#heading to the woods together...leaving with one less. working together for the cleric.....

[midnightdemonhunter]

we're scared and we're coming for--

[misterewrites]

The Heart of Civilization (Welcome to the Underground!)

Summary: Abigail's first experience of the Underground's capital is nothing like anything she's dealt with before but luckily she's got two guides. While the group decides how to handle their current arrangement, Oliver comes up with a surprising solution.

Hello everyone! It's done! I'm no longer behind schedule! E HERE WITH THE NEXT CHAPTER OF THE UNDERGROUND! WOO! Sorry it's been a chaotic, long few weeks. But I hope you are all doing good. So here we go the first major arc of the underground. Enjoy! I hope you are all safe, washing your hands, wearing your masks, get the vaccine if you can and keep each other safe! Comment, reblog, tell your friends. All that is super helpful for me and I love feedback. That's it for me, have a great week! E is out! Gonna nap!

Read this chapter or the whole thing if you’re curious with the link found below

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/77710460

Cities were never silent. It was impossible to be given how much life was concentrated in a single location. Even smaller towns and villages in the middle of nowhere were always bursting with the sounds of the living: Cheery drunks, clanking armor of the city guard patrolling, the odd night owls who could never find rest under a starry sky. The life and soul of any place were the people.

So naturally Abigail was taken aback by the immense silence.

She knew there was sound given how sudden she was buffeted backwards by a wave of unseen force. Archie and Oliver felt it too given how their bodies jerked but unlike her, they had been expecting it.

There was a strange disconnect between Abigail’s senses and her brain as it tried to piece together what exactly was going on. She was actually starting to get a headache as her mind tried to make sense of conflicting information.

Her eyes watered and burned at the soft light that emitted throughout. It wasn’t as warm or bright as sunlight but it was close enough to make Abigail feel stuffy in her thick riding cloak. Oliver took off his cloak and began helping Archie out of his so Abigail followed suit, putting it away carefully in her backpack.

She asked how was there light down here but her words were muted and felt strange leaving her mouth like she was simply mouthing her question to herself.

It should’ve been noisy given that there were dozens of people on the stony street: children of various races running about playing different games among themselves, adults huddled together their faces serious with concern or relaxed at ease yet all were muted with a quiet that was inescapable.

Abigail knew this must’ve been the outskirts of the city given the conditions of the clothing and houses here. The only thing the homes shared was a ramshackle look to their construction and a strange mark written in their surface: Some were made of stone, others wood with a rare building made of metal. Short squat homes built deeper into the ground that were clearly dwarf design clashed horribly with the tall, gravity defying stacked one room story floors that were elvish hobbles.

Abigail pursed her lips, unsure what to make of this whole situation when Oliver’s voice appeared from nowhere, distant and echoing like he was speaking from the other end of a tunnel.

“You okay?”

Abigail jumped, flailing about wildly at the noise that cut through the quiet.

“Don’t do that!” Abigail shouted, annoyed, but nothing came out.

Oliver chuckled to himself soundlessly as he gestured to her with two pointed fingers.

“Haven’s Nest is the biggest city in all the Underground.” His voice crackled “You noticed it in the tunnels, no? How far sounds can travel in a confined space? Imagine trying to live in an entire city like that. You’d lose your hearing within a day. Well less given how much you like talking to people.”

Realization dawned on Abigail as she pointed to the strange items nestled in her ears.

Oliver nodded, his fingers still outstretched “Magical filters. They protect your ears from being overwhelmed by the noise or annoying conversations.”

Abigail thought for a moment before pointing two fingers towards Oliver.

“Is that why…?” she flinched at sudden reemergence of her voice “Wow that’s really off putting. Is that why they just hand them out at the entrance?”

“Mhm. Bad for tourism if you went deaf visiting the capital. Haven’s Nest: come to lose your money, leaving with 50% less hearing.”

Abigail stifled a laugh “So if I point like this?” she gestured with the two fingers “I can talk to people one on one. What if I want to talk to a bunch of people?”

“Make a fist. It’ll let you talk to and hear everything in the immediate area.”

Abigail looked at her hand before closing it into a fist. She winced as the city life popped back into existence without warning: The children shouting and cheering at their losses and victories, small talk about work and how members of the community were doing, unhappy grumbles about the price of food these days and the lack of respect the youth held for their elders.

The city was alive once more.

“Do we have to wear these the whole time?” Abigail asked, opting to keep her fist closed for simplicity's sake.

Archibald shook his head tiredly as he pointed to the strange symbol that were scrawled on every building’s surface.

“Sound bubbles.” Oliver explained “The magical symbols create a little pocket barrier around each building so you can only hear what’s happening inside. It be pretty infuriating if you need to sleep with the filters on. They don’t exactly stick in your ears perfectly.”

Archibald agreed.

“Oh okay. And the…”

“Lights?” Oliver cut in with a knowing smirk “Dwarfish design. A lot of important business happens in Haven’s Nest so a day night cycle is helpful. Harsher light for the day and softer glows for your shady night business.”

“Your shady night business” Abigail glared at Oliver before glancing upwards. Now that the bard pointed it out, she could see what he meant: Hundreds of smooth glass panels were packed tightly together on the ceiling of the cavern. Many of them gleamed with the warm light that bothered her when she first came in but she also noticed some were blackened, either powered down or broken from constant use.

“I take it this is the only place in the underground that has this level of dwarfish engineering.”

“Only non-dwarf city. Dwarves are a little hoardy with their tech.”

Abigail nodded “So this is the boonies, right?”

Oliver gave a mocking look of pride “Look at you knowing your terms. Yeah, this is the less fortune part of town. Still pretty nice all things considered. Up ahead is the Merchant Ward. Well ward is a misnomer but it’s the closest word I can come up with.”

“Looks like someone needs to up their vocab.” Abigail teased.

Archibald chuckled softly.

“And you.” Oliver gestured to the archer “What’s the plan now?”

Archibald eyes shone with understanding. He motioned for Abigail to help and handed her his pack as he began to search for something within. It took a minute but soon Archibald produced a crumpled up envelope. He handed it to Oliver while gratefully smiling at Abigail.

Abigail smiled back as Oliver tore the envelope and read the letter.

“Dear Greenfield and Bard, tis I! Borrick Copperstone. As you now no doubt have discovered, my boy Archie isn’t the most talkative person.”

Oliver spared Archibald a playful look “No kidding.”

Archibald waved Oliver’s comment off.

Oliver cleared his throat, his voice becoming booming and cheery as if mimicking the old dwarf “So I have written this letter with the following instructions. Archibald will be taking the 5 gold payment and I expect you to buy him a fine meal! As promised. In addition, Archibald has been given instructions to wait at the Right Hook inn in the Merchant Ward. Feel free to drop him off or you may part ways once in the city proper. Thank for your business and I wish you safe travels!”

Archibald reached to take the letter back but Oliver slapped his hand away with the paper.

“No.”

Archibald tilted his head quizzically.

Oliver narrowed his eyes “I don’t want you crying to your boss that you got injured on the job and we just dropped you first chance we got. We’re taking you to the Right Hook and we’re gonna keep an eye on you until we are sure you’re better. Right Abigail?”

Abigail was caught off guard by the sudden shift to her but she noticed the knowing glint in Oliver’s eyes “Right. Right! It’s only fair given you risked your life for us. I mean I still need to figure out what I’m going to do next and Oliver’s competition is in a few days so we don’t really have a reason to split up just yet.”

Archibald flushed a lovely bright pink.

“So it’s settled!” Oliver beamed “We’re taking to you Right Hook, get you rested, Abigail will buy you that meal she promised Borrick.”

“Hey!”

“You were negotiating” Oliver pointed out “You made the deal now you have to honor it.”

“I hate you.”

“And” Oliver went on without acknowledging Abigail further “We’ll get you to a cleric tomorrow, maybe do Abigail’s side quest and I still need to sign up for the competition.”

“My side quest?” Abigail’s face scrunched up thoughtfully “Oh! Cecilia’s wizard mentor person. That guy. Wait, how did you…?”

“So we take it easy today then we’ll go out tomorrow. Sorry solider boy you’re stuck with us a little longer.”

Archibald’s face was one of sheepish embarrassment but he smiled appreciatively all the same.

Abigail pursed her lips “Why don’t we do it today? It’s only afternoon if I’m reading the dwarfish sunshine right.”

“We almost died.” Oliver spoke plainly, shooting at glare at some people’s gaze who began to wander their way “I don’t know about you but I don’t wanna deal with anything else except a good meal and being alive.”

Abigail thought about for a moment. She could feel the tension in her body, her arms and legs were stiff. She was okay for now but the idea of doing more things today left her feeling drained.

“Yeah good point. We should take it easy for now. I’m not used to life or death situations.”

“I noticed.” Oliver turned to lead the group “Though it’s not like they get any easier.”

“What?”

“To The Right Hook!”

-----

At first traveling was relatively easy: The outskirts of town held only one path and it was simple to get her bearings situated. However the trouble started when they reached the Merchant Ward of the city.

Without warning the mismatched, battered homes became sleek, colorful uniformed buildings. Traditional human designs of varying heights and hues littered as far as the eye could see, each with the same symbol Oliver had pointed out. While the ceiling was narrow above the outskirts, here the cavern opened impossibly wide. Countless dwarfish panels of light were held high above in differentiating states of decay, blazing nearly as bright as the sun. The road became less stony and move cobbled as the paths branched out in every direction. People of various lifestyles hustled back and forth as the sounds of the city washed over her. Even the little Abigail could hear reminded her of the capitol on the surface, the sheer chaos that existed in larger, more populated places.

Oliver seemed to know where he was going. He would look at these towering signs with names written upon them. Street signs he called them. Abigail never heard of such a thing before but she was grateful for their existence.

As the trio traveled deeper into the Merchant Ward, Oliver began pointing out the various sections of the city.

“Over there.” Oliver pointed to a far off road that curved upwards through a tunnel “is the Clifftop Distract. Rich people turf. Anyone of value or wealth are squirreled away up there.”

“Of course.” Abigail murmured softly to herself. Somethings never changed.

“To the east past the Merchant Ward is East Haven. More homes less business but there are few inns, pubs, stores out there for all your shopping convenience.”

“Like a little village?” Abigail questioned, trying to see if she could equate it to something she knew.

Oliver paused for a moment “Actually yeah. Like a little village next door. Better off than the boonies but not as fancy as Clifftop. Middle of the road as it were. As you can tell, Merch Ward is a little chaotic. Not many people like the idea of living here.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow at a fist fight between a gnome and a dwarf “Couldn’t guess why. And past East Haven?”

“The east gate out of town. Haven’s Nest only has three gates: West in the outskirts, south for the Merchant Ward and East. The west and east are for public use but the south gate is only used for deliveries, soldiers, supplies, patrols etc etc etc.”

“How much further to the Right Hook?”

“Should be round here somewhere, right Archie?”

Archibald nodded in confirmation before pointing a nearby building.

The Right Hook was a wooden building painted a dark red and five stories tall. While the wood outside seemed aged and faded, the doors and window were new as if they had just been replaced. The sign that hung over the doorway was in a fancy font and showed an outstretched hand in the middle of a punch. The hand, ironically, was the left.

“I like it!” Abigail beamed cheerfully “It’s got character.”

“I believe that’s what we call a mistake.”

“It’s charming.”

“It’s wrong.”

“You’re wrong!”

Archibald softly laughed to himself as he followed the arguing pair inside.

The trio took off their filters, carefully placing them away in their pockets for later use. Abigail could feel her ears pop: Every laugh, word, noise was crisp. She could hear the sounds of all within the building but the chaotic symphony of the city remained outside.

“Now what?” she asked, rubbing her aching ears.

“Order some food. I’ll check us in.” Oliver offered “No doubt Borrick probably paid a room for Archie.”

Before Abigail could fathom what Oliver had just said, the bard disappeared deeper within the building.

“Always fun with Ollie huh?”

Archibald snickered then winced as he held his stomach.

“Sorry” Abigail smiled softly “Must be sore. Let’s find a table.”

Archibald and Abigail scanned the room and quickly spotted one nearby. The pair made their way over when Archibald pulled out the chair and gestured for Abigail to take a seat.

Abigail giggled while she sat down “Thank you good sir! I’m glad someone is a gentleman here.”

Archibald flushed as he pushed her chair in and took his own across from her.

-----

Food and drinks were ordered and brought out by the time Oliver returned, a quiet thankful look in his eyes as he noticed the third plate of meat and vegetables steaming in front of an empty seat.

“Thanks” He muttered quietly, sitting at the table.

“You okay?” Abigail watched him carefully “You look like you’re experiencing emotions.”

“I know I hate it.” Oliver gave a cocky smirk and returned to his usual self “Borrick paid for a full week for our good friend Archie so he’s cover.”

“But…” Abigail chimed in “I’m hearing a but.”

“You’re going to have to room with him.”

It wasn’t obvious who was more surprised by this information: Abigail or Archibald. Abigail’s eyes went wide and she could feel a blush spread across her cheeks while Archie simply choked on his drink and began coughing his lungs out.

“WHAT?!” Abigail and Archibald caught each other’s eyes “I...I-I don’t….I mean I don’t mind but…”

Archibald kept choking.

“Relax, it’s not as bad as you think.” Oliver began with a lazy wave of his hand “It’s...well big. On the 5th floor. It’s like a mini home I guess. It’s one room with two separate bedrooms inside. I think. It was a little confusing but I’m betting it’s for whoever is coming to pick him up. You know, to get a day’s of rest before they have to travel back.”

Abigail opened her mouth to protest but Oliver kept going “They only had one other room: A little broom closet on the second floor so be grateful I didn’t shove you in there and decide to bunk with my best friend Archie.”

Archie shot a glare as he finally cleared his throat.

Oliver grinned playfully “It’s only for a day or two until other rooms open up and we can all get our own separate, real rooms.”

“Well.” Abigail twiddled her thumbs “If it’s only for a few days…”

Archibald said nothing, opting to drink his water and hoping no one noticed the red in his cheeks.

“Well then it’s settled!” Oliver said with a hint of finality as he began digging into his meal.

-----

Despite the less than ideal sleeping arrangements, the trio managed to relax: Food, drinks, chatting idly about little things.

Night came quickly and true to Oliver’s warning, Abigail could feel exhaustion ebb into her bones.

The trio made their way to rest and as they dropped off Oliver to his little tiny room, they couldn’t help but ask.

“You sure?” Abigail eyed the broom closet distastefully “You could always sleep in our room. With Archibald.”

Archibald pointed to the floor jokingly.

Oliver gave tired chuckle “I’m good. I’ve slept worse places. Besides I need a break from all….this”

He motioned to the both of them. Abigail was unsure what he meant by that. Archibald simply shot daggers at him.

“Go” he shooed them away “Go and let me get some rest before I gotta deal with both of you in the morning.”

“Okay��..night Oliver.”

Archibald waved goodbye and the pair vanished up the stairs.

Oliver slipped into his room, a small place with a bed on one side and some walking space on the other. A window as wide as the room itself hung on the other end.

A tiny broom closet indeed.

Oliver locked the door behind him and placed his bag onto the floor. He took a moment to hide his lute and the more valuable possession he had, both monetary and sentimental. He cracked his fingers and neck before opening the letter the innkeeper slipped him. Oliver mentally mapped out the location scrawled on the paper then ripped it to shreds.

Oliver brushed clean his outfit from the day’s grime and made his way over to the window. The dwarfish panels shifted to night mode: the warm bright light of the day replaced with a cool, silvery glow that darkened the underground. He pulled out the magic filters from his pocket and put them on. He lifted the window and was grateful the barrier kept the sound outside from coming in.

“Thank god it’s the second floor” he murmured to himself as he began to climb out.

-----

4 hooded figures were huddled in the darkness of an alley, deeply engrossed in their conversation.

The tallest, a muscular woman, fidgeted unhappily “We been waiting for 30 minutes. I don’t think the guy is gonna show.”

Another cloaked figure, a woman a head and half shorter than her companion gently took her hand in her own “Sweetie you need patience.”

The muscular woman flushed in embarrassment “I know Flora but you know how I get antsy when I gotta wait. I hate waiting!”

“I know Terri but we must wait. He will be here. Correct Tyrell?”

Tyrell, a younger gentleman of 20 scratched his chin thoughtfully “That’s what the message said. Came in this morning on the West Gate board. Said he was traveling with some people but he’d meet up with us within the hour of the meeting time.”

“Ugh” Terri groaned “We should get a move on. The party isn’t going to last all night and we got work to do. We need to find the...”

“Wait.” The last figure whispered quietly “I hear something.”

The group held their breath, fists clasped tightly so they can hear what was approaching.

It was faint but Terri could hear the soft patter of footsteps. They moved with such a gentle foot that only Terri’s years of survival training allowed her to catch it.

Terri stood up to her full height, her thick muscular arms tensed for a fight as a shadow inched closer to the group.

“Show yourself!” Terri shouted, falling into a fighting position.

Oliver stepped out of the darkness, his hands lazily in his pockets.

Flora eyed him carefully “Very weird to be wandering back alleys, no sir?”

Oliver cleared this throat “My name is Oliver, First Chair Soprano in The Choir.”

The group shared a surprised look with one another. Their missing fifth member had finally arrived.

“Now.” Oliver spoke with a mischievous smirk “Who we robbing for the greater good?”

[whumptopia]

My Cup Runneth Over

d&d oc whump commissioned by [anon]

content warnings: blood drinking, terminal illness, very brief emeto mention

—

Rolith never imagined he would step foot inside a vampire’s home for any reason other than to slaughter the fiend, yet here he is, knocking on the front door of Lord Serador’s estate with no malicious intentions to be found. He’s been tasked to perform a wellness check on the behalf of Queen Juliet, the matriarch of Willowfen, or the independent human settlement they both call home. As the town’s military leader, he receives his orders directly from her and spends a sizable portion of his time advising the crown. They’ve built up a healthy working relationship over the years, and she trusts him indubitably. She told him she was worried about Serador because he returned the Empyreal Wand (the Queen’s family heirloom, which she gave him in return for his help in solving their werewolf problem). Considering how badly the vampire initially wanted the wand, her highness saw his generosity as cause for concern.

Brows furrowing, Rolith glances down at the wand. Although Serador seems to be somewhat less of a prick than most vampiric nobility, Rolith still can’t imagine him helping them for free. There must be another reason why he returned it.

As time passes and his knock remains unanswered, Rolith begins to suspect the Queen’s worry was well-founded. Unwilling to wait any longer, he reaches for the door knob and, surprisingly, finds it unlocked. Perhaps Serador doesn’t consider the animal inhabitants of his domain to be any threat to his safety. Still, in Rolith’s experience, an unlocked front door is never a good sign. He might be young for a military leader (all of the older commanders perished in the fight to free Willowfen from vampiric rule, leaving the next generation to carry the torch alone) but he’s seen enough in his lifetime to know a bad situation when he sees one.

Without hesitation or any regard for proper manners, he slips inside. As soon as the door closes behind him, he’s consumed by darkness. All of the windows are covered, and none of the candles are lit, so he unsheathes his sword and casts Daylight upon the blade. The spell causes the metal to glow and illuminate the foyer. White brightness crawls into every nook and cranny, and he takes a look around.

He isn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

The manor is archaically well-decorated, of course, but it’s in bad shape. Nothing has been cleaned in ages: the painted portraits are peeling, the wood paneling is dusty, and the ceiling is covered in cobwebs. A shudder of unease rolls down his spine, and he heads toward the stairs, hoping to find Serador quickly so he can get out of this place.

“Hello?” he calls, marching up the creaking steps, “Serador? You here?”

He reaches the second floor and starts down the hallway toward the East Wing. All of the heavy, velvet curtains are drawn closed, but specks of light peek through moth holes. The state of Serador’s house reaffirms his suspicions about his well being. During the period of their alliance thus far, Rolith has noticed that there’s something not quite right with him. The vampire seems to have little to no regard for his health, the most prominent example being the time when he overexerted himself in battle to the extent that he was vomiting blood for hours after. At the time, Rolith tried to help, but he was brushed off. They’ve never discussed the matter. Even when he’s not visibly ill, Serador always has dark circles underneath his red eyes, and his pale skin is more gaunt than even a vampire’s complexion should be. There’s definitely something wrong with him. If only Rolith knew what the problem was.

Turning a corner, he spots an open door at the end of the hall. He heads straight for it, entering the room without preamble, anxious about what he might find. 

“Mother of God,” a familiar voice groans. It’s Serador. He’s lying in his bed, his eyes slammed shut against the white glow. “Put that out.”

Rolith waves his hand to disperse the magic, and the vampire sighs in relief at the ensuing darkness. His comfort is short-lived, however, because the paladin immediately strides over to the nearest window and throws open the curtains, letting the evening sunlight in. Serador hisses. Rolith ignores him.

“Your door was unlocked,” he says, turning around to face him. Serador’s bed is ornate and massive, a large canopy frame that’s almost as tall as the ceiling. Propped up by a mountain of pillows and tucked under the covers, the vampire looks none too pleased about being seen in such a vulnerable state. His red eyes immediately hone in on the Emperyal Wand.

“What are you doing with that?” he asks brusquely. “I returned it to your Queen.”

Rolith sheaths his sword and places the wand down on the nearest surface. “But you didn’t tell her why.”

The vampire shifts. “I no longer desire it.”

Approaching his bedside, Rolith takes a moment to more thoroughly examine his appearance. Gone is the demeanor of a haughty immortal. The creature before him looks sickly, and the sheets surrounding him are covered in blood. His chin is stained red.

“What’s wrong with you?” Rolith demands. The vampire doesn’t answer, averting his eyes. He makes a face and then coughs into his elbow. His throat makes a wet, gurgling sound, and his shirt sleeve is soaked in crimson.

Alarm bells go off in the paladin’s head. The carnage isn’t from feeding. It’s not the blood of his prey. It’s his own.

“Serador.”

“What?” he gasps, breathless and clearly annoyed.

“You know what. You look like you’re dying. You need a cleric or, or something,” Rolith says, running a hand through his blonde hair and wracking his mind for a way to help. He doesn’t know much about vampire physiology. Information regarding their weaknesses is kept secret by the vampiric nobility. Before this very moment, he thought they couldn’t even get sick in the first place.

Intent on rushing out of the manor and grabbing the first healer he comes across, he moves toward the door to leave, but Serador clears his throat and makes him pause.

“A cleric won’t help,” he says.

Crossing his arms, Rolith glares at him. “So you know what’s wrong with you?”

Serador sighs deeply. He looks miserable. His cheeks are hollow, and his limbs sag with every movement as if his very bones are weighing him down. Rolith hates seeing him like this.

“I was cursed a long time ago, in a blood feud. The curse manifests as an illness of sorts, weakening me until eventually…” Rolith shrugs, “Well, I assume it’ll kill me someday. It’s been a decades now.”

The vampire’s casual tone makes it difficult for Rolith to immediately comprehend the meaning of his words, but the more he thinks about it, the more everything begins to make sense. He recalls every time he’s witnessed Serador utterly drained after battle, and the pieces of the puzzle slot together in his mind. “You’re cursed?”

Serador gives him a tired look. “Yes. I thought perhaps the wand could cure me, but I doubt it.”

Rolith raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t even try?” At this, he marches over to the table and grabs the wand, determination pumping through his veins. “You’re dying. You should at least try.”

“It would destroy the wand,” Serador explains, struggling to sit upright, “and the odds of success are low. It’s more important to preserve it for future generations if there is to be any hope for an insurrection.”

Rolith looks at the wand skeptically. “I thought it was just an heirloom.”

The vampire coughs into his fist, his shoulders shaking in violent jerks. “The Queen’s father was a legendary cleric, as you know. If you and your people want to harness the power of the forbidden magics and overthrow the corrupt court, then you’ll need that wand.” He gives Rolith a pointed look. “I can’t teach you everything.”

The paladin frowns. It’s true Serador taught him illegal spells to use against the undead. The enchantments aided him in defeating an evil witch, but the vampire was burned by simply being in close-proximity when Rolith cast the spell. Serador has taken great risks in aiding them in their goal of freeing humankind… and now he would sacrifice his only chance at life for their sakes?

Rolith shakes his head. “Then there has to be another way to break the curse.”

The vampire sports a wry smile. “As much as I admire your optimism, I’ve been around for much longer than you’ve been alive. I doubt there’s a cure.”

“Well, I’ll find one,” he asserts, leveling Serador with a challenging look. He doesn’t appreciate being told what he can and cannot do by vampires, especially when he’s trying to help. He takes a step closer to the bed and sits on the edge of the mattress, fire burning in his blue eyes.

“You might’ve given up on your life, but I—we haven’t. Queen Juliet wishes to continue her alliance with you. Your help has been immeasurable, and I know the other paladins feel the same. You’ve saved my life multiple times. It’s only right that I return the favor.” Rolith takes a gamble and reaches for the vampire’s hand, squeezing his pale fingers in a reassuring grip. “I’ll help you break the curse. I promise.”

Serador meets his gaze with an unreadable expression. Rolith has always struggled to understand him because of their differences. He’s loathed all vampires for so long, it’s taken him a while to realize that Serador is a valuable ally and a good person. Before he can even attempt to dissect the nuances of his face, Serador breaks his silence.

“Do you ever cease to be charming?” he murmurs. It’s the first compliment the vampire has ever given him, and the words level Rolith. His breath catches, and he has to clear his throat before speaking.

“Only on my days off. Right now I’m here on the Queen’s dime.”

The vampire pulls his hand away to brush back several strands of long, white hair from his face. “Of course you are.”

Rolith smiles briefly before his face settles into a grave expression once again. Although he enjoys how far they have come since meeting each other (Serador no longer calls him ‘boy’ in a derogatory way), the pleasantness of their camaraderie is overshadowed by the revelation of a deadly curse.

“What can I do to help? You’re not going to be confined to your bed forever, right?”

“I should hope not,” the vampire huffs, smoothing down the stained sleeves of his black robes. “I should be back to normal in a couple days. It comes and goes in waves.”

“What about…” Rolith bites his lip and gestures vaguely, “When was the last time you fed?”

Serador’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “It’s been a while.”

Eager to help, an idea forming in his mind, Rolith continues, “Would that help? If you had something?”

The vampire sets his jaw. He doesn’t speak. Rolith takes that as a yes. His hand goes to his blade, and Serador makes an insulted noise.

“Whatever you’re thinking, I won’t allow it.”

The paladin unsheathes his sword and rests it in his lap. “Why not? I’m perfectly healthy, you’re on the verge of death… if I can hasten your recovery—”

“No,” Serador cuts in, his voice stronger than it has been all throughout their conversation thus far. He seems resolute in his refusal, but Rolith knows that a vampire’s morality blurs at the edges of hunger, so he takes a deep breath and presses the sharp edge of his blade against his palm. He pauses there, waiting for protest, but Serador doesn’t say anything further to stop him, so he drags the sword across his skin and slices open a thin red cut. It stings, but only a few beads of blood rise to the surface. He looks Serador in the eye. The vampire’s breathing is labored as if his fight against his baser instincts is a physical effort.

“I trust you,” Rolith reassures, even though he knows he’s already won this argument. “Just take a little bit, since you’re so worried. I’ll even get it healed later today.”

Serador raises a trembling arm and wraps his clammy fingers around his wrist in a delicate manner, gently pulling his hand closer. With his other hand, he caresses the inside of his forearm soothingly, as if calming a spooked animal. Shivers race down Rolith’s spine, but he isn’t afraid of a little pain. He’s willing to endure it for a friend. 

Serador opens his mouth and slowly sinks his fangs into the cut, widening the wound a bit. An odd sensation spreads across his palm—the venom must be numbing him. The vampire seals his lips over the cut and sucks slowly, eyes closed. The whole affair feels strangely intimate, and although he knows blood is being leached from his body, Rolith can’t look away. He doesn’t tell him to stop, either. He was serious when he said he intended to find a way to break Serador’s curse. He doesn’t intend to let the vampire wither away anytime soon.

A couple minutes later, some of the color has returned to Serador’s face, and he pulls away with a wet pop. Rolith’s fingers are tingling, but otherwise he feels fine. The vampire licks the wound clean and then grasps his palm with both hands. Warmth spreads across his skin in a flash of golden light, and when Serador lets go, the cut has healed.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Rolith says, rubbing his thumb across his palm where the slice had been. Serador sits back against his pile of pillows, evening his breath. His face is placid, but underneath his calm demeanor, he looks refreshed.

“You didn’t need to offer yourself to me,” he counters with a tilt of his head.

“I wanted to.” Rolith wipes his blade clean on the sheets, earning a disgruntled huff from the owner of the bed, before sheathing his weapon.

“If I were in a better state, I would’ve never let you do something so unnecessary and, frankly, dangerous,” Serador insists, coming back to himself now. He looks embarrassed, but he really shouldn’t be, in Rolith’s opinion. “Don’t try that again.”

“Alright,” the paladin agrees. He doesn’t regret encouraging Serador to drink from him against his wishes. If it keeps Serador alive, he’ll do it, even if it makes the vampire uncomfortable. He recognizes that he overstepped a boundary, though, so he stands up from the bed and looks away. “I’m sorry.”

Serador snorts. “You’re not. But you should be.”

Rolith’s lips quirk up in a half-smile, unbidden. “I have to tell the Queen why you returned the wand, you know.”

“I suppose you do.” The vampire doesn’t sound happy about that. “While you’re at it, tell her to stop sending trespassers into my home.”

Rolith’s smile broadens into a grin. He pockets the wand, handling it with much more care than he did previously. “I might advise her to send a cleaning crew over, if anything.”

