting to come to life in the Hunter’s hands. He’d be a power one day. Connecting directly to someone’s Light wasn’t something all Guardians could do, but Drifter did it and other Solar users were particularly attuned. Right now, the sense that was raising the hairs on the back of the Hunter’s neck was not like human instinct at all, not really; it was an eldritch tug up into the void. Something in this Hunter spun the Solar System around.

And that thing knew Drifter wanted to kill it.

“You really eat those?” The kid asked, still six paces away. The deeper darkness under the Colossus didn’t quite fall over him.

“Come here.” Drifter gestured with the hand full of jade.

The kid, no longer worried about being noticed, scuffed over. “I was just farming.” He had a shoddy pistol on his hip, one of those too new to be well-made and too old to be well-maintained.

“You see this?” Drifter opened his gloved hand. The jade pieces would fall if he didn’t be careful. In the dark the Guardian would have to lean close. “I’m keeping them for a new project. Cabal come and steal our resources, nobody’s gonna complain about me stealing ‘em back.”

“What project?”

“A new bow.”

“Right, right. For Gambit?” The kid folded his arms and rocked back into one foot, mimicking Drifter’s stance without the support.

“Yeah. Right. Look …” Drifter pulled the head of the glaive out of the ground, ambled across the needles, leaned close. “You’re not gonna tell anybody about this.”

“No? Why not?” Now, this kid was real new. Drifter didn’t recall ever seeing him in Gambit before. The EDZ wasn’t a soft place, but it wasn’t the toothiest either. So maybe he was brand new, and lost, and with all that banked power like the coal in a train that hadn’t ever run yet. Or he was a spy. It didn't much matter which.

Drifter tucked the jade into his pocket.

As soon as he withdrew his hand again, he conjured a Solar whip. Blackened bits of glove flaked off his hand, chased by neon sparks that left pinprick afterimages. Yellow curves snaked across the forest floor, igniting stray, dry needles. Solar Light smelled like fire, oxygen, ozone, one after another in quick layers, good basic elements of life that made the Drifter’s mouth water.

“You use the Light?” Kid said, as if on cue. “I mean, I knew you could, but, we never saw  …”

“I said you weren’t gonna tell, kid.”

Drifter scooped underhand, fast, and aimed the whip crack right under the kid’s chin.

He was young, but he was still a Hunter, and he reacted fast enough to dodge a bullet. The end of the whip blurred half an inch from his helmet. He would be blinded, long enough.

A startled, vibrant piece of the Hunter darted up into the sky. Drifter lassoed it with the magma whip, then slapped the whip burning down across the boy’s shoulder.

The kid clutched his hands to his chest.

Drifter reached the glaive out calm, slow, a mosey in the woods in the evening, and hooked his ankle. The Hunter fell forward, still protecting his chest with one hand, slammed onto the pine needles, and threw the other hand out in a feeble grasp for the Light.

Poor kid. Didn’t he know it didn’t always come when you called it?”

Drifter brought the whip down. One lash across his back, another trailing it across the back of his legs. His armor tore and caught fire in precise stripes. Too fast, Hunter-fast, and the Guardian was trying to turn over. Needles and dust kicked up, bringing smells of fungus and mud.Drifter let the whip fall for a second and stepped forward. The Hunter tried to kick him off balance over his shoulder, but— timing, kid. Gotta learn to lean into the timing. He never had time to draw the pistol. Drifter leaned down on the glaive with both hands and one foot and pushed it crunching, resisting, tearing through the Hunter’s armor and through his shoulder and through his Ghost, who he had cradled in the fall with oh-so-human instinct, and through the leaf-litter.

The Ghost core popped, little whispers of silver Light flaring out as it died.

Kid lived for a little while knowing he was dying. His legs thrashed, and again Drifter let himself fall naturally, slamming his knees down on the Guardian’s back and the arm he had flung out. Little yellow fires burned all around the clearing, brightening the Cabal’s shadow.

“Solaria,” Kid croaked. Ghost’s name, probably. Yeah, this one would have been a hero.

“Hush,” Drifter said, and conjured a Sun-knife with the last of his Solar flare. He cut the Guardian’s head from his neck quickly, nervous, the last of his Light going out. It faded from him like from anyone else, the Light taking its strings back so the puppet couldn’t tug any more.

Drifter stumbled back from the body, patting his pockets. Good, no, the handful was all there; the jade pieces had not fallen out. He didn’t like to use brute force, but the use of the Light had felt good. He could so clearly imagine himself cleaning the Cabal to eat. But he didn’t need to eat his kills any more, and besides, where would he put the left-over meat?

He went back to work prying the jade pieces out. With the Cabal emperor’s agent coming to the Tower soon, the Drifter needed to give his loyal Guardians incentives. He’d thought of naming the bow some side-long insult to the Cabal, but it felt too petty. Hush was a name many would read, but only he and the dead man would understand.

[alxx-lee]

When I used to rp for Destiny I had a lot of story threads for my characters and I REALLY like my characters sooooo

I might just continue that on my own but here‘s a long list of what they’re entire thing was from the first story mission to the SIVA outbreak. Might break these up if they get too long.

In the first Destiny, there was one team. Fireteam SolarFlare which consistented of Sabine Roska, Maria Rouja and Darrus-5. The team formed as an unlucky thing when Omnigul started to become a problem that needed to be dealt with.

Sabine was a hunter of unparrel skill and finesse but when she fought she was like a demon. Unbridle rage from the Fallen but would freeze up when it came to the Hive. No one really knows much about her, she comes in to take on bounties and disappears for weeks before coming in to cash them in.

Maria is a relatively new Guardian. Resurrected shortly after her death when a Ghost thought her worthy. She’s incredibly smart and inqusitive but naive and far too trusting. She has a fascination with the Fallen and the Hive that she devotes many of hours of study too. She also has an attachment to the light that the vanguard can not understand that she wields like it’s a natural part of her. Only makes sense she’s a Sunsinger.

Darrus-5 is a guardian that has been around for a long time, the amount of resets he has is remarkably less when considering the danger he gets into. He’s what many guardians consider a silent brute. He does not talk much but his ability to shut down enemies is legendary, despite that he is also a prolific Defender with how he wields his bubbles.

No one knows what went one when facing the Devils on earth but the three became inseparable, Sabine taking a noticable attachment to Maria but Darrus-5 always longingly looking to Sabine. The three went on many mission together and stuck by each through thick and thin but all was not right with them. Sabine’s utter hatred for the Fallen was a point of contention between the women. Maria thought the Fallen victims of fate and not someone they should tear down, Sabine would argue that they’re nothing but monsters that will kill them all if they let them. Darrus-5 would get between them but that would not stop the fighting, it would only delay it until the next fight started.

Despite this difference, Sabine and Maria became really close over time. Not quite a couple yet, until when the Black Garden needed dealing with that the two solidified that relationship. It did not last long though, Maria was not the same after the Vault of Glass and Sabine could not deal with it. The two broke up and after it was awkward until Darrus-5 forced them to talk and when they did they aired out their grievences on the matter. They remained friends but the relationship they had before made it stronger then simple friends.

When Crota started stirriing is when a familiar figure rose from the ashes of Sabine’s past did things start to change. Sabine’s father, whom she thought long death came back. It spooked her because she thought she was having a nightmare again, seeing him stirred up things from her past. It was then she confided in her team about it, telling them everything about how her and father lived on earth for the longest time until the Devils attacked them, taking her father away before ending her life. She woke up alone and it hurt to think that she would never see him again.

This portion is her and her father slowing reconciling as well finding out what happened to him, it was mostly the same for him. He tried to distract the Devils for her to run but they killed her before that could happen. What followed was a destruction of the Devils’ Kell and his own imposed death as he took them with him. He was ressurrected just a few hours ago. The two start to talk and become close again, but Her father, Alrin was not a great person to get to know. He had a horrible drinking problem and was far to overly protective of Sabine. It was an extremely unhealthy attachment he had and it looks like he wasn’t telling Sabine the whole truth.

Alrin formed his own team with a Veteran Warlock and Titan. they were called Fireteam ArcBurn

Alrin when first appeared is the type of man that blows off responsibility but approaches fighting with an almost unsettling glee that puts off anyone who fights near him. He’s grudge lies more with the Fallen and one that he takes to the extreme of slowly torturing them before finally killing them. Despite these disturbing elements he is another hunter that is without match when it comes to wielding Arc energy. He’s also very skilled in traps and tracking which helps when hunting down enemies.

Michael is a Titan that one would call overly friendly and kind. He been around for a long time and knows nearly everyone to some degree. He’s a positive force, a light in the dark with how light-hearted he is. He likes to resolve problems as quickly as possible, try to find a solution to fix it. He doesn’t like conflict to linger too long and prefer everyone makes up. This conflict resolution is similiar to how he approaches combat, one that he is relentless in killing the enemy until none stand in his way and his sun hammers are sure of that.

Vivennne is an old warlock, no one is sure how long but she knows many things and has seen many of past events. She was there when the Ahamkara were being hunted and it is one she is known for. Vivenne is a classy lady with standards far too high for anyone to meet. She’s calculative and cold when it comes to missions and fighting. She finds the way that is most effiecent and crucial to completing the mission. None shall stand in her way when it comes to her mission and she is keen on making anyone who stands between that pay.

The two fireteams did not interact much since Crota’s forces were vast and needed attention but when time came to fight the lord himself, they two joined forces. The fight was a disaster. It was fine in the beginning but slowly everyone grew tired but the near endless waves of Crota’s forces that all soon perished. Their light almost extinguished. Maria was the only one alive and looking upon her fallen comrades and friends filled her with dread. She did not want to be alone or perish. It was then in an act of self-sacrifice that she used her own light to bring them all back. She did not have enough for every one but her connection to the traveler and it’s light was profound and not one any understood. She used her sunsinger ability and supercharged her light to bright everyone back from the death.

