#but on the other she grew close to her fellow kindreds in this world

[melonisopod]

MY WIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

iT'S MY WIFE!!!!!!!!!!! SHE'S HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[ariel-gremlinzkeep]

This needs updated

ToaF AU Introduction 

Okay. I suck at these kinda things so bear w/ me, lmao. 

Long Story Short:

Turts of a Feather is my canon divergence AU that is mainly based on ROTTMNT w/ bits & pieces of other iterations & OC shit tossed in. 

I suppose the easiest way to describe it is, take the Hamatos, throw them in a mixer w/ more found fam, heaps of trauma, loads of familial love, & hit max speed. Yay~

~☆~

🔗Links🔗

ToaF on Tumblr ToaF on AO3

~☆~

Long story summarized-ish:

The biggest divergence goes back to when Drax first made the Ooze & the fact his initial concoction was Empyrean free. Instead it utilized the Mystic ability of a nigh extinct class of Yōkai, a relation to the Phoenix. A rather small percentage of the female population can produce a powerful transmutation substance they call the Krókos or Yolk. Said substance can be used by the Krókos-Foréas (Yolk-Bearer) to transform any animal into a Krókos-Polemist (Yolk-Warrior). The catch being that the Yolk can only be used once in their lives.

 A young Draxum happens upon not one but three of the rare Yōkai. The quad band together to escape their current circumstances, growing close & forming a new clan. 

When Drax learns about the Mystic ability of his partners he hatches a plan of science & alchemy to make a combined Yolk that could be used for more than the three times normally allotted by their Yōkai ability. The trio agree, wanting nothing more than to be a part of a large clan all their own.

But when ambition, pride, & fear cloud the intentions of Draxum a disagreement blooms between himself & the rest of the Niwatori. The wives wanted a family, he wanted an army. Something that the three refuse to be a part of. 

Nettie, the science-then-alchemy to his alchemy-then-science is the one to find out about his true intention. Refusing to listen to his excuses as she sets about to destroy their hard work, swearing that no baby of hers would be raised as a child soldier. A massive fight erupts, resulting in Draxum accidentally blinding her in one eye, she retaliating by severing one of his fingers. 

In the end the other 2 find them, stopping Nettie from killing their former lover & leaving him amongst the broken remains of the life they had built. The Niwatori believing the Ooze to have been destroyed.

But little did either party know that each had managed to salvage a small sample. Each going on to use it in far different ways. Drax would go on to use Empyrean based on his portion, increasing his batch & making careful plans on how best to use the precious material. The Niwatori wives stealing an egg & using the small vial to have a child of their own.

One year after changing the formula to a concoction of his own DNA & Empyrian Drax finally finds the last piece to his puzzle in the form of Lou Jitsu. Battle Nexus Champion. But Drax's lofty plans go awry. Culminating in Lou Jitsu fleeing the imploding lab with the four young turtles who bore his genetics, that of the warring warrior scientist, & those of 3 very jaded, unaware Zoí-Pouliá.

From there Lou goes through several hardships & trials, suffering from not only his mutation but the void of losing his former life yet again. Thankfully along the way he collects a band of kindred spirits, a pair of fellow Nexus veterans & an Undead who knew all about having to toss aside former lives to be free. With his trio of newly claimed siblings the Hamato clan grew, the lot of them striving to give the children the peaceful & safe life that they had wished for in their youth.

But life has a way of always shafting the Hamatos. Hardships & chaos kept needling its way to the family, building their strength but also adding to their traumas. The clan keeps moving forward, always fighting alongside their own. 

 気をつけて。勇気を出してください。私たちのクランに戻ります。

Kiwotsukete. Yūkiwodashite kudasai. Watashitachi no Kuran ni modorimasu.

Take care. Be brave. Return to our clan.

It didn't matter what happened to the outside world, family above all. All that Splinter ever wanted was for his children, his entire claimed family, to get back safe & sound. But life was set on making that a lofty goal. One that may not be achievable.

[the-fae-folk]

It's almost Valentine's Day! Will you please tell us a romantic story about a Faerie Prince and a Human Girl?

Greetings, Human Child. Perhaps it is a little late, being the new morning of the day after the Feast of St. Valentine. But we have a story to tell you. It is a story which tells of romance, as you have asked us for. However, it is also a tale of other things as well. Most stories end with love, a Happily Ever After if you must. But not this tale. Here we shall begin with love.They were the unlikeliest pair you would ever find. A mortal girl who lived in the house of those who were not her family. A slave girl she was, for in that time and that place it was common for man to view his fellows as something to be bought and sold, a thing rather than a person. But while she labored every day for those who would never care for her welfare, another lived in a golden world with those who cared only for him as an object to display, a golden prize, a treasure which must not be lost or wasted. A golden cage, however nicely furnished, is still a cage.Some meetings happen by pure chance, though they may seem to be ordained by Heaven. They came across one another for the first time during a local festival. He had come to play disguised among the humans, for it was his only escape. She, of course, was forced to serve the guests as they ate and drank and made merry. They met beneath the old willow tree.She did not know him for the princeling he was, yet recognized within him a kindred spirit. She saw more clearly than most when she looked into his eyes; there was a bird trapped fluttering within a gilded cage, wishing for blue skies where it can only find fool’s gold.So they left. That is all there was to it. They did not try to change the world, for it was not within their power. Some would call them cowards for running away. But sometimes all you can do is run and hope that there may be another day when maybe you can stop running and simply live.So they ran together and found a distant place of trees and sea and rocky cliffs. There they made a home and together they lived.Perhaps you might wonder how two from different worlds can love one another, but it is not so strange. At the beginning they only knew that the other was trapped, as they were. But as time grew on they learned the differences and circumstances of each other’s worlds. They grew to appreciate the talents of the other that they did not possess, and they learned to grow from one another as two good friends must.After a long while their friendship changed and became another kind of love. One filled with passion, yes, but it was more intimate than that. It was a love born of understanding another person. For when you know someone truly, even if they are your greatest enemy, you cannot help but love them in a way.Our tale could end there, on a distant cliff by the sea, far from the warmer lands from which the slave girl, now a free woman, had first come. It could end with their first child; a babe with hair white as her father’s was, and her skin dark as ebony, like her mother’s.But their love was stronger than a happily ever after could ever bear. For love is not simple and not sweet, it is one of the most powerful forces in the world, and its will cannot be denied. But the shape of a destiny born of love will never look how you would imagine it to be. It is a harsh road filled with harsh truths about the world, and there are times where you will falter and wonder if love is truly worth all the pain you face.They came one day, the entourage of Fae. Fineries draped upon their bodies as they came riding upon steeds which were almost, but not quite, horses. For sometimes, when a little bird escapes its cage, there are those who try to return it to its captivity. In many cases this is for the bird’s own good, for the cage will protect it from the world in which it has not learned to live. But other times… it is a prison which will kill the heart of the one inside of it. They wished to retrieve their stray princeling and return him home to his mother and his father. To his seven sisters and his twelve brothers. To his home amidst the great glaciers and frozen wastes, to the deep caves where his kin resided in the dark amidst the cold glinting treasures of their homes. To his little birdcage.But she stood forth, she who was once a slave, she who had been beaten but not broken. She who was kind in spite of cruelty, who was gentle in spite of bitterness, who was loving in spite of all the world had given her to choke upon.She stood forth before the Faerie Court; and to their eyes she was not foolish or weak, but a Queen of incredible power. Mortal she was, yet they feared her for reasons they could not understand, for she looked at them and knew them so well that she could have given their true names as she looked into their very hearts. So they departed from there.Three days passed before their return. With them came the ruler of the Faerie Court, a powerful Queen. For only a Queen can match the power of another Queen, they are always the most powerful pieces upon the board. She was none other than the Grandmother of the princeling. Young and beautiful she appeared, and far older than most she truly was. Upon the surface she was perfect in all ways. Yet her heart was black, broken, and colder than ice.They bargained. In this the stories are true, for there must be a bargain of a kind, a risk in the adventure, a chance that something might go terribly wrong or viciously right. While the princeling held his child close, while he desperately wished that her world might not be torn apart, his love bargained for his freedom.At long last an agreement was made and sealed with three droplets of red blood. A caged bird could fly free, but not to her arms. Any other human would do, as long as it was not her. The Princeling could be free from the world which was slowly breaking his heart, if only his love would agree to never speak to him until the day that Truth was shattered and Death itself was reversed.A terrible bargain; and the princeling cried out that he would rather bear his cage than be separated from the one he loved. But it was too late. The bargain could not be undone once agreed upon. And their family was broken apart.Yet love endured. How could it not? For love is the mover of all in this tale. The road we must take is not the road we wish for. And as the Princeling set out upon his journey he could think of nothing but his child and his love, his heart free at last from the chains that had bound it. The pain he felt at being forced to leave his family did not hold him back, but lifted him. With every step he found the strength to move forward, to grow…because of his love.The Faerie Queen looked at the woman who had freed the princeling’s heart and knew that she could not let her wander free, for she was far too dangerous. So she took the woman who had once been a simple slave girl and put her in a new prison. A prison of ice and glass. A mirror in which the Queen could gaze every day and ask after her own beauty, reveling in the pain she had managed to inflict on those who dared defy her, confident in her own superiority in all ways.But what, you might ask, happened to the child? As cruel as the Queen was, she would not harm a mere babe, especially not one of her own line. So she took it upon herself to raise the girl. It was not an easy childhood, filled with hard work and much that was painful. Yet it was not a bad childhood either. Despite everything, the Queen did grow to love the little girl.From far away the wandering princeling waited. Listening to tales whispered on the wind, looking at the sights the waves had seen, and thinking always of his wife and daughter, the princeling sought to find something that would help him find a way back to those whom he loved.That was how he came upon the seed. It was a tiny thing, hardly worth the notice others might have paid it. But the woman who offered it to him said that it was very old and very powerful. It was said to grow into a tree that would bear only a single apple in all of its life, an apple that could grant wishes made in the name of love. So he bought it and traveled back to the cliff where he had been parted from his family, and there he planted the seed in the midst of a grove…and he waited.Here we shall end our telling. But as we are certain you have guessed, the tale itself does not end here. For stories never really end. They move into new stories, growing ever in the telling of them. Love is not easy, but while its burdens are heavy, it gives you the strength to bear those burdens. For Love is about growing, just as a tree or a child grows. Just as a caged bird can find its wings and grow strong, as a slave girl can become a Queen to rival the Faeries.Perhaps we shall return to this tale again…a tale of romance…but also a tale of so much more. A tale of family, of love, of suffering, of separation. A tale of kindness and freedom, but also of captivity and cruelty.

[goldenworldsabound]

Sparkling cider and passion-orange juice for auron? -jaklovemail

@jaklovemail thank youuuu

Sparkling cider: have you and your f/o(s) ever been to a formal event together? Would you like to? What did/would you wear?

Hm, I guess we haven’t? I could imagine there might be something to honor guardians and Yuna since we saved the world but we also specifically skipped out on that djhksfjds and Auron was totally gonna wear his normal outfit for something like that anyway

I would LIKE to go to a formal event with him I love that shit. I feel like he’d wear Japanese formalwear (which I’m not super versed in other than IT’S PRETTY IT’S REALLY PRETTY and I’d love that. I would be happy to match him as well uwu I imagine he’d stick with his usual red and I might go for pink or gold myself!

but I also have this imagine of him wearing a suit (I love my faves in suits) but a) he’s still wearing it like a sling and b) he’s popped his collar up HWKFHJEW and in this situation I’m just wanna wear a super pretty dress like...sparkly sort of thing. Pretty into mermaid fit type dresses but also poofy ballgown-ish stuff is pretty awesome so it’s hard to decide!!!

I want to draw either of these setups honestly.

Passion-orange juice: how do you get along with your f/o(s)’s friends? How do they get along with yours? What do they think of each other?

We mostly share friends :) the general conclusion about Auron is that he’s VERY stoic but everyone still generally looks up to him as a mentor type figure. Everyone really enjoys catching him being tender with me and trying to tease him about it :p it’s much easier to tease me about it though as I’m the opposite of stoic. More specifics...

Yuna - She views me as a strong familial figure. I helped raise her after all. We’re really close and care dearly for each other. At first she sees Auron as a figure to be respected - a legendary friend of her father. She of course continues to respect him but she also realizes he’s a person. She thinks he should be less stoic about his affections for me but she’s just happy to see us both happy ;w;

Tidus - He has his sort of familial relationship with Auron. Auron was still probably fairly absent as Tidus got older though. I think no matter how much he wanted to Auron wasn’t going to be an amazing parental figure after what he went through. Their relationship is complicated. Tidus thinks Wendy is a bit...well, he doesn’t take her seriously at first. He doesn’t get why everyone else sees her as kind of mentorly and seems to look up to her. As time goes on he comes to realize for himself why that is and comes to respect me. (is he slightly jealous of how close Yuna is to me? just a little and he gets over it but :p ) He also likes to goof around with me cause I enjoy being silly now and again.

Lulu - Being fellow mages (and me being the older one) she looks up to me! Of course I’m equally impressed with her talent in magic. We bond over that a bunch while she’s growing up, and continue to do so even after. She and Auron are kindred spirits with regard to their personalities, so they get along very well. They’re the kind to sit back while the others get up to shenanigans and shake their heads a little.

Wakka - He is so in awe of Auron at first WOW LEGENDARY GUARDIAN just star struck. He retains a little of this starstruckness, but he also figures that he and Auron are pals now and he’s the kind of friend who teases pals. As for me, I was around while he grew up, and it’s a similar kind of mentorly bond. If he has a problem, and he and Lulu can’t figure it out, he’s like to ask me. He also likes to goof around with me cause it’s easy to make me laugh and easy to tease me!

Kimahri - We...aren’t exactly close even though we spent 10 years together watching over Yuna. Kimahri still keeps pretty distant. But there’s clear mutual respect and trust between us. He’s got clear respect for Auron as well. I always wondered what he thought about the fact that Auron, a clearly dying man, told him to watch over Yuna...and then 10 years later appeared. Did he know Auron was unsent? Kimahri is so hard for me to write for I honestly can’t decide if he did or not. Or if he just...didn’t care enough to worry about it. I’m inclined to think he had his suspicions but decided it wasn’t worth worrying over.

Rikku - She wants to adopt me as a familial fave FKWHFWK she likes that I get excited about stuff including learning about Al-Bhed stuff from her (I might practice my Al-Bhed with her a few times - I am far from fluent but she appreciates the effort). She thinks Auron is too grumpy and should lighten up :p she’s always trying to be silly and get him to respond in kind which does not happen ever but she keeps at it :p

(if I got this question again I’ll do Braska and Jecht haha, this was enough characters!)

[qhostqizmo]

“She is a beautiful woman.”

“Alarmingly, her heart is somehow even more beautiful then she is. You can see it when she smiles, that rare and reclusive charm of someone far wiser then the world is old. It takes my breath away. Through the window of her eyes alone, I’ve seen a compassionate soul of intelligence and kindness veiled beneath those dark lashes she tries to use to hide behind her mesmerizing golden eyes. It’s difficult to avoid peeking into them. I can’t explain what I see, but it fills me with hope, and a warmth I’ve never known.”

- - - - - - - - - - -

Her nobleman had only been gone a few minutes, but it already felt like an eternity. All she could envision every time her eyelids closed was the appalling images from events past. The cave in Beggar’s Hollow. The ferry ride across the lake towards the capital. Visions from other struggles come and gone and some not even real; merely illusions conjured out of fear.

Any of them gone too long from her sight twisted Essätha’s stomach. She worried for them all; her kindred allies in their mission to take down a cult and remove its head, but if one were to pick at her long enough, she would eventually relent, she grew most anxious when he wasn’t around at all. It was impossible to forget Amon’s tormented, lonely, stricken gaze or the pale-washed complexion of the man nearly dying in her arms, staining her clothes crimson.

A shudder involuntarily ran down her spine. The sorceress’ kept her eyes open until they burned, trying not to think on the dreadful, awful day. How helpless she felt, wanting to cradle him protectively in her arms and hold him; wrap him tight in his blankets and promise him it would be alright, and be able to keep that vow most of all.

Before the Yuan-Ti, the door was pulled open by a housemaid with a gracious dip of her head. A rather stout older man with a fiery beard and hair looked towards them as they entered; tearing his eyes from the housekeeper he was already speaking with. His eyes moved over them all; darting from one member of The Hand of Jubata to the next with a steadily growing smile and twinkle in his tawny eyes. It distracted Essie for the time being, to see someone so immediately enthused to see them.

“My word! Yes yes, come in, please, welcome!”

Ushering eagerly with his hands, the man encouraged them to step within the large room. A quick flicker of her gaze around, and Essätha realized this must be some sort of work space. There were bookshelves, and shelves with figurines. A war-table with models and banners was surrounded by two sofas and a single, throne-like chair near the middle of the room, and towards the back near the window was a desk. Not a cozy environment, but nothing screamed shady.

At last she looked back to the tall fellow, who Lord Amon seemed inclined to believe was a trustworthy associate. He had cherry colored cheeks from grinning so wide, and a pleasant aura about him. Again, nothing struck her as disturbed or unsettling; but from exposed practice, she kept her guard up anyway.

“It’s good to meet all of you,” the man animatedly announced, reaching out to grab the nearest person’s hand, which happened to be Penimra’s. “Welcome, welcome! I am Master Eliwru Figgenbeard, the pleasure is all mine!”

Grimacing, the warlock struggled to free his gloved hand. It began to slid down his arm instead, so he begrudgingly and limply allowed the handshake, his eyes narrowed behind the avian-shaped mask.

“It most certainly is.”

Cutting in, Abernathy practically shoved Pen aside; saving the uncomfortable looking high-elf to offer his large hand. “Greetings and well met!”

“Ah! You are…?”

“Abernathy Harding; and the fellow’s name here to my left whose hand you just shook is Penimra Korvis.”

“Yes yes, pleasure to you both!” the hearty man sang joyously. With a twist and a yank, he managed to free his hand fairly quickly from the elder paladin, to extend it to the younger.

“You must be…?”

“Sulhadur, sir.”

“Ah, a pleasure. And you’re the jeweler, the uh… pardon, your name escapes me…?”

“Adela; thank you for seeing us on such an unexpected visit.”

“Lovely to meet you as well, miss. And you?”

Accepting the man’s hand, Ravamora’s eyes darted from his, to the gleaming rings on his hands. “Ravamora Carnivale.”

Essätha watched, tensely, awaiting to be recognized. It was neither a relief or a curse for him to instead, be drawn to the shine reflecting off of their cleric’s carapace. For a brief moment though, it gave her more time to collect herself and straighten her posture.

Delighted, the husky man extended his chubby fingers towards the Thri-Kreen. “Me oh my, I know just who you are! You are Pri-… Pri….?”

“They call me Pri’cha Sunspot,” chirped the bug, wiggling their antenna joyfully as they accepted the hand. “My friends do call me Pri too, on occasion.”

“Curious. This is… incredible. You are quite incredible, Pri’cha; what an honor!”

Pri’ sheepishly dipped their head as the man vigorously shook their clawed appendage. Briefly, the entire clustered group watched the interactions with mixtures of surprise and ease.

Finally, Eliwru’s eyes landed on Essie’s as he retrieved his hand from the cleric. His lips parted into an open-mouth grin of awe, and he rushed forward at her; making her freeze anxiously. The man smelled heavily of ginger, for some odd reason, and this close she could feel the fanning of his breathlessness against her face.

“Essätha Meduza as she lives in the flesh!” The man boisterously grasped her hand, squeezing it tightly. “I know exactly who you are!”

As if she wasn’t nervous enough, her legs felt wobbly and she offered a tense smile, barely holding to the man’s vice gripe.

“The letters did not lie; his description does you a great justice.”

“I…” she swallowed, forcing down the lump in her throat and the squeaky tone in her voice. “I’m sorry … Pardon? Letters?”

Puzzled, Eliwru knitted his brow. His grip relaxed. His tone still warm, he responded: “The posts I received from Master Illiad. Amon stated Essätha; that you, were a very fine, beautiful woman; with a breathtaking smile to match and mesmerizing golden eyes.”

Promptly, her features grew flush and rosy. She gaped at the man, hardly hearing the quiet snickers from her friends. They were sharing glances; most of them knowing, and impish little goblin grins.

Eyes widening, the man quickly picked up on her distress. He released her limp hand, gaping at her like a fish out of water.

“I- I-”

The door opened once more, an older woman stepping promptly towards their throng. Whatever she said next, Essätha did not hear. Her head was throbbing, and thankfully Abernathy seemed to perk up and immediately take charge of the conversation.

Still staring at her, conflicted, Eliwru wheezed. His tongue darted over his lips, looking as though he was trying to pay attention to the lady speaking to Essie’s backside, but he kept returning his gaze to her.

She was like a statue, frozen by pure shock. Everyone else had already, and thankfully, forgotten her for the woman and the news she brought, but Essätha could not get the man’s words out of her head.

Her Amon had called her what?

“Miss Meduza, I apologize,” the burly man whined, fidgeting. “I hadn’t meant to cause you harm. The letters you see, I- I thought-” he swallowed, “I t-thought you knew what he was writing it- it all seemed rather intimate I thought you two w-were-”

He thought they were what?

Eliwru never finished; a high-pitched keening sound like a deflating balloon expelling from his lungs slowly. He was positively red as the hair upon his head as he stepped away from her. With hands behind his back, he dipped his head respectively towards the door.

“Master I-Illiad how nice to s-see you again-!”

As though shaken awake, Essätha blinked rapidly and turned to face the threshold this time.

It was indeed the Briarton Protector; wearing a dull and uninterested neutral gray-tone today. His collar appeared a big tight, which added a rigid and dignified appearance to his posture as he glided in the room. The depths of the nobleman’s locks were somewhat mused, as though he’d ran a hand through his hair recently. His dark eyes skipped from the woman who had been speaking over to Eliwru as he was greeted.

Essie took it all in; but as she saw was perfection. It made her knees weak.

“Master Figgenbeard,” Amon greeted politely, accepting the man’s hand as he squeezed through the others. The man commented something quietly, and clipped, before quickly adverting all of his attention and conversation to the adjacent woman who had come with information.