There’s a long pause, and then, “You are one of the most audacious humans I have ever met.”

Rolith laughs, daring to meet the vampire’s eyes. He looked genuinely affronted, which only amuses him more. “You clearly haven’t met enough humans, then.”

“Clearly,” Serador drawls, “Now get out of my house.”

“Gladly,” Rolith shoots back, even though he would rather stay and ensure the vampire doesn’t drop dead anytime soon. He slowly moves toward the door, hesitant. The hallway is dark. He glances over his shoulder briefly and catches one last glimpse of Serador. He’s looking down at his hand, the evening sunlight casting shadows over the bed.

Rolith steps into the darkness and leaves before he can be caught watching.

[mithrilwren]

Ceremony

Wedding: You touch adult humanoids willing to be bonded together in marriage. For the next 7 days, each target gains a +2 bonus to AC while they are within 30 feet of each other. A creature can benefit from this rite again only if widowed.

Over the course of the Stolen Century, Barry and Lup shamelessly exploit a convenient magical loophole.

(Also on Ao3)

---

49.

Three months into the forty-ninth year, Barry turns to look at Lup. Her face is lit by the cascade of neon flashes from the frogs in the trees above, croaking their many-coloured song, and the air is cold on his tongue, and his hand is in hers as they walk through the night air. She notices him watching. She always does, and her eyes glint in amusement: purple and azure and green and gold.

“What’re you thinking?”

He takes a breath and says, “We’re going to get married, aren’t we?”

He says it not with nervous hesitation, but with the wonder of realization, like a child dazzled at their first snowfall. Lup’s smile is wicked, but the hand around his squeezes gently.

“Well, duh.”

And they do. Not that year, because Lup’s not having a wedding on the planet of radioactive frog slime, and Barry likes the evenness of 50 for an anniversary. It’s a nicer number than 49, at any rate. Some just are.

This world ends quietly. The Hunger comes and the whole crew, safe and sound aboard the Starblaster, watches from the bridge viewport as the neon lights that once sang amidst the blanket of leaves twinkle and then fade. Not even Taako, who’d spend the whole year cursing the frogs for disturbing his sleep, says a word.

None of them has ever seen silence fall before.

They all keep quiet, and still, and then they all fade too.

50.

The fiftieth year is spent planning. Lup tells Taako about their plan, and then Taako teases her about it in front of Magnus, who can’t contain his excitement long enough for damage control and suddenly the whole crew knows that this is the year they’re finally making it official, and they are pumped. Everyone is eager to sink into any strategizing endeavour that doesn’t involve thousands of lives, and preventing the destruction thereof.

Davenport and Magnus set to work chasing the light of creation on this new world, this fiftieth home – a vast oceania, with towns dotting the edges of the many archipelagos that make up the landmass of the planet. They find it easily enough in the rocky shoals of one of the smaller islands, before the locals can get too attached to the new meteorite in their bay. With that problem squared away, everyone’s attention is back on the wedding, and the first ever IPRE Party Planning Committee is brought to order.

Taako’s got the food on lock, because of course he does, but he also helps Lup pick a dress from one of the open-aired markets in town: a breezy lilac slip with golden threads that catch the highlights in her hair.

Lucretia gets all their paperwork in order in case they want to file properly when they get back to their own world or… well, in any case, it’s good to have a record. She’s also unofficially in charge of streamers, because nobody but her and Magnus are sufficiently inoculated towards slimy ocean creatures to spend their evenings weaving strands of shimmery seaweed into party decorations.

Davenport cozies up enough to the local mayor to score some fine liquor for toasts. He sneaks a few bottles extra into his quarters, for safekeeping.

Magnus works so hard. He spends every spare minute practicing his carving, getting ready for the main event. At first, he fills Fisher’s tank with progressively more detailed ducks – an attempt to sooth the loneliness of the now-orphaned child, as much as any other purpose. But soon he hides away in a little cave by the coast, only returning to the ship to retrieve more boughs from those he collected from the forests of the previous planet. He refuses to let anyone see what he’s making until it’s absolutely finished.

Merle… frets.

“I mean, you could just ask Davenport. I figure, since he’s the captain and all... Isn’t he, you know, vested with the powers that be?”

“We could,” Lup nods. “Or we could ask you. Like we just did.”

Merle rubs at the back of his neck, using every inch of height disparity to avoid looking at Lup and Barry’s eyes. “I’m not- are you really sure you want me doing this? Me?”

“Why not you?” Barry asks, genuinely curious.

“I know I’m like, a cleric...”

“Debatable!” chimes Taako from the other side of the wall, and Merle grits his teeth just a little harder.

“Not helping, dear brother mine!” Lup calls cheerfully, and shoots a subtle charm behind her back that stands the hair on Barry’s arm on end. Moments later, there’s a thud and a slew of curses, and Lup smiles. “You were saying?”

“I’ve honestly,” Merle lowers his voice in case Taako is still in earshot. “I’ve never done one of these before. It’s the type of thing they train you for when you’re fully initiated and I never got that far. There’s special words that you’re supposed to use to complete the bonding, and a spell, and I just… I don’t want to screw this up, ok?”

“Merle,” says Lup, bending at the waist till she’s on eye level with Merle’s flushed face. “There is nothing, nothing, that you could do on my wedding day that would make me happier than to completely fuck it up. Where’s the story in perfection? Where’s the pizzazz. Say the wrong words, blow something up! I live for uncertainty.”

“Please don’t actually blow anything up if you can help it, though-” Barry interjects.

“But if you do, I’ll be behind you, 100%. As I push you between me and any sparks that get too close to the bomb-ass dress Taako and I picked out.”

“Oh yes, I feel much better now,” Merle grumbles, but he also stops arguing, which means they’ve got the priest, which is really, the last thing they needed.

Lup and Barry get up one morning – a full two months before the Hunger’s arrival – and suddenly, it’s the day. Taako forces eggs and coffee down their throats, prescribing four hundred calories apiece before they’re allowed to get dressed. Merle picks wildflowers and lays them out in matching corsages on the breakfast table before rushing off to resume his muttered practicing. Davenport and Lucretia take them each aside and help them into their outfits, and Barry has never felt more nervous in his life than as he slips on the lightweight suit. Blue, to match the sea, and because he lives to meet expectations.

And then everyone else is outside, and they’re standing hand in hand, waiting to walk down from the open door of the ship, and Barry turns to look at Lup. “We’re getting married,” he manages to get out through his rapidly closing throat.

“Sure are, champ,” she says quietly.

It’s funny. He’d always figured he’d be the first one to cry.

Everyone’s waiting when they finally step through the door. Two thick streamers of seaweed form an aisle from the gangway to where Merle stands beneath Magnus’s project: a giant archway of hewn branches, twisting eagerly in an arc towards the sky. Whatever rough patches and nicks remain in the wood are covered by intertwining flowers, perfectly matched to the garlands around their wrists. On either side of the aisle, their friends sit cross-legged in the white sand: Taako and Davenport on one side, and Lucretia and Magnus on the other. Cradled in Magnus’s lap is Fisher, who hums cheerfully at the sunlight and the joy of living, probably.

They all end up sitting in the sand, even Merle, and it feels less like a ceremony than a congregation of friends sharing a lazy afternoon, and Barry wouldn’t have it any other way. Merle stumbles his way through his lines, but he manages all right in the end, or at least Barry assumes he does. He’s too busy staring at Lup to listen, committing every second of this perfect day to memory: her loose curls twisting in the breeze, her smudged mascara, her bare feet half-buried under the sand.

When he tunes back in, it’s to the last words of Merle’s benediction, and his chest swells with warmth and love and- that’s a little too much warmth, actually, and judging by the alarmed look on Lup’s face, she’s feeling the same strange glow in her chest.

“Well, shit,” Merle breathes. “It actually worked.” Before Barry can ask, he’s patting them both gleefully on the shoulder. “By the power invested in me, apparently, you’re now husband and wife! And also, you get a bonus week of Pan’s blessing – so now’s a good time to get into a boss fight I guess, if you’re itching for one.”

Barry doesn’t hear that last part too clearly. He’s too busy being shoved into the sand by his wife oh my god oh my god and kissed senseless.

Merle wasn’t lying about the blessing either. When they’re together, there’s this warmth of surety, like anyone or anything who tried to separate them would need a miracle to succeed. Magnus accidentally hucks a rock in Lup’s direction and it glances off her shoulder like a rubber ball. Barry stubs his toe on the edge of a reef and barely feels the sting. The warmth is strongest when they’re pressed against each other, every inch of them connected, and so they stay like that for three wonderful, magical days – never out of arm’s reach.

They go swimming, just the two of them, on the fourth day. Barry’s never been so pleased that Taako taught him as he is now. They’re just twirling together, treading water out past the dropoff, and the sky is growing dark when Lup says they might to head in, it’s getting chilly, darling, and then the hail starts to fall.

At first, there are only little pieces that ping in the water all around them, nipping at their bare shoulders like blackflies as they start to swim back. Then a great chunk of ice slams into the spot Barry’s outstretched hand was reaching towards. All around them a pounding rhythm picks up pace, and Lup starts muttering shit, shit as they double their speed. Through bleary, salt-drenched eyes Barry thinks he sees the shadow of a figure standing on the shore with arms outstretched, but he can’t hear what they’re calling over the wind and the waves and the relentless pounding in his ears. All he can hear is Lup and her desperate muttering as she tries to form a sigil in the air with the hand he isn’t desperately grasping, dragging along. With a cry, she sends a blast of force cascading out in a sphere around them, and for a moment, the roar of the sea and the storm disappear and it’s just the two of them in silence, clinging to each other-

And then red blooms behind Barry’s eyes and he’s sinking and with every foot he slips the water grows colder, or maybe it’s him that’s gone cold, without her. Or-

Or-

He wakes to find Lup already wrapped around him on the Starblaster deck, and the supernatural warmth of Pan’s blessing is gone but she’s safe and he’s alive and the press of her arms is enough for him any day.

She murmurs hoarsely, words meant only for his ears, and he can tell she’s crying even without seeing her face. “These last months, Barry… god, I missed you so much, you can’t even know-” He squeezes her shoulders and she sighs, before lifting her head and declaring to the room of equally tearful onlookers,

“This man had the nerve to fucking leave me in the middle of our honeymoon? That’s it, Barry Bluejeans.” Her smile is wet and determined and beautiful.

“I demand a do-over.”

51.

For Lup, the announcement is mostly a joke, but then everyone is… kind of on board and she… kind of very much wants them to be.

She got her perfect fairytale wedding once, and she doesn’t want – doesn’t need – to replace that, but to lose her husband three days after getting him? She’s imagined some pretty bleak futures in her time, and even the worst of them didn’t tip the scale to quite that depressing. They may have all eternity to cycle. Might as well try for the perfect fairytale honeymoon too.

The second wedding is a more rushed affair. The new planet comes with warring factions and a power struggle and the Light lost somewhere in the fray of muddy battlegrounds, and it takes all of their combined efforts to retrieve the thing before one despot or another can get their hands on it. By the time they do, they’ve got less than a month till the Hunger comes, and most of the crew are footsore and weary from the last push. In fact, Lup’s pretty sure it’s not going to happen at all. She doesn’t bring it up – no use adding one more mission to the pile – but it pulls at parts of her that she’d thought she buried, the memories of lonesome nights spent wondering if there was any happiness in the world that couldn’t be taken away.  

Against all expectations, the one who brings it up is Merle.

He comes and knocks at their door and she answers, and waits patiently for him to stop shuffling his feet. Which is to say, she patiently says, “Spit it the fuck out, Merle.”

“Well, uh, what day were you wantin’ the wedding to be? Now that we’ve got this whole situation under wraps, I thought you’d-”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish the thought with his head smothered in Lup’s shirt as she pulls him into a tight hug.

The roles are different now, but maybe they all are too. The years go by quicker, and they all seem a little older with each cycle, though their bodies stay the same. Lup likes to think the change is for the better.

Davenport finds a copse of trees somehow spared the ravages of war and they set down there, working to clear the area as quickly as possible. He coordinates decorations, not refugees, and his shoulders untense for the first time in six months.

Magnus apologizes for leaving the arch behind on the last world. The apology is for Barry’s benefit, not Lup’s, because Barry doesn’t need to know that no matter how hard Magnus had worked on it, and how much she wanted to spare his feelings, Lup couldn’t bear the sight of that arch after the night of the storm. She’s not sure what he did with his creation after she told him, but she never saw it again. Maybe it’s lying at the bottom of the same ocean that Barry- nope. That’s not a thought that needs to happen.

Taako hangs fairy lights from the eaves with his wand, and they all settle in on the newly-swept ground. The world around them couldn’t be more different than a seaside paradise, but they’re all still a congregation of friends. Merle is more comfortable this time around, even injecting a couple jokes into the stuffy liturgy, and though the overwhelming exhilaration of the first wedding is dampened, there’s an ease to the affair that’s new and welcome.  

Merle places his hands on their shoulders again and says, “By the power invested in me, blah blah, you know the drill-” He startles backwards, grey eyebrows flying up into his hairline as a familiar warmth settles back into Lup’s chest. She cocks her head.

“What’s up?”

He blinks. “It’s just… the spell. The blessing from Pan. It’s a one-time-per-couple deal. You’re not supposed to be able to place it twice on the same people, not unless…”

“Go on,” she says, as he greens, suddenly cagey.

“Well, there’s a clause in the case of… if someone is widowed. Then they can get it again. Usually that means with another person though-”

“I think our whole existence is an affront to the natural order. Let’s not sweat the technicalities.” And she pulls Barry in for a kiss, because he’s her husband, and because she can.

They barely leave their room for the next week. Lup won’t admit to being afraid of the moment shattering again, and Barry is similarly reticent, and so they talk about everything else in the world except death. Barry learns a bit more about Lup and Taako’s childhood, and he tells her about the cat he rescued from a garbage can near his university, and they read, and make love, and sleep, and wake up to find the other still there. The rest of the crew give their cabin a wide berth.

It’s not quite a fairytale, but it’s nice. And that’s more than good enough.

On the evening of the seventh day, Lup is lazily drawing patterns on a sleeping Barry’s shoulder when she feels the warmth in her chest begin to ebb. She digs her nails in and shakes, heart beating too fast all at once because no, this can’t be happening, it can’t, not again, until Barry flips over with a yawn and she regains control of her lungs.

“What’s up?” he asks, and then his eyes widen, hand going to his own chest. “Guess that’s that.”

“End of the honeymoon,” she says faintly. Her chest is cold, like swallowed seawater.

“Time to rejoin the world of the living?”

“…Nah,” she says, and burrows her head back into his shoulder. His heart thuds against her ear with a gentle pulse, and she slows her breathing to match its rhythm.

They stay like that, curled into each other, until the silence is replaced by the roar of engines and Davenport’s voice through the intercom. Liftoff. Everyone to their stations. Lup closes her eyes and pulls Barry back down when he tries to get up.

She’s never been good at following orders.

58.

“Do you honestly think I would abuse Pan’s divine favour for something this trivial?” Barry, Lup, the entire cosmos sideeyes Merle. “… Yeah, fair enough. Fine,” he sighs, resigned. “Where do you want me?”

It was actually Barry’s idea. The scientist within him was burning away at the question, and true to form, Lup was just as eager to test out the constraints of any new and interesting magic.

“We can do it right here, if you want,” Barry says, gesturing down at the galley table they’re all seated at. Well, that he and Merle at seated at – technically, Lup is seated on. From the other side of the room, Lucretia pricks her ears up, obviously interested in what they’re doing, but keeping her nose firmly buried in her book.

“What, no garlands and twinkles this time around?” Merle says.

“I’ve had two beautiful wedding days already. I’m ok with this one being quick and dirty,” Lup explains.

Merle rubs his hands together, mouth twitching nervously beneath his beard. “Well, alright then. I guess we’re doing this… now?”

“Not getting any younger,” Lup says, which is both so completely true and completely untrue that Barry’s head spins too much to make a joke out of it. “Hey, Luce! Got a sec?”

Lucretia pads quietly from the other side of the room, her book still propped open in the crook of her arm. “What’s going on?”

“Getting married again, darling,” Lup says sweetly, and tugs her down till she’s seated in the chair next to Barry. “Want to be our witness?”

She looks confused a moment, but then slowly nods. “Sure. I’d be honoured.”

“Great!” Lup reaches down from her perch and ruffles her hair, which only drags a small frown to Lucretia’s face. “Let’s do this!”

Merle skips straight to the good stuff this time around, getting the blessing out in practically one breath, and Barry readies himself to feel the warmth in his chest, and-

Nothing.

“Huh,” all three of them say at once.

“Maybe Pan’s taking a nap,” Merle says. “Want me to try again?” Lucretia flips a page in her book, settling in for the long haul.

They do try again, more slowly this time, and Merle repeats every work of the liturgy, and Barry and Lup say their entire vows, and again, nothing.

“Sorry. Guess I lost my juju.”

“No, this actually tells us something interesting,” Barry reassures him. “I’d be wondering what happened to us at the end of our cycles, whether we just die and get remade, or if we blink out of reality and reappear. If we actually died, I’d assume the blessing would be nullified. Since it’s not, we can rule out death as what’s happening at the end of each year.”

“That’s only sort-of comforting, babe,” Lup says, patting his arm.

“I’m hoping neither of you are planning on dying again, just so you can reap my holy tax benefits.”

“Never,” Lup promises, and Barry thinks it’s another joke, until he turns and looks at Lup’s face. Her mouth is set in a grim line. The hand on his shoulder tightens, then tightens again. “Not if I can help it.”

59.

“Barry. Darling. Love of my life.”

“What?” he says, as Lup pulls him into her arms, back on the deck of the Starblaster once more. This time there are no tears, but she looks a little more faded than he’s ever seen her.

“Please tell me you didn’t take that crossbow bolt for science.”

He puts a hand over his chest, where only a moment before there had been a bleeding hole.

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even answer. He just holds her close.

78.

They fucked up.

They fucked up, oh fuck oh f-

Lup tears her eyes away from Magnus’s limp body, sprawled across the obsidian floor mere feet from the Light, his torn shirt cast in hazy red from the streams of magma that cascade from the ceiling. Another rock breaks free and crashes to the floor, and Lup can’t see Taako anymore, she can’t see him she-

“Lup!” Barry’s hand catches her and drags her back as a spire falls onto the place she was standing, shattering into jagged shrapnel that bites at her calves and thighs. “We have to go!”

“Taako’s still-”

“Taako’s gone, Lup!”

And he is. She saw him take that fateful misstep. She saw where he fell.

Nobody, not even her, could survive that much fire.

Then run maybe ten paces before another rock crashes down in front of them and they have to pivot back towards where they came. She can’t see anyone anymore, not Davenport or Lucretia or Merle and why did they all come, why did they get this careless? Yes, the stones were heavy to move but someone should have stayed behind-

Another rock tumbles from the ceiling and smashes into Lup’s arm. She’s flung forward, nearly wrenched from Barry’s grip by the impact, half-sobbing from frustration. They can see the exit from here… but they aren’t going to make it. It’s just too far.

None of them are going to make it.

Oh, fuck.

They have to try. They have to. Even if everyone else is dead, they have to-

A hand, smaller than Barry’s, grabs her shirt by the tails and yanks her back towards the wall. She feels Barry moving in the same direction and they both slam into the stone at once, coming face to face with Merle’s sweat-stained face.

“What-” but he’s already chanting, eyes closed, muttering words too gentle for the horrific sounds of death and destruction as the room collapses around them, and when he finishes Lup’s chest warms, and warms, and she does sob now, because it feels good. It feels like hope, when there was none.

“Bring us home,” Merle says, and shoves the two of them towards the blackened cavern entrance. “Go!”

Lup tries to grab his hand but he shoves her away, and she and Barry take off running, bounding around projectiles with catlike grace as they move in sync, like they share the same body. She only looks back when their feet pass the threshold, and she sees Merle still standing there against the wall, watching them with a sad, relieved smile.

Another rock loosens. She hears the crack as it breaks away, but Lup turns before she can see where it lands.

82.

The night before the ritual, Merle takes the two of them aside.

“So,” he says. “You’re really going through with it.”

“Yeah, Merle,” says Lup. “We really are.”

He smiles, something tight and curling and frightened. “You’re sure there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?” Lup smiles back. “Didn’t think so, but I had to ask.” He takes out his book, and both Barry and Lup frown in confusion as he flips it open to a familiar page. “One last time, for old time’s sake?”

They look at each other. “Why?” asks Barry. “Once we’re liches, I’m sure the spell will dissipate. I doubt it transfers between metaphysical bodies.”

Merle snorts out through his nose, then turns his head away, rubbing one heel of his hand against his cheek, just above the tufts of his white beard. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re probably right.” His voice goes husky near the middle, but he refinds its center before he turns back to them. “But this is what I can do, so if there’s even a chance that’ll it’ll help…”

“Then we’ll take it,” Lup says, grabbing Merle’s hand before he can close the book. “Shit. Thank you.”

“Thanks for what? I haven’t done nothing yet.”

“For everything.” She swallows. “For everything. And if this doesn’t work-”

“Lup-“ Barry warns.

“If this doesn’t work,” Lup continues. “I just need you to know that. Alright? You did everything you could.”

“What are you talking about?” Merle laughs. “Of course it’s going to work. I’ve done it five times now. Have a little more faith.” He looks at Lup, and she looks at him, and their shared gaze is warm, and understanding. “So don’t you worry, I’m going to take good care of both of you. That’s my job.”

“Thanks, Merle,” Barry says, echoing loops words, and Merle’s wobbling tone.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s do this.” He takes both their hands and places them on top of the book. “By the powers vested in me…”

Merle’s words fade out as Barry looks at Lup. Her brilliant eyes meet his, and even as the warmth swells, the look they share is one of farewell.

No matter what happens tomorrow, this’ll be the last time they share this.

But no matter what happens, they’re going to be together.

Come hell or high water, he’s never going to leave her alone again.

~&$(No DATE given@(*#

It’s cold up here, in the sky.

Barry wraps his jacket around Lup’s shoulders, and she leans in under his arm, swinging her legs to keep warm, or just to keep moving. Her bare feet flicker as the lights below pass by – a sparkling metropolis by the sea, and they can see it all from their perch on the last metal outcropping of the base: Neverwinter, in all its evening glory. After everything, impossibly, safe and sound.

Lup slides a little farther, sticking her big toe out as far as she can reach it, and suddenly the entire foot becomes buoyant, like it weighs nothing at all. Lup giggles at the sudden loss of gravity, and Barry redoubles his grip on the fluttering pages in his lap.

It figures, that Lucretia would have still had these. If there’s one thing she takes seriously, it’s her paperwork.

“What do’ya think?” Lup says. “If I spit, do you think it would hit someone, or would it just burn up in the atmosphere?” Before he gets a chance to answer, she hocks a loogie and lets it fly. They both watch the orb of spit vanish into the frosty air.

“It’s more likely that it’ll find its way back around the moon and land on someone up here.”

“Even better.” Lup grins, and Barry pulls her in all the tighter.

He’s missed this.

He’s missed so much, and this most of all.

“This feels silly,” he admits, shuffling through the papers. “I don’t even know why Lucretia wanted them in the first place. It’s not like we even officially exist anymore. Nobody’s going to come checking to see if our personnel records are up to date.”

“Yeah, but what Luce wants, Luce gets,” and there’s a bite to the words that wasn’t there before, and the air gets a little colder, and he shivers for the both of them.

Even with so many things mended, there are some they can’t undo.

Still, Lup’s voice softens as she takes the first page and holds it up to the light of the second moon, the real moon. “You sure you don’t want one last ceremony? Just for old times’ sake?”

He chuckles, imagining Merle’s face if they asked. “I’m good. All I want is you, at my side, forever and always.”

“That’s some corny shit, Bluejeans.” He shrugs, and she tucks her feet back up under her. “But you know I love it.” She puts the page back down onto the pile and pulls a pen out from behind her ear, then passes it to Barry. “So, what do you say? Will you make me an honest woman, officially?”

In every lifetime, in every moment, past and present, his answer has never changed.

“Yes. I will.”

He takes the pen and scribbles his name down on the dotted line, then passes the pen back. Lup adds her own signature to the other, and they both sit back, staring at the blocky letters of script at the top of the page.

Certificate of Marriage

No ceremony, no warmth, no mystical connection. They set the papers aside and kiss under the lights from above and below, and it’s only them, and that’s plenty. That’s all they need to be.

Forever and always, connected.

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Session 8

Welcome to the Hotel On-The-Floor, Yeah

A half-elf conwoman (and the moth tasked with keeping her out of trouble) travel the Jewel in search of, uh, whatever a fashionable accessory is pointing them at. [Campaign log]

Last time, the party identified the culprit behind the murders in Barley and Wheat, but... well, it's complicated. The culprit was apparently being coerced by a dragon, and they managed to talk him down rather than fight. If they want that to stick, though, they'll need some kind of plan to get rid of that dragon. And... is it really worth bailing this guy out, anyway?

Saelhen, Oyobi, and Vayen all start discussing their plans in Elvish, which it doesn't seem like Arnie understands. Oyobi advocates for just killing the guy, but is a little less keen on the idea once Vayen advocates for the same. Saelhen would rather give the guy a chance, and points out that there's not much point to killing him as long as the dragon is still around- they'll need an answer for that, and the answer to a dragon is probably just as good an answer to Arnie.

Looseleaf, oblivious to their Elvish chatter, describes the basic plan to Arnie.

Arnie: "So you're, what... you're gonna get the church involved somehow? What're you gonna tell 'em?" Looseleaf: "Well, probably also Deathseekers," Looseleaf thinks, out loud. "We'll tell them there's a dragon conducting sacrificial rituals at the site of an altar to the god of pain. We'll get the church involved by virtue of proving to them that there's a dragon fucking around with divine shit, and we'll get the deathseekers involved by convincing them that there's a dragon stacked to the gills with cool magic items, which we'll prove by bringing them one of said items." "The important thing is to get going as soon as possible, right? There's a time-limit here measured in, uh... human... corpses..." Arnie: "Wait, how are you gonna get one of its magic items?" Looseleaf: "How do you think, mister 'I work for the dragon so he gave me a bunch of magic items to serve his dread will'?" "We'll bring the deathseekers that magic cloak you said you had." Arnie: "Uh, that's..." "Mine, though."

Eventually, after a persuasion roll or two, Arnie agrees to loan them the cloak, as long as it comes back in one piece. He also tells them how to safely retrieve it from the laundry room- as long as they exchange some dirty laundry for the clean cloak, they'll be happy and won't attack. He's got plenty lying around downstairs, which he heads down to grab.

While he's downstairs, the party confers, and decides to all go together to the nearest city- Cauterdale- to ask the local Deathseekers for aid. They figure Arnie's not a flight risk, since he doesn't have anywhere to run and a draconic boss who'll hunt him down if he tries.

(As they prepare to leave, a natural 20 on a perception roll alerts Looseleaf that Vayen has ransacked Lumiere's personal library, stealing- specifically- Lumiere's books on gods and divine magic, for some reason. She doesn't make any objection to this, though- Vayen's a creep, but it's not like they weren't all on board with looting the dead guy's tower.)

With Arnie's bloodstained laundry in hand, Looseleaf heads upstairs and retrieves the cloak without incident. She tries it out, and...

The result of her crit failing her Wisdom saving throw on the magic item is... nothing, apparently. That's always good to hear! The cloak appears to work exactly as intended! She's wearing a very fancy outfit.

Further experimentation reveals a few limitations- first, the cloak's shape is illusory, so it can't become armor or anything with particular utility. Second, it can get overly literal if you ask it to copy an outfit outright- you have to use your imagination properly. Third, it seems to get tired the more you ask it to change, so there's some limit on how often you can update your wardrobe. Those appear to be the only drawbacks!

So, with Arnie temporarily kept from murdering people, the party gets back on the road.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: For caution's sake, Saelhen calligraphs a piece of paper to say WE HAVE NOT BEEN TORTURED TO DEATH, and sticks it on the door on the way out.

As they make their way northeast, they make some Animal Handling checks to keep hold of their giraffes, as something seems to spook them. Looseleaf gets a critical success and is able to calm her giraffe right away... but the party ranger, who is proficient in neither Animal Handling nor Nature nor even Survival, because what kind of monster hunter needs to know that boring crap, has no idea how to handle an overexcited giraffe and is thrown from her mount with a critical failure.

Benedict I. (GM):There's a small sign by the road, heading off west towards what appears to be an actual forest. The prairie is giving way to a somewhat hillier and more forested terrain here, but the forest is thicker than anything you've seen on your way there. And as you're approaching the crossroads marked by that sign, your giraffes all try to bolt for it. Looseleaf is able to realize that they've been forced to graze on grass for miles, and when they see the trees, they get overexcited. Vayen and Oyobi get completely thrown from their mounts, and you have to follow them down the road a bit to catch up with them and rein them in. Looseleaf: Haha, oh, well, hopefully they don't try and spend the rest of the whole day grazing a pit-stop is within tolerances but we really do have to make it to Cauterdale sooner rather than later. Many lives are on the line! Saelhen du Fishercrown: Good thing Looseleaf can radiate peace at them! Benedict I. (GM): Looseleaf is able to beckon them back before they completely get out of reach, and pretty soon you've got them calmed down- but you've lost some time. There's a choice to make here, now: continue on to Cauterdale, but make the last hour or so of the journey in the dark- or rest at the location marked on the map near here.

On the map, where the sign marked "Umbrella Village" points (shut up, I don't even play Resident Evil, don't worry about it), is simply a warning that reads "EVIL WITCHES- AVOID!!!"