Everyone rose, the fiery light burning within them had over charged their abilities and put them back in fighting shape but at the cost of Maria being drained and near death. For her sake, everyone else took it upon themselves to finish this. Sabine dealt the final blow to Crota and with his demise, the darkness that suffocated them was lifted. Maria was still in bad shame but they god her back to the tower easily and it was where her light started to come back. being near the traveler helped but she was still too drained and hurt to carry on fighting. Fireteam SolarFlare was out of commission for a while until Maria regained her strength.

[neonthewrite]

Vanguard (Trust AU)

(So I guess it’s just a given that I’ll forget to crosspost stuff if I don’t post them at the same time. That’s okay, though. Here is another glimpse into the unlife of Colfax as a vampire.)

 Colfax has lived a really long time. As one of the founding members of the Vanguard, he might seem like just another enforcer, but he's really .... not. At all. And the Vanguard doesn't like it when vampires make a spectacle of things, because secrecy.

Colfax happens to be really good at bringing the drama in these situations.

Reading time approx. 5-10 minutes; Some violence described

Vampire Trust AU co-created with @creatorofuniverses , with more stories available on @alittleblogoftrust

~~~

Year: 2008 Colfax adjusted the collar of his shirt, an attempt to make the tie more comfortable. As with most brand new clothes, that was a tough task. The whole suit was fresh from the tailor, ready for him to go and carry out a task he wasn’t fond of. He’d have loved to ignore the messages, but this was critical and he was the nearest Vanguard enforcer.

Someone was drawing attention. A spree killer, the media was saying. It was spreading information faster than the Vanguard could control what was getting out. That would not do.

After seeing some of the photos his sister had sent him, it was a marvel people weren’t already whispering about vampires. Disbelief had worked for so long, but now, it was harder than ever to keep people’s noses out of it. Photoshop was powerful, but so were conspiracy theories.

Colfax adjusted the cuffs of his jacket next, a frown fainter than starlight on his face. He’d tracked their quarry to the unassuming little neighborhood of quiet shops and a dive bar or two. The edge of downtown was only blocks away, but here, the hunting ground was near perfect.

He looked like he could be waiting for an event. Standing at a corner by a homey little coffee shop, Colfax wasn’t hiding. In fact, he was as obvious as he could be without making a scene. Haloed by a street lamp, passersby gave him a wide berth.

He was willing to wait there past the last call if he had to. The vampire making a name for themself in this city was in the pub across the street--an old business that held on while the shops around it changed faces every decade or so.

The place was on the police’s list of suspect places, and in fact most nights they’d had a man undercover to watch for any patterns. There had been three deaths within a mile, though not all victims could be placed there. If Colfax were to guess, the pub was the place to spot lone prey on the move without drawing too much attention. Even across the street, he’d already noted three people walking alone on the same block within easy view.

He wasn’t left watching people go by for as long as he expected. Before midnight even approached, Colfax spotted a young woman passing the pub with a pair of friends. When they continued down the block, she waved a goodbye to them. She’d parked nearby, so she said, and would see them tomorrow. Innocent, noisy, and brazen against the night. She may as well have worn a sign declaring her a free meal.

Any other time, it might be Colfax taking her up on that challenge. The most danger she’d face would be lightheadedness for a few days, perhaps a harsh dehydration headache.

If she fell victim to the other one, she would become famous, but not in a way most young people wanted.

By the time she was snatched into an alley mere steps from her car, Colfax wasn’t standing under the streetlight anymore. He arrived at the alley in time to see a flicker of motion as a door closed. Just across from the pub’s back door, an unoccupied building waited, locked up and perfect for waiting out prey like a trap door spider.

Ah. Clever.

A locked door didn’t mean all that much to Colfax. He followed into the abandoned building, a part of him awakening to relish the chase. His target might be another vampire, but a hunt is a hunt. Halls and offices stood in place of a jungle, and he followed unerringly after the faint sounds of movement.

The other vampire didn’t make things difficult for him. Doubtless they expected no one to have noticed the woman disappearing from the street. Doubtless, they had allowed themselves to become arrogant after weeks and weeks of the same without any retribution.

Hunting in the same place wasn’t a problem. In fact, it was still fairly common among the stubborn ones who didn’t want to move around too often. Vampires could claim their territory if they were willing to stand up for it, and the hunting in their radius was good enough.

Making a name for oneself? That was frowned upon.

Colfax stalked his quarry past several spacious office rooms filled with old cabinets and furniture that had been collecting dust for years. Chairs and trash bins stacked high in some areas, like misshapen pillars distracting the eye and hiding strange shadows.

Luckily, Colfax could see quite well in the dark.

He followed the sounds to what might once have been a conference room. His nose wrinkled slightly as he approached the door. A lot of blood had shed in that room, and so far none of it fresh. It was the vampire’s lair, without a doubt, and the young woman might be facing the end of her life soon.

Colfax rounded the threshold of the door without an attempt at further stealth. Once he found the other vampire, he didn’t need to hide. He wasn’t the one in trouble.

The lair was about what he’d have expected. A long table lay on its side, blocking off the view of the back third of the room. In front of it, the old carpet was stained over and over with the death blows of many people that had then been found all over the city. Dull blades piled in the corner, machetes and cleavers for what purpose Colfax wished he wasn’t privy to.

Really, it was just so over the top and needlessly flashy.

Colfax adjusted his lapel while the stunned vampire blinked at him. Already the troublemaker had the young woman entranced and staring helplessly up at him. His lips were parted and his fangs were showing, but he’d yet to break her skin. She only sported a bruise on her arm, shaped like the vice-like grip that dragged her away.

Credit to the upstart, he recognized what Colfax was and snarled. “Let me guess,” he hissed. “Vanguard?”

Colfax didn’t deign to give him a quick answer, and instead fiddled with the cuffs of his jacket again. Once he’d assured they were neat and even and his opponent was annoyed, his gaze flickered up again. “Vanguard,” he confirmed. “You’ve drawn notice.”

The vampire grinned, smugness and pride the only emotions he had room for. “Yeah? Here to give me a certificate? Maybe a trophy?”

“A warning,” Colfax answered. Already he was bored, and he had a feeling he knew exactly where this conversation would go. The vampire would resist him, and get arrogant, and he’d have to get dramatic. “The single warning you are allowed to cease your high-profile killings and allow the growing media interest to peter out before you quietly leave town and establish roots elsewhere.”

The vampire sneered. “The Vanguard hasn’t done much for the past three hundred or so years,” he pointed out. “I’ve been at this for nearly seven hundred, you poor brute. It isn’t what it once was, no matter what they might have told you when they signed you on as a new suit. I will do as I please.”

There it was. The exact sort of thing he could expect from a hotshot like this. Plenty of age behind him, a lot of experience, and the hubris to go with it.

Luckily, for his dramatics’ sake, precious few could surprise him with their age.

“Your warning has been given,” he declared. “Without promise of cooperation, I am at liberty to pass judgment. Should you request it, I can be swift.”

The other vampire actually let his claimed prize drop to the floor. She landed in a seated position, still staring up at him. Despite the harsh impact, she didn’t make a single sound of pain.

“Back off, enforcer,” the vampire warned. “I don’t care what you tell your masters about this, that you couldn’t find me, or you couldn’t keep up. If we have to fight, I won’t go easy. This is my town.”

Colfax side-eyed the woman on the floor. The poor girl was probably going to have some wild nightmares after all this, hypnosis or not. When he met the other vampire’s gaze again, he tugged on his hypnotic ability, just for a moment. “My masters,” he echoed, neutral in tone yet somehow as derisive as could be.

Vampire hypnotism wasn’t the easiest ability to master for most. Some could take centuries to effectively enthrall their victims, and decades of unlife were required at minimum for the ability to appear at all. It was a tricky defense, and took a lot of practice. Only the most practiced or the geniuses among their numbers could hope to turn it on one of their own kind.

Colfax happened to be both.

The other vampire’s eyes widened, and he lurched to the side with uncanny speed. He aimed to reach the door and find a better hiding place, perhaps, but Colfax could match his speed; he fed regularly, too.

His body slammed into the other’s with enough force to send them both flying against the door frame. The metal squealed and bowed in the middle, and Colfax latched a hand on the man’s shoulder just above the collarbone. Both of them had their fangs bared. Colfax’s eyes blazed with quiet anger, the other with loud rage.

“Seven hundred years,” Colfax said, as he leaned his free arm over the other vampire’s chest. “So Edward and Isabella had gotten married. Did you also attend the wedding? The coronation? What other fantastic things have you done in this long life?”

“Enough to last,” his opponent hissed. A kick with enough speed and power behind it to break cement came swift and unguarded at his ribs. Colfax’s bones didn’t yield, but he stumbled back anyway.

He followed the other vampire into the hall, leaving behind the hypnotized young woman. She was safe, and had been the moment Colfax stepped in. He let the other dart around a corner ahead, anticipating an ambush.

Indeed, as he came to the corner, a heavy shape dropped from above, barreling Colfax against the opposite wall. Drywall cracked as the man pinned him with a snarl, and Colfax opted not to fight back. Nonchalance would go a lot farther here than any defiance he could offer. The other’s snarl only became more pronounced.

Keyed up on bloodlust and adrenaline, the other vampire hissed in his face. “I was having a nice evening, enforcer,” he complained. “I think I’ll make my biggest spectacle yet tonight. I’d like to see the Vanguard try to cover me up after this.”

It was just too easy.

“I’ll oblige you,” Colfax spat back, once again meeting that gaze and giving a yank of his hypnotic influence.

As the man faltered, Colfax pushed back against him, grasping the front of his shirt and hoisting him up easily. As the vampire flew backwards in his abrupt toss, he struck the corner of the hallway and something snapped while the wall splintered. A screech echoed in both directions down the hallway, only exciting Colfax’s instincts further. He was upon his quarry before the other vampire even landed on the ground.

