#but the dwarves did poison an entire race

[moontheoretist]

Titans are just enormous Magical Beings

For the longest time the thing that gave me issues in Dragon Age lore was lyrium and it's weird contradictory properties. Considering that it was blood of the Titans, they also by extension threw a wrench into my ability to understand the world of Thedas and how the entire system worked due to the fact that their children - dwarves were not able to cast any magic and had magic resistance. But nowadays, with Dragon Age Veilguard confirming that the Elven Gods were in fact blighted and showing us yet another example of dwarven magic, I found myself changing the way I thought about the Titans. I always knew that the lyrium was the key to understand this world, but it was hard for me to comprehend, because I focused on its contradictory features.

Before I though that Titans must have been apotheosis to the ancient magical world of the Fade, even if it didn't make much sense. I always considered the idea that in the Fade World before the Veil, Titans were existing for some kind of reason and their interaction with the magical world was unique, but only now did I dare to actually stop seeing them as antithesis to magic and instead I saw them as magical creatures.

If the world of Thedas was always brimming with magic and only the creation of a Veil put a stop to that, then Titans must have been woven into that world more intrinsically than even elves themselves as they were the very ground that existed in that world. When I look at the Titans now I see them as enormous magical creatures whose blood is purest form of magic - lyrium. Their children are more or less resistant to it, because they lived inside of the magical being. Lyrium as potent raw magic is dangerous and can kill all races, but mages especially.

Before I thought it was because of some anti-magic properties of the lyrium, but now I think it's the opposite. Lyrium is simply so potent that mages who are naturally sensitive to magic can be killed by just touching it - overloaded with its power. But they can safely use it in a distilled form of lyrium potions. The magebane poison seemed to be at odds with my train of thoughts, but then I realized that it's the same principle as with creating an antidote. You need the poison to make the antidote, and the same is true for magebane, so you need lyrium to create something that acts like a poison to those who use magic and drains them of their mana, just as much as you need lyrium for something that can replenish and boost magical abilities like a potion.

When I look at this like that, Thedas magic system starts to suddenly make much more sense. Titans are enormous magical creatures with a magical core that can enhance abilities of mages (check: Evanuris), maybe related to Rock Wraiths as it wouldn't be far from the realm of possibility for Titans to be actually spirits dotted in a rock-like form.

Spirits are afterall native to the Fade World, its original inhabitants. The beings from which elves eventually are formed (as we theorize). Which means that dwarves who are children of the Titans are also by the virtue of Titans being magical creatures, capable of casting magic. And that also explains why Genlock Emissaries even could exist.

The only problem I had was that I didn't know how to explain Templars who also ingest lyrium. But thanks to Alistair I knew that even in their case it's more of the situation of boosting the already existing abilities rather than granting them, as Alistair's existence proved to us that the Templar abilities are not granted by lyrium. This train of thoughts is then further supported by what we know about the Seekers. Basically Seekers are ideal Templars. Their abilities are similar if not the same, but they don't need lyrium, and they are granted by the Spirit of Faith via the process that is similar to Tranquility. It means that whatever training Templars are put through involves the element of spirituality - the involvement of the Spirit from the Fade, but the result is far worse than in the case of the Seekers (maybe because it doesn't involve any Benevolent spirit like Faith, Justice etc. but just regular small spirits). I'm still on the fence about if Templars truly need to boost their magic-like abilities to be as effective as the Seekers with lyrium, or the entire thing is just Chantry's scheme to keep their Order in line, but the core idea is that Templars and Seekers are lowkey magical classes as well.

Spirits from the Fade are after all beings of magic and emotions.

If my thinking is correct then the entire world suddenly makes sense. Everything that needs lyrium to properly function is always lowkey magical and by extension also spiritual due to spirits being magical beings as well. Like Anvil of the Void that could literally attach a spirit to a body made of rock. Or runes that have magic-like effects. And then we have the Blight that is also tied to the Titans somehow, as with Elven Gods being officially confirmed not only to be blighted but also capable of ordering the Archdemons and the Darkspawn, we are now finally sure that Blight existed long before the Magisters Sidereal breached the Golden City. We also have codexes to support the fact that elves discovered the Blight and then tried to bury it back, without any actual success. It would also explain how when the First Blight began there were hordes of Darkspawn already ready for invasion coming from beneath. As if some of them already existed long before that, but they were trapped somewhere deep down, waiting to be released. I bet that original Darspawn were mostly made of genlocks and shrieks, but after being released the horde acquired more women of various races (humans, kossith) and grew even more numerous and even more diverse, unless ofc Kossith already existed during the time of the ancient elves, and before the fall of the Elvhenan civilisation.

Which once again brings my thoughts back to the fact that humans only appeared in the world of Thedas after the Veil was created. And if we assume that Fade existed on the entire planet rather than in the pockets of space, and take into consideration that other races than elves feel sick when in the presence of the Fade, it either means that humans didn't exist or that they came from somewhere where Fade didn't exist, or where the Fade was weak enough that they could live.

They had to after all be from Thedas to be able to use magic.

Anyway, that's not the topic of this post, albeit connected.

Everything simply just slots together if we don't assume that Titans are anything else than magical beings. Why would they exist in the Fade World and have rock hearts that can boost magic otherwise?

I still don't know how dragons factor into everything, but considering that Evanuris took forms of the dragons as a sign of power, we can safely assume that Dragons are also one of the most ancient beings, whose mere existence is associated with authority, magic and power.

[tes-trash-blog]

Day 5: Poison

The Dwarves kept their cells hot, humid, unbearable. They kept the cells crowded, filled with misery. Men did not weep, but here they did, and it was painful to watch. The magnesium lights were a poor substitute for the warmth and light of the sun, of Auri-El’s embrace.

Arevus missed that embrace of the sun, of the blackbird, but they took both away. The Dwarves separated the men from the women for reasons he dared to dwell on. The thought made him sick though he did not know why. He did not think often anymore. The ohtar (“Only ohtar,” she said when he asked for a name) often said he was unburdened by thought, all the best for they would only age him, mar him. This was before the Two Year Night, before their hope became broken in that endless dark. Before they took him, his tongue, that which he could not remember anymore, but surely something else happened. He felt sick again. The sickness did not recede until the door to the crowded cell opened, and the pallid ones spoke behind their brass masks. He knew little in the way of Dwemeri, but he knew enough to understand it was his time as well as two others. The other men did nothing; most did not even look his way and give a silent goodbye. Arevus and the rest held out against hunger, against pain and torment, all of it. Anything to keep their sight, their most sacred sight..

Arevus put up a struggle, but if he was honest with himself the will was gone. He was weak, and so tired, and he missed his friends, most of all the ohtar. She adopted a name, this he knew as much, named by the Prince who she swore herself to, but for the life of him he could not remember. Tears fell and he did not have the decency to hide them. 

He and the other sacrifices were not dragged but carried, by stretcher and by fabricant spider. The brass things frightened him, as no sacred creation should lack the will to breathe, but against divine will they existed all the same. The heretical Dwarves paid him no mind as they guided the transport. Arevus did not move; even if his strength magically returned, he could not move due to the restraints about his wrists and ankles. A band was placed over his mouth to keep him from crying out, another about the forehead to keep him from staring at anything other than the tall ceiling of Blackreach. He could not hear the whirr of their machines or the gossip of the Dwarves, not even sounds of the spiders underneath him. The pit in his stomach darkened, densed into a ball that threatened to drop out from inside him. His tears flowed openly. He was afraid. Auri-El spare him the shame, he was afraid of what would happen next. Please, he begged silently, I cannot do this again, I cannot bear it, please..

But what was it he could not bear? The transport stopped. Arevus moaned, not that he meant to, but surely they would hear his pain and let him go. But the Drawrves were not Mer who listened well, and so he went ignored. The others behind him remained silent, defeated, resigned to what was to come as they were carried inside.

This room was lit brightly, as close to the sun as Arevus felt in the days underground, and the air was tinged with a strange scent. The air was not what it was above, but it calmed him all the same. It was narrow but somehow spacious, and he realized what it was: it was the light, and the silence, and the air that was not already breathed by another. He had forgotten what it was to be in a place that was not crowded, and dark, and tugged at his mind and made him feel that pit in his stomach. Here the feeling was nearly gone. If the binds were not about him, surely he would float away. That would be nice, he thought as the transport moved once more. He was dimly aware that his was the only one in motion. To float out, and be gone from here..

He lost himself in his daydream. When Arevus finally returned to reality the binds were gone, all of them, and he was free. Arevus cried out joyously, praise Auri-El, he was heard, and now he merely needed to stand up, find a way out..

“This must be a welcome change of scenery,” someone said in an accented voice. Arevus turned in surprise to find a stout Dwarf standing in front of the tall brass door. He was accompanied with a Dwarf who did not yet have the first rings in his beard; a box was in his hands. Arevus made to answer before the Dwarf lifted a halting hand. “I am familiar with your case. I know your tongue is missing, and I am afraid I do not know your.. Language of hand signs.

“First, I must provide an explanation. With the sudden influx of refugees, we quickly ran out of accommodations for you and yours. I ask you to excuse this.” He did not wait for Arevus before continuing. “I accept. Secondly, your leadership, or rather what remained, accepted certain terms. You have been briefed on these terms. You know what awaits you, but I am here to provide additional context.:

He paused for a moment and closed his eyes. As if he heard some command Arevus did not, the assistant opened the box. Immediately the air was perfumed with sweetness, something between the snowberries he dearly missed and honey.

Arevus’ stomach growled. He had not eaten in so long, and he had forgotten what it was to be hungry. He gave in to temptation and looked at what it was that enticed him. It was shaped like an apple that the people of fallen Fal-Creathine grew, but it was soft and grey. But it smelled so good..

“You are no doubt hungry,” said the Dwarf. Arevus found it hard to focus. “Your culinary needs are strange to us, but we have found something to suit your palate.” He closed his eyes once more and the apprentice split open the fruit. He didn’t need a knife; the flesh yielded willingly, and the sweet aroma filled the air, and Arevus’ hunger only grew.

The Dwarves were unaffected. The elder continued. “I understand that you and yours have.. Suffered. This shall remove those burdens, those pains.”

Arevus had already forgotten much of his suffering. All the healers had done was place a blockade that made him sick.

“Do you understand me?”

Arevus nodded. The Dwarf smiled. It was a strange thing to see a Dwarf smile. Arevus thought it looked wrong. He made to ask a question before remembering that none knew his sign language. The Dwarf seemed to understand all the same.

“Fear not. Your friends shall join you soon enough,” he said gently. He took the split fruit from his apprentice and extended a hand to Arevus. “Now won’t you eat?”

He accepted. The flesh of the fruit was just as sweet at it smelled, lighter than air but filled him like a full coursed meal. Hunger was a distant memory upon finishing the first half, and distant memories were like distant clouds with the next, and the pit in him subsided completely. The Dwarf was happy, which was rare for a pallid one, and without a word his apprentice escorted him outside.

There were warm rooms now, filled with people Arevus was fond of. They were as content as he, and free of thoughts of pain, of darkness, of things he could not remember. He no longer saw unhappy faces or eyes filled with tears.

Arevus didn’t see at all anymore, and he didn’t mind at all.

[rainydaymiddleearthimagines]

Destiny Calling:Chapter 3

You and Aragorn felt almost like parents to your group at times, whether that be because of the height difference or the fact that Merry and Pippin both were so hyperactive like children, always rambling on about the proper times of the day for food. Which according to what they were saying, was almost hourly. The hobbits watched you, finding you to be the most suspicious because you never removed your hood. You walked through the woods, you being the one taking lead. Aragorn was familiar with the lands and where they would take him if he wandered far enough but small trails away from roads were more your specialty. You were quicker than him, which of course, he didn't mind.  You after all, could listen to nature.

You weren't exactly excited to make your way home either, seeing as when you left Elrond was summoning all great leaders and adventurers to Rivendell. You knew dwarfs were to be in that group. You didn't hate dwarves by any means, you actually sided with their reasonings on a lot of things. But they hated elves, assuming that none of them understood their logic or way of life. The only plus was that Legolas would most likely respond. You didn't tell Aragorn but once the ring had a proper master you were leaving with the group that would take it to Mordor. Elrond was not happy with your insistence but you brought up your father's failure to see the ring to be destroyed and told him that one or two people were clearly not enough. Hell, from the sounds of it, you weren't even sure an army would succeed.

"Where are you taking us?" Frodo asked as you moved deeper into the woods. "Away from any main roads." you said, ducking under a branch as you moved. You stayed silent most of the way leading them, unsettling the rest of the group. Aragorn, whenever he'd let you choose rather than just wandering or leaving to a specific destination, took this as focus. The hobbits however, took this as plotting. "How do we know this Strider and Y/n is a friend of Gandalf's?" Sam asked quietly, assuming you wouldn't hear. Both you and Aragorn exchanged a look but said nothing, allowing them to speak in ignorance to your abilities to hear them. "We have no choice but to trust them." Frodo muttered. "But where are they leading us?" Sam asked. You stopped, turning to him. "To Rivendell, Master Gamgee...to the house of Elrond." You said. Honestly it would be so easy for you to just explain that you were an elf. But it would be far more difficult to explain your royal status than your genetics. You were so awkward and uncomfortable in this moment. If you just would've removed the hood at the inn you'd be in the clear.

You walked along a small path, now out of the trees in the open. Aragorn was walking ahead with you now. You noticed two of the hobbits stop and you turned, making Aragorn turn. "Gentlemen, we do not stop until nightfall." Aragorn sighed. "What about breakfast?" Pippin asked. "You've already had it." you said. "We've had one, yes. But what about second breakfast?" He asked. You and Aragorn looked at Pippin with a blank stare before both of you began walking again. "I don't think they know about second breakfast Pip." Merry said. "What about Elvenses, Luncheon, Afternoon Tea, dinner...he knows about them, doesn't he?" Pippin asked. Aragorn pulled two apples out of your horse's pack. "Do not feed into this." you sighed. "Y/n, if we don't they will complain the entire time." He muttered. "Our children will be spoiled." You muttered, earning a grin from him as he tossed Merry an apple. He caught it with a surprised look but ate it. Pippin's apple smacked him in the face, earning a smile from Frodo.

After walking for a while, Merry tripped, making you stumble. You turned around, noticing his leg. "You cut yourself." You said. He frowned. "Darn roots, I didn't see it I suppose." He admitted. "Pippin. Come with me, we need to find herbs so infection doesn't set in." You said, getting up. Pippin walked with you. "We need Bailroot, sounds odd but—" "I know, Sam taught me some things." Pippin assured. "Sam knows plants?" You asked. "He's a gardener." Pippin said earning a "Ah" from you.

You walked through the forest before kneeling to a plant and cutting it. Pippin kneeled next to you, using a small dagger to cut it but it broke. You chuckled, handing him a dagger of your own. He took it with a nod as a thank you, cutting the plant. You took it and he sighed. "You haven't really said much to us... Is there a reason why?" He asked. You looked at him and sighed. "I'm going to be honest, I've been waiting for one of you to say something. I'm not usually this awkward or rude." You said. He chuckled. "We don't bite Miss Y/n." He said. You smiled and stood up. He handed you your dagger. You halted him. "Keep it. I use my swords more anyway." You said. He walked for a little bit. "Why did you keep your hood up this whole time?" He asked. You laughed nervously. "I uhm... Kind of reacted to strangers by lifting my hood and it's been too long to take it off now.." you muttered. "What are you hiding under there anyway?" He asked. You sighed and peeled back the hood, showing your ears. "YOU'RE AN—AN--" "SHHHHH!" you hushed. "Why would you hide that!?" He asked. "Because not everyone takes kindly to an elf." You muttered.

A very true statement. You actually did spend most of your time in any villages with Aragorn with your hood up the entire time. You heard many, many, MANY negative opinions on our race, mostly on how many of them had a "holier than thou" way of life. "We're not everyone. Sam has always wanted to meet an elf!" He said. "Just... Pippin please. Don't say anything it's just easier." You said softly. He looked in the direction of the group before slowly nodding. "It's alright Y/n... I won't say anything unless you want me to." He agreed. You gave an appreciative smile, nodding before lifting up your hood and walking.

You both walked back, you helping Merry with his leg. "There. Good as new." You said before  beginning the journey again. You all pushed through, crossing through the lands before ending up at Weathertop. "We will go hunting for food. Do. Not. Leave. This. Spot." you said. They nodded before you and Aragorn went off. "You seem very tense on this trip Y/n." Aragorn said. "I feel like I have to be, they think like children... They don't even know the weight of what they're carrying." You said. "Why haven't you removed your hood?" Aragorn asked. "Honestly? It was a panic response. I didn't want them to know I was a princess and my pin isn't exactly..." "Hiding your status." He nodded. "Precisely." You sighed. Aragorn kneeled to a berry bush. "Don't think I didn't notice your comment earlier." He said. "Comment? What comment?" You asked. " 'Our children will be spoiled'." He said with a chuckle, cutting berries off the bush. You shook your head with an eye roll. "Surely you've thought of this as well." You said. "We've been lovers for what most consider to be a VERY long time, yes I have thought of us having children." he said with a smile.

You felt a change in the air and your head snapped back in the direction of weathertop. "Aragorn." You said, noticing the small fire those idiots made. "Shit." He muttered before you heard the shriek. You both sprinted, running as fast as you could as Aragorn was trying to make a torch. You drew both of your swords, charging into battle as Aragorn held his sword and a torch. You fought one away from Sam, handling another by Pippin before Aragorn handled the final one. You let out a small breath, before seeing Sam kneeled next to Frodo. Both you and Aragorn kneeled by his side, you examining the wounds as Aragorn lifted the blade. "He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade." Aragorn said, tossing it to the side as the blade dissolved to dust. "Do something!" Sam begged. "This is beyond my skill to heal, he needs Elvish medicine." Aragorn said calmly. You shook your head. "We have to wait for it to be near daylight." You said. "why!?" Merry asked. "Do you want those things to come back, or should we light another fire to encourage them!?" you snapped. He went silent and you sighed.

