#i did still order the other volume cause its got robin

[roronoa-luffy]

ive been looking for this little bastard forever (plus the nami and luffy ones)

so of course i find the full set of the volume After this one!!!

[demiwonder-a]

how do you fly with no wings? // young justice

WHO: Cassie Sandsmark, Bart Allen, Conner Kent, Tim Drake.

WORD COUNT: 4939 words.

LOCATION: New York City.

GENERAL NOTES: Young Justice is back, baby! Well, they thought they were back. A mission goes awry and Cassie falls and falls hard.

WARNINGS: Canon typical violence, guns, mentions of drugs/drug trade, mentions of past injuries. 

CASSIE: There was something in the air that Cassie felt settle deep into her bones, none of it good. Her mind whirled with possibilities of what it could possibly mean. The team was back together, officially. It couldn't be them. This was good, right? It had to be good. It felt like there was some dark cloud hanging over her head despite the joy she felt at being back together with her friends once more. 

The mission was easy enough. It was supposed to be, at least. Intervening in a drug trade that was to go down between two of the traffickers they had been following. Something for them to ease back into working together once more. Cassie was situated on the top of the building across from the meeting place, ready to spring into action as soon as Tim gave the go ahead. "In position. Is everyone else ready?"

KON: The super's eye peeked open at the sounds of his girlfriend's voice in his ear. He had been lounging atop the building where the meet up was supposed to occur for what felt like hours, just waiting to be given the go ahead to crash through the roof with only a pack of gum to entertain him. 

Phones could be tracked, according to Tim. That and he hadn't wanted a ringtone to go off in the middle of an interrogation, which, in Kon's defense, had only happened once so the fact that their fearless leader was still harping on felt a bit unnecessary to begin with. 

Either way, he popped another piece of gum in his mouth, humming at the sweet taste of juicy fruit as he pushed his sunglasses further up his nose. "Born ready, babe. I've been stuck up here for forever!" He complained, flicking his ball of foil into the air and turning into sprinkling ash with a quick flash of red, "Tim's the one taking forever, right Bart?" He snickered as he turned the volume down on his com. He'd know when it was time, and even if he didn't, it was always cooler to make a late entrance anyway. It added pizzazz to these things.

TIM + BART: "Cut the Bat-Brat some slack, Slug," The speedster's chipper voice sounded over the link, following gusts of wind and quick electric snaps. Tim had to smile. It felt so familiar, something old that resurfaced after a good dusty coat had been brushed off, still a bit rough in practice and use, but... These guys had been running their hero gig almost longer than Tim had, in the team sense at least. When Tim had left Young Justice to Cassie, it was to distance himself, to protect them from the possible consequences of his presence causing their utter demise. It was still a prevalent memory, the mass of them to be truly honest, amassing in a visceral fear that made his stomach turn every time he thought about it. Kon, Bart, gone and back within the same... No. They're here. You're all here, you're all getting back into the swing of things. Just keep it cool, keep everyone else in line like you were trained to do. You're a Robin, God damnit.

Crouching from his high vantage point, Tim could clearly see all three members of his merry band, whether they knew it or not. The shadow of the concrete around him kept him near invisible, if it wasn't for the glowing white lenses of his mask and the bright flash of red that spread over the new uniform's arms. Fingerstripes, those were Dick's thing... But Tim needed a change. Needed something new for the new Red Robin. The old one... Well, the old one died at the hands of Ra's Al Ghul, when he told himself he'd never be able to get back in the game because of what he'd done, what he was made to do to keep his city and his family and his friends safe. Besides, with his old gear either destroyed or left to ruin, he figured he'd need to do some upgrading regardless.

"You still thinkin', feather-brain?" Another breath of a laugh, shaking his head and glancing in the direction of the speedster. Bart was keeping himself occupied, as always, by playing around with the rusty lightning that haloed every appendage as he ran. Short sprints gave him just enough to practice throwing the thin bolts at the gravel, every strike leaving a blackened mark on the ground, throwing his already wild hair back further over the open top cowl. "You're almost scarin' me with how spooky silent you are. Then again, guess we've just worked with a boss that likes to be a little more commanding-" ZZRP! "... Not that there's anything bad about that, Wondy."

Bringing his arm up out of it's draped cape coverage, Tim glowered at the holographic screen appearing in his field of vision, working on typing in commands on the gauntlet. White lenses narrowed as he worked, a sly smile forming as information flooded the screen. "I'd have thought you all discovered patience while I was off the team. Guess that's what I get for assuming." Remotely, Tim snagged footage from the hidden security cameras outside of the building's loading bay. Without much more than a second to lose, the familiar lights of a transport truck came up on the screen. People or product, didn't matter, that was their cue.

"Transport approaching, East loading bay. Go for Operation Hart Protector. Flash, keep the truck from parking, watch perimeter. Superboy, Wonder Girl, bust in. Keep watch for digital storage, and don't destroy them please and thank you."

CASSIE: A small smile tugged at Cassie's lips even through the ominous cloud she felt darken with every passing moment. There was always a part of her that couldn't help brighten up around her team, her best friends. When Tim had left she had been a bit wary of leading the team herself, not wary in her skills but in everyone not wanting her to lead after having Tim as a leader. She never had trouble finding her voice, making sure it was the loudest and most commanding. Almost on the other side of the spectrum from Tim, cool and calculating while she was loud and commanding. 

