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hotpotatoburn · 4 months

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The Princess and the Rogue - A Secret of Moonacre Robin Hood AU

For @incorrect-quotes-of-moonacre, thank you for all the work you put into the fandom and Moonacre Week every year ❤️

[Read on AO3]

Chapter 1

Duke Phileas of Pheoston was not a bad dancer, but he was a quick one. Maria realized this as the man launched into yet another monologue about the recent bandit activity in the area, not noticing the fact that she almost tripped over her dress to keep up with him.

“... carriage, entirely empty! All the coachman could tell me is that the men wore masks, and one shot an arrow straight into his hat. Pinned it straight into the carriage! Truly, someone has to stop that savage, or I’ll have no jewels left to give you!”

He talked of Robin Hood, a thief who had been terrorizing Moonacre’s nobles for several months now, along with his crew of Merry Men. Maria had only been back from her time in the countryside a few days, but already, she’d heard a number of fearsome stories about emptied carriages and the rogue’s legendary archery skills.

Phileas mistook her silent focus for worry and gave her what she was sure was meant to be a dazzling smile. “Don’t worry, my Lady. ‘Tis only a figure of speech. I have plenty of jewels. You shall be charmed by them before long.”

“How generous of you.” Maria barely conjured a pleasant tone as Phileas spun her out, and then back in, barely catching her in time.

“Indeed! I come from a very generous family. Did I ever tell you about the time my father gifted a horse to his stableboy? It was quite the controversy at the time-”

Maria did her best to keep a polite interest in the story she’d heard thrice already, but found herself focusing on her movements more than anything else. Her eyes briefly shifted to the ballroom, ornately decorated in white and gold, all the way down to the flowers. She hoped to find a man brave enough to cut in and give her some reprieve, but the guests offered her polite smiles beneath their masks and nothing more.

Her father, King George - fulfilling the position as long as her uncle Benjamin was off to calm the war, that is - had spared no expense in welcoming her home. This masquerade was only the first of several balls planned, unfortunately for Maria’s feet. And even though he had not directly informed her, Maria knew it was so she might finally commit to a husband. She had been eighteen for several months now, and it was high time.

In truth, most men did not dare to look at her longer than a few moments before busying themselves with another fair maiden. Her hand had been all but promised to Phileas, so it made little sense to-

“Mind if I cut in?”

Maria was instantly drawn back to the conversation, which had been interrupted by a man fully clad in black, including his mask. It seemed as though he had not received the note regarding the dress code, but he hardly seemed bothered by it, his eyes confidently settled on Maria.

“Uh-” Phileas started.

“Yes!” Maria quickly said. “Yes, of course.”

She disentangled herself from Phileas, who looked lost between her and the stranger, a jealous sheen in his eyes. Eventually, he seemed to recuperate and took Maria’s hand, raising it to his lips and planting a slightly too wet kiss on it. “Very well. I shall see you again soon, my Lady.”

No sooner had Phileas turned away from them when the stranger’s hands easily slid around Maria’s waist and he took her hand, effortlessly guiding Maria along the dancefloor. Thankfully and surprisingly, he adjusted his tempo to hers.

“Are you alright?” The man asked.

Maria blinked. She had been expecting a question about the party, or her recent travels. Not something actually directed at her.

“Uh- Yes.” She was tired, but she couldn’t tell him that. “Why do you ask?”

He spun her around at a lazy, slow tempo, catching her gently before speaking. “It looked as though he was attempting to exhaust you into marrying him.”

Maria chuckled. “Well, it’s hardly necessary. If it were up to my father, the duke and I would be wed by the end of the month.”

“And if it were up to you?” He asked, flattening her hand against hers as they turned.

Maria fell silent at the question. If it were up to her, she’d find someone to marry for love, but that was hardly an appropriate stance for a princess to take.

“I’d like to take my time,” she replied instead.

“Hoping for someone else to come along?” The man smirked as they turned again, flattening their other palms against each other.

“Well, no-” Maria stumbled over her words. “Phileas is a perfectly suitable match-”

“Suitable,” the man chuckled. “Truly, your passion is admirable.”

“Well, I hardly have the luxury of passion-”

“Why?” The man’s hand slid around her waist, pulling her close as they continued to circle each other. “You’re a princess, and a beautiful one at that. I’d say you have your pick of any bloke in here.”

“Including you?” The words were out before Maria realized it, and she mentally kicked herself. But she couldn’t deny the rush down her spine as he grinned.

“Why, are you interested?”

Maria studied him as he took her hand, guiding her in a circle around him. He was slightly taller than her and, judging from the way his jacket clung to his arms, far stronger. And yet he pulled her closer with a gentleness and care that no other man had ever bothered with. His face was covered by a mask, but underneath it were a cutting jawline and two sculpted lips that split into an even wider grin.

“My god, she is,” he spoke, his voice low. “Don’t worry, princess, I won’t tell.”

Maria felt heat rushing down her spine and up her cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I don’t have to,” he spun her out and back in, catching her with her back against his chest. His lips were next to her ear. “You’re doing a pretty good job of it for me.”

He was smirking as Maria turned to him. “Arrogance is an ugly look on anyone, sir,” she admonished him, but she found herself smiling.

“Everyone has their flaws,” he said, studying her as though he wondered about hers.

“Almost everyone,” Maria said, smiling coyly.

The man chuckled. “Who’s arrogant now?”

Maria laughed, but suddenly noticed whispers to her right. She found several nobles sending thinly veiled looks of disapproval at Maria and her dance partner. She cleared her throat and created some distance between her and the man.

His eyes flashed to the nobles and landed on Maria in understanding. As the music came to an end, he took Maria’s hand and placed a small kiss on it. “It was a pleasure, princess.”

He turned, but Maria caught his wrist, suddenly realizing something. “Wait! You… You never told me your name.”

His eyes flashed to hers under the mask. “Robin.”

When she realized he wasn’t going to give her any more than that, she released his wrist, nodding. “The pleasure was all mine, Robin. Truly.”

Robin smiled, disappearing into the crowd.

It wasn’t long before Phileas had found his way to Maria’s side again, and she soon found herself longing for some reprieve. As she danced with the duke, her eyes searched the crowd, but Robin was nowhere to be found. Until she saw him walking through the garden doors, disappearing outside.

Maria quickly turned to Phileas, who was in the middle of a hunting story she’d heard a thousand times before.

“... trapped, nowhere to go. I, of course, volunteered to slay the beast, unlike-”

“Your Grace,” Maria interrupted him. “I’m parched. Would you mind fetching us some drinks?”

“Naturally, my Lady,” the duke replied, once again planting a wet kiss on her hand. “And please, I told you to call me Phileas. In fact, I shall be back before you can speak my name.”

He disappeared into the crowd, and so did Maria, weaving herself between nobles while sending polite smiles and waves, never holding eye contact long enough for anyone to stop her. She reached the garden doors, and felt relief coursing through her upon seeing Robin walking down the long garden path. A guard moved to accompany her, but Maria quickly waved him off, following Robin down the path. Before she could reach him, however, he turned right - into the garden’s hedge maze.

Maria chanced a look back at the party, briefly wondering if it was wise to follow a man she just met into a maze. Then again, she had played around in the garden her whole childhood - she knew the maze like the back of her hand. If anything, he would have the disadvantage.

And frankly, she was glad to be away from the party. She breathed in the cold night air as she stepped into the maze, following the route to where she knew she’d find the center. Around each corner, she checked to see if Robin was there, hoping to sneak up on him. However, he was nowhere to be found.

Maria heard only the noise of crickets as she turned the final corner. She found the center of the maze, a set of four pillars with a sundial in the middle. Fireflies floated around it, and Maria smiled and held her hand out, watching one land on her finger.

“Princess.”

Maria lowered her arm, and Robin watched the firefly float away before focusing his gaze on her. She couldn’t see him well in the light of the moon, but there was something intense about him. The way he stood, like a hunter who had trapped his prey. Suddenly, Maria felt like the animal in Phileas’s story, and a cold shiver ran down her spine as she took a step backwards.

“Robin?”

“I really am sorry about this,” Robin said. Maria noticed only then that he held something in his hand - a rope.

Maria pursed her lips and eyed him for only a moment before darting back into the maze.

“Help!” She yelled. “Someone!”

She ran around a corner and found Robin there. She screamed and whirled back around, taking several turns before nestling herself into an unnoticeable dead end, hoping he would walk by. She did what she could to hide her dress in the bushes, but the white and gold stood out like a sore thumb, illuminated extra by the moonlight.

“Princess, it’s nothing personal, I promise.”

Oh, that’s good then, Maria thought, annoyance slicing through her fear momentarily. The tension in her muscles quickly returned, however, when she heard his footsteps. He was right beside her alcove.

As he walked into view, Maria gasped softly. At first, it looked as though he might walk by, but then he stopped. Maria watched him roll his shoulders.

“Princess,” he said. “I know you’re here.”

Maria held her breath, and it took everything in her not to sigh in relief as he kept walking. But she had to keep moving, or he would surely find her. As quietly as possible, she left her alcove.

Suddenly, two hands grabbed her from behind, one around her waist, and the other across her mouth. Maria struggled against his grip, and Robin grunted. “This doesn’t have to be difficult-”

Maria bit down on his hand with everything she had, and Robin hissed, pulling it back. The momentary distraction was enough for Maria to stomp down on his foot, making him release her entirely. She ran for her life, screaming.

No soldiers came running. The party was too loud, too far away. Maria whimpered in desperation. How foolish could she have been?

Robin appeared around a corner, and Maria turned another, and another, panicking. She knew the maze well, indeed, but it was nighttime, and she wasn’t thinking clearly. She cursed as she ended up in the clearing at the center of the maze, right back where she started.

She whirled, but Robin was right behind her. “Enough!”

Maria stumbled backwards, falling against a pillar. Robin pinned her against it, panting. “You’re slippery.”

Maria pursed her lips, lifting her foot to stomp on his again, but he quickly changed his footing, pushing Maria further against the pillar in the process. “Ah-ah, not falling for that a second time.”

“You’re a fiend,” she hissed. “You lied to me!”

“I did not,” Robin said, before pulling Maria away from the pillar, holding her hands behind her back and tying the rope around her wrists with practiced ease. “Though you did make it easy for me. Do you make a habit of following strange men into the dark, or am I special?”

He turned her back around, and Maria glared at him. “You’re despicable.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He grinned before lifting Maria up, throwing her over his shoulder. Maria yelped indignantly.

“What are you doing?” She yelled.

“I didn’t think you were gonna walk with me.”

“Put me down this instant! You- You scoundrel!”

“Oof,” Robin said, pretending to put a hand over his heart. “Be careful, princess, you wouldn’t want to hurt a man’s feelings.”

“I’d like to hurt a lot more than your feelings,” Maria hissed, struggling against his grip as he walked her out of the maze with ease, using the second exit, away from the main path. Clearly, he’d planned this well. And she’d walked right into his trap.

Maria continued to struggle and scream, but it was no use as he carried her into the dark forest.

[Read on ao3]

Available chapters:

[ 1 2 ]

@theargopriestess @stabat-mater @maybeamagpie @lalla0019

@immergladsss @bedofthistles

#the secret of moonacre #secret of moonacre #robin de noir #maria merryweather #alternate universe #robin hood #kidnapping #flirting #romance #enemies to lovers

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claimedminotaur · 5 months

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Legends of Enderel - Book One: Mage

Chapter 1: Sellsword

As night falls on the city of Ashford and rain patters on rooftops and muddies streets, a lone girl walks into an inn, drenched from the heavy downpour. She takes off her dark blue cloak and proceeds to shake it, throwing water all over the entrance. After hanging it on the coat rack, she walks up to the bar. “An ale, if you please,” she says as she sits down.

The innkeeper fills a cup with ale and hands it to her, “What's a lady like you doing in this part of town?”

She takes a sip and replies with a slight cough, “I heard there were mercenaries staying here.”

The innkeeper raises an eyebrow, “You seem like the type who'd prefer a squad of knights.”

She responds with a sigh, “Believe me, I tried, but the Duke said they were otherwise engaged.”

“Ah, well in that case, take yer pick,” he says gesturing in front of him. In the center of the room three men sit at a table, each with a mug of ale. The one who appears to be the leader, a large man with short hair and a scruffy beard that barely touches his leather brigantine, is attempting to use his 'influence' to get out of paying, much to the waitress’s annoyance.

The girl grunts in frustration and turns back to the innkeeper, “I cannot be expected to employ the likes of-" she gestures to the mercenary, "well… him.”

“I'm afraid that's all we have at the moment,” the innkeeper says with a shrug.

She swallows her pride and turns to talk to the leader. Just as she gets up the door opens and a figure enters. As soon as he is in full view of everyone the inn goes silent. The man is wearing all black with black leather pauldrons, bracers, grieves, and gloves. He wears a black cloak, a black hood that appears to be part of his clothes rather than his cloak, and the most intriguing, a black scarf over his mouth and nose. He is armed with a longsword on his left side and a dagger on his right. She looks around in confusion as everyone else is staring with looks of fear and curiosity. As the man moves to the corner of the room, the conversation resumes quietly but a few patrons run upstairs to their rooms. By the time he sits at a table with his back against the corner the inn is filled with hushed whispers.

The girl stares at the man a moment before looking back to the innkeeper, “Who is that man?”

The innkeeper looks at her, then the man, then back before leaning in close and whispering, “They call ‘im Ranger, but I doubt that's his real name.” He picks up a mug and begins cleaning it. “They say he goes from place to place selling his sword. It's how he got his name, I suppose.”

“He's a mercenary?” She says with a surprised look.

He nods, “Ay. He hasn't been working long, but he's made quite the name for 'imself.”

She looks around the room, the overwhelming feeling of tension drawing her attention. Focusing on each face reveals mixed reactions, but one is present in everyone. Returning her attention to the innkeeper, she asks, “Is that why everyone is afraid of him?”

They are interrupted by a *thwack* from across the room. They look over to see that Ranger has placed five silver coins, or silvers as they call them, on the table. The innkeeper looks to the barmaid, “Marley, get 'im some bread and some of that chicken. Here, this too.” He fills a mug and puts it on the counter. The barmaid returns with the items and brings them to Ranger, collecting the money before she leaves. She grabs the mug off the counter and brings it to him. As she sets it down he pulls out a copper and hands it to her. She slips it in her blouse and does a quick courtsy before returning to her duties.

The girl looks to the innkeeper with more confusion, “So?”

He leans in again, “There's this story about a bounty he collected. A group of soldiers had deserted and became bandits, a sadly common occurrence with the war and all. Anyways, the Duke put a bounty on their heads. Twelve of 'em, I believe. They attacked a merchant who was bringing his yield from the market. Killed 'im, stole his coin, and captured his daughter. They each took turns on 'er.”

“Gods!” she says, her eyes widening in shock.

“Apparently while one of 'em was…em...taking his turn, she saw a blade go through his neck. Then the blade went back and the man with it. She says she saw a shadow slaughter the rest of 'em in seconds.”