You reached the woods, the light slowly climbing as you looked for herbs. Frodo groaned and you turned to him shaking your head. "Is he going to die?" Pippin asked. "No. He is passing into the shadow world, he will soon become a wraith like them." You answered. You heard the shriek and you sighed. "Sam, do you know the Athelas plant?" You asked, recalling a brief comment on him being a gardener. "Athelas?" Sam asked. Aragorn paused, remembering its common name. "Kingsfoil." He said. Sam recognized it then. "Kingsfoil. Aye. It's a weed." He recalled. "It may slow the poison." you said. "Hurry!" Aragorn urged. You three rushed through the woods, Aragorn and you running in the same direction. "Over here!" You said, Aragorn kneeling to the plant and getting it. You ran back, looking at Frodo as he groaned in pain. "Strider, he will not make it." You muttered, Sam running back. He frowned. "Y/n, What can we do? We're doing what we can right now." He said.

"We're six days from Rivendell. We'd never make it unless..." you sighed, closing your eyes. "No." He sighed. "Aragorn, emme don't have limbe -o a cilme símen. (Aragorn, we don't have much of a choice here.) " The hobbits looked at you confused. "What are they saying?" Merry asked. "No clue." Pippin muttered. "Ni cannot let tye linne- on your her-, vamme yare I wraiths are still eth tar.(I cannot let you go on your own, not while the wraiths are still out there.)" he said. "Aragorn. Please. Estel i ni pole- care- sina. Ni pole- at least get him ana Arwen. (Aragorn. Please. Estel i ni pole- care- sina. I can at least get him to Arwen.)" You pleaded. He knew there was no stopping you and he sighed, looking at your horse and then you. "Ride hard, do not look back." He said. "Ni mel tye." You said, Sam noticing the look in your eyes when you said that. "Ni mel tye too." He said to you, his hand lingering over yours as you held Frodo close. You sighed before riding off. "What are you doing, those wraiths are still out there!?" Sam asked, ignorant to Aragorn's pain of sending you off on your own.

You raced through the woods, the sun finally becoming noticeable before you heard another shriek. "Fuck." you whispered, terrified to even look around you as you held Frodo close, riding at full speed. Arwen lended you her horse, telling you it was faster. You decided to put that to the test, racing through the woods, bobbing and weaving through the trees. You raced to the creek, the group clearly gaining on you. You halted, as did they because of the water. "Give up the halfling, she-elf." The witch king demanded. You drew your sword. "You want him, come and claim him." You hissed, noticing someone had rode in behind you. The wraiths attempted to cross but you heard your sister's voice, using water magic behind you. You crossed the creek, pulling yourself away from becoming collateral damage as as water washed them out. "Thank you." you breathed before Frodo winced.

You frowned. You could feel him dying. "No, no...Frodo, no! Frodo, don't give  in...not now!" you breathed. Arwen dismounted as you brought him off the horse, kneeling to the ground with him. Arwen put her hand to his forehead. "What grace is given me, let it pass to him. Let him be spared. Save him." You prayed. You felt some sort of energy leave you as you said this, Arwen raising a brow. "Arwen he-he's dying." You breathed. "We will make it Y/n, do not fear." She assured. You both got on your horses, riding as fast as possible to Rivendell.

You handed him off to the medics, you leaning on the base of the fountain in the courtyard as you finally let yourself breathe. "He should be fine." Arwen said, walking over. You let out a breath of relief. "Good...Good." You said. "He however, is not the only patient we've had." She said. "Who was the other?" You asked. "Gandalf." she said. You closed your eyes. "Saruaman has betrayed us." you said. "Yes, he woke up saying that." she said. She sighed, pulling your hood back for you. She noticed how your hair looked, noticing the lack of leaves that tended to... Show up in your hair. "...You didn't take off your hood the entire time around them, did you?" She asked. "No, I did not." you admitted. "So they have no idea you're an elf?" She asked. "No." you admitted. "...Or that you're—" "A princess? No. They do not know." You admitted. Arwen sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You need to get ready." She said. "I am not getting ready, Aragorn and the others are still out there!" you said. "Elladan spotted them two hours ago, they will be here soon." She said. You sighed. "This is ridiculous." You muttered. "Having to fight you into a dress is ridiculous." She said, pushing you in the direction of your room. You mocked her sentence and she smacked you. "Ow!" "You survived countless attacks, I assure you a small slap does nothing." She huffed. "Speak for yourself- a small smack my ass!" you whined as she dragged you off.

[thesubtlegatsby]

if ur dnd homebrew has a pantheon, talk about its deities!!!

i am going to answer this if i were an overconfident 19 year old in his first creative writing class after a teenagerhood of only reading hemmingway.

once upon a time i created a pantheon for a small and isolated collection of rpers on a site for friends only. i did this because i wanted to and fantasy should have its own religion, so i puttered through the creation of a smattering of simple gods, lovingly stealing the best and most reliable tropes while inverting the ones that bored me. death remained complex and seething with darkness, justice was prone to its own rule-breaking, and thieves hid behind smirks as much as cloaks - but where saddened wives also held vengeance in their bloody hands and love was not designed with passion in mind, but the rounded and well-fed hearth and home where it dwells most comfortably and with the least drama.

the problem with gods is, once you name them, they demand worship. the problem with these gods, is i was the only one left to pay them any mind.

so pay them i did. i paid them in hours of scribbled notes and a new world, not one they were crafted to fit but one crafted to fit them, one where the beginning was theirs as much as the ending and every step along the way was filled with their worship, their mark, and their handiwork.

then i did something i didn't expect to. i killed one of them. i left the hole where she stood, an empty space in the fabric of creation that made your skull itch if you looked too closely at it but underneath the false veneer of godly immortality i hid the truth that gods could be killed and one of them had killed the other. or at least made it look that way - she had stolen what made this goddess a goddess and left her a broken and confused shell of her former self while the world spun madly on without her.

i did all of this before i even sent out a message saying i would be running a campaign.

poetry aside, here's brief descriptions of the pantheon:

Tophyros: god of the sky, dragons, and justice. firm, fair, and so tired of his long long life, tophyros is the backbone of Lucidion's religion and father, brother, or husband to every god known to exist. his major flaw is that lawful is not enough but he thinks it is, so his judgments are flawed for their lack of forgiveness.

Ygriva: his wife, goddess of marriage, women, childbirth, victory, and vengeance. for her i picked up hera and went "what if she knew she was right and also had a knife?" while tophyros putters around with the Above Board Solutions, Ygriva slips back and forth between slipping poisons in opportune mouths and appearing the dutiful wife.

Skyrozh: Tophyros' brother, god of death, ice, and lies. he was once content with his fate in the underworld as its arbiter but has grown weary and has begun his second attempt to free himself and wage war against those who would keep him trapped. Well, that's how the story goes. In truth, something has been taken from him, and its loss has corrupted him beyond recognition, the caring hand of death replaced with a god who corrupts resting souls themselves to fill his armies.

Goldozath: son of ygriva and tophyros (as all gods following him on this list are) and god of war, revelry, fire, and tactics. he is as much the flow of blood on the battlefield as he is the flow of wine at the feast following a surrender. Goldozath was killed in the first war with Skyrozh, but his champion at the time was able to absorb his godhead and take his place without mortals becoming aware. This replacement puts a much heftier emphasis on the party part of his new godhood than the original god.

Zenrava: goddess of magic, secrets, rituals, and knowledge. she created the elves and was jealous that her sister's creation, the humans, were preferred, and nursed that spite for generations. Zenrava pulled magic out of the world when the war began to protect the souls of the elves in an afterlife separate from Skyrozh's, but the very same sister used her champion to return magic to the mortal races, and for this slight among the others, Zenrava ripped away her godhood and hid it, rewriting the knowledge of the world as if she had never existed.

Trensicaya: goddess of the earth, beauty, music, the hunt. she created the dwarves as well as the lute, and is a no-nonsense goddess who is worshipped quite popularly for being responsible for harvests. the major fall festivals are all in her name, and winter itself is said to be when she leaves the mortal realm to hunt in more dangerous fields for a season. She nursed her own resentment of their youngest sister and assisted Zenrava in keeping the secret of their sister's de-godding.

Tamrohx: god of thieves, merchants, luck, and tricks. Trensicaya's twin. he's a little shit with his own band of followers who are basically a glorious little thieves guild. he has six fingers on each hand which he finds super helpful for sleight of hand tricks. he created goblins to help him with his schemes but lost control of them, and the descendants of these escaped goblins are how common goblins came to be.

Rioh: god of rivers, ocean, storms, health, and chastity. for this i went "how do i make the god of chastity look as slutty as possible" and the answer was wet twink who doesnt have sex. he's the most like tophyros in that he's got a lot of rules he likes to follow, but he's much softer with his followers than his father is. one of his champions, Eost, created a river that allowed civilization to expand into the desert, but part of the magic used to anchor the river also cursed the land around its source and now people who live there turn into alligator monsters.

Diraeus: god of the sun, the moon, travel, and choice. he is also two gods - raes, god of the sun, and dirus, god of the moon. when all is well, diraeus cycles both celestial chariots through the sky. when conflict splits the gods, he shatters, Raes standing stalwart at Tophyros' side and dirus often siding with Skyrozh's schemes and helping to hide his plots from the other gods. the campaign began with diraeus splitting and Dirus knocking Raes out of the sky entirely, plunging the world into night.

last is Amaliana, the tenth god. She was killed and forgotten, the mortals having no trace of her existence and the gods all believing her dead. As mentioned, however, Zenrava did not kill her but hid her godhood from her and left her physical form wandering the world, while trensicaya assisted with the coverup. she is the goddess of the hearth, of love, and of family.

and she gave the group their first quest without them knowing it was her.

[weaselle]

Hey, do you think you could do an 'Old World' post, like the one you contributed to before? The one with the huge trees and ground sloths and musk oxen being goats. I ADORE that post, and I'm hoping to see more eventually. Please don't feel like you have to, I would just enjoy it :) hope you have a good one!

do you have any idea how much I appreciate being asked to talk about something I’m interested in!? Thank you, I’d love to

Imagine this: It’s 100 thousand years ago. There are dwarves, trolls, goblins, imps, giants, a couple kinds of elves, the First People (those that came before us all) something that might later be called seraphim, and many strange monsters. 

I’ma talk about monsters in a minute. Let’s talk about those other things, the like, fantasy races. Now, I don’t have time for every one of these, so I’m going to cover one I have the most information on. Dwarves

A sister species of humanity that is short, broad, bearded, some with red hair, lives in caves in the hills and mountains, are superb crafters, making instruments, wearing intricate leather outfits and known for creating large expertly made axes and hammers. Dwarves, right?

Or did I just describe Neanderthal

See, the earliest stories of dwarves from Scandinavia are confusing, because sometimes they talk about them being small or short, but sometimes talk about them being enormous. And that’s actually perfectly explained by Neanderthal

Check it out. Neanderthal, while noticeably shorter on average, were BUILT big. Look, it’s not just the cranial capacity, the eye sockets are larger, the nasal cavity is larger, the mandible is thicker, the teeth are larger, the bone around the ear and eye is  thicker. Looking at these skulls you would assume the person on the left was far bigger than the person on the right, and you would be correct, in every way except height.

So when the earliest stories of dwarves sometimes talk about them being short, and sometimes being massive, this situation matches. Neanderthal were THIC. But they averaged about five foot four at a time when humans in the north were passing 5 foot nine

That’s only averages tho, so sometimes it would be like a 5.1 Neanderthal and a 6.1 Sapiens, but sometimes it would be like, a 5.6 inch Neanderthal and a 5.3 inch Sapiens. Which makes the early myths make even more sense:

me, a 5.5 neolithic farmer, whose community of farmers trend toward the short side, having met my first Neanderthal, a 5.8 man built like a bear twice my weight and three inches taller than me “the Dwarves are massive! giant! huge!”

you, a tall hunter from a community of hunters who tend taller than average, who runs into Neanderthal several times a year and knows they are usually nearly a foot shorter than you are “you mean the little people?”

I’m pretty sure that humans were actually the elves that came in both dark and light varieties in these Scandinavian myths, but that’s a whole topic involving the way that invaders often adopt stories of the people they invade. But there are other species, not just Neanderthal and Sapiens and Denisovans, there was also at LEAST one other sister species we’ve found genetic proof of within our own genome. And who knows what relatives of ours were living only on the exposed continental shelves of the last 100 thousand year ice age? So there are a lot of options for elf.

ANYWAY

I like to think of all these sister species of humanity as being these fantasy races. I know I mentioned goblins and imps, and all I have to say is if you’ve ever seen videos of people dealing with baboons or macaques in some town somewhere, you can appreciate what a population of humans who were much closer to wild themselves might think of similar species.

NOW. Monsters.

Not only are there many strange animals to pick from, but I use a fun thought process to include almost anything I want.

See, when you say a creature lived from X time to Y time, it’s because we have some bones from X year, and we have some bones from the same creature dated to Y year. That’s great for describing what we know for sure.

But for what MIGHT have been, for what’s possible, you can extend the range

It’s pretty safe to assume we didn’t get a fossil of literally the last of them to live. So if I want to think about how a mythical creature sounds just like a real creature, but that real creature was from a time half a million years previous to the culture, well, that could still be a match.

Consider the Siberian Unicorn also known as Elasmotherium sibericum a species of rhino. We thought they went extinct 200 thousand years ago, which would have made them unavailable for the time period we’re talking about. But then we found some bones from between 30 and 40 thousand years ago, which means they might have out survived the Neanderthal!

Now consider the Coelacanth a 4-6 foot fish we were sure went extinct with the dinosaurs. Turns out we were wrong by about 75 million years, because they’re still alive today

So clearly, as long as there is somewhere preserving approximate environmental conditions, any number of things could have far different periods of existence.

Like, we know of Denisovans, a whole sister species of humanity, from a handful of bone fragments. This is the biggest piece of Denisovan bone we’ve ever found

That’s part of a jaw. And along with a handful of small bone shards, some teeth, and the tip of one pinky finger, it’s the only physical evidence we have for the whole species. Except that we managed to get a whole genome from the miraculously well preserved pinkie tip. This branch of humanity split from us at roughly the same time as Neanderthal, and modern Tibetans owe their genetic adaptation for higher elevations to human interbreeding with the Denisovan people. They existed for about half a million years, and the only hard evidence we have is a handful of bone pieces. From like two locations.

So if something interesting could be explained by a population of Neanderthal or Homo Erectus living outside the age range of the bones we have, that is entirely possible. Depending on how far outside, it even becomes LIKELY, because, again, we’re never going to get the LAST one that lived as a fossil, fossilization is so rare.

WHAT I’M TRYING TO SAY IS THAT THE OLD WORLD REALLY WAS A WORLD OF GIANTS AND ELVES AND DWARVES AND MONSTERS AND MAGIC

wait, did I say magic? Yep. Consider this: there is a magic valley in Africa that kills anything that goes into it at night. lizards, birds, people, they just... die. But not every time - a person can walk through it during the day and be fine, or sometimes at night too. Turns out there’s a large pocket of carbon monoxide underneath that leaks out constantly. In the day, the heavier than air gas creates a layer along the ground and collects in dips and hollows, but in the cooler temperatures of night drifts up six feet or more. So you might walk into the valley and be fine, but it gets a little cooler, or you walk down hill for a bit, and boom, carbon monoxide poisoning. It can take only a couple minutes to kill you.

Viola, one Cursed Valley.

Or! Imagine you are a human from 40 thousand years ago. You find a grave, you dig it up, somebody was buried with something like a wooden axe or sword (these things exist, it’s all about the density of the wood, the wedge shape, and the weight -- a heavy wooden sword can definitely decapitate a person, and we’re taking about a time when metal was rare or non existent). But THIS wooden weapon, while clearly wood, also sparkles like a gem in the light, is hard as stone, doesn’t burn if put in the fire... THAT’S a MAGIC WEAPON.

It’s also petrified wood.

This is the world I’ve been researching for my book Stone Punk, which I’ve only managed to write one chapter of so far

I would be so happy to write so many more posts about this, I’ve been researching the first domestication of wolves, cave art, neanderthal diets, ancient Indian, Russian, and Chinese myths... all kinds of things, but this post is long enough -- hope it was close to what you were looking for Anon!

[ezrinsprose-edda]

The Sound of the Great Prose Edda

1. Erst was the age when nothing was: nor sand nor sea, nor chilling stream waves; Earth was not found, nor Ether-Heaven, -

A Yawning Gap, but grass was none (Sturluson 16).

What do you see? It is the endless black void, the absence of existence. In the beginning, there was the Yawning Void, otherwise known as the Ginnungagap in Old Norse. The song chosen for the start of the film is light and airy, yet empty as it has no lyrics. Only the sound of synth music and white noise fills your ears as you stare into the nothingness.

White Noiz - Akira Yamaoka

2. Out of the Ice-waves issued venom-drops, waxing until a giant was; Thence all our kindred come all together, -

So it is they are savage forever (Sturluson 18).

The foul race of Rime-Giants are born of venom and ice. Disdained by the gods, they are evil creatures. Now so powerful in their brute strength and numbers, their chaos will soon come to an end. The song chosen for the birth of the giants may sound as if it were from the perspective of the giants themselves as the chorus says, 'You see I cannot be forsaken because I am not the only one. We walk amongst you feeding, must we hide from everyone?' They gloat in their newfound power and use it to wreak havoc.

Forsaken - David Draiman

3. Untold ages ere earth was shapen, then was Bergelmir born; That first I recall -

How the famous wise giant on the deck of the ship was laid down (Sturluson 19).