"Thanks, Bart. I think," Cassie snorted out. "No destroying, you got it." This part was easy, putting herself in the mission mindset. She could push aside the looming gray cloud and the way her stomach was churning, head starting to spin. It was fine. Maybe a trip to Dr. Mid-Nite was due, but she'd keep that to herself for now. 

Cassie took to the air, flying towards the loading bay and faltered in the air as her head spun. She quickly righted herself and let out a shaky breath, shaking her head and surging forward to punch in the door. "You're slacking, Superboy!" Cassie quipped despite the words feeling heavy on her tongue. What had just happened? 

Didn't matter. She had to keep going.

KON: It wasn't like he wasn't paying attention, he was great at multitasking, after all, but he was almost always more attuned to Cassie's heartbeat than anything else. Most days it thumped solidly in his ear, grounding him when work got overwhelming and comforting him when he caught glimpses of Clark flying across the sky. He figured it was just a super thing, really, because he knew with certainty Clark did the same with Lois and he would bet his last Dr.Pepper Jon did it with Damian. It was nice, knowing that the person you loved most in the world was safe and happy but now his head snapped toward where Cassie's heartbeat was coming from, the falter in its beat making him frown. 

Cassie never got nervous. Not even when they faced foes that were far more terrifying than some drug traffickers. It worried him and a part of him wanted to rush over to her but he would never hear the end of it if he did. Not from Tim and certainly not from Cassie herself. She could take care of herself, always had. 

He tore through the ceiling with a grin, grabbing one of the few guards by the collar with a quick, "Sup?" Before grabbing onto the man's weapon and tossing it across the warehouse. 

"C'mon!" He whined, "Ladies first and all that. I was just being a gentleman." He grinned, winking at her as he tore a strip of metal from a parked van and formed it around the guards wrists in makeshift handcuffs. "You think Robin would buy us some handcuffs or do you think he'd be worried we'd use them for less than PG purposes?" He asked, dropping the man onto the ground as he glanced toward Cassie.

TIM + BART: Bart didn't need to be told to GO twice. He was off running the minute the order was given, a blip on Tim's visual radar as he appeared to just.. Appear in front of the parking truck, leaning against the hood, still humming from an engine that didn't have time to turn off. "Hi, boys. I'm gonna have to ask you to vacate the premises, orders from the boss." A gear shifted, the tires crunched against the pavement. "... Haha, oops." The speedster pushed his hands against the hood, flipping himself onto the trailer in a few quick motions, holding onto the edge for fear of getting flung off. "I don't think they bought it!!" He called out over the engine revving, the vehicle scraping the side of the building as it attempted to throw the hero off.

Tim was still waiting, a looming shadow at his post, listening and watching like a... "You do know I can still hear you all, right?" He sighed, closing down his holographic computer and standing on the edge of his vantage building. May as well get into the fray, he wasn't trained to just sit back. Besides, he'd been doing far too much of that lately. Grapple launcher in hand, the bird leapt into the air and soared for what felt like the first time in forever. Flying was really more Dick's thing, but there was a special kind of feeling in that free fall, the calculations you had to make, to get yourself to safety without hitting the ground or pulling your arm out of its socket. Without another spoken word, or much other thoughts,  the red bird swung up to fall near silently through the hole the Super left in the ceiling, crouched and ready to strike.

A loud crash against the wall and a mumbled "Owwie..." In his ear caught his attention first, head whipping over to the wall the noise. "Flash?" 

"M'fine," came the grunted reply, Bart pushing himself back up on his knees. "Truck's not parked. In fact, it's way past that." 

"Shit."

"Not to worry, Captain, I'm on it." Funny, Tim doesn't recall Bart ever sounding annoyed himself. His scowl deepened even as he tossed batarangs into the onslaught. There were a lot more hostiles than he'd initially thought...

"Hey, Rob, did these guys also have a weapons trade deal? 'Cause it's a little hard to catch up when I'm also being shot at."

Double shit.

CASSIE: Whipping her lasso out, Cassie snapped it out and wrapped it around the nearest man's forearm. She tugged hard and sent him flying back. A smile pulled at her lips and she rolled her eyes at Conner's attempts at flirting in the midst of them taking down the guards. "Definitely not," she tugged her lasso back and kicked out at the guard who was attempting to charge her, sending him crashing into the nearest wall and making him crumple in on himself. Tim came swinging in and it was like something clicked into place despite the persistent bad feeling that had made itself home in her chest. 

Of course, that couldn't last. Bart's voice sounded out through the comms and Cassie's heart sunk right down into her stomach. "Shit," she breathed out, trying to think of a solution and quick. "Flash, I'm coming! You two handle this!" She barked out the orders and shot out of the doors that were no longer hanging on the hinges after her hard punch. There was a memory that flashed across Cassie's mind of Bart and his knee, the way Deathstroke had put a bullet in it with no hesitation. She couldn't let him get hurt again. She wouldn't.

The dizziness was back and Cassie felt like she was seconds away from throwing up, but pushed it back. She pushed herself harder and faster, shooting through the air and throwing her lasso to wrap around the exhaust pipe of the truck. A scream tore its way through Cassie as she tugged and tugged hard, lifting the back of the truck up and dragging it backwards. Shots sounded out and Cassie tugged up harder, bullets ripping through the air and bouncing off her bracelets. Pain shot up her arms and spread throughout her body unlike she had felt before, the gas being pressed harder to try to get away from her. The exhaust pipe snapped and Cassie was sent flying back, a surprised yelp leaving her. "Oh no you don't!" 