Oyobi and Orluthe inform the others that "witches" usually means "druids"- and Zero cashes in something from character creation. Looseleaf's background as an academic provided her with a book on some historical topic, which was never allocated because at character creation he didn't know enough about the world to decide on something interesting. Here he declares it's a book on the history of druids!

Benedict I. (GM): Druids, from what you've read, are sort of like clerics. They channel a divinity of some sort- which is typically revered as Mother Nature, or Gaia, or... every druid you meet is going to have a different name for it, because while it needs to have a thing to call it by, it is emphatically not a god. Druids have a complicated relationship with Ccorde, who's ostensibly the goddess of environmentalism and hippy communing with nature type stuff- but most druidic traditions regard this as a false claim on a divine domain. Nature is untamed and wild and exists on its own terms, a vital force that is not to be tamed with rules- people must forge their own relationships with Nature. The author of the tome you acquired was herself a cleric of Ccorde, and the tone of the book is defensive on that subject. The author's curiosity outweighed that defensiveness, though, and there's a long section dedicated to the theoretical differences between the channeling of Nature and the channeling of Ccorde- in particular, there's no common dispositional element with druids. Whatever Nature is, it's willing to act through anyone who puts in the effort. The author didn't seem to know anything about animism, but you suspect druidic practice might be related in some way- that their nature-spirit-channeling abilities may be a form of animism. The book is unfortunately light on the practical details of druidcraft, as the author prefers that the reader eschew the practice in favor of fealty to Ccorde.

Okay! So, they head down the road to stay at the druid village for the night- and notice something odd on the way, after some Nature checks. They notice that the dirt road they're going down seems to divide the forest in two- between a sparse, ivy-choked pine forest to the northeast, and a dense, healthy-looking deciduous forest to the southwest. You usually don't get such a sharp delineation between forests like that.

And Looseleaf notices... that their map doesn't show a forest on the southwest side of the road. The road is supposed to just go along the edge of the pine forest. Also, Looseleaf can see the trees' spirits there, and there's something... not quite right.

Benedict I. (GM):The left side of the woods- there does seem to be some ambient magic. Your Sight Unseen ability doesn't exactly detect magic, so much as it lets you see spirits, including the spirits of spells- but what's going on here isn't a spell effect. It's just that the spirits of these healthy-looking deciduous trees don't quite match their physical forms. Their spirits seem... sickly? Frail? Like they're not full trees, not trees that grew in their places from fallen seeds. There's something false about them.

Looseleaf: When you said 'the left side of the road is full of healthy-looking deciduous trees and the right side is full of misshaped thorny things' you know what the first thing i thought was it was, 'the left side is the dangerous side.' i didn't say it out loud but i was totally thinking that, and i am glad to have been vindicated.

The weird forest doesn't seem to be attacking them, though, so they head onward towards Umbrella Village, which seems to be built entirely on the pine side of the road. It's kind of cool-looking- every inch of available space, on the lawns, roofs, and walls, is covered in fruiting vines and various plants. The whole village is a carefully-cultivated ecosystem.

The villagers seem surprised to have visitors- apparently it's not a common occurrence. They seem normal enough, though- while they don't have an inn, they direct the party to visit the village elder, who might know where the best place for them to spend the night is.

(Oyobi once again crit-fails her Animal Handling check, and is unable to prevent her giraffe from ripping a tomato plant off the side of someone's house, which gets her scolded. Why are you a ranger, Oyobi?)

They head down to the village elder's house, which is unique in not being overgrown with crops- and knock on the door.

The door is answered by a little lizardfolk girl, who doesn't have any idea what she's supposed to do about there being... people... here? People she's never seen before? Who don't live in the village? What???

Benedict I. (GM): "...Who...?" "GRANDMAAAAA," she calls back into the room. Which she didn't really need to do so loudly, because there's an elderly lizardfolk woman sitting right there next to a small fire.

Looseleaf: Oh, and Looseleaf was about to ask if the little girl was the elder. Never let external appearances color your preconceptions, and all that. Benedict I. (GM): "Eh?" "Gramma there's Mysterious People!" "They don't exist!" The old woman gets up. "Who's... oh, visitors?" The little girl looks confused. "Vizza-what?" Looseleaf:"Indeed, we are emissaries from the Faraway Phantom Lands of Nonexistence," Looseleaf says in deadpan to the girl. "Behold as my incorporeal voice from out of the thin air astonishes you!" To the old lady, Looseleaf says. "Excuse us. You must be the elder?"

They inquire about a place to stay for the night, and the elder... checks the weather. Looseleaf, who has Druidcraft as a racial ability, also checks the weather, using a fancy little snowglobe spell!

Looseleaf: "I'unno, does this help?" Benedict I. (GM): "Oh, goodness. I thought you were from outside- do they..." "That's very well-done, really, and you smell delicious, but..." Saelhen du Fishercrown: uh Benedict I. (GM): "Well, it ought to be fine." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...hmm," says Saelhen. Benedict I. (GM): "Just put your bedrolls out anywhere- we're not doing rain tonight." "Well, anywhere in town, anyway." "You shouldn't set foot in the Mysterious Woods." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Ma'am, rest assured that we have less than no interest in Mysterious Woods."

So the party beds down in some soft pine needles, making use of Looseleaf's recently-acquired Extremely Comfy Pillow and a few bedrolls. They have a druid elder's assurance that the elements won't be a problem, so... nothing wrong with camping!

And as they're going to bed, Looseleaf rolls a 21 on Perception.

Luckily, Looseleaf fails her unarmed strike roll, which would do no damage even if it hit because her strength mod is -1. So she does not do any damage to...

Benedict I. (GM): So, you kick out at the mouth full of sharp teeth. Saelhen du Fishercrown: Fwff, goes Looseleaf's puffy moth footsie. Benedict I. (GM): The mouth full of sharp teeth goes "Eeek!" and recoils before you make impact, and you see the little lizardfolk girl scamper away into the darkness. Looseleaf: "What." "Wh- how dare you bite me! I am an emissary of the Phantom Lands and all that or whatever." "Come back here and explain yourself to My Imperial Nonexistingness!"

The little girl, affronted, explains that if she's not real, then it's not bad if she bites her!

Vayen: Vayen stirs. "...Shouldn't kill a child," he mumbles. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...this is a new dream," remarks Saelhen. "Better than the dreams about dad." "Vayen's even deciding not to kill someone. This is super neat, subconscious, keep going."

Saelhen argues that maybe Gramma doesn't know what things taste good, because sometimes grammas think things that taste bad taste good, like bell peppers! The child has no defense against this devastating logic bomb, and scampers off into the darkness, indignant.

Next time: the journey to Cauterdale, and the menace of the bobbledragon.

[jq37]

The Report Card – Fantasy High Sophomore Year Ep 11

The One With All the Lore (in which the Bad Kids do a Lot of Reading and we are Forcibly Reminded the Plot is Happening)

We are back in the Land of the Lomenelda where the Bad Kids and Co. are waking up (well, those who went to sleep anyway). Fig and Ayda wake from their sleepover that Fig decides to keep going into the day, confusing Ayda immensely in the process. 

Kristen decides to look at the research she found in Calethriel Tower and on a 22 religion check, she gets a lot of info which I will do my best to summarize here:

The information is older than what she read in the pirate book. It’s probably from 850-900 years ago--around the time of the last great Sylvan War.

The text is by high elven clerics of the Moon Goddess Galakaya (Tracker’s goddess).

There used to another goddess worshiped in Sylvere--a goddess of night, mystery, and magic and the younger sister of Galakaya. This goddess was worshiped by all of the races in the forest (and it sounds like this is who all the oblique references in the earlier research was pointing to). Doubt and the unknown were parts of worship to her which Kristen is very into. Religious differences between the races about how to worship the mystery goddess was part of what sparked the war.

Some high elven clerics came in to help broker a truce which ended up leading to the invention of the “Sylverian Heresy”. Basically, the Moon clerics advised the Mystery clerics to “unmake” the name of their goddess because, “Hey, she’s a mystery goddess, right? So isn’t knowing anything about her a contradiction of her whole thing?” They think that sounds legit and proceed to do that but it seems that it wasn’t actually altruistic advice as much as a ploy by the high elven clerics to weaken the mystery goddess. 

Fabian has been dancing all night and he is feeling exhausted but super good. This becomes even more of a family affair when none other than Hilariel Seacaster shows up! She joins the dance! Cathilda joins the dance! Fig plays her bass! Riz is skanking? It’s one of those classic D&D moments where the plot utterly grinds to a halt while everyone takes turns describing the ridiculous nonsense they’re doing and it’s fantastic. Once that calms down a bit, Fabian goes on a walk with his mom and Cathilda where Hilariel tells him that the grapes 1000% do not work, which honestly checks out.

Shifting to the Abernant sisters, Aelwen (this is the canon spelling and I’m gonna try to use it for these recaps but we’ll see how that goes) has just regained her pre-torture memories. To be specific, she seems to have backed them up between being broken out of jail in Solace and the torture starting. They have a little bit of a standoff, not sure whether one of them is going to attack the other. Once it becomes clear that blasting each other isn’t on the top of their respective to-do lists, they settle into a semi civilized conversation. Adaine wants Aelwen to read her thoughts so she’ll have the memories of what happened to her and the past day (at least from Adaine’s P.O.V.) and not go back to working with their parents. Aelwen seems resistant to the prospect and asks Adaine to just tell her what happened. While they’re talking, Adaine rolls an Insight check of 10 which doesn’t net her any information (we’ll come back to this).

Aelwen tells Adaine that their parents are not on the same side but refuses to elaborate, much to Adaine’s annoyance and frustration. They kind of dissolve into almost normal sibling bickering except that it’s about stuff like, “Oh come on, I only tried to kill you one time. Don’t be dramatic.” When questioned, Aelwen says that she only joined up with Goldenhoard for fun and she didn’t really think he’d win against her and her friends. The argument ends with Adaine casting Tasha’s Hideous Laughter which knocks Aelwen out in one shot because she’s still three or four levels of exhaustion deep.

Fig goes to Telemein to ask if he knows Planeshift (which she needs to get Gorthalax out of the ruby he’s trapped in). He does not and she doesn’t trust him to figure it out in a timely manner (or to even know what a timely manner is). 

Kristen goes into the Van where Aelwen is to check on her (she’s fine, just trancing). Then, she helps out while Adaine tries to rifle through Aelwen’s brain for information on their Mom. Aelwen saves from the first Detect Thoughts but she’s sleeping so Adaine just tries again. Second time’s the charm. Her sleeping brain is a little hard to read but what Adaine sees is that when she failed her Insight check with a 10, what was happening was THE SHADOWCAT WAS STANDING BEHIND HER AND TALKING TO AELWEN. And I (roughly) quote, “Don’t keep looking at me. Look at your sister. Your mom is working for me. She has the crown and she’s taking it to Sylvere. Get away from Adaine so we can talk.” On an 18 Insight check, she can tell that Aelwen and Kalina have spoken before and seem familiar with each other.

Now that Adaine has seen Kalina through Aelwen’s memories, she decides to Scry on her. Oh, and she has a Nat 1 portent roll to give her. Eat your dice Brennan! The Scry goes really weird though. Instead of just showing one person, it cycles through a bunch of people, ending with Ragh, Tracker, Sandra-Lynn, that elf Ragh slept with, and Kristen. Then, it flashes to a creepy-ass forest where she sees a wood elf covered in festering wounds and claw marks. Vines are dripping with blood. The elf stands, grabs an old spear, and scratches into the ground, “Hello Adaine. Glad you could join me.” Then, it moves back to Kristen. Um, como se dice, CONCERNING. 

Adaine gets a 27 to Detect Magic on Kristen and pings nothing that shouldn’t be there. Gorgug (who is also there btw) gets the pic and asks Ragh’s hookup if he can see the tabaxi and he can. The group gets together and they realize that everyone who can all of a sudden see the Shadowcat either had sex or exhanged blood with someone who initially could (ie: Garthy got it from Sandra-Lynn, as did Tracker when she blood healed her and Kristen got it afte she hooked up with Tracker in Leviathan). Shout out to everyone who called that. And I guess the Thistlespring STD talk at the top of the season was less of a wild detour than it seemed (I wonder if it would have transferred if said people specified that they used protection). 

Fabian and Fig are very down to drink some blood so they can also see the picture but they are warned off with the idea that it very likely means Kalina can see through their eyes or something similar. After they all exchange their info, Riz theorizes that Kalina is not just a servant of the Nightmare King and rather the Mystery Goddess herself, powered down. Adaine starts a private message (w/ magic, not on their crystals) with the non-infected people.

Kristen recently learned the spell Hallow which can basically turn the Van into a permanent Moon Haven. She tells Tracker and on a 15 Persuasion check, Tracker seems to have warmed back up to her a bit and is down to help. Telemein offers his library which has zero useful books but lots of meditation guides and essential oils which Adaine and Kristen respectively grab.    

Having learned her lesson, Kristen tells Tracker EVERYTHING she learned from the religious texts (and Tracker notices what she’s doing). She feels weird about something that bad having been done in the name of her goddess and also she’s sorry she gave Kristen a magic STD. She does the head bump thing that dogs and wolves do and says that just cause she was mad at her, it didn’t mean she didn’t love her. She goes to talk to Sandra-Lynn and it seems like they’ve patched things up. 

The Bad Kids split up again to get some stuff done before they leave (which they want to do since they are dangerously close to the elves who are probably looking for them). Adaine and Gorgug (who was also given Aelwen’s spellbook to hold) work on fixing the Hangman. Riz wants to do some research/investigating. Kristen and Tracker work on the Hallow spell. Fig guards Aelwen. Fabian hangs out with his mom.

After spilling his guts about the past week to his mom, Fabian is given an uncharacteristically lucid and touching speech from Hilariel which basically boils down to: you’re your own person and being able to get through hardship is better than never facing hardship. She also drops the information that post-yesterday’s shenanigans (grabbing the sun and all that), Aguefort has lost a LOT of funding. They won’t be able to pay their hirelings. Also, she kinda sorta wants Cathilda back because she’s out of yogurt and cannot cook. Cathilda has a little sidebar heart-to-heart with Fabian where she gives him a choice on whether she stays or goes and he decides she should go home with Hilariel. Says Cathilda, “There’s only one Seacaster left to take care of and she’s out there in a kimono.”

Oh yeah. Hilariel showed up to the woods in a black kimono. As you do. 

Cathilda asks Fabian which sword he’s going to fight with now since he has two and he chooses the elven one he got last episode over the Sword of the Seacasters.

Riz, with a crazy 28 Investigation check gets a bunch of information from the stolen research which I will summarize below:

Ragh, who is also there, reminds Riz that he saw Adaine’s mom talking to Jace post-prom and then saw the Shadowcat after on his way home.

Adaine’s mom was looking for a way to pin down the Shadowcat and also how to rename the goddess of mystery. She pulled 200-300 year old records on the execution of a wood elf named Landryn Leer in the elven secret service (called the Third Court). 

Landryn was a cleric, ostensibly of Galakaya, but she was actually a cleric of the goddess of mystery and was killed for espionage. When she was supposed to be healing, she was also infecting people with some kind of virus--probably whatever magic STD that lets you see Kalina in the picture.

Mom Abernant was also researching Abyssal demonic texts while she was working for Falinel (which I think is connected to the next bullet but my notes are a little hectic here).

After the first fall of Kalvaxus, a group of infernal warlocks came to help the good guys by making a boundary around the forest of the Nightmare King so no one could get in or out. The devils helped because devils hate demons and demons were on the other side. 

This isn’t new information but we’re reminded that the Crown of the Nightmare King can be used to anchor a being to the material plane.

Pok, Riz’s dad, also checked out the same information (about the fall of Kalvaxus and stuff) for himself and Kalina earlier. 

(Riz wonders whether the Nightmare King and the Mystery goddess are opposed rather than allies).

Anyway, the only way to pass through the barrier the devils put up is by a high ranking devil allowing passage. Mom Abernant had notes about binding a devil into a gem (Ragh recognizes that bit because of his mom’s condition) and doing a ritual to put the devil in a freshly dead body. Riz realizes that this is what was happening with him and Fig and Gorthalax in the Hotel Cavalier. 

This is actually from research that Kristen does but I’ll put it here because it’s related. Apparently, only a certain kind of dead body would give the Shadowcat the gem.

Meanwhile, Fig is watching Aelwen. She hexes Aelwen (giving her disadvantage of Strength checks), disguises herself as her (Aelwen’s) mom, and smokes cloves. Ragh’s hookup shows up, recognizes Fig because she’s still carrying her bass, and asks for the hot goss on her and Ayda. He says the elves told Ayda that she’s a rockstar and therefore probably promiscuous which made Ayda teleport away. That pisses Fig right off and she gets Gorgug to take over watching Aelwen while she goes after Ayda (with a parting, “CHOKE ON GRAPES BITCH,” to Fathethriel or whatever his name is). 

Aelwen wakes up but Gorgug realizes after about a minute that he’s not talking to the real Aelwen, it’s a water elemental like the one she made in her S1 battle episode. A decoy. At about the same time, Fig goes to where she was told Ayda left through a door but the door isn’t there. Then, she’s made to roll a Wisdom saving throw. Dirty 20 passes and whatever spell was happening doesn’t land. She rolls initiative but, even with a 5 turned to a 17 (she took the Lucky feat) she can’t beat a 19. Another Wisdom saving throw and this one she fails with a 10. She’s frozen with a Hold Person spell. Someone invisible grabs Gorthalax’s gem from her pocket.

She breaks out of the Hold Persons spell and casts Bestow Curse on the person--clearly Aelwen--to give her wicked gas (which is a hilarious on its face but smart after a second of thought Axford Gambit--Invisible Aelwen w/ gas = trackable by scent). Aelwen (who has the gem and her spellbook because she was in the Van, invisible and snagged it from Gorgug) drops invisibility, tells Fig, “Sorry but goodbye for now,” rips a huge fart, then teleports out. Adaine isn’t mad at Fig and Gorgug. She says she should have been watching Aelwen. The group tracks down Fathethriel who tells them Aelwen bribed him with the promise of 10 gold (the promise, not the actual gold) to mess with Fig. Fabian and Riz backhand him. Fabian calls him mean which is somehow the worst thing he could have said. Fig is ready to straight up kill this dude with Booming Blade but ends up just doing non-lethal damage and knocking him unconscious. But even Telemein hates that dude so it’s probably fine. 

The group discusses the hireling situation now that school is no longer paying their stipend. Sandra-Lynn and Tracker are both willing to keep on with them without being paid but the Bad Kids insist that they’ll still pay them from their own money. Riz thinks Aelwen might be the new sacrifice and Adaine is kinda like, “Sure. Of course. Why wouldn’t this be happening.”

Cathilda has a nice goodbye with everyone. Adaine gets cookies. Fig isn’t suspicious of her anymore. Fabian puts his eyepatch back on and calls her the best surrogate mother a boy could ask for (while standing like two feet away from his actual mom who, though hurt, is like, “Valid.”) 

Once they’re back in Leviathan, Sandra-Lynn gives a speech that’s half pep-talk, half apology. Then she asks Ayda to use her Sending spell and Kristen can tell even without an Insight check that she’s gonna talk to Jawbone. 

After terrifying Fabian with the idea that they might track down Chungledown-Bim, they decide to talk to Garthy instead--they being Fabian, Fig and Ragh. We’ll get back to them in a second. First, Adaine goes to the Library to read over her research. Nat 20 arcana check so here comes another info-dump:

The info she found was written by mystics and shamans of wood elves, centaurs, treents, and sprites (the forest races). 

Before the name of the goddess was destroyed, there were clerics driven out as heretics because they were having dreams sent by the mystery goddess which were ignored by the clerics in Sylvere. She was trying to tell everyone not to do the whole un-naming thing because it would destroy her. 

There were 4 miracles called the 4 transubstantiations followed by 1 bigger transubstantiation that happened before the unmaking of the goddess’s name. 

The mystery goddess was not just a goddess of magic but specifically, a witch goddess. 

Anyway, the transubstantiations were these:

Her spellbook was turned into a coin.

Her familiar was turned into a plague.

Her sanctum was turned into a curse.

Her focus (a broomstick) was turned into a tree.

Her name was turned into something unknown before it could be unmade (this was the major transubstantiation).

Riz is also doing some investigation and on a 23 check, the main piece of new info he gets is that in the original alliance of Kalvaxus and the Nightmare King, the NK gave Kal a coin for his hoard to seal their alliance. They realize that they got Kal’s hoard but they don’t know if they got the exact coins he owned or just an equivalent amount of money. Riz also sees notes from the government of Falinel saying that Mom Abernant was doing this research for them with the promise that they would release Aelwen and restore their family to some level of prestige. When the government went back on their promise, she started looking into other people that could help her, like Garthy (and the government eventually found out).  

Speaking of Garthy, back to Fig, Fabian, and Ragh. They try to persuade Garthy to come with them to help but Garthy is staying put. They do have some news though. Mom Abernant actually isn’t Falinel bound. She’s on the way to a town close to Sylvere (which the group kinda already knew but now they have confirmation and more specifics). The town is called Arborly and Fig actually knows someone who has a mansion (called Hollyhill) there who, while she was on tour, said she could stay there any time. With teleportation, they should be able to get there before her. Fabian has Garthy check their coins for anything fishy (looking at the aforementioned transubstantiated coin) but nothing seems amiss.   

As they leave, they suddenly hear a weird rumbling and then something leaps onto Fabian and starts giving him rubber burn. It’s the Hangman! Gorgug continued working on him in Leviathan and we learn that he took a level in Artificer and was able to fix him with a 22, some help from Adaine, and a little of the wax Fabian got last season. He’s back! And he wants to shit in Chungledown-Bim’s mouth! 

The next day, Kristen finishes casting Hallow with Tracker. She taps into some of the mystery goddess energy which seems like a questionable thing to do so very on brand for her. Ayda wants to come with them but she has to look after the library. However, she plans to shrink down the entire library, book by book, so she can carry it around and continue adventuring with the Bad Kids. Until then, she teleports them all to Arborly and the gates of Hollyhill.  

Detention

Fathetriel for Being an Ass

Even Telemien thinks he sucks. Choke on grapes bitch.

Honor Roll

Gorgug for Fixing the Hangman

I’m going to be less than entirely predictable here any instead of giving Adaine this spot for the objectively clutch move of scrying on the Shadowcat by forcing a Nat 1 on her save, I’m going to give it to Gorgug for taking a level of Artificer and fixing the Hangman. It’s just such a sweet move. All this insanity going on around them and he took the time to figure out how to fix his friend’s bike/dog. He didn’t have to do that but he did, and in such an understated way. Plus, it totally makes sense for him being the son of two tinkers. I wonder if he can build that cell tower for Zelda now. This also seems like a good move story-wise because I feel like having these extra skills ups Gorgug’s potential for shenanigans/helpfulness out of combat a lot.  

Random Thoughts

What did I say? What did I say at the end of last recap? I KNEW we’d gone too long without a Shadowcat sighting. I KNEW we were about to get wrecked! 

Made a couple of oblique references to this in the recap but I’ll say it outright now. The gang is all level 9 now!

There was a LOT of lore in this episode so, if I got anything wrong and you notice, please tell me and I’ll fix it when I get the chance. 

Sad to see Ayda go but happy that the Hangman’s back! I hope The Bad Kids take a page from Jester’s book and Sending her all the time.

Good on Fabian/Lou for letting Cathilda go in a move that was right for the story but objectively worse for the inevitable coming battle. 

“I couldn’t have one nice day with my sister.”/”No.” (“He’s all the bad guys,” Siobhan says in a resigned tone.)

Speaking of the Abernants, I think Arianwyn is how you spell Adaine’s mom’s name which I am going to try and get used to before she shows up again and I have to type it 47 times. Also, very funny that Ally/Kristen learned the name Adaine and was like, “She is the only valid Abernant. I refuse to learn any more names.” Anyway, this campaign needs less elves and more goblins. Riz. Pok. Sklonda. Things I can spell. 

I question whether the Mystery goddess is actually going to be an antagonist. Both because it seems like she got majorly screwed over by a bunch of uptight high-elves who have been nothing but trouble so far (sans Adaine and Hilariel to a degree) so I’m inclined to be on the side they’re not on and also because this was clearly a plot point written with Kristen in mind. So I guess the question is, is this going to be a temptation for Kristen or a safe harbor? 

Did the curse on the NK’s crown get properly dispelled by Adaine’s mom? Wondering because of the whole sanctum being turned into a curse thing. Though, I guess breaking the curse could be what turned it back into the sanctum.

Lol at all the people in the comments questioning whether Brennan ripped his lore from My Little Pony when all the Moon goddess, sister goddesses stuff was being explained. 

Did Brennan say how Hilariel knew where Cathilda was? She doesn’t have magic, she’s some kind of Fighter. Does she have Cathilda Magic Lojacked?

“Yes, The Ball! Feel it! Yes, Ball, skank!”

Hilariel, like Jareth the Goblin King, can contact juggle, which checks out. 

I’m very curious about what Brennan has planned for Aelwen because I think Adaine offering to willingly fail a save so she could read her mind was a very clutch, “I had a week to think about this and you better believe I thought about it,” move from Siobhan and I don’t know why Aelwen would be hesitant to take that opportunity (besides maybe thinking it was a trap?) except for the meta reason that a quick reality check would joss some important story beats. I could be wrong but that’s just the vibe I got. Also if any of y’all are inclined to write the alt version of this scene where Aelwen *does* do that, def tag me so I can read it. 

The vibe that was going on when Adaine and Aelwen was talking was fascinating. I kinda loved it? Like, they were still fighting and Aelwen was still being a bitch and Adaine was still super annoyed but it felt almost blunted? Like they were shooting at each other but with Nerf guns instead of AK-47s for a change. My read on Aelwen is that she enjoys having a relationship with Adaine, even if it’s antagonistic. I think that Aelwen would much rather fighting with Adaine every day than for Adaine to not care about her at all. It’s like the horseshoe thing, you know? Love and hate are much closer to each other than they are to indifference. Better to have her care about you in the wrong direction than not at all. Anyway, this is so the vibe that I was expecting from them when they linked back up post-rescue. Wish we had gotten a little more before she escaped but I’m really liking this plot thread.

Also, curious about how truthful Aelwen was being when she said she only joined up with Kalvaxus for fun and was counting on Adaine and Co. to stop them. And, while we’re wondering about things, I’m curious about what Aelwen’s previous relationship with Kalina was. Like, besides creating a diversion to steal the crown, how do the events of this season hook up with the events of last season in a way that explains the relationship? Or is it not related? What is the timeline of events here?

And was Kalina actually there talking to her do you think or was it more of a projection type deal?

Sidenote: I think Brennan is taking liberties with what Detect Thoughts can do (in this and especially last episode) but I think it’s a very good creative choice and it makes things a lot more interesting.

Also, gotta say, the way the plot ended up turning out re: Aelwen’s Escape was just *chef’s kiss*. Like, you had Fig bring up the ruby, unprompted earlier in the episode--reestablishing it as a thing that exists. Then they gave the spellbook to Gorgug. Then, Fig was the one who took up guard duty and she happened to switch up with Gorgug, giving Aelwen and, by extension, Brennan a perfect series of events to get her out of there. Wild. 

This episode explains how the Shadowcat/picture thing is spreading but not where Riz and Sandra-Lynn got it from initially. Like, I assume Sklonda got it from Pok. And it’s very plausible Riz got it from one of them somehow but when would they have shared blood? That’s not a normal family thing to do. Did his dad give him a kidney or soemthing? I’m probably overthinking this. 

Emily, I’m begging you. Please keep bringing up those rock and roll babies until Brennan is forced to make it plot relevant.

Speaking of, I was getting so many Night Yorb vibes from that mystery goddess “don’t speak her name” conversation and if the Night Yorb becomes plot relevant I swear I’m gonna personally make Brennan eat his dice.

“I mention everything to Tracker from now on.” You know what that is? Growth 

I loved Fig saying “I don’t know enough about you to know if we wanna kill you,” to the Shadowcat by directly looking at Riz and him being like, “UMMMMMMMM.”

Gilear, wildly, was not mentioned once in this episode and you think he would have been since his girlfriend showed up.  

I wonder if Fandrangool has better stats than the Sword of the Seacasters. I also wonder if I’m spelling that correctly. Doubt it.

“My vices rule.”

One thing I didn’t recap but should have were the dreams in the first episode and I feel like I should go back and watch them because they feel like they could become relevant any time now but that sounds like a lot. I’ll try and watch them before next recap though so I can connect any obvious dots.

Is there anything more pure than Murph cracking up at Emily’s shenanigans. 

I have a note in my notes that says “Fig/Virgin” but it’s like that one gif. “Why am I gasping? I already knew that.”

We originally thought the Shadowcat didn’t want people to be able to see her but now it’s seeming like the opposite is the case. It looks like this is a systematic way to *force* people to be able to see her. If that’s what’s going on then that’s a brilliant reversal from Brennan.

Aelwen, when she gets her memories back, says something like, “Since I’m in a hot tub and you found what you found, I’m assuming you’re not gonna kill me this second.” And one, funny that she can’t even directly reference the one compliment she ever gave Adaine while in her right mind but also, the implication seems to be (at least partially) that she thought, “Let me say something nice about Adaine on this charm to buy me some goodwill so she doesn’t immediately kill me once she restores me,” which is so calculated and I kinda love it.

I had a conversation with drinkingdeadpeopletea while the ep was going on that basically went like: Me: They better watching Aelwen so she doesn’t escape. Her: lol she’s def gonna. 