Her jaw drops, “All eleven of them?!”

He shrugs, “So they say. The leader was still alive, trying to crawl to safety. She said the shadow walked over to 'im, put both hands in his mouth and pulled. It ripped his jaw clean off. A few days later Ranger walked into the city with a sack on his back and dropped it on the doorstep of the guard barracks. Inside were the heads of the bandits, one of whom was missing a jaw.”

The girl just stares at the innkeeper in horror. He sees this and attempts to put her mind at ease, “Folk say he ain't a problem though, say he won't hurt no one lest they give 'im reason. Plus he don't talk much, so you don't have to worry about that.”

The girl looks over at the mercenary leader. He is eyeing the waitress suspiciously while touching his waist. He suddenly stands up and starts desperately tapping his hands on different parts of his waist. He looks all around before stopping at the barmaid cleaning his table. He stares at her, his rage evident, "You."

She looks up confused, "Me?"

He moves towards her, "You stole my purse. I'll take your hands you damned thief!"

She tries to back away but he grabs her arm. She screams, “No, stop!” and all in the inn look in their direction.

The innkeeper quickly shouts, “Let her go or I'll call the guard!”

The mercenary glares at him, “No need, I'll handle this myself.”

The innkeeper responds with desperation in his voice, “She's not a thief, she's my daughter.”

“I don't care who she is!” The mercenary growls at him.

The barmaid manages to free an arm which she uses to elbow the mercenary in the face causing him to let go. She quickly turns to run away but he catches her arm. He lifts his fist to strike her when a sword slashes through the air. His closed fist falls from his arm and hits the floor with a thump. He drops to the floor clutching his arm and screaming in agony. Everyone in the inn shifts their gaze back and forth between him and his severed hand, unsure of what just transpired. The mercenary underlings look up to see Ranger wiping blood from his sword and immediately stand and draw their weapons.

Ranger watches his enemies as if waiting for them to strike. The mercenary to his left wields a mace while the one to his right wields an arming sword. They charge at the same time, the one with the mace swinging first. Ranger parries the mace, steadies his blade with his left hand and stabs the left mercenary in the neck. With the blade still in his neck he blocks the right mercenary’s sword and stabs him in the eye with his guard, while still blocking his sword. Ranger removes his sword from both of them, instantly dropping their corpses to the floor. He cleans his blade on his cloak then sheathes it before moving toward the door.

As he steps into the doorway the mercenary leader stumbles to his feet. His skin is pale, and it's clearly taking all his strength not to pass out. He opens his mouth to speak, at first struggling but then he groans, “I'm going to gut you like a fish, then I'll finish what I started!” Ranger turns around and glares at him, before shifting his gaze to the barmaid. He looks at her for a few seconds then at the ground before reaching behind his back and pulling out a small coil of rope. He grasps one end and lets the other drop. Before it hits the ground he whips it back up in a flash. To everyone's surprise, the rope is embedded in the man's skull. It isn't until Ranger pulls the rope back, pulling the corpse forward and removing it from his skull, that they see a small barbed blade attached to the end. He quickly re-coils the rope, places it behind his back, and steps outside, closing the door behind him.

The girl stands frozen, shocked by the brutality that just transpired. The barmaid runs to her father's arms and starts crying, the sudden action breaking the girl from her trance. She quickly runs out the door, eager to find the black butcher. She looks around and just barely manages to catch movement in a nearby alley. She quickly runs into the alley, only to find no one there. “Dammit!” She moves to turn but feels a hand on her back and quickly finds herself pressed against a wall. She's about to scream when her assailant turns her to face them. To her surprise, her assailant is the very person she sought. He quickly presses a dagger to her throat. “Wait, please!” she cries, pleading desperately for her life. “I want to buy you!” Ranger looks confused, but soon realises what she meant to say. She wants to hire him. He immediately backs away and sheaths his dagger.

The girl collapses to the floor, rubbing the red mark on her neck where the dagger was pressed. No blood was drawn, but it still hurt. She stands up and brushes herself off and sees him staring at her, as if studying her. After a few seconds of this she holds out her hand, palm down and fingers curled, "Lady Isadora D’Arbour." He shifts his gaze to her hand and continues watching it, as if unsure of what to do. Eventually he settles for just shaking her outstretched hand, leaving her absolutely dumbstruck. "Umm, okaay. Can I get your name at least? That is assuming that Ranger is not your real name."

He stares at her a few moments before asking a different question, "Where are we going?"

"Whatever do you mean?" She says, cocking an accusatory eyebrow at him.

He sighs and rolls his eyes, "You want an escort?"

She chuckles at his ignorance, "An escort? I'm not going to a ball. I want a bodyguard… Well, and a guide." His annoyance would be written on his face were it not for his scarf, but he just stares at her in response. As if picking up on this, she continues, "But if you must know, we are going to Te'vir." He visibly stiffens at the name. Catching on immediately she asks, "You've been before?"

He quickly clears his throat, trying to change the subject, "That's quite a journey."

She eyes him suspiciously, "Yes. I have business at the Great Library… Is that going to be a problem?"

His annoyance returns as he stares her in the eyes, "No."

"Perfect. Looks like I won't need a guide after all," she says, clapping her hands in finality, "Well, then. We depart in the morning." He nods and turns to leave but she is quick to respond, "Where are you going?"

He stops in his tracks before turning to face her, "I just killed three people. The guards will be looking for me.

"What? But how will I find you?"

"Leave the city and I'll find you." He quickly leaves the alley and vanishes into the night.

She calls after him, "How exactly? Hello?" But he's already gone. "Great. I guess I'll find my own way back!" She huffs as she begins to navigate her way back to the inn, "Bloody criminals, all of them." As she returns to the inn, she finds the place is swarming with guards who are carrying the dead bodies out onto a cart. They turn to her as she enters, studying her before deciding she's uninteresting and return to the final body.

She moves up to she innkeeper who looks surprised to see her, "I figured you'da been long gone after something like that."

She nods revealing her predicament, "It would seem I'm in need of a room, and your inn is still the closest one."

He nods, looking guilty, "Aye, would seem it is. Plus we have a tavern. Can't go wrong with that. Well, basic room's 20 silvers, premium room is 50 silvers."

She opens her pouch and pulls out a gold, "Premium room please."

The innkeeper takes her gold and goes into a back room and opens a safe. He places the gold in the safe and returns with a pouch. Dumping the pouch on the counter, he sorts out 50 silvers and returns the rest to the pouch. As she collects her change, he reaches behind the counter and hands her a key. Pointing to the stairs, he says, "Third floor, there's only one room so you can't miss it. Do you have any bags?"

"Just the one."

He nods, "Okay. Well, I'll have Marley bring up yer bags and draw you up a bath if you wish."

"A bath would be perfect," she's already imagining washing off the dirt from the alley.

He nods, "I'll send her up right after you."

She moves away and heads up the stairs to the third floor. Upon unlocking and entering the room she's greeted by a rather large room (for a cheap inn) with a desk and chair, and a medium sized bed in the corner, as well as a metal tub next to the opposite wall. Not bad.

After a relaxing bath she slips into a nightgown and crawls into bed, thinking about the journey ahead.

—---------------

Ranger waits in the shadows of an alley as guards rush past, the pursuit of him still in full effect. He looks both ways down the street and prepares to dart across before suddenly stopping. “If you are planning to kill me, you should know that won't end well.” He turns around and finds a man in rags leaning against the wall several yards into the alley.

The man looks relaxed, but his fear is noticeable by the trained eye. His eyes never leave the black butcher, his weight more centered underneath him, his hand waiting close by a small shape under his shirt. A knife, most likely. “Aye, I’s heard what you did to those boys in the Inn.” He looks at the blood, old and new, on Rangers clothes. “So has the boss,” he says, looking him in the eyes.

“Oh?” Ranger takes a careful step forward deeper into the alley, his eyes darting around to look for any comrades this man might have. He notices an odd shadow behind a barrel at the other end of the alley, and hears a slight shift on the roof of the building to his right. Two more friends in hiding, he thinks. “And who is this boss of yours? Can't still be Jespar, that man was a fossil last I saw him.”

The thief chuckles, “Nah, that old fool’s long gone. Replaced by another, who'll be replaced by another. I's work for the big boss.” The thief flashes a wicked smile as Ranger’s eyes flash in recognition.

“I see’s you know ‘im. Good, then we's don't need no introductions.” He pushes off the wall and starts to head towards the other end of the alley. Ranger waits, thinking over his options. The thief turns around, “Come on, now. Boss ain't a patient man.” Ranger sighs and follows, paying close attention to the two other thieves who emerge beside them.

He follows the thieves to the back of an expensive tavern, where a set of stairs leads down to the cellar. The lead thief motions down the stairs, a satisfied smile on his face, “Down you go.”

Ranger rolls his shoulders and heads down the stairs. He's greeted by an iron-reinforced wooden door. This is clearly no ordinary cellar. He knocks three times and is greeted by a rugged pair of eyes as an eyehole is opened. The eyes look him up and down and the hole closes. Muted voices can be heard before the lock clicks, and the door swings open. A large man opens the door, his bald head shining slightly from the light inside. He frowns with his unshaven face, the scar on his nose and mouth stretching as it contorts to the shape, “You’s smaller than I’s expected.” He nods for Ranger to come in.

Waiting inside is a very pale man with sharp, defined features, sitting at a table. His cloak is simple, but hides fine silk garments underneath. Ranger carefully stands in front of the man, aware that he's surrounded on all sides by well-armed men. The man smiles at Ranger’s arrival, “Well, if it isn't the Black Butcher. You've made quite a mess in your short time here in this fair city. I must say, this new nickname is one of my favorites.” He pauses, taking in Ranger’s appearance. “It's so… visceral,” he says the last word with a wicked smile, almost relishing in the day’s brutality.

Ranger carefully sidesteps away from the door, ensuring his back is to the wall instead of the opening, “If I had known you were here, My Lord, I would have avoided coming here, entirely.”

The Lord chuckles, “Such hostility! Please, just Alucard to you. My friends have earned the privilege.”

Ranger scoffs, “We are not friends.”

“Aren't we?” Alucard rises, everyone in the room watching his movements. “Have you forgotten, my Butcher?” He saunters over to Ranger, getting much too close for comfort. “You owe me.” He steps away and waves his hand, “And now it seems you owe me again. As you were on your way over, I took care of your little guard problem. They won't bother you anymore.”

“I never asked for that,” Ranger snaps.

Alucard smiles, “But of course not. You never do. That is what friends do for each other, after all. I did a favor for you,” he picks up a parchment and turns back to Ranger, “And now you do a favor for me.”

“I'm not doing anything for you,” Ranger assesses his surroundings as he prepares to fight his way out.

“Tsk tsk tsk. So quick to violence, Ranger, or whatever name you use these days,” he slowly walks over to Ranger. “You will do as I ask,” he says, handing the parchment out towards him, “Because I know where you hid it.”

Ranger goes taught. Alucard lightly taps the parchment against his chest and he takes it absentmindedly, too shocked to be paying attention. “How?”

Alucard smiles wickedly, “You should know better than to think you could hide something from me.” He waves his hand, walking back to the table, “Not to worry, Butcher, it is somewhere safe.” He points to the parchment, “You do that for me, and we can talk about working off your debt.” There is a long silence as Ranger contemplates his words.

“No.”

Alucard looks shocked, “No?”

Ranger stares him down, “The barmaid. She was one of yours, wasn't she? I saved her life. I do this for you, and we're even.”

The Lord laughs, a genuine and haunting sound, “Oh, you are a clever one.” He eyes Ranger up and down, “Very well. Even, it is.” He gestures outside, “Now, it's almost sunrise. You have a charge to protect, do you not? Best get back to her before something untoward happens,” he smiles. Ranger flicks his gaze to the men surrounding him. “My men have not harmed her,” Alucard states, “In fact, she is sleeping soundly as we speak.”

“Fine,” Ranger answers quickly. “Just leave us alone.”

Alucard puts his hands up in a placating manner, “You won't hear from me until it is done.”

Ranger nods and hurries out the door, keeping to the shadows despite the Lord’s assurances. He climbs to the roof of the inn and sits just above Isadora's window. Upon hearing her sleeping soundly, he relaxes and lays back against the roof, allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

#original story #novel #fantasy #dark fantasy #medieval #gritty #magic

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astralscholar1811 · 4 months

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Entourage of Shadows, For Real This Time.

(Friendly reminder that these are not cannon to the lore of Stunlock Studios' game -V Rising- but my own characters who exist in it. I do not nor claim to own anything other than the characters themselves, all models and pictures shown were taken in-game.)

Lurking within various estates, within dark shadows, and in the nightmares of most of Vardoran; the Entourage of Shadows serve as a reminder of what could go bump in the night.

FALKIS, THE FALSE KNIGHT

Most aren't sure Falkis really exists.

Reports of a vampire with a fine complexion and long, white haired beard have been written off by the Church of Luminance as superstition and paranoia. Despite this, many a time have entire patrols of militia members been found dead on the side of the road, terrified expressions across their pale faces, the air heavy with residual magic. None of the EoS are known to leave their victims so fearful before death (Other than the Frozen King himself).

Artistic Depiction of Falkis -Painter unknown

ZEPHRIS, THE STORM LORD

By far the most sociable of the Entourage of Shadows, Zephris has spoken to more than one official within the Church of Luminance, yet is still easily moved to (supposedly reluctant) violence due to the nature of vampires themselves. Crackling with the ferocity of a fearsome storm, Zephris is easily capable of overwhelming a small army with lightning as it dances and arcs between the soldier's metal plating.

Self-Portrait of The Storm Lord

RETERACE, THE VOID BARON

Wandering the sun-kissed hills of the Dunely Farmlands, Reterace is an infamous bandit of a vampire, who is well known for charming the woman-folk within various villages before leading them to their consumption by his own fangs. The Church warns against striking a lethal blow against Reterace, as the first time this was attempted, the vampire proceeded to explode in a blast so violent it leveled half the city of Brighthaven in raging purple flame.

Recent Painting of The Void Baron -Painter unknown

ORITHIS, THE CRIMSON COUNT

Suffering from an overdose of Pride, Crimson Count Orithis is an incredibly self-indulgent vampire, leading the Red Court with which the rest of the Entourage of Shadows governs itself with the interference of the Frozen King. He is also responsible for crafting the various matching sets of armor the Court wears as a symbol of their union. His gluttony for 'the fine blood' is unmatched, and others of the Entourage will often bring back 'fine bloods' to sate the Count's thirst. His arrogance and constant moral superiority are infuriating.

He only bends his knee to The Frozen King

One of Many Commissioned Paintings -Arist unknown, definitely consumed

BERRACUS, THE DESSECRATED DUKE

Deep within the crypts of the Farbane Woods, there sits a black-walled castle adorned with the bones of those whose lives have been drained away by the Duke of Death. Rarely seen, the Duke is known through both conversations with Zephris, who only mentions him if he must, and his trademark servants all bearing his insignia: A simple bone cage. All that can be heard after his servant's dreadful harvests are the screams of those within the castle walls, provided the living dead outside don't drag you in, to witness the horror firsthand.

