#but well. i have already moved on to the sacred land so

[hzdtrees]

Embrace

[swampstew]

Eustass Kid, G-48 ~ Milking Table

Summary: It's that time of the month. The time when Kid really really needs your help to get through the deep-seated primal urges he has. Lucky for him he has someone as amazing and caring as you.

Warnings: Spicy, modern monster au, Eustass Kid as Tarbh-uisge with reader - implied relationship. Kid strapped to a milking table, use of milking pump, breeding kink, monsterfucking if you squint. Special mention to @don-mellow for being the reason this folklore creature was the first thing that popped into my mind for this prompt. Subscribe to their Patreon! Word Count: 772

Tarbh-uisge: Generally regarded as a nocturnal water bull, it is more agreeable than its equine counterpart the water horse, while having similar amphibious and shapeshifting abilities. It is able to shapeshift into human form and live on land or in water. It can also be amiable and sometimes helpful. The bull might have had a sacred role in various Celtic cult rituals. The Tarbh-uisge was viewed a symbol of fertility and abundance

You had Kid strapped face down on the custom milking table, an impressive feat in itself considering his hulking mass and general…defiant of authority attitude. In a harness that bound his flesh arm behind his back and his ankles to the table, you massaged his back with heated oil to soothe his muscles, helping him relax. The two of you had been at it for a while, and he had needed a break.

His muttering that he didn’t need to be babied let you know he was ready for the next session. Gently wiping the excess oil off, you scratch his back hard enough to leave red lines – each graze of your fingernails draws a shaky grunt from him. The purple faded lines of the previous marks littered down his back and ass, and you would have to remember to take a photo of how delicious he looked.

You moved off his muscled back and peeked under the table, pleased to find his cock swollen once more. Bless his stamina. Reaching out, you ran your fingernails down his shaft to his balls, watching in delight as his cock bobbed from the contact, and precum already leaking out from his slit.

“You’re doing so well. After tonight, I’ll let you have some rest and relaxation. You’ve filled up quite a few buckets. Then after, I’m going to treat you so good. Let you be my pillow prince to thank you for your sacrifice today,” you cooed, kissing his cheek. His damp locks plastered on his hair barely hid the flush in his face.

With a warm touch you begin jerking him off. Whispering filthy things you’d do to spoil him when this was all over. How you’d ride him for days on end, how you’d feed him while fucking him, not letting him leave the bed so you could give him all your love.

He leaked into your hand and that helped you fist him faster as he wasn’t able to do anything except struggle in his restraints – unable to even rut properly through the table to build his pleasure. He was entirely reliant on you and your methods alone to milk his cock.

If he was unrestrained, there was a chance he could go crazy in his lust and do something stupid like mount and accidentally impregnate you. Every month he would go through a cycle of needing to breed – a time where he couldn’t keep his cock down if his life depended on it – and you were kind enough to find a creative solution for you both.

Kid’s panting became louder, huskier as the tip of his cock turned deep red. You watched as his balls drew tight, signaling he was near release. You ducked your body under the table and formed a ring with your fingers, holding the base of his cock with a firm grip as you pulled out the milking pump.

“FU-FUCK!” he grunted loudly. “Swear you get off on doing that,” he spat out, hitting his forehead against the leather padded table in frustration.

“I don’t not,” you giggle, connecting the tube to the pump to the last vial you had. With a fat lick of your tongue from his perineum, over his scrotum, and up his shaft, your lips wrapped around his head giving him an urgent suck before you popped off him. Giving his twitching cock a kiss, you slid the pump over his cock and began pumping him faster than before.

“SHIT! SHIT! I’M-I’M CUM—” the rest of his stutter was cut off by a pleasured, dull roar as his hips squeaked and rutted against the table. You watched the pump line fill with the thick, white liquid going down the drip line and into its vial. The sound of weary panting left Kid as the line kept dripping until the vial was filled to the brim.

“I’m done I’m dooonnee!!” he cried from overstimulation as you pulled the pump off.

“I know love, I know,” you topped the vial and put the equipment in the bucket. Noticing a few drops weeping from his softening dick, you quickly crawled over and enveloped your mouth on his tip to lick him dry.

8 tiles to go, 49 calls made so far.

[hyrule-in-a-pokeball]

A BIG OL' GANONDORF THEORY (TOTK)

This gonna be a long one, kids

I've just got a bunch of thoughts on Ganondorf. I'll categorize them or something

GANONDORF CAUSED HYRULE'S UNIFICATION A great war of some kind has been mentioned a few times in Zelda canon. most notably in OoT. 9 years before the events of OoT kick off, a great war comes to an end, but not before orphaning a baby who gets adopted by a tree. 9 years after this war, the leaders of the Gorons and Zoras consider the King of Hyrule to be a close friend, with the leader of the Gorons even considering him an honorary brother. With OoT being erased, why is this important? Because the legend that is OoT is based on the historical fact shown in TotK. Real events that were embellished and re contextualized over time. Well, here's what the legend tells us about history... At one point in time, Hyrule was divided. Each race seemed to be a different kingdom, but there didn't seem to be any tension among them. But then something happened that forced them to unite. Or rather...

Someone Ganondorf has always been bent on ruling Hyrule, but I think his invasions weren't targeted solely on the land of the Zonai/Hylians, but also the lands of the Gorons, Zora, and Rito. Basically all the lands that aren't a barren wasteland. He probably planned to take over each region and unite it all under one glorious Gerudo banner. Alone, they may have all had trouble fending off the Gerudo army. I believe that with a common and very powerful enemy in the form of the Ganondorf-lead Gerudo, King Rauru was able to convince the Gorons, Rito, and Zora to unite with him under a single Hyrulean banner, thus creating the unified kingdom of Hyrule and forming a solid, united opposition to the Gerudo invasion.

GANONDORF'S STONE ENHANCED FORM

We skip forward in time a little. The war has ended and Ganondorf is swearing fealty to King Rauru, but thats just so he can get in and move about freely without suspicion even though he's the world's most suspicious looking man. It works though. He kills Queen Sonia and steals her sacred stone, the power awakened from which causes him to transform

The sacred stones, as explained, do not give powers to their holders, but instead greatly amplify powers that were already present. But what they ALSO don't do, is cause a physical transformation in their users. None of the other stone holders were shown to change form when using the power of their stones. And its not like his stone was extra special. It was literally the same stone Sonia was using. So why did Ganondorf change form when he came into possession of one?

Because his power is not his own.

While Zelda inherited her powers from her ancestors through blood, Ganondorf inherited his as a result of being the product of Demise's cheeky curse. While Demise is dead and gone, his power lives on in Ganondorf, and so it was Demise's demonic powers that were amplified by the stone. As a result, Ganondorf's form changed to reflect those demonic powers.

But that might not be all that changed. You see, after his demonic powers awakened, his goal changed a bit. While he was still hell bent on ruling Hyrule, he now also wanted to wipe out every living person within the kingdom, supposedly to replace them with the monsters he summoned, and "Cast the world into eternal night" He even turned on his own people, the Gerudo, as in the scene in which Rauru grants the soon-to-be-sages their sacred stones, Ruto states "We just received word that the last free village in the Gerudo desert has fallen..." So the demon king's armies were attacking everyone indiscriminately on his command. I think he truly became a demon, and possibly something in his psyche changed as a result.

THE 8TH SAGE

Those who hold Sacred stones were deemed sages. Zelda and Sonia were the sages of time. Rauru, reflecting his roll in OoT, was the sage of light. Nabooru was changed from the sage of spirit to the sage of lightning. Darunia was the sage of fire, Ruto; the sage of water, and Mineru was the sage of spirit. Saria and "forest" being completely replaced by a nameless Rito and the element of Wind. Sonia dies, so the sage count is 7.

When the stone bonded to its holder, stylized Japanese kanji would appear on it. This is most visible with Nabooru/Riju's stone

Its up-side down and partially wrapped around the stone itself, but that is the Kanji "Kaminari" meaning "Lightning"

When Ganondorf steals Sonia's stone, the kanji for time "Toki" disappears and is replaced with this

Its side ways and partially obstructed by his hand, but when he uses his power, we see the symbol flash in its proper orientation

Yami. Darkness. (funnily enough it also means "Gloom")

If holding a secret stone makes one a sage, then Ganondorf is the sage of Darkness, a being in direct opposition to Rauru; the sage of light

[nikoisme]

tw for descriptions of zombies, death, slight gore and body decay (decomposition)

The Odyssey but Odysseus died at Troy. Yet his drive to see his wife and son was strong enough for him to lift his rotting limbs. He stumbles around - a corpse should not move. He has only one goal in mind: Ithaca, Penelope, Telemachus. His body is weak and frail, it constantly collapses and fails him. His body wants to return to the earth. He should be in the ground right now, his body grass and moss. But his mind lives, and he lifts his body off the ground no matter how long it takes him. His mind and body are divided, both long for their own goals. He makes no sound but a whisper: "Ithaca. Penelope. Telemachus." He doesn't remember where his home is. But he keeps whispering. People hear him. He can't talk, can't think anything except those three. They will ask him, "Who are you?". He can only give them a glassy stare, haunted and utterly wrong. It's not natural. He only murmurs "Ithaca. Penelope. Telemachus." and glances away, before dragging himself away. He has no name, at least not one he can remember. His mind consists only of those three thoughts. They think him a mad man. No one recognizes him as the king of Ithaca, his face sunken and destroyed. Even if someone did recognize him, well - Odysseus died at Troy, after all. They try to capture him, but no one dares approach that walking mass of rot and blood. They try to kill him. Arrows tear through the remaining muscle. Spear tips poke out of his ribs. He will collapse on the ground, they will think he died. But it's only his body. They cannot kill what's already dead. So he will push himself up - moments, hours, days or weeks later. And he stumbles on. And he whispers. He can't hear or register any words that people speak. He will only turn his head when he hears someone say Ithaca, Penelope, Telemachus. He follows those whispers. They get more frequent, until everyone around him is saying those three words sacred to him. Until his thoughts materialize before him.

Okay so now I have two endings:

1. A bit of his mind gives away when he reaches Ithaca, when he kisses her shores. Another fragment is gone when he holds his son in his arms, when he kisses him. He sees the suitors, 108 men trying to get their hands on his wife. On his Penelope. It's enough to make him think straight, at least for a bit. He wants to kill them right then and there. But Telemachus stops him, he has to restrain him. Odysseus obeys. It's easy to put something so breakable and weak under control. But he only thinks of suitors' blood. And eventually, they shed it. Odysseus is like a beast, death itself casting doom upon anyone his sunken eyes land on. And finally, he sees Penelope. His mind gives way when he is in her arms again, when he kisses her. His mind has no thoughts anymore, he reached his goal. There's nothing to hold his body upright anymore. No goal to reach - well, except one. One he should've reached on the beaches of Troy, a decade ago. Death. He finally dies the next morning, going still in their olive bed.

2. He is slow. His body is weak, he trips everytime his toes touch the ground. He is slow, but it's okay. He doesn't have to stop, he has no physical needs to meet, except the one of his mind. Not his heart, that one has been dead for a while now. And he follows the words of others, echoes of his own whispers. And he reaches Ithaca, eventually. But the people are different. They wear different clothes, they speak a different language. No one says those three words. It should have been obvious, the way those names slowly faded as he went from city to city, land to land. He was slow, too slow. Penelope and Telemachus are gone now. They have been dead for who knows how long. But his mind's needs are not met, the drive is still there. So he wanders the lands, searching for something long gone - always whispering under his breath.

I'm very fond of both endings aughh, I'll need to write this down sometime.

Another version is where Odysseus' personality and mind have been slowly chipped away over the course of his journey until he became nothing but the embodient of his drive to see his wife and son. His body is forgotten, thin and torn. He is dead. Perhaps he is not. It's hard to tell at this point. When does a man die - is it when his heart stops beating and blood stops rushing in his veins, or when his mind is gone? (probably would get the first ending).

[sonics-atelier]

A Sacred Celebration: Love's Eternal Embrace

Summary : Hua Cheng comes home to a surprise Xie Lian baked - well burnt - for him, cue tooth rotting fluff, fox and ferret plushies, self indulgent.

a/n : Hello Tgcf Fandom, wanted to Kickstart my journey by writing a piece for Our Kings Birthday, hope you like it <33 ❣️ (This art is so beautiful btw, I was inspired from it)

Hua Cheng wandered through the fields, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the landscape. As he made his way back home, a sense of peace enveloped him. Upon entering, he was greeted by a delightful surprise: a small celebration prepared by Xie Lian, complete with a half-charred, half-cream-covered cake. The sight was endearing, bringing a soft smile to Hua Cheng's face.

“Gege, how did you know it’s my birthday?” Hua Cheng asked, his voice filled with affection and surprise.

Xie Lian beamed with excitement. “I asked around, and Ling Wen told me since she owed me a favor,” he replied proudly.

Clearing his throat, Xie Lian began to sing a sweet, if somewhat off-key, birthday song, followed by a playful poem he had composed:

“Oh Lord of Ghost City, so brave and true,

How you have bewitched me, oh how you do,

With your smile so bright and your gaze so keen,

In your embrace, I find a world unseen.

Trapping me for eternity,

Oh what bliss,In moments stolen, in every tender kiss,

Through trials and storms, together we stand,With you, My love, I find my promised land.”

Hua Cheng’s eyes welled up with tears, his heart touched by the genuine effort Xie Lian had put into the celebration. He tried to speak, to thank Xie Lian, but his emotions choked him up. Mistaking his reaction, Xie Lian shook him vigorously and patted his back, thinking the cake was causing him to choke.

“Are you okay?!” Xie Lian asked, his concern genuine "I knew my skills aren't good-"

Hua Cheng started laughing, the sound rich and heartfelt. “I’m fine, gege,” he managed between laughs.

Xie Lian pouted playfully. “Don’t scare me like that! You almost gave me a heart attack”

The ghost king apologised profusely while his gege swatted at him.

Xie Lian’s face lit up with another idea. “Wait, I have something else for you.” He pulled out two cotton-filled plushies he had made: one was a fox with an eyepatch, and the other was a ferret with a crumpled hat. Hua Cheng’s eyes widened in surprise and amusement.

Xie Lian began to narrate a whimsical tale, holding up the plushies. “Once upon a time, there was a brave fox with an eyepatch and a clever ferret with a crumpled hat. They met in the woods and became the best of friends. One day, the ferret proposed to the fox as a joke.”

Hua Cheng laughed loudly at that, his eyes shining with delight "I already apologised gege!"

Xie Lian continued, grinning, “But the fox took it seriously, and they decided to get married. They had many adventures together and lived happily ever after.”

Hua Cheng, caught up in the story, started playing along with Xie Lian, making the fox and ferret plushies dance and interact. Their laughter once again filled the room, creating a melody of joy and affection.

When the laughter finally died down, Hua Cheng looked at Xie Lian with a depth of emotion that words could barely convey. “Thank you, Xie Lian, for always standing up for me, for being there when no one else was, for being my source of comfort.”

Xie Lian cupped Hua Cheng’s face tenderly. “You deserve to be loved, Hua Cheng. I am so proud of how far you’ve come.”

Hua Cheng kissed Xie Lian’s palm, a gesture imbued with reverence and devotion, as if he were worshipping at the altar of his beloved. Their love was a sacred religion, each kiss a prayer, each embrace a hymn. They moved closer, their lips meeting in a kiss that was profound and tender, a testament to their unwavering love.

In that moment, they were bound by more than just affection; their love was a sanctuary, a holy place where they found solace and joy. Smiles and contentment radiated from them as they held each other close, their hearts beating in perfect harmony.

- @sonics-atelier 2024 ( do not repost or reuse in any way shape or form , I will decapitate you )

[agirlandherquill]

the first "official" snippet

it has been a whirlwind for the last few days, so much has happened, so much needs to be done, and working on the next stage of Ruin's Reprisal is so nerve-racking and so, so exciting that i thought - why not share the very first ten pages, in what i am fairly certain is their final form?

at this stage i'm gradually doing a read through of my draft as an ePub on my kindle (it is insane to be reading this as though it's an actual book) and chapter by chapter, after reading it, i go back through and make any finer adjustments, such as grammatical changes etc - and since i've just done that for the prologue (almost 30 something pages, counting off the top of my head- whew!) i can share these first ten pages with you all!

so, without further ado, here they are!

At first, the world was ours.

Created by the truest being of all, the mother of everything sacred, Mutja-Har, my people were divine blessings upon the land, people bestowed with gifts unlike any other. But we grew idle - over time, we became greedy. Every story that I have read tells of a great voyage to a vast continent - I believe it was no voyage, but a retreat, after Mutja-Har’s scorn blighted the land and forced us out in shame for an act history has long since forgotten. But it turns out that this continent was not for the taking. The land was already inhabited by non-blessed folk, who have had many names over the years, but in my lifetime, they were Alirians.

And because of this strange newfound need to coexist, the Haelish had to learn to share. They had to change their ways, their language. They were forced to adapt, they were forced to change, almost completely.

The blessed became humble - well, humbler. They established themselves, due to their riches, as an aristocracy, founded themselves a Noble Court and claimed territory, even if the country was not their own. 

The Haelish were rulers once more. And so they remained, for many years. Preserving their ways, their lives, their bloodlines, everything was sacred. Everything was perfect.

Until one day, a day meant for the union of powerful families set to rule Aliria forevermore. But instead of unity, there was calamity. There was murder.

And for the first time in history, the Haelish found themselves bidding farewell to peace. In its place, they welcomed the title of Exilza.

Exile.

Me.

I believed I was the first. To break the rules. To go against tradition - Even if I was innocent of my crime - But it turns out that I was wrong. Instead of one, there were three.

But for now, for the start of this tale, let us focus on me.

The morning of my doom, and the eve of who I used to be. 

After all, who doesn’t enjoy a wedding?

~ ~ ~

How far would it take for me to fall to my death? To escape? All I want is for things to be different. For things to change.

Change. Now that is something I have never understood at all.

What does it take for a life to change? A moment? A day? A choice? Or perhaps, does it come down to having no choice at all?

This wedding was to usher in a new era for the country, for the people. Both Alirian and Haelish. But choice had never factored into it, not for her at least. She did not decide the path her life would take. She did not choose to wake up before the dawn. She had not chosen to be shuttered away in her room, biding her time. Her only saving grace was the window.

And she had it wide open.

Sunlight flickered through, bathing the room in warm light. Pale blue drapes floated in the wind, wrapping around her as she leaned against the window frame, deep in thought. In the light, visible specks of dust floated without a care, moving freely - they were free. 

Free, the word sounded like nothing more than a listless dream, it was a concept utterly unknown to her. Edeva stretched out her hand to touch a speck, driven by curiosity. Once it brushed past her fingers she grew bored, breathed out a tired sigh and returned her attention to the open window, a faint smile on her face. 

At least if this morning is my final one of normality, it’s a pretty one. 

The rising sun painted the Palace in a flattering light. The walls glistened, the perfectly carved stone reflected the sunlight whilst towering over the landscape. Down below, she could see the silhouettes of servants rushing to and from the courtyard, resembling very lost children. A sweet-smelling gust of wind drifted in through the window. Taking a delicate sniff, her body relaxed. Lavender. Its pleasantly distinct scent in the air comforted her. As the start of the day drew on, she found herself savouring every small comfort possible, even if it was something so simple as a scent. I have to enjoy what I can before I’m too busy to do otherwise. Life’ll be unbearable without my memories, as Mama always tells me. 

