#huntmaster here too

[fobosfear]

I'M BACK. As promised, I bring gifts.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Illuminated.

Pairing: Yandere!Apollo x Reader (Greek Mythology).

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Stalking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, No Specified Gender For The Reader But They Are A Hunter Of Artemis, and Implied Kidnapping.

[Commissioned Piece. Donate To Palestinians In Gaza Here.]

“You, my love, are the poet’s demise.”

You stiffened at the sound of his melodic voice, shrinking into yourself before thinking better of taking on such a mouse-like posture and straightening. Still, you failed to stop yourself from crossing your arms over your chest, pulling your knees up and hoping beyond hope that the silvery water would be enough to hide your form from his unfaltering stare. You thought it’d be safer to bathe at night, apart from your sisters, when the softened moonlight protected you from his burning gaze, but you’d been naïve to think that any hour could be late enough to spare you haven. During the day, you lived under the burning gaze of his blazing chariot, busied yourself with shooting down hawks and ravens carrying gifts in their beaks, and at night, he had no burdens to keep him from closing the distance between you using less... ancillary methods.

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken, my lord.” You forced yourself to laugh, glancing over your shoulder. Sure enough, Apollo stood on the river’s opposing bank, his tanned skin nearly radiant in the darkness. If the sight of him hadn’t brought you such dread, you might’ve thought him beautiful. “As of late, my aim’s been so poor that I can hardly call myself a stag’s demise, let alone a man’s.”

You were quick to look away from him, but you could still hear his gentle hum, picture the way his lips would lilt upward as he shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s deathly true,” he went on, taking a step forward. The water rushed to part as he stepped where it had once been, and in turn, you scrambled for the robes you’d left on the shore, barely managing to pull the ashen cloth around yourself before Apollo came to stand in front of you, his light quickly doing away with what little protection the shadows offered. It was only after you were haphazardly dressed that you considered it might be considered an affront to hide any part of yourself from divinity, but the worry was quickly forgotten. It was only natural to want to create yet another barrier between you and him. Even insects knew to run from their betters. “For even the most talented bard would struggle beyond words to describe your beauty. They could be chained to their desk for an eternity, study under the Muses’ own tutelage, and still be unable to write a single line.”

He held out a hand to you, but you pretended not to realize he meant for you to take it. “You’re far too kind. If you have a message for Lady Artemis, there’s no need to bribe me with such—”

“My love,” he cut in, his smile unwavering. “If I had any desire to speak to my sister, your help would not be necessary.”

“A prophecy concerning our next hunt, then? If there’s something we mustn’t do, I ought to get the Huntmaster, she’ll—”

“My love.” You felt your throat tighten, your mouth go dry. “Although your voice is sweeter than honey and lovelier than birdsong, I’ll admit – I do find myself rather irritated when it’s used to employ such thinly veiled excuses. Any more, and I might think it better to encase your tongue in gold. At least, then, I might have something charming to admire while you lie to me.” His fingers grazed over your jaw as he moved to cup your cheek. It was not a gesture you had the luxury of ignoring. “You know why I have come here.”

Oh, how you wished you’d gone with your sisters.

“I… I can’t, my lord.” Unlike his, your voice was perfectly capable of trembling, of shaking, of plummeting into the sort of jarring, unsteady downward inflections that would’ve been the death of any proper storyteller. “My vows are to Lady Artemis, and—” It was your turn to smile, now, to lilt your head to the side apologetically. “—she’d never forgive me if I broke them. Especially with you.”

For the first time, his good humor seemed to ebb, giving way to not anger, but a melancholy sort of disappointment. “I suppose you’re right,” he relented, his golden glow dimming ever so slightly. Suddenly, it did not hurt quite so unbearably to look at him. “It’s a terrible thing. Me and my sister never did learn to share.”

Relief nearly managed to overshadow your revulsion. “I really am sorry. My desire is not to insult you, but—”

This time, when he interrupted you, it was not with a teasing remark, a nectar-dipped pet name, the vague implication of an affection he expected you to return. Rather, there was a sudden brightness in his golden eyes, a sharpened point to his smile, and then, his lips were pressed into yours. The kiss was shallow, but lingering, and when you tried to draw back, the hand on your cheek kept you firmly in place – his hold not crushing, but steadfast, resolute. His unoccupied arm wrapped around your waist, his hand finding its place at the small of your back as he sapped the last of the breath from your lungs. It was only when your palms pressed into his chest, your blunt nails burrowing into his bare skin in a silent plea for air, that he pulled back. Panting and flushed, you made a desperate effort to pull away, to escape back to your encampment, back to your sisters, back to your goddess, but he only cooed, his bowstring calloused fingertips fanning over your cheek.

“Such a terrible thing,” he muttered, and you considered, briefly, that you might’ve been the first mortal to realize just how wretched his voice truly was.

“How fortunate it is, then, that you’ve caught the attention of such a selfish admirer.”

[magistralucis]

I am so obsessed with the Huntmaster. Most unusual for a deathmark. I don't know if we get a detailed description anywhere of how deathmarks used to be raised and trained - but they were certainly never considered honourable, except only in the most reluctant circumstances. Death-by-deathmark is a 'base assassination', fit only for the non-sentient or the disgraced, and since their work is a dirty secret they barely get any acknowledgement. Their entire existence is a taboo. According to the rules of their society, they're barely even necron; they don't even suffer the Anti-Life Insanity Disease in the same way other Destroyers do, they have their own variation.

We know that deathmarks don't take this lying down - Lysikor certainly doesn't, but he in many ways is the societal perception of deathmarks played straight. He's scheming and treacherous and nobody is surprised by this, he knows the role he is playing, and he'll exploit it every way he can. Not so much the Huntmaster. He's dangerous, he's expensive, and local necron nobles find his work disgusting - but he's loyal, too, and he is trusted, enough that Trazyn hangs out with him in his oubliette and entrusts the Empathic Obliterator to him. He seems to have been treated well ever since he came to Solemnace, being allowed to work at his own pace - sometimes against his own master's pace! - and everything about him suggests he enjoys being with Trazyn. That's not the usual deathmark treatment at all, they have something special going on here.

Now I've no doubt that a large part of this relates to how Trazyn treats his court, that is to say: with surprising courteousness. As a rule Trazyn values his retainers, and since Trazyn is so far beyond necron perceptions of normality, it makes sense he would be good to his deathmark too. But respect goes both ways, and I find myself headcanoning endlessly just what Trazyn did to earn the Huntmaster's endless loyalty, or what the Huntmaster must've gone through before his residence at Solemnace. He was already infamous when Trazyn secured his fealty. Was he actually admired in his old dynasty, or was he feared and hated like any other deathmark? Did he have that void cape before he came to Solemnace? Did Trazyn offer that price for him himself, or did he have to negotiated over? Was he known for his loyalty before, or is Trazyn the only master he's ever respected? Did they have a genuine friendship prior to biotransference, or did they start spiraling together in their mutual collectors' insanity after the Great Sleep? Some real food for thought there 🤔

[potpourrifandoms]

I've been reading a lot of Warhammer 40k novels and short stories lately, mostly T'au and Necron stuff. I'm particularly enamoured with Trazyn and all the mischief he gets up to, and I love that he has a whole crew of necrons on Solemnace who are just as eccentric as he is. I've been doodling some characters and decided to draw up some proper pieces with inking and colouring too.