The sons of the first man Borr slay Ymir the giant. Similar to the following song's title, Ymir's blood drowns the entire race of the Rime-Giants. The flood's only survivor is Begelmir, who boards a boat with his wife and continues the bloodline of the Rime-Giants. However, Ymir's violent death becomes the birth of a new universe. The following song's chorus is 'Bleed me an ocean, let me lie beneath the sky.' Just as Ymir lost his mortal form, his corpse becomes the foundation for the earth and heavens like the song's lyrics: 'I was sexless in clouds again, I was chasing a cold, cold wind. I've become bored with flesh and bone again.'

Bleed Me an Ocean - Acid Bath

4. Of Ymir's flesh, the earth was fashioned, of his sweat the sea; crags of his bones, trees of his hair -

And of his skull the sky (Sturluson 21).

The sons of Borr fashion Ymir's corpse into the earth, his skin into the land, and his skull into the heavens. As evil as the giant was in life, he still serves a purpose for the greater good in death. The earth and sky are now his monument, like in the following lyrics: 'Who felt entitled to hold a place on the earth as a grave for their remains. But no monument for me, please I am not one of them. I didn't need it in life, I won't need it in death. Kiss my ashes goodbye.' This song includes many shifts of tone and speed throughout its 11-minute runtime, from sullen and pessimistic to more hopeful. Ymir's downfall to the creation of the universe has similar tonal shifts.

Kiss My Ashes (Goodbye) - Woods of Ypres

5. How does he govern the course

Of the sun or of the moon? (Sturluson 23)

The children of Mundilfari, Mani and Sol (Moon and Sun) are put into the heavens by the gods. Though they may seem contradicting, they lead the sun and moon across the sky with their chariots. Mani determines the moon's waxing and waning. Sol bestows her warmth on the earth. However, the brother and sister hasten their pace and live in fear of the wolves who vow to seize them one day. On that day, it would mark the beginning of the end, the beginning of Ragnarok. The song chosen for the introduction of Mani and Sol is a tranquil acoustic song with a gentle rhythm that emulates the softness of the sun and moon's light. The artist speaks of the morning sun as a saving grace as well as the anxiety of feeling watched or followed for many years: 'I'd see the light in the shade of the morning sun, my morning sun is the drug that brings me near to the childhood I lost replaced by fear.' There is a darker tonal shift later in the song that parallels the siblings' fear of the wolves and their impending doom: 'That's the price that we all pay, our valued destiny comes to nothing.'

True Faith - Lotte Kestner

6. The moon's taker in troll's likeness. He is filled with flesh of fey men. Reddens the gods' seats with ruddy blood-gouts;

Swart becomes sunshine in summers after (Sturluson 24).

The wolves who prey upon Sol and Mani are Skoll and Hati Hróðvitnisson. Skoll wishes to overpower Sol, and Hati runs after Mani. The wolves were born of an old troll-woman in the forest of Ironwood. The strongest of the wolf race is Moon-Hound, who vows to devour the moon and rain blood upon the heavens. On that day, the sun will lose her light and the roaring winds will be ceaseless. The following song focuses on the predatory pact between the cruel Skoll and Hati as they pursue Sol and Mani until the end of time: 'We fought the daylight, any battle, any war, the call for blood worth dying for. We prayed for twilight, side by side, we stood as pack.'

Where the Wild Wolves Have Gone - Powerwolf

7. The gods made a bridge from heaven and earth

Called Bifröst (Sturluson 24).

There is a bridge that connects heaven and earth called Bifröst. It is made of the strongest material of magical craftsmanship and is multi-colored like a rainbow. However, as seemingly indestructible as the bridge may be, it is destined to be destroyed by the sons of Múspell when they trample Bifröst with their devastating mighty horses. The following song focuses on the bridge's colorful build and the pathway into paradise: 'Take me to the sun, I feel I'm chasing rainbows. Now into your lonely paradise! Are we just dreaming in the city that never sleeps? 'Cause I can't be seeing what my eyes tell me.'

Chasing Rainbows - Bring Me the Horizon

8. What did Allfather then do

When Asgard was made? (Sturluson 25)

Asgard, or Ásgarðr in Old Norse, is the dwelling place of the Norse gods. Allfather allowed the gods to gather and hold counsel there. The town where they dwell is called Ida-field. The house they built is called Gladsheim, and it is entirely made of gold. The house of the goddesses is called Vingólf. In this land, all is made of gold. Here, the gods are seated in their thrones and grant judgement to all. The song chosen for the introduction of the renowned gods is the equally legendary song "Stairway to Heaven," where the lyrics speak of a beautiful place in the heavens where an alluring woman resides, resembling the beauty and light of a goddess. The lyrics say: 'There walks a lady we all know who shines white light and wants to show how everything still turns to gold.'

Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin

9. Then strode all the mighty to the seats of judgement, the gods most holy, and together held counsel -

Who should of dwarves shape the peoples (Sturluson 26).

After establishing their town and council, dwarves begin form underneath the earth like 'maggots in the flesh' (Sturluson 26). The gods decreed that the dwarves will be 'shaped in man's likeness.' From Ymir's flesh, the dwarves were created from maggots of the earth to intelligent humanlike beings. The dwarves now assist and build weapons for the gods, hailed for the brute strength and warrior skills. For the introduction of the mighty dwarves, the song chosen is a heavier rhythm with a faster pace and overpowering guitars and vocals. The following lyrics have to do with the dwarves' perspective of being given new life and owing their lives to the gods that pulled them from the earth as maggots, now in man's image: 'We are the new diabolic, we are the bitter bucolic. If I have to give my life, you can have it, we are the pulse of the maggots!'

Pulse of the Maggots - Slipknot

10. The Ash is greatest of all trees and best:

Its limbs spread out over all the world and stand above heaven (Sturluson 27).

Regarded as 'the holy place of the gods,' the Ash of Yggdrasil is the tree of life (Sturluson 27). Its roots reach different parts of the Nordic universe, such as the land of the Rime-Giants, Niflheim, and Æsir. The Ash is the origin of the universe's wisdom, knowledge, and life force. The following song has a gentle, hopeful tune with a fully orchestrated band and choir-like singing. The lyrics speak of knowing all of the past, present, and future and inner-workings of the world but being unable to change them: 'All the balances are clear. Now that our time is here. In our perfect present tense, through our wide rose tinted lens, when the words have all been spent, will we still have learnt it?'

Season Song - Blue States

11. All know I, Odin, where the eye thou hiddest,

In the wide-renowned well of Mímir (Sturluson 27).

It is fabled that underneath the root that leads to the land of the Rime-Giants is the legendary Mímir's Well. The well and its keeper Mímir hold the universe's wisdom and knowledge. The Norse god Odin craved this wisdom, but it would be given to him not without a sacrifice. He gave up his eye to drink from the well. It is a tale of forbidden wisdom. With all this newfound knowledge, Odin may have felt overwhelmed by this drastic change in his power: 'I watched a change in you. It's like you never had wings. Now, you feel so alive, I've watched you change.'

Change (In the House of Flies) - Deftones

12. He convulses so violently that the whole earth shakes – it is what is known as an earthquake.

He will lie bound there until Ragnarök (Sturluson).

The God of Mischief Loki is taken into a cave and tied underneath a large poisonous serpent for his crimes. The snake drips his venom onto Loki's face, causing the earthquakes whenever he writhes in pain. He will bound to the cave until the beginning of the Norse apocalypse Ragnarök. Ragnarök, or the 'Doom of the Gods' in Old Norse, is a series of battles that take place between demons, gods, and giants. This is the end of reign of the gods and the life of man on earth. Gods will die like mortals and the sky will vanish. With it, the sun and stars will be swallowed by darkness and the earth will plunge into the sea. From this destruction, will come a new age. A new earth will be born from the despair. The day that the wolves Skoll and Hati catch Mani and Sol will mark the beginning of Ragnarök. The blood of the sun and moon will stain the sky and the hungry wolves will rejoice in their killing. The final song that concludes this film is a haunting dark industrial melody with dooming lyrics. As if it were from the perspective of the wolves themselves as threatening towards Mani and Sol: 'You're still up in the air and loving your wings. What's gonna happen when you come down?'

Clown - Switchblade Symphony

[jacscorner]

The Shiitake Hills and Drake Lands - D&D Super Mario: Races and Setting Notes

So after the Mario and Luigi posts I did before, I wanted to sort of expand on this loose concept of ‘Super Mario as a D&D Setting’ that I’ve had kicking around while I was suffering from chronic online college. :P

Now, this isn’t a coherent post, this is just a bunch of notes of how I’d convert the general concept of Super Mario games and some races. This would probably need full on World Anvil in order to turn these loose ideas and concepts into a proper campaign setting. And this is under the premise that my would-be players would be outsiders coming into this setting either by plane walking or by travel.

But, hey, if this can be used as a springboard for others to use for their own campaign, then be my guest! I wouldn’t put it here if I so badly wanted to keep this private! But this’ll be a long post, so continue at your own risk.

The Shiitake Hills are the stand in for the mushroom kingdom. These long rows of Hills are home to various farm lands and small villages. There’s very few cities. Mushrooms are mostly cultivated for the consumption and export-you’d be surprised how many recipes there are for cooked toadstools. But rest assured, mushrooms aren’t the only foodstuff you’ll find, but their cultivation for food and magical components is so common that even the most ignorant of school child or even someone who’s never even seen a mushroom would know how to cultivate enough edible fungus to never miss lunch.

The capital of this kingdom is Toadstool City, a glorious city. It’s not perfect, but magic is practiced in the open-it’s regulated, but not too restrictive and controlling. So long as your not raising the dead or raising a stink, you can practice most forms of magic in relative peace.

The Shiitake Hills were founded originally by Elven Druids, who had left their original home in order to escape prosecution from another clan of Druids. On their sailing across oceans, they’d come across a community of Halflings, whom were under the rule of a tyrannical wizard. The Head of these Elven Druids would take on these Halflings as fellow refugees.

This trip lasted 1000 years, with 800 of them spent with the Halfling survivors. Their culture would meld together, to the point where there was no way of knowing what custom originated from which group, but it mattered not. Both sides had developed a mutual relationship.

When The Shiitake Hills were founded the family of the Head Druid would lead colonization of the land. They would also introduce the various Elven Gods that the Druids worshiped.

Avus, God of Fatherhood, Life, and Light. A father should be a guiding light for the family. To be strong and nurturing. A father who is not in their child’s life is often struck by Avus.

Mater Goddess of Fertility, Birth, and Motherhood. Avus’s wife and the reason he gained the ‘Fatherhood’ title. Preying to her is often done when an Elf is about to give birth.

Natus God of Knowledge, Teaching, and Fire. His legends speak of him being the original cultivator of fire, and gifting his spark of knowledge down to the Elves who worship him and spread it. Knowledge is never to be hoarded, it’s to be spread and shared.

Frater God of Strength, War, and Courage. When thunder booms, it means he’s fighting and he wants his followers to also be prepared for the heat of battle. Never fear death, for only glory waits for those who races into battle! 

Soror Goddess of Sisterhood, Art, and Battle. The sister to Frater, she gives strength to her female followers to follow their dreams and passions, but to always have a knife at the ready to defend what’s yours.

Puer God of Tricksters, Brotherhood, and Nature. He teaches his followers to use nature to their advantage, to use ingenuity and wits to defeat larger foes, but to never use your trickery to back stab your brothers-in-arms.

Avanculus God of Wisdom, Harvest, and Water. Knowledge is knowing the best way to farm with new techniques. Wisdom is understand the old ways still work when they fail.

And the Matriarch of their Pantheon, Astrum, Goddess of the Sun, Moon, and Stars. 

But over the boarder of the hills is The Drake Lands. The land was originally a beautiful Dwarven Kingdom of glorious mountains. But then, two dragons razed the lands, a Red Dragon and a Green Dragon, who used the mountains as a battle field! Fire and Poisonous gas drove out the Dwarves underneath. The mountains burned and the poison killed almost all other life that didn’t escape. Nobody knows quite who won this fight, but whatever the result was, the two dragons eventually mated and had a child that would make the ruined lands their domain.

This Dragon is known as Oghoid, A Lawful Evil God of Conquest, Battle, and Gold. His descendants would be known as the Royal Clan who would turn these barren lands into a somewhat liveable place.

The Dwarves would’ve raced to the Shiitake Lands as refugees. The Elves and Halflings welcomed the Dwarves. They integrated into society, but their culture is still regularly practiced. Dwarves keep many Gods, but they had no trouble also incorporating the Elf’s-what’s 1 or 8 more to the pile? The Dwarves also brought expert stone cutting and construction. Many constructions are built mostly or even entirely by Dwarven hands.

Boy, that was a lot, but time to get into the Races. And please not that I’ll label them as ‘Good, Neutral, and Evil’ races for the sake of convenience. You can take a Good Race and play them evil and vice versa.

Good Races - The typical Good Guys and regular residents of the Shiitake Hills.

The Humans of the Super Mario series are split into 3 Types for the setting: Normal-Types, Mario-Types, and Princess-Types.

Normal-Types are the New Donk City citizens we see in Super Mario Odyssey. These are Humans, no doubt having come from various traders from outside of the kingdom and might’ve stayed and become full citizens.

Mario-Types are Mario, Luigi, Wario, and Waluigi-oddly proportioned humanoids. For this setting, they’re Dwarves-yes, even Waluigi. He’s just an oddly tall Dwarf. It happens. Meanwhile, Mario and Luigi are plumbers and have no trouble going underground and fixing things. 

And finally, Princess-Types. Peach, Daisy, Rosalina, and Pauline-oddly tall, and still have odd proportions, but look less like Mickey Mouse and more like Jessica Rabbit. They’re represented by Elves. Elves are usually in the upper class of Shiitake society.

Yes, they could all just be variant humans of some kind, but shush. :P This is suppose to be a big mass of races living on one continent and want to mix them all together.

Toads, if you couldn’t guess, are represented as Halflings. Why? Well, not only are they short, but what do we usually see Toads doing? We see them mostly in domestic roles, with only a few outliers. Halflings are mostly homely folk who want to be left in their homes and just enjoy their quaint lives.

Neutral Race - Not inherently Good Nor Bad, Just Folk

Yoshis in this setting will be played by Lizardfolk. I know that this is a pretty big stretch-Yoshis are cute and colorful and Lizardfolk are written as cold, calculating ‘survival of the fittest’ types. But I take the official text of WoTC as more like suggestions.

Evil Race - Typical Bad Guys and residents of The Drake Lands

So naturally, this sections will have Koopas, but how do we divide them? Well, I think there are 2 Types of Koopas. Regular Koopas and Koopa Rexes.

I percieve ‘Koopa Rex’ as essentially Bowser, his son, and the Koopalings-and maybe Boom-Boom and Pom-Pom, depending on how you see it. They would be Dragonborn.

Regular Koopas are essentially the rest. Koopa Troopas, Hammer Bros, Magikoopas, so on and so forth. They’re Tortles.

Okay, this is where I start to REALLY stretch the limits of what can be what...

Goombas will be classified as Kobolds. Why Kobolds? Well, honestly, I guess no real reason, but I think it makes sense for Bowser’s army to have the ‘Minion Races’ in the ranks.

Speaking of , Shy Guys are Kenkus in this setting.

And Boos, Goblins. Okay, this one, a bit of a stretch, but what do Boos do? They sneak up on you, right? Well, Goblins can use that tactic too!

Well, yeah, they could just be Ghosts. But, like, I hate using Ghosts in D&D. They’re too much of a pain in the ass to deal with. And, if you can’t tell, this isn’t meant to be a 1-to-1 thing. 

And finally, the Bob-Ombs are Warforged-possibly one that you could give the ability to ‘selfdestruct’ upon defeat or something.

And that’s about the end of my notes. This took, like, two hours to write but I wanted to put this all down somewhere and here it is. Nothing here is final and if you wanna use any of it for any reason, go right ahead~

[geffbob]

First short story I’m proud of part 2

I don’t really like having to deal with many things at once. When I was just starting out, it was simple. You go to the guild, you flirt with the lady behind the counter, she gives you your mission and you go on your way to kill x amount of goblins or clear the road or arrest the cultists that are trying to summon a black god or help the farmers rid the land of pests. Now things are more complicated. More complicated than I want them to be.

It wasn’t long until we arrived at the portal. Most places around the kingdom have little gateways to other cities, this helps for travel time as most people really don’t want to walk for 5 days to get where they want to go. The problem was, the sept wasn’t stupid. They knew that we knew what they were doing and trapped the portal. I don’t know why we didn’t see this coming. I was just talking to Herah (the elf) and noticed that the portal was slightly darker than usual. It was getting to about twilight and I didn’t really think much of it. We soldiered on and walked straight into it. Huge fucking mistake.

 Portals are usually over in half a second. You go in, you feel immense force on yourself and you’re out. It’s slightly sickening the first time, but you get used to it. What’s not normal, is when it lasts for more than half a second and you feel something worm its way inside your head.

 The first thing I noticed was the pain. Like a ringing in my hears like a thousand children screaming all at once. Next was the imagery. Images of torture and violence aren’t uncommon in these types of spells, but they never get easier to see. I saw everything. My mother being slaughtered and desecrated. My father having his skin removed. My brothers being burnt on crosses. My sister being ripped to shreds by trolls. And the screams. They wouldn’t stop screaming the entire time I was in there. It took me a while to realise that the screaming I was hearing was them screaming. My father, mother, sister, brother. All of them yelling at the top of their lungs while they get pulled apart and torn into the most horrific sights that plague my worst nightmares. Again, and again. And I can’t close my eyes, because they’re just behind my eyelids. Hellish fiery landscapes of pain and destruction, with my family being the centre point for all of it. Every time I look away, they’ve had something worse done to them. Things that would kill normal humans, being done to them time and time again. It was unbearable. Unimaginable. The amount of torture I saw just in the space of 10 seconds felt like forever.  And then I remembered what they taught me at the guild.

