#i can live without a pair of antlers and a new mask

[frustratedpoetwrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter Characters: James Potter, Lily Evans Potter Additional Tags: Morning After, Goodbyes, Sharing a Shower, reluctant goodbyes Series: Part 2 of The Marauders Pub Soho Summary:

The morning after a night of passion Lily has to leave a soundly sleeping James, but she doesn't want to.

Lily lay staring at the skylight, and watched the patch of sky turn from black to indigo. She just gazed without moving, hardly even blinking as it gradually grew lighter and lighter. She had not been able to find any rest for more than a few brief snatches, as tired as she was. Her whole body zinged with electricity, her brain abuzz with everything that had happened last night and had continued to happen throughout the night. She glanced over towards the body sleeping soundly beside her, the sheets pooled around his waist showing his toned back. He had acquired some new tattoos in the six years since she had last seen him. When she’d remarked on the delicately detailed Lily that was now inked on his right side sweeping across his ribs, he had quipped back that it marked the spot where she had stuck her knife in him when she’d left him to pursue her career. That remark had stung more than she wanted to admit, even though she did deserve it. 

She had told him last night she never wanted to leave his side again, and she had meant it. Especially at that moment, standing in the bar he basically built, surrounded by the memories of their childhood. Engulfed by the overwhelming scent of James himself. At that moment it had been so easy to say yes to all of his questions, say yes to coming here to his place instead of going back to her hotel as she had planned. She wished she could stay in this moment, with the old day finished and the new not yet begun. In this bed with this man forever. But all too soon she would have to leave. She needed to get on a plane in a few hours. If she didn’t, then any dream she had to live in London permanently would be gone.

She glanced around James's attic room trying to see if he even had a clock. She was amazed that he still lived like this. There was a rail for his clothes and a bed so low it was almost like the mattress was on the floor. That was it. She hoped he didn’t live like this all the time, but she suspected his life and energy was spent at the bar.

It had looked so beautiful, the large dark polished oak panels and the brass rail, the small stage with the piano sitting proudly. And all the pictures on the walls of their schooldays. It had always been his dream to run a bar, and the four Marauders had made it a successful reality, but she knew who had been driving it from day one, and she was  incredibly proud of him for that.

She reached for her clutch bag and fumbled in it for her phone. It did not light up when she tapped the screen. Her battery must have died. 

Fuck.

She glanced over at James, still sleeping soundly, and contemplated waking him, but she knew he was exhausted. She had wiped him out, she thought to herself, suppressing a giggle, it had been a wonderful night. He had not forgotten any of the things he used to do to make her whole body hum, and he had learned a few new things too she had discovered. His strength and stamina had greatly increased. Not that she had expected him to hold himself chaste for her, but she still had a pang of jealousy at the thought that other women had touched him, had been with her James. Had they asked about his tattoo? She always thought of him as hers, even though she hadn’t exactly expected to ever come back to him that day she had left. Any time before now when she had considered it she talked herself out of it because she was convinced he would be with someone else.

She rolled over onto her back again, and looked up at the skylight. 

What time was it?

She’d hoped she wouldn't have to do this but she slid off the edge of the bed and took James’s phone out of the pocket of his jeans and opened it, shaking her head at the stubborn distrust for technology that meant he still used an old flip phone. Although at the moment Lily was grateful because she didn’t have to worry about unlocking it.

She tapped in the digits for her assistant's number as she crept into his ensuite, slipping on the dressing gown that was on a hook behind the door.

The phone rang just once before she heard an unsure “Hello?”

“Hey, Jess it’s me…”

“Lily!” came the scream, causing her to jump and nearly drop the phone. “Where the fucking hell have you been? I’ve been calling you all night. Your meeting has been moved up, you need to get to the airport right now!”

“What? Oh, fuck!” Lily took a breath and closed her eyes as her assistant kept rambling over the phone, talking so fast Lily could hardly understand them. “Jess, Jess, Jessie!” She tried to speak urgently and sharply without making too much noise. “I need you to bring me my bag and my suit, the green one. Put an extra pair of underwear in my bag.”

“I’m sorry, Lily, but your overnight bag won’t be enough, I've had to pack your suitcase, you’ll be staying for a week. They’ve sent a whole itinerary, but when we left Hong Kong I didn’t think to pack any of your formal wear. I’ve arranged for the concierge to book a fitting for after your first meeting, once you’ve checked in. Where are you anyway? I need to let Terrence know where we need to come and get you.” 

Lily went to answer then realised she had no actual idea of the address. It wasn’t far from the bar, she didn’t think. But she had been interested in other things besides looking out the car window to notice what neighbourhood they were in. Lily looked up as the door to the bathroom swung open gently, revealing a conscious James leaning against the frame wearing only his battered looking jeans, his tousled hair framing his tired-looking face and his glasses perching on the end of his nose, as if they were mere moments from falling off.

She let the phone fall from her ear slightly as he continued to stare at her, a wry smile reaching only the edge of his lips. 

“Something tells me you aren’t staying for breakfast.” His tone was light but she heard the resignation behind it. As she looked over at her childhood sweetheart, an idea struck her.

“Jess? You still there? Pick me up outside the Marauders’ Pub in Soho. Yeah? And Jess? I'm gonna need another plane ticket.”

“Well, okay boss but they are sending you a priv…..” Lily did not hear the last of her assistant’s words as she closed the flip phone and tossed it back to him.

“I can't believe you still use that antique.” He caught it deftly in his left hand and dropped it into his back pocket.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you dick around with my life again,” he replied, barely even trying to mask the disappointment.

“As much as I'd love to have this argument again, I really need you to pack yourself a bag. Do you have a good suit that fits you?”

He shook his head and blinked at her as she brushed past him to his rail of clothes and started looking through them. He still had some nice attire here, a lot of it she remembered from their life before.

“Lily, wait,” he called after her but she took no notice. She had no time. Already, in her head, she was mapping out what she needed to do. A whole week with these people. The one day originally planned would have been torture, but this... If she had back up maybe she could make it work.  “Stop.” He placed a hand on hers as it rested on the next coathanger. She looked up into his gorgeous eyes as they shone with all the colours as his emotions played out across his face. He was always so expressive. “What are you doing?”

“I want you to come with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? You’re your own boss, you could take the time off. It’s not like you’re the only one in charge. What about Sirius? Or Remus? Or even Pete?” She paused, “Is Pete doing okay? I thought he wanted to go in a, erm, different direction but I saw his name up there with the rest of you?”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “Pete is a silent partner, he helps out when he can but his wife made him join their family business, he helps by keeping them away.” His hand dropped to his side. “Lily I can’t afford to just drop everything, everybody else has other responsibilities, I’m the only one left to run it and I won't let it fail. My staff depends on me.”

“James, this is me telling you I don’t want to leave you again. I don’t want to go on this trip without you by my side, I could use someone in my corner. I could also use a devilishly handsome, charming, charismatic–” he raised an eyebrow at her seductive tone but didn’t stop her putting her hands on his chest, tracing the antlers that spread across them. 

 “My tattoos aren’t very corporate,” he murmured, his voice sounding deep and throaty. she shrugged in reply,

“You’d be surprised what people hide under their suits these days.” She told him with a twinkle, sobering when his lips thinned. “Please James. I need you.” She hadn’t realised how true those words were until she had spoken them to the universe.

“I’m sorry Lily, but my staff need me more. They rely on me.”

“So you’ve never taken a day off? Never had to call in sick?” Before he could answer her questions an idea struck her. “What if I pay your staff for the week? How much would that be?” He stood for a moment apparently stunned then started laughing and stepped away from her, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She tried not to look upset at his reaction to her suggestion. She stood watching him and waited for his mirth to subside.

“Oh, you are actually serious? You want to pay me so I will spend time with you?” He shook his head as his mirth still rippled through him. “This isn’t Pretty Woman and I’m not some, some...rentboy you picked up off the street.” 

Now he sounded angry. James’ phone started buzzing in his back pocket. She had not thought that offering to pay his staff would equate  to her hiring him as an escort service. Her brain hadn’t gone that way at all. She let him answer his call, as she rushed back to the bathroom for a much needed shower and tried to clear her head.

James may have skimped on bedroom furniture but he hadn’t skimped on his wet room. The shower was a walk-in style and big enough for four people, the naturally textured tiles on her feet were warm as she walked in, the large slabs of highly polished sand-coloured stone on the walls were so neatly fitted she couldn’t even see the joins. 

Turning on the shower filled the room with hot steam and the reassuring splats of water droplets peppering the tiles. Stepping into it, she gasped at the pressure. It was like standing in a tropical rainstorm. She just stood there unmoving, letting the water rush over her enjoying the sensation as it beat down on her head.

“That was your PA on the phone. I gave them this address so you can leave from here.” James said as he stepped into the bathroom like they did this kind of thing all the time. “Thought you might want to have some fresh clothes to wear.”

“You really won’t come?” She asked, trying one last time. She forced herself to keep her eyes forward when she realised he was joining her by the sound of his jeans hitting the tiled floor. 

Despite their recent intimacy, or perhaps because of it, being this close to his naked body turned her core white-hot. She tried very hard not to react as she felt his naked skin brush up against hers.  His arm reached past and grabbed an unlabelled metal bottle from the small alcove. Then his fingers were in her hair and her nostrils were filled with the scent of an English summer garden.

“Is it okay that I join you in here? Thought it would save some time.”

“Yes, okay, it’s absolutely fine,” she tried to keep her voice as neutral as his but even she could hear the breathiness.  

“I told your assistant I can’t, it’s not my scene at all,” he told her conversationally, as if he wasn’t standing butt naked behind her in the shower. He was trying to calm her down, trying to talk about what needed to be talked about. The fact they were taking a shower together didn’t seem to phase him at all. Determinedly, she tried to follow his lead.

“This is not me running away from you. I need you to understand that.” She hummed in pleasure as his fingers massaged deeper into her hair. “I’m sorry if I offended you, offering to pay.” 

 “I’m still not sure if I find it more funny or offensive,” he began. “I can’t say I’m not tempted to run away with you, but you know as well as I do how much of a distraction I would be. You need to be at your best. I will be fine, I’ll just have to trust you’ll come back. That you're not making me the poor jilted lover once more.” He told her. She wanted to tell him he didn’t need to worry, wanted to say all the things that she had agonised about saying as she lay awake beside him in his bed, but no words could adequately explain how she was feeling. So she turned and reached for him, pushing her fingers up across his stubble studded cheeks into his hair and kissing him soundly. Breaking the kiss he tilted her head back as his lips dragged kisses across her throat. She didn’t need to ask where his mind was right now, she could feel his arousal pressing against her stomach. All too soon her brain caught up with her and soundly put on the brakes. “Not that I don’t enjoy where this is going, but we need to stop.” She took a few quick breaths as his hands continued to soap her breasts. “I don’t have the time and I’m a little tender.”

“You were the one who started things, Evans. I was just helping you wash,” he said innocently, amusement dancing in his eyes. But he did take his hands off her body and even though she had asked him to, she mourned the loss of contact. “In all honesty, I don’t think I have it in me right now to perform at my best anyway.” 

“Let’s just put this on pause for now then shall we?” She told him, giving him a gentle kiss, hoping he understood how much he continued to mean to her. Lily dipped her head to rinse the bubbles out of her hair. It felt like silk as she combed her fingers through it.

“What is that shampoo? It’s amazing!”

“It’s a prototype. Remus’ company makes it, the only thing that’s come close to making my hair behave. He’s made it his personal mission to tame it. He gives me a new formula just about every week.” He pointed to the small bathroom cabinet above the sink. “The conditioner’s in there, it's one you have to leave in. I put towels on the hook.” She stepped aside once she was rinsed, letting him have the full force of the shower. 

“Does he always make it smell like flowers?”

“Yup.” She expected him to elaborate but when he didn’t she just let it go and stepped out of the shower. She found the small spray bottle in the cabinet simply labelled conditioner and scrunched some into her hair as she watched James wash his. The bubbles slid down his frame in ways that made her wish she could just step back in there with him.

Lily wished she could continue to stare at him but her logical brain was kicking in to tell her all that she still had to do. Moving back to the bedroom, she twisted her hair up out of the way while she looked for anywhere he would store things. There wasn’t even a cupboard in the bedroom so she padded her way through to the living space. She barely remembered it from the night before, and she was stunned at how minimally he lived.

It was a beautiful apartment, the exposed red brick looked amazing with the warm honey-coloured wooden floor. The living space was a good size for London, the kitchen looked brand new with a wooden worktop that matched the floor and clean white cupboards. She spotted the coffee machine, and hunted in the cupboards to see if he had any beans, suppressing her irritation when every one was empty. 

The more she looked around his place, the less it felt like he lived here at all. There was a giant modular brown leather sofa taking up the majority of space in the living area, a coffee table that looked like it was made out of granite, and a giant tv on the wall. 

“What is this place to you James Potter?” She mused as she looked around. She was tempted to start rummaging in drawers (if there were any) but it felt like possibly a step too far for now. 

The intercom buzzed impatiently making her jump guiltily and nearly drop her towel. As she stared at the white box on the wall and wondered how to operate it James came striding out of the bedroom holding a hand towel around his waist, hair still dripping. He lifted the receiver then buzzed to let the person come up. “It’s your assistant.” He explained before vanishing back to the bedroom.

Lily stood looking through the peephole until she saw her assistant's blonde head appear from the stairs.

She opened the door and ushered them in quickly. Taking the bag from them awkwardly with one hand.

Jessie looked around and hummed appreciatively. “This is nice, you could do a lot with this place. When are they moving in?”

“I don’t know,” Lily replied quietly. “I’m going to go change. Can you play nice with James, please? It would be great if you two get on.”

“Well I’ll behave if he will,” Jessie swept an invisible strand of hair out their face before relenting to Lily’s reproachful look. “Alright, alright. When we spoke on the phone they were pleasant so I can be too.” 

“Great, I’ll be super quick,” as she made her way back into the bedroom James stepped out wearing that same pair of jeans he seemed incredibly fond of and one of his many black Marauders Pub t-shirts. He put out a hand to stop her as she tried to slip past him.

“I’m going to get out of your hair,” he said quietly. She could tell by the tone he didn’t want to be here when she left, didn’t want to be the one left waving by the door. She understood that in an instant, saw it in his sad eyes, and the hesitant touch he placed on her arm. 

“Okay.” With a glance at her assistant she walked him back into the bedroom. “This was not how I wanted this to go,” she said, keeping her voice down once she knew they were alone.

“Saying goodbye brings back bad memories,” he told her shuffling his feet and running a hand through his hair. “I want to believe you're coming back this time.”

“Of course I’m coming back. I’ll call you, every day. But could you do something for me?” She asked, reaching to snake her arms around his neck.

“Can you get yourself a new phone so we can video chat?”

“Yes, Evans I think I can manage that,” he told her, leaning down to kiss her goodbye for the last time. 

[rwbyvein]

Firen Lhain: Chapter 411: Nora of the Clouds

Nora stood up against the rail at the bow of the wooden ship, the wind pushing her heavily. She spread out her wings and the wind caught her. She flew up and back , only for Jaune to catch her foot, pulling her back down into his arms. She gave him an awkward smile. "Is this," Jaune asked, "your first time on a boat?" In reply she looked looked about nervously.

"We have an unfortunate confession." Ren said loudly into the wind, but was heard at only a moderate level.

"What?" Jaune asked, "You were stowaways?"

Ren looked quizzically into Jaune's eyes as Nora slipped out of his grasp.

"We kind of figured you would be.," Nora voiced, "I don't know, be upset about this?"

Jaune looked at them for a moment, "My dad wasn't exactly fond of the government."

"Which one?" Ruby asked, and Jaune shrugged.

"All of them?"

"Even Vale?!" Nora asked, and Jaune nodded. "Okay?," Nora asked, and looked Ruby in her eyes, "And what about Ruby?"

"Huh?" Ruby asked.

"Are you," Nora asked, "you know? About being stowaways?"

"Were you guys?," Ruby nervously asked, "orphans, running for your lives?" Ren and Nora nodded in reply. "I always had Dad and sis... and... memories of my mother, but you guys? You guys just had each other. It's amazing what you guys have been able to do. Kind of makes me think I couldn't do anything without Yang looking out for me." she dejectedly said, and leaned over the side. She found Jaune leaning up behind her.

"Nothing wrong with needing each other." he grumbled, and the boat shook. He was worried he and Ruby would fall over. He braced himself as much as possible and then breathed out when he remembered about Ruby's Semblance. She wasn't the one they had to worry about going overboard. Not like him in his armour. He was about to quickly push back when he saw something beneath the boat. He threw himself back, Nora having to dodge to the side or risk being hit. Jaune crashed into the wooden deck. "Stand to." he said out loud. The ship started to roil even more as the three others developed a stable stance, drawings their weapons. "I suppose now's a good time to tell you guys that I'm not that good at swimming. Especially not in heavy armour."

"Then take it off, duh?!" Nora asked.

"Surprisingly reasonable." Ren stated, as the ship started to list back and forth, the water roiling around them.

"We've got like... a group?" Ruby asked, "A pack?"

"What are they?" Ren asked.

"I don't know?" Ruby asked in reply, "Whales? But not whales?"

"Cetus." Ren stated as Jaune found his way to his feet and pulled off his cuirasse. "Whale-like, travel in pods. Energy beam of some sort..."

"Like the movies?" Ruby asked.

"What movies?" Jaune asked.

"The monster movies," Nora replied, "Duh."

"Surprisingly, from what Professor Port was saying..." Ren added.

"So, what do we do?" Ruby asked.

"Wait for them to make their move." Jaune stated.

"Indeed." Ren added.

"Not much we can do with them below the water." Jaune added.

"And when they do?" Nora asked.

"Rule one?" Jaune asked, "No one touches the water."

"Why?" Nora asked.

"Wet wings?" Jaune asked her, and her eyes grew wide at the revelation. "This means Ren and I will have to stay on the boat, and do what we can from here."

"I can leave the boat, so long as I don't touch the water?" Ren asked.

"Well, yeah." Jaune stated, and Ren nodded.

"And," Ruby asked, what do I do?" Jaune just stared at her.

"Trying to control you would be like trying to catch flower petals in the wind." Jaune said, and Ruby looked at him quizzically. "I honestly don't know how you can even move that way." Jaune said to her.

"Really?" Ruby asked, and the boat listed terribly.

"At this rate we might capsize without them even coming up." Jaune said.

"Oh, they will come up." Ren added, and great burst of water happened over the railing.

"You guys," Jaune said to them, "don't die."

"And what are you going to do?" Ruby asked.

"Find out if they have harpoons or something." Jaune replied, as he turned and ran towards the wheelhouse just aft of them. "You?!" he shouted at one of the sailors, as Ruby braced against the rail and aimed Crescent Rose below them. She aimed and fired twice, neither seeming to do much damage. She unloaded the standard wind/fire magazine and inserted a lightning one in it's place.

"Do you have any harpoons?!" Jaune asked the sailor.

"Uh... what?" he asked, "I mean, yes?"

"Get them!" Jaune shouted. The sailor looked at him for a moment before running off. Jaune ran back to his team. He grabbed Ruby around the waist as she made aimed shots against the Ceti below the waves. They seemed to be diving. Jaune turned to Ren and Nora, "Other side!" he exclaimed, and Nora saluted, the two quickly moving to the other side. "And Nora, get your hammer ready."

"You got it!" Nora exclaimed, as she adopted a ready stance, ready to pounce. The boat listed down on the starboard side Ren and Nora were on, before listing down on the port with Ruby and Jaune. This time Ceti broke the water and jumped up and down. Nora looked at Ren who looked calmly back at her. Nora looked back over and saw two of them unfurl their four dragonfly-like wings and lift out of the water. Nora looked back to Ren who subtley nodded, and Nora jumped over the railing. Her hammer landed soundly on one of it's heads, causing it to fall back into the water. Ren was just behind her, and landed with an open heel-palm, sending a shockwave of Aura through the Cetus. It's body seemed to crumple in unhealthy ways. Nora's hammer landed soundly on another Cetus as Ren sprung into the air, his hand guiding him back over the railing. Nora stepped on her hammer and shot herself into the air. She let herself glide upwards, looking down, and the Ceti were all around the boat.