So, here's Arch-Cryptek Sannet (the forgetful chief curator who needs to write things down to recall them), and Huntmaster, game warden of Solemnace (a very cool deathmark who wears a void-cape and helps Trazyn collect specimens for study and preservation. I gave him a hood because it looks cool and he matches Trazyn now. :3)

Let the Necrons have a sitcom already, there's more than enough drama and comedy for it. I love petty old robots.

[ghostinthegallery]

Hello Ghost! First good day I am you are doing well!

Second; forgot to ask in AO3 but will we see Trazyn explaning the shitshow he put himself, Solamnace AND everyone living in Solamnace at the mot? It would be so cool to see his crypteks and Ashkut AND Huntmaster calling him an impulsive moron in the politest most passive aggressive way they can get away with XD

And seeing their undying loyalty to him too. Even with imminet and lets be honest extraordianary danger they are all in all WILL stand with their lord until to the bitter end. He is theit lord and this is their home and by the all dead gods they will fight tooth and nail to protect it!!!...also after the amount of work the put in Solamnace and regular bullshit they go through there is no way in hell they'll go without a fight.

I would love to see Trazyn getting emotional XD (because these people were HIS family before and after biotransfarence I will die on this hill you and magistralucis convinced me in XD)

(if anyone is curious what situation Trazyn got himself into, read my longfic here. Shameless self promo done)

Haha, I do have plans for the Solemnace crew (not immediately, there's a lot to cover but it will come!). Now hijacking your ask because it did get me thinking about loyalty as a concept for necrons. So few of them have free will. Even those that do are still machines. Machines can be programmed. Szarekh literally had a command protocol that let him control every single necron (which he gave up but the fact that level of control is possible is kinda terrifying)

So how can one truly know if loyalty is chosen or programmed? How much free will can a machine without a soul have? I find that idea so interesting, and I imagine is occurs to the characters as well. We just don't see it as much since most of the POV characters are lords who would have no reason to consider it. Severed imho addresses this in a roundabout way with how it portrays Obyron's loyalty to Zahndrekh. It shows that a subordinate can choose loyalty to their lord, rather than having it forced on them by programming.

I imagine the Solemnace crew are in a similar position (the sentient ones anyway). Trazyn is not the best lord out there, he will take possession of a subordinate's body if he needs it and that does NOT sound pleasant. But the narrative really does show his court having will and opinions and skills that Trazyn values. That's not true of every overlord. So yeah, based on what we see I do think their loyalty is a choice. That's hella emotional to me, so yeah, I promise it will come up XD

[reassambled-dragoon]

28: Deleterious

   “...and so, the act of summoning Primals invariably has a deleterious effect on the land and its people,” Thancred concluded, marking the relevant passage in the tome he was translating aloud for Stasia. He watched as she finished her note-taking; as seemed to be her habit, her personal notes were in her native tongue, which was almost as good as a cipher, considering no one else could read them. “Any questions, my lady?”

   Stasia looked at him, tapping her chin in another habit. Her odd ears flicked slightly, and those glowing eyes were unsettlingly piercing. “How do you handle eliminating Primals when Star and Storm aren’t available? If their mere presence can dominate the general populace, there must have been a means to handle them before your pet hatchets came around.”

   Thancred barely managed to hide his flinch. It was, unfortunately, true: for far too long, the Scions had treated the Hellsguard duo, even Arenvald, like Primal headsmen. What was truly unnerving was how quickly Stasia had caught on. “Distance, primarily. You’re a longtime archer, so I’m certain you’re familiar with that. There is also cannon and magic.”

   Stasia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “But why use magic when it is an oversaturation of magic that causes this Tempering?”

   Thancred sat bolt upright, his hand still on the tome he’d been reading from. “I beg your pardon? Can you explain that, please?”

   “The oversaturation of magic? This is not common thought?” When Thancred shook his head, Stasia frowned. “Ah, I forget, you haven’t fought the Old Gods and their cults. I suppose the best way to phrase it is…well, imagine someone is in the same room as you. You can ignore them, they are simply existing.” At Thancred’s nod, she continued. “Say the other person starts waving at you. You take notice, but you can continue ignoring them. They begin whispering; it’s mildly annoying, because it breaks the silence, but still easy to disregard. Then they begin escalating, gradually turning to shouting in your ear.”

   “And the moment you give them any attention, the stranger wins.” Thancred crossed his arms as he thought about this. “That’s not quite how Tempering works here…that we know of. I suppose someone strong-willed enough could possibly resist, but that is not a gamble I would like for you to take.”

   Stasia simply looked at him. Her lips turned up in a ghost of a smile, and there was something unnerving in her eyes.

   “No. No, tell me you haven’t danced with a Primal, Huntmaster.” When her smile only deepened, and her giant glowing not-coeurl joined the staring contest, Thancred could feel a thrill of fear run down his spine. “Oh, seven bloody hells, you’re mad. You are absolutely mad. Who else knows about this stunt?”

   “Only you, Thancred…and as you are an intelligent man, I trust that no one else will,” Stasia purred.

[thethistlegirlwrites]

At long last part 5 of 5 is here! (and is much cuter than the previous installments...and set several weeks later)

“Stop.” Shay puts an arm across the doorway. “They took your stitches out. That is not permission to go crawling around the wreckage of a car that will probably make you need more of them.” 

“I’ve got to put her back together too.” Sierra says.

“You will. Just wait a few more weeks.” Shay sighs. “She’s not going anywhere and neither are you.”

“Don’t remind me.”

She’s lucky it’s a six month unpaid suspension. Maira pulled the ‘extenuating circumstances’ card, insisting Sierra had killed Shay’s sire in a purely justifiable effort to prevent her from taking control of him again. Outside standard operating procedure on a distressing amount of levels, but something that, shockingly, the National Huntmaster’s Office was prepared to accept. 

And it probably looks bad on the books to be the hunter agency that fired a Stoker. 

“You’re just headed for the car to get out of the mandatory remedial policy course, aren’t you?”

Sierra grimaces. “Whoever picked the video narrator for that needs to be the one on suspension. He’s just droning on and on.” 

“You could watch it with the speed turned up.” Shay gently steers her back toward the couch. “It’s a formality anyway. Maira knows you know the rules, you just chose not to follow them.”

“It’s a formality with pop quizzes. I hate those.” 

They’ve fallen back into the usual pattern of playful banter. It’s nice to know that what that vamp (he still doesn’t know her name, they may never know it, her DNA didn’t match to anything in any records and they’re still working on dental, but given that they’ve had to try and contact Russian authorities for that, he isn’t sure how well that will go) did to their relationship wasn’t a permanent rift, but they haven’t talked about what happened that day since Sierra woke up in the infirmary.

He’s not about to bring it up. He wasn’t lying when he said what they have right now is just fine with him. If Sierra wants to talk about whatever it was she said when she thought she might be dying, that’s her choice.

She settles gingerly into the couch and picks up the laptop. “Alright, I guess I’ll finish this section. And then email Grandpa Stephen and tell him he needs to add about eight new apps to the ‘responding to vampires captured on social media’ subheading.” 

Shay nods. “I’ll start dinner. I don’t think I can ruin prepackaged ramen.” They’re on a shoestring budget right now with Sierra’s suspension. Shay can handle the rent and utilities with what Emma pays her staff, but food has always been Sierra’s responsibility and she refused to let him pay for something he doesn’t need.

“You let the water boil off spaghetti once. You set off the smoke alarm.”

“It’s not my fault I haven’t needed to eat in years.”

“Just keep your eye on it.” She picks up her headphones. “After this, do you want to look at paint colors? If I’m going to rebuild half the front end I think it might be time for Dad’s Camaro to get a new look.”