“Conteis Edeva?” A small voice echoed at the door, making her jump. Edeva decided to delay answering, wanting to savour her moment by the window once more. Her back was to the door, favouring the view of the window’s panorama to that of the furniture indoors, so she was unable to see the face of the speaker as they opened the door. “Conteis?” The voice spoke a second time, along with a few gentle knocks. Giving up protecting her peaceful daydream, Edeva tore herself from the window, tilting her body to the door. Is it time already? It feels too soon. Far, far too soon. She let out a slow exhale to steady her mind before answering. “Come in.” Do not. Stay away. Let me have these last few moments to myself. But it was too late. The words had been said.

Weddings. The word rotted in her mouth. Pompous events acknowledging what? A transaction? An exchange of words? They have nothing to do with love. Nothing to do with me. And here I am, the bride to be. She grimaced. High-Mother, Mutja-Har, give me strength. Praying in Alirian was not enough, she needed the High-Mother, the Haelish faithful touch, to give her the strength to get through the day.

The door opened further, granting the person access to the room. A petite maid entered, brandishing a joyful smile on her face - one Edeva wished to bottle up and express herself because she lacked the energy to form one of her own - she recognised the girl as one of her mother’s personal servants. Maidens, I believe she calls them. Though I fail to recall this one’s name, it’s a pity. She could not even bring herself to try to remember. No sense in making any friends that I’ll have to leave behind. 

The girl was soon followed by five others, of varying ages and appearances, each carrying an extravagant bundle or box of something she did not care to see. “It’s time my lady.” The first girl offered her a kind smile, holding out a hand as she gestured to the chair at the nearby vanity. With a slightly exaggerated sigh, Edeva took a seat. Time for what? The last moments of my freedom? Or to fulfil my duty? She struggled to find the courage to make polite conversation, settling on smiling occasionally as the women hurried around the room. Through the mirror’s reflection, she watched them curiously, taking in their excited smiles as they looked at her every so often. They’re far more excited about this than I will ever be. It’s a shame, really. 

She settled into the chair, deciding to let them get to work.

A short while later, she was covered in fine powder, the dust cloud made her cringe. Are they trying to offer me the small mercy of death by choking me beforehand? She laughed silently to herself. As a Maiden brushed her hair through, Edeva wondered over what the day would bring. She continued to wonder, squirming involuntarily as her locks were twisted and tugged into order, secured by a few glistening pins. 

She tilted her chin up, taking a second to examine their handiwork. She had expected more but the powder was all that sat on her face. The fine dusting had hidden the sickly pallor of her cheeks, but in her mind, it was nothing more than a clever trick to hide her unease and enhance the one thing people always adored the most: beauty. Not that the powder contained any magical properties as she had expected, no cheating ways to alter her appearance. It doesn’t matter, she thought dryly, What I think doesn’t mean a thing. She forced a smile onto her face, testing the legitimacy of its appearance in her reflection. She had to hide her horror at seeing the smile appear all too natural. Edeva glanced over her shoulder to the women who were occupied with smoothing out a dress on her bed. 

“May I have a moment to myself?”

The Maidens looked at her, flashing encouraging and knowing smiles before they scattered.

They think I’m nervous. That’s ridiculous, She sighed heavily at the thought, I’ve never been nervous a day in my life. I’m just exhausted with all of this, and the main part of the day hasn’t even begun. High-Mother give me strength, I need time to get my head together. 

She turned back to the vanity, raising a lazy hand to her temple as she studied herself in the mirror. If this is my last day as myself, I want to look my best. Besides, Mama wouldn’t reprimand me, she reminded herself, I do need to take some pride in my appearance, even today. She reached for an old friend, a case of brushes, paints, and powders set by purposefully on the side of the vanity. With careful concentration, she got to work.

Once she was done, she gave herself a final once-over in the mirror. The lids of her eyes were now slightly smudged in silver, a nod to her family’s colours. Her cheeks were slightly pinker, giving a more dramatic effect against her skin. She let her gaze abandon the blueness of her eyes, moving up to see the work her hair had undergone.

The stark, unmissable whiteness of her hair contrasted everything in the room, as it always did. Most of her hair had been braided into a bun, while other stray strands hung loosely by her face. It looks nice, she thought. She smiled again, though it failed to quite reach her eyes. Today has to happen. I have to go through with this, for everyone’s sake. The words felt like a lie even as she thought them. She slumped back in her chair with a sigh. If Mama walked in now… She pinched the bridge of her nose.

Why am I here? Really? Simply because I have no other choice? The thought pained her. She struggled to answer her own questions. Edeva stood, dragging herself to the bed where her outfit for the ceremony had been draped out. The Maidens would still be absent for a few more minutes, which relieved her, because she enjoyed changing in peace. She discarded her robe on the floor and slipped into the dress, not forgetting to slip her feet into the shoes waiting at the foot of the bed.

Without a second thought, she moved herself over to the full-length mirror that stood proudly beside the window. I might as well take a look at the monstrosity I’m being forced to wear as I seal my fate, she thought bitterly, taking in her outfit. The dress was made of white silk, the finest that money could buy, covered in blue ruffles, lace bows and long skirts, ones that weighed down her body in an uncomfortable manner. The accents of the dress bothered her. They’re blue, not silver. 

The dress honoured a family, but not hers. 

Blue was the Alirian Court’s signature colour - those of the royal family. 

The gown was a stranger, and certainly not the one she had dreamt of. It was not the one she had chosen. But then again, every choice she had made about the wedding so far had been ignored, why should her own attire be any different? She sighed at herself, the smile she wore matched the dress. Lies. Masks. All to please everyone but her.

She buried her hands in her skirts, lifting them enough to catch a glimpse of the shoes that threatened to cut off her circulation. She could not help but grimace. Her slippers were made of glass. If I’m lucky, they’ll shatter and stop me from walking.As much as she fancied the idea, something else broke instead. Her peaceful isolation. The Maidens returned. They strained to see over one another, hovering in the doorway. A chorus of “Oohs” and “Aahs” gave her a strong urge to rip out her hair. She did not feel like herself, but deep down she already knew she would never feel like that again. Not if she went through with the wedding.

The Maidens’ attention broke away from her, looking down the corridor as though they were being summoned, and Edeva did not doubt it. It’s a busy day for everyone. With a chorus of gasps, they rushed off, leaving the door to close on its own. 

She studied her face once more in the mirror. The blue of her eyes seemed different, she suspected that they were darker because of the clouded turmoil stirring in her veins with each passing moment. This day was not her dream, it was a nightmare.

Briefly, the turmoil was surpassed by relief. 

If the Maidens were rushing off, it meant she still had time. Time to see Mama, she will know what to do about all of this, about me. Edeva hesitated, glaring at her slippers. The moment that she returned, she planned to get rid of them, but for now, she had to go.

She hovered in front of the door, thinking of a plan.

Two guards would be stationed outside, as usual. She needed to get past them without a fuss. It was only a matter of how. Edeva opened the door, sticking her head out to smile at the two gentlemen assigned to her protection. They wore embroidered blue suits, a much more regal look than that of a typical Guardsman uniform. They’re going to be front and centre at the ceremony, it seems I’m not the only one who needs to look my best.

“Good day gentlemen, I’m just going to visit my mother,” She pressed a hand to her throat, laughing nervously, “It’s bridal nerves you see. I won’t be long.” She put on a girlish giggle as she stepped out of her room, even if doing so made her internally retch.

“My lady, you really should stay inside until it’s time.” The guard to her left sounded uncertain, looking at his counterpart with caution. The other guard remained silent, the only sign of his annoyance remained in the narrowing of his eyes as he looked her over, almost as if he was searching for an ulterior motive. Edeva held the sweet smile on her face, engaging in further conversation with the more social of the two. “I won’t leave the Palace, don’t worry. But I think I’d like to see my mother now, and as I said, I won’t be long.”

She moved past them, hitching up her dress to give herself further room to walk, whilst ensuring that she kept her strides quick and steady, hastening along the corridor. Behind her, the guards spluttered their objections, all of which she ignored. They can’t follow me. They’ve been ordered to remain right there. No-one else needs to know that I ever left my room. It seems getting past them wasn’t so difficult after all. She sighed in relief as she rounded the corner from her room’s more private corridor, moving into a longer one adjoining the rest of the Palace. Now, Mama ought to be in the West Wing, which isn’t far away, thank the High-Mother. Edeva set off, determined to have a talk with her before the time came for her life to change, and for her opinions to die alongside it.

* * * * *

The Palace staircases were as grand as they were tall. A chandelier watched over the stairs, coating each step with a slither of light that made the marble appear less straining on the eyes, and almost welcoming. The gentle feel very nearly tricked her body into thinking the Palace was just as warm, but the sharp pain in her feet made her know better. Each step sent minuscule daggers of pain tearing at her skin. The first chance I get, I am shattering these blasted things.She found a moment of respite on a landing. 

“Who in their right mind would create something like these?” Edeva spoke aloud, mumbling to herself. She had had enough. The slippers came off with ease, to her relief, as she freed her feet from the confines of the glass cage. The coldness of the floor numbed her soles, rendering them immune to further pain as she continued her trek to the upper floor of the Palace’s Western Wing.

The stairs seemed to melt into the carpeted floor, giving way to a familiar corridor. Edeva approached the first door on the right, letting herself in. 

Mama’s quarters feel larger than I remember. She noted, taking in the rooms. The parlour was a respectable size, furnished with the typical necessities - the only thing that stuck out to Edeva was the blue chaise that took up the centre of everything. And lounging upon it was the woman Edeva had come to see.

Mama. 

The smell of lavender greeted her. Aldora Vitaire held a powerful and yet gentle countenance about her, and it made Edeva wonder, How did a woman like her manage to ensnare the great Conteir Cordell, who lowers himself to no-one? He’s fearless. Except when he’s around her. You would think the titles were the other way around - she has none by birthright and he does. As do I. 

The thought of titles saddened her with the reminder of her ancestral home. I wish I was back there again, but I can’t be. I’m here, She cleared her head of nostalgic thoughts and returned her attention to her mother. She looked lost in a dream, gazing at the ceiling with a distant smile on her face. Edeva could see so much of herself in her, the eyes, the posture, many parts of her and her father made up who she was. Except for the hair. Neither her mother or father had hair quite like it. No-one had ever been able to explain it, but Edeva accepted her hair just as she did every other part of herself.

 Studying her mother’s dreamy gaze, sadness tugged at her heartstrings. The dreamily distant gaze had grown more visible with the passing weeks. As powerful as she is, it isn’t enough. Her mind’s slipping away, slowly. And lately, it’s been getting worse. None of the healers have been able to help.

“Mama?” Edeva spoke softly, kneeling down by the chaise. 

“Is it time already?” Aldora slowly turned her head, letting out a sigh. 

Edeva placed a hand on her mother’s arm, smiling. “Not quite yet, I just needed to see you.”

“Edeva, is that you?” Her blue eyes examined every inch of her face, gently questioning with a single look.

“Yes, it’s me, Mama.” She stared at her mother’s eyes patiently, watching recognition gradually lighten her irises. Her eyes crinkled at the edges as she smiled. “Edeva. My sweet, sweet girl.” Aldora reached for an item resting in her lap, a necklace, one Edeva recognised. White chain, silver jewels adorning a crystal pendant - this is her most treasured piece of jewellery. She glanced at her mother, brows furrowed in confusion. “Mama?”

“This will look lovely on you my dear.” Aldora patted her hand, sitting up on the chaise. Edeva held still as she clasped the necklace around her neck. She reached up to touch the pendant, clutching it gently. “Mama, I couldn’t, this is yours.”

Aldora tutted, giving her shoulder a fond pat. “And now it is yours. It suits you.” She could see the small twinkle in her mother’s blue eyes. She had inherited them from her, and the crystal pendant very nearly presented an identical colour when it caught the light just right, sitting at the base of her throat. She stared at the crystal, inhaling slowly to gather herself.

The time has come. I can’t put this off any longer. “I need to ask you something.”

Her mother’s gaze had changed, subtly, but Edeva knew enough by now to notice the difference. She’s gone again. 

“It’s not just a necklace, you know. Crystals know things.” Her words were so quiet that Edeva only just caught them.

“Not just a necklace?” She repeated carefully, lifting the necklace from her neck. She rubbed her thumb over the crystal. “It’s only a crystal Mama, nothing more, though it is lovely.” Aldora’s hand suddenly touched her cheek, cupping it with gentle fingers. “Edeva. Everything will be all right, this is for the best my dear. For you. For everyone.”

“But what if I don’t…” Her weak protest trailed off, her throat choking up. I never wanted this day. I’ve been putting it off for so long, praying against it, and it’s here. All too soon. Edeva cleared her throat. “What if I don’t want to marry him?”

Aldora gave her a knowing smile, tipping her chin up with her index finger. “You are a Vitaire. You will know what to do when the time is right. You can do whatever you set your mind to. Vitaires do not fall. We stand. And we stay standing. As will you.” Edeva threw her arms around her mother, swallowing a sob. The older woman patted her back affectionately.  “Thank you.” She took a shaking deep breath. “I know I should want this… But I don’t.” She pulled away from her mother’s warm embrace. “I-I can’t do this.”

Aldora took Edeva’s hand, putting it against the pendant, her fingers making her hold it.“In all the eighteen years of your life, I knew there would never again be someone as strong as you. You need to use that strength now my child. You can do this. Let the High-Mother guide you.” Edeva’s fingers tightened around the pendant with such force a part of her feared it would break.

“Come along Edeva, it’s time now.” Her mother offered her a gentle smile, though Edeva did not miss the way it failed to reach her eyes, as her own so often did.

Reluctantly, Edeva pulled on her slippers, once more the glass threatened to crush her feet. Fearful of her legs buckling beneath her, she found herself taking her mother’s arm.

It’s time then, time for the ceremony, time to say goodbye to myself, and to life as I know it.

~ ~ ~

now for the tag list!

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@humbly-a-doppelganger @imawholeassmood @frostedlemonwriter @yrndrgn @abditorywriting

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[stumbling-towards-the-light]

Free Folk & Their Adaptive Strategy

Adaptive strategy was a term first coined in 1974 by anthropologist Yehudi Cohen to describe a society's means of economic production. Cohen also further postulated that certain means of economic production adopted by a society also led said society to adopt certain social features, by which I mean shared political organization, and similar ways of choosing leadership, if they had any.

Now, in most anthropological circles, it's generally agreed there are five adaptive strategies to be linked to five types of political organization. This is a general pattern across a majority of human societies, but not a written-in-stone rule; some societies do not land in these neat, categorized boxes. However, this is a fictional culture, so for the sake of mine and the dear reader's sanity, we are going to assume the Free Folk fall into these categories.

It is largely implied that the Free Folk's main adaptive strategy is foraging, employing “traditional” hunter-gatherer means of survival. Now we see some Free Folk use pastoralist means of survival, with mentions of sheepfolds and pigstys found in various Free Folk villages, as well as a mention of a reindeer herding, however, baseline the Free Folk are foragers. Usually, in forager societies, the main type of political organization are bands, relatively small groups of people all tied together by some form of kinship. This seems to be supported in the text itself, where Jon refers to Rattleshirts’ group as a “band” several times.

This type of society does not lend itself well to permanent homes, usually moving seasonally in accordance with where herds of wild animals have moved. The idea of private property is virtually nonexistent. However, there are reports of forager societies all coming together in one place, usually when there is a surplus of food. This occasion is usually treated like a holiday, with lots of celebrating, dancing, singing, and trading being done.

Leadership: Fascinatingly enough, forager leadership structure is usually based around who can give the most, rather than who is the strongest or the toughest. This is due to the tendency of forager societies to develop social mores involving hospitality and shared social responsibility. 

Social Values: We already know the Free Folk hold proper hospitality to be absolutely sacred, with even Crastor, the worst of the worst, following it like gospel. (He is not the one to break hospitality during the Night’s Watch coup, after all.) The shared social responsibility part is simply an expansion of this core idea. If you can’t even take care of your own, why should your hospitality, your word be trusted? Societies like this one, also will ostracize any hoarders who take more than they need. We see this pattern with Crastor, with every other Free Folk we meet despising him. Granted, this is probably due to his practice of marrying his daughters, but he is also the only Free Folk to have a designated “keep”, where his family lives, with it’s own pigsty and sheepfold. Every other pigsty and/or sheepfold we see north of the Wall, appears to be shared. Some of that disgust could also be due to his hoarding tendencies.  

Gender Roles: White there is the traditional idea of men doing the hunting and fishing and women doing the majority of the foraging, these roles are not set in stone by any means. Again, this is supported by the text, where both men and women are raiders and accepted leaders of their groups. This is even supported in the Free Folks’ concept of marriage, which doesn’t seem to be set in stone. They do have a concept of one man and one woman being tied together, but it doesn;t seem that the two are bound by marriage; there is no expectation of fidelity for either party, or at least there are no social consequences for sleeping with someone who isn’t your spouse. This kind of openness is usually found in societies that give their women a lot more freedom.

Religion: Due to their heavy reliance on the land, almost all foraging societies are animistic, worshiping the spirits found in and around nature, rather than a specific, titled entity. Again seen in the Free Folk, who worship the Old Gods, nameless spirits inhabiting the world around them. 

Inheritance Customs: As there is no concept of private property, there is no concept of someone inheriting that private property. Further support the Free Folks’ lax gender roles. When there is nothing to inherit, why should there be a huge fuss over whose child is whose child? Why should a husband need to control who his wife sleeps with, when he has nothing to pass down? 

Descent Customs: Forager societies are often bilineal, children are considered to be descended from both parents and thus kin to both parents’ extended families. This is a way to ensure that there will always be someone to rely on in hard times. I see no reason why the Free Folk would not adopt a similar strategy. 

This is just some of the things, affected by the Free Folks’ larger adaptive strategy, there are probably a hundred more different ways this idea could be expressed. But anyway, let me know what you think!

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter VI. Fourth Period. — Monopoly

1. — Necessity of monopoly.

Thus monopoly is the inevitable end of competition, which engenders it by a continual denial of itself: this generation of monopoly is already its justification. For, since competition is inherent in society as motion is in living beings, monopoly which comes in its train, which is its object and its end, and without which competition would not have been accepted, — monopoly is and will remain legitimate as long as competition, as long as mechanical processes and industrial combinations, as long, in fact, as the division of labor and the constitution of values shall be necessities and laws.

Therefore by the single fact of its logical generation monopoly is justified. Nevertheless this justification would seem of little force and would end only in a more energetic rejection of competition than ever, if monopoly could not in turn posit itself by itself and as a principle.

In the preceding chapters we have seen that division of labor is the specification of the workman considered especially as intelligence; that the creation of machinery and the organization of the workshop express his liberty; and that, by competition, man, or intelligent liberty, enters into action. Now, monopoly is the expression of victorious liberty, the prize of the struggle, the glorification of genius; it is the strongest stimulant of all the steps in progress taken since the beginning of the world: so true is this that, as we said just now, society, which cannot exist with it, would not have been formed without it.

Where, then, does monopoly get this singular virtue, which the etymology of the word and the vulgar aspect of the thing would never lead us to suspect?

Monopoly is at bottom simply the autocracy of man over himself: it is the dictatorial right accorded by nature to every producer of using his faculties as he pleases, of giving free play to his thought in whatever direction it prefers, of speculating, in such specialty as he may please to choose, with all the power of his resources, of disposing sovereignly of the instruments which he has created and of the capital accumulated by his economy for any enterprise the risks of which he may see fit to accept on the express condition of enjoying alone the fruits of his discovery and the profits of his venture.