With his spine broken, the hotshot could only lie there as Colfax lurked over him. Behind his pain and anger, new fear lurked in his undead heart. Centuries weren’t easy to build up, but he might as well be fresh to his abilities compared to Colfax.

“You don’t even know how to brag about your age,” Colfax spat with contempt. “Allow me to demonstrate.” He stomped downwards on the man’s ribs to prompt a breathy howl, then squatted down.

“A thousand years ago, I watched the English skirmish with the Danes.” He grasped the man’s arm as it flailed at him, snapping both bones in it. “A thousand years before that, I heard news that Ovid had been banished from Rome.”

The man tried to sit up and twist away, and Colfax settled with a simple, straight hook to the face to leave the vampire leaning dazed against the wall. “I wasn’t done. A thousand years further and King David was building his promised land. He knew about our kind, you know. Someone like you thought to make sure of it.”

Vampires don’t strictly need to breathe, but the other was panting with open fear now. He tried to scoot away only for Colfax to grab the front of his shirt again. He pulled him close to meet his eyes one last time. “A thousand further still and my name already meant something. I could go on, but it seems you understand. You’ll be a spectacle, but not for the public. The Vanguard accepts your example. Congratulations.”

After so much teasing and pain, the other didn’t have the energy to resist. Colfax leaned forward and snapped as quick as a viper, opening the artery at the side of the vampire’s neck. All without taking a single drink of the dead blood flowing slowly there. A final insult.

He leaned back, spitting into a handkerchief and wiping away the remaining blood while the other vampire slowly and painfully ran out of stored energy to sustain his unlife. It was no stake to the heart, but that was a hunter’s method.

Colfax left him there as he stood and wandered back towards the conference room. He sent Gwen a quick text with the address of the building; she would likely have it razed and rebuilt. She liked projects like that to cover up a scandal and reinvigorate an area at the same time.

The young woman was unconscious when he found her. After a check that he wasn’t completely covered in blood that might get her in more trouble, he hoisted her up easily and carried her back out of the place she’d almost died.

He knew an officer to call to patrol the area and happen to find her and get her home. For unwittingly aiding the Vanguard, she’d earned a modicum of special treatment.

It was the least he could do. 

[castellankurze]

FSF - Iron Warriors (Heresy/Pre-Heresy Era), an unconventional type of warfare/weapon.

“Their coordination is perfect,” Eutropia said.

“Virtually perfect,” the Iron Warrior across from her stated with eyes narrowed in skepticism.

“No.  I mean perfect.  I’ve never seen anything like it before,” the Alpha Legionnaire replied.  Her fingers glided over the map of the city, indicating various markings made and subsequently crossed out or smudged over.  “We’ve tried every approach we can think of.  Sewers.  Heat vents.  Camo-cloaks.  Reflex fields.  We even tried brute-forcing the east and west gates.”  Her lips thinned into a line at the admission of such straightforward tactics.

For nigh on nine weeks the XX Legion forces - five companies’ worth - had labored to take the city of Castrus Veronia, a sprawling megacity nearly a thousand kilometers in breadth.  A request for reinforcement had come recently into the ears of the IV Legion, and the chapter of Warsmith Larisa had responded, bringing with them companies of the Imperial Army and heavy artillery provided by the Adeptus Mechanicus.  All of whom were about to receive a very rude awakening.

There was a rustle of paper as Eutropia laid a translucent image over the city layout.  “The problem is this central communications hub.  As near as we’re able to determine, it’s buried several kilometers underneath the city - too hardened to hit with bombardment, we ran the simulations - and it’s jacked into Veronia’s entire communications network.”  She placed a hand atop a pict-capture of a massive combat droid near the size of an Astartes dreadnought in the midst of tearing one of her squads to pieces.  “That enables them to use their pet warbots with perfect coordination.  Any detection of invasion and they come swarming in.”

Larisa pressed her lips together and reached out with a fingertip to draw the pict across the table towards her, inspecting the image of the war droid.  “I assume you XX have gone through your usual repertoire of feints and falsehoods,” she said.  Her voice was a hoarse, rasping noise, not unlike the grinding of her Legion’s war machines.

“You assume correctly,” the Alpha Legionnaire replied, keeping her own face neutral.  “Again I must stress that their coordination is perfect.  They respond to every threat, no matter how nuanced, with overwhelming force, all directed by the central hub, and we’ve been unable to get so much as a toehold before they come swarming in.  I’ve begun to suspect that the hub houses some manner of advanced AI,” she saw the Mechanicus representative twitch- “that handles the protection of the city.  Their response times, their adaptive tactics, they’re too good for human direction.”

“Orbital bombardment.  Smash the entire thing,” Larisa stated bluntly.

Eutropia thinned her lips.  The Alpha Legion did not pride itself on trading guile for brute force.  “We would prefer to keep such an option as a last resort.”

The Warsmith grunted and looked down at the maps once more.  “Attrition tactics.”

“We considered that.  We spent a week picking off what bots we could.  They drag away the scrap for repairs and the city has factories which produce replacements.  The only way to whittle them down would be by drowning them in blood, and we don’t have enough to make that work.”

“It may come to that, even so,” Larisa said, looking back up into Eutropia’s eyes.  The Alpha Legionnaire was mildly surprised she still had both, given the scarring that lined her face and continued along the right side of her head, leaving that side shorn of hair.  Like most of the XX Eutropia had undergone routine treatments to alter her own appearance into a shaven-headed, olive-skinned warrior monk, a face in a sea of faces, but given the character of the IV Legion a Warsmith who still had her original eyes was a rare thing indeed.  Not to mention teeth.  “My chapter is but the vanguard for a larger force, and when the Lord of Iron arrives it will not matter how fine-tuned the defenses of Castrus Veronia.”

Eutropia thought for certain she had heard wrong.  “The IV Primarch is coming here?” she asked, unable to help leaning slightly over the table.

Larisa nodded.  “The Iron Blood is approximately eight days out.  Ten chapters of the IV Legion.  If we so choose, we need merely shore up our positions and await them.”  Larisa went back to studying the tactical readouts, leaving Eutropia to stew silently at the thought of the titanic figure who even now drew inexorably closer to this very world with each passing second.  A primarch.  She felt a momentary jealousy, that the IV Legion could indeed call upon such a resource-

“Electronic warfare,” Larisa said suddenly, bringing Eutropia’s attention back to the present.  “These war droids aren’t hooked directly into the grid.  They must receive their directions via wireless.”

“We’ve tried that as well.  Their firewalls are very good, and the hub appears able to supersede any local vox traffic.  Our jamming has had limited effect.”

Larisa stared across the table once more, and then lifted a hand with her index finger extended even as she started to turn away.  “I have an idea.  Come with me,” she ordered, and without waiting to ensure the Alpha Legionnaire obeyed left the command tent.  Eutropia hurried after her, too curious to bristle at being dictated to, as the Warsmith made her way through the developing strongpoint of the IV Legion.  “Ophaellos!  Ophaellos!” she called out, and a man in the crimson armor of a techmarine responded.  “Yes, Warsmith?”

Larisa waved a finger at his chest.  “Where was it.  Tauros?  Torvis?  The nebula with the electronic interference.”

“That was Torvis,” the techmarine affirmed.

“How did you rig that beacon?”

“We tuned the systems aboard the Calibos so that the entire cruiser would act as a single gigantic vox antenna.”

“Could you do it again?” Larisa asked intently.

————————–

The bridge of the Iron Blood was a cavernous chamber, a place of stark utilitarian machinery without artifice or gilding.  It buzzed with activity, men and servitors at their stations coordinating the actions not only of the massive vessel itself but also the accompanying fleet of the IV Legion and their attendant Army and Navy forces.  Four days out from planetfall, the details of the initial drop and occupation steps were being finalized, a flurry of vox and astropathic communication between the multitude of vessels.

Amidst it all, a gigantic figure sheathed in steel sat all but silent on great throne of the Iron Blood, ringed by a bodyguard of armored terminators of the Iron Warriors and attended by a legionary in more standard armor, marked with the rank of captain.  The primarch Perturabo was reading a dataslate, absurdly thin compared to the massive steel gauntlet which held it, and yet the motion of his thumb as he scrolled through its contents caused not so much as a blemish on the slate’s screen.

A voice rang out, breaking through the hum of activity.  “Wide-spectrum vox coming in from the Ironheart!” the communications officer reported.

Perturabo lifted his eyes from his dataslate and nodded slightly before returning his attention to the information in his hand.  Beside him, Captain Forrix pursed his lips.  The Ironheart was Larisa’s flagship, and the report of a widebeam transmission at this distance was unheard-of.  “Put it on,” he ordered with a nod of his head.

A moment later, a disembodied voice filled the bridge chamber with a full-throated bellow of “BANG YOUR HEAD” accompanied by electronic interference from the power behind the transmission, a blast of audio so tremendous it felt almost like a physical blow to the chest.  Crewmen jolted at their stations at the unpleasant sound, and in the corner of Forrix’s eye the captain even saw one of the primarch’s bodyguard raise his stormbolter.  He turned his head to glower at the reaction and the man lowered the weapon once more, his posture sheepish.

Perturabo lifted his attention once more, frowning, and lifted his hand to make a curt gesture with two fingers.  The vox officer hastened to cut the broadcast, and the bridge chamber felt positively silent in the wake of the transmission.  “And we are yet four days out,” Perturabo mused, still frowning.

“My lord?” Forrix questioned.

The primarch did not reply.

—————————

In the end, the thousand kilometers of Castrus Veronia, a technologically advanced city-fortress which had stood for nine weeks against the Astartes, fell in mere six hours.

Blasted across the entire spectrum of vox capability from the warship in orbit, activity across the city ground to a halt as communication failed, and even the mighty war droids stood still and silent even as the armored figures of the IV and XX moved to occupy the city, encountering only sporadic resistance from hardpoints and individual cells that had managed to receive localized orders.  

Warsmith Larisa and Praetor Eutropia walked into the capitol building virtually unopposed, accepting unconditional surrender from the city’s rulers.

Indeed it could be rightly said that the arrival of the Iron Blood and the full fleet of the IV Legion served little purpose other than to ensure the transition of the world to the rule of the Imperium and the establishment of one of the Legion’s ubiquitous defensive garrisons, all while the Adeptus Mechanicus swarmed the vaunted central hub with the intent of picking apart all the secrets of its advanced technology.