Painting Based off of Survivor's Descriptions -Artist unknown

FROSTBITE, THE FROZEN KING

Not much is truly known about the resident of Rime's Rest, as all of his hunts result little more than frozen shards of bloody ice. What is known is that he leaves no survivors, and all attempts so siege his castle end with the Mountain Terror rending the offenders to pieces.

Restored painting of Frostbite -Artist unknown, found frozen to death mere hours later

If one should meet these abhorrent undead do notify your local militia or Church of Luminance member immediately, preferably before they launch into an all-out slaughter of you and your kin.

-Azariel, Bishop and High Order of Luminance

#v rising #pc games #fan character #lots of dudes #The Frozen King

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lvlinn · 2 years

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Whumptober day 5: "blood loss"

Getting stabbed to protect his master wasn't really Magnus' brightest plan.

______________________________________________________________

It all went so fast. Eugene, the heir to house Ilvermore and his personal retainer Magnus were travelling east to the capital. There was a big event hosted by the King himself. Most of the minor nobility and wealth was invited, so was all of the Ilvermore family.

The Lord, his wife and their daughter Delia had already left for the capital a few days ago to take care of some business. Eugene wasn't all that excited to spend so much time in the bustling town, being recognised by every other person. So he asked if he could depart on the day of the event, accompanied by his retainer.

So, there they were, sitting opposite to each other in the carriage in complete silence, looking at the changing landscape around them. Magnus had attempted to start a conversation several times, but his master had brushed it off every single time. The retainer could tell that Eugene was nervous about his visit in the capital.

He knew he didn't like being around so many people, especially the other Lords and Dukes, who would question him about his future as the Lord of Ilvermore relentlessly. It was totally understandable to Magnus.

They were sitting in the carriage for like what felt like an eternity, when it abruptly stopped. Magnus threw a confused glance at Eugene, who was looking out of the window. They weren't anywhere near the capital yet. The landscape looked rural, vast hills and some trees and bushes.

"Sir, what is going on?", Eugene yelled out of the window. There was no answer from the coachman. He looked at Magnus, a look on his face that was asking him to go out and check what the issue was. Magnus just nodded. He was curious about it too.

So, the two of them stepped out of the carriage and peeked around the corner to see what was happening. The moment they laid their eyes on the scene, both of them froze up.

Bandits. A whole bunch of them. And they were armed with swords and crossbows. Magnus whispered to his master to stay back. He couldn't let him get hurt.

From there on, everything went downhill. One of the bandits lunged forward, sword drawn. Eugene wanted to confront them, but Magnus pushed him to the side, exposing himself to the blade.

Next thing he knew, a sharp pain spread through his side. He turned around to Eugene, whos eyes were widened in shock. He heard his name being called out, then his knees buckled and he blacked out.

When Magnus woke up he was confused. He felt kind of funny, like he suddenly weighed half of his original weight. Was this the afterlife? Was he dead? No, he was sure people didn't feel pain in the afterlife and he definitely was in pain.

"Magnus? Are you with me? Please, wake up!"

Someone was yelling. It sounded... desperate. Was that Eugene? Why was he so upset? Slowly, he cracked an eye open.

Blood. Eugene was covered in blood. Was he hurt? Magnus tried to sit up, but was pushed down again.

"Don't move.", Eugene said. "We're almost there."

There. There, where? That's when Magnus noticed that they were moving. Fast. They were in the carriage. Magnus' head resting on Eugene's lap, laying sprawled out on one of the benches.

Both of Eugene's hands were pressed to Magnus' stomach. Confused, Magnus tilted his head to look down at himself. Oh. That was where all that blood was coming from. Maybe that was why he was feeling so lightheaded too. And tired he was so tired, he could feel his eyes slip shut again.

"Magnus, no. no, don't you dare fall asleep now!", Eugene yelled frantically, shaking Magnus' shoulder.

"'m tired.", he mumbled. With the sound of Eugene's panicky shouting in the background, he passed out once again.

Blood. So much blood. Eugene didn't even know a person had that much blood. To be fair, Magnus was quite tall so he could fit a bit of it, but still, seeing it all spill out of him was a completely different story.

It had happened way too fast. Those bandits showed up out of nowhere and attacked without hesitation. Magnus had practically jumped into the sword to protect Eugene. In his mind, he could still hear the sound of the blade burying itself in his retainers stomach. He cringed at the thought.

After a moment of shock, Eugene had practically dragged Magnus back into the carriage, shouting at the coachman to drive to the capital as fast as he could. The bandits followed them for a bit, but they were able to outrun them.

And now they were there, sitting on the bench of the carriage, Magnus slowly bleeding out in Eugene's arms. The retainer was drifting in and out of consciousness, but was never coherent enough to actually realize what was happening.

Eugene had pressed his hands against the deep cut on Magnus' stomach, blood spilling through the cracks of his fingers. Magnus was shaking slightly, breaths coming out in irregular huffs and his face was as pale as a sheet.

"Hang in there, please.", he mumbled. He couldn't lose Magnus. Not yet. Not like this.

"Can't you go any faster!", Eugene yelled out of the window, hoping that the coachman in the front would hear him. That's when he saw houses. And people. They were in the capital.

The second time Magnus remembered waking up, he was in agony. His entire body was screaming at him, shaking violently as someone held him down. He felt the hot flash of healing magic flow through him.

Healing magic? Why was he being healed? And by who? He let out a small whimper.

"It's going to be alright, just hold still.", a faint voice said. "I'm almost done."

It sounded familiar. But he couldn't think of anything through the haze of his mind.

Another wave of pain shot through his body before he once again lost consciousness.

The third time Magnus woke up, everything was quiet. And dark. He could make out faint voices, like they were talking in another room. With a groan, he attempted to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his stomach and he immediately collapsed onto the matress again.

Where was he? A small stream of light came in through the gap in the closed curtains. The room seemed unfamiliar.

Suddenly, the door opened. "Magnus?" It was Eugene's voice. He let out a heavy sigh. "Thank the heavens."

The curtains were opened a bit, more light flowed into the room. "Eugene.", Magnus mumbled. He felt kind of weak, even though he had probably slept for quite some time. "What.... What happened?"

"You're a fool, that's what happened." Eugene shook his head. "You practically ran into that blade like a lunatic. Elize said if we had taken only a few minutes longer, she wouldn't have been sure if you would pull through."

Magnus was quiet. He didn't know what to say. It was his duty to protect his master in any situation, even if it would cost him his own life.

"Magnus.", Eugene said after a moment of silence. "Promise me that you'll never do something like this again. Please."

"I... I can't" Magnus avoided eye contact with his master. "It's my job to look after you, even if it means hurting myself."

Eugene rolled his eyes. "Fine..." He hesitated. "Then promise me one thing. Don't die, okay?"

Magnus chuckled. "I'll try."

#whumptober #original character #ocs #character #whump #whumptober2022 #blood #blood loss #injury #writing #oc #original work

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zooterchet · 22 days

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Revenge of the Ninja 3: The Character "Chet"

Revenge of the Ninja, the third in the series, starring Cho Kasagi was something I'd viewed my sophomore year of college; for free on YouTube.

After going into a Brahmin riddle, the likes of which intended for dictator spies in their elder years, like professional bladefighter Andrew, Duke of York, or the comics terrorist Osama Bin Laden, of External Security, that film brought me peace.

I never knew why, with Prince Andrew, "Time Bandits", or Osama Bin Laden, "Viper", a Mormon produced film about ninjitsu had inspired me.

A conversion to Buddhism, is the most sacred thing in Romalian culture; you're a man, taken aside by a friend of both parents, and instructed in swim, dive, and weights; Zen Buddhism, a Catholic admission, by Satanists; Jews.

A conversion to Brahminism, is the most brutal shame to all Romalians; your country has called on you, not for a wife and children and job, but a stocks and bonds removal of a culture that's snared you, at the expense of those parties and factions having converted you, as slaves.

However, Shi'ia, the blood draw on Ramadan, without pork, beef and poultry instead, is intended to kill you.

I had written "Chet", in 2005, as "Braden", in Revenge of the Ninja; a white man, having also studied Ninjitsu.

Ninjitsu, is a deeply Islamic form, out of Japan; it's a heterosexual Buddhist conversion, trained with knife, pistol, and blows.

It relies on Shinto drinking rituals, your liver sealed shut by Catholic ceremony, and the movement of the body into katas, without a spar or performance, for the improvised attacks of your father's style.

In my case, Tiger Mantis, the system modified and sold to Israel in the 1960s, to pay off a $30K debt on a Chevrolet Impala, in Saigon, my father's car to take over South Vietnam as a Marine.

Naturally, he was deployed to Raytheon instead, as a festivities man; jewelry, shoes, and tactical maps on ships.

#megaman mush #4chan #batman

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unmyeoung · 8 months

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@caemthe (x)

“Hey now, who says I’ll die after chocking a bit? At least say that I valiantly fought a group of bandits, armed with nothing more than a flute, and won!” The young duke couldn’t help it but openly laugh at the ridiculous exchange of his future bride. Getting a pillow for his chest pocket and a few sweets from time to time? Choking to death in a carriage because he felt like playing the flute? Until now, all that had heard his absurd words had been quick to reprimand him or remind him that it was improper for someone from his position to behave in such way. No one had played along (much less steal an actual laugh from him) so this was rather... Ah... this is the part where he realizes that he has been utterly defeated, isn’t it? And his ‘opponent’ turned out to be the loveliest woman of the empire. Damn, as much as he hated to admit it... he wasn’t opposed to this arranged marriage, or, at least, he wasn’t opposed to being married to Maria. A lady as lovely as her, he briefly wondered why no one mentioned her amazing personality and sense of humor. Thoughts that were quickly pushed aside once the topic of music was brought up again. Greenish eyes brightened like stars, almost like a kid in front of the candy store. “Maria, you’ve to be one of the most brilliant minds of this century!” Wolfgang said without a drop of sarcasm this time. How come he never thought of it before? A concert, a ball, there were plenty of occasions in which he could paint the world with his music. But, overall... He got on one knee. “Always dashing Maria, loveliest daughter of the empire, will you make me the honor of being my first spectator after our union?” It would be the greatest honor. He would even dedicate his pieces to her and might even write songs inspired on his lovely- “It appears that we already got ourselves an audience.” Wolfgang commented in a lower tone, careful to not glance directly at the people sent to spy on them. Now, what was the need for such things? Was it because the two of them already were having too much fun, or the elders simply couldn’t trust him to do things right? He had no intention of finding out. “Do you perhaps know of a spot where we can have some privacy? Or at least we should try playing hide and seek with our visitors, since clearly they wish to be part of our conversation too.”

she laughs, a small tinkling sound filled with merriment as he continues their ridiculous tale. "why certainly. you could have done both! after valiantly fighting the bandits with nothing but a flute, you continue victoriously till you arrive at the castle and play a concert? and i'll sing with you~" what a delightful tale. she actually preferred to end with a happy performance shared between her and her new lover.

her hands rise up to cover her face, delighted yet again, smiling at him. she extends a hand at his offering, nodding her head. "i will always be your spectator!" her heart felt warm at just the offer. wasn't this nice? getting to know him already? she really did feel as though it spoke volumes towards what their futures would be like.

she notes what he says with an imperceptible nod, extendering her hand to him to help him stand up. "may i show you my garden? i have some plants i'm quite proud of~!!" though a large part of the care was done by servants, she'd had a hand in designing the garden itself. it was a subtle invitation somewhere more private.

she leads him towards the garden, slipping within a small maze portion where it'd be difficult for them to be followed. "they're always quite nosy. though, they're nosier with you. you must have piqued their interest~!"

she tilts her head curiously towards the other. "i quite liked our story.. and i truly would love to hear your music.."

#caemthe #✩ cakes and hugs and something a bit more ( marie ic )#she gets to be tiny wife as a treat!!!

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edhela · 10 months

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[RECAP] Obsidian Crown: Chapter Four

The party heads to Balteiro, accompanied by Amarita’s knight, Tisio (NPC, he/him). The city is only half a day’s ride away, so they arrive by early afternoon and head for the signoria building. As they travel through the city, the party stops by the local Nokoran temple, where Amarita chats up the temple’s sage and learns that apparently the army marching towards Forlante was hired by Balteiro’s signoria to deal with a local bandit problem that’s been plaguing the workers at the lapis lazuli mines just outside of town. The sage is also very concerned about the prospect of unnecessary violence, especially with the apparent uptick in violence in Balteiro between the Nokoran and Arysian residents. The party thanks him for the information, and heads out.

The signoria palazzo is a beautiful building, once the palace of a noble that has since been converted to house Balteiro’s government. Inside, the party learns that the signoria is not in session, but they manage to talk to one of the councillors who happens to be there anyway: a woman named Liana Barbozza Nozza (NPC, she/her), one of the seven current members of the signoria. After asking about Isotta de Osorio, the party learns from Liana that Isotta has been arrested on charges of “crimes against the city,” and so the signoria has been handling its own military affairs while Isotta awaits trial.

It’s important to note that the Protector-General of Balteiro is a position appointed by the duke of Forlante, an arrangement established by the agreement between the city and Duchess Sabina de Terceira when she reconquered the duchy and House Terceira resumed control of Forlante post-republic. However, it seems that Balteiro’s signoria not only didn’t inform Forlante and the duchess regent, Sancha Maria, of the situation regarding Isotta’s arrest, but had taken up the protector-general’s role without the consent of the regent, hiring a mercenary company without Sancha Maria’s knowledge or approval. Diamantina askes Liana about this, to which Liana merely shrugs and says that the letter informing Forlante of Isotta’s situation must’ve been lost. In response, Diamantina appoints Argylle as the interim Protector-General, since she’s currently acting on behalf of Sancha Maria, who has the power to do such a thing. This seems to really piss Liana off, but she doesn’t openly protest. The party continues to ask some questions, and discover that there is an Arysian priest in town capable of some healing magic who’s been seeing to the Arysian miners injured by the brigand attacks, and Amarita resolves to go talk to him.

As the conversation wraps up and the party decides to stop by the Arysian Church and the city’s guard tower before heading to the mines to check out the situation, Argylle pulls Liana aside to speak privately. Argylle wants to know why the signoria didn’t inform Forlante of what happened with Isotta, whose crimes were apparently that she’d broken into the archives and attempted to steal records from the signoria building. Liana says, again, that the letters must have been lost, but if the information was intentionally concealed (which of course it wasn’t), then it likely was because the signoria doesn’t trust Duke Manuelo since Isotta acts on his orders, and if she was committing crimes against the city, it was likely because the duke told her to, especially since the Duke is already tampering with the signoria’s elections (according to her, anyway).

Argylle: “How long do you think would be the appropriate amount of time before you make up some charges to have me arrested? Couldn't be right away. You'd have to wait a little while after I'm put into a position. But obviously I have to be gotten rid of just like my predecessor. What does that timeline look like for you?” Liana: “Well, considering how brazen you are now. I can't imagine it would take all that long for you to commit some act against the sovereignty of our city.”