This right belongs so thoroughly to the essence of liberty that to deny it is to mutilate man in his body, in his soul, and in the exercise of his faculties, and society, which progresses only by the free initiative of individuals, soon lacking explorers, finds itself arrested in its onward march.

It is time to give body to all these ideas by the testimony of facts.

I know a commune where from time immemorial there had been no roads either for the clearing of lands or for communication with the outside world. During three-fourths of the year all importation or exportation of goods was prevented; a barrier of mud and marsh served as a protection at once against any invasion from without and any excursion of the inhabitants of the holy and sacred community. Six horses, in the finest weather, scarcely sufficed to move a load that any jade could easily have taken over a good road. The mayor resolved, in spite of the council, to build a road through the town. For a long time he was derided, cursed, execrated. They had got along well enough without a road up to the time of his administration: why need he spend the money of the commune and waste the time of farmers in road-duty, cartage, and compulsory service? It was to satisfy his pride that Monsieur the Mayor desired, at the expense of the poor farmers, to open such a fine avenue for his city friends who would come to visit him! In spite of everything the road was made and the peasants applauded! What a difference! they said: it used to take eight horses to carry thirty sacks to market, and we were gone three days; now we start in the morning with two horses, and are back at night. But in all these remarks nothing further was heard of the mayor. The event having justified him, they spoke of him no more: most of them, in fact, as I found out, felt a spite against him.

This mayor acted after the manner of Aristides. Suppose that, wearied by the absurd clamor, he had from the beginning proposed to his constituents to build the road at his expense, provided they would pay him toll for fifty years, each, however, remaining free to travel through the fields, as in the past: in what respect would this transaction have been fraudulent?

That is the history of society and monopolists.

Everybody is not in a position to make a present to his fellow-citizens of a road or a machine: generally the inventor, after exhausting his health and substance, expects reward. Deny then, while still scoffing at them, to Arkwright, Watt, and Jacquard the privilege of their discoveries; they will shut themselves up in order to work, and possibly will carry their secret to the grave. Deny to the settler possession of the soil which he clears, and no one will clear it.

But, they say, is that true right, social right, fraternal right? That which is excusable on emerging from primitive communism, an effect of necessity, is only a temporary expedient which must disappear in face of a fuller understanding of the rights and duties of man and society.

I recoil from no hypothesis: let us see, let us investigate. It is already a great point that the opponents confess that, during the first period of civilization, things could not have gone otherwise. It remains to ascertain whether the institutions of this period are really, as has been said, only temporary, or whether they are the result of laws immanent in society and eternal. Now, the thesis which I maintain at this moment is the more difficult because in direct opposition to the general tendency, and because I must directly overturn it myself by its contradiction.

I pray, then, that I may be told how it is possible to make appeal to the principles of sociability, fraternity, and solidarity, when society itself rejects every solidary and fraternal transaction? At the beginning of each industry, at the first gleam of a discovery, the man who invents is isolated; society abandons him and remains in the background. To put it better, this man, relatively to the idea which he has conceived and the realization of which he pursues, becomes in himself alone entire society. He has no longer any associates, no longer any collaborators, no longer any sureties; everybody shuns him: on him alone falls the responsibility; to him alone, then, the advantages of the speculation.

But, it is insisted, this is blindness on the part of society, an abandonment of its most sacred rights and interests, of the welfare of future generations; and the speculator, better informed or more fortunate, cannot fairly profit by the monopoly which universal ignorance gives into his hands.

I maintain that this conduct on the part of society is, as far as the present is concerned, an act of high prudence; and, as for the future, I shall prove that it does not lose thereby. I have already shown in the second chapter, by the solution of the antinomy of value, that the advantage of every useful discovery is incomparably less to the inventor, whatever he may do, than to society; I have carried the demonstration of this point even to mathematical accuracy. Later I shall show further that, in addition to the profit assured it by every discovery, society exercises over the privileges which it concedes, whether temporarily or perpetually, claims of several kinds, which largely palliate the excess of certain private fortunes, and the effect of which is a prompt restoration of equilibrium. But let us not anticipate.

I observe, then, that social life manifests itself in a double fashion, — preservation and development.

Development is effected by the free play of individual energies; the mass is by its nature barren, passive, and hostile to everything new. It is, if I may venture to use the comparison, the womb, sterile by itself, but to which come to deposit themselves the germs created by private activity, which, in hermaphroditic society, really performs the function of the male organ.

But society preserves itself only so far as it avoids solidarity with private speculations and leaves every innovation absolutely to the risk and peril of individuals. It would take but a few pages to contain the list of useful inventions. The enterprises that have been carried to a successful issue may be numbered; no figure would express the multitude of false ideas and imprudent ventures which every day are hatched in human brains. There is not an inventor, not a workman, who, for one sane and correct conception, has not given birth to thousands of chimeras; not an intelligence which, for one spark of reason, does not emit whirlwinds of smoke. If it were possible to divide all the products of the human reason into two parts, putting on one side those that are useful, and on the other those on which strength, thought, capital, and time have been spent in error, we should be startled by the discovery that the excess of the latter over the former is perhaps a billion per cent. What would become of society, if it had to discharge these liabilities and settle all these bankruptcies? What, in turn, would become of the responsibility and dignity of the laborer, if, secured by the social guarantee, he could, without personal risk, abandon himself to all the caprices of a delirious imagination and trifle at every moment with the existence of humanity?

Wherefore I conclude that what has been practised from the beginning will be practised to the end, and that, on this point, as on every other, if our aim is reconciliation, it is absurd to think that anything that exists can be abolished. For, the world of ideas being infinite, like nature, and men, today as ever, being subject to speculation, — that is, to error, — individuals have a constant stimulus to speculate and society a constant reason to be suspicious and cautious, wherefore monopoly never lacks material.

To avoid this dilemma what is proposed? Compensation? In the first place, compensation is impossible: all values being monopolized, where would society get the means to indemnify the monopolists? What would be its mortgage? On the other hand, compensation would be utterly useless: after all the monopolies had been compensated, it would remain to organize industry. Where is the system? Upon what is opinion settled? What problems have been solved? If the organization is to be of the hierarchical type, we reenter the system of monopoly; if of the democratic, we return to the point of departure, for the compensated industries will fall into the public domain, — that is, into competition, — and gradually will become monopolies again; if, finally, of the communistic, we shall simply have passed from one impossibility to another, for, as we shall demonstrate at the proper time, communism, like competition and monopoly, is antinomical, impossible.

In order not to involve the social wealth in an unlimited and consequently disastrous solidarity, will they content themselves with imposing rules upon the spirit of invention and enterprise? Will they establish a censorship to distinguish between men of genius and fools? That is to suppose that society knows in advance precisely that which is to be discovered. To submit the projects of schemers to an advance examination is an a priori prohibition of all movement. For, once more, relatively to the end which he has in view, there is a moment when each manufacturer represents in his own person society itself, sees better and farther than all other men combined, and frequently without being able to explain himself or make himself understood. When Copernicus, Kepler, and Galileo, Newton’s predecessors, came to the point of saying to Christian society, then represented by the Church: “The Bible is mistaken; the earth revolves, and the sun is stationary,” they were right against society, which, on the strength of its senses and traditions, contradicted them. Could society then have accepted solidarity with the Copernican system? So little could it do it that this system openly denied its faith, and that, pending the accord of reason and revelation, Galileo, one of the responsible inventors, underwent torture in proof of the new idea. We are more tolerant, I presume; but this very toleration proves that, while according greater liberty to genius, we do not mean to be less discreet than our ancestors. Patents rain, but without governmental guarantee. Property titles are placed in the keeping of citizens, but neither the property list nor the charter guarantee their value: it is for labor to make them valuable. And as for the scientific and other missions which the government sometimes takes a notion to entrust to penniless explorers, they are so much extra robbery and corruption.

In fact, society can guarantee to no one the capital necessary for the testing of an idea by experiment; in right, it cannot claim the results of an enterprise to which it has not subscribed: therefore monopoly is indestructible. For the rest, solidarity would be of no service: for, as each can claim for his whims the solidarity of all and would have the same right to obtain the government’s signature in blank, we should soon arrive at the universal reign of caprice, — that is, purely and simply at the statu quo.

Some socialists, very unhappily inspired — I say it with all the force of my conscience — by evangelical abstractions, believe that they have solved the difficulty by these fine maxims: “Inequality of capacities proves the inequality of duties”; “You have received more from nature, give more to your brothers,” and other high-sounding and touching phrases, which never fail of their effect on empty heads, but which nevertheless are as simple as anything that it is possible to imagine. The practical formula deduced from these marvellous adages is that each laborer owes all his time to society, and that society should give back to him in exchange all that is necessary to the satisfaction of his wants in proportion to the resources at its disposal.

May my communistic friends forgive me! I should be less severe upon their ideas if I were not irreversibly convinced, in my reason and in my heart, that communism, republicanism, and all the social, political, and religious utopias which disdain facts and criticism, are the greatest obstacle which progress has now to conquer. Why will they never understand that fraternity can be established only by justice; that justice alone, the condition, means, and law of liberty and fraternity, must be the object of our study; and that its determination and formula must be pursued without relaxation, even to the minutest details? Why do writers familiar with economic language forget that superiority of talents is synonymous with superiority of wants, and that, instead of expecting more from vigorous than from ordinary personalities, society should constantly look out that they do not receive more than they render, when it is already so hard for the mass of mankind to render all that it receives? Turn which way you will, you must always come back to the cash book, to the account of receipts and expenditures, the sole guarantee against large consumers as well as against small producers. The workman continually lives in advance of his production; his tendency is always to get credit contract debts and go into bankruptcy; it is perpetually necessary to remind him of Say’s aphorism: Products are bought only with products.

To suppose that the laborer of great capacity will content himself, in favor of the weak, with half his wages, furnish his services gratuitously, and produce, as the people say, for the king of Prussia — that is, for that abstraction called society, the sovereign, or my brothers, — is to base society on a sentiment, I do not say beyond the reach of man, but one which, erected systematically into a principle, is only a false virtue, a dangerous hypocrisy. Charity is recommended to us as a reparation of the infirmities which afflict our fellows by accident, and, viewing it in this light, I can see that charity may be organized; I can see that, growing out of solidarity itself, it may become simply justice. But charity taken as an instrument of equality and the law of equilibrium would be the dissolution of society. Equality among men is produced by the rigorous and inflexible law of labor, the proportionality of values, the sincerity of exchanges, and the equivalence of functions, — in short, by the mathematical solution of all antagonisms.

That is why charity, the prime virtue of the Christian, the legitimate hope of the socialist, the object of all the efforts of the economist, is a social vice the moment it is made a principle of constitution and a law; that is why certain economists have been able to say that legal charity had caused more evil in society than proprietary usurpation. Man, like the society of which he is a part, has a perpetual account current with himself; all that he consumes he must produce. Such is the general rule, which no one can escape without being, ipso facto struck with dishonor or suspected of fraud. Singular idea, truly, — that of decreeing, under pretext of fraternity, the relative inferiority of the majority of men! After this beautiful declaration nothing will be left but to draw its consequences; and soon, thanks to fraternity, aristocracy will be restored.

Double the normal wages of the workman, and you invite him to idleness, humiliate his dignity, and demoralize his conscience; take away from him the legitimate price of his efforts, and you either excite his anger or exalt his pride. In either case you damage his fraternal feelings. On the contrary, make enjoyment conditional upon labor, the only way provided by nature to associate men and make them good and happy, and you go back under the law of economic distribution, products are bought with products. Communism, as I have often complained, is the very denial of society in its foundation, which is the progressive equivalence of functions and capacities. The communists, toward whom all socialism tends, do not believe in equality by nature and education; they supply it by sovereign decrees which they cannot carry out, whatever they may do. Instead of seeking justice in the harmony of facts, they take it from their feelings, calling justice everything that seems to them to be love of one’s neighbor, and incessantly confounding matters of reason with those of sentiment.

Why then continually interject fraternity, charity, sacrifice, and God into the discussion of economic questions? May it not be that the utopists find it easier to expatiate upon these grand words than to seriously study social manifestations?

Fraternity! Brothers as much as you please, provided I am the big brother and you the little; provided society, our common mother, honors my primogeniture and my services by doubling my portion. You will provide for my wants, you say, in proportion to your resources. I intend, on the contrary, that such provision shall be in proportion to my labor; if not, I cease to labor.

Charity! I deny charity; it is mysticism. In vain do you talk to me of fraternity and love: I remain convinced that you love me but little, and I feel very sure that I do not love you. Your friendship is but a feint, and, if you love me, it is from self-interest. I ask all that my products cost me, and only what they cost me: why do you refuse me?

Sacrifice! I deny sacrifice; it is mysticism. Talk to me of debt and credit, the only criterion in my eyes of the just and the unjust, of good and evil in society. To each according to his works, first; and if, on occasion, I am impelled to aid you, I will do it with a good grace; but I will not be constrained. To constrain me to sacrifice is to assassinate me.

God! I know no God; mysticism again. Begin by striking this word from your remarks, if you wish me to listen to you; for three thousand years of experience have taught me that whoever talks to me of God has designs on my liberty or on my purse. How much do you owe me? How much do I owe you? That is my religion and my God.

Monopoly owes its existence both to nature and to man: it has its source at once in the profoundest depths of our conscience and in the external fact of our individualization. Just as in our body and our mind everything has its specialty and property, so our labor presents itself with a proper and specific character, which constitutes its quality and value. And as labor cannot manifest itself without material or an object for its exercise, the person necessarily attracting the thing, monopoly is established from subject to object as infallibly as duration is constituted from past to future. Bees, ants, and other animals living in society seem endowed individually only with automatism; with them soul and instinct are almost exclusively collective. That is why, among such animals, there can be no room for privilege and monopoly; why, even in their most volitional operations, they neither consult nor deliberate. But, humanity being individualized in its plurality, man becomes inevitably a monopolist, since, if not a monopolist, he is nothing; and the social problem is to find out, not how to abolish, but how to reconcile, all monopolies.

The most remarkable and the most immediate effects of monopoly are:

1. In the political order, the classification of humanity into families, tribes, cities, nations, States: this is the elementary division of humanity into groups and sub-groups of laborers, distinguished by race, language, customs, and climate. It was by monopoly that the human race took possession of the globe, as it will be by association that it will become complete sovereign thereof.

Political and civil law, as conceived by all legislators with-out exception and as formulated by jurists, born of this patriotic and national organization of societies, forms, in the series of social contradictions, a first and vast branch, the study of which by itself alone would demand four times more time than we can give it in discussing the question of industrial economy propounded by the Academy.

2. In the economic order, monopoly contributes to the increase of comfort, in the first place by adding to the general wealth through the perfecting of methods, and then by CAPITALIZING, — that is, by consolidating the conquests of labor obtained by division, machinery, and competition. From this effect of monopoly has resulted the economic fiction by which the capitalist is considered a producer and capital an agent of production; then, as a consequence of this fiction, the theory of net product and gross product.

On this point we have a few considerations to present. First let us quote J. B. Say:

The value produced is the gross product: after the costs of production have been deducted, this value is the net product.

Considering a nation as a whole, it has no net product; for, as products have no value beyond the costs of production, when these costs are cut off, the entire value of the product is cut off. National production, annual production, should always therefore be understood as gross production.

The annual revenue is the gross revenue.

The term net production is applicable only when considering the interests of one producer in opposition to those of other producers. The manager of an enterprise gets his profit from the value produced after deducting the value consumed. But what to him is value consumed, such as the purchase of a productive service, is so much income to the performer of the service. — Treatise on Political Economy: Analytical Table.

These definitions are irreproachable. Unhappily J. B. Say did not see their full bearing, and could not have foreseen that one day his immediate successor at the College of France would attack them. M. Rossi has pretended to refute the proposition of J. B. Say that to a nation net product is the same thing as gross product by this consideration, — that nations, no more than individuals of enterprise, can produce without advances, and that, if J. B. Say’s formula were true, it would follow that the axiom, Ex nihilo nihil fit, is not true

Now, that is precisely what happens. Humanity, in imitation of God, produces everything from nothing, de nihilo hilum just as it is itself a product of nothing, just as its thought comes out of the void; and M. Rossi would not have made such a mistake, if, like the physiocrats, he had not confounded the products of the industrial kingdom with those of the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms. Political economy begins with labor; it is developed by labor; and all that does not come from labor, falling into the domain of pure utility, — that is, into the category of things submitted to man’s action, but not yet rendered exchangeable by labor, — remains radically foreign to political economy. Monopoly itself, wholly established as it is by a pure act of collective will, does not change these relations at all, since, according to history, and according to the written law, and according to economic theory, monopoly exists, or is reputed to exist, only after labor’s appearance.

Say’s doctrine, therefore, is unassailable. Relatively to the man of enterprise, whose specialty always supposes other manufacturers cooperating with him, profit is what remains of the value produced after deducting the values consumed, among which must be included the salary of the man of enterprise, — in other words, his wages. Relatively to society, which contains all possible specialties, net product is identical with gross product.

But there is a point the explanation of which I have vainly sought in Say and in the other economists, — to wit, how the reality and legitimacy of net product is established. For it is plain that, in order to cause the disappearance of net product, it would suffice to increase the wages of the workmen and the price of the values consumed, the selling-price remaining the same. So that, there being nothing seemingly to distinguish net product from a sum withheld in paying wages or, what amounts to the same thing, from an assessment laid upon the consumer in advance, net product has every appearance of an extortion effected by force and without the least show of right.

This difficulty has been solved in advance in our theory of the proportionality of values.

According to this theory, every exploiter of a machine, of an idea, or of capital should be considered as a man who increases with equal outlay the amount of a certain kind of products, and consequently increases the social wealth by economizing time. The principle of the legitimacy of the net product lies, then, in the processes previously in use: if the new device succeeds, there will be a surplus of values, and consequently a profit, -that is, net product; if the enterprise rests on a false basis, there will be a deficit in the gross product, and in the long run failure and bankruptcy. Even in the case — and it is the most frequent — where there is no innovation on the part of the man of enterprise, the rule of net product remains applicable, for the success of an industry depends upon the way in which it is carried on. Now, it being in accordance with the nature of monopoly that the risk and peril of every enterprise should be taken by the initiator, it follows that the net product belongs to him by the most sacred title recognized among men, — labor and intelligence.

It is useless to recall the fact that the net product is often exaggerated, either by fraudulently secured reductions of wages or in some other way. These are abuses which proceed, not from the principle, but from human cupidity, and which remain outside the domain of the theory. For the rest, I have shown, in discussing the constitution of value (Chapter II, section 2): 1, how the net product can never exceed the difference resulting from inequality of the means of production; 2, how the profit which society reaps from each new invention is incomparably greater than that of its originator. As these points have been exhausted once for all, I will not go over them again; I will simply remark that, by industrial progress, the net product of the ingenious tends steadily to decrease, while, on the other hand, their comfort increases, as the concentric layers which make up the trunk of a tree become thinner as the tree grows and as they are farther removed from the centre.

By the side of net product, the natural reward of the laborer, I have pointed out as one of the happiest effects of monopoly the capitalization of values, from which is born another sort of profit, — namely, interest, or the hire of capital. As for rent, although it is often confounded with interest, and although, in ordinary language, it is included with profit and interest under the common expression REVENUE, it is a different thing from interest; it is a consequence, not of monopoly, but of property; it depends on a special theory., of which we will speak in its place.