Cassie caught herself in the air and tried to push through the dizzy spell and pain tingling in her entire body. Then something seemed to just snap as she pushed through the air, her body faltering up high in the sky and suddenly dropping down. Cassie scrambled, trying to force her body back up airborne but nothing happened, the dread setting in. 

A blood curdling scream escaped Cassie as she yelled out, "CONNER!" She was falling down towards the ground at a rapid speed and unable to stop it.

KON: He smirked, happy at the sight of his girlfriend's lips twitching into a small smile at his antics. He swiftly dealt with another guard, tossing him against a wall and pointedly ignoring the man's loud groan of pain. "Hey, if you didn't want to deal with us you probably shouldn't be doing... whatever it is you're doing here," he said before turning to Tim, "What are they doing here again?" 

His head whipped toward Cassie, his eyes following as she punched her way through the metal doors and off toward Bart. "Goddammit," He sighed, turning to Tim, "Does she seem a little off to you? Her heartbeat is going crazy." 

He sighed, pulling Tim behind him as a barrage of bullets came through the open door, a large truck screeching to a halt as "What are we supposed to do n-" His words were cut off when he heard, once again, Cassie's heartbeat falter and then, no more than a second later, the terror-laced scream of his name. He glanced at Tim, eyes wide but before the man could say anything he was flying up through the roof once more, dropping Tim onto a different building before he pushed himself toward the sound of the scream. 

His heart raced and he swooped down, his heels digging gouges into the street as he skidded right under Cassie, his arms ready to catch her before he was shooting back into the sky with a relieved laugh, his arms pulling her closer to his chest. "What the hell was that, Cass? Are you okay?"

TIM + BART: This was... Too familiar. Too nostalgic. The staff in his hands seemed to transport him back to a time when he was just a teen, a teen in green tights, a little too obsessed with ninjas, given the gruff command to take care of his own team as his predecessors before had done. A near mirror image of the League, the ones stuck to their sides or in their shadows. The wind in his hair as he whirled around, added more to the momentary illusion, and he forgot for a fleeting moment that the four of them had ever been apart. It was clockwork, just as easy as muscle memory...

That was, until things went wrong. 

Just their luck, the world gave them a sign that they should've kept to themselves, it seemed. Tim barely had the chance to answer Kon's questions before the scream nearly blew out the speaker in his ear. White eyes went wide with shock, a whispered "Cass-" making it's way out of his throat. It didn't take much more than a shared look of fear to know that his teammate had heard it too, possibly a million times louder than either of them wanted to hear. He was trying to think of a plan, to send Kon off so he could fend off the rest of the hoard himself, to call back Bart and get at least someone on his 6, but his brain doesn't run on super speed, the ground flying away from him faster than he could start to talk again.

"What the hell-?!" Another sentence, reflexive and reactive, and again barely spoken before he was dropped out of the air again. Damn it all. Tim rolled to a kneel again, looking up to see a blurred streak racing off into the horizon, his plans fizzling out like a match in a puddle. They had this, they had this under control and ready to get done. What the hell was going on that he didn't plan for?? He wanted to make a retort, tell the other that he was fine, that he should've just left him there to duke it out, but... He worried. Lips pulled into a tight frown, masked eyes watching the blur fade away, he waited... Listened... Watched. It's what he was good at, right?

Bart skidded to a full stop just behind the capture zone, though his gold, sparking eyes darted from the sky to the road. "Grife, they're gone," He sighed, a gloved hand flicking through the windblown nest of hair, letting it fall into his face. He wasn't about to get another hospital trip out of them coming together again as a team, no sir. Besides, he had the plates, make and model, and gaudy off-white color scheme committed to memory, it wasn't like it was going to be hard to find with a now broken exhaust. 

It was a moment of silence from the both of them, just staring at what they could only assume was the super-couple above them. All was quiet until Tim decided it was time to speak up again: "Status report."

CASSIE: There was a certain sense of helplessness as Cassie fell down, down, down. The wind caused her hair to whip past her face, not because of her pushing her body through the sky but from her descent down towards the ground. Her eyes squeezed shut as tears stung at them, so many faces flashing in her mind as the air rushed past her body.

Conner, Bart, Tim. Her team she had let down in a course of action she hadn't even seen coming. Donna and Diana, two Amazons and her sisters she had felt so disconnected from for far too long. She didn't feel a part of the Amazons and entirely too much like a boat floating far out to see. There was Kara and Jon, the two other Kryptonians that had wormed their way into her heart. The anger she had quietly held for Kara despite being able to relate far too deeply. There was a regret in the fact she had been angry with her in a place that had only come from wanting to protect Conner. Her mom. Her mom, who had only wanted to take care of her and was horrified when she decided to become a hero. Her mom who she hadn't talked to in so long and ached for her in this moment. Maybe she was right, Cassie didn't know what she was doing and hadn't in a very long time.

Suddenly, arms were around Cassie and she was shot back up into the air. She let out a startled gasp and her eyes opened, arms scrambling to wrap around Conner's neck tightly. She parted her lips to answer and wasn't even sure what to say. What did happen? 

