#calamitous wasteland

[trainerjoshie]

Love the Pokémon TCG settings illustrated by AYUMI ODASHIMA 🤩

[xain-russell]

“Why would a dragon need a human rider?”

It’s a diplomatic choice to carry a human rider. Dragons are not immune to gaps in knowledge about human culture, and humans are still prone to seeing dragons as nothing more than wild beasts. As such it’s important to have humans and dragons trained together in order to act as mediators for dealings between the two races.

There’s also the matter of sponsored champions. Once a dragon reaches greater status, settling disputes between other great dragons can be a calamitous affair. The favored way of ending this is to use human proxies. Some ancient dragons have whole armies of lesser races to battle each other, but the majority have single riders or “Champions” to act in their stead. It’s a much more manageable conflict that doesn’t end in a countryside being turned into a barren wasteland.

There’s a vetting process for Riders and Dragons to be counted amongst the official organization, but there are certainly Humans who care more about the prestige of riding a dragon, and Dragons who just see it as a chance to get an “educated pet”

[poketcg-art]

Calamitous Wasteland -- AYUMI ODASHIMA

[dailyadventureprompts]

Planescape: Acheron, the Ironshod Realm

There is no method to this madness

A surreal landscape of infinite conflict and meaningless strife, the calamitous void of Acheron is one of the multiverse’s foremost hells, a realm wallowed in apocalyptic war that has never known peace. 

One could almost describe the geography of Acheron as an asteroid field, save that the asteroids were infact massive iron cubes which hurled through the smokefilled void, ricocheting off one another like billiards across some mad titan’s table.  Some cubes were as broad across as a single buildings, while others were as large as mountains, or even continents,  with each cubes faces boasting a patchwork of ruins and jagged rents, or simply wastelands pounded flat by previous collisions. 

Nothing good survives on acheron. Multiversal warlords salvage and strip mine the place for their foundries and invariably get caught up in territorial wars with locals or each other, establishing outposts and fortresses of millennia old battlefields. Damned souls run rampant here, collected by spirits of cruelty and bloodlust who marshal them into ramshackle battalions and raiding parties and set them against each other than for no other reason than to feed off the conflict. 

Adventure Hooks: 

Looking to empower a king who’s driving his realm to ruin, Lord Asmodeus has gifted the tyrant with a set of chess pieces forged from Acheron Iron. When placed on a map, the pieces will cause a manifestation of fiendish spirits in the corresponding area, giving the king hellish agents he can redeploy at will. After the third time fighting the same demonic knight, the party gets it into their heads to sneak into the fortress where the chess-set is being kept and destroy the damned thing... now if only they could figure out its hidden location. 

One of the most predominant species to inhabit the ironshod realm are the so-called “Bladelings” a xenophobic people with metallic flesh who fled to acheron after their own homeland was consumed in a plague of rust. Mistrustful to the point of not sharing their language, or even their own name with outsiders, they sharpen their edges into natural spikes and razors so as to harm any that would come too close. The bladelings have the unique talent of transforming the smaller cubes of acheron into spelljamming ships, so players are most likely to encounter them and their floating fortress-homes acting as pirates, slavers, or mercenaries out in wildspace.

Having surviving the horrors of war as a young child, the artist Disaldi of Harrowheath has made a name for herself painting abstract masterpieces that chillingly convey the nameless terrors all to familiar to those who have seen such strife first hand. For decades her work helped her process her trauma, but in recent months her dreams have been more and more, troubled forcing her into isolation as she attempts to work the nightmares out of her system, concerning her friends and patrons.  In truth Disaldi has been touched by the psychic emanations of an extraplanear doomsday weapon, a thing long-dying in the forgotten battlepits of Acheron which now seeks to use its connection with the painter to open a portal to the material plane.

[ghirahimbo]

wip wednesday

More of the wandering spirit AU, tentatively titled Eternal Sunshine. Now that I've named it, I guess it's an official wip? Hooray :')

--

The first time Link appeared atop the ice-encrusted wing of Vah Medoh, silent and grim and flickering green, Revali almost refused to acknowledge him.

After all, what was left to say between them? Their collective failure had been laughably absolute, or near enough so. The princess may have awakened her long elusive powers at last, single-handedly halting the Calamity and draining the poisonous pink from Medoh’s veins—but not in time to save her Champions, who one by one had sent out frantic distress signals destined to go unacknowledged. Not in time for Revali, shot in the back, in the dark, in the rain, battling corrupted winds and an oozing mechanical beast he now suspected was merely an aspect of Calamity Ganon himself. Not even, it appeared, in time to save her fated hero and Hylian partner against the Calamity, whose oh-so-special sword had done him so little good in the end.

Revali felt the faintest stirrings of vindication flutter to life inside him at the thought, sticky sweet and malicious. Hadn't he predicted this all along? Sworn up and down that Link lacked what it took to avert this calamitous end?

Still, catching the mournful blue gaze that wouldn't quite meet his own, Revali felt any hint of condemnation shrivel to fine, bitter powder against his tongue. For all that he had foreseen Link's failure, he had never predicted his own. Superiority felt miles out of reach above him with the cold corpse of Medoh stranded in the icy wastelands of Hebra, grounded from its once triumphant flight—and his own spirit bound and stranded alongside it.

"You too, hmm?" he said instead with weary resignation, not even a wisp of steam rising from his insubstantial breath. Link's silent grimace was answer enough.

Sighing, Revali turned from Link to survey again the dismal landscape surrounding them, little though there was to see. The impenetrable depths of the blizzard that had roared unceasing since the hour he fell cloaked his view in every direction, rendering even Medoh's inert form no more than a hulking, indistinct shadow in the snow.

Though the wind raged with obvious fury, neither his braids nor Link's hair so much as stirred, separated irreparably from the element Revali had fought so hard in life to master.

"Are you here to mock me at my lowest?" he asked abruptly, imbuing each bitter word with the chill he could no longer feel. "That's only fair, I suppose, given my previous grandstanding. Witness the wonder of Revali, who soared at the greatest of heights only to plummet to the most shameful of depths!" He spread his wings out wide with a grandiose flourish, sardonic. Expectant. "What an inspiration, truly! What a tragedy!"

Link… stared, which was the reaction Revali should have expected, really. The silent knight had always been the most unsatisfactory audience.

Eventually Revali scoffed, drawing his wings back into his chest.

"As speechless in death as in life, I see," he muttered. "Just my luck."

Link's white teeth pulled at his bottom lip, blue eyes fixed on the ground between them. Then, as if with the sole, maddening purpose of proving Revali wrong, he spoke.

"I'm not dead."

The whistling wind almost swallowed up his quiet words. It was Revali’s turn to stare, first at Link in disbelief, and then pointedly at the flickering green flame that engulfed him in its ghastly glow the same as it did Revali.

"Do tell," he said flatly. For all that Revali had utterly failed, at least he'd come to terms with his own defeat.

Link shook his head again stubbornly, denying it still without explanation. Well, let him have his delusions for now. He would realize the harsh truth of things in the end.

[catboylupin]

does anyone else think of sirius whenever they see or listen to hozier or is that just a weird association of mine

[warhammer-fantasy-muses-archived]

@savior-of-humanity

The winds howl upon the Realm of Chaos. Dark whispers of ruinous powers and chaotic entities carried upon the dark breeze of this calamitous wasteland. It had always been so. Ever since Oxyotl first appeared here. How many years? He could scarcely count them all on his own. It felt like decades. Centuries. Maybe even millennia.

