#feyblood
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kelvnn · 6 months ago
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Prompt for day 1 of #Batstarionweek2024 “Falling asleep in unusual places” 🦇
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vivi-llain · 5 months ago
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cmm for feybloods <33
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everlastingdreams · 16 days ago
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The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 10
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Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.
Chapter Title: Alliances
Notes: Next chapter tho 👀
Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.
Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!
Word count of this fic: +250K
Chapter:  10/47
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As the Monk had told, you arrived at the monastery long before dawn. There was not another soul awake it seemed. He led the horses to the stables, you followed him inside, and he untied the horses’ reins from one another so they could walk around freely. To keep yourself busy while he concerned himself over the two new horses he had acquired, you put your attention on his own horse. The stallion was quite the charmer, he loved the attention he was given and treated you like he had known you all your life. Maybe he could sense the Feyblood in you and knew that it was similar to his rider’s.
As you pampered the horse, you noticed something on his left front leg. A cut covered in dry blood, but still bleeding somewhat. You took the scarf from around your neck, knelt down and began to bind it around the horse’s leg, all the while you spoke some soft encouragement to the stallion. This poor creature didn’t even show that it was in pain. At the sound of the Monk clearing his throat, you wanted to take a step back and away from his horse. That failed when he turned out to be so close that you ended up bumping into him with your back.
“I’m sorry…” you quietly said while moving out of his way.
He blinked twice, staring at you a little. You didn’t know how to read the look he gave, and send your eyes to the ground.
“Goliath…” he uttered the name to his horse softly.
How had he not seen that his loyal friend was injured? Had he been so careless? It must have happened when he fought those sellswords.
“Goliath?” you repeated it.
“It’s his name.” The Monk shared his attention between you and the horse, brushing his hand over the neck of the stallion. He looked down at your scarf now tied around Goliath’s leg. “Thank you.”
You thought you hadn’t really heard it, because it was said so quietly. “What?”
He pointed to the scarf. “For helping him. I will make certain the wound is cared for.”
“Good.” You stood somewhat awkwardly a couple of steps away from him.
The Monk beckoned for you to come closer and you did, he took your hand and put it on Goliath’s neck, right where he had been petting the stallion. “He enjoys it most when you scratch his neck here.”
It felt so strangely normal to let him guide your hand to where he knew his horse loved to be pet. He didn’t seem like the sort of person to just trust anyone with his horse. He let go off your hand and you petted the horse on your own.
“I think he knows I have Ash Folk blood in me.” you said.
“I believe so.” He agreed on that after seeing how Goliath was responding to you so well. “Did you have a horse?”
“No.” A bitter chuckle escaped you. “I wasn’t allowed to have one. It would have made it more tempting to try and escape my home again.”
He offered some wisdom, “A home should never be something you wish to escape.”
“It’s all I ever thought about. I just didn’t think it would be like this.” You were referring to the new strange situation you found yourself in.
He took hold of your elbow and began to walk towards the exit of the stables with you. “If you keep your word, I will keep mine. Play the part and reap the rewards.”
You let out a small sigh. “You have to know that it isn’t easy for me to pretend to be part of what you and the paladins do. I have to be someone I am not to have a chance to survive in the world.”
Much like he himself did…
He was understanding of the struggle you faced. “I will tell Father you are not fit for battle, you will not be expected to cleanse. But he will insist that I continue to show you how to use your abilities to find Fey-kind and awaken the Fey Fire in you.”
You wondered why the priest was so convinced that you could be a valuable ‘asset’ to the mission. “Why is he so interested in my magic?”
His answer took a moment to come. “We are losing count of the men we have lost since the Wolf-Blood Witch began her uprising. Your magic could heal the wounded.”
The Monk closed the stable door, and with that the conversation because he asked you to be quiet upon entering the monastery.
His hope to not wake anyone was futile, the two paladins who were ordered to keep watch inside the monastery had seen him arrive and woken Father Carden.
The priest approached the Monk in the hallway, “You found her. Well done, my son.”
Father looked so content, so proud. It had been so long since he’d seen that look aimed at him.
The Monk gave a polite inclination of the head, showing his subordinance.
“Why is she not bound?” The priest asked, disapproving of the fact.
He sounded so proud to share the knowledge with Father Carden, “It was her choice to come with me, Father. She came of her own free will.”
The priest’s expression changed instantly. “She has?”
“Yes, Father.” he said.
Father Carden gave him a nod, looking quite proud of his Monk, he even sounded friendlier, “This is excellent news.”
The priest took some steps closer, intending to approach you. You were very aware of it and stepped back to stand behind the Monk. It left them both speechless for a moment. It happened without thought and even surprised yourself. Why did you think he would shield you now, from the person he had served for years, from the one who had raised him? It felt ridiculous and even embarrassing.
“Where must I bring her to, Father?” The Monk asked to distract Father from it.
The priest thought about it for a moment, “Give her a room.”
“A room?” He was taken off-guard by Father’s choice.
Father Carden was firm with him, “She cannot be left unbound yet. But she will not need to be if she stays in a room that can be locked. Show her what she receives for her wise choice.”
The Monk’s eyes widened ever so little. “Yes, Father.”
At least Father gave no scolding for leaving you free of the ropes until now. And for him to give permission to leave you free of them inside the room was a sign that Father believed this was heading in the right direction.
“Go now.” The priest said. “It is the midst of the night, we need our sleep.”
The Monk made a small bow, then took you by the arm and guided you along.
  ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~
    The room you were given was simple. It only had a bed and a small table standing beside it with a lantern on top. There was a small window, not big enough to escape through. A cross hanged above the door. The Monk watched as you walked inside and headed straight to the bed.
“I get to sleep on it?” You felt like asking, because so far they had only let you sleep on the ground whilst chained or bound.
He stepped into the room as well, closing the door behind him. “Yes.”
You sat down on the bed the second he had answered. He came closer and reached for the satchel at your side, your hand landed on top of it right away.
“I am not going to take your mother’s journal.” He read the fear in your eyes.
You read the truth in his and let him open the satchel. He took out the ointment that the Sisters of the abbey had put in a small bowl wrapped in linen. He unwrapped it and took some of it on his index finger, he reached out and touched the cold ointment to the fresh bruise on your temple that was beginning to darken. You winced at the touch.
He gingerly continued. “That wasn’t there before they took you.”
You didn’t know how to react. “Cassian hit me. I don’t even remember the ride to Ravenwick after that.”
When you leaned away again, he stopped and put down the ointment on the small bedside table. He looked just as uncertain as you felt.
“May I ask you something?” you asked.
His answer was delayed for only a moment. “Yes.”
“If I am to see you as the one to guide me in this. Will you show me how to use a sword?” The worst he could do was say ‘no’ to it.