Thoroughly perplexed, Amon looked after him a moment at the suddenness of the greeting, and quick dismissal. His regard swept the crowd, landing last on her.

He smiled, and Essätha’s heartrate dashed wildly.

What else were in those letters? What in the God’s creation had given him any impression? What impression?

Amon murmured his apology and quietly slid by the respectable crowd. He took a stand at the back, right beside Essie, as she stiffly wrung her hands. He leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered, “Sorry I’m late.”

She nodded, finding herself lacking the bravery to look directly at him. “That’s alright. I’m glad to see you whole, and safe.”

A brief silence. From her peripherals, she could see him reach for her hand. A small part of her wanted to recoil; edgy and weary, but she did not. His rough hand gently took hold of hers, holding her with care. Again, her heart fluttered.

“Everything alright, Essie?”

Nodding once more, she glanced up at him. Oh Jubata he had such welcoming stunning eyes; kind and considerate.

“Yes, m’lord Amon. I was just thinking of you; concerned for your safety and well-being.”

She was suddenly and acutely aware of the way Eliwru glanced at her as she refereed to her nobleman by his retracted title. Even more then his glance, she was more aware of the softening in Amon’s features; the way his eyes closed a fraction and how his smile grew softer. Everything about the way he appeared now was something normal to her; his vulnerable features, the admiration in his gaze, but under the eyes of another came to her awareness equally how unnatural his appearance was.

Lord Amon Thomas Illiad was openly fawning over her.

“You don’t need to worry yourself over me, Essie.”

“But I do. I will anyway.”

Her words were louder then his whispers; almost blurted out, and part of her party distractedly looked over at her.

Timidly, her eyes wandered until they all stopped staring upon her and her deep maroon blush.

Trying to hide his raspy laughter, Lord Amon squeezed her hand with reassurance. “I’m fine,” he mouthed, “We’ll talk after this?”

Remaining mute and happy for it, Essie bobbed her head in answer.

Again with the bright smile, and he turned his attention back towards the lady droning on.

Exhaling a ragged breath, she turned her gaze back towards the woman as well, first catching their host’s wandering eye before he turned away, beet red. He fumbled with his hands, like he had been caught spilling some incredibly illusive secret.

Her complexion still tinted scarlet, her eyes flickered from her nobleman, back towards Eliwru.

As curious as she was to know what he had intended on saying; and humiliated by the situation, above all she was glad to simply have Amon back by her side. That was the best, most secure, most uplifting feeling of all.

[littlemisssquiggles]

Pinehead Headcanons: Oscar’s Other Rose II: Defining Rose Fox

Hey there fellow FNDM fam members. It’s your friendly neighbourhood squiggle meister here. Since some of you kindred folk showed interest, as promised I’ve put together this post sharing more info on Rose Fox.

Who is Rose Fox?

Rose Fox, full name---Rosaline Fox, is a RWBY-inspired original character of yours truly conceived from a Pinehead headcanon I previously shared about Oscar Pine formerly having a childhood friend whose character was based off of the Fox and the Rose from The Little Prince fairy-tale.

 The Meaning of the Rose Fox Character

As most of us Rosegardening Pineheads have interpreted, aspects of The Little Prince story is being used to influence Oscar’s story. In the Little Prince, the Prince was in love with a Rose; a single red rose that had blossomed on his home planet. The Rose was very vain and made the Prince believe that she was the only rose in existence but to the Prince’s disappointment, he learns that the Rose had lied to him when he discovered other roses during his travels off-world. This revelation greatly upsets the Prince. However the Prince soon meets a wise red Fox. The Prince befriends this fox and it is through its teachings that the Prince ultimately learns that his rose was his one true love. The only rose that mattered to him because he loved her.

Rolling with this thought, I wanted to create a character that embodied the Fox from the Little Prince along with the lasting message he left on the Prince. But then I decided to take that concept a step further by also having this character draw inspiration from the Rose from the story as well. As Pineheads, we all know that the Rose in Oscar’s story---the one he is meant to fall in love with and be his one true Rose is of course going to be our silver eyed protagonist: Ruby Rose. As established by the series, Ruby and Oscar have grown close within the span of two seasons with their relationship destined to blossom further going into the Atlas Arc. Whether that means a very trusting close friendship or a beautiful romance is at the call of the CRWBY Writers.

That being said, this squiggle meister wanted to toy with the idea of … what if …Oscar had another Rose in his life who he shared a strong connection with. It is this Rose who ends up challenging Ruby on her relationship and feelings toward Oscar.

As the other Rose, this character provokes Ruby as she is another person that Oscar is very close to, who he could potentially be love in love with even given their bond. However as the Fox, this character will not only help Oscar to see his true feelings but also Ruby as well. As a matter of fact, the true purpose of Rose Fox character is to aid both our Rosebuds in realizing what they truly mean to one another. And thus, this is how the character of Rosaline Fox was born. At least, my version of her based on my Pinehead headcanon.

As some of you might be aware of there, there are now three more interpretations of the Rose Fox character. There is Rosaline Hood (by @lythecreatorart), Rosalind Fox (by @che1sea-xiao-long) and now Ianthe Regem (by @miki-13). I’ll talk more about my stance on the other Rose Foxes later in this post. The meat of all this is to mainly discuss my own version. 

Rosaline Fox is my adaptation of the Rose Fox character based on my ‘Oscar’s Other Rose’ Pinehead headcanon.

In my interpretation, Rosaline secretly has feelings for Oscar and there is a bit of an unsubtle love triangle between Oscar and his two Roses. Rose loves Oscar but is also fully aware of his feelings for Ruby. It is very clear to Rosaline which rose has already tamed the young barn prince’s heart and as his friend; Rose is contented with Oscar being in love with someone else. His happiness matters more to her after all. However where Rose isn’t sure of is where Ruby stands with Oscar. Rose knows Oscar’s heart belongs to Ruby but what she wants to know is whether or not Ruby feels the same way.

In the story I’ve concocted, Ruby and Oscar have grown much closer during their time in Atlas. Ruby knows she likes Oscar very much and she would do anything for him. But lately, her feelings for him have felt strange. In the beginning, Ruby only saw Oscar as another dear friend she would give her life to protect. However the more Ruby spent time with Oscar getting to learn more about him as a person, the more her thoughts about him grew and changed to the point where she begins to question whether or not friendship is all there is to how she feels toward him. All of a sudden, Ruby finds herself conflicted on how she views Oscar. Does he mean more to her than she realized?

He’s just her friend, right? She only likes him as a friend…right? There isn’t anything…more, is there? Those are thoughts that race through Ruby’s mind whenever the subject of how she sees Oscar is brought into question. And the introduction of Rose Fox and her romantically-charges advances toward Oscar doesn’t help Ruby’s confliction.

By my headcanon, Rose is there to both challenge and help Ruby to realize her true feelings. She is the other Rose and the Fox together so that’s the dynamic I can see her having with Ruby. She’s meant to be perceived as a rival however at the same time, that isn’t all there is to her character.

Rose might seem antagonistic toward Ruby at times but she doesn’t hate her or her relationship with Oscar. Rose acknowledges Ruby as someone very important to Oscar and gives her that respect. However; that doesn’t mean that Rose is going to stand idly by and watch Ruby play games with Oscar’s feelings. Nor will she ever forgive her should she break Oscar’s heart. As the other Rose, Rose is meant to be a opponent to Ruby. She is meant to represent everything that Ruby is and isn’t (if that makes sense) and is meant to be someone who awakens a surprisingly insecure side to Ruby that she seldom shows (at least from my point of view).

Rose is young (closer to Oscar’s age than Ruby) but she is also drop dead gorgeous. Rosaline Fox is very beautiful and knows that she is. She’s almost rather conceited about it, even. To Ruby, it’s not so much that Rose is better than her in terms of skill. It’s that she is, admittedly, more beautiful compared to Ruby---at least in her eyes.

I’ve gone with this idea because it ties into a small hunch I have about Ruby. We all know that Ruby is very cute and pretty herself but what we don’t know is how Ruby perceives her appearance. Does she see herself as beautiful and confident in her looks or is she one of those types who feigns ignorance about their appearance; channelling their self-esteem into other aspects of their character while their true deep-seeded insecurity remains at the core of their personalities.

Throughout their interactions, Rose is an opponent who tests Ruby’s relationship with Oscar. Ruby; who is conflicted about her feelings for Oscar finds herself becoming uncharacteristically jealous of her Rose’s bond with Oscar especially knowing that lovely vixen has feelings for him. It’s a type of resentful sentiment that Ruby has never experienced before and she finds herself disgusted with it along with her confliction over how she truly feels.

In a nutshell, I created Rosaline around the idea of their being another Rose close to Oscar to test how Ruby feels toward Oscar while simultaneously helping her realize what those feelings are and what they mean. That is the character of Rosaline Fox.

 What Does Rose Fox Look Like?

 As you can tell from my sketches of her, Rosaline is a red Fox Faunus with dark skin and hair that is a gradient of dark brown mixed with orange before turning white at the tips like a fox tail. As a Faunus, Rose’s animal traits are her red fox ears and her prominent fangs and claws. Although her claws only erect whenever she’s angered to the point of feral rage. Beyond that, Rose’s key defining feature is her blue-grey eyes which could be mistaken for silver eyes at first glance. I know I definitely wanted Rose to have an eye colour similar to Ruby’s trademark silver eyes without being silver, if you know what I mean? Blue-grey definitely fit the bill.

 In terms of height, I pictured Rose being as tall as Ruby Rose to further their similarities. Rose is meant to be about 15 going on 16. She’s meant to always be one year older than Oscar but still one year younger than Ruby planting her right in the middle of these two. Plus I’m finding the mental image of Oscar still being shorter than his two roses and sort of sandwiched between the two of them rather comical in my head.  Another noteworthy feature about Rose is that she’s rather top-heavy for her age.

At only 15, Rose is a busty vixen which is another trait about her looks that often gathers a lot of unwanted attention from the boys. Picture her having the bust size of Yang Xiao Long but at age 15 (the same age Ruby Rose started the series at). As a matter of fact, I can even picture Rosaline and Yang kind of bonding on this experience, sharing a laugh over all the boldfaced gentlemen callers they had to put in their place when they came barking up the wrong tree.

I’m mainly making mention of this mostly in reference to Ly’s Rosaline Hood. For her design, when Ly mentioned that her girl’s got a smaller chest which gives her an advantage while performing her duties as her other alias, I couldn’t help but laugh since…well…my girl---Rosaline Fox is the farthest thing from flat. But don’t worry, like her Hood counterpart, Rosaline has something else about her that plays a very important part in her own secondary persona as well. Her semblance.

What is Rose Fox’s Semblance?

Okay. I’ve thought long and hard about this and I know the perfect power I want Rose Fox to have. Her semblance is Shapeshifting---she can alter her physical appearance to become a near-perfect replica of another. It doesn’t matter if the other person is young or old, tall or short, fat or skinny, male or female, human or Faunus ---Rose can become that person and is able to successfully impersonate them even down to their voice.

Though a very strong semblance, there are limits to this ability. For starters, unlike other known shapeshifters in RWBY such as Neopolitan, Rose can only replicate a form she’s already seen. The same goes for the mimicry characteristic of her shapeshifting semblance. Rose can only imitate a voice she’s already heard. Fortunately she’s trained her semblance well enough that all she needs is to hear a voice once and she’s able to imitate them perfectly from memory.

Another limit is that should Rose need to retain a form for an extended period, she can only hold it up to 9 hours total before her transformation gives out and she changes back to her normal form. In the past she was only able to hold a form a few minutes at best but she’s trained herself well enough over the years to master her power up to decent limit she can work with, especially on missions as a huntress.

The way how Rose’s semblance works (or at least how I’m going to describe it) is that it’s NOT an illusion-based power. Rose isn’t using mental mind tricks or cloaking herself in a haze that tricks the human eye into seeing her as someone else.

Think of Rose’s semblance working like Ditto from Pokémon or the Polyjuice potion from the Harry Potter series or even like how the Crystal Gems shapeshift in Steven Universe. When using her semblance, Rose’s body becomes like clay which she can then physically morph, contorting and shaping it to match the likeness of another being. It takes a great deal of discipline for Rose to maintain a consistent hold on her replicated form before her mask starts to crack and she slowly changes back to true self.

Fortunately, even before she began her huntress-training at Atlas, Rose has possessed her shapeshifting abilities from since she unlocked her semblance at a young age and through years of her own rigorous training, Rose has now reached a level where she has perfected control of her powers. It’s definitely enough for her to be seen as a threat on the battlefield to any poor unsuspecting foe; being a girl who can become anyone.

However there is one noticeable imperfection in Rose’s semblance. Though she’s perfected morphing herself even down to changing her skin colour at whim, for some odd reason Rose can never shake the one glaring flaw in her replications. Her eyes. No matter what form she takes, her eye colour stays the same and sticks out like a sore thumb. For example; Rose can shift into a perfect doppelganger of Oscar Pine and even talk like him but unless you know Oscar or at least know that his eyes are not blue-grey then you wouldn’t see right through Rose’s disguise.

This is actually a common prank that Rose and Oscar used to play as kids. Let say’s Rose unlocked her semblance when she was still a young kit at age five and one time she shifted into Oscar and tried to fool his mother---Dorothy while the real Oscar hid somewhere else laughing. Unfortunately for the young Rose, her trick didn’t work. It might’ve fooled their neighbours but not Dorothy Pine who knew fully well that her son had big bright hazel eyes (just like hers) and not blue-grey eyes like a certain Rose Fox she knew.

I’m actually kind of still contemplating whether or not to keep this flaw in Rose’s semblance. For now I’m going to keep it because there is a story reason as to why it’s there in relation to something I’ll discuss later in this post.

I know when I first mentioned Rose’s semblance, I described it as being a rather unorthodox power. In a way, it still feels that way to me in the context of the RWBY universe. The only canon shapeshifter in the series is Neo and even then her powers make sense within the show since her power is based on illusions that she manifests. Rose Fox, on the other hand, is literally human playdo. Well Faunus playdo. No one in RWBY has this kind of semblance so it made me wonder if it would work.

Doubts aside, I think shapeshifting is an ability that suits a character like Rose Fox perfectly. I can certainly see Rose’s genuineness as a person constantly being called into question by judgmental folks around her especially given the type of semblance she has. Now I’m picturing a small scene where some snobbish Atlesian students, jealous of Rose and her beauty whisper mean things about her behind her back. However, Rose being a Faunus with great hearing overhears every word these girls say about her and boldly puts them in their place for daring to disrespect her. Pick a small exchange of dialogue like this:

Snooty Female Altas Student #1: Hey look, it’s that Rose Fox girl.

Snooty Female Altas Student #2: *in disgust* Yuck! I hate her! She’s such a stuck up bitch. Thinks she’s all that just because she’s pretty. I mean, my dog has a pretty face too but even she knows her place unlike some animals.

Snooty Female Altas Student #1: Right? The only reason people like her so much is because she’s got big boobs. It’s not like she has anything else going for her.

Snooty Female Altas Student #2: Speaking of, did you know? Her semblance is like…some kind of shapeshifting or something.

Snooty Female Altas Student #1:Oh my gosh! Now it all makes sense. The perfect power for such a fake Rose.

Snooty Female Altas Student #2: *laughing haughtily* So fake! Hey do you think she morphs her boobs to look that big?

This curious question is only answered by Rose Fox interrupting the conversation by suddenly slamming her hands on the wall between the two other Atlas students. She did it so abruptly that both girls nearly jumped out of their skins as they edged away from a seething Rose who only smiled at them. Sweet but venomous.

Rose: *cheekily* I dunno ladies. Wanna test that theory of yours? You’re both welcome to cop a feel if you like?

Snooty Female Altas Student #1 and #2: …

Rose: What? No takers? Two seconds ago you were perfectly fine mouthing me off behind my back. Now all of a sudden you got nothing to say?

Snooty Female Altas Student #1: …Uh…we…

Snooty Female Altas Student #2: …We---We were only just---

Rose raised one clawed finger to silence the girls.

Rose: Tell you what? If neither of you got the balls to talk to me to my face then quit talking about me behind my back before you embarrass yourselves or…I embarrass you myself. Whichever wipes the smug looks off your ugly faces the fastest.

With that, Rose struts away, long hair swishing behind her back. But; not before getting one last shot in.

Rose: Oh and to answer your question. I may be a fake Rose but at least my girls are realer than the two of you combined. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it. Kisses ladies.*winks*

I take great pride in my Rosaline being the confident lovely flower not afraid to firmly remind rumour-spreading turds, especially the ones at Atlas Academy, to be mindful of her thorns.

In the beginning, I was going to make Rose’s semblance her being able to turn into a man. This idea was inspired by the manga series Fushigi Yugi: Genbu Kaiden where one of the main male characters---Uruki---one of the Seven Celestial Warriors of Genbu could change into a female version of himself and it was his female form that possessed control over the element of wind. This also makes me think of Ramna ½ where the lead guy turns into a girl if he gets splashed with water or something like that, I think. 

Anyways I was going to originally make Rose’s semblance something like that. But then I figured why not just make shapeshifting it; one and done. As I’ve pointed out, this kind of power works perfectly for a character like Rose Fox since in East Asian folklore, foxes are depicted as familiar spirits possessed by magical powers and they are known to be shapeshifters.

  “…The fox spirit is an especially prolific shapeshifter, known variously as the huli jing (fox spirit) in China, the kitsune (fox) in Japanese and the kumiho (nine-tailed fox) in Korea. Although the specifics of the tales vary, these fox spirits usually shapeshift, often taking the form of a beautiful young women who attempt to seduce men, whether for mere mischief or to consume their bodies or spirits…”  

So yeah, Rose is a shapeshifter. That’s her power and as you’ll learn soon, it plays an important role in her backstory.

What is Rose Fox’s Signature Weapon?

Every aspiring huntress needs a weapon, right? Thanks to Ly’s brilliant idea, I’ve joined the bandwagon for Rose’s huntsmen attire and fighting style drawing inspiration from Robin Hood. I really love this idea a lot. 

While I’m admittedly still working out the finer details of this, I know for a definite fact that I want Rose’s signature weapon to be dubbed: Artemis Rose; named after the Ancient Greek goddess of virginity, the wilderness, hunting, wild animals and protector of young children and women

So in keeping with that concept, I’m picturing Artemis Rose being a hybrid between a mechanized broad sword which transforms into a bow that arrows that are dust-infused bullets that Rose loads into her weapon via cartridges. Or something like that. Still working out the kinks on that one and weapon design isn’t exactly my forte.  

However when I imagine Artemis Rose, I picture it being similar in design to Starseeker---the trademark bowsword used by Serah Farron in Final Fantasy XIII-2 but having the same functionality as Chatareus----the bladed compound sniper bow used by Vella Moisia in the RWBY Fan-made SLVR ‘Viridan’ Trailer created by Mark Zhang.

When is Rose Fox’s Birthday?

Ah yes, the penultimate question. One that I wish the CRWBY would give us for Oscar Pine but…no dice. Although the CRWBY haven’t (and may never really) confirmed Oscar's birthday, I'm still sticking to my Pinehead headcanon of Oscar being a Spring-born Easter baby with his birthday falling between either April or May making him a Taurus-born. My picks for Oscar's birthday were either April 21st or May 21st. I'm more leaning toward Oscar's birthday being April 21st. I was going to originally pick May as my fanon interpretation of Oscar's birth month since May is the fifth month in the year. This for me correlates well with October being the tenth month in the year which has been confirmed as Ruby's birth month.

However, April is usually an Easter-related month. Case in point, April 21st was Easter Sunday this year. I really want Oscar to be an Easter baby. So therefore, I’m sticking to my guns on that Pinehead headcanon. Another headcanon of mine is that whether or not his birthday falls in April or May, Oscar’s birthdate is the 21st. Why the 21st, you might ask? Because it draws a parallel to Princess Ozma from the Wizard of Oz. According to research, Princess Ozma was born August 21st making her a Leo. While I find the Taurus personality fits Oscar a lot better, I like the idea of his birthdate definitely being the 21st. 

Unless the CRWBY tells me otherwise, from henceforth, this squiggle meister is going to treat April 21st as Oscar’s birthday.  That's my headcanon and I'm gonna indulge in it. Leave me be, dagnabbit. By my stance, Oscar is a Taurus. He’s not my character but that’s how I see him.

But since Rosaline Fox is my character, I'm confirming her to be a Sagittarius born (the Archer sign) born in the Christmas month of December on the day of the winter solstice: December 21st. That’s her official birthday Rose Fox-fans.

 I quite dig the concept of Oscar and Rose both sharing the 21st as their birthdates. It fits for me and my headcanon since they are meant to be close childhood best friends who grew up being thicker than thieves. So by the power invested in my theories, Oscar Pine is Easter, Ruby Rose is Halloween and Rosaline Fox is Christmas. I dig it.

What is Rose Fox’s Story?

Born December 21st, Rosaline Fox is the only child of Robyn and Marian Fox. Unlike most Faunus we've seen introduced in RWBY, my idea for Rose is that she is technically a half-breed by Faunus standards. In spite of World of Remnant claiming that Faunus and Man are compatible from a biological standpoint and are able to breed successfully, there haven’t been much examples of Faunus characters with human parents.

So with Rose, I decided to make one of her parents human. Her father, Robyn Fox was a red fox Faunus who chose a human to be his wife. Robyn and Marian lived a seemingly happy love and marriage raising their daughter. Despite them being two different species, Rose shares a close bond with her mother and Marian Fox loves her daughter unconditionally in spite of all the weird whispers and rather impolite, discriminatory glances she'd received from others learning that she, a human women,��married a Faunus and had Faunus child. Though raising a Faunus child has been a different experience, that hasn’t stopped Marian from raising her daughter right.

Although Rose had a good relationship with her mother, her closest parental bond was with her father. Not just because he was a Faunus like her but mainly because, in Rose’s eyes, her father was her hero . A great man who was an even greater father. Emphasis on was---will get to that later.  

Physically, Rose gets most of her lovely looks from her mother. Marian has always been a very beautiful woman able to grab the attention of any man who crosses her path and her vivacious rose of a daughter didn’t blossom too far from that garden. From Robyn, Rose of course inherited his Faunus traits as well as his grey-blue eyes.