Warsmith Larisa met with the Lord of Iron in his quarters aboard the flagship, and he did not fail to notice that a small crest bearing the likeness of a reptilian beast had been adhered to his officer’s collar.  “You blasted them with…juvenile music,” he said, his voice emotionless.  His eyes did not meet her own, but once more scanned the dataslate he held in one armored hand.

“Pre-Imperial recordings,” Larisa confirmed.  “A selection chosen for maximum psychological and electronic disruption.”

Perturabo lifted his gaze, his expression cold.  “You are dismissed, Warsmith,” he said bluntly, and Larisa departed.

Alone, the Lord of Iron slowly pressed a thumb to the screen of the slate until its display cracked.  As the seconds passed, Perturabo tightened his hand around the device, plastic and electronics crumpling beneath his inexorable grip, until at last he had closed his fist, the dataslate crushed to pieces.

[******]

[The Siege of Castrus Veronia was not entered into the histories of the Adeptus Astartes IV Legion]

[theonyxpath]

Matthew Dawkins here, with Meghan Fitzgerald’s Maa-Kep draft for Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition! Enjoy!

Maa-Kep

Shadow of Pillars

Spies, Junta, Dapifers

We would never say we know better, of course. It’s just that not taking our advice would be a mistake.

I listened closely while he spoke. The people would love him, he said. They would offer their loyalty gladly, and in exchange they would gain power over their own fates. All it would take was a revolution, guns and fists raised high in silhouette against the orange blaze that would light up the night and banish tyranny. I could see his passion, his dedication. His logic was sound. His preparations were prudent. Even now, I laud his efforts.

He looked up from his maps and schedules to beam a smile my way. He cut a handsome figure, there in the candlelight, and I admit his plan had merit. It was a temptation, as surely as any convincing bait ever is. I smiled, too.

“So,” he said, “what do you think? Will it work?”

“It would have,” I assured him. “It would have worked very well, were it not for one fatal flaw.”

“What’s that?” he asked, concern writ plain in his bright eyes.

“You told it to me.”

Tradition of the Amulet

The relics of the Maa-Kep are protective talismans, badges of office, engraved emblems that declare something to be true, and unobtrusive seals that can hold back power, carry it, or transfer it from place to place. Worn or mounted, they passively soak in magic and secrets. Like their amulets, the Maa-Kep are subtle protectors and preservers of ideas and ideals, those who quietly move power from hand to hand or rein it in when it needs limiting for the greater good. They serve quietly but never let anyone forget how important they are. They absorb information, only doling it out when and to whom they believe it’s warranted. They’re the secret police of the Arisen, and the beat they walk is all of civilization. They shepherd ideological purity; sometimes those ideas come from the Judges, sometimes from the mortals the mummies guide, and sometimes from their own meret’s priorities.

Magnanimous in Victory, Blameless in Defeat

Maa-Kep rarely take the spotlight themselves, instead gathering information and then reporting it to someone else who will do the forward-facing work for them. This is partially because they believe to take credit is to disrespect their place as tools and useful right hands, passed down to them from the Judges and the Shan’iatu. It’s also for plausible deniability in case something goes wrong. It’s not that they throw their friends under the bus, it’s just that it’s easier to smooth things over later when they’re not the ones catching the heat. They’re loyal to their leaders but unafraid to speak truth to power — if only behind closed doors. They shape civilization around them by forever making corrections and adjustments to everything and everyone, whether with one quiet word or with a brute force tool — like a fellow mummy or a well-armed cult.

Foundations

In Irem, the Dapifers were originally a collection of middle managers — slave drivers, overseers, and convoy masters. They gradually made themselves indispensable, demonstrating their dedication to making sure Irem’s caravans ran on time and their understanding of the inner workings of empire. The Shan’iatu eventually recognized the guild’s potential to be so much more, and elevated the Maa-Kep to act as secret police whose true purpose was hidden from the other guilds. They preserved the ideological purity of Irem, making sure no one strayed from the path to glory and conquest in the gods’ names.

The Wheel Turns

The guild’s secret duty didn’t stay hidden forever; by the time of the Rite of Return, the others knew why the Spies had been chosen. Their fellow mummies don��t always remember it, though. Having a Maa-Kep in the meret is a slow pendulum swinging between trust and suspicion, as her comrades rediscover her covert goals over and over again; but by the time they remember, she’s always made herself too damn useful to ignore. To this day, it’s gauche to talk about it in polite company, and usually the meret’s cults other than the Maa-Kep’s itself aren’t in the know even once the Arisen remember. To those who don’t, the Junta are valued advisors and scouts, playing the roles of coordinator, majordomo, surveillant, appraiser, and yes, spy — it’s just that few realize this spy is always a double agent, even if it’s for their own good. (Usually.)

Maa-Kep are kingmakers and internal affairs agents, watchdogs and stewards. They are project managers who support their merets and cults, rooting out incompetence, corruption, and untrustworthy sorts. They watch over their allies but also constantly evaluate them. To those who do remember their purpose, a Dapifer is all those things as well as the conductor who guides the meret’s train along the rails and keeps everybody else in line. Some appreciate it; some resent it; and many feel differently depending on the Descent.

The Maa-Kep’s cults are extensions of themselves by way of surveillance, information gathering, and spreading out like a web of eyes and ears with the mummy at its center. The Junta are men in black and spymasters, but also keen investigators with cults full of detectives and journalists, and mysterious strangers who waltz into someone’s life, help him out for no apparent reason, then vanish into the ether — arranging people and events on a grand scale humans can’t see. They’re not the ones who give a man a fish; they’re the ones who teach him to fish by writing the manual and having minions leave it conspicuously on his desk without ever talking to him, watching him from across the street with binoculars while he reads it, and then expecting him to do it right.

Once, the Dapifers weren’t the ones with the big picture vision, instead enforcing that of the Shan’iatu. They were content with that… but the Shan’iatu aren’t around anymore. The Maa-Kep view themselves as the Shan’iatu’s true successors because they enshrine Irem’s highest ideals. They know how things are really supposed to be done, and how to make sure they’re done that way. The less they remember or care about their original mandates, the more they build their own versions of the grand vision in their minds and enforce those. They insist it’s what the Judges want — who better to keep the seats warm for the great sorcerers than the ones who stood by their right hands so long ago?

As Sothis Ascends

A Maa-Kep deals with immortality by resting assured she can rely on her powers of observation and knowledge-gathering to catch her up on anything she forgets or misses, and by staying focused on the minutiae. She can’t contemplate the existential dread of knowing she’ll probably outlive the human race if she’s busy micromanaging everyone else and poking her nose into their business 24/7. She might miss old friends, but at least she got to know them better than anyone else did — probably better than they knew themselves. Thus, they live on in her.

The patterns the Spies see and perpetuate in the world are those of behavior, relationships, and philosophies. They track the principles every society values and how it maintains its high road, or falls from it into a subversion or even perversion of its purported ideals. They understand how civilizations rise and fall by the integrity of their beliefs, their dedication compared to their hypocrisy, and how well their people work together.

Starfall

A Junta turns her back on the Judges because she sees what she believes is a flaw in the gods’ plans or comes to believe that something has corrupted even those lords of Duat. Those who grow to resent their servitude don’t do so because they hate the concept of serving, but because they feel they’re not being utilized to their full potential, they’re being ordered to uphold an impure idea, or their elegant work is stymied by frustrating obstacles beyond their control. Others fall to corruption themselves, losing faith in their purpose after standing vigil for so long or craving the spotlight after lifetimes of hiding in the shadows.

Vessels: Amulets

Who We Are

Internal affairs officer in a metropolitan police department, monitoring society’s dedication to its ideals through its law enforcement

Deep-cover espionage agent, collecting intelligence about cultures and nations around the world and only reporting back what will push her employers to act the way she wants them to

Project manager at a large company, raking in money so the cult can donate large sums to ideologically desirable groups

Butler and house manager for a rich and bustling estate belonging to another Arisen and consisting of generations of a dynasty cult

Trusted advisor to an influential politician or crime lord, whispering and nudging to influence governments, underworlds, or both

Beyond the Shadow of Pillars

Mesen-Nebu: You make an excellent vanguard, even if your materialistic streak makes you a bit of an embarrassment. We’d never say so to your face, though.

Sesha-Hebsu: Without you, many valuable secrets would be lost. Without us, your judgments would ring hollow.

Su-Menent: Curb your worst impulses, my friend. Your work is important, but not as important as you think it is.

Tef-Aabhi: It’s an intricate dance we weave, isn’t it? We both have long memories, but yours are so much more reliable. Pity, that.

Wadjet-Itja: One day, we’ll dig up the secret of how you managed your chicanery, and on that day, you’ll wish you never pretended at immortality.

[denizen-myf]

Stormsong Investigation, a story by Myf (continued)

(Part III - VI)

We return to the story with a somber evening in Stormsong, the Vanguard had just witnessed an execution of innocent Tidesages, ordered by the Chancellor of the Krakens Counsel. The sun looms on the horizon as dusk falls upon the hills of Stormsong, clamoring with distant echoes of thunder. The Oathsworn Vanguard party begin their trek down the mountainside to reach the town they had just witnessed the senseless murder, -- no, massacre -- that had just taken place. Right as they get near the usual paths along the mountain, they encounter a squad of Horde patrollers.

There was a Goblin engineer that was particularly a pain in the ass. He tossed a grenade right to the feet of the party, a brave panda took it upon herself to dive over it to guard the others from the blast. It was a terribly painful blast, but thankfully all injuries sustained were not too serious and could be treated by the healers and medics on scene. Naturally the Goblin became the primary focus of the Vanguard and he didn’t have the time to so much as even draw another breath. The Orc, Troll, and Forsaken soon fell under their blade as well. Curious a Sin’Dorei had yet to be spotted in Stormsong.. Was it the weather that dissueded them?