“I’m game.” He glances at the printout on the coffee table. “Looks like you got started already.”

“I got really bored in the section on appropriate footwear, and Pete is still trying to convince me to use Excel tables for everything in my life.” There’s a list of paint colors, codes, and interior combinations for the ‘67 model year, with photos of cars with each of the described color combinations next to them.

“I was thinking of going with the Nantucket Blue. It would still look good with the interior and be light enough to not get too hot if we road trip it to Texas again.”

“How about this one?” Shay asks, pointing to a light tan. “Sierra Fawn. It literally has your name in it. That feels like it’s meant to be.”

“If I want a car that looks like the military owned it first, sure.” Sierra says. “It shades olive, see?”

“That might be a good color in the desert. Make it less visible.”

“We don’t work in the desert often enough.” Sierra says, then looks up and sniffs. “Go stir those noodles.”

“I see what you’re doing. I’m not done trying to convince you.”

“I’m not painting my car olive drab, Shane Barrett.”

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @whumptober

You can read the whole five-part series in one place here on my WorldAnvil, as well as more stories from this 'verse!

[eponymoussquared]

Wildhunters: Pilot

Hans wasn't always sure he started the Hunt. Maybe it had always been there, and he had simply taken the role of its Huntsmaster. Or one of them, anyhow. Here came another now, a tall woman dressed in fancy clothing and breeches, with flowing white hair reminiscent of a blanket of snow. Two small wolves flanked her sides, each holding a bone in their mouth. The woman smirked, a challenging but somewhat warm expression.

"You might as well give up, Hans. I've already won." Hans chuckled. "You say that every year, Gauden."

The Hunt was always open to new arrivals, but sometimes that caused a bit of tension between would-be Huntmasters. And so Hans had devised a game. Each year, all candidates for Huntmaster would go out and have a competition. Whoever caught the most impressive game would get to lead the Hunt until the next year. 'Most impressive' was voted on, of course, but Hans had specified that you were not allowed to vote for yourself. If more Huntmaster candidates showed up, perhaps they would have to devise a new system, but as of now, there were three. The third comes now, a towering behemoth who stands twice either their heights. Their clothing, covered in quilted diamonds, might have been colorful once, but dirt and time have faded it into shades of gray. On their face was a mask depicting a jovial expression, and on their back was a wooden club the size of an uprooted tree. Hans's single eye turned to the figure, and he waved.

"Ah, you're here, Hellekin. I was getting worried." Hellekin simply nodded. For a while Hans had assumed they kept an air of silence for intimidation, but they had realized some time ago that Hellekin simply did not like to speak. Not that he and Gauden didn't do enoguh speaking for the three of them. Hans noticed Hellekin was carrying a large sack over their back.

"Thats your catch, then?" They nodded again. "Good. Now, lets compare." Gauden smirked. "Girls, fetch our catch, please." The two dogs at her feet took off behind her, then came back a moment later carrying the corpses of several moose, each about the size of two tigers stacked on eachother. Hans nodded approvingly. "My turn, then." Hans snapped his fingers, and an entourage of ghostly warriors clad in metal and leather came from behind him, carrying the carcass of a collossal wolf. Gauden laughed. "Always wolves with you, isn't it, Hans?" She said, smiling playfully. Hans chuckled. "Not all of us are dog people, Gauden. Now, Hellekin, what did you catch?"

Hellekin lifted the sack over his head and dumped its contents on the ground. The others gaped. Before them was the dead body of a dragon, its wings ripped up and its scales cracked. Hellekin stood still, but Hans got the impression they were smiling under the mask. "Well, I don't think I can beat that. I vote Hellekin." Hellekin nodded, and pointed at Gauden. Hans gasped in mock indignation. "How dare you! After I endorsed you, too!" Hellekin pointed at the wolf, then at the several moose Gauden and her dogs had caught, pointing separately at each one. Hans sighed. "Alright, I get your point, she did catch more. Gauden?" Gauden smiled. "I could vote for you, Hans, and restart the competion all over again." This got a sigh out of Hans. "Perhaps we need a new system." Hellekin nodded. Gauden looked thoughtful, then spoke. "Perhaps, but not this year." She grinned suddenly, the expression of an excited child, and said "I vote Hellekin." Hans nodded. "Fair enough. Congratulations, big guy." Hellekin turned their gaze to Hans, who chuckled. "What? Guy is gender-neutral, isn't it?" The only response from the giant was shaking their head back and forth. Gauden smiled at the exchange. "Well, shall we go?" Hans nodded, and the two of them began to change. Fog and mist swirled around him, and when it cleared, there was no longer a man cloaked in leather with a wide-brimmed hat casting his face in shadow, but a horned demon with wings and claws. The only remaining feature was a missing left eye. Gauden, meanwhile, became more monstrous and withered, skin turning gray and nose growing to the size of a boars, a white cloak appearing over her.

The wind around them began to get louder, swirling around them deafeningly. Demons similar in appearance to Hans crawled out of the shadows, licking their lips and cackling. Hellekin turned to face the moon, rising in the east. They took a step forward, then another, and then stepped off the ground and into the sky. Hans and Gauden followed close behind, grinning with excitement. Behind them followed demonic hordes, eager to begin the Hunt. With a mighty howl, Hellekin took off into the sky, and the rest of the Wildhunters followed behind him.

[maverick-werewolf]

BIG NEWS - Update post (upcoming works, blog updates, Patreon updates, and much more)

This is a very important post, so please do give this a read whether you're a patron or not! You're likely to find something that'll interest you.

Before we get started, I want to give yet another shout-out to all my loyal patrons. Thank you all again so very much for supporting me and helping me do the things I love. I couldn't do this without you, so thank you from the bottom of my heart!

Now let's talk about changes to this Patreon and some updates on my upcoming works...

First off, I will no longer be posting all of the rough draft chapters of a book in order here on the Patreon as I write them. I want to encourage everyone to read the final draft of the book in its entirety, and I do not want to post the entire rough drafts of my books online anywhere at all. I will continue posting chapter previews here! But they won't be the same.

I'm going to post chapters in an out-of-order fashion, as I've started doing for Knightfall and Redfield Incident. Think of them as exclusive previews, sneak peek clips of a film you'll only get if you're invited to the cinema con. For example, I recently posted a preview of Chapter 11 of Knightfall but I haven't posted all the chapters that came before that. This will give you an exciting look at the book and what it's like without spoiling the whole thing for you!

Next, I am here to announce that I'm bringing back monthly short stories! It may be a rocky start at first since things have been crazy lately (aren't they always?), but I hope I can get this back on track by June at the latest, if I can't manage a story for May, and after that, I really hope I can post at least rough drafts for short stories, one a month, well before I publish them publicly, as I did with the short stories that now compose The Hunt Never Ends.

It should always be remembered, too, that whether you are reading a chapter preview for a novel or a monthly short story, they will always be rough drafts when they are posted here on the Patreon. They should not in any way be considered a representation of the finished product.

Again, this Patreon is for previews and sneak peeks and the monthly short stories, but the things you read here are still not up to snuff to the final release. I love bringing you previews, though, and you deserve them as patrons, so those certainly won't stop!

In addition to the short stories, of course, I am also going to continue working on my other projects: my current book project is Knightfall, which I fully plan to republish this year; and of course I will be maintaining my monthly folklore facts (werewolf/vampire).

There are still two more things to announce, though!

For all you Lunatics out there, I do plan to bring back my lunatic writings. You can expect to see those resume after Knightfall is redrafted. At the latest, they will return after Knightfall is published again, because it's taking so much of my energy. Hopefully I can get you a few before then, though! They should be back in earnest by the end of the year if they aren't before.