But he had to keep strong. He had to survive. Just for the chance... the narrow, slight possibility, of returning to Lustria. So, he survived. Nay, he thrived. The Chaos Wastes were HIS hunting grounds, eventually. And daemons of all four Ruinous Powers began to whisper of HIS name.

He would make the Chaos Gods themselves fear him.

But for now, Oxyotl was merely doing his best to relax at one of his many temporary camps set up within the wastes, on the lands bordering between the realms of the Sorcerer, and the Plague Lord. Tzeentch, and Nurgle. His campfire lightly flickering with flame, as the Skink warrior would unload a huge satchel from his back, the content spilling forth in the form of killed Nurglings.

He’d set himself near his campfire, immediately skewering one of the small round beasties, wincing and sneering as pus-like blood squirted out of its body, before he’d place it upon the fireplace, flames licking and burning away disease and rot from the flesh slowly, but surely. He’d work on another one, pulling out a knife to meticulously carve and cut at the pustules and wounds of another, draining them of their fluids and collecting them in wooden bowls for later.

[otp-armada]

"Bellarke doesn't make sense," they say. They say because Clarke hasn't done anything that resembles romantic gestures toward Bellamy. 

Conceding to march to her possible death in exchange for Roan sparing Bellamy's life. Obstinately fighting against Bellamy's stubborn wishes to remain outside the Ark while Praimfaya burns to the world to ashes. Shattering her soul by choosing 100 people to live and writing his name on the list, because he must survive. She can't have it any other way. Relinquishing 50 of those spots to Azgeda when Bellamy is captured and threatened, and Roan calls her bluff. Desperation driving her to the extreme to ensure the survival of the human race, yet unable to kill Bellamy to keep the bunker closed and the grounders from possibly killing Skaikru. Leaving the guaranteed safety of the fort to stay by Bellamy's side on the brink of global cataclysm. The bittersweet yet soft head and heart exchange she prompted. The hesitation in her last remark before imploring him to hurry. 

4x13 ends six years and seven days post-Praimfaya with Clarke radioing Bellamy on the Ring. An activity she performs daily for six years. In any six years of my adult life, my only daily consistencies have been limited to breathing, eating, and sleeping. This girl is devoted enough to send her equivalent of love letters into the emptiness of space for 2,199 days. Season 5 opens with her trying to survive by herself in an apocalyptic wasteland. She spends her journey narrating to him her unvarnished struggles during the most traumatic experience of her young life to date. Her despondency. Her loneliness. Her agony. Her desperation. Her small victories. Her discovered treasures. Her determination. Her doubt. Her guilt. Her defeat. Her morbid self-reflection. Her relief and contentment. Her happiness. Her admission of missing him. She shares all of it with only him. Only he is permitted to know her to this depth. Not any of her other people on the Ring. Not any of her people in the bunker, a group including her mother. Not a spiritual communion to the great, big love of her life Lxa, situated on her throne in the high heavens and waiting for her trophy wife, for Clarke to stay connected to her dearly departed. Isn't that the sort of behavior that might occur by a bereft widow? 

After finding an oasis to rest and call home, even after discovering a companion to build a life with, she continues with her radio calls. It doesn't matter that he never received her communications. The importance of the gesture- the intimacy of sharing her life and thoughts with him while he was gone- remains the same. The magnitude of her devotion to him made clearer through the absence of a single responding utterance. 

She lovingly tells Madi stories of Bellamy as her hero. Gazing warmly, hopefully up at the stars as if she longs for her vision to cut through an endless pitch-black sky and find dark curls and freckled constellations from thousands of miles away.

"Bellarke doesn't make sense," they say. They say because post-Praimfaya ended with an established B/E.

As Clarke looks up at the stars, questioning if she'll see Bellamy again, we transition to our first glimpse of Bellamy after six years, forlornly looking down on Earth to the very spot of green where he is unaware of who is yearning for him to return to her. Contrary to Clarke, who is covered in warm firelight when thinking of him, he is colored in cold, muted greys and blue, no speck of warm hue. (The rhyming scheme was unintentional, but hey, I'm going with it.) Behind him, his family is sparring, but he's distant from them. He's trapped within this tin can, his arms folded, his body taut, not facing the view on the other side of the glass, but still enraptured by the sight of his home below.  

We see what changes to the characters and their dynamics have taken place until, at long last, we uproariously cheer as Bellamy & Co. find a way to return to Earth, the sole event we've been anticipating for eleven months, to the point we could feel it at our fingertips, jittery and tingly. Bellarke reunion!! He's going to know she's alive! Yes! Finally!! Break out the champagne! We're celebrating, dammit! It's going to be so damn emotional! Authors start crafting mental fanfics. People are bouncing off the walls like bright, errant fireworks, unable to sit still. I can't believe it's finally happening...what do you think it's going to be like? Will he run to her? Will he be stunned and speechless? Will they sob uncontrollably?!? They'll be clutching the life out of each other! Another Bellarke hug!! The very best hug!!! They're never going to let the other out of their sight again! He's going to meet Madi! Mom, dad, and adopted preteen make three!!! There's no way they're not getting together after this!! He just got her back after six years of thinking she was dead!! The reunion's not going to happen this episode, but maybe next week, when do you think? You mean we have to wait seven days before----

B e c h o.

We stood on the precipice of what we agonized and crawled through for eleven excruciating months, only for an anvil to drop, and our heads to be clubbed. Our bodies fell through the floor, descending lower and lower with immense haste, to take up residence in the seventh circle of hell. 

Do you think the framing of these events wasn't intentional?

Do you think the powers that be behind the creation of that calamitous bombshell for our protagonist, intended for us to root for B/E? 

By us, I'm not restricting the effect of the blow to Bellarke shippers. The entire audience, casual and fandom alike, shippers and non-shippers, was meant to await this reunion. We were all meant to feel devastated by this revelation. 

If they didn't want to invoke in us feelings of support for B/E at their inception, how in the name of all things holy is a purported B/E endgame your conclusion? 

"B/E doesn't make any sense," they say, "when last we saw them, she was his enemy. Nothing more, nothing less."

Do I think their pre-Praimfaya status as antagonists rendered it impossible for B/E to have a convincing love story or sexual relationship?

I think, if Jason were so inclined, we could have gotten flashback Ring rendezvous of secret trysts between Bellamy and a googly-eyed, blonde-wig-wearing broomstick designated Clarke 2.0. So no, I don't consider B/E a deviation inherently outside the realm of romantic possibility. Jason is an artist, and this show is his canvas. He can give life to almost any whim he'd like in his work of fiction. Not only that, but B/E is also hardly the first pairing in this series modeled by the enemies-to-lovers trope.

"Bellarke doesn't make sense, they'd say, "absent any concrete evidence alluding to a romantic relationship." "Seven years running, and not a trace of romantic love," they'd conclude. 

Remind me, what was B/E's sublime prologue into coupling up again?

Furiously choking the life out of an enemy in a fit of rage two episodes before revealing her as his new girlfriend evidently can be considered by some an adequate precursor to a sensational romantic relationship. But endangering Earthkru's lives by risking the wrath of two societies in refusing to let Clarke die, pumping her heart for her to stay alive while begging her to fight so she can come back to him, cannot be. 

Either this show is quite the oddity, or it’s fandom's periodic knee-jerk, ass-backwards, charming zeal at play. 