He made no direct promise of it. “I shall consider it.”
It was not a ‘no’…
“In return, I’ll try to be more Fey for you.” You tried to be a little persuasive.
He actually looked entertained by the attempt. “More Fey?”
You shrugged your shoulders, smiling a little while jesting, “That is what you and Father Carden expect of me isn’t it? For me to use my nose, and to try to set things on fire.”
His brow arched. “Should I be concerned that you might burn our monastery to the ground?”
“Do you think I could?” It was a risky jest.
With the power burning in you, there was indeed a possibility. But there was a certain calmth in your presence, a flicker of innocence that told him you wouldn’t resort to burning the place down.
He crossed the small distance between you, “I believe you could.” He stopped at the tips of your boots. “But you will not.”
You eyed him curiously. “What makes you so sure?”
He was studying your face, every small response, “You told me that you do not want to kill anyone. I believe that to be the truth.”
You looked down at the floor, voice growing quieter, “I let my own brother be killed…”
The Monk kept his eyes on you. “He was a danger to you, and to anyone who was unfortunate enough to cross his path. Do you believe you could have saved him from the darkness he had accepted as his home?”
“I don’t think so. No.” you sighed quietly. “At first I thought he did it just to make our father proud, but then I realized he was happy to be a monster. There was never a moment that I can recall where he didn’t treat me the way he did.”
You shook your head, his death still weighed down on your conscience.
A monster. And still you mourned him. It was admirable that your compassion was not destroyed by what had been done to you.
Your attention was on your hands, they kept fidgeting, “Sometimes I thought I deserved it, for being the reason my mother died after my birth. But I was never the reason at all, my father killed her when she tried to run away with me. She wanted to save me. Cassian just… became the person he so admired.”
The Monk knelt down, stealing one of your hands away from the other so they would stop their endless fidgeting. “I went to Ravenwick today to speak to your father, I was given the order to kill your brother if Lord Aldith refused to return you to Father, and he did refuse. You have no blame in his death. Your brother broke his agreement with Father.”
Father Carden must have given them one last chance before risking the anger of a Lord, and your father had waved that chance away.
“I still refused to help him.” you recalled the moment Cassian had tried to make you stop him.
He tried to reason with you. “You could not have stopped me.”
You were not so quick to forget the part you had played in his death. “I could have tried. But I didn’t. I let him die. I even told you to not make him suffer.”
He was very honest about that moment. “I admire the mercy you showed him by asking that off me. Because I would not have given him such a quick death if you had not asked. You are not at blame.” He gave your hand a small squeeze. “Let me carry the blame. Let this not leave a blemish on your conscience.”
Your eyes lifted from the ground and up to his. In your mind another piece of the puzzle that formed the Weeping Monk fell into place. There was compassion in him, in the way he lightly held your hand and offered some words of comfort the best he could.
You took his hand off of yours, giving a small smile, “This is not your burden to carry. I will do this alone, it’s the only way I might forgive myself for it one day.”
He was taken aback by the display of the strength in your character. He gave a respectful nod and rose from the ground.
You were grateful for the kind gesture, it can’t have been easy for him to let this side of him see the light while he was expected to be a ruthless soldier. “But, thank you. I know you are expected to follow orders, but you do it without being a monster to me. That is a choice you made, one my brother didn’t.”
His features softened just ever so little. “Try to sleep.”
You nodded.
He looked at the lantern, the candle burned inside of it, “Do you still have the ring?”
It sounded like it had just crossed his mind, you touched the ring where it still hanged under your shirt. “Yes.”
“It is worth enough to pay for a room at an inn for quite some time.” His eyes were still on the fire.
Was he truly feeding you ideas for your future? The whispers haunted your ears again. Repeating the same thing they repeated every time you even considered leaving the Monk.
    ~“Stay… stay… stay…”~
    Just as you wanted to say something to him, the whispers spoke another word through their intelligible sounds.
    ~“Together…”~
    He turned his head so quickly, like it had been called out loud into the room, and you realized he had heard it as well. Your eyes met, he could tell that you had heard it too.
“You heard that?” You gaped at him.
“They are telling you to stay?” His silent shock was palpable.
Had he heard that too??
“What are they telling you?” You grew suspicious.
He looked so guilty and even hesitated to answer. It was so blatantly obvious that he was thinking about lying.
“What else do they tell you?” you asked angrily and far more impatient.
He cast his eyes to the wall. “To protect you.”
To protect you?
“How long have they been telling you that?” your voice had gotten so much quieter.
The Monk barely lifted his eyes from the ground. “Since the night you tried to harm yourself.”
You were trying to make sense of it all. “And you listened to them… even though you fear it will damn your soul.”
“I want to know why they want me to protect you.” he admitted.
Your own confession followed. “And I would like to know why they insist that a stay near you.”
He stepped closer, eyes studying your own. “I wonder if you and I are the last of the Ash Folk. Perhaps it is why they are so persistent to keep us both together.”
It was a plausible explanation, albeit a saddening one.
“The last…” you uttered quietly.
When the Monk touched the tip of his index finger to your cheek, you stared at him. “I will keep you alive. And if you still wish for it, I will tutor you on how to wield a sword. You must know how to defend yourself.”
For the first time since long, there was hope in your eyes. “Thank you. You’re not as terrible as I thought you were.”
He didn’t take it as an insult, instead he smirked and withdrew his hand. “It is late. Try to rest. We shall speak of this further tomorrow.” The Monk walked to the door, opening it. “Rest well.”
You could only nod and watched him leave the room, you heard the door be locked and his footsteps retreat.
    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~
  The insistent whispers of the Hidden woke you from your sleep, no matter how much you tried to ignore them they persisted. You turned over to face the wall, hoping the change of position would be comfortable enough to fall asleep again. And then you heard the lock turn. Your eyes were open right away and you looked over your shoulder to see the door slowly open. It would have been far more frightening if it had not been clear that this was the doing of the spirits haunting you. Slowly you sat up in the bed, staring at the door for a while. Why had they opened it? You stood up and walked over to it, their whispers got more and more encouraging. What were they going to lead you to this time?
Carefully you stepped outside the room, someone was snoring loudly in one of the other rooms down the hall but it wasn’t where the whispers were leading you to. You tiptoed through the hall, turned a corner or two, then entered a shorter hall that only held a few rooms. Their whispers got stronger the closer you got to the door at the very end of the hall on the right. You knew who must have been behind the door they had lured you to and nerves crashed into your being. Why where they doing this? What did they expect of you? Why would they want you to go to the Monk’s room in the middle of the night?