Their conversation ends with even more vague threats bandied between Liana and Argylle, as Argylle wonders how long it would take him to charge the signoria with treason, while Liana merely says that doing so would cause Forlante far more trouble than it can withstand, “what with its great leader so far away.”

After Argylle rejoins the party, they head to the Arysian Quarter in Balteiro to find the Arysian priest that Liana had mentioned. The man is named Garrett de Leon (NPC, he/him), and he agrees to go with them to the mines. Amarita offers her service as a healer to aid those injured by the brigands, and though the priest seems very hesitant and wary of the situation, he agrees. Victoria and Argylle stop by the city’s guard tower to speak with the captain of the city watch, a man named Ramiro (NPC, he/him). Ramiro informs them that the city watch hasn’t really bothered to deal with the brigands at all, since the mines don’t belong to the city but to a private company in Forlante (owned in part by Duke Manuelo himself). The mines were sold to this company by the Arysians who own the land, so that both Arysians and Nokorans would be able to work in the mines (Nokoran religious law prevents Nokorans from working directly under those of other faiths), and the city has since attempted to purchase the mines from the company which has refused to sell. Victoria asks if Captain Ramiro would be willing to lend them some guards to go with them to the mines, and he agrees, lending them a small force.

The party finally heads out to the mines, accompanied by Priest Garrett and the handful of city watchmen sent by Captain Ramiro. They arrive at the Arysian encampment, where most of the mineworkers live temporarily so they don’t have to travel back and forth between the mine and the city. Garrett informs Amarita as she helps him tend to the wounds of the injured workers that there have been deaths amongst the miners attacked by the brigands, in addition to the plethora of injuries. Meanwhile, the rest of the party wanders the camp, listening to people and asking some questions, and discover that not only are the Arysians the primary target of the brigands, but many of the Arysian workers believe that these are targeted attacks to get them to abandon the mines so that the city can take them over. They also believe that the brigands are hiding out in an abandoned keep in a nearby wood, though they don't know how many there are.

The party decides the best way to find out what’s up with the attacks is to lie in wait and see if they can ambush the ambush-ers, and so settle in to see if they can catch any brigands. As the party waits, Amarita spots some shadowy figures moving through the underbrush towards the mines, and the party attacks, with the hope of capturing their opponents and questioning them when the battle concludes…

#obsidian crown #campaign diary

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magnificenteggsfarmpeanut · 1 year

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Reyssane takes a sip of horse milk, Feya's mischievous voice dances with excitement. "Oh, Rickeur, have you ever seen such wondrous creatures? Those dragons, they're like fire and poetry combined!"

Rickeur chuckles softly, his voice carrying a touch of admiration. "Indeed, Feya, they possess an elegance that defies the imagination. One could almost be lured by their enchanting dance across the heavens."

Their voices intertwine like a playful melody, blending with the rustling leaves and distant dragon roars. Feya, unable to contain her jesting nature, continues, "You know, Rickeur, if only we could find a way to tame those dragons, we'd have a magnificent ride and the envy of all!"

Rickeur's response carries a hint of caution amidst the banter. "Ah, Feya, to tame a dragon is a task that eludes even the bravest souls. They are creatures of wild beauty, meant to soar freely across the skies."

Just as their playful exchange reaches its peak, the distant thunderous roar of a dragon reverberates through the air, causing them to fall silent. Intrigued, a young boy bursts onto the scene, gasping for breath. "Is it true? Has a dragon truly landed in the forest?" he asks, his voice filled with wonder and excitement.

Feya, nonchalant and quick-witted, dismisses the notion with a casual wave of her hand. "Oh, dear child, no dragon would dare venture into this forest. Its stench alone would drive them away. Fear not, your imagination must have run wild."

The conversation fades into the background as Reyssane, focused on her grand heist, resumes her journey towards the city. The tales of the wealthy lord and the stolen prince's treasures beckon her audacity and cunning. With each step, Reyssane's determination grows, her mind filled with whimsical plans and the thrill of outwitting the rich lord who dares to claim what is rightfully hers.

The city awaits, promising an adventure filled with whimsy, danger, and the chance to reclaim stolen treasures. And so, our audacious bandit girl, Reyssane, sets forth with a gleam in her eye and a heart brimming with excitement, ready to weave her magical tale within the tapestry of a fantastical world. Scene 2: In the bustling city, Lord Xhankrus, the reluctant Duke, tends to his garden, a rare moment of respite from his burdensome position. His distaste for his new role stems from a daring act of offering unsolicited advice to the childless king, an act that brought him nothing but misfortune.

As Xhankrus carefully waters his flowers, his thoughts are interrupted by a sudden crash. A small dragon has flown into him, causing a momentary panic. With a mix of apprehension and annoyance, Xhankrus addresses the dragon. "Oh no, you must stay away from me. It would be better if your parents did not land here and bring destruction upon this wretched city. Shoo, shoo!"

The small dragon, curious yet undeterred by Xhankrus' plea, gazes at him briefly before getting up and swiftly flying away. Xhankrus sighs in relief, grateful that the encounter did not escalate. Deep within, however, he carries a nagging sense that tonight will not bode well. Dragons, known to be harbingers of ill fortune, seldom interact with humans. Xhankrus, lost in his thoughts, muses to himself about the inherent misfortune associated with dragons.

Xhankrus: Dragons, oh how they are feared and despised. Their presence brings nothing but trouble and sorrow. A bad omen, they say, lurking in the shadows of destiny. It is as if their very existence taints the air with impending doom. And now, one has crossed my path, an ill omen indeed.

He pauses, his voice filled with a mix of resignation and bitterness.

Xhankrus: Ah, but what use is there in dwelling on such superstitions? The city's fate is already marred by my ill-fated words to the king. Dragons or no dragons, the consequences of my audacity shall unravel in due time. Perhaps tonight, the weight of my actions will cast its dark shadow upon me.

With a heavy sigh, Xhankrus resumes tending to his garden, hoping to find solace amidst the vibrant blooms. Little does he know that fate, entangled with the whims of dragons, will soon weave its unpredictable tapestry, challenging his beliefs and unraveling a path he never expected to tread.

Scene 3: The weight of Xhankrus's discontent plagues him like a burden of boulders, dampening his spirits and tainting his dreams. Lost in a realm of slumber, he groans, relishing a fleeting moment of tranquility. However, his respite is abruptly shattered as a weight crashes upon him, the impact of the boulder's limb smacking his face.

Startled and in pain, Xhankrus releases a louder groan, only to be met with a startled exclamation. "Shit!" A young girl hastily scrambles away from him, realizing her unintentional intrusion. Swiftly, Xhankrus retrieves a knife concealed within his pillow, pressing it against the girl's neck. With a swift motion, he pulls her back, ensuring she no longer poses an immediate threat.

Xhankrus: What do you want? Who are you? My apologies, I am not skilled in handling unexpected encounters. Please, enlighten me. Are there others accompanying you in this place?

The girl, unperturbed by the blade pressed against her neck, meets Xhankrus' gaze with a glimmer of audacity.

Reyssane: I mean you no harm, Lord Xhankrus. I sought gold, but now it seems you must pay the price for hearing my voice. In the struggle, she strikes Xhankrus lightly in the stomach with her elbow, causing him to wince. With nimble dexterity, she wrests the knife from his grip, injuring herself in the process.

Xhankrus, bewildered yet intrigued, demands answers once more, his tone tinged with a mix of frustration and curiosity.

Xhankrus: Tell me, who are you? Your audacity amuses and unsettles me in equal measure.

Reyssane, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes, responds with a coy smile.

Reyssane: I have a special introduction reserved for moments such as these. She taps her foot lightly against the wooden floor and declares, "I am Reyssane, daughter of the thief known as Many Faces. But unlike him, I am a spore that grows and poisons!"

Xhankrus, aghast and overcome with embarrassment, calls for the guards, hoping to rid himself of this unexpected intruder.

Xhankrus: Guards! Quickly, dispose of her! She is a menace to my realm!

However, Reyssane swiftly evades capture by leaping out of the window, landing gracefully on her side. She swiftly disappears into the shroud of night, leaving Xhankrus and his guards stunned by her escape.

In the aftermath of this unexpected encounter, Xhankrus contemplates the implications of Reyssane's introduction, the taste of embarrassment lingering upon his tongue. Little does he know that this encounter with the audacious bandit girl is merely the beginning of a dance that will entangle their fates in ways he could never have foreseen.

A month passes, and the fates intertwine Xhankrus and Reyssane once again, though under circumstances far from favorable. Xhankrus, atop his steed, traverses the countryside when his eyes catch sight of a harrowing sight. Reyssane hangs precariously from her feet, suspended from a tree, a vulnerable figure in need of rescue. Without hesitation, Xhankrus dismounts his horse, rushing to her aid.

Xhankrus: Reyssane! How did you find yourself in such a perilous situation?

Reyssane, her voice tinged with a mix of pain and frustration, responds with a hint of defiance.

Reyssane: I admit, I made a grave mistake. I robbed the wrong man, and this is the consequence I face. But, pray tell, what concern is it of yours, Lord Xhankrus?

Xhankrus, his eyes filled with both sternness and a glimmer of compassion, gently frees Reyssane from her entrapment.

Xhankrus: It matters to me because, despite our adversarial circumstances, I cannot stand idly by and watch you suffer such a fate. We may be on opposing sides of the law, but even in our differences, there is a spark of something more.

Reyssane, her body still weak from the ordeal, gazes into Xhankrus' eyes, her voice softer than before.

Reyssane: You speak of compassion, yet our paths are riddled with conflict. How can we find solace amidst this enmity?

Xhankrus, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his composed exterior, reaches out to touch Reyssane's cheek gently.

Xhankrus: Our lives may be entangled in a web of duty and obligation, but beneath it all, there lies a connection that defies the boundaries of societal expectations. We are more than just adversaries, Reyssane. We are two souls entwined in a dance that is yet to reveal its true purpose.

Reyssane, her eyes searching Xhankrus' face for sincerity, can sense the conflict within him.

Reyssane: Are you suggesting that beneath the roles we play, there could be a glimmer of friendship, perhaps even care?

Xhankrus, his voice filled with longing and uncertainty, takes Reyssane's hand in his own.

Xhankrus: I dare to believe that within this tumultuous dance, a fragile bond may be forged. A connection that transcends societal expectations and embraces the complexities of our hearts. Can we not explore the possibility of a path less traveled, where animosity gives way to understanding?

Reyssane, her defenses slowly crumbling, squeezes Xhankrus' hand gently, her voice carrying a note of vulnerability.

Reyssane: Perhaps, beneath the shadows of our roles, lies a chance for something unexpected. A friendship that defies the boundaries set upon us. Let us explore this uncharted territory, Lord Xhankrus, for in this journey, we may find solace and a deeper understanding of one another.

Their eyes meet, sparking with a mixture of passion, hostility, and the flicker of a newfound connection. Bound by circumstance yet unyielding in their desires, Xhankrus and Reyssane embark on a delicate journey, weaving together a historical romance where love and understanding emerge amidst the turbulence of their lives.

Gratitude fills Reyssane's heart as she expresses her appreciation to Xhankrus for rescuing her from the perilous predicament. A glimmer of vulnerability shines in her eyes as she poses a delicate request.

Reyssane: Lord Xhankrus, I am indebted to you for your timely intervention. In return, I beseech you, would you do me the honor of burying the bodies of these unfortunate ladies? They were night owls, caught in the web of darkness.

Xhankrus hesitates, his mind fraught with conflicting thoughts and the weight of his responsibilities.

Xhankrus: Reyssane, I understand the plight of these souls, but involving myself in such matters would bring about unwanted complications. The realms of the night owls are shrouded in mystery and danger, beyond the boundaries of my realm.

Reyssane, her voice tinged with determination, steps closer to Xhankrus, refusing to back down from her plea.

Reyssane: These night owls were once vibrant beings, with dreams and desires intertwined with their nocturnal existence. They deserve a final resting place, free from the clutches of the shadows. I implore you, Lord Xhankrus, to reconsider and embrace the responsibility that lies before you.

Xhankrus, his expression hardened yet filled with a flicker of curiosity, meets Reyssane's gaze.

Xhankrus: Reyssane, you ask me to delve into realms unknown, to face the enigmatic forces that govern the night. It is a daunting task, one that may unravel the delicate balance of my world. Can we not seek an alternative path, one that does not entangle us further in these shadowed domains?

Reyssane, her voice filled with conviction, refuses to yield, her eyes burning with an unwavering determination.

Reyssane: Lord Xhankrus, the night owls have suffered enough. They are souls yearning for peace, lost amidst the chaos. I believe that together, we can navigate these ethereal realms, dispelling the darkness that haunts them. Let us rise above our fears and prejudices and embrace the call to restore balance.

Xhankrus, his resolve tested, realizes the strength in Reyssane's words. He takes a deep breath, his voice softened yet resolute.

Xhankrus: Very well, Reyssane. In your conviction, I find the courage to face the unknown. Together, we shall venture into the realms of the night owls, honoring the fallen and bringing solace to their restless spirits. Our paths may be entwined in an uncharted tapestry, but united, we shall forge a new chapter in the history of our fantastical realm.

As they prepare to embark on their unprecedented journey, Reyssane and Xhankrus embrace the realm of historical fantasy, where love, duty, and the pursuit of justice intertwine with the mystical forces that govern their world. The shadows of the night owls await, and with their combined strength and determination, they strive to bring light and peace to the fallen souls who have been forgotten by the daylight realm.

In the dim light of dusk, Reyssane and Xhankrus labor together, digging a solemn grave for the bodies of the meagerly dressed women. The earth yields beneath their shovels, each movement a somber reflection of the task at hand. A contemplative silence envelops them, until Reyssane breaks it with a heartfelt question.

Reyssane: Will you pray for the night owls, Lord Xhankrus? Surely Kamaria, the goddess of the night, will allow a word in honor of her lost daughters.

Xhankrus, taken aback by Reyssane's devotion, responds with incredulity.

Xhankrus: Kamaria? You worship a dead god? These women are naught but common whores. Fancy names will not alter their essence.

Reyssane's eyes blaze with fiery determination, her voice unwavering as she defends her belief.

Reyssane: They are Kamaria's girls, and I will not stand for derogatory words to be thrown upon them. Will you not join me in prayer, Lord Xhankrus?

Xhankrus, his skepticism still evident, shakes his head resolutely.

Xhankrus: No, I shall not pray. These women were not paragons of virtue, and it is not my place to send empty words into the void.

Reyssane, undeterred by his refusal, challenges him with a hint of defiance.

Reyssane: Very well, if you will not pray, then I shall. But before you attack me with your doubts and judgments, allow me this moment.

With the bodies laid to rest, Reyssane bows her head in silence, her lips moving in fervent prayer to the goddess Kamaria.