The lack of rising development is all the more reason why B/E's grand unveiling demanded perfection. Instead, our first insight into their union is overshadowed by Clarke and the impending Bellarke reunion. B/E isn't central enough to the narrative to warrant focus that would put to rest any discord of illegitimacy. But you know which pair of the two is concentrated on for seven seasons now? Three guesses... 

But don't despair. Fandom has decreed, by its own appraisal, the shorthand of kissing and sex has rectified the discrepancy of a complete absence of pertinent on-screen development.

"It's not ideal storytelling," they say, "to exclude B/E's development. But The 100 has historically been a plot-driven, fast-paced, contained drama. It has always evaded expanding on character dynamics to fans' satisfaction.”

The writers have done more to present Josephine and Gabriel as soulmates with less airtime than B/E ever had in total. They don't lack the skill or time to fortify B/E in anyone's mind as the central romance. Jason made a conscious choice not to. Why would he? Does he think the endgame love story of the show's deuteragonist doesn't merit attention to detail by the writing? Or does it seem more likely, it was never his intention for B/E to cross the finish line?

And, for a plot-driven, fast-paced, contained drama, they sure have an awful knack for finding the time to showcase Clarke's kicked puppy reactions to an embracing B/E. We've had three thus far. One for science, one for emphasis, and one to say, "Do you people get it now?"

"Bellarke doesn't make any sense," they say, "if they wanted each other, they'd have gotten together by now." 

A long time ago, someone stated, "Lovers are supposed to do that you know and if they don’t do that it means their relationship isn’t romantic if sexual intercourse isn’t added." 

And to that, I posed the question, "Where exactly is it written that "if a pairing is not made canon by season [insert arbitrarily chosen number here], it will never be made canon, period?" Was I just absent from fandom class that day and skipped to the lesson on slow-burn ships?" We are going into the final season, and I stand by this question today as I did then. Bellarke could refrain from physical expressions of love and candid confessions to season 17, and their journey could continue to exemplify a love story. Because the absence of either one doesn't preclude two people from falling in love. Nor does the inclusion of either one necessitate two people falling in love. 

"Bellarke doesn't make any sense," they say. They say because Bellamy is her dearly beloved, but platonic, best friend.

Well, you've got me there. I'm stumped. How can it be possible for friendship and romantic love to behave as anything but mutually exclusive concepts? It's not as if friendship can be contorted to serve as a foundation for love.

 The cornerstones of strong friendships include trust, care, support, devotion, and many other features of a similar nature. Love- deep and genuine love, that is- involves frequent kissing and passionate, vigorous sex. The wilder the display, the stronger the pairing. The dozens of couples, love interests, and sexual liaisons before B/E who have kissed and had sex before dying must not have first consulted the manual for proper protocol.

And the inverse? Once two people fall in love, they cannot fall back to say, a familial connection. No, no, no. Such a regression would be the work of a tragic, reprehensible flaw in the cogs of the universe. Speak nothing of it.

"It doesn't make sense for B/E to break up," they say, "when B/E has stayed together for two seasons sans any indication Bellamy loves Clarke more than Echo, enough to want to leave his loving girlfriend."

How many times has Bellamy tried and failed to honor his commitment to Echo? How many weak attempts are met with a corresponding scene of Bellamy shifting his attention to the girl he tells himself to get over?

Echo leaves for Shallow Valley, his focus immediately turns onto persuading Clarke not to leave his side. He symbolically chooses Echo in the fireside scene by touching her sword. Yet, he looks at his girlfriend for the first time since their separation with the most aloof expression unsuitable for the occasion. No hope to be found anywhere. They share a brief reunion hug, no time for intimacy. He is reunited with Clarke and casts a nervous glance at Echo when bombarded with Clarke's appreciative gaze. Still no time for intimacy between B/E before a decade-long nap, but time can be carved out for a warm, flirty Bellarke reconciliation, complete with intensive heart eyes. No inspired, emotionally wrought, double sunlit embraces for B/E. If Bellamy is going to look out of a window at his future home, he'll either be by himself or snuggling Clarke into his side. There's no place for Echo in the lock of his arms anymore, only room for flanking him in the way loyal lieutenants tend to do. His girlfriend glances over at him as their exploratory team roughly plummets to new territory, and he does the same at Clarke. B/E reconnects lakeside, him asking for a swim with her and leaning into her arms at a campfire. He sits by her side on a swing set, amidst talk of moving their people into an abandoned village. And it's all well and good for B/E, right? They're presenting the front of a happy, unified couple. 

Until...Clarke walks away behind his sight, and he leaves Echo's side to seek Clarke's missing presence where the flirting and warm gazes and near confessions are kicked into overdrive. He calls Echo to hear his latest discovery, then proceeds to ignore the hell out of her, communicating exclusively to his co-leader. He stares wistfully at Clarke dancing with her new flavor of the night, cannot stop doing so even while excoriating Echo for her stoicism, expressing his frustration at her inability to fulfill his emotional needs. 

He recommits to Echo, as Clarke is kidnapped and her body is stolen, with nary a transition, suggesting we are meant to link the two incidents together. For all his resolve to face the future with Echo, he spends the whole of the next episode with a wary eye on Clarke, to the point that he is the first to realize Clarke is not herself. In the ensuing arc ranging from 6x05 to 6x11, approximately half of the season, what was B/E, again? Was that a thing concurrently happening with Bellamy's Operation: Save My Clarke? Because I seem to be able to recall only Bellarke goodness. Oh, my mistake, there was the consoling hug which, oddly enough, did nothing to soothe him. As evidenced by his choice to grieve alone. No girlfriend he wanted close by for comfort, knowing clear as day she couldn't provide it if she tried. Not with who he just lost. 

B/E gets another brief reunion hug, the majority of which is spent with him peering at Clarke. The show saw that hug and raised us an Austenesque-quality counterpart that would do Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy proud. 

"B/E endgame is the only sensible outcome," they say, "they love each other so much."

I don't contend they don't love each other. But we are shown two people determined but incapable of snuffing their deep-rooted feelings out of noble propriety, and most importantly, out of needless fear of unrequited love. And another two people who sought- and failed- to keep grasping the wisps of a gentle relationship slipping out of their hands since they left their comfortable space bubble. For anyone in this conundrum to be happy, the only natural course of action is for the latter to call it quits. The writing has been on the wall for too long.

Maybe a single Bellarke scene plucked out of the lineup can be interpreted on its own as platonic buddies being platonic buddies. But when all those individual moments are woven together, what forms is an ornate tapestry with a pattern so vivid, any inane rhetoric involving a hint of the word "platonic" is little more than ludicrous anti drivel transparently cooked up by those wishing a different endgame.

I hope you've enjoyed my second long-winded rant, @sometimesrosy, @jeanie205, @travllingbunny. One born of a teaching moment in which I learn for the umpteenth time it's best to steer clear of Twitter.

[morsking]

yariyumi replied to your post: i shit on kengos a lot but my dream is to be an...

it wont work. dirt will still suck ass. trust me, the one with the titan grid. trust your friend lance.

the clouds enshroud a barren wasteland. the sun scorches cruelly over the empty battlefield, as if to scorn its meaninglessness.