Before Rose eventually went off to Atlas Academy as teenager, she would often train with her father. Although Robyn was no huntsman, he did know a thing or two about combat and wasted no time in arming his little rose with the knowledge to defend herself. This type of knowledge came in handy when Rose was a kid. She was quite the scrappy little kit back then.

In her old neighbourhood in Mistral, Rose would often be bullied by the neighbouring kids for being a Faunus. One or two times it even got physical. But luckily, Rose Fox could more than take care of herself. Even as a kit. In fact most of her fighting skills went into protecting the one friend she had back in Mistral: a young farm boy named Oscar Pine.

Just like Rose, Oscar was the only child to a single mother named Dorothy Pine. Oscar and Dorothy used to live right next door to Rose and her family. The two families were good friends with each other since Dorothy and Marian were childhood friends themselves and thus the two mothers raised their children to be great friends as well.

Rose and Oscar have known each other since they were in diapers and grew up together. And as friends, they were practically inseparable. The Fox and the Farm Boy .By my imagination, Rose and Oscar are one year apart with Rose being the older between the two.

When they were kids, Rose and Oscar figured they would be friends forever. However all that changed when Rose and her parents left Mistral. She was eight years old when this happened.

Robyn Fox had grown tired of slaving away in the mines of Anima for little to nothing and wanted to take his family to a place where he believed they could prosper better. So being the ambitiously zealous man that he was, Robyn abandoned his mining job in Mistral; uprooting his family and moving them all the way to the colder climate of Solitas in hopes of making it all the way up to Atlas.

This, of course, meant Rose leaving Oscar behind and the two young friends were forced to part ways on a childish yet wishful promise to hopefully meet each other again someday when they were older. A promise that wouldn’t be achieved for another eight years year when the two childhood friends are finally reunited in the hallways of Atlas Academy.

During the years since she moved from Anima, Rose and her family lived way down in the Barracks---a sector of Mantle designated to housing all immigrants; humans and Faunus alike (mostly Faunus) who came from other kingdoms to live the, quote, unquote, Atlesian Fantasy.

Living in the Barracks was a rather uncomfortable experience for Rose and her family for their first two years in Solitas. The cold winter climate was a first for Rose, having only been accustomed to living in the warm countryside of Anima. Fortunately Rose had much friendlier neighbours this time within the Barracks and her family were well-acquainted with their fellow Faunus families. After all, they all came to Solitas chasing after the same pipe dream. All they had to depend on was help from each other so getting along seemed like the better attitude to adapt in order to survive the cold winters. For better or worse, Rose remembered meeting some very nice Faunus folk, young and old, in the Barracks for her first part of her life as a citizen of Mantle.

However these ties would not last long. Eventually, luck came knocking at Robyn Fox’s doorstep when he was able to land a job with the Schnee Dust Company through a connection from another Faunus he worked with in Mantle. Through this new career, Robyn was finally able to move his family out of the Barracks and for a second time in her life, Rose was forced to leave the bonds she had made in the Barracks as her family migrated upward to the Atlas Kingdom.

By Faunus standards living within the upper Kingdom of Atlas, Rose were often looked down upon as some kind of pampered animal by her more human colleagues. To Rose’s astonishment, not a lot of Faunus make it to the top. The more common ones are the fraction of the Atlesian Faunus population who were fortunate enough to be born within the upper kingdom walls. The more common ones are those who were brought up on the backbones of past generations of Faunus who worked hard so that their descendants could be born citizens of Upper Atlas and thus never have to struggle from where where their ancestors had to start off.

For example, Neon Katt of Team FNKI--a Faunus, who by my theories, was born and raised in Upper Atlas but had ancestors who came from Mantle. Rose Fox was part of the fortunate few whose families got lucky enough to catch a break. The rest---the greater percentage of the Faunus population are forced to toil away in the lower kingdom.

As a matter of fact, the humans of Upper Atlas Kingdom were a lot less humble than the few Rose befriended in the Barracks. On the contrary, there were humans of Atlas who believef that Faunus like Rose shouldn’t even be allowed within the upper kingdom. To them, their place in society should be down toiling away in the Barracks or any other part of the decrepit Mantle population.

This was an offensive terminology and assumption of her character that Rose despised with a passion. No one knew of the struggles that her and her parents had to endure just to get where they were in the present. No one knew of her father’s sacrifice. All those long days and nights he used to slave back in the dust mines of the Anima countryside just so he could provide enough food on the table to get his family through the month. No one knew of all those lonely cold nights her and her mother would sit up waiting for her father to come home safely from working double while they were stationed in the Barracks. All those times she spent comforting her distressed crying mother who was often very concerned for her father’s safety knowing the dangers of working within the much colder and less stable dust mines of Mantle.

No one knew anything about her at all so who were they to judge her as a whole based soley on her status as a Faunus? As far as Rose knew, she was blessed. Not pampered. As far she knew, her father had found his calling working for the Schnee Dust Company. If it weren’t for the SDC then her father wouldn’t have achieved the chance to finally provide the life he’s always dreamed for his family. Her father was making more than enough money to spoil Rose and her mother with everything they’ve ever wanted. As far as she knew, everything was as it should be. Everything was perfect, right?

Little did Rose know at the time, nothing is ever truly perfect or as it seems on the surface. And like any classic superhero origin events, these are the events that led to one Faunus girl becoming one of the most notorious vigilantes known to Atlas.

Rise of the Rose Hood

I’m going to dedicate to this section to Ly (@lythecreatorart​.). I owe a lot of the ideas that went into crafting this side of Rose’s story to her brilliance and her Rose Fox variation: Rosaline Hood.

Here’s what I’m thinking: I have this small squiggly theory where part of the Faunus abuse and exploitation by the SDC is the higher ups (like Jacques Schnee) secretly blackmailing the Faunus employed under their company to take down their enemies for them. I couldn’t come up with a better name for this organized Faunus cabal so for the sake of this concept, I’m just going to dub them the Cerberus Triad for now.

The Cerberus Triad are a crime syndicate of Faunus secretly organized by the SDC to forcefully scope out and enlist vulnerable Faunus employed under their fine establishment to perform odd jobs on behalf of the company. And by odd jobs I mean crimes ranging from vandalism and burglary and even kidnapping, battery and in worse cases--- murder. All for the SDC.

Since World of Remnant mentioned that the SDC take pride in using shady tactics to out their competitors, my concept is through the use of their organized Cerberus Triad who are devoted to serving them, whether it’s their choice or not.

Basically think of Cerberus Triad as being the opposite of the White Fang. While the White Fang were more of a radical terrorist group who fought the humans proclaiming peace and equality for the Faunus race, the Cerberus Triad were Faunus who worked with the humans in charge of the SDC and profited from basically being their pawns at the expense of their freedom.

To the most Faunus involved with the Triad, at least the more dedicated members who’ve been so exposed to the lifestyle that they can’t afford to quit, they didn’t care if they were being used by the SDC. To the more third class Faunus who resided in the slums of Atlas and Mantle, the Triad was their one way of surviving. It was either that or death to them and their starving families. To those Faunus, they had nothing to lose. Why bother fighting against the humans when you can just as easily let their richest spoil you. All it took was just selling your soul to the SDC and getting your hands dirty taking care of their dirty laundry. That’s pretty much the concept I have for the Triad.

The Cerberus Triad are the property of the SDC and comprise mostly of poor Faunus---particularly the ones struggling to care for their families, who are at the complete mercy of the company. These Faunus are drafted to perform the SDC’s crimes for them under the promise of a better life.

A handful of these Faunus are roped by fellow Faunus who the Triad send to pull them in. The rest are threatened with the death of their families if they didn’t submit to the joining the Triad. The Cerberus Triad are the hellhounds who guard their masters’ identities and wait dutifully to be deployed against their masters’ foes. They are even willing to take the fall for their masters’ crimes (or worse), all the while the rest of the world remains oblivious to what the SDC has really been up to.

Though the hellhounds are indeed compensated handsomely for their services--- after all, the SDC is led by masterminds who know how to keep their pets in line; it doesn’t change the fact that these Faunus are forced into doing despicable things for the the SDC just for sake of keeping their families safe and cared for.

In reality, the hellhounds of the Cerberus Triad are no better than a pack of tamed animals who the SDC have by the throat and aren’t afraid to exploit their slaves as they please. The worse of the all are the Triple Threats--the proclaimed Heads of the Cerberus Triad.

In the Triad hierarchy, the Triple Treats are three alpha dogs---the ones entrusted by their masters to keep their identities a secret while additionally luring in and groom their fellow hellhounds. And should any of the pups lose their way, the Triple Threats are the top dogs the SDC deploy to ‘take care’ of them.

The Triple Threats are the prime examples of Faunus who have been so inbred in the culture of the Triad that they dare not betray their masters---willing to even kill their fellow Faunus brethren if it meant keeping their riches. To these particular Faunus, any life is better than having to rot away in the cold of Solitas. Even a life of crime.

I know these are all just ideas I’m spouting here but…admittedly this could be a pretty cool concept if done canonically. The White Fang are now a thing of the past as of the V5 and replacing them are the Faunus Militia Makes me wonder if there is a chance we might see the Belladonnas and Ilia Amitola returning at some point during the Atlas Trilogy as part of the subplot involving the Crimes of the SDC as teased by Adam Taurus in V6.

Through the White Fang, we’ve seen an example of Faunus willing to fight the humans for equality and freedom. Now imagine if things are different over in Atlas and Mantle where the Faunus who are slaves to humans being forced to do crimes for them. A concept similar to the Cerberus Triad could potentially be a nice contrast from the White Fang while still continuing the subplot of Faunus abuse. Who knows? 

 Resuming Rosaline’s story, Robyn Fox---her father, was secretly a hellhound for the Cerberus Triad. That was how he was able to acquire the income to get his family out of the Barracks up to Atlas. Like any hellhound, Robyn was rewarded with more money than he could ever dream off. Enough to provide his girls with the liverish lifestyle they deserved. Unfortunately, this also meant Robyn living a double life---lying to Marian and Rose about all the ‘good work’ he was doing for the SDC when the truth was that he was at the complete beck and call of the Cerberus Triad.

Through the Triad, Robyn would do things that he’d never be able to forgive himself for. Things that made him feel a tremendous amount of shame especially to his baby Rose who idolized him. One time Rose even told Robyn that she hoped she could do great work as a huntress someday just like what her father was doing with the SDC.

It was with this statement that Robyn Fox made a choice. For his daughter’s sake and his dignity as a father, he needed to quit his criminal ways. He needed to leave the Triad once and for all and let the world know the truth about the SDC.

Unfortunately for Robyn Fox, one does not simply walk away from the iron fist of the Cerberus Triad. It was a mistake he paid for with his life. At some point, Robyn threatened to quit the Triad with plans to rat them out to the Atlesian law enforcements. Without the Triad’s knowledge, Robyn had secretly been gathering evidence he had planned to use to expose the identities of masterminds within the SDC behind the Cerberus Triad. He had put together a list---the names of SDC members who Robyn suspected to be the Masters or at least accomplices as he gathered his proof. Among the names of the expected Masters was Jacques Schnee---the CEO.

Robyn had disclosed this plan to a dear friend---a fellow disgruntled hellhound who shared Robyn’s same sentiments about leaving the Triad for good. Robyn figured he could trust said friend. He was wrong.

As one might expect, Robyn’s so-called ally backstabbed him and ratted him out to the Triple Threats who then executed his death. Robyn Fox wasn’t just killed. He was murdered---corned like prey in the wilderness, beaten brutally to death before being shot through the head and left for dead bleeding out in the cold.

All the while this was happening; a petrified Rose Fox---too scared to move, hid somewhere else where the attackers couldn’t detect her. Rose had been out with her father when the Hellhounds came for him. Worried that they might hurt Rose too, Robyn stowed Rose away somewhere safe and told her that no matter what she heard, she must not move. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. Stay perfectly still.

So Rose stood still. She stayed as stagnant as a statue made of clay as masked assailants---at least five of them---took their shots at murdering her father while she did nothing. She couldn’t make out their faces from where she stood; not like she looked.

But she never forgot their scent. Their scent would haunt Rose in her nightmares for many days to come; particularly one person. The face of the last person her father saw before he was shot dead. In the name of the SDC, the culprit boldly announced before pulling the trigger.

As a fox Faunus, Rose has excellent hearing and sense of smell. Her sense of smell is strong enough for her to identity someone based on how they smell alone. This is ironically how she and Oscar reunited. She never forgot her best friend’s scent so she immediately recognized him after catching a whiff of his trail when Oscar and Ruby were exploring the Atlas school compound before Oscar’s first day at the academy. Let’s just say, to Rose Fox, Oscar has a rather strong odour to him that she can smell from a mile away.

This plays into the fun fact is that pine trees are known for their nice smell so now I’m imagining Rose Fox constantly trying to sniff Oscar because she really likes his scent; all the while encouraging others to smell Oscar too which embarrasses the poor farm boy. 

Getting back on track here---following her father’s murder, Rose was never the same again. On the surface, she tried to be her old chipper self for the sake of her mother who was completely devastated by what happened to her husband. But at her core, Rose was hiding an insatiable taste for revenge. She wanted to hunt down the people who took her father away from her. She wanted justice and it was a justice she sought out for herself.

This is the part that I owe Ly for inspiring with her Rosaline Hood. In Rosaline’s Hood story, she is the Robbing Hood. 

However in my Rose’s story; to make a long elaborate story short, her father’s murder inspired Rose Fox to become the Rose Hood.

Using an old photo of her father when he was a young adult, Rose used his likeness to create an alternate persona of the Rose Hood to live out her vendetta. No one would ever suspect that a mysterious male Faunus vigilante is in fact a teenage Faunus girl with a shapeshifting semblance, correct?

Initially, Rose had only meant to use the Red Hood to hunt down her father’s assailants---donning the face of a Deadman to bring the men who killed him to justice by his---well her hands. However the further Rose went down the rabbit hole, the more she realized that the problem was far bigger than she imagined.

Eventually Rose found her father’s list and started unravelling the truth about the Cerberus Triad and their Masters. It was something that ultimately opened her eyes to what the Faunus of her kingdom had to go through just to survive. It opened her eyes to what her father had to do just for them to survive.

That’s when Rose made a change. She decided to turn her newfound persona into a vigilante hero who fought the Cerberus Triad.

Since the Cerberus Triad would pillage on behalf of the SDC, the Rose Hood would arrive to actively thwart their crimes. At the time, all Rose wanted to do was stop the Cerberus Triad from hurting anyone else. But that objective changed for a second time when word of Rose’s adventures as the elusive Rose Hood became the talk of the town.

Before Rose knew it, the Rose Hood became a household name; especially within the Faunus community. A feat which humbled honoured Rose but still she maintained her cover. By day she was Rose Fox---your average 15-year-old first year Atlas student attending huntsmen academy. But by night, she was the Rose Hood fighting to stop the Cerberus Triad in hopes that her escapades would bring her closer to her real target. Rose had planned to finish what her father started---to bring down the SDC by uncovering the identities of the Masters and bring them to justice for all their crimes against the Faunus community.

Not before long, as the Rood Hood’s popularity continued to grow, he ultimately attracted the attention of a particular group of Faunus who would ultimately become his followers. Tired of being used by both the Triad and the SDC, this band of merry men formed the Robbing Roses, a cult of thieves formally bred by the Triad who now swore their allegiance to the Red Hood.

The Robbing Roses tracked Rose’s movements as the Rose Hood and one night, one of their founding members found him and begged the Hood to be their leader against the Cerberus Triad.

And so, Rose became their fearless leader. Under the guise of the Rose Hood, Rose secretly leads the Robbing Roses in her crusade against the Cerberus Triad and the SDC.

The Robbing Roses

The Robbing Roses were once Faunus who once worked under the tirade of the Cerberus Triad and now work with the Red Hood to bring down them down and the SDC. Whatever profits they managed to score from their escapades is then used to help these men take care of their families particularly the ones who still have family they were trying to take out of the Barracks and Mantle. Most of these Faunus are husbands and fathers who the Triad were easily able to manipulate before. Now under the Rose Hood’s leadership, they are free to fight against their original oppressors by thwarting their crimes and stealing back from them.

Since the SDC use the Faunus to create the Cerberus Triad to take out their competitors then the Robbing Roses fight to stop the Cerberus Triad while targeting the SDC. Since the SDC seems to be built on the blood, sweat and tears of the Faunus they exploit for their own selfish desires under the kingdom’s nose then it would only be fair that their fortunes should go to the Faunus, correct?

The Robbing Roses work to reveal the truth of the SDC’s true colours to the world, all the while stealing from these very rich Masters to give back to the poor they viciously exploited.

So in addition to stopping the Triad, the Robbing Roses plunder the various SDC establishments scattered throughout Atlas; taking what they can to help the families of the Faunus who are trying desperately to get out of the Barracks; particularly the one’s of those working among the Robbing Roses.

That’s the concept that I have for these guys. Imagine basically the Phantom Thieves from Persona 5 but with a Robin Hood spin on it. If Rosaline as the Rose Hood is meant to embody Robin Hood then Robin Hood isn’t complete without his merry men, right? I’m not sure what the Merry Men of Robin Hood’s story looked like however for the Robbing Roses, I’m seeing a full group of men sporting hooded capes; red like roses and full face masks to hide their true identities. 

Dissimilar to the masks worn by the White Fang, the Robbing Roses wear masks depicting the very animals the Faunus of the Robbing Roses embody. The mask is white with intricate red detailing that resembles rose petals and thorns. Remember the Anbu from the Naruto anime series? Picture something like that for their masks designs.

And since we’re talking about Robin Hood and the Merry Men, then obviously there needs to be a Little John character too.

Here’s my idea: Though loyal to the Rose Hood, none of the Robbing Roses know of his true identity as the teenage Rosaline Fox. None except for one man. A bear Faunus--- who the others called Jahn Little. I’ll dub him that for the sake of this idea I’m going with.

Basically Jahn served as the right hand and second in command to Rose when she was the Rose Hood. Jahn was also the man who formed the Robbing Roses when they were just a few struggling members and was the person who sought out the Rose Hood in the first place.

When Rose decided to ultimately abandon the mantle of the Red Hood, Jahn nobly gave up himself to the authorities claiming himself to be the Rose Hood. When asked by Rose why he would take the fall for her, Jahn revealed it was because he owed a great debt to Robyn.

Remember that dear friend I mentioned before who ratted Robyn out to the Triple Threats?

It was Jahn but it wasn’t as it seemed. Jahn was forced into ratting out his friend since the Triads intimidated him into do it. He gave up his one trusted friend in the Triad to save his own skin. Jahn was actually there that night when the Triad murdered Robyn. He was the man who tried to warn Robyn of his hit but arrived too late to save him. He did however see Rose. It was the first time Jaune saw the daughter Robyn spoke so highly of; although the two would not officially meet until the Robbing Roses form.

As for Jahn’s motive for working against the Triad and going to jail for Rose---well let’s say it was done as a final act of selflessness because Jaune had nothing else he could lose. He had already lost his family. Wife left him when he failed to provide. Jahn only joined the Triad because he had hoped he could make enough to win back his wife and son. When Jahn wanted to quit, the Hellhounds had his only family---his wife and son murdered to prove a point.

Similar to Robyn, the loss of his family was Jahn’s eye opening moment. The moment that made him realize the Cerberus Triad and the SDC needed to be stopped once and for all before other innocent lives were endangered; Faunus and humans alike. It was the moment that made him cling to the image of the Red Hood as a symbol of hope. And what was ultimately his motive for taking the fall for the young Rosaline after learning her secret.

Rose was the one who gave Jahm hope when he needed it most so giving himself up in her place was his way for repaying the kindness that her and Robyn gave to him. Jahn may have acted in his own self-interest toward Robyn but he wasn’t about to do the same with his daughter. That’s the idea.

 Final Thoughts| Garden of Roses

And…that’s it!

Phew! Alrighty, I think I’m about ready to wrap up this long meta. I was going to include another section to discuss more about what a Rose Fox Character could potentially mean for Oscar’s story arc. Buuuut…I believe it would be best if that’s yet another Pinehead Headcanon saved for a next day. Oscar’s Other Rose Part III, ya’ll!

Anywhozzits, as I’m closing off, I just would like to take this moment to personally thank Ly, Chelsea and Miki. You’ve seen me mention their names a lot throughout this post and I really do owe these three cool cats a lot for their encouragement and influence. 

Lately this squiggle meister has been feeling kind of as if folks might be getting bored of reading my RWBY content. Not saying it’s true. It’s just a lingering concern of mine with each post I make to Tumblr. So when I first shared my Oscar’s Other Rose Pinehead headcanon, like any idea I wasn’t sure how fellow FNDM fam might respond to it; especially the Pineheads.

But when I saw Ly create Rosaline Hood, as I told her, I was floored man! Then after Ly came Chelsea with her adorable Rosalind Hood and now Miki with Ianthe Regim. As someone who generally tends to talk a lot in her posts, words are not enough to describe just how genuinely happy I felt seeing all three of these beautiful Roses.

It’s because of this why I am completely open to their being multiple interpretations of the Rose Fox Character. When Ly first shared her Rosaline Hood, I didn’t want to be like “Her Rose isn’t the real Rose because she doesn’t look like my Rose”, y’know what I mean? HELL to the NAH! I was over the freaking moon seeing her first character design for Rosaline Hood the first time as well as her adorkable storyboards of Oscar and Rose’s friendship. I love seeing those. Maybe this post might’ve even inspired a few of those drawings. Who knows?

The same is to be said for Chelsea’s Rosalind Hood and Miki’s Ianthe Regim. Speaking of Miki, love, love, LOVE your drawings of all the Roses together interacting. Beautiful!

I welcome ALL incarnations of the Rose Fox Character. Even though Rosaline Fox is my version, I am more than happy with anyone else creating their own Rose Fox-inspired character. It’d be lovely to see this garden grow. It’s actually really cool when ideas inspire more ideas. My original headcanon may have helped inspire Rosaline Hood from Ly but it was Ly’s Rosaline Hood who helped inspire Rosaline, Rosalind and Ianthe too. It’s freaking crazy and I love it.