You didn’t want to think further on it, it was uncomfortable. And then you remembered… sneaking through corridors to not get caught was pointless if it brought you straight to the door of the one person who could tell that you were there purely by your scent. Like a thief in the night you trailed back on your steps, heading back to the room you were supposed to be in.
“Stop right there!” A voice rang from behind you, a door had opened and a paladin had stepped out.
You froze, not knowing what to do.
He had a weapon ready in hand, a small axe that he pointed your way accusingly as he got closer. “How did you get out?!”
You backed away from him, hearing the warnings that the whispers were feeding your ears. This paladin was too suspicious towards you, he saw you as a threat.
“I…” You were stammering, trying to make yourself look less threatening to avoid losing a limb to that axe.
Suddenly, the paladin came to a stop, “Brother?”
You jumped when you felt someone take hold of your arm from behind, your heart ran at an impossible pace. As you spun around in the hold your elbow hit the Monk’s chest.
He wasn’t amused by this nightly interruption at all, it looked like he had thrown on his undershirt in a hurry, you were on the receiving end of two glares.
“She has escaped!” The paladin gestured to you, still using that axe to do so.
If father heard of this…
“She has not.” The Monk denied it and he kept a firm hold on your arm.
The paladin looked between you and the Monk a few times, coming up with his own conclusion as to why his Weeping Brother might be in the halls with you so late in the night. You could just read the assumption off of the paladin’s face and felt uncomfortable.
The paladin bowed his head in submission. “Yes, Brother.”
This would surely cause rumors tomorrow.
The Monk began to walk, pulling you along, as he passed the paladin he told him, “Return to your quarter.”
The paladin followed that order immediately and without questioning. The Monk walked you through the hallways.
You noticed he wasn’t taking you in the direction of the room you had escaped from. “I-”
“Quiet.” He said, sounding quite agitated by the situation.
He walked you back to the door the whispers had drawn you to, and when he opened the door he made you walk inside first before following. He locked the door, keeping the key on him. It was indeed his room, you knew because it smelled like him. His scent… that Fey scent… you didn’t even know you had gotten to recognize what he smelled like until now.
“How did you get out of that room?” he asked sternly.
“I heard the whispers of the Hidden. Then I heard them open the door.” You nervously fidgeted with your sleeve. “They lured me to your door.”
Being disappointed was difficult when you were looking at him with a pair of embarrassed and worried eyes.
His expression changed instantly after what you had said last, “Why?”
“I don’t know.” You were honest. “Didn’t you hear them too?”
To him this must have looked like this had all been some elaborate plan of yours.
“No.” He frowned confused.
This could have easily cost you the little trust he had shown.
You tried to explain it. “They showed me where I could find my mother’s journal, I thought they wanted to show me something else. I wasn’t just planning to leave.”
He gave a nod, a small sigh, “But this does tell me that a locked room will not suffice. You will sleep here, where I can know when these spirits open doors for you.”
You looked around, trying to determine what the most comfortable place on the floor was before choosing a corner and walking towards it.
He caught you by the arm and steered you towards the bed. “Not the floor.”
You refused to move. “But-… it’s your bed.”
His brow arched high. “Are you truly fighting me on this?”
He had a point… why should you care? You hummed, then walked to the bed on your own and made yourself comfortable right away. The Monk looked rather amused by your quick change of thought and attitude.
Then he cleared his throat, hoping it would erase the uncomfortable tone from his voice. “I would be grateful if you do not speak of this to Father.”
“About me getting out of the room, or being in yours?” you asked.
“Both.” he said with a look.
You father’s bargaining side awoke in you, “What do I get in return?”
He narrowed his eyes at you, then picked up the woolen blanket off of the foot of the bed and tossed it into your lap. “Enough incentive?”
You took that blanket like it was made of gold and draped it over your body as you laid down. “It will suffice.”
“Good.”
“For now.”
That earned you quite a look from him, then his eyes dropped down to the satchel again that you had refused to take off ever since you had put the journal inside. You put the blanket over it as well, feeling oddly protective over it. With a shallow nod, he respected your choice of keeping it near and he went to the corner beside the door, sliding down to sit against it. You took his cloak from where it rested on the head of the bed, and tossed it in his direction. He eyed you curiously.
You laid your head down, shutting your eyes. “In case you’re cold.”
Quite considerate…
The silence filled the room and held it in it’s hold for the rest of the night.
  ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~
    The last thing you expected to wake up to was the pommel of a sword pointing right at your nose. You sat up with a jolt, the Monk was already up and ready to leave where he was heading off to. You frowned at him, not understanding why he was offering you a sword. Where did he even get that sword? It wasn’t his. He must have been out of the room whilst you still slept.
He kept holding the sword out for you to take. “I was given permission to test your skill with the sword. Father still wants to know.”
“Are you going to test me, or teach me?” You squinted your eyes and took the sword from his hands.
There was a slight smirk on his lips, it was the answer you sought. The sword carried the symbol of the Church on the hilt, it must be one of the ones used by the paladins. It wasn’t dull at all, it was sharp, something you didn’t really expect the Monk to hand to you.
“I’ve never owned a weapon before.” You thought back to all the times you wish you had owned one.
He took a step back, beckoning for you to follow. “You will. Come with me.”
You stood up and began to follow him, then stopped. “Wait. My hands aren’t bound.”
He turned and looked a bit confused, until he remembered what Father Carden had said. He actually looked in doubt for a moment, then decided to tie your wrists together anyway.
“I will take them off later.” he assured.
Well, it would be quite pointless to test someone’s skill with a sword when the person could barely even hold one like this.
The Monk took you by the arm and walked you through the monastery, you noticed that a lot of paladins were coughing and sneezing as you roamed the halls. He seemed to avoid walking past or near them.
“Are they sick?” you asked him.
He looked around, paying attention to two paladins who walked a little further up ahead, his voice kept a low volume. “Some of them have a cold I believe.”
“Oh…” You didn’t like the sound of that.
Some of them… well some of them looked pale, and others looked downright miserable. You had seen situations like this in Ravenwick before…
The Monk didn’t take you out of the monastery, he took you into a large room where wooden benches had been pushed out of the way and against the walls. Space had been created into this room, space for sparing. After he had closed the door, he placed you into the middle of the room.
“First,” he said, removing the ropes from your wrists, “let me see how you hold a sword.”
Of course that was enough to make you even forget how your hands worked. You always hated it when others asked you to show how you did something. It must have looked ridiculous to him, still he stood patiently waiting until you held the sword. He hummed, the look in his eyes told you that you weren’t holding it right, but he stopped you from correcting it yourself. He came closer again and replaced your hands on the sword.
“Don’t grip it too strong,” he said, then let a jest slip out, “it is not a hammer.”