And now another new focus: LEGO figures and builds! I used to make a lot of custom LEGO 'figs in the past, as you may know, and I even used to build things. I want to get back to doing that. I miss it, and I hope it will increase interest in Wulfgard and my other works.

You can expect to see me making custom 'figs and builds of Wulfgard, Nova Refuge, and some of my favorite pop culture things, like some video games and movies.

TL;DR:

Chapter posts on the Patreon will not encompass full     books and will be out of order chapter previews

Return of monthly short stories (and polls related to     them! More below)

Return of random fun writings by the end of the year at     the latest

Maintaining monthly folklore posts, like usual

New focus on custom LEGO figures and builds

And now on to the discussion of PATREON TIERS and updates to those!

First up, we see the return of the $20 tier, Huntmaster, with new art featured at the top of this post!

This has returned by popular demand, and it comes with a new benefit:

Access to patron-only polls about upcoming major     projects (novels, short stories, etc). Help me decide what my next     monthly short stories and published works will be!

This will be an important benefit now that monthly short stories will be returning soon! Many of the stories in The Hunt Never Ends were determined by patron poll results.

And, of course, it's always good to get to vote on what book you'd like to see next from me, as that's a very big decision and takes a lot of my time!

But wait, there are still more changes...

First off, there is an alteration to the $10 tier, Mooncaller. This tier's benefit of the writing polls has been moved up to $20 and replaced by the following...

Send me research questions! At this tier, you can send  me questions/asks     related to any of my research, such as folklore and  mythology!     (Please send them via Patreon Messages, and I will post my  response     publicly. You may ask to remain anonymous in the public posts  as the     asker.)

Unfortunately, and this is a big change, I can no longer justify the amount of time it takes for me to answer research-related questions on my blog. Therefore, I will no longer be responding to asks involving any form of research/that would require me to do research or brush up on a topic before I am able to answer.

I will still happily answer simple questions/asks, though, and I’m always happy to talk werewolves, vampires, folklore, etc., as long as the response doesn’t require me to go out of my way to do extra research!

Instead, if you have questions involving research, you can send them to me on Patreon if you are a patron at the $10 Mooncaller tier or higher! Please send them to me as a Patreon message, and I will post the question and my response publicly afterward. If you would like to remain anonymous as the asker, please mention that in your Patreon message with your question.

Thanks for your understanding on this issue. Research is a lot of time and work, and while I will always post my folklore facts for free, I cannot do that with everything, sadly.

I have not, at this time, added a loot bag to the reward tiers, except for the occasional custom minifig that $50+ tiers will receive. In the future, I will likely add a loot bag to the $50 tier and the $100 tier to receive some special custom LEGO minifigures once every two months guaranteed! But that will come later, and it will be partially determined by the amount of interest in my upcoming LEGO updates. I would like to see how those go first. For now, we have a lot of updates already!

That's all for now. Thanks for reading, and please consider supporting me on Patreon if you enjoy my content! I'm doing my best to provide fun and interesting rewards for your support, and every little bit helps me keep my blog running and my stories flowing.

Until next time!

Click here to read this post on Patreon and visit my Patreon itself.

[kiastirling-fanfic]

“A thing no god wants to see” for a pairing of your choice? Happy Friday!

So it didn't wind up a pairing (my mind initially went to Solas walking in on Bull/Dorian, but I couldn't actually get myself to write it) so here's some Solas and M!Lavellan? (no ampersand, since they aren’t displaying friendship in these snippets)

@dadrunkwriting

“I’ll be back soon, Atrian,” Felwen told his son. He was headed out for the last hunt before winter; the hunters were hoping to find something good, some bucks ideally, to tide them over until the first frost. The best fishing was in winter, and that was something the children could help with, Atrian included.

“But I want to go with you!” Atrian puffed out his cheeks, all the more ridiculous for his large pointed ears. He would grow into them, but for now they near doubled the width of his head.

“Not for a few years yet.” Not for many years yet. Atrian was hardly five. Best to turn his attention with some teasing. “Mind your Mamae, else Fen’Harel will eat you!”

“Stop lying!” In a breath Atrian had run from the aravel, leaving only his amused father behind.

-

The first winter without his father was the hardest for Atrian. Clan Lavellan persisted without their Huntmaster, they always would, but to lose him at season’s end to a great bear hurt them deeply and his family the most.

Not least because that winter was when Atrian came into his magic. He wouldn’t be following his father’s footsteps by joining the hunters, he couldn’t even ice fish with the other children. He spent his winter sequestered with the Keeper and the First learning how to not set people on fire and to keep his mind safe from demons.

“Demons are our punishment for allowing Fen’Harel to seal the Creators,” the Keeper taught him. “For as he twisted the world to seal them away, so his mad laughter now twists the hearts of spirits into demons. Where once our people walked hand and hand with Hope, now we must flee Despair; where we fought alongside Courage, we must slay Fear.”

It didn’t sound right, but it was and Atrian nodded.

-

The road to Haven was long and unpleasant. There was no shortage of humans for one; Atrian matched them sneer for sneer. It didn't matter if they were pilgrims or mages or hangers on, Atrian was charged with investigating the Conclave and he would do as he was bid.

He lost time, between arriving and the Fade. What stood out the most was fleeing before fear, chased by demonic bears and a figure that glowed bright as one of the true spirits his people once stood beside.

But the bears all shrieked the same thing as they chased him.

"Fen'Harel take you."

-

The Dread Wolf woke to a world changed in all the ways he feared. Their empire crumbled, their magic dwindled to a puddle, just a disparate people struggling to survive in a world he sculpted against them. It was a thing no god wanted to see, the diminishment of his people.

A people who hated him as none had hated him even when he stood against the other Evanuris, he found. The Dalish spoke of Fen'Harel with fear and disdain, the City elves didn’t even know his name, too cowed to ever think of the empire they lost.

And when he found one exception, one new body in whom he saw the spirit of the Elvhen the Dread Wolf destroyed in his pride, he found no exception at all. Atrian Lavellan would be the first to say he was exactly like every other Dalish elf, the only difference wasn’t the mote of power embedded in his hand but that Solas took the time to get to know him.

[talldarkandroguesome]

11th of Frostfall, Morndas

After a long discussion, Huntmaster Sorim-Nakar was persuaded to deliver the news to Tel at the barracks, as we agreed. It took many promises and the knowledge that the only weapon to be able to stop Chodala being in Vivec City and that he was the only one with the knowledge and skill to be able to deliver both the message and lead those with the weapon back here before it might be too late, to convince him.

So Seryn and I have been keeping an eye on the ruin and waiting for the Erabenimsun war party to arrive. The Huntmaster left markings to lead them in the right direction and Seryn and I discussed our hopes that it would take them longer to arrive than Tel and the others.

As we stayed and watched from the shore, we saw a slow trickling in of other warriors. As they had not been the ones at Ald’ruhn, the only reason for them to arrive would be as defenders for Chodala. I took careful count of how many we saw. I presume that Chodala would be the first to arrive, in which case we will have an exact number of defenders to present to the war party. If not, then we know at a minimum how many may be inside.

When we were not counting the arrival of enemy reinforcements, I tried to keep Seryn’s mind off of the inevitable conclusion to this battle. I know the guilt of taking a brother’s life. I know how much harder it would have been for me if I had been allowed to spend a day or more ruminating on the situation and reminiscing upon pleasant memories and the bond once held dear.