What, then, is this reality, known to all peoples, and never-theless still so badly defined, which is called interest or the price of a loan, and which gives rise to the fiction of the productivity of capital?

Everybody knows that a contractor, when he calculates his costs of production, generally divides them into three classes: 1, the values consumed and services paid for; 2, his personal salary; 3, recovery of his capital with interest. From this last class of costs is born the distinction between contractor and capitalist, although these two titles always express but one faculty, monopoly.

Thus an industrial enterprise which yields only interest on capital and nothing for net product, is an insignificant enterprise, which results only in a transformation of values without adding anything to wealth, — an enterprise, in short, which has no further reason for existence and is immediately abandoned. Why is it, then, that this interest on capital is not regarded as a sufficient supplement of net product? Why is it not itself the net product?

Here again the philosophy of the economists is wanting. To defend usury they have pretended that capital was productive, and they have changed a metaphor into a reality. The anti-proprietary socialists have had no difficulty in overturning their sophistry; and through this controversy the theory of capital has fallen into such disfavor that today, in the minds of the people, capitalist and idler are synonymous terms. Certainly it is not my intention to retract what I myself have maintained after so many others, or to rehabilitate a class of citizens which so strangely misconceives its duties: but the interests of science and of the proletariat itself oblige me to complete my first assertions and maintain true principles.

1. All production is effected with a view to consumption, — that is, to enjoyment. In society the correlative terms production and consumption, like net product and gross product, designate identically the same thing. If, then, after the laborer has realized a net product, instead of using it to increase his comfort, he should confine himself to his wages and steadily apply his surplus to new production, as so many people do who earn only to buy, production would increase indefinitely, while comfort and, reasoning from the standpoint of society, population would remain unchanged. Now, interest on capital which has been invested in an industrial enterprise and which has been gradually formed by the accumulation of net product, is a sort of compromise between the necessity of increasing production, on the one hand, and, on the other, that of increasing comfort; it is a method of reproducing and consuming the net product at the same time. That is why certain industrial societies pay their stockholders a dividend even before the enterprise has yielded anything. Life is short, success comes slowly; on the one hand labor commands, on the other man wishes to enjoy. To meet all these exigencies the net product shall be devoted to production, but meantime (inter-ea, inter-esse) — that is, while waiting for the new product — the capitalist shall enjoy.

Thus, as the amount of net product marks the progress of wealth, interest on capital, without which net product would be useless and would not even exist, marks the progress of comfort. Whatever the form of government which may be established among men; whether they live in monopoly or in communism; whether each laborer keeps his account by credit and debit, or has his labor and pleasure parcelled out to him by the community, — the law which we have just disengaged will always be fulfilled. Our interest accounts do nothing else than bear witness to it.

2. Values created by net product are classed as savings and capitalized in the most highly exchangeable form, the form which is freest and least susceptible of depreciation, — in a word, the form of specie, the only constituted value. Now, if capital leaves this state of freedom and engages itself, — that is, takes the form of machines, buildings, etc., — it will still be susceptible of exchange, but much more exposed than before to the oscillations of supply and demand. Once engaged, it cannot be disenaged without difficulty; and the sole resource of its owner will be exploitation. Exploitation alone is capable of maintaining engaged capital at its nominal value; it may increase it, it may diminish it. Capital thus transformed is as if it had been risked in a maritime enterprise: the interest is the insurance premium paid on the capital. And this premium will be greater or less according to the scarcity or abundance of capital.

Later a distinction will also be established between the insurance premium and interest on capital, and new facts will result from this subdivision: thus the history of humanity is simply a perpetual distinction of the mind’s concepts.

3. Not only does interest on capital cause the laborer to enjoy the fruit of his toil and insure his savings, but — and this is the most marvellous effect of interest — while rewarding the producer, it obliges him to labor incessantly and never stop.

If a contractor is his own capitalist, it may happen that he will content himself with a profit equal to the interest on his investment: but in that case it is certain that his industry is no longer making progress and consequently is suffering. This we see when the capitalist is distinct from the contractor: for then, after the interest is paid, the manufacturer’s profit is absolutely nothing; his industry becomes a perpetual peril to him, from which it is important that he should free himself as soon as possible. For as society’s comfort must develop in an indefinite progression, so the law of the producer is that he should continually realize a surplus: otherwise his existence is precarious, monotonous, fatiguing. The interest due to the capitalist by the producer therefore is like the lash of the planter cracking over the head of the sleeping slave; it is the voice of progress crying: “On, on! Toil, toil!” Man’s destiny pushes him to happiness: that is why it denies him rest.

4. Finally, interest on money is the condition of capital’s circulation and the chief agent of industrial solidarity. This aspect has been seized by all the economists, and we shall give it special treatment when we come to deal with credit.

I have proved, and better, I imagine, than it has ever been proved before:

That monopoly is necessary, since it is the antagonism of competition;

That it is essential to society, since without it society would never have emerged from the primeval forests and without it would rapidly go backwards;

Finally, that it is the crown of the producer, when, whether by net product or by interest on the capital which he devotes to production, it brings to the monopolist that increase of comfort which his foresight and his efforts deserve.

Shall we, then, with the economists, glorify monopoly, and consecrate it to the benefit of well-secured conservatives? I am willing, provided they in turn will admit my claims in what is to follow, as I have admitted theirs in what has preceded.

[houseboywife]

The tale of the three Ornsteins: a Dark Souls identity theft story

Dragonslayer Ornstein is one of the most iconic characters in Dark Souls, and for a good reason. His design is incredible, and his fight in tandem with Smough is one of the best in the series to this day. It is therefore interesting to see how strangely handled is actual in-game presence his. I am perfectly aware that a lot of this is a result of somewhat inelegant retcons, but I will attempt to bridge all of the information together to paint a picture that I find to be, if not completely satisfying, at least consistent with what I believed happened to our good old dragonslayer.

Let's start with what we learn in Dark Souls 1, which is the most straightforward. Ornstein is a being of incredible strength as the leader of the Four Knights of Gwyn, Lordran's elite soldiers who are all unquestionably loyal to their Lord. Unfortunately, by the time of Dark Souls 1, the other Knights have either died or left, so he's left alone guarding the capital City of Anor Londo. He's however joined by his good buddy Executioner Smough: and by good buddy I mean insane psycho. Smough was considered as a candidate for the position of Knight of Gwyn, but the recruiters probably changed their minds after learning that he enjoys grinding the bones of people in his meals. Also, not a surprise, he really enjoys murder.

Anyway, the important point being is that Ornstein and Smough are guarding the chamber to Gwynevere, and fight you to the death if you want to go in. This begs a question: why exactly? Gwynevere is an illusion concocted by Gwyndolin, since she has left Anor Londo long ago. Hell, Gwyndolin is actively trying to get some poor sucker to link the fire, which would require you to get the Lordvessel, which is given to you by Gwynevere/Gwyndolin. Who also doesn't seem to be particularly concerned by the two strongest knights in the realm having just died.

So the main hypothesis is that Ornstein and Smough have been placed there by Gwyndolin to test you. After all the linking of the fire is a sacred act, and you'd wanna make sure that the person you send to do it would actually be able to: after all, as shown by Dark Souls 3, you can actually fail to link the fire. So perhaps, as I said, what Gwyndolin is doing is testing you: and I get using Smough for the task, considering that everyone hates him and he also is probably willing to prove himself to join the Knights, but Ornstein? At the twilight of the kingdom of Lordran, what use is there to having the strongest knight left sacrifice himself to test a random Undead? Well, hold on that thought. For now, let's just say that the Chosen Undead kills both and proceeds to link the flame, or walk away from it.

Back with a vengeance

So let's move on to Dark Souls 2 now. Here we are in Drangleic, a completely different land set after Dark Souls 1. Which makes it very strange that in that game you can find an "Old Dragonslayer", identical to Ornstein, chilling in a church.

Now, let's not beat around the bush here: this is probably an impostor (among us????). A couple things make it pretty clear: first off, instead of using lightning attacks he wields darkness, which doesn't mean much in itself: however the Soul that you get from this boss says that "the Old Dragonslayer is reminiscent of a certain knight that appears in old legends", I'm leaning towards him being just an imitator. After all, beings with Fire Souls (Is it even a thing? You get what I mean) aren't able to come back from death, and killing Ornstein is mandatory to the story of Dark Souls 1, which we know already happened by the time of 2. The only alternative is that the Ornstein in Dark Souls 1 was an illusion, but that would be a bit silly, right?

The Ornstein in Dark Souls 1 was an illusion

Well, uh, this is awkward. Dark Souls 3 comes in and, with extreme confidence, makes everything so much more confusing. This is becaus, after defeating Gwyn's firstborn, the Nameless King, you find none other than Ornstein's armor. But hey, it could be just a repli-

Golden armor associated with Dragonslayer Ornstein, from the age of gods, and imbued with the strength of lightning. In the dragonless age, this knight, who long guarded the ruined cathedral, left the land in search of the nameless king.

Uhhhh, let's check Smough's armor maybe?

Grotesque armor associated with Smough, the last knight to stand in defense of the ruined cathedral.

Well, at least now we know that the Old Dragonslayer was a faker????

Ok ok so, what happened? It seems like that, before the events of Dark Souls 1, Ornstein left his post to search for the Nameless King, and left Smough behind in Anor Londo. So well, the logical explanation is that the first one you fight is actually an illusion made by Gwyndolin. But! The "illusion" also drops Ornstein's own Souls behind. Now, this is a bit of a pickle.

Before I go further, let me clarify something: Gwyndolin is also a character you can kill in Dark Souls 1 that returns in Dark Souls 3, but his fight is optional, and likely considered non canonical in 3. After all, there are other characters you can murder that show up again, the difference is that Ornstein is as far from optional as you can get.

So let's entertain that the Dragonslayer is an illusion: why does he drop his Soul, then ? I have an idea of what could have happned. First off, in Anor Londo you fight sever other illusions fashioned by Gwyndolin that all drop souls upon death. This, to me, seems to suggest that our favorite god of ambigous gender can't just conjure something out of nothing: they need souls.

Here's another piece of the puzzle: in the Dark Souls universe you can totally detach at least part of your soul from your body and be none the wiser. We see this with Gwyn, who gave a portion of his Souls to the Four Kings and other loyal subjects, and with Vendrick who, perhaps in shame, locked his own Soul away in the Shrine of Amana before going hollow. So I believe that the most likely explanation is that Ornstein, before departing to find the Nameless King, left his Soul (or a portion of it) to Gwyndolin in order for them to fashion an illusory guardian out of his likeness. Smough was there too, I guess. Probably Gwyndolin just wanted to get rid of him. That makes everything work out, more or less!

So let's answer one last question. Why did Ornstein seek the Nameless King? I've seen some people say that he was loyal to him all along, and some particularly creative theories state that he transformed into the dragon that the Firstborn rides. I find this to be a somewhat unsatisfactory explanation. Particularly the dragon part, of course, because the only character we ever saw meddle in dragon transformation experiments was Aldia who is probably the smartest person in the entire world, and even he didn't really get it perfectly right. Also there is absolutely zero evidence of it. Regarding the rest, well, I suppose it would be possible that Ornstein was loyal to the Nameless King, but why? He is a dragonslayer, after all, and the King was cast away specifically for having betrayed the gods in favor of the dragons (as a sidenote, the fact that the Ring of the Firstborn in Dark Souls 1 is slightly mistranslated and it made people think that he was banished for "losing the annals" is very funny. He was lost to the annals, there's no magical item named "the annals" which he lost lmao).

Anyway, I think Ornstein left to confront the Nameless King over his betrayal: perhaps he did so once his location on the Archdragon Peak became known. Talk to him? Kill him? Who knows. But is significative that the Dragonslayer Armor is found in the Nameless King's boss arena. I think that him and Ornstein engaged in a fight and, perhaps weakened by the lack of his Soul, the latter was defeated and died there. Whether this happened before or after Dark Souls 1 I do not know, but I have a feeling that this is how the warrior met his demise.

Now, why did From Software decide to add this lore in Dark Souls 3 I have no idea, considering it's very marginal in the game itself and it could have easily been left unsaid. Perhaps this was the plan all along. I will admit that not getting to fight the real Ornstein is somewhat disappointing, but also having him show up in person in Dark Souls 3 would have been a bit much. Even then, one thing is certain: despite never actually meeting him, he's certainly a memorable guy.

[crying-fantasies]

Rodimus wasn't ready to be a creator P3

Masterlist

Part 1 | part 2 | part 3: it's never simple | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10

When the news of a techno-organic in Cybertron was everything that could be heard around it was little to nothing in what the council could do to try and prevent the talks about the "thing", as how they called it because no one was even sure that a new spark touched by an organic could react in such way.

If Rodimus wasn't there to help the organic in time, the flesh in it's body would have burned down.

But now they had a very drained human with the littlest sparkling they've ever seen between it's tiny arms and protected by a whole soft body that was kneeling down in front of them.

"Please, don't take him away"

Humans are creatures that bond deeply even when they lack a spark, a heart is what they have and it is kind of similar, they have this groups called "families" that share the same genetic code to some degree or the same ideas.

The human is there, kneeling in front of the council while the new spark is doing little chirping noises, it doesn't take much before Rodimus takes place next to his conjunx, the sparkling is moving little servos in his direction while cooing, it was already bizarre enough to see this kind of couple, they weren't the first ones to announce their conjunx endura status as a bot and human pair, but they were the very first ones to do such a thing as to give life to a creature like that.

Who could have thought that this was a result of letting a human near a hot spot, a sacred place, only to have it drag a spark out with it's bare hands.

It was supposed to be something totally diplomatic, to show that the previous incidents between the two races were gone and forgotten.

"You were quite the surprise you know?" Energon snacks were always good, especially the digit sized ones, but Rodimus always preferred the energex above it, "your carrier saw your spark that day, floating around and had the urge to go and touch it" he was smiling remembering the day almost as it happened a few solar circles ago.

Rodimus had the right to feel like that, his son finally was next to him, willingly, both consuming energon along and hearing human music, the very same playlist that his conjux made for him many years ago.

"You were like a deal of peace, especially after Optimus and Ratchet finally said a word about that other techno-organic kid, but apparently you are the first one to have some genetic bond with a human and a bot" Rodimus landed his optics at his son, his sparkling, red optics looking at nothing in front of them, the natural darkness of space, even if everyone always said that they both looked exactly the same, more in the fact that, yes, Sunset looked a lot like him when he was a youngling, when he was Hot Rod, he always thought different, his son looked like you, when Sunny was younger his optics had a color similar to yours, pretty much different from his upgraded red optics.

He misses it, sometimes, because when Sunny smiles, which is rare this years, Rodimus can swear that your son inherited your smile, when your eyes also showed your emotions and feelings, like when you talked with the other humans in the ship and explained without problems the marks in your hands that showed how you reached out for your son and brought him to you, the scars that showed that you gave life, he is just so sure that your human genes got first in the most important things about your sparkling.

"We are going to raise him well"

"I know, you tell me about that a lot, every year actually" Rodimus still isn't thrilled for Sunset's paint job, yeah, he totally rocked the black and silver colors, don't get him wrong, he just can't forget his red and brown colors once his derma and armors hardened while being all smiles, even better, you and Sunset flashing him with big smiles that made him put both servos over his spark chamber to show, in a very exaggerated manner, how moved he felt then, his son, so little at the time, asking to be lifted as high as he could be, and of course Rodimus would do just as his son wanted.

No, correct that, he just can't forget how this big bot once fitted in only one of his servos, being comfortable enough to use it as his favorite recharge point with that little blanket you got from a stop on earth.

He can't forget that first recharge time together, while you were sleeping in the crook of his neck guard, little sparkling wrapped in blankets between your arms, his servo holding you both, hearing your soft whisper before finally sleeping in the dark room, holding one of his burned digits with your burned hand.

"Time sure flies"

"It's going to be hard, but it's going to be alright"

"Happy birthday Sunny"

.

Yeah, for those who asked, Sunset/Blacksun wasn't planned.

[wasteful-sam]

Worthy [Part 1]

Synopsis:

While on their way to Baldur's Gate, Rolan and his siblings have to settle in Emerald Grove, as the lands are overrun with goblins and mysterious cultists. It is here that he meets a peculiar drow, and the story of their unlikely relationship starts to unfold.

Tags:

Slow burn, romantic, ongoing, F/M, Rolan/female drow.

Disclaimer:

This will be a long one, covering the overall BG3 story and storyline of some of the origin characters. Thus, spoilers ahead for anyone who hasn't completed the game.

The story is a slow burn that is bound to end up explicit, so, yeah. (~‾⌣‾)~

Also, English is not my first language, and I apologize in advance if the wording may sound odd somewhere in the text.

All in all, I wrote this to relax a cluttered mind, but I genuinely hope that the fic will be enjoyable for you! Yours truly, Sam.

[AO3 Link]

+++

Worthy

Part 1 | Chapter 1

The strangers

The day they arrived - chaos erupted in the Emerald Grove and, subsequently, his life. That bunch of self-important, nosy do-gooders. And to think, by this time, Lia, Cal, and he could have been halfway to Baldur's Gate. Of course, deep down, Rolan chastised himself – he should have been firmer with his siblings. After all, when did the authority of strangers become more important to them than their brother? Was he that pathetic?

"No," Rolan's ego violently interrupted his ever-emerging self-doubt, at least for now. His mind returned to earlier today when it all started.

+++

The reverberating roar of a horn was the first sign of trouble. The three tieflings were chatting by the beach when the sound startled them.

"What in the hells!?" Cal exclaimed, frantically turning his head around.

"Something's at the gate, come quick," Lia cried out, rushing up the hill.

"Stop!" Rolan hissed angrily, trying to catch up with his sister. He finally grabbed her arm, bringing her to a halt near the Sacred Pool. Cal joined them shortly, breathing heavily.

"Are you out of your mind? Where do you think you are going? You two – get back to the beach and hide somewhere among the cliffs," the tiefling wizard whispered angrily.

She pulled her hand from Rolan. "We can help protect the grove. We must at least warn the others!"

"I think they already know," her younger brother mumbled. Other tieflings around them were visibly nervous, trying to figure out what was happening. Even the druids stopped their ritual, looking up toward the grove gates.

For a couple of minutes, the siblings were silent, listening carefully. Lia was the one to break the silence.

"Let's at least come closer, can't hear much from here. I promise we will run to the beach as fast as possible at the first sign of trouble," she added, noticing Rolan's growing frustration.

"Fine," he sounded defeated. "I'll go first. If I say run – don't you dare disobey."

At this point, Rolan figured that whoever attacked the grove would have broken through already if they had sufficient manpower.

After all, scouts who kept watch on the grove's walls could be barely considered fighters. Likely, just a couple of goblins stumbled upon their hideout.

He signaled Cal and Lia to stop as they passed Aaron's make-shift merchant post. From there, they could somewhat see the commotion on the bridge and hear the tinkling of swords and spells being cast. The siblings didn't dare to speak or move – all froze in anticipation. 

The wait felt like an eternity. Finally, they heard Zevlor's command to open the gates. Rolan relaxed his posture. The usual smirk graced his face as he saw Aradin and his thugs running through the entrance. "Of course, these idiots have something to do with this," he concluded.