"...I don't know," Cassie whispered weakly, a tear escaping and rolling down her cheek. She wasn't one to fall apart like this, but she had been scared, terrified even. "I was...I've been feeling off lately. Dizzy and just like something wasn't right. I ignored it for awhile, was gonna go visit Dr. Mid-Nite...then I just—" Failed them. She failed them and the mission. Their first mission back as a team and she had ruined it. 

"I was flying after the truck and it was like someone tugged the power chord on my powers. I just...fell. I couldn't make myself fly no matter how hard I tried. If I had to guess I probably can't even make a dent in a door I punch. I'm...useless. I don't have any powers." The reality came crashing down on Cassie swift and fast. She didn't have any powers. She had had powers for so long now, was one of the heavy hitters on the team alongside Conner. What good was she without them? 

Tim's voice crackled to life in the comms unit and Cassie's response was half hearted—monotone at best. "I'm fine." She didn't feel it. Not in the slightest.

KON: She was safe, here in his arms with her heartbeat fluttering wildly and her voice breaking. He looked down at her and his teeth dug into his bottom lip as his fingers squeezed a little tighter only to ease up again in an instant. His flight wavering as his brows stitched together in concern. 

There had never been a time that he could remember that he had been scared to hurt her, but now as he looked into her eyes and saw the vulnerability shining there he had to take a deep breath just to collect himself. He shifted her weight into one arm and brushed away the stray tear as best as he could, his lips pursing as they continued to flow. He landed them on the ground and glanced around, a small dry chuckle bubbling past his lips as he ran a hand through his hair. They were farther out than he had anticipated, somewhere upstate from the look of it. He had been so terrified, so panicked in the moment that he hadn't even realised how fast they were flying. His only thought had been getting her away as quickly as possible but now he felt guilty. Bart needed him, he had left Tim on a random roof, his need to protect her so strong that he hadn't given a second thought to abandoning the team, his best friends. 

They could have been captured, they could have been hurt, they could have been killed. 

He took a shuddering breath, his eyes squeezing shut as he reached blindly for Cassie's hand and cradled it in his own. He needed to focus on her right now. Bart and Tim were smart and capable and probably already tracking them. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, hating how just a few weeks earlier she had asked him the same question. When did they start keeping secrets? Lying by commission? That wasn't them, was it?

"You are not-" he huffed, snatching the comm from his ear and pinching it between his fingers until he heard a satisfying crunch. "Look, we'll figure it out, Tim will- I don't know, do Tim things and we'll fix it, okay? Don't cry," he said pulling her into a hug, "I hate when you cry."

TIM + BART: No visual, they disappeared... That wasn't too odd in a normal sense, but this wasn't a normal mission. He knew they were out there at least, knew they were still alive. He wished that was all the assurance he needed. Cassie wasn't fine, and Kon wouldn't be fine unless she was. Something had gone terribly wrong here. Possibilities flooded his head, nearly blocking out the mental work he'd already put in that he'd take on solo to try finishing what the four of them had started. Maybe it was easier that way, anyways-

Nope. Fuck. Stop that, you promised you'd stop that. You're fine. Just breathe.

A deep grumble sounded at the back of his throat when he pulled up his screen again, typing quick commands to try and find the pair... And noticed he could only see one dot on his radar. Damn it. Damn it all. "Well, at least he won't get to whine about calling it off."

"Yeah, he can get pretty whiney, huh?" Without a second to spare, it seemed, the yellow-clad speedster had come up to flank the vigilante, his eyes slightly glowing from the sparks that threatened to take his vision for the moment. "I don't think he'll be doin' much of that now, though."

“What happened?" Tim asked, concern filtering through the gruff mask he attempted to put on his voice.

"She just..." Lost, confused, worried, the speedster looked back up at the sky. "She just kinda' fell."

The two shared a moment of silence, each one lost in their own thoughts. If Tim wasn't trying to figure it all out at once, he'd have to laugh at the fact that this was probably the longest time Bart had ever stayed quiet. Deep down, Bart knew it too, but he was stuck in place, rooted, grounded, frozen. All words he never wanted to be. But... What could either of them really do? No one had the full story, least of all Cassie, they were sure.

"... Head back home, Bart," Tim eventually sighed, closing down the holograph screen, turning his head at the familiar sound of an engine on the streets below. Hello, old faithful. "Get some rest. I'll send a report when I can." Walking, not running, Tim dropped off the edge of the roof and onto the waiting top of the Redbird, waiting until he was actually in the old car to lean back and... 'Relax'. To say he had a bad feeling would be rhetorical.

And Bart only watched, still at a loss for words. Did he really want to go 'home' tonight? It felt like he shouldn't, he should let the two of them be alone as much as they could. Maybe he should leave a note, send them a text, maybe he should go to the Garricks or his old place he shared with M-... No no, don't do that, Allen. With the feeling of tears threatening to take his eyes, the speedster set a sort of concentrated scowl on his face at the horizon line. Without another second to lose, he was gone in a flash, taking off to no destination in particular. There were no problems while he ran free, there wasn't anything he had to worry about if he just kept going.

He'd be back tomorrow anyways, always smiling, always happy.