You glared at him for the smug remark, he didn’t seem to mind at all. Your hand had moved and he immediately corrected your hold again. It took minutes before he finally stopped correcting you on how to hold a sword, you barely dared to move your hands anymore.
“Well… I’m holding it.” you mumbled.
He drew his longsword, and with one swift motion he struck your own sword out of your hands with it. You had jumped back, stunned by the speed of it. He hummed pensively, picked your sword up and handed it back just to start placing your hands correctly on the sword again. It took him a while before he was content with it, this was a learning moment for him too. It struck you as interesting that he really took this seriously. He really intended to teach you well and it took you off-guard. A soft giggle fell out of you and he stopped what he was doing to look at your face.
You shook your head, still smiling. “I didn’t think you would be so serious about this.”
The corner of his mouth curved up a bit. “If I teach you wrong it could mean your death.”
He proceeded to take hold of your arm and show you exactly why holding the sword like that made you able to move it quite free and fluently, your own arm or body wasn’t blocking the range it had like this.
He was so focused on the task. “It must be as if the sword is part of your arm, you must acquaint yourself with it. Now practise moving the way I am showing you.”
After helping you a couple more times, he stepped away and let you try it on your own. The sword’s heaviness began to tire your arms after a while but you fought through the strain it put on your muscles.
“Try attacking me.” The Monk suddenly said, sounding far to at ease with it.
“What?” Your eyes widened.
He beckoned for you. “Try.”
After a moment of hesitation, you scraped together your courage and got closer to him, you swung the sword just like he was trying to teach you. He swerved to the side, caught your arm and pulled. The sword was forced pointing to the ground by him, his free arm came around your abdomen and held you still, he stood against your back with his chest.
You didn’t move at all anymore. “You told me to attack!”
“I never said I would not defend myself.” He sounded quite entertained, then the praise came, “Well done, you learn quick.”
It was perhaps the first praise you had heard in years, you couldn’t even remember the last time. Praise had been rare, with Cassian and Aldith it had always been derogatory remarks towards any achievement you had made. You got very quiet, while it was nice to hear praise you also had no idea how to accept it, as if part of you still believed it wasn’t genuine…
He sensed the reaction in you, because he still reacted in the same manner on those rare occasions where Father would praise him for something.
He turned you around, holding you near by your lower arm, “You did well. I can see that you listened to my instructions.”
All you did was nod to acknowledge the praise. Now that he stood close, you noticed just how similar he smelled to the forest. It was like instinct when you leaned forward a bit and inhaled the scent, it happened so quickly and you leaned away again right after. The Monk appeared speechless.
“You smell like the forest.” You concentrated on the scent.
His eyes darted over the features of your face.
That stare of his made you realize how inappropriate it had been. “I’m sorry…”
He kept looking at your face. “Your ability to smell the Fey is growing stronger, is it not?”
“I think so. It’s like I am starting to pay attention to the scents around me.” you answered truthfully.
He was glad to hear it. “That is how it began with me.”
Your curiosity was growing. “What do I smell like to you?”
A short silence passed between you before he stepped closer. He leaned in and tilted his head, his nose was not an inch away from your neck as he inhaled. You had thought he would do it quite quickly, because you doubted a Monk was comfortable doing this at all, but he didn’t. He didn’t move away, he didn’t move at all.
He had not been in the opportunity to truly smell your Fey scent from this close, and now that he had, an avalanche of vague memories were burying him. He had just been a boy… so very long since he had last inhaled a scent similar to it. The memory strangled the heart he thought he had lost that day many years ago.
Maybe it had been a mistake to ask him, but how could you have known what sort of reaction he would have? You moved ever so little to take a step back. He hooked an arm around you instantly to prevent it, to keep you close enough to inhale your scent.
Fear began to crawl it’s way into you, your voice gave it away, “Please don’t.”
He released you instantly and took a small step back. The eyes of a frightened woman were looking back at him…
“Forgive me…” Shame made him drop his gaze to the floor. “I would never…”
The door of the large room opened, two paladins stepped inside.
“Father is summoning you, Brother.” The oldest said.
The Monk gave a nod. “I will go to him. Bring her back to the room.”
“Yes, Sir.” They said in chorus.
The Monk took back the sword from your hands and bound your wrists again, the only time he looked up at your face you could see the embarrassment he was feeling. Once you were bound he steered you to the paladins and left the room whilst they brought you back to the one you were locked in again.
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littjara-mirrorlake · 1 year ago
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After hours of discussion, theorycrafting, and thinking, I'm finally ready to present V1 of my first homebrew subclass, the Feyblood sorcerous origin.
From levels 1-5, the Feyblood sorcerer is a highly effective face whose conversational skills extend to Beasts, Fey, and Plants. From level 6 onward, though, it reveals its true nature as a potent combo mage, chaining together charm spells with high mobility that make it difficult to catch on the battlefield. (There happen to be quite a few hidden combos within this subclass, to reward players who decide to go that route.) The capstone is a devastating pseudo-Geas landing on a creature you've already charmed, sealing their fate as a thrall to your blossoming archfey power.
I hope you all enjoy, and feedback is encouraged and welcome!!
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clan-astraea-fr · 3 months ago
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FRICKING FINALLY!!!!!!
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i've been trying for a blush/rose/sky for like. over a YEAR
thank god
Effie is coming home!
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She's a "fandragon" for my feyblood storm cleric from our second ever D&D campaign
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orionsfriend · 1 year ago
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Hello! Who’s your OC in your recent piece? Do they have a backstory?
Omg!!! Ok uh.... I guess his name is Paul. But like i gave him this name like 7 years ago lol so i think its kinda silly nowadays so might change in the future lol. So its a medieval high magic setting, the country he lives is being ruled by a super powerful demon passing as a human , since the giant's leader was one of the leaders that tried resisting his rule, he united revenge with convinience and decided that the giants should be enslaved his country, spreading propaganda that they are all savage and violent creatures and such.
So we have paul, he's a giant being raised by his mother and father who once lived in a giant community but were now raising paul by themselves on the run after their community was discovered and destroyed. Paul would have been around 6 years old when his parents would be killed by an army of fey blood going on a ritualistic giant hunt. He would then be able to escape but would be capture and work as a slave. He would manage to escape when he was about 12 years or so, he was barely hanging on but his was found by another kid his age (the kid was mystro, race name subject to change but basically the closest to a human since humans were also pursued in this country) whose conscience convinced him to help Paul, they then became friends (this plot was stolen from an old g/t comic on DA I read so many years ago lol). The kid then would frequently visit paul in secrecy as he hid in the forest near his village, he would help paul to survive and supply him self and keep him company, he even taught Paul how to write his name and started teaching him how to read( his parents were planning to start teach him the day they were killed). But after the kid was descovered to be keeping the giant so he was executed by a man who then captured Paul. He would then live as a slave until he was about 18, he then managed to escape and lived by himself till he wound be found, by the party of protagonists, where he would be convinced to join to help the true heir retake the country, after being rescued by them after he was attacked by another army of feyblood, he would take a lot of convincing after the continuous trauma after everyone who would come close to him or try to help would die or suffer.