To his surprise, a group of strangers sneaked into the grove shortly after Aradin. Well, he knew at least one of them – that pompous Blade of Frontiers. Wyll, was it? He stumbled upon the grove a couple of days ago and has become somewhat of a local fencing teacher. And most tieflings found his company quite enjoyable. "No wonder these simpletons hang onto his every word – all they need is just a couple of embellished fairytales to deem someone a hero," Rolan scoffed to himself.

But no matter. He didn't intend on making new acquaintances. It was time for a serious talk with his family.

+++

The outsiders intervened just as he was arguing with Lia. The group was passing by when Rolan tried to convince his siblings to leave the grove as soon as possible.

"What's the point in blades and spells if we don't bloody use them?! We should stay. These people aren't fighters, we can help!" she exclaimed angrily.

The group stopped and exchanged glances. Rolan had no doubt they had heard most of the arguing.

"You should all stay. A single blade could make a difference," said the silver-haired drow. She glanced confidently at Lia.

Satisfied, Lia turned her head to Rolan. At this point, he knew the battle was lost - once Lia sets her mind on something, it's impossible to get through to her.

"Fine, we will stay! If we survive, it will make for a good story, I suppose," he growled, intentionally paying no attention to five prying strangers.

"We were told you have a healer. Do you know where she might be?" inquired another woman with black braided hair. Her tone was colder and tired.

"I think she will be in the chambers by the pool. It's where most druids spend their days. Just head down the stairs, you'll see," wedged in Cal.

"Please, you think the druids will have time for strangers that appeared on their doorstep out of thin air?" Rolan finally graced the group with an arrogant stare. "They are one ritual away from exiling us all from this gods-damned place. What makes you so special?"

"I don't know, maybe the fact that we slaughtered a bunch of goblins outside the gate will play a role?" replied a pale elf, injecting as much arrogance into his words.

"Alright, calm down. We will deal with all that one step at a time," the drow spoke again, placing a hand on the elf's shoulder. "Thank you for your help! I'm Nimriel, and these are Shadowheart, Gale, Lae'zel, and Astarion." She pointed at each of them individually, branding an enthusiastic smile. The others, however, weren't as excited.

The tiefling woman couldn't help but smile in response, "I'm Lia, this one's Cal, and the grumpy one is Rolan."

"Nice to meet you," Cal cautiously said, while Rolan rolled his eyes and murmured, "Pleasure."

"The fight was intense, I see," Lia noted, looking at the group's dirty, bloodied clothes.

"You can say that again," the drow chuckled. "One of the bastards has thrown a bottle of grease at me, and I tumbled down the hill like the most graceful sack of turnips! Then a worg charged straight at me…"

"Nimriel, we don't have time to chat right now," the black-haired woman interrupted.

"Right… Sorry, we really got to go," the drow nodded apologetically. "Thanks for the directions."

And with that, the group bid their hasty farewells and sprinted towards the druids' chambers. The tieflings could hear how the green-skinned woman – Rolan, although surprised, was sure it was a githyanki – was scolding the drow for being too open with the "horned ones."

"What an odd bunch," Cal said quietly, watching them leave.

"They certainly are. We should keep away from them."

"What? Why? They've slayed the goblins! Who knows if Zevlor and Aradin would've managed on their own," Lia raised her tone again, her annoyance growing. "They can help us fend off the next assault!".

"Don't be ridiculous. Their arrival at the grove at the right time was either a strange coincidence or a malicious plan. Think, Lia. When was the last time you saw a friendly drow? Hells, druids killed a drow who was snooping around just last week! Not to mention a githyanki amid them," Rolan sounded firm and confident.

"If we go by your logic, all tieflings are just wretched, evil fiends," his sister paused, taking a deep breath, "I'll talk to whomever I want; it is not for you to decide."

Rolan scoffed. Arguing with Lia felt exhausting at this point. He thought she was still young and naïve, not used to being approached with anything other than concerned stares and rudeness from non-tieflings.

"I'm… I'm with Lia here," Cal gently broke the silence. "Let's just see what happens."

"Of course you are. Two troglodyte peas in a pod. Do whatever you want," Rolan turned away from his siblings, pondering.

He couldn't let anything happen to them, not when their future was at stake. At that moment, he decided to watch the strangers closely. He was determined to confirm they were no threat.

+++

Rolan saw the despised group of outsiders a couple more times that day. They were walking around the grove, talking to tieflings and druids. At one point, they approached the Blade of Frontiers, who was training kids in fencing. Judging by their body language, they have reached some kind of agreement.

Later, the tiefling wizard noticed the strangers walking into Zevlor's chambers. They left the grove shortly after, taking Wyll with them. "Maybe this is the end of the unfortunate encounter," Rolan thought, relief washing over him. Still, he wasn't convinced.

+++

He approached Zevlor later that evening. The older tiefling was just leaving his chambers to get some fresh air.

“Good evening, Zevlor. Although it could have been better if not for the goblins' stench outside the gate," Rolan said casually, a note of arrogance still evident in his voice.

"True. What Aradin did was reckless. What's more infuriating is he left Halsin behind. Who knows what's become of the druid." 

This revelation startled Rolan. Indeed, with all these worries about strangers, he didn't even realize that the bear druid didn't return. More bad news – Halsin was a competent warrior and one of this grove's most significant tiefling allies. The other druids had even more incentive to kick them out without him.

"We were lucky that Wyll and those travelers helped us out. Although our position at the grove gets shakier," Zevlor continued.

"Oh yes, I saw them getting a private audience with you," the wizard tiefling responded sarcastically. "Mind sharing what they wanted?"

Zevlor glanced at Rolan’s face, trying to find the source of his concern. He smiled gently: “I know the drow’s presence may worry you. I was surprised as well at first. All you need to know is that they are not a threat to us. In fact, they can prove quite helpful in the future.”

“Riiiight,” Rolan crossed his arms. “And you know that after talking to them, what, half an hour at most? You are not being rational about this!”

Zevlor wasn’t perplexed by Rolan’s reaction. He’s grown accustomed to the tiefling’s fiery temperament. “I know enough to place my trust in them. They didn’t have to help us fight goblins. And they surely had nothing to gain from saving Komira and Locke’s daughter from Kagha’s wrath,” he concluded calmly.

The sly fox must’ve had some kind of a deal with strangers. He wasn’t shy of sweet-talking people into doing what’s best for his tiefling tribe. Although Rolan was fond of this quality of Zevlor’s, he still thought the old paladin’s judgment was clouded.

With that, he left Zevlor be. He needed to process all the new information.  

+++

"Hello! Apologies, do you maybe have hyena ears stashed somewhere? I'd gladly buy, seeing as none of the merchants here are in possession of those," a cheerful male voice interrupted Rolan's concentration.

Annoyed, he looked up to see who had disturbed his reading. Of course, those pesky outsiders returned! One of them – a human, most certainly – was talking to Cal while Lia stood near, puzzled. The other two – githyanki and drow – were buying something from Dammon, whose "forge" was nearby.

"Hyena ears?" Cal was confused. "What for?"

"Why, for a potion of speed, of course!" the man stated as if it was common knowledge. "My supplies are humiliatingly sparse at the moment."

"Oh, um…, no, sorry."

"Well, it never hurts to ask," the man shrugged, his voice still friendly and pleasant.

"Any luck, Gale?" his two companions were approaching as they finished their business with Dammon.

"I have asked around, and no one seems to have what we need," he replied.

"No matter. We have no use for your magical trinkets. My sword alone will be enough to cut through weaklings of this plane," githyanki replied confidently.

"Lae'zel. Calm down a bit, will you?" the drow hissed, looking at her companion with a plea. She then turned to tieflings, her tone rapidly shifting to cheerful. "Don't mind that, please, she's just tired… Soooo, what's…new?"

"Oh, nothing much," Lia said cautiously, yet a faint smile appeared on her face. She clearly liked talking to the drow, Rolan thought to himself.

"Not that we have much to do here, just chatting, trying to make ourselves useful. Say, but you've been busy! I heard you've helped Arabella yesterday," she continued. "I knew you could turn things around here."

"Oh, you mean the little girl? The whole situation was disgusting. That Kagha is one nasty toad," the drow answered, "I thought druids would be more understanding and peaceful. What's their deal?"

"The same "deal" that everybody has with tieflings," Rolan finally had enough of this whole conversation, longing for peace and quiet. He looked directly at her, smirking. "You should know, Underdark dweller. And if you don't - ask around your Menzoberranzan cronies."

The drow looked hurt for a moment, returning his glance. Rolan's comment definitely struck a nerve. However, she promptly recovered, saying, "Yes, I know, although I'm not from the Underdark. I'm sorry I offended you."

Her response made Rolan think. It was not a reaction he expected from a drow.

"No, you didn't!" Lia exclaimed quickly. "Rolan's just an old grump. Don't mind him."

"I'm not grumpy! And not that old either!" the tiefling wizard heard himself exclaiming. He could rarely leave the teasing of his siblings unanswered. He noticed the drow giggled, reacting to his outburst. "What's so funny?!"

"Just didn't expect such a serious-looking man to react so childishly. You really are not that old," Nimriel giggled again.

"Sounds about right," Cal pointed out cheerfully, and he and Lia were now grinning.

"Anyway," Gale interjected, trying to change the topic. "Why are you in such a hurry to reach Baldur's Gate?"

After the brief episode of humiliation, Rolan felt an urgent need to brag. "My apprenticeship with Lorroakan begins shortly, I cannot be late. Yes, that Lorroakan, the greatest wizard in Baldur's Gate," he said arrogantly.

"I've heard the name before! Young man, yes? Lives in the Ramazith's Tower in the lower city?" Gale sounded excited.

"The very same."

"I heard he's a bit of a cad, but you say he's a powerful wizard?"

"Of course he is! The greatest spellcaster along the Sword Coast! As if I'd settle for a lesser mentor."

"In that case, I would very much appreciate it if you could arrange an introduction should we reach the city," Gale suggested, turning his head to Nim.

"So you are a wizard?" Nimriel wondered, staring Rolan up and down. "Should've figured by the way you seem to enjoy the sound of your own voice."

"I'm... what!?" the tiefling tensed up.

"Sorry, sorry, I had to get even," the drow raised her hands lively. All this sounds fine to me. Could you?" She looked at Rolan, smiling gently. Something about her expression made his heart skip a beat, but he chose to ignore the feeling.

"If it is powerful acquaintanceships you are after, look no further than yours truly. Few can match me in either magic or talent. In years to come you will boast of this meeting. I can assure you," he bowed his head slightly, breaking their short eye contact.

"Enough chatter already, we don't have all day," githyanki intervened.

"Right, we'd better go. Sorry, it was nice talking to you all. Will definitely see you again," with her last sentence, she squeezed Lia's shoulder a little, making her giggle.

"That was quite embarrassing," Cal nudged the tiefling wizard as they watched the trio leave.

"It would be if I cared," Rolan nonchalantly opened his book.

"Tell me, when did you become like this? So I know the exact age when I turn into a joy-sucking prick." "You live and learn, brother."

Chapter 2

Mistrust

It has been a week. Rolan still struggled to figure out what made this group of seven blockheads join forces. Yes, seven! On day three, they showed up at the grove with a tiefling, who was even more loud and obnoxious than the drow. And the Blade of Frontiers now had a set of horns growing out of his head for some reason!

Although they were sparse on details of their alliance, the group certainly loved bragging about their adventures. At least, Rolan saw it that way. All it took was for tiefling children to take a liking to strangers after those saved a boy from harpies.

Word of the rescue spread fast, and soon, the whole grove knew what had transpired. Tieflings warmed up to the outsiders, wanting to learn more about their new-found idols.

Rolan also listened to the strangers' stories, but not because he was fascinated by them, like others. He analyzed and pondered their motives, making mental notes on each. Some remained a complete mystery to him, like the silent half-elf and irritable githyanki, who barely interacted with the grove's dwellers.

Others, however, were either loud, chaotic, or pompous. The wizard named Gale was, perhaps, the most tolerable of the bunch. As a man of considerable intelligence, he was grounded enough to keep his companions from being too ignorant or obnoxious. Although, his constant monologues of self-importance grew old very fast.

But by far, the two outsiders he involuntarily interacted with the most were tiefling and drow. They talked frequently with Lia, perhaps due to similarities in character.

That drow, Nimriel, was especially odd. Whenever visiting the grove, it seemed like her mission was to come up and talk to every person she could see. It was as if she was afraid to be forgotten about. Or was sniffing out information.

Once, after Lia's friendly chatter with the two, Rolan swallowed his pride and asked directly what they were talking about.

"You're not subtle at all," his sister replied condescendingly.

"Maybe I'm just curious, ever considered that?" Rolan shrugged.

"Oh, sod off. You're using "the parenting tone." It's like Elturel all over again. Your paranoia is getting annoying. They are regular travelers."

"Travelers?"

"Well, yeah, met up on the road to Baldur's Gate and decided to travel together for safety. Like we did with Zevlor's group."

"It's not comparable," the wizard shook his head.

"Why?"

"Alright, let me spell it out to you: an aggressive githyanki, a monster hunter, a suspicious drow, and a runaway from the hells – all in one group. And the other three are quite shady, too, if you ask me."

"You know about Karlach?" Lia asked, surprised.

"It's easy to get Dammon yapping after a couple of beers," Rolan replied nonchalantly, checking his well-manicured claws, "But you're missing my point here. They are all very different, some are natural enemies, in fact. Yet, they travel together? All of them need to get to Baldur's Gate and they just met on the road like that? There's something behind all of this."

Lia sighed. She knew Rolan all too well, and such outbursts were expected. Her brother was living in a mind-made cage, keeping her and Cal locked as well. Lia knew he was trying to protect them, but treating his siblings like children was getting out of hand.

"I don't know what to tell you. They're just going around, clearing their way to the city, killing monsters, looting…. We could've learned something from them."

"Like what?" Rolan rolled his eyes, "Living as mercenaries?"

"How about just "living" for starters? We'd be better off with money if we'd take a risk once in a while," Lia insisted.   

"Why risk if we're already on the way to our future home?" Rolan softened up a little. "I promise you, Lia, once I'm the apprentice, you can forget all these constant worries."

"I know, I know," she looked at him, calming down. "And you promise to relax a little, too?"

"I won't be relaxing. Wizardry is hard work, you know."

"I meant your attitude."

"The attitude is what kept us going for so long," he replied smugly. "But yes, I'll definitely be more… "relaxed," as you say."

"And you won't mind me joining the Flaming Fist then?"

The wizard bit his tongue. It was a sore topic for them. "We'll see," he replied.     

+++

"Hey, Rolan!" the drow approached him nonchalantly the very next afternoon.

"Mhhm."

"Reading as always?"

"How observant."

"Seems like your favorite book! What's it about?"

"Nothing that would be of interest to you."

"You know me well, I see?" There was no malice in Nim's voice, only teasing.

He finally looked at her, "You don't strike me as someone who practices magic. I see you more as an expert magpie."

"I am interested, actually. The more we travel, the more I learn that swords and cantrips don't always quite do it in fights. I even asked Gale to teach me some of the simpler spells. But to no avail. I just don't have a talent for it like you two."

Nimriel sounded sincere, which took Rolan aback. Was she trying to sweet-talk him, or did she genuinely believe his prowess without needing any proof? He simply didn't know what to reply.

"Can I take a look at your book? I'm just curious," she smiled, breaking the silence. The drow turned her charm to the maximum, looking straight at him. Nim couldn't help it - she wanted desperately to be liked by everyone around, even this irritable tiefling.

"Suit yourself," the wizard passed his book without much regret.

Now that the spells grabbed the drow's attention, he could take a closer look at her without being discreet. Her armor was ripped in several places, blood stains adding colors of terror to an otherwise dull leather outfit. Fresh cuts could be seen where her lilac-grey skin wasn't covered by clothes. The drow was still smiling as she read his book, her pretty, animated face dissonating with the disheveled attire.

"What happened to your ear?" the worrying tone of Rolan's voice surprised him.

"Oh," she automatically reached to her left ear, "Nasty burn, huh? Luckily, it was the only one. We got to the mercenaries' hideout yesterday, and those weasels had their lair stuffed with explosive barrels. Long story short – a fight ensued, things got fireballed, and – here's the result," Nimriel told the story so nonchalantly as if describing her favorite recipe.

"Looked even worse yesterday, but Shadowheart fixed me up well. With her skills, it will subside soon, but until then – I own of the ugliest ear in the grove," she giggled, but her expression betrayed her, showing how conscious she was about the burn.

"It's not that bad," Rolan replied, but he quickly realized how it sounded. "I mean, it doesn't flaw your face much. It still looks…presentable," he added apologetically, forgetting how to speak normally.

"Aha, I see the mighty wizard is also very skilled in reassuring," Nim laughed. She resumed reading, not noticing Rolan's embarrassed scowl.

They've spent some time in silence. While Nimriel was looking through pages, he continued unwittingly studying her face. Slender, blessed with elegant features, she would look like those literary portrayals of royalty if not for her big light-violet eyes, ragged shoulder-length haircut, and battle cuts.

"Too difficult for me still," Nimriel's voice yanked Rolan out of his intense contemplations. "I think I need to learn to work with scrolls first," she closed the book, reaching to give it back, but froze. Rolan was looking at her intently, his arms crossed.

"Why are you nosing round the grove?" he asked with authority.

"What do you mean?" Nim tried to master an innocent smile, but the wizard caught her off-guard.

"Your pleasantries won't work on me. You know exactly what I mean."

"Didn't realize that people must only be cordial for a reason. But then again, the cordiality expert knows best," she sighed. "What's your problem?"

"There are talks about strange cultists roaming around, goblins taking captives to their camps… And in the midst of this all, you appear here, out of nowhere. Snooping around, making friends left and right. It is… peculiar."

"You know a lot for someone closed off in the grove."

Rolan smirked, "Unlike you, I don't have to stick my nose into every conversation to learn what I need."

"This is exactly what you do now," Nim's tone became tense. "I don't think we've given you any reason to mistrust us," she shoved the book into his arm and turned around, "Sorry for distracting you. It won't happen again."

As he watched the drow walking away, Rolan shook his head. He rarely felt bad about giving someone a piece of his mind. Why now, all of a sudden? 

+++

It all ended before anyone in the grove even realized something was happening. The adventurers have taken down Kagha. Apparently, they found proof of her conspiring with Shadow Druids and confronted her in the druids’ chambers. As a result, Kagha and other Shadow Druids that sneaked into the grove laid cold on the stone floor. The ritual was swiftly stopped, putting the worries of refugees to an end.

“Serves her right,” Rolan heard his brother talking excitedly to Danis and Bex. “That witch would rather cut all our throats than let us stay!”

“We are lucky that other druids came to their senses,” Bex replied. “Maybe they will even help us next time goblins come here!”

“Now, now, don’t hex it,” Danis gently squeezed her hand. 

“Let me dream a little,” she kissed her husband’s cheek.

“Hey, Lia! What’s the news? Have you seen them yet?” Cal exclaimed, seeing his sister approaching.

“We exchanged a few words, but they were in a hurry. Looked pretty tired,” she sighed.

“Pity. I’d love to thank them personally. Maybe even bake something to celebrate,” Bex glanced at Lia. “You think they’ll come back?”

“Karlach definitely will once she hears you promised a hot meal,” Lia snickered.

Rolan listened to their conversation, his face emotionless. But deep within, a shift had occurred. Perhaps he was glad to be wrong about someone’s intentions for the first time in his life.