So yeah, if anyone is interested in making their own Rose Fox characters, you’re more than free to do so. The one thing I ask is that you share them with yours truly once you’re done since I’d love to see them. Just…uhm…no rule 34 level of inappropriateness please. I am open to more Roses but respectfully keep that kind of stuff out of the garden, please and thank you mighty kindly.

What would actually be beyond awesome is if the Concept of the Rose Fox Character becomes so popular that even the CRWBY Writers pick up the idea and actually decide to add their own version to the canon of RWBY. Yes, yes, I know that’s mega wishful thinking here but a squiggle meister could dream, can I?

For now, it just gets me excited seeing art of all the Roses that blossomed so far. What’s left for me to do now is to finish up my design of Rosaline so that I can join Ly and Miki on drawing all the Roses together.

I planted one tiny seed of a Pinehead headcanon and from it blossomed not just one but now four Roses, all lovely and rich in their own unique way. That’s enough for a huntsmen team.

Even though I shared all of this ideas for Rosaline Fox and her story, that doesn’t necessarily mean that my concepts are set in stone for other versions. To my fellow Rose Fox parents, you guys are more than free to use elements from Rosaline’s story for your Roses or create your own if you’d like.

Speaking of: 

What’d you think of Rosaline Fox now after reading her story?

@miki-13​, @lythecreatorart​ and @che1sea-xiao-long​, you guys asked me for my thoughts on your Roses and your ideas for their respective stories; now I’d like to know your thoughts on Rosaline’s if you don’t mind.

And if anymore Roses are to spawn, they are welcome in the garden as well. As I told Chelsea and Miki, this squiggle meister is fully on board with this Garden of Roses: A Rose Fox Multiverse that’s happening here.

I love that Rosaline now has three fellow Rose Fox sisters whose stories she helped shape and who’s own stories helped shape hers. I don’t usually indulge in creating content from my RWBY theories and headcanons but your contributions have made this so much fun and for what it’s worth, I hope we can keep having more fun with our Roses.

Who knows? Maybe from this I can get the nudge to create more RWBY Squiggle OCs inspired by other Pinehead headcanons I’ve made. Like Tippetarius from this Pinehead headcanon right here. I guess we shall see. For now, let’s keep the fun going guys. Thanks for reading!

More Squiggles’ RWBY Content 

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)  

[notesoftruth]

Bleach AU (the Eldritch is creeping in)

Have a snippet @sparklecryptid​ and other people who I don’t know the tumblrs for from the dicord. I did the thing.

She looked around the Academy, looked around at all the people striving for receive strength. She had listened to their lectures on Zanpakutou, to them saying, It is part of your soul, it is a companion, it is the truest expression of your being, your soul given form. She looked at all of this, and then she turned to this War-Leader, this Sunderer, and she said to him No.

I am whole. I am powerful. I am unbroken, she told him. I have no need of your strength, no need of your pain. Everything I am, I am already.

She looked down at the Asauchi on the table, the sword they had told she must carry with her always. Over time, they had said, this Asauchi will become attuned to you. It will be your Zanpakutou. It will be your life, and you are never to let it leave your side.

No, she told them. I will not give part of my soul to you. I will not be complicit in its mutilation for power, for a war started by depraved souls asking, “What happens if I do this?”

Once upon a time, there were two boys, two souls born into a world of energy. One of them loved to study, to question, to learn. The other was happy to listen to his friend, and if ever someone tried to tease, tried to taunt him, tried to put him under him, he would stand up and say “No.” If they would not concede by his words, then he would put them down with his fists.

Both boys wished that the world would stop demanding things of them. The one boy wished the world would stop interfering with his learning, and the other wished the world would stop intruding on his time with his friend.

More and more as time passed, both boys knew in their hearts that the only way to get the world to do what they wanted was to force it. And so, eventually, they agreed that they needed power. More power than anyone had ever had before, more power than anyone else in the world.

Already the boy had found that the most powerful of forces came from sundering, from breaking things apart along fault lines and weak points. The question, then, was how to harness. He began his experiments on mice, those most doomed of creatures.

Carefully, he learned how to break off bits of their souls. It took many tries for him to find something that worked vaguely like he had intended, that succeeded in fully detaching part of the soul in a rush of energy that consumed the smaller portion.

Satisfied, he moved onto bigger creatures. He found that they acted strange after having part of their soul removed. Observing the creatures he had mutilated, he saw they became more desperate over time, that they began attacking their fellows, trying to kill them. He saw that they became hungry.

He wondered at this. Hunger was a thing that only newly-dead souls spoke of. It was not something experienced by the inhabitants of this spiritual world.

Soon, the boy, now a young man, decided that he needed more information than animals could give him. He needed a thinking being that could explain to him the state of its existence if he wanted to move forward.

Undecided, the young man sought the counsel of his friend. His friend listened closely to how his experiments had progressed, what he had learned. His friend agreed with his next steps, and promised that he would find appropriate test subjects for him to continue his research.

Breaking off parts of a human soul was so much more fascinating than doing the same to an animal. Hearing what it felt like, the way the world had changed around them, advanced the young man’s research faster and faster.

At the same time, rumors began of people being attacked. People who enjoyed living at one with nature, without the distractions of constant company, began to disappear. The young man’s friend, who had grown up fighting off unwelcome attention, set out to investigate it. He came back with tales of monsters, things with holes in their chests that moaned of hunger, of something missing.

Soon, the rumors grew worse and the friend set out again. He came back with stories of people being eaten, of monsters that shrugged off all attacks. They couldn’t be fought off, only redirected onto a target other than oneself.

Frightened by this threat, the young man threw himself even more into his research. He began adjusting his methods, trying to find a more precise technique. He found that the slower the cut, the more reliably he was able to sunder a soul. It also provided a stream of power rather than a burst.

He discovered that this stream, unlike the burst was able to be directed. He discovered that the sundered portion of the soul could be preserved if he pressed it into an object as it was separated. He discovered that if he folded the power produced around the smaller portion of the soul, the greater half maintained a connection. The greater half could direct it.

Power was why they begun down this path, and eagerly the young man turned to his friend. He had found power, he had created it from nothing and he had harnessed it. But it was his friend that would be able to use it. His friend that told him of dark devouring taking over their world, threatening their happy peace. So now he offered his friend the fruits of his labor.

Will this work, he asked his friend. Is this something you can use, he pleaded.

Yes, his friend said after some thought. I can make this work.

The young man who had been so adamant in fighting off intrusions as a young boy had spent some years learning the art of the sword. He looked at what his friend could do, and he asked that his friend sunder his own soul. Put it in a sword, he requested. And I shall use it to protect us. I shall use it to fight these monsters that devour all they find.

And that is what they did. The learned young man slowly and carefully sundered the soul of strong young man, preserving the offcut in a sword and twining the outpouring of power around it, binding the soul to the sword and the sword to the young man.

When the young man took up this sword of his soul, he found it made of fire. It roared at him, angry and in pain. He soothed it. All his life had been spent subjugating those who would threaten his friend, and now would be no different. It made no difference whether the threat was now a hungering monster, still he would subjugate them.

And so he set out into the world and spewed fire as he willed. He found that with his soul in a blade, the monsters could not shrug off his attacks. That attacking the hole in their chest made them scream, but slicing through the bone on their faces killed them.

People noticed his success. They began to follow him, to cower in the safety left with every swing of his blade. Some begged him to teach them, to give them the same power he wielded. He looked at them, so willing to fight, to try and carve a place of safety, and he saw a useful idea.

He took them back, to where his friend that was now a man lived. He explained to his friend that the monsters were numerous than they had known. That for every one he cut down, two more appeared. He explained how the people with him wished also to fight.

The man agreed with his friend who was no longer a young man but a warrior. He would sunder the souls of these people and grant them power to help fight the monsters. But would they agree to it? His subjects had found his experiments distasteful. So too might these people.

They ask for power of their own, explained the warrior, not how I gained mine. We shall give them what they ask for, and what they haven’t asked they need not know.

So the man gave the people swords to wear by their sides, swords that slowly sundered their soul and took in that lost portion. So preoccupied were they with learning to fight that they never noticed the loss. So caught up were they in bruises and aching muscles that they never noticed the pain. So caught up were they in gaining power that they never noticed becoming less.

Over time, they beat back the monsters. They carved out a safe haven, a place the monsters dared not venture. They grew food and they ate it. They forgot that eating was a thing the living did, not the dead. They fed themselves because they were constantly bleeding from a wound that never healed, for each day they picked at it, coaxing it to spread farther.

They fed themselves, but they did not feed the soul in their swords. And so their swords, bound as they were, reached out to the souls around them for food. They nibbled at whatever came near, whatever they could possibly reach, for they were also bleeding.

The group of sword-wielders began to find other souls who hungered, other souls that gazed longingly at their food. Even without knowing the truth they recognized these souls as kindred, as potential. (They never realized their power was blood. They never realized that these people too were bleeding. Potential was merely blood in the water, able to be used.)

The day came when the sword-wielders were so many that they needed structure. They needed order. They needed more than just the warrior to command them and point them where to go. The sword-wielders went to the warrior and the man and asked them to command them, to give them purpose.

The warrior and the man talked for a long time on this. The man explained to the warrior that he had heard the sword-wielders call him general. That they obeyed him without question, immediately.

The warrior explained to the man that he had heard the sword-wielders call him king. That they had seen that the warrior protected the man, listened to the man, dedicated himself to the man.

The man who was called a king and the warrior who was called general both conceded to the sword-wielders. The general took them firmly in hand and directed them into units. The king set down laws and punishments and a goal to work towards.

The general still did not tell the sword-wielders from whence their power came, and the sword-wielders still did not ask the general how he had discovered his power. The king still provided swords to every seeker who came to their door, but was often too busy and disinterested to play with the sundering of souls.

Centuries later, the general and the king sat down together and surveyed their domain. The sword-wielders had grown numerous, even as so too did their enemies. The hollow monsters that devoured still attacked souls, but often the sword-wielders were able to dispatch them.

The general hummed in contentment. He was able to sit with his friend whenever he wished, now, and no one would dare disturb them. The king hummed in contentment. He was able to question and research whatever he wished, and no one bothered him be sociable without his permission.

Well Genryuu, the king said, I think I can be happy with this.

She gazes down at the Asauchi.

I’m not interested in mutilation, she says.

And she walks away.

[aion-rsa]

Jurassic World Camp Cretaceous Season 2 Ending Explained

https://ift.tt/3o6Fv3T

A pack of Compsognathus munches on frozen pizza amid the wreckage of Main Street… Nature is healing.

The second season of Netflix’s animated series Jurassic World Camp Cretaceous picks up soon after the first season ended, continuing the story of six teenage campers who were stranded on Isla Nublar after the Jurassic World incident ruined their chance at a fun camp experience. Even though the Indominus rex is dead (thanks, Ms. Mosasaur!) and the park is closed, Isla Nublar has more danger and excitement lined up for our campers, and several different plotlines converge at the end of the season. Let’s recap them.

What Happens to the Villains?

While the first season pitted the kids against the dinosaurs of the island and the catastrophically failing theme park itself, it didn’t have much in the way of human antagonists like we have come to expect in Jurassic movies. Season 2, on the other hand, introduces us to Mitch and Tiff (voiced by Bradley Whitford and Stephanie Beatriz).

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Jurassic World Camp Cretaceous Season 2 Review (Spoiler-Free)

By Alana Joli Abbott

When we first meet possibly the most annoying couple to step foot on an island full of dinosaurs since Jurassic Park III gave us the Kirbys, they claim to be ecotourists coming to document the dinosaurs in the aftermath of the human evacuation. Dinosaur nerd Darius immediately recognizes a kindred spirit in Mitch, and he and the rest of the campers are grateful for their state of the art campground and all its amenities. Mitch and Tiff’s intimidating and frankly kind of scary guide, Hap (voiced by Angus Sampson), on the other hand, has the campers divided as to whom they should trust.

Unfortunately, our self-proclaimed ecotourists end up being big game hunters, on the island to bag trophies before the dinosaurs go extinct again. Not even freshly cooked bacon and the promise of getting the kids off the island can redeem Mitch and Tiff when they threaten the children into helping them find the dinosaurs they want to hunt.

Using park technology to track the dinosaurs (and some herding knowledge gained in the first season), the kids play along but attempt to lead the hunters into a trap: the Tyrannosaurus is building a nest and she’s not afraid to defend it. The plan almost ends in disaster, but Hap proves he was on the kids’ side all along, dramatically sacrificing himself for them. Ultimately, Mitch and Tiff trap themselves. Literally, in Mitch’s case, as he gets caught in one of his own snares. His wife leaves him to become dino dinner, but soon becomes the victim of a pair of Baryonyx, the family of a dinosaur Tiff shot earlier.

You know what they say. Karma is a Baryonyx.

The Fate of Ben and Bumpy

After a terrifying fall from the park monorail last season, neurotic camper Ben and his adopted asymmetrical ankylosaur Bumpy were presumed dead by their fellow campers. The final shot of season one revealed their survival to us viewers, but the rest of the kids have to live with the guilt and grief until Ben and Bumpy come storming back into the story to help save the day. And you almost wouldn’t recognize them.

Thanks to her genetically altered growth acceleration, our little Bumpy is all grown up now and large enough for Ben to ride around on her. She’s big, beautiful and ready for action, lending a hand (or clubbed tail) more than once as the kids break into the tunnels under the park to restore power and save the dinos from the hunters.

But Bumpy isn’t the only one who grew up almost overnight. Though he still has an affinity for hand sanitizer, having to survive in the wild on his own has made Ben something of a wilderness badass. He even defeated Toro, the Carnotaurus! (Defeated, but not necessarily killed. When last we saw Mr. “I have a big head and tiny arms”, he had a new facial scar courtesy of Ben’s spear, and had fallen off a cliff but was still moving. Whether he succumbed to his injuries or will return to terrorize the camp fam remains to be seen.)

The end of season 2 sees all of the teenagers changed in some way or another, albeit not so dramatically. Like the dinosaurs at the watering hole, predator and prey mingling peacefully because of a shared goal, our campers might have personality clashes at times, but they put them aside and learn from each other because the only way to survive is to adapt to your surroundings.

Who Are “The Other Guys?”

With seemingly no hope of being rescued (although the emergency beacon they turned on did say it was received, so maybe someone is coming for them), Darius resolves to find a way off the island himself. Which might not be so hard, seeing as Tiff’s boat stalled out pretty close to shore when the Baryonyx power couple decided to play “I am the captain now.”

And anyway, the kids have basically faced everything the island can throw at them, right?… right?

Well, here’s the thing. All season, social media starlet Brooklynn has been noticing some weird humming sounds and cold spots on the island. Like really cold. Like, freezing a patch of flowers cold. This mystery appears to be connected to Eddie, the lab worker who mentioned “the other guys” last season but was inconveniently eaten before he could elaborate. He had a master keycard to open any electronic lock in the park (which Hap seemed to recognize), and a number Brooklynn found in the lab corresponds to the one on the door that all the cold air is coming from. The door where, unbeknownst to the kids, the cryogenic system has just failed.

What were they keeping under ice in there? Was it something to do with the hybrid program, or might it be a totally different project yet to be revealed in the Jurassic Park franchise, possibly involving the mysterious “other guys” and/or Mantah Corp? And what’s going to happen now that it is warming up? In the first movie, we learned that the gaps in the dino DNA were filled in with frog DNA, inadvertently giving the dinosaurs the ability to change gender like some frogs. Who’s to say a dinosaur made with wood frog DNA wouldn’t be able to wake up unharmed after being frozen just like the frogs?

With any luck, and if life finds a way, we will get a third season of Camp Cretaceous to answer all of these questions.

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[gadgetgirl71]

Top Ten Tuesday 15 December 2020

Welcome to this weeks Top Ten Tuesday. Originally created by The Broke & The Bookish, which is now hosted by Jana @ That Artsy Reader Girl. Each week it features a book or literary themed category. This weeks prompt is:

Books On My Winter 2020-2021 TBR:

The Trials of Koli Rampart Trilogy Part 2 by M R Carey

The journey through M. R. Carey’s “immersive, impeccably rendered world” (Kirkus) — a world in which nature has turned against us — continues in The Trials of Koli, book two of the Rampart Trilogy.The earth wants to swallow us whole…Koli has been cast out from Mythen Rood. Behind him are his family and the safety of the known. Ahead, the embrace of the deadly forests awaits. But Koli heard a story, once. A story about lost London, where the tech of old times was so plentiful it was just lying on the streets. And if he can safely lead Ursula, Cup and Monono to this sparkling city, maybe he can save the rest of humanity, too. In a world where a journey of two miles is an odyssey, he’s going to walk two hundred. But the city is not what it once was…and around him, Ingland is facing something it hasn’t seen in three centuries: war. The Rampart Trilogy The Book of Koli, The Trials of Koli, The Fall of Koli For more from M. R. Carey, check out:The Girl With All the Gifts, Fell side, The Boy on the Bridge, Someone Like Me By the same author, writing as Mike Carey:The Devil You Know, Vicious Circle, Dead Men’s Boots, Thicker Than Water, The Naming of the Beasts

Reflect Reclaim Trilogy Book 1 by Jesse Booth & Joanna Reeder

Their romance only lasted a short few months… but that was more than 100 years ago.

Ever since his fiancé, Gemma MacLugh, was killed at the hands of a dragon shifter, vampire Leif Villers has mourned his loss. Still, a part of him never gave up on her. He could hear her voice, feel her love even through the grave, relive her memories over and over until they were stripped from him.

Now Leif has discovered the final piece to bring her back from death’s clutches. He carried her brooch, never knowing it held the key to resurrecting his love.

Too bad it’s now in the hands of the formidable kraken shifter who nearly destroyed the Shifter Academy in the recent vampire/shifter war and then slithered away, never to be seen again.

————

Across time, powerful selkie Gemma MacLugh–a magic user who can shape-shift into a seal–should have a wonderful, comfortable existence at her home in New York in 1897. But jealous sisters target her with their cruelty, making life miserable. If not for her Grandmother and her best friend and fellow selkie, Frederick, things might have been truly unbearable.

But when a mermaid seer foretells her upcoming death and opportunity arises to leave her home and travel across the country to a boarding house in Washington, she takes it.

To get away from her cruel sisters.

To escape her destiny.

But is it luck or fate’s final joke when she meets a tall, dark and handsome man by the name of Leif Villers?

Their love will challenge time and death itself, but can Leif get Gemma back? Can Gemma truly escape her fate?

**Reflect is the first book in the Reclaim Trilogy within the Shifter Academy Universe written by USA Today Bestselling Authors, Jesse Booth and Joanna Reeder**

The Dictionary of Lost Word by Pip Williams

In 1901, the word ‘Bondmaid’ was discovered missing from the Oxford English Dictionary. This is the story of the girl who stole it.

Esme is born into a world of words. Motherless and irrepressibly curious, she spends her childhood in the ‘Scriptorium’, a garden shed in Oxford where her father and a team of dedicated lexicographers are collecting words for the very first Oxford English Dictionary. Esme’s place is beneath the sorting table, unseen and unheard. One day a slip of paper containing the word ‘bondmaid’ flutters to the floor. Esme rescues the slip and stashes it in an old wooden case that belongs to her friend, Lizzie, a young servant in the big house. Esme begins to collect other words from the Scriptorium that are misplaced, discarded or have been neglected by the dictionary men. They help her make sense of the world.

Over time, Esme realises that some words are considered more important than others, and that words and meanings relating to women’s experiences often go unrecorded. While she dedicates her life to the Oxford English Dictionary, secretly, she begins to collect words for another dictionary: The Dictionary of Lost Words.

Set when the women’s suffrage movement was at its height and the Great War loomed, The Dictionary of Lost Words reveals a lost narrative, hidden between the lines of a history written by men. It’s a delightful, lyrical and deeply thought-provoking celebration of words, and the power of language to shape the world and our experience of it. 

Friends and Strangers by J Courtney Sullivan

An insightful, hilarious, and compulsively readable novel about a complicated friendship between two women who are at two very different stages in life, from the best-selling author of Maine and Saints for All Occasions (named one of the Washington Post‘s Ten Best Books of the Year and a New York Times Critics’ Pick).

Elisabeth, an accomplished journalist and new mother, is struggling to adjust to life in a small town after nearly twenty years in New York City. Alone in the house with her infant son all day (and awake with him much of the night), she feels uneasy, adrift. She neglects her work, losing untold hours to her Brooklyn moms’ Facebook group, her “influencer” sister’s Instagram feed, and text messages with the best friend she never sees anymore.

Enter Sam, a senior at the local women’s college, whom Elisabeth hires to babysit. Sam is struggling to decide between the path she’s always planned on and a romantic entanglement that threatens her ambition. She’s worried about student loan debt and what the future holds. In short order, they grow close. But when Sam finds an unlikely kindred spirit in Elisabeth’s father-in-law, the true differences between the women’s lives become starkly revealed and a betrayal has devastating consequences.

A masterful exploration of motherhood, power dynamics, and privilege in its many forms, Friends and Strangers reveals how a single year can shape the course of a life.

The Sanatorium by Sarah Pearse

‘At first glance they’re magnificent, yet the more she looks, the more she realizes how sinister the mountains appear: raw, jagged spikes. It’s not hard to imagine, she thinks, looking out; this place somehow consuming someone, swallowing them whole.’

An imposing, isolated hotel, high up in the Swiss Alps, is the last place Elin Warner wants to be. But she’s taken time off from her job as a detective, so when she receives an invitation out of the blue to celebrate her estranged brother’s recent engagement, she has no choice but to accept.

Arriving in the midst of a threatening storm, Elin immediately feels on edge. Though it’s beautiful, something about the hotel, recently converted from an abandoned sanatorium, makes her nervous – as does her brother, Isaac.

And when they wake the following morning to discover his fiancée Laure has vanished without a trace, Elin’s unease grows. With the storm cutting off access to and from the hotel, the longer Laure stays missing, the more the remaining guests start to panic.

But no-one has realized yet that another woman has gone missing. And she’s the only one who could have warned them just how much danger they’re all in . . .