“Does your mom smoke cloves?”

The goddess’s familiar being turned into a plague and the thing going on with Kalina and being able to see her being like an STD and Goldenhoard presenting as a dragonborn but being an actual dragon and Kalina being a tabaxi and cats being the most classic familiar for witches and the goddess being specifically a witch goddess all feel possibly related to me, but that could just be my brain playing the association game and connecting things that don’t necessarily connect. 

The fact that other characters (read: Fathethirel) read Fig and Ayda’s relationship as possibly romantic (in an attempt to mess with her of course, but still) and Fig reacted so strongly (well strongly and in that specific way because I have no doubt she’d also beat a dude within an inch of their life for messing with, say Gorgug or Adaine) is something I’m going to star for later. [Edit: Brennan clarified on the Discord recently that Ayda (or at least this version of her. Phoenix reincarnation and all) is 17 so y’all are all good to go shipping-wise). As is Tracker, by the by, but I think we were all pretty sure Brennan was keeping that above board.] 

Siobhan’s face when Fig says that she’s “straight edge except for hallucinogens.”

“I’m gonna buy you an orange.”

This episode, Adaine, with advantage, rolled a nat 20 (the other roll being 1). Brennan got one natural 1 (though it wasn’t rolled, it was a portent roll) and Gorgug also rolled one Nat 1 but it’s important that I note it was for giving the Hangman an ass to shit in Chungledown-Bim’s mouth.

[tactyl-ymon]

DnD session write up - Remorse and Revelations

Boy howdy, who knew a global pandemic could disrupt social gatherings? Anyway, straight into it kids. Enjoy.

We open with everyone still laughing on an empty beach, catching their breath after narrowly escaping a collapsing demi plane that held an imprisoned dracolich that fed off peoples memories and the revelation that they'd been in said hell plane for a month when Eridol, Veiraen & Whisky all collapse on the ground trying to stop their skulls from retching open as the magic Nervlyth had used to repress every memory from before coming to Ostaria shattered and lifetimes of memories snap back into place. While Whisky and Veiraen take a few minutes to shake off their psychosis, Eridol is trapped in an kaleidoscope of his worst memories and is probably stuck that way for a while, whisky offers to stay back and drink the pain away/keep him safe until he's somewhat functional again and the other three decide they need to debrief Core and the council and with their magical fax machine out of commission it means a jaunty several hour trek through the woods to the capital city and we have our first proper split party of the campaign.

It's around sunset that Whisky notices Eridol doing something besides mutely staring directly at the sun and drinking too much beer and she asks if he's ok after everything they went through and in between too large gulps of booze and those gross sad snot bubbles you get when you cry too hard he tells her about his fiance and how happy they were, about the friends he'd lost to cultists of Bane, the torture they had put him through, the brand on his abdomen that won't go away no matter how many times he burns it off. He tells her about being freed from the cultist camp by clerics of Tyr, he's about halfway through explaining how he ran away from his fiance when he clams up, realising what he was saying and without thinking, gets up and mentions that they should really catch up to everyone else or at the very least head back to the keep so it's safer than camping on the ground near a possible exit from hell space and before Whisky can stop him, the tiny heavily armoured drunk wades into the water and begins paddling for the mainland and Whisky has no choice but to wade in after him.

Because Eridol has the emotional processing power of a particularly dense rock, he's too focused cramming everything he just said back in his head that he doesn't immediately notice that he can't hear Whisky swimming behind him anymore. In a panic he frantically scans the water that accompanies this thought shoving itself to the front of his mind he notices several small bubbles clearing the surface 20 feet away and Eridol does what he does best, which is stupidly dive and swim to the bottom of the lake to find a thrashing Whisky tangled in some kelp. He gets her free just as the bubbles stop and she goes limp. With the fear and adrenaline of having someone else he cares about die, Eridol drags her along with his exhausted chainmail wearing self out and with his limited resources, immediately channels all his remaining energy into a single healing prayer and using it to force the water out of her lungs. While Whisky is busy taking her first of many new breaths, Eridol is babbling about how this is his fault and he can make it better as he begins digging through his pack and shakily offers up a small, rough cut gem necklace. Offering apology after apology even as he slumps into unconsciousness.

Whisky silently tries to take stock of the situation which now includes one severely passed out and heavily waterlogged gnome with a pendant laying on the sand just out of reach and with a single solitary “fuck” she scoops up the necklace and begins thinking on how to move what is effectively canned dead weight and decides the best option would be to get the armor off him and at that point he's basically just a toddler sized sack of potatoes. With the armor off, Whisky gets an unhindered look at the hodge podge of scars that make up Eridol's torso. Skin knitted back together over burns, cuts and punctures, a deep cut through one shoulder surrounded by lots of interlocking circles and a large patch of heavy burns on his right side that he would normally keep hidden. She takes all this in for a moment and decides the most immediate need is to draw a large charcoal penis on his forehead before bundling the tiny man up and dragging him through the forest back to the keep before dumping him in front of one of the fireplaces for the guards to find and wandering off to bed.

Meanwhile, the adults of the group were finishing their several hour trek to the capital and began to notice small camps dotting the farmland outside the city, growing more and more dense until they were smack in the middle of a makeshift tent city. Taking a moment to look around they see the normal array of humans, elves, dwarves and the like but also a greater population of half orcs, goblins, bugbears and teiflings than would have been allowed this close to the city before the slight jaunt through time and space. As they wander through the shanty town fearing some kind of attack had taken place within the city walls to displace everyone, they learn that the newly formed ruling council ordered the lower quarters of the city to be upgraded to decrease the gap between the elite at the centre of the city and the less wealthy that surrounded them. Continuing through the city gates and past the city wide work sites, they come to where the ostentatious council building should be. In its place stands a squat, single storey wood and stone hall, a few small meeting rooms sit on either side of the larger council room. A short queue of the days remaining business slowly filtering through the rough wooden doors of the central chamber, which Veiraen, Septima and Emmi attempt to bypass because they’re big damn heroes, but faced with several town guards and a fairly aggressive half orc with a hard on for bureaucracy at the head of the line, they are momentarily pushed to the back of the queue until the council chamber doors open and Core pokes his head outside, spots the responsible half of the adventurers group and merrily ushers them inside to debrief.

They enter the central chamber to find the two remaining council members, Rorstaad, the human and Sharona the high elf. While Rorstaad remains seated, on seeing Emmi, Sharona immediately strides over and hugs the daughter she had magically forgotten for so many years. Emmi doesn’t say anything but just shrugs off the affection and Sharona meekly walks back to her seat and the trio take turns covering the basics of what happened after they had left through the Slyph’s portal, how they found themselves in an overgrown mushroom forest which paralysed or caused hallucinations in some of the party when it was burned. Whisky’s impromptu growth spurt. Fighting off a giant bird that looked like the night sky itself. Following Septimas sometimes moral compass through the woods and to the druidic village of Kincaid, jumping through a tree into a voided hellscape of nothingness that contained a highly intelligent undead dragon that had been eating peoples memories as a way to sustain itself after Septima, Fulgur and Fafnir had sealed it there a few centuries ago. They go on about how the dragon asked for two people to sacrifice their lifeforce because he just wanted the freedom it deserved, that was all and after a clever ruse from Septima all hell breaks loose and then he kind of dies twice because nobody really knows how warforged work and now the dragon is free. Somewhere in the material plane, maybe. Things got a bit fuzzy after that point. But with the dragon gone, Ostaria is now back in the material plane properly and there’ll be no more weird amnesia things going on so it’s a win win really. 

After taking a moment to take all that in and pour himself half a bottle of wine, Core tries to change the conversation and ask where the other members were? It was strange not to see the group together and with the magic words uttered, Septima gladly mentions how Tornur disappeared as soon as they made it out of the mushroom forest and left a note saying he was called for something and they left Whisky next to a non responsive, shaking Eridol back on the beach they tumbled out onto. Hearing all this, Core pours the other half of the bottle of wine into his cup and downs it in an instant, takes a deep breath and begins very uncalmly explaining why literally all of those are horrible choices. They can deal with Tornur when the time comes, but why did they think leaving the easily spooked, emotional powderkeg of a cleric basically on his own was a good idea? Septima mentions it was fine, he had been like this since Veiraen set him on fire before trying to break his curse on top of a mountain with Fulgir the sometimes dragon a few days prior to them leaving. Veiraen to his credit who had mostly been standing there quietly trying not to draw attention to himself doesn’t shy away from the slew of verbal abuse Core throws at him, only offering a small apology before retreating back into himself. With the initial debrief over, Core dismisses the trio but asks that they get in touch with Eridol and Whisky to make their way to the city just in case the council needs some additional information. Septima opens his hand and like the disney princess he is, snatches a bird out of the air and asks that it deliver a message to Eridol about Core needing to speak with Whisky and him, before the trio make their way to the short barracks building they had been using before the keep was built. 

In the morning, Eridol is woken up by a bird landing next to his head, slowly opening its beak and without moving begins emitting a message in Septimas voice, Eridollets out a shriek and immediately scoots several feet backwards in terror at what is obviously a literal nightmare. Animals can’t talk. The bird repeats the message a few times before Eridol calms down enough to realise what’s going on and quietly thanks the bird and it closes its beak and takes off through a nearby window. The gnome takes in whatever that was before realising that this is definitely not the beach he passed out on and he is definitely half naked on a couch in the keep, with no idea on how he got there Eridol grabs his armor from the foot of the couch and scuttles upstairs to get ready before getting Whisky who successfully stifles a laugh at the large charcoal dong on the tiny mans forehead and they set off to the city, encountering the same large tent city surrounding Principium as they make their way towards the bar the rest of the party were waiting and spend several hours drinking and carousing with the locals. During the impromptu pub crawl, Whisky and Emmi take a spot of gambling with bar patrons, Veiraen makes several attempts to apologise to Eridol who refuses any attempt to have the conversation and Septima befriends a travelling merchant and they begin talking about how the group has a lot of money and money can be exchanged for goods and services and Septima being the good boy that he is decides he should get gifts for everybody, but he doesn’t have much money on him so he asks a very drunk and distracted Eridol for the bag of holding because that’s where all the gold is. Eridol can’t see any faults in this logic and begins handing the bag over before Emmi swats the bag out of his hands and glares at the tiny drunk who sheepishly shrugs before being distracted by a dog and runs outside to pet it.  Emmi and Septima have a short discussion with the merchant about where he’s set up and that they’ll come by in the morning to check out his wares but for now they’re just going to keep drinking and enjoying the company. After a fairly extensive shopping montage that got the group some new weapons, armor and several magical wands for future shenanigans the crew makes their way back to the keep, trying not to discuss the tension between Veiraen and Eridol on the way. It’s a couple hours after midnight, with everyone capable of sleeping being out like a light that Eridols door quietly opens and Septima creeps in and grabs Eridol’s mount and occasional emotional support dog, Pickle from the base of the bed and taps his newly bought staff to the dogs head, asking him to be the friend that Eridol desperately needs at the moment and blessing it with enlightened intelligence and the ability to speak before whispering not to wake Eridol just yet. Which lasts a whole 5 seconds after Septima shuts the door behind him and Pickle begins headbutting Eridol and licking his face and yelling his buddy’s name excitedly and saying how much he loves his tiny master. Faced with all of this, Eridol not sure if this is a dream or that all the psychosis finally caught up to him and he does the only thing that makes sense and begins hugging his dog and quietly crying into his fur for the remainder of the night. 

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

Let Me Hold You: A Critical Role Fanfic

I really have no excuse for this besides the fact that it was half-finished and I need to absorb the latest episode and figure out how to edit my current WIP to match up a little better with all the canon we've been getting. Also...like...I love Essek so much. We could have this. Caleb...it is your duty...level up the party. Just do it.

Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Warning: Explicit content

"For once, the anxieties...the fear...all of it felt so far away. Without those things, he barely even knew who he was. How did one define themselves without the things holding them back? It had to be with the things they desired. And all he desired was for Caleb to touch him, recklessly and like Essek would die without him. What did that say about him?"

“Oh Luxon,” Essek groaned as Beauregard laid him down on the floor. He was cold and dizzy, the sort of cold that came from continual blood loss. An ice shard in the leg would do that to a person, Essek thought. He hadn’t expected to die today, but he also hadn’t expected to run into an ancient white dragon either. 

“Caduceus!” Caleb shouted. There was an ugly looking bruise on his face from where he had been bashed against a wall, and his coat was half frozen. 

“I got him,” Caduceus said, voice calm and coming from underwater. There was the sensation of more pain, a rough tugging, and then blessed warmth and comfort. It had to have been his Goddess’ power rushing through his veins, pulsing against his ribs like something alive and growing. Essek’s breath came harsh and whistling in his lungs. Caleb was already handing him a water flask, and Essek gratefully swallowed the water. He cringed as he felt a pulling at his ribs, obviously whatever spell the cleric had used had been strong enough to heal him, but not completely. 

“We all alright?” Fjord asked, looking harried and frost bitten. 

“Well, we’re not fucking dead,” Nott grumbled, pulling an ice shard out from where it was impaling her bag. 

“That dragon was super duper not fun!” Jester nearly whined, splaying out on the floor like she was about to make snow-angels on the carpet. “Fjord you really ought to have married her, so that way she coulda loved us!”

“Uh, no. That is definitely not a plan that would work,” Fjord pointed out with a long suffering sigh. 

“Wow, Essek, I didn’t think it was possible for you to look pale. Dude, are you fucking okay?” Beauregard asked him rather astutely. 

“I feel still...a bit bloodless,” Essek admitted, managing to pull himself into a sitting position with Caleb’s help. Essek was surprised how warm Caleb felt, and how that warmth bled into Essek and made living almost become manageable. If he was less exhausted, Essek would have probably shied away from the touch. Even after everything, he still had that ghost in the back of his brain screaming at him to leave and to go home and to bury himself in a book and to not interact with another breathing entity for at least twelve hours. However, somehow, Essek found that in his exhaustion it was easy to overcome that. Especially since being in Caleb’s arms felt worth the whole near death experience. 

“Nott, ach! I am out of healing potions. Do you have any extras?” Caleb asked, and Essek could barely focus because his arm was around Essek. It was giving everything in Essek’s body not turn his head and bury himself into that embrace. 

“I think I do,” Nott said, rummaging around in her half-ripped bag. The goblin swore as things came tumbling out and she barely managed to catch them. She shoved two potions into Essek’s hands. Essek, still half-lucid and very hurt, opened them both and downed them like shots. As was usually the case, the taste of a healing potion hit him in the front of his tongue. The liquid was made of a cacophony of herbal bitter notes that had him cringing. However, strangely, something else...something floral caught his attention. 

Essek immediately felt better, as if a rush of energy and health had been breathed into his flesh. On his own strength, he was able to get up to his feet. He caught Caleb’s relieved smile, watched as it unfurled across his mouth. It was sweet and private and was just for Essek, and it made him breathless to think that he could ever be so lucky as to have seen that smile. Even battle hardened and bruised and dirty, Caleb was always a sight to behold. 

And then, immediately, his knees went weak. Caleb yelped as he reached out and managed to catch Essek before he collapsed completely onto the floor. His arms catching Essek’s, and half-hoisting him up. 

“Essek? Are you alright?” Caleb asked him, desperately searching his gaze. Essek couldn’t respond beyond nodding his head because his mouth was suddenly watering. Caleb’s scent was overwhelming through the strange fog in his mind. His canines itched to bite into the nape of Caleb’s neck and claim the exotic...pale...untouched skin there. 

No, Essek thought, physically shaking his head to rid himself of these inappropriate thoughts. This was not normal...in the sense that this had come on too quick. His thighs pressed together as just the sensation of Caleb’s hands on his arms made him half-hard. Yes, definitely not normal. There was something wrong with him. 

“What...did I drink?” Essek managed. 

“You drank a health potion and--” Nott looked at the second bottle. “Uh…” 

“Did he drink Rhino Sex?” Yasha asked, looking down at Nott. 

“You gave him what?” Fjord asked, sounding horrified. Jester nearly shoved a fist in her mouth to hold back giggles...and it didn’t work in the least. 

“It was just something I stole from an apothecary! Yeza said it was like, snake oil! It wasn’t supposed to work!” Nott shouted. 

“Oh Gods,” Essek groaned, a wave of strange dizziness hitting him again. He couldn’t even follow the conversation any longer. This time he gave into his instincts and buried his head against Caleb’s neck and shoulder, breathing in deep the smell of wood fire and male. He had to resist every urge in his body to rut against Caleb like an animal. There were others watching...and yet, it was becoming harder and harder to think about them. Besides, who cared if they were watching? Caleb was right here...was right against him and he wasn’t moving. It had to mean that Caleb wanted Essek as badly as Essek wanted him. 

For once, the anxieties...the fear...all of it felt so far away. Without those things, he barely even knew who he was. How did one define themselves without the things holding them back? It had to be with the things they desired. And all he desired was for Caleb to touch him, recklessly and like Essek would die without him. What did that say about him? 

Honestly, considering how hard he was and without any relief, he might die anyways. 

Distantly, Essek felt himself be half-carried and half-dragged somewhere. Suddenly Essek realized that he wasn’t pressed to Caleb any longer. Essek, fueled by his ravenous desire and desperation, found himself pinning Caleb to a wall. The kiss was bruising and filthy, and sent his hips bucking against Caleb’s. There was the distant slamming of a door, and then a bed hit the back of Essek’s knees and sent him toppling backwards. Caleb didn’t go with him, instead his eyes were bright and wild and a strange grimace was pulling at his mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” Caleb apologized, and it didn’t make any sense because he should have been kissing Essek instead of apologizing. “Jester and Caduceus are out of spells, this is all I could think to do.”

“Caleb, I need you,” Essek moaned, pulling at the clasp of his trousers and finally releasing himself from the confines of his pants. He arched as he grabbed a hold of his own cock, the sensation stronger than anything he had ever felt before. It was as if he had been on edge for days, teased until he simply could no longer take it. He had never understood the appeal of that, until right then, when even the brush of the covers against him made him wanton. 

“No,” Caleb said firmly, though his gaze was burning into his skin like the hottest glow of a flame. It settled upon his skin and made him whimper. 

“Why?” Essek pleaded, his hips stuttering into his own hand. He sounded debauched to his own ears, and in any other situation he would have just curled over and expired from the sheer embarrassment. But at this exact moment he didn’t give a damn.  “Caleb, I promise, I’d make it good...I’d make it so good!”   

“Work through this first,” Caleb said, softly, comfortingly. He reached out to brush his fingers against Essek’s cheek. Essek leaned against it, chasing the touch, and just that made Essek gasp with pleasure that wracked him down to his bones. “Then I’ll give you what you want.” 

An oil vial was pressed into Essek’s hand. Essek wasted no time. After all, it made perfect sense, Caleb wanted Essek to open himself up for him. Essek managed to open it with his shaking hand, before turning it over into his fingers and coating them. The slick slide against his cock was worth it, as was the feeling of fullness as he pressed inside himself. This. This was what he had wanted. Now all Essek needed to do was chase the feeling until he was ready. 

“Very good,” Caleb said, kneeling on the bed beside him. “You look beautiful like this, Essek.” 

Essek screwed his eyes closed. He was close. He was so goddamn close. Why? What was missing? 

"Please Caleb," he begged, trying to work in deeper, to press harder, but it wasn't any use. He needed Caleb so badly, entirely, desperately and he was right there. Essek could almost taste his scent, his kiss, his everything. Why was Caleb doing this to him? Why, when it was so obvious what Essek wanted? He may as well as been bleeding his feelings all over the floor for everyone to see. He was doing it again, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Essek didn’t want to stop it, especially when it felt this good to be vulnerable. But if only Caleb would touch him it would feel so much better. 

"You are doing so well," Caleb promised, forehead pressed to his. "You are almost there, Essek. Be patient. Once this is over then we may give in to any of your desires." 

"Why?" Essek sobbed, tears welling in his eyes and thick in his voice. He moaned as another one of his fingers stretched inside of him, but his fingers weren’t enough. "Caleb, I want you so badly. I don't...I don't want to wait!" 

"Sh," Caleb soothed, cradling Essek's cheek. The sensation shooting through him and making Essek tingle. "Liebling, I want to watch you. You are so very beautiful like this. You wouldn't want to deny me that pleasure, would you?" 

Essek couldn't answer beyond a whimper, he was so close, so close. He was a thread ready to be snapped by  the tension. Caleb wanted to see him, and then he would fuck Essek. It made perfect sense now. He had to do this, and do it well, or else Caleb would withhold more of his glorious touch and that was something Essek simply couldn’t stand. 

"That's it," Caleb said, forehead tenderly pressing against Essek's. "Come for me, Essek. Let me see you." 

Essek broke over Caleb's words and the gentle soothing touch like a wave against the rocks. It was perhaps the most punishing orgasm of his whole life, and it left him light headed and strung out upon the bed. The strange fog in his mind that washed everything out in shades of desire was lifted, and everything crystallized into much more rational thoughts. He ran his tongue over his teeth, minding his still aching canines, before groaning at the utterly foul taste that clogged up his mouth. 

"Water?" Essek croaked, and Caleb immediately gave him a wineskin. He swished the water, gargled and then swallowed. Thankfully, he was rid of the awful stale taste in his mouth. He couldn’t help but stick out his tongue and shudder, causing Caleb to chuckle at his antics.

"How are you feeling?" Caleb asked worriedly.  

"Sticky…" Essek sighed, rubbing his legs together. The simmer of arousal was still there, but it was easier to think around. His thoughts were coming clearer and more organized, and at the moment he was choosing to simply not feel the warmth that blossomed across his skin. "Embarrassed."

"No, no need," Caleb promised him.

"Horny," Essek concurred, and despite everything this is what made Caleb blush. "As are you, I'm assuming." 

"I'm...I'm fine--" 

"No," Essek said desperately, wrapping his arms around Caleb's neck. "I'm open, and I want you so badly. Please, let me have you. I need to feel you inside of me, now."

“Are you thinking clearly?” Caleb asked suspiciously. 

“I could list every component in my bag in alphabetical order if it would make you feel better,” Essek offered, kissing Caleb’s neck--sucking and biting at the places that were open for him. He opened Caleb’s shirt, sighing at the feeling of them skin-to-skin. Finally, he thought as Caleb sighed into his embrace. “I just need you, Caleb.”  

 "Desperate," Caleb chuckled, and Essek raked his nails across skin, yanking at his pants to get them loose. 

"Yes," Essek admitted, finally getting his hands on Caleb. He moaned as he did. Caleb's cock was hot and pulsing against his fingers. He liberally coated him with the oil still wet on his fingers. "Oh Gods, get that in me."

"Surely I am nothing compared to what you have had before?" Caleb said, mouth kissing and sucking. "A beauty like you, you must have tasted pleasure greater than what I can give you." 

"No, no, I…" Essek gasped before spreading his legs. Caleb's hands were hot on the back his thighs. He felt Caleb press into him, the sensation so overwhelming that he nearly was thrown over the edge again. He would never forgive Nott for this. He was going to die. Caleb was going to kill him with his cock and Essek didn't care. "I haven't!" 

"No?" Caleb grunted as he sank in, Essek scrabbled at him trying to touch him. He needed to feel Caleb's weight as he reached so deep. Caleb caught his hand and pressed a languid kiss to Essek's palm. And Essek couldn't explain then, not when Caleb had him speared on his magnificent cock. Not when his brain was on fire from the arousal and the remnants of the magic coursing in his veins. Essek couldn’t explain that nothing in his life had ever felt like this. The Essek he knew was just a simple observer, distant and solitary like a star. His other brief, loveless relationships--his flippant couplings, nothing had touched his heart. But now he was rupturing. Caleb and his friends had broken through the walls of his heart--had passed through them like ghosts and now Essek couldn’t get enough. 

But Caleb didn't move. Essek attempted to buck his hips back--to get friction, relief, something! But it was no use. 

"Move!" Essek snarled and in his desperation for Caleb he had become transformed into a feral creature. His voice was almost unrecognizable in his own ears. 

"Of course," Caleb said, his voice warm and halting. It broke goosebumps out all across Essek’s skin as he held him down with ease. "But tell me--hn, you didn't answer my question." 

"Anything, anything! Just move, Caleb!”

"When others have had you, tell me, did you plead so prettily?" Caleb's asked before slowly his hips forward, and the drag of it, the overwhelming sensation made him breathless. Essek curled his legs around Caleb's hips to keep him from escaping. "Perhaps, ugh! Perhaps the potion, has no effect. Maybe you have always been so needy." 

"It just feels so good," Essek moaned as Caleb angled his hips and hit the place inside him that had him splintering with pleasure. "More! Don’t stop!" 

“Of course, anything for you,” Caleb gasped as he caught Essek’s mouth with his own, licking into it, and Essek tasted Caleb thoroughly. His fingers twisted in his hair, scratching at his back, as he tried to pull Caleb against him harder. He needed more, he needed all of Caleb. Essek needed Caleb to touch more of him, to touch him deeper, further, and harder than anyone else had ever dared to.  He wanted to crack open so that he could feel more. It was filling him up, like pressure--like the light of a full moon. And how could he contain that inside his body? 

“Please,” Essek begged, gripping Caleb because he would fall apart without him. Essek felt Caleb pulsing inside of him, and threw his head back with reckless abandon, baring his neck and everything inside of him. “Please, Caleb!” 

“Fuck!” Caleb groaned, “I’m close!” 

Essek’s hips were moving without his permission--and he was so close too. He was balanced on the edge of a knife and he couldn’t take it anymore. His second orgasm crashed through him, ripping a bestial keening noise out of his throat. Essek distantly felt Caleb’s hips snap harshly into his, felt the sticky warmth spread deep inside of him. Caleb rocked them through the aftershocks of their explosive lovemaking, before collapsing off of him. 

“Oh Gods,” Essek gasped as he finally managed to catch his breath, his chest heaving with the effort. 

“Are you alright?” Caleb asked, concerned, half-sitting up. Essek immediately caught him and pulled him down into another kiss. This time, it was deep and longing and felt like a breath of cool air. 

“If you consider recovering from the best sex of my life alright, then I suppose so,” Essek said, unable to help his cringe at the soreness of his hips as he tried to sit up. Almost immediately he felt thrumming of arousal rise once more. Caleb noticed it too, because almost immediately his thick calloused fingers curled around him and pumped. “Oh Gods above and below…my hips are going to break.” 

“Lay back down,” Caleb bid him. Caleb’s expression was tender as Essek traced the darkening marks upon his shoulder and neck. He then traced his mouth, catching on Essek’s nipple, eyes dark and longing as he continued to move down the length of his body. He tasted of Essek like he was starving, and only he could sate him. Essek wondered if maybe he had gotten a dose of the potion too, or if he was always like this. They had slept together before, and it hadn’t been like this. But were all humans so secretly and ravenously insatiable? “Rest...I’ll take care of the rest this time.” 

Essek was helpless but to agree. 

Essek tried to make his exit out of the Xhorhaus as quiet as possible the next morning after about three more rounds of mind-blowing sex and the deepest trance he had ever had in his whole life. Half of the reason for his sneakiness was so that he wouldn’t disturb anyone, but the other half was in order to preserve what little dignity he had left. However, seeing the other members sitting in the living room made Essek feel the kind of fear he had only ever experienced when the Bright Queen was displeased with him. Essek nearly turned around and went to go find a window to escape out of when Jester shot up. 

“Are you alright?” Jester asked. “I mean it sounded like you were better than alright but I’ve rested and can use a spell--” 

“Please,” Essek bid her. Thankful to all of the powers in the universe that the high collar of his mantle hid how...well...marked up he really and truly was. The last round had particularly punishing in that regard.  “Let’s...never speak of this ever again.” 

“So no head?” Beau piped up from the back. 

“I will eviscerate you,” Essek warned, the dull ache in his hips overriding all of his well-established niceties. “Don’t make me consider it.” 

“Are you gonna stay for breakfast?” Caduceus asked good-naturedly. 

Essek was about to answer that though he appreciated the offer, he would be able to find breakfast on his own at home where he could recover from his all night ordeal. And he was about to open his mouth to speak those words into existence when there was a distant thud and a swearing in Zemnian from down the hall. Nott gave Essek a thumb’s up, pat his arm, before disappearing down the hall to go investigate. 

“So...does someone need to go heal Caleb?” Yasha asked softly. Fjord sank down in his seat, looking mortified as Jester hid giggles into her hand. Beau began to whistle. 

Essek immediately pressed his hands to his face and tried not to scream.  

[haledamage]

Angst/Fluff Prompt: “No one is perfect.”

(inspired by this screenshot, as well as the song Avila by The Wailin’ Jennys)

The private council room was made to hold dozens of people. It felt like overkill to use it just for the two of them. Nonetheless, Aurienne and Tristian had been meeting there every morning and working through the day together for over a week. Lander and Kesten stuck their heads in occasionally to offer assistance where they could, but mostly left them to their own devices.

Who knew annexing land for a barony involved so much paperwork. The land was technically theirs already; their job now was to cross the t’s and dot the i’s and make sure their claim was legally binding. They’d learned more about the intricacies of land ownership and governance than either of them had ever expected to.

They’d learned a lot about each other in that time too, things you don’t learn in the wilds. Like the way Ari was apparently allergic to sitting in chairs. In a room of twenty chairs and an honest-to-gods throne, she was most likely to be found on the floor or on top of the large oak table in the center of the room. If she did sit in a chair, she did it wrong, upside down or with her legs draped over one arm or tucked underneath her.