“You’ll be given visions of pain” – my old teacher said. An old orc, in his late 200’s. He probably only had a few years left in him and he was probably the best psychological combat teacher I’ve ever had. I remember being cross legged, in a circle around him, as I sat down with about 20 other kids as we listened to whatever he had to say.

“They’ll attack you at your most weakest because your brain does it for you. You think about things you love all the time, that’s what keeps you going. And yet, you can’t stop them from attacking those memories because that’s exactly what the spell does.” – he turned over his sword while saying this – “It attacks your most vulnerable part. The thing you have to remember is that it’s not real. Tell yourself that. Again. And again. And again. Figure out what’s wrong. Something’s always wrong in them. Focus on something that’s different than reality and use that to pull yourself out of it”

He’s never let me down, old Gog. Never.

I search for it. I don’t want to look at what they’re doing to my family, but I can’t help it. I need to see. I need to watch for a sign, something different. Something that’s not right. Clothing. Faces. Eyes. Hair. Weapons. Something’s not right about this and I need to see it.

Father being skinned. Screams. Mother being stabbed. Screams. Brothers cutting each other apart. Screaming. Sister being pulled apart by trolls. Screaming. Screams. The screams. My sister doesn’t scream like that. My sister hasn’t screamed in her life. That’s not her scream, that’s a baby’s scream. The baby of that old lady I spoke to yesterday. My sister doesn’t scream like that. She’s never screamed. My sister doesn’t scream. “MY SISTER DOESN’T FUCKING SCREAM LIKE THAT YOU FUCKING CULTIST BASTARDS”

I yell, pushing towards the image. The troll looks at me now and drops her body. Walking towards me. Thumping with every step he takes.

“I KNOW YOU’RE NOT FUCKING REAL, GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HEAD” I scream, louder, over the sounds of my other family members. Over the sound of everything. Make my voice louder than theirs. Show them that I’m not afraid. The troll bends over to look at me and reaches down.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU” I scream. Loud. Louder than I’ve ever screamed before. My throat is on fire right now, but I have to hold on.

“DON’T TEST ME COWARD”

“JACK”

 I snap myself awake. I look down and realise I’m holding Herah by the neck, up in the air, with my knife drawn and next to her face.

“Herah!” I gasp in surprise. Shit. “Are you okay?”

I drop her to the ground and crouch down, trying to see if she’s okay. She coughs and pushes me away

“I’m fine! Human! I’m fine! Over there!” -she says between coughing- “Behind the- the fucking – behind the rocks!”

I turn around. Noticing for the first time where I am. It’s a small village, slotted in-between a few grassy hills with some roads leading up and from it. The portal took us out onto the top of a hill next to the village. There’s farmlands around us but all the livestock is dead with flies buzzing around. Trees sway slowly in the breeze, in different directions. Air current is off here, the wind doesn’t work like it. I get this overwhelming feeling that something is wrong. I look down at the village and notice that some shapes are coming out of the houses. I don’t really have time to see what they are, as I spot something shuffling next to the rocks.

 I leap over. I’m not a very good magic user, but I know enough propulsion force to leap across the ground without letting the enemy get a chance to react. And she didn’t have time. I draw my greatsword and hold it over my head, looking down on her, stepping on her chest. I notice what she’s wearing before anything. She’s plain. Nothing’s off about her, save the eyes. She’s wearing a loose fitting brown cloak with inverted 5 pointed stars on it. Her head’s shaven and her eyes are black. I don’t know if it’s make-up or soot from some sort of fire. They stare back at me with fear, like she’s genuinely terrified to see me. I don’t blame her; I’m wearing loose fitting black plate armour with black leather pants and jet-black boots. My hands are covered by black fire-proof gloves. The armour, however, is a little special. I tried to get something arrow proof and invented by elves because it’s very light weight and very practical. I’m holding a greatsword over my head with both my hands and have my knife on my belt, ready to be drawn at any moment. And while I don’t look too bad when I’m walking down the street, as a black cloak usually covers everything. When I’ve got my weapons drawn, it’s nigh impossible to not be afraid of me.

I slightly lower my guard, doing a feint. She sees me do this and snarls, chanting quickly and without hesitation. Of course, her fear was a ruse. It’s always a ruse. I don’t bother with the rest of the feint. I drop my greatsword down with barely any force. It impales her neck and pins her to the ground without any effort. I would have sworn these people were armoured, as most cultists usually are. But this one was basically naked under her robes. Her spell gets cut off before the good part. I see her hands were outstretched. Could have been a fireball. Could have been poison. Could have been another vision of pain. Who’s to tell. Either way, it’s over.

 “I’m sorry…” – I begin. Walking towards the elf. But Herah stops me.

“Don’t be. I expected a human like you wouldn’t be able to stave off the spell. The second we went into the portal I knew something was wrong, so I quickly cast a protection spell without even thinking about you. I should’ve known you wouldn’t have noticed” “But I did notice” – I retort “I managed to pull myself out of it”

“No, you didn’t. You were about to cut my face into ribbons. I was able to cast a small nox spell over by the rocks to stop the visions briefly” “And I then pulled myself out of it. I noticed that my sister’s screams weren’t real” “Ah the old ‘it’s not real’ tactic” she stops and thinks for a minute. “Well, I suppose you might have got out of it. My spell was only just starting to work, and you were slowing down. That probably explains your yelling about wanting to kill me”.

 I pull my sword out and re-sheath it. “Well, we know they’re here. Do we head back for reinforcements?”

“No” she says. Looking at the sky. “Too late now” “What the hell do you mean too late?” I reply, getting angry now

“I’m saying it’s too late”. She turns and looks at me. “I’m not stupid, neither are you. You see it, too can’t you? They’ve started early. The wind’s wrong. The sky isn’t blue. It’s too dark. Too quiet. And the town’s gone. Everyone in it is dead. A sacrifice to their ‘great lord’” she says, holding her hands to hear ears. I think that’s how elves do their bunny fingers thing when they’re being sarcastic. “It’s too late. We stop them here. Ourselves.”

 I look up at her. She’s quite funny looking, a librarian in a town of the dead. And yet something about her makes me think that she knows what she’s doing. Probably the fact that her eyes are glowing, and her hands are smoking. Elves wield very powerful magic, the strongest out of the 4 magical races. Humans being second. Dwarves being third and orcs being fourth. Elves barely even fight up close if they don’t have to. Why would anyone need to stab someone when you can just fly over them and shoot lightning down?

“Fine”. I say. “Where do you think they are?”

She looks up to me and points at the map inside her book. “Here”.

 Underground. In the middle of the town. Of course, it would be underground. The one thing I hate the most about the guild. Most of the monsters come from underground. I’m not good with tight places. I’m not good with underground places. And I’m certainly not good with underground tight spaces. But I can’t tell her that. So, I just nod.

 As we walk closer to the town re realise what we’re dealing with. These cultists aren’t even remotely considerate with how they deal with the dead. Bodies are everywhere. Strewn in the streets like roadkill. Families hang out of the windows with holes where their hearts would be. Cut with puncture wounds all over themselves. A city of about 30 or so people, no guards, no protection, away from all the fighting. These people thought themselves to be the safest people on the continent. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’s people lining the streets with their bodies cut into little pieces. Arms, legs, heads. Some are cut up. Some are desecrated. Some are just left upside down, with all the blood leaking out of them like a butcher’s shop. The blood itself is still fresh and moving. Moving?

 “Why is the blood moving?” I say “Watch. It’s all going into the same place isn’t it. Straight into the centre. Follow it”

 We walk for a few minutes before finding the spot. They’re not even trying to hide themselves now, this is their last ditch effort. They knew they would be found and they’re trying to finish everything as fast as they possibly can. I don’t know if a portal will be opened, or if they’ll be saved, or if they’re just trying to sacrifice themselves to the god so they get eternal salvation in their next life, but they’re trying everything they can in order to finish up. And they’re doing this fast. And sloppy. One of the villagers is still breathing. As I rush over to help, I start hearing something.

Chanting. And it really doesn’t sound human.

 “Are you okay old man?” I say, bending over to help the man. He’s clearly damaged. Under a lot of stress and badly injured.

“I’m fine” he whispers back. Looking around. There’s tears in his eyes. “Everyone’s dead, aren’t they?” “Yes.” I reply. I don’t know what else to say. “We need to get you to a hospital”

“Do you see a hospital around here boy?” he says, barely. “I’m not getting out of this alive. And if you jump down there, neither are you.”

“Then should I just kill you now?” I say, drawing my sword. He’s not wrong. The only way he’s getting out of here is if a mage appears out of nowhere and picks him up. And it’s more likely that the sun will explode before that happens. Mages barely leave their blasted guild.

 The elf.

 I turn to her, and she shakes her head. Fucking useless. One would think elves could at the very least cast a small teleportation spell to the nearest town. But when you think about it, the shock alone would kill him. Organs tend to bounce around in portals created by the magical races.

 I look at her and mouth ‘he’s not gonna make it’. She closes her eyes and looks away. Looking for an entrance to the underground part.

 “What can I do for you then old man?” I say.

“Are you going to kill them?” “I’m going to stop them.” “I don’t want you to stop them. I want you to kill them” – he coughs – “send a message to all the other psycho bastards.”

“I’m not getting paid to kill them”

“In my house, there’s a safe. If you kill them. I’ll give you the password. – he looks up to me. “They killed my daughter. She’s lying there, on the ground next to your elf. They gutted her like a cow. Make them suffer. Please.”

 I think it over. Our goal is over when we stop the ritual. If I jump in there and the elf blows up the book, they’ll scatter and escape, and then we can let the hunters after them. Mute bastards, the hunters, with their large fucking dogs, they’ll find them in the next few hours, and we’ll be fine. But they’ll just be arrested and put to trial. Probably rot in some gaol somewhere. But they won’t die.

 “Okay.” I say. Without thinking. “I’ll try”

 I stand up and look at the elf. She heard it all. Of course, she did, big eared fucks constantly listen in to things that don’t concern them. She looks at me and starts to open her mouth”

 “Don’t” I say “Don’t what?” “Don’t say anything”

“You humans make promises you can’t fulfil all the time, thinking you’re all heroes or saviours. Do you honestly think he’ll still be alive when you get back? Do you honestly think you’ll kill them all? You’re going down there and making them scatter.” She’s yelling now. “The ritual will be over and your silent humans with their big dogs can come and pick them up later. If you fight them you will die, don’t think for one second that you’ll make it out of there alive if you start swinging your sword around spilling blood. Just stop them.”

 I stop and look at her. Before I say anything, I draw my sword, flip it over my head and look at myself in it. There’s blood on it from that girl I killed just before, but I can still see myself. Blue eyes, blonde hair, small facial hair. I haven’t shaved yet. And I’m fuming. I’ve never been good at expressing emotions, so whenever I get upset or I’m feeling down, I look at myself and find out what I’m feeling from that.

 I feel angry. And not because she’s still talking

 “And another thing, if you get yourself killed you can’t pay me for your time. I’ve given you hundreds of secrets regarding daemons and you KNOW I can’t give you them for free. I’m charging you for services rendered…”

“I’ll kill them”. I say. Looking at the old man. He’s breathing slower now. Looking at his daughter. Slumped against a house, blood all over him. He probably has a few more minutes left in him.

 He remind me of dad.

 “Fine.” She says. “But if you get hurt, I won’t save your ass. I’ll just take your sword and armour. It’s elven anyway” “Fine by me”.

[helisol]

ye s, well

it basically came to me like a prophet receiving a vision from an angry god. you know. like brian david gilberts video ideas but with more slow burn.

no really i wrote all this down in my phone’s note app because some nearly coherent things popped up in my head every time i was on the train or bus these last few days.

(after-actually-writing-this disclaimer/note: this is 2000 words of slightly edited rambling about Bagginshield in the Afterlife. i had to put it in a read more.)

so the gist of it

the botfa goes just as in the movie with minor details altered. like bilbo kissing thorin just before he dies which inadvertently causes a ripple in time and space that makes the valar curious of them both. you know. minor stuff.

so bilbo goes back to the shire, the war of the ring goes down, and the hobbit/elf gang sails to valinor at the end. classic stuff, not much alternating of universes here.

but here’s where things turn into the “my city now” meme because DUDE DO I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS ABOUT VALINOR AND HOW THE AFTERLIFE WORKS

like, I’m sorry mister jolkien rolkien tolkien, but just putting people into a hall to await being judged like a hospital waiting room? snooze, that’s boring!

so first of all, and you can fight me on this, Yavanna Made The Hobbits And You Can’t Change My Mind.

it just makes sense for her to have been very saddened by the destruction of literally all her work on arda through melkor’s poison, so she made living, growing things that could protect themselves from harm. as opposed to the ents, by the way, which were made by Eru to protect all the other living, growing things. it was a nice gesture of Eru to make those, but not quite what Yavanna wanted or had in mind, i imagine.

as with the dwarves, Eru wasn’t all happy about the existence of another race he didn’t make but you know, whatever, ‘I’ll just let this married couple have their own kids aside from mine, it’s okay’.

so he hands both the dwarves and the hobbits independent thought and free will, but under the condition (and here is where the afterlife stuff comes into play) that Aule and Yavanna be responsible for their mortal creations after their death. meaning that both races have seperate afterlives from the halls of mandos, MEANING THAT ITS COMPLETELY FINE FOR AULE AND YAVANNA TO BE LIKE “oh look honey, these two are so very in love and remind me of us, shan’t we do something about that?”

so. they do something about that. more precisely, they rearrange their afterlife-realms so they’re next to each other and someone with enough willpower could cross through the barrier. because listen, they’re valar, they can do whatever they want just for kicks.

okay so after that tangent lets get back to the meat of the matter: gay dwarves. I know not everyone has read Sansukh, a 500k word mammoth of a fic, and I don’t really intend to copy any of det’s canon, but their version of The Halls of Mahal really inspired me. basically the dwarven afterlife is one big hunk of a mountain/underground city where they’re free to live their days until dagor dagorath doing what they do best in the company of their families and friends; like smithing, crafting, building and other JustDwarrowThings.

meanwhile the hobbit afterlife is Basically The Shire and instead of being given the materials to build things, all the hobbits who go there get to grow plants and do their gardening. they don’t have to- just like none of the dwarves have to craft stuff- since there’s always enough food for everyone, but they are just allowed to do what they do best if they so desire.

now when Bilbo arrived in the undying lands he was still Old As Hell and im sorry to put it this way, he definitely kicked the can after like, a week of living there. not really so undying, them lands, huh. anyway Bilbo bites the dust and LOOK AT THAT he’s suddenly young again, and another LOOK AT THAT he’s standing in a very comfy, but Not Quite Bag End hobbit hole that has a note hung up on the front door. you wouldn’t think gods could have handwriting but hey, again, they’re gods they can do whatever. the note just tells him that yavannah made this place special and just for Bilbo but that there’s another home waiting for him. very cryptic there, lady. he doesn’t leave at first because hey, his family is here. there’s a lot of reunions and celebrating and food because its the fucking hobbit afterlife, what else would you expect

it takes him a few days of Regular Hobbit Life in his new home to realise ‘holy shit, this is so boring’ so what does a Fool of a Took do when things get boring and there’s a note urging him to do something?

HE’S GOING ON AN ADVENTURE

so Bilbo runs through the whole not-shire, meeting all sorts of people he outlived on the way (looking at you, Lobelia), as well as some elves. because elves can definitely just waltz through all the afterlives. they can walk on top of snow, you think they wouldn’t walk around wherever they please in valinor? rip to mankind, but they’re different.

he gets to the furthest reaches of it eventually, and lo and behold, what awaits him but the view of a tall mountain, an invisible barrier and a very flustered Thorin who is at his wits end as to how Bilbo even got here.

now for thorin’s part of the story we’ll have to start after the botfa again. he basically woke up in the darkness like an episode of naked and afraid, and started talking to Aule. his maker, who loves him to bits by the way since he made thorin, just tells him he’s free to go wherever his heart takes him. again with the cryptic messages from the gods.

so thorin, still very self-loathing and bitter because of his actions right before his death, sees this as Mahal’s way of saying ‘please don’t step foot in my halls u disgusting litle creacher’, when really he just meant ‘please do some well deserved self reflecting and then come inside to be with your family, they all miss you terribly’.

after his chat with the maker thorin just spawns in right at the front gate of the mountain and he has a choice to make. go inside or stay outside. and we all know Thorin’s proclivity for drama so he basically spends LITERAL YEARS just living in self imposed solitary confinement.

oh also tiny hc here, thorin was said to have taken “any work offered to him in the towns of men”, and they showed him in a smithy, but personally I believe they meant it when they said “any kind of work”. so basically thorin is a jack of all trades, master of some. he definitely has master-level skills in certain areas though, enough to build a vaguely hobbit-hole shaped house. why is it hobbit hole shaped?

oh right, the part where Thorin is absolutely enamoured with Bilbo.

"Go back to your books and your armchair, plant your trees, watch them grow. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”- HELLO? GAY POLICE? I’D LIKE TO REPORT A CASE OF ‘DWARF KING REALISING THAT THE HOBBIT WAY OF LIVING IS A REALLY GREAT ONE IN CONCEPT / WISHING HE COULD HAVE HAD THAT KIND OF LIFE WITH BILBO’

anyway it’s a long 80 years until Thorin does get to meet Bilbo again, and in the meantime we have one of my favorite additions to any Hobbit fanfic ever: Frerin

For the uninitiated, Frerin is Thorin’s brother. They also have a sister, Dís, but Tolkien never specified when she died and she was a bit younger than Thorin and Frerin so I reckon she’d still be alive as an old dwarf lady somewhere?