Book of Yeshua by Francis Chapman

The dual time-line conspiracy thriller that will make you question everything

Did you ever ponder the sheer absurdity of the story told in the New Testament? That humanity’s redemption lay in the execution of God’s only son?’

Elliot Ambrose is one of the few souls on Earth who knows the truth about Yeshua of Nazareth. His determination to expose this truth throws him into conflict with an ancient and powerful foe, who will stop at nothing to protect their secrets. Elliot must undertake a violent journey, and a war started in Judea two thousand years ago culminates in a final battle in the twenty-first century.

This dark, gripping, dual time-line conspiracy thriller will appeal to fans of Dan Brown, S. J Parris, and Raymond Khoury.

Dances & Dreams on Diamond Street by Craig Revel Horwood

An offbeat, funny and heartwarming romantic novel from the fabulous King of Strictly, Craig Revel Horwood.

Set against the colourful boho backdrop of London’s Camden in the 1990s, Craig Revel Horwood’s first novel, Dances and Dreams on Diamond Street, tells the story of an unlikely family of friends who each rent a room in a ramshackle six-bedroom, four-storey townhouse. Like any family, the residents of Diamond Street sometimes fights and often act up but when the chips are down, they’re there for each other in an instant – usually brandishing a cheap bottle of booze, and the offer of an impromptu kitchen disco.

Presided over by the wise-cracking but warm-hearted patriarch of the family, Danny Hall, a professional dancer turned choreographer, the novel follows a year in the life of the inhabitants of Diamond Street, rough diamonds one and all, as they try to achieve their dreams – with unexpected, heart-warming and sometimes hilarious results.

Tomorrow Will Be A Good Day by Captain Sir Tom Moore

Who is Captain Sir Tom Moore? You’ve seen him on the television walking the length of his garden. A frail elderly man, doing his bit at a time of crisis. But he wasn’t always like this.

From a childhood in the foothills of the Yorkshire Dales, Tom Moore grew up in a loving family, which wasn’t without its share of tragedy. It was a time of plenty and of want. When the storm clouds of the Second World War threatened, he raised his hand and, like many of his generation, joined up to fight.

His war would take him from a country he had never left to a place which would steal his heart, India, and the Far East, to which he would return many years later to view the sight he had missed first time around: the distant peak of Everest.

Captain Tom’s story is our story. It is the story of our past hundred years here in Britain. It’s a time which has seen so much change, yet when so much has stayed the same: the national spirit, the can-do attitude, the belief in doing your best for others.

The Diary of Bink Cumming Vol 3 by Bink Cummings

Must read: The Diary of Bink Cummings Vol 1 & 2 previously.

Tests, life is full of them. The world is constantly trying see how much you can take before you break. Before you’re no longer you. Before your world dissolves into nothing. How long you can preserver and overcome the endless obstacles. It’s no secret that Big and I butt heads. It’s no secret that I not only dislike my mother, I hate her, because she hates me. Can these people break me? Can they push me to the edge of insanity, ready to jump? Having moved in with Big, I was living the life I never even knew I wanted. Every day was filled with hope and love. Until it wasn’t. Until it all changed and I was forced to learn what I’m made of. It took a single day for my world to never be the same. One day to change me forever. A day of revelations. Twenty-four hours I’ll never forget…

Steamy Adult romance Warning: Contains Mature scenarios, and mass quantities of profanity. For Ages 18+

-This is not a Stand alone.

Satan’s Fury MC Box Set by L Wilder

From the New York Times and USA Today Best Seller L Wilder comes the complete Satan’s Fury MC series with this limited time offer. The boxed set will only be available through the Thanksgiving Holiday, and then it will be gone forever. Grab yours quick while you can.

Maverick- The sergeant at arms finds his silver lining.

Stitch- With this enforcer, there are no limits to his brutality, no lines drawn in the sand … until Wren.

Cotton- The president of Satan’s Fury gives in to his carnal desires.

Clutch- Sometimes closing one door, opens another.

Smokey- Chance brought them together. Circumstance tore them apart.

Big- Hacker verses hacker in the most intriguing way.

Two Bit- Where she was his weakness, he was her strength.

Diesel- He may look like the boy next door, but if you mess with someone he cares about, he’ll become your worst nightmare.

*The Satan’s Fury MC series continues with the Memphis Chapter. Be sure to check out Blaze, Shadow, and the latest addition, Riggs. All are standalone romances with no cheating and no cliffhanger.

Until next week.

#JustForFun, #Top Ten Tuesday, #TopTenTuesday, #TTT

[nxtherold]

Daughter of Darkness

CHAPTER I : THE ANGEL IS A DEVIL

[ previous | next ]

Full work can be found here. Chapter: 1/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Genre: Angst, Drama, Suspense, Action/Adventure, Romance, Canon Rewrite Chapter Summary:

          Daeris Urzara is one of the Dark Brotherhood's top assassins, owed to her powers as a demiprince and rigorous training that started from birth. She grew up in the organization's base in the Imperial City, but upon Molag Bal's attack on the city, she was temporarily transferred to the Gold Coast as Brotherhood functions in the area ceased in order to keep the daedra from finding and destroying the Sanctuary. 

          Her new home is not without it's issues. A predatory force in service to the Order of the Hour, a rather devout cult of Akatosh worshippers, hunts down and slaughters members of the Dark Brotherhood in Kvatch and Anvil. Daeris has made it her goal to put an end to this self-righteous slayer; her own survival quite literally depends on it. Coming face to face with the killer of killers, an apex predator will emerge, and Daeris's future will take an uncertain turn. But first she has to find this assassin-hunter, and information can come from the most unlikely of sources...for a steep price.

            "I recognize in thieves, traitors and murderers, in the ruthless and the cunning, a deep beauty - a sunken beauty."                         -Jean Genet

           The gravity of the situation began to sink in when she heard Mirabelle crying for Cimbar. It was uncomfortable for many reasons beyond normal human cirmunstance, complicated by their status as assassins. It's not that Mirabelle and Cimbar's relationship was disallowed or discouraged, but it was well understood that everyone should be prepared for loss at any time. When you danced with death on a daily basis, you had to acknowledge that one day it might decide to claim you instead of your target. Everyone was always ready to lose, to mourn briefly then go about their duties for the good of the family, but Cimbar's death and Mirabelle's weeping brought everything to a halt.

          Time froze and confounded the assassins. The unforgiving air twisted around them like razors, scraping them raw and revealing what was left of the humanity they were meant to bury. Even Daeris, who'd only been with this Sanctuary for a couple of weeks, felt the sting. Daeris had never had the unfortunate experience of losing someone close to her before, but it was as if the pain that radiated from her fellow assassin seeped into her skin and forced her to feel the loss. It was made worse by her fondness for Mirabelle. The Breton was a kindred spirit, and her demeanor was a light for the Sanctuary. That light was now drowned in tears, and Daeris could only hope that it would shine again one day.

          Eventually, however, life had to continue. Daeris occupied herself with minor contracts for the next few weeks, as most others did as well. The tension in the Sanctuary had only begun to settle when a more prestigious job came her way. The Pirate Queen and current Governor of Anvil, Fortunata ap Dugal, decided to enlist an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood in a political maneuver. Daeris was the lucky woman chosen for the job. Fortunata's request was brazen, but Daeris admittedly found it entertaining. Kill Commander Scipio, then break into the Count of Kvatch's estate and use news of the murder to give him a nice spook. Breaking into a militant castle was perilous and would unnerve even a hardened assassin, but Daeris was rightfully confident in her mastery of the shadows and too cocky to think twice about it. She wasn't a fool nor was she unprepared, but a task like this required far less preparation for her than it would for anyone else. She had the luxury of having everything she needed at the tips of her fingers.

          The shadows were her friend in a way they could be no other. Her unique parentage allowed her pull them to her will, shifting through the many possibilities to manipulate the world. Shadows were more than darkness. They were reflections of every possible state of being, and one with the ability to shift through these realities could do many things. You could hide yourself from sight, unlock a locked door, or allow a deadly blade to pass through you as if you weren't even there among other things. It was the perfect magic for an assassin, and admittedly often made her more cocky than she should be. Her arrogance hadn't gotten her killed yet, so she saw no reason to cast it aside.

          Maneuvering through Castle Kvatch was more of a challenge due to its size. The place was a maze stuffed with people and little room for an uninvited presence to explore. It must have taken her well over an hour to find the count's room. Finally, she found her long-sought door and held her palm over the lock to twist the shadows around it. There were several locks, as she discovered, so shifting through to unlock all of them put her in a precarious position. Altering the locks while also maintaining her invisibility could take too much time, so all of her effort was put into the former. The door would open more swiftly, yes, but she risked being seen. Count Carolus was well aware of Fortunata's thirst for power and undoubtedly increased security to thwart hired invaders like Daeris. Patrols would pass the area more often, and the count himself would be quick to notice things out of the ordinary.

          Daeris's ethereal lockpicking halted as a quiet noise from inside the room drew her attention. It was a mundane little chant, not completely audible and worth overlooking. The words tickled her ears and begged her to listen to them, and soon she recognized what was being said. But what she heard was not meant to come from the lips of someone so strung with their own uptight honor. They were the words of murderers without a blade in their hand, of people who would kiss death to have it greet another.

           The distant plop of armored feet upon the stone sent Daeris back to work. She cared no longer for mystique upon her entry and rushed through the door to confirm her suspicions. She closed it quickly behind her and tiptoed around the corner to find the source of the chanting. If she were not accustomed to such a grisly sight, the view would have shaken her to the bone. This view was in fact common for Daeris to see, though the person involved was a gargantuan surprise. The count kneeled in a circle of candles and scattered nightshade, stabbing an effigy of skull, bone, flesh, and a heart with a dagger.

          He was performing the Black Sacrament, the macabre ritual meant to summon assassins of the Dark Brotherhood like Daeris herself.

          "It worked? Of course it did. You're here," the count said as he rose from the ritual circle to face the assassin. His voice quaked as he spoke as if it was difficult to carry to weight of his own words. Daeris could read the deperation in his eyes. No, Carolus, there was no turning back. Not from this. "I've been performing this damned ritual night after night. I wouldn't, but she must be stopped. Fortunata is going to bring ruin to the Gold Coast and its people!"

          "An eager fellow, aren't you? Just so happy for an assassin to grant your wish and rid you of your problems. Unfortunately, your ritual is not why I'm here. I'm here on behalf of another," Daeris tugged at her cowl, shifting it atop her head. "Fortunata, in fact. Don't worry, Carolus, it's not your head she wanted, but you'll need to find a new commander. Scipio won't be showing up for work tomorrow."

          "Commander Scipio is dead!?" Count Carolus mewled, his voice lowering to a growl. "Of course. As if any other maneuver could be as insulting as it is damaging. This is exactly why she needs to die. So, you may not have come here because of my ritual, but I performed it nonetheless, and I want to do business."

          "That's not part of my job description," Daeris raised a hand in interjection. "Look, I'm an assassin, not a negotiator. I don't make the contracts, I just put a blade in whoever I'm told to, and there's a lot of things that need to happen before I stick my blade in anyone at your request."

          "Then take my request to your superiors. I assure you I have an abundance of gold to repay your organization with. I also have something I feel your organization would value even more: information about the one attacking your assassins."

          Daeris narrowed her eyes at the count, her lips pulling into a frown beneath her mask. "Having that kind of information insinuates a connection to the murderer that you don't want to have when we destroy them and anyone who's ever aided them, Count Carolus. I hope for your sake that your information comes from secondary sources and not direct involvement."

          "I assure you, handing you this operative is no skin off my back. If this is what it takes to put an end to Fortunata, then I'll tell you everything you need to know."

          Before Daeris could respond, she noticed the count's attention flick from her to a presence behind her. She turned, seeing Speaker Terenus behind her, likely there to answer the call of the Black Sacrament. Beneath his wide hood she could see the ghost of amusement on his face, the corners of his lips pulling into a smile. The unusual circumstances seemed to excite him. Or was it the prize the count offered that plucked at the speaker’s sinister heart? A chance to seek revenge was likely not something the Black Hand would want to turn down.

          "I take it you heard?" Daeris said to her superior and gestured towards the count.

          "I did indeed," Terenus responded. "There has been a unique turn of events, it seems. You are here on behalf of Governor Fortunata, true, but you have fulfilled all facets of your contract for her. You are in the perfect position to enact this new one."

          "This is weird," Daeris shrugged. "But I can't say that it doesn't make sense."

          The speaker nodded. "The Sacrament has been performed, and Fortunata's soul is now owed to Sithis. We shall not deny him. The sooner the Pirate Queen falls, the better. Go back to Anvil, assassin. You’ll find a familiar face there ready to render you aid. I will discuss payment with our count here."

          "The dear governor will not survive the evening, speaker," Daeris flourished a bow. She couldn’t help the grin that formed from her lips. Unusual circumstances during contracts tended to be fun and gave her a chance to be creative with how she handled things. Well, they were fun most of the time. Sometimes they involved wading through sewers and praying that she wouldn’t have to touch the muck. The most tantalizing thing about this contract was not the unique circumstances surrounding it, but rather the reward.

          Finding the bastard hunting her family was worth any trial she could face.

            The journey from Kvatch to Anvil took only a few hours thanks to the cities' close proximity. By the time Daeris passed through the walls of the port city, the sky had turned a burnt orange hue and the sun steadily approached the horizen. The sunbleached cobblestone of the bridge to Anvil castle was washed in pale terracotta gloss reflected from the warm sky. The sea sparkled endlessly in a span that had no end. Somewhere across those diamond waves were Hammerfell, Auridon, and Malabal Tor, but you wouldn't know it at a glance. The line where the sea met the sky was a beautiful end for the world, and you could pretend it was so if you didn't know better. Whatever those foreign lands offered paled in comparison to the beautiful ultimatum of the horizen. Who would dare cross it? All Daeris could do was stare at it from the coast. There was a wide world out there, but it was a hard one to reach for. Here was comfort, beauty and family. Beyond the sea, nothing was guaranteed.

          Perhaps that's what intrigued her most. She'd lived her entire life in Cyrodiil; she'd been around the entire country enough times to know every road and every sight worth seeing. A worthy adventure in her homeland was becoming a rare thing. Her work with the Dark Brotherhood was entertaining, but it was routine. Twenty-three years of daily adventures tended to dull the experience. She was complacent with her lot in life. It was all she knew. Ironically, she felt most safe as an assassin. The idea of being something else was impossible. Take a contract. Knife a target. Spend her pay on something to kill the guilt. Find a new lover for the week in a new town. Come back to the Sanctuary when she starts to feel too alone and get in trouble for being gone for longer than her contract required of her. Rinse and repeat. It was a cycle so routine she no longer put much thought into it, no different from washing her hair. A life full of thrills and new experiences was not meant to become so monotonous.

          The arch of the bridge provided decent shade from the heat of the sun. There was just enough land underneath for her to find a place to sit, her boots barely out of the water's reach. Her contact would arrive soon, and then they could come up with a plan to take out Fortunata. The patter of thick wings caught her attention, and she looked to her right to see a jet-black raven land in the grass. It cocked its head at her knowingly, and she heaved an annoyed sigh. Now was not the time for this.

          "Look, I can't talk right now. I'm in the middle of a very critical situation and I'm waiting for a contact," Daeris spoke to the raven, who was unabashed by her dismissive tone. It was used to her morphing temperament by now. Her teenage years were far worse, honestly. She'd even swatted it a few times. "Tell her that I'm fine, and I will talk to her when I have the time. I don't have the materials for a summoning right now, so if it is that important, tell her to come to me herself for fuck's sake."

          The raven sighed and took flight, disappearing in a small puff of indigo smoke and feathers. Daeris waved away the tufts that wafted towards her face, her nose no longer bothered by the burnt scent that accompanied these shifts through the planes after years of being exposed to it. She was prepared to drift back into her daydreaming when she felt a chill creep up her spine. The feeling jolted through her nerves like tender electricity. It was the sensation of an invisible hand at the back of her neck, begging for her to see what gripped her. These were not physical reactions to anything that was happening, but rather the warning of her instincts telling her that something was not right. That there was something her body could sense but her eyes could not see. That she was not alone.

          Daeris slipped the small knife from its pouch on her thigh as smoothly as an arm could slip through a silk sleeve. At an instance it was a breadth away from the throat of the one that approached her from her left while her back was turned. Her head turned to see who was there, her eyes meeting the mysterious face little more than a second after her blade was positioned to protect her from the potential threat. It was something that took years to master, though any good assassin would take the time to ingrain the habit into their system. An attacker will strike prematurely the moment they know they've been spotted. The clearest sign of that is, of course, if their target looks directly at them, so throwing up a blade before they know they've been noticed can throw off an attack pattern. A cerebral move, and second nature to Daeris at this point; the split-second difference having saved her life more than once. So, who was it that decided to sneak up on a Dark Brotherhood assassin?

          "Nice reflexes," Mirabelle hummed. The knife at her throat did not faze her. They were family, after all, so there was no real threat to her life. Mirabelle was crouched behind Daeris, the skirt of her short Cyrodiilic tunic balled up into her hand to keep it from being stained by the grass and mud. "I've been looking for you forever. You could have picked a better place to hide than under the bridge."

          "You scared the shit out of me," Daeris laughed, placing a relieved hand to her chest as she put away her knife. "Sneaking up on your fellow Brothers and Sisters is probably not the best idea when there's someone actually hunting us."

          "You wouldn't have stabbed me. Now, if it was Brema, I might have called out from a distance because of her fondness for fireballs, but you're less prone to rashness and accidental stabbings, darling," Mirabelle mused, adjusting her feet to rest more comfortably in her sandals. That particular kind of footwear was not good for standing on a small slope, as Daeris noticed from her shifting feet. "It's only a matter of time before I slip into the ocean, so let's hurry up and talk. Matron Astara said to meet you at the castle immediately, but I didn't get much of an explanation. Care to enlighten me?"

          "There's been an....unusual contract made. I'll tell you the full story back at the Sanctuary," Daeris lowered her voice to a whisper. There wasn't anyone passing the bridge at the moment, but it was better to be safe than sorry. "We're taking out Fortunata. Tonight."

          Mirabelle's eyes widened in surprise, the first glimmer of light Daeris had seen in her eyes since Cimbar died. "Really? We're offing the pirate bitch tonight? Is it my birthday?"

          "Would be a nice birthday gift, wouldn't it? Getting to depose a tyrannical ruler and having a toast as her head rolls? I feel like a revolutionary."

          "Oh, don't worry, darling. I'm sure another pretentious grabber will take her place. The chaos will be nice for a while, though," Mirabelle looked away for a moment in thought. As if an idea had struck her, she reached into the folds of her dress and pulled a small vial of clear liquid from a hidden space between two seams. "Speaking of a toast, that might be the best way to bid her a nice farewell. Fortunata is a big fan of wine, and I happen to have this nice little vial of poison on my person at the moment."

          Daeris's glossed lips curled into a sinister grin. "My hero," she snickered. "But wouldn't you be better at that, since you're a trusted servant and have access?"

          "This is your contract, darling. I'm not cruel enough to steal your glory. Besides, I'll be needed here even after Fortunata is gone to keep an eye on the fool who takes her place. If the guards investigate her death and find she was poisoned, it wouldn't look good on me for being the last person in her stores," Mirabelle shook her head."I'll bring her the wine, but I'll have the other servants see me so there's no gap of time in which I could have done the act. You're the one that has to do the actual poisoning, making sure the drink has been tampered with long before I come around. If there is an investigation, suspicious eyes will not be on me."

          "I understand," Daeris shrugged. "Surely there's some guidance you can offer me, then? The castle looks huge. I don't want to be wandering around it forever."

          "I wouldn't leave you with nothing," Mirabelle tisked and waved her index finger pointedly at Daeris. "I know every secret about Fortunata and Anvil Castle. I know that there's a secret tunnel network built into the castle since its founding, but I also know that Fortunata had her own separate network installed in the foundations to cover for her smuggling operations. Look for red banners hanging with the crest of Fortunata and her Red Sails brigands. They mark the alcoves that have entrances to her special tunnels. The one that will get you to her wine stores the quickest is through the west wing, accesible by the door to your right in the receiving hall. Take a left every time the hallway splits until you reach a dead end. The entrance will be in a room nearby. From there it will be easy to find your way. Poison the decanter that has a golden ship etched into it, then distract her long enough for me to get there and bring it to her."

          "Sounds like a solid plan to me," Daeris nodded and tucked the vial away into one of her pockets. Surely she could improvise long enough for Mirabelle to do what she needed to do. 'Go in the right door, keep left until I find the red banners, poison the decanter, and wait for Mirabelle,' she noted to herself. 'Golden ship etching. Need to remember that.'

          "Remember that your stalling will be just as important as tainting the wine. I have to make sure my every step is accounted for if I don't want to ruin months of careful infiltration," Mirabelle said, the stress in her tone emphasizing how important this cover was to her.

          "I promise I'll protect your cover," Daeris placed a hand briefly on her shoulder. "Now, I'd best be off before the sun goes down. A sunset is probably nicer to watch from a castle view."

            Slipping through the entry hall was easy. The small room that greeted you when you opened the doors to Anvil Castle was emptied of it's normal bustling socialites and prospecting climbers of the city's hierarchy. Those looking to get into Fortunata's good graces knew to be anywhere else at this time so the governor's less civil associates can have their free run of the west wing and, according to Mirabelle's information, Fortunata's smuggling tunnels. The west wing itself was stocked with outlaws and corrupt officials, but thankfully most of them were in too much of a stupor to take notice of the intruder that stalked their halls. Daeris found the alcove with little effort, working to uncover its secrets the moment the area patrol turned a corner. It was a well-hidden mechanism, Daeris would admit that, but poking around the stone decorations long enough opened the tunnel with little resistance.

          No traps? How, disappointing, Fortunata. You of all people should know better.

          The passages itself was no challenge, either. A single hallway with little variation other than a turn and a few sets of stairs. How boring! But navigating the castle was never meant to be her challenge, was it? The true task was getting through the evening without blowing Mirabelle's cover or letting Fortunata somehow survive. After the chore of navigating Castle Kvatch earlier that day, Daeris was not inclined to complain about a change of pace.