Jaune's scroll started ringing. "Who's calling me?" Jaune asked, and pulled out his scroll, seeing Nora's face. He tapped to accept. "Nora?!"

"You know it." she replied.

"What's up?" Jaune asked.

"LOTS of... what are they... Cetuses?" Nora answered.

"A-stern?"

"A-everywhere." Nora stated.

"New rule," Jaune added, "don't fall behind!"

"Leader!" she affirmed, and hung up.

Jaune turned to the far side of the boat. "Keep an eye on her?!"

"Always!" Ren shouted in reply.

Jaune wrapped his arm around Ruby and pulled her away from the rail. She looked at him questioningly, until she saw the Ceti rising on the other side.

"Oh!" Ruby shouted, and turned into a burst of rose petals. The rose petals moved to the top of the wheel house. She swapped her lightning magazine for an ice one, and started to take aim.

Jaune looked up and silently cursed. He couldn't make the jump. Maybe if the boat wasn't listing so much, back and forth. He heard footfalls, and looked back, seeing sailors running at him with harpoons.

The ice shots caused the Ceti to begin listing mid-air. She flew towards them as rose petals and reverted, spinning her scythe, cutting a Cetus in half, the two portions falling away. Her scythe quickly cut through a second. She used her rifle to arrest her momentum and a moment later used her rose petals to fly back up to her roost. Ren used his Aura to knock of pair of them back as they tried to spiral upwards. Nora dived down and used her hammer to smack of pair of them away, one to each side. Jaune looked at them and tried to predict their movement. The one headed to port would likely pass his vantage point, and he reached towards the sailors. One of the sailors handed him a harpoon, and Jaune started aiming as he predicted the Cetus' movement. As soon as he glimpsed it, he lined up the final part of the throw and let loose. The harpoon traveled at ridiculous speeds and traveled through the Cetus, causing it to fall away. He reached over and another sailor passed him another harpoon.

The bow bounced up quite a bit when a pair of Ceti could be seen cresting in front of them. His harpoon traveled through one when the other rolled over exposing it's belly. Jaune was confused for a moment until it rolled forward onto the deck. It's tooth-filled mouth opened up and he thought it was maybe posturing until a second jaw lunged forward, with him dodging it just in time, shouting "MORE TEETH!" He lunged forward ramming / goring it with his antlers. It dislodged from the bow, moving upward a bit. He drew his sword and struck it in the head with his pommel before turning it around and stabbing the Cetus multiple times. He then thrust through it's mask, (where Jaune assumed the brain was), and it fell back, dissolving.

* * *

Jaune climbed to the highest point astern. "ARE YOU," he asked, "GOING TO JUST STAY UP THERE?!"

"Doing fine, leader!" Nora replied. She then saluted, getting blown off course.

"Get down here, right now!" Jaune exclaimed. Nora recovered and dived down. She missed the deck Jaune was on and landed a few decks below him. Jaune jumped down and helped her to stand up. "Remember, you can't actually fly, right?"

"But it was so much fun?" Nora whined.

"What am I supposed to do?" Jaune asked, "Tie you to the boat?"

A burst of Rose Petals turned into Ruby next to them. "Yes?" she asked. Ren silently appeared beside the others holding a rope.

* * *

Jaune, Ruby, and Ren laid back on the roof, astern, with Jaune holding onto the rope like a kite. "Ren?" he asked.

"Yes?" Ren asked.

"I... kind of figured you would be against this?"

"I have found it wise," Ren voiced, "to occationally indulge things like these." Jaune held the rope over to Ren, who seemed nervous about taking it. "You and your armour make a much better anchor than me."

A sailor raised his head up over the roofline. "Hello?" he asked, and the three turned to look at him.

"Yes?" Jaune asked.

"Are you sure... this is a good idea?.." the sailor asked.

Jaune looked at the other two before looking back at him. "Not really."

"Sometimes," Ren voiced, "you must do things that you are uncertain about."

"Exactly!" Ruby shouted, "If we play it safe, we can't really be Huntsmen... Hunstresses... huntressesmen..."

"Still not a word." Jaune's deep baritone stated.

[d-a-anderson]

The Deer Church

This short is based on a dream I had last night. It disturbed me enough that I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I wrote it down. I may expand it to flesh out the themes and context.

H. P. Lovecraft is known for “cosmic horror”—that is, his assumption that we live in an uncaring universe that feels nothing for us, so that its true nature is so alien that it is existentially dreadful.

My subconscious seems to be working with a kind of “ecological horror”—that is, that nature is uncaring, and if it ever felt something for us, it has now turned against us. And that an uncaring Nature can be as alien and dreadful as a cosmos that is wholly and perniciously “Other”.

Image: "Cernunnos", or the “horned god” of Celtic polytheism, on the Gundestrup Cauldron, c. 150 BC

The forest beyond the town broke into a clearing. I could see the ravine that had once been a river, now dammed up to make way for work on the mines.

Old, metal-wire fences teetered on the edge, and dead trees that had long since fallen hung down the other side. The air smelled musty, and the mud stuck to the side of my galoshes.

I noticed where the fences curved away, hugging the only path out of the forest. There was a landbridge leading to the other side of the ravine. It seemed impossibly thin for its height against the river basin, like a sidewalk’s width, and moss-covered signs hanging on the fence were too dirty to be readable. I noticed a set of tracks leading across the landbridge—what looked like deer tracks, caked in the mud, still wet.

“Hello there?”

A voice echoed from across the river basin. At the other side of the landbridge, I saw an elderly woman who seemed to be dressed in black, with fine gray hair pulled in a bun. Her dress seemed to me vaguely reminiscent of a nun’s.

“Hello,” I said, projecting my voice. A faint echo came back.

“We have a church here,” said the lady. “Would you like to see it?”

“Across this path?” I asked. “Are you sure it’s safe to cross?”

“Of course it is—here, let me show you.”

The lady crossed part way across the dirt path, and I could see the grandmotherly wrinkles on her face. She seemed to traverse it easily, without even minding the closeness of the fences to the steep drops on either side.

“See? Come on over now. Lots of people come this way. We have a beautiful church just up the side of this hill.”

I had a soft spot for churches. Ever since growing up in New England and attending Sunday school as a child, I loved old Protestant churches—their pews, their well-worn hymnals, and the musty homeliness that came with them.

“Oh,” the lady said. “You’ll just love our church then. It’s by far the finest here in the west. What brings you out this far?”

“I’m surveying for the developers.”

“Mhm,” mumbled the lady, seeming unconcerned with my answer.

I minded my footing as we passed along the path. The wire fences seemed to hold the ground together, even as the path got muddy. The lady seemed unfazed, but I stuck my hand out to grasp the chainlinks as we stepped. The wire jingled in that dull, steely way, and I could see the waves travel through it as I clutched it with my unsteady hand.

“See? It’s not so bad.” The lady muttered again. And as I watched my feet, I saw in the ground again: deer tracks. Or, at least, deer footprints. Were deer this big? I didn’t know; I’d never been a boyscout.

“There we go. Up this way now. I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

I followed the lady up the hill where a loose footpath was made. The dirt, moss, and mud were held in place by wood planks that looked like they must’ve been placed there long ago. The lady held up her skirt against the mud, and I could see the hose beneath her dress.

“Here we are—the old, dear church,” she said.

I looked up, slightly winded. A few paces from us was an old, decrepit church. Vines covered the side of its walls and dark mold crawled up the sides of its brick foundations. The wood-step path led up to its threshhold. There were no broken windows and they weren’t boarded up—but they were too dark to see inside.

“It’s small,” I mentioned.

“Oh, but that gives it some charm,” she said. “We don’t need those big churches like some people do. You should see the inside—it’s quite special.”

Still entertained by the idea of nostalgia, I walked up the path, following the lady. A sign read “Dear Church” in metal lettering, nailed over the double doors—but the “a” in “Dear” was missing, and instead had been scrawled into the wood.

“Come in, dear,” said the lady. I entertained her as she opened the door for me, and I neglected to ask her name. I suppose I didn’t want to offend her.

I stepped inside, and the mustiness of the air outside was exponentially thicker beyond the doors. When my eyes adjusted, I could see the lobby of a normal, small-town church—much like ones I grew up going to Sundays in.

Except there was a pervasive mold. Not just the kind of mold you’d see in a condemned house—at least, I’ve never been in a condemned house before, or one like this before. It wasn’t the kind of mold you’d expect in a house—it was white, furry, with splotches of green in some places. It wasn’t quite the kind you’d see on a piece of cheese in the fridge before throwing it out, but something close to it.

And it was everywhere. On the seats’ cushions on either side of the doors as you walked in. On the tablecloth where greeters must’ve delivered their programs to visitors. On the carpets of the floor, trailing up the staircases, leading up on either side, onto the doors leading to the main room. On an old coffee dispenser that must’ve been there for decades.

“It has its own special charm,” said the lady. “Quite humble compared to other churches, don’t you think?”

I managed to hide a frown of disgust, careful not to touch anything, and instead nodded at the lady—still, wishing not to offend. She seemed unperturbed by the extreme state of growth, and, still daintily clutching the sides of her dress, stepped up the stairs, which split to either side of the greeting station.

“The architecture is… interesting,” I managed to comment without stammering too much. She nodded without looking at me, but still visibly smiling.

“Sister Mary? We have a visitor who wishes to see the church.” The lady announced as she reached the top of the stairs. A door creaked open, which I assumed must’ve led to a balcony in the main room.

Another elderly woman, not too different in complexion, but now in a gray dress rather than black, entered the lobby.

“Ah, how nice. Glad to see we can have another visitor.”

I proceeded up the opposite stairs, doing my best to play it nice and congenial. Surely this wasn’t a functioning church? Either that, or I’d landed myself into some kind of cult. Still, some impulse in me wanted to see beyond the layers of ruined upholstery and drywall, all caked in this thick, soft, white layer of fungi. Or, maybe, I wanted to entertain what the rest of it looked like as it was out of gross curiosity.

Until I noticed, on the upholstered benches leading up to the main double doors, where the main room would be, what looked like a mannequin’s head sitting on the cushions. It was completely covered in the white, moldy moss, so that its features were indistinguishable. The layer of organic gunk was so thick that it seemed to have solidified in place, like the fungi had hardened so that it had the visible texture of plaster. Next to it was an arm. I didn’t dare touch it.

“Ah, don’t worry about those,” the lady called Sister Mary said. “We like to leave things as they are here. Come on in—you have to at least see the auditorium.”

Sister Mary walked to the double doors and opened them, gesturing for me to enter.

I looked inside. It looked like a church’s auditorium all right, if a bit modern in style. A small flight of stairs, split on either side of an exit below, led down to pews in angled rows facing a central pulpit. The ceiling sloped downward, and the whole room had a pentagonal shape, roughly big enough for two hundred people.

It was a mess. The wood of the pews was so water damaged that it was discolored from brown to black. Scrap pieces of wood laid about, I took note, as I descended the staircase, feigning curiosity and amazement. After all—only two elderly women, right? And, of course, mold was everywhere.

I was taken to a figure to my left. Another mannequin—this time, seated, like where a deacon would be. Totally covered in white and splotchy green fungus, like someone had plastered it with the stuff. The features were totally indistinguishable, and even the hands were so coated that it had no fingers; they just looked like mittens. The stuff was covered on the seat too, like the head and arm was in the lobby. I had the visceral sense, whether incorrect or not, that the figure was part of the seat now.

And as I stepped downward and the floor creaked, I could see the pews from an angle; I could see more heads on the seats, as if they were fungi themselves, either placed there or growing out of the upholstery, but now indistinguishable either way. They all faced the pulpit, as if to receive a sermon.

Daring to look at the pulpit, I couldn’t make out the figure behind it. The felt-covered stage, the wood of the pulpit, was all completely covered in fungus. Instead of standing like a pastor would be, the figure was seated behind the pulpit on the floor, and I couldn’t see its face. All I could see was what must’ve been a pair of antlers protruding from its head.

“What do you think?” Said one of the sisters. “Please meet our brother, Hern.”

Out stepped from the balcony a large man in a patchwork sweater. He wore a mask that seemed to be caked, solid mold, carved in the shape of a rudimentary face.

My eyes darted to the exit, just below the balcony, as I watched this hulking man descend the staircase, coming to flank me.

“Hern is the custodian here,” a sister said. “He can take care of you.”

I stepped toward the exit, still feigning interest in my surroundings. Some scrap wood, fallen on a table at the back of the auditorium, was within my reach. I picked it up, flipping it in my hand like it was a toy, smiling innocuously. Hern slowly walked up toward my rear, and I could feel the floorboards give under his footsteps. I looked up at the balcony and noticed, behind the sisters, what seemed like child’s drawings of a series of faces. One had two sets of eyes beneath a mask.

“What’s with the drawing with the two sets of eyes?” I asked.

At that moment, Hern grabbed me in a headlock with one arm from behind. I felt a strong pressure at the left side of my neck. Was it a needle? Was I about to pass out? No. Was it a gun? No—it felt like just two massive fingertips, dirty, with rough nails, digging into my skin. He must’ve been feigning a gun. I gave a shove against the headlock, still gripping the wood scrap in my hand.

“Let me go!” I yelled. Hern was a head taller than me and the headlock held fast. So I reflexively did the one thing I could: I took the wood and slammed the sharp end above my head in an attempt to stab his face through its mask.

“Let—me—go!”

On the third try the headlock loosened, and I darted for the exit ahead of me, intent with all my might to make it to that thin little landbridge, the one with the oversized deertracks, and to get to the other side of the ravine.

[semperintrepida]

Three Hunts in the Shadow of Delphi

The ship lay broken against the rocks, the cracked shell of its hull exposed to the surf while its tangled rigging and torn sails flapped in the breeze. There were people climbing all over the wreckage, tossing bags and boxes onto the wet sand below, and they froze and stared at Kassandra as they noticed her approach. Judging by the rough homespun fabric of their clothes, they were merely villagers from a nearby settlement taking advantage of the luck that had dropped a loaded ship into their laps.

At the tideline, a man stacked boxes onto a pile as a woman and a small boy scurried between him and the wreckage, their arms loaded with goods. The woman noticed Kassandra first, and she whistled a warning to the man, who whirled around to face this incoming stranger.

His eyes flicked from Kassandra's face, down her armor, and then to her weapons, and he looked over nervously at the woman who was probably his wife. She watched Kassandra warily and pulled the boy behind her.

Kassandra held her hands open. "I'm not here for trouble," she said. "I just want to know where the figurehead of this ship went."

His head jerked in the direction of the bay behind him. "Somewhere out there, along with the crew."

"Do you know what ship this is?"

"No idea. They blew in here in a hurry and ran aground in the shallows. Most of it's out in the bay except for the stern here. But if it's treasure you're after, you're too late. Those soldiers dragged it all up to their camp." He looked up the hill behind Kassandra, where a fortified encampment of Athenian soldiers stood overlooking the water.

Kassandra wasn't here for treasure, though that would have been a bonus. She was looking for a particular ship, the Shark's Tooth. Its captain, Gelon, had asked Kassandra to find it along with her missing lover Gyke, Gelon's second-in-command. And once Kassandra found both ship and Gyke, Captain Gelon would pay her in information more precious than jewels and drachmae.

"I need to get to that wreckage."

"You're mad if you think you're going to swim out there. You'll end up food for the sharks like these poor bastards did."

The villagers had pulled their boats high onto the beach. She nodded at the nearest. "I'll give you coin if you let me borrow that felucca."

The man glanced at his wife, who gave him a quick nod. "All right, but you pay up front."

A short time later, Kassandra was knee-deep in the surf, pulling the felucca behind her into the shallows. The water was warm, and the white sand below gave it the color of a summer sky. On most days it would have been beautiful, but most days didn't involve a dismembered leg floating in the waves, or the sticky-sweet scent of blood in the salty mist.

She hopped up on the felucca's deck and poled the boat out to deeper water. Matted coils of rope, broken planks, and other debris bobbed gently on the waves, along with a growing number of human arms, legs, and torsos. Kassandra had seen blood and horror, but never anything like this: the sea like a butcher's soup. She fought down a queasy churn in her stomach as she guided the boat into the center of the floating patch of bodies. She couldn't see what lurked in the depths below. The water was too deep for the sun's light to reach the bottom.

It meant she'd have to go for a swim, against all reason and sense, for the Shark's Tooth and Captain Gelon were the only leads she had in finding Elpenor, the man who'd already tried to kill her once, and was bound to keep trying until he succeeded.

She gritted her teeth and reached for the first of the leather ties that secured her armor. It had to come off — breastplate, greaves, and bracers made of iron and bronze, all of it far too heavy to swim in. She stripped down to her underclothes, took a deep breath, and stepped off the side of the deck before she had a chance to think any second thoughts.

Thankfully, her tendency to sink like a stone in water quickly pulled her below the carnage floating at the surface. Shadowy forms too smooth to be rocks loomed in the darkness below, and she swam towards them as the pressure grew in her ears and the burn crept into her lungs. There: the unmistakable curve of a ship's bow. She rolled to her left and finned her free hand so she'd follow it around to the very fore of the ship. Her eyes began to adjust to the watery gloom, and then she saw it, a figurehead of a large shark, its mouth open in a toothy grin. This was the wreckage of the Shark's Tooth after all.

A dark line of shadow snaked across the figurehead and the bow. Her heart beat faster. She looked up just in time to twist out of the way of the lunging maw of a real live shark. Her back slammed into the ship's keel, the barnacle-encrusted surface slicing into her skin. She let herself sink, following the bow's wooden curve down into the darkness. Her lungs were burning. Fuck.

The shark swimming overhead was massive, dwarfing the one on the figurehead. She'd never outrace that monster to the surface, and there was fresh blood in the water now.

Think, Kassandra. She swam in the murk along the seabed, trailing a hand along the sand, looking for a sharp rock or a piece of wood, anything, when her fingers touched something cool and soft. She gave it a tug and her heart seized in her chest as the arm came free of the body it belonged to and she realized exactly what she was holding. And there, around its wrist, was a flash of gold and green stones. Could this be the bracelet Gelon had mentioned she'd given to Gyke? Apparently the second-in-command had gone down with the ship.

Kassandra was running out of air, and with it, time. She pulled the bracelet free and kicked upwards, saw the graceful, deadly glide of the shark overhead, let it pass by on its circular path, then kicked upwards again so she and the shark swam at roughly the same depth. It turned, spotted her, opened that great and terrifying array of teeth, and she somehow held her nerve as it swam closer and closer, and at the very last moment she surged out of its way and slammed her fist straight into its eye. Its entire body thrashed in surprise, creating a wave that pushed her away, and she kicked hard, fighting panic and a right now desperation for air as her blood pounded behind her eyes.

She broke the surface, took one great breath of blessed air, and swam for the felucca floating several body lengths away. Then she was lifting herself onto the deck, and she lay there on her back for a very long time, gasping for breath. When the fire in her lungs finally subsided, she looked down, saw the reddish tint in the seawater drying on her skin as she remembered Gyke's arm in her grasp — and then she rolled over and vomited into the sea.

.oOo.

Gelon surprised Kassandra by taking the bad news like a Stoic would, uttering a quiet, lamented "Oh, my Gyke..." before she shook her head and set her hardened mask back into place. She shed no tears as Kassandra handed her Gyke's bracelet. Instead, she sighed wearily and said, "I suppose I'm not much of a captain," as she slid the bracelet around her wrist. "Can't be a captain without a ship."

"I can help tide you over," Kassandra said. "But give me the information you promised me first."

Gelon glanced around, then gestured for Kassandra to follow her further up the beach, away from any unfriendly ears. "You're looking for Elpenor, right?" she said.