+++

No one heard from the group for the next few days before their sudden return. They came through the grove's gates nonchalantly, as if they were regular residents. Of course, nobody in the grove knew the burden the adventurers had carried for two weeks. For how much some of them talked and interacted with refugees, they remained a mysterious seven.

The group made their regular rounds, eventually coming to Dammon for supplies. It didn't take long for a friendly conversation to start, with all the regulars among tieflings joining in.

Rolan was there as well, his usual silent self. He would sometimes look at Nim while she chatted lively with the others. The tiefling wizard still didn't figure out what he would tell her. He will not be apologizing, of course not! But he didn't want to end it all on a sour note.

She finally caught the tiefling's glance and smirked, nodding. A wave of panic hit Rolan, but he tried keeping his composure. The wizard gestured Nimriel to come aside for a talk, to which she agreed.

"Hey there," Nim said casually, her brow raised.

"Listen. The last time we spoke…"

"No-no-no," she interrupted quickly. "The last time we spoke, you glared straight at me. I believe I deserve the same treatment now".

"Alright," he straightened his pose, looking into her eyes. "I was harsh. I had my reasons to distrust you. But my concerns proved unfair," Rolan paused, trying to find the right words. It was hard looking at Nim. The tiefling could see that she was quite enjoying his vain attempts at explaining himself. A large black eye she got was quite distracting as well.

"You did well for the grove, and I was unjust."    

"What an intricate way to say you are sorry," her tone was soft with a smudge of teasing, "Don't worry about it."

"Just like that?"

Nim shrugged, "It's not a first for me. I'm a drow, remember? You should know."

The tiefling felt embarrassed. She even remembered the exact words he threw at her back then. And Nimriel noticed that.

"Hey," she said softly, "Can't we just forget it and start getting along? I hate making people feel all bad."

"I can assure you, it's nothing of that sort," Rolan blabbered, averting his eyes.

"Let's be frank, it's written all over your face," Nim giggled, "You are redder than usual."

"This is just fantastic," the tiefling sounded defeated. However, a feeling of relief began to settle inside: "For your information, it's just hot in here, hence the color change."

"Suuuure, keep telling yourself that."

They chatted for a little while before Nimriel left for her camp. Some of her companions, however, stayed.

The group's elf and tiefling were talking with others by the Dammon's "forge." Rolan joined in on their conversation soon after.

"The swamps were awful," Astarion complained. "The smells, the bugs, the dirt! I'll need a full wardrobe change once we reach any half-decent townlet!"

"Oh, come on! You are so dramatic. The nature was still beautiful there!" Karlach said gleefully. "Anything's better than hells!".

"Lucky for me, I won't be comparing anytime soon," the elf replied, supporting an innocent banter.

"How are things at the camp?" Dammon interrupted. Has my old workbench found a use?"

"Yes, thank you! Things are fine, more or less." Karlach sounded a bit apologetic. "We had a small setback, but overall…"

"I wouldn't call the brawl a small setback," Astarion interrupted playfully. "It was glorious!"

"What are you two talking about?" Lia wondered.

"Lae'zel and Nim got in a fistfight, and…"

“Astarion!” Karlach grunted.

"What? It's all fine now, anyway. Let me enjoy my "socializing-outside-the-camp" time!" Astarion shrugged, putting on the theatrics. "Anyway, you know how Lae'zel can be, with all her "I'll cut you down-s and slash you in-s." Well, she didn't quite like one of our plans, and she wanted to leave. Nimriel, predictably, started to talk her out of it. And the gith had it – ripped her armor off and took a fighting position. "A weakling such as yourself won't be able to land a single hit on me!" Astarion tried to imitate Lae'zel's crude delivery, "You want me to stay? Prove your worth!". Oh, how we all gasped when Nim threw her armor to the ground, too!"

"Oh, gods," Lia interrupted, worry growing in her voice. "Why didn't you stop them?"

"And miss the show?" the elf glanced at her like the tiefling was mad. "Honestly, the only thing that could've made it better is mud brawl. But, alas..."

"Cut it out," Karlach rolled her eyes.

"Alright, alright! So, fists started swinging left and right. Screaming, arguing, the spectacle! To my surprise, Nim even managed to land a few hits on the green devil! But the results were obvious from the start – Lae'zel knocked her out – straight in the eye!" he froze in a dramatic pose.

"Aaand?!" even Dammon was invested at this point, dropping the short sword he worked on. "Did githyanki leave?"

"No," Karlach replied calmly. "In the end, Lae'zel admitted that Nim was stubborn enough to make her stay. Although, I had to knock her out and tie her to a tree first," she grinned bashfully. "They made peace for now."

"You are one twisted group of individuals," that's all Rolan could say.

"Believe me, you don't know the half of it," Astarion shook his head, simpering. 

Chapter 3

The night at the Sacred Pool

The moon was full and inviting that night, laying its silver light on the grove. Shadows danced among the trees, creating a tapestry of light and dark on the forest floor. A soft breeze whispered through the branches, carrying the earthy scent of moss and pine.

If only Rolan could enjoy it. He hadn’t slept properly since the whole debacle at the druids’ chambers. The anxiety of not making it to Lorroakan on time laid heavy on him. The future at Baldur’s Gate is what his family deserves. He couldn’t afford to let them down. He sat near the Sacred Pool for the last few nights, working tirelessly on his spells. “Why waste time laying on a bedroll if I can’t sleep anyway,” he thought.

The dawn was close, and the tiefling heard the sound of bushes whirling somewhere nearby. It startled his sleep-deprived mind, and he called, “Who’s there?”

“Huh? Rolan, is that you?”

The tiefling squinted, looking in the direction the voice was coming from. He stood up, his yellow eyes piercing the dark. Someone’s figure was emerging from around the trees. At this point, Rolan thought the lack of sleep had driven him insane. It was Nim walking towards him. The drow was also squinting, holding a batch of apples in her arms.

“Nimriel?” he asked in disbelief with a hint of annoyance. “What…what are you doing here? And what’s with the apples?”

“Um…it is a little embarrassing,” she smiled confusedly. “Can I come closer?”

“Can you?” now his voice sounded almost mockingly. “Well, why not?”

As she approached, Rolan realized something dreadful and swiftly turned his head away.

“Why in the hells are you walking around here in your undergarments?” he hissed.

“Shit! I’m… well, I didn’t expect anyone to be up this early. I got hungry and thought I could quickly sneak in here for some apples,” she gabbled, walking towards him.

Nim stopped near the tiefling, close enough to see his face in the light of a small lantern the wizard brought. She didn’t quite know what she was doing – frankly, a night stroll for apples was just an excuse to clear her head. No matter how positive she tried to be, the inner worry that her new-found exciting life could end as promptly grew stronger day by day. The worst part was that she forbade herself from sharing her fears with the group. They were, after all, Nimriel’s first semblance of friends. And losing them was even scarier than dying to a tadpole.  

And now, here she was – staring at the half-turned face of a tiefling whom she found pretty extraordinary. To her, interactions with Rolan mostly felt amusing – the serious, snobby demeanor contrasted too much with his short-tempered behavior. Why not use this distraction right now, Nim thought.

The situation they found themselves in started to feel very comical. Nimriel snickered, biting into one of the apples. “Did your head stuck?”

“It’s called having manners, being appropriate. Such concepts might be foreign to you, of course,” Rolan sounded irate, his head still turned away from her. He then looked around, searching for something. Getting no results, he lowered his voice as if embarrassed. “I… can offer you my shirt if you don’t mind.”

“I see you take this “having manners” thing seriously,” Nimriel shook her head playfully. However, she felt intrigued – she was sure the tiefling would just shoo her away from there. This was quite a nice gesture, “Alright, I will entertain it. Take it off.”

Rolan felt his skin tingling as he undressed his shirt. “Did she have to phrase it like that?” he thought.

Nim slipped into it with no issue, the white shirt barely covering her upper thighs. She quickly plopped onto the stone bench near the pool, chewing on the apple. Rolan sat on the opposite side of the bench, keeping the distance.

“Well, you seem quite nonchalant,” he broke the silence awkwardly.

“Why shouldn’t I be? It’s just you,” Nim mumbled without bothering to swallow her food first. “Or what, you want to scold me for stealing apples or something?”

“Never mind.”

“Oh, it’s about this?” the drow gestured her chin down to her body. “As I said, I didn’t expect anyone to be awake. Why bother dressing? Besides, I can take on anyone in the grove,” she paused, thinking. “Or scream for Karlach to help, this works too.”

“Sure,” he replied calmly, rolling his eyes slightly. “Are night apple runs a usual occurrence or…?”

“Nope, just couldn’t sleep,” Nim shrugged. “Am I distracting you?”

In truth, she was. But for some reason, Rolan didn’t really want her to leave. There was something soothing in talking with Nimriel like that when no one was around. It was as if they were sharing a special moment only they would know about. He quite liked this feeling.  

“Nothing important,” he replied after a short pause.

“Would you mind keeping me company for a bit, then? I don’t want to go to sleep just yet.”

Rolan felt relieved. He may be able to entertain this peculiar situation for a little longer. “Why, nobody among your companions wants to listen to your apple-munching at the dawn’s break?”

“Back to your usual “pleasant self”, I see,” she threw back at him. Although, the wizard could tell that Nim enjoyed his little jab.

“Learnt any new spells since we last spoke?”

“Nah, we were way busy these days.”

“Busy brawling with your githyanki friend?” Rolan pointed at her black eye.

“Oh,” she giggled uncomfortably. “I see my supreme leadership skills are talked about far and wide. What do you think? Does my face still look presentable?”

Nimriel didn’t expect the tiefling to consider her question seriously. He looked closely as if calculating every proportion and curve. She now had a chance to take a better look at his face, too. Surrounded by darkness, his features seemed as sharp as ever, with deep yellow eyes – dangerous but alluring. Her cheeks started to blush.

“I can’t think of anything that could spoil a face like yours,” Rolan replied quietly. But his condescending tone made a swift comeback. “Was getting punched worth it?”

“It was,” Nim was confident in her words. “I won the argument and kept her from making bad decisions.”

The wizard lifted his brow, considering her response. “Interesting perspective. So, you are a leader?”

“Apparently,” Nim chuckled. “Why? Don’t I look like one?”

“I can’t judge that, haven’t seen you in action,” the tiefling replied.

“Wow, no sarcasm or a snarky remark?” Nimriel said, tilting her head. “I mean, I wouldn’t call myself one. Sometimes, I think they’ve chosen me because they wouldn’t talk to each other otherwise.”

“At least you’re honest with yourself,” Rolan smirked.

“Ha-ha.”

“You wanted a snarky remark, didn’t you?”

“Anyway, why aren’t you sleeping?” the drow asked lightheartedly, changing the subject. She was munching on another apple.

“Well, I…,” he stumbled a little, “Just too excited about my apprenticeship. Such a powerful wizard as Lorroakan expects a lot from me. I have been working on composing my own spells and…”

While Rolan was blabbering on, Nim seized the opportunity to look him over. For a wizard, he was very well-built. The drow was particularly interested in the ridges covering his chest and torso. She has never seen anything like it up close. A hot, pulling feeling began to form in her stomach.

Rolan noticed her staring and stopped talking immediately. “What?” he asked in a cold tone.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, trying to look as uninterested as possible. “I was just curious. These protruding bones look so interesting, almost like an elaborate carving.”

“Whatever you say,” Rolan said, unimpressed. He turned his body sideways to escape the drow’s eyes. To him, any such glances from non-tieflings felt like mockery.

“I mean it,” Nim said seriously, looking into his eyes.

Rolan returned her glance, trying to figure out if the drow was trying to save face. He finally mellowed down, believing Nimriel. “It is a reminder, you know,” his voice now sounded grim. “Sins of our ancestors we are bound to carry with us forever. Marks of deformity and ugliness to instill fear and disgust into anyone that encounters us.”

“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” she paused. “It may not mean much coming from me, but I don’t see tieflings that way. And… I think I understand how you feel.”

Rolan considered her words. "Suppose you are," he nodded, remembering how he called her the Underdark dweller.

"Although," Nimriel hesitated, "It's not the same. The hate towards us is justified."

"It is," the tiefling replied quietly.

Nim shrugged, "It's the same everywhere. I appreciate your honesty, at least. Do you... does everyone else in the grove share this belief?"

"The fear of drow comes to tieflings as naturally as the fear of plague to any mortal man," Rolan looked at her, sighing, "But you don't have to worry."

"What do you mean?"

"It's obvious that they don't hate you."

Nimriel appeared relieved, "You think so?"

"It's pretty obvious that they grew to trust and like you. Many of them, at least," Rolan chuckled, "Gods, you're so shaken about this, it's quite something."

"It just... doesn't happen much," she smiled, "But I'm glad that somebody sees me just as a person."

The topic started to intrigue Rolan. Nimriel seemed as far from her kin as one could imagine. "I remember you mentioning not being from the Underdark?"

"The locals found me in the Forest of Mir. I might've been born in the Underdark, but I wouldn't remember – I was practically a newborn then."

"Hm. You were raised by humans, then?"

"Raised is a strong word," Nim mumbled uncomfortably. "But yes, I lived among humans for a little while. As you can imagine, they weren't fond of drow either."

Rolan decided not to ask further – the past clearly made Nimriel uneasy.

"And now, when it seems that I have found people who look past my heritage, it is too late," Nimriel quickly stopped talking, understanding she had already said too much. 

"How come?"

"I…," she faltered. I don't really know. I can't tell these days when the time is up." She glanced at him, and Rolan saw deep sadness in his eyes for the first time. "Life has suddenly become very complicated."

At that moment, the tiefling finally recognized Nimriel for what she was – unsure and anxious, just like him. She didn't find the strength to hide it behind the usual chattiness and smile. This is probably the reason she's not sleeping tonight.

"Life has always been complicated," Rolan responded calmly. "And it will become harder," he saw her eyes starting to glisten and couldn't help but put a hand on her shoulder. "But, as I discovered for myself, if you work and believe hard enough that you deserve something, you can find happiness in your struggles, even if for a short while."

"You are harsh, Rolan," Nimriel squeezed his hand. A feeble smile returned to her face.

"I speak only of what I know. You seem capable enough to withstand the treachery life presents."

Nim's brows furrowed as she studied his expression. "Well, if you speak of what you know…It explains a lot about your behavior."

Rolan smirked. "My behavior is not of your concern."

She didn't respond, but the wizard knew, judging by her expression, that Nimriel was onto him. She saw a breach in the walls of coldness and waspishness Rolan had been building all these years. The thought of her peeking through these walls terrified him.

Still, the tiefling couldn't look away from her, nor could she. Something happened between them tonight, something they both feared and wanted.

"It was nice talking to you, but I think it's time for me to get back to camp," it seemed Nim returned to her usual, cheerful self.

She stood up, taking his shirt off. Rolan didn't make an effort to turn away this time. Their conversation made him see Nimriel in a different light. She amazed him in a confusing way: both strong and vulnerable, open but full of mysteries still. Just like that, he fell for Nim. Maybe it happened even earlier, but Rolan wasn't interested in details.

"Have a good rest of the night," Nimriel returned his shirt, smiling. She pretended not to notice how Rolan looked her over. Her drow nature immensely enjoyed that.

"You too," he muttered, watching her leave. The tiefling wouldn't see Nim for a couple of days after this night. Her return, however, would bring about a change.  

Chapter 4

The paths split

He found himself standing amid a party, quite content. The outsiders, impressively so, managed to destroy the goblin camp – the final obstacle between tieflings and the road to Baldur’s Gate. And the party was, of course, in their honor.

Rolan now began to understand why Zevlor put such immense trust in them – they must’ve had an agreement all along. And so, does it mean that the adventurers were swords for hire? What a simple conclusion to a mystery he was pondering all these weeks.

The cheap wine relaxed Rolan’s mind. His annoyance subsided, and the tiefling wizard didn’t mind talking to his kin and even once-dreaded outsiders. He was chatting in the company of Wyll, Lakrissa, Shadowheart, and Astarion.

Although, Rolan was quite in and out of it, chasing Nimriel with his eyes. He didn’t have a chance to talk to her yet – the drow was prancing all over the place, talking, laughing, and hugging the temporary grove inhabitants she grew close to so quickly. Rolan was glad to see her this way. What the group achieved was well deserved.

“Say,” Wyll turned to Lakrissa, “We’ve got so many weapons from our goblin raid. I think it would be great if we leave you some, for your journey.”

“The heroic Blade of Frontiers strikes again,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “How are we supposed to get money for new armor?”

“So, you are saying that you don’t mind carrying a dozen short swords?” Wyll replied cheekily.

“Well…I was counting on my good friend Karlach…”

“How gallant of you,” Shadowheart remarked sarcastically.

“Oh, come on. We all know she is the might of the group”.

“Which makes you…?” Shadowheart raised a brow.

“Why, the charm, of course,” the pale elf said, elegantly fixing his hair.

“Bhaa,” the Blade burst out laughing. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“It’s not my fault that the truth hurts, darling,” Astarion smirked.

“So, what do you think of my offer, Lakrissa?” Wyll broke a short silence.

“Oh, right! Let’s see what you’ve got,” the tiefling replied. Shortly, the two departed to the west side of the camp to see the group’s loot stock.

“By the way,” Astarion turned to Rolan. “You are pretty well-versed in magic?”

“Of course. Why do you inquire?”

“How about necromancy?”

“Well,” Rolan paused. “I try to indulge in learning about all wizardry schools… Depends on what you want to know.”

“Interesting,” a foxlike smile graced the elf’s face. “You see, my friend, I’ve got this book…”

“Stop nagging the man with your stupid book,” Shadowheart interrupted. “Nothing good will come of it.”

“Don’t you have another three bottles to devour? Don’t interfere while grownups are talking,” Astarion replied condescendingly.

“We should’ve left you on the swamps,” the cleric gurgled.

“What’s the issue with the book?” Rolan asked. The prospect of showing off his knowledge entertained him quite a bit.

“I think it contains some powerful necromancy spells, but the book won’t let me read them. And it also toys with your mind somehow once you open it.”

“Hm… a cursed necromancy book, how original,” Rolan contemplated for a moment. “Your best bet is to find a skilled necromancer who will recognize what curses were bestowed upon it. Until then – DO NOT open the book and don’t cast any spells onto it, the attempts of purifying it will only backfire.”

“Well, that’s… something, at least,” Astarion sighed.

“Having fun?” Nimriel sneaked in on them, her face beaming.

“As much fun as this cheap wine can afford us to,” Shadowheart replied.

“Ah, niben Nim! Maybe you will be reasonable enough to talk Wyll out of gifting around our weapons?” the elf pouted at her.

“You volunteer to carry it all up the mountain pass, then?” she smirked.

“…I hate you people,” Astarion growled in defeat.

“And you make no effort to hide it,” the cleric added calmly.

“Look who’s talking!” the elf reacted. “For your information, I…”

“Come on, Rolan,” the tiefling was swiftly taken out of the argument as Nimriel grabbed his hand. “This will take them a while. Do you mind a short stroll?”

“Not at all.”

+++

She quickly led him down to the beach, so quickly, in fact, that Rolan didn’t have much time to protest. Not that he wanted to – her delicate hand, curled carelessly around his fingers, felt so nice. Nimriel finally stopped near the water, turning to him. She had the widest smile – Rolan wasn’t sure if wine was the reason.

“Didn’t expect you to come to the party, thought you’d be halfway to Baldur’s Gate by now,” the drow lifted her brow.