          Guards and chattering servants cluttered around the wine stores like birds protecting their nests. Fortunata was obviously wise enough to anticipate an attempt to poison her. Any woman that possessed the amount of power that she did and an equal thirst for wine would be smart enough to mind such attempts. This did not necessarily bode ill for Daeris, however. Since it was so amply defended, perhaps Fortunata would be more trusting of her drinks? If her own brilliance had gone to her head, maybe her pride in her astute carefulness would blind her to the thought of being bested. The thought of using Fortunata's own ego against her damn near made Daeris's mouth water. The ones who tried to fight off death the most were always the most satisfying to send to the Void. Reminding people that they were mortal, that they weren't the gods they wished to be, was always a spectacle.

          Daeris sat perched in a shadowed corner, taking advantage of her magic to watch the patterns of the crowd unseen. Unfortunately, it was taking too much time. Anytime someone left, another person would appear, gossiping about their master or fellow servants. The guard patrols were of less concern than the gaggle of people in tunics pretending to clean the area around them so they could talk. Was there no end to them? Was this the only relief they had from daily life under Fortunata's boot?

          The situation became more dire when she saw Mirabelle turn the corner at the opposite end of the hallway and make her way towards the wine room.

          'Shit! I haven't gotten to poison the wine yet! I have to find a way to tell her,' Daeris cursed in her thoughts. She had to find a way to tell Mirabelle that she hadn't been able get to the decanter yet. But how? There were three people between the two of them. They didn't know Daeris was there, but neither did Mirabelle. She had to get her attention without alerting the other three.

          Mirabelle was steps away from entering the wine storage when Daeris deactivated her magic. It was only for a split second, but she hoped it would catch Mirabelle's attention and not that of the others. Mirabelle stopped at the open door, her eyes flicking over the corner where Daeris was. Her brows pinched together like she was unsure of what she saw. Daeris made herself visible for another moment, this time a second longer to communicate her unspoken message, then faded back into the shadows. She could only hope and pray that Mirabelle understood and the others did not see. However, one of the servants began to shift his eyes in her direction, and Daeris was all but convinced her cover was blown. The servant rubbed his eyes as if checking his vision, and Daeris was ready to make a dash to find a different hiding spot.

          Cue Mirabelle, to the rescue once again. She stepped amidst the servants, pulling all of their attention to her. "You won't believe this," she said to them. "That captain Fortunata was sleeping with until he made a move on Yorina? He just came in through a passage downstairs. But that's not all; I saw Yorina coming from Fortunata's quarters while passing through the halls just now, looking spent as a maiden on her wedding night."

          "No pissing way Fortunata'd bag her," one of the servants dismissed Mirabelle's claims. "Fortunata was real hot on the captain, and him getting with Yorlina behind her back hurt her pride somethin' good. If Fortunata wants anything from her, it's her head on a silver platter."

          "But Mirabelle says the captain's here too," another servant interjected. "Maybe the three of them made up. Y'know....together. Or maybe Yorlina's trying to get in good with Fortunata so she won't hold it over the captain anymore."

          "Both of you are ridiculous. There's no way either of them could get in Fortunata's good graces after what they pulled," the third cast her lot in the conversation. "If the captain's in through the tunnels, I say it's because he's not supposed to be here. I think he and Yorlina are working together to take out Fortunata because they know it's the only way they're ever going to have business in the Gold Coast so long as the Red Sails have the run o' things."

          "There's only one way to find out," Mirabelle said, gesturing for them to follow her down the hallway. "They're both headed for the west wing. They're probably meeting."

          "Now this I have to hear," the male servant chimed, and he and the two other servants followed Mirabelle around the corner and away from the wine room. Thanks to Mirabelle's interference, it was now safe for Daeris to do what she'd come to do. But how would this affect Mirabelle's role in their scheme? How was she going to get free to bring Fortunata her wine?

          It couldn't have been that big of an issue, right?

          Wrong. So very, very wrong.

          Fortunata's wine storage looked modest from the outside. It was on the other side of a small kitchen occupied by a chef and a soldier, but the two were too invested in their conversation to pay mind to the room at their left. The wine room appeared to just be a small offset alcove, but stepping into the room proved otherwise. The room was expansive to the left and right, filled with racks of wine and other forms of alcohol. There was a cabinet that stood out, filled with special decanters of Fortunata's favorite flavors. This made things far more complicated than Daeris imagined. Mirabelle told her which one to poison specifically, but now that Mirabelle's future involvement was in doubt, the mission was jeopardized. What if Mirabelle wasn't the one to bring Fortunata the wine, and the servant who did brought the wrong one? It was a nightmare scenario, but Daeris prayed that luck would be in her favor. You'd think that it would always be in her favor considering who her mother was, but she didn't care for intervening too often, and Daeris had little ability to influence her luck herself. It was not a force that she knew much about, let alone how to control such a thing. Perhaps one day her mother would enlighten her, but that seemed less likely as the years passed.

          Daeris opened the cabinet quietly and picked out the decanter with the golden ship etched into its neck. The vial of poison contained only a couple of drops, so pouring it into all of the decanters and hoping for the best was not an option. She almost felt like a hypocrite, complaining earlier that her work was not challenging enough. Getting what she asked for was not even close to a blessing. She grumbled a slew of curses and poured the poison into the decanter, then closed the cabinet and snuck back into the hallway.

          Fortuna's quarters were easier to sneak into since she knew how to access the governor's secret passages. All Daeris had to do was re-enter the hidden alcove and poke around until she found the right door. There were a few misleading doors and dead ends, but eventually Daeris found a door that was pretentiously decorated enough to lead to someone's private quarters. She slipped into the room unnoticed, greeted by the sight of Fortunata standing in front of her fireplace. Daeris cleared her throat to get her attention, and the governor turned to her, startled.

          "Pardon my discomposure, but you...weren't expected," Fortunata gathered herself. Weren't fucking invited, more like it, but she had a better grip on her pretend etiquette than to let the harsher statement escape. "I assume you're here to tell me that the deed is done?"

          "Commander Scipio took a bath in his own blood last night, if that's what you're wondering," Daeris mused and crossed her arms. "Count Carolus was rather disturbed by the news of his passing."

          Fortunata's tense posture eased and a sadistically saccharine smile occupied her wine-dyed lips. "Wonderful news. So wonderful that I'm going to overlook the sudden intrusion and offer you a drink."

          Daeris returned her grin with one of her own, full of sultry curiosity. She needed to buy Mirabelle time. It was a last-ditch effort, but she didn't want to have to pull her blade unless the poison was no longer an option. She pulled down her mask and hood, revealing her face to the governer. It wouldn't matter, so long as Fortunata died, and it was the perfect way to lull someone into security. A sign of false trust, as if the pirate would even have the chance to give away her secret. It also helped that Daeris had a devil's face, pretty enough to hide the intent behind it.

          "How kind of you, governor. If I may brag, I say I went well beyond the call of duty to honor your request," Daeris lulled with her honeyed words, putting a sway in her step as she approached Fortunata. "I hope you take that into consideration in the future, should you decide to enlist my services again."

           "I admit, it'd be tempting to have the Dark Brotherhood at my beck and call," Fortunata mused, her eyes openly studying the assassin from head to toe. "Perhaps we can discuss a further partnership with your organization, and maybe further reward for you personally, since you went through so much trouble."

           She turned in a snap, grabbing the attention of her meek serving girl that tried to sink into the corner and stay out of the assassin's line of view. "Wine, Edwina. The red one from Russafeld. Bring something for my friend, too. She seems like a red wine kind of woman," Fortunata commanded and began to walk towards the door to her balcony. As she passed Daeris, placed a lingering hand at the top of her arm. "Come, let's talk on the balcony. The view is far better."

          Daeris arched a brow at the Fortunata's not-so-subtle flirtation. She had Fortunata on the hook, but it might all be for nothing if Edwina brought an untainted wine. The only thing Daeris could do was bide her time and see what happened. Even the gorgeous sunset and sexually-charged conversation couldn't rid her of the terror in her heart that she might genuinely fuck this mission up and ruin Mirabelle's hard work in the process. Not only would that be a black mark on her career as an assassin, but Mirabelle had been through enough in the past couple of months without Daeris making it worse for her. By Sithis, if anything good could come out of this, please don't let her actions hurt her friend!

          "Something wrong?" Fortunata jarred Daeris from her thoughts. Apparently she let the worry slip onto her face. An uncommon mistake for the assassin.

          "Apologies governor. I'm just nervous,"she replied, her tone coated with sugar and honey to draw Fortunata back int the illusion of a pleasant evening. "Assassins like myself don't usually find ourselves dining with such fine company, especially not the most powerful woman in all of Cyrodiil."

          The governor scoffed, but the words did not pass her softly. The compliment weaved itself visibly into the twitch of her lips and the rise of her eyebrows. She rose from her seat, turning away from the assassin. "I can't claim such a boast. Not yet, at least."

          "Are you so sure?" Daeris grinned. "Who could compete, my lady? Even the Empress-regent can't keep a grip on her city the way that you can. She's the most powerful in title, true, but look at what's happened to her rule. Her city, flooded with daedra, and she herself is nowhere to be found. The rest of Cyrodiil is a joke as well. Only the Gold Coast retains any of it's glory, and that's all thanks to you and your efforts."

          Fortunata was an easy woman to speak to, if you knew how. Take a look at her actions and you'd see exactly what she wanted: power. If Daeris could tempt her with that, she could have her ear for as long as she needed.

          "I dare say," she continued,"that it may even be in my organization's best interest to see you installed to a higher status. The chaos caused by the Tharn pretender's ineptitude has done much to halt our operations. If someone as capable as you were put in charge, I doubt you'd let it continue."

          The governor turned back to Daeris, her mouth slightly agape as she thought of the possibilities. The most powerful organization in Tamriel potentially wanting to install her as empress? A picture of herself sitting on the ruby throne with a crown on her head formed in her mind, and suddenly the thought of allying with the Dark Brotherhood became more of a need than a maybe. Fortunata strode to stand in front of the assassin, leaning her arms on the chair and bringing their faces so close together that Fortunata could smell the citrus scent of her breath.

          "I don't know if you're genuinely interested in putting me on the throne or just using that pretty little mouth of yours to get your organization some more business," she said in a low voice, "but if you make that happen, I'll give your associates a goddamn fortress and give them military sanctions so no one will be hunting them down anymore. I'll outlaw everything except the worship of Sithis if that's what your people want. And you, for being so personally involved, can have whatever your murderous little heart desires. If you make it happen."

          "There is no 'if', Fortunata," Daeris smiled coyly. "If the Dark Brotherhood decides that something will happen, it will happen."

          Before Fortunata could utter her response, the door to the balcony opened as the serving girl returned with the requested wine. But it was not Edwina. No, it was Mirabelle, much to Daeris's shock and gratitude.

          "Mirabelle?" Fortunata questioned, stepping back and removing herself from the rather compromising situation she had started to create. "Where's Edwina?"

          "I'm afraid she had a little spill, mistress," Mirabelle spoke to Fortunata, silently acknowledging Daeris with a glance. She placed the platter with the decanter -the silver one with a golden ship etched into the neck- onto the table beside Fortunata and poured her a drink. "You know as well as I do that she has two left feet. She's cleaning up the mess as we speak, and if I may be so bold to suggest, perhaps she should be left to cleaning for the forseeable future. It's a better use of her talents. Otherwise, you're practically just paying her to spill your rare imports."

          "A noteworthy suggestion. I'll consider it," Fortunata sighed, visibly annoyed by Edwina's clumsiness. She took the fresh goblet of wine from the platter and walked toward the edge of the balcony to stare off at the sunset. Daeris had given her a lot to contemplate. Unfortunately, the governor would never see her new ambition come to life.

          "It's refreshing how much more simple things are dealing with an assassin than it is with other people in positions of power like Count Carolus. Your people understand the simple truth of the world. Kill, or be killed. Get what you want or die trying," she ranted as she took a drink. "You'd think it'd be the other way around. That these noble people of the world would have the right of things. But they don't. They do worse things than the crimes they publicly denounce just to hide their little imperfections. Honor. Morality. It's all a defense mechanism; a way to say that you're better than someone, when really, you might just be worse."

          The governor staggered for a moment, and Daeris and Mirabelle waited with bated breath to see it the poison would do its job. Then came the single trail of blood from Fortunata's nose. She dropped her goblet, her hand reaching for her throat as if she could claw away the burning that was overtaking her. Her eyes looked at the fallen goblet, and she made the connection.

          "What have you done!?" she screeched at Mirabelle.

          "A toast, Fortunata," Daeris grinned as she swirled her dry goblet between her fingers. "To the glory of the Night Mother."

          "This life you built for yourself, this power you scratched and clawed and stepped on people for, everything you are or could ever be, is nothing," Mirabelle snarled. "You are nothing, Fortunata, and all that awaits you is nothing. You belong to the Void. To Sithis. And there are no thrones where you're going."

          Fortunata opened her mouth as if to lash out further at the two, but the poison choked the air from her. All it took was one tiny misstep, and she lost her footing, tumbling over the balconey's edge to her death.

          "Well, that makes the cover-up easier," Mirabelle shrugged as she and Daeris looked down over the edge at the fallen governor. "Poor Fortunata drunk herself into a stupor and took a tumble off her balcony. It was bound to happen eventually."

          "Need any help?" Daeris offered.

          "Thanks for the offer, darling, but I know exactly how to handle things. I just need to prepare my shocked face and muster up a few tears for when I go screaming through the corridor about what I witnessed," Mirabelle yawned. "Thank you, though, for going out of your way to make sure I can keep my cover here. I mean it. Other people would have not cared or would have panicked and messed everything up when things got more complicated. But you kept your composure, and I can't help but feel like it was for my sake."

          "Of course it was for you. We're family, Mirabelle," Daeris said and placed her hand on Mirabelle's shoulder. She could see that sad twinkle in her eye that'd been there since Cimbar died. Mirabelle felt alone, and Daeris had no problem going out of her way to show her that she wasn't. She pulled the Breton into a tight hug, trying to communicate this further.

          "Thank you," Mirabelle reiterated as she pulled away. "Now, go back to the Sanctuary and tell everyone the good news."

          Daeris smiled and turned to exit through the balcony door. As she looked back, she could see Mirabelle staring out at the near-set sun and its crimson sheath, tears flowing down her cheeks, which caused her smile to fade and her to leave the castle in a downcast spirit. Daeris understood the feeling all too well; that loneliness the creeps up on you when you least expect it. She believed with all her heart that the Dark Brotherhood was her family; that she had a home with her fellow assassins. She lived with these people. She laughed with them. She mourned with them. She loved them.

          And yet, she somehow still felt impossibly, unflinchingly alone.

          She ventured through Fortunata's hidden passages, using the smuggler tunnels to find a hidden cave outlet that took her to the shore outside the castle. And when she was there and realized that no one was around to see her, she sat down on the sand of the beach and wept.

[athyrabunlord]

A/N: finally the last three concept doodles for [Animus/JobSet AU]!!! Honestly the GK trio can have have their own gaiden...

[Law Enforcement] [Fuurin Shrine] [Ohara Apothecary]

Very very long Ramblings Info/Background below cut:

[Ohara Apothecary]

Mary O’Hara/Ohara Mari

Scholar/Chemist/Alchemist from Italy. Ever since she was little, she’s always admired her father, a renowned chemist and researcher, and hoped to follow his footsteps one day. She continued to support him and helped him anyway possible even after his researches were scrutinized and criticized by the Board. Eventually, his alchemic ventures, so far fruitless, were denounced and they had to leave the country. While they had to live frugally, they found the travels liberating and they were able to mingle with fellow scholars and formed O’Hara Group. A few small alchemic experiments were even successful, much to the members’ delight. The O’Hara Group grew as well as their resources until they performed the biggest-scale experiment, which went horribly awry.

As the only survivor, Mari fervently continued her research and studies, inheriting her father’s dreams and hoping that, maybe, just maybe, she might be able to ‘correct the Mistake’. It was a few months later that she met Ruby at France and learned about the spiritual ways of the East, specifically Japan. Intrigued, she promised her young student and friend that she would visit one day.

Some time later, she met Yohane and Riko who were both in similar situation as she was – the search for the Philosopher’s Stone or similar item. Unbeknownst to the pair, Yohane’s parents belonged to the O’hara Group and perished that day, while Riko’s situation was indirectly caused by That Experiment too. Mari felt responsible for them and tried to help them as much as she could, including teaching them alchemy as per their request. Mari’s come to adore them like siblings and is truly glad to have such dependable company after so long. She just hoped that things stay this way, that they will never find out about this secret.

When their research and intel point to the East, they followed the rumours of youkai sightings and mysterious corruptions. Eventually, they ended up staying at Uchiura, where Ruby lived. To keep up their cover, they opened an apothecary/mini clinic there. The small seaside town was just as peaceful but fascinating as Ruby’s told her. However, traumatized by That Experiment, she did not reveal its details to anyone, not even Yohane, Riko or Ruby in fear that their involvement would hurt them. And so, she continued to gather information, especially about youkais, to see if she could trace the whereabouts of the Chimera that slaughtered everyone from That Experiment…

The white rose tattoo is the O’Hara family emblem, while the Butterfly insignia was designed by Mari.

Lily/Sakurauchi Riko

Nurse/Assistant Alchemist. Though born and raised in a secluded town in Germany, she still learned and retained her parents’ Japanese spirit and the culture. A demure and bashful girl she may be, she loved helping out at her parents’ clinic and aspired to be a nurse like her mother. The simple teenager’s life was thrown into turmoil when war suddenly broke out near the border, between the military and some guerilla troops – the invaders were inhumanly cruel and vicious, like unfeeling monsters. Horrific battles ensued for several weeks and the town became a midpoint between the two factions. Naturally, the clinic was filled with the wounded, from either side, though altercations broke out when this was discovered. Riko barely avoided being killed by her own patient, a soldier blinded by rage at her for saving an enemy’s life. In spite of this incident, Riko and her parents continued to save as many lives as they could. Through limited conversations with the wounded enemies, Riko learned that while they hated the military, they did not have the intention to start the war. Something had taken control of their anger and hatred and before they knew it, they were already in the midst of these bloody battles. Riko did not know what to do with this information, but she was glad that she had chosen to treat the wounded equally. They were all people after all. However, by the time the war finally ended, with the complete annihilation of these invaders, countless lives were lost including her parents.

Plagued by nightmares of the people she could not save, Riko began to seek comfort in the occult and the peculiar books that were found in some of the deceased’ belongings.  Without a place to call home anymore, she began to travel in hopes to gather more information about this ‘alchemy’ mentioned in the books. Perhaps it was fate, but she encountered and conversed with a young woman doing magic tricks on the street. The feeling of kindred spirits made her feel at ease, the most she’s ever felt since she left home. After discovering their mutual interest in alchemy, Riko and Yohane decided to travel together -  Riko wanted to discover the reason behind the sudden assault from the guerilla troop, while Yohane wanted to learn more about what happened to her parents.

Their search became desperate when an experiment failed or, rather, went a completely different direction than expected. There appeared to be an unknown energy or power interfering, causing the two women to become bonded to the other via tattoos. Yohane grew bat-like wings on her back and a pointed tail like a devil’s, while Riko lost the ability to feel physical pain (which she’s kept a secret from Yohane). Determined to return Yohane to normal, Riko became more reckless and daring in their research, particular for the famed Philosopher’s stone. Eventually, they met Mari who taught them more than they could ever do on their own. Wary of Mari at first, Riko’s come to trust her like the family she lost and was quite protective of her.

After they went to Japan and settled down at Uchiura, Riko chose to don her nurse persona once again in order to help keep up their cover. Before then, she’s gotten used to wearing a simple suit or something masculine, so she would not have to be reminded of how helpless she once was. The daily internal conflicts stressed her but she was determined to help Mari and Yohane. The company of their new friends helped sometimes, but she just hoped to find what they were looking for and leave this confusing land of the East as soon as possible.

Yohane/Tsushima Yoshiko

Magician/Assistant alchemist. Fascinated by magic ever since she could remember, she vowed to become the best magician the world has ever known and studied the art fervently. She grew up in a relatively normal household, with friends and a peaceful school life in London, Britain. She even considered her life to be rather boring, and thus revered magic even more so even after she went to college. It almost crushed her when she received news of her parents’ deaths in her sophomore year, and she regretted ever taking her normal life for granted. Without financial support and debts incurred by her parents’ research, she was forced to withdraw from school.

To run away from collectors and also to investigate the truth behind her parents’ deaths, she smuggled aboard a ship and left for Italy, where her parents’ last mail came from. She was very careful with her meager savings and would perform magic shows on the streets to earn some cash. Even then, it was very fortunate for her to meet Riko before her situation became dire. She felt very guilty about relying on Riko’s savings, which was a hefty sum left by the military to compensate for Riko’s loss, and so Yohane strove to return the favor any way possible. For one, she volunteered to be the subject in any of their experiments if needed, and would insist until Riko agreed.

Even after the botched experiment, Yohane actually did not mind her devil-like body features. She liked being bonded and connected to Riko, and thought about telling Riko her thoughts whenever the Philosopher’s Stone was brought up but never could. Rather than returning normal, or even finding out more about her parents, she wanted Riko to find peace and be happy. Meeting Mari only made Yohane want to achieve this new goal even more. Therefore, even though she figured out Mari’s connection to that war and her parents’ demise, she chose to stay quiet about it. What’s the point of revealing this, when it will only do harm?

Uchiura was fascinating to her. Her ancestors were Japanese after all and it somehow felt nostalgic to be in this country. Rumours of youkais and mischievous spirits fascinated her just as much as magic, and she quite enjoyed the company of the new friends they made, with the exception of Ruby. In spite of their mutual closeness to Mari, they were quite wary of each other. Yohane was secretly jealous of Ruby as a rival, for being Mari’s first student in alchemy and how Ruby was the one to introduce the spiritual ways to her. Nevertheless, a small part of her hoped to stay at this new home forever. Even if they were to resolve the mysterious incidents, she still wished they could stay afterwards and maybe, Riko could finally find her peace.