Anyway, Frerin. Oh boy. Sansukh, again, does an excellent job at turning Frerin into a character with a level of authenticity that gets real fucking close to Genuine Tolkien™, so most of my own characterisation of Frerin is based on that in Sansukh. With the important omission of the dwarves not being able to see the present/their still alive loved ones in middle earth through a magic mirror pool.

so Frerin takes it upon himself to leave the mountain in search of his brother because he really does want him back. but also because Mahal has had it with Thorin’s antics and suggests Frerin fetch him so he can finally reunite with his family. Mahal doesn’t talk to the dwarves a lot because he’s like an awkward and distant dad, but he does actually speak to them.

so Thorin is supposed to go see his family, which he does, but not immediately. it takes like, a solid year of just brotherly (and sister-sonly) companionship for him to open up about all his anxieties and regrets and THEN he goes into the mountain to cry in his mother’s lap. as you do.

however Thorin still feels like he doesn’t 100% belong with the other dwarves in there, so he frequently spends long stretches of time outside, building away at his house, thinking about Bilbo. the company goes out to visit him sometimes.

more details on the house tho, cuz it’s Important; it’s built halfway into a hill near the mountain, like a proper hobbit hole would be, but the lower levels are built into stone. look, he’s had 80 years to work on constructing this. it’s near perfect in every way for both hobbit and dwarf standards and could definitely fit the entire company and more inside.

now about the barrier. elves can pass through without a second thought because they’re shiny little bastards who just get to do all the cool stuff, but the other races can’t just hop between realms like that; they really have to muster up the willpower. which usually means they can’t do it because a drawback for both dwarves and hobbits is that they favor isolation from other races even in death, and as such don’t want to mingle with each other.

unless you’re Bilbo Badass Baggins though, who simply runs through the barrier to yell at Thorin for leaving him sad and alone for 80 years. he is that bitch.

there’s gonna be some legolas and gimli shenanigans if i can fit them in (cuz i dont know when exactly they sailed west together), possibly a mention of tauriel because bruh peter jackson did us dirty by not giving her any closure besides ‘lol i guess she’s banished from mirkwood??’ and Mairon. because. I also have some thoughts about him.

also Fili and Kili as pseudo matchmakers because every fic needs that

and did I mention there’s gonna be hozier lyrics for chapter titles

i said this was the gist of it but i somehow ended up at ~1900 words. well, more power to me.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 164:  Future Hiding Spots

What was he thinking? Was he insane? Going crazy?! If his behavior was any indication, then yes, obviously!

He'd given her a bedroom! A fucking bedroom! Why had he given her a bedroom?! He should have been trying to figure a way to get away from her, the last thing he needed was for her to be closer! All he could think when he returned from arguing with Samuel, yet another stupid and pointless thing he'd done, was that it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Until he entered his own bedroom, the one space he'd been using as a retreat from her and realized that he could hear her heartbeat, he could smell her hair, and that was when it dawned on him that she was right down the hall, asleep in a bedroom probably in nothing but a shift! All it would take was a good fire to see right through it and-

He was an idiot! It was exactly thoughts like that which drove him to try and figure out something to do with her and yet, now that he was in his room, he realized that he'd had the perfect opportunity, his pride just hadn't allowed him to see it until it was too late. He didn't want to release her to the world for fear of the dangers out in it. But, if he'd taken Samuel up on his offer, he would have been assured that she had some kind of protection! And yet…

He couldn't bear the thought of it. He wasn't confident that he wouldn't be able to let her go, not in a trade like she was just some common object, and not like...that! He would never have been able to just give her to someone like her friend had been. Frankly, he wasn't sure that after what transpired, the complete details of which were still elusive to him, she would have gone with the boy. And now he was here, alone in his room, his head filled with thoughts of her as she slept down the hall in her new bedroom. She was only a stone's throw from where he sat now. Moran.

Fortunately for him, he had work to be done, quite a bit more of it than he'd planned on thanks to Belle. Up in the tower, he was confronted with not one item but two that he was intrigued by; the book from the boy, and the legendary Pandora's box. Which one he needed to deal with first, was obvious.

He had several items in his collection that could potentially be harmful to him. They were purposefully spread out in different areas all over the castle, hidden in different ways with different magic as a precaution. Individually, each of these objects were strong on their own and quite dangerous to him, the last thing he wanted was for someone to break in like Robin Hood had and gain access to all of them at once. As it was now, someone might find something, they might break through one of his spells, he might gain access to a single item, but spread out as they were it was highly unlikely anyone besides himself would ever possess all of them. His tower held the Curse as well as his mother's wand and the others in his collection...the Room-Without-Doors already had its fair share of artifacts, not the least of which was the true Queen of Arendelle. Downstairs Beowulf's sword sat inconspiculously. It was clear to him now that Pandora's box needed to join the other items in their concealment. The question was how and where…

He had an idea.

Downstairs in Belle's kitchen, there was a small cabinet, one that she used to house the simple china they used for breakfast, dinner, and of course, teatime. Teatime…oh, he had the best idea he'd ever had.

He used his magic to form a hole in the stone floor just in front of the cabinet. He concealed the hole in wood, added some hinges and a circular ring that he attached to the door to easily pull the door on the ground up to open it and push it down to shut it. He cast spells over the hideaway, spells that concealed the magic that the box gave off, magic that dampened the call of the Dark Magic. Then he set the box into the freshly made refuge and closed the new lid over it. Obviously, he couldn't leave it like that. The way it was Belle would come down first thing in the morning, find it, and open it herself. He didn't know what had transpired between her and Samuel, if she knew what the box was or how to operate it. He trusted her not to use it on him, but he didn't trust anyone else that might break in and find it. He had to conceal it. A simple glamor linked to a lock and key would do the job. And he knew exactly what he wanted that key to be.

He opened the cabinet. There was their tea set. Not just their tea set, but the tea set. It was the tea set that he'd once traded the life of a cheating husband for because the Seer said that it was going to be important one day. Now he knew how it would be important. He found that teacup, the same one he'd held all those years ago, the one which just so happened to have the chip in it, thanks to Belle. He was rather grateful for that now. It would make it easy to identify in the future.

He set the chipped cup upon one of the matching saucers; he set the key into the lock. It was a simple spell, one that connected that lock and that key to the hiding spot, when the time was right, he slipped his hand into the cabinet removed the cup from the saucer, and watched as the door vanished from sight. An easy but tricky glamour, for only if someone had both the lock and the key would the door open for them. And no one, not even Belle, was going to find that lock.

He used his potion and blood to mark the saucer, the teacup, and then the entire damn cabinet, just to make sure that all of it came with him in the Curse. He pocketed the saucer before he closed the cabinet door, wondering if Belle would notice that a piece was missing from the collection. Probably, but with it hidden in his tower it was unlikely she'd find it.

Pandora's box hidden away and sunrise still hours away, he was excited to return to his tower, hide the saucer, and then pick up the book he'd been longing to read. He sat by his fire, channeling Belle as he paged through the book. There was no indication which realm it might have come from, but it was clear that it wasn't from this world simply because it was about this world.

It was impressive, because he'd taken it off of a little boy he'd expected the book to be filled with children's stories, but it read like a manual on the Enchanted Forest. It held information on the Kingdom, stories about legends, warnings, even a bit about the role Fairies and dwarves played in society. He was on the fence as to whether or not the author had ever been to the Enchanted Forest, reason being that somethings he wrote about were quite accurate, like the bit about dwarves being born from eggs and fairies being related to the stars. However, the section on him, the Dark One, was less than accurate.

The tome didn't seem old, chances were that he'd been the Dark One when it was written, but the book never mentioned his name, real or otherwise. The book did mention that he liked to make deals, but the things that the book claimed he did were a combination of childish pranks and bitter revenge-fueled tricks. It described him as a villainous creature with little soul. It described nothing of his curse, nothing of his dagger, nothing of the Dark One's origins. But…

The boy was right. It didn't contain and origin story, but it did contain a conclusion. His heart raced and for once the hum in his head that was caused by the other Dark One's dimmed as he sat forward and read on, devouring the words he saw before him. It wasn't a detailed account, nothing in the book was, but the book was still very clear. There was a cure for his curse.

Get rid of it, one of the Dark Ones warned nervously.

According to the book, it lay in another land but which land it did not give away.

Stop reading and get rid of it.

In this other land, a "guide" would lead the Dark One to a Guardian.

Stop this now!

With a proper wish, the Guardian would take the powers of the Dark One and leave him a human man again.

I said get rid of it!

Nimue's screech had him throwing the book across the room, where it slammed to the floor. His heart was doing more than racing. His stomach was rolling. He felt like he was going to be sick, but he didn't know if he was going to be sick with fear or sick with excitement.

"These things are not for you to consider! They are poison to all of us, not just you. Get rid of it!"

"What are you doing here?" he questioned with a sneer. His fingers slipped inside his boot and pulled forth his dagger. The name written on it was his own. There was no explanation for why Nimue was there. She hadn't stood before him in this tower for more than a century! "I didn't summon you."

"You know why I'm here, Rumple! We only appear when you are filled with doubt! My uninvited presence should tell you just how dangerous that book and the ideas within it are. Listen to me when I tell you…get rid of it! Now!" she hissed. She reached out her hand, and he felt magic fill the room as the book flew up from the place it had landed on the floor and landed in his open hand. He let out a soft "oof" when a corner of it hit his belly.

"Get rid of it," the woman growled, standing suddenly behind him. She put her hands on his shoulders so that he would turn to face the fire. "Destroy it. It's for the best."

Destroy it!

Burn it!

Get rid of it!

Over and over the voices taunted, recognizing the threat he held in his hand. They knew what could happen if he kept it, they knew what would happen if he ever decided to use it. Why would he ever need it? Why would he ever use it? He was happy with his life, he was happy with his curse, so happy it may as well have been a blessing. He'd worked hard to get his hands on poison just as Nimue had told him. But like the box and the sword and the urn it was better he get his hands on it than someone else. Better for him to-

He reeled back, preparing to throw it into the fire when the Seer interrupted with a familiar vision, one he was nearly certain was a fantasy, until now…

It was Belle. A vision of Belle before him wearing unfamiliar white clothes, her face obscured by some kind of hat. And there was a feeling that swelled up inside of him with that image, a feeling of happiness after a long period of sadness, a feeling of completion. His mind raced with thoughts, thoughts of excitement for the future, thoughts of how lucky he was, of how impossible it all felt. In his head was a very specific thought, he was going to make her the happiest woman on the face of the earth. He would protect her and he'd do anything he had to do in order to accomplish that. She made him feel like a man again. He wanted to hold onto that.

When he came out of the vision, he was breathless. He could feel moisture on his cheek that betrayed him. He was crying. The voices were still loud, the Seer had drowned them out for a few moments, but now it wat that image that he carried of the woman sleeping downstairs that was capable of silencing them all. It was powerful. She was powerful. And as he held the book in his hand, he had a feeling that his future, every future, hung on this book.

The voices were upset with him, they screamed and yelled and hollered as they felt his resolve falter. But he hung onto the image of Belle, used his magic to hide the book within the depths of the fireplace mantle, and left it there.

Just in case…

[tirnelkai-blog]

Home is Where the Heart is Ch. 2

Summary:  You're content with your life on Alfheim, living a peaceful existence in the elven forests as a warrior and diplomat for your people. But war has come to the realm and the only way to secure its survival is an alliance with Asgard that is secured by your marriage to Prince Loki. Neither are you are thrilled with the arrangement but can the two of you see past your pride and mutual dislike for each other to form an everlasting bond? Whether you do or don't, you and Loki are stuck with each other until death does you apart.

Chapter 2: Arrangements

Chapter Summary: Loki gets a surprise

Word Count: ~1300

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Warnings: None

Part 2 of my ongoing Loki/Reader series. Current chapter list can be found on AO3 as I work to get them uploaded on Tumblr.

Chapter: 1

Loki watched the elven guests with some degree of curiosity. Never had someone of Alfheim been welcomed in Asgard. Books had described the elves of Alfheim as hauntingly beautiful and he could see why they were described as such. They were tall and slender, graceful in their movements. Their faces were angular and the tips of their ears pointed. The coloration of their skin ranged from that of typical Asgardians to copper, bronze, and even a light blue.

He couldn’t see why his father agreed to meet with them to negotiate an alliance. The elves, dwarves, and others of Alfheim were rebels, choosing to fight for the right to rule themselves rather than fall in line and bend the knee to the crown as the other realms did. When Loki asked Odin why he never sent Asgard’s armies to reconquer Alfheim, his answer didn’t satisfy the question. “Conquest by peace is preferable to conquest by force.”

If it were up to him, he would have the representatives of every race come to Asgard to bend the knee and pledge their loyalty, whether they were willing or not. However, Odin chose to let the realm be. And now they’ve come crawling back.

Heimdall reported on the events unfolding in Alfheim. The forests were wilted and dying. The rivers were poisoned. All manner of wild beasts had become feral and diseased. All as a result of some orc lord who managed to unleash dark magic on the realm and was attempting to wage war on Alfheim’s people. He was amassing an army of orcs, goblins, and other manner of foul beasts, an army the elves and their allies weren’t sure they could defeat. Not without Asgard’s help. Loki was curious as to what they would offer in return.

However, much to Loki’s frustration, he was not permitted to attend the meeting between Odin, his advisors, and the elves. It was a matter of utmost importance and delicacy, and the young princes were not ready to attend. Were it a meeting of the kingdom’s financials or the status of this year’s crop yield, he would not argue. Those could be incredibly dull. But a discussion shrouded in secrecy between the king and representatives from Alfheim, that was much more interesting. Loki had contemplated using his magic to sneak in and observe the meeting, but his mother, who must have sensed his intentions, kept him occupied elsewhere during the day.

Now the time for their evening meal had arrived and Loki was eager to talk to his father about the day’s discussions.

“How was your day, Father?” Loki asked as the royal family sat for their meal.

“Long,” Odin huffed. “Those elves can talk for hours and yet say nothing.”

“Quit beating around the bush, dear.” Frigga teased. “Loki has been insatiably curious about the whole thing.”

Loki opened his mouth to protest, but his mother wasn’t wrong. “I wouldn’t say that. I am simply a bit interested given all the secrecy.”

“I’m also curious about the discussions,” Thor said as he took a swig from his goblet. “Were you discussing battle strategies for the war, Father? I have been wondering what it’s like to fight an orc. I have heard that they are quite large, capable of tearing an ordinary man in half. Big tusks too.”

Loki rolled his eyes at his brother. “I imagine it’s no different than fighting with a barbarian,” he paused for a moment. “But perhaps a bit more foul.”

Thor grunted his reply. “Smellier, maybe.”

“We haven’t yet begun talks on how to proceed with the war. First, we must bring the realms together. I have accepted Lord Haldir’s proposal of a marriage between his daughter and Loki.” The room fell silent as the two princes stared at their father in stunned silence.

Loki opened his mouth to speak, before shutting and opening it again. “Close your mouth, dear,” Frigga scorned. “It’s unbecoming. You look like a fish out of water.”

Thor chuckled beside his brother. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you lost for words, Loki.”

The prince ignored his brother, disbelief still plain on his face. “You cannot be serious, Father.”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious? We agreed the best way to forge a permanent peace between our realms is through familial bonds that cannot be easily broken. Marriage is the best union.”

“But what do you hope to gain from Alfheim that Asgard couldn’t take by force?”

“If we forcibly march our armies into Alfheim, force them into subjugation, and take what we want it could cause paranoia and distrust in the other realms despite the fact that they are under our control. And besides, if the armies and people of Alfheim are decimated by the orcs there truly will be nothing to gain. Asgard once benefitted greatly with trade from Alfheim. I would like to see that return.”

Loki opened his mouth to protest again but stopped himself. He was still shocked but knew arguing with Odin was futile.

“Don’t look so glum!” Thor prodded his brother. “It might not be so bad! Aren’t you curious to know what your betrothed is like?”

Ignoring his brother still, Loki stared down at his plate, dejected. “Why did you choose me to marry this woman? Why not Thor?”

“I didn’t. Lord Haldir and the others did,” Odin replied.

The raven-haired prince tilted his head in confusion.

“The elves did not speak of this out loud, but I assume they didn’t want us or the other races of Alfheim to think they have ambitions of power. It’s a show of good faith that they are only interested in aiding their realm by bringing us together and not plotting to see one of their own become the queen of Asgard.”

“So that’s it then?” Loki hissed. “I’m just supposed to sit quietly and marry this elf while Odin the great king proclaims he’s finally brought the Nine Realms peacefully together?”

Odin’s face turned red. “I expect you to do your duty as Prince and obey your father without question!”

Loki clenched his hands in anger as Thor shifted uncomfortably in the seat beside him. He could feel tears of frustration welling in his eyes. Odin had almost always chosen Thor over Loki his entire life when it came to such matters. Why couldn’t he choose Thor now? Why did he always have to be jealous of his brother?

“Loki.” The prince looked up as his mother grasped his hand in hers. “I understand an arranged marriage isn’t ideal. But you will be doing a great service to the people of Alfheim, your future people.” Frigga gave Loki a reassuring smile. “Besides, it might not be as bad as you fear. From what Lord Haldir has told me, his daughter sounds like quite the interesting woman. She’s kind, an experienced diplomat, and an expert fighter. I do not think the two of you will be bored together. Once the two of you meet, you might find that you like her.”

Loki forced a smile. “Of course, Mother. Thank you.”

That night Loki stayed awake staring into the dark as though the solution to his problems would manifest itself there. Marriage was not something he had given any thought to before. He was barely into his first century, after all, and honestly, there weren’t many women in the palace he was interested in spending the rest of his life with. Besides, Loki always figured he had plenty of time to sort through feelings of love and marriage in the future. However, he was certain this was not a marriage he wanted.