CASSIE: Conner was trying, but all Cassie could feel was a never ending sense of dread and disappointment. She hated letting them down, had been afraid of it for so long even. Back when she was the leader of the team that was a constant fear. For as confident as she was, she truly had lost all faith and confidence in herself steadily over time. She saw Diana, even Donna, and didn't know where she fit into the picture. They were Amazons through and through, but she...she wasn't. She could pretend all she wanted, but she was just some girl who happened to be part god and was only ever gifted these powers by her deadbeat of a grandfather who just so happened to be Zeus. 

Why didn't you tell me? The question was enough to make Cassie grimace and flinch the tiniest bit. She had told Scott, breaking down in a similar fashion in the man's new home on Genosha that something was wrong with her. She hadn't said anything to anyone else, almost afraid if she uttered any more about it that something would happen. Little did she know, she was doomed regardless. 

"I didn't mean to...I was scared. I thought something was wrong and I was afraid if I talked about it then there would actually be something wrong with me. How am I supposed to explain that? I can't explain it other than I had a terrifying gut feeling that there was something absolutely fucking wrong with me." Cassie sighed weakly and scrubbed at her eyes tiredly, she felt completely drained. Whether it was from the loss of powers or just...emotionally being completely destroyed was up for debate. The lasso at her hip felt entirely too heavy and she wanted to rip it apart, throw it away with her bracelets and never look at either again.

"Yeah. We'll figure it out." Cassie parroted halfheartedly at best. She had a feeling that they wouldn't. That she would be...stuck like this and wouldn't be needed. By anyone. "Let's just...can you take us home, please?" She requested quietly, moving to wrap her arms around Conner's neck once more as his arms moved around her. The wind in her hair and the clouds in the sky were a far different experience when someone was carrying her rather than her flying through them herself. Her head fell to Conner's shoulder and she squeezed shut tightly. They'd figure it out. They had to. Right? Right. (She hoped so at least. She didn't know what she'd do if she was stuck like this forever. She could only hope and try not to let that diminish for now.)

[iturbide]

Honestly, bless you and your writing! Quality content fadgsaffsg-- But what if something super bad happened? Like the summoner somehow got captured by maybe Muspell (Surtr?) ovo I'm imagining the reasoning could be something like 'Askr is nothing without their precious summoner. Watch as their mockery of a kingdom falls apart even before I raze it to the ground.' kinda deal? How would Grima (and the whole castle by proxy I suppose) react? :>

quality content I am so flattered okay i’m still screaming about this

but okay you see this

this prompt

this set my brain on fire

so please forgive me for the fact that this monster is literally 6,500 words long and clocks in at a full 18 pages

If you’ve read anything else of mine that exceeds a thousand words, I like to change perspective sometimes.  For ease of understanding, asterisks (*) represent a perspective shift, dashes (-) represent a scene shift.  The first bit is there as a teaser, the part below the cut is significantly larger, you have been warned. 

Kiran was fairly certain by now that combat would never become familiar.  Nothing in their prior life could have prepared them for this, and even with as many fights as they’d seen (and between the conflict with first Embla, now Múspell, and all of the battles waged for practice in the Training Tower or sport in the Arena, they had seen a lot), it never really felt natural or right, sending soldiers – friends – onto the field to fight and bleed and sometimes fall for the Askran cause.  

Perhaps it was good that war did not sit well with them.  But regardless of their feelings, they had a job to do here, and they intended to do it well.  Anything to keep Askr from becoming a mirror of Nifl’s scorched wasteland: the further they traveled, the more wreckage they encountered, empty towns covered in snow that could not hide the burned remains of what had once been thriving communities.

As they continued their trek toward Nifl’s former capital, the Askran forces had run afoul of Múspell soldiers camped in one of the ruined villages.  Tagging Ike, they glanced briefly at his health, winced, and instead sent Lissa to heal him before ordering the young mercenary into a green mage’s line of fire.  Robin moved to intercept a mounted archer encroaching on their flank, sending a conspiracy of magic ravens tearing through the bowman’s defenses, while overhead a six-winged dragon banked slowly over the battle, awaiting his next command.

“We might need to retreat,” Kiran muttered as enemy reinforcements appeared upfield, well beyond their line of sight but easily tracked by the tactical map piped into their phone.  The axe fighter and the red manakete wouldn’t be so bad, with Alphonse and Sharena to intercept them, but the cavalier with the firesweep lance was another matter…

“The situation hardly seems so dire.”

The Summoner looked up at the hooded figure leaning over their shoulder, a wry smile twitching across their face.  “When did you take over as the Order’s tactician?”

Grima rolled his eyes, keeping easy pace with the Kiran as they picked their way through the remnants of the village square.  Several of the houses beyond remained more or less intact: the narrow streets would afford them a good choke point to deal with additional reinforcements, provided they could keep their ranks in order.  Humming thoughtfully to themselves as they climbed the steps of an abandoned home, Kiran drew the Askran fighters one by one across the on-screen grid, casting a quick glance back the way they’d come to see faintly glowing marks on the ground leading into the plaza.  They still had no idea what Breidablik had done to their phone, but it had certainly been effective.

“Incoming,” the Summoner noted, listening to the approaching hoofbeats.  “You ready?”