Then, this evening, the war party approached. Seryn recognized their banner and called out to them.

It was a very tense spot of negotiation that had to be made.

The Erabenimsun are not exactly known for the patience or diplomacy. In fact, ignoring wise women if it does not serve their efforts is a bit of a long standing history with them.

Still, Seryn was able to convince them to wait for their own Huntmaster to return with the one weapon that could defeat Chodala’s shield, that without that no arrow nor blade would be able to strike him. And magicka would fare no better.

Seryn and I exchanged looks. After all, neither of us were even sure that Nenet and the others had a weapon. It was just that there was a possibility. One that we had to pray would be ready in time. Or at all.

Surely there was a way to reverse the staff. I may not like the Telvanni, but I did have to admit that at least one of the Telvanni masters was likely to have some idea of how best to handle the situation. Even though it probably cost half a village of lives to discover it.

There was no time to worry over that now. We had made our proposal to the Erabenimsun.

In the end, they agree to give us until sunrise.

If one thought the negotiations fraught, the waiting in darkness for the arrival of aid with a band of very angry, tired, warriors, who were impatient to see their vengeance, was ten fold worse. What is the old Imperial saying?

Ah yes, the tension was so thick one would have been able to cut it with a knife.

So very true.

I think the Nords have a similar saying, but it involves ice and an axe.

At any rate, Seryn and I were holding our breaths every time there was a noise or one of the war party got up. We were just waiting for the worst the entire time.

Then, just mere hours before dawn, a call came out nearby.

The war party all stood and answered.

To our great relief, it was the Huntmaster, with Tel, Nenet, and Gethan in tow.

Further, they had some Dwemer looking device that they assured us would be able to counteract the effects of the staff. Apparently it requires one person to activate the device and another to direct it.

Of course, all the war party are arguing about how they will decide who will strike the blow against Chodala. Many believe it should be the mer to kill the most of Chodala’s defenders. Others think it should be the first to kill one of Chodala’s defenders. The Huntmaster has claim for not only tracking Chodala, but for also retrieving the weapon. The Ashkhan will ultimately win, I believe. After all, he is the one who first attacked Chodala and was injured when the shield threw him back.

We have let them all argue amongst themselves as we prepare to head into the ruin. Instead, the five of us have to decide who is going to operate the device.

I believe that Seryn should be in charge of at least one part of it. That way she can feel as though she helped to stop her brother, without worrying about the guilt of dealing any of the blows. I am sure Nenet will want another. Gethan seemed best suited to protect his charge and I have agreed to protect Seryn already.

I fear Seryn and I will have to talk about the outcome of this fight to come. She has been trying to remain hopeful that without the influence of the staff her brother will see reason once more. And I am inclined to encourage that. As long as there is a hope to not having to kill him, then that is what we should strive for.

I do not feel inclined to positivity for this fight, but I shall try my best to remain optimistic. For Seryn, if for no other reason.

Azura bless us, Your mortal warriors, as we prepare to enact Your will. Boethiah, imbue my blades with conviction and strikes true, that I may survive by ending the lives of those standing in my way. Mephala, my Prince, the lives I take here today are my offerings to You, that I may continue to prove my devotion through the blood I spill and the souls I send to You.

[finalbossveigar]

I wanted to wait with posting these guys but I’m impatient as hell so here you go.

I’ve been playing way too much Fallout 76 lately and, unlike the first time i played it when it first came out, I got unreasonably attached to a bunch of npc AI...Again, it’s always the AI/robots. And I wanted to give them like...bipedal/mobile forms and write them more lore? So yeah here I am making a whole au/story to include them :’)

Left to right: Grafton Mayor, The Warden, Huntmaster, MAIA

I just think they’re neat

[yzareenxiv]

FFXIVWrite 2021- 13: Onierophrenia

((TW: hallucinations, TW: depersonalization (?), TW: psychosis ))

Oneirophrenia

She’d been in the cage, in the dark, for so long that her eyes had forgotten what natural light was. Pupils perpetually as wide as they could go when she bothered to open her eyes at all. They were vulnerable parts, so she gave them what little protection she could behind her lids. They were functionally useless, anyway. Her ears and nose and skin and less definable senses were more important here- even if none of them were really reliable anymore.

This world in it’s perpetual, unshifting darkness and it’s denizens that did not bother to count the minutes, the bells, the days, the moons, the years- decades? Centuries?- it had made it impossible for her to count these things, too. She’d tried, at first- marking each awake-time as ‘day’ though she knew that all the training she’d undergone as a young huntress meant that the space of several suns probably passed before she was too exhausted to continue walking the timeless space of the hall. Her sleep was always disturbed, too. Noises, whispers, presences too close for safety. That unceasing jangling of her nerves that she was in danger and constantly surrounded by the Void.

At least in the hall there had been light of a fashion.

Here, where she had been thrown… there was none of that. The gibbering howls and snuffles and grunts of the other animalistic hunting-things in the ‘kennel’ was only slightly muffled by the depth of the hole the cage was built into. When her keeper opened the hatch above to drop down food and drink- if one could call whatever indescribable things he gave her by those names- he always put out the lamps before he did, cackling at her in a tongue she still did not understand but could gather the meaning of. ‘Eat up. Eat the filth like a good starving animal.’

He must be able to see her, somehow. Or feel her. Whenever she tried to sleep, when her mind could take no more and sought to escape into dreams or simple unconsciousness, she would be unceremoniously awoken in some jarring- and often painful- way. There seemed to be no infection here- at least, nothing that was not caused intentionally- and whatever was in the fluid she was given insured she healed unnaturally and agonizingly swiftly. ...If they wanted her to be.

Her body swayed unconsciously as broken bits of songs, rhymes, jokes, stories fell from her lips in incomprehensible tangles of the Jaguar and Eorzean tongues, mumbled and scrambled. She was starving and her lips were cracked with thirst. The gilded collar around her throat and the shackles at her wrists chafed until her skin wept. The cage was not tall enough for her to stand and was just barely wide enough for her to stretch out her arms fully. She was forced to crouch, or crawl, or sit, or curl into a ball. She was fairly certain she was sitting with her back to the wall of the cage. Though in complete darkness, in sleepless semi-delirium, it was really impossible to say what was up or down. She could be on her back against the top of the cage, floating. The cage was square- so what would it matter?

As she sat- or floated- or layed on her back- the person that was once miqo’te, Y’zareen, Jaguar, Sin-Eater appeared in the dark of closed or open eyes. She shone with an inner light and the caged huntress hissed and tried to shut the vision out, lifting her arms to block it away.

The voice was familiar. It was one-and-many. Masculine, feminine, all in between. Snarl, purr, roar, whisper, and coo. Jaguar, Eorzean, the chirps and trills of Huntspeak.

“Do not forget the light.”

Mmpph. Useless, that. The world was darkness and would ever be darkness. Too small for her to stand, just wide enough for her to stretch out her arms. Cackling and jeering, muffled sounds, food that had no substance, drink that allowed endless torment. Ever and ever and unending.

“No. Remember.”

The glow increased and she snarled at it, baring fangs. It was the first actual, coherent, voluntary noise she’d made in recent memory and it surprised her. Anchored her, just a little. She was lying on her back with her butt against the wall of the cage and her legs outstretched, hands on her stomach. Rolling over, she pushed herself up to a proper seated position. The world tilted and she grasped her head as she retched, dizziness engulfing her. There was nothing to bring up, but the act of retching was another anchor. This was her body.

“That’s a start.” The glow diminished a little as the shining creature sat next to her in a companionable way. She stared at it, at the features that kept shifting- familiar, vaguely, every one of them, but she could not recall them. Lost dreams.