“I would’ve been if not for Cal and Lia. They desperately wanted to chat with their favorite hero,” that was a lie he came up with beforehand. Of course, the tiefling would not admit he also wanted to see her.

“And you didn’t?” Nim asked playfully. She definitely was inebriated.

“Oh, please. I nearly dispatched those goblins myself, but it seems you’ve managed well enough,” even in moments like this, Rolan’s arrogance took the better of him. And the wine didn’t do any favors either. “And why wield a masterwork where a butcher’s blade will do?”

“I certainly will not miss those nasty jabs of yours,” she replied, smirking.

“It’s sad to hear that you take reasonable remarks as jabs,” the tiefling swayed his head left, keeping eye contact. “I thought you thoroughly enjoyed them, given you came back for more on the daily.”

“You are insufferable,” Nimriel rolled her eyes. “But you were helpful…”

 “Helpful?” she caught him off-guard.

“Well, yes, that’s what I wanted to tell you. But let’s sit; I feel like I’m about to fall over.”

She plunged unceremoniously onto the sandy shore. Rolan followed hesitantly.

“I feel a bit foolish,” Nimriel finally said, looking at the water.

“Why?”

“I’m… I don’t have much experience talking to people. Or being sociable, for that matter,” she replied sheepishly.

“You must be joking. I doubt there is a single person at the grove you didn’t bombard with your chatter,” Rolan kept his smug tone.

“No, I mean, in general,” her tone sounded apologetic and a bit annoyed. I… At first, I thought you absolutely hated my guts. And, honestly, I’m still not quite sure if you don’t,” she giggled nervously. But I’m grateful for your advice the other night and that you spent time with me. I really needed to talk to someone then. It was a lucky coincidence that you were awake, really.”

Rolan didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t a norm for someone to thank him. And it came from Nimriel – a person he was so rude and unpleasant to. The sinking feeling started pulling on his chest. The tiefling glanced at her quickly and, to his terror, realized that Nim was also looking at him.

“You really are easy to impress if me talking does it for you,” Rolan heard himself replying. “And, just so we are clear. I don’t hate your guts. Your company is perfectly serviceable.”  

“That’s nice to hear,” the tiefling saw a modest smile returning to her face, feeling relieved. “Then can I ask you to give me your hand? Like this, palm facing me?”

Confused, Rolan obliged. Nim then lightly pressed her palm against his, comparing something. “Mm, that’s about right,” she mumbled and swiftly reached into her pocket, producing a small silver ring.  

“I thought you may put this to good use. It allows casting the dimension door. At first, I wanted to give it to Lia but figured – you are the wizard of the family, so it’s only logical,” Nimriel explained.

“I won’t take it,” Rolan replied adamantly.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t take handouts from anybody. All I need I always get myself.”

“But it’s not a handout… Just something that can help you on the road. I also gave Cal and Lia some supplies, and they didn’t mind.”

“You are not responsible for my family’s safety. I am. And I’m capable enough to provide it,” Rolan sounded calm but determined. His pride took the better of him.

“Guess I’ll be giving it to Lia then.”

“Oh, you are stubborn,” Rolan shook his head. “She wouldn’t even know how to use it.”

“Well, she wouldn’t need to. Her magnificent brother will cast 20 dimension doors for her at once, straight from here to Baldur’s Gate! Will be a pretty accessory, though.”

“Bitterness doesn’t suit you,” the wizard smirked.

“That’s right, bitterness is your most attractive feature, on par with arrogance, of course.”

Rolan began to understand why the group chose Nimriel as their leader. Something in the way she looks at you makes you feel and do as she pleases, as if she bewitches you with her genuineness and determination.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Maybe I am somewhat unreasonable here. If you still want to, I will take it.”

Nim’s features softened. Arguing with Rolan always felt like a small battle – frustrating but weirdly satisfying once it’s over. This tiefling was, in a way, special to her. Brutally direct but still closed off. Harsh but nice at times. Smart. Observant. Leary.

The worst part is that Rolan was right to be suspicious. She and her new-found friends were a danger to the grove, risking turning into mind flayers any minute. What would happen if the refugees, in whom she found so much comfort and joy, learned of this? Nimriel couldn’t bear to think of it. She was perceived as a monster all her life, only to be turned into another one.

“Give me your hand,” she said quietly. As Rolan obliged, Nim carefully placed the ring onto his pinky. The ring was relatively small and stuck right in the middle of the finger, where the bone protruded. The wizard looked at his hand, examining it.

“Fits well enough,” he muttered.

“Well, I’m glad we can end our little acquaintanceship on a positive note,” the drow said, relaxing.

 “Are you also leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes, heading for the mountain pass. And then Underdark, perhaps. Will be interesting to see the ancestral homeland for the first time, so to speak.”

“Hm. Take more food with you. The Underdark’s flora and fauna aren’t what you are used to eating here,” Rolan responded knowingly.

“Thanks, will keep that in mind. I was also thinking… AUGH!” she exclaimed suddenly, clutching her head.

“Nim? What’s wrong?”

“Just migraine,” she burbled apologetically, although Rolan could see an immense amount of pain in her expression.

“Can I help somehow?” he asked, worry in his tone.

“No, it’s fine. Can I just lean on you for a moment?”

“Sure.”

Nimriel leaned against the wizard’s shoulder, her eyes closed in pain.

“Has something similar happened before?”

“Yes, it will pass soon, don’t worry. Give me a couple of minutes. In the meantime, you can tell me something interesting, it will help”.

“Alright. What would you like to know?”

“Mm, I don’t know…what do you like to do for fun?”

Rolan thought for a minute. He genuinely couldn’t remember when was the last time he did something most people considered “fun activities”.

“Studying magic is fun for me,” he concluded, watching her, trying to figure out how she feels. “Don’t get me wrong, it is hard work, but once you learn a new spell, it is a divine experience. You can’t fathom how body and mind so generic can create these extraordinary things. And you only grow more eager, can’t stop wondering how far your potential can reach. I hope to unlock it fully one day.”

“You describe it so lovely,” Nimriel beamed through ache, her eyes still closed. “Please, continue.”

Rolan couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“Once I get to Baldur’s Gate and settle down, I’d also like to study stars.”

“Study stars?”

“Yes, they fascinate me truly. A perfect amalgamation of power and beauty. I have never felt such calmness as I saw them after leaving Elturel,” he looked at the sky to remind himself, if only just for a moment. “It would be nice to have a telescope and watch them after my study sessions with Lorroakan are over. How is your headache?”.

“Much better,” Nim replied. The tiefling felt she was drifting into sleep. “I wish I got to know this version of Rolan sooner,” she whispered.

His heart skipped a beat. A wave of bittersweet sadness covered Rolan’s mind.

“You still have time,” the tiefling murmured, pressing his tail gently against Nimriel’s back to keep her from falling. “You can visit me in Baldur’s Gate…I could…tell you more about the stars.”

“I’d love that,” was Nim’s last words before falling asleep.

Rolan sat in silence, looking at the sky. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her as if the mere act would cause her to vanish. Yet, Nimriel was still there – her form leaning against his shoulder, her breath a soft lullaby in the stillness of the night.

If only they’d met another time, another place, the tiefling thought. Not at the most turbulent point of his life, when he has nothing to show for himself, nothing to be proud of. She is so kind to him. But then again, she is like that with all the tieflings. To her, he must be just another face in the crowd. A bitter, arrogant face at that. He is a fool – to fall for someone that easily. Pathetic. But it will be over tomorrow – they will go their separate ways, and he will likely never see Nim again. Good. Time shall pass, washing away the regrets of what could have been. He must take care of the family at all costs. He can think of his own wants and desires after. It is decided.

…But the dreaded tomorrow hasn’t come yet. He can stay here, with her, just for a little longer. There is no harm in pretending they are watching stars together, happy in each other’s company.

Rolan carefully turned his head towards Nimriel. Her expression was peaceful, the migraine must have stopped. There was so much he wanted to ask her. To hear her talk to him and smile again. But he missed his opportunity, deservingly so.

Enough of this nonsensical moping. He is a grown, rational tiefling. Living inside your head gets you nowhere in life. Only a cold, emotionless mind and determination.

With that, Rolan removed the ring Nim gifted him and put it into his bag. The book on spells he showed her once was in there, too. The tiefling pondered a bit and took it out together with an ink pot and quill.

+++

Wyll was slowly going around the campfire, gathering empty bottles of wine. The party ended not so long ago, but the campsite quickly went quiet – most of his companions were plastered, snoring in their tents. But the Blade didn’t want to sleep just yet – it was a delightful, warm night, particularly in the face of what to come next for him and the group. He didn’t want it to end just yet. Wyll was thinking about taking Lae’zel’s offer. She was rough, sure, but wouldn’t it be nice to spend the night with someone, especially if it could be his last time. Besides, you have to give it to the gith – for all her aggression, she was strong-willed and direct, which are very attractive traits in Blade’s book.

The sound of movement interrupted Wyll’s trail of thought. He lifted his head and saw Rolan coming towards him. Interestingly, he was carrying Nim in his arms. The drow was deep in her sleep, wheezing comically, probably drunk.

“Hey, Rolan. Thought you all left already,” the Blade said quietly, pointing to Nimriel. “And what’s with this blazed potato?”

“She fell asleep while we were talking.” the tiefling replied, his voice sounding tired. “Can you take her to her tent?”

“Sure.”

Rolan took a fast final look at Nimriel and passed her body to Wyll. “Also, can you give her this? She will understand.”

+++

“Soooldier, rise and shine! Breakfast time!”

Nimriel slowly cracked her eyes open, reacting to Karlach’s delightful voice. The menace of Avernus was lightly pulling off her bedcover.

“Urgh-eh,” the cacophony of sounds was the first thing the drow could master after the night of heavy drinking. “Is it late?”

“Nah, Halsin’s still at the grove. So we have time for Gale’s special treat!”

“Thank gods for that man. Mystra’s a fool for throwing away someone with such passion for cooking.”

“Maybe the broad doesn’t eat normal food,” Karlach giggled. “Come on!”

As they approached a makeshift table, the other group members were lazily stuffing their faces. The hangover has been their unwelcome guest this morning. But even in times like these, they maintained their tradition of eating together.

“If it weren’t for yesterday, I’d thought you were all turning,” Nim joked, landing next to Lae’zel.

“Haven’t looked in the mirror today yet?” Shadowheart sneered.

“Nah, I’m not prepared for new nightmares,” the drow replied. “Thanks for breakfast, Gale!”

“At your service,” the wizard tried to bow gracefully, dropping his fork to the ground.

 “I wonder how many bottles we emptied last night,” Karlach said, chewing ravenously.

“I stopped counting at fifth, but you lot outdid yourselves,” Gale noticed.

“What else were we supposed to do?” Astarion nagged. “I was bored out of my mind. All this hero life is not for me. I ended up wandering the woods, but that demented bard’s music must have scared off all the animals”. He grinned curiously. “Please tell me at least someone got busy last night. I want to know all the gritty details!”.

“Ha, I wish!” Karlach responded. But in my case, it would be a veeeeeery steamy sex.”

“You have no shame,” Shadowheart rolled her eyes at them.

“You too, darling, judging by your blood-shot eyes.”

“No arguing at my breakfast table!” Gale declared. “Besides, I don’t think our condition is particularly ingratiatory towards intimacy.”

Wyll remained silent, chuckling on the inside. He briefly glanced at Lae’zel, who didn’t seem to pay attention to the conversation at all.

“You are just a prude,” Astarion grimaced at the wizard. “How about our dearest drow?”

“I was way too drunk for that,” Nimriel replied, pondering. “I don’t even remember how I got to my tent.”

“That’s because you didn’t,” Wyll interjected casually. It was a good opportunity to distract Astarion from asking about the Blade’s night adventures. “Rolan carried you in.”

“Huuuh?” Karlach’s face beamed with intrigue.

Nim stumbled for a moment, trying desperately to remember. “Oh… Right, I remember chatting with him on the beach. Did he tell you something, Wyll?”

“That you fell asleep.”

“Ha, ha-hah,” The elf roared with laughter. “The man is so stuffy that even sex with him puts women to sleep!”

“Cut it out, we just talked. You think I wouldn’t know if I slept with someone?” The drow interrupted, annoyed.

“So defensive we are! Something’s definitely going on between you two lovebirds,” Astarion responded cockily.

“Wish you could fight as well as you joke,” Nim scowled back at her companion. She now could remember what they were talking about, feeling embarrassed that she nodded off during the conversation. She greatly enjoyed Rolan’s company when he was calm and open, like last night. To fall asleep in the middle of it was disrespectful. And Nimriel didn’t even say a proper goodbye.

“At least that explains why you disappeared last night,” Karlach replied. She turned her head to the elf. “Drop it already.”

“You all such bores, even you, Karlach,” Astarion pouted.

“I almost forgot!” Wyll got up, still a little disoriented from the night of drinking. The Blade swiftly entered his tent and returned to the table, carrying something in his hands. “Rolan asked to give this to you. Said you will understand,” he passed a medium-sized red book to Nimriel.

“A book?” the confused drow took it off Wyll’s hands. It was the same tome of spells she once asked the tiefling to look through. The pages were a bit shabby, riddled with Rolan’s remarks written along the pages.

“Hmm, a “Weave of Life?” Haven’t seen these series of tomes for ages, I don’t think they get printed anymore,” Gale looked at the pages over the Nim’s shoulder. “Quite outdated for my taste. But I see Rolan came to the same conclusions, judging by his markings.”

“What do you mean?”

“He tried improving the spells, figuring out how to get the most use. I’d say some solutions are pretty adequate,” the wizard nodded in approval. “Why did he leave it behind?”

“Well, I once mentioned that I tried learning some spells,” Nim smiled. “Perhaps it was his way of saying thank you.”

“Try it if you want; I can help decipher some of the writing,” Gale clapped her on the shoulder, returning to his plate.

Nimriel continued flipping through the pages, participating in conversations now and again. She paused at the last page of the book, realizing that Rolan had left her a message:

For the ring. Practice at least once a day. Hope the spells from the book will help on your journey. -          R.

Short and scrupulous writing, just as she would expect from him. Still, the tiefling’s gest felt so warm and personal that Nim could not help but smile. The hot, tickling feeling rushed through her chest. She wanted to see Rolan again.  

[hubofhellfire]

Talking about blogs , or the downsizing of them .

I posted a poll a bit ago inquiring about whether I transition this hub blog into a single multimuse blog . . . the response has definitely proven to be interesting ! And I wanted to take the time to talk about my thought process and where I plan on going . . . for those that care to read this essay that's about to come:

Originally , this blog was going to be a multimuse blog , featuring . . . I think at the time I had like 25 muses in mind ? At the time I got cold feet , feeling as though that would be too many muses pulling for my attention and not enough time to give them all love . . . but then I ended up making like 30 sideblogs for this hub blog , so in reality I ended up at the same destination by just taking a different path .

I started the hub blog idea off the basis of utilizing the 10 carrds that I had , as well as giving people more freedom on which muses they wanted to be exposed to while also opting to choose if they wanted to follow the main blog for my ooc ramblings . . . and while this works to a degree , I also do think it potentially confuses a lot of people . . . especially when it comes to those that have their settings geared towards interactions only being with mutuals .

I think there are merits to both formats , and while I have trauma with trying multimuse blogs in the past . . . surely the third time around would stick the landing ? Right ?

That question has led me to decide to go ahead an slowly transition this main hub blog into a single multimuse blog . . . with some caveats .

What caveats ? Let's talk about them.

@spcrklefingers already has a well established footing , with multiple writing partners attached to it and several threads being discussed . It is for these reasons it will stick as a sideblog to the main multimuse blog . No ships , threads , mains , or exclusives will be discarded ; it'll be as though it is business as per usual .

@changedfate is the newest child to the hub , so it has yet to get a real footing . . . however given the nature of it being centered around a Disney character and Disney IPs ? I think it best to keep it distanced away from the transition . . . meaning that it will also stay as its own single muse sideblog .

So which sideblogs will be condensed into the "Sacred Multimuse Blog" ?

Great question . . .

@cunningvolt , @tealsteel , @signalsearched , and @pcrplelightning will be condensed from sideblogs into the main multi . Let's go over some reasons why.

Anby's blog was going to be condensed into the ZZZ multimuse anyway , and since it makes no since to have a multimuse blog be a sideblog to another multimuse blog ? The ZZZ multimuse blog shall be condensed into the main multi blog . . . albeit with some of the roster being lost in the process .

Which members of the roster ?

Miyabi , Koleda , Nicole , Soldier 11 , Ellen Joe and Grace will all be sealed away in the Destined Vault ™️

This means that along with Anby , Zhu Yuan , and Lucy will make the transition .

Reina's blog is interesting , as I am the only Reina in the Tekken RP space . . . so giving up that branding seems like a major L , but if I am going to throw another Tekken muse on the multi . . . Reina might as well make the jump as well . Hence her sideblog will be dusted .

Ezreal's blog is great branding , but I think it's also tarnished given several missteps and bridges burnt because of said missteps . . . so consolidating him onto the multi is the way moving forward . . . he's too special to give up entirely .

The branding of this main blog (the hubofhellfire name) will stay , the only things that will change being a new carrd and new promo post to coincide with the format change . . . everything else stays the same : all previously discussed threads , ships , memes , plots , etc . all stick around . . . just moved onto a place more easily accessible to all .

I am currently in the process of making all the new assets for this transition (promo pic/post & carrd) and hope to have at least a barebones version of the carrd ready sometime next week; until that time I will continue with things as normal on sideblogs .

If you have any questions or concerns regarding this update , please do not hesitate to reach out privately and ask ! I love and appreciate each and every person that follows this blog and wouldn't be here in this space without you !

Thanks so much for taking the time to read ! ! !

Much love & Keep moving forward ,

Destined

[vickyvicarious]

3 October, part 2

I am already so worn out

oh I love the several individual flicks of paper. The frustration and rage and deliberateness of him moving one page at a time to get to the right spot

"As I must do something or go mad," I. I........

"The teaching, big or little, could not have landed Mina or me anywhere worse than we are to-day." I AM SO SAD

their voices together...

THE WAY HE ASKS WHAT END

oh my god his little sniffle before "to work!"

NO I FORGOT ABOUT THIS we get to hear Renfield yelling agggggh I was not prepared at all and now I'm crying again

"the very first thing we decided was that Mina should be in full confidence; that nothing of any sort—no matter how painful—should be kept from her." I love how you can hear the rage at himself and determination to never ever ever fail her this way again

the fear, the trembled edge as he says "her eyes shone with the devotion of a martyr"

I love the way she says "I shall die." perfect delivery, gets across the 'like a fact' so simply and so well

"I would; if there were no friend who loved me, who would save me such a pain, and so desperate an effort!" She looked at him meaningly as she spoke." she is so good at manipulation. Something about the way she says this is perfectly pointed, so deliberately calm and not requesting but absolutely requesting and framing it as love and friendship and what is deserved

I really love the way he says "you must not die!" each and every time

"you must struggle and strive to live!" this sentence has such a good sound

"She was pleased with the prospect of anything to do" oh Mina

"Until it sets to-night, that monster must retain whatever form he now has. He is confined within the limitations of his earthly envelope. He cannot melt into thin air nor disappear through cracks or chinks or crannies. If he go through a doorway, he must open the door like a mortal." I think this is new vampire lore, that he cannot change shapes or anything during the day. It makes sense but hasn't come up I don't think

"the minutes and seconds so preciously laden with Mina's life and happiness were flying from us" I just love this phrasing

the house in Piccadilly that Jonathan hunted down. so, so, so glad he did

the way Jonathan says "the precious, precious time!"