The fell dragon grinned, violet flames licking at his boots.  “Always,” he chuckled.  Though they both knew it wasn’t necessary, Kiran still moved Grima’s icon down the street as he advanced, the great six-winged form overhead descending to attack.  More reinforcements had appeared around the square, and the Summoner bit their lip as they sized up the new opposition, attempting to suss out the least risky solution to their predicament.  Tapping a few troops experimentally, Kiran gauged their chances…and, satisfied that they could pull off a defensive ploy, moved their allies one by one to engage the newly summoned soldiers, grinning as the blinding glow from Alphonse’s Sol momentarily brightened the overcast afternoon.  Grima’s dragon form screeched as an axe fighter filled the position occupied by the now fallen cavalryman, and the Summoner glanced briefly at the screen…only to chuckle at the damage predictor’s single-digit output.  Even with two hits, there was no chance they could take down the Wings of Despair.  Maybe they had been too hasty, considering retreat–

“Hello, Summoner.”

Kiran froze.

They hadn’t heard movement in the building behind them.  Hadn’t even considered that someone might be in there waiting – which was foolish, given the hard lesson they’d learned combatting the Black Knight not so long ago.  But they slowly raised their hands in the universal gesture of peaceful submission, taking great care not to disturb the blade pressed to their neck.

“Hello,” the Summoner replied, grateful that their voice did not quake the way the rest of them did.  “It’s Laegjarn, right?”

“I’m flattered that you recall my name,” the general chuckled.  “Perhaps you also recall my offer.”

“Surrender quietly and you won’t hurt me?”

“Your memory serves you well.  What say you?”

Kiran swallowed, feeling the sword’s edge burn their throat.  With the fight still raging out of sight in the plaza and Grima’s attention focused on the wyvern rider flying into range, no one had seen the enemy under their noses.  No help was coming.

Some tactician they turned out to be.

“I submit.”

“Very good.  Please disarm, Summoner.”

The blade at their throat relaxed an inch.  Nodding slightly, Kiran removed Breidablik from its place on their hip, kneeling to lay it on the stoop alongside their phone…

…and as they lingered, casting one last pleading look toward the fell dragon, they cranked the volume up to the max.  The music barely even reached their own ears over the pounding of their heart, and the general made no remark on it as the Summoner straightened.  

“Thank you for being so cooperative,” Laegjarn remarked, taking hold of Kiran’s arm and pulling them into the shadows of the scorched house.  The back half had collapsed, blackened beams jutting from the ash; the Múspell general paid the wreckage no mind as she guided them out onto the next road and past a fresh wave of soldiers.  “Retreat,” she ordered.  “We have what we came for.”

The troops pulled back from the village with shocking speed.  The Askran forces remained, perhaps confused by the swift turn of the tides, perhaps elated at their victory.  Kiran did not know.  They could only wonder what the Heroes would feel when they realized what they’d lost.

***

Grima frowned as the Múspell soldiers withdrew.  “Barely a challenge,” he snorted.

Something’s strange.

“I’m inclined to agree, given how fierce these forces are said to be–”

We were outnumbered.  There were still reinforcements coming in.  Why did they retreat?

He glanced up at the dragon floating lazily overhead.

A wyvern rider tried to stab you in the face.  I don’t think the dragon really made much of an impression.

A grin twitched across Grima’s face as he moved back down the icy road.  Kiran had left the doorstep; turning into the square, the fell dragon joined the other Heroes that had gathered, submitting without complaint to the fair-haired cleric’s treatment.

“I was worried for a moment there,” the Askran princess giggled.  “There were so many of them!”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Ike muttered, the words clearly at odds with the wounds the healer had yet to mend.

“What troubles me is how quickly the tides turned,” Alphonse said.  “Our enemy has shown fearsome skill at predicting our course of action and heading us off…they may seek to lure us into a trap.”

“Where’s Kiran?” Anna asked.  “Perhaps they’ll have some insight…”

All eyes turned to Grima.

A sense of disquieting unease crawled down his spine.  “I did not see them when the battle ended.  I thought they had joined you here.”

But scanning the worried Heroes that turned to look amongst each other, he found no trace of the Summoner.

“They can’t be far…right?” Lissa asked, wringing her staff between her hands.

“Let’s look for them.  Perhaps they were sidetracked investigating something,” Robin suggested, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his otherwise calm logic.

The fell dragon retraced his steps as the other members of the Order fanned out through the square, calling to the Summoner to reveal themselves.  Approaching the doorstep where he had left them, Grima narrowed his eyes at the open doorway leading into the wreckage.  Had it been ajar before?  If Kiran intended this to be some prank–

That isn’t like them.

As he drew close, an odd sound snared Grima’s attention: a muffled, melodic hum from somewhere nearby.  Tilting his head, he peered up and down the street, toward the scorched eaves, down to the snowy ground…

Oh, gods.

The fell dragon crouched, lifting the Summoner’s magic tile off the step.  Free of the ice, the song it sang grew louder, a tense battle hymn that set his nerves on edge.  “Kiran,” he called, taking to his feet and striding through the doorway, out through the collapsed rear wall, and across the packed snow left by the enemy’s retreat.

No response.

They won’t hear you.

“Kiran!” Grima snarled, loud enough to echo through the wreckage, distorting beyond recognition.

They can’t hear you.

“KIRAN!!”

The dragon overhead shrieked in unison with him, sending scores of dark birds rushing from the forests on every side.  But as the ringing in his ears at last abated, nothing more than silence greeted him.

They’re gone.