Reyssane: Kamaria, as these women were used and abused in their earthly existence, I implore you to cradle them within your ethereal hands. Grant them healing and redemption, and in your divine power, transform them into beings who shall never suffer at the hands of another man. Whether as men or as rich women, may they find solace and peace in their newfound lives.

The sacred words linger in the air, carrying the weight of Reyssane's unwavering faith. Xhankrus, though still harboring doubts, cannot deny the sincerity and compassion in her plea. A newfound respect begins to take root within him, opening his heart to the possibilities beyond the confines of his rigid beliefs.

Together, they stand in silent contemplation, their differences bridged by a shared sense of duty and compassion. The bodies of the fallen night owls find their final resting place, accompanied by the whispered prayer that holds the hopes and wishes of Reyssane for their eternal peace and rebirth.

The tension between Xhankrus and Reyssane reaches its breaking point, escalating into a fierce clash of swords. Their blades clash with a resounding clash of steel, their movements fueled by a potent mix of anger, frustration, and a strange attraction that defies logic.

Their duel unfolds with an intensity that can only be matched by the tempestuous storm swirling within their hearts. Each strike and parry reflects their skill and determination, their eyes locked in a battle of wills. But fate, in its cruel whimsy, intervenes with a devastating twist.

As the guards rush forward to subdue Reyssane, their blows veer off course, tragically finding their mark in her eye. A searing pain engulfs her being, and a scream erupts from her lips, echoing through the air with a chilling resonance.

Her anguished cry reverberates in the heavens, summoning a dragon from the depths of the sky. With a thunderous roar, the majestic creature descends, its fiery breath engulfing the earth, consuming everything and everyone in its path.

Amidst the chaos, Xhankrus, a fool driven by a love forged in the depths of a moonlit encounter, instinctively throws himself in front of Reyssane, shielding her from the scorching flames. The dragon's wrath, unleashed upon the world, seems unstoppable.

No one can truly comprehend the reason behind the dragon's attack. Some believe it was sparked by Reyssane's agonizing scream, her voice acting as a catalyst for the ancient creature's rage. Others dismiss it as mere coincidence or the whims of a bored dragon, seeking to test the might of its flames upon the mortal realm. And there are those who attribute it to the rise of Fire as a religion, fueled by the survival of Reyssane herself.

The devastation wrought by the dragon's fury leaves no survivors to bear witness to the truth. Yet, the dragons continue to circle the continent, their watchful gaze fixed upon the realm of humans, an enigma shrouded in mystery.

There are many legends told about Reyssane and Xhankrus. In the aftermath of the cataclysmic event, Xhankrus emerges, wounded but alive, his act of selflessness etched in the annals of history. Reyssane, though scarred both physically and emotionally, defies death's embrace, her survival defying explanation.

Legends are born from such moments, tales spun and woven by the whispers of the people. The dragons, guardians of the sky, continue their vigil, their motives remaining elusive. And in the hearts of those who dare to believe, Reyssane becomes the first in a lineage of Ssanes whose voice is said to call forth the ancient creatures.

Yet, as the stories and beliefs intertwine, the true nature of that fateful day remains elusive, locked within the flames of the dragon's wrath and the silent echoes of the fallen. The dragons, their presence a constant reminder of the fragile balance between humanity and the unknown, watch and wait, their secrets held within the depths of their fiery eyes.

Authors note:

If more than 50 people buy me a one dollar gift card I can afford something really nice a kitchen! Please help the government is focusing on making himself a king of black people.

https://www.amazon.com/Amazon-eGift-Card-Logo/dp/B07PCMWTSG/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?crid=2WNE9RRWS1YZA&keywords=euro+gift+cards+for+amazon&qid=1680379373&sprefix=euro+egiftcard%2Caps%2C222&sr=8-1

My blog: https://inlovewithghost.wordpress.com/

#painters #illustration #bookaddict #black girl reader #gofundme #booklover #buynow #black main character #fantasy #black fantasy

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kisant · 2 years

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I have reached the Goddess Tower in my Verdant Wind playthrough and I have some Claude thoughts. I have commented before that I liked that Claude is such an inquisitive character. There is a big duality aspect with him, because Claude really hates when people and institutions hide the truth from him, and yet he hides his own name, past and ambitions from everyone else during White Clouds. The conclusion that I have reached with Claude, in short, is that Claude is someone who starts out with the mentality of a spy in a hostile country, but gets attached to the Golden Deer and to Byleth during his year at Garreg Mach.

Analyzing Claude’s growth in contrast with Edelgard’s and Dimitri’s during white clouds, I’d say that all of them start closed off, and get attached to their new relationships in Garreg Mach, much like Byleth grows as a person through their role as a teacher. Edelgard starts out hiding her agenda of revolution against the church and her future betrayal of TWSID due to necessity. If she gets caught red handed, she would get executed on the spot, as we saw in the Holy Tomb. She yearns to forge genuine bonds with Byleth and the Black Eagles, but she’s also resigned to have to leave them all except for Hubert behind. Edelgard is grateful and surprised when Byleth and the Eagles choose to take her side in the Holy Tomb rather than blindly following Rhea’s commands. Dimitri doesn’t hide information out of fear of discovery, he simply takes a while to trust Byleth, and the reason for it was the Ashen Demon. Dimitri initially fears Byleth because Ashen Demon Byleth seemed to kill without guilt or a conscience. When he sees that Byleth is simply a stoic person, but that they feel deeply and care about their loved ones and their students, Dimitri opens up about his past and his objectives. Claude differs from the two of them because he starts out pretty hostile and mean spirited. For example, he intentionally attempts to use Edelgard and Dimitri as human shields and distractions to cover up his escape from the bandits in the paralogue, and goes for the emotional neck in the mock battle, needling Edelgard about her fear of rats and Dimitri about having a crush on Edelgard. And this is because Claude is, initially, a spy for Almyra. Claude has his own plans and his own ambitions. He takes the chance of becoming Duke Riegan’s heir and studying at Garreg Mach because doing so would help him further his own ambitions. Basically, it’s a one in a lifetime opportunity to look for key information in the usually isolationist Fodlan. As Claude von Riegan, he can study in the monastery, meet the heirs of all the important noble houses, investigate how the weapons of Fodlan work (crests and relics) and try to uncover the secrets and history of the Church. All of this information would put him in an advantageous position once he took up his role as one of the princes of Almyra once again.

So Claude begins the WC year as a spy in a hostile territory. He’s mean spirited, he’s closed off, he deflects all attempts to have a sincere conversation with him. And, gradually, he gets attached. He lets Byleth in as a friend, and gets excited about showing them the interesting information that he is able to dig out of the church library. His conversations and interactions with his classmates get progressively kinder, he stops trolling as much and starts to empathize more. And it all culminates in making the promise to meet again as a class in five years.

For Edelgard, this moment represents the faint hope that Byleth and the Eagles will have chosen to side with her in the war that she intends to start. For Dimitri, it’s the hope that the relationships that he has made as a student will endure the test of time and distance, because what Dimitri wants is to be understood, and for his precious people not to leave him. And for Claude, this moment is also incredibly important as a character, because it means that Byleth and the Golden Deer have grown on him, that he has grown to value them as people rather than as convenient tools for his ambitions or information sources on the secrets of Fodlan.

In five years, and without taking into account Edelgard’s war (something Claude didn’t think would happen), Claude wouldn’t have been Archduke Riegan or the Leader of the Alliance. He would have been Prince Khalid of Almyra. And he was hoping that the Golden Deer and Byleth would still welcome him back even as the prince of an “enemy” nation, that he would be able to come back to Garreg Mach as himself. That’s the “great ambitions that grew throughout the year” that Claude refers to when he talks with F!Byleth at the Goddess Tower.

Edelgard and Claude similar in this way, because both fo them long for the people who they have grown close to in Garreg Mach to still accept them once they drop the masks and reveal their true identities.

#fire emblem three houses #claude von riegan #fe3h meta #kisant liveblogs three houses #verdant wind playthrough

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quercusfloreal · 3 years

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Le 3e Gédéon

I was hesitating to talk about it but here we go. May I introduce you to the manga "Le 3e Gédéon".

Warning long post

What it's about ?

Manga in 8 volumes, it tells the story of Gédéon Aymé who dreams of becoming a deputy to the Estates General to save the people from misery. George, the Duke of Loire and his former comrade, also seeks to change the system, but instead use violence to achieve his goal. This is going to be a story where the two characters will fight each other, one wanting peace and peaceful change, the other a radical and violent change.

What did I think of it ?

I found the story good. It manages to mix fiction and French revolution. It's full of inconsistencies but somehow it works. However I wouldn’t advise this manga to everyone. There is psychological and physical torture, gore and nudity. The images can sometimes be very crude.

What about historians characters ?

Well, we have the most badass portrayal of Louis I've ever seen in my life, he’s able to detect the slightest lie. Marie Antoinette may seem shallow, but she knows perfectly well how to play her charms to turn the tables in her favor. Their couple is interesting because each of them can't really love the other completely. Madame Roland is an ambitious woman who we learn had a daughter with Gédéon. Saint-Just is the slightly confused teenager who will eventually grow up and assert himself. Charles Philippe, the sociopathic Count of Artois, wants his brother's place and Elisabeth, the king's sister, wants Marie-Antoinette's place.

But what about Robespierre ?

I said in an old conversation that Maxime had daddy issues. Let me explain. One of the main themes of this manga is family and father figures. We learn that Gideon's father is the duke and he has exchanged his son's place with George so that Gédéon can be closer to the people. George has a real grudge against the duke because when Gédéon will be older, he should have become a servant again. But by trapping Gideon he kept his place.

Maxime has a real grudge against his father and George will use this information to manipulate him.

The first time we hear about Robespierre is in the first chapter. George is looking for easily manipulated men who can help him destroy the old system. Saint-Just, recruited by George, tells him that Max would be a potential candidate. Maxime is invited to George's house and has to save a former peasant, now a bandit, from the death penalty because he attacked George. Of course Maxime succeeds but it was a test. Of course, George can’t deny Maxime's skills but I believe it’s hearing the conversation between Maxime and Gédéon about Gédéon’s daughter that made him decide :

Robespierre : Shouldn’t you start trying to be a good family man ? You should leave the Assembly to single people like me !

We see Robespierre again later in a rather amusing scene with Gédéon. Gédéon, drunk, says Saint-Just's erotic writings told the boy is a virgin and is amused. And who is the virgin in the same bar as Gédéon? Boom Maxime !

Their following conversation will confirm that Louis XVI is the father of the kingdom.

Yeah, but when does George act ? Well, Gédéon sees Maxime again when the Estates General stagnate and there is a talk about creating a new assembly. Since Gideon is now part of the King's police force, Maxime asks him if he can meet the King discreetly to solve the problem. But without clearly knowing it, George is already starting to manipulate Maxime.

Keep in mind the puppet representation. It will be important for the next step. Because it’s present when Maxime's words contradict a part of his thoughs and when this thoughs takes controls.

After Gédeon refuses to join Saint-Just, Maxime explains to him, if Gédéon continues to hang out with the royal family, there will be repercussions. And if Gédéon tries to find his lost daughter and make politics at the same time, he will lose both. Because for Maxime, children are burden to their parents. Maxime explains his childhood, his dead mother and his father who left. He is resentful of himself because he believes it was his behavior as a child that made his father disappear, that he was a burden to him. This is why he doesn’t want children.

But underneath this justification, even if he pretends the opposite, he has hatred towards this father who abandoned him.

Gédéon : You have the right to hate your father.

Robespierre : In this case, I have the right to kill him, right ?

On the day of the meeting with the king, on the way to the palace, Maxime admits to Gédéon that his father sends him letters. In this letters, his father talks about his new family. Of course he knows that this is probably a trap, but we feel that it’s a sensitive subject for him.

Robespierre : Over my shoulder, I saw myself when I was ten years old.

Then comes one of my favorite scenes, a scene of tension between Louis XVI and Robespierre. Louis explains there are three locks on the table, if he thinks Maxime is lying, he will break one of them.

Robespierre : Since that time, I have always respected you as a father.

Louis XVI : One...You were warned, lies don't work. Either you don't respect us, or you don't respect the concept of a father.

After two, Maxime admits being one of the instigators of the problems at the Estates General and to make it stop, Necker must be dismissed because he makes promises that the nobility will never accept. Louis accept to think about it.

And here comes the chapter where I most wanted seeing George to lose and die painfully because his plan is totally twisted. Maxime receives a letter from his father who tells him that Henriette might not have died if he had been there, implying that it is Maxime's fault that he left. Then Maxime sees in front of his house a woman abused by a man. He threatens to take him to court but the guy explains that Maxime has nothing to say about the correction of a husband to his wife, named is Henriette...Oh boy !

The next day, Maxime proposes her to leave her husband, that he can help her by offering her a place in the convent of Arras. There, she would be safe. But she refuses because her husband will find her and she is unworthy of his help. Maxime feels unable to do anything. He remembers his dying sister. In the evening, another intermission, but this time Maxime decides to act. He intervenes until the girl confesses her father married her.

At this words, Maxime becomes mad and releases all the hatred he has accumulated towards his father. George's plan to make him forget any peaceful method succeeded

Robespierre now lets his hate guide him. If Louis is the father of the kingdom and the father of his subjects, then he must pay too. He goes to see Necker, tells him to accept his resignation to become a martyr and harangues the assembly to join the people and take up arms. He explains the first attack will be at the Invalides, then the people need to take care of the Bastille afterwards, because it is a royal symbol.

Camille : Maxime notice me !

Gédéon doesn’t agree with Robespierre, he thinks it’s necessary to think of a more peaceful method because it risks having deaths. He no longer recognizes his friend

Robespierre : I assure you Gédéon, I haven’t changed. Gentlemen ! Listen up ! We've been trying to find a resolution through dialogue for a long time! Alas, all our efforts have been in vain...a pure waste of time...and why !?

Robespierre : You too, Gédéon, I bet you've seen abused children love their fathers so much that they fall apart. Gédéon: Yes...

We see him again only after the march of the women on Versailles. Gédéon tells him that George is the one who sent him the letters and played on his dislike for his father to kill the king. He wants to find the wise and peaceful Robespierre.

Gédéon : And this other one love his father.

But Maxime does not believe him. His hatred is still too strong. When another lawyer asks Maxime to save a man, Maxime takes time to think, because the man looks like his father. It’s the words of Saint-Just that convince him to give up this man because he had previously seen the damage caused by the Duke of Loire on his sons George and Gédéon.

Robespierre : He’s a complete stranger, there is no doubt about it !! Saint-Just : Wouldn't it be better if he were really your father? If he were condemned to death, you would be delivered from him.

Saint-Just : Destroying everything to build a new order, that's what I think revolution is !

Finally, Maxime is released when the king died. Gédéon has found the death certificate of his father, confirming Maxime has sent an innocent man to death. Maxime seems to be happy on the day of the king's death but when he saw George and reconised him as the girl he tried to save, everything gets destroyed. He cries because after all he has done, he cannot go back.