Loki wondered about you, Haldir’s daughter. Was this something you wanted? A life spent as a princess wearing beautiful gowns and standing by his side? Or were you trying to fight your father’s wishes and already hated the idea of him?

Either way, he needed a solution to prevent this marriage from taking place. Could he plant seeds of distrust and forge a political betrayal? Perhaps stage an “accident” that would bring some of the delegates to call off the alliance? He needed to come up with something. He needed to find a way out.

[tes-trash-blog]

Mycosis, Or A Slightly More Scientific Take On How The Falmer Came To Be

(Alt title: I’m Never Eating Mushrooms Again)

Yep. This is happening.

Preface: This essay/rant/overanalysis is focusing only on the theoretical physical and biological aspects Falmer devolution. Expect a shorter rant on the spiritual aspect on a later date, thanks to oyarsas.

Part 1. Just Who Were The Falmer Anyway? A Brief Primer

According to the one surviving Snow Elf in Skyrim, the ancient Falmer were a wealthy and advanced race of Elves that occupied a portion of Skyrim during the Merethic Era. A few shenanigans, some unspeakable war crimes, and a genocide later, the remnants of this race fled underground into the waiting arms of the Dwemer. They laid it down in simple terms:

“Many of your people had perished under the roaring, snow-throated kings of Mora, and your wills were broken, and we heard you, and sent our machines against your enemies, to thereby take you under. Only by the grace of the Dwemer did your culture survive, and only by the fifteen-and-one tones did your new lives begin.”

(Fun fact: If you translate the Stone using Ayleid words, it’s actually a lot more sinister!)

This wasn’t out of the goodness of their hearts, as the Dwarves were, in objective terms, dicks. While they didn’t want tearful songs of gratitude or boot-licking, they weren’t about to let a bunch of homeless and traumatized Elves, y’know, recover. No, they wanted something.

“We only request you partake of the symbol of our bond, the fruit of the stones around us. And as your vision clouds, as the darkness sets in, fear not.”

That something was their sight, and their obedience. Given what very little we know about Snow Elven culture, this looked to have been a bit of a big deal. After all, all the Prelates at Auri-El’s wayshrines implement light and sight in their blessings, much of the surviving iconography depicts the sun and its radiance, and what few surviving accounts remain mention the “dread of night” and “blessed sun”.

This wasn’t a decision made lightly, is what I’m getting at. The fact they agreed at all surely meant the Dwarves could do what they wished. Seeing some of the more elaborate torture chambers and traps, we can safely assume they did.

The Blinding happened in the Late Merethic Era, some hundreds of years before the Dragon War and the beginning of the First Era. Now comes the fun part.

And by fun part, I mean gross part.

Part 2. Can’t We Just Wrap This Up And Blame The Dwarves?

It wouldn’t be an overanalysis if I did, now would it?

There are theories abound as to how the Dwarves corrupted them, or they were part of a failed experiment (Underkiing, Lord_Hoot). This essay is going to ignore these theories, and focus on the more biological aspects of the Falmer transformation. Starting with a quote from the last surviving Snow Elf:

“The blinding of my race was supposedly accomplished with a toxin. Certainly not enough to devolve them into the sad and twisted beings they've become.”

This is further supported with the poem The Betrayed:

“Thrown into the pitch black dread of night.

Living in fear as their minds become lost.

As their eyes began dimming the light.”

This lost book also points to the slow creeping of insanity among the Snow Elves, no doubt from the unspeakable horrors seen above ground and the fancy word that made me write this whole damn essay in the first place: Mycotoxin!

Mycotoxins are a broad name for the various types of poisons produced by the Fungi kingdom, specifically those that affect animals, humans, and in this case, Elves. From NCBI’s extensive article on Mycotoxins:

“The majority of mycotoxicoses, on the other hand, result from eating contaminated foods. Skin contact with mold-infested substrates and inhalation of spore-borne toxins are also important sources of exposure. Except for supportive therapy (e.g., diet, hydration), there are almost no treatments for mycotoxin exposure”

“[...] Acute toxicity generally has a rapid onset and an obvious toxic response, while chronic toxicity is characterized by low-dose exposure over a long time period, resulting in cancers and other generally irreversible effects.”

That sounds… bad.

So, there are few if any treatments for mycotoxin exposure, and the Dwarves were not ones to use magic, so the only feasible treatment for the mass-poisoning would have been a good diet and hydration, but something tells me the Dwarves were not keen on giving their slaves either of those. From the Diary of Faire Agarwen, we can reasonably deduce that conditions were cramped, dark, and damp even among those who had political clout:

“Seventh Marking, Tenth Kulniir

[...] Often the surroundings make it impossible to dwell on any happiness. We have been locked together in such close quarters for so long.”

Keep in mind here that a kulniir was a notched basin that functioned as a simple time keeper, using drops of water. The diary also mentions there’s no real natural light, so we see the combination of dark, damp, and cramped. This was from a woman who held some social capital. We can assume that conditions for your average Joe and Sally were much worse.

Even among the best of conditions, the Snow Elves were kept in were prime real estate for molds and fungi to thrive. There is (thankfully) no evidence to support my next claim, but it’s also not exactly a stretch of the imagination.

The Falmer: A Study makes clear that the blinding was a multi-generational effort. Within perhaps two or three generations, the Snow Elves were eternally blind. Adding to the permanent blindness, there very well could have been the more unpleasant, unwanted, and unplanned changes.

I’m talking about mutagens.

To pull a real life example, Fumonisin B1 can cause neural tube defects in utero, which means that the toxin affects the development of the brain and spinal cord, as well as the central nervous system. In extreme, chronic cases of fumonisin poisoning, it can keep the brain from forming into a viable state, causing stillbirths. In a universe where dragons fly around and singing plants can make poisons, it’s not too much of a stretch to say that there is something equally terrifying growing in Blackreach. Already blinded, chronically ill, and hopeless, the next generation of Snow Elves were doomed to an ever lower standard of living without even the knowledge that things could be better. Combine that with whatever mold infected whatever flora that grew underground, similar to how say, fumonisin blights grains and how black mold is generally Really Bad For You.. Well, we can assume that there was a more subtle force that guided them to their ferality than whatever the Dwarves did to them.

In the same way the lead pipes of Rome contributed to developmental problems among their populace, I can imagine the toxic spores creating more violent, more feral Falmer, until finally their very sentience was taken from them. Seeing as all of this culminated into a war that spanned decades, something tells me the Dwarves didn’t see that coming.

Part 3: So… CAN They Be Cured?

The short answer is no. From the words of the Knight Paladin himself:

“I'm afraid that they're well beyond a cure at this point. The twisted forms you've seen didn't occur overnight. It isn't a plague or a disease that ravaged our species. The dwarves may have stolen their sight, but it took many generations for them to become what they are today.”

And as found earlier, there are no effective cures for mycotoxin exposure, and I imagine even less for chronic, multi-generational poisonings like what happened to the Snow Elves of old. I’m assuming, but I really don’t want to ever see that tested in the field.

But not all is lost. Gelebor also notes that the modern Falmer have started to re-develop their intellect. This grabbed me, as the Forgotten Vale is vastly different than the caves and ruins you normally find Falmer in. There’s fresh air and cool breezes, and open spaces for those sad little gremlins to lurk about. In short, they’re away from the poisonous influences of those dark caves and toxic spores.

It’s entirely possible that the Falmer of the Vale are developing, and it’s in part because they’re no longer confined to the dark and damp that was their prison. It’s entirely possible that with enough time, and enough patience, the Falmer could slowly undo the effects of their chronic poisoning. Not enough to become the Snow Elves of legend, those days are long since past, but perhaps enough to break their chains, and finally put a voice to thousands of years of suffering.

Sources, inspirations, and tangentially related articles:

Mycotoxins, from the National Center for Biotechnology Information. A recommended primer on the nature of mycotoxins and their effects on more complex organisms.

Toxic effects of mycotoxins in humans, from the World Health Organization, another excellent starting point if you like reading about poisonous fungi.

Repeating Mistakes of the Past: Another Mycoherbicide Research Bill, a condemnation of using mycotoxins in of all things, drug control. This article also calls the use of mycotoxins against humans for what it is: Biowarfare. An interesting, insightful, and very depressing read.

A review of the toxic effects and mechanisms of action of fumonisin B1, from the journal Human and Experimental Toxicology. Behind a paywall, but the abstract sums it all up quite nicely.

A Wikipedia article on the Mexican Tetra, because I think they’re cute.

UESP, without which I would be even more of a babbling trash gremlin.

[loptgangandi]

Dragon Age AU: The truth is what sets them free

Details

Name: loki Age: 32 (9:41 dragon, inquisition); 35 (9:44 dragon, trespasser) Gender: fluid, presents primarily as male, AFAB Sexuality: pansexual Race: elf-blooded Class: mage (blood / shapeshifter) Favored schools: winter / inferno Clan: iteliseth -> alaslin'dahl Country: ferelden Biological mother: farbauti (deceased) Biological father: keeper laufey (deceased) Adoptive mother: frigga borson (deceased) Adoptive father: teyrn odin borson Brother: ser thor borson, templar S/O: keeper sul'em'abelas alaslin'dahl -> dirthamen/dream (verse dependent) Children: zafian/safain, fenris, joral (sons); ras'vilem (daughter). lethanavir (dirthamen/loki verse) FC: My male Lavellan

Timeline

9:9 Dragon: Birth

9:21 Dragon: Loki is imprisoned in the Circle of Magi

9:23 Dragon: Thor joins the Templar Order, hoping to protect his mage brother

9:24 Dragon: Loki becomes pregnant by the Templar Svadilfar

9:25 Dragon: Loki’s first son is born. The boy has two extra pairs of legs and arms, and is given to the Chantry as per Circle custom. Unbeknownst to Loki, Odin wins a fight with the Chantry for custody of the child, and names him Zafain.

9:25 Dragon: Thor’s request to finish his training at the Circle Tower is granted. He and Loki are reunited.

9:29 Dragon: Thor is transferred away from the Circle Tower due to his and Loki’s deepening personal connection. Loki’s abusers, emboldened by the brother’s absence, redouble their assault.

9:29 Dragon: Loki undergoes his Harrowing. It is successful, but it is the last chance he may have to escape the tower. He smashes a window, and jumps. He miraculously survives the fall, which should have killed him, and washes up on the bank of Lake Calenhad.

9:30 Dragon: The Blight begins. The Grey Warden is recruited, King Cailan is killed, and the Hawke family flees Lothering.

9:30 Dragon: Loki destroys half of Clan Iteliseth in a bid to win his father’s approval. When this fails, Loki flees into the Frostbacks. He is apprehended by Templars, and the ensuing scuffle leaves them dead and Loki wounded. He is picked up by Clan Alaslin’dahl, and taken in as the clan’s general schoolmaster and the Keeper’s Second.

9:33 Dragon: Loki and Sul’em’abelas, keeper of Alaslin’dahl, are married.

9:34 Dragon: Son Fenris is born

9:35 Dragon: Son Joral is born

9:36 Dragon: Daughter Ras’vilem is born

9:39 Dragon: Alaslin’dahl is attacked, and Loki’s children are kidnapped. Loki is dragged back to his father and imprisoned. He is also reunited with his eldest child, Zafain.

9:39 Dragon: Loki’s mother is killed in an attack by Tal-Vashoth. He and his brother seek vengeance. Loki fakes his death so that Thor will leave him alone and he can pursue his children in peace.

9:40 Dragon: Loki returns to Ferelden and deposes his father, thinking he can use the Teyrnir’s resources to find his children. Odin vanishes into obscurity.

9:41 Dragon: The Conclave is disrupted and a rift opens up in the sky above Haven. In the absence of clear leadership, an Inquisition is declared, with the Herald of Andraste at its head.

9:41 Dragon: Loki travels to Haven and joins the Inquisition

9:41 Dragon: Loki is reunited with daughter Ras’vilem in Skyhold

Backstory

Childhood

Loki was born in 9:9 Dragon to a human Fereldan named Farbauti and the Keeper of the Dalish Clan Iteliseth, Laufey. Farbauti died in childbirth, and the same day a few agitated hunters, upset by the death of the clan’s beloved adoptee (in spite of the baby’s survival), got into a skirmish with a few trespassing humans, which ended in bloodshed. In retaliation, the Teyrn of the territory – newly-formed, and the Teyrn newly-appointed – eliminated the clan in a bid to establish his power and authority.

Odin Borson slaughtered a good chunk of the clan –  save for the Keeper, the baby, and those who surrendered. He kidnapped the infant Loki, less than 24 hours old, and told his wife that the child had been abandoned in the woods. Frigga Borson, an apostate with a gift for hiding her curse, raised the infant elf-blood alongside her own son, and concealed his emerging magical talent from those who would take him from her.

Loki grew up a quiet, withdrawn, bookish child – loved by his mother, but largely ignored by his father, whose approval he constantly sought. Deep down, he knew that he could never win it – his father valued strength of arm and valorous deeds, and only allowed Frigga to help Loki cultivate and conceal his gifts because he knew that losing the boy would devastate her.

Loki, acutely aware of this, grew to resent his elder brother, a golden child beloved by all and an ideal to which he knew he could never live up. Both children were, of course, trained in the art of war by their father, who had gained his position and title through martial prowess. Thor favored his father’s weapons of choice – swords, axes, and warhammers – but the keen and sickly Loki preferred weapons that would let him kill quickly and without risk that he would be hit: a rogue’s weapons. Daggers, bows, and the occasional shortsword. From one of the servants in the house, he learned the art of utlizing poisons – that she knew this art in the first place didn’t really worry him.

The Circle

In 9:21 Dragon, when Loki was 12 years old, Odin – fearing that the adopted child would lay claim to some of the lands and titles which were Thor’s rightful inheritance – Odin turned him in to the Chantry as a mage. He was taken to Kinloch Hold. A free spirit in many ways – and a person who had grown up respected nobility with the freedom to do whatever he pleased – Loki chafed under the yoke of imprisonment, constant supervision, and chronic Templar abuse. A young boy with a pretty face and oddly exotic features, he was often the target of such abuse – emotional, physical, and worse.

Still, he recognized his position: he had an entire world and history’s worth of knowledge at his fingertips, and a mind like a weapon. He read almost constantly, devouring the Circle library piece by piece, honing his intellect with books on magic, on history, on Dwarves, Elves, and Qunari. He retreated into his studies after each abuse with renewed vigor, determined to find something that would help free him and get vengeance simultaneously.

He did manage to have vengeance on a few of the worst offenders – young mages were often assigned various chores and duties, and Loki especially relished the days when he was tasked with working in the kitchen. He had become a proficient alchemist and potioneer, and he had found that certain reagents would cause illness or even death when mixed with high quantities of lyrium.

Sometimes – not always, for he didn’t wish to establish a pattern – he would mix these reagents into food meant for the Templars, whose lyrium-laced blood would react poorly. Once, he even managed to kill – simply by adding a slightly higher quantity to wine he was certain was going to a Templar who had sexually abused him. Nobody suspected the pale, willowy, bookish little teen who was ill and feverish more often than not (and who lied with stunning skill when questioned). Eventually, they put it down to bad wine and bad luck.

The Firstborn

When Loki was 15 years old, in 9:24 Dragon, he caught a careless young Templar named Svadilfar – who had a tendency to pay excessive attention to the younger mages – trying to take advantage of a child who could not have been more than 13. Loki seduced him away from the little boy, but it naturally came at a cost – the Templar had not been prepared for a more mature victim, and in his eagerness, failed to take the necessary precautions to prevent the sort of tangible consequences that could bring the Chantry down upon him.

Somehow, the First Enchanter managed to protect the pregnant teenage mage from being silenced in his sleep. He even sent word to Loki’s father to make sure that someone outside of the Circle knew about this – so that if something were to happen to the baby after its birth, there was the chance that someone would be held accountable.

Even so, Loki spent the better part of a year in isolation, at his own request. He spoke to no one. He did not leave his room. Loki had thus far managed to hide his more self-loathing predilections, so few precautions were taken to keep him or the unborn baby safe.

He was allowed access to books and parchment and ink and quills, even reagents and ingredients to occupy him during his self-imposed imprisonment. And he experimented, trying to induce early labor, kill the fetus, abort this thing before it could reach a stage where it might qualify as an actual person. He failed. The child was born… wrong. Disfigured. A beautiful boy, but for the fact that it had two extra arms and two extra legs. Not unheard-of, but exceedingly rare.

The Templars raged. The Chantry railed. And Odin – who had known of the child’s existence before its birth – had already sent for it to be transferred to him. What could they do? He was a Teyrn who wished to hold his grandson. The Templar that fathered the baby said nothing, for to do so would be to reveal himself the perpetrator of the crime and take ownership and responsibility for this monstrous child. So the child went to Odin, and Odin took pity on the infant (as per usual) and raised him in secret, hidden from the world, a hideous, malformed thing in the eyes of all who encountered him, abhorrent to the Maker – and yet, still family, after a fashion. And useful.

And Loki believed that his child was dead, and thought it a mercy that he wouldn’t need to live in this world Andraste should have let burn centuries ago.

Suicide and Escape

When Thor was 14 years old, his brother was wrenched from him by the Chantry, and sent to live in a Circle where Thor could not protect him. The young heir, to his father’s dismay, rejected his titles and inheritance (those same titles and inheritance that had prompted Odin to send his adopted son away in the first place), and joined the Templar Order. He asked to be stationed at the Circle Tower so that he could protect his mage brother, a plea so impassioned that the Chantry granted it.