"Yes."

"That fucker's a snake. But unlike most snakes he's got a lot of friends. That's why no one here will talk to you. They're all afraid." Gelon uncrossed her arms and pointed at herself. "Lucky for you, I don't give two shits about him or this place."

"You know where he's hiding?"

"Nope. But I know someone who might. Her name's Auxesia."

"Go on."

"Sex-crazy, she is. She's probably fucked half of Phokis, but imagine the pillow talk she's heard..."

Loose hips made loose lips. "Indeed," Kassandra said drily.

"She's not usually one to kiss and tell, but if you help her somehow, you might get her to talk."

"Help her somehow?"

Gelon looked Kassandra up and down pointedly. "You're fucking hot. I'm sure you can figure out how to work with that."

Kassandra rolled her eyes. "If I must."

"I'll introduce you to her."

"Good."

"I gotta warn you, though. She's like a hundred years old."

.oOo.

Auxesia wasn't exactly a hundred years old, but she was old enough to be Kassandra's grandmother. It made for an amusingly awkward conversation where Kassandra got to hear all about an old woman's voracious sexual appetites while being openly ogled at the same time. It turned out Auxesia had plenty of drachmae and libido — and a husband who couldn't keep up. Might Kassandra help her find the ingredients she needed to make a potion to give him back his youthful stamina?

Kassandra never would have expected that finding a deer's tongue and a bear's scrotum would put her one step closer to finding Elpenor. The world moved in strange ways.

.oOo.

Kassandra sat high in the fork of a tree on the upper reaches of Mount Parnassos, where the stags had gathered to wage war amongst themselves for the best of the hinds. Their roaring calls echoed off the shoulders of the mountain, carried on an autumn breeze as crisp as frost on fallen leaves, and she could see them coming down the ridge line and up the river gulch individually and in contentious pairs, antlers already clashing, none of them the stag she wanted.

She leaned back against the tree trunk, the old oak's bark digging into the tender spots on her back she'd earned during her swim a few days ago. Her armor and sword were back on the Adrestia where she'd left them, prioritizing speed and silence over protection. And now, dressed as she was in just her chiton, armed with nothing else but her bow and broken spear, it was like she was back in Kephallonia, hunting deer to keep herself and Phoibe from starving.

But today she hunted no ordinary deer — only the oldest and most clever of the stags that lived in these mountains. The hunters in Delphi called him the Alpha, or First, and they said his antlers were as wide as a man's outstretched arms. No man would ever be able to track the Alpha Stag, they said, but Kassandra was no man, and she had something no other hunter did: her golden eagle Ikaros, who was just as adept at hunting big game as he was at hunting small.

Ikaros had led her here, and it was Ikaros she depended on now, as he flew somewhere above, his keen eyes searching for their quarry.

She sighed and idly drew her spear, studying the pitted metal surface of its blade while trying not to fidget. All this sitting around allowed her mind to wander back to places she'd rather it didn't go.

Just when she resigned herself to experiencing unwanted memories, she heard Ikaros's hunting call sound over the ridge. If that's where the Alpha Stag was, then she'd have to move to keep herself downwind of him as he approached. One breath of human scent and he'd flee, ending her chase in failure. She swung her leg over the branch and climbed down the trunk.

Her path cut an angle further up the mountain, and she shivered as the wind blew into her face. The chill didn't last long as she climbed up the steep hillside, the long muscles in her legs warming up after sitting still for so long. Ikaros called again, closer this time. The king was on his way.

He was far too canny to stand in silhouette against the treeless ridgeline, instead choosing to pass through a small copse of dwarf pines that clung to the ridge, their gnarled trunks twisted from years of battering by bitter winds. She knelt behind the trunk of a grand old oak and readied her bow with an arrow nocked. From here she had a clear view of the pines. The snap and clatter of breaking branches told her something big was approaching.

Kassandra's breath caught when the Alpha Stag finally emerged into open ground. He was easily the largest deer she had ever seen, his antlers spreading into a regal fan of points above his head. A crown worthy of his majesty.

Her bow hand did not move. The idea of killing this beautiful animal gave her no pleasure, nor did the possibility of inadvertently raising the ire of Artemis herself, whose punishments were swift and cruel. She had hunted before, when the stakes were kill or go hungry, and not a single scrap of those animals had gone to waste. But what now, when the priestesses in the Temple of Artemis had promised her a bear's scrotum in exchange for the antlers of the Alpha Stag...

Elpenor was out there somewhere, waiting for another chance to orchestrate an attempt on her life. It was kill or be killed. She raised her bow and lined up the shot, aiming just behind the crease of his shoulder where his heart beat and his lungs drew breath.

Forgive me, she thought, and let the arrow fly.

.oOo.

The priestesses of Artemis had accepted her offering of the Alpha Stag's antlers along with as much usable meat as she could carry. Bringing it all down from the mountain had been an arduous and bloody ordeal, but after everything was said and done, she had the ingredients she needed for Auxesia's potion.

Auxesia's husband Koragos was not particularly happy to see Kassandra when she arrived at their home, and he figured out the purpose of her visit the moment she handed the fetid-smelling package of ingredients to his wife.

"Oh no! We've already discussed this, Auxesia!" he said, backing away slowly. "I can't satisfy you anymore. You're going to kill me with your lust."

"Nonsense. I'm going to make you an elixir that will give you the vigor of a man a fraction of your age."

Koragos's voice pitched higher in desperation. "Gods save me. I can't do this anymore."

Kassandra held up a hand. "Enough," she said. She turned to Auxesia. "Your husband doesn't want this, and I'll not be a party to forcing him."

He looked at her with gratitude while Auxesia began to protest, "But—"

Kassandra cut her off. "No more potions. I'll satisfy your hunger instead." While taking Auxesia to bed was not something she would have considered in normal circumstances, what harm could there be? Maybe an older lover would teach her a thing or two — or several.

Auxesia recovered quickly from her surprise. "Very well, let's see what you're made of, misthios." She took Kassandra by the hand and led her inside the house, to a chamber lit by oil lamps with their wicks trimmed low. Even in the dim light Kassandra could see that the bed was richly dressed in silk and linen, and that the furnishings in the room were simple and elegant. A table holding jugs of water and wine stood next to the bed, along with a large basin of water. This room was clearly a place where Auxesia enjoyed spending her time.

And Auxesia was a gracious host, offering Kassandra a cup of wine while she removed her bow and her swordbelt and began to work on the ties that fastened her armor. She surprised herself by declining the drink. Her heartbeat had sped up and her neck and shoulders were suddenly stiff with tension. She had no idea how this was going to play out.

However, once Auxesia's clothes came off, it was apparent that though her hair had gone to grey and her skin held more wrinkles, she was still a woman, with the same parts and hidden mysteries as all the other women Kassandra had ever slept with before. Kassandra smiled at her misplaced apprehension.

"Something funny, misthios?"

"Just the foolishness of youth."

"Youth I'd like to see revealed. Now hurry!"

Kassandra slipped out of her chiton and underclothes and stood by the bed in full glory.

Auxesia took her in, smiling in delight. "Well, aren't you magnificent!"

It was always nice to be appreciated, and once their bodies met, age ceased to matter all that much. Auxesia was surprisingly strong and limber, and any worries Kassandra had about needing to be gentle were quickly dispelled.

Auxesia knew exactly what she wanted and exactly how to tell Kassandra to give it to her. Fingers, tongue, thigh, palm of hand: Kassandra used them all and more, as Auxesia came and came and Kassandra's own pleasure grew, in the giving and in the forgetting of the past and the future. There was no grand meaning to be found here, just two women sharing a moment, or in this case, a great many moments as the sun set and the night spun its wheel overhead and the dawn broke through and turned into day.

How long could they go before someone got tired — that became their game, and Kassandra was well served by her peerless stamina. All that running and sword swinging was paying off.

Finally, finally, Auxesia threw herself back against the pillows of her bed, saying, "By the gods, I'm done! No more."

"Are you sure?" Kassandra teased, drawing out her words as she slipped her hand between sweat-slicked thighs.

"Yes! No! Stop!" Auxesia said between gasps. "Now I know how it is to be ravished by a god."

Kassandra laughed, low and rich with satisfaction.

A short while later, Kassandra was mostly dressed as they shared a cup of wine between them, Kassandra sitting on the edge of the bed as Auxesia lounged languidly within her silks.

"I doubt you're in Delphi to pleasure old women in need, misthios. Tell me why you're really here."

"Have you heard of a man named Elpenor?"

Auxesia narrowed her eyes and set the cup down on the table. "That's a dangerous name."

"I'm a dangerous person."

"A lover and a fighter," Auxesia mused. She studied Kassandra, considering how much she would say, and then she mentioned a handful of places where a snake might make a hidden lair, if one were looking for such a thing.

Auxesia had given Kassandra exactly what she needed.

.oOo.

One by one, Kassandra crossed locations off of Auxesia's list, scouting caves and tombs and villas across Phokis. To her frustration, it appeared that Elpenor had hidden himself in plain sight all along, in one of the many ruined temples within the Valley of the Snake. The damned thing even had an enormous skeleton of a snake wrapped around it.

For most of a day she'd watched the comings and goings of the guards and servants from a hidden crevice in the cliffs that stood above the ruins. From their movements, it was obvious that there was someone of wealth living in the caves under the temple; she could see it in the number of guards posted at the perimeter and in the goods the servants delivered throughout the day: amphorae of Athenian wine, baskets of fruit and other delicacies. The master they served had expensive tastes, and Elpenor seemed the kind of man who expected luxury to follow him wherever he went.

She waited long past sunset, until the servants were sent home and only guards remained. At least she'd be helped by a moonless night.

The cornice she crouched upon was a perfect place to spy upon the ruins, made even more so by the long, thin crack that ran alongside it down the face of the cliff. She stuck her left hand inside the crack, twisted it until her fist jammed into a solid hold, then swung her feet off into space. For a few dizzying moments her life dangled by a single handhold, until her toes found solid footing against the stone below. Then she jammed her right hand inside the crack at a point just above her waistline, and began the long climb down.

By the time her sandals sank into the grass at the foot of the cliff, she was sweating lightly, and as she ducked out of sight between two boulders, a frisson of anticipation slid up her spine. The nearest guard, like all the others, stood with his sightlines facing out towards the river and the road. They'd forgotten that danger could come from within.

She pulled a length of black linen out from under her armor and looped it into a hood that shrouded her hair and face. She drew her broken spear. Then she moved like a gust of wind, enveloping the guard from behind and wrapping an arm around his chest, the blade of her spear resting against his throat.

"Leave here and take the others with you if you value your life," she said.

He apparently didn't, for he took a deep breath and tried to shout a warning instead. She cut his throat and let his air wheeze quietly into the night. These were no ordinary hired thugs, loyal only to themselves and fleeing at the first opportunity.

She quietly lowered the guard's body to the ground while her heartbeat surged and her body wrapped itself in a familiar warmth. Her spear hummed in her hand. She spotted four more guards at watch along the edges of the ruins, and one at the entrance to the cave. She'd have to be quick to get them all before they noticed their numbers dwindling.

The temple ruins were a perfect hunting ground. She flowed between dark places shadowed by crumbling marble columns and the twisted skeleton that arched above, and came upon each guard in turn, her spear flashing, leaving silence and blood soaking into the earth as she passed. No one would sound an alarm.

Only two men were left: a sentry walking a line between the temple and the path to the cave entrance, and a guard at the entrance itself.

The sentry's torch blazed in the darkness, and she approached him at an angle, careful not to throw any shadows from the lights behind her. Her spear cut a silver line into the night, and he died silently like the rest, his body folding to the ground as she eased him down. Then she picked up his fallen torch and walked boldly up the path to the entrance of the cave where the final guard waited.

"Hey! Wh—"

She hurled her torch at him and rushed him at a full run, and in the margins of his distraction she ran him through with her spear as if he weren't wearing armor at all. The Spear of Leonidas seemed to be growing ever more powerful, its keen edge now punching through armor that would turn aside nearly any other blade. Even now it seemed to pulse in her hand.

She turned and faced the mouth of the cave, pulling her shroud off her head as she stepped inside. Elpenor would know who killed him.

The upper tunnel was barely wider than the span of her arms, but it was well lit with candles and oil lamps. She could see its lower section opening up into a larger chamber.

She found Elpenor seated at a writing desk in the chamber's center. He did not seem surprised to see her.

"What a shame," he said, eyeing the spear in her hand. "We would have made you rich." His left hand curled around something in his lap.

She let him throw the blade, tilting her head at the last moment to let it fly past. "I'm going to enjoy killing you," she said.

He leapt to his feet and drew a short dagger from his belt. Instinct told her his blade was poisoned. It left no room for mistakes, and when she struck, her hands could not waver. A thread of memory loosened within her, and she heard her mother's voice. Hesitation hastens the grave...

The tight quarters of the chamber only added to the danger, and she backpedaled, trying to draw him out. She watched his hips and kept her spear at the ready, and when he shifted his weight to his back leg, she let him strike, neatly sidestepping his blade while grabbing his knife arm and twisting it upwards. She slammed her spear deep into his side, just under his ribcage, and then she stabbed him a second time for good measure.

His legs turned to water and he sank to the ground. She followed him down, keeping a tight grip on his arm, then slammed his knife hand into the rocky floor until he let go of the blade. A flick of her spear sent it skittering out of reach.

The pool of blood under him grew as he bled out, and he clutched uselessly at his side. "Killing me is a mistake."

"Trusting you was a mistake."

He smiled, showing bloody teeth. "I was the reason you left Kephallonia alive. The Cult wanted you dead."

"What Cult? Where are they?"

She'd get no answer from a dead man. She examined his body anyway, looking for something she might have missed. There, on the ground underneath his waist, was a sliver of a golden... something that had fallen from his belt. Out of curiosity, she poked at it with the point of the Spear of Leonidas, but the moment the spear touched the object's surface, it began to thrum with even more force than it had before, almost as if it were angry. She jerked the spear away reflexively, then reached down and picked up the object with her free hand, wiping Elpenor's blood off on his own robe.

The object was the size of her palm, triangular in shape, and about as thick as a knife blade. It gleamed gold in the lamplight, but was far too lightweight to be real gold, or even bronze. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen, and she realized that it hummed in her fingers the same way her spear did when she held it, like a whispered promise of power.

She tucked it into a pouch on her waistbelt and turned her attention to the rest of the chamber. The scrolls she found amidst the opulent rugs and furnishings detailed routine business deals from Phokis to Krete. Elpenor was certainly well connected, but that was hardly unusual for a merchant during times of war.

Kassandra drifted over to his desk. In an alcove, she found a dark set of robes and a white mask that could have come from any play in any theater from here to Athens. Elpenor had mentioned a love of theater, but there was something about the mask that put her on edge, and she decided to hang on to it and the robes while she figured out where they came from later. The rest of the scrolls in the alcoves were much like the others elsewhere in the chamber, listing ship manifests and accounts due and other transactions, but then she began to sift through the scrolls on top of the desk, and found a scrap of papyrus addressed to no one, written in a neat but delicate hand.

The situation is under control. Kassandra will be dead soon, and Deimos will find her mother. The Eyes see all. —E

She crumpled the letter in her fist. Every answer she found only seemed to create more questions. She was certain of only two things: that her mother was in danger, and that Elpenor was part of a much larger conspiracy that plotted against her and her family.

It was time to pay a visit to the Oracle of Delphi.

Author's Note: My original outline for this story began with the sentence "Kassandra punches a shark." Suffice to say, this story took a few unexpected turns while I was writing it. However, the biggest surprise was actually deciding to write Kassandra's encounter with Auxesia. I never planned on it, but here we are. The game plays this scene as a comedy but I chose to write it with a bit more sensitivity. I have no idea if I succeeded or not.

Part of the Elegiad. Go back to the previous story, or on to the next...

[deceasedatsunrise]

Killer AU Concepts

Eh, Killer!Survivor AUs may seem done to death but it's still plenty fun and I wanted to take a crack at it.

Whenever a new chapter comes out I’ll try to come up a killer au! for any new survivors and add them via reblogs.

Here's my ideas, I’ll try to give them all a Killer Alias, short backstory, an idea of what their power would be, a quick description of their appearance, and their weapon. I’m not good at perks so for now, just imagine all of their killer perks being reskins of the canon killer perks.    

More below cut.

Warning for DBD typical topics: Murder, Torture, Trauma, Parental Death, Body Horror, drowning, dismemberment, car crashes

Dwight Fairfield (The Ghost) - It was meant to be an innocent prank, one where they’d laugh at Dwight’s expense once again. While the boss was still asleep they simply took advantage of the cheap inflatable mattress Dwight brought along for the retreat and simply let lake do the rest. When he woke up, he panicked, and fell off the floating mattress into the chilly water. The others laughed, but stopped when Dwight never emerged. They lied, saying that he left early, and pretended nothing was wrong. They would never know that, as his lungs filled with water, Dwight begged for help from anyone-or anything...and something answered.

The boss left for a moment, just a few minutes to call Dwight to tell him he’ll be looking at even lower pay if he leaves again without checking with him. He returned to the retreat’s site to find the bodies of his employees. 

Now as a malignant spirit, Dwight resembles a cold, bloated corpse suspended in the air as if carried by invisible puppet strings.

His Power would be called Haunting Grounds, a teleporting ability that assists in locating survivors. He can see the auras of generators in his terror radius, and may teleport to one as long as it’s not being worked on by a survivor. The teleport and recharge takes a couple of seconds, with a very small sound cue. He cannot teleport to fully charged generators, but when the gates are all powered he gains a significant speed boost. (This is based on the teleporting mechanic in Soul at Stake, so yes I am in fact stealing from a DBD Clone).

His main weapon is a large tent spike, stained with blood and rust. Useful for quickly killing those who’ve wronged you.

Meg Thomas (The Predator) - Meg Thomas never lost hope, even as her mother fell ill. Then one day, her mother collapsed suddenly after she supposedly began to feel better. Meg was in a hurry, she simply loaded her mother into their car and made her way to the hospital. No time to wait for an ambulance, no time for seatbelts, and no time to take into account that she didn’t have a license. She was reckless, believing she knew enough to save her mother, and it had cost her. She ran into a car and was sent flying, she came crashing down. She dragged herself through debris, both legs maimed by the crash alongside a useless arm, to look for her mother. She found her, she didn’t make it.

She heard the cries of the man she rammed with her mother’s car, and crawled her way to him, along the way she picked up a tire iron that had fallen out of the trunk. When police investigated they found two bodies, one was chalked up to the accident while homicide investigated the skewered driver. Meg dragged herself into the nearby woods, the only way she could escape her mistakes, as she was in no state to run. The entity had repaired her body, with grotesque, gangly limbs made in it’s own image, allowing her to hunt the survivors she could’ve ran with if she wasn’t so, so reckless. Several small spider-like legs jut out of her back and her eyes have been touched by the entity, making her vulnerable to flashlights.

Her main Power is New Instincts, her new body follows the rules of beasts when hunting her prey. Think of it as a mixture of the Pig’s Ambush ability and Fatal Frenzy. Using the power button will make her enter Stalking mode, where she’ll crouch down and lose her terror radius. Using the power button again will initiate Frenzy mode, where she’ll chase after survivors and instantly attack them if she’s close enough(this attack can also destroy dropped pallets). This will apply Deep Wound, or shorten the bleed out timer of a survivor who already has the status effect. If she attacks someone who already has Deep Wound in Frenzy mode she’ll be momentarily stunned but the survivor’s mend meter will lose a part of it’s progress as well. 

Her main weapon is a her own Mangled Arm, an appendage similar to the entity’s claws, regrown after she was collected. After making a hit she’ll grip her head in agitation.