The team was now not too far from the town they were determined to reach. It was littered with purple robed tidesages, they weren’t exactly attempting to hide anything so this was definitely a safe town for the Kraken Sage. It would be important to the Vanguard that they not get everyone in the town’s attention. They found a courtyard tucked away, to the side, and saw blood stains all over the stone. The party made their way to the sight of the massacre and now there was only one man, a prisoner no doubt. He was on hands and knees, scrubbing away at the blood and softly sobbing.

The man’s name was discovered to be Brother Wayland, he was a young tidesage in training, like Brother Winston had been. He was very helpful to the Vanguard, he told them about the prisoners there in the town, who had been broken of will, and would either convert, or become husks of whom they once were. He spoke about the few who retaliate, and how their fate was death, brutal and insidious murder. Now he was cleaning up after such an act for merely standing up for a fellow prisoner. At this time a purple robed sage has spotted the Vanguard and was approaching. Brother Wayland lowered his head and got back to scrubbing away at the blood soaked stone pavement.

“Nice talk you havin’ there?” A rhetorical statement as she followed up with “Let the peasant get back to work. What are you doin’ here?”   A Vanguard Paladin spoke up, “We heard of a group called the Krakens Counsel and are seeking more information.” The lady paused and held out a kraken idol. Having positive confirmation the Vanguard engaged. The woman was not a great match for the party, but following her demise, the kraken idol spewed a haze of purple and she arose. She was horribly disfigured now, barely resembling the likeness of a human, her head morphed into what looked like an octopus, with long tentacles drooping down from where he mouth and nose once were. A fire paladin purified her soul to death with righteous and holy flame.

Brother Wayland felt free to speak again and with urgency told the Vanguard of a third Elder Sage in the counsel. The third and final general that if eliminated would surely shoo out the Chancellor. He would likely be forced out of hiding in order to recruit more to his following. He then told the group where this Elder would likely be. They offer to help him escape but he refuses, as he knows his fellow prisoners would be punished for his disappearance. The party affirms they will send in a liberation party, just ensure no one else is murdered in the meantime.

The Vanguard follows Brother Wayland’s instructions on where to find the third Elder and arrive at the cliff of a mountain overlooking a wide river, wide enough for ships to pass through. The Elder was spotted performing a ritual, like the others had, except this Elder had bodyguards. Undeniably due to a security increase. Once the Vanguard had engaged the enemies they found that the bodyguards were for the most part staying out of the way.. A messy fight ensued, with all manner of magic, shamanistic calls, and glorious blade strikes. The man, Elder Gordon, became significantly weakened and collapsed, a crack was heard as his head slammed to the ground. Now the two body guards pulled out their kraken idols and crushed them. They then mysteriously fell unconscious. The gasses then flowed to Elder Gordon and encompassed his entire body. They hovered over him for a moment longer than what would seem appropriate before a scaled hand was spotted balling into a fist. Elder Gordon had taken on a grotesque form even more monstrous than the cultist seen in the town. The Vanguard once again brought blade to throat, for the good of Azeroth.

The Oathsworn Vanguard team was then healing those who had been injured in battle and assessing any long term ailments that would have any impact on duty, when something was spotted at the waterline. The same armored man, the Chancellor, had flown in on gryphon-back to meet with a courier. This courier was sporting the colors of Drustvar. Curious now.. What’s Drust got to do with this? The encounter was brief, and after the Chancellor handed off an envelope they both flew off in different directions. The Vanguard set the best of their clandestine operatives on the case of the Chancellor and the Courier, and waited for the intel to come in.

(Two weeks later, at the Office of the 9th Oathsworn Vanguard, located in Boralus)

It was late in the afternoon already and an urgent meeting had been called, and instructions were given to come armed. A map of Drustvar lay sprawled out across the table, with various points of interest marked. One particularly stands out, having a red wax stamp on it featuring a gryphons head. Lieutenant Myferae wasted no time once all were accounted for, “Good evening Vanguard, as you know we have had our best clandestine operatives on the case of the courier wearing Drustvar colors. The one we saw meeting with the Chancellor after dispatching all three of his elders. Well we have received positive confirmation that the courier has been spotted in Falconhurst this evening, and is staying at the inn. We must act on this time critical information before we lose our shot at exposing the Chancellor.” Following the brief, the Vanguard rolled out with an enviable haste, making way toward the destination marked on the map.

(Falconhurst, Drustvar)

It was nearly midnight, darkness clouded the area, with only a feint semblance of moonlight peeking through. The only other light that permeated would be the numerous lamp posts throughout the town. Drustvar harbored its own welcoming party to the Vanguard. When making their way through the city, they came across a pack of angry wicker wolves. Fortunately the wolves were weak and fell fairly easily, but following the wolves was a trio of upright standing wicker beasts. Two spirit binders and a wicker horror. The spirit binders stayed in the back and began channeling a bright blue beam toward the horror, the Vanguard decided the best course of action would be eliminate the binders before they found out what they were doing. The Horror became enraged and performed a bladestorm like attack, using only his bristly arms outstretched, he cleaved the party and gave them splinters. Nobody likes splinters so obviously they had to kill him. Once the group was done with him there lay only a pile of wicker mess. The townsfolk moved in and assured the Vanguard they would burn the beasts and they could move along.

Once at the inn, they all filed upstairs, following the intel gathered, and sure enough, lay sleeping in bed was our Drustvar Courier. A fear inspiring interrogation followed suit. The courier awoke to a mechanical spider atop him, he eyed his dagger, then quickly changed his mind when he looked over and saw the rest of the group. The courier held out for a while, but he could not endure the entire night, he eventually spilled the beans. He told the Vanguard that the Chancellor had paid him well to distribute letters or recruitment, renewed work contracts, and mercenary hires. He was able to inform that the Chancellor never spoke of his name, but that he is a skilled warrior, and seeks even greater power through the magical realm… He is on a quest to become something like a dark paladin, and he was somewhere in Drustvar that very moment in search of yet another source of power.

Having gathered all the information they could from the courier, they elected to imprison him and turn him in to Boralus for judgement. The Vanguard make their way out of the inn and notice a burnpile and give the townspeople a nod, the nod was returned and they turned back to marvel at the fire. The group then made their way to the docks. At the docks they discovered a hulking Wicker brute. This big guy was pushing a dingy back and forth in the water and making a grunty “splish… sploosh..” noise with his mouth. It was an interesting sight to behold. The Vanguard Field Marshal was able to gleam from the beasts’ rudimentary mind that the Chancellor arrived here by boat with only a Kraken sage guide, and the sage had taken off back to the sea once he had stepped ashore. She also saw that he ate a fisherman and it was incredibly likely that was the fisherman’s boat the wicker brute was playing with. Having gathered enough information from the beast, she released him into the water. The wicker brute became enraged and struggled to get back on the docks. The Vanguard was able to get a few attacks in before he jump out of the water and land on the dock with a concussive force that would rattle the wooden structure back and forth several times. The beast was then put down for good, and tossed over the side and into the water.

The group explored the dock further and found a large kraken idol. They were quite curious about it and someone tried picking it up, but it was quite heavy and they dropped it, it shattered and a toxic purple haze began to spew but a skilled mage was able to revert what had happened in that quick second with a time warp. The team now knew to treat it with much more care, and called in an extraction party to safely transport it. Meanwhile as the kraken idol stuff was happening, a few of the party had noticed a dockworker and had engaged in a friendly conversation with him, for some even maybe too friendly of conversation. Um, haphazardly, the dockworker had become utterly smitten by a certain Dark Iron Duchess. Fortunately that meant that he would be spilling the beans, and he told that he had plans to make way for Stormsong the next morning. He invited the Dark Iron and told her that if she wanted her friends to come along they would need the permission of the blacksmiths, as he was a new recruit and they had worked for the Kraken folk for some years already.

The Vanguard made their way off the docks, through the town, and up the hill to the blacksmiths workshop. They arrived to see an argument taking place between 4 men. One of them, an older man, stormed off to a shed and emerged shortly after covered in blood and had donned a pig's head over his own. He wielded an axe and a sword and was going after everyone and anyone in sight. He had lost his mind, but it was not the time to find out why, first the Vanguard needed to subdue, or eliminate the threat. The blacksmiths were frightened and stood back as the professionals did their thing and within minutes the crazy pig man had been dispatched. With the situation de-escalated the Vanguard was able to talk to the Blacksmiths. They observed some rusty kraken pins on their blouses, and inquired what they exactly do for the krakens counsel. The blacksmiths shared that they are crafting a variety of things, ranging from cannons, to ship parts, to armor. They even shared that they had received a pay raise and an invitation to move to Stormsong. The conversation was cut short when the Vanguard heard a piercing scream of a woman in distress. The party broke into a sprint to the house across the way and immediately discovered a wicker horror, two tentacle faced sages, and a poor woman, held aloft by the kraken sage magic, as the wicker horror stabbed her through the abdomen. “This is what happens when you oppose us!” cackled one of them. The Vanguard unanimously enraged and brought a swift death to the three, but unfortunately the last K’thir cast a spell on the entire party.

The Vanguard leaves the house and by sheer coincidence they spot the Chancellor and a truly massive wicker beast, it had to tower at 11, maybe even 12 feet tall. This was a Wicker Spell Master, and the Chancellor had allied with him, and was bringing him to Stormsong as well. The Vanguard froze in their tracks by the K’thir spell, and was unable to give chase soon enough, and the Chancellor was able to escape with his Devout Elder Kraken Sage, and the Wicker Spell Master. Once freed the Vanguard makes haste to the docks, where the Chancellor had called in rear guards. The Vanguard did battle with these Kraken sages but were stalled too long to catch the head triad of the Counsel before they were off the horizon.