[ahvie-voidsinger]

[RP] The Vol’dun Showdown, Part 1.5

A chilling breeze whistled through the bristling sunbleached skies, picking up pockets of sand and blowing them across the towering dunes. Or, at least, the void elf was fairly certain it was a chilling breeze because it contrasted vividly with the unusual heat she felt beneath the embrace of her sentient voidcloak.

The shadows were always warm and comforting, as though coaxing a moth to the flame. She had yet to fully explore them -- and despite her adventurous nature, she was in no hurry to do so. Some things were better left hidden, buried and imprisoned.

Her voidcloak wrapped around her tightly in the wind, snugly conforming to the subtle curves of her body beneath her inky black leather bodysuit. The void elf sniffed, whether from impatience or from curiosity wasn’t clear. The refreshing gales of the windswept sands of Vol’dun smelled sugary, dry and full of dread. Wartime was afoot now more than ever, even in the aftermath of the Alliance’s invasion. Both sides were keenly aware of garrison forces maintaining a presence distant from one another, but ... it smelled good. And Ahvie didn’t like that one bit.

The desertlike sweetness of the blasted and ancient landscape reminded the crouching ren’dorei of better times in an equally parched foreign land. Back when she still drank in the Light and Shadow alike. Years ago, Alliance and Horde still fought each other amid a painfully obvious attempt from a third party to take advantage of the chaos to sneak a superweapon right under their noses. One of many Uldum campaigns, Ahvie risked a smile as the memories of her first encounter with The Seventy-Third resurfaced, warming her heart in a way the void never had.

Then, she was a blood elf clad in a much more suggestive crimson bodysuit and flowing hooded cloak. Then, she dared to disobey orders and seek social interaction with members of the Alliance. Then, she risked breaking bread and sharing music and stories with strangers that were less hostile than the Warchief had let on. Then, she had laughed, hoped and lived a waking dream of the potential both sides could find common ground.

No such camaraderie was present now. The euphoric dream of the good old days had since been twisted into a corrupted nightmare, as though Malfurion and his wardens never cleansed Xavius’ corruption from the true dream. Ahvie dreamed about what the Emerald Dream must be like, but now she wasn’t sure if those dreams were originally hers or some dark portent of the drowned god. N’Zoth drank on everyone’s desires, and sometimes hubris became manifest as cruel reflections of a world that should have been.

“Many such shadows have gone unaltered, lighting the way for the blind to see the truth of their prison. How little children learn,” Ahvie muttered to herself, barely aware of what she was saying.

Her voidcloak rustled as though the wind had blown against it, but no such breeze had returned. A sultry, girlish voice spoke in Ahvie’s head through the bond they shared.

“ThErE yOu Go AgAiN. sPeAkInG iN tHe OlD tOnGuE,” the voice said with a giggle. “wAkE uP, aHvIe.”

The void elf shuddered almost violently, and a rippled passed through her inky leather armor. Ahvie was vaguely aware of how she felt through her suit as though it had become her new skin, but her mind’s eye was pulled through to reality as a fisherman’s hook would a complacent minnow. She blinked a few times, her cerulean orbs of unnatural void light the only beacons of untruth suggesting that a creature lurked in the shadows of a rocky outcropping.

Ahvie sighed, exhaling as though only just having come up for air after a long dive. “Thanks, Perse. It’s easy to get lost in my own head lately. I miss what used to be.”

The voidcloak whom Ahvie had affectionately called ‘Perse’ laughed in an unsteady, off-key musical manner. “aS dO i, LiTtLe StOrM. i HaD fOrM, wAs CoMpLeTe, A cRiMsOn AnGeL tO sInG dEaTh In EaRs Of SaIlOrS.”

Ahvie had heard this before, but smiled internally at the mental image. Her memories were already suspect, prone to being altered or corrupted by N’Zoth, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she hadn’t been the very bloody angel her cloak had been referring to. A radiant and beautiful healer, sheathed in tight and flowing red silks, commanding the hearts and minds of her fellow pirates. What remained as a kernel of doubt like a bit of food she was choking on, was whether her cloak gained sentience after her void accident … or whether Perse indeed used to be a siren of the seas who saw Ahvie as a kindred spirit, cast about in the storm roiled by the old gods.

“I bet you were beautiful and terrible to behold. A woman after my own heart,” Ahvie said with a hint of a grin.

The voidcloak hugged her tighter in certain places around her body, if only briefly, which Ahvie didn’t mind but still responded with a stifled gasp. “wE bOtH wErE, sIsTeR. wHaT sQuAlL sHaLl We FiGhT tOnIgHt?”

“We’re keeping an eye on Fey Fey. The major battles might be over for now, but she still is stationed on the front,” and as though to emphasize this, the ren’dorei leaned forward, her glowing eyes fixated on the Horde camp below.

The sun was beginning to set, and the shadows cast by the ancient ruins and rocky cliffs grew longer and deeper.

“tHiNkInG oF yOuR … hMmMm … LiTtLe SiStEr?” Perse hummed with another giggle.  Ahvie’s eyes twitched at the same time her ears did, and she relented.

“Sure, she does remind me of my family. They’re still safe, for now, in the backwaters of Eversong. Away from war. Fey… she’s —“

“sTiLl YoUnG,” followed by a pause, almost a gasp of unexpected discovery echoing in her mind. “tHe ShAdOwS wHiSpEr, AhViE.”

The elf didn’t bat an eye, her eyes focused and following the armored paladin making her way through the Horde camp. Her ears, however, began twitching again. “Don’t they always? What do they say?”

A longer pause. Maybe Perse was listening with whatever ears she had… or maybe she was listening through Ahvie’s ears. That was a weird thought.

“dAnGeR aBoUt. rEfLeCtIoNs GoInG aLtErEd. An EnIgMa RoIlInG tHe LiGhT.”

Ahvie’s eyes darted about briefly, daring to lose sight of Feyhana to scan the horizon for that disturbance both of them felt. The hidden hand of N’Zoth was distinctly heavy the past few weeks, but this was different. This was something Ahvie hadn’t felt since her last visit to Stormwind. Something familiar, but also sinister.

Ahvie squinted as her voidcloak shifted in the breeze to shield her eyes from the dimming rays of the sunset. It wasn’t as bad this time as watching Mythrax rise from the deep, but her gut told her that she should be on guard. She hopped down from her perch to the sands below, making not a sound as she landed.

Tumbling and rolling into the crevices unguarded by even the dark rangers, Ahvie’s cloak balled up around her and allowed the rogue to blend in with the inky blackness of approaching night.

As the void elf darted from shadow to shadow to avoid the radiant pools of torchlight emerging across the Horde camp, she could distinctly smell the font of Light from Fey’s heart, and felt it grow more distant, away from the camp. Toward no-mans-land… and alone.

“dAnGeRoUs To PaTrOl AlOnE. eVeN yOu RiSkEd MuCh To dO sO.”

“Ever wonder if we were together all along?”

“mMmMmMm…” Perse hummed as the pair frolicked among the growing void cast by nearby soldiers and bonfires. “mAnY oLd OnEs WeRe TraPpEd LiKe Me, RoBbEd Of ThEiR iMmOrTaL fLeSh.”

Ahvie grimaced internally internally at that, and she quickened her pace, trying to make up for lost time to more closely shadow her old friend.

Within a minute, she had reached the periphery of the Horde camp and got away with an Ahvie-like desire to cop the feel of one of the Dark Rangers before their red eyes could focus on the slippery mass of shadows left behind by the voidcloak.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the ren’dorei relaxed some as she crested one of the colossal sand dunes and put herself out of line of sight of the Horde sentries. Here, in the dimming sunlight, the absence of luminescene created periodic abysses that shifted with the rapidly cooling wind.

Ahvie spoke to Perse in her mind’s eye, swearing off using her physical voice until dawn had returned.

What do you sense, Perse?

“tHe CiRcLe Of StArS hAs WrItTeN a NeW sOnG.”

Ahvie continued trudging up the next sand bank, Fey’s beaconlike presence within earshot. She could practically taste her Light from this distance.

… And what does she sing of?

“tHaT tHe ChIlDrEn Of ThE vOiD mAkE tHeIr OwN fAtE.”

Ahvie froze in her tracks, daring to pause her friendly stalking to dwell just on that moment. That terrible, glorious, awe-inspiring thought. There were many things Ahvie couldn’t understand about the puzzles of the Void, the riddles she and others often spoke in when the old ones gripped their mind and bodies. But she knew long ago, back during the Legion invasion, that the Circle of Stars was a prisoner much like her, like Perse and like most of the void elves. Only so much more… and often was misunderstood. But the context? Why sing a song of sixpence now?

Make their own …?

“yEs. NeArBy.”

Ahvie reached out with her mind and drew on the pool of void in her corrupted heart, and teleported a few feet forward, appearing atop the sand dune in an instant. Harsh whispers and crass insane laughter as quiet as the sand crunching beneath her feet followed in her wake, only to die out with the afternoon breeze. As the tendrils of shadow peeled away from her, Ahvie looked down at where Fey had been below, her voidcloak rippling and sailing in the desert gale like a proud flag.

Feyhana was gone, but in the paladin’s stead was an ominous sinkhole in a rotted, drying patch of mud and dirt. Ahvie sprinted down to its edge, drawing on more and more void energy from around her and within to muffle the sounds of her leather against the sand. Coming to a halt at the edge of the pit, the ren’dorei crouched at the cusp and leaned forward slightly, Perse wrapping her in a concealing shroud of misty, inky night.

Feyhana was alive, and although she appeared wounded and even bloodied from the fall, her Light still beat as a lighthouse in the sea of encroaching night. Then a voice echoed from below. Not a voice, though… a whisper.

“The Light is with you, young Fey…” to which the young sin’dorei spun around at her surroundings, clad barely in the light of the setting sun. “ … but you are not a paladin yet.”

That heavy knot in her mind grew more distinct, as though one such reflection of the evening had become manifest just meters below her. Instinctively, she embraced the hissing of the void rampant in Vol’dun, and drank in the power to mask as much of her presence as possible. To become one with the void in order to hide from the void.

The flood of awareness, wisdom, experience, insanity and emotions boiled around her as a hurricane, and Ahvie almost was caught up in its floodwaters if it wasn’t for a tether of viscera and blood holding her mind and heart steady, the lone mast yet unbroken in the chittering echoes of Nyalotha.

“dOnT gO aDrIfT, sIsTeR. sTaY wItH mE. wE wIlL nOt Be sLaVeS aGaIn. NzzzzzzzOtH sEeKs A nEw SoUl FoR hIs – “

Oh Blessed Sun, thank you! What the fel is all this?!

“eVeRy ChOrUs HaS sPlInTeReD nOw ThAt ShE iS fReE. lIStEn…”

And Ahvie’s world refocused into the now, the physical world of the real, and her ears twitched as she heard quite perfectly the whisper of an entirely different entity below her, just out of sight.

“Don’t act so surprised. You should have known this was coming eventually,” said a male voice teeming with vibrato and snarky edge. Another ren’dorei.

Which would explain the familiar yet terrifying sense of kindred she could taste in the edge of her mind. She hoped against all hope that her embrace of the Old Gods’ symphony, however temporary she might have intended it to be, would keep the other void elf from precisely placing his finger on who or what she was. Or where.

If he can’t sense me at all, I might be able to tell what’s going on and maybe do something about it if Fey is in danger.

“sHe Is mOsT dEfInItElY iN dAnGeR,” Perse said in reply to her thoughts.

“The Light is indeed your ally, Fey. Strong, but fleeting,” the man mumbled in the pit below, confident. “Mine is the dark, and if nothing else, it is patient.”

Ahvie didn’t like the sound of that, and from what she could tell from Fey’s expression, neither did the young woman. Holding a hand to her wounds, Feyhana was bleeding both life and Light. And, as every creature of the night was well aware without even looking at it, the sun was quickly disappearing from view.

Ahvie tensed, drawing her twin ghostblades in each hand, their ethereal metal glowing eerily and gracefully in the growing shadows. Perse wrapped around Ahvie’s neck and face, hiding all but her eyes as the sentient garment flared out from behind her as a banner in the headwinds. The warmth of the void and the raging choir of insanity played at the periphery of Ahvie’s senses while she focused on the eye of the storm.

She waited on a knife’s edge for the right moment to save her friend if she would have to.

[silent-schemes]

Venalya’s backstory, shortened significantly for the sake of the DM. Eventually the long version will come <3

She was considered a curse from the moment she was pulled screaming into this world. Something had happened upon her entry- something that left her mother unable to bear any other children. Venalya was alone, the single legacy of the proud and noble House Dreth- and her mother never let her forget. They hailed from the Drow city known as Faneadar, so devout to the goddess Lloth that even the layout of their city closely resembled a creeping spider on its web. In the very center was the Great Temple, towering above the denizens of the darkness. Close by lay the Dreth Estate, forever in the shadow of the Temple's glory, much as their status was ever in the shadow of those noble houses still above.

Of course, their status (or lack thereof), was always blamed on the only daughter- different, never measuring up to what she was supposed to be. Her mother considered her too soft- a weakness that must be eradicated. Though drow were notoriously cruel to their offspring, Venalya knew her life could have been much worse. She had once seen another house murder one of their children in the street for some imagined disobedience. Often she wondered why her mother did not do the same. Was it some sense of necessity? Having been unable to bear many children as was customary, perhaps she refused to see her legacy die when she could still attempt to fix it.

Venalya became very good at hiding her unfavorable traits (inquisitive, emotional, forgiving, patient) and was even better at learning how to take a blow without flinching or uttering a sound. Punishment made her harder- sharpened softness in to edges that cut like a knife, but still her spirit rebelled against becoming as cruel as the others. Always. But hiding was never enough. There were some who could still see the differences that, to them, shone like a beacon- a weakness to be exploited, as was to be expected in drow culture.

One such drow did so. Her name was Mhynna, from the noble house Tilani. Affairs among women, especially those of the nobility, was not uncommon- and, in fact, often encouraged- but it was the nature of this affair that struck Venalya so soundly. Mhynna made her believe that she, too, was different- that she could be trusted- and Venalya unwittingly laid her heart bare, falling for this woman who allowed her to be her truest self. Naive and ever looking for a place to belong, she fell in love, only to later discover that Mhynna was using her for sex alone. She taunted Venalya for being so soft as to believe in love, announcing her weakness to those in the street with a sadistic smile. Her mother nearly killed her that night.

Venalya closed off her heart, believing to have finally taken the drow teachings to heart- cruelty, sadism, an unforgiving nature- but still it was an act. It was all she had. If she could put forth the mask, then she could survive. She took to reading and research, craving anything that would allow her to take shelter in her library and away from the world who would eventually see through her mask.

As time moved forward, the nobility resorted to new savageries against their fellow houses to curry favor and come out on top. One such savage occasion left her close to death in an alley, her assailant's crumpled body beside her. She had managed to kill the woman, but only barely, and as she clutched her side, blood leaking between her fingers, she knew she could not allow this again.

Protection- that was what she needed. A slave to be her shield and her sword. She stood in market, watching as row after row of slaves were dragged out, most only fit to be tossed to the spiders as scrap.  But there was one that came much later, just as she was about to give up. He was a goliath- large and brutish- perfect for her needs. She secured her purchase and left him to be briefed by her mother's body slave- a dragonborn that had protected her for nearly two hundred years.

But the goliath, he was bold and outspoken- and he had been foolish enough to voice his opinion. “Different” He had called her, daring her to prove him wrong. She nearly killed him for the affront, but found she could not- finding in his eyes something kindred that called to her. She hated herself for it- for being so weak that she could not destroy him and his questions. She could not unravel, not now, not after everything she had sacrificed in herself to almost belong.

Even after, he questioned her, pressed her, free with his words and his sentiments. Often he dared her to follow through on her threats, while always knowing she would not. She began to ignore him, telling herself that he was only there to die so she would not- but once he spoke of flowers, and how she reminded him of one he once knew. She asked what a flower was, and how she was possibly similar to such a thing, sure it would be only another insult.

“A moonflower.” He said. “So easily crushed when somewhere it does not belong, but shed the right light and it will bloom and flourish.” She did not speak to him again for a long time.

When she again approached him, it was hesitant. She asked about the Surface, the sky, flowers and plants and the moon. She learned he was what was known as a druid- a focus on life and things that grow- so different from the ice and death she knew for all of her years. His name was Rilak Earthmantle He told her of a secret glade where he found sanctuary after being banished from his clan. Their conversations- their tentative friendship- were kept safe within the confines of her private library for years.

But love- an eventuality she had tried so hard to avoid- found them both, consuming them with fire and passion. It was like nothing she had ever known, her treasure, to be kept safe and locked away from those who would see it stolen. He told her once that their love was the kind that had been written in the stars, but she couldn't understand what he meant by such words.

Her mother discovered their secret, and refusing to allow her House more shame, she decided to eradicate the weakness. She slayed Rilak right before Venalya's eyes, and she screamed. She felt as though her heart had been ripped from her chest. Her mother, with hard and unforgiving gaze, banished Venalya. She said if she ever again laid eyes upon her daughter, she would meet the same fate as her lover.

She took only a few things with her, but just before fleeing, she knelt at the body of her lover and drew a knife. From his body she took a piece of bone, fashioning it into a small caltrop. She would often clutch it in her hand, allowing the pain to remind her why love was a foolish ideal for weak souls.

She fled to the surface- a world so foreign and so alien- seeking out the only place she knew could be a haven... the glade. On her journey she attracted the attention of a young drow boy on the outskirts of a run-down town, and he began to follow her at a distance, never drawing near. She began leaving scraps of food at her abandoned campsites, never admitting that she hoped the boy would find them. As time went on and her search continued, so too did she begin to leave a blanket on the far edges of her camp, with a pack of wrapped rations beside it every night. Every morning, she would wake to find the blanket folded neatly beside her tent, but no sign of the boy. It was not until over a year later when she found the glade that he approached her. She could coax no words from him, save one. Brim.

In the hidden glade, not only did she find sanctuary, but a powerful spirit. It was kind and gentle, crossing from the ethereal plane to ask what had become of the goliath it had enjoyed watching, gone for some time. Venalya told it the story, watching as it flickered in sorrow. The spirit told her it protected the glade, only allowing in those who it knew would bring no harm upon it. It became her friend and taught her basic magics rooted in the earth and the flora, nothing like the spells of ice and arcane she knew her entire life. She learned to nurture and give life to all things that grew, over time coming to learn how to call upon a spirit when in need.

Brim left for a time as she stayed in the glade for years. Occasionally he would come again, then leave, but as the years passed, he left her side less and less until he would not be parted from her. She knew nothing of children, much less this one who would not speak, but she knew that she would not allow him to have the same life she had suffered through. She left the glade soon after, existing with Brim on the edges of civilizations, wandering the Surface and its wilderness. She knew nothing of their cultures, facing prejudice at every turn, but she would not relent. So she watched, trying to glean what knowledge she could.

One night, while finding hesitant refuge in a tavern from the raging storm, she heard traveling merchants speak of a large festival a week's journey south. They were heading there. Upon seeing Brim's eyes widen at the words, she decided they would travel there, to allow him a taste of the childlike wonder they had both been denied in their lives. They followed the merchants at a distance, coming upon the King's Festival. They set their camp on the very outside edges of a large plot of land, filled with people and tents. She pulled their hoods over their heads, hoping the shadows would hide the nature of their skin. As she looked down at Brim and pulled her veil over her lips, she allowed a small smile- though she would never admit it.

[villedesmorterpg]

“We are the strongest creatures in the world, and yet we're damaged beyond repair. We lived without hope, but we will never die. We are the definition of cursed, always and forever.”

↠ Birthdate: 10th Century A.D. (18/1000+) ↠ Gender: Female ↠ Sexuality: Up to Player ↠ Occupation: Up to Player ↠ Faceclaim: Claire Holt

Rebekah is the second daughter of Mikael and Esther, wealthy land owners from the Kingdom of Norway in the 10th century. Rebekah, like the rest of her siblings, was born a witch, but she did not tap into her powers prior to being turned into a vampire in her teens. While fleeing from Mikael after the death of their mother, Rebekah ran with her siblings for a significant amount of time, feeding on people along the countryside but always being careful to hide the bodies. Unsure of where they were going, Kol brought up the idea that maybe they should split up so as to better avoid their father. Finn agreed with the idea, tired of the killing and running, taking no pleasure in their descent into vampirism. Elijah was quick to remind his siblings of their vow to remain together always and forever. For the next millennia, Rebekah lived and travelled throughout Europe with her two brothers. Assuming identities and wrecking havoc all while they eluded their murderous father.  In 1700s, having fled the Old World (likely Spain) from Mikael, Rebekah, along with Klaus and Elijah, sailed across the world, eventually landing in the port of what soon became New Orleans. 

In 1820, Rebekah, Niklaus and Elijah were living in New Orleans and paying gold to the governor for the existence of vampire's to be kept a secret. Rebekah fell in love with the Governor's son Emil and wanted to turn him into a vampire so they could be together forever. However, whilst asking for her brother's permission, Klaus snorted and told her if she wanted to turn every human she fell in love with, humans would cease to exist, before Klaus proclaimed that nobody was good enough for her and killed Emil by throwing him off the balcony. Some days later, the three Originals were attending Emil's funeral when they noticed a young slave boy throwing an apple at the slave master who was whipping him. Klaus began to talk to the boy, seeing him as a kindred spirit, and even named him Marcellus before inviting him to come live with them at their home. A surprised Elijah whispered to Rebekah, "Perhaps there is hope for our brother after all." Marcel was soon taken into the family, quickly developing a crush on Rebekah at an early age because of all the time they spent fencing with each other. By 1835, Marcel was finally an adult who was capable at besting Rebekah at a duel, and after some time, he attempted to make his move on Rebekah, only to be stopped by a jealous Klaus. Despite pleading with Klaus to let him be with Rebekah, Klaus still shot him down and forbid him from pursuing her. However this did not stop Marcel from trying again and making out with Rebekah. They were abruptly torn apart physically by Klaus who decided to punish them by daggering Rebekah.