Claudette Morel (The Gardener) - Claudette Morel found happiness a rarity, none of her relationships extended beyond others taking advantage of her knowledge. Stress was killing her, in more ways than one, all because she was lucky enough to make it to a good college. Under her façade of a curious student, was a ticking time bomb waiting for a single spark. She was aiming for a great opportunity, to intern for actual botanists, as long as she kept her grades up. But she had overslept, too many all-nighters added up and she paid the price. Her strict teacher locked her out of the classroom, and she had to watch the class finish the test without her. Her grades were already in danger of falling, but this one F sealed it, so her spot went to another student. Claudette stopped coming to classes, and her chat rooms were left silent. There were five students selected for the Internship, all five and one teacher were found in the forest. The bodies were buried, but beautiful, non-native flowers were planted on top of their graves as markers. Claudette was spotted by a jogger walking into the woods, but she was never found.

The Gardener was once a human, now she’s merely a vehicle for the parasitic plants consuming her. Vines entangle her body, and flowers obscure her face. Her stomach is gruesomely torn open, thick vines spill out like intestines and have wrapped themselves around her waist and legs. The flowers are “Pustulas”, the flowers that grow from the hallowed blight cankers and produce the Putrid Serum. 

Her Power is called Parasitic Saplings, giving the gardener the ability to infect survivors with nutrient draining plants. When a survivor is downed, she may use her action button to “plant” the seeds in their open wounds. The survivors are now in a short timer where the plants grow, once the time is done they can now remove the fully grown plants. However a second timer pops up, if the survivor does not “prune” themselves in time the vine growing on their bodies will bind them in place until either another survivor untangles them or the killer downs bound survivor. Pruning is a non-healing action, and being hooked or hit by the killer’s weapon will pause the timers for varying amounts of time.

Her main weapon is a Gardening Shear, half of a pair that still leaves it’s mark in bone just the same.

Jake Park (The Greenman) - When Jake Park ran away to live off the grid, only his mother bothered to keep tabs on him. When she reported him missing the police gave up their search in little time, despite her pleading. If they searched harder, perhaps they would’ve found him. He went on a hike to restock, but made a mistake while climbing. He found his leg trapped between a rock and a hard place, and his screams were swallowed up by nature. No one truly knows what it means to survive, not even Jake Park until this very moment, when he tore himself free. Even with a splint Jake’s skills only grew, his near death experience proved to him that he truly was alone in this. He fully integrated into the forest life, only interacting with humans to steal tools and food. When hunters entered his territory, he dealt with them with skill and precision.

Jake had fashioned a mask from the skull of one of his victims, the only warning sign his victims would receive before he killed them. He crafted an outfit that would blend in easily, leaves were woven together into a cloak and skins were stitched together to provide warmth. Urban Legends cropped up, of a “Greenman” who raided campsites and mauled solitary survivors with ease.

The Greenman’s Power are his Handmade Arrows, with only natural materials the Greenman had created a formidable secondary weapon. Similar to the Huntress’ hatchets, the arrows will have a charge time that allows you to aim and shoot them. Two arrows, without add-ons, will make a survivor go down one health state. However, when an arrow hits a survivor it will stay embedded in their body until the survivor pulls it out. If the arrows aren’t pulled out then the survivor will groan audibly until it is, add-ons can add status effects to his arrows.

His main weapon is a Broken Antler, taken from a moose he fell. It’s best to use every part of the animal after killing it, right?

Nea Karlsson (The Shadow) - Nea Karlsson delinquency became a downward spiral into disaster. She had grown sick of her parents and ran away, she mainly couch surfed to get by, pick pocketing to afford food. She never lost her interest in tagging, becoming more bold every time. Her skills developed, allowing her to sneak past guards and dogs with ease. She was a shadow, as that was the only thing anyone saw of her when she struck. Except one day, when she was caught. Pure chance, but she wasn’t going to jail. She tried to break free but he wouldn’t let her go, not until she struck him with the crowbar in her hands. Nea wondered if she meant to do it, or if it was an accident, but something in her gut told her that it was necessary. And something even deeper inside of her told her it was thrilling. She experimented with her crimes, violence became a norm for her. She no longer associated with others, and a string of violent assaults, and murders, began to gain media attention. Nea was never caught...by the police, anyway.

Nea is a shadow, a pitch black hole in the rough shape of a human. Bright, white eyes peer out of the darkness.

The Shadow’s Power is called Security Measures, barbed wire traps that remind her of the many gates she’d jumped. She begins the game with eight Barbed Traps that she can place on Vaults, areas where pallets were, and between doorways. They are extensions of the entity, and ensnare victims to unknowingly go through them. When caught in a Barbed Trap the survivor will have to wiggle out, doing a skill check at the end of the wiggle meter. If they fail the skill check they can still get out, but they are downed by one health state. They work similarly to the Hag’s traps, where an old one will disappear if you use another trap after placing all at your disposal. The shadow can pick them up and move them to other areas.

Her main weapon is a simple crowbar, a tool with many purposes for her lifestyle.

Laurie Strode/Cythia Myers (The Copycat) - Michael Myers was let out of the asylum without much fanfare, yet Cynthia Myers never got to meet him before a car crash left her an orphan. Michael was legally old enough to live on his own, but she went to live with the Strode family as he refused to take custody of her. Cynthia had grown to resent her brother, as his legacy followed her wherever she went. Her classmates were not kind to her loss, and she shrunk away from large crowds. Even after convincing her adoptive parents to let her change her name, any person she attempted to grow close to would find out about her brother’s crime. The bullies were one thing, but the “True Crime Freaks” were a hell of their own. Judith would be remembered as a corpse, and “Laurie” would be remembered as the sister of a murderer. A dark whisper began to grow louder, asking why she should be the one to suffer? When her brother was the killer, shouldn’t have the one to pay for what he did to his sisters?

She found him, and paid him back. Murders began to spring up in the town he lived in, the victims were the eldest daughter of families with more than one child. Laurie thought it’d be easy, they’d easily assume Michael went back to his old ways and then lock him up again. But that wasn’t enough, she had to make sure he suffered. No one knew what happened on Halloween Night, except Michael and Laurie, who both disappeared that same night.

Laurie wears a clown mask similar to the one Michael wore that fateful night, alongside a bulky jacket and grimy jeans. Every inch of skin was covered, so that it’d be easier for any escapees to confuse her for Michael.

Laurie’s Power is called Survival of the Fittest, watching the survivors from afar has led to her learning their tricks. The Copycat can do many actions that were thought to be limited to survivors only.

- She can Sabotage Gens, Chests, and Lockers. Sabotaged Gens will need to be “recharged” before they can be repaired. Sabotaged locker doors and chests are stuck and have to jimmied open, with a short sound cue after they’re unjammed. It takes forty seconds to sabotage a gen, and four seconds to jam chests and lockers.

- She’s the only killer unable to break a pallet. However, while in a chase she can jump over pallets. Outside of a chase she can lift up a pallet back in place and sabotage them as well, making it so that survivors have to do the pull down action twice to drop the pallet. 

Her main weapon is a Butcher’s Knife, the tip had been broken off in her attempt to spill the blood of her kin. 

Ace Visconti (The Misfortune) - Ace Visconti, was a foolish as he was confident. Too many debts with the wrong kind of people were bound to catch up to him eventually. One bet, involving some underground fighting ring, sealed his fate. He ran, and made it pretty far before the goons came to collect. What meager winnings he had on him weren’t enough, so their boss ordered them to make an example out of Ace. So they cut him into pieces, wrapped them up in plastic wrap, and dumped them all into a murky swamp. As they held him down he made one final desperate deal, the goons didn’t buy it but something did in fact take him up on the offer. The goons stuck around the swamp for a smoke break, and went missing soon after. A police investigation ten years later would lead to the swamp being drained, all the bodies found at the bottom would help send a dangerous man to the big house. Ace Visconti’s body was never found, but the goons were. Drowned in the murky waters by the looks of it.

Ace wear his water damaged, and muddy clothing, with plastic wrap obscuring his entire head. Duct tape is wrapped around some parts of his body to prevent him from falling to pieces. He lacks shoes but wears a ridiculous amount of jewelry, perhaps collected off his fellow victims in the swamp’ s depths?

His Power is called Unlucky Deck, cards that he uses as offerings for bonuses in the entity’s game. All cards are randomly generated, and more cards can be found in chests,. The Misfortune is the only killer who can loot chests but he closes them after use, he cannot use chests search by survivors without add-ons. Add-ons can increase his chances to get a certain type of card. The killer can shuffle his deck to look at his other cards, when a card is chosen he will pick it out of his deck and it will instantly burn away into ash. His deck consists of the following:

Ten of Clubs - If any of the crows are disturbed, they will flock to the survivor and follow them for ten seconds. This lasts for 30 seconds.

Jack of Clubs - The aura of survivors opening chests or lockers will be revealed for 6 seconds. This will last for 30 seconds.

Queen of Clubs - Once used, after hitting a survivor with a base attack all survivors in your terror radius will have their auras revealed for 8 seconds. This will continue until all survivors still in the game are hit at least once.

King of Clubs - When a Generator is completed after this card is used, all survivors will gain the Exposed status for 20 seconds, and their auras are revealed for 4 seconds.

Ace of Clubs(Incredibly Rare) - All survivors auras are revealed for twenty seconds regardless of distance, however the killer’s movement speed is slowed for the duration of this card’s use.

Joker Card(Tremendously Rare) - A random affliction of another card is played, lasting for thirty to forty seconds regardless of the original time limits.

The Misfortune’s main weapon is a Bloody Saw, used to make an example of him and later thrown into the water as evidence.

Bill Overbeck (The Carrier) - Left behind, left to rot. When the entity found him it knew just the way to “fix” him, after all, he was already a carrier. Becoming one of the creatures he had tried his damnedest to evade. Very similar to a Smoker(Type of Special Infected), with the bloated skin and a gross, long tongue. However his lumpy skin would be a charred black with cracks that glow like the claws of the entity(also makes his skin look like the black lungs of a cigarette smoker). When hit by a pallet or a decisive strike he will emit smoke. He no longer sees survivors the same way he used to, and now hunts them without restraint. This is due to the entity skewing his perception, making all the survivors resemble infected that attempt to escape to spread their disease, with dark thoughts urging Bill to prevent them from getting out alive.

His Power would be Ensnaring Tongue, an ability he shares with other smokers. He shoots out his elongated tongue straight forward to choke a survivor in place. Hitting the survivor or the survivor managing to wiggle out(similar to escaping a beartrap) will break the connection, resulting in tongue being torn off and a small cooldown for his ability to regrow it. A secondary ability is that survivors will cough in close proximity, and will continue coughing for a few moments even after gaining distance. 

His weapon would be a combat knife, a memento of his younger years. 

Feng Min (The Patient) - Taking inspiration from the controversial Dr. Yang Yongxin(Chinese Clinical Psychiatrist that likely inspired the Spark of Madness chapter), in a timeline where Feng Min is taken to a “Gamin Addiction Treatment Center“, where her parents handed her over to the “good doctors”. The head doctor’s experiments in curing their patients came crashing down when, after the electroshock treatment became to much, Feng proceeded to escape and murder the staff. She would wear the hospital gown she was given for her stay and would still be connected to electroshock equipment. Her face is heavily bandaged, and a syringe is stuck in her neck. The only hit the main doctor got in before he was snuffed out. Her Power would be similar to the Carter’s Spark, Remnants of Rewiring, driving survivors exhausted to the point of self-destruction. She afflicts survivors by creating an electric pulse that flows in a straight wave, that extends for several feet in front of her. When affected their progress may go backwards, either destroying any progress they had made before or not even getting far in the first place. Maybe at the highest tier of her pulse ability, Survivors might go into a “drowsy state” where they will have to do a skill check or two to not fall asleep, this leaves them open for attack but if the survivor falls asleep and is woken by a survivor/killer they return to tier 2. They would need to escape The Patient and “relax” to lessen the effects. 

Her weapon is a chipped baton, ripped out of the hands of her main watch guard as he bled out. 

David King (The Boar) - David King was meant for greatness, in this life or the next. He squandered his success, all in his search for a good fight. While out drinking he met a shady man who took interest in his fighting prowess, and offered him an experience even more thrilling than his less-than-legal underground tournaments. Two men go in, one comes out, gladiator style. It took David one night to agree. He grew notorious in the underworld fighting circuit, wealthy spectators paid extra to watch King’s own unique style of brutality. He was a bloody mess, and his victims were worse off in every aspect. His “Manager” gave him a unique reward, a boar’s skin, said it would liven up the crowd if they saw David wearing it. David couldn’t give a shit if he tried, as long as he got good competition. 

He was soon more animal than man, taking extra measures to make the losers “squeal” for his own personal pleasure. He soon disappeared abruptly, his manager admitted that David King simply left and never came back. Sure, King was his best fighter, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to order the beast around.

The Boar’s Power is Beastly Brutality, when a survivor is downed the brutish man will grab their leg and break it, applying the Fractured Status effect. Until healed the afflicted survivor will be slowed and unable to vault, They will also grown audibly. If the Fractured status effect is reapplied, the grunting is less frequent, until it’s barely noticeable the next time it’s applied(The Boar’s base speed would be similar to the Huntress’ to give the survivors a fighting chance). There is also a “Struggling” action where the survivor can try to pull away from David until he gives up and carries you or wins. His secondary ability can be used after every two hits with his base weapon, where he tosses the Pig Skinner to his other hand and strikes a survivor with his balled fist after gaining a short speed burst. This will distort the survivor’s vision and make their ears ring.

He wields “The Pig Skinner”, a cleaver with a broad blade and long handle. Of all the weapons he used to mutilate his opponents, this one was his favorite, besides his own hands of course.

Quentin Smith (The Sandman) - Forever haunted by endless nightmares he set out to do the impossible by avoiding sleep all together, slowly destroying himself in futile attempts to avoid the necessary part of human life. His parents were forced to admit him to a hospital when it began to make a toll on his health, where he met familiar faces(whether he remembered them fully or not) with similar problems. When a friend took his life in front them all, he broke, and set out to escape. In a desperate attempt to “save” Nancy, the only one who believed him about the “darkness“, as well he proceeded to murder the staff that tried to restrain him. He escaped into the surrounding woods, vowing to return for Nancy. When the entity collects him he desperately searches the realms for her, hoping to save his fellow victim in this life now that he had failed in the other.

He’s severely sickly from sleep deprivation, and his eyes are permanently closed, this does not affect his eye sight. He wears the clothing the hospital provided, with noticeable burn marks leaving holes in them. His Power would be Dreamwalker, when used the survivors will experience “Micronaps” slipping into the dreamworld where the Sandman may harm them. The Sandman can only interact with survivors doing “Skill“ actions, such as healing and gen fixing, afflicting them with “Fatigue”. They are now on a timer until they “rejuvenate” themselves with a health kit(by healing to full health), every ten seconds they will enter a Micronap for ten seconds, in a continuous loop until fatigue is lifted. The Sandman can attack during the entire time you are in fatigue but is invisible outside of Micronaps, only his red stain reveals his location during these brief moments. 

His main weapon is a fire axe, meant to be used for emergencies but stolen in his escape. 

David Tapp (The Detective) - (The Following is based on the first Saw Videogame, where Tapp had to travel through an asylum until being given a choice at the end of the game. He could’ve chosen “Freedom”, the canon ending where he gave up his search for Jigsaw and freed all occupants of the Asylum. Or the alternate ending, which I’m following for this au, where his obsession makes him choose “Truth” which results in the death of an innocent.)

His choices made him who he is, in his obsession he had cost the deaths of many. He was as equally guilty as jigsaw, and the mastermind took advantage of this fact. Detective Tapp died that day, and whatever was left took up the dying man’s offer to join him. As an officer, he knew who deserved punishment, and became another valuable asset of Joh Kramer. During one kidnapping, where he accidently killed a victim before they could be tested, he vanished. Jigsaw was disappointed, but not surprised, he had already lost another disciple before and there were always more who could be taught. 

He wears his old uniform, the bullet proof vest provides better protection than the red robes his coworkers wear. A pig mask, modified by a wire frame under the latex to give it structure. Leather straps ensure it stays in place without obscuring his vision.

The Detective’s Power is called Night Watch, he carries a large flashlight that acts as his secondary weapon. When using it, any survivor that is caught in it’ s light will be stunned for 2 seconds and have their aura highlighted in yellow for 30 seconds. The flashlight can charged to flash brightly, this blinds the Detective for a few seconds but any survivor who sees the flash will be put into the exposed state for 16 seconds. The flashlight works as long as it’s beam is in the survivors line of sight, ie. like how flashlights work for killers. 

His main weapon is a Modified Bat, nails have been driven into it to increase the damage it can cause. What was once evidence is now his tool to free his victims.

Kate Denson (The Siren) - One must always be weary of the dangers of travelling alone, who knows what kind of people you could meet. Men who can’t take a hint, who do not like to be told no. It was not her fault, she simply wanted a quiet place to write. The woods nearby reminded her of home, but one must always be careful when wandering away from civilization. The man from yesterday still hadn’t let it go, this time he brought along friends to convince her. She was a fighter, but they played dirty, so she had to run when she spotted a window of opportunity. One of the men stopped her easily, and she fell as her guitar splintered into several pieces over her head. They had killed her, or so they thought. They were prepared to leave her in the river to be swept away, but she woke up kicking and screaming, they would be caught if anyone heard her voice so they silenced her with a nearby rock. 

Kate Denson was reported missing after she ceased all contact with her family, her Chevy was later found abandoned in the woods. The law enforcement already had enough on their hands though, in only three days several bodies had been found in the river. There were no sign of struggle, it was as if these men jumped into the waters by choice. Anyone passing these woods would swear they heard singing from deep within, but no one had ever been brave enough to look for the source of such a beautiful voice.

Her Power is Song of Remorse, a mournful song that entrances survivors into letting their guard down. If survivors are in the radius of her song they will be “Enchanted”. Similar to madness, it applies different effects as it’s tiers increase. Survivors can snap enchanted teammates out of it, or they can “clear their thoughts”. Clearing thoughts will make the survivor’s vision blurry for 5 seconds.

Enchantment Tier One - An image of the Siren’s face will flash on screen for a second, darkening the screen for a moment until the image fades away. This will happen every 20 seconds. A quiet humming will be heard for 2 seconds after these flashes occur.

Enchantment Tier Two - Whenever a Survivor attempts to drop a pallet there will be a chance that they do the action without actually pulling it down. The flashes will now occur every 10 seconds. Quiet humming can be heard for as long as the survivor is in this tier. 

Enchantment Tier Three - Nonsense singing fills the survivor’ s ears, obscuring all other noises. Survivors can no longer heal, drop pallets, or fix gens. All flashlights will point downwards.

Her main weapon is the Driftwood club, her prized guitar now acts as the handle of her makeshift weapon. Driftwood, old rope, and what remained of her guitar have been crafted together to ensure only the most devastating of blows.

Adam Francis (The Ember) - It’s difficult to break such a disciplined man, but not impossible. The crash left him in shambles, but the person he failed to safe was left as a smear. He refused to die, dragging his legless body even as flames began to spread. For the first time in his life he displayed weakness, and allowed himself to feel fear. Death, the ultimate end, or at least so he thought. Something dark loomed above him, dark whispers making offers. Even as he bled out, he chose to think of others. He had a feeling that whatever deal he made, it would not end well, the last hope he ever had was that that young woman he failed was saved. He closed his eyes as flames devoured him, dark tendrils dragging him away.

When he awoke, he’d find a fire contained in his own body, now a hollow shell of the man he used to be. Lacking legs he instead floats in place, he breaks pallets by striking them with his weapon.

The dutiful Ember uses his Power, The Onibi’s Lament, as a way to close the distance between him and far away survivors. Activating his power makes a small orb of fire containing his soul shoot out of his corpse’s midsection. His corpse stays behind as a husk, with the player now controlling the orb to bypass pallets and quickly search for survivors for a short period of time. When the power is stopped, either by cancellation or the power bar going empty, his husk disappears and he silently “reforms” from the ball of fire. As a ball of fire he can harm a survivor once by running into them, but this automatically cancels the power and the “reforming” takes a few seconds to finish(think of Wraith’s uncloaking). His secondary ability is releasing a harmless decoy Onibi, to fool survivors into thinking he’s a harmless husk. The false orb goes in a straight line until it either hits something or fizzles out.