“dirt will suck even in magna 2, bro,” you say, standing in front of me with snacks on one hand and an aoidos plushie in the other. there is no derision or pity in your words. i know in my heart your support is sincere and unconditional. you have tread your path and borne witness to its own hardships. comfort is your intention, your comrade in your attention.

i am kneeling. my hands are tired and sore. my chrysaor swords lie broken on the ground, their skill levels reset to 1. my wind units lie exhausted, their heartbeats barely clinging on to their chests from farming alexiel nonstop to no avail. my wind magna 1 grid is in shambles, formed by 5 3* guns and the one freebie sk20 we got for anni 6.

i look upon the calamitous end of my journey. there is only hardship, there is only suffering. there is only hubris and self-destructive wantonness.

and yet...

“even then i...”

i force the words out of my drying, bleeding throat. the desperate gasps of air claw through my esophagus as i muster the last slivers of my own dying will.

“even then i...!”

the clouds begin to part. as if the cruelty of the sun transformed into a reason to fight, i take my windhose by the hilt, supporting myself as i rise upwards. i brace myself for the pain that will shock throughout my body as i break through the physical limits i had reached long ago.

i take a deep breath of air, letting this unwavering torrent of life resound through my lungs, as if to drown out the death throes of all those who came before me, and failed.

“even then i will never believe my path is wrong!”

the bright blue sky blossoms above the reviving garden.

“my dream will come true! even if it’s hard, even if i suffer, even if i stumble and curse my destiny, i will never believe it is a mistake! my ideals are mine!  they won’t ever be stupid, and they won’t ever be meaningless!”

vitality spreads through me soul, and i swing my sword as if to render the horizon. it is a lyric of bravery and hope, ending the mournful silence of futility. a song of power resounds throughout the heavens as i walk forwards with resolve.

“holy shit danny is that last stardust as your ringtone that’s my fucking jam. love me some bomb-ass ubw.”

[archons-star]

Paradise

Chapter Two

WC: 2179

Ever since Kael left the village two months prior, everything's been getting harder and harder. Food had become even scarcer as time went on. The animals that usually live in the woods are gone, the water supply had dried up, and everyone had begun to lose hope that everything would be alright.

"Arya, why didn't we go with Kael?" Emory asked, and she turned to face him with a serene smile.

"Because he can't be trusted, Em. He's one of the people who caused this war," she replied. Emory frowned. "But don't worry. We'll be alright."

"No, they won't. It's time you stop telling them that," a voice said from behind me, and she turned to see Father Nathan's wife, Clair. She had graying hair pulled back into a tight bun and wore a tattered and dirty dress.

"Mrs. Clair," she said flatly, watching as her hawk-like eyes narrowed on me.

"As time goes on, your boys will be forced to see the real world without you. You need to teach them to survive on their own because, without you, they're basically nothing."

"Why are you such a cruel bitch?" Emory chided. He spoke as if he were speaking to a child, with a slight smile on his face and a soft look in his eyes.

"Why, you little hellion!" Clair bellowed. She raised her arm and was about to strike Emory when she pushed herself between them. Instead of hitting her brother, Clair hit me, and she fell to the ground from the force of her hit.

"Arya!" Atticus barked, coming to kneel at her side. He grasped her hand, and in return, she gave him a soft smile.

"I'm alright, Atticus," she voiced. I’m sorry, boys, she thought solemnly, I can’t keep my promise after all. Deeming it useless, she stayed splayed across the uneven ground.

“Oh, stop being so dramatic, young lady,” Clair hissed, reaching for her hair. Pulling her up, she was forced to meet her cynical eyes.

“Leave  her alone, you witch!” Felix commanded. Emory held his brother back as he flung obscenities at the abusive woman.

“Such abhorrent children,” Clair opined. “If only your parents had raised you right.”

“Don’t you speak of them, hag!” Felix roared, his anger renewed. Her eyes flitting to him, she gave Felix a small smile.

“It’s alright, Felix. I’m alright.” No, I’m not. “It doesn’t hurt that bad.” It feels like I’m being pulled apart at the seams. “I’m really okay.” Please, help me.

Clair, clicking her tongue, let go of Arya’s hair. She crumpled to the ground and stayed there, making no move to get up.

“The reason everyone has false hope is because of people like you, young lady,” Clair sibilated. She glowered at her sunken figure. “Because of people like you, because of you immigrants, their resources have been depleted, resources that were supposed to last for hundreds of years. You immigrants, not caring how many people you hurt when you flee to another country...”

“This is all your fault.”

 # 

Bodies shuffled along, the scent of death being carried on the wind. Nothing was the same. Nothing was as it had been. Villages were burned, reduced to nothing but smoldering ash within hours -- even the largest villages weren’t safe from the destruction.

 # 

In the smaller settlements, food and water ran out first, followed by the hope of the people. Children starved, peasants were taken by the plague; all people -- no matter their background or status -- were stricken with the hatred and despair caused by the international strife known as “war.”

The larger cities were no better off.

In the city of Belador, the City of Merchants was the worst. Because of the staggering amount of ships that arrived daily, the plague spread at an incredible rate. It outran the plague traveling by land, arriving in other port cities days before its land-transmitted counterpart.

Within days, Belador fell to the disease. Panic broke out. Emergency supply reserves were drained within a few weeks of the war beginning, and the plague only made things worse. Medical supplies had already been limited since the fall of Neorem’s chief trading partner, Hylen. Hylen had been the leading producer of medical supplies for three hundred years before they fell victim to an economic crisis caused by its king. For years, the king of Hylen had been depleting the royal treasury for his own personal gains, until they had run out and he imposed a monstrous tax upon his people. The next year, everything crumbled to the ground. Since then, the number of approved medical supplies had dropped, dipping below the line Neorem had deemed “calamitous” and “unacceptable.”

The Plague drained what little Belador had left in regards to medicine -- all of it gone to waste as there was no cure for the pestilence.

Kaelen rode through the streets of the once beautiful seaside city of Belador, a handkerchief covering his mouth and nose. Bodies upon bodies were piled atop one another, and the flies -- oh, the flies -- were horrid. Kael had only seen so many once before -- on the battlefield.

The sound of hooves squelching through the blood-stained streets echoed off the abandoned buildings, the beast’s tail flicking back and forth to combat the carnivorous flies as they searched for blood to drink and flesh to feast upon.

“Easy, Charlle,” Kael uttered as he directed the horse over a precariously stacked pile of bodies, surrounded by dogs whose skin stuck to their bones. The dogs barked as man and beast passed them by, then went back to their feast of dilapidated corpses.

Kael continued onward, towards the center of the city. He passed bakeries, butcher shops, tailors -- a variety of different shops and stores long since renounced by their former owners. In the distance, he could hear the screeching of vultures and the cawing of the crows.

Without warning, a fat drop of rain landed on Kael’s hand, followed by one, then another, until he was in a full-on downpour. Quickly, he directed Charll towards an outcropping near an old blacksmith’s stall. Sighing, Kael watched as the rain washed away the dirt and grime that had piled up in the streets over the past few months.

“Goddammit.”

 # 

Arya’s eyes watched as the clouds rolled by, seemingly without a care in the world. From where she stood, it was as if the clouds were trying to hide the destruction taking place on land from the gods.

We were supposed to be safe here, she thought ruefully, looking over her shoulder at the three boys sleeping in a corner of the house not affected by the roaring winds outside. A sad smile played on Arya’s lips as she watched the three.

A clap of thunder jolted Arya out of her musings, and she turned to the west to see a monstrous gray cloud coming straight for their house. Quietly, so as to not wake the boys, she padded across the worn floor to grab the ratty, tattered blanket -- the last blanket in the house -- and covered the boy with it. She knew that it wouldn’t do much against the frigid rains of this country, but it was better than having nothing to cover oneself with.