Saint-Just embraces Maxime who he’s crying : I will always remain at your side, until death separates us.

The last time we see him is when marie-Antoinette curses him and other revolutionaries at her execution;

I reconize Saint-Just, Robespierre, Desmoulins, Marat ? (right middle), Danton, Hébert, Mme Roland, Augustin ? (bottom right)

#frev #mangafrev #robespierre #saint just #louis xvi #marie antoinette #if anyone reconize all the revolutionaries at the end just tell me please !!

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dailytudors · 3 years

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The Beginning of Thomas Cromwell's Downfall

On June 10th, 1540, Thomas Cromwell was arrested on flimsy charges of treason and heresy. “Thomas Cromwell’s arrest” writes Hutchinson, “was as ruthless as it was sudden.”

Thomas Cromwell had traveled to Westminster Palace to take his place on the Privy Council. After the council, when everyone went to dinner, his mortal enemy, the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Howard, stood up and raised his voice and shouted “Cromwell! Do not sit there! That is no place for you! Traitors do not sit amongst gentlemen.”

When Thomas demanded to know what the hell was going on, the captain of the Guards, Anthony Wingfield and six more men came forward. Thomas Cromwell, as they predicted, did not go easily. He asked them what was the reason for his arrest, but the Captain of the Guards calmly told him that wasn’t his concern. He either went with them willingly and they wouldn’t hurt him, or else he resisted and they would use full force against him. Cromwell probably knew this day was coming. According to his latest biographer, Tracy Borman; Thomas Cromwell was plotting against the Duke of Norfolk just as he was plotting against Cromwell. It was only a matter of who got there first.

Henry VIII could have easily stopped this from happening but Henry was the main force here. Norfolk loaded the gun, and Henry pulled the trigger. He was very dissatisfied with his fourth bride, Anne of Cleves. And although he had known of her pre-contract with the Duke of Lorraine, he agreed to marry her anyway because he needed the Cleves alliance so badly. Once he saw her, he tried to get out of this arrangement saying that she was ugly and that she wasn’t a virgin. But the truth is that Henry didn’t like her because of their first meeting. That first meeting on January of that year really determined their short marriage. Whereas Henry’s previous wives (including his first foreign wife, Katherine of Aragon) were very conscious of their roles as Queens and familiar with the pageantry and the culture of courtly love; Anne was educated in a very strict household. She had no idea what she was getting herself into. Or rather, her brother had no idea what she was going to getting his sister into. Anne was a fish out of water in the English court. Her garb was strange, she could barely speak English and she had no idea how to dance or engage in the types of conversation that other women of her adoptive country engaged on.

She was completely unprepared for this. And then came Henry VIII. He was no longer the handsome youth who had bedazzled so many women. He had grown morbidly obese and his ulcerous leg smelled bad. But being who he was, he still had a penchant for court drama so he thought of surprising his wife by arranging a playful visit to her. He and a few other courtiers dressed as bandits and arrived to Anne’s bedroom and started flirting with her ladies, including those she brought from Cleves.

You can imagine Anne’s horror as this happened. The leader of the bandits approached Anne and tried to speak with her and when he went too far –from Anne’s point of view- Anne pushed him away and told him to go away. For a man like Henry VIII with an ego the size of his realm, being told that he was disgusting and refused by in front of everyone, including his best friends, it was a huge humiliation. When he revealed who he was, Anne immediately apologized but it was too late. Her reaction made Henry make up his mind about her.

Cromwell tried many times to convince Anne to seduce Henry, to get on his good side but it wasn’t Anne who was at fault here, it was Henry. And it was Anne’s education. She hadn’t been told what she would be getting into, she hadn’t been prepared for this role the way her predecessors had been. Even her common predecessors. Anne Boleyn had served under three Queens, Jane under two. They knew state protocol, they knew all about courtly love. And Katherine of Aragon like Anne of Cleves had been a foreigner but one who had grown in a court that treasured courtly love and were dressing good was everything. She was skilled in dance, music, art, everything. Anne had practical skills which were seen as very useful, but ultimately they paled in comparison to her other predecessors.

Henry VIII directed his anger at Cromwell. Cromwell tried to tell him that he couldn’t get out of this arrangement so easily. He had agreed to marry Anne of Cleves, and there was nothing else he could say that would justify his repudiation of her. So Henry married her. But he was very angry at Cromwell. And Cromwell was taking too many liberties with his privileges position. Though Boarman believes that Anne was as ugly as Henry saw her, she does admit that it may have all been a matter of perception. And that one of the people who added more fuel to the fire of disappointment is Cromwell. Cromwell probably knew Anne was no great beauty, but by no means was she ugly. She could enchant the King. But Cromwell as always wanted to make sure that Henry would fall in love with her before he got to lay eyes on her so he started bragging about her beauty, saying that her hair shined like the sun, that her eyes were like stars, that her skin was so fair, etc. Then there was also the religious factor. Thomas Cromwell was a very methodical and pragmatic man; he did what the King asked him to. But he was also a Reformist sympathizer and his sympathies were becoming more obvious to the King and his enemies.

After Cromwell was apprehended by the royal guards, he lost it. He said very angrily “This then is the reward for all my services?” Then he turned to the members of the Privy Council “On your consciences, I ask you, am I a traitor?”

If Cromwell believed he was going to cause a big impression and leave everyone dumbfounded, he was sorely disappointed because soon after he asked this, everyone began yelling “Yes” and “Traitor”.

Read the rest here: https://tudorsandotherhistories.wordpress.com/2015/06/10/thomas-cromwells-fall-from-grace/

#thomas cromwell #henry viii #anne of cleves #thomas howard #history #June 1540

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besanii · 4 years

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Promts for wangxian:(non cultivater au)(this is a pirate/bandit au) (with classy dancing and thievery)(btw this is supposed to be sorta light with bits of angst)

Wwx and lwj are both thieves and they are trying to steal at the same super fancy party but then they meet for the first time on the dance floor and ballroom dance (like group dancing like from cheesy British period shows)while conversing and stealing from the rich snobs around them. Neither notices what the other is doing, and then they have to leave before they get caught. They don't pick pocket eachother but they do steal...each others hearts. Cue misunderstandings about both of them thinking the other is a snobby rich person and then justifying to themselves and to their siblings (lxc and jwy)(jyl is super supportive and so is lxc but he has more trepidations) that the other can't be that bad and maybe they r the exception to the snobby rich people clique

(in reality lxc is motivated by heartbreak and rage bc he trusted jgy but jgy used him to get insider info about the lan fam and the jins drove the lan family to ruin even tho they were awesome and helped support their area. So he and lwj teamed up with the bandits nie(whose father was killed by wrh) to steal from the rich and trashy jins who are spending all the country's money on lavish parties and horrible ness and r rumored to be starting a war soon and r bankrolled by the pirates wen who have wrh as a Duke or the equivalent and his eldest is business face while his youngest is the pirate of the operation with wen zhulio and they r terrible and attack shipments and get the goods to the jins)

(the jiangs were a merchant family and also supported their area and were not terrible trashy rich people but the wens r pirates and they attacked all the jiang ships,stealing all their merchandise. Madam yu and Jiang fengmian tried to secure a trade alliance back when the jins started to skirt over into Jiang business with the neighboring country( the one the jins and wens r thinking of attacking) but are presumed dead at sea bc wen chao and wen zhulio attacked their ship. Then older bro wen(wen chaos bro who's name im forgetting) comes and occupies lotus pier bc "wen chao ran off years ago we haven't heard from him im here as a friend" officially they r there to offer support but unofficially they r there to secure the trade routes and take advantage of a grief striken jwy and they do so, sending jyl to jinlingtai as a political prisoner(funnily enough lqr is also a political prisoner but he's there bc he's a famous philosopher and teacher). so jwy and wwx are evacuated by the dafan wen clan of seaward doctors and presumed dead when lotus cove gets set on fire by the wens to cover the tracks of terribleness and to send all the trade routes to jinlingtai while lotus cove is "rebuilding". Jyl knows they r not dead bc wwx sends her notes and her guard is song lan and xxc and they help keep her up to date.btw jwy and wq r possibly dating bc he recognizes that she and her fam saved him and his bro and they r really happy bc there is no core swap and he and wwx r chaos bros and happy and he's dating wq and they killed wen chao a bit ago so he's like on cloud nine and bc this is a noncultivater au wwx doesn't resort to demonic cultivation he's just awesome with a sword and has a pirate swagger. Wq is the captain, jwy is like 2nd mate. And wwx is like the head of the group on boarding missions and such with wn as his second anf wen yuan as his adopted son and they all get together and plan raids and study trade routes with the Intel jyl sends to them from the inside. Jyl is in a relationship with miammian who is an ambassador from the country that the jins and wens r thinking of attacking.)

So the lans/nies are bandits and rogues and the jiangs/dafan wens are pirates and both are robbing the wens and the jins nobles and staging highway heists and seaward piracy

Anyway so neither the lans nor the jiangs know about eachother bc is a difference of terrain and they haven't interacted before but wwx and lwj meet at this party and they fall in love but with the hijinks and funny ness of thinking your love interest is a rich dude u r probs gonna have to rob at some point but they r so lovely and then they keep meeting up and eventually team up and take down the jins and evil wens and eventually establish order again.

Funnily enough nhs knows wwx bc they were bootleggers together before the jiang fallout but nhs does nhs and sends lwj to a party he knows wwx will be at(he does hook them up he loves them both and wants them to be happy) (also he hooked his bro up with lxc)

Hahaha I don’t think you need me to write this??? It’s already all fleshed out XD

#hilariousseagoat #asks

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prettylilhalforc · 3 years

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Forged in Conflict

After many a late night flitting between tumblr, Borderlands, and discord discussions with the lovely @lorecraft my brain could not shake a Luckyverse Borderlands AU with Triple Frontier boys.

Am pleased to present the first chapter of Forged in Conflict!

Summary: Dahl 12th Company, TangoFoxtrot Brigade have been assigned to secure an old asset planetside. Intel has it that a bunch of bandits are wreaking havoc on dig sites around a local settlement. Idiots trying to bust open an derelict mining facility for tech. Amateurs trying to on sell to Atlas.

Should be simple enough, right? Standard in and out.

Secure the asset, eliminate the threat, back to base in 72 hours flat. All wrapped up like a present on Mercenary Day.

Warnings: Military, allusions to violence and conflict, food.

Rating: M at most given the military themes

A/N: This will be more of a slow burn fic with each of the boys meeting their match. Cannot wait to introduce Lucky, Echo, IRIS and Teflon. This is gonna be so much fun!

Any and all feedback is most welcome!

Chapter 1 - Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

The scent of stale sweat hangs heavy in the recycled air. Hundreds of warm bodies fill the mess hall leaving little space to maneuverer. Unit upon unit of troopers lining the facility in orderly rows. Packed in tighter than vacuum sealed standard issue MREs.

Happens like groundhog day. Same routine over and over again.

Wake, eat, drills, eat, sleep.

Leaves him feeling little more than another cog in the fine-tuned military machine that is Dahl.

It’s stifling. Suffocating.

Maybe he’s just been stuck on base for too long. Maybe he just needs to head planetside. There’s this voracious itch that always rears its head between deployments. An uneasy tension sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach. Gnawing, screaming at him that more needs to be done and sitting here is just wasting time.

What good is a weapon in a fight if left unfired?

This was not what Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia signed up for when joining the Corp. Pipedreams and promises of jumping around the system, liberating settlements from the greedy grip of Atlas. Putting down bandit scum.

Life on Pandora prepped him for action, for violence.

Not the bureaucracy of the corporate military industrial complex.

Hoo’ fucking rah.

“Need some motor oil?”, a deep voice cuts through Pope’s musing, Ironhead giving him a knowing look.

“Wha-?”

Santiago’s eyes refocus. Physically shunted back into reality by a light shoulder check from the young blond adjacent to him.

“Can practically hear the gears crunching in your head, Pope.”

Will. Now there’s a company man through and through. Six foot and build like a brick house. Keen blue eyes that shine with something purely predatorial. Nothing gets past his gaze. Lives and breathes the life.

Nerves of steel and unwavering discipline earnt him the well-deserved moniker Ironhead.

Regimented. Reliable. Never fails under fire.

Dahl ‘til the day he dies.

“I hate being… stuck. Feel useless.”

Elbows braced on the slick steel benchtop, Pope runs both broad hands through his salt and pepper undercut. Pulling at strands. Trying to find a physical reset to pull him back from the frustration welling in his chest.

“I geddit. It’s driving me nuts, man, sitting here not doing anything.”

Now, Ben, the boy wonder, is pure unadulterated chaos. If Ironhead is a Doberman, then Benny is a damn Retriever chasing down a car on the highway. Kid had a good heart and boundless energy. Though doesn’t know do with it half the time.

Doesn’t think too often, just feels. Get’s him all sorts of situations.

Fortunately, The Miller boys made one hell of a team in combat. The Hellhounds from Hieronymous. Ironhead’s tactical efficiency paired with Wonderboy’s unbridled fury burnt through scores of Atlas platoons on tour. It was enough for brass to look the other way when it came to the frequent indiscretions they found themselves in.

“You hear that Lima Charlie got shipped to Elpis after Zarpedon’s crew went dark? Fucking bullshit man. Why do we get stuck here while- ”

“Better not let Redfly hear you saying that, hermano, especially after last month’s stunt. You’re lucky all you got was a week in the hole.”

Fish interrupts Ben with a look that can only be described as fatherly disappointment, grease-stained hand waving his fork about to about drive point home. Though underneath the worn cap his warm eyes give away everything, brimming with mirth.

Before Atlas. Before the exodus.

Pope swears he would have lost his humanity years ago if Fish hadn’t have kept him grounded. Practically inseparable, the two pulled each other out of scraps since they were knee high in Haven.

Frankie, ever the voice of reason, reminded Pope why they joined the Corp in the first place.

The guy was too honest for his own good. Has a big heart and wears it on his sleeve for all the world to see.

Made cleaning house during poker night a walk in the park.

“Yeah yeah, flyboy. Wouldn’t have been a problem if that snitch from Whiskey Kilo kept his big mouth shut.”

Benny petulantly spears at a suspect lump slathered in gravy on his tray, nostrils flaring.

“Well, it’s certainly shut now. Wired shut. Heard from Ty in medbay Phillips won't be having any solids until next month” Pope can’t help but chime in, it was a small comfort to know he wasn’t the only one grappling with the inertia being stuck shipside.

A collective chuckle erupts from the group and with that Benny's pout is wiped clean. Boyish face cracks into a smug grin.

And who could blame him?

Kid has a left hook that would floor a bullymong.

Conversation soon flows easily, falling into hopeful speculation about the next operation.

Tensions have escalated as of late between major intergalactic powerhouses. The system is on the precipice of a second Corporate War.

It's not just Dahl and Atlas duking out for supremacy across the stars.

Hyperion has begun to stake their claim, planet by planet. Peacocking with the latest in loader tech. Bunch of Machiavellian suits parading around as soldiers. Would sell their own grandmother to make a profit. And what they couldn't buy, they were willing acquire through "aggressive negotiation".