Or the fact that Tristian paced when he read. It made it easier to concentrate on the words if he was moving, he said, which was fine except when it was something they both needed to read. After the second day, he just started reading aloud. He had a strong voice and good elocution, likely from all those years preaching; if there’d been more clerics like him at the temple in Ari’s hometown, her life might have taken a very different (and much more pious) path.

Today was day nine in the council room, and they were perhaps two-thirds of the way done if they were feeling optimistic. Ari sat cross-legged on the floor, her back against one of the chairs and a stack of papers that she was carefully sorting into three smaller stacks of papers. She hummed absent-mindedly to herself as she worked, her distracted and meandering music filling the room.

“What song is that?” Tristian asked suddenly.

“Hmm?” The music stopped immediately and so did the rustling of paper.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you.” He leaned against the table near where she sat, smiling down at her. “I heard you humming and was trying to figure out what the song is. I do not recognize it.”

Her hair was too short to hide her face behind, but she tried anyway. “Oh. It’s nothing. Just a song I remember from when I was a kid.”

“Will you sing it for me?”

“No.” She stared up at him, something akin to panic in her eyes. “I–I mean–I don’t sing. I can’t sing.” She started gathering up the papers in front of her, ruining her painstaking sorting. “I didn’t mean to sound snappish. I just… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?” he asked in a very gentle tone, like he was trying to comfort a wounded animal.

“No.” She jumped to her feet, putting the papers on the table and spending much more time than necessary carefully arranging them. Tristian waited patiently for her to decide if she’d rather talk, run, or change the subject. “I used to sing. A long time ago. Made a living off of it until I… lost my voice.”

“Lost?” He managed to fit a lot of other questions into that one word.

“It was taken from me.” Ari put a hand to her throat, over the dark green scarf she always wore, but she didn’t elaborate. Tristian’s brow furrowed in clear sympathy, and she knew she didn’t need to explain any further.

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“You were just a child.” There was a hint of steel in his voice, like he wanted to reach into the distant past and protect her from her own mistakes.

“A child who should’ve known to hold her tongue.” She scoffed bitterly. “Some lessons are hard learned.”

“How did you make your living after that?” Tristian asked carefully, not wanting to push too much but wanting to know more about her. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, though, he knew the answer. He’d seen how effortlessly she could open even the most stubborn locks, the ease with which she snuck into and out of anywhere she wished to. “You were a thief.”

She spread her arms wide, encompassing the room they were in, the barony they were building. “Still am, if you ask some of the local lords. Stole the Stolen Lands, I did.” Ari dropped her hands back to the table, spreading them flat on the wood as she hung her head. “I hope that doesn’t make you think less of me.”

“Of course not.” He dropped his hand to the table next to hers, almost touching her but not quite. “No one is perfect, Aurienne. Not even you.”

She snorted inelegantly. “Not even me, indeed.” That finally drew a smile back to her face and she turned it on the man next to her. “If ‘petty thief’ is the first flaw you’ve found in me, you haven’t been paying attention.”

“I have.” The words were out before he could stop them. He immediately dropped his gaze to the table where their hands still rested next to each other. “Been paying attention to you, that is.”

“Have you?” She leaned a little closer, trying to catch his eye, but he refused to look up. “Just how close of attention?”

“Closer than I should.” Slowly, Tristian slid his hand toward hers until his fingers barely brushed hers, and then closer still, caressing the back of her hand, touch so light Ari could almost have thought she was imagining it. Very carefully, trying not to spook him, she turned her hand over, but as soon as her thumb brushed the inside of his wrist, he snapped his hand away like she’d burned him. He took a step back. “I’m sorry, that was–”

“No it wasn’t,” she said firmly. She wanted to move closer, to close that gap instead of letting him run away. She stayed where she was. “It wasn’t inappropriate or unwelcome or however you planned to finish that sentence. It was sweet, and you don’t need to apologize for it.” She bit back a sigh and turned back to the table, rearranging the stacks of papers again. The silence was much too loud. She scrambled to think of something to fill it with. “It’s called ‘Avila’. The song I was humming.”

He looked relieved for the change in subject. “I do not believe I’ve heard it before.”

Aurienne surprised them both by bursting into song.

I will not rest

Until this place is full of sunlight

Or at least until the darkness

Is quiet for a while

And we will not wait

For the murder to come calling

The night will simply fall

And the morning will rise

Her voice was breathy and quiet and the higher notes were practically inaudible, clearly only an echo of what it once had been, but lovely nonetheless. Lovelier still was the pure joy on her face after the first shaky notes. Her eyes filled with tears, and she made no effort to stop them from falling.

Oh sweet peace, never have you fallen

Never have you fallen upon this town

Oh sweet peace, when will you come calling

When will you come calling upon this town

“Beautiful,” Tristian whispered in awe, and it was obvious he didn’t mean the song or her broken voice.

Ari laughed, nearly as shaky as her singing, and scrubbed at the tear stains on her face with her sleeve. “Sorry. I’d forgotten what it feels like. What a stupid thing for me to get emotional about.”

“No.” He reached out and brushed away a new tear as it fell, his cool fingers lingering on her cheek. “I know what it must mean to you. Thank you for sharing it with me.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he hesitated.

She caught his hand as he started to pull away, but let it slip slowly from her grasp. “Thank you,” she said in a rush, “for… for listening, I guess.”

“I am happy to do so anytime.” His smile was warm and so were his eyes, and Ari found herself completely captivated by him. It wasn’t a new sensation, she’d accepted that it was just part of being around Tristian, but the pull was stronger than usual; she clenched her hand around the edge of the table to keep herself in place.

They stood there like that in awkward silence for a long time, hesitant to leave but not knowing what else to say. They both tried to revive the conversation, but stumbled over their own words as well as each others’.

“I was going to–”

“I–I guess I should–”

Ari scratched nervously at the back of her neck. “You go ahead.”

At the same time, Tristian bowed his head. “After you. I insist.”

“I was going to go to the Mug and see what Elina has for dinner,” she said quickly in an attempt to break their stalemate. “D’you want to come with me?”

“I would be honored,” he offered her his elbow and she slipped her arm into his, “Your Grace.”

She laughed again, much less shaky than before. “Lead the way, Councilor.”

Aurienne started humming again once they stepped outside, something upbeat and joyful. She didn’t notice the soft smile on Tristian’s face as he watched her, or the way he slowed their pace so he could make the moment last a little longer.

[creativerogues]

Campaign Diary #5: The Journey Home...

RECAP!

When we last left our Heroes, they were resting within the Forests of Valdor, after a failed attempt to slay the Local Green Dragon by the name of Danae, the Deathlady.

This Session begins with the Party waking to their new priority, resurrecting the Party’s Tabaxi Bard, Foot.

Campaign Diary #5: ‘Operation: Fuzzy Rising’...

The Session begins at dawn, with Hard Hat ritual casting his Phantom Steed Spell twice to create two shadowy mounts for the Group to ride until they reach whatever town or city is nearby.

Hard Hat’s Player even notes that he could've done it last night, since Ritual Casting does not use up a Spell Slot, he just forgot about that during the Session… Whoops!

So the Party (who slept next to the dead body of their Bard Friend! Just... So you know...) packs everything up, and Kentucky takes the body of Foot the Tabaxi Bard and decides to carry it across his shoulders, which I ruled as Kentucky 'technically carrying’ Foot, since Foot's dead body could technically be considered an object for the purposes of the amount of people the phantom steeds could carry…

I know, I'm too kind…

So with that, Hard Hat and Potosh take one Phantom Steed, and Kentucky (carrying Foot) takes the other; with Whinny, the Kenku Rogue currently frozen thanks to a Spell Scroll gone awry, put on Kentucky's Phantom Steed.

So with about 30 Minutes of the Phantom Steeds left, Hard Hat casts See Invisibility on himself (covering his face with talc and powdered silver in the process), just so he can keep an eye out for any Invisible Green Dragons that just so happen to be nearby…

And the Party is off! Travelling about 5 Miles by Phantom Steed and out of the Region of Danae’s Lair, with Potosh navigating them and Hard Hat keeping an eye on the skies…

And Kentucky carrying two bodies: But only one is dead, so… yay?

So with that done, and the Party now (still) in the Forests of Valdor (albeit in a less dragon-filled domain), they had a lot of issues to fix, the main two being the frozen Rogue and the Dead Bard currently strapped to the Barbarian's back…

There’s also the issue of the Giant Green Dragon... And Potosh’s Pet Bear, who is currently strewn across Danae’s Cavern Lair, but that’s probably for another time…

The Party travels for a while by Phantom Steed, resting while Hard Hat ritual casts Phantom Steed over and over, with Kentucky taking flight and scouting the Local Area in the hopes of finding a small town or city.

And they do! Huzzah!

Kentucky spots a small town to the south-east and notes that there seems to be a Church there, though it seems a little run-down…

And with the Short Rest over, the Group gets back on their Phantom Steeds and travels towards this town in the middle of nowhere...

As the approach, they see large wooden spikes impaled into the ground to form a fence, though they seem a little battered from previous incursions of the Green Dragon variety...

They go in on foot (rather than Phantom Steed) and walk up to the small Church to see if a Cleric is there.

But when they walk in, they find that the town has turned this old and tiny church into a makeshift tavern and inn, barely surviving in the middle of nowhere, with most people passing through as they moved west over the mountains.

The Party starts to lose hope, with the Bartender telling them to leave (because they did just drag in the stinking and rotting corpse of a Tabaxi Bard with them…) and as they turn to leave and exit, they're followed by an individual.

As Hard Hat begins to cast the Tiny Hut on the outside of town for the Party to rest in, they're approached by a battered, tired old half-orc woman in old and tattered clothes, and struggling to stand on her own two feet, using a wooden stick like a crutch.

She introduces herself as Agn-is Thrak (or Thrak as the Party called her), and she says she can help raise their Friend, as they seemed lost and tired without him, though she requests payment in the form of a favour.

These guys are just racking up favours with NPCs now… But I’m not complaining...

She tells the Party to follow her into the woods outside of town, and she begins to ask the Party questions about Foot as they travel, asking if Foot was a good man, how long ago he died, and if he had any unfinished business...

By the time they get to where Thrak wants them, she asks the Party to sit cross-legged in a circle around Foot's Body, and think about Foot and the life he had as she begins her ritual.

She then asks if the Party has the massive amount of diamonds necessary to cast the Spell, and when they say that they're practically penniless, Thrak takes pity and opens up her pack to reveal a small wooden chest, and upon opening it, the Party sees a small fortune's worth of diamonds, a good thousand gold or more of the stuff.

Thrak then takes a deep breath and a handful of diamonds from her wooden chest, and begins to sprinkle them across Foot's Body as she mutters some strange words in both Orcish and Celestial.

And the Party waits for a moment as the diamonds lay there on Foot's Body, and individually, each diamond cracks and shatters of it's own accord, becoming a fine dust that seeps into the wounds of Foot's Body and begins to undo the decay from the past week or so Foot has been decomposing.

Foot's Body looks as good as the day he died now, and with that, Foot's eyes open slowly, as if someone waking up from a deep sleep.

Foot sits up, then stands, and the rest of the Party stands up, as Thrak embraces Foot and welcomes him back into the World of the living.

HURRAY! Foot is back!

And as the Party reunites, albeit with a still frozen Kenku Rogue, Thrak asks for her favour to be paid immediately...

Just a tad bit awkward...

The Party does, of course, accept and asks what she wants, and initially she says that she just doesn't want to feel tired anymore, she wants to be able to disappear without anyone trying to find her.

Hard Hat comes up with a few ideas while the rest of the Party is still celebrating having their Bard back, with Foot being obviously confused as to what the heck is happening right now...

A Potion or Scroll of some sort to make her undetectable by any means, or some kind of Magic Item to make someone more resistant to the effects of Exhaustion or Fatigue.

Hard Hat then realises he has some contacts, and decides to cast Sending to Kenzo, the Wood Elf Rogue and fledgling Guild-Master to the Thieves Guild she's creating in the Capitol City, with Hard Hat asking if Kenzo could find any kind of Magical Items that could make someone unable to be found or physically change someone's appearance: Kenzo being an Expert Rogue and all...

Kenzo replies and says it might take her a while, but she could get what she thinks they need, and tells Hard Hat to meet her outside the Capitol to make the hand off and payment.

Hard Hat relays this to the Group, and together they decide that taking their Ship (the one they left up north) is probably their best bet, but none of them want to travel through Danae's Domain again, and so choose to travel through the Himmelblas Mountains.

Hard Hat then asks Thrak is she's willing to travel with them to gain her payment, and she accepts, because why wouldn't she?

Hard Hat, the curious little tortle that he is, then asks if anyone in the Party might know of someone in the Silver Charge Mercenary Company, the Mercenaries for Hire that work around the Himmelblas.

Kentucky says he remembers a fella, a big ol' Minotaur that stayed in Coppiborough before going back down South.

Hard Hat then sends a message to this big ol' Minotaur fella within the Silver Charge, asking him to meet the Party on the highest peak of the southern himmelblas and escort them back up north in exchange for coin.

And he receives a reply, a deep and gruff voice saying that the Party should meet him on the peak for sun-down, and he and his group will escort them north at a price of one gold piece each, per person per day.

Kentucky then butts in to say he and Potosh will go scout out the peak, and Potosh wildshapes into a Squirrel, with Kentucky picking him up and the two going about scouting the area for a safe place on the highest peak in the area, where they're not likely to be seen by any wandering monsters...

They find a spot and fly back to Hard Hat and the now resurrected Foot, and relay to everyone the point they should meet at.

Then Kentucky and Potosh make their way ahead while Hard Hat casts his Phantom Steed Ritual yet again. Kentucky flying off overhead while Potosh rides on Kentucky's back in the form of an extra fluffy cat, with massive claws digging into Kentucky "just in case"...

Do cats like heights?

Kentucky and Potosh get to the meeting point, and Foot, Hard Hat (who now has a frozen Whinny the Rogue strapped to his shell with rope) and Thrak the Half-Orc following behind, all meet at the point, Hard Hat casting the Tiny Hut to keep everyone warm while they wait.

As dusk comes, the sun sets, and the Party is still waiting, with Hard Hat passing the time by apologising profusely to Foot for casting the Spell that killed him, explaining how he was charmed by Danae and would've helped the Party if he could have...

The Party continues to chat, with Thrak saying that no good man intends to cause consequences, and Hard Hat is a good man.

This is until they hear a voice shout for a Magic-User.

Hard Hat pops out his head to see, strangely enough, another Tortle!

And behind this Tortle stands a seven foot tall Minotaur, and a noticeably shorter Human Man in arcane attire.

The first thing the three do is ask if the Party can pay, and the Party manages to convince these Silver Charge Members that they can indeed pay them despite having no funds right now…

The three Silver Charge Members then request that everyone sleeps here until morning, where they'll escort the Party north, reaching the Northernmost Part of the Valdorian Side of the Himmelblas in about a week or two...

The Human Wizard (who the Party hasn't even asked his name yet...) then casts a very familiar Tiny Hut, but this version seems to be a deep blue and white, and sparkles with glints of some kind of metallic substance.

The three Silver Charge Members then climb into their own Tiny Hut as everyone gets ready for a sleepover on a mountaintop...

And so the session ends with what is now a Party of Nine! Count them... NINE! With a Elderly Female Half-Orc Paladin and three Silver Charge Members waiting to ride out north at dawn...

Are the Party ever going to get revenge on Danae? Maybe....

But who cares! That’s help out this one NPC!

[thewritewolf]

Nino’s Quest Chapter 6: Out of the Woods

The true struggle of DnD - getting the party together for a session. Not at all helped by magic terrorism attacks.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3.  My ko-fi.

--- October 15th ---

Lord DM: Hey dudes, we still on for today? Since its been like two hours I’ll guess that was a no then

Adrien Regreste: sorry dude. Got roped into a last minute photoshoot :(

Marinoodles: same Wait no I mean- last minute bakery stuff Sorry to bail like this! D:

Alya’ll Beware: Don’t worry about it girl I was chasing that akuma that was running around It kept giving lb n cn the slip Got some good footage tho

Lord DM: Bummer dudes Guess thats one of the perks of living in paris We can try again next week, k?

--- October 18 ---

Direct Message From Alya

Alya: These akumas have been crazy, babe. Rain check on dates? At least until hawkbutt tires himself out

Nino: :( Can’t you take a break or two? You don’t have to be on the frontlines of EVERY akuma attack

Alya: …

Nino: [crying emojis, broken hearts, butterflies with red X’s over them]

Alya: alright, alright But just two, okay? People count on me for the latest news

Nino: totally, babe Just hope lb+cn won’t need rr+cara Cuz… you know That’d be rough

Alya: [eye rolling emoji] Yeah yeah I feel bad for them tho Their social life must be wack at this point

---October 22nd---

Lord DM: Hey, bro, we still meeting at your place or what? ??? Come on, dude! Not again! :(

Adrien Regreste: Sorry dude [sobbing emoji]

Alya’ll Beware: Akuma, babe. Can’t miss three in one week!

Lord DM: Yeah… guess so. Let’s just not miss the next sess, okay? I dont want this campaign to end

Alya’ll Beware: We’ve only missed two weeks so far. That’s not too bad We got pretty lucky with getting five in a row Esp considering how busy we usually are

Lord DM: Fair enough Next week sound good?

Alya’ll Beware: Should for me

---October 31st---

Lord DM: Im scared to ask but… DnD today?

Adrien Regreste: [thumbs up] I’ll be going on 4 hours of sleep But I can do it!

Marinoodles: Same here Lack of sleep and all

Alya’ll Beware: Yeah We good

Adrien Regreste: !!! Wait its actually happening Awesome! ...I should probably clean my room.

Marinoodles: XD Probably! :P

Adrien Regreste: :3

------------

An hour later and Nino had made the trip over to Adrien’s house, Alya and Marinette in tow. Their chatting had been less energetic than usual, no doubt because there wasn’t a single person among them who didn’t feel exhausted. A fact that wasn’t at all helped by the late hours that they were arriving at. It may have only been nineteen hundred hours, but when you’d only had a few hours of sleep each night for the past week, it made all the difference in the world.

Despite all that, they were determined. The very thought that they were willing to go through all this just to go further in his campaign was thrilling for Nino, and he didn’t want to let them down.

A wicked grin, looking out of place on him, stretched across his face. With the events he had planned for tonight’s session, he was sure they’d be awake in no time.

They entered Adrien’s room and saw the bounty of sugary treats and caffeine that their host had prepared. After some brief chit-chat, Nino got set up quickly and rolled right into the session. The longer he delayed the more likely it was that his players would fall asleep.

“The forest at last thins as you crest the top of a hill. From your vantage point, you can see the capital city on the horizon.” There were sighs of relief around the room.

“Finally! My character could definitely go for a proper bed after a week of roughing it,” Marinette said after taking a drink of pop.

“You’ll have to hurry, then. The sun is going to start sinking below the horizon. Unless you want to be stuck outside the city until morning, you’d better get moving.”

“My bard starts one last travel song as we rush over.” Adrien opened his phone, no doubt to a lyrics site and cleared his throat.

Alya quickly covered his mouth. “I do not have the time or patience to listen to another of your renditions of Take Me Home, Country Roads, Sunshine. Let’s just get to the city, alright?” Adrien’s eyes darted to Nino in a silent plea, but he simply shrugged.

“Sorry, dude. Babe has a point.”

Pouting, he closed his phone. Beside him, Marinette giggled and patted his back consolingly.

“You reach the city gates without any issue - no bandit or monster is stupid enough to get within stones throw of the capital, not with all the guards on patrol. They were a little suspicious to see you guys so late at night, but… two noble sigils, a bardic license, and my holy symbol put those dudes right at ease. There are still a few rooms open at the inn - how are you guys going to divvy up?”

A trio of blank stares looked back at him. He sighed.

“Each room costs money to rent. You don’t have a lot, so while you could get a private room for each of you, it’s probably better to room with someone else. So who is spending the night with who?”

“Dibs on the cleric!” Alya cried. She tapped her chin theatrically, “I guess that leaves you two together, right?”

“I- I guess so?” Adrien blinked, surprised at Alya’s sudden outburst. Marinette paled a little but nodded.

“Since you guys arrived so late, most of the rooms were already filled up and you had to make do with what you can get. When you finally find your rooms, they are across the inn from each other… and there is only one bed in each room.”

A slight blush, but neither Adrien nor Marinette were freaked out. Alya slumped in defeat - there wasn’t any roleplaying involved in sleeping after all. Unless they decided to do some method acting and have a sleepover.

“The four of us drift off to sleep, which was a totally great change of pace from the creepy woods that you’ve been sleeping in for a week now.” Nino punctuated his words with a yawn that proved contagious. “It was way late at night when suddenly… M, Adrien. Roll for perception.”

Adrien, naturally, rolled a one. Just when Nino was scared he’d accidentally killed them off, Marinette pulled through with a high roll. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“With your keen elven hearing, the creaking of the wooden floor boards was enough to jolt you from sleep. There is a glint of metal above you, and you feel a presence in the darkness. You have just a few seconds to react - what do you do?”

“I roll over!” Marinette blurts out, her eyes wide.

Nino nods. “Right, that puts you right on top of Adrien, who is now totally awake too. It was a good move, though - a knife plunges into the mattress, right where your neck had just been.”

All business now, Marinette asks, “What can I see?”

“Not much. Loose cloaks with hoods pulled up. Knives. Two people. The other person has stumbled back, probs spooked by your sudden movement.”

She taps her chin before her eyes widen again. “Wait, what about the others?! We have to go get them! Or at least get their help.” She shuffles through her character sheet. “Okay, um… I whisper to Adrien in Elvish ‘close your eyes’ and then I toss a flash flare thing at the guy.”

Nino rolls some saves - without the warnings, neither of them stood a chance. He looks up to see Marinette watching him with hopeful eyes. “You got ‘em, M. Now what?”

“I roll off the bed and try to take the guy’s knife.”

“You’ve got it and your turn ends there. The dudes are blinded, but it won’t be long before they’ve recovered. Adrien?”

“Can I cast a spell?”

“Not without your lyre, bro.”

“Fine, fine. I grab it off the bedside table.”

“And why do you think it’d be there?”

“...I’m a bard. Gotta be ready to play, first thing in the morning.” Adrien smirked.

Chuckling, Nino replied. “Alright, fair. What do you cast?”

Adrien stuck out a tongue as he thumbed through his spell list. His eyes lit up as he looked at Nino. “I cast summon monster one, and I summon the Good Boy.”

“Right,” Nino said as the others giggled. “So you’ve got your celestial dog next to you. I figure you want it to attack one of the dudes?”

To his surprise, Adrien shook his head. “No, I command him to go wake up the other two. Probably to go sit by their door and bark in a commanding angelic voice.”

The fight didn’t last long from there - the two of them probably would have been enough to deal with the assassins after they lost the element of surprise. But four against two made it a landslide victory.

“Even though you try your hardest, you weren’t able to catch either alive. One got stabbed and bled out and the other, well… hopefully the innkeeper will understand that it wasn’t your fault that the window got broken.”

“Do they have anything on them?” Alya crossed her arms. “I get the feeling someone is after us.”

“You’re immediately proven right when you find a note in the dead guy’s pocket that reads, ‘Information about the Necromancer cannot reach the king. Dispose of the adventurers before they get their audience.’”

The party exchanged looks.

“Spooky,” Adrien said flatly. The others nodded in agreement.

“Do I recognize the handwriting or anything?” Marinette leaned forward, the gears in her head turning. “Remember, I am a court brat.”

“Nope. Looks like it was written deliberately poorly. You don’t know if you’d recognize it normally.”

“Time for the king?” Adrien perked up.

“Yup, it’s time for-” Nino was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

Adrien gulped. “Um… hello?”

Nathalie stepped into the room and narrowed her eyes at the dice and character sheets. Belatedly Nino remembered that Adrien usually claimed they were working on a project or homework during these sessions. “It is late. Your friends need to leave.”

Without a choice in the matter, they packed up and had the door shut behind them.

-------------

Nino’s fears were confirmed later that night during a discord chat.

Adrien Regreste: Sorry guys. Looks like we won’t be able to play at my house again Not for a while at least. :(

Lord DM: Don’t worry about it bro Had to happen eventually

Marinoodles: I’m so sorry! :( I hope you didn’t get in trouble because of us

Adrien Regreste: Nothing more than usual They aren’t threatening to keep me locked up at home So, you know Better than usual

Alya’ll Beware: That’s something at least R they going to let u hang out again?

Adrien Regreste: *shrugs* Probably. Anyway… Sorry to be a bummer. Night, everybody!

Marinoodles: Sweet dreams!

Alya’ll Beware: Night, kiddos.

Lord DM: Don’t let the assassins bite! ;) [Three thumbs down, one angry emoji]

[chille-tid-universe]

Obligatory Beach Episode

The quiet night pulsed with evaporated tension, like blood rushing to the ears after a great exertion. Piles of dead orcs and devils offered an odd juxtaposition to the rejoicing and merriment around the clearing.The handful of villagers who had survived the ordeal seemed simply relieved, though perhaps shock offered a barrier to the gruesome scene around them. In the middle of the ritual site, the charred remains of family members, loved ones, and strangers still smoked.

Removed from the huddling villagers, heroes and adventurers were being introduced. Brienne accepted her heavy plate mail from Robyn and clasped her arm, nodding appreciatively as she slipped her ornate silver diadem over her temples. As the metal band settled onto her head, her eyes closed, and after a deep breath, her lids parted to reveal sharper eyes that peered into the world around her. “It’s good to be back,” the fighter mumbled, smiling at the half-elf. As the two leaders began pointing out their team members, the others mingled.

Nissa was dragging Pock over to Oskar, looking the dwarf up and down before commenting, “That’s a lot of big-folk you got with you. How do you stand them all?” Oskar guffawed good-naturedly and leaned in to confide, “Plenty of mead.” Pock merely nodded sagely, glancing about at the other newcomers. Isolde rode by on Icthuarrux, sniffing and saying something about the end times.

Nula and Uzza were being cornered by Wun Way. The bard had found a scrap of paper from somewhere in the pile of clothes returned to her, and was grilling the half-orc and tiefling for details on all the heroic adventures which had led them to this clearing. Her questions were interspersed with sly smiles at the tiefling cleric.

Idu and Charlot, the youngest of Robyn’s crew, were chatting with Ciri, discussing home, adventure, and basically anything to avoid bringing up the carnage surrounding them. They had each been through much in their journeys, but tonight was more than they could bear to think of, at least for now. Ciri was explaining to Charlot that, no, she didn’t have servants growing up, and, no, that didn’t mean she had been poor. The cleric was trying to wrap his head around this concept as Idu laughed by his side.

Before long, Pel’s curiosity overcame her shock, and she took hesitant steps toward the wonderfully clad individuals who had saved her. Nissa noticed her first, and hurried over to the young girl, taking her hands and gently guiding her away from the battleground. Though Pel was a small child, she was only barely shorter than the gnome. As Pel’s eyes continued to be drawn to the burning ritual circle behind her, Nissa reached into her pockets and pulled out the first thing she found. “Here, kid, would you like a…” She glanced at her palm. “... a gold button?” Pel’s eyes lit up at the sparkling item, how it twinkled in the firelight, and reached for it, mumbling her thanks.

Melpomene sauntered up to Brienne, interrupting Robyn mid-sentence. “So who’s the ranger?” the aasimar asked, head tilting to where Ravain was inspecting the fallen devils.

Brienne followed her gesture. “Who, Ravain? We must have mentioned him before. He helped us out immensely during our time in Orlane. I doubt we’d have been able to-”

Ravain appeared suddenly on the other side of Brienne, interrupting her. “Who is this?” he asked in gravelly tones, his cold eyes drilling into Melpomene’s laughing ones.

Brienne sighed. “This is Melpomene, an aasimar who we’ve been working with since we got to Daggerford.”

“And she can be trusted?” Ravain asked, eyes narrowing, seeming to peer through the beautiful veil around the woman.

Melpomene cut Brienne off. “Sugar, I can be whatever you want me to be.” Shadow solidified behind the aasimar, and faint outlines of skeletal wings flickered against the darkness. The fallen angel’s eyes became pools of dried blood, and her pale complexion darkened to an ashen grey. Ravain’s hand dropped to his pommels.

Brienne stepped between the two, placing a hand on either’s shoulder. “Melpomene, he’s with us. Don’t antagonize him.” She looked over to the scowling ranger. “I can vouch for her. She has risked her life for us several times.” Ravain made a face, but removed his hand from his sword as Melpomene returned to her still-enchanting but less-menacing form.

Robyn coughed, and winced as the ranger and bard shot her intense looks. “It’s been an incorrigible night, and I’m sure we could all use a good meal.” As their expressions softened, Robyn clapped her hands together. “Unfortunately, all you have is me! I do make a mean gestapo, though.”

Melpomene raised an eyebrow at Brienne, who started to ask something before Ravain lightly pressed his hand to her shoulder, barely shaking his head.

Just then, Isolde rode up to the four and asked, “So who owns the talking rock?”

Wun Way’s voice called out from behind, “It’s an egg!”

~~

Ravain suggested the group of adventurers and survivors head back to the now-abandoned orc camp. There, Robyn made generous portions of stew using the more palatable ingredients from the orcish stores. With full bellies, even the shaken villagers began to converse, and before the group collapsed from exhaustion, color had returned to each ashen face.