"Don't - wait - more than need be..." he is trying so hard

van Helsing is so good at knowing how to get away with breaking the law <3

I wonder if this story about the guy who sold the stolen house is based on true events

van Helsing's laugh at the story is so nice

the way Art says "I can be of some use here" he is trying so hard to help. this is the only time he's wrong because his carriages are too fancy richboy for the situation

Jonathan not mentioning Mina's pointy teeth...

van Helsing's "do you forget" is SO king laugh. oh my god

the way Jonathan says "did I forget" lkadjsflkdjsf;kds

"I shall not forget, for it is well that I remember" Mina's hoarse voice...

the way Jonathan sighs when saying Mina was the most cheerful

MINA'S SCREAM AND THE MUSIC HOLY SHIT

"my poor darling" the way he says this

fuck, the way she sobs "Unclean" and "polluted flesh", how her voice cracks on "before the Judgement day"

JONATHAN CUDDLING HER INSTANTLY

"For a few minutes our sorrowful hearts beat together," this line

the way Jonathan says this line so softly: "There was hope in his words, and comfort; and they made for resignation."

~holding hands while pledging to save Mina~

HERE IT IS

"To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks." this line. and the delivery. almost soft at the end, but completely resolute.

van Helsing has at minimum 56 holy wafers left. and that is after his antics at Lucy's tomb. he really just took a giant sack I guess

Jonathan waving to Mina in the window <3 and her waving back <3

Art looking out for Jonathan's future <3 and utilizing his privilege and title

oh I love the frustration as Jonathan snaps "Eight boxes only out of the nine, which we sought!"

god, the description of Jonathan. love the music on "he is like a living flame"

oh I have always been pronouncing it "skolomance" in my head

"He is experimenting, and doing it well;" I love the delivery of this line

"Do we not see how at the first all these so great boxes were moved by others. He knew not then but that must be so. But all the time that so great child-brain of his was growing, and he began to consider whether he might not himself move the box. So he began to help; and then, when he found that this be all-right, he try to move them all alone." I really don't think this is the case. I think he didn't feel the need to move them all by himself at first, not that he didn't think he could

"He has just now, 12:45, come from Carfax hurriedly and hastened towards the South." the USEFULNESS. the PRECISION ABOUT TIMJE

"Now, God be thanked, we shall soon meet!" and "I would sell my soul to do it!" Jonathan is AFLAME

the delivery of the "w- for him" when van Helsing is scared they literally destroyed the boxes is so funny

oh I love the way van Helsing figures out his movements and the music as he does so

THE MUSIC AS DRACULA ARRIVES AND THEY FIGHT

so exciting kill him kill him

the slice!!!

the loot drop!!!!

again the disgust as JAck describes Dracula

I love the window breaking noise so much, not only just for itself but for what it means. Dracula is reduced to ungainly flight. he's snatching money off the floor and jumping out a window, tumbling to the ground. He's still losing money when he gets there!!!! (the ting is so good). Meanwhile Jonathan will skitter after him no problem at all

the way he says "You!" all scoffing but with a little edge to it. This whole speech. He is trying so hard to sound in charge and unbothered and terrifying and he is failing

Jonathan had no problem with the window but sadly a locked door yet again defeats him :(

Mina still finding time (and blood) to blush at descriptions of Jonathan's love for her <3

THE WAY SHE SAYS "Jonathan." so much love I cannot handle it at all

Mina speaking of pity for Dracula now... it's about herself as well of course. She is trying to sound so calm and compassionate but she is also so so so afraid here.

Jonathan's hatred for Dracula <3

"I, too, may need such pity; and that some other like you—and with equal cause for anger—may deny it to me!" Jonathan thinking well that will never happen because I will never let it.

The way she repeats "my husband". The way her voice shakes. I imagine her touching his hair as she talks about it...

The way he says "This, I know." The way he cries as he talks about how much more he loves her. I can't....

"I am not sleepy myself, though I am weary—weary to death." God, the way he says this line is agonizing. And how he gasps into his next breath... gahhhhh the way he starts to fall asleep as he writes

Mina's fear at someone in the hall is SO GOOD. And Quincey's so so so gentle "go back to bed. It's all right..." I love them so much I am crying about it, literally

oh SHIT there's music

OH YOU FUCKER YOU ABSOLUTE JACKASS

I literally tensed every single muscle in my body as I hear Dracula start to sing. Oh my GODDDDDD every line is so good and so inFURIATING holy shit the smug bastardddddd

the music is. so CHEERY. fa;lkdfjas;kdjlas god he is so delighted with himself this is. I cannot. ASJKDFLKDDJ DRACULAAAAAAAA

this song is amazing. with every single new line I. I- incredible.

[miseries-mistress]

ᴅᴀʏ 2: ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜᴏᴍᴇ | ʟᴇɢᴏʟᴀꜱ ʰᵒˡⁱᵈᵃʸ ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗ ²⁰²²

⋆꙳·❅*‧ DECORATING THE CHRISTMAS TREE ‧*❆ ₊⋆

warnings: gender-neutral reader, fluff, (i don't explicitly mention this, but the reader and legolas are dating), pure fluff, this is much more christmas themed than my other ones. w/c: 1040

notes: were there light bulbs in lotr? no. do they exist here? yes. 

event masterlist ❄︎ lotr masterlist

"What is…this deemed to accomplish?" Legolas inquisitively questioned as you took the lights from his hand to continue to drape across the tree. 

"It lights up the tree. Now hand me the garland."

You and Legolas met during the quest to Mordor, and even though the tales of such adventure seem like it was many moons ago, it has only been a year since you returned to the familiarity of your home with your kin. Nevertheless, you two remained in contact with each other- and with Legolas finding an excuse to leave Mirkwood, you invited him to your village for Christmas. Sure it was small, a mere stone compared to the grandeur of the palace he lived in, but he didn't seem to mind at all once he arrived. In fact, he appeared to be taken aback by it, his innocent curiosity never failing to warm your heart. 

Since his arrival fell on the days before Christmas, when the snow lay across the barren land, and the smell of woodlands and baked goods wafted through the air, it was a time like no other. It pulled it all together when you saw his face light up as he looked at every part of the celebration while you explained the holiday and the reason for such a festivity. From then on, he kept a constant stream of questions, unmistakably invested in the tradition and practice. 

The whole ordeal was…. Endearing, to say the least. 

Now under the cover of stars and moonlight, both of you decorate the Christmas tree nestled in a corner as you dig through your crate of decorations. Legolas remains forever patient, standing off to the side with his hands politely clasped behind his back while you ruffle through the box. 

You huff indignantly when the embellishment you are searching for is lost, and Legolas takes this as a cue to step in and offer his aid. 

"Do you need something?" He moved from his former position to behind you without so much as the air changing. The only indication he was near was the brush of clothing against your back and the dripping honey of his euphonious voice. 

For a moment, you don't respond as you make your last-ditch effort in your search. However, just as you are about to give up, the jewel you were searching for reveals itself to you. Well, it was far from a gem, considering its worn down appearance, but more of an air loom that had made its way into your hands, but despite its years of use, it still carried its illuminating gleam. 

"Ah, here it is." You smile fondly, holding up the golden star, wordlessly examining it before your eyes catch Legolas's questioning stare. "This is a tree topper. It's the last decoration to adorn the tree."

He nods in understanding, his golden locks moving with a slight shake. You set your eyes on the tree, only to have your face morph into an expression of puzzlement.

The tree was too tall. 

In the past, you had your father help you set this sacred adornment on the tip of the tree. But, unfortunately, he would most likely be busy at this hour, so that begged the question: how were you supposed to get this on the tree?

"Is everything all right, meleth nin?" he asked tenderly as if raising his voice a volume higher would frighten you. 

Right, you had forgotten he was behind you. The sparkles dance off the ornamented bejeweled tree, casting shadows over the floor as if taunting you about its impossible height.

Then it hits you, and you mentally curse yourself for being so foolish. 

"Legolas?" You turn your head to find his eyes already gazing upon you as the question slips past your lips. Heat burns your face, and you are sure he can deftly read your look of embarrassment as the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. "Might you aid me in designating this star on the limb of this sapling?"

His gaze travels to the green tree harvested from the forest before settling on you. A smile creases his thin lips, his eyes glimmering with a mischievous gleam. 

"I have a better idea." His deft fingers swipe over your hips, taking a firm hold of them as he raises you up. An involuntary shriek of surprise tumbles past your tightly sewn lips, and your hands fly to him, grasping them in your noiseless plea for him not to drop you. 

"Worry not, I have you," he reassures, his curved lips betraying his amusement as he squeezes your hip to drive his point further. You take a deep breath, readjusting the star in your grip before you lean forward. 

You've always admired the impeccable strength and vitality of the elves, but now trusting his power for your safety, you've come to value it- trust it, for it's the reason you ultimately placed the last decoration on the tree. The star glitters from where it is perched like thousands of its kind splattered over the reflected light from the candles. 

You lean back, proudly admiring your work with satisfaction as Legolas returns you to your feet. You turn on the lights strung around the tree, observing with barely contained wonder as the tree comes alive with an assortment of dashing hues. You spare a glance at him, a smile pulling taut at your lips as you watch his wonderment in elation. You return to his side, his arm trailing down to your waist, where he draws you in. 

"Perfect," you mutter, engraving the sight and memory into the far reaches of your mind while resting your head on his shoulder. Legolas's body tenses in preparation, his hands stilling their simple-minded path across the planes of your waist. The dark liquid brown of his irises falters from the tree to yours, brimming with bright hues that light your face in their magnificence, your irises bathed in that same wondrous color. Yet, Legolas finds his voice, although a bit breathless, which is uncharacteristic of him. For all his elegance and grace as an elf, he can't find a better word to describe not only you but everything that came along. 

"Perfect."

[the-greatest-choice-developer]

[System Notification]

Your choice has been registered:

Prepare for Confrontation

[System Notification]

-Scene 2: The Aftermath-

-Part 4-

Lloyd and Javier stood at the edge of the forest, the eerie silence pressing down on them. Ahead lay the Everglow Forest, a place twisted by distortions. The trees stretched high, their leaves glowing faintly under the dim light.

“Let’s just get what we need and get out of here. The elves will understand,” Lloyd muttered, tightening the straps on his gear. His unsettling confidence felt misplaced given the task ahead.

Javier glanced at him, unimpressed. “The elves don’t ‘understand’ anything involving humans touching their sacred tree or entering their territory. This isn’t going to be simple.”

Lloyd shrugged. “I’ll talk to them.” He left no room for further questions.

Javier sighed, keeping his thoughts to himself. They’d just have to face whatever came their way.

Back at the estate, the Fronteras and Sir Bayern were already fortifying their defenses. If things went wrong here, their problems would only multiply.

As they ventured deeper into the Everglow Forest, the distortions grew stronger, warping the very fabric of the environment. The trees shifted, their bark rippling as though alive, and strange, unidentifiable sounds echoed from every direction.

The ground was littered with white flowers—once delicate and serene—now warped by the distortions. Their petals shimmered in unnatural colors, occasionally phasing between solid and translucent, almost as if they were fading in and out of existence. Some flowers pulsed faintly, releasing strange, sweet fragrances that clouded the air.

Suddenly, Javier sneezed, breaking the silence and scrunching his face in discomfort.

Lloyd chuckled, glancing at him. “You can sneeze? Guess you're really not Mr. Perfect anymore.”

Javier glared at him, still rubbing his nose. “I don’t know what kind of nightmare these flowers are, but they’re—” He sneezed again. “—not natural.”

Lloyd looked horrified. "You know... you’re uglier than I thought when you do that."

Javier shot him a hard look, jaw clenched. "That’s YOUR face."

Lloyd surveyed the warped flowers. “Weird as they are, though, you’re still the ugliest thing in this forest.”

‘Just once. Let me punch you just once,’ Javier thought.

Lloyd blinked, then grinned, unfazed. "I guess you should have taken the chance to get a shot in when no one would know we switched."

Javier sat puzzled. How did this man always know what he was thinking?

Without warning, elves materialized from the trees, bows drawn and aimed at the two intruders. The leader stepped forward, eyes flashing with irritation.

"You two have been making so much noise we could hear you from a mile away!" the elf spat.

Lloyd held up his hands, adopting a polite smile.. “Look, we’re not here to cause trouble. We’re trying to help—”

The elf’s glare softened at the sight of Javier. “Help? You think humans come into our forest and help?”

“The distortions—” Lloyd began, but the elf cut him off.

“We know about the distortions. We’re dealing with them. What we don’t need is humans disturbing our land further.”

Javier’s shoulders tensed. This wasn’t going well.

Lloyd stepped forward, undeterred. “We just need some of the Elensia tree’s sap. It’s for a—”

The elves’ expressions darkened instantly, their bows tightening.

“You dare ask for sap from the Elensia tree?” the elf leader growled. “You would harm what we protect?”

Lloyd frowned. “It’s just sap. We won’t leave a lasting effect. Plus, it—”

The elves attacked swiftly, interrupting him.

Instinctively, Javier moved to shield Lloyd, forgetting their roles were reversed. Lloyd adjusted quickly, pushing Javier back as he fended off the arrows with surprising finesse. His strikes were sharp and instinctive, showcasing the muscle memory Javier had built over time.

But while Lloyd had the form, he struggled with mental speed—his reflexes too slow to block every attack. Behind him, Javier could see the trajectory of every arrow, instincts screaming to act. In Lloyd’s weaker body, he couldn’t react fast enough. He knew how to fight, but his body’s sluggishness made it impossible to keep up.

The elves were relentless, using the trees and leaves as jumping-off points, darting in and out, overwhelming the two.

Suddenly, a blast of mana erupted from Javier, knocking every arrow out of the sky. Lloyd blinked in shock, breath heavy. "Oh yeah, that’s a thing I can do," he muttered, a sinister grin spreading across his face—an expression that felt out of place on Javier.

Stressed by the onslaught, Lloyd felt something stirring inside him. He had been avoiding it, fearing what could happen, but the pressure was too much. His raw, unstable magic, affected by the distortion, reacted to his instincts.

Before the elves could catch their breath, a loud crack echoed through the forest. Reality bent and twisted around them as the distortions intensified. The trees themselves seemed to shudder as Lloyd’s uncontrolled magic flared wildly.

The elves froze, panic flashing in their eyes as their attack faltered.

[cookinguptales]

yamagata (part two)

A continuation of this post.

We left off as we were leaving Hijiori Onsen and were starting our drive to the Dewa Sanzan and our lodging for the night, which was a shukubo, or pilgrim lodging. The weather was pretty miserable, all said, so we ended up not doing all that much on day two.

(I was upset ;; )

But we did stop at a bunch of temples and shrines by the side of the road, because my father is very patient, and saw some other neat stuff, too.

More under the cut.

Because the area we were in was all considered fairly sacred, there were a lot of roadside temples and shrines. We only drove a couple hours, but we must have passed dozens.

Some were very small, like this roadside shrine we passed on the way out of Hijiori Onsen.

Others were fairly big, like the under-construction Hiyaiwa Temple.

There were Jizo everywhere here, dozens of them, but apparently the main temple is actually dedicated to Kannon and Daikokuten, which makes me think it might've originally been a shugendō temple. A lot of the ones we stopped at on the Dewa Sanzan (including our ostensibly Shinto shukubo) were devoted to them.

I couldn't go inside, though, due to the construction, so I couldn't see the Daikokuten statue. Shame, because I hear it's nice.

They also had a small cemetery, which was interesting to walk around in. I tried googling this guy, but he's not the famous Nogi. His uniform looks like it's from the Russo-Japanese era... I guess he was a soldier whose family interred him here.

We also saw a tiny shrine across a river that you can only access by boat when we stopped for lunch. There were no boats in that weather, obviously, but it was neat to look at across the water. It's difficult to see the torii (gate) from the landing where I was taking photos, but you could see it pretty well from the road.

(Togawa Shrine)

We had tempura udon for lunch here (more kokeshi, natch) and it was so nice after being out in such rotten weather.

And there was a mini shrine in the parking lot here, too. Truly, they were everywhere here.

We also encountered a really strange rest stop. It was Korea-themed...? From what I could tell from googling, it was largely a tourist trap. But what a fascinating tourist trap... A lot of people were getting out for lunch there, but it was so miserable out that we just kept moving.

We did eventually make it to Hagurosan, though!

We checked into our shukubo lodging, dropped off our stuff, and drove around the area a bit. I found what was essentially a ranger station over near Gassan. It was already closed for the season, but I was still able to learn a fair amount. And see some cute signs about bears. lmao

We eventually gave up after the freaking hail started and went back to the shukubo.

Here's some photos from the next day, after things cleared up a bit. Interesting, the combination of Buddhist and Shinto imagery...

And here's Kannon and Daikokuten again.

Look at the little frog. ;;

That's all from the next morning, though, after morning prayers.

LET'S GO BACK IN TIME... TO WHEN IT WAS STILL HAILING AND I WAS MISERABLE... lmao

Look at all this hail that was still on the ground at the shrine the next day, I tell ya.

Anyway.

Shukubo stays typically have very specific food. Most shukubo are associated with Buddhist temples, like the famous temple lodgings at Koyasan. So because of that, usually they have vegetarian food.

This one didn't! Shugendō isn't as specific about that, and this was technically a Shinto shrine, not a Buddhist temple. (Which actually caused problems because I think one of the other pilgrims was Buddhist based on the very upset conversation I overheard lmao. She was not happy to see fish in her dinner.)

Still, shugendō does emphasize eating whatever you can find on the mountain. Shugendō, as I mentioned before, is an ascetic mountain religion. In other words yamabushi spent a lot of time in very harsh conditions climbing mountains and communing with nature. They kind of ate whatever they found.

So the food at the shukubo was... I'm not going to say... good... but it was an interesting experience. Most of it was various plants from the mountain and I did not know what most of it was. It was uh. Generally very cold and wet. lmao

(Edamame-like bean cracker, tea, and an assortment of small dishes.)

(The persimmon was nice at breakfast. And they gave us a sort of zenzai (mochi in red bean soup) situation to give us strength for the climb. I think it was special mochi with more nutrients.)

A couple more interior photos of the shukubo's dining area.

We weren't allowed to take photos in some of the more sacred areas, like where we had morning prayers. It was a really interesting experience, though, and they actually had translated prayers for us that a western yamabushi had made. It had a lot in common with Shinto prayers, which I guess makes sense as it was technically a Shinto shrine, but not exactly. So, y'know, you'd have the paper ōnusa wands but also a conch shell that was blown during prayers...? It was so interesting.

(Not the conch shell the priest at the shukubo used; this was one at a Dewa Sanzan museum on Hagurosan.)

I did laugh a little internally, though. He was talking about how all the photos and signatures on the wall were from very devout pilgrims who'd stayed there but sir, I saw that one of them was SMAP.

(And trying to explain to Dad that they basically had a signature by the Japanese equivalent of maybe NSYNC or The Backstreet Boys was A Conversation.)

I'm at 26 photos again... I think I'll just go to yet another post (SORRY...) so I can talk about finally ascending Hagurosan.

I think it'll probably be only one more post for Yamagata because, frankly, I went to a lot of places you're not allowed to photograph after this. lmao. But I guess we'll see.