And Vladof, bunch of commie bastards, took glee in sabotaging years of blood, sweat and tears for the sake of glorious revolution. Whatever that meant. Why waste manpower when you can incite the masses to do your dirty work for you?

The desperate push for colonization in the most bizarre locations didn’t make any tactical sense whatsoever.

Something bigger was going on than just a turf war over resources. Not when this many players had come to the table. Stakes must be high.

“Nice to know that you boys are itching for action.”.

By pure reflex the four rise to their feet. Backs straight. Eyes forward. Jaws tight.

Chairs clatter across the hull floor, food all but forgotten.

The crimson glare shoots pure ice down Pope’s spine. Every damn time feels like someone walked over his grave. No matter how long he served, could never get used to it. Cybernetic eye picking apart every detail of the crew before him with clinical precision.

Captain Tom ‘Redeye’ Davis.

Takes a particular kind of individual rise through the ranks in the Corp. A certain cold bloodedness that makes a man willing to put the mission above all else. Hardly a surprise for a seasoned Dahl Mercenary. Redfly had a track record that would make any C.O. green with envy.

The company couldn’t fault him, no matter how harsh his methods. Ran tight crew and expected nothing but excellence. The Corp chewed up and spat so many bodies in the field, there was little room for complacency.

Or mercy.

“Fortunately for you, Brass has something that will scratch itch. Section-312, Intel Room 4. I expect you all there at nineteen hundred TangoFoxtrot. Copy?”

“Sir, yes Sir!”

“At ease soldiers.”

Will shoots Pope a wry smile that spreads across the crew like wildfire. It says it all.

Ask and ye shall receive.

#triple frontier fanfiction #borderlands crossover #Dahl Corp #goblin tries her hand at letters

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argent-vulpine · 4 years

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The Art of Rising

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: G

Characters: Sylvain/F!Byleth

Read it on AO3

He’d told her once, years ago, that he was going to work to become the kind of man she could trust. What he hadn’t said was that he was wanted to be a man she could love, that she could be happy with. Someone she could count on. He didn’t really know when his crush had become something… more.

After she’d fallen, he determined he would keep his promise to her. She was alive; she had to be alive. So he had to keep at it, no matter what.

Even Felix had noticed the difference, though he hadn’t commented beyond a thoughtful hum after seeing Sylvain turn down the offer of a nightcap from a moderately attractive woman.

No one, not even the goddess herself, could have prepared Sylvain for Byleth’s return.

——————

It had been harder than it seemed, getting out of Faerghus so that he could make it to Garreg Mach in time for what should have been the millennium festival, but what would now only be the reunion of the Golden Deer. Hopefully.

Felix came with him, of course, a steadfast friend as always. “Someone’s gotta make sure your dumb self stays alive,” the swordsman had told him.

Neither of them was sure what to expect. They’d heard the rumors of the monastery, that it had fallen to ruin after that devastating first battle, that the Knights of Seiros had scattered when Rhea vanished, most going into hiding from Edelgard’s warpath while the rest tried to find the archbishop.

When they’d managed to get correspondence out, Sylvain had found from Claude that they’d combed the ruins, searching for Byleth. No body was discovered, not a single trace of her had been found anywhere. She’d vanished almost as if she had never even existed, living on in the memory of her students.

Sylvain had taken the news hard, but at the same time… it gave him hope. She hadn’t been found, dead or alive, and she had the power of the goddess. Surely that meant… something?

——————

Their arrival at Garreg Mach went initially unnoticed, despite the early hour, which considering the rumors was a bit of a surprise… until they heard the faint sounds of fighting further into the town. Felix slipped away, drawing his sword; he was of the best use on the ground, where he could use his size and speed to his advantage.

Sylvain, meanwhile, hefted his lance, resettling himself on his horse. It felt so natural now, after years of war and routine practice. Byleth had been right; he was a natural lancer, and he used that gift now, guiding his steed through the town and combining the beating of hooves with the sweeping of his lance, dealing swift justice to the bandits that attacked.

He could hear the distinct timbre of Claude’s voice ringing out from above; looking up, Sylvain caught a glimpse of a wyvern, a flash of golden yellow atop it. An arrow thudded into a bandit that had been turning a corner, dropping him instantly; the Alliance duke gave Sylvain a jaunty salute with an arrow before he was sweeping off to another corner of the town, nocking the deadly projectile as he went.

It was strange how easy it was to fall into a routine with his former comrades. Though their circumstances had changed, and they’d grown into the people he was sure Byleth had known they would be, it shouldn’t have been so easy to rely on Claude – and Leonie, when she appeared – to have his back while he swept through the town. He could even hear Lorenz not far from him, likely doing the same.

He’d fought with these people numerous times, though before it had been largely on foot.

Byleth was right, in the end. This formation, spread out as it currently was, still packed a powerful punch.

He turned a corner, and his heart skipped a beat, breath catching in his throat.

It looked like he would have a chance to tell her exactly that.

——————

Sleeping, she’d said, looking as if she had stepped through time. Or fallen through it, perhaps. Her clothing was as torn and dirty as it had been when they’d last seen her, rushing forward. Nothing about her had changed. He wondered, briefly, if this meant that he was technically older than her now, as frozen in time as she had been.

She’d explained to them what had happened, her memory of the event, when and how and where she’d awoken. They were back at the monastery proper now, in the old Golden Deer classroom.

Byleth walked around the room, seeking out each person individually. Claude had been the one to find her; she’d already caught up with him, the shock of seeing him so grown still there, but duller, replaced by equal shock for everyone else.

He watched her move around the room, speaking quietly to each person. Raphael leaned down enough so that she could ruffle his hair, a soft smile on her lips as she said something to him that made him laugh in that booming voice of his. She exchanged shoulder clasps with Leonie, expressions serious. In this, he could see a glimpse of the mercenary she had once been, and the kind that Leonie had become.

Everyone was different, every greeting tailored to the person. A touch here, soft-spoken words there. Gentle smiles for Ignatz and Marianne; surprise at Lorenz (and perhaps a bit of amusement, too); a startled laugh at something Hilda said, followed by a wry comment that made the pink-haired girl whine; clasping arms with Felix, and a promise to spare later. Sylvain was close enough to hear that exchange, only rolling his eyes a little bit at his friend.

She saved him for last, and he wasn’t sure how he should feel about that.

“Sylvain,” she said, stopping a short distance away and looking up at him. And he realized with sudden clarity that he was taller now, easily a head and a half over her. No wonder she’d needed to stop so far away. If she hadn’t, she surely would have gotten a cramped neck, trying to meet his eyes.

He flushed slightly. “Professor,” he replied, unsure of what to do. Behind Byleth, Felix scoffed silently, making a ‘get on with it’ gesture that Sylvain pointedly ignored.

There was a brief, somewhat awkward silence. “You’re a lot taller,” she said, finally, with a small smile. “I told you the lance would suit you. Have you been practicing your magic?”

He huffed out a little sigh, relaxing the slightest bit. “Yeah, every day. I’m not as good as some, but you were right. It’s a great back-up to have.”

She nodded once, exactly the way he remembered it. “Good.” A pause. “Tea this weekend?” she asked, voice soft.

He almost laughed. Almost. Instead, seeing her expression, he nodded, giving her a soft smile. “I brought some with me.” Just in case, he thought. He imagined she could hear that subtext regardless.

——————

Their ragtag group began immediate work on cleaning up the monastery. Claude wanted to use it as a base of operations, and no one could fault his reasoning on it. It only made sense.

Byleth was there with them, helping to move things. She and Dorothea worked together to make their dorms livable once again, in some cases having to take things from the rooms of nobles they were sure would not be returning. The rug from Hubert’s room went into Dorothea’s; Byleth took the water pitcher from Edelgard’s old space, and spare blankets that had been in the press, largely protected.

The professor had needed to scrounge for a uniform to wear while her own clothes were washed and repaired. Sylvain decidedly did not comment on the way it made her look, though he couldn’t help but appreciate the way it emphasized her curves.

The weekend came around, and things almost felt normal. He willingly took to the stables, finding Marianne already there, and helped her straighten and clean before tending to the few mounts in the stalls. Overhead, he’d caught glimpses of Claude and Leonie leading aerial patrols. Byleth came by with bundles of herbs, harvested from the greenhouse which had been in complete disarray. She’d trimmed back the herbs that had managed to thrive, and was offering small bundles of aromatics to everyone to help freshen up their rooms.

Sylvain took his with a smile of thanks, fingers brushing against Byleth’s and causing a faint flush to stain his cheeks. That night, he tied the herbs to his bed and fell asleep to their pleasant scent.

People had begun trickling back into the monastery, townsfolk returning and setting their homes and shops to rights one by one. It wasn’t as bustling as it had been before, but a slow return to some semblance of normalcy was good.

He caught Byleth in the monastery market the next day, in deep conversation with a merchant. Curious, Sylvain wandered closer; enough to overhear but not so much that he’d interrupt.

“- any news at all?” she was asking, placing things in her basket as they spoke.

“Nothing much. Word’s spread about you all taking back the monastery. There’s a rumor that some of the Knights of Seiros are on their way back to see what’s with the fuss. Us merchants, though, we’re glad to have you back. You need anything special, just ask.”

She nodded, mulling over his words. “Actually… I do have a request.” She leaned forward, beckoning the merchant closer, and began to speak, softly enough even Sylvain couldn’t hear. The merchant looked surprised, but chuckled and nodded.

“Sure enough, I think I can find something along those lines. I’ll send word out right away.”

Byleth gave him a tiny smile and paid for her purchases, turning to face Sylvain, face smoothing back into her typical placid mask. “It’s impolite to eavesdrop, you know,” she said as she approached him.

“It wasn’t really my intent. I didn’t want to interrupt, but I did want to offer to carry your basket for you,” he said, holding a hand out in offering. “You’re much too important to be carting around wares like that.”

There was a moment of hesitation before she sighed, giving in. “Fine, but only because I need to talk to you anyway.”

“Oh? Is our tea canceled?” he asked, frowning. He’d been looking forward to that, as a matter of fact.

She waved a hand in the negative. “Nothing like that. I just… don’t want to talk war during our tea. Starting tomorrow, you and the rest of the Deer will be joining me in the cardinals’ chambers to discuss war strategy and plan our next moves.” She hummed softly, thinking. “One-on-one instruction will resume, too, though it’s as much for your benefit as it is mine. I’d like to see how everyone has improved since… well… since.”

Five years. He had to admit it had been a long time, and he could see she was still struggling with the concept. To her, it had been only a week or so ago. There were going to be lots of changes she would need to grapple with.

“I take it Felix has already gotten you onto the training grounds for a spar?” he asked, laughing at the expression she made. It was subtle, but there, and he was so glad he still knew how to read her.

“He’s still a hot-head, but he has improved a lot. He put up a better fight than before, that’s for certain.” She stopped by another merchant, browsing their wares, and glanced up at him. “I’m expecting your participation in these meetings. Claude has a good mind for strategy but he often gets caught up in his schemes. I need a bit more practicality thrown in.”

She was looking through a stack of games as she spoke, then drew one out and showed it to him. “Are you familiar with this one?”

“Passingly. It’s been a while since I’ve played.”

“Good. So you’ll know the regular rules.” She gave him a brief grin. “There are modified rules I’m almost certain you aren’t aware of, very popular amongst mercenaries.”

From their time spent before the war drinking tea and playing strategy games, he knew that she used them as something of a lesson in tactics, though it was clear they both enjoyed playing in general. That she deemed it important enough to buy for their tea today piqued his interest.

He kept her company as she browsed the merchants’ stalls, carrying her basket the whole while, all the way back to her room at the monastery where she shooed him away so that she could put things away and get things ready for their afternoon meeting.

Sylvain wandered the grounds, unsure of what to do with himself while he waited. He was, perhaps, less surprised than he should have been when Claude popped up from seemingly nowhere, joining him in his stroll around the grounds. They walked in silence for a time, which was the more surprising part, until Claude cleared his throat.

“It’s a little surreal, isn’t it, being back here with Teach, huh?”

“I suppose so. A lot of things are different now, though.” Sylvain glanced sidelong at the duke, who merely grinned.

“And some things haven’t. Teach herself, for example. And… you still like her, huh? After all this time?”

Sylvain shifted away a step or so under the scrutiny. “Who wouldn’t?” he asked. “It’s clear you didn’t think she was dead all this time, either.”

Claude laughed, placing his hands behind his head and giving Sylvain a cheeky wink. “I’m just glad to have my best friend back… and our best hope at winning this. She makes one mighty fine ally.” He paused, his grin turning sly. “Besides, I know when I’m beat. I’ve only ever wanted my friend back, that’s all.”

He caught sight of Hilda and Marianne then, and clapped a hand on Sylvain’s shoulder. “If you hurt her, you’ll regret it,” was Claude’s final word, the warning in his voice and eyes clear as day. Gone was the joking demeanor; he was quite serious about this. And then, in a flash, that all vanished, replaced by the happy-go-lucky he presented to the world as he jogged to catch up to the two women.

Sylvain watched them go, a thoughtful frown pulling at the corners of his lips. He’d always thought Claude had a thing for the professor, and maybe he had, but there was no hint of a lie in what he’d said. Not even a tiny bit of jealousy, which Sylvain was sure he would have noticed.

Did that mean… that he really had a chance with her, after all?

——————

She was waiting for him in the gazebo that afternoon, the water already heated and waiting, the board game set up in a configuration he’d never seen before, as he’d expected considering her comment earlier. “I’m not late, am I?” he asked, joining her and taking his seat.

“No, I was just early,” she said with a slight smile. “I wanted to get the game prepared.”

Sylvain stretched his legs out, careful not to knock into the table – or Byleth – as he did, before he leaned forward and added a sachet of bergamot to the teapot to steep.

“Fox and Geese,” she said, straightening up the board. “Tell me what you remember about the basic rules?”

He’d expected this, too, and did as requested. The gist of the game was easy to recall: play as either the singular fox or the flock of geese. To win, the fox had to eat all of the geese, while for the geese to win, they had to corner and surround the fox. The cross-shaped board made both of these things difficult enough to be challenging for even the best players.

She nodded. “Well, this version allows the fox to cut through this circle here,” she said, pointing to a thin line marked by a bit of twine, “if the fox is in pursuit of a goose already and it doesn’t stop in the circle. That circle is like an impenetrable fort otherwise.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, leaning forward to study the addition. “The circle can be anywhere on the board?”

“Anywhere at all,” she agreed. “But no bigger than this. Geese inside are protected, but it also means that they can’t surround the fox.”

He studied the board, considering the new rules, and thought. If a few geese could be protected, untouchable, but also unable to attack… interesting. It was a new layer of challenge to an already complex game.

“So, Sylvain… fox or geese?” Byleth asked, drawing his attention from the board. She checked the tea, seeing it was steeped enough, and poured a cup for each of them, adding cream to hers and stirring carefully.

“Fox to start, I think.”