Following the battle the Vanguard found the Dockworker who disclosed his name as Thaddius and was now bearing a shiny kraken pin. They told Thaddius that they had met with the blacksmiths and told him that they would be joining him to Stormsong. They of course did not need to divulge what exactly happened with the blacksmiths, nor mention that they had not discussed an invitation. The sheer power of conviction in telling Thaddius that they were too going to Stormsong was enough convincing for him. He shared with them the location on the map where they were to sail for, and lucky enough, they all could take boats out of Falconhurst! And thus the Oathsworn Vanguard set sail for Thresher’s Wharf, Stormsong Valley.

(To be continued)

[lordrethandus]

Mourn Not the Penitent Pt 4

Fifty brave soldiers marched to the thunder of war drums. Many sang songs, both famous in the Horde and obscure alike, while others laughed and taunted each other; anything to dull the edge of the impending battle. They seemed happy, eager to step out of the dust and shadows and reunite with the forces of Azeroth. All but Gonthar as the drums reminded him of home. He could still smell the Stonetalon Mountains like he was there this morning, the bitter chill of the wind sweeping through the passes, the fat buzzards circling overhead. The hideous glow of burning tents, and the screams of pacifist tauren and would-be heroes alike. The Sunwalker could still feel the tattoos etched into his hide when he rubbed at his neck. The mark of the Grimtotem would stay with him. Always.

“Sunsheath?” Sahe snapped him out of his depressed trance with the call of her soothing voice. The Druidess walked alongside him with only the clammer of her feathers and hollow charms dangling from her mane making any noise; she was always deceptively deft at keeping quiet, often catching Gonthar by surprise without even trying. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m thinking about Zolaar. And how Commander Rethandus is protects him so fervently.” He lied, keeping his gaze focused on the path ahead. “It is difficult to focus on the mission when that warlock practices black magic.”

Sahe placed a hand on his arm, if only for a moment. “It is only natural Blood Elves to protect their own. Zolaar will not walk in the light of An’she, nor will he bask in the Emerald Dream. He will answer for all he has done, sooner or later.”

Her words rang true but they didn't make him feel any better. Gonthar knew warlocks played a vital role in stopping the Burning Legion from conquering Azeroth time and time again; but their magic was an affront to everything he fights for and everything he believes in. One day Rethandus would see the error in trusting him, he just hopes it won't be too late.

Gonthar heard the distant yet familiar sounds of battle before he saw them, his forward scouts waiting at the ready for the Oathguard’s arrival. Down in the valley below the Burning Legion were locked in a violent stalemate with Azeroth invaders, with banners so distinct he could recognize them from all the way up here. Gold lions stitched into sky blue banners… the tried and true colors of the Alliance. Their vanguard held the lines steadily enough, but they gained no ground; packs of vicious felhounds and their felguard masters threw themselves against their shields with the full might of the Burning Legion at their backs, while human magi flung ice, fire and raw arcane at the demons from behind their ranks. A worthy and impressive sight to behold, but the Sunwalker didn’t march all the way to spectate; the anxiety of imminent violence turned his blood hot, and the Alliance wouldn’t be able to keep this pace forever.

The Sunwalker turned to his peers and raised one of his meaty fists. “We must strike now while the iron is still hot! Ready the peace offerings!” The soldiers shuffled about to make way for several war braves and the shaved totems in their arms. The wooden “peace offerings” were filled with an old Grimtotem recipe that dates back almost three hundred years, and served the tribe well in their long dominion over the Stonetalon Mountains and the Thousand Needles. The offerings were set along the edge of the hill, with their fuses measured to go off at the end of the hill; Gonthar placed a hoof on the largest one and readied himself. “It is time to show the Burning Legion that the Oathguard is still alive and kicking. We have not forgotten the Broken Shore! We have not forgiven Highmountain! We will march on their twisted keeps, shatter their portals, and slaughter everything that stands in our way!” As the soldiers purged their minds clean of fear and replaced it with a lust for violence, the peace offerings were lit beneath the Sunwalker’s hoof. “For Vol’jin! For Alucieus! FOR THE HORDE!”

When he kicked the offering down the hill, he and the Oathguard followed. The offerings rolled faster and faster, picking up speed until they were fast enough to topple a kodo; the unwary demons at the end of the hill had their legs swept out from underneath them. Before they could get back onto their feet and claws and cloven hooves, the offerings detonated. Grey smoke like burning leaves filled their lungs and seared their eyes and skin, their flesh hardening like the bark of the brittlewood tree. When they clawed at their bodies their flesh shattered by their touch, exposing their soft flesh and filling the air around them with their misery.

Gonthar leaned forward as he ran, feeling his entire body tremble and shake with every heavy step he took. His heart was pounding in his chest and his stomach squirmed in his gut, but he was ready. Wings of light sprouted from his back while he clutched the hilt of his sword, keeping it halfway sheathed while he charged into the bewildered demons. By the time he reached the bottom of the hill his eyes were ablaze with merciless malice so palpable it could drip down his snout like tears. The smoke had turned black now, no more harmful to the Oathguard than burning cinders from a campfire. Gonthar slammed his body into a felguard that looked like he was turning to stone if it weren’t for his felblood spilling from his gaping wounds, sending the demon up and over his body in a mangled mess of ashes and ripped flesh. He crushed another demon’s legs with a hoof, shattering them with ease now that the toxins had turned their bones to glass. He kept charging through the withered and dying, knowing they were unfit for battle and would soon die from bleeding out even if not a single soldier touched them; he saved his strength for the demons further ahead, and when he reached them, he began to do what he was born to do.

He pulled his blade out of his sheath and raised it high into the air, unleashing the wrath of An’she in a blazing arc of light. The demons nearby covered their burned faces and staggered, allowing him to strike them down with impunity; while he wasn’t as nimble nor as fast as his elven brothers in arms, he made up for it with brute strength… and charisma. Gonthar grabbed the hilt of his blade with both of his hands and brought it down as hard as the Tauren could, cleaving the closest foe in twain. His claymore came back up in an upward slash, then from the left, then another from the top right down. The Light of An’she caused the blood on his sword to sizzle and boil, making every strike he landed a lethal one.

The Burning Legion was now pinched between the Alliance and the Oathguard. Any demon with wings took off into the sky, only to be shot out of the sky by magi and archers now that they became clear and easy targets. Seeing the opportunity the Alliance surged forward, breaking rank to cut down those foolish enough to turn their backs on them. Soon the stalemate devolved into a bloodbath and turned the one great battle into countless one on one duels. In his righteous fury Gonthar vanquished every demon who dared challenge him, but the Oathguard was far away, and he was surrounded.

Teeth scraped at his armor. Claws scratched at his arms and legs. He felt the heat from the demonic felfire lick at his neck, but he hardly noticed; with the power of the Earth Mother in his grasp and watching his back, he was invincible. The Light of An’she seared the very ground beneath his hooves in a vindictive consecration and scorched any demons foolish enough to step forward, but soon their numbers became overwhelming. A mo’arg brute in particular cared not for sacred ground or An’she, gritting through the burning pain to issue this mortal a challenge. Its gory club came down from above and slammed into Gonthar’s raised sword, nearly causing the Sunwalker’s knees to buckle from the devastating weight. It raised the club and swung again, nearly crushing his hand against the hilt. A felguard came from behind and buried his axe into Gonthar’s shoulder, forcing him to turn and deal with the demon before the next swing came. Turning his attention away from the brute proved to be a critical error, for when he turned back to face the demon, it slammed its club into his chest and helm with a violent underhanded swing, knocking his sword out of his hand and sending him airborne. He didn’t even notice when he struck the ground. Gonthar rolled over onto his stomach to feel the cold grass poking at his snout. He opened his eyes to feel red clay between his fingers, with the familiar morning dew flickering along the ground. Then, he heard the screams.

Muraco Village was on fire. His Bloodtotem tribesmen laughed and shouted their victory cries while they dragged helpless villagers out of their tents. Children were ripped from their mothers’ breasts to be cast into the bonfire, filling his head with their blood curdling screams. What few men survived the ambush were butchered in front of their wives and mothers and daughters, while many women were subjected to the lusts of frustrated Grimtotem warriors; there was nothing like a woman’s company after a battle. When Gonthar tried to stand on his own two hooves his head began to spin and he emptied his stomach onto the ground. The chaos was intoxicating. Armed or no, his enemies deserved to suffer; defying the Grimtotem is defying the Earth Mother, and her wrath was righteous and pure, unburdened by empathy, and untouched by shame. Blood is the price to pay for any who would break bread with the lesser races. It felt good wetting his hands with their entrails, beating them into pulps; being surrounded by so much death was filling him with a joy he rarely knew. Gonthar reached up to wipe the war paint away from his eyes from all of his sweating, but when he looked down at his hand, he didn’t see the orange paste covering his fingers, he saw a thick sticky crimson... he saw his own blood.

The Sunwalker glanced up to look the mo’arg brute in its tiny little eyes; the creature raised his club for the finishing blow and dropped it down with its overwhelming strength. In an instant his euphoric confusion turned into maddening rage, giving the Grimtotem the strength he needed to defend himself. When the club came down he jumped back, digging his hooves deep into the bloodsoaked ground while the brute buried his weapon where he once stood. Then he charged forward, running past his sword and thrusting both of his hands into the exposed flesh of the demon monster. Felblood sprayed his face with the putrid stench filled his nostrils, but he was already blind with hate, and his senses already dulled. The longer he pulled at the entrails of the demon the worse his blood rage became, and when he surrendered to the fervor of his ancestors, he soon felt nothing at all.