Right after she had finished that small task, the rain began. It leaked through the hole-riddled roof and coated the entire house -- inside and out -- in a thin layer of water. She sighed, setting herself close to the boys to keep as much water off them as possible.

 # 

The court was in a panic. Half of the empire had fallen victim to the plague running haphazardly across the country, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

The only thing they could do was watch as chaos unfolded before them.

 # 

Seven hundred years ago, the first people set foot in the country they would come to call ‘Neorem.’ At first glance, it was nothing but plains and rocky outcroppings with trees sparsely mixed in. But once people began moving there, others were sent out to map the land, and they found a land of unparalleled beauty.

In the north were groves larger than one person could explore in half a year. Trees grew to be as tall as the tallest spire on the church in Neorem’s capital, Hundr; the branches reaching for the sky like bony fingers. In the harvest season, the green leaves turn brilliant shades of red and orange. Those forests had been mapped during the harvest season, and explorers had given them the name ‘Ruby Grove’.

In the east were the plains, the first land structure seen by those early colonists. Canyons could be found deeper in the country. After about a days ride through unchanging plains, a plateau looks out into a giant chasm, the rock worn away by long extinct rivers and lakes. The rocks shone a soft peach during the day, but as soon as the moon rose, they changed to a sharp green.

In the south were the beaches and islands of Neorem. Port cities sprung up along the coast almost as quick as Neorem’s rains came. Along with those cities were villages that appeared along rivers leading to the sea, specializing in fish products. During the summer, the beaches were filled with people, both local and foreign, who had come to admire the crystal blue waters.

Finally, in the west were the Ruins, ancient buildings having been claimed by Mother Nature once more. On every side of the old city were mountains; steep cliffs glowering down at the man-made structures below with furious eyes. Whenever anyone would see those mountains -- the “Widowers”, as Neorians liked to call them -- they would always take a few steps back, as if something would attack if they got any closer. One day, something might.

Only those adventurous enough and who had enough money could travel there. Even then, those who made the trek were met with nothing but a barren wasteland; no plants nor animals have ever been seen in the west. Neither had anyone lived there since the previous inhabitants disappeared; to where no one knew.

The one thing they did know was something had befallen the previous inhabitants of Neorem, something cataclysmic. The ground in and surrounding the Ruins was charred black by fire, and everything was coated in ash.

 # 

It was the heat that woke Arya. Being so far into the fall already, the kind of heat she felt had made no sense. Then she heard the screaming.

Screaming -- coming from the left and from the right, in front and behind her -- clued her in on what was happening.

Fire.

Quickly, Arya awakened the boys, urging them to hurry as she gathered what little belongings they had left. She packed them into a small bag and slung it over her shoulder before ushering the boys out of the house. The sight that met their eyes was beyond any nightmare they could think up.

People all around them were running; running away from the fire that had begun to consume the village. Arya grabbed Felix’s and Emory’s shoulders before pushing them in the opposite direction as the flames, with Atticus not far behind. He trailed after her as the fire ravaged their surroundings.

“Arya!” a voice called out, and the girl turned to see a horse racing towards her and the boys. Looking closer, she saw that the village’s stable master was riding his horse while leading more behind him. The man skidded to a stop next to the four.

“Hop on! I’m gonna try to get as many people as I can!” he barked. With no protest, Arya grabbed her brothers and placed them on one horse while she pulled Atticus after her onto another. Grabbing the lead for the horse her brothers rode, she directed both horses towards a rocky outcropping the stable master told her to go to, saying that he’d be there with the others shortly.

Arya dug her heels into the horse's side, and the beast took off like a shot across the worn cobblestone paths, leaving dust in its wake. The wind whipped her unrestrained hair, causing it to block her field of vision. Keeping one hand on the reigns, she pushed her hair out of the way, only for it to be snapped back in her face. Giving up, she focused on keeping Atticus against her so he didn’t fall off the racing animal.

Upon reaching the outcropping, Arya turned her horse around to see her village engulfed in flames, their red fingers extending for the sky. She looked on in horror as her friends and neighbors -- what was left of them, anyway -- were swallowed by the destructive force that had once been seen as having such warmth, of being good.

“Arya..!” Emory exclaimed, quickly covering Felix’s eyes with the hand not holding on to the horn of the saddle. Arya did the same with Atticus, covering his eyes to shield him from the horror of having to watch his friends burn to death.

[river1983]

one word prompt list?

im probably jumping a bandwagon but i thought it was interesting...so heres a prompt list! send me a word/number and a ship and ill write something :)

--

Place(s)

refuge

wasteland

earth

village

void

empty

dream

world

space

nature

palace

dimension

your own!

Worldly

aficionado

wanderlust

rogue

mythos

kamikazee

iota

eon

raconteur

your own!

Nouns

eleutheromania

kalopsia

hiraeth

pluviophile

sonder

philocast

vagary

eunoia

zemblainity

your own!

Verbs

alter

amplify

gravitate

scorch

rust

saunter

shatter

ignite

clasp

journey

lurk

mystify

demolish

your own!

Adjectives

adriot

calamitous

equanimous

noxious

ruminative

tenacious

withering

limpid

instransigent

adhoc

caustic

dapper

divergent

erratic

your own!

--

just as an aside, here are the ships I write for:

dean winchester / castiel

john watson / sherlock holmes

sam winchester / gabriel

jim moriarty / sherlock holmes

nico di angelo / will solace

mycroft holmes / graham greg lestrade

castiel / happiness

there are others, but these are the ones i write the most for.

my other prompt list can still be used, but this is just something to ~spice it up~

thank you for reading! i appreciate you all vv much 💜

-river

[hieronymuscrow]

Rogue States.

Rogue States

In every sphere of competence and on any metric you could devise, you would have to conclude that world governance is in a parlous state. Governments have been captured by corporations such that the interests of a wealthy global elite are driving policy decisions, to the detriment of everybody else. It is becoming increasingly obvious that this can only be maintained by an erosion of civil liberties and a inexorable slide into authoritarianism. This is in no small measure due to the cast of morally debased inadequates currently populating the Senates, Dumas, and Parliaments of the world. The political class, particularly in those nominally democratic nations, have betrayed their citizenry, and corrupted their constitutions. The world has retrogressed to a time when the purpose of politics was personal advancement: the Old Corruption is back. In nowhere is this more apparent than in the states that make up the UN Security Council. These nations are meant to be the responsible states ensuring world peace and the development of good governance. In fact, the UN Security Council comprises the group of nations that are responsible for the calamitous progression to the brink of disaster that the human race is careering along. They launch wars for profit, destabilise economies to create advantage, and generally preside over a system that is destroying the global environment. All of which is motivated by nothing other than profit for this wealthy global elite. Currently this group of rogue states are actively igniting a new Cold War and with it a new arms race.

It has been well noted that there are at least two clear threats to the very existence of the human race. Climate change is probably the greater threat, in that it is clearly under way; and at a frightening pace. The response also frightening in its laxity: little more than a PR campaign, while maintaining a commitment to the fossil fuel economy. The other threat, nuclear weapons, sits lurking in the shadows. While we can be reasonably sure that even the most bellicose of hawks doesn't actually want a nuclear war, the world has come perilously close on numerous occasions. If world leadership is characterised by one trait it would be an overinflated sense of its own magnificence. The performance indicators tell a very different story, and so it is prudent to bear in mind what a miscalculation would mean: within a few short hours some of the most prominent cities on the planet would be blazing, irradiated wastelands; the survivors would be contemplating the prospect of perishing in a nuclear winter.