He is a very kind and nervous bean who has a gentle soul ( i love him hes so cute). Though he wears a distant shield at the start it quickly melts away.
Thank you do much for the ask it made my day!!! I love talking about my blorbos even tho my stories as super messy and not set in stone since a very rarely write stuff down lol.
*GIVES YOU A HUGE AND SMALL HUG* !!!!!!!!
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ritunn · 1 year ago
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About Me
Hey there! I'm Rit, I'm an asexual AMAB enby and my pronouns are They/He. Other than that, my hobbies primarily include gaming, reading, TTRPGs, and writing. I'm also a freelance writer who does plenty of commission work which you can find out more about below.
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Content Here
Here's you'll mostly find me reblogging art, sometimes of the kink variety, but otherwise I post about TTRPGs, my OCs, and essays on random interests of mine primarily. If that doesn't interest you, then no worries! Can't please everyone.
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Commissions
If you're interested in commissioning me for a short story involving your OCs or fanfiction, please first review my Carrd for information on rates and what I won't work with. You can also check out my Furaffinity for examples of my work.
Once you've done so, feel free to message here or anywhere else I'm available. I'm pretty much always taking commissions but do special discounts every 1 - 2 months.
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Characters
I have many characters, but among them include the following with refsheets linked below:
Aisling Willowreed: Feyblood Kobold
Cassandra Dreameyes: Red Panda
Citotl Cosma: Raven
Faire Mor-Rioghan: Enfield
Miruku Ushikit: Kitsunushi
Ritunn Ink-Tails: Fennec Fox/Nu Mou
Teiruna Ironbreaker: Red Wolf
Tyra Featherfall: Bliss Dragon/Half-Elf
Uisce Fairweather: Undine Kobold
Vale Valamoss: Kodo Sahash
Vrakroth Dusklight: Blue Dragon
Yai Yurei: Hisuian Zoroark
Yuzuki Yamaguchi: Honshū Wolf
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Tagging
I use the following custom tags to organize content or CW others on my account.
Character Names: Type in the names of my characters to find all art featuring them I've posted or reblogged.
Chub Stuff: This is kink art involving feederism/weight gain content.
Feycore: This is anything I think invokes the feelings of the fey. I really dig the fey.
Legends of Alepheria: This is content from my current Fabula Ultima campaign.
Rit Commission: Art I've commissioned from others.
Rit Writes: Just random thoughts and posts about my day.... or sometimes actual stories.
Transformation: Art involving transformation content.
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(Dividers by @cafekitsune)
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emmawrxght · 2 years ago
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@emorystarling​ notes: post curse break
Over the course of the last few days, Emma had considered a hundred different ways to tell Emory. A casual text in the afternoon, a phone call around the same time. Maybe she’d descend from the sky, open a parachute and land in front of him - triumphant in the light of day. She sat and watched her first sunrise and thought for a fleeting moment that he should be there, in the end it hadn’t been her that broke the curse, Emma hadn’t uncovered the root of it and yanked it up single-handedly. No, it came in the form of a brokenhearted fey, one whose rage was something that Emma might have related to had it not taken so much from her. 
Emma settled on something simple, an unannounced interruption in his afternoon routine, a simple statement that had her settled on a park bench that stood opposite the gym she knew he frequented. The faiman waited as the warm sun pooled across her features and watched as that familiar head of brown hair emerged from the front doors. There was a tickle in the back of her throat, something akin to the sort of cold the resilient feyblooded creature had never known, but she chose to ignore it. When Emma was sure she’d caught his eye, she raised her hand and waved.
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zahryaofdawn · 2 years ago
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where?: tbh i just kinda pictured him popping out of a flower to say hi like any crazy uncle would, idk rome i guess
✿*° ‘° ・
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Zahrya’s pity for the faimen had been rejuvenated thanks to recent events. Of course, he couldn’t care less about the fate of other halfbloods, but mortals who shared his heritage at least warranted an inkling of his compassion. Cloe and all who were born like her would be caught in the crossfire because war was inevitable. Siding with the senate or opting to stay neutral would get them killed because it seemed fewer and fewer eladrin were interested in sewing seeds of peace. At the very least, Zahrya wasn’t. “You should really accept my offer. The only place for you in this realm is within the forest. Forget the past, forget your heritage, we noble eladrin are ushering in a new age for your kind. You, blessed child, are wanted. And if you don’t choose us, the blood that runs in the streets of Rome very well may be yours.” Elessar’s considerable lifespan was a testament to his ability, but he was still just a faiman. He was limited and weak, but leaning more into his feyblooded nature may be the key he needs to eternally distance himself from his sullied human half. “Within the forest, I can keep you safe. Out on your own though ...  you’re either an ally or an enemy. The middle ground has been destroyed because that is the lot our enemies have left us with.”
@xelessarx​
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fernrisulfr · 2 years ago
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Griel Clovermoss
Griel Clovermoss (Barbarian 10/Paladin 3) Barbarian (Wild Soul) - Outlander- Firbolg - Chaotic/Good -
Once belonged to a clan of peaceful Firbolg living in seclusion deep within the forest. One morning a creeping red moss was found at the edge of the village. With time it slowly spread across the village, not only across the trees and huts, but the people. It drove the Firbolgs afflicted by it into a state of madness and rage, until they quite literally tore the village and themselves to pieces. Was hidden by a parental figure by locking them in a storage cellar. Was able to watch the massacre happen through a gap in the cellar door. Was eventually infected by the mold as well and broke out of the cellar, only to find everyone else in the village already dead either by the hands of another, or succumbing to their wounds. Being too young and weak to cause much harm, but old enough to take care of himself (at least without dying), eventually acclimated to the moss enough to keep from a constant state of blind rage. Has several red markings that at first glance appear to be tattoos or warpaint, but are in fact the moss still growing on his body. Moss begins glowing whenever he enters a rage. Moss seems to have disrupted the natural magics of his feyblood causing them to become unstable. Stands at 7'4 to 7'7, covered in a sort of mold coloured grey-green fur, darkish not quite black hair, brown/amber eyes, kinda on the gaungly side at first glance but is actually lean/wirey muscle. Wears an assembly of leather straps over his torso, and a furred kilt.