—

The Order had searched.  They had scoured the woods until the last light left the sky, following the tracks left by the Múspell soldiers in hopes of finding the place where they converged; but even with six eyes overhead peering through the dark, they found no clues to spur their progress.

Nightfall forced their hand.  With few options and grave uncertainties of what lay ahead, the Order’s commander called for a retreat back to Askr to resupply and assess the situation.  And as little as Grima liked it, he had nothing better to offer.  

“We should gather reinforcements,” the Askran prince insisted as they strode through the luminous gateway into the plaza.  “The Múspell forces couldn’t have traveled far.  If we set off at dawn we may be able to catch up with them–”

“It’s too risky,” the commander replied.  “We don’t know how many soldiers they have.  Even if we were to take the whole of the Order, we’ve no guarantee of victory – and that could be exactly what they want, leaving Askr’s defenses weak for Surtr’s invasion force.  Until we know more, we should wait and prepare.”

“You would abandon them.”

The words echoed through the plaza, leaving silence in their wake.  Grima stalked forward, rage fueling the violet tongues of flame that swirled around him; only the warning from the presence in the back of his mind kept him from lifting the red-headed general off the ground by the front of her tunic.  The Askrans still retreated, warily touching their weapons as the fell dragon stared down at them.

“We’re not abandoning anyone,” Anna insisted, the tremor in her voice undercutting her patient tone.  “Rushing in will only put everyone at risk.”

“Múspell’s general is a formidable strategist, but has treated the people of Nifl fairly even after its fall,” Fjorm offered.  “If she has taken the Summoner, we can be assured of their safety until terms are delivered–”

“And if Surtr is responsible then they may be dead already,” Grima snarled.

“…we can’t afford to risk the Order, or the Summoner’s life, by rushing in ill prepared,” the commander repeated.  “We will make ready, and when we receive word–”

The fell dragon bared his fangs, feeling the pull of the great form atop the castle and wanting nothing more than to bring the walls crumbling down on the Askrans’ miserable heads…

That won’t help Kiran.

He hated that voice.  All the more for the fact that he knew that it spoke true.

Clenching his fists, Grima stormed from the plaza, winding his way through the halls and up to the castle roof where his six-eyed form roosted.  The dragon made a small noise of distress, six eyes fixed on the distant horizon while Grima settled against the parapets and struggled to fight down the rage burning its way through him.  “Miserable wretched cowardly worms, every one of them–”

They have some sound points.

“They’re leaving Kiran to die, how is that a sound point?”

If Surtr had been involved, we would have known it.  He likes to gloat too much.  He wouldn’t have retreated with Kiran, he would have made it known immediately what he’d done.  Odds are good that it is the general who’s responsible, then, and that gives us time to prepare.

“Prepare for what?  Do you really imagine their terms will be anything beyond ‘surrender or we slaughter the Summoner?’”

…unconditional surrender or providing Gunnthrá’s location would be my guess.

Grima sneered, pressing his fists to his forehead.  “How reassuring.”

What else can we do, though?

“How should I know?  As I recall, you were the genius tactician.”

The presence at the back of his mind had no response for that.

Heaving a heavy sigh, the fell dragon reached into the pocket of his coat, removing the Summoner’s magic tile.  The divine weapon they’d left behind had been left in the commander’s care…but Grima had kept the Summoner’s fohn.  The surface had gone dark, the eerie music silent now as he held the device in his palm…but as he prodded it experimentally, the screen flashed to light, a series of tiny white dots speckling the bottom of the screen.

He had watched Kiran toy with this blasted thing often enough.  Touching the surface, he drew his finger through several of the spots…and with a soft click, the tile’s surface rippled and changed, a faint red cast overtaking the screen.  Touching it lightly sent sparks dancing under his fingers…before a map of the Askran kingdom appeared, glowing stones marked with ornate banners scattered across the continent.  The Summoner had shown him this once before…tapping one the seals arranged along the bottom of the tile, he frowned at the banners filing down before his eyes.  Skills, seals, growth…tapping another made the surface shimmer into a list of even less helpful banners: dueling swords, stamina restoration, barracks expansion…

What are you looking for?

“There must be some way to help them,” the fell dragon muttered.  “If this so-called ‘Order of Heroes’ is as grand as the Askrans claim, there must be something…”

Like what?

“If I knew that, would I be searching?” Grima growled, squinting in the tile’s light and touching another symbol, only to find himself back on the map of the kingdom.  “Wretched thing…”

Try the last one.  On the right.

“I didn’t ask you,” Grima snarled.

…I want them back, too, you know.  But I don’t have a body anymore.  I can only help if you’ll let me.

Silence settled over the rooftop, broken only by the whisper of the breeze rustling the Askran flags flying high over the towers.  And finally, without ire or protest, the fell dragon touched the furthest symbol, scanning the list of banners that scrolled before his eyes.

There.  Catalog of Heroes.

Grima touched the words, watching the screen shimmer and change, displaying tiny portraits of the Heroes assembled within the Askran palace.  Dragging his fingertip along the edge sent the tiles trailing out of sight, replaced by new ones.  Some were familiar: Naga’s young daughter, the Hoshidan archer prince, the Ylissean tacticians…others much less so.

Touch one.

He did without argument.  The surface briefly darkened before an image appeared of a fair-haired man in red, a quiver of arrows secured at his side; a scroll emblazoned with a name and epithet hovered over a brief biography…

A strategist.