“Not good enough. Remember.”

The snarl-snap of the voice made her recoil in anticipation of pain. More pain to come, though, if she did what she was told.

She rebelled, lashing out at the glowing dark. It dissipated into flames that washed over her and set her to screaming, thrashing, burning, the stench of flesh and blood and hair burning so strong in her nose-

Gone.

She was seated with her back to the wall of the cage and her hands over her face like a child. She could feel the calluses on her fingertips and the prick of claws and the grime. Her hands fell away. The flames were gone. In the darkness across from her was a shadow, sitting calmly, feline, with tail curled around it’s paws. Glimmer of eyes in the dark.

“Mm. Closer. Good. More.”

She was tired. She didn’t want to. Fuck this. Fuck that. Who was this to demand anything of her? Fire stirred in her breast.

“Better. Remember.”

The buzzing of cicadas. The scent of green and growing things. Teeth white in a smile- not her but someone she cared about. Her heart beating quick and sure and strong. Muscles moving smoothly as she ran and leapt, air rushing past her.

Her lips cracked at the now-unfamiliar and yet involuntary smile. Blood ran down her chin, into her mouth, and she licked it up, caught it with her fingers and sucked them clean despite the grime. It tasted good- like fire, like honey, like spice and smoke, like life.

She could feel her heartbeat. Thudding. It was good.

The huntmaster watched impassively as the most unruly and dangerous of his charges, placed under his hand by the Queen-Mother herself for taming, began to stir in the pit. No matter what he’d done, he hadn’t been able to heal the wounds she’d given him- ichor still seeped through the bandages on his arm and torso, weakening him slowly and steadily. The Queen-Mother had been thrilled.

Nothing survived the pit. That had been true in the days of darkness and the time before it, too, when he’d been called the Houndmaster and the beasts in his charge had equal parts feared and loved him. Had it a mind, it would break down there- that was unquestionable. A matter of time- and so long as he remained in the good graces of the Court, he needn’t worry about that. This one had been so very close- when they start rambling, it was always a signifier that the self was breaking down and fading away. A self is a dangerous thing to allow a hunting beast. They start getting ideas.

As he watched, the strange creature in the pit interacted and reacted to that which was not there, and, impossibly, rather than it’s visions continuing to erode it into the smooth slate he required, he could tell even from far above that it was- over the long course of time- steadily starting to rebuild.

His wounds ached. Dissatisfaction burned like bile in his throat. He’d never, ever failed to break one of his beasts to his will and as coherent, though alien, words began to rise from the pit he knew he must announce his failure to his monarch.

Zareen didn’t know how long it had been that she’d been in the pit. But she knew the moment the huntmaster walked away with heavy footfalls. She curled into a corner of the cage, and smiled, and slept, with her visions wrapped around her.

[dapandapod]

Dead I live pt 4

Here we go, the next chapter is here! You can find it here on Ao3!

In this chapter Im being nice! I have to be, from time to time, when writing something a little dark! No warnings, only bad humor! For now! Building it up, slowly! ;) Please enjoy, and remember, this story is dark most of the time and rated M because of gore! Take care you yourself and have a wonderful day! 

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3 

It takes some time to track down a town with a decent music store. Novigrad would be the obvious choice but they are far away, and they still don’t know exactly who took Jaskier in the first place and if they are still looking.

The store is not big. The ceiling is low and the walls are covered in displays for different instruments, stacks of note paper, books on theory, little jars with oils and rosin. A good word for the shop would be cluttered.

Geralt pokes Jaskier in the side and points to one of the topmost shelves. A sad, forgotten bagpipe sticks out over the edge and Jaskier has to smirk.

The shopkeeper is a middle aged lady, she has woodflakes in her hair and she smiles awkwardly.

“Good afternoon.” Jaskier greets. “We are looking for a new instrument, preferably a lute.”

“How many strings would you like? I can take an order if you pay enough, but I have one almost done with thirteen. Just need to put the last touch of paint on it.”

Oh dear mothers, she makes the instruments herself. Jaskier feels a flicker of interest, a shadow of his former self rising for the occasion. Just a flicker, but it’s comforting no the less to still feel things other than cold numbness.

“I would love to see it, if I may.”

The woman nods and disappears into the back, probably to the workshop. Geralt touches his shoulder to Jaskiers, smiling softly.

“You sure you don’t want the bagpige?”

“I think you are right, my dear witcher, I should give it a go. I'm sure I would make a fortune on Toss a coin alone.”

Geralt cringes, and Jaskier gives a victorious smile.

“Please don’t. You already did.” Geralt mutters sullenly as the shopkeeper returns.

She carries with her a lute, and despite being unfinished looking utterly beautiful. He gets pointed to a small chair by the wall and she hands over the lute like it’s a baby. Jaskier couldn’t agree with her more. He settles it in his lap, caress the neck of it, adjusting for once again being allowed to play.

It’s been so long.

It feels right, the weight of it, the shape, the soft smell of fresh wood and paint. He wonders if his fingers will work, if it will be the same. They are a lot better, but the skin on the tips of his fingers are painfully soft. He wonder if they will stay that way. Likely the instrument will cost a fortune, something he doesn’t have right now, but at least he is allowed to try it out. He plucks the strings, tries out a melody.

His fingertips sting a little when he changes chord. The sound is clean, it rings out nicely. He can tell when the strings have a high quality, he closes his eyes and smiles, lost in his own bubble. When he surfaces again the shopkeeper is staring at him.

“Who are you?” She asks, which is not the question he expected. He blinks in surprise and rests his hands on the strings.

“Im Jaskier. Dandelion for some. Poet and bard from Oxenfurt.” Jaskier can see Geralt roll his eyes behind her back and realizes, oh, maybe he shouldn’t say too much. But her jaw drops, eyes widen.

“Jaskier, the Jaskier? Jaskier behind The Ballad of the Raven Maid? Jaskier, who wrote Silken Strands of Summer?”

Another something he didn’t expect, and if he could blush he would. Pride swells in him, that his creations are so widespread.

He rises from the chair and gives her an elegant bow. He can’t, but she blushes deeply enough for them both.

“That would be me, my lady. I'm humbled by such a fine craftswoman as yourself know of my work.”

She opens and closes her mouth a few times, so he sits down while she collects herself, plucks out a tune.

“It is indeed a lovely instrument.” He tells her, falling into his role as a showman. “How much would you like for it? When it is finished of course. I must confess to you, I might not be able to pay it all at once.”

Immediately she changes, fleeing into her knowledge as a business woman. He doesn’t haggle very much with her, and they agree on a fine price and a promise to come by with a collection of his poems next time he is in the area.

She needs to finish the painting before he can take it, so it will be a few days before they can bring it with them.

Returning to the inn, Geralt finds a notice board. There is a contract up for a wraith by the graveyard, and so they have found a way to occupy themselves for the time being. For once, Jaskier doesn’t beg to come. Being around this many people again is nice, but also exhausting. They part, Geralt going to find the town's huntmaster and Jaskier for a small visit to a bookstore nearby. He needs to stock up on paper and ink again.

A sense of normality settles in him, doing familiar tasks even if it is in a new town. And when he returns to the inn where they hired rooms, takes a nap before meeting Geralt for dinner.

When Jaskier wakes up, his face is pressed towards the ground, pebbles and plants digging into his cheek.

His lungs are burning, his eyes are dry, and he can’t move. Something is very wrong.

The tugging on his heart is violent, painful.