Backstory Used: Born in deep within the Forgotten Forest, in the secluded Firbolg village of Autumnbreeze, Griel had what would be considered a fairly normal childhoood; until about the end of his first decade when the moss came. The villagers barely noticed it at first, an odd red moss growing upon the trees and stones at the edges of the village. Given time however, it spread to the buildings, and inevitably the people. That was when the nights of red started. The village bellowed with rage, it's people consumed by a frenzied madness. It wasn't long before they tore themselves apart...quite literally. Griel only survived because his mother locked him tight within the cellar when the violence began. Being locked away didn't prevent him from hearing the carnage however, nor prevent the moss from reaching him as well. Just a child, by the time he broke free from his confines...it was over. Nothing but bloody bodies and moss for miles. Old enough to survive, but not old enough to leave, and tormented by the madness of the moss, Griel remained in Autumnbreeze for years. With time, as the moss spread over his body, Griel grew accustomed to the rage, learned to channel it, use it for his own ends. Often he spoke with the moss, not that it was capable of replying. He didn't know where it came from, or what it really was, but in that time, it was his only friend.
Party Backstory:
"The three of you were brought together by the murder of the lord of the city state of Iraebor by an assassin. You spent almost a year tracking this assassin and just recently captured the villain and returned them to Iraebor for justice. Unfortunately, you also learned that this villain was a member of an imfamous band of halfling assassins called the "Skywatch Assassins". These assassins are responsible for many of the most gruesome murders across Faerun, but are difficult to track because they have a hideout in some sort of flying castle (allegedly).  Worse yet their leader, one Arissa Skywatch evidently has access to some sort of powerful magic that enables the assassins to travel through any mirror like it was a teleportation circle.  Its even rumored the leader enslaved a dragon and uses it as both a guardian and to eliminate any rivals. You set out immediately to end these assassins reign of terror (even if Fray claimed the cookie crumbs indicated it wasn't a good idea...).  Your parties other wizard, Alexa, while annoying is very good at what she does, and discovered a way to make use of this mirror portal to gain entry into the heart of the enemy's stronghold.  So you set off to strike a decisive blow and end these assassins! Unfortunately that's when it all started going wrong.  When you arrived instead of finding bands of blood thirsty assassins you found a strangely twitchy gentle looking scholar with a dwarf apprentice who was practicing casting cantrips.  Nearby you saw some sort of well dressed simpleton making stacks of books (some of which were impressively tall). Suspecting a trap you decide to take these people captive to get more information on what was happening here, but unfortunately Alexa (your wizard) picked that moment to trip over a bucket in the hallway...  Your prey fled, and obviously were very familiar with the castle because they were quite hard to follow.  Eventually you chased them onto the rooftop battlements where they were trapped (but somewhere along the way the simple one who had been stacking books disappeared).   Unfortunately they didn't want to talk.... The scholar transformed right before your eyes into some strange manlike rat beast (lycanthrope) and the dwarf apprentice begin throwing a seemingly unending number of simple (and very weak) fire bolt cantrips at you. Needless to say the fight was laughable if not short.  You got a couple of scrapes and minor burns but nothing like what you had expected from a band of world class assassins. It was gonna be easy to finish these amateurs off, but just before you finish subduing them (your gnome cleric was literally in the process of tying up the unconscious dwarf lady and the lycanthrope was already very dead...) you heard the beating of great wings and then a terrifying roar. Out of the mists of the clouds a great emerald dragon emerged. 6 seconds later your entire party is either dead or dying (or at least feeling like they are dying) as the dragons poison breath covers the battlements.  Even the bravest of you is filled with terror.  The dragon landed right atop your gnome cleric and new prisoner turning them both to a bloody smear under its giant claw.  Then as suddenly as it appeared the dragon flew away - leaving you coughing and retching on the ceiling. Stunned and badily inured you search for survivors - your cleric is clearly gone, as is the dwarf lady and the lycanthrope.  You ranger is just gone (you saw his dead body being tossed off the flying castle by the torando like winds from the dragons great wings as it took off).  There is nothing but a puddle of greyish goo where your wizard had been standing. (you all start on the flying castle battlements at 1/2 your health) - and that's where you'll meet the others. "
Died to a sudden Green Dragon attack. Fray cast Darkness. Unclear what happened following. Ranger attempted to abandon the group. Went over the edge, Wizard, Ranger, Cleric died.
Possible Multi-Class Options: - Fighter (Battle Master) - Monk (Mercy or Shadow) - Paladin (Ancients or Redemption)
Previous Party Composition (For backstory): Griel - Firbolg - Barbarian - Path of Wild Magic Fray - Assimar - Sorcerer - Shadow Soul Tobara - Paladin (of Selune) - Oath of Devotion Alex - Wizard - Human Breelin - Cleric - Gnome Guy - Ranger - Half-Elf
Current Party Composition: Griel - Barbarian - Path of Wild Magic Fray - Sorcerer - Shadow Soul Tobara - Paladin - Devotion
Personalty Trait - - VERY low standards when it comes to if food tastes good. - Prone to be incredibly brutal when killing. - Will unfalteringly try to sacrifice himself in someone's place if a sacrifice is unavoidable. 
Likes - - Rain - Quiet Places - Nature at peace - Things made of wood Dislikes - - Doesn't like large crowds (10+ people). - Anyone who'd harm those he cares about - Those that try to remove the mold - People who under value their loved ones Habits - - Uncomfortable around wealth. - Talks to mold. - More to polite to plants than people - Uses Anger Management Techniques - Does something along the lines of "meditation" in the morning. - Sensitive to noises. - Responds to Beasts by acting like a Beast back. Misc - - Griel knows how to preserve food - Mixed feelings on the mold - Mold glows Red when he Rages, as do his eyes. Spores float over the patch. - Child-level understandings of the basics of things. - Protective of the mold - Doesn't understand religion. - Afraid of Sunflowers because they look like Phaerimm. (But has killed one.) - Has made peace with the death of his people. - "The past is like a wood carving. It may fade, even rot if you let it, but you can't change it. If you try, you just end up with a scratched up piece of wood. An insult to the memory of those carved."
Appearance: 7′4, 252 lbs, Brown Hair and Eyes. His had the sort of white-green colour mold has, but on his shoulder, down part of his bicep, and down-across his left pec was this vivid red mold. Whenever he raged his eyes would turn red, the red mold starting to glow and releasing glowing red spores. Despite seeming like such a large man, he was actually pretty gangly for someone so tall. He had a beard but no mustache, with long hair that was an absolute mess. Definitely one of the more Bovine looking Firbolg, but with a touch of the more classic variety. Wore fur boots and a kilt, and eventually pants. Was sort of iffy if he wore one of those leather barbarian harnesses. Wielded a massive greataxe.  He was another of the ones I tried to make in HeroForge forever ago (and this was the game that started with Dorlen Undertow) but the options were more limited back then so it was never quite right. 