Numerous treaties designed to control and ultimately rid the world of nuclear weapons have lapsed, while a new round of research and development of weapons systems is well under way. This includes the development of what are referred to as "battlefield nukes". The idea being that you can produce nuclear weapons with small enough yields that they can conceivably be used without a decent into full-blown nuclear Armageddon. For many years the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons (NPT) has the most prominent international weapons control treaty. It has been relatively successful in preventing the spread of nuclear weapons, save for a few states who were aided by the US in acquiring them, and one who was motivated to acquire them due to threats from the US. The NPT has acted as the cornerstone of nuclear weapons containment, but is now being undermined by the behaviour of the rogue states who possess such weapons.

The treaty requires that states that possess nuclear weapons should make good faith efforts to fully disarm. Something which is being increasingly held in contempt by the nuclear armed states. The UK recently announced that it would be increasing its number of warheads. It is also in the process of modernising its weapons systems, or rather hoping that the US will modernise the system that it rents. The US started a large scale programme to modernise its nuclear weapons system a number of years ago. Perhaps more worrying is the rhetoric that is accompanying these developments, implying they could be used in situations other than defence from an adversaries nuclear attack. These threats are highly provocative to the majority of nations which signed the NPT in good faith and have abided by their commitments. The hypocrisy of it, coming from states who have launched wars on the pretext of WMD, is breathtaking.

The majority of nations on Earth do not possess nuclear weapons and are rapidly losing faith in the process to rid the world of them. The Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons (TPNW) entered into force on the 22 January 2021, which prohibits the possession and development of nuclear weapons as well as their use or threat of use. The treaty became law after a UN vote where 122 of the 197 members accepted it. Needless to say the rogue states of the Security Council have not only not signed it but actively impeded its passing, and will not be bound by its conditions. Instead they place the globe in what effectively amounts to a giant suicide vest.

[inhumansforever]

Ms. Marvel #27 Review

spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

It’s the courageous Kamala Korps versus the dreaded Inventor as the Teenage Wasteland story-arc continues from the creative team of G. Willow Wilson, Nico Leon and Ian Herring.  Quick recap and review following the jump.  

Zoe is missing!  She had donned her makeshift Ms. Marvel costume and thought she could take on The Inventor on her own.  She’s been gone for a while now and her friends are quite worried.  Fortunately, Zoe is rarely without her phone and Nakia has the technical wherewithal to triangulate the global positioning system on Zoe’s phone and lead Red Dagger and The rest of the Kamala Korps to her location.  

Nakia, Mike and Gabe are looking pretty fly in their ersatz Ms. Marvel costumes; though still outshine by The Red Dagger’s dreamy hair and superior parkour skills.  

Not too far away, Zoe finds herself tied up alongside her codger compatriot, Roger, in The Inventor’s layer.  The narrative catches up with her just in time for The Inventor to go off on a rather standard issue super villain monologue.  

The Inventor’s whole raison d'etre is all about the streamlining of society wherein the less useful members of the population are used as a source of much needed energy for those he deems worthy and useful.  

In his first scheme, The Inventor had abducted a group of teenagers, seeing them as shiftless parasites on society better used as energy producing batteries.  He was foiled in this plot by Ms. Marvel in one of her first adventures.  Having recently been released from prison, The Inventor has modified his plans, now setting his sights on seiner citizens, whom he also sees as providing no value to society as a whole. It’s a weird hang-up and, despite what The Matrix movies might have us believe, human bodies actually make for rather poor batteries.  All of that aside, The Inventor does possess a good deal of inventive prowess and has been able to use the various old folks he’s collected to power a bevy of oddly cobbled together monstrosities.

The Inventor’s monologue in interrupted by the timely arrival of The Dagger and the Kamala Korps.  Although these young heroes are a lot better at striking impressive poses than they are fighting monster and all manner of mayhem ensues as the Inventor sicks his creatures on the interlopers.  And herein we’re treated to a truly wonderful panel illustrated by Nico Leon and Ian Herring showing poor Gabe being chased be a mechanized pineapple…  it’s moments like this that remind me why I so love comics :3

Zoe is able to free herself and joins the fight just in time to heroically save Nakia from being zapped by a giant cyborg turtle.  It’s crazy…  When the dust settles, the heroes have saved the abducted senior citizens and The Inventor and along with many of his monstrous creations have escaped into greater Jersey City.   Although they saved the day, Red Dagger is forced to admit that they all might be a bit out of their depth.  They can fill in for the real Ms. Marvel when it comes to thwarting muggers and purse snatchers, but a legitimate super villain is clearly it of their league; they’re going to need some help.  

And fortunately, Mike has an idea about how to get it.  

Way back in the Civil War II story arc, Ms. Marvel had a terrible falling out with her hero and inspiration, Captain Marvel.  Captain Marvel’s effort to utilize the predictive powers of Ulysses to stop crimes before they happened led to calamitous results, including poor Bruno being severely injured.  It was the last straw and Ms. Marvel quit Captain Marvel’s junior preventative justice squad.  As she did, she tossed away the signal device that could be used to call the Captain in case of emergency.  

Mike had secretly watched this all go down and she went and retrieved the signal device as a memento for safe keeping.  Having collected it from her home, she and the gang now stand on a rooftop and use it to call for Captain Marvel.  

The good captain arrives with her usual panache for dramatic entrances; and Leon and Herring do not miss the opportunity for a very cool splash panel.  

At first Captain Marvel seems irked.  Why is it that these cosplay kids have called her?  They better not be wasting her time…  And yet the reason for her being beckoned becomes quite evident as they look out on the Jersey City skyline in time see a series of green mushroom clouds detonating all over.  Clearly the Inventor has triggered his engage and it looks to be disastrous.  

Whether or not Captain Marvel and the Kamala Korps will be up to this new challenge remains to be seen and will have to wait until the next installment as it is here that the issue ends with the promise of conclusion next month.  

Another fun ride with lots of great moments…  although at this point I’m definitely starting to miss the real Kamala.  The issue starts off with a quick prologue showing Kamala’s lunchtime buddy, Neftali, and his ongoing search to find his missing pal.  I can definitely relate to young Neftali; I’m missing kamala as well and hoping she comes back soon.

In the meantime, it’s been wonderful getting to see the extended cast further cultivated in terms of character development; especially Zoe who is rapidly becoming a favorite.  Wilson really excels at offering Zoe up some very funny, self-depreciating one-lingers.  

During the exchange between Zoe and The Inventor, their banter ventures into the territory of animosities between the baby boomer generation and the so-called ‘millennials.’  The Inventor is perplexed that Zoe should try and stick up for the older generation considering all the social frictions existent between the two groups.  Zoe admits that she does have angry feelings toward her elders, blaming them for ruining the economy and environment and their general slowness in accepting young people.  Still, she’s unwilling to cast so wide a net of contempt as to just write off an entire generation… especially considering all the sacrifices they made.  

It’s all a bit ham-fisted and the whole millennial versus baby boom subtext might have been better left implied instead of overtly expressed.  Although in a story that involves mechanized frogs and knife-wielding pineapples perhaps subtly isn’t really called for.  