She nodded, studying the board, and moved the first of her geese.

The game itself occupied much of their time, though they conversed as they played. Every other round, Byleth would change up the rules, dragging from obscurity some variation she’d learned while traveling with her father and his mercenary group.

As they played, she asked him questions about the last five years. It was clear she’d gotten a basic rundown from others and was trying to piece together the larger puzzle, so he told her about the state of things in Faerghus, how he and Felix had slipped across the border in order to make it on time, what he knew of Dimitri’s execution and Dedue’s disappearance.

At no point did she bring up the next steps for the war, only asking about things that had happened while she’d slept. The line of questioning inevitably turned more personal when all other topics had been exhausted.

“How were you doing during all of this?” she asked, now playing the fox and moving her piece to consume a goose. “You’ve told me how Gautier was doing, but not yourself.”

He slid a goose into the protective circle, frowning at the board as a distraction while he figured out what to say to her. “I… I’m not sure,” he sighed, finally. “At first I was just trying to understand what had happened, you know? Edelgard’s attack on the monastery, that dragon that came out of nowhere… what happened to you. So many people were convinced you had died.”

She nodded, having heard as much. Even some of those who’d arrived for the reunion hadn’t harbored much hope that she’d been alive still. Claude had been the most vocal about his certainty she was, evidenced by the meal he’d had waiting when she’d finally arrived so very, very late. “Were you?” she asked, voice tinged with curiosity.

He looked up at her, seeing nothing in her eyes to guide his answer. So… the full truth then? “It was… stages for me. At first, absolutely not. You’d fallen, but no one saw where, or how far. Then as news came in that you hadn’t reappeared, that no one had heard from you… yeah. I thought… I thought perhaps we’d lost you.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, mussing it further than usual. “Then, as time went by and no one found your body, no rumors of your capture, nothing… I started to wonder. Surely Edelgard would have made some big show of it if she’d found you, alive or dead.”

Sylvain gave a forced laugh then, looking away. “After a while, it didn’t matter. You weren’t here. We lost Dimitri, and Faerghus began to crumble soon after. What was the use in wondering or waiting?” He hated that he sounded bitter, but… of course he had been. There had been talk, too, people wondering if Byleth had left them. Given up on them, decided it was too much.

After all, she’d lost so much already. Would he have blamed her, if that was what she’d done? No, he didn’t think he would have, though he would have been… what? Angry? Upset? Sad?

“Your move,” she said softly, drawing his attention back to her. When he looked her way, he saw her watching him, scrutinizing him. She blinked, and the expression vanished. “I still don’t know what happened. One moment I was falling… and then the next, I was waking up on the riverbank. I don’t know where I was, how I didn’t starve to death… nothing. That entire time is empty for me. It was like I blinked and suddenly I was here, now.”

“Professor, I just—” whatever he was about to say was cut off by an alarm cry going up through the monastery.

Byleth surged to her feet, turning and grabbing the Sword of the Creator. He hadn’t even noticed it before, and wondered now if she’d been expecting something. Some attack, perhaps? “Sorry, Sylvain, this will have to wait. Head toward the gates as soon as you can,” she said, and then she was off, her coat fluttering behind her as she ran.

——————

Though it didn’t take him long to retrieve his own weapon from the armory, it was still long enough for things to quieten down. By the time he got to the front gate, the alarm itself was over. He could see the banner of the Knights of Seiros as he approached, and saw Claude and Byleth conversing with… was that Seteth? It looked like it.

He stood a short distance away, Lance of Ruin in hand, and was joined a moment later by Felix.

“You’re late,” said the swordsman, gruff.

“I was having tea with the professor when the alarm went out. Had to divert to the armory.”

“Tch. Excuses.” But Felix didn’t push. He was always armed, but he knew a sword was easier to carry around than a lance.

When Byleth turned to walk back through the gate, he stepped into a position behind and to her left, an honor guard. Felix took the opposite side, flanking Byleth – and Claude – as they made their way to the monastery proper. Byleth glanced at him for a brief moment, but said nothing, resuming her conversation with the duke.

Behind them came Seteth and his honor guard, leading a procession of knights back home.

——————

Sylvain had long ago decided that war was unpleasant. It might have been fascinating to read about, to learn and to study, but actively participating was hard in so many ways. The emotional and physical toil it took from those fighting; the smell of blood, of burning bodies and scorched earth and charred wood; the long, sleepless nights spent planning and organizing and hoping that your strategies worked, and planning your tactics for when you knew they wouldn’t.

It was also, in a sense, very boring. If you weren’t in the upper-most ranks, where all the planning fell, then you had a lot to do during the waiting and the planning.

And in this case, he had a lot of extra nothing to do because he was, of all things, recuperating.

His wound hadn’t been so bad that quick, magical healing was necessary, and normal healing was considered better for the body in the long run, so into the infirmary he went, to be stitched up and bandaged and told – very firmly – not to move and certainly not to get up to any funny business.

Byleth had already come and spoken to him once already, ending in an unexpected heart-to-heart chat he hadn’t really been planning for. He’d thought that would be the end of it, that he would remain in the infirmary until Manuela informed him that he was well enough to leave, and things would resume as usual.

Honestly, he should have known better.

The professor returned that evening, carrying a tray piled with food. It was enough for the both of them, he could tell, and she set the tray down on a small folding table before bringing the entire set-up with her to Sylvain’s bed.

“Manuela informed me that you hadn’t had dinner yet, so I offered to bring it to you,” she said by way of greeting.

“You could have eaten your own first. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I could have, yes,” she agreed, giving a simple nod. “I did not. Eat.”

He frowned at her, but she only returned his gaze with a placid one of her own. They locked gazes for a long moment, until he finally looked away, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. “Thank you,” he said after a beat, pulling the tray closer.

Byleth helped by moving the entire table. When she realized it wouldn’t be as easy to sit in a chair and eat, with how close the food needed to be to Sylvain, she simply changed location, nudging his leg over carefully and taking the now-vacant spot.

Not that he minded. He could feel the warmth coming from her as she settled down, the movement shifting his leg until it was resting against her back. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care, instead focusing on eating her own meal.

It was good, and he was hungrier than he’d thought. Sylvain dug in, a pleased hum in his throat at the first bite. He devoured half his plate before he slowed down, looking up at the professor with a grin. “This is delicious. Thanks for bringing me dinner.”

“You need the energy to heal. I need my best lancer fit and ready, after all,” she replied matter-of-factly, though the soft smile accompanying her words suggested a different reason entirely.

For once in his life, he wisely said nothing, preferring to enjoy her company for as long as she was willing to provide it.

——————

It was impossible to tell, really, who was the most shaken by Gronder: himself or Felix. Or perhaps Ingrid, whom they’d managed to talk down, to bring her back to Garreg Mach with them once she’d been convinced they weren’t trying to kill Dimitri or his soldiers.

She’d known, somehow, that Dimitri was alive; she’d joined with him, convinced she could help him… but she hadn’t told them… and now he was dead for real, run through by Edelgard’s forces.

Byleth had made sure he’d been given as good a burial as they could afford, with a promise to return later, after the war, to have him reinterred properly. She’d always been awkward with grief; Ashe’s loss of Lord Lonato had shown them all that, years ago. And even the loss of her own father had seen her in some strange gray area between grief and impassivity.

Still, she tried. She bade the trio sit, gave them hot tea, had the dining hall send dinner to Sylvain’s room, where the trio had crowded after the news had arrived. She did not try to placate, to soothe. It would have been awkward from her at best. So Byleth did what she knew she was good at; she went back to planning the next stage of the war, and the eventual justice for Dimitri.

——————

The war’s end did not come swiftly. Sylvain thought it would be over with Enbarr, with Edelgard’s capture, surrender… or, as it happened, death. He was there, at the end, watching as Byleth took the final blow, witnessed Edelgard’s sadness and, oddly, her acceptance of the end.

Byleth could not afford compassion, but he knew, having passed by the room she’d claimed that night, that it had been a difficult moment for her. He knew that she had genuinely liked Edelgard and Dimitri both, and that for her, their existence as something like friends was still very fresh in her mind.

She’d done what she had needed to do to end a war, and now it seemed as if that wasn’t the end after all.

Sylvain passed her door again, later in the evening, and saw light seeping through the cracks. “Professor?” he called, knocking on the door. This late at night, she should be sleeping. Then again, he should have been, as well, but everyone seemed to have a lot on their minds.

“Come in,” she said, voice muffled.

He opened the door, taking in the lamplight, the fireplace burning away, and the professor herself, leaning forward in a chair at a desk she’d claimed for herself, fingers pulling through green strands, frustration evident in every line of her body.

She looked up at him, noting his presence, though there was no surprise evident on her features. A half-eaten plate of food sat beside her, gone cold long ago. “Is there something I can help you with, Sylvain?” she asked, weariness heavy in her tone.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing, Professor,” he said, finding another chair and dragging it over to where she sat. “You look like you need some help tiring yourself out.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at him, but his signature smirk was gone. She frowned. “If you’re suggesting…” she began warningly.

“What? Oh! No!” He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I mean, if you wanted to… maybe.” At her glare, he raised his hands in front of him. “Kidding! I’m kidding! No, I was meaning more, like… talking it out? Or getting your mind off things somehow. I, uh… I have one of those board games with me, if you’d like to play?” he offered.

Her features softened slightly at that, some look he couldn’t quite place lurking in the depths of her pale green eyes. “I would like that, I think,” she finally said.

“I’ll go get it, then. Won’t be but a minute.”

He slipped out of the room and nearly raced to the one he’d been housed in, digging out the board game and, as an afterthought, a sachet of tea. Neither of them were liable to even want sleep any time soon. Might as well make the most of it.

She made no comment on the addition, instead glancing toward the fireplace. A kettle rested on a table near the hearth, and a pitcher of water. He poured the water and settled the kettle on a hook, swinging it over the fire to let it heat. Magic might have been faster and easier, but they both had exhausted their skills that day, fighting through to Edelgard.

Sylvain busied himself with that while Byleth cleared space for the game, setting up the board and the pieces.

When everything was ready, he joined her, pouring hot water into the kettle and adding the bergamot sachet. He indicated that she should take the first move, and so she did, her tactician’s mask sliding into place as she watched the board.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. They were nearly to the end of their first round, half a cup of tea each already downed, before either broke the soft silence that had descended. “I wanted her to surrender,” Byleth said, soft.

He nodded. He’d been close enough by then to see that, but not so close he’d heard what the emperor had said to change Byleth’s mind.

“I wanted to spare her. I think… I think she knew that. And… she knew that I couldn’t.” Byleth swallowed, the words thick on her tongue. “Claude’s future, what he wants… it’s what I want, too. And I believe, I really believe, that Edelgard wanted it, as well. But her methods… how she was getting there… they were all wrong.”

“She was doing what she felt she had to do. I’m sure she had her reasons.”

“But?” prodded the professor, having heard his silent addition.

“But I agree. The reasons may have been sound; her methods were not. I think she trusted that you would carry on where she couldn’t… in a way that she couldn’t.”

Byleth stared at him, searching – for what, he wasn’t sure – before she nodded, the movement slight. “Maybe.” She moved a piece, then looked up at him again. “What is it that you want, Sylvain? Why are you here, fighting, with us?”

“I think you know the answer to that, Professor. You can see right through me, can’t you?”

She smiled then, a tentative thing, while shaking her head. “I can’t, though. Not the way you seem to think.”

“Maybe not. But you’re observant. Surely you’ve figured it out by now?”

“Hm.” The sound was non-committal. Perhaps a little thoughtful.

But for once, he thought he could read her just as easily as she seemed to read him. They said nothing else, returning to the game, until it was finally time to bid each other good night.

——————

“Do you trust me, Teach?” Claude asked, looking at her before turning his attention back to the man standing across the battlefield.

Sylvain shifted behind them, nervous concern radiating from his body. Even Felix was on edge, knuckles white around his sword, though he had not yet drawn it. Nemesis was no joke… but to face the ten Elites, too… ancestors… the ones who’d started this all…

His grip on his lance tightened, resolute.

“I’ve always trusted you, Claude,” remarked Byleth, her tone so calm and even that it eased tensions just by its existence. She turned, sweeping her gaze along her friends, her former students, settling at last on Sylvain with a long look he couldn’t quite decipher. “I trust all of you.” She wrapped her fingers around the Sword of the Creator, raising it up to point at their enemy, and while her eyes hardened for battle, for the first time any of them could recall, she did not look like the Ashen Demon of old. “Let’s win this. For all of us.”

——————

Nemesis fell, once and for all. The Elites were defeated, sent to their final graves by their own descendants. It should have been a night for revelry, for celebration of the end of a long war. Instead, everything was quiet, introspective.

Sylvain found Byleth on the edge of the field, leaning against the trunk of a massive tree, Sword of the Creator at her side., though she made no move to grab it as he approached. Her eyes were closed, head tilted back, but still she gave him the ghost of a smile. “Come to check on me, Sylvain?” she asked, cracking one eye when he was only a few steps away.

“Caught me out, huh?” He leaned his lance against the tree before joining her on the ground, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

“You have a very distinct footfall,” she murmured with a sigh. “I’ve been able to pick it out of a crowd for a long time now.”

His heard thudded in his chest. “Professor, I…”

“I really need you to stop calling me that.” She opened both eyes properly, tilting her head to look up at him. “You know my name. I’d prefer that you use it.”

“Heh. I guess you’re right. It was just… easier, I guess. We all look up to you, you know.”

“Not from where I’m sitting,” she said, deadpan.

He laughed then, nudging against her shoulder with his. “You know what I meant.”

“Hm.” An agreeing sound. Thoughtful.

The pair sat like that for a long time, looking out over the field, watching the stars come out one by one as the sky darkened. When Byleth leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder, Sylvain almost didn’t dare breathe. After a moment he hesitantly moved his arm, resting it around her shoulders and pulling her in close against his side.

She made no comment, no move to get away. It seemed, in fact, that it was what she’d wanted. Perhaps what she’d been waiting for.

He could have stayed in that moment forever, if Hilda hadn’t interrupted, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, to tell them that dinner was ready and they should come eat.

When he helped Byleth to her feet, he thought, briefly, about saying something, until she held up a hand to stop him. “We have a long march ahead of us. Eat and get some rest. Talk to me later, when you’re ready.”

——————

He was so ready that he was early, watching the sky from the window while he waited for Byleth. He didn’t know when, exactly, only that somewhere along the way, his simple attraction had grown to a crush, which had eventually morphed into love. She saw him for who he was, not what he was, and that was something he didn’t think he could ever fully repay. But he’d try. He’d try for the rest of their lives, if that’s what it took. He only hoped that she accepted him in this, too.

Happily ever after had seemed like a pipe dream at the start of the war. Now… now it a possible reality.

The sound of boot-heels on stone drew his attention and he turned, a genuine smile on his face as he waited for that reality.

#long fic #sylveth weekend 2020 #sylveth #sylvain jose gautier #byleth eisner #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #golden deer sylvain #golden deer

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