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so-delightful · 6 years ago
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This is my long term DnD character Thalia, she's a sorcerer/artificer and my lil' angry nerd
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kelvnn · 6 months ago
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#Batstarionweek2024 Day 2! "Cuteness Aggresion" #bg3
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pastelvomitboy · 7 years ago
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Helga and Mekah
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everlastingdreams · 28 days ago
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The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire : Chapter 1
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Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.
Chapter Title: The Group
Notes: Finally it's here! Tumblr is messing up the way the text is posted so yeah… sorry about that. I write on Reedsy but copying it here always makes it look a little wonky. There will be some tags added on later chapters, this to avoid big spoilers.
Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.
Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!
Word count of this fic: +250K
Chapter:  1/47
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The sun had only just risen in the sky when your half-brother, Cassian, slammed his fist against your bedchamber’s door.
His voice thundered through the wood, “Get up! Father wants to see us!”
You had jerked awake violently, hating that tone that he used far too often.
He hammered on your door again. “Did you hear me?! Get up!”
“Yes-,” You swallowed down your awakened fear to say it louder, “Yes! Coming!”
He walked away from your door, leaving you to get dressed in a haste. As always. Rest was not something that was really granted to you and Cassian enjoyed to take away what little joy’s you had in life. Needless to say, there weren’t any actually left. Your father had been married twice, his first marriage ended when Cassian’s mother died young. His second ended when your mother died after childbirth. Cassian was just two years old when you were born. Your father, Lord Aldith of Ravenwick, blamed you for the death of your mother ever since, so much so that he had refused to even tell you her name no matter how many times you had asked. And had he known that you were born with the same Feyblood as your mother after all, instead of Manblood like him, you doubted he would have bothered to keep you alive for as long as you had. He detested the Fey and you had no doubt that he made your mother hide what she was once he had her fully in his control. You had never told a soul of what you were, the only luck you had was that your markings were not visible to the eye. For a while you had believed to be normal, until you were five, then your whole world changed. It also took some time to fully understand what you were, had you not seen a description that matched you perfectly in a book once you would have never known. Secrets and lies, all of it needed to keep yourself alive, to keep yourself safe from your own family… And even then they still treated you ill.
You pulled your shirt on, wincing at the dull pain from the bruise on your arm. Closing up your bodice hurt your still healing wrist. It were common discomforts you had learned to live with. Once you had tried to run away, just once, and Aldith had send his mercenaries to find you. They had dragged you back to the village, into your home, and tossed you at your father’s feet. He didn’t need them to enact the punishment for your actions, he did that all by himself. The bruises had taken weeks to heal, and ever since that day loud noises and shouts tended to make you flinch.
You rushed to the great chamber of the large manor, the place where the Lord of the village always expected to see you when called upon. After taking a deep breath, you entered the room. Cassian was already waiting impatiently for your attendance, as was Aldith.
“What took you so long to arrive here?” Aldith asked annoyed.
Your head tilted down, eyes fixed on the floor, “I was getting dressed, father.”
There was a scoff, but thankfully he seemed to accept the excuse this time. He pointed to a place on the map that was splayed out on the table. “I am sending the both of you on another errand. The paladins have set up camp not far from here and if the rumors I’ve heard are true then there will be gold present in those tents. Go there, take what you can without being noticed. Ava and Bertram will join you on this task.”
It was true, your father had never earned his wealth in an honest way and expected his children to do as he did. No matter the risk.
“We are stealing from the Church?” It slipped from your thoughts.
Aldith glared your way. “Would you rather starve than earn your keep?”
It was a blatant threat, he was wealthy enough to feed the whole village if he wanted to. But this was your life with them, obey or suffer the consequences. Cassian grinned, clearly enjoying how you were being put in place.
“No, father.” you quietly said.
“No more questions from you then. You do what Cassian tells you to do, understood?”
“Yes, father.”
You knew better than to ask for a weapon to aid in this errand, they would never trust you with one. And you knew not to tell them how stupid you thought it was that they would risk the anger of the paladins, they didn’t care for your opinion. At least Bertram would come along, he was perhaps the closest thing to a friend you had, even if he was just being polite it was more than you were used to.
“Any questions, Cassian?” Aldith asked.
If no one had been present to see it, you would have rolled your eyes at the blatant favoritism. Of course your brother had questions about this task, and your father saw no problem in answering them.
After midday, you sat on the wagon next to Ava. Bertram was steering the wagon, following the directions Cassian was feeding him. The plan was to hide the wagon at quite a distance from the paladin camp, then continue the rest on foot and gather at the wagon again later. In case things went wrong, you were to scatter and meet at the wagon when it was safe again.
You were chewing the small piece of bread Bertram had given you before the group had left the village, was it so obvious to others that your body was growing weaker? Meals were something you had to earn according to Aldith, and it was far harder for you to earn them than it was for Cassian. You said not a word during the entire ride. Ava, a Sky Folk woman and Bertram’s sister, tried to flirt with Cassian quite often. But Cassian looked down on the Fey even if he never spoke it out loud outside the walls of your shared home. To him, Ava and Bertram were just pawns to use.
The wagon came to a halt in the forest on the spot that Cassian had chosen. The four of you got off the wagon and gathered together to walk the remaining distance. It wouldn’t take much longer than an hour and the paladin camp should be reached by the time it got dark. During the walk it became painfully obvious again how little Cassian cared to talk to you, but you didn’t mind, talking to him always ended in being affronted or threatened.
Just before the sun went down, the group reached the paladin camp. The four of you were hiding in the bushes, trying to detect weaknesses in their camp to use to your advantage. Cassian was quick to figure out which tent belonged to Father Carden. And of course, considering the risk of getting caught was the highest, he ordered you to go and steal what was there for the taking. The others picked tents that were closer to the edge of the camp. It always went like this, you were always the one having to take the most risks, because you were expendable. Often it had crossed your mind to just walk up to a paladin and tell them of what you were, to let them end your life and suffering. The only thing offering some consolation were the faint whispers in your ears whenever you thought of it, if you could even call it consolation. It was something you had never spoken a word about, these barely decipherable voices talking to you… people would learn that there was something wrong with you and treat you even worse than they already did.
“Did you hear me?” Cassian’s irritated tone pulled you from your darkening thoughts.
The flash of panic in your eyes betrayed you.
He gave your arm a rough pull. “Get over there and earn your keep!”
With a slight shove, he pushed you towards the camp. You hurried away from him, keeping yourself low and hidden behind the bushes whilst moving towards your target. You had enough experience to stay undetected on your way towards Father Carden’s tent. After waiting for a moment to see if there was anyone inside, you hurriedly made an opening in one of the tent’s walls to crawl under. Crawling over the ground wasn’t your favorite past time, it ruined your already worn down clothing further.