When he was 18 years old and Loki was 16, in 9:25 Dragon, they were reunited, and Loki found that the instances of abuse began to wane. But it came at a cost. From his brother, Loki learned the truth about his heritage – that he was an Elf (and Dalish at that), and the story behind his kidnapping. Loki’s dislike for Elves tripled, and his desire to leave the Circle and prove to his father that he was worthy of love and respect was rekindled.

In 9:29 Dragon, a year before the beginning of the Blight, Thor was transferred to a different Circle for telling Loki the truth and causing possible upset. This, of course, only made things worse; in Thor’s absence, Loki’s abusers became emboldened once more, and – now with the knowledge that he was an Elf – it increased to unbearable levels.

It was at this time that he underwent his Harrowing. He toyed with the idea of accepting possession and letting himself be killed by the Templars, but decided that if he was going to die, it was going to be outside the walls of his prison. His Harrowing was successful, and he emerged unattached... and in that moment of relief and dropped guard, bolted for the nearest window, snatching a Templar’s sword as he went. He used the sword to shatter the glass, and threw himself into the void before anyone could react.

The Templars searched for his body for days, to no avail. He had bled heavily from the cuts the glass left, and his magical essence had been dispersed into the water. Nobody could have survived that fall, of course – so eventually they gave up the search, assuming that his broken corpse had simply taken on water and sunk rapidly into the lake. They did a cursory scan of the northern shores for footprints – but finding nothing out of the ordinary, they put the search to rest.

Even Loki, when he found himself on the bank of the river flowing out of Lake Calenhad into the sea, bones healed and lungs free of water, was baffled by his survival. What came next, however, almost made him wish for the relative safety of the Circle. He doesn’t speak of what happened then. Not even to those closest to him. Only… he often wakes in the middle of the night, crying out in pain and fear. He speaks of demons, and of Darkspawn, and that is all.

Apostasy

Word soon reached Thor of his brother’s suicide. Grief-stricken, and unable to believe that his brother was truly dead, Thor begged to return to Kinloch to search for his brother’s body and give him a proper funeral. His Knight Commander took pity on him and gave him dispensation to search for Loki by whatever means necessary. As soon as Thor touched Loki’s phylactery – phial now archived among the rest of those who had passed – he felt it. The pull of magic, leading him away from the tower toward where his brother’s body lay. Except… it pulled him even further. Beyond the lake, even beyond Redcliffe. West, towards the Frostback Mountains and their father’s Teyrnir.

With a several-week head start, Loki had gone searching for the Iteliseth Clan – what remained, at least – believing that if he brought the head of his birth father to his adopted father, he would prove himself Odin’s true son. Like Odin before him, Loki left few survivors. He single-handedly slaughtered most of the clan’s hunters, and it was only when Laufey surrendered and was slain that Loki was satisfied to leave the rest alive. He brought the head of Laufey back to Odin, who simply told him to go home. Back to the Circle.

Children of Apostasy

Hunted, haunted, and pursued, Loki fled west, into the Frostback Mountains, believing that such a wild and inhospitable place might offer some protection from the forces following him. From his brother and the Templars, but also perhaps from the demons seeking him. It didn’t, and an encounter with a group of Templars (minus his brother) left them dead and Loki wounded.

To his dismay, he was found by the Alaslin'dahl Clan, Dalish elves with a particularly vicious, vengeful bent. The smell of blood on him didn’t seem to deter them – and in fact, his apostasy, hostility toward the Chantry, considerable martial and magical skill, and education in a diverse range of subjects made him a great asset.

He was given a choice: join or die. They offered protection and community, and in return he would teach them to read and write, and lend his magic in whatever capacity was required of him. The Keeper, Sul'em'abelas, soon took a liking to the keen-minded and ruthless elf-blooded mage, and in 9:33 Dragon they were married.

Around the same time, Loki was given the vallaslin of Dirthamen. But while he never would go so far as to call it worship, he felt a deeper kinship with the Dread Wolf – the patron god of the Alaslin'dahl Clan.

He sired three children with Sul'em'abelas over the next three years: sons Fenris and Joral, and daughter Ras'Vilem (or Ras for short). For a time, there was peace – as much as the Alaslin'dahl Clan would allow, at least, and for several years Loki lived with his family in the forest, and was almost allowed to forget that he was a wanted man.

Death and the Tower

In 9:39 Dragon, when he was 30 years old, Loki had gone off with several companions to do reconnaissance on alleged troop movement nearby. He and his companions returned to screaming, smoke, and the clamor of battle. They managed to drive off the attacking Templars, but not without heavy casualties. Sul'em'abelas survived, along with Loki and a few hunters, all heavily-wounded. Some children had fled into the woods, and also managed to survive. Loki’s children were not among them, yet their bodies were nowhere to be found. The Keeper’s First also seemed to have vanished without a trace.

Loki and Sul'em'abelas, half-dead from their wounds, began to pursue the Templars, but were quickly detained by the living hunters. What did they plan to do when they caught up? Did they – two dying Dalish mages – really think they could take on the Templars? They didn’t seem to care, but the hunters managed to overpower them and bring them back to camp.

The Keeper’s First of a nearby clan was sought, and by the time Loki and Sul'em were well enough to go hunting, it was already too late. The trail had gone cold, and the children were lost. Grief-stricken, Loki left his clan and beloved wife, promising to return once he found their children.

It was all too convenient, and Loki suspected that the Templars were not, in fact, rogue, but were acting under orders. Once outside the protection of is clan (who had traveled to the Brecilian Forest), Thor and his companions apprehended him, and dragged him back to their father’s hall – where Loki had, in fact, intended to go in the first place. He learned that Odin had indeed been behind the attack, and Odin told him that the children had been executed for apostasy, and that the only reason why Loki would not be was because his mother wouldn’t allow it. Therefore, he would not be returned to the Templars, because they would likely execute him immediately; he would instead, at Frigga’s request, be kept alive in the keep’s dungeon for the rest of his miserable life.

A few months later, the keep was raided by a rogue band of Tal-Vashoth seeking vengeance against Odin, whose father had been responsible for a campaign against them many years prior. Frigga attempted to protect Thor’s young fiancee, and was killed in the attack; Thor enlisted Loki, a skilled tracker after his time with the Dalish, to seek vengeance upon them. He would have to return to his cell thereafter, of course – but at least they would have vengeance.

Loki agreed. Thor, Loki, and Thor’s fiancee (whose overwhelming survivor’s guilt made her presence a necessity by her own reckoning) slipped out from under the Teyrn’s nose and pursued the Tal-Vashoth into hostile territory, where they were able to ambush and kill most of them. Thor was nearly slain by the same individual who had killed their mother, and was rescued at the last minute by Loki. The victory was bittersweet, however, as the murderer used his dying moments to take vengeance on the apostate.

The trick Loki used to convince his brother that he died in his arms was one that his mother had taught him as a child to conceal his magic, adapted to make his pulse and breath appear still, and his skin and blood seem cold.

With hostile scouts bearing down, and no time to bury his brother, Thor and his fiancee swiftly departed to Kirkwall to help deal with the rebellion rumored to be brewing. Loki, wounded but alive, struck out for Kirkwall as well, determined to continue the search for his children.

After months of bad leads and dead ends, Loki returned to Ferelden to deal with his father. He entered the castle disguised as an elven servant, and cornered Odin in his bedchamber. But as he went to deal the final blow, he found that he could not; Odin had raised him, and Loki would always be his child. He wiped the old man’s memory instead, then stole a horse, and dumped Odin by the side of the road in a tiny, backwater town. He could live out his life there as a beggar, as far as Loki cared – or a servant, if he was very lucky. Death would be a more fitting punishment, but a miserable life would suffice.

For a time, Loki ruled the Teyrnir as the only legitimate heir – but he soon realized that the center could not hold. Templars were beginning to grow suspicious, as were the servants, and Loki knew that it was only a matter of time before his brother returned. He had also come no closer to finding his lost children, whom he was convinced were still alive; limiting contact with the Templars also meant limiting his chances of obtaining information from them. He would have to switch strategies if he was going to find them.

Inquisition

Rumors soon reached his ears of the newly-formed Inquisition – and how the Chantry was denouncing it. Leery of a group that seemed to be starting a holy war – but emboldened by the Chantry’s dislike – he  went to Haven to see if he could join. Perhaps, at least, they could give him some protection; if he was very lucky, perhaps they could also help him find information about his lost children.

To his surprise, Thor showed up at Haven not a week later. Having learned that his father had vanished, Thor put a few pieces of the puzzle together, but not all; he was still quite surprised to find his brother alive. Thor joined as well, for less selfish reasons; the Breach was a threat no one with a conscience could ignore, and he believed it his duty as a Templar – and as a person – to protect the world from whatever was spilling out of the rifts and do what he could to amend the entire situation. His fiancee, a brilliant scholar, historian, and astronomer in her own right, was glad to assist as well.

Thor and Loki now have an easy truce; they had always loved each other, and are healing the rift that their father had driven between them. Loki often speaks of his wife and children and the pain of that loss, and Thor goes to Loki for help when lyrium withdrawal becomes too much to cope with.

Reunion (with sinnhelmingr)

Sometime after the Inquisition relocates to Skyhold, a mysterious elven man shows up with a young girl. She is immediately recognized as Loki’s daughter, Ras’vilem. Father and daughter are tearfully reunited, and Ras starts on the long path to healing from her ordeal.

[weareinquisitor]

A Wolf in Hound’s Clothing

Fighting Not for the Flock but for Vengeance

A final addition to the Iconic Inquisitor roster.

Name: Inquisitor Mikkel Groennlie Age/Gen/Race/AL: 72, Male, werewaheela Human, Lawful Neutral Height/Weight: 6′5″ 272 lbs Class and Level: Slayer, Alchemist, Inquisitor (Sanctified Slayer) Long, long History under the Break (He’s 72, give me a break) I wrote a novel and we’re all the worse for it

Art by  Sergey Kolesov, Art below the cut by Mike “Daarken” Lim

Mikkel Groennlie was born in the Norhern outpost of Groennlie, in the frozen wastes that only the hardiest men and women inhabited, mer being poorly adapted to such frozen wastes and dwarves turned away by the lack of precious gems and hardy metals. In this hellish wasteland, warlords and bloodthirsty warriors made their home, sustaining themselves by raiding south down rivers in longships, kept safe by Ser Winter and Mistress Mud.

Their land was the last bastion of an ancient curse, one long ago purged from the world by the High Church, but one that remained in the Northern Wastes simply because the outlaws could survive and thrive due to their condition and they did not present a threat to the faithful, only to bandits and other outlaws. The Northern Wastes were the land of the werebeast.

Born the third son of an ambitious warlord, Thorbjorn Groennlie, Mikkel was unfortunately a very frail child. He was, however, incredibly sharp and cunning, gifted with incredible wisdom and intelligence. In truth, it seemed like his body was solely for the purpose of housing his great intellect and for little else. Only his father saw the value in this child, everyone else derided him for his absolute lack of martial prowess. Not even being the chieftain’s son shielded him from the abuse.

His father would bring him every book, map, history, and treatise he could find, and Mikkel eagerly learned it all. He became fluent in the languages of the south, knowledgeable in their geography, and aware of their social and political intricacies. Many techniques used against werebeasts in the Great Purge were adopted by the defenders.

Mikkel’s 16th birthday coincided with a full moon, and it soon turned into the worst night of his life. The largest, fiercest werewolf that had ever been encountered somehow slipped past the defenses, and went on a murderous spree that only ended when the chieftain’s sons and daughters lured it into a keep and collapsed it upon themselves and the beast. Come morning, the warriors tore the rubble apart searching for the bodies, only to find a stunned Mikkel surrounded by the mauled corpses of his brothers and sisters.

He was indicted with the crime, and he would have died come morning had he not pieced together the clues and information he had, and come to the conclusion based off of the Southerners’ writings on the curse that his father must be cursed with lycanthropy as well, and he was not a werewolf, but a skinshifter who had undergone his first, frenzied transformation. Armed with this knowledge and the superhuman body his curse, no, blessing had granted him, he strode with confidence to the executioner’s block, only to burst into his wolf form in broad daylight, stunning guard and warrior alike and allowing him to escape.

From there, he made his way South, and in his frenzied, distraught state he would join a band of marauding bandits. For a season, he burned, pillaged, and raped his way up and down the continent under the name of Helmut. Helmut was a wild man, considering the only sin in life to deny oneself, and as such freely indulged in any desire he had, no matter the cost or harm done to others. This very attitude would write the next chapter of his life as one drenched in sin and with no redeeming qualities.

Now known simply as Helmut the Tall, he would join a band of pirates, eventually finding his way into the legendary crew of Siegmund the Black. He would come to be called Siegmund’s Salty Dog by a noble, and at first detested the name. Come a few months, Siegmund decided he desired a castle, and they stormed this very nobleman’s seaside castle. Helmut personally broke the defenses, and proceeded to beat down the noble and walk him on a leash in front of all of his men and family.

It seemed like the golden age of Helmut and Siegmund’s lives, but this very pinnacle was also the day the seed of their rift was planted. For the nobleman’s daughter, Eloise, was by far the most beautiful girl either man had ever seen. Had they been ordinary bandits, they would have simply slaked their thirst on her then and there, but hers was a beauty so refined and graceful they wanted to drink long and at their leisure from its overflowing pools. As such, both men reigned in their wilder sides, and they set about to courting the poor girl.

Helmut, drawing from his past life as Mikkel, would make progress by leaps and bounds, as he recited to her poems and discussed philosophy with Eloise at length. Siegmund grew jealous of Helmut’s progress and distraught over his closest friend’s sudden and drastic change. He decided if he couldn’t have Eloise forever, he could at least have her once, and forced himself on her. Helmut’s anger was unparalleled the moment he found out, but Eloise asked him not to avenge her and instead to simply escape with her.

Helmut reigned in his fury in, and taking a rowboat attempted to make it into the countryside with her. Siegmund knew Helmut well, however, and how he thought, and as such eventually caught up with his old friend. Distraught over the fact Eloise had stolen the Helmut he once knew, once they caught up he had Eloise killed on the spot. Helmut’s grief overflew, and for days he ate and drank nothing. Siegmund attempted to talk to his friend at first, and then resorted to shouting, which soon turned into beatings.

In truth, Helmut died alongside Eloise that day, and now Mikkel was once more rising up within Helmut, Helmut’s battered and broken iron being melted down and reforged by the fires of fury within the furnace of grief. The next port they stopped at, Mikkel, left barely guarded in his comatose state, slaughtered his way out of the ship while most of the crew was drinking and left. For the second time in his life, Siegmund felt fear at the thought of Mikkel out there hunting him.

Leading a band of the King’s Enforcers, Mikkel hunted down Siegmund much in the same way Siegmund had hunted him: simply knowing the man and his habits. When they finally caught up, the battle was nothing but pure sound and fury. And yet among the chaos of it all, the heaviest blow that fate dealt was accompanied with two words, spoken calmly: “For Eloise.” Siegmund was dead, and Mikkel felt content to enlist under the King’s Enforcers as Matheas, once more donning a false name and becoming the mask to run from his past.

But his time with the King’s Enforcers quickly turned into an extension of his time as a pirate, and Matheas found himself surrounded by more murderers, thieves, and rapists. The only difference between the King’s Enforcers and Siegmund’s pirates was that with Siegmund, Matheas had had a friend, but now, under the King’s Enforcers, he only had taskmasters. Mikkel’s stint as Matheas was short-lived, and Mikkel waited patiently until they stopped in a cove. And there, he once again allowed himself to run wild, slaughtering the entire crew and mangling the corpses to cover the fact his body was missing.

Mikkel wandered the countryside aimlessly, hunting in wolf form when he was hungry, doing odd jobs to earn money. Burdened with rage, he became a smith and took out his fury on hot metal. He grew masterful at his trade, but found no satisfaction there. He would eventually resolve to die, no longer being able to come to terms with all the damage he had done. He decided to die with purpose, however, and would slowly make his way North, finding more of his kind and hunting them down.

In these borderlands with the Northern Wastes, he would simply live from day to day, anxiously awaiting the nights of the full moon. On these nights, he had difficulties finding other werebeasts, as his own form was so powerful others would flee out of fear and respect. What he did find one night was an ancient temple, worn by time and full of pools of water left unattended. In this sanctuary, he would encounter the dying deity Selene, sustained solely by her connection to one of Renova’s two moons.

For a time, he meditated under her watch, and she taught him the truths of his curse and the natures of its origin, explaining it as a curse placed on an ancient king for his refusal to bed Selene’s twin sister, Hecate. Since then, its plaguelike nature caused it to spread like wildfire, only to be contained periodically by Selene’s disciples or by the High Church when infestations got bad enough. Seeing an opportunity to amend his old ways, Siegmund’s Dog became Selene’s Wolf and left to begin his hunt.

For another time, he lived only off the land, hunting anonymously and seeking no renown. Maintaining communication by seances, Mikkel would be directed to the Old Woods, where he hunted Hecate’s witches’ covens. Between this and the hunting of Hecate’s great beasts, Selene was sending her sister a clear message: she had a grip in this world once more, and she was coming for her.

But Hecate was cunning and devious, and sent her own champion, a wyf-fox by the name of Blathnaid to poison and murder Mikkel. But Mikkel’s curse was not that of a werewolf, but of a werewaheela, and as such fully stomached the dose that Blathnaid gave him. His curse gave him an inordinately long life as well, and Mikkel was nearing the age of fifty at this time. His face was that of a younger man, but his eyes were grey and piercing and those of an old soul, and Blathnaid soon found herself falling for the tired huntsman.

Hecate succeeded in sequestering Selene’s champion in the end, as Mikkel found himself falling in love with Blathnaid as well, and neglected his duties, ignoring the call in order to spend time with her instead. She taught him herblore extensively, and the two were happy for three years and a day. But on that day, the townsfolk discovered Blathnaid’s wyf-fox nature, and she was burned at the stake while Mikkel was gone hunting for a week.