He is alone in the middle of a forest, and the sun is setting behind the trees.

[rainofaugustsith]

On SWTOR’s Disappearing Characters

I've learned that the discussions on the official forum are a hellscape, and that it's best to completely avoid that site, save for the dev announcements, bug reports and PTS information. I unwisely took a peek tonight, and yep, that has not changed.   I'm floored that people are still - still requesting kill options for characters. And yes, of course, it's another female character.   There haven't been enough character deaths already? Really? SWTOR is a bloodbath.  

(Spoilers for just about everything up to Onslaught)

Currently, there are only five major named characters from the class stories who can be alive for everyone, or at least have not been explicitly killed off (Satele Shan, Darth Jadus, Darth Malgus, Keeper, and the Huntmaster). There are two more from the SoR era (Lana Beniko and Shae V). One of those seven is not looking too good from a current story standpoint, and another has been the target of a lot of moaning and screaming for a kill option from some women fans, who apparently think it's totally cool to exclude wlw by killing off the only major wlw character in the game.

Three major named NPCs were killed in KOTFE or KOTET. 20 more named NPCs can potentially be killed off on Nathema, which means they now do not exist for anyone's story in a major way. It's true that some of those NPCs were extremely obscure - someone's wife, a character that only appears on that one flashpoint - but many of them were major supporting characters who could have had a critical role in future story.   Out of the companions that we originally started the game with, of the original 40, 14 are killable. In one class - Sith Warrior - there is literally only one companion who can be alive for everyone, meaning that 4/5 have now been erased from the possibility of being part of the main story.   Of the companions we gained from KOTFE onward, 4/5 can be killed. The fifth is the aforementioned character from SoR who has been pulled out of a lot of story, probably thanks to the screams of the angry fans mentioned above.   That's 18 companions, dead for some and now removed from having any large role in the main story for all. Sure, they might get a cameo every now and then, or have a few lines thrown their way because they need to have some love interests, but yeah, they're not doing much.   So we get to Ossus and there are some really cool returning characters! Malora looks great! Oops. Bye. Onward to Onslaught. By the end of Onslaught, the potential exists to kill four Dark Council members. There are only six in total on the Council so you've literally almost wiped it out. Characters like Darth Savik and Darth Malora are interesting, but their only role seems to be to show up and die or flee the Council. That nice Republic general from Esseles? Not. Jonas Balkar? Later.     And no, I don't think all of them were necessary. Yes, some were. Tanno Vik's voiceover actor passed away, so he could not stay in the story. Okay. Arcann and Senya, I will grant because they are main antagonists in the story. SCORPIO? Well, they did set that one up. Skadge was total fan service, probably because a lot of people (including myself) resented having to take him on the crew during the class story. My bounty hunter would have blown him away before she would have let him anywhere near Blizz or Mako, much less on her ship. I'll concede that he was a pretty universally (but not entirely) hated character and most fans probably would not have enjoyed having him in the story.     But Aric Jorgan and Kailyo? Unnecessary. Vette and Torian? A gimmicky Virmire move to get the player angry at Vaylin and make that final fight more palatable. Koth? That one was sheer fan service. Quinn? I fucking hate Quinn and have headcanoned that he left the crew after the Quinncident back in the class story, but they didn’t need to do that. I did take the kill option on Iokath but only because the writers gave me no other way to dismiss Quinn. If one didn't choose the kill option, on the Imperial side, the only other choice was to essentially pat him on the back and say "hey, bro, just don't do it again, K? Welcome back to the family!" But so many years after the Quinncident, do you really think my Sith Warrior was sitting there stewing and fretting over Quinn enough to kill him? Honey, she won. She defeated Baras and did fabulous things and Quinn was an afterthought by that point. She wouldn't have killed him; she just would never have let him on the base at all.   And those tactics where players’ hands are forced do skew the results. If your only options are to kill someone off vs. cheerfully accepting them, you’re going to get kill simply because players want to get away from that character. It’s the same with Arcann. If Arcann had been separated from Senya’s fate and there had been an option to say “sure, yes, recover. Just not here,” I wonder if the results might have been different. But either you kill Arcann and Senya in DS choices or you have to let them take the place of your trusted advisors, so it’s one extreme or the other.  Theron? Come the fuck on. The entire traitor arc was ridiculous. They didn't need to set Theron up as a traitor to begin with. I mean, it's not as though betrayal is not a very tired old trope that's been used about a thousand times in SWTOR already.

Yes, we all know that there are kill options on most of these, so technically you can still keep them alive. But we also know that Bioware is no longer adept at keeping them in the game for those who chose to save them, so it doesn't mean much. I saved Vette on KOTET. I think she’s sent one email to me. That’s it. That’s her inclusion in the story now.  At this point, we're so low on surviving characters that we're getting ones dug up from Esseles and the heroic quest givers, and even they're biting the dust. Is Bioware bringing everyone back just to slaughter them? Is there any point getting attached or engaged with any new characters introduced since Bioware's likely going to murder them presently?   And yet, people are asking for more? They want Bioware to keep doing this? There have been complaints that this or that character gets too much screen time, but when you kill everyone else off around them, what the fuck do you think is going to happen? Do you think killing off more characters and thus giving the writers less to play with in their sandbox will make that situation change?   I'm really wondering what's going to be left in the game. We're going to end up getting our quests from the damned gonk droid because they've killed everyone else off, created an environment where there's nobody familiar and nothing more than an endless parade of characters who appear and die, and it's already making the story much less engaging, IMHO.

[modernagesomniari]

Fic - ‘The Wrong Game’

Part 15 (15!?!?!) of my Mala Suledin Nadas series, which follows my playthrough of Ellana Lavellan.  All the stories can pretty much be read on their own, but there is continuity through them.  You can check out the whole series here or read this chapter in isolation on AO3 here.

So, I'd just finished Hushed Whispers and done the rounds back at Haven, which meant that Eli and Vivienne's relationship by this point basically involved two flaming rows about the status of mages. However, the next thing I did was complete Viv's first war table quest, which rewards you with her approval. This didn't make sense to me, so I wrote a thing that made it make sense i.e. Eli is crap at politics and asks Viv's advice despite disagreeing with her. This speaks of a practicality and humility Vivienne approves of (plus we get a sneak peak of how Eli may or may not SLAY the Winter Palace).

*********************

After their second strong disagreement about the status of mages, Vivienne is dismayed to see Herald coming in her direction again.

The Wrong Game

It had been quite some time since Vivienne had needed to calm herself down this way.  Intellectually, she knew why this was different, but that neither made the anger less potent nor curbed the irritation at being made to feel it.  Perhaps she had been at court for too long - she was getting lazy.

It wasn’t just that she disagreed with this new Herald of Andraste - she had disagreed with many people before.  Nor was it that the Herald existed outside of the Game - Vivienne had taken great pleasure in instructing many scholars from all over Thedas of their academic failings.  No, this particular woman was infuriating because her logic had no bearing to the Game at all.  Nor to the Chantry.  Vivienne was more than adept at wielding her learning to point out the flaws in most foolish arguments like Lavellan’s, but her reasoning meant nothing to this girl.  On the contrary, they had barely made it to the more mainstream discussions around mage rights, so busy had they been questioning the fundamental definition of mages that made those discussions relevant.