Ravain returned from his stalking surveillance of the surrounding woods shortly after the survivors had taken to bed, reassuring the assembled adventurers that there were no threats left alive in the area. Brienne insisted that a watch be kept, and Robyn quickly echoed the sentiment. The previously imprisoned members of the group reluctantly admitted that a full rest would be quite beneficial, and several of the newcomers were assigned watches covering the remainder of the night. As the five settled onto beds of blankets (the more acceptable sleeping kits had been allocated for the villagers) Oskar could be heard grumbling about needing to keep watch, after missing the totality of the fighting.

~~

The following morning, Brienne and her group were surprised to learn the orcs had brought them back in the direction of Daggerford; the camp they had awoken in was no more than a half-day’s journey from the city. As they ate a slow breakfast in the late morning, plans were discussed. Melpomene was certain the guard force of Daggerford would be willing to help escort the surviving members of the orcs’ prisoners back to their hamlets and villages. The rest of the group agreed, more for the simplicity of the plan than any other reason. Hell had been quite literally visited upon each person gathered there; some other do-gooders could stand to help see the end of the villagers’ stories.

Though breakfast ended before noon, the sun had reached its zenith before the group headed into the Misty Forest. After a night of rest and a morning of rediscovering their wounds, several of the survivors required assistance in the trek to civilization; splints and crutches were fashioned from fences and tents, and the worst off of the survivors needed a sled constructed, which Icthuarrux graciously pulled. Finally, as the sun began its descent, the group set their feet on the path to Daggerford.

The remainder of the day passed slowly. For Robyn’s crew, the march seemed slow; injured survivors of a massacre the previous night do not move briskly as bruises and fractures make themselves known. For those who had been taken by the orcs, however, the sights of the sunlit forest and the open plains beyond were wonderful. After weeks or months of confinement, the simple pleasure of birdsong and a gentle breeze lifted many heavy hearts.

Along the road, discussions arose, experiences shared, and the band walked into the open gates of Daggerford closer for the journey. After a quick trip to the constable of the city, the survivors were entrusted into the care of the city guards, and at long last, Brienne, Pock, Nissa, Wun Way, and Melpomene returned to the castle of Daggerford. After a brief delay, the castle guards brought the large party to the wizard of Daggerford.

Ondabarl was pleasantly surprised to see the return of the band of adventurers, and spent only a moment’s glance on the extra members with whom they had returned. Brienne reached into the bag of holding and, with no little flourish, produced the spellbook of Haesten and the famed Yellowknife. As she handed the items over to the wizard, Nissa spoke up. “You wouldn’t believe what we’ve been through to bring you these.”

Ondabarl stopped, his hand stretched out over the dagger and book. “Well, that’s what you do, isn’t it? I send out group after group of adventurers until one of you finally completes the job.” Wun Way shot a look at Nissa to silence her response. “Now that I take a closer look, though,” the wizard said, stroking his beard, “you do look a little worse for wear. Tell you what, there’s something that is sure to help revitalize your weary companions. In two days’ time, a wondrous event shall happen on the nearby shore.” He paused for a moment, grinning at the party. “The annual dance of the aquatic flumphs!”

Isolde clapped her hands together. “Beach episode!”

~~

In the end, Pel refused to separate from the strange gnome who had befriended her. Unwilling to leave the last person she knew, Loran had no choice but to follow along with her rescuers on their well-earned vacation. As the group left Daggerford, Nissa walked beside the child. “Have you ever been to the beach, Pel?” she asked.

“What’s a beach?” the girl responded, tilting her head.

The gnome paused a moment before responding, “It’s like a big lake, I think.”

Pel’s eyes lit up. “Gran taught me how to swim!”

Two days later, the gang arrived at the beach of the aquatic flumphs. They had made good time, however, and reached the shore just after noon. With not much to do before the flumphs appeared, the group decided to prepare for the night. After minimal arguing, they separated into three teams: Oskar, Nissa, Pel, Brienne, and Robyn would work together to prepare a fire; they would need to set up camp for after the dance of the flumphs, which Pock, Charlot, Idu, Melpomene, and Loran would take care of; and, of course, they would need dinner, which Uzza, Wun Way, Nula, and Isolde offered to fetch. As Nissa and Pel walked down the beach to gather stones to line a fire pit, Nissa said, “Alright, Pel, we want some rocks about that size,” pointing to the coatl egg in Wun Way’s sling. The half-elf bard clutched the sling tighter and glared at the gnome.

As the groups headed off, Ravain and Ciri were left standing on the beach. The young girl knelt down and began scooping handfuls of sand. “I think Pel would like a sand castle to return to, Ravain.”

The grizzled monster hunter stared at his ward with dead eyes.

Ciri returned the look.

“Alright, alright,” Ravain sighed as he sat on the sand.

~~

Down the shore, Oskar was huddled over a clump of beach grasses, pulling up fistfuls of stalks and grunting in approval at how brittle and dry it was - perfect for kindling. An illuminated arrow whizzed by the dwarf’s head, drawing a long string of curses from him. He glanced back and saw Robyn smiling and pointing beyond him - a dozen paces away, the arrow had imbedded itself near a larger bed of grasses.

Oskar shook his head and turned to Pel to ask her for help pulling the grasses, but she was down by the water chasing a crab. Nissa glanced toward the young child from the small pile of rocks she had gathered and ran after her, calling, “Pel, wait up! Be careful near the waves!”

Further down, Brienne walked along the lapping waves. Growing up on the shores of Tarth, she had enjoyed combing the wave-abandoned detritus from the sea for slabs of driftwood with which to play at swords and shields. Now, she put her childhood searching skills to work in the pursuit of firewood.

Having collected an armful of grasses, Oskar returned to the area of the beach where Ciri and Ravain were building a tall sandcastle. He raised an eyebrow at the stoic ranger, who distinctly avoided his gaze as he began chiseling faux-brickwork into the towers with a twig. The dwarf muttered something about surface dwellers and building abilities before he began shoveling a shallow pit in the dry sand.

As Oskar began digging with his bare hands, Robyn walked up behind him. “That’s not how you acquire fire. Have you ever seen me dig for my cooking?”

Without looking back, Oskar replied, “Have you ever built a fire in the sand?”

“Point taken,” Robyn said, squatting down to help.

Down by the water, a brief shriek pierced the air. Pel was clutching her finger, where a tiny crab hung by its pincer. As Nissa ran up to the girl, she stiffened her pouty lower lip and hastily threw her hand behind her back. Unsure of how to address the injured child, Nissa put on a smile. “Good job, Pel, you really almost caught that crab!”

The girl frowned and mumbled, “It got me instead.”

Glancing around at the beach around them, Nissa asked, “Wanna find some more rocks? Sometimes, there are sparkly bits inside.” At this, Pel’s tear streaked cheeks lit up, and she crouched over the lapping waves, fumbling through the sliding sand.

A second later, Nissa held up a spiral-etched stone triumphantly - oddly, it was slightly squishy on the underside. Immediately, a seagull swooped down with a ferocious screech, right at her upraised hand. In her surprise, Nissa popped the odd stone into her mouth, immediately regretting her decision as it began squelching along her tongue. Barely suppressing her urge to retch, Nissa spat the snail back onto her hand and, shuddering, threw it at the seagull. “Ugh… Pel, don’t put these rocks into your mouth.”

Brienne walked back with a bundle of driftwood strapped across her back just as Nissa and Pel were placing the last of their stones around the firepit. Nissa was trying to crack open a clam, for some reason, as Robyn doused the kindling generously from her flask. Brienne raised an eyebrow as Robyn downed the remaining contents, and Oskar muttered a phrase, sending a lick of flame from his outstretched finger to the prepared bonfire.

~~

Back at the campsite, Charlot gathered the other four around him as he unraveled his lavish tent. “Alright, listen up, all. My tent is the most complicated to set up, and there are a few steps that need to be followed…” Over the next five minutes, he laid out how each part of the fabric and wooden poles needed to be arranged.

At first, Melpomene and Loran snickered behind their hands, but Idu rolled his eyes and began setting up another tent. After the first minute, however, Melpomene whispered to Loran, “Wait, is he serious?” When Charlot took a breath, Melpomene stepped forward to cut him off. Loran had already retreated to help Idu with another tent.

“Quite a laundry list of steps you got there, kid,” Melpomene said.

“I’ve found that others follow my instructions best when they know exactly what is required of them,” Charlot responded, brow furrowing as he noticed that Idu and Loran had stepped away to work on other tents. Pock was poking at the Charlot’s laid out construction with interest.

Melpomene wrapped an arm across the boy’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “I’ll bet I can get your friend over there to take care of this tent for you,” she said, nodding in Idu’s direction. “Watch and learn.”

The aasimar sauntered over to the youth, drawing her enchanting magic from the core of her being into her vocal chords. Idu looked up from the partially-constructed tent as she stepped closer. “Greetings, Idu,” she said in Celestial. She had heard the boy talking to his pet snake in Celestial along the journey to the beach. “I saw you working over here and thought I’d check in on you. Wouldn’t want to exclude anyone.” Melpomene gave Idu a knowing wink.

“So you struck up a conversation in a language that only two people speak?” Idu asked, raising an eyebrow.

Melpomene smiled and continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “How’s your snake, Idu?”

“Around my arm,” Idu replied with a deadpan expression - as deadpan as was possible while speaking Celestial, at least. Melpomene’s smile faltered a fraction.

“Why do you both sound like you have windchimes in your mouths?” asked Loran, who had been listening with interest to the strange dialect.

Without missing a beat, Melpomene cried, “Because we do!” and turned around, executing some skillful illusion magic to conjure a windchime dangling from her open mouth. As she waggled her tongue, dainty chimes filled the air. Loran snorted as she held back a laugh, and turned to the next unfinished tent.

Melpomene turned back to Idu. “Where did you learn Celestial?” Each word was layered with complimenting chiming sounds, as she had left the illusory windchime in her mouth.

Idu absently reached for the snake around his upper arm and stroked its head. “You pick up a lot of things on the street.”

Melpomene threw a hand over her mouth in horror. “The street is no place for a young man.”

Idu shrugged. “Didn’t have much of a choice.”

The aasimar placed a hand on his shoulder and fixed him with a patronizing half-smile. “We always have a choice.”

Idu stared up into her luminescent eyes. “I didn’t really have one when my parents died.”

The luminescent eyes grew wider, and the windchime fell out of Melpomene’s open mouth. “Ah. I, uh, one second.” She turned her head away and opened her mouth, creating discordant windchime sounds.

Charlot, who had been trying to follow the foreign conversation through body language alone and wasn’t certain whether Melpomene was propositioning the boy or trying to convince him to get a windchime piercing on his tongue, looked around to find that Pock had been silently constructing the large tent while he had been distracted. It looked better than it ever had when Charlot built it himself. “Tent’s done,” Pock said simply, snapping the last piece into place.

Across the circle of tents, Loran noticed the gnome’s handiwork and called out, “Hey, Pock, if you’re done over there, do you want to come help me with these?”

~~

Isolde had discovered a small delta where seaweed and kelp washed up, and was humming to herself as she gathered bundles into her arms. She gave a gasp as she lifted a strand of seaweed to reveal a green tuberous object in the shallow waters. “A sea cucumber!” she cried triumphantly in her singsong voice.

Nula looked up from the makeshift fishing rod she had been carving. “You really don’t want to eat that,” she warned, knowing she would not be heeded. As the paladin tucked the sea cucumber into her satchel and carried on along her hunt for vegan alternatives, Nula sighed and affixed one of the ubiquitous snails to the end of her line. A few minutes later, Nula was walking back to camp with a pair of large fish hanging from a line.

Uzza and Wun Way walked along the shore together, keeping an eye out for anything edible. “It would be nice to catch some small game,” Uzza remarked, peering into the grasses by the sand.

“You think so?” Wun Way asked, peering up into the sky just in time to see a seagull get hit by a flying snail. A split second later, her hand crossbow was out, and Wun Way’s bolt found its mark. As the seagull fell, Uzza and Wun Way heard a scream from Pel.

Isolde walked by with a pile of kelp and seaweed in her arms and complained, “The bird was only minding its business.”

~~

Back at camp, an elaborate sand castle had been built, which Pel loved. The adventurers milled about and talked, and easy laughter filled the air. For some reason, there were two Idu’s walking around, and whenever one of them opened its mouth, chiming sounds filled the air.

As everyone relaxed, Nissa huddled near where the bags had been deposited. Checking one last time that Brienne was engrossed in one of Robyn’s stories, the gnome reached for a bag and gently opened it. Within, countless plants and plant-parts were stored, from leaves and flowers to roots and stalks, some dried, some still wet, all odorous. Beneath a pile of vines, Nissa finally found a small purse with a handful of coins. After helping herself to a majority of those coins, she gingerly replaced the purse and closed the bag.

The various discussions were interrupted by a call from down the beach. As everyone turned to look, Nula ran up over a dune, carrying an inflated pig’s bladder. The half-orc waved over the rest of the party, and they found an area of relatively flat beach with a rectangle marked in the sand, separated by a net of kelp held up by two long pieces of driftwood.

“I’ve got a pirate game we can play,” she announced proudly. “Volleybladder!”

Most of the group agreed enthusiastically - Ravain sat out the game, looking sullen in the hot sun, while Loran helped Pel build her own sand castle down by the water. Ciri joined Robyn’s crew on one side of the net, while the heroes of Orlane gathered on the other side with the chime-sounding Idu.

Thus began the game. Nissa made an early point, jumping higher than Robyn’s crew would have thought possible to spike the ball down past Robyn. Wun Way followed up with a gentle bump over the net, causing the ball to fall just in front of Robyn’s outstretched arms. Brienne then served into the corner of the court, but it was returned by a quick dive from Isolde. As the ball flew through the air, Nissa jumped as if to spike again, angling her body instead for a longer strike. Idu (on Robyn’s side) noticed the change, however, and was perfectly positioned to return the hit when it came.

As the ball fell to the sand Wun Way sang out a little ditty about large hands and ungainly feet, causing several of her opponents to become disheartened. While they glanced uneasily at their limbs, the offending bard easily slammed the ball into the sand on the other side. In the next play, Nissa fell awkwardly on her ankle, twisting it. The others called to Ravain to relieve her, but the ranger simply shook his head. Instead, Pock knelt beside his fellow gnome and laid his hand on her leg, pressing healing magic into the limb. A moment later, Nissa was hopping up and returning a quick serve.

After a scuffle for the ball as it bounced off the top of the kelp net, both of the Idu’s ended up on Robyn’s side of the court. They locked eyes, and one of them pointed and accused, “Melpomene, get back on your side of the court!”

The other Idu looked bewildered and shook his head. “But I’m Idu! You’re Melpomene!” A short yelling match later, one of the Idu’s stormed back to Brienne’s side, still fuming that he was the real Idu. Teams reformed, the ball was served again.

As the ball fell to Wun Way, she grinned at Nissa and called for her to set up a bump. Charlot, however, noticed the half-elf’s stance and prepared to answer the duplicitous spike. Sure enough, the bard jumped at the last second and hammered the ball down to the beach. Charlot shouted triumphantly as he tensed to dive, when a sickening dread filled his body.

In the middle of the court, Idu was changing. He grew taller, taller even than Brienne, and his scruffy hair flowed out to whip about in the non-existent wind. His skin lightened, then turned a horrible ashen color, and his clothing faded into star-dotted robes. Skeletal wings brightened in a darkening aura around the revealed aasimar, and every one of Robyn’s team dove away from her. With Charlot cowering by the driftwood post, the ball smacked into the sand.

The silence that followed was broken by Nissa shouting, “We won!” as the Idu next to her grumbled, “Told you I was the real Idu.”

As Melpomene ducked under the kelp netting to rejoin her team, she winked at Idu. “I learned some things on the streets, too.”

~~

After the game, the group enjoyed a hearty meal of fish and fowl (Isolde quietly ate her salad of boiled kelp and even ate the sea cucumber as the rest of the group looked on in horror) and then prepared to relax and observe the fabled dance of the aquatic flumphs. In the distance, all along the shore, they saw other groups arriving to the shore and setting up portable seats.

Finally, the indicated hour came, but nothing happened.

“They should be coming out of the sea, right?” Pock asked, glancing behind to the distant trees but still not finding any flumphs.

“I’m gonna kill that Ondabarl!” Nissa erupted, gripping a piece of driftwood. “Making us trek out here for nothing!”

“Let’s go check with the locals,” Brienne offered, nodding to the nearest collection of observers, “see if this is unusual.”

They spoke with a handful of groups, from gatherings of a dozen people to small families of three or four. Everyone they talked to gave the same answer: The flumphs always rose on the last full moon in the season, and they had never known them to be this late. A self-proclaimed flumph expert bent their ears for an extra ten minutes, pontificating on the common theories on why the flumphs rose, to where they drifted off, and for what purpose. When they finally broke free from his lecture, they walked closer to the water, hoping perhaps that they might stumble upon the flumphs waiting somewhere in the waves.

The moon was high and full, and shone brilliantly upon the beach, draping everything in an azure veil. As they searched, they saw a handful of children around Pel’s age shrieking and splashing in the water, the disappointment of the missing flumphs forgotten in the opportunity for late-night fun. Pel began tugging on Loran’s hand and dragging her to the playing children. “I suppose we’ll cover more ground in two groups,” Brienne conceded, and the group split; Robyn’s crew, along with Pel, Loran, Ciri, and Ravain heading further down the beach to the playing children, while Brienne and her team headed back to where rocky outcroppings broke the skyline.

An hour of investigation later, as the damp rocks grew larger, the group heard a child’s cry. Down by the water, a small girl was sobbing, calling for help, crying that her sisters were trapped in the sea caves where they had been playing. There was no time to go back for the others. Brienne asked the little girl to show where this cave was, even as Nissa tried to caution her, and minutes later they arrived to a shallow sea cave, a wide mouthlike opening in the craggy face of an ocean cliff. Within, as their vision adjusted, they could make out a pile of kelp by the entrance and several large rocks strewn throughout the cave.

An older girl, presumably the young girl’s sister, stood by one of those rocks, and her face lit up as she took note of their arrival. “You brought us help!” she cried, clapping her hands together.

“Delicious help!” the pile of kelp replied. It rose on mottled green legs and straightened its horrifying body. The green hag reached out a kelp-wrapped arm, and tendrils of emerald magic drifted across the five adventurers. Each of them stiffened in fear of her terrifying ugliness, and flashbacks of their imprisonment in that awful ritual circle gripped them.

As their hearts began to hammer, the two girls shed off their mortal forms and revealed themselves to be a sea hag and night hag. The sea hag by the rock cackled and cried out, “Swim, my pretties!” Water rose to fill a foot of the cavern, and a trio of giant octopuses swam out from behind the rocks to accost the frightened adventurers.

Wun Way jabbed at the approaching octopuses and concentrated on sending a shockwave of force right in the middle of the group, but as she spoke the incantation, the night hag in their midst let out a piercing laugh, and the words died on the half-elf’s lips.

“Time for a taste of your own medicine,” Melpomene shouted at the green hag, and began muttering silent whispers, which wound their way into the ear of the kelp-clad witch. The hag looked upon the aasimar as she truly was, and gave an angry growl as she began to back away unwillingly.

In her place, the sea hag and her octopuses ran at the group. As tentacles flailed, the sea hag stared into Brienne’s eyes. The fighter felt a repulsion toward the hideous creature, but other than that, nothing happened, and the hag’s hair began roiling in agitation. Pock ran away from the frightening hag, trying to make a break for the rocks, but tentacles wrapped themselves around his short frame and held him fast. 

The sea hag pulled away from the occupied heroes and pointed a finger at Wun Way, chanting a lilting spell. As the last syllable faded, the bard disappeared, and a newt crawled quickly out of the water where she had been standing. As the newt scampered away, the night hag cursed at her sister for “turning the pretty one,” and then lashed out at Melpomene.

With curling tentacles around her, Brienne found no easy way to get at the hags. Instead, she gripped Mjolnir by the base of its handle and spun it once around her head, letting loose at the sea hag. The hammer struck true, and then immediately flew back into Brienne’s waiting hand, where she spun it once more and struck again. Grimacing, the hag continued to keep her eyes on the crawling newt as Nissa’s bolts struck her.

The green hag, from across the room, called out, “Sisters! This will be our greatest feast yet!” There was a pulse in the water, felt against each leg, and then the three hags became invisible. The adventurers continued to scuffle with the many limbs of the octopuses, and all of a sudden Nissa fell to the ground. Brienne called out her name, and the sea hag reappeared near the adventurers, cackling madly. Brienne began to move towards the sea hag when the green witch appeared in the pile of kelp once more and pointed a crooked finger. A bolt of lightning lanced from the finger and struck from Melpomene to Brienne to Pock.

The last hag reappeared by the rocks and opened a palm, sending half a dozen missiles of light arcing through the air towards Brienne. As they shattered against her body, Brienne turned to the nearest octopus and brought her hammer down on its body, sending a violent shiver through its many legs before they settled on the floor of the cave. She then turned to the sea hag and smacked her with a backhand blow, sending her reeling and finally breaking her concentration on the spell. With a popping sound, Wun Way reappeared halfway up the cave wall, and with a swallowed yelp she fell, splashing into the water. She quickly climbed to her feet and dove for Nissa’ body, showering it with healing spells while she whipped out her rapier and skewered one of the octopuses. Melpomene slashed out with her sword and split the final octopus in two.

Pock shrugged off the limp octopus tentacles and darted for the sea hag, bringing his weapon down on the monster. The green hag raised her hand to lay an enchantment on Brienne, but the fighter took the moment of preparation and slammed hard, pulling from the might of the hammer to cast a lightning-wreathed spell around the weapon. As it struck, a loud CLAP reverberated inside the small cave, and shards of rock fell from the ceiling even as the hag fell backwards into the water, dead.

Nissa coughed up seawater as she pulled herself up, but gathered herself quickly and fired off quick shots, one, two, into the torso of the night hag. Pock slammed his weapon into the sea hag’s side as he shouted, “What did you do to the flumphs?!” He did not receive an answer, though, as the witch crumpled under his blow and sank beneath the choppy waters.

The party moved to surround the final hag, but she grinned an awful, pointy smile and lifted a stone in the shape of a heart. As they watched, taken aback, the stone heart appeared to beat once, and then the night hag disappeared.

The cave began to drain, revealing the broken forms of the two hags and three octopuses, and suddenly a popping sound filled the air. Dozens of flumphs materialized, spectral jellyfish-like beings with long eyestalks gently waving above their cores. They floated through the air, crowding around their saviors and passing their eyestalks over them inquisitively. As each second passed, more and more flumphs popped into existence, and soon they were pushed out of the cave and drifted across the lapping waves. As they drifted away, an aura of intense gratitude settled over the party.

Back on the beach, locals and foreigners alike turned awe-filled eyes to the sea, where, inexplicably, the flumphs had returned - later than any year in living memory, but with such an energetic enthusiasm that even the flumph expert was not disappointed. Fathers and mothers brought their children in close, whispering fables and legends of the flumphs or prompting the young ones to wish on the rising flumphs, while others simply sat back, alone or with loved ones, and watched with a viral joy as the undulating flumphs spun and danced around each other, rising ever higher into the moon filled sky. Finally, the highest flumphs reached the apex of their ascent, and in a series of multicolored flashes, they vanished. Over the next half hour, the multitudinous beings continued to rise, bursting out of existence with colorful displays, following each other into whatever realm awaited them, and the night settled into an easy peace.

[impy-d]

(A collaborative work with @chibibiscuit in celebration of @bongoskillz‘s birthday! Happy Birthday, my friend!)

    Nathan peeked around the bend of the tunnel, finding the way opened into a large alcove with a vaulted ceiling. The end of the quest was in sight. Huge, wood and iron doors gave the imposing authority of a fortress impenetrable. They made it this far, they would reach their prize on the other side. A smattering guards were gathered before the gate. Some were playing cards, raucous laughter mixed with cries of anguish, as one of the orcs drew the pile of winnings across the top of the crate that was their makeshift table. The others milled about, their laxity made Nathan’s battle senses itch.

    “What do you see?” a woman’s voice said from behind him.

    “Six. Four orcs, two human.” Nathan ducked back behind the curve of the bend, thankful he trimmed his normal armor to a breastplate, leaving scale armor to cover the rest of his limbs.

    “Do they know we’re coming?”

    “I don’t think so. They’re playing cards. This isn’t what I expected.”

Changing his bastard sword from one hand to the other, he turned to his assembled company.

    “That few?” said Minerva, her hand fidgeting with her mace in thought. She also opted for a breastplate, but leather armor otherwise. This was all covered by her white tabard, spattered in blood, but still held the icon of her deity. Clerics were always a necessity, even if you couldn’t pronounce the name of their patron.

    “Seems well and right to me.” said Otho, the rogue. He was leaning back against the wall of the tunnel, checking his crossbow as casually as if he were asking for another bottle of port. He was the best they could do. He was hired easily enough, he was the only of his kind to take up the advertisement on the tavern job board. He looked bored, despite the trouble they all went through just to get to this point.

    “Oh! Then that’ll make the job so much easier!” Jelenneth said.

    Jel was a strange sort. She was tiefling, a race that Nathan never normally associated himself with, and he had a feeling that Minerva felt much the same. Her horns seemingly swept back as they poked through her long, unbound hair. A long, thick tail emerging from the small of her back. She was very unique, though. She smiled, a lot actually. Her attitude far more carefree than what he had seen of others of her kind. She wore clothes that gave her more of an appearance of an entertainer than a druid as she claimed to be. She was the most eager of the responses to their call for heroes. Despite all that he had known of her race, Nathan felt like having someone like her might actually turn out to be a good thing in the end, and that was when his eyes turned to the man behind her.

    Jorin, their hireling wizard, their true power against the master of this underworld, simply stood. Staff in hand, he leaned upon it with a nonchalance of someone simply shifting his weight. He was old, Nathan knew this by the beard, and wore no armor whatsoever, other than what protection his long robes and pointed hat could defend against. He simply smiled, as if happy to be along for the ride. Maybe it was whatever secrets or powers that men like him kept the world blissfully unaware of, or perhaps it was that Jel was with him. They must have had some kind of past together, for when Jel had brought him to their table at the inn, she spoke wonders of the wizard. To all of this, Jorin simply watched her, and smiled warmly.

    Nathan and Minerva accepted his terms swiftly, finding it far more advantageous and less of a hassle trying to interview whatever wizard schools were nearby and find a suitable candidate that didn’t require a laundry list of strange requests.

    “Ok, so what’s the plan?” Minerva said.

    “Right,” Nathan said, clearing his head. “ So from what I see, word hasn’t traveled down this far of our arrival. We still have the element of surprise.”

    “Unless it’s a trap.” Otho added.

    “I don’t think they’d be that relaxed, even if it was a trap.” Jel said “ Why would there only be six of them if this is the big door the big prize is behind?”

    “You think a dragon needs an army to guard it’s hoard?” Otho’s eyes looked to Jel’s

    “ Listen,” Nathan said, trying to maintain order. “ We can still surprise them, they wouldn’t know how far along we were anyway, so maybe they thought it was safe now. Doesn’t matter. We need to get past.”

    “You and I can provide cover.” Minerva said, raising her shield on her left arm.

    “Right. So from there, we advance. Otho, you and Jel fire at them until we can close the gap. Jorin?”

    The old wizard looked from the bend in the tunnel and to meet Nathan’s gaze.

    “Oh, excuse me a moment.” Jorin said as he casually made his way through the group and toward the bend.

    Nathan was about to stop him, but one glance out of the corner of the wizard’s eye caused him to stall. They all watched, dumbfounded as the wizard simply kept walking, and turned the corner. Correction, everyone but Jel. She clapped her hands with glee and ran up to the bend after the old man.

    “Wha- … “ Nathan said, looking to Minerva, who looked right back at him.

    As one, they all ran to the bend now, watching as Jorin and Jel walked casually toward the guards. They were noticed shortly after, as they all grabbed for weapons, and started walking to them. Jorin stopped, apparently waiting for them. The shouts and taunts of their approaching enemies did little to peterb him. Nathan felt something beneath the sounds of approaching combat, a small, whispering sound. He watched as Jorin reached out with one hand, palm upward, and slowly raised it in the air.

    All six guards began to rise into the air in concert with his hand, looking to each other in stupefaction, then soon began to flail at the air fruitlessly. Upward they rose, shouting curses as closer to the vaulted ceiling they came. With a nod of satisfaction, Jorin turned to Jel, then to the others.

    “This way if you please. Stay close, though. Wouldn’t want you going up there to join them.”

    Jorin began to walk along a circular pathway around a perimeter that only he seemed able to see. Everyone else stuck close behind, adding a little comedy as they seemed to be so close as to resemble a multi legged insect than a hardy band of adventurers.

    They stood before the massive door now, the angry shouts of the guards now far up and beyond their worries. The gate was impressive, massive wooden timbers reinforced by sturdy iron bracing. A large lock sat at their height.

    Otho cracked his knuckles and grinned wolfishly before taking out a set of lock picks, only to be sorely disappointed as Minerva walked forward, braced herself, and pushed at the door open with her shoulder. The metal hinges creaked loudly, echoing in the hall they stood and the space beyond, the smell of ozone and mildew assaulting their noses. Minerva turned to Otho, shrugged, and stepped in.

    Weapons at the ready, the party entered the final chamber. Minerva and Nathan at the lead, with Otho right behind them with his crossbow, and Jel with her scimitar. Jorin casually walked behind them, his staff clicking slightly louder than their boots, ringing out around the vast, cavernous lair. Their way was clear, a long, stone floor with the ruins of columns lining either side. Beyond that the floor dropped out on either side, disappearing into the gloom of the darkness below. This may have been a place of some note in a prior time, but it’s true purpose would never be known. What was known was that at the end of this room, where an altar of worship would be, a very different idol laid.