What is handled with a smoother hand is a nice exchange between Zoe and Roger about the importance of symbols and aspiring to be super.  Zoe explains that knowing Ms. Marvel was out there just made everything feel better; it created a sense of security and helped to make a hectic world seem all the more tolerable.  With her missing, Zoe and her friends felt it their responsibility to fill her shoes and maintain that sense of security for other people.  Having been captured by The inventor, Zoe has come to realize there is much more to being a super hero than dressing the part...  She feels she is missing the magic, the key ingredient that makes a super hero super.  Yet Roger disagrees.  He sees Zoe standing up to The Inventor, sticking to her principles despite the direness of the situation and he is very impressed with her.  She may not have super powers, but she’s brave and strong and doesn’t back down.  As far as Roger is concerned Zoe is just as magical and heroic as any super powered caped crusader out there.   It’s a nice moment.

The whole issue is just a joy to read, the illustration and coloring is top notch and I’m very much looking forward to seeing how the whole arc wraps up.  While other books are relying on gimmicks and twists to generate buzz, Ms. Marvel has continued to truck on providing top quality comic book fun.  Definitely recommended.  Four out of Five Lockjaws!

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: Serving Under Fire

Bretheren we have been betrayed! Long years of patience, long years of sacrifice, all undone by the feeble heart of one who once swore an oath to our cause.  We must find him, we must return what he has stolen, ‘ere else the Lady will scorch us down to our very bones! 

Synopsis: The Enkindled Earth,  A Pyromaniac cult seeks to overturn the established order and reshape the very land itself. Their plans for a great, earth-shaking ritual are only forestalled when a member of their order remembers his conscience, and steals a powerful relic essential to their calamitous aims.  Now on the run from his fellow cultists, and from the authorities, this turncoat’s ultimate fate as well as the fate of the realm now rests in the party’s hands. 

Adventure Hooks: 

it’s easy to brush off the threat of the Enkindled in the early campaign. They’re raving street preachers, weirdos who dress in rags and dance around bonfires in the countryside, village outcasts who’ve found solace in a strange religion.... Then they get together and start burning temples, and people start to pay attention. Bounties are set out, the party gets involved, and soon the heroes are battling through a smoke filled cave while a babbling madman lobs clods of bubbling pitch at them. It’s a grisly job, taking the cultists alive, and it’s worse because the martial that gave them the bounty insists on the party attending the public execution of their prisoners before handing out their pay. Even to the last miniute the Enkindled exalt their cause, claiming that the earth itself will shake with thier lady’s wrath. 

In a way you could almost see the cultists’ point of view, their movement started in response to the enclosure of public lands by a series of greedy lords looking to rationalize their holdings and maximize their profits. While tax policies arn’t usualy of any relevance to an adventuring party, they may begin to care about it when they hear tell of a dungeon that was known to exist on this enclosed land... land that is now patrolled by a lord’s well paid men looking to prevent trespass or poachers. 

There’s been rumblings out in the badlands recently. Plumes of smoke on the horizon and dark clouds that blow in carrying sulfurous rains. No one knows quite what causes it, but numerous badland predators such as minotaurs and basalisks have been seeking new habitats recently, and someone needs to hunt them down before they go seeking it in civilized lands. 

Setup: The Enkindled Earth serve a sorcerer by the name of Agdellena, a pyromancer of terrifying potential who’s gathered the dissolute around herself the way you’d stack dry wood and tinder on a bonfire.  Always a charismatic and willful woman, Agdellena’s path of destruction started when her parents sent her to a convent in hopes of breaking her defiant spirit. After enduring over a decade of harsh “ discipline”, Agdellena’s powers awakened, consuming her abusers ( and fellow victims) in a pyroclast along with the temple itself. Now free and surging with elemental power, she strode out into the badlands clad in the soot-blackened robes of the high-priestess, ready to revisit the pain she’d suffered upon the world at large. 

While the Enkindled may speak of revolution, renewal, and an overturning of the established order, Agdellena’s aims are far more literal: using her followers to gather enough power to create a massive seismic event that will litterally “overturn” the landscape, countrysides swallowed by ash and wildfire as cities fall into the earth or are buried in lavaflows. To achive these apocalyptic ends, Agdellena has spent nearly two decades out in the wastelands perfecting her magic and gathering her powerbase, and has achieved the skill required to rip elementals free of the landscape and bind them to her will, having them tutor her in their primordial magics. 

With their help she built the Collignis, an arcane focus made to collect the power of burning holy places and the furvor of her own followers, storing it up like a metamagic battery until it was needed for the shaking of the earth. The Collignis was stolen during one of these temple burnings when Lels, an idealistic member of the Enkindled who was given an ecstatic revelation by the god who’s  temple he had just set alight. In that vision Lels saw the scope of Agdellena’s plan, and the destruction of his home, a small village that he’d left and joined the Enkindled in order to spare from the poverty forced upon it by their neighboring lords.  Ceasing the Collignis he reduced his fellow zealots to ash and ran, hoping to find someone who’d believe him before the cult caught up with him and reclaimed their holy relic. 

Further Adventures: 

The party can encounter Lels in a number of ways, either by intercepting an Enkindled temple burning ( which just so happens to be the one Lels has his revelation at), or by meeting up with an allied authority who the repentant cultist gave himself into the custody of. Desperate to be heard but wracked with guilt, Lels will gladly give up information on cult activities in order to get the party to believe him about the threat of the lady out in the wastes. 

The lords and magistrates who the Enkindle defame critically underestimate the threat they represent. Too set in their ways and intolerant of any form of disorder, these elites are content in throwing dissidents and reformers alike into their dungeons and sending groups of sellswords after any who resist. The party may find their battle against the cult impeded when they get caught between a group of innocents and the feudal enforcers. 

To reclaim what was stolen, Agdellena will summon a meteor like elemental and send it chasing after the Collignis. Crashing in when it’s most inoppertune, the party gets a preview of their enemy’s preview as they must battle the creature while protecting the relic and escaping from the building set alight by it’s landing. 

[ghirahimbo]

six (plus one) sentence sunday

throwing WIPs at the wall right now to see what sticks ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

--

Revali felt the faintest stirrings of vindication flutter to life inside him at the thought, sticky sweet and malicious. Hadn't he predicted this all along? Sworn up and down to whoever would listen that Link lacked what it took to avert this calamitous end?

Meeting his mournful blue gaze, though, Revali felt any hint of condemnation shrivel to fine, bitter powder against his tongue. For all that he had foreseen Link's failure, he had never predicted his own. Superiority felt miles out out of reach above him with the cold corpse of Medoh stranded in the icy wastelands of Hebra, grounded from its once triumphant flight—and his own spirit bound and stranded alongside it.

"You too, hmm?" he said instead, not even a wisp of steam rising from his insubstantial breath.

[vitaevandal]

Brave New World

Category: Fan Fiction Fandom: Divergent Pairing: Eric/OFC Rating: PG-13 (language), eventually M Genres: Drama, romance, humor, angst, slow burn, some fluff Disclaimer: This a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line.

A/N: This is based on a request from and discussions with @frecklefaceb and @clublulu333. It was requested as a one-shot but I had an idea that a one-shot wouldn’t do justice, so this is shaping up to be a longer fic. Here goes.

Summary: When disaster strikes the City and leaves it in ruins, Eric, one of the few survivors, must evacuate Dauntless. He finds himself in the unknown world beyond the wall, which seems to have suffered the same fate. unsure of what has become of the City he called home. Everything Eric knows has been stripped away, and he is forced to forge surprising new relationships. Will Eric ever make it back home to Dauntless? Is there even a home to go back to?