Losing himself to grief once more, Mikkel proceeded to hunt down werebeasts ruthlessly, and for a time he hunted and hunted and hunted. He tracked the beasts down, chased rumors, learned to discern the truth from the rumors, and began to map the incidents. It was in this way that he discovered a pattern, and a pattern soon became a trail. The trail would finally become a hunt as Mikkel sighted it: some unnatural monstrosity, part wolf, part boar, more than twice the size of a bear, but gifted with the speed and cunning of a fox.

It was the sum of all his enemy’s strengths and none of their weaknesses, and Mikkel wished he had never encountered it at first. This hesitation cost him their first encounter, and for months Mikkel would track it. But the breakouts it left in its trail would slow him down, and months turned to years soon enough. Mikkel would have many adventures during this time, coming to hone his skills relentlessly against dozens of the werebeasts in his preparation for the ultimate foe. 

As Mikkel neared his sixth decade, Selene and Hecate would both come to pass into obscurity, but while Hecate’s disciples mourned her passing and erected shrines in her memory in hidden corners of the wilderness, monuments that would testify to her for generations, Mikkel instead enlisted the help of a powerful cleric, and imbued a longsword with Selene’s essence, preserving his deity as his main weapon and turning her into his lifelong companion.

He traveled the world, hot on the beasts heels, constantly resolving the problems it caused. He caught sight of it multiple times, and on more than one occasion he wounded it gravely, only to have it flee and simply walk the wound off, for such was its size and constitution. Whether it was bent on never fighting him conclusively or it was constantly searching for the perfect battlefield, Mikkel never knew. 

But as the weeks turned to months and the months turned to years, Mikkel fears more and more that the answer is the latter, for Mikkel recently entered his seventh decade, and his age is finally catching up to him....

[atlasalexanderwrites]

Immortal...Thranduil x Oakenshield!Reader...

Imagine  being the daughter to Thorin Oakenshield. You save the Elven King’s life and nearly die in his place. In return, Thranduil makes you immortal.

((I SWEAR….it’s good…or at least…a little well written haha. Honest criticism appreciated, but please don’t get overly rude. Thanks!)) 

Word Count: 2,714

Warning: None but poorly written characters, possibly.

“Remain inside! Do not fight if you don’t need to.” Your father, Thorin Oakenshield, ordered in a rush and a panic. He grabbed your shoulders as he spoke and then cupped your face. He placed a kiss to your forehead and on instinct you leaned into him and the comfort he was trying to give. “You are a daughter of Durin; you are a Princess of Erebor.”

You pulled back as he did the same and your eyes flickered downward, glued to your father’s hands as he pulled off the large blue jeweled ring he had worn since before you were born. It was a symbol of his birthright; it was to be worn by the leader of the Durin Folk.

“Keep this safe for me,” your father murmured as he placed the ring in your hand. “Should we die but out people prevail, you will rule them honestly, dutifully, and honorably.”

Your throat hurt too much to speak. Giving everyone one last (well, what could have been their last) hug, you moved to the top of the stone wall so you could look down upon the battle. You slipped your father’s ring on the chain around your neck; it rested safely right over your heart.

You felt pride when your father led the charge, and that pride only grew when the dwarves of the Iron Hills rallied to him.

“Mahal protect them. They are sons of Durin; our race needs them..” I need them. You closed your eyes and your ears rang with the sound of weapons clashing together.

You couldn’t bring yourself to reopen your eyes; you couldn’t watch a single dwarf die. It wasn’t right! Erebor was your home! Well, your father’s home and birthright! Who were the orcs to appear and try to wrestle this victory of reclaiming the mountain away from them!

You worried about Kili who was still healing from the poisoned arrow in his leg, and you worried especially for your father who had only just overcome the dragon sickness that had claimed him the moment he entered the mountain. You worried for the entire Company of Thorin Oakenshield; they weren’t warriors, not truly.

You could be their Queen at the end of the day. A voice rang softly in the back of your head. Open your eyes, Y/n, open your eyes and watch these brave dwarves fight for your father’s…for your throne.

When your eyes opened, you found a calmness inside of you for just a moment. Your fingers laid on stone, your face was a mask of indifference, and all the while, your heart was threatening to rip from your chest.

You had always been “too soft for the real world” even though you could fight as well as your cousins. In that moment, as you watched dwarves fight and  die just outside the halls of your ancestors, something shifted inside of you. Something you couldn’t quite identify. Perhaps it was courage or strength, and maybe it was simply a desire to protect those of your race.

“I am a daughter to Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. We are descendants of Durin. We are smiths, merchantes, thieves, but more so we are fighters.” Your hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword at your hip, “I am the daughter of a King. This is my home. I will help defend it.”

Your father’s command to remain hidden inside Erebor meant nothing if he was already dead. You were a dwarrowdam – even if it was only half – and you would not hide while the “men folk” fought the battle for you.

Your sword caught an orc unaware the moment you made it to the battle field. Your sword sank deep in the orcs back and when it slid out, as the orc fell to the ground dead, the blade was covered in crimson.

“I am a Princess…” you repeated as you let out a shaky breath and turned to another orc.

You are not weak. You simply value life. You could hear your mother’s voice in your head, saying the words to reassure you. Your mother had always been wise; she had been a human, a fling of your father’s you had been told by your Aunt Dis, but your father loved her and when she passed ten years after you were born, Thorin Oakenshield buried your mother with all the honors of a dwarf…perhaps even a Queen.

“They are not worthy of life, Mama.” Your jaw clenched and you pushed forward, deeper into the battle raging all around you.

You liked to believe that you hide your fear well; you liked to imagine making your father proud. You had to fight. The orcs wanted to kill your family and your people. You were Durin’s Folk, and Durin’s Folk never flee from a battle. So, what other choice did you have than to hide your fear under layers of courage and battle cries?

Even so, you couldn’t deny that the orcs were terrifying, ugly creatures, and there were so many more of them.

You weren’t as vicious in your fighting as the orcs were, but you were quicker. You also had some amount of strength to nearly equal that of an orcs; thank Mahal for making you half dwarf.

Somehow you ended up in the ruins that were once the thriving city of Dale. There, you came upon the elves and humans fighting orcs that just seemed to continuously stream into the city.

A flash of white and you turned slightly; your eyes landed on the Elven King of Mirkwood; the very same one who had locked you, your father, and the rest of your company into cells.

The King was so graceful and deadly as he wielded double swords and moved fast enough that you could hardly keep up with him. It was an art…it was beautiful to watch.

Pulling your gaze away, you spun around to meet the ac of an orc. Gasping at the orcs strength, you quickly dropped your sword away from the orc and spun to the left. Crouching, you grabbed the dagger from your boot and slammed it into the orcs calf.

The roar of pain from the orc filled the air as you pulled the dagger out and, with as much strength as you could muster, shoved it up through the root of the orcs mouth as you jumped to your feet.

The sounds of steal breaking skin and the orc gurgling on blood made your stomach churn and you felt tears filling your eyes despite you knowing how absolutely ridiculous it was!

It was stupid to be upset over the death of a monster, and orc no less, but you were upset; this is why your father had told you to remain in Erebor. He knew you weren’t a killer, and he didn’t want you to become one under any circumstance.

I’m sorry Papa, but I have to fight. I…your thoughts trialed off as you caught sight of the elven king once more.

He was a great warrior, but there were a lot of orcs and his people were dwindling.

Whether the elves were fighting for the dwarves or not, it didn’t matter; they were still fighting and dying against a common enemy of the dwarves.

You moved forward toward the elf-king; fighting against the orcs as you did so. You could taste blood on your lips although you couldn’t remember when it had gotten there.

Unlike your father, you held no grudge against elven kind. If you had, it would have disappeared just from seeing how many elves had given their lives that day.

If you held a grudge against the elves, the next series of events probably wouldn’t have happened.

To be honest, things happened so quickly you weren’t aware of moving toward the tall, white haired King. Whatever made you do it would forever be a mystery to you. Perhaps you were just trying to save one of the good guys.

One moment, you were fighting off two orcs when your saw – out the corner of your eye – that the Elven King was surrounded. He was holding his own, but for how much longer could he do that?

You didn’t even hesitate to kill the two orcs you had been fighting.

And then you were running over to help the elf.

He didn’t seem to notice you; not until, that is, your hands pushed against his back, pushing him forward. He caught himself and spun around, a glare on his face.

Then his eyes widened in surprise and what could have been horror.

You had just ducked under the Warhammer before it could cave your skull in when you saw an orc sneaking up on the Elf King. Perhaps it was because, for now, he was an ally, or maybe it was you not wanting him to die for the sake of his son and their people. Either way, you ducked under the Warhammer and ran toward the King of Mirkwood who stood, still, near three feet away.

Your hands caught his back just as your other hand raised your sword in a poor attempt to block the orcs attack.

The Elven King stumbled forward from your push and pain ripped through your chest; you couldn’t find it in yourself to scream out of pain.

A gasp of surprise slipped off your lips as you felt to your knees.

You didn’t hear the war cry of the Elven King nor see him “take care of” the rest of the orcs currently in the small court yard where the two of you stood.

Pressing a shaky hand to your tunic, you sobbed at the amount of blood that instantly covered your hand. A second sob, louder this time, sounded as you fell onto your side.

Through tears filled eyes, you found the Elven King standing over the last of the orcs, now dead, and watching you in alarm.

Coughing, you whimpered, “Please,” your eyes snapped shut at the amount of pain washing over you. “Your Highness….it hurts so much…please….make it go away.” You were pleading for death. The Elf King sheathed his swords and moved over to you. “You are the daughter to Thorin Oakenshield?” he questioned, kneeling beside you.

“Proudly,” you answered, wincing. Each breath was becoming harder to take.

Silver eyes turned curious as a warm hand landed on yours where you were still grabbing at your wound. “Why, then, did you sacrifice yourself for me?”

You whimpered once more, unable to answer his question. “Kill me. Please make it stop.” Your tears felt as if they froze on your face the moment they slipped from your eyes. You were so cold and so lightheaded.

You wanted your father. You wanted to say goodbye to him. You wanted to feel safe in his hug and see him smile one last time.

The Elf King began to speak in Sindarin.

You had no idea what he was saying, but you prayed he was doing as you asked. You were in so much pain and you just wanted to rest. You were ready to die.

The last thing you heard before slipping into unconsciousness was a voice telling you to “Sleep peacefully.”

*

“What would you…do…? Death comes…us all... Be proud…she…fighting.”

“You want me to…proud…daughter…sacrificing…? I would be…it had…been…likes…you…”

“Thorin, stop. You…is there….you can…to save…cousin?”

“Yes…”

Nothing that was being said made sense to you. It was obvious people were arguing, but in your state of slipping in and out of conscious, you were only able to hear bits and pieces of the conversation. Your mind was too foggy; you couldn’t even put names to the voices that you were certain were familiar to you.

Thorin…that’s my father…is he here?

Your eyes felt too heavy to open.

The other voices…they are familiar but…I am so tired…What’s going on?

You must have slipped back into unconsciousness for quite a while because the next time you woke, you no longer felt much pain and the world around you was much quieter.

With some difficult, you opened your eyes with a soft shudder of breath.

I am not dead…Somehow you just knew you were still alive.

You were in the entrance hall of Erebor. Amongst the rubble left in Smaug’s inhabitance and departure from the mountain kingdom, bodies were scattered all around; elves, dwarves, and humans alike. Most were asleep, the few who were awake were whispering softly to those nearest them.

Placing your hands on the floor, you pushed yourself into a seated position with a small grunt as the bandage wrapped around your waist tightened and dug into your skin.

Once more, your gaze flickered over and room…and stopped on the person lying beside you. A gasp of fear passed your lips as you pushed the blankets from your body and scurried over the small distance.

“Papa,” you murmured brushing a hand over his face. You could tell that he was still breathing, but that didn’t make you any less afraid for him.

“He won’t die,” a feminine voice assured you.

Looking up, you realized it was Kili’s she-elf. Tauriel? She was seated beside Kili who was smiling softly in your direction.

“What happened?” you demanded, tears in your eyes. “What happened to all of you? What of the orcs? Tell me, Kili.” Your tone was now pleading as you watched Fili stir from the other side of Kili.

“The orcs were defeated and they scattered away.” Tauriel responded to you, calmly an softly. You watched her grab Kili’s hand and pull it onto your lap as your cousin said, “Azog the Defiler stabbed Thorin and Fili; his…off spring, Bolg nearly killed me.”

Fili coughed and then said, “We all came too close.” While reaching a hand out to touch his brother’s shoulder.

“But we survived.” You snuggled, trying not to cry. “That is all that matters.” Your gaze returned to your father who continued to sleep without a sound; not even a soft snore.

You were too thankful for your father and cousin being alive that you didn’t are ask how many and who had been killed. You couldn’t, however, stop yourself from asking how it was that you were alive. “I swear, I felt myself die.” You informed your cousins and the she-elf who simply stared back at you.

You knew that look on Fili and Kili’s faces. They knew something, but they didn’t know how to tell you.

“What? What is it?” you demanded, beginning to panic. Had someone managed to heal you just long enough for you to live for a short time longer? Were you actually dead and all of this was just a…a afterlife….affair?!

“It…” Fili began to say before clearing his throat, “It was Thranduil. On Thorin’s…request…the Elf King saved you.”

You most certainly hadn’t expected that to be the reason. “He…what?” you hissed, your eyes wider than you think they had ever been.

“By making you immortal.” The response was soft and your head snapped around to find the source of it. You found yourself staring at the Elven King, himself, as he stood there a few feet away holding your gaze.

Your breath caught and you tried to figure out if he was being serious or just messing with you.

At the calm look on his face that told you he was waiting you to…to thank him or…or something to that effect, you sputtered, “You…you made me…what?!” you got to your feet, ignoring how shaky you were and the voices telling you to lay back down. “Why? Why would you do that? I asked you to kill me.” You hissed as you came to stop in front of him, “You can’t just play god with someone without their knowledge!”

How could he do this? Why would anyone…he…your own father…think you would want that? It…how could they make this decision without your say?! As if you were but a child who couldn’t make her own decisions!

The Elf King appeared amused by your anger, and he simply stood there smirking slightly.

“I don’t want this! I will not live while everyone I love dies! I will not be one of you!” and you shoved past him heading deeper into Erebor.

You wouldn’t allow him to see you cry.

[mycroftrh]

So yeah, it’s canon that hobbits are the stealthiest of the races of Middle-Earth, even more so than elves. Which is an amusing trivia fact, until you start realizing how much of the plot of both The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings is based on this.

Why did Gandalf randomly decide that a plump gentle-hobbit was the right person to be a burglar for an adventuring party? It seems like wizardly eccentricity, until you realize Bilbo’s got a racial bonus to Stealth of like +20. Why does he get the Ring? In text, it’s partly coincidence, but also - which party member do you give your Ring of Invisibility to? The Rogue with a crazy Stealth bonus, of course. Bilbo uses his Stealth, boosted by the Ring, constantly, and the dwarves would have been dead a dozen times over without it. He’s able to get the Ring in the first place because he stealthed out of the middle of a horde of goblins. Then he’s sneaking up inches from trolls, secretly living inside the elves’ freakin palace (with Legolas) for months, rescuing a whole pack of dwarves from under the elves’ noses, regularly pick-pocketing people including elves, sneaking past a dragon, sneaking to deliver the Arkenstone.

Then we follow up into Lord of the Rings. Gandalf’s now bred up a second-generation Rogue. Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and Merry have that same massive racial Stealth bonus, and Frodo also has been raised by an adventurer. He speaks Elvish fluently, he’s friends with dwarves, he studies maps obsessively. Then he inherits Bilbo’s Stealth-boosting magic item - now upgraded to cursed McGuffin. When Gandalf decides it’s time, he collects Frodo and assembles a party. Their goal isn’t to march into Mordor, or to battle the Boss: it’s to sneak through enemy lines, past an entire army (or two).

The humans, elf, dwarf, and wizard angel keep drawing too much attention and getting them attacked (plus admittedly Pippin, the low-WIS darling), so eventually Frodo and Sam ditch them and head off on a pure stealth run. They can’t use the Ring of Invisibility anymore, but fortunately Galadriel gave them another Stealth-boosting magic item, the cloaks. They sneak halfway across Middle-Earth, past armies, through miles and miles of enemy territory, while being hunted by every evil being on the planet, particularly a literal giant All-Seeing Eye. Not to mention the Palantiri, extremely powerful divination items which are being actively used by three different groups of enemies/competitors.

The other main canonical Hobbit power is that they’re “very hardy folk”, meaning they have incredibly high resistance to various things from poison to mental influence. So they can survive the literally poisonous air and water of Mordor, which was designed to kill every species but orcs. And they can survive close contact with the Ring for decades or centuries, not only physically but also maintaining some degree of mental independence, when any other race would succumb in minutes to hours. (Note the most “powerful” characters - Elrond, Galadriel, the literal angel Gandalf - refuse to even touch the Ring, as do the most morally sound, Aragorn and Faramir.)

Why did Gandalf choose a minor member of the country gentry, the size of a toddler, with no combat training, to save Middle-Earth? Because absolutely no other creature on the planet could have done the task. Frodo was all but created as a weapon against Sauron. He, and he alone (with Sam), was capable of saving Middle-Earth.

TL;DR: Legolas would get jump-scared by Frodo every single time, because Frodo is the greatest Rogue in Middle-Earth, and the plot of the entire series depends on that fact.

The hobbits invent a fun game called ‘how close can we get to our friends before they notice us’

easy mode: Gimli (makes a lot of noise himself, very easy to sneak up on)

medium mode: Boromir (challenging enough to be great fun)

hard more: Aragorn (VERY attentive to his surroundings)

expert mode: Legolas