    The dragon was massive. Far larger than any the company had ever seen. It slept peacefully upon the hoard of treasure beneath it. At the back edges of the hoard stood crystals of great size, lending a glow to the room as well as the treasure with its refracted light from places no one could pinpoint. It was a long walk toward the other end of the great hall, and the party came close to one another, their voices shifted to careful whispers.

    “Ok, we made it… now what?” Minerva said.

    “We slay the dragon.” Nathan said matter of factly.

    “Slay it? You know there’s only five of us, right?” Otho said.

    “What did you think we were going to do?”

    “Rob it! Not try and slay it!”

    “That’s why we brought the wizard. He’ll be doing the heavy lifting, we just have to protect him so he can do what he does, right?”

    They all looked to where they thought the wizard was, only realizing that he was gone. Jel, too, was taken by surprise, and looked up to see Jorin walking just as calmly toward the slumbering dragon as he was with the guards earlier.

    “He’s almost at the dragon!” Jel said, trying to keep her voice down.

    “We have to put a leash on that man…” Minerva said with a grunt of disapproval.

    Jorin ascended the steps approaching the hoard, his gaze first upon the dragon, then the treasure. His eyes darted among the various trinkets and gold scattered beneath and around the beast, a frown hidden beneath his beard. Now dangerously close to the dragon, he raised his staff as it to prod the nose of the beast.

    “No!” Nathan yelled from across the hall, seeing the madness unfold before him.

    With that outburst, the dragon’s eyes groggily opened, grunting as if woken up from a particularly pleasant dream about burning villages or kidnapping princessesses, or whatever it is dragons dream of. Seeing an old wizard near his head was one thing he did not expect, and he rose up to better take in the scene unfolding around him. He was not happy with what he saw. Snarling, flames licked from its mouth and he glared down at Jorin.

    He would have gobbled the man up in one bite if it weren’t for the crossbow bolt that lodged itself near his eye.

    Roaring in pain, his attention shifted to where the attack came from, seeing a very nervous rogue, but was drawn to the three other figures quickly running at him. They all bellowed a loud warcry as they charged, which amused the dragon. The dragon drew in a deep breath, preparing to roast the intruders with its breath, but this time a large explosion ignited near his other eye, causing the breath to get caught and cough out the deadly gouts of flame skyward.

    “I’m still here!” Jorin called from the ground once again, only now he held a jewel within his hand. His face twisted into a wicked grin.

    “Now for a little fun.” the wizard said as he pointed the stone toward his allies.

    The trio of charging heroes continued to run to the wizard’s aid, all plans by now having been cast to the wind. Nathan noticed that Jorin was pointing at them, having distracted the dragon’s attention back toward him. He doubled his efforts. They all heard the wizard’s voice now, chanting, the stone in his hand glowing dangerously bright. So bright, in fact, that Nathan failed to notice the fungus he had just slipped on and rather unheroically fell on his face. Jel, the closest to him,  down to help him up. By then, the chanting had reached its crescendo.

    A beam of purple light fired toward the pair, Miranda whipping around to watch the beam pass her by. Jorin, having only now turned to watch his work, realized his miscalculation.

    “Oh dear.”

    Jel looked up in time to receive the full blast of the spell, bathing the cavern in its fluorescence. She watched as the floor, and her comrades began to get smaller and smaller before her eyes, until her horns connected hard with the roof of the cavern. Shouting in pain, she knelt forward, but still felt the room get smaller and smaller around her. The others disappearing beneath her, and Jorin, the hoard, and the dragon himself were now quite small compared to her. She felt her back and sides penned in, and could even feel her tail touching near the entrance.

    Her tail!

    Thinking quickly, she felt that her tail had enough room to move, and soon she had it wrapped around the now very surprised dragon, hefting him into the air, restrained and dumbfounded.

    “Well that wasn’t what I had planned… but this worked out marvelously!” Jorin said from the daius, examining the stone in his hand with excitement.

    “What happened to me?!” Jel said, looking to the wizard no bigger than her thumb.

    “I was going to cast an ‘Enlarge Person’ spell on our dear Nathan. The power of this stone would magnify the spell and make him large enough to take on the dragon, but I didn’t know it would have an even more effective use on you!”

    “Nathan… where is..” she blinked, her face changed to a mask of shock as she peered down to the floor, scanning the ground. Minerva and Nathan stood, gawking at her, from between her knees. Otho came running up, having narrowly avoided a giant boot coming his way, and joined them, unable to believe what just happened.

    “Well, now that’s in order, all we need to do now is simply put the treasure into your pockets and get out of here.” Jorin said with a grin.

    “That’s fine and all,” Jel said, looking back to Jorin, but raised a finger to prod the tiny man. “ but how am I going to get out like this?”

    “One thing at a time, my dear Jel. Let’s get to work on this treasure before our dragon friend finds a way to escape.”

    Jorin pocketed the stone and gestured to the three other adventurers.

    “Come along, we can’t be all day.”

    With their help, Jel was able to scoop large handfuls of the treasure into her hands, placing it into her pockets, while the others gathered the smaller amounts and made sure nothing was left. The gate opened behind Jel, and the guards entered, but seeing that all they saw was the backside and bootsoles of a very large tiefling, they carefully closed the door and sought more gainful employment elsewhere, far elsewhere. Jel turned her attention back to Jorin, her eyes expectant.

    “Well?”

    “At this point, all you need to do is stand up.”

    “What?!”

    “Your strength increased as your size increased. Given your size, I am quite sure we could punch through the ceiling and be out of this in no time. Though I think that we may need someplace to travel with you, in case the cave collapses…”   

    “Wait, did you say ‘collapses’?!” Othrim said

    “Not at all!”

    “Here,” Jel said, lowering her hand to the ground. “I’ll put you all in another pocket, I promise I’ll be gentle.”

    The smile she gave wasn’t much of a comfort, but it was far better odds than standing at her feet. After tucking them carefully into an empty pocket, she pressed her shoulders against the roof of the cavern. She took a deep breath and pressed upward. Feeling the ceiling give some under her strength. She pressed again, harder, trying to move her way to a kneel, nothing was coming. Her concentration elsewhere, the dragon felt the giant tiefling’s tail slacken and he was able to slither out. Given the situation, he decided that it would be better to collect a new hoard. He opened his wings and flew into the darkness over the side of the floor.

    She felt the ceiling giving way, but she felt no closer to her goal than she was before. The thought of being buried alive briefly frightened her, but it also increased her resolve to get her comrades -her new friends- to safety. Gritting her teeth, she dug deeply into her reserves of strength, and gave a loud yell as she felt the ceiling part above her, and her head surging upwards through the earth.

    A lone farmer was tending to his field. Summer had already come, and he was tending to the crops, checking for crows or any other parasite looking for a free meal. The ground began to shake. A low rumble at first, but growing in intensity. Part of the ground began to shift before him, and he fell backward, witnessing the sight of a massive, horned, purple-blue head sprouting from the ground, taking in a large gasp of air. He was speechless as he watched the head look around, then down at him, a slight blush on its cheeks.

    “Uh… hello…” Jel said.

[youhearstatic]

it’s not a super specific prompt but just some good ole fashioned blupjeans mutual pining? that’s my SHIT

(Hey! How about a good old fashioned mutual pining trope? I’ve never tried this one! See if you can name that trope before it happens… Also, look, uh, this one gets long as hell. 4500 words long, yo. Please, please give me some reblogs on this monster, okay? Do it for the blups.)

They can and have done a lot of things to claim the light of creation in the last thirty eight cycles. They’d fought dragons and demons and religious cultists. They’d set up farms and rebuilt towns and searched for an animal thought extinct.

They couldn’t do much when it sank to the bottom of an ocean though.

It wasn’t even a good ocean like the one on the Beach World. This was a cold, merciless ocean. The Starblaster hovered over the spot where they were certain it landed for a few days, trying to think of any way to recover the light from beneath the water.

Finally they have to admit defeat. They will spend the year learning what they can of the world so they can record its stories.

Merle disappears into parley and the other six of them discuss their options. They’ll go in shifts, keeping two close to the ship and trade off with the other two pairs.

Lucretia wants to talk to residents the many port towns they’ve seen here and learn as many stories as she can. Taako wants to find new cooking supplies that will build up their stockpile. They decide their goals overlap well enough they’ll stick together.

Magnus and Davenport decide to focus on the Brigade outpost. The two of them hope to study military strategies and find training opportunities.

Barry and Lup will learn what they can of the science and magic of this world. During their expedition they will focus their time at the largest city they’ve found.

(Lots more after the readmore, apologies if you’re on mobile! This is also your last chance to guess that trope!)

In their first foray into the city they focus their time on the large temple. The clerics there are collectors of knowledge. They are happy to let them study in their massive library in exchange for a donation and attendance at their services. It’s more than a fair price.

The problem is that their visit coincides with the biggest religious ceremony the temple hosts. People from all over make the pilgrimage to the city for the event. Finding a place to stay for their expedition is difficult. They are lucky to overpay enormously in exchange for a single attic room in a small inn.

“We should have just called back to the ship and switched off,” Barry points out. “Dav and Magnus wouldn’t have cared.”

“No, but I’m ready for some not-Starblaster time, aren’t you?” Lup asks as they climb the stairs.

Then she opens the door to the attic room - a door that is in fact more access hatch than door. Lup nearly closes it and agrees to return to the ship. Only extreme stubbornness and the fact that she’s literally just said she didn’t want to go back to the Starblaster makes her enter the room.

The room is a room in name only. In reality it’s a space between beams. There is a narrow path of space where they can stand up before the roof slants down towards the bare wood floor on two sides of the room. A lone bed is at one end of the narrow space and a water pitcher and wash basin on a stand at the other end, with the access hatch door in the center.

She clears the entry so Barry can come in. “See,” she says, “if we’d gone back to the ship you would have missed these glorious accommodations.” She turns and drops her bag on the floor. “What a shithole.”

“Do you want to go back to the Starblaster?” he asks quietly.

Lup shakes her head. “It’s fine. We can head back in the morning.”

“Okay,” Barry answers.

He takes a step towards the end of the room with the wash basin and drops his bag on the floor. He pulls off his red IPRE robe and blankets it out on the floor by his bag.

Lup asks, “What are you doing?”

Barry bends to pull off his heavy boots but not before she catches his face turning scarlet. “I’ll sleep over here,” he answers, carefully lining up his boots next the wall to avoid meeting her eye. “You take the bed.”

“Barold.”

“It’s, uh, it’s fine, Lup. I don’t mind.”

Lup comes over and pulls at his sleeve. “Come on, Barry. We can share the bed. You don’t have to sleep in the floor.”

“Lup, really, I don’t…”

“Barry. Come on. I’m not having you sleep on the floor. And I’m not sleeping in the floor either. So, let’s just…” she lets go of his shirt and gestures both hands towards the bed impatiently.

For a long moment he just stands there then he picks up his robe, shakes it out, and walks over to the bed.

“Do you have a side preference?” he asks quietly.

“Barry,” Lup says, sounding exhausted, “I could not possibly give less of a shit.”

He crosses to the far side of the bed, bending over to avoid knocking his head on the slanted roof.

Lup squats by her bag to rummage through it for clothes to sleep in. She pulls out an old tank top and a pair of shorts. When she looks up she sees Barry has flipped the blanket back. It sits on the side of the bed he’s left for her. He’s got his robe thrown over him like a blanket. And he’s wearing his pants.

“Barold Jarold Sildar Hallwinter Bluejeans Starblaster, do you sleep in your bluejeans?” Lup asks, horrified.

“Just for tonight,” he responds.

“What?” Lup asks. “Oh, come on. Are you so embarrassed to change that you’re going to sleep in your jeans?”

“It’s fine,” he insists, turning on his side to face the wall.

Lup rolls her eyes as she pulls her shirt over her head. She knows he won’t turn around but she doesn’t actually care if he does. She almost wishes he would. Maybe then something would happen without them having to talk about it.

They’d have to talk about it, though. She doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s all too complicated. They work together. They live together. They literally can’t get away from each other. It’s too much to risk.

Isn’t it?

She throws her shirt on top of her bag and pulls the tank top on. Unhooking her bra, she’s shrugging her arms free while keeping the tank top on before she stops to wonder if she should leave it on. Barold is in jeans and she’s taking her bra off?

Fuck it, the answer is not for her to be less comfortable.

“Get your jeans off,” she tells him as she pulls her own pants off. “Knowing you are trying to sleep in jeans is giving me hives or something.” Once her pants have landed on top of her bag with her shirt she grabs the shorts from the bed and slips them on.

Lup climbs onto the bed on her knees and begins poking Barry in the back. “Come on. Seriously. Sleeping in jeans? I’ll give you they’re useful the rest of the time but sleeping, Barry? No.”

“It’s one night, Lup,” he grumbles but he’s getting up. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

She’s tempted to watch but doesn’t, turning to give him the same privacy he afforded her. She already knows he wears boxers. They’ve all seen each other’s laundry enough to know every article of clothing by heart. He has navy blue ones, two different types of plaids, and red ones with white hearts that she’s wanted to ask about for years now. Something about them screams Valentine’s Gift Set and she wants to know the story. Were they a serious gift? A gag gift? Did he get his heart broken? Was he…

Lup’s heart  stutters wildly for a few beats. Was he in a relationship when they left? It’s been decades and any relationship would clearly be in the past what with all the time that has passed and the fact that the Hunger devoured their home world. But it makes her skin feel too tight to think about it. It makes the blanket touching her skin feel hot and made of sandpaper. He’s never said anything about someone he left behind but Barry can be so quiet about things. That’s a great quality if he’s keeping a confidence you don’t want shared but when you’re worried he’s mourning a great lost love the trait is frustrating.

The bed gives as he sits back down and suddenly the boxers are all she can think about. If Barry Bluejeans is settling into bed beside her in boxers given to him by a lover that was eaten by the Hunger she won’t be able to stand it. She’ll have to get up and march her way out of the city back to the Starblaster.

Lup flops over onto her back and peeks. She sees red. And hearts. Fuck. She flicks her hand at the single light overhead and plunges the room into darkness. It doesn’t help. Her darkvision takes over and the stupid boxers are burned into her brain anyway.

He pulls his IPRE robe over himself like a blanket and arranges himself facing the wall.

Lup squeezes her eyes shut. Her fists are tight at her side. She has a few options here.

One, put this horrible thought out of her head and go to sleep. Her fingernails bite into her palms. That one’s not going to happen.

Two, get up and go back to the Starblaster. But then she’d have to come up with an excuse and she’s absolutely blank for even the most transparent explanation.

Three, ask him. No, she’s not going to ask him if he’s wearing the gift from some tragically stolen lover. That is absolutely not a thing she’s going to…

“What’s with the most cliche pair of boxers ever, Barry?”

Barry tenses beside her and she braces for his stuttered explanation. Shit, she’s still going to have to come up with that excuse to head back to the ship, isn’t she?

“They’re…,” Barry begins, “they were…” His voice is a husky whisper beside her in the darkness. He curls in on himself, pulling his shoulders in tight and she feels so much worse now. She could have kept her bad feelings to herself but no, she’s reminded him now too. Brilliant, just brilliant.

“I’m sorry,” she says honestly. “It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me. None of my business.”

“It’s okay,” he says and his voice has that quality she recognizes so well. That something that says he’s pushing himself and it makes her weirdly proud to hear it. He’s changed so much from those first cycles. He’s stronger and more self assured and he forces himself to stand up to challenges in a deliberate way that makes her feel fiercely protective.

“You, uh, you know those, those like, uh, gift sets? For Valentine’s Day?” he asks and she can practically hear the color in his cheeks as he speaks.

She forces out a noise of affirmative understanding.

“Well, uh, the, um, the boxers, uh,” he’s stammering over the words with such difficulty her heart hurts again. “They, uh, they came with… you know those… What do they call them? The, uh, the candy with the cashews and caramel and…” he goes quiet. “I guess it doesn’t matter,” he apologizes.

“Turtles.” she supplies in the middle of his apology.

“Yes!” he answers and the change in his voice is clear even in the single syllable.

“It was, uh, a whole box of turtles. Not the, um, assorted stuff like Valentine’s candy usually has. You know, with all the, uh, all the weird flavors no one likes.”

“Those are good,” she agrees quietly. “The turtles, I mean. The other ones, yeah, usually half of them are disgusting.”

“So I bought ‘em. I, uh, wasn’t going to…” he stops because Lup is laughing. “What?” he asks.

She can’t answer him. The whole bed is shaking from the force of her laughter.

He turns over onto his back so he can look at her though he can’t see much in the dark. “What?” he asks again.

Lup still can’t give him words. She sits up and leans towards her knees, wiping her eyes. She’d completely tied herself in knots about some phantom love and it was just about Barry wanting chocolate.

“They’re,” she manages before her composure slips away again. She wipes tears from her eyes, feeling relieved and ridiculous and boy, that really is a lot of relief, she’s swimming in it. 

“Sorry,” she tells him once she can handle speaking. “I don’t know, it just,” she laughs again, “just hit me funny, I guess.”

She lays back down and turns to face him. He turns his head towards her but she can tell that between the dark and his lack of glasses, he’s not seeing much. His face has that soft look he gets when he can’t see what’s going on. She wants to put her hand on his cheek so much it’s nearly a physical pain. She winds her fingers in the blanket to keep the hand in check.

His eyes dart over her face, trying to sort out details in the darkness and the blur but he gives up and turns to look at the ceiling. “I wasn’t going to keep them but then they fit and they were pretty comfortable,” he says, the words flowing out in a rush. “Now I get a new pair every year thanks to the bond engine,” he adds. “If I’d known, uh, I would have picked something more reasonable.”

“Nah,” she says, “they’re great.”

He can hear the smile in her voice and it’s nice. It doesn’t feel like she’s laughing at him. He doesn’t know what she’s amused by but it’s not the bad feeling of missing a joke or worse, being the joke. This feels comfortable and nice. “Thanks,” he says, unsure what else to say to that comment.

“I’m sorry I laughed,” she tells him and that smile he sensed before feels absent now. She’s being sincere.

“It’s okay,” he assures her. “I, uh, I’m glad it was funny, I guess.” He wants to tell her that he likes her laugh. He could probably say it any other time and it wouldn’t be that weird. But now, in the dark, in a shared bed, with the feeling of her eyes on him, he can’t make the words come out. The comment feels too intimate in these circumstances.

He yawns and pulls his robe up to his chin. As soon as he does that his legs are cold. There had been some benefit to sleeping in jeans, after all.

“Here,” she tells him, flipping the blanket out to cover his chest.

“Oh, that’s, uh,” he begins to protest. “You don’t have to…”

“Shhh, Barry,” she interrupts. She kicks her foot against the bottom of the blanket to spread it over his lower half. When she lowers her leg it brushes against his. The accidental touch of bare legs freezes both of them in place.

“Guess, uh, guess we should, um…” Barry says in that quiet, husky whisper that nearly makes her shiver.

“Get some sleep,” she finishes abruptly, needing to distract herself from the rumble of his gravelly voice and her awareness of his body beside her. “Yup, we should, uh, do that,” she agrees. She’d felt bad he was cold with his robe as a blanket but now she’s hyper aware that their mostly bare skin is separated by nothing but a handsbreadth of space.

Lup turns over onto her back and stares at the ceiling above. She can’t believe she’s gotten herself into this situation. She had not just willingly walked into a one bed situation but insisted they stay when he offered they return to the ship. When had she turned into a masochist? Her awareness of Barry Bluejeans is not a surprise. She’s caught herself looking at him or thinking about him or assembling lists of reasons both to grab him and kiss him and reasons to absolutely not do that.

Barry is too nervous to move. That brief touch of their legs has short circuited his system in a way he’s vaguely ashamed of. It was nothing and he’s laying here unable to think of anything else as if he were a school boy who just found his dad’s dirty magazines. Not that Barry ever experienced that situation since his dad died before he was born.

He’s too hot now under the blanket and robe combination so he pulls the robe out and drops it to the floor beside the bed. She hadn’t insisted he take off his shirt and now his fingers toy with a button, needing something to fidget with.

When Barry shifts, Lup glances his way again. She catches a flash of his robe in the darkness after he frees it from the blanket. He drops it to the floor and she remembers his intent to sleep on the floor. Who else would have even done that? Davenport, maybe. Only Barry would immediately assume it, though.

“Hey,” she says, as a wave of affection washes over her. “Thanks.” She slides her hand over and finds his arm, traces up to where it rests on his chest and takes his hand. She curls her fingers into his and leaves her hand lying there on his chest. The impulse had gotten away from her but she’s determined to be nonchalant about it.

“Thanks?” he asks, his fingers twitching briefly before settling with hers.

“Yeah,” she says. “Thanks. I know I’m bossy sometimes. The room, the pants…” she rubs her thumb along the edge of his hand then stops herself. “So thanks for rolling with that, I guess.”

“Oh,” he says. “Sure. Um, I mean, you’re welcome?” He squeezes her fingers then relaxes. “It, uh, doesn’t bother me. You just know what you want,” he tells her. His words are slow and thoughtful. “That’s a good way to be.”

Lup can’t respond to that. Right now ‘what she wants’ is to pull his hand and the rest of him close and snuggle into his warmth, feel his skin pressed against hers, maybe find his mouth with hers and… she cuts off the line of thought before it goes more out of control.

“Do you think that temple has anything that will help us?” he asks.

It takes a moment to pull her mind onto the topic after the track it had taken. “Oh, uh, yeah, hope so.”

She manages to fill her head with the mission that brought them here. Or at least she keeps it focused on that enough to distract herself from thoughts of Barry Bluejeans beside her in red boxers with little hearts on them. Red boxers that he got free with a box of candy and now gets yearly from the bond engine.

They talk quietly about the plan for the next day. They’ll look around the temple’s libraries enough to decide if it’s worth a return trip then head out of the city to meet up with Davenport and Magnus on the ship. They’ll trade turns and come back later if the temple has anything worth coming back for. If not, they can pick a new target for their next attempt.

Barry’s words are getting softer and less frequent. Lup’s fingers are still twined with his and neither of them are discussing this fact nor moving to reclaim their hands. He wishes he could stay awake and appreciate the feeling but sleep is definitely getting its hooks into him.

Lup hears his words falter for the final time and then transform into gentle snores. Her arm is still resting on his chest and she should take it back. She tells herself to pull her hand back and turn over, go to sleep, wake up in the morning, pretend none of this happened. But she feels warm and happy in this moment and sees little reason to push the feeling away.

Now that her worry about the source of his red and white heart underwear has been solved she feels silly for the fear. She knows he’s looked at her the same way she’s looked at him. Taako has hinted again and again that she should go for it and he’d never encourage something if he thought it would end badly for her.

But the worry of what could go wrong remains. And the worry of someone like him - good and kind and ever thoughtful of other people’s feelings - and someone like her - headstrong and impatient and not good at the give and take relationships seem to require - is another thing she can’t quite let go of.

Like Barry’s hand, she realizes.

Lup forces her fingers to untangle from his. He tightens his grip for a moment in his sleep but then lets her slip free. Her hand feels wrong now after the rightness of being caught with his. She crosses her arms over her belly and hugs herself. Her warm and happy feeling has disappeared.

She turns over to face away from him and pulls her legs up, curling in to comfort herself. Something is going to have to change soon. She has to give up fighting this feeling or get much better at the battle. She can’t remain neutral much longer, pretending her feelings don’t exist.

Trying to relax and distract herself for sleep, Lup begins running through recipes in her head. She wonders if she could find the ingredients to make turtles in this city. Just because he’s gotten her thinking of them, though. That’s all.

—

Barry wakes with a start. It takes him a moment to realize what pulled him out of sleep. The room is still dark and his eyes can’t make out much beyond the pale, blurry square of moonlight at the far end of the room where the uncurtained window shows the sky. Not the Starblaster, he realizes, then instantly it comes back to him where he is, just as Lup cries out again.

“Barry! Please!” her voice is low and she sounds almost anguished.

“Lup,” he says, gently touching her arm. “You’re having a nightmare, it’s okay.”

She opens her eyes and he can see the light caught there. In her eyes, light blazes at him so much stronger than the pale glow at the window. “Barry?” she asks, confused.

“You were having a nightmare,” he repeats.

Her eyes go so wide it’s clear even to his terrible human vision. “What did, uh, what did you hear?”

“Nothing really,” he says. “You just, uh, you seemed… upset?” he turns the word up at the end into a question, suddenly unsure what he had heard.

“Oh, uh, okay,” she says hesitantly and swallows. “Thanks,” she says and turns on her side, pulling the blanket around her.

Her breathing is fast and he’s worried. She clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, though. Had she said his name or did he imagine that part? He tries to turn back to face the wall but the blanket is pulled too far towards her side now.

Barry is still for a while, trying to decide between reaching down for his robe in the floor and disturbing her with the movements of the bed. Finally he realizes her breathing has slowed down enough she might be asleep. Slowly, carefully, he shifts himself closer to the edge of the bed, trying to reach down to fumble his hand on the floor, feeling for his IPRE robe. He’s just felt the edge of it when Lup’s arm finds his midsection, her fingers pulling him towards her.

“Lup?” he asks in a voice that’s barely a whisper.

She doesn’t respond, just moves closer, her arm around him as she presses herself tightly to him.

He’s certain she must be unaware. Maybe in her sleep she thinks she’s pulling closer to Taako. He’s not sure what to do but he’s reluctant to disturb her after her dream. Finally, he gives up on the robe and pulls his arm back up to wrap around hers. It’s not a bad position, he decides. He can probably sleep like this.

Lup has forced her breathing to slow and her body to calm itself. He’d thought she was having a nightmare? She doesn’t know what he’d heard but she’s relieved he came to that conclusion, however incorrect it might be. It had definitely not been a nightmare.

When he shifts towards the edge of the bed, Lup became positive he was trying to slip out. He’s probably trying to get away and sleep in the floor like he’d originally intended. Before she can fight the impulse, she’s reaching for him.

He says her name and she bites her lip to keep from answering. Maybe he’ll think she’s asleep. She lets the instinct take over long enough to snuggle up next to him. After a moment he puts his arm with hers and she really relaxes. She’d like to return to her dream but the feeling of his fingers on her arm is good enough.

They both slide slowly back into sleep, pulling closer to each other unconsciously.

—

When Barry wakes up they are facing, their arms wrapped around each other. Her head is tucked down towards his chest and his face is in her hair. There’s none of his middle of the night confusion. When he wakes up this time he knows exactly where he is and what is going on. But he doesn’t move. In this moment, there isn’t a force in the multiverse that could make him.

He’s been in love with her for so long now. Remembering anything before this feeling filled his chest is like remembering being an infant. He’s sure it happened, sure it was a part of his life, but it’s impossible to imagine. Barry feels tears sting his eyes because this moment can’t last. She’ll wake up and laugh at the awkwardness and they’ll go about their day and this will never happen again.

He drops a kiss in her hair and forces himself to take his arm back, sit up, move away from her. Only the thought of her laughing at their position can make him do it. If she treated it like a joke he might break, literally shatter into pieces. Maybe that’s melodramatic but it feels absolutely true.

Lup forces herself to let him slide free. She’s been awake for long enough to see the room brighten around her. She’s been awake long enough to know she doesn’t want to move, possibly ever.

She’s been awake long enough to feel him wake up. She’s been awake long enough to feel a cold dread, knowing he will get up and this moment she’s been clinging to will end. 

She’s been awake long enough to feel the kiss he presses into her hair.

She’s been awake long enough to know she’s lost this war against herself.

She’s been awake long enough to know this is where she belongs.

She’s not going to fight it anymore. She’s not going to try to keep their orbits apart any longer.

Sometime - sometime soon she thinks - they will crash into one another and this will be how she wakes up every morning. It’s inevitable.

And then they won’t let go.

[charleymountbatten]

The Wild Geese

If you travel to the sleepy little farming village in North Gil-Ithien even today, almost all of the older people will be eager to tell you about what it was like to grow up alongside Alistair Mountbatten. They’ll tell you how they always knew the lad was special. He was the son of the village’s only bard, so it was no surprise that even as a boy he always wandered about with a song on his lips and a dreamlike expression on his face. They remember how he grew up to be tall and a little gangly, with sad eyes and dark, curly hair he wore down to his shoulders. He was terribly charming, they say, even bewitching. It wouldn’t be unrealistic to suppose that much of the older generation is still a little in love with him, even now.

There is one person from the village who never speaks of him, though. This reclusive druid woman who lives alone in the wood cannot even stand to hear his name. As a young woman of eighteen, it had been she, Caitriona, who had given birth to the world-famous bard, Persephone Mountbatten. For a couple of weeks after the birth, Caitriona suffered in a deep depression, unable to comb her hair or even to get out of bed. She cried much and slept little, while Alistair tried and failed to understand. Only sometimes, she felt close enough to her newborn daughter to hold her and dote on her, but these moments were few and fleeting. One night, she told Alistair through her tears that she didn’t want to be a mother. She wasn’t ready, and she didn’t think she was able.

“I think I am,” the twenty-year-old Alistair said softly. These were words she never forgot.

In the morning, Alistair left. The village still remembers watching the young bard heading out to seek his fortune as a traveling performer, with his instruments on his back and his baby in his arms. Caitriona never saw either of them again.