Chapter 1 - Good Morning Sunshine

It had been two days, and Eric still wasn’t accustomed to being woken by harsh sunlight bleeding through his eyelids. He’d tried closing the blinds to darken the room, but he discovered that leaving the windows open to let in a breeze was the only way to alleviate the infernal morning heat. Beads of sweat had already formed on his face, as the temperature was drastically lower at night, requiring a layer of blankets that ended up suffocating him as the sun rose and began roasting him in the bedroom like a turkey in an oven. Not that he’d ever seen a turkey in person, Dauntless wasn’t exactly overrun by wildlife, but he’d learned about the absurd custom of Thanksgiving during his days in Erudite and seen enough pictures of the deformed birds to wonder why anyone would want to eat something that looked like it had a ballsack hanging off of its face. For the first time he realized how much he’d taken the climate-controlled caverns of Dauntless for granted.

But at least the walls of the still unfamiliar home provided some shade and insulation. When he first stepped out of the pod, he felt nearly blinded by what seemed like death rays from the sky. Following immediately was the dry, sweltering heat that literally took his breath away. Disorientation had taken hold of him as he had cracked his eyes open to slits, slowly adjusting to the brightness. The vast expanse of hard-packed, cracked earth and sparse dottings of queer plant life told him he had landed somewhere out west, according to his geography lessons. Everything looked...dead. As dead as he knew almost every living thing in his former home most likely was.

He turned slowly and was surprised to find himself facing a small collection of five closely set houses, all bland and identical save for their color. A subdivision, he believed this was called, though why anyone would choose this fucking wasteland as home baffled him. Every single one of them looked deserted, windows dark, vehicles absent from driveways, not a soul in sight. He supposed they could be holed up inside, but he thought it more likely that the occupants had had enough warning of the impending disaster to pack up their necessities and attempt to flee to safety. He wished Dauntless had had that much of a warning, though he wasn’t sure even that would’ve changed the outcome.

***

The blaring of the alarm was almost, but not quite, enough to drown out the panicked screams throughout the compound. He heard the distant thumps and crashes of various structures crumbling in the distance, getting closer by the second as he stood in the control room. The outer walls and ceilings, closest to the surface, were the first to go; everything else was falling like dominos in their wake. He was trying to assess the magnitude of the situation through the camera feeds, but they disappeared almost before he could catch a glimpse as they too fell victim to the destruction. Though he didn’t need to see to know it was pure chaos.

Of course there were disaster plans in place, but they encompassed things like earthquakes and attacks from the factionless; nothing like what was happening now. As drills had taught them, people scrambled to get inside doorways and to the armory, where the construction was more fortified, but even those were collapsing under the force of this unknown attack. Those that kept their cool and followed the action plan were ironically the first to go, having gathered in clusters to the supposedly more stable areas and subsequently buried en masse. Eric watched the rest of his faction scurry around in mindless terror like headless chickens, many of them flocking to the Pit seeking safety in numbers, and he had time to think, “So much for being brave and prepared.” He sneered in disgust, thinking that if these people were what his beloved faction were made up of, perhaps they deserved to die. He thought he chose only the best of the best for Dauntless, but clearly when the going really got tough, very few measured up.

Eric had the invaluable talent of keeping his cool in even the most calamitous of situations, an essential quality to being an effective Leader, so while he certainly didn’t lack the courage to run headlong into the melee and attempt to rescue his moronic faction members, logic always prevailed for him, and not only were there protocols in place he was trained to follow, he recognized immediately that any rescue attempts were futile. He had to put the faction at large first even if it cost lives. The sacrifice of the few for the survival of the many, unfortunately.

And so, the faction leaders and their lieutenants were the priority. If the City were to fall, the most qualified should be the ones to survive in order to rebuild. Therefore, these chosen few were the only ones aware of the outside world beyond the City walls, and provided the means to escape to it in the event of the annihilation of the City. He fled to the appointed evacuation point, knowing that despite its reinforcements even that would only hold for minutes, and stepped into his assigned pod. He didn’t know the science behind it, that was Erudite’s department - was it some kind of teleportation device, or form of air travel? - but he didn’t have time to question whether he would survive the journey. Nor would he have any way of knowing if the other faction leaders had escaped. There was no deliberation really - to remain here was certain death.

The moment he stepped inside, the steel door shut forcefully behind him. A female robotic voice intoned, “Evacuation initiated,” he felt a gentle lurch as the pod ascended through the pneumatic chamber, and the last Eric knew was total darkness.

***

Eric climbed out of bed and donned the same clothes he’d been wearing since his arrival in this hellhole: fitted black t-shirt, black cargo pants, and black combat boots. His nose immediately wrinkled at the distinct odor emanating from his unwashed clothes and sweat-grimed body, but thus far he had come across no clothes in the closets that would fit his large frame, so he was stuck with what he had. He trudged wearily downstairs, his desire for coffee so strong it was practically an ache, and began to consider his plan of action for the day.

He had spent the first day scouring the houses for any necessary supplies he could immediately think of: food, clothing, weapons, and, since he had quickly ascertained that the electricity and plumbing were no longer functioning, bottled water and batteries. He collected his findings in the center house he had chosen at random to take up residence in, knowing he would think of more potentially useful items but would make a list later; for the time being he was still slightly overwhelmed by shock. Today he thought he might try the remaining vehicles in the garages to see if any of them were running, hoping to further explore the surrounding terrain. But what if he couldn’t find the keys? Could he hotwire a car? The garage doors operated on electricity; could he figure out how to open them manually? There had always been generators in Dauntless. Eric was an intelligent guy, but it’s not like they taught Survival Skills for the Apocalypse in school. He took a deep breath and said to himself, “One step at a time.”

Eric jumped as he suddenly heard the sound of rustling coming from what he thought was the kitchen. He pulled his gun from his holster and descended the stairs carefully; bursting into the kitchen, he drew his gun, and yelled, “Don’t move!”

The sight of the girl standing in front of the open cabinet actually at first almost made him laugh. She wore an oversized, obnoxiously flowery sundress, floppy straw hat, and yellow galoshes, and a white stripe ran down the length of her nose. She looked like a drunken Amity refugee. “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.

For a moment she continued to rummage through the cabinet’s contents, seemingly unconcerned with the gun pointed at her head. Then she turned to face Eric and briefly eyed him up and down, taking in his attire and piercings. She snorted and said, “The end of the world hits and you decided to raid Hot Topic? Great, I’m sure you’ll be loads of help.”

Eric strode forward and grabbed her by the arm. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She had resumed her inventory of the cabinets, replying, “I’m checking the empty houses for supplies, what does it look like I’m doing?”

His mouth had fallen slightly open at her brazenness. “Well obviously this house isn’t fucking empty, so stop going through my shit!”

She turned to him again, hands on her hips, and retorted, “Technically this isn’t your shit, it belonged to the person that used to live here, so as far as I’m concerned it’s fair game.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart,” he snarled. “More like every man for himself. I don’t care where you go, just get the fuck out of this house.”

She sighed, wriggling out of his grasp. “I don’t know how long you’ve been around here, but I’ve been out here for almost a week, and near as I can tell, we’re the only two living people for miles. Hell, we’re the last two living people on the planet for all I know. So either we work together, or we die.”

She grabbed his hand and shook it enthusiastically. “I’m Madeline, but I go by Maddy. Welcome to the neighborhood.” She smiled brightly. “I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends!”

Eric groaned and began to wonder if he wouldn’t be better off dead after all.