[gameofthronesimaginesss-blog]

♡ Preferences #1: How the two of you meet [Female Version] ♡

                                     ♡ How the two of you meet ♡ 

Daenerys Targaryen: You first met the Dragon Queen in the city of Mereen, where you had recently been taken after you were stolen away by slavers from your home, the island of Naath. Your master treated you cruelly and beat you, and when Daenerys Stormborn and her Dothraki army took the city, he refused to bend the knee, blinded by his pride. The man died screaming, burnt alive and eaten by her dragons, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion, who tore at his meat as if it were a mere snack. The Mother of Dragons was instantly drawn to you, unlike most people, you didn’t flinch or look away in fear when saw the dragons, nor when they roared louder than any warhorn and breathed fire and killed your former master and tore him apart. Instead, you found them beautiful, and magnificent. Daenerys Targaryen told you to take off your collar, and to live freely. You shall have no master, she said. Yet  she had saved you from a cruel and merciless fate, you owed your life to her. You vowed to serve her until your death, and the two of you quickly grew close. You soon became one of her closest advisors, and Mereen flourished as a prosperous and peaceful regime under your guidance.

Yara/Asha Greyjoy: You first met Yara/Asha Greyjoy in Volantis, where she and her brother Theon had stopped for food and rest, before sailing East to Slaver’s Bay, where Daenerys Targaryen ruled in the city of Mereen. She’d first noticed you in the crowded market, and was instantly drawn by your radiant beauty, which stood out from the cold, grey crowd. Whenever you’d walk by she’d wolf whistle and eye you up and down cheekily, just to make you flustered as you blushed and hurried off. You were slightly frightened and embarrassed at first, as you’d heard of the ironborn’s boldness, but you became slowly accustomed to her behaviour, and when the two of you finally began talking, you instantly hit it off, and Yara invited you to sail with her. You accepted, as you saw a chance for a more easy and peaceful life, instead of living off stale bread in the dangerous streets of Volantis, surrounded by thieves and brutes. The two of you became especially close when you and her crew sailed out on her Black Witch, where she jokingly taught you how to steer her ship, standing behind you and guiding your hands on the steering wheel, as the wind of the salty sea blew in your hair, which still remained one of your best memories for the both of you.

Sansa Stark: You first met Sansa Stark in King’s Landing, when you, the youngest Tyrell, travelled with your grandmother Olenna Tyrell, your father Mace Tyrell, your sister Margaery, and your brother, Loras, the Knight of Flowers. Your sister was to marry the King, and the whole way to King’s Landing she’d been ecstatic, already thinking about a dream wedding, whereas you and Loras sulked, dreading stepping foot in the Capital. When you’d finally gotten there, and your sister professed her love for King Joffrey, your eyes fell on his betrothed, Sansa Stark of Winterfell. You instantly felt sympathy for her, her face fell from her usual pretty smile, and she looked as if she were about to cry, lost and confused. When the King called off her proposal, and instead promised to marry the Rose of Highgarden, she practically ran off, tears threatening to fall from her eyes, when you ran after her. When you’d caught up to her as she was on her way to her chambers, you comforted her and reminded her of the cruelties Joffrey committed, and how she wouldn’t be a victim of his evil games, after all, Sansa knew that Joffrey was a monster. She began to feel better, and by the end of the evening she was laughing wildly, which she hadn’t done in months. Since that day, you became one of her only true friends in King’s Landing, and the both of you stayed by each other’s side.

Arya Stark: You met Arya Stark, when you, the daughter of Lord Umber, was staying in Winterfell since your father was Lord Eddard Stark’s bannerman. You were training with Robb in the yard, where many of the Stark children, including Arya, had circled around to watch. The young she-wolf was instantly drawn to you, since you were one of the few people she had ever seen handling a blade so well for your age, and even beat Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, and the heir to Winterfell in combat. The two of you became close when you’d rounded an unknown corner one day, only to find Arya training with a dummy, with a small, thin sword in hand - Needle. When she finally took notice of your presence, she gasped and blushed red, embarrassed to have been seen with a sword, only for you to smile warmly, and correct the way she was holding the blade, before turning on your heel and walking away. Since then, Arya had undoubtedly fallen head over heels for you.

Ellaria Sand: You first met Ellaria Sand when she and Oberyn Martell had travelled to King’s Landing for your nephew’s marriage, in which he was to wed Margaery Tyrell. You were the middle child of Tywin and Joanna Lannister, and had refused to leave Tyrion alone to face Oberyn Martell, who was known for his hate of Lannisters. You’d entered Littlefinger’s brothel, and of course found the Red Viper himself, and his paramour Ellaria there, surrounded by half a dozen of Littlefinger’s finest whores. You weren’t surprised of this, Oberyn and his paramour were known for their vast sexual appetites, yet what did surprise you was the way Ellaria kept staring at you, instead of Tyrion, or the heavily armed City Watchmen that surrounded them. Her eyes were transfixed on you, as if hypnotised, before she leaned into Oberyn’s ear and whispered something, before they both chuckled and look back at you. Tyrion sighed. “I would appreciate it if you and your lovely paramour would stop eye-fucking my dear sister/brother”. You flush immediately, and gape at Tyrion, while the two lovers laugh, Ellaria still gazing up at you.

Margaery Tyrell:  The two of you met when you and your family had been summoned to King Renly Baratheon’s tourney, during the War of the Five Kings. As your family was one of his allies, and your father his bannerman, it was only natural that you had to travel to Storm’s End, as much as you didn’t want to. The kingsroad was dangerous, and these were dark times. Despite this, you rode out with your family and guards, dreading the arrival. Storm’s end was named such for a reason. It was known for it’s stormy seas and cold nights. However all this changed when you entered Dragonstone, and were greeted by Renly Baratheon, and his new Queen, Margaery Tyrell. She was beautiful and kind, and instantly made you feel welcome as the two of you chatted amongst yourselves during the tourney. She too, was intrigued by your gentleness and intelligence, and dreaded the time when her husband would call her off to their chambers for the night, wishing she could stay and talk to you for as long as she could before you had to travel back to your ancestral home.

Brienne of Tarth: You first met Brienne of Tarth during the War of the Five Kings, when she’d returned to the North with Lady Catelyn Stark. You were the child of Rickard Karstark, and had the honour of fighting in the Vanguard, beside Robb Stark and his bannermen. While the bannermen were preparing to attack Jaime Lannister’s forces at Whispering Wood, the soldiers made campfires all around, and were having a pleasant time over food, wine and sharing various stories from all around Westeros. You were having a fairly good time, and noticed Brienne of Tarth standing alone, by herself next to Lady Catelyn’s tent. “My lady, I insist you join us, we have a fire going, and plenty of food and wine”. You said, smiling, yet her calm complexion remained the same. “I swore an oath that I would protect Lady Catelyn”. Brienne was a painfully honourable women, a trait many admired. “We’re not facing any danger, are we? Lady Catelyn has plenty o’ guards defending her should there be any threat. Come, you look hungry, and tired. Some food and the warmth of a fire would do you good”. You weren’t lying. She was clearly tired, and her eyes were slightly red, whether from exhaustion or tears you couldn’t tell. But you did know the death of the King she loved and swore an oath to protect was dead, and it was taking it’s toll. But wordlessly, she agreed and joined you around the fire. You’d filled her a cup of wine, when an obnoxious boy squealed, “Aah! Brienne the Beauty, how does m’lady fair?” He grinned a toothy grin, while the men around cackled out loud. You frowned. You knew that nickname. Brienne the Beauty. It was often used as mockery for the poor woman. And yes, it wasn’t as if Brienne was particularly alluring. Her hair was a nest the yellow colour of straw, her teeth prominent and crooked, her nose had clearly been broken more than once. But her eyes. Her eyes were large, and blue shade of the sea by day. Her beautiful eyes were innocent and pure. “Take a look at yourself, you fucking son of a pox-ridden ass”, you growled, glaring ferociously at him, before he and the other men got up and wandered off, not daring to argue against a child of Lord Karstark. A quiet, timid “Thank you”, arose from Brienne, “for standing up for me”. You smiled. Ever since then Brienne had a soft spot for you, and swore to protect you from any harm.

Ygritte: You first met the wildling girl during an expedition beyond the wall. Your hard work had payed off well, and you were picked as a ranger, and part of a small scouting group sent beyond the wall to search for Benjen Stark, the First Ranger.. When camped out at the Fist of the First Men, you had run into a dozen of wildlings. Jax, Emmet, Fornio and you were forced to kill nine of the wildlings, who refused to drop their weapons and attempted to attack you, but managed to capture three. One of whom was a quick-witted, bold redhead, who had teased you nonstop the entire time. By the time your brothers were asleep, you were still awake, listening to her voice, teasing you of your commitment to the Night’s Watch, joking that you couldn’t take a woman, reciting lines in a deep, gruff voice such as “I am the sword in the darkness”, or “I am the watcher on the walls for this night, and all nights to come”, before giggling at her own banter. As much as you tried to find her aggravating, she brought a ghost of a smile to your lips, and instead you found her amusing. Everyone had made out the free folk to be savages, and brutes, thieves and murderers, rapists and beasts, yet here was one of them, with you wrapped around their finger.

Cersei Lannister: The two of you first met in King’s Landing, where you travelled in stead of your father, Prince Doran Martell, to a grand tourney, in the name of the new ruler, King Tommen. As much as Cersei longed to hate a Martell, she couldn’t bring herself to do so. When Cersei watched you step out of the carriage in front of the Red Keep, she took note of your grace and beauty, but did not expect for you to be hand-in-hand with her daughter, Princess Myrcella. Cersei gaped, eyes open wide with shock as if she were a deer caught in the headlights, wondering if she was dreaming or if her daughter, the one she hadn’t seen in years, was standing there, a mere few metres away from her. Getting over her initial shock, she ran over and hugged Myrcella as if her life depend on it. “My sweet baby lioness”, she whispered, stroking Myrcella’s blonde Lannister locks. “It is an honour to meet you, your grace. I hope you are not angry with me for bringing Princess Myrcella, I thought the two you would want to see each other.”, a sultry voice called out. Cersei turned around and met with those wild Martell eyes. “Yes, thank you, Princess/Prince. I appreciate your kindness to reunite me and my daughter”. Cersei kept her cool complexion, yet beneath that cold exterior, her heart was pounding fiercely with longing. She was enchanted, and wished to get to know you better.