She moved to the wood because she grew tired of giving the same tight-lipped smile every time Mountbatten news made its way back to town. Alistair the talk of North Gil-Ithien, Alistair dying of his excess, Persephone making a name for herself and becoming the talk of all Pellanophia, Persephone’s fairy tale romance with the heir of Carcarron, and, finally, Persephone putting herself between her son and a dragon. Caitriona didn’t particularly enjoy hearing any of it. After Alistair died, Caitriona wrote to her daughter for the first time, trying to explain herself and offering the love of the mother she was now ready and willing to be. For years, she wrote to Persephone, but no reply ever came. She didn’t know if the letters got lost in transit, or if Persephone was returning the favor by not wanting her.

The latter option was more likely. From the first weeks of Persephone’s life onward, she and her father were a world of two. Being together was as natural as breathing: myfatherandi, my daughterandi, myfatherandi, mydaughterandi. With no permanent home, they took up residence in little inns and taverns throughout North Gil-Ithien, with Alistair busking on street corners and playing late into the night in the taverns to make enough money for them to live upon. Exhausted from performing, Alistair would always come back to their rented room with a smile and never failed to play her a lullaby. Unsurprisingly, Persephone was learning the craft from the moment she could hold her father’s mandolin. She may have been poor and relatively friendless, but at least she had her precocious wit and her musical talent. She didn’t know anything different. Years later, a journalist for one of the Carcarron newspapers interviewed Persephone as she prepared for her wedding. The journalist remarked, “Your story is truly amazing. You had nothing as a child and now you’re marrying a former Lord of Carcarron.”

Persephone flashed her winning smile and shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. As long as my father and I were together, we had everything.”

Alistair’s big break came when he started putting the concerns of the common people to music. He sang about corruption, greed, and injustice, calling out nobles and politicians who wronged and robbed the people. He wrote satirical ditties and revolutionary anthems, all of which caught on like wildfire. Alistair made many powerful enemies this way, but he believed in what he was singing, and his audiences clamored for more. They wanted a hero who challenged the big people and lifted up the little people. Alistair was happy to fill that role. Fame, even on the minor, regional level that Alistair attained, took some getting used to. It was strange to be recognized as he entered a town he had never visited before, and even stranger to be cheered as soon as he entered a tavern with his instruments, before he played even a single note. Before long, he was getting requests for autographs. Even at a trading outpost in the middle of nowhere, he was stopped by a man with a pen and a piece of paper. The man explained that he had missed his wife’s birthday because of his work and that a note from him would be everything he needed to make it up to her.

“For Marianne- Your Alven-with-an-E really loves you. Hold onto this one. Happy belated birthday, from Alistair Mountbatten”

His songs are still sung, you know. The harmless ones are still favorites in the taverns of North Gil-Ithien, while the dangerous ones live on in furtive whispers. His enigmatic stage presence is still a point of discussion, as people who saw him perform try to describe what his voice sounded like—deep and soulful, maybe a little husky. They remember his long hair, his colorful scarves, and his mandolin emblazoned with the controversial message, “This Machine Kills Monarchists”. They remember how his entire body moved with the music, rocking with pleasure and shaking with anger. “His career was far too short,” they say, “But he was a legend.”

Persephone would explain later that, for all his bravado onstage, he was a much more delicate soul than he let on. Death threats from nobles and the strains of a rigorous performing schedule took their toll on Alistair, and he struggled to withstand the pressure. When Persephone was about ten, Alistair started to spend more and more time in a state of intoxication. As she was now old enough to take care of herself for an evening, Alistair began living up to a certain bard stereotype and falling into bed with any man or woman who would have him. It was as though he was searching for something he was missing, but Persephone doubted that he ever found it.

When she was thirteen, Persephone joined her father’s act, and her solo numbers and their duets were a much-loved highlight of Alistair’s later performances. The same witnesses from North Gil-Ithien who remember Alistair also claim that they predicted what Persephone Mountbatten would become, even as a young girl. However, as the Mountbattens knew all too well, a bard’s life comes with occupational hazards. As her father slipped further into his vices, his gaze became less watchful over her. Persephone was very young when she first performed, but she was far too young when she had her first taste of strong drink and when she first felt a man’s hands on her. Alistair never knew, as he was increasingly absent in some fashion or another. In her adolescence, Persephone’s nightly ritual shifted and she sang her father’s lullabies to herself.

When she was seventeen, Persephone and her father arrived in North Gil-Ithien’s largest city to play the tavern circuit there. This city was under the purview of a particularly nasty and corrupt lord, and Alistair brought down the house night after night with his harsh musical critiques. People remember these final performances of Alistair Mountbatten as some of his best. One morning, Alistair did not come downstairs for breakfast, which was normal after a hard night. When he did not come down for lunch, Persephone decided to go up and check on him. The door was open a crack, which seemed rather odd, and she headed in. Alistair was still in bed, and he did not stir when the door hinges creaked, even though he was a light sleeper. There were wine bottles all over the floor, and the little bottles of illicit potions on top of the dresser were all empty. She crouched down by her father’s side and told him to wake up and get lunch. He did not move. She rested her hand on top of his, with the intention of shaking him awake, but she recoiled in horror. It was ice cold. Panicked and saying his name over and over, she felt for a pulse to no avail and searched his face for any sign of movement or breath. Nothing. Nothing but the smell of bitter almonds on his lips.

Persephone ran for the nearest cleric, and she spent every piece of gold they had on a diamond for resurrection magic. The spell didn’t take. As the cleric explained to a distraught Persephone, resurrection only works if the soul is free and willing to return. “Perhaps he isn’t unwilling to be gone.”

That was a difficult thing for Persephone to hear. Her father was self-destructive and courted danger with his music, but it had never occurred to her that he ever, even latently, wanted to die. She never thought he would be willing to leave her. But he was.

The city coroner spent all of five minutes looking at the body before he determined that Alistair’s cause of death had been an accidental overdose. Persephone shook her head. “Sir, he knew how much he could safely take. He wouldn’t make that mistake accidentally. Please, could you check for poison? I smelled almonds on him. That’s cyanide, isn’t it?”

With a portrait of the lord of the city looming even in the mortuary, the coroner pointedly repeated his ruling. “Accidental. Overdose.” His tone suggested that she was not to ask again.

Persephone spent the last money in her purse sending her father to a pauper’s grave. She buried him with his iconic mandolin in his hands and left him beneath a simple wooden marker with the inscription, “Alistair Mountbatten. Aged 37 yrs.”

Alone and penniless, Persephone took to the streets, playing on street corners and in taverns, as her father had when she was very young, just to survive. Within a few years, though, she was playing for kings and lords all over Pellanophia. She felt guilty when she played for the very people her father detested, but the money was very, very good. She never stopped wondering what her father would think, especially when she fell in love with Orpheus Ellingworth. The young nobleman spoiled her with jewels and silk dresses and commissioned the renowned artist Quarion Greenbrush to paint her. When she looked in the mirror, Persephone didn’t know if her father would recognize her anymore. She did everything in her power to hold onto him: she kept playing his music and even named her first child Charlemagne Alistair Mountbatten. Still, it never felt like enough.

Her father weighing heavily on her mind, she purchased a plot in Carcarron’s central cemetery, just across the path from the Ellingworth tombs. Making the long journey back to the city where her father died, she hired the same gravedigger to help her find his resting place. Though the inscription on the plank had long since faded, Persephone and the gravedigger both remembered the spot. How could she forget? When the gravedigger’s crew pulled the pine box out of the ground, Persephone turned away and closed her eyes, a perfumed handkerchief held to her mouth and nose. “Is it him?” she asked when she heard them open the casket.

“Aye. He’s got the mandolin.”

Persephone worried that Alistair would hate what she had done. She could hear his voice in her mind, saying, “The Ellingworth family are some of the lowest, meanest scum that ever called themselves nobles. To be buried within spitting distance of them?” Then again, perhaps he’d enjoy the good distance for spitting. The voice in her imagination continued, “Well, I imagine it would be a hell of a lot worse for them to be across from me. Oh, how they’d hate it…” She decided to settle upon the idea of dealing her husband’s monstrous family a classic Mountbattenesque insult. Alistair would be a check on the awful Ellingworths for all time.

There is another positive aspect of Persephone’s choice. It was something she desperately wanted, but not something she expected to happen so soon. Since the day the dragon came, father and daughter are now side-by-side again.

[brialavellan]

Summary: It has been 20 years since Inquisitor ‘Manehn Lavellan defeated Corypheus, and 18 years since the Exalted Council. Solas is furthering his plans and so far, all efforts to stop him seem to be in vain….until the Well of Sorrows begins to speak to ‘Manehn once more. Led by ancient magics and beset by enemies from Ferelden and Orlais to Antiva and Tevinter, ‘Manehn must gather allies old and new in a race against time to defeat Solas - at any cost.

(NOW ON AO3)

Chapter 1 ||  Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4

CH 5: Old Ghosts

She had not been expecting this.

Briala fiddled with the summons in her hand, expectantly and anxiously peeking outside the windows. The small carriage space still made her stomach turn even years after, since the burning of Halamshiral, when she was bound, heading for a cell.

The sight of the palace was familiar, and she took little interest in the gilded gold gates and the statues of lions, mouths open in a snarl. Orchestral music streamed through the carriage windows and the courtyards as the Palace Gates gave away, allowing Briala’s carriage to enter.

It had been years since Briala had seen Celene last, with sad eyes and a gaunt face, looking frail, almost wizened, a skeletal shadow of the Celene she remembered. Those memories of their time together, as confidantes, as lovers, were slipping like loose sand between her fingers. It was almost a small mercy, as the pain of their breakup was nothing in comparison to the pain of betrayal - as she stared out at Halamshiral in flames so long ago, acrid smoke choking her lungs as she was dragged to a jailer’s carriage in handcuffs. As she learned Celene had killed her parents all those years ago, their blood pooling at her feet as she hid behind a curtain in the reading room. The pain of her betrayal was sharper than the pain of their breakup, and though she should always expect it in a place like Orlais, it hurt even more that, at the end of the day, this was all just politics.

Nothing personal.

Perhaps this is why she loved ‘Manehn’s sentimentality. Everything was personal to her. Briala had no other word for this willingness to help her at their first meeting, her eagerness to give Briala the leverage she needed to wrangle a concession out of Celene, accomplishing in one night what over a decade of Briala’s soft whispers paired with sweet kisses could not - recognition and rights.

At first, they developed a working relationship, Celene being, if not supportive, at least hands-off as Briala administered the Dales with a deft hand. The humans groused and schemed and plotted against her because of course they would. They either threw down their tools, packed their wagons, and left or they begrudgingly accepted their new elven Marquise. Those that did not were swiftly dealt with. “Eyes in every corner and a dagger at every throat” was the whispered truth to every human who later dared to challenge her reign. Jests about big ears were told with a tinge of fear behind racist overtones.

And as long as Celene accepted it, so did they.

But Celene’s support was conditional on ‘Manehn having a political mandate, and in the intervening years after the scandal of the Exalted Council, her favor had fallen fast. Whatever political pull she did have came from reverence of deeds long past, or towards the Chantry and her role as Right Hand, the visible arm and instrument of the Divine’s Will.

And Celene wanted nothing more than meddlesome elves to finally fall out of favor.

The carriage pulled over and Briala quickly stepped out, not even waiting for the carriage driver to rush to her door. She ascended the marble stairs quickly, her stomach fluttering with every step. The chevaliers stood at attention, still incredulous at the sight of the Elven Marquise despite her years in power.

Elves with titles still shock.

She entered the vestibule and heard the hurried whispers of very familiar faces as she approached the throne room: the one who summoned her, and one she hoped to avoid encountering. The guards announced her arrival as they pushed aside more gilded golden doors and as she strode across the marble floors, the clicking of her heels silencing the conspiratorial whispers.

Her heart sank at what she saw. Any hopes that this uneasy peace would remain shattered at the sight of Grand Cleric Natalie at Celene’s side.

“My lady Briala,” Natalie said, her rs rolling with a hint of contempt and malice that seeped into the stone and gold gilding of the overly ornate throne room, “it’s a surprise to see - .”

“Leave us,” Celene interrupted with a small flick of her wrist and a harsh glare, “I wish to speak with the Marquise privately.”

“Of course, your Radiance,” Natalie said with a curt bow and a slightly sour look, the clicking of her heels echoing through the cavernous space as she skittered away.

“Bria…” Celene said softly, greeting her with the pet name she bestowed so long ago. Briala would have winced, but she maintained a perfect stony facade behind an emerald mask. She knew now why she was summoned, and her heart sank at the implications.

“I heard what happened during the celebrations - an attack on the Divine in my palace. It’s fortunate I was elsewhere, and that the culprits were thwarted.”

“Due to the quick action of the Divine’s Right Hand and Arcane Advisor,” Briala said quickly, “but their leader still lives. And we are doing -”

“Everything in your power, I am sure.” Celene interrupted her. Whether it was because of their history or her age, she didn’t know, but Celene saved no flowery words and meandering metaphors for Briala.

Her words, and intentions, were clear.

“But I have to ask if I can trust that this unrest would truly be resolved by a woman with a history of…poor judgment in affairs relating to this ‘Dread Wolf’. And whether this may lead to complications in Halamshiral.”

“You would not find another person in all of Thedas who has more reason and more dedication to ending this threat. Have you found another in twenty years?”

“I am not concerned about her dedication.” Celene said with a slight sigh, “I am concerned about infiltration.”

She rose from her throne, meeting Briala’s gaze with steely and stern grey eyes. “I cannot risk another uprising. I cannot risk my empire, and my people, falling to this threat because I failed to act. Not again. I will be forced to act if you and the Right Hand cannot.”

This was a threat. A hard lump rose in Briala’s throat and she forced it back, stomach violently churning as flashes of flickering orange flames and the snapping of wood and steel burned briefly in her mind’s eye, as the memory of ash and smoke choked her lungs. She could see Celene’s fingers twitching at her sides. She was ready to light the torch.

One misstep, and Halamshiral would burn again.

“We will not fail.” Briala said, followed with a deep curtsy. Her practiced perfect mask hid the fear, the anguish, that curled within, a tight knot that pooled deeper and deeper in her chest. Old and new fear mixed and muddled in the pit of her stomach, curling and churning tighter and tighter until she wanted to vomit. She held her head high as she left. Now, with Celene’s leave, she walked out, with new resolve and growing anger.

As she departed, she noted the Grand Cleric clamoring into a small carriage, her face still soured and her hands shaking as she climbed aboard. Briala paused for a moment, out of sight, but not out of earshot.

“Where to, your Reverence?”

“Back to the Cathedral,” Natalie declared with a heavy sigh. “And quickly.”

Briala waited until her carriage departed then rushed towards her own. She climbed inside and tapped her driver on the shoulder.

“I need to get to the Grand Cathedral now.”

‘Manehn hated alienages.

Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the rotted wooden gates, smeared with grit and grime, rusted locks barring entrance and exit, a cage not even fit for animals. Recovery had come for all except the elves, it seemed. As it always was. She noted Halamshiral still smoldered from the fires that had consumed it over twenty years ago, despite Briala’s adept administration.

Mirwen, however, was obviously disgusted, and scrunched her nose at the sight of the gates. She was not unaware of the privilege she enjoyed, but she could not stand the visceral sights and smells, the reminders of quite how well she lived in comparison to her brethren.

A full complement of city guards followed them, led by Varric and Guard Captain Aveline, who obviously hesitated at the sight of the gates, gripping the hilt of her sword. The templars that followed ‘Manehn and Mirwen took note and gripped their hilts, eyes scanning for any sign of a threat.

“Are you sure about this?,” asked Aveline, eager to avoid any sort of confrontation with any of the viscerally angered elves inside.

“Absolutely,” Mirwen said, “this is the only way we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

Aveline motioned to two guards and they rushed forward, undoing the locks and heaving the gates open. The sight of the entering entourage sent most of the elves scurrying, eyes all watching from windows and shadows, some curious, most angry, bloodlust in their narrowed eyes.

“The alienage has seen the most unrest,” Aveline commented as they entered, “I don’t dare send anything less than a full complement here if I want my guards to come back alive. We’ve been able to maintain order, for now. Checkpoints, curfews, and the like.”

“Gently, of course,” Varric said, at the sight of ‘Manehn’s suspicious glare, “the nobles have been begging for a purge. I’m not giving it to them.”

“Because elves had no reason to rebel beforehand, of course.” ‘Manehn said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “how else could Solas amass followers when all elves live such lives of privilege and contentment?”

“That doesn’t excuse murder.” Aveline snapped. “Order must remain.”

“And hopefully,” Varric interrupted, “we’ll find answers in Merrill’s home.”

As they arrived, Varric rapped on the door. Once, twice, but no response.

“Remind me to buy her a new door,” he said as Aveline and another guard bashed the lock. They went first, swords drawn, sweeping the small space for any sign of intrusion.

The house was as sparsely decorated as it was small, but it had obviously been ransacked. A fine coating of dust had settled over a small fireplace and overturned table. Scrolls littered the floor, and scorch marks lined the walls. Amidst the mess stood a broken eluvian, shards still poking out from the frame.

Varric frowned at the mess. “This isn’t good…” he said, almost to himself, “Daisy, what did you get yourself into?”

“Why does she keep a broken eluvian in her house?” Mirwen asked as she went to examine it.

“Beats me,” Varric said, eyeing the shattered remains, “Hawke finally convinced her to stop working on the cursed thing, but…”

“That was foolish,” Mirwen said, wrenching a shard of mirror from the base of the broken eluvian, “we could have used something like this.”

“It cost her her Keeper, Mirwen,” Varric said, turning away from the mirror. “When lives are at stake, some prices are too high. Especially when you’re playing with blood magic.”

Mirwen said nothing, turning over the piece of shattered eluvian in her hands, careful not to rub against the raw edges. The shard hummed with a dull magic, shimmering even in the dark space.

“The spirit said I can use this to scry for unbroken eluvians. It will tell us whether there is one nearby. ”

“And then we destroy it?” Aveline asked.

“Or we use it.” ‘Manehn said. “If it’s active or if we can unlock it, we can trace the paths to a base of operations. That’ll get you a quieter city than breaking one measly eluvian,” she added as Aveline shot her a slightly incredulous glance. “Turns out, smashing all the eluvians in Thedas isn’t much of a plan.”

A tense unease permeated the space as Mirwen worked the magic the spirit had taught her, using the eluvian as a focus. The shard began to audibly hum with magic, bands of light pulsing from the shard, filling the small space with the tingle of mana, setting hairs on end and giving everyone goosebumps.

Mirwen closed her eyes and focused, letting the thrumming of the magic touch her mind's eye.

She opened her eyes, a satisfied smile in her face.

"There is an active one near the base of a mountain. Past a small forest, near a clearing of some sort." she closed her eyes, focusing on the scene laid bare before her. "There's flattened grass there, as if many people camped there recently."

Varric’s eyes widened. "I know exactly where that is," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He turned towards 'Manehn. "Davhalla's clan was recently camped there. If there's an active eluvian nearby...."

"Then they're in big trouble," 'Manehn interrupted. "We have to go there. Now.” She paused for a moment and looked at Mirwen. “But if we encounter any trouble when we’re there, I want Varric to take you right back to the Keep.”

Briala frowned as her carriage approached the Grand Cathedral and saw Natalie enter, her mind working to piece together old details and new, to figure out Natalie’s machinations and motivations.

Natalie was ill suited for the Game, Briala noted, but both were all too familiar with the Chantry's ability to sway hearts and minds from the pulpit. Surely, she had planned a sermon of some sort for this day, an attempt to succeed at pinning the attempted assassination on the Right Hand - what she had failed to do the first night after ‘Manehn had deftly thwarted her in front of the nobles. If she should not agitate from the top, she would start from the bottom, and the whispers would trickle up.

Unless Briala could find some way to take her down.

The interior of the Grand Cathedral sweltered in the summer heat. Streams of sunlight pierced through the stained glass windows, the multicolored lights dancing on the smooth marbled floors. Parishioners sat dutifully on mahogany benches with velvet cushions, gazing up at the stern face of a golden, glittering Andraste, arms outstretched, holding two braziers that burned with incense. Vivid painted frescos lined the entire bottom half of vaulted archways, telling the story of the life of Andraste. Marble statues, their bases lined with gold, stood in between pillars, depicting Andraste’s disciples, Hessarian, Havard, and even Mafarath the Betrayer. And among the austere beauty stood four Revered Mothers, singing the Chant of Light in soprano, their soft angelic voices filling the vaulted ceilings and sifting between the pillars and pews, as worshipers bowed their heads and mouthed the words along, some rapturously, some by rote, but all still entranced by the beauty in their song. It was during this song that Briala was able to slip in the Cathedral without notice, carefully closing the door and shrinking behind one of the stone pillars that graced the entrance.

The Chant came to a close and the Cathedral fell silent, interrupted only by Grand Cleric Natalie’s footsteps against the marble floors as she walked towards a small pulpit. She cleared her throat and regarded the crowd before her.

“All shall know the peace of the Andraste’s love,” she began, raising her arms in reverence to the glittering gold Andraste that stood above her. “And all shall know the Truth of the Maker. For you are the fire at the heart of the world.”

The crowd chanted in response.

“And comfort is only Yours to give.”

Natalie smiled at the crowd, a wicked, hungry smile like predator baring her fangs. “All should know the Truth of the Maker. We know what this means. We will see His return, my children, when his name is spoken in all four corners of the World. Twenty years ago, the sky split apart with magic, our beloved Divine was lost…all seemed hopeless….and in our confusion, in our moment of grief, we strayed from the path of Righteousness.”

The crowd began to murmur, heads shaking, with some confusion. Briala read the crowd and took some comfort in their reactions. Surely they remembered the Herald’s deeds. Surely they wouldn’t turn so quickly? Had she squandered all good will so easily?

“We turned to desperation to the only one who could heal the sky, but ask yourselves: are we safer now with this Herald as the Instrument of the Divine’s Will? Are we better off when we turned Halamshiral over to the elves? One of their heathen gods almost murdered the Divine not a month ago, and we do not question why, at her side, sits a woman who worships them?”

Natalie stood at the pulpit, fists clenched and shaking with her righteous fury as she spoke her sermon to the eager masses that bowed before her.

“They have strayed from the true Chantry, the one that served Thedas for a thousand years! Have we forgotten that she led a movement designed to destroy us? Have we forgotten that this enemy of Orlais, of the Divine, was one of hers? ”

She slammed her hands down on the pulpit, the thud echoing across the Cathedral and forcing the congregation to rapt attention.

“We now bow to elven heathens in Halamshiral instead! We gave them land they did not deserve, land we took and made pure by Andraste’s light. Have we truly strayed so far from what we were? Are we better for it? What next, shall we ask a Qunari to be our next Divine now?”

She laughed at the thought, a rueful, rage-filled laugh. Her quaking voice echoed throughout the Cathedral as the congregants whispered murmurs of assent.

“We brought light to the Dales. We brought the truth of the Maker to the elves, who abandoned the god who gave them life and the Prophet who gave them freedom. By our hand, this corner of the world was touched by the Maker’s grace! And by giving it back to the elves, we let that light grow cold. Worse, we snuffed it out!”

She paused now, gathering her composure. Her last words hung hauntingly in the feverish air, a cold power behind every syllable, a different kind of echo that reverberated among the throngs of rapturous eyes turned towards her pulpit.

“The Maker turned a little further from us when we placed Halamshiral in elven hands.”

Briala watched with wide worried eyes as the crowd frothed with fury at her words. Not towards Natalie, but towards the so-called audacity of it all. She whispered silent curses under her breath, small beratings saved for herself. Of course she had overstretched herself. She had been careless - so overfocused on the Dales, she was, that she had let resentment fester in the capital. Resentment bubbling barely underneath, ready to resurface, all within the earshot of an Empress who had no qualms sacrificing elven lives to save her throne.

Even hers.

Even the Herald’s.

She had to warn them all, and soon.

“We’re close.”

Mirwen led the nervous group up the summit of Sundermount, her hands still holding the eluvian shard, which began to pulse and glow brighter as they approached their destination. ‘Manehn followed directly behind her, dagger drawn and uneasy with letting her daughter take the lead. She eyed the shard in her hands warily, the thrumming of magic agitating the Well’s voices and stealing her concentration. The five templars sent by the Divine to guard them grumbled as they followed, gripping their hilts. Aveline and Varric marched behind them, stony-faced and silent. All knew their duty, and they would not falter, but all were uneasy at following this mage’s instructions all concerned about where it might lead.

Tears began streaming down Mirwen’s face as they ascended. She quickly wiped them away. Sorrow and Despair pressed heavily against the Veil here, pushing and pulling, warping the Veil around them that threatened to tear at any second. She could feel the hidden pockets of pain deep within her chest, her heart wrenching tighter and tighter with every footstep towards the summit. 

“Are you sure this is where we need to go?” ‘Manehn asked

“The Fade is very thin here,” Mirwen said between small sobs, “can you feel it?”

‘Manehn heard her whimpers and rushed to her daughter’s side. “We can turn back now, you can stay at the Keep, just tell us where…”

“No,” Mirwen said, brushing away still-streaming tears, “I’m fine. I’m safer at your side.”

“I don’t think anywhere is safe anymore, Sugar Plum,” Varric said grimly, “not as long as Chuckles has the advantage.”

“There must have been a lot of death here,” Mirwen said, “for the Fade to respond so…forcefully.”

“It’s always had a reputation for being haunted,” Varric said. “Why Dalish elves seem almost insistent on camping here, I will never understand.”

“Should the Dalish camp in your city then?” ‘Manehn said, voice steeped in sarcasm, “I’m sure the nobles would be more than amenable to it.”

“Fine, you got me,” Varric said, wincing slightly at her pithy remark. “It’s not like the Dalish have a lot of options.”

“Wait….” ‘Manehn stopped and took the lead, eyes narrowed as she scanned the small clearing they approached. “This is a good spot for…”

A dark skinned Dalish elf burst forth from the trees, dressed in Keeper’s regalia, flinging spectral bolts behind her at unknown assailants. She spotted the party before her and rushed towards them.

“MOVE!” she screamed, as a volley of arrows followed at her heels. 

‘Manehn and the rest darted backwards, weapons drawn as the elf joined them, locs sticking to her sweating and fearful face. “You need to leave, now!”, she said through bursts of heavy breathing, “before -”

Another volley of arrows burst forth from the trees, blocked quickly by the elf summoning a barrier. The arrows bounced off the edges of her spectral shield, clattering like rain on a tin roof. 

‘Manehn turned towards Varric and pointed at the templars in her entourage. “Get Mirwen out of here!” she yelled at the templars as she and Aveline rushed towards the tree line, taking cover within the forest. Two templars followed. The other elf hesitated for a moment but rushed to their side.

Varric nodded and grabbed Mirwen’s wrist, falling back behind three remaining templars. Mirwen glared at her mother but did not resist, and all five disappeared from the line of sight. 

They made it to the tree line and Varric made it out of sight just before another volley landed in the clearing, arrows blotting out the sky before splintering and seeping into the ground.

‘Manehn turned towards the elf that warned them and shook her head in disbelief. “Davhalla? What are you doing here?”

She threw up her hands in frustration in response as they moved through the trees. Talk would be saved for later. Stealth would not be an option, seeing as Aveline’s and the templars’ plate armor jangled with every step. They would have to face them head-on. Unless...

An elf rushed them, sword drawn, eyes screaming. ‘Manehn sidestepped the man and parried the blade before sinking her dagger into his back. He fell with a loud thud, twitching and screaming in agony, blood pooling on his back and belly. She searched his pockets as he bled out, looking for any clue as to the identity of their assailants. She found a couple scraps of parchment and a shimmering red gem, warm to the touch, glowing like a red ember in the palm of her hand.

“It’s a keystone.” ‘Manehn said in a low whisper. “We’re close.”

Yelling and rustling from the trees signaled a change in strategy from their mysterious attackers. Several advanced from hidden cover into their position, blades drawn. One fired an arrow directly in the helm of one of her templars, sending him stumbling back and falling. ‘Manehn took him down with a flung dagger to the chest. Another lunged forth from stealth, taking down another with a blade to the belly. She turned to attack Aveline, but Aveline parried the blade and cut her down with a firm slash. Davhalla stood behind, hands glowing with mana, firing bolts at the shifting shadows with varying degrees of success. Shadows circled them from the trees, watching and waiting to pounce. 

“We can’t just stand here waiting!” Aveline finally said, eyes darting back and forth at the dead templars and gripping her sword and shield. “We have to move forward or we die here.”

“Then we head for the summit,” ‘Manehn said, bolting forward through the trees. Aveline and Davhalla shrugged and raced behind her, ignoring the sounds of twigs snapping and elven curses as they fled towards the summit. Arrows whizzed by as they raced forwards, hearts pounding and legs aching. 

They raced through the trees until they arrived into another small clearing, and, noticed too late, directly into a trap.

A group of several elves popped into a small clearing, surrounding them. Aveline, Davhalla and ‘Manehn fell back into a small huddle, eyeing them anxiously, weapons drawn.

A leader soon emerged from the small pack, eyes glinting with smug arrogance as she surveyed the three before her.

“We’ve been waiting for you to arrive, and I see you’ve brought friends,” she said, her tone as cool as it was cocky, pointing at Davhalla and Aveline.

“That’s me, going above and beyond,” ‘Manehn said with a wicked smirk and a glare.

“Of course you would court oppressors and sympathizers in your misguided attempts to stop my master,” the elf replied, her voice rising with a cold anger as she regarded the women before her. “You call yourselves Elvhen, but you are a traitor! You serve the shemlen! You serve the Chantry, the very people responsible for the destruction of our homeland!”

“And you serve a madman who would destroy you all to revive a past long dead.” ‘Manehn snapped. 

She scoffed at ‘Manehn’s retort.

“Capture the Herald. Kill the other two.”