Father Carden’s tent wasn’t as modest as you had believed it to be, there was a large carpet inside that looked like it must have been worth quite some coin. But a carpet was too large to sneak out of the paladin camp undetected. What you were looking for was found inside a large wooden trunk. Hidden between a lot of red robes, you found a heavy ring made of gold and encrusted with red gemstones that you believed to be rubies, this would sure earn you your keep for a while. Just when you wanted to slip the ring into your pocket, the owner of it walked into the tent. Father Carden looked absolutely shocked to see you there and you used that moment to bolt out of the tent. The priest was shouting something that were undoubtedly commands to his paladins. You even ran into one of them and the paladin ended up falling as a result of the collision. It didn’t make you slow down at all, you needed to get out of there. You reached the trees by the time the whole camp seemed aware of intruders. From the corner of your eyes you saw Ava dart into the woods as well. It wasn’t the first time you were caught on one of these errands, but Father Carden and the paladins were not afraid to enact severe punishments. Fey or not, death was an acceptable measure for them. You kept running as the darkness fell over the lands, the advantage of working in a group was that it was far harder for them to catch you if there was more than one target to capture.
The noise from the shouting paladins did not reach your ears anymore after running for quite some time. You began to walk to let your legs rest but still in a fast pace, and not much later Ava found you. Together you walked in the direction of the wagon, whilst she asked you if you were able to find anything worth the trouble, you had shown her the ring in response. The wagon couldn’t be far off anymore, running would have brought you closer to it quicker than walking.
“Stop!” Ava suddenly grabbed your arm, she hushed you when you tried to ask why. She gestured to let you know she had heard something.
You held your breath. She drew her sword. You envied that she had a weapon to defend herself. Another sound came and she spun around, it had come out of the other direction.
“It’s an animal?” She whispered doubtful.
A branch snapped and made you turn to the sound. The voices in your head were growing louder the more you panicked, something in you told you to run but what direction was safe?
It was Ava who made the decision. “We need to run. NOW!”
She followed her own advice right away and you followed her without questioning it. You could tell that she was running in the direction where the wagon was waiting, was she hoping to find the others there to help? That hope was cut short when the sound of a galloping horse gave chase not far behind you. Like a shadow chasing the two of you, the horse closed in, it was terrifying.
“Ava! Look out!” you tried to warn her.
She barely had enough time to throw herself out of the way of the horse’s path. Both of you hit the ground hard. The horse’s rider swiftly dismounted, the sound of steel being drawn made Ava get to her feet immediately. She barely had enough time to ward off the sword lashing out at her. Fear engulfed you both when you realized who the enemy was that you were facing. Father Carden’s most loyal soldier, the Weeping Monk.
Ava did her best to stand her ground but she ended up falling. You prevented him from being able to deliver the killing blow to her by running up to him and grabbing his arm, halting his movements.
“Leave her alone!” It was a rare thing to hear your voice be so loud.
He had thrown you on the ground so fast you didn’t even understand how he’d done it. And still it didn’t stop you from trying to stop him long enough for Ava to get on her feet again. You grabbed hold on his leg, he pulled free just as Ava attacked him. And then she was bleeding, his sword had cut through her sleeve and wounded her. The voice of Bertram rang from close-by, he ran to come to his sister’s aid.
You crawled backwards, away from the fight that ensued. In the darkness it was hard to focus your eyes on the Monk, his dark attire worked to his advantage. It all happened so ridiculously fast. The Monk fought brutally elegant, as if he was the personification of death itself. Bertram hit the ground after being struck by the Monk’s elbow. Ava barely kept her footing against him. You tried to help Bertram back to his feet. And then from the corner of your eyes you saw Cassian, with a rock in his hand.
Cassian struck the Monk just once against the back of the head and neutralized the threat you had been fighting. The Monk was unconscious by the time he hit the ground hard. Everyone was shaking at the sight of him, even then they still feared him as if he was a vengeful spirit that would come to haunt them for this. Cassian cursed and dropped the rock. Bertram was still holding your shoulder for support. Ava held her wounded arm.
“How the hell did he find us?!” Ava questioned out loud, voice shaking.
“The bastard is know for tracking down Fey.” Cassian said irritated, glancing at both of the Sky Folks.
Questions were fired back and forward between them, but their voices faded out in your ears. You were transfixed on the Monk’s face, on the marks he bore beneath his eyes, and understood why they called him the ‘Weeping’ Monk. You couldn’t believe the terrible truth it revealed to you. He was Fey. Cassian was saying something about tying the Monk up, it brought your attention back to the group.
“He’s too dangerous.” Bertram protested.
Cassian would not hear any reasoning. “He’s worth a lot of coin to the many he has crossed. This is the chance of a lifetime, we are doing this. Ava, fetch the wagon. My father will reward us all royally for this.”
Ava was angry with the decision but did as he asked, she was far too eager to win his affection, it would be a while before she would reach the wagon and return with it.
“Get that rope from his horse’s saddle!” Cassian barked the command to you.
This plan was insane. The Monk was far too dangerous to be kept as a captive, but Cassian saw no risks, he only saw the mountain of coins he’d get for the Monk. You approached the horse and the stallion turned his head to you right away, you patted the beautiful creature’s neck and took the rope from the saddle. Bertram met you halfway, so you wouldn’t have to get too close to Cassian, and took the rope. He used it to help Cassian tie the Monk up and to a tree. Your hands were sweating from anxiousness. This was perhaps the worst idea Cassian had ever had and you could only pray that it wouldn’t backfire on everyone involved.
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veratok · 4 years ago
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❛  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋.    ╾     @vampirespawn​
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peace had fallen as dusk descended upon the land: and though, unlike those of his blood who could not bear the light, he walked ever in the day, still did alucard find beauty in that cool, black eve. something inside him, something which stirred in his ancient blood, waited on the edge for the moon to rise in all its bright glory, to sit above the blanket of night, and rouse his senses. he inhaled, breath little more than a luxury, just to taste the stinging cold of night, as it rose and conjured dew upon the grass, stinging his nostrils with its chill. never more did he feel more awake than beneath that glorious moon.
the grass clung yet to the heat of the day, and still stood tall. alucard, in his childishness, fisted his knuckles against it, pulling it from the earth, watching as it sagged in his palm. he spoke not, but exhaled that biting breath, still-cold as it passed his stony lips, allowing it to rustle the blades of grass upon his gloved palm.
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nintendobiitch · 6 years ago
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The real dnd dilemma is creating a new character whose dice palette just does NOT match your existing dice palette
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