                             [Gifs aren’t mine - Credit to owners]

[lordshaxxion]

Who is Lord Othion? Boy let me tell you a (long) story.

This fancy little bastard is my first Destiny character I made and thoroughly fleshed out. I might write his story out fully, but right now this is just a basic run-down of his arc because I wanted to give him his spotlight, bless his cotton socks. It’ll go under a cut because this will get long and I love my boy :’)

Far before the Dark Below arc and the real meat of the Destiny universe, Othion was resurrected in a small, burnt-out and long-abandoned settlement (picture the one from Zavala’s cinematic where they’re fighting Fallen, this will be relevant later) by his Ghost, Comet. Sass and snark aside, they bonded quickly and the closest place to them, as Comet says to Othion, is the Iron Temple (just go with it, I don’t know where anything is relative to the other in Destiny >:U ) and that they should travel there for Othion to learn to be a Guardian, and that one of the best teachers resides there that will help him. 

After a long travel, they make it to the Iron Temple with Othion nearly freezing to death on Saladin’s doorstep and passing out, only to wake in a lovely warm bed in a lovely warm room with a lot of lovely warm furs around him. Comet is whizzing around in relief and Saladin brings him some better clothes than the rags he’d been wearing prior. From that moment on, Othion begins his training with another Guardian, a Hunter called Cidrex with bright green hair and a sassy Ghost called Socks. The two of them are trained hard and in the end it’s worth it, the both of them seeing and treating the other as brothers and, after Lord Saladin feels their training has been completed, Iron Lords respectively. Lord Cidrex is a Nightstalker and an Arcstrider, Lord Othion is a Stormcaller and a Voidwalker. After receiving this status and spending much time with Lord Saladin, they both feel they have earned their right to leave and explore as they see fit and Saladin doesn’t stop them. Lord Cidrex heads to the Last City, becoming Iron Lord representative full-time there and strengthening bonds between the remote Temple and the Tower. Lord Othion, on the other hand, heads to the stars to explore, soon in Asher Mir’s company as his assistant and helping him to research the Vex through ‘research and destroy’.

After nearly a decade, Othion returns to Earth and joins his brother at the Tower to help the Vanguard with all he’s learned from studying the Vex Collective so extensively. When he’s being taken to meet the Vanguard, he keeps his helmet (adorned with an antler, see the doodle page, bottom corner) on to make a good first impression with important people he’s never met. On the way past the Crucible area, he sees Lord Shaxx for the first time and he’s blown away almost by just how huge this Titan is, how he shouts praise and boasts his Crucible to passing Guardians. Cidrex pulls his brother along and the meeting with the Vanguard goes smoothly, Othion removing his helmet with his back to the hallway behind them and giving his research to Ikora respectively.

Meeting done, Cidrex takes Othion (helmet back on in somewhat shyness, somewhat discomfort) for a tour around the Tower and shows him around. As they get to the end of their tour, stopping near Eris’ creepy corner, Cidrex is about to say they should go and get dinner in this neat little place he knows when they hear Shaxx laugh at a small gaggle of Guardians and say “You want the Crucible? I am the Crucible.” Othion is enraptured by this, unable to take his eyes off him for a moment.

“I’m going to punch the Crucible.” “Othion, no-” “Othion, yes.”

And with that, he marches over to Shaxx and demands a match off him. Fists and class abilities only, no weapons, no supers, no nothing. Shaxx laughs, finding a Warlock of all Guardians demanding such a thing off him. He finds it cute, endearing almost, and something familiar about the way this stranger holds himself. He agrees, because it will at least serve as a reminder as to why he is unbeaten in his own Crucible. An hour later, and the match begins in what I like to think of as an arena, like a Colosseum arena with crowds filling it.

The fight is swift and fast-paced, Othion blinking circles around Shaxx and using his agility to his advantage, striking Shaxx a couple times and receiving a punch to the shoulder that sends him off-balance and blinking back a couple paces to recover. Shaxx laughs and asks if he’s had enough.

“Enough games.”

Othion launches himself at Shaxx, running full-pelt towards the Titan and Shaxx readies himself to attack when suddenly Othion jumps and blinks towards him, suddenly appearing in his close-quarters and punching him in the face. Full Warlock melee force behind it, square in the helmeted jaw, fist full of Void, and it’s powerful enough to send Shaxx flying backwards across the arena, skidding to a halt flat on his backside. The crowd goes silent, everyone watching the broadcast goes silent. They can’t believe it. Lord Shaxx? Defeated? In his own Crucible? Lord Othion moves over and helps the Titan up, and the arena bursts into a tumultuous roar, a cacophany of cheers because someone has beaten Shaxx in living memory. Then, as Shaxx is standing and blinking the dazed sensation from his head, he drops to one knee and holds Othion’s hand. The arena falls silent again, murmurs spreading throughout the crowd as Shaxx says just one thing.

“Marry me.” And Othion leans in close.

“I will say yes, but only if you can defeat me in another match. It will be set on your terms and when you are ready. But if you cannot defeat me, then my answer will be no and it will always be no. You have one shot.”

The stakes are high, but Shaxx accepts. And then he begins to train. He trains and trains and trains and between then and the ‘proposal battle’, he is determined to get to know Othion. He takes him out on sparrow rides, for dates, for long walks around the City to see the sights and Othion helps run Crucible matches (Shaxx learns he gets just as into the matches, shouting and getting carried away as he does. He loves this man.) before they go out on one last date right before Shaxx demands the battle. They have agreed the whole time to never see the other’s face, and agreed that they remove their helmets the night before the match, whenever that is to be set. The night before the match is set, Shaxx takes Othion out somewhere to see fireflies, the only spot he knows of where it is undisturbed and silent and just perfect.

As they walk through an abandoned settlement after spending the whole day getting there, the sun casts a golden glow on everything as it sets and it takes Othion a moment of brief conversing with Comet through their bond to understand where they are. He jogs ahead to what used to be a street, dilapidated buildings crumbling either side of him, and stops suddenly, humming. Shaxx asks what’s wrong and Othion just laughs softly, shaking his head.

“This is where Comet found me. This is where I was resurrected.” He says, looking at Shaxx. Shaxx can’t believe him, he knows this area, he knows the horrors, the tragedies that happened here. Othion insists it’s the right place and Shaxx demands he removes his helmet while they still have daylight. Removing his first, Shaxx stares Othion down. Dark, star-studded cheeks and burning red eyes stare at Othion, the other realising that Shaxx is Deepborn before complying and removing his. The second Shaxx sees his face, he recognises him and it brings nothing but a mess of joy and distress as he falls to his knees, crying. Othion panics, going to him and waiting for Shaxx to explain as he comforts him.

Hundreds of years ago, when they moved from settlement to settlement, before the City was even conceived, Shaxx fell in love with a mortal man. A civilian, named Orion. He was kind, always worrying about Shaxx even though the Titan always insisted he needn’t. Orion loved Shaxx too, but neither of them gathered the courage to tell the other until it was far too late. The Fallen attacked the settlement, burning buildings and ravaging the people there and the few Risen, as they were called, struggled to beat them back. Even with Zavala’s might, Shaxx’s brute strength and Saladin’s determination, they weren’t enough and they lost many to the Fallen. Amidst the fight, Shaxx ran off to try and find Othion, having lost sight of him when several Vandals cornered him. He shouted his name and finally saw him in one of the streets, frantically trying to reload his weapon. Seeing Shaxx, he shouted to him. Schlick. A Fallen arc spear sliced through his chest, Orion coughing blood in shock and staring wide-eyed at Shaxx. It took the Titan seconds to crush the Captain that had done it, kicking its carcass away and cradling his lover. The blood was sticking to his armour, but he didn’t care. Orion was dying and he hadn’t been there to protect him. Shaxx couldn’t help himself, he confessed his feelings and Orion just laughed softly, cupping his helmet. Asking him to promise that he wouldn’t just give up, that he would protect the people, that he would keep going, Orion died in Shaxx’s arms and the rage that overcame the Titan was powerful enough to manifest in Solar dripping from his fists. Laying his fallen lover down, he stood and laid waste to the rest of the Fallen and it wasn’t until every last one had been eliminated did he finally calm, sinking to his knees in grief and sobbing. Since that day, he never looked at another the same way, he couldn’t bring himself to. Orion still held a place in Shaxx’s heart.

And here he was, staring at the face of his long-lost lover, albeit a different species now, but regardless. Orion had returned to him, with no recollection of his past life and a strength Shaxx could only wish he’d had all those years ago. With Othion crying quietly, holding Shaxx gently, the Titan resolved that he would win the fight tomorrow, or he’d die trying. Othion said he wouldn’t just gift it to him, and Shaxx wouldn’t expect him to. They watch the fireflies together, Shaxx admitting to Othion that it was Orion who showed this place to him lifetimes ago and that it was somewhat cathartic with this revelation of who Othion was.

The fight came and went, Shaxx beating Othion into the ground successfully and after a long and drawn-out fight of two seemingly-matched powers. They were wed, the Speaker giving them both his and the Traveler’s blessings and the exchange of matching Bond and Mark signifying their Lights were now as one, half the congregation crying, the Vanguard included. From then on, Lord Othion assists Lord Shaxx with the running of the Crucible, many Guardians coining the nickname ‘Crucible Husbands’ for them both with the iron fist and ferocity they both command the Crucible with. Othion assists Shaxx with outfitting Guardians for the Crucible, handling their rewards and seeing to the arenas being made ready for matches.

Basically they love each other very much and would do anything for the other, their relationship is well-founded and not solely based on the fact that Othion was Shaxx’s lover from another life; they talked about that issue and Shaxx affirmed that he was intent on marrying Othion for his skill and the personality he was presented with in the fight and the lead-up to the reveal of who he was, not for his face and the remnant of a life long gone. Their honeymoon was them making the best love, and bonding their Lights together, in Shaxx’s little apartment on a bed decorated with furs in candlelight, with a lot of laughter and silly leadup and perfect aftercare. Because they love each other. Very. Much.