His main weapon is the Steel Shrapnel, a jagged piece of metal from the train wreck that had embedded itself in his arm. 

Jeff Johansen (The Unseeing) - Losing one’s sight is a horrifying experience, especially for an artist. One fight and he was forever changed, his shyness promptly became a need to isolate himself. Even though he attempted to adapt to his new life, dark whispers in the back of his mind never allowed him to forget what he lost. He began to dream, and as if guided by invisible hands, he began to sketch what haunted him in his mind. A dark mass of unknown shape, with hundreds of arms reaching out in search of something. He created several drawings, greatly worrying his mother. Jeff left home without a word, and seemingly fell off the earth’s radar. A series of murders began, a bloody trail from Winkler to Ormond, nicknamed the Mural Murders due to what the police assumed was the killer’s calling card. A mural, in blood, paint, or other materials, depicting a many armed creature could be found on any wall or flat surface near the bodies. The trail went cold and the murders were left unsolved.

Jeff as a killer looks similar to his Heavy Metal skin, though his clothing is covered in numerous paint stains. His eyes have been touched by the entity, making him more vulnerable to flashlights.

The Unseeing’s Power is called All-Seeing Entity, a gift from the entity that allows him to hunt and steal the sight of survivors. The Unseeing will always see the maps as a pitch black abyss, all surrounding items in his terror radius are highlighted by a white glow. Aka, this is how he can find survivors while physically blind. Holding down his power bottom will make him release a harsh yell, any survivor caught in the yell’s radius will be cursed with “Dying Sight”. A two minute time will begin, the survivor’s vision will slowly be consumed by darkness until they are fully blind by the time the timer runs out. Once blind they cannot see at all until they’re downed, which restarts the timer. Survivors can cure their Dying Sight by finding a fellow survivor and being healed to a completely healthy state by them, Dying Sight is not affected by Self-Care or medkits.

His main weapon is a sledgehammer, a tool with a surprising use in his art. It reshapes rigid materials to his liking.

Jane Romero (The Idol) - No matter how influential you get, or how famous you become, nothing will drag you out of the pit of your own creation. Stress builds, expectations become increasingly more difficult to meet, and sleep becomes a rare luxury. It all builds up, until one final straw breaks your back. Did Loretta Lawrence expect to die, by the hands of a daughter she declared not hers? Envy fuels hatred, and when all you see is red, what’s a little blood gonna do? Jane wears her mother’s dress, the beautiful gown she wore for the interview that led to her demise. When Loretta’s body was found in her dressing room, everyone searched for Jane, it was as if she vanished. Many of her loyal fans refused to believe she’d done it, leading to an increase in sales for Jane Romero sponsored products.

Her Power is called Shattered Reflection, giving her the ability to leave behind copies of herself while the true body went on the prowl. She can create a total of five "Reflections" without add-ons, if she creates a new reflection after using them all up, the oldest made reflection will disappear. Survivors with flashlights can destroy copies, however it’ll take about 10 seconds. Reflections have a simple AI that allows them to move around a bit like an NPC, if a survivor is close enough they can strike once. If they land a hit the survivor goes down one health state and the reflection disappears. Each reflection has a small terror radius. The idol will receive a notification when a reflection is destroyed, a survivor is in a reflection’s small terror radius, and if the reflection lands a hit on a survivor. The survivor’s auras are highlighted for 6 seconds.

Her main weapon is a Glass Shard, a piece collected after she smashed a mirror in frustration. It’s size and shape ensure damage equal to a knife.

Notes

- David’s Boar Skin is based of the Greek Erymanthian Boar

- Dwight is similar to the ghosts in Silent hill 4

- At least two of these powers were inspired by a DBD clone called Soul at Stake

- I tried my best to make each power fair and interesting, but I guess it’s up to your opinion to know if I succeeded

- My favorite concepts are Ace, Adam, and Quentin’s

- Ace’s backstory was inspired by a character in the movie “13 Ghosts”

- Yes there are Survivor Versions of the killers

- If it’s not clear, Adam wished to save Rin Yamaoka after failing to save her in this au. You can probably guess how the entity “saved” her

- Asks me questions about this au if you like, there’s a bunch of details I left out because it was already long as is

[pennesnoodle]

Yautja Homebrew Race - Multiverse

Here we have it, a D&D adaptation of the yautja going under the premise that the preds of different continuities have been stranded for some generations on a fantasy plane.

I’ve formatted it like it belongs in a rule book, so if you just want the stats skip the lore blocks.  If anyone’s wondering what’s up with the Trial of Quatza-Rij, I replaced the rites of tressing with it because of inconsistency about just what pred dreads are. This alternative rite of manhood comes from Steve Wang, of the special effects team from the original Predator.

A Warrior’s Body

Yautja are large humanoids who tend to have low body fat, but commonly come in a wide variety of builds. They're of an active and atheltic culture. They feature finely scaled skin that comes in a wide variety of colors, most often on the warm end of the color spectrum, and usually have darker freckling, mottling, or stripes that can come in darker shades of their normal coloration or in black. Pale blue and purple skinned yautja have been seen, but are exceedingly rare and likely come from a condition that strips them of yellow pigment.

While often monochromatic, it's not unusual to see a much lighter color paired with a darker, different color. Such as cream and dark green, green and brown, or even one color that mottles into another, which then mottles or freckles into a third with increasing darkness. Yautja skin is usually lightest on the forehead, face, throat, chest, belly, and on the primary muscle groupings of their arms.

Yautja tresses are usually black, but have also been known to come in various shades of brown and red, or in dark blue. They often whiten or turn a pale, sky blue with old age. It's also not unusual for them to have much smaller quills along the crown of their faces, the underside of their lower mandibles, or anywhere one might find body hair on a human. Most yautja have very few to no patches of these quills, with the most common placements being on the shoulder and from their brow ridge to their cresting.

Their face masks are not only traditional, but practical. Even if they opt not to wear the full face mask, outside of wet environments they'll likely have smaller, rebreather-style masks worn over their mandibles to help retain moisture. Yautja prefer air with more methane to it, and it has been known to hinder their breathing while injured to be in a low-methane environment. Their mouths also dry out easily in open, dry air.

A Hunter’s Code (Differs from Simplified)

While specifics vary between subraces and from tribe to tribe, all yautja have some code of conduct based around honor and presentation. Unworthy prey is killed by an unworthy hunter, to kill the weak is to be weak. Although exceptions are often made for killing non-intelligent animals for food. Typically, no subrace of yautja will bring harm to a child, the feeble, or the pregnant.

Traditionally, both subraces pride themselves in finding challenges and conquering them. Allowing oneself to stop and retire is taboo, and usually results in a yautja's slaying or banishment from their kin. But some communities have allowed retirees to remain to help bolster the food supply as farmers and ranchers, and to maintain equipment. Such retirees are rarely respected.

Yautja life is a life of seeking honor and glory. This extends to how they wish to die. Those who violate their codes are bad bloods, criminals marked for death. And while there are entire clans who have turned away from yautja codes of conduct, called killer clans, they are the mortal enemies of other yautja.

Death and Balance (Differs from Simplified)

Today most yautja follow a religion that emphasizes the importance of honor, glory, and balance. Their pantheon is dominated by the ever-presence of the Black Warrior, a goddess of death, and the Warlord, an antlered yautja god who wields lightning like weapons. These two gods were not present on the plane before, but they came into existence through sheer force of belief. The Hunter Clan practitioners spawning the Black Warrior, and the Frozen Clan believers creating the Warlord.

The Black Warrior is a goddess of death, who takes the form of a xenomorph queen. All yautja will some day meet her in death, and do battle with her before being taken to their afterlife. The Black Warrior and the Warlord created their own respective demiplanes, serving as the receptacles of yautja souls.

A yautja's afterlife will be determined by how honorable they were in life, as well as glory earned from battle. The greatest yautja hunters and warriors are taken by the Black Warrior to the Warlord, who will gift them an eternity of fierce combat, resurrection, feasts, and pleasures of the flesh. Those who live honorably but don't make it to the Warlord are still rewarded in their afterlife by the Black Warrior, but it's unspecified precisely what that entails for them. Merely that it's the lesser reward, but better than those who die without honor. Who are left behind to rot with nowhere to go, or consumed by the Black Warrior and consigned to oblivion.

A Life of Trials

Yautja have many trials throughout their life to determine their worth. But the first dangerous one is their final trial before they are considered adults and able to join a clan as unblooded students- the Trial of Quatza-Rij. Originally a hunt of one of the most dangerous wild animals of the yautja home world. Today, the target can be any individual creature designated the target of the hunt by a clan leader.

The Trial of Quatza-Rij is undertaken by a trio of young hunters who must prove not only their own skills, but their abilities to cooperate and work as a team to fell the beast. And on a success, they are welcomed into a clan by its leader, who dons a mask made of Quatza-Rij hide and bones for the ceremony. The three-dot triangle of the yautja reticle isn't just for triangulation, but is also a symbol of this kinship through the trial and its lessons.

After this, on their home plane the young bloods would be trained by their clan leader and the clan leader's honored blooded warriors for years, until the time comes for a new blooding hunt. It differs slightly from clan to clan, but on the blooding hunt the unblooded hunters are given their first, piecemeal set of armor and basic weapons. They were also usually supplied with a firearm. They were set against a pre-determined number of xenomorph drones, and those who not only survive but manage to kill a xenomorph are blooded. The final rite of passage into the clan, recognition as a warrior. Blood from the xenomorph's finger was used to burn the symbol of the clan onto the hunter's forehead.

Mystical Blood

Yautja blood has a few different unusual properties to it. The most obvious of these features would be that it is a light green color and glows, but will dim to a dark, drab green which is sometimes seen mixing among their glowing blood. Another is that eating the flesh or blood of a yautja has been found to have rejuvenative properties on shorter-lived species.

Human beings have lived for hundreds of years by consuming yautja flesh, with little to no signs of aging. But once killed, it's as though time catches up with them. They swiftly age, die, and dryly dessecate. Some have turned to dust when killed, and left behind delicate bones that crumble with minimal effort. Obviously, yautja find serial offenders of the consumption of their flesh abhorrent. But they're often willing to look the other way if the meat is claimed by the victor in honorable combat.

Medieval Fantasy Adaptations (Differs from Simplified)

If you choose to bring your yautja campaign into the realm of medieval fantasy, it is recommended that you figure out how the clan has adapted these rituals now that they aren't a space faring race. Especially since it's been pretty well established that xenomorphs can and will very quickly overrun even a technologically advanced world, so if yautja are trapped on a fantasy planet there's little wiggle room for any xenomorphs to be there. Here is my own attempt, take it or leave it.

Any drone that isn't a neuter will become a queen in the absence of one. So every individual survivor has a 50% chance of being able start a new hive within days. The yautja are very well aware of the dangers involved, in the home plane of the Hunter Clan their failures were responsible for the loss of countless worlds.

The Frozen Clan and members of the Hunter Clan worked together to salvage a downed yautja clanship. While it will never fly again, it had a queen on board who survived the crash, as did her chamber. On a cluster of islands roughly a two week voyage away from the mainlands, the remains of this ship lay embedded in a mountain. Caretaker outposts dot the smaller, barrier islands surrounding it. And all eggs the queen lays are sorted and stored. All queen eggs are burned immediately except for one emergency replacement egg, which is burned and replaced every few months.

For the blooding hunt, a select number of eggs are taken and released on a nearby island of the clan leader's choosing. Two days later, the hunt will begin. And it will not stop until all eggs laid are accounted for. There are several clanships lost to the ages, scattered around the world. It is a deep fear among the yautja that some day, another living queen will be found and unleashed. Most clans have a designated group of hunters known as enforcers, who primarily function to track down yautja criminals and to be ever-alert travelers, looking for signs of rumors of xenomorphs in their clan's territories.

Another thing to consider with this is how they live their daily lives. Yautja are omnivores and on their clanships, they keep massive farms and are stuck living a mostly-vegetarian life style between hunts. So it's likely that there would be yautja farmers, or every yautja group might keep their own communal gardens. They might also prefer to live in swamps and marshlands for the damp air and higher levels of methane in the air. Alternatively, maybe they take to ranching to get their meat and methane.

On the move, if they no longer have powered masks and rebreathers they could pack filters with vegetation and meat to produce methane. Though they might not care for the smell. This wouldn't be too different from instances where we've seen stranded yautja create "rot piles" in their encampments to fill their air with methane and reduce or replace their equipment's reserves.

One of the biggest transformations of culture would have to be that of the Hunter Clan. They've become a more egalitarian society- although they're not completely there just yet. Officially, the men and women are no longer strictly divided in roles among the culture. Although each band features both a clan leader and a Matriarch, with the Matriarch ranking above the clan leader but generally leaving the management of hunters, warriors, and religious ceremonies to them regardless of sex.

Yautja Names

Yautja names are traditionally a descriptor and a subject, most often an object but sometimes an activity, spoken and combined in the yautja tongue. For ease, it wouldn't be unreasonably to simply call them by the English versions of the words. Finding it difficult to pronounce yautja without a heinous accent at best, if they know it at all, most non-yautja refer to them by either another language's translation of their name, or by a nickname most often based on a yautja's personality or appearance. Yautja names are not gendered, but sometimes nicknames may be.

Native Tongue Names: A'ni-de, (No translation) Aseigan, (No translation) Bakuub, (Straight Spear) Chulonte, (No translation) Dachande, (Different Knife) Da'dtou-di, (Little Knife) Ghardeh, (No translation) Mahnde, (No translation) Nei'hman-de, (No translation) Skemte, (No translation) Tichinde, (No translation) Warkha, (No translation) Yeyinde. (Brave One.)

Nickname Examples: Ahab, Beads, Berserker, Boar, Celtic, Chopper, Enforcer, Falconer, Greyback, Hornhead, Lefty, Prince, Shorty...

Yautja Traits

Ability Score Increase: +2 Constitution.

Age: Biologically, yautja initially age at a similar rate to humans and reach physical adulthood around 20. They're not considered adults, however, until they have finished their Trial of Quatza-Rij. And they're considered young adults even in their 70's. Yautja start showing their age around 300, and if not killed can live anywhere from 450 to 700 years.

Alignment: Most yautja are very lawful in nature. They have strict codes of conduct to follow, which while similar vary a bit based on subrace and clan. Some would say yautja lean towards neutrality or evil, rarely ending up on the good side of the spectrum.

Size: Your size is medium, yet you tower over most humanoids.

Speed: 30 feet.

Infravision: You see as far as anyone else, but see in shades of red. Heat sources glow, but can rarely be picked out in specific detail beyond 60 feet. Effectively giving you a darkvision of 60 feet. Your eyes adjust and you can see minute details just as well as anyone else, and can be deceived or aided by magic. With special lenses or a Mask of Truesight, you can see in full color.

Acid Resistance: Your blood is effective at neutralizing acids, so you have resistance to acid damage.

Cold Vulnerability: You are vulnerable to cold damage.

Powerful Build: You count as one size larger when determining your carrying capacity and the weight you can push, drag, or lift.

Languages: You can speak, read, and write Yautja. A language the largely uses hisses, clicks, chirps, and growls paired with body language, with a sign language mostly used while masked. You may also understand and be able to read one other language of your choice, but how well you can speak it is up to you and the DM.

Subraces: The different subraces come from various different timelines. While they're all clearly related and parallel to each other, and they may mix culturally and exchange membership, they are genetically distinct and unable to interbreed with each other. There is another strain of predator from another timeline, which call themselves "Ultimate Predators." But due to drastic physiological and cultural differences, they would not fit in this entry, would be game-breakingly unbalanced, and would likely be mortal enemies with all the other subraces. So instead they will have a separate dedication as very dangerous enemy creatures.

Tradition Clan [Predator, Predator 2, Predators.]

Physiology: Tradition Clan yautja are the yautja standard physiologically. Both sexes can be anywhere from 7 to 8 feet tall. Females are generally of comparable size and build, though it's common for them to have broader hips. Unlike some subraces of yautja, they do not have breasts or mammary glands. Tresses are generally about shoulder length, though in rare instances they've been seen to grow all the way down a yautja's back.

Culture: Tradition Clan yautja do not having a blooding tradition and very rarely hunt in groups, although they commonly travel in them. A trophy hunt is generally meant to be a solo affair unless the quarry is just far too dangerous for a single individual to stand a chance. They constantly seek new challenges to prove themselves. But they have shown a strong sense of responsibility in matters such as enforcing the laws of the hunt, often putting them at odds with their sibling species, the Super Clan yautja. Whose clans are often much more lax on codes of conduct.

Ability Score Increase: +1 to Dexterity.

Arborial: You can perform a standing high jump of up to 15 feet, and a standing long jump up to 20 feet. You can fall up to 20 feet before taking falling damage. You are also unhindered climbing, able to use your entire movement speed for climbing.

Back in the Fight: When you are reduced to 0 hit points but not killed outright, on your turn instead of a death saving throw you may choose to roll 1d4. Add your Constitution modifier to the number rolled, and heal by that total. This consumes a bonus action and you start prone, but otherwise you may take your turn. You may only use this once per long rest.

Hunter Clan [Dark Horse Comics & Novels]

Physiology: Hunter Clan yautja are mostly identical to Tradition Clan yautja. Their males range from 6.5 to 8 feet tall, averaging at just over 7. Their females range from 8 to 11 feet tall, but are most commonly between 9 and 10 feet tall, and of broader builds than the males. The Hunter Clan females also have functioning mammary glands and breasts.

Hunter Clan males generally but not Universally have shorter tresses than the females that only reach to around the shoulders, and have been known to painfully cut them short for sex appeal. These cut tresses will have flat, sometimes capped ends. But they will grow back normally with time. Hunter Clan females tend to have tresses that reach somewhere between the bottom of their shoulderblades and their hips.

Culture: The Hunter Clan used to be ruled by a matriarchy unlike those that have formed historically among humans- their women were larger, stronger, and more prone to outbursts of aggression. And they ruled as tyrants in a world where males didn't matter, and risked their lives constantly to prove themselves worthy as breeding partners, and thus worthy of personhood.

Times have changed. Today they're much closer to an egalitarian society out of necessity, although unofficially the women still tend to have a bit of a chip on their shoulder and get deferred to. Like the Tradition Clan yautja, they are very strict in following their codes of conduct. And they adamantly enforce their laws, with punishment doled out by the clan leader or the Matriarch at their discretion. Punishment can range from a strong backhand to death, and rarely falls somewhere inbetween. Although the offender may be allowed to take their own life to redeem their honor.

Aesthetically, Hunter Clans have shown a much more diverse range of armor customization than other groups. But they commonly show a fondness for smooth, curved armor. And yautja of status often have blue, polished armor.

Ability Score Increase: +1 to Strength.

Arborial: You can perform a standing high jump of up to 15 feet, and a standing long jump up to 20 feet. You can fall up to 20 feet before taking falling damage. You are also unhindered climbing, able to use your entire movement speed for climbing.

Hunter's Endurance: You can focus yourself to occasionally shrug off injury. When you take damage, you can use your reaction to roll 1d12. Add your Constitution modifier to the number rolled, and reduce the damage by that total. After you use this trait, you can not use it again until you finish a short or long rest.

Frozen Clan [Alien vs Predator, Aliens vs Predator: Requiem, and their novelizations.]

Physiology: Frozen Clan yautja average at 7 to 8 feet tall with broad builds, and their women have mammary glands and breasts. Tresses usually reach past the top of their shoulders, and are usually somewhere between mid-shoulderblade and the small of the back in length.