Lack of preparation, that was what was making her so angry, Vivienne realised.  When Lavellan had rebutted any question of the necessity of mage towers using the Dalish as an example of a society that needed no such thing, Vivienne did not have the tools available to argue the point.  As such she was reduced to simply dismissing the point outright, which felt beneath her.  She was no novice, of course. As soon as she had found out that the Herald was both a mage and a Dalish elf she had combed the library of the Winter Palace for every useful tome on the culture she hadn’t yet read.  That, she quickly learned, was precious few.  Not because she had read them all, but because every account of elven culture that was available was either monstrously out of date or so steeped in mind-numbingly simplified Chantry rhetoric she felt momentarily ashamed for the entirety of the Orlesian academic elite.

Thus, she had come to an argument she was not expecting, that had turned in a direction she should have foreseen, woefully unprepared.  This was not a situation she cared to repeat, although she was slightly at a loss for how not to.  The Herald clearly distrusted her greatly now - there was a defensiveness in her last few sentences that precluded a rather dull mental attitude suggesting any further actual intellectual debate was going to turn predictably cumbersome and personally affronted.  How exceedingly dull.  She was aware she could not blame the Herald for such an attitude.  It seemed to be true that the Dalish did not have the space to carry books with them, so Lavellan couldn’t be accustomed to truly rigorous intellectual discourse, but Vivienne would have appreciated a little more time to gather the information about Dalish culture she needed before they got to the bullish stage.

She had developed just enough of a headache that the sight of the Herald darting out of the war room at the back of the Chantry had her sigh and turn to her books, away from the main body of the building.  She did not wish to get into this discussion again, so did rather hope that the girl would pass her on her way out.

“Madame Vivienne?”

No such luck, it would seem.

“I am rather busy, darling.  Perhaps we can pick this up another time.”

“Oh.  It will only take a moment, I’m sure.  I was wondering if I could ask your advice.”

Well that was unexpected.  Vivienne turned, shrewd eyes skirting over the Herald’s crude (if rather fetching) attire to her face, where she noticed a slight rise of colour to her cheeks, a distinct widening of the eyes.  Something had shaken her, clearly.  

“My advice?” she asked, knowing that for all the frost in her voice she might as well be standing back with her arms crossed.  Lavellan did not look reassured.  Good. “I believe we just established that my advice is not particularly welcome.”

“Not on magic.  I think we’ve discussed that enough for today.” Lavellan said quietly, adding a rather surprisingly self-deprecating chuckle before looking directly up into Vivienne’s eyes.  She had courage, Vivienne had to give her that much.  

Those big green eyes still slightly panicky, the Herald took a step towards her and her words all came out in a rush.  “I was in the war room and they’re asking me to make some decisions because they can’t agree, which is fine.  But there’s a problem just south of Val Royeux to do with the letter your friend sent and it’s to do with some nobles?  Of different families?  That I can’t remember the names of?  And they’re having some disagreements about…about…um…something and the advisors want me to help them decide what to do.  Me.  Me, Madame Vivienne.  Ellana Lavellan, First of Clan Lavellan.  Being, as that name suggests, Dalish.  And I thought to myself ‘why on earth invite an expert on the Orlesian court to join the Inquisition if you’re not going to use her’?  Because, for some reason, they seem to think I’m qualified.”

There was something unavoidably charming about the genuine panic in her face that Vivienne was fighting a losing battle not to be swayed by.  Apparently, however, the Herald wasn’t finished.  “I know we don’t see eye to eye on some things.  And I’m not stupid, so your advice wouldn’t be wasted.  It’s just not my area of expertise and I know it’s yours.  Will you advise me?”

Vivienne considered her and Lavellan, rather surprisingly, let her do it.  She had to admit, she was rather taken aback by this approach.  She had assumed that Lavellan would have taken such offence to their earlier disagreement that Vivienne would now be spurned to the Herald’s detriment.  Still.

“You are aware we come from very different backgrounds, my dear?”

“That’s sort of the point, Madame Vivienne, yes. No one knows woods better than those who have had to survive in them except those who have learned to thrive in them.  My woods are made up of actual trees.  Yours are noble families with bewilderingly similar names.”

Vivienne resolved not to let the Herald see her smile at that particular comment, though from the sparkle of mischief in those same eyes that were so wide a moment ago, she perceived she had possibly failed.

“And you trust me to help you navigate these woods?”

Lavellan cocked her head, something like a smile on her face.  Vivienne realised, not pleasantly, that it seemed she herself was being considered now.  Whatever Lavellan had decided made her nod to herself, the grin widening.  Goodness but she would never survive the Game.

“No.”

Vivienne’s eyebrows raised, pausing her own assumption in its tracks.  Never say that Madame de Fer did not learn from the scant few mistakes she made.

“No?”

“No.  However, I do trust that you have your own ideas about what is best in this situation and how best to resolve it so I think I can learn a lot from listening and watching you hunt in these woods.  I also trust that you will see this as an opportunity to further any agenda you have yourself, which will be just as educational for me.  You can learn just as much about hunting by being hunted as you can by hunting something yourself.”

Well.  It had been a long time since anyone had stood in front of Vivienne and accused her to her face of planning to manipulate them.  Oh, plenty of inferences and innuendo, but never flat out.  She found it rather invigorating.

“What made you be honest with me?”

Lavellan was surprised enough by her choice of question that she laughed.  A little too loudly, so the sound echoed in the Chantry proper and she flinched a little, coming closer with a conspiratorial smile like they’d both just been nearly caught filching chocolates from a Senior Enchanter’s desk.

“I don’t have much experience with the Game,” she admitted in an almost whisper.  “But I do get the impression that plain talking isn’t part of it.  Which made me wonder whether it wasn’t then actually quite a good weapon if used right.  The huntmaster never let me go on hunts because he thought I’d be no use,” she explained at Vivienne’s questioning look.  “Then I helped my brother win a contest by freezing a deer solid so it wouldn’t run from his bow and the look on his face was like he’d just swallowed a wasps’ nest!”

“Wasn’t that cheating, my dear?”

“Not at all,” Lavellan replied, affecting an extremely convincing innocent look.  It was the touch of affronted, Vivienne thought, that sold it.  “My brother was allowed to pick a second to help him.  He picked me.  The fact that the huntmaster had already decided I was useless was his mistake, not ours.”

Vivienne had underestimated this apostate.  She had underestimated her greatly.  A small approving smile graced her lips and she watched Lavellan notice, hope and challenge in her smirk.  Vivienne could not find it in herself to care, impressed very much by Lavellan’s clear attitude to her assets and resources.  That her pride after an argument was not going to get in the way of her practicality was an aspect to her personality Vivienne very much appreciated.  Perhaps, despite their differences, she could still get her to listen, to make sure that no more damage was done to Vivienne’s people.  This war was taking its toll and the stakes had never been so high.  She couldn’t begin to forgive herself if she didn’t use every talent and skill the Maker had entrusted her to develop to protect and elevate those people who now so desperately needed someone on their side.  Whether they could see it or not.

Which meant keeping the Herald sweet.  The Herald who had just proved that she might be a lot more useful as an ally and dangerous as an enemy than Vivienne had initially predicted.  It was rather delicious being wrong.  Not that the Herald needed to know anything of the sort.

“I assume,” She began, moving away towards the open doors and expecting Lavellan to follow (which she did), “That you refer to the rumours that the Divine is not, in fact, dead?”

“Yes!” Lavellan replied, relief evident in her voice as it appeared that Vivienne was indeed going to help.  “Only apparently just refuting it doesn’t work and we need to choose carefully what we say to who and when?”

Vivienne looked down at her, seeing nothing but an earnest desire to learn in Lavellan’s upturned eyes.  She didn’t trust that look for a second.  This assignment she’d given herself had just got significantly more interesting.

How marvellous.