In 1887, Klaus undaggered Rebekah revealing he had left her daggered for fifty-two years. When she had asked to see Marcel, Klaus sadistically revealed that he gave Marcel an ultimatum: he could either live a long human life with Rebekah and die of old age, or become a vampire and never be with Rebekah again. He chose the latter, even walking into the room as proof of his transition, which devastated Rebekah. A day or two later, Elijah helped Rebekah reintegrate herself into New Orleans' society by taking her to the opera house.

In 1919, Rebekah worked as nurse in New Orleans sanatorium during the period of influenza. Marcel soon returned from World War I. At first they were distant, but eventually grew closer. Together, they desperately started to search for freedom, to do as they wished without Klaus constantly controlling them. Rebekah befriended Genevieve, a fellow nurse and found out that she was a witch. Soon, they became friends. She asked Genevieve to summon her father, Mikael to New Orleans. Eventually, Klaus accepted and supported her relationship with Marcel, which made the pair very happy. When Genevieve learned that Rebekah used her, she wanted to reveal her secret to Klaus. However, Rebekah quickly infected her and her friend Clara Summerlin with influenza, leaving them to die, so she and Marcel would be protected from Klaus' wrath. Later that year Mikael found the siblings and they had to flee the city that had become their home.

A few years after the New Orleans incident, Rebekah and Klaus found themselves in Chicago. After her introduction to Stefan Salvatore, Rebekah immediately fell in love with him. Not long after, Mikael arrived in the city searching for Klaus with the intention to kill him. Klaus met up with Stefan and compelled him to forget ever meeting him and Rebekah. Later, as Klaus and Rebekah packed to move Klaus revealed Stefan had left and promptly daggered her. Leaving her in the coffin alongside her brothers for 90 years. Rebekah was undaggered in Mystic Falls, reuniting with her brother and Stefan Salvatore. However, now she has been brought back home to stand at her brothers’ side while he takes back their place in New Orleans.

Initially, Rebekah's personality in the series is erratic, spiteful and vindictive. After being turned, the aspects of her personality were heightened. After spending centuries with Klaus, with whom she shares a close bond with, she has become dependent on him, although she is not fond of him making decisions for her. Because of the heartbreak she has endured, Rebekah has built up an emotional wall and she comes across as being cruel, aggressive, brutal and mean. Despite her aggressive and brutal nature, she has shown to be emotionally fragile.  She very much wants to be like a normal teenager and longs to have the normal teenage life she missed out on. Rebekah fears being left alone and she doesn't believe it when people treat her kind as a friend or a lover. Over the centuries, she was let down by her half-brother Klaus and her lover Stefan. She is just a lonely girl who wants someone who actually cares about her. Despite being over 1000 years old, she is still childish and immature; evident by the fact that she is very naïve, according to Klaus, Rebekah's temper is worse than his, she has also stated that she inherited her temper from her father.

Elijah Mikaelson  ↠ -- Elijah is Rebekah's older brother. Her relationship with him has been very dysfunctional. Elijah is in the habit of being very critical towards Rebekah due to her actions.

Stefan Salvatore  ↠ --They first met at Stefan's favorite speakeasy, when Stefan reached for the last cocktail, only to be denied the opportunity by Rebekah. She played coy and resisted his advances for a while before finally giving in. Once Rebekah revealed that she was also a vampire, things developed quickly between her and Stefan. It is implied that they were truly in love at one point.When she and Klaus, her brother, had to flee Chicago, she wanted Stefan to come with them, but Klaus denied her request and forced her to choose between Stefan and himself. When Rebekah chose Stefan, Klaus neutralized her with the white oak ash dagger for almost a century until resurrected in 2010.

Hayley Marshall ↠ Despite their rocky start, Hayley has come to know and trust Rebekah, even more than her brothers. While she has a deep hatred of being controlled, Rebekah has always been the one to help convince her brothers that Hayley doesn’t need controlling.

This character is OPEN.

[biofunmy]

A Nile Journey Into the Past

Huddled on a chaise on the upper deck of the Orient, the dahabiya that I had chosen for a cruise down the Nile, I sipped hibiscus tea to ward off the chill. Late in February, it was just 52 degrees in Aswan, where I had boarded the sailboat, but the scenery slipping past was everything the guidebooks had promised: tall sandbanks, curved palms and the mutable, gray-green river, the spine of Egypt and the throughline in its history.

I’d been obsessed with Egypt since childhood, but it took a cadre of female adventurers to get me there. Reading “Women Travelers on the Nile,” a 2016 anthology edited by Deborah Manley, I’d found kindred spirits in the women who chronicled their expeditions to Egypt in the 19th century, and spurred on by them, I’d planned my trip.

Beside my chair were collections of letters and memoirs written by intrepid female journalists, intellectuals and novelists, all British or European. Relentlessly entertaining, the women’s stories reflected the Egyptomania that flourished after Napoleon invaded North Africa in 1798. The country had become a focal point for artists, architects and newly minted photographers — and a fresh challenge for affluent adventurers.

Their dispatches captured Egypt’s exotica — vessels “laden with elephant’s teeth, ostrich feathers, gold dust and parrots,” in the words of Wolfradine von Minutoli, whose travelogue was published in 1826. And they shared the thrill of discovery: Harriet Martineau, a groundbreaking British journalist, feminist and social theorist, described the pyramids edging into view from the bow of a boat. “I felt I had never seen anything so new as those clear and vivid masses, with their sharp blue shadows,” she wrote in her 1848 memoir, “Eastern Life, Present and Past.” The moment never left her. “I cannot think of it without emotion,” she wrote.

Their lyricism was tempered by adventure: In “A Thousand Miles Up the Nile,” Amelia Edwards, one of the century’s most accomplished journalists, described a startling discovery near Abu Simbel: After a friend noticed an odd cleft in the ground, she and her fellow travelers conscripted their crew to help tunnel into the sand. “Heedless of possible sunstroke, unconscious of fatigue,” she wrote, the party toiled “as for bare life.” With the help of more than 100 laborers, supplied by the local sheikh, they eventually descended into a chapel ornamented with dazzling friezes and bas reliefs.

Though some later took the Victorians to task for exoticizing the East, these travelers were a daring lot: They faced down heat, dust, floods and (occasionally) mutinous crews to commune with Egypt’s past. Liberated from domestic life, they could go to ground as men did.

Wolfradine von Minutoli wrote of camping out under the stars by the pyramids. Florence Nightingale, then 29 and struggling to gain independence from her parents, recalled crawling into tombs illuminated by smoking torches. Nightingale, among others, was struck by the otherworldliness of it all. Moved by the fragmented splendor of Karnak, the sacred complex in Luxor, she wrote to her family, “You feel like spirits revisiting your former world, strange and fallen to ruins.”

Taken with their sense of adventure, I wanted to know whether the Nile journey had retained its mystique. Would I feel the presence of these women along the way? And could modern Egypt rival the country that they encountered?

As in the Victorian era, there would be unknowns: Political upheavals and terrorist activity are realities in Egypt. The country’s tourist industry reached a nadir after the 2015 attack on a flight from the seaside resort of Sharm el Sheikh; more than 200 people perished.

Violence has continued to flare: In December, a bomb destroyed a tour bus near the pyramids in Giza, killing four people. A second bus bombing in May injured at least 14.

But risk, I decided, is relative. The State Department’s advisory places Egypt at Level 2 out of 4 (“exercise caution”), along with China, Italy and France. And though still fragile, the country’s travel industry (which recorded 11 million visitors last year, up from 5.4 million in 2017) is rebounding.

Aboard the Orient

Dozens of double-masted dahabiyas and river cruisers now ply the Nile, but I was drawn to the low-key Orient — a charming wooden sailboat, it has a capacity of 10 people but I was joined by only four. Instead of a cinema and floor shows, we had backgammon and intermittent Wi-Fi. (The cost of the three-day cruise, including my single supplement, was $964.) On the upper deck, I could lounge on oversize cushions and watch storks skim the river. In the salon, a low sofa and carved armchairs were perfect for dipping into vintage National Geographics.

My cabin was compact, with twin brass beds and floral wallpaper. The river was close; I could have pulled aside the screens and trailed my fingers through the current. (Not that I did; early travelers praised the “sweetness” of Nile water, but trash bobs on its shores and bilharzia, a parasitic disease that attacks the kidneys, liver and digestive system, is a risk.)

Before 1870, when the entrepreneur Thomas Cook introduced steamers (and declassé package tours), a cruise on the world’s longest river was a marathon. Journeys lasted two or three months and typically extended from Cairo to Nubia and back.

Just getting on the river was a trial: After renting a vessel, travelers were obliged to have it submerged to kill vermin. The boats were then painted, decorated and stocked with enough goods to see a pharaoh through eternity.

Published in 1847, the “Hand-book for Travellers in Egypt” advised passengers to bring iron bedsteads, carpets, rat-traps, washing tubs, guns and staples such as tea and “English cheese.” Pianos were popular additions; so were chickens, turkeys, sheep and mules. M.L.M. Carey, a correspondent in “Women Travelers on the Nile,” recommended packing “a few common dresses for the river,” along with veils, gloves and umbrellas to guard against the sun.

With my fellow passengers, I spent the first afternoon at a temple near the town of Kom Ombo. The structure rose in the Ptolemaic period and was in ruins for millenniums. Mamdouh Yousif, our guide, talked us through it all. A native of Luxor, he used a laser pointer to pick out significant details and served up far more history than I could absorb.

Celebrated for its majestic setting above a river bend, the temple was nearly empty. Reggae music drifted from a cafe and shrieks rose from a neighborhood playground.

Dedicated to Horus, the falcon god, and Sobek, the crocodile god, Kom Ombo has a separate entrance, court and sanctuary for each deity. Inside are two hypostyle halls, in which massive columns support the roof. Each hall was paved with stunning reliefs: Here was a Ptolemaic king receiving a sword; there, a second being crowned. A mutable figure who was both aggressor and protector, Sobek was worshipped, in part, to appease the crocodiles that swarmed the Nile. Next to the temple, 40 mummified specimens — from hulking monsters to teacup versions — are enshrined in a dim museum, along with their croc-shaped coffins.

Defaced by early Coptic Christians, damaged by earthquakes and even mined for building materials, Kom Ombo was in disrepair until 1893, when it was cleared by the French archaeologist Jean-Jacques de Morgan. Now, it’s inundated in the late afternoon, when cruise-boat crowds arrive. As we were leaving, folks in shorts and sunhats just kept coming, fanning out until the complex became a multilingual hive.

Back on the Orient, my cabin grew chilly and I wished, briefly, that I had made the journey in the scorching summer. An early supper improved my mood, as did the winter sun setting behind silvery-gray clouds. Since I’d brought a flashlight, I was only mildly annoyed when we learned that our generator would stop at 10 p.m. The darkness was nearly complete, but silence never set in: Creaks, thumps and splashes resounded through the night.

In the morning, we headed north to the sandstone quarry and cult center of Gebel Silsila. With their rock faces still scored with tool marks, the cliffs have an odd immediacy — as if armies of stonecutters could reappear at any moment.

The compelling part of the site is a hive of rock-cut chapels and shrines. Dedicated to Nile gods and commissioned by wealthy citizens, they are set above a shore lined with bulrushes. Eroded but evocative, some retain images of patrons and traces of paintings.

In Edfu, an ode to power in stone

After lunch, we traveled downriver to Edfu, to Egypt’s best-preserved temple. Tourism has made its mark in the agricultural town: Cruise boats line the quay, and the drivers of the horse-drawn carriages known as calèches stampede all comers. Begun in 237 B.C. and dedicated to Horus, the temple was partially obscured by silt when Harriet Martineau visited in 1846. “Mud hovels are stuck all over the roofs,” she wrote, and “the temple chambers can be reached only by going down a hole like the entrance to a coal-cellar, and crawling about like crocodiles.” She could see sculptures in the inner chambers, but “having to carry lights, under the penalty of one’s own extinction in the noisome air and darkness much complicate the difficulty,” she wrote.

Excavated in 1859 by the French Egyptologist Auguste Mariette, the temple is an ode to power: A 118-foot pylon leads to a courtyard where worshippers once heaped offerings, and a statue of Horus guards hypostyle halls whose yellow sandstone columns look richly gilded.

Feeling infinitesimal, I focused on details: a carving of a royal bee, an image of the goddess Hathor, a painting of the sky goddess Nut.

Mr. Yousif kept us moving through the shadowy chambers — highlighting one enclosure where priests’ robes were kept and another that housed sacred texts. Later I thought of something Martineau had written: “Egypt is not the country to go to for the recreation of travel,” she said. “One’s powers of observation sink under the perpetual exercise of thought.” Even a casual voyager, she wrote, “comes back an antique, a citizen of the world of six thousand years ago.”

Our dinner that night was festive: When someone asked for music, our purser, Mostafa Elbeary, returned with the entire crew. Retrieving drums from an inlaid cabinet, they launched into 20 exuberant minutes of song.

The night quickly deteriorated, however. Gripped by an intestinal upheaval, I bumped my way back and forth to the bathroom. In the morning, I was too ill to visit more tombs and temples. The chef sent me soupy rice, and Mr. Elbeary kept me supplied with Coke.

Watching the river in bed, I realized what was missing: While 19th-century voyagers rode camels into the desert and ventured into villagers’ homes, we had seen little of local life. Before the cruise, I had sampled the chaos in Egypt’s capital. With a guide from the agency Real Egypt, I spent an afternoon exploring the neighborhood known as Islamic Cairo. Heading down a street lined with spice stalls and perfume shops, we had passed Japanese children with sparkly backpacks, Arab women chatting into cellphones tucked into their hijabs and old men arguing in cafes. We stopped to watch Egyptian girls draping themselves in rented Scheherazade costumes; after snapping selfies, they happily vamped for me.

A trip to Giza was nearly as diverting. Though I didn’t find the monuments inspiring — the Pyramids looked like stage flats against the searing-blue sky — others did. I was standing by the Sphinx when I overheard a man angling his phone toward its ravaged face. “You see me?” he asked, ducking in front of the camera. “That’s the Sphinx. It’s one of the most famous monuments in the world.”

Roman emperors and Egyptian gods

The next day I roused myself for our final outing. We had docked at the town of Esna, and from my window I watched an ATV driven by a boy who looked to be about 7 just miss a herd of goats.

The others were waiting, so I followed Mr. Yousif through the streets at warp speed. Built during the reign of Ptolemy V and dedicated to a river god, Esna’s temple was conscripted by the Romans and then abandoned. Only its portico had been excavated when Nightingale visited. In a letter to her family, she said, ”I never saw anything so Stygian.”

Now partly reclaimed, the temple is 30 feet below street level. Beyond the portico is a hypostyle hall whose columns are inscribed with sacred texts and hymns. Still traced with color, they blossom into floral capitals. On the walls are images of Roman emperors presenting offerings to Egyptian gods.

On our way back to the boat, Mr. Yousif led us through narrow streets where children were racing about. Two little girls, one in a bedraggled party dress, followed us, whispering. A succession of boys darted into our paths to say, “Welcome, hello, hello.” From a closet-size barber stall, three men called out; a merchant in another stall held up his tortoiseshell cat.

Exploring Luxor’s riches

After a celebratory breakfast the next day — crepes, strawberry juice, Turkish coffee — our cruise ended. A driver from the dahabiya company was waiting to take us to Luxor, about an hour away.

Though it was little more than an expanse of fields dotted with mud huts, in the early 19th century, dahabiyas made lengthy stops in Luxor. Near the town is one of the world’s largest sacred monuments and across the Nile is the Valley of the Kings.

In the afternoon, I set out for Karnak. Founded chiefly by Amenhotep III and originally dedicated to Amon-Re, the complex was modified and enlarged by rulers, including Ramses II.

In the 19th century, its pylons, halls and courts were still mired in detritus: Nightingale was unsettled by the temple’s “dim unearthly colonnades” when she visited on New Year’s Eve in 1849. “No one could trust themselves with their imagination alone there,” she wrote. With enormous shadows looming, said Nightingale, “you feel as terror stricken to be there as if you had awakened the angel of the Last Day.”

Though it’s now besieged by tourists, the complex is still haunting. An avenue of ram-headed sphinxes leads to an imposing first pylon; beyond is a hypostyle hall where 138 pillars soar into empty space.

Wandering without a guide, I lingered over details: the play of light on a broken column; the base of a shattered statue that had left its feet behind. On the way to the necropolis across the river, I thought about the desecration described by Victorian travelers. Jewelry, cartouches and body parts were all on the market, and Amelia Edwards, author of “1,000 Miles Up the Nile,” was among those who were offered a mummy.

After casually expressing an interest in an ancient papyrus, wrote Edwards, she and a companion had been “beguiled into one den after another” and “shown all the stolen goods in Thebes.” Inevitably, they found themselves underground with a crumbling object in “gaudy cerements.” (She rejected it.)

Sheltered by limestone cliffs and set off by a limitless sky, the Valley of the Kings has been brought to order: Vendors now sell their wares in a visitors’ center, and tourists can hop an electric train to the burial grounds.

One of the most spectacular tombs in the royal warren belonged to Seti I; it was known to Victorians as “Belzoni’s tomb.” The entrance was breached in 1817 by the Italian adventurer Giovanni Belzoni who removed the sarcophagus of Seti I and sold it to a collector. In 1846, Martineau visited the chamber that had held the sarcophagus and reported, “We enjoyed seeing the whole lighted up by a fire of straw.” With its brilliant paintings set off by the flames, she said, “it was like nothing on the earth.”

It still is: The deepest and longest tomb in the necropolis, the resting place of Seti I is adorned with astonishing reliefs. Scenes from texts, including the Book of the Dead, lead from one spectacular enclave to another. On the day I visited, the crowds were elsewhere and the silence was profound.

The pharaoh who eluded the Victorians, of course, was Tutankhamun. Cloaked in obscurity for 3,000 years, his tomb was unsealed by Howard Carter at a time when the valley was believed to hold no surprises. In January, conservators completed nine years of restoration that revived the intimate enclosure.

Though most of Tutankhamun’s treasures are in the Egyptian Museum, his outer sarcophagus is still in the burial chamber. Stripped of its bandages, his corpse, blanketed in linen, now lies in a glass box — a desiccated figure blanketed in linen. Only his blackened head and feet are exposed, but he looks exquisitely vulnerable.

Surrounding the remains of the boy king are murals depicting him as a divinity; he enters the afterlife in the company of Anubis and Osiris and Nut. Set against a gold background, the images temper the pathos of his remains.

In the end, the tomb lost for so long is a reminder that in Egypt, the past continues to evolve. Perspectives can shift; voices can change. And something astonishing may be just around the corner.

Michelle Green has written for The Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post, The New York Review of Books and other publications. She is the author of “The Dream at the End of the World: Paul Bowles and the Literary Renegades in Tangier.”

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Children of Another World AU Personalities

Nina: Nina finds her father’s flirtatious nature to be annoying and disgusting. He wasn’t a great father early on, due to not really wanting a child at first and the fact that he didn’t belong in that world and knew he had to leave. This caused issues as she got older and she often sees herself as a means to an end for him, just a tool to flirt, even though he grew alongside her and admits he was an idiot for acting the way he did. Despite this anger, she still holds him in high regard as both a fighter and a dancer. She did inherent Laslow’s interest in the other sex to an extreme, however, leading to her inability to speak to men/boys unless in the heat of battle. Nina’s a sell-sword who will dispatch bandits and other “low-life scum” for coin.

Midori: A doting daughter, Midori actually laughs off her father, Hinata’s, love of women and weakness to them. She uses this weakness at times to get her way, as he’s unable to tell her no. She prefers to remind him of her strength in battle over the fact that he has a daughter. Despite this, the two are extremely close. Hinata often encourages her to learn, even if he has no idea how to help her, such as with medicine, a subject that Midori wants to learn more about but has never really had the chance. The two of them find sparring to be fun.

Selkie: Selkie dislikes all things gross and enjoys grooming, much to the shock of her fellow Wolfskin. Her father, Keaton, tries to be understanding, but finds it difficult to connect with her. She knows he tries but wishes she didn’t feel so alone. She found a kindred soul in a Kitsune named Velouria.

Mitama: Mitama loves poetry and hates her role as a princess, especially as the crown princess, much to Ryoma’s annoyance and confusion. She mostly just brushes him off and hides out in her room. The only person she tries to act princess-like around is Caeldori, in part due to her dedication and desperation to become Mitama’s retainer and a Saizo, and in part due to her friendship with the other girl. Even then, it’s monotone and insincere, almost seeming like a joke to anyone else. Caeldori knows she’s trying and is grateful that Mitama would do something she hates so much just to give her hope. She’s pretty similar to her regular self.

Caeldori: Caeldori is determined to gain the title of Saizo the Sixth. She (incorrectly) assumed it was due to potential flaws and works hard to become a perfect ninja as a result. Saizo tried to tell her that wasn’t the reason while she was growing up (He does want her to earn it, he just also wanted her to have her own name at the same time), but she inherited her father’s stubbornness and refuses to listen. She wants to become Princess Mitama’s retainer, but also knows about her refusal of the role and title. She also knows that Mitama does care for her as a good friend and has decided she would protect Mitama, princess or not.

Rhajat: Rhajat still loves the dark arts, but finds her father, who both got her into the subject and taught her growing up, obnoxious, especially when he tells her to tone it down, which results in her calling him a hypocrite. She finds his somewhat childish antics annoying, but also picked up on the fact that his own childhood wasn’t the best and that he may not have had much of a time for said antics back then. While the two do fight pretty often, the always makeup, if only to remind each other that they do have a family, even if it’s a little broken at times.

Velouria: Velouria always stood out from the other Kitsune, with her droopy ears and love of all things gross and creepy, not to mention her refusal to groom as often as they all do. She’s a doting daughter with a rather protective father. Kaden knows she feels like an outcast and allows her to have the freedom to do as she pleases, while still keeping an eye on her. She found a kindred soul in a wolfskin named Selkie.

Ophelia: Ophelia is pretty clumsy, though this is mostly due to her theatrical nature. Jakob tries to curb her love for theater, but also understands that it’s partially his fault for allowing her to go to so many plays growing up. In return, Ophelia sees his more harsh nature as just tough love and is determined to become a better maid in order to make him happy. She does enjoy being a maid as well, and has exceptional aim, something she reminds others of often. She’s also oblivious to Seigbert’s protectiveness of her.