Frozen Clan yautja often have lower mandibles that flare further and more dramatically than other yautja subraces. As well as less stretchable, looser skin between their mandibles. Often leaving excess skin to just sort of hang while their mandibles are closed. Their lower jaw is also more "exposed" than those of other yautja subraces, with the pink gums extending much farther and blending into the jaw, as opposed to having the clear lip line of other yautja subraces.

Culture: Similarly to the Hunter Clans, the Frozen Clans have a tradition of blooding their warriors with the blood of their first xenomorph kill. But unlike the Hunter Clans, the Frozen Clans are much more lax with their rules of the hunt. Unbloodeds can even blood themselves with the blood of a kill, instead of having to have an elder or honored warrior do it for them.

Aesthetically, the Frozen Clans have shown a preference for clean, scalloped armor designs with little or no visible cloth or leather. They even commonly use loin cloths made of scalloped armored plates. Ornate and pristine capes or cowls may be worn as ceremonial decorum by a Frozen Clan member of status, and they regularly wear bladed sandals that are more decorative than functional. Their traditional armor is almost always grey.

Ability Score Increase: +1 to Dexterity.

Arborial: You can perform a standing high jump of up to 15 feet, and a standing long jump up to 20 feet. You can fall up to 20 feet before taking falling damage. You are also unhindered climbing, able to use your entire movement speed for climbing.

Hot Blooded: Your body is better at thermoregulation that that of other yautja subraces, and even many other species of humanoids. While it's certainly bad for your skin and not comfortable, you have resistance to cold damage instead of vulnerability to it.

Super Clan [Predators.]

Physiology: Super Clan yautja are typically taller than males of the other subraces, averaging at around 7.5 to 9 feet tall regardless of sex. Their tressline extends further down the sides of their head than that of other yautja subraces, ending in much smaller quills forming "sideburns." It also lacks the fringes present across the crown of other yautja subrace. Tresses are also typically longer on them, usually reaching from the low end of the shoulderblade to the mid-back in length.

That's far from the only difference. Super Clan yautja have proportionately taller, rounder, and narrower heads than their contemporary counterparts. And regardless of their overall skin color or pattern, have large, deep pits over the top of their head that are almost always bright red in color. In some rare instances, they have been black instead. Their mandibles and faces in general are longer than those of the other clans, but the skin between their mandibles does not extend as far down them as on the other yautja subrace. They also have thicker, specialized back scales that the other yautja lack.

To top it all off, Super Clan yautja even have completely differently shaped and sized feet. Their feet are very short and tall, with three broad and stubby, clawed toes, a large dewclaw low on the interior sides of their ankles, and another claw high on the back of their heels. (As opposed to longer feet with four toes with sharp but small claws, a small dewclaw low and to the front of the interior side of their ankles, another, shorter dewclaw high on the lateral sides of the ankles, and a thick claw on the lower back of the heels.)

Culture: Super Clan yautja are most similar in culture to the Tradition Clans, and even come from the same timeline. They rarely intermix, however. And the Super Clans tend to be much more lax about the code of conduct. It's distressingly common for hunting parties or even full clanships of Super Clan yautja to go rogue, or "bad blood." Even hunting other yautja for sport and trophies. A fact which has left relations between even the law abiding Super Clans and the Tradition Clans shaky at best. With actual animosity mostly coming from the Tradition Clans.

Super Clans regularly go out of their way to make the hunt more exciting by physically designing their hunting grounds and transplanting their prey. They like to stoke the prey up, and even pit prey against prey. They love the chaos of it, despite their meticulous control in setting up the scenario. It's also very common for Super Clan yautja to use mechanical drones for tracking, or tamed beasts for flushing and hunting. Ranger and artificer types are widely sought after for Super Clan hunting parties.

Aesthetically, Super Clan yautja love their dark colors and browns and tend towards very little armor. Their traditional armor is mostly roughly cut leather combined with trophy parts and scarce, token bits of metal. Going very minimalist, just barely enough to hold their weapons and technology. Although now, on this plane, functional yautja tech is a severe rarity. Their traditional armor is worn tight and very rarely protrudes much away from their skin.

Ability Score Increase: +1 to Strength.

Superior Stance: You may not leap from tree to tree like most yautja, but your feet were made for standing your ground. You add have advantage on any check to push or pull an object or creature, as well as any save against being knocked back, pulled, or knocked prone.

Charge: If you move at least 20 feet toward a target, then hit them with a melee weapon attack that same turn, you roll the weapon’s damage dice twice. This can only be done once per short or long rest.

[greatpretending]

This City Never Sleeps (When It’s All Too Much)

Word Count: 2787

Pairing: Eventual Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Warnings: Hella angst and fluff.

Summary: Part Five of This City Never Sleeps. Suddenly, you had to know.

Note: I feel very nervous about this one so please let me know what you think.

Tags: @seargantbcky​ @darlin-you-bitch​ @emily-ily2​ @rosep16​ @comics-and-stuff​ @t4rt-deco​ @octopishisahybridanimal​ @slythergirlimagines​  @philipshaaayyyy@catwoman2502@minimalistxx@sophiatomlinson23@johnsonxstilinski @raindancer2004@vanessly@newyorkrebel @letstrysomefanfic @half-superhero @mermaid-princess-wannabe @mmmaff@spideysensesparker @ttholland @zpidey-sense​

Fall came and went, and before you knew it the semester was over, the city was covered in twinkling lights, and Christmas music played inside every public building. The concrete jungle was blanketed in soft, white snow, and you knew it was only a matter of time until it turned into dirty, gray slush.

After the events at the Homecoming dance, Tony had gifted Peter’s suit back to him, and you took a step back, allowing Peter the space he needed to find new balance in his life with this responsibility. You offered your friendly support, making repairs to the suit as needed, and letting him pop into your bedroom via the terrace when he needed a break from his superhero duties, a snack, or--on more than one occasion--to pee.

Sometimes he swung right back out the door, and other times he stayed for a while, just talking with you or asking you to read to him from whatever book was in your hands as you relaxed into your pillows.

That’s where you were now, but there was no book, no Peter, and you were not relaxed.

You stared blankly at the wall in your dark bedroom, seeing nothing in front of you and everything in the even darker corners of your mind. Drawers in your memories that you’d kept so carefully locked up were ripped open, flooding your consciousness with images you had tucked away so meticulously.

A red light. A black dress with a single white stripe around the skirt. Pink and purple clouds. Your favorite song. His voice. Warm eyes meeting yours in the rear-view mirror.

A green light. A silver SUV. Squealing tires. Crunching metal. Shattering glass. Screaming. Frightened eyes meeting yours in the rear-view mirror.

Pain.

A small box encased in purple velvet lay open on your bedspread, its contents strewn across the comforter.

A necktie. A photograph. A keychain. A pair of earrings. A one-dollar coin and a two-dollar bill. A birthday card.

“Breathe,” a voice said into your ear. You knew it was PURDUE but you couldn’t help but imagine that it was his voice. The voice you could still hear singing along to your favorite song.

You forced yourself to take a shaky breath as the tears spilled over.

A green light. Pain.

A silver SUV. Pain.

Your breath caught in your throat and you knew there was no escaping the depth of the downward spiral your thoughts were twisting into.

Squealing tires. Pain.

Crunching metal. Pain.

Three knocks. What?

Shattering glass. Pain.

Screaming. Pain.

Two knocks. Your bedroom wall.

One knock. Peter.

A couple taps to your watch and the lock clicked open. The handle turned and Peter stepped in from the terrace. The door shut behind him and out of the corner of your eye you saw him pull his mask off, a few flakes of snow fluttering down and melting before they hit the carpet. Normally you would greet him, but the spiral had already started to pull you back down.

A green light. Pain.

“Man, you wouldn’t believe how stupid people can be when they-- Hey, what’s wrong?”

A silver SUV. Pain.

You couldn’t even respond to Peter’s worried question. Your eyes were glued to the photograph. It was upside down at this angle, but that didn’t matter. You had every detail memorized.

Crunching metal. Pain.

You felt Peter kneel next to you by the bed more than you saw it. He pulled his gloves off, fingertips pushing hair back from your face and wiping your tear-stained cheeks. The comforting touch brought a new wave of sobs wracking through your chest and catching in your throat.

Shattering glass. Pain.

Peter sat next to you on the bed, pulling you into him. You went willingly, letting yourself be held.

Screaming. Pain.

Frightened eyes.

Agony.

You cried into his spandex-clad chest for what felt like hours. He held you tightly, stroking your hair, and rubbing your arms until your weeping subsided. When you finally quieted down, Peter shot a web across the room, grabbing your water bottle off your desk and pulling it toward him. He handed it to you and you drank from it gratefully, then tucked your head back into his shoulder as he set the now-empty bottle on your nightstand.

“You never talk about it. Them,” he said quietly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

It took several moments for you to respond, but Peter was patient.

“I don’t-- how-- where would I…” you trailed off, unable to complete a sentence and a little frustrated with yourself because of it.

“Tell me about this,” Peter said. He picked up the neck tie and handed it to you. You ran the silk between your fingers a few times, tracing the pattern of dancing candy canes, turning and twisting it as you remembered.

“This was my favorite tie of his,” you told him. “I thought it was so funny. Whenever he wore it we always imitated the candy cane dance in the kitchen that morning. Sometimes he would wear it out of season and I would laugh so hard every time. Then he would put me on the school bus shouting ‘Merry Christmas!’ and I would laugh even harder because it was April.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Peter says.

“It was,” you agreed.

“What about this?” Peter asked, handing you the keychain. You rubbed the pad of your thumb along the textured plastic. Three butterflies following each other up toward the sky: blue, orange, and pink.

“He used to take me to the butterfly garden in the Bronx. We went for my birthday three years in a row, because it was all I wanted to do. One time a butterfly landed in my hair and I thought it was the best day of my life.”

You picked up the birthday card. The glitter still sparkled in the dim light despite how much time had passed.

“This is from my eighth birthday. It was my favorite because it was so sparkly.” You flipped the card open, tracing the blocky letters inked inside. “And it’s the only thing I have with his handwriting on it.”

Your fingers lingered on Love, Dad and you swallowed hard around tears that threatened to spill over again. You picked up the earrings.

“These were hers,” you held the sapphire studs delicately. “I don’t remember her well enough to ever remember her wearing them, but I’ve seen them in pictures. I took them from the back of his closet. I don’t know if he ever knew they were gone, or that I had them.”

You reached for the coin and the dollar bill.

“These were from the Tooth Fairy,” you said, the tiniest of smiles creeping onto your face. “He thought it was way cooler to give me uncommon coins and dollars. I wish I had been able to keep more of them.”

The photograph.

Him, her, and you.

You were just two years old, dressed up in a too-poufy, festive dress, and looking startled by something behind the camera. He was wearing reindeer antlers and a red nose. Her hair fell in perfect waves down her shoulders, Santa hat tilted artfully atop her tresses.

“You have the same smile as him,” Peter said.

“She left a week after this was taken,” you whispered. “No note, no phone call, no apology. Nothing. She just left.”

Your hands started to shake, but you couldn’t look away from the eyes that were so much like your own.

“Does she even know what happened to my dad? Does she even care?”

The tears spilled over again.

“Why doesn’t she care?”

Empty dresser.

Missing toothbrush.

Forgotten earrings.

Pain.

Peter had stayed with you until you’d eventually cried yourself to sleep, leaving you a note and a full bottle of water on your nightstand.

You texted him as soon as you found your phone, tangled in the mess of sheets and blankets.

Thank you.

Any time. x

Now you stood outside his apartment door, ready for the Friend-mas celebration that you, Ned, Peter, and Michelle had planned, Secret Santa gift for Michelle in your hands. May let you in and you were greeted by the aroma of her famous cherry pie and a smiling Peter, who gave your hand a quick squeeze after May had made her way back to the kitchen. Michelle and Ned were already in the living room, laughing over sparkling cider and holiday mad-libs.

You and Peter joined them, and it was everything you could do to not just stare at Peter as you played round after round of the word game. You loved the way his eyes brightened and just nose scrunched up when he laughed. The way he leaned back against the couch, relaxed open around those he trusted. The way he would smile whenever his eyes met yours.

You were so, so grateful for him.

Soon, dinner was ready and you all squeezed around the tiny dining table, gorging yourselves on ham, yams, homemade macaroni, and of course, cherry pie. You delighted in the warmth of the room, the full feeling of home that came with Peter and May’s apartment. The sense of family that came with your best friends.

You did your best to ignore the electricity sparking up and down your skin whenever Peter’s knee would bump yours under the table. The first time it happened you thought it was an accident, and maybe it was, but then it happened again. And again. And again. Eventually, without looking away from Ned--who was telling a riveting story about his little sister getting stuck in a clothing rack at Target--you found a wave of confidence and hooked your ankle around Peter’s. His fidgeting ceased and you saw the tips of his ears tinge red as he looked down at the matching color inside his pie, but he didn’t pull away, so you counted it as a victory.

When you couldn’t eat anymore and the dishes were cleaned up, you all retreated back to the living room to exchange gifts.

Michelle went first, giving Peter a T-shirt that said “May the Mass Times Acceleration Be With You.” Then she spent the next half hour ignoring all of you in favor of reading the copy of The Metaphysical Club you’d gotten her.

Peter gifted Ned a mug shaped like a Pokeball, and Ned gave you a soft sweater with your first initial on the front, much like that of the Weasley’s.

Ned left around nine-thirty, needing to make his curfew by ten, and Michelle was picked up by her mom shortly thereafter. With nowhere else to be, you hung around and continued to soak in as much warmth as you could from the Parker household. You curled up on the sofa in your new sweater, scrolling through your phone and half-watching the Christmas movie on TV. Peter had disappeared into his room for a few minutes, and when he poked his head back out, he asked you to join him.

“There’s something I want to show you,” he said.

“Okay, but just because you show me yours, doesn’t mean I’m going to show you mine,” you joked, enjoying the way Peter sputtered and splotches of crimson rose on his cheeks.

“Shut up,” he said. “Just come in here.”

You followed him into the bedroom, sitting down on the bed when he gestured for you to do so. You watched him stretch up on his toes to reach the top of his closet, pulling down a plain brown shoebox. He sat down across from you, putting the box between you. You looked at him quizzically.

“I have one, too,” he said, and suddenly you understood.

He pulled the lid off and set it aside, and you peered into the box, an assortment of mismatched items inside. He pulled out a small snowglobe first. It said Paris in looping letters on the side, glitter swirling inside the globe around a miniature Eiffel Tower.

“My mom collected these. Everywhere she travelled she made sure to find one. They were scattered all over the house, and some days I would run around to each one, shaking them and trying to make them all swirl at the same time,” Peter said, passing it to you. You turned it over in your hands, smoothing your fingers along the glass as he reached back into the box.

“This is a mixtape Uncle Ben and I made when I was in second grade,” he said, pulling out a cassette tape. “His car was old and didn’t have a CD player, so we made these to listen to.”

“You always were into retro tech,” you said with a smile, examining young Peter’s messy handwriting on the label.

A tiny pair of safety goggles came out next.

“My dad got me these so I could be a ‘real’ scientist when I did my first experiment,” Peter said. “It was just mentos and coke but it was the most exciting thing I’d ever done.”

Peter dug out an antique-looking emerald ring.

“This was my great-grandma's, then my grandma’s, then my mom’s.”

You held the ring delicately, the thin band was slightly bent from years of wear.

“This was my dad’s watch. I think about wearing it all the time but I’m too afraid of breaking it.”

The analog clock ticked quietly. You wondered exactly how many years, days, and minutes it had counted.

“This is my picture,” Peter said, and you looked up from the items in your lap. It was a picture of a small Peter, barely four years old, standing on a staircase behind his parents, who were sitting on the step below him. He was leaning his elbows on their shoulders between them, hands cupping his round cheeks and smiling brightly at the camera. It was the cutest thing you had ever seen.

You looked at his parents. You could see he’d gotten his big brown eyes and high cheekbones from his mom, and his nose and strong jawline from his dad. They both looked happy. Just as happy as your parents looked in the picture hidden away in a purple box under your bed.

You carefully set everything back in the shoebox, replacing the lid and smoothing your hands over the cardboard.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” you said. Peter’s hands covered yours.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you’re alone or don’t have anyone to talk to. Because-- ‘cause I get it, you know?” You turned your hands up to wind your fingers with his, squeezing them. You looked up at Peter and met his eyes. You maintained the eye contact for a  moment before his gaze dropped back to your linked hands. “And… I really care about you. A lot. Like, more than I can.. I don’t know. I just…” he trailed off.

And suddenly you had to know.

You had to know if he felt everything you were feeling. You had to know if his heart wanted to leap out of his chest whenever you were around, the way yours did for him. You had to know if every text of yours made excitement pulsate through your veins. You had to know if you were the only one who often got distracted thinking about laughing together, reading together, being together.

You had to know what his lips felt like on yours.

You leaned forward on your knees, one hand disconnecting from his and carding through the soft brown hair behind his ear.

“Peter,” you whispered, and soft brown eyes looked up at you, round and wide. You saw a twinge of nervousness there, along with determination and something you weren’t quite yet ready to name.

When he gave you a barely-perceptible nod, you closed your eyes and pressed your lips to his.

A warm, buzzing feeling exploded from your chest, the heat racing through your veins to every connection of your skin. Your fingers tightened in his. Your other hand pulled him closer to you, nails scratching his scalp lightly. His free hand came up to hold your wrist and his lips… If Peter’s home was warmth then his lips were like fire, soft-yet-firm, warm, and gently setting your soul ablaze.

It was slightly off-center but you quickly corrected yourselves, reconnecting your lips once, twice, and tilting your heads just so, as though you’d practiced a hundred times. You couldn’t wait to practice a hundred times.

When you finally pulled apart, you didn’t go far, leaning your forehead against his and letting out a shaky breath.

“Wow,” Peter said, and you smiled. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“I think I do.”

Cherries. Bliss.

Brown eyes. Warmth.

Peter.

Joy.

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 20)

Warning: As mentioned in previous chapters, Ruby and the others are going to fake Weiss death. There's going to be fake blood and a faked execution, and believe me, things WILL get very dark and intense soon.

--

Your heart pounding so fast, liable to stop dead at any moment from sheer terror. Icy claws wrapping themselves around your chest, piercing your lungs, making it impossible to breath. Every muscle in your body paralyzed, your eyes affixed to that nightmarish face, feeling those red orbs plunge into your very being, killing you little by little from the inside.

Weiss clutched Eluna in a death-grip, cold sweat pouring down every inch of her skin, her mind screaming at her to look away, away from the face of her impending doom, her body unable to do anything but stare.

“Weiss...?” Ruby asked. <Oh crap--!>

She grabbed the mask on Qrow’s face, pulled it off, and shoved it underneath her cloak and out of sight.

Then, just as suddenly as the most vicious, visceral panic attack Weiss had ever experienced started, it stooped.

She gasped for breath, still shaking. “W-What was that?!” she whispered, her eyes throbbing, a piercing, awful pain slowly spreading in her head.

“That would be the Mask of the Keeper,” Qrow replied. “Specially carved, designed, and improved over the centuries to induce screaming, paralyzing terror, and sudden bowel evacuation in 9 out of 10 humans.”

“How…?” Weiss muttered.

“Magic,” Ruby said as she was lowered back onto the floor. “Don’t know how it works, but it works! Anyway... Weiss: this is my Uncle Qrow!” she said, gesturing to him.

Qrow waved. “Sup. Qrow Branwen, but just call me Qrow,” he said as he walked over and offered his hand—or talon, as the case may have been, as his human shaped hand was covered with a rough and bony layer on both sides, and his “fingers” ended in black claws.

Weiss very carefully took it and got a good look at him as they shook.

What she assumed to be messy, spiky black hair was actually a head of sharp feathers sweeping back from his forehead. His eyes were aquiline, and the skin around his nose and mouth was covered in the same material as his hands, like a beak. Where ears would have been on a human, he only had two holes on the side of his head, covered over by more of his feathers and some fluffy down.

“You’re here to record your ransom video, right?” Qrow asked as he took his talon back. “Studio’s all set, even got a script all written up for you.” He smirked.

Weiss scowled. “There better not be what I think you put in there!”

“What do you think is in there, Weiss?” Ruby asked innocently.

“It’s not important,” Qrow said, still smirking. “Come on, this way,” he said, beckoning with his arm.

Weiss stayed put. “Does you have to be with us?”

“Yes,” Qrow replied. “It’s part of my duties as a senior Watcher, Chronicler, and part-time Keeper for all the Keeper-stuff Ruby can’t do.”

“Keeper-stuff?”

Earlier, in the underground jails of the Bastion.

Qrow was dressed up in a larger version of Ruby’s cloak, the mask on his face, and a pair of fake reindeer antlers on his head. In front of him and backed up against the wall were the survivors of the ill-fated third and fourth expeditions into the Valley.

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU DUMB FUCKS ABOUT GOING INTO THE VALLEY?!” Qrow yelled.

“AAHHHH! NOOOOO...!”

“PLEASE!  I’LL DO ANYTHING! JUST LET ME GO...!”

“MOMMY! MOMMY! MOOOMMMMYYY-YYY-YYY...!”

Underneath the mask, Qrow cringed as his nose was assaulted with a fresh wave of the unmistakable scent of fear and repeatedly soiled underwear.

“Ah,” Weiss replied.

“It’s hard to believe a story where the Keeper is barely 5 feet tall without antlers,” Qrow replied.

“Hey!” Ruby cried. “I’m still growing!”

“Just keep on drinking your milk, and eating vegetables instead of cookies every once in a while, and you’ll be fine in a couple of years,” Qrow replied.

Ruby grumbled under her breath in Actaeon.

“So how many Keepers are there?” Weiss asked.

“Not including part-timers like me?” Qrow replied. “One.”

Weiss blinked, then looked at Ruby. “I thought you said there were other Keepers!”

“Yeah!” Ruby replied. “There was my mom, and her mom, and her mom—stretching all the way back to my great-great-great...” she continued on for about a minute or two “… great-grandma, Gabija!”

Weiss glared at Ruby.

“What...?” Ruby asked.

Weiss groaned. “Nevermind...” she muttered.

Ruby looked at the others, they shrugged, smirked, or showed that they couldn’t really have cared, and the group finally went on their way to the studio.

Weiss supposed she shouldn’t have been too surprised to see that it was just like any other set; the building materials and equipment may have been made out of enchanted rock, wood, or a specially-grown plant, and instead of AV drones it was birds and other small animals, but everything looked the same, from the cameras and the lighting, the sound equipment, and even what she assumed to be a green screen.

In the center of it all, directing everything through a mix of barking orders and moving things around with magic was who Weiss assumed to be Elder Glynda Goodwitch.

She was dressed differently from the other Fae, wearing especially vibrant robes with intricate designs, the patterns of vines, roses, and animals pulsing with bright magic, sometimes even moving by themselves. But even without the outfit, the aura of confidence, authority, and power she exuded would have told you she was the one in charge.

… However, Weiss found herself incredibly distracted by her animal features: a pair of large, floppy bunny ears, and a poofy, cotton-ball tail poking out from the back of her robes.

Glynda turned around, her mouth a hard line, her eyes narrowed just slightly enough to be the right mix of intimidating and cool. “You’re late,” she said, her tone level, but with an edge that warned you not to annoy her ever again.

<Our sincerest apologies, Elder Goodwitch,> Blake said cutting through between them. <We had a delay back at the hospital.>

Glynda raised her eyebrows, silently asking them to explain.

“Just a normal case of miscommunication, Elder Goodwitch!” Penny explained. “Ruby accidentally told Weiss we were going to kill her, not fake her death.”

Glynda’s expression remained neutral, but you could just feel how hard she was resisting the urge to put her palm to her face.

“And I assume this has been cleared up?” she asked.

“Yes,” Weiss said as she stepped up, “alongside the fact that I’ll be writing the script to my ransom video.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Qrow cried. “Can’t we just use mine? I worked hard on that—legitimately this time!”

Glynda ignored him. “Give me one good reason to let you do this.”

“I know my father better than any of you, and know just what to say to press his buttons,” Weiss replied.

Glynda smiled. “Good reason,” she said, before she turned around to the crews and animals awaiting filming, and shouted something in Actaeon. They soon abandoned their posts and went to a buffet table on the side or formed their own little groups to the side.

She turned back to Weiss. “Can you do it in an hour? I would like these attacks to stop before your father can mobilize another expedition.”

“Deal.”

Little under an hour later, the studio crew was back to work, getting the lighting and sound calibrated, meticulously putting make-up on Weiss to make her look the part of “poor, innocent hostage scared out of her wits,” and double-checking that her new script had been transcribed properly in the teleprompter.

They were only getting one chance to do this, since Jacques had unintentionally given them the perfect opportunity: a press conference in one of Candela’s largest auditoriums, broadcasting through all of Avalon on unsecured channels that the Fae could easily hack into.

Ruby was wearing a mask identical to the original, only without the nightmare-inducing magic. “It tends to mess up cameras of any kind,” she explained, her voice talking on a deep, ominous tone from the modulator inside.

She still looked unnerving to look with the still glowing red eyes, but at least she wasn’t inciting panic attacks from a mere glance like Qrow had earlier.

“Got the bleeder bandages and your fake scythe!” Penny said as she came up with container with green strips of plant matter and a scythe that looked almost identical to real thing.

“’Bleeder bandages’?” Weiss asked.

“An extremely common prop in both live and recorded productions!” Penny explained. “It simulates grievous wounds and other types of injuries while leaving the wearer completely unharmed. It’s filled with fake blood, you see, and the membrane is thin and sensitive; even with a dull prop like this, just a little bit of pressure is enough to break it.”

Weiss looked at the strips dubiously. “I doubt these are going to trick anyone...”

“That’s because you haven’t put them on, silly!” Ruby said as she took one of the strips and put it on her arm. Weiss watched with a mixture of interest and unease as the bleeder bandage instantly, perfectly mimicked the colour of her skin. “See?” she said, holding it up.

If she hadn’t seen it come on, she wouldn’t have had the slightest clue where it was.

The small crew manning the jury-rigged and salvaged communications tech from the expedition gave Glynda the thumbs up. “We’re ready to broadcast on your command—make it soon, that press conference isn’t going to last all day.”

“I know how long the average Avalonian’s attention span is, don’t worry,” Weiss said as she put a bleeder strip around the front of her neck. “Just one more thing—Ruby! Penny!”

“Yeah Weiss?” Ruby asked as the two of them came over.

She pointed at Ruby. “Just in case my father refuses to surrender, I want you to practice ‘slitting’ my throat.” She pointed at Penny. “You go see if she does anything that's going to make someone reviewing the footage suspicious.”

Penny nodded. “As you wish, Weiss.”

Ruby balked. “Wait, what?!”

“Wasn’t it you and Blake’s idea to fake my own death?” Weiss asked.

“Well, yeah! But like in the, in the...” Underneath the mask, Ruby's face scrunched up struggled to find the right word.

“Threatening to kill her way, but not actually going through with it?” Penny offered.

“Yes! That! Thanks, Penny.” Ruby turned back to Weiss. “Are you sure about this, Weiss...? He's your dad, he's probably--”

Weiss scowled. “Just do it,” she growled before she knelt down to the floor.

Ruby reluctantly guided her prop knife to her neck, where the bleeder strip was.

“Ruby!” Weiss yelled.

Ruby pulled away. “What?”

“Your hands are shaking!” Weiss cried. “Who's going to believe you've actually killed me if it looks like you've got stage-fright?”

Ruby whined. “This is really messed up, Weiss! Your dad can’t possibly think that we’re not serious, right?”

Weiss didn’t reply.

“Right…?”

“How about Weiss pretends to grab the handle, hold her steady whilst pretending that she’s trying to stop her?” Penny suggested.

“Let’s try it,” Weiss said.

Ruby frowned. “Weiss--”

Weiss stood up, and looked Ruby in the eyes. “Ruby?” she asked calmly.

“Yeah...?”

“You want these expeditions in the Valley to stop, right? You don’t want any more people to get hurt or killed? Or for anyone else to come sending another expedition for a good, long time?”

Ruby nodded meekly.

“Then I need you to act as cold, bloodthirsty, and cruel as you possibly can��leave absolutely no doubt in my father’s mind that you’re serious, that you’ll kill me if he doesn’t agree to a complete surrender. Can you do this for me…?”

Ruby looked down.

Weiss expression softened as tilted her head back up, gently removed her mask and looked her in the eyes. “Ruby: can you do this for me? Please?”

Ruby sighed. “… If I have to ‘kill’ you, can you do all the work? I don’t think I can get my hands to stop shaking.”

Weiss nodded.

“We're running out of time here!” Glynda called out.

“Coming!” Ruby called out. She turned back to Weiss. “Are you sure you can’t get my Uncle Qrow to do it instead?”

Weiss shook her head. “It’s going to be very suspicious if the female Keeper of the Grove suddenly sounds like a man.” She paused, casting a glare at Qrow standing in the corner. “Plus, I have this sneaking suspicion he'll probably make a stupid joke that’ll ruin everything...”

“Sorry, Ruby!” Qrow called out. “She’s definitely right on that one!”

Ruby sighed. “Okay...” She put the mask back on. “Let’s do this.”

[robinhoodrevisited]

Dungeons, Deceit & Dead Dan

Sherwood Forest. (Two men are walking along a forest path. Robin, hidden behind a tree in a cloak of leaves, watches their progress, slowly spinning round behind the trunk to its other side to get a better view. The older man stops a moment as a startled bird suddenly flutters. Will stands by a tree, cloaked in a thick, woven fabric resembling bark, his mud-caked arms raised parallel to the trunk. He pulls the cloth from his dirt-streaked face to take a peek at the travellers. Much lies on the ground under a leaf-riddled net. He opens his eyes at the sound of crunching leaves. The two strangers start to climb a rise towards what resembles a dead tree stump as Allan raises his head from behind his bark-like muddy arms, picks up a rock, smiles, and throws it behind the pair before ducking quickly behind his arms again. The two men glance behind them as the stump rises: Little John with Djaq sitting on his shoulders wearing a long, brown cloak. Together they look like a tall, furry, antlered monster and they roar and yell. The frightened travellers turn and run for their lives. Little John and Djaq laugh, then they and Allan start pursuit. Robin, having shed his disguise, stands on a boulder with his drawn bow and follows the men with his arrow. They continue running and Much yells and charges behind them, wearing a crown of protruding branches, diverting his victims onto the proper path. Robin waits for the right moment, then lets his arrow fly into a distant tree trunk, cutting a rope. A weighted basket falls, lifting a net directly in front of their prey, who run right into it. Much, yelling all the way, stops behind them.) Much: “This is an ambush!” Robin: “Oi! A little of what you have could be a lot for the poor of Nottingham!” Luke: “We are the poor!” Dan: “Let them take what they need, Lukey! (Will catches up the gang and stops, recognising the voice.) Will: “Dad? (Will goes to hug the men through the net.) Dad!” Dan: “Will!” Will: “It’s me!” (Will, Dan and Luke laugh at the strange but happy reunion. Much comes over to greet Dan. The gang all smile except for Djaq, who is confused, the only one not to have met Will’s family, however briefly in Allan’s case.) Djaq: “Will, you know these people?” Will: (Still laughing:) “I’d like you to meet my father, Dan Scarlett, and my little brother, Lukey.” (Luke steps forward and puts his hands on Will’s shoulders.) Luke: “I’m not little.” (They put their foreheads together.) Will: “My big little brother, Lukey.” (Robin, smiling, comes down to join them.)

(The gang walk back to camp with Dan and Luke. Robin talks to Dan as Will and Luke have a light shoving match behind them.) Robin: “So what brings you back to Nottingham?” Dan: “We’ve come to take Will back to Scarborough with us.” (At the sound of the news, Will catches up his father.) Will: “What? (Dan stops.) Hey? What about asking me if I want to come?” (Robin pauses, looking back, then walks on, leaving them to sort it.) Dan: “We’re your family! (Luke turns around in exasperation, drawing his hands down his face.) Your auntie Annie and us.” Will: “Well, I’ve got a family here, too, Dad.” Luke: “We were sure you’d come and find us. Didn’t you miss us?” Will: “Yeah, but… (a pause)… I’m with Robin now.” (Follows Robin.) Dan: (Mimics:) “I’m with Robin now.” Son, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you!” (Follows Will. Luke gives a disheartened sigh and follows, too.) Sherwood Forest. Outlaws’ camp. (Clarke looks up from rummaging through the food store to see the gang arrive back at camp. Robin sits on the floor with a small piece of parchment on a stone slab. He dips his quill repeatedly into the ink bottle, thinking, halfway through a message. He adds something as the gang clean up from their disguises and their day’s work. Allan and Will are standing near the entryway, picking dirt out from beneath their fingernails, Allan debating whether or not to question Robin, as behind them Luke and Dan hang up their cloaks and look around at the construction marvel that is the camp. Noticing the Scarletts, Clarke smiles and heads over to them. Allan makes up his mind and steps over to Robin.) Allan: “What’s that?” Robin: (Looks up. Facetiously:) “It’s a letter.” Allan: “Yeah, but to who?” Robin: (Seriously, without looking up:) “It’s to the King.” (Drops the quill into the ink bottle.) Allan: “What about?” Robin: “The Sheriff and the Black Knights.” Allan: “Who’s delivering it?” Robin: “An old friend. (Looks up, smiling, knowing Allan will make fun of the name.) Roger of Stoke.” Allan: (Poshly:) “Roger.” (Robin laughs as Little John passes between them to put away the rolled-up net.) Allan: “Where are you meeting him?” Robin: (Impatiently:) “How many questions have you got, Allan?” Allan: “Yeah, all right, I’m just curious.” Robin: (Bends back over his note.) “I’m meeting him in Nottingham after the money drop.” Allan: (Noticing a second letter on the table:) “What about that one?” Robin: “That’s for Marian. I’ll deliver that one personally.” (Winks.) (Djaq passes Allan, going about her business, and Much hands Allan a purse. Dan stands looking at the structure as Allan goes to the entryway behind Will.) Dan: “This craftsmanship is good.” Will: “See, I’ve got a life here.” Clarke: “It’s true, Dan. Will’s been invaluable to all of us.” Dan: “All that says to me is that you could earn a decent living in Scarborough.” Will: (Slams down his rag.) “Dad, I’m an outlaw! (Robin looks up at Will.) I stand up for what I believe in.” Dan: “What? And I don’t?” Will: (Shakes his head.) “It doesn’t matter.” Dan: “Yes, it does. Tell me.” Will: “You let the Sheriff cut off your hand!” Luke: “That was to save me and you!” Will: (Puts his hand on Luke’s shoulder.) “I know. I didn’t mean that.” Dan: (Remorsefully:) “Yes, you did.” (Sits down, wrapping his cloak round himself. Clarke moves to stand beside Dan, squeezing his shoulder sympathetically. Robin is watching the exchange, arms folded. Luke walks out past Dan.) Will: “Robin, can you tell my dad I’m a grown man now. I make my own decisions.” Robin: (Gently:) “Well, a real man listens to advice, Will.” (Will nods and smiles in frustration, thinking he has no allies, and walks off. Robin watches him.) Dan: “Thanks, Robin.” Robin: “But Will does have a life here. (Will stops and looks back at Robin.) And you should see it before you take him away from it. Come to Nottingham tomorrow. Let us show you what we do.” 

Nottingham Town. Night. (In the upstairs window of a house, Sarah looks out at the horseman walking through the street.) Sarah: “Look! It’s him! Jess, it is the Nightwatchman. (Sarah runs downstairs as below, Jess opens the door. The Nightwatchman leans down from his horse and hands her a bag before moving on to the next house. Sarah helps her daughter open the bag.) Let’s see. What did he bring? (Looks up at the rider at the next door.) God bless you, Nightwatchman.” (At the end of the street, the mysterious masked stranger stops, pushes back his hood and pulls off his face-scarf.) Joseph: “And that night… (pulls off the mask)… the angel of the Lord went back and forth.” (Nods in satisfaction and walks his horse forward.) Nottingham Castle. Sheriff’s quarters. Sheriff: “Hmm. (The Sheriff is looking in the mirror. He pulls out his fake tooth. He turns aside and puts the tooth in its place in the third skull of a row of three, and the door opens.) Ah. (Glances at Joseph entering, then looks along the row of skulls, deciding which tooth to wear next.) The Nightwatchman. (Joseph stands uncivilly close to the Sheriff, pulling the mask off his head.) So, how was your evening’s generosity?” Joseph: (In the Sheriff’s face:) “Satisfying. They all took the bait, like rats.” Sheriff: (Chuckling quietly:) “Good. (The Sheriff steps aside, but Joseph keeps close to him.) Shouldn’t you be, er… measuring [turns into Joseph’s face again] or whatever it is that you do?” Joseph: (Staying in the Sheriff’s face:) “Scientific analysis.” Sheriff: “Quite, hm.” Joseph: “Well, I’m waiting to be accidentally caught in the quarantine.” Sheriff: “Ah… yes. The erm…pestilent poor of Pitt Street. (Chuckles.) Off you go.” (Joseph leaves as the Sheriff scowls and Gisborne raises his eyebrows.) Gisborne: "Are you sure we can trust that man?" Sheriff: "Trust? Do grow up, Gisborne. (Glances at Gisborne:) I trust no one. (Returning to his skulls:) However, he will provide an adequate distraction for Robin Hood. And, once the trap has been sprung, your men will be free to enter the forest and continue their hunt for the Celt's base of operation." Gisborne: "Further reconnaissance won't be necessary, my Lord. (The Sheriff turns his attention back to Gisborne.) I've narrowed it down to an area of the forest as yet explored by my men. To go any further would be suicide." Sheriff: "I don't understand, you mean you're still yet to find their camp?" Gisborne: "We've gone as close to it as we can without being detected. The trebuchets shall make up the distance." Sheriff: "Ah yes, the weapons you insisted we buy. (Snidely:) Tell me, Gisborne, will three of these machines be enough? Because you know how I just love spending money!" Gisborne: "Trust me, my Lord. Once they are in position the Celts will have no escape. Surely their deaths will more than cover the expense?" Sheriff: (Turns away from Gisborne:) "Just make sure they all die." Gisborne: "Yes, my Lord." Sheriff's Quarters. Exterior. (Listening by the door with a sombre look on her face is Isabella. Concerned by what she's just overheard, she heads off to find Clarke and warn her.) 

Nottingham Castle. Dungeons. (Marian reaches the foot of the stairs and is stopped by a guard with a halberd. A man screaming in torture can be heard echoing in the distance.) Marian: “Please. (Marian sees Edward in a cell with parchment and an old, stripped quill.) Please, Jailer, let me see my father.” Jailer: (Walking in from down the tunnel:) “Can’t be done. I’ve told you.” Edward: “Marian, I am well.” (The Sheriff, walking past the open upstairs door, stops and listens.) Marian: “I will speak to the Sheriff.” Edward: “Do not worry.” Sheriff: “Speak away, my dear.” Marian: (Turns, startled.) “Sheriff. (Climbs the stairs to him.) This punishment hurts my father, not me.” Sheriff: “Oh, I don’t know. I think it hurts you both." East exterior corridor. (Marian follows the Sheriff down the corridor.) Sheriff: "It is efficient, make you think before you undermine my authority again. Which… (stops…) trust me, is in your best interests.” (Walks on.) Marian: “Please. (Hurries after him.) Please, Sheriff. There must be something I can do… (They all stop at the courtyard steps. Looks plaintively at Gisborne.) Guy?” Sheriff: “It’s no good making those big eyes at him. He doesn’t want you any more. (Tempering her frustration, Marian bounces on her feet and glances at the courtyard.) Tell you what, you read this announcement for me, and we’ll see if we can get Daddy some dinner.” (Goes down the steps.) Marian: (Calling after the Sheriff:) “You mean you haven’t fed him? (Gisborne steps to her with a disapproving look at the Sheriff’s remark. Marian turns to him and Gisborne follows the Sheriff down the steps.) Sheriff!” (Follows them both.)

Nottingham Town. Marketplace. (The gang, each with a purse in hand, gather with Dan and Luke south of the market, ready to make their handouts.) Will: (to Dan:) “You see? These people need us.” Dan: (Grumpily:) “Ha! We need you, too. Your family.” (Sarah comes running down the marketplace carrying Jess.) Sarah: “Help me! Somebody please help me! (Robin runs to her. Sarah sees him.) Robin! Robin, help! It’s Jess. (Robin scoops Jess into his arms.) She’s got something. I think it’s the pestilence.“ Robin: “Let me see. (Will, Dan and Luke come over.) Will, get Djaq.” (Dan looks at Jess as Will runs off.) Dan: “There’s no swellings. How long has she been like this?” Sarah: “Just since this morning.” (At the castle gate, the Sheriff, Gisborne, Marian and two young trumpeters assemble.) Sheriff: (Leans to the trumpeters.) “Toot, toot-toot, toot.” (As fanfare plays, Isabella quickly steps out of the gates and walks into the marketplace. The townsfolk gather round and the gang turn their attention to Marian as she steps up on a small platform, parchment in hand. Robin glances up at her with concern and curiosity.) Marian: (Quietly:) “People of Nottingham.” Sheriff: “Louder.” Marian: “People of Nottingham!” Sheriff: “Gooood.” Marian: “On behalf of the Sheriff, I make the following announcement. The pestilence has come to Nottingham.” (The crowd murmur.) Sarah: “Oh, my god, Jess. That’s what it is!” Dan: (Quietly:) “No, it’s not.” (Clarke stands looking on in concern as Marian continues reading. Suddenly, Isabella grabs Clarke by the arm and leads her down an alleyway.) Alleyway. Clarke: "What in the-" Isabella: "I've got news from the castle, you don't have much time." Clarke: "What's happening, tell me." (Isabella begins to recall what she overheard earlier to Clarke as we cut back to Marian.) Castle Gate. Marian: “Do not be afraid. It is confined to the houses in Pitt Street. There will be a quarantine placed around the street. No-one is to pass through without permission. No-one is to pass food or medicine—” Dan: “What? There are young ones suffering. (Steps away from the gang and out into the street.) They can’t be cut off with nothing!”

Marian: “To do so risks spreading the infection and will be punished by death.” (Marian realises what she just said and scowls back at the Sheriff, who looks back, tilting his head unperturbed.) Sarah: “What are we going to do? She’s gonna die!” Dan: “No, she isn’t. That’s not what she’s got.” Robin: “Sarah, take Jess home. (Robin hands Jess back to Sarah.) Djaq and I will come soon. Be careful.“ Marian: “We will not be cowed by this infection. Business will continue as normal. All workers -” Much: (Over Marian’s line:) "What’s Marian’s game?” Marian: “are to report to the castle for duty…” Robin: “She’s just doing what she’s told.” Marian: … “at their usual hour.“ (Finished, Marian steps down and the Sheriff takes her place. Robin and Much quietly step to the side of the street and join Djaq amongst the crowd.) Sheriff: “Now, you may hear cries for help, pleas for mercy... medicine. “Help me, help me, help me!” A word of advice...” (The Sheriff looks around to make sure the people are watching, then puts his fingers in his ears, frowns as if he can’t hear anything, then chuckles. Dan menacingly shakes his head. Will looks for Robin, then goes over to him.) Will: (Infuriated, while the Sheriff is speaking:) “Robin, we’ve got to do something. He’s condemning the whole street to death.” Sheriff: “Go forth, in peace, to love and to serve your sheriff.” (Finished, the Sheriff turns to step down. Dan yells out to him and Luke starts to stop him, but quickly changes his mind.) Dan: “Sheriff, this is not right!” Robin: (Taking a step forward:) “Dan! Dan!” (Much pulls Robin back, not wanting him to be noticed.) Sheriff: (Turns back to the crowd. Quietly:) “What?” Dan: “I’ve just had a look at a young lass and it’s not t’ pestilence.” (Luke goes over to Robin, who ushers him off the street with Much and Will following.) Sheriff: (Quietly to a soldier:) “Get that man to shut up.” Dan: “I’ve seen the pestilence before in Scarborough. (Will shadows his father through the marketplace behind the crowd and stalls as Dan starts walking towards the Sheriff.) These people must have food and water (Robin and Much hop over tables in the marketplace, following Will.) and medicine!”

Sheriff: “I said shut up!” (Dan stops and Will slows, his eyes on his father.) Dan: “I’ve shut up for you once before, Sheriff. It cost me my wife, my hand, and the (Will reaches Little John, who is watching from the marketplace, too, and clenches his fists round a standing shelf.) respect of my son, so I’m not shutting up any more. Now why are you saying this is the pestilence—“ (Dan is stabbed from behind by a soldier. A woman screams. Little John immediately grabs Will as he tries to run to his father.) Will: “Dad!” (Marian turns around at the commotion, unable to see what’s occurred. Much grabs Luke as he tries to run to Dan. Robin turns around and puts a hand on Luke’s shoulder as well. The Sheriff looks on smugly. The soldier pulls his knife out of Dan, who shudders as Will watches, wide-eyed and horrified. The crowd murmur. Dan falls to his knees, then onto his face, dead. Will is shocked into stillness and Little John loosens his grip.) Sheriff: (Pointing at the soldier:) "Well done! (The soldier holds his knife out at the crowd.) Hysteria… panic… in times of crisis, not very helpful. It will not be tolerated!” (Will’s eyes widen at the Sheriff’s misleading statement, then his temper flares and he claws at Little John to get free. Robin and Much run over to help, as do Allan and Djaq.) Robin: “Will! Will, you can’t go up there!” Will: “I’m going to kill him now!” Gisborne: (Pointing to the soldiers in the courtyard:) “You heard the Sheriff! Set up those barricades!” (The Foreman starts shouting a constant chain of orders.) Much: “There’s too many of them, Will!” Robin: “It’s suicide.” Will: “I don’t care!” Djaq: “Will!” (Djaq puts her hand on Will’s chest and he immediately calms down and looks at her as she gently shakes her head at him.) Foreman: “Pick up those barricades! Move ’em! Come on, move yourselves!” (Robin releases Will and turns to watch the soldiers taking the barricades into town. Two other soldiers drag off Dan’s body as Luke watches, despondent and alone. Will sees him and rushes over to him as the townsfolk scatter.) Robin: “They’re setting the barricades up right now! There are people in there, our people, and they need us. (Will hugs Luke fiercely. Turns to Djaq.) Djaq?” Djaq: “Of course.” (Djaq passes in front of Robin, then circles behind the gang to wait as behind her, Will pulls Luke onto a bench and holds him close.) Little John: (Unsure:) “Robin, pestilence.” Allan: “I’m not sure either, to be honest. (Robin starts to push past Allan and Much, but Allan stops him.) Listen, I’ll tell you what. I’ll do the letter for what’s-his-name, Roger of Stoke.” Robin: (Reaching for his belt:) “Good thinking. (Pulling out the note and handing it to Allan:) Here. Go. (Looking from Little John to Will:) The rest of you, I can’t ask you to risk your lives, but if you do come with me, then do it for Dan. Now come on.” Pitt Street. (More barricades are put up as the gang run up another way to Pitt Street. Little John bursts past a soldier setting up the last barrier.) Joseph: “Let me through! I don’t live here! I was just walking this way! I’m from Leicester!” Soldier: “Sheriff’s orders!” (The soldier reaches through and pushes Joseph back into Robin behind him.) Joseph: (Turning around:) “This has got nothing to do with me!” (Joseph runs off and Robin watches him go. The gang are now barricaded inside Pitt street along with all the other sufferers of the ‘pestilence’.)

[iwritewithanaxe]

The Fire Hunt, Volume Three, Chapter 4 - Final

—This is ridiculous —said Leofsige, quickly raising his axe. None of his companions could answer him, the battle had begun.

 It was as if the two knights had fully regained their strength, and maybe more than that. Although the huntress and pack leader had just seen them tired, affected by the heat of the recently killed demon, the snow and the weight of their armor, they now had difficulty resisting their attacks.

 Sir Louis the Bald had wielded his shield in addition to his longsword, brandishing the blade with speed in wide arches around him, defending himself with the efficacy of a stonewall. With the back against his, Sir Lance the Secondary maneuvered his partisan like a storm, throwing countless strikes in so many directions, and at such a speed, that it was almost impossible to approach him.

 The four companions, along with the five human members of the pack, as well as the huge wolf and the bear, collided with each other as they tried to approach their rivals.

 —This is not gonna work —Emer told the leader, stepping back into the trees.

 —I see what you’re doing —she answered with a smile, doing the same—. Daireann, Pridbor, with me —just as she said so, the lookout and the apprentice also walked away from the fight.

 —Leo, Ellan —the huntress called. The demon and the dragonslayer reacted immediately.

 The druid, the fomorian, the guardian and the two beasts held the knights.

 —You haven't rusted, hairless, even with all that metal over of you —spoke the guardian, brutally approaching Sir Louis, their shields clashing and the battle-axe trying to catch the longsword.

 —Order and justice never rust, savage —the knight replied, hitting him on the head with the pommel of his weapon. The barbarian didn’t react, but a new mark could be seen in his helmet.

 Cunobelinos' claw strikes and charges did nothing against Sir Louis' armor. Paws and antlers could not pierce the metal, and the knight moved so precisely that it was impossible to grab him.

 That until an arrow forced him to raise his shield, and then a crossbow bolt bounced off one of his shoulder pads at the same instant the axe reached his torso. He threw a cut that, had it reached the guardian, it would have easily mutilated him. Then an onslaught of the druid took him to the ground.

 Meanwhile, a dagger from the demon and one from the lookout flew at Sir Lance. He was able to deflect one with his spear as he dodged the other, but then a four-pointed metal star, thrown by the apprentice, opened a wide cut on his face. He closed his eyes for an imperceptible moment, but it was enough for the fomorian, carrying two hand-axes, to make him release his partisan with a ferocious blow. Then the bear rammed him from the right flank, and the wolf from the left, knocking him down.

 —We just saved you from that demon! —Emer shouted as she saw both knights on the ground—. You could at least listen to us for a moment.

 —Never! —the Secondary replied to her, leaping to his feet and drawing his sword.

 —You can't fool us! You must answer for your crimes! —the Bald followed, spinning the long blade around him as he rose.

 —We haven't even met before! —the apprentice grunted, aiming a second four-pointed star.

 —If you ally yourselves with this savage, you cannot be much different —Sir Louis replied, staring at the guardian.

 —We brought you down once —said the leader of the pack, both tranquility and strength in her voice—, we’ll do it again as many times as necessary. Would you rather die like this?

 —There is no way that we will die before you do, before we see you pay for your crimes. There is no way —Sir Louis declared, his voice echoing as if several commanders were speaking in unison.

 —You don't know anything —the fomorian spat. His bark mask didn’t cover his mouth, and he showed crooked teeth in a primal grimace—. We're unbreakable.

 —Only the honor of a paladin is unbreakable! —said the eldest of the knights, like a war cry. He switched positions with his partner in less than a second, throwing a fearsome cut at the largest of the barbarians.

 The blade cut from shoulder to chest. The foment's expression of anger, in the little that his mask revealed, became one of disbelief. Maybe even in awe.

 The knight didn't even try to pull his sword out of the wound. He grabbed the morning star at his waist and struck the bear in the neck, lifting his shield at the exact moment to stop a charge from the wolf.

 Sir Lance in turn deflected the guardian's axe several times with few moves, feinting around him, dodging every attack of the druid.

 The daggers and stars thrown by the demon, the lookout and the apprentice had no effect. Only a few hit their marks, and in doing so, they were unable to pierce the armor.

 —It’ll be better for you to get away —the leader told the huntress, seeing that the bolts from both of them and the dragonslayer had no effect either—. This is going to get quite worse right now.

 —What's going on? —Emer asked, but she didn't need an answer. Both the guardian and the fomorian were roaring, moving faster and attacking more brutally. Rage had completely possessed them, and it seemed like the wolf and the bear too.

 —With those two like that, we can easily finish the pair of knights.

 —Don't kill them, please.

 —What?

 —You've already seen them face a demon.

 —And losing.

 —But before that we have seen them win. Remember, we must be united, even if we are not… In other words, we must…

 —Don't worry, I understand. We'll send them away.

 —Will you have no problem with the fury of your companions?

 —We have already fought beside them, I know how they function in their rage, and I know that they can be a danger to you. Get out of here now.

 —There's something you must know. Pay attention to the corpse of the demon we defeated. We've fought one like that before, and inside his head was a dragon skull.

 The leader was silent. She just looked at the huntress for an instant, then signaled her to get away and charged into battle. While the two were talking, the two barbarians and the two beasts had completely contended the pair of knights, driving even Cunobelinos away.

 The lookout drew two swords of different lengths, the apprentice a hand axe and a long curved blade, and they charge with their leader.

 —Let's go —Emer ordered, and she didn’t wait for an answer, hastening to disappear into the trees. Her companions followed her without hesitation.

 —Do not run away! —Sir Louis shouted—. Criminals without honor! —but he couldn't pursue them. The whole pack was upon him and Sir Lance, and the fury of the savages was overwhelming.

 None of the companions noticed that it had already dawned. They moved away among the trees, with Emer at the front, skipping roots and dodging branches.

 —Respectable leader —the demon suddenly called when they had been running for almost an hour already—, I think we've gone far enough.

 —It will be enough when we are out of this forest —she said to him, without stopping.

 Another hour had passed when they finally reached the open field. By some reason they didn't understand, there was less snow outside of the forest.

 —Why are we running away? —Leofsige wanted to know.

 —The two knights have a problem with us, not with the pack —Emer answered.

 —Those two have problems with everyone.

 —Well, more with us than with them. When they see they can't win the fight, they'll escape.

 —Which brings me to… right, why did you ask the leader not to kill them?

 —They don't deserve to die.

 —What?

 —You heard me. They fight for just causes, even though they are blind and obsessive.

 —How can you be sure? After this will you also protect the inquisitor?

 —Do you remember what happened last time? The inquisitor and his paladin escaped when they saw the pair of Frenchmen.

 —Yes, I remember, you think the Spaniard and his followers are hiding something, but we're not sure, we can't be. They are our enemies, all of them, they would kill us if they could.

 —The inquisitor would, no doubt, but the bald one… I doubt it. I think he wouldn't kill us or let us die if he had the chance. That's why I saved them from the demon attacking them. That's why I asked the pack to let them live. We need warriors capable of facing the demons, as many as possible, alive, if we want this world to survive.

 —Did you save them? Is that why that demon corpse was there?

 —That's right. I will stick with the idea that Sir Bald and Sir Secondary are not as bad as the inquisitor and his followers, as I stuck with the idea that those Spaniards are hiding something strange. If you disagree, why even call me a respectable leader?

 Leofsige looked at her silently for a long while. A few meters away, the dragonslayer had sat on the floor. The druid returned to his human form during the discussion, and had begun searching for seeds.

 —You're right —said the demon at last.

 —Are you sure?

 —Yes. I also want to believe not everyone is just as stupid. I want to see the two paladins fighting the inquisitors… and I want us to have every chance of saving this world from my relatives.

 The huntress smiled barely.

 —If you finished already —Cunobelinos called them—, we left behind two horses and a cart.

 —… I think… I didn’t realize —admitted Emer.

 —I know I didn't realize —said Leofsige.

 —The leader did realize —it was the voice of the apprentice, emerging from the trees a few meters away.

 —How did …? We have to start paying more attention, people have a habit of appearing on us from nowhere —the demon grunted, quite surprised.

 —Is the fight over? —the huntress asked.

 —Something like that —the young barbarian started—. The pair of knights escaped. The leader gave them some advantage before sending the lookout and the guardian after them, to make sure that they actually escaped, see that they didn't find you, all the fishing. The rest of us returned to the clearing, and there were the two horses, eating quietly, beside your cart, so I offered to come to you with them.

 —Thank you —Emer said to him—, to you and the whole pack. Facing those two knights is… difficult.

 —We noticed. Looks like you're very unlucky if that pair is after you.

 —You can’t even imagine —the demon intervened.

 —And now they will also want to pursue you —added the huntress.

 —Let them try —the apprentice continued—, it became clear to us that they don't get along with the forest nor the snow.

 —Hrm —Leofsige grunted again—, you're lucky. Now that that's settled, tell me what those things you threw during the fight were.

 —Something a traveler gave me. He said he encountered something similar somewhere far to the east, called them blades-hidden-in-the-hand, they’re quite practical. He also gave me my sword —when mentioning the weapon, the young man drew it. The blade was similar to that of a scimitar, but less curved and with a straighter tip.

 —Does that thing have a name? —the demon continued asking.

 —I know it does, but I don't remember it, so I call it a sword.

 —What happened to that traveler?

 —He made the fomorian angry.

 —Huh… speaking of that giant, how did it go with the wound he received?

 —He’s fine now. He's healed worse things without help. Troll blood is quite useful.

 —Huh… lucky guy.

 —Tell me something, little one, if you have time for more questions —suddenly spoke Cunobelinos, approaching the apprentice with heavy steps.

 —I caught up with you sooner than I thought, and I'll probably be back with the others sooner, so I'm in no hurry.

 —What formed your pack?

 —Our company, I think.

 —There must be something else. We do not follow our leaders just because they are there. I understand why the leader of your pack is what she is, but I want to know what brought you all to her.

 —We all come from cold places, we have always lived surrounded by rain, snow and ice. We know better than anyone else does that we must gather around the fire to survive.

 —I understand.

 No one else spoke. They bid farewell in silence, and the young man disappeared among the snow-capped trunks. Through thick clouds, it was clear that the sun was at the top of the sky.

 The huntress and the demon checked the cart before boarding it, and the dragonslayer mounted his horse. They advanced without haste or a clear direction, surrounded by nothing but small puddles, lonely trees, and an absolute calm.

 —Thinking of forming your own pack, Cuno? —Leofsige asked suddenly, seeing that the druid hadn’t even changed shape to continue the journey.

 —No —replied the enormous man, thoughtful, with his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.

 —… Any other details? —the demon insisted.

 —It caught my attention. None of you is as… primal as the pack. Not even I am…

 —You're closer than any of us —Ellanher commented, smiling.

 —And yet here we are. Together. We have also gathered around someone in order to survive.

 —Then what makes you think so much? —Leo continued.

 —Perhaps there is still hope for people.

 —To survive? —Emer wanted to know.

 —To survive, and that surviving will be worth it.

 —You never thought you’d find more people so close to the earth, did you?

 —I thought the ransacker and I were the last. That when we die, no one else would ever worry about plants and beasts again.

 The huntress only smiled, and then so did the dragonslayer and the demon.

 They advanced unhindered until night came. On the outskirts of a small cave, with some berry bushes nearby and a river running beside it, they set up camp.

 The dragonslayer, without his armor, but with his spear a few centimeters away, slept within the cart. The druid leaned back on the ground, staring at the sky until his eyes closed. The demon and the huntress each set up a tent.

 —Hey, Leo —she called him all of a sudden.

 —What's going on?

 —Can you imagine what the pack will think when they see the dragon skull inside that demon?

 —Surely they’ll be quite mad, and they’ll have more desire to kill demons. I'd like to know how is it that a relative of mine ends up with a dragon skull inside it.

 —Perhaps the pack will discover it before us, and the brotherhood before them.

 —As long as someone discovers it, I’ll be happy.

 Without saying anything else, each one entered their tent. The night passed quietly, almost in complete silence, interrupted only by the howling of wolves in the distance and, perhaps, by what might have been the roar of a dragon.

 End of Chapter 4

 End of Volume Three