“How many do you think there are?” Grima asked quietly, touching the scrollwork arrows and browsing through the other Heroes.

If we’re lucky?  Enough.

The dragon felt a smile tug at his lips, exposing pale fangs to the moonlight.  “Then tell me, tactician: what will we need?”

—

It came as no surprise when the Askran troops made no move.  One day passed.  Then another.  A pall of silence hung over the castle; the Heroes carried on their conversations in hushed voices and terse words, half their attention seeming forever fixed on the gates leading to the lands beyond Askr in hopes that some message would arrive from beyond their borders.

None came.

And for that, Grima was grateful.  It would have been far more difficult to lay plans with the Order scrambling to meet Múspell’s demands.

Nightfall cleared the plaza.  None of the Heroes seemed interested in idle chatter when one of their own was missing.  And it made the task of locating them far easier as he stalked through the quiet barracks, glancing from door to door and knocking one by one on the rooms he and the tactician had so carefully chosen.

Responses were, as expected, mixed.  Soren had no interest in helping Grima, with his loyalties so firmly tied to the young mercenary swordsman; Ike, however, needed no encouragement at all to join when he heard the proposal, and in his wake the strategist grudgingly followed.  The Ylissean tacticians, meanwhile, were far more open to hearing the fell dragon out, though the rest of their exalted families harbored grave misgivings (and Grima felt a pang from the presence in his mind when Lucina touched her sword).

They assembled in the castle’s grand council chamber, taking their seats at the round table and looking among their number: four Ylissean tacticians in various states of dress and festive attire, one fair-haired Archanean archer, a stoic swordsman and his branded mage companion an Ostian spy with a sly smile and sharp eyes, and one Ylissean thief contemplating the gathering over a lollipop.

“You said this is about Kiran,” Ike said, breaking the uncomfortable silence at last.

“I did,” Grima agreed.  “And it is.”

“Have you seen something?” his counterpart ventured, glancing up at the ceiling as though searching for the six-winged form roosting far above.

“No,” the dragon replied.  “Which is why I asked you here.”

“…’fraid I don’t follow,” Gaius muttered.

Yes he does.  He just wants to hear you say it.

“How ‘bout you spell it out for us?” the thief continued, leaning far enough back in his chair to nearly upend it.

A smile carved its way across Grima’s face.  “Why are we all here in this place, fighting this war?”

“We were summoned,” Jeorge replied.  “By Kiran, and that strange weapon they hold.”

“I’m still not sure if we’re bound by contract or not,” Robin said, twisting a lock of long white hair around her finger.  “We can’t go home unless we’re sent back, but…”

“I don’t…exactly feel obligated to help here,” her twin agreed, adjusting the coat over her bare shoulders.  “Not like some of the Heroes we’ve encountered in Veronica’s ranks.

“Why is that?” the fell dragon asked.  “Why do you remain here, why do you commit yourself to the Askran cause, if not for a contract?”

“I’m only here because Ike is,” Soren grumbled.  

The swordsman paid him no mind, meeting Grima’s eye steadily.  “Kiran.”

“Kiran,” the fell dragon repeated, beginning to pace the length of the room.  “The Summoner.  The one who brought us together, who’s honed our skills, who’s afforded us every chance to better ourselves.  Who’s listened to us, and tried to help us find our places in this strange world.  Who’s seen us through countless battles and allowed us to be the Heroes we’ve been branded, regardless of our worth.”

You’re waxing poetic.

Kiran brought out a strange side of him.  Turning to the assembled Heroes, he leaned his weight against the table.  “Who’s now lost behind enemy lines, who’s been abandoned by the leaders of this Order, and who may be in danger.”

“You heard Anna,” the festive tactician noted uncomfortably, folding his mittened hands a few times.  “There’s too much of a risk, both to ourselves and to Kiran, to charge back in when we don’t know the full situation.”

A smile tugged at Grima’s lips, exposing the tips of his fangs.  “Then perhaps it would behoove us to rectify that.”

“…alright.  I’ll bite.  How?” Matthew asked, his smile twitching as he fought to keep it in place.

“A covert operation.”

All eyes turned to Grima’s doppelganger.  He folded his hands on the table, meeting the fell dragon’s eye steadily.  “That’s what you’d propose.  Isn’t it?”

“No wonder you need spies and strategists,” the woman seated beside him remarked.  “The first to slip into the Múspell camp, assess their forces and potential weak points; the other to take that and devise the plan to strike, extract Kiran, and retreat.”

“I’d expect nothing less from Ylisse’s illustrious tacticians,” the fell dragon murmured, inclining his head in agreement.

“Why, though?” Gaius asked, propping his boots on the edge of the table.  “What’s in it for you?”

The assembled Heroes turned their attention back to Grima.  He met their stares without flinching, standing tall beside his place at the table.  “You imagine I have selfish motivations.  And you are not mistaken.  Were it another, I would have no qualms about leaving them, whether they were royalty or the Order’s commander.  But this is Kiran.  They are a weak, wretched, pathetic excuse for a human, unable even to defend themselves in a fight.  I want them returned.  Nothing more.”

“…I would like to see the Summoner returned safely, myself,” Jeorge remarked, resting his chin on his hands as the other Heroes nodded in agreement.  “So, then.  Where do we begin?”

—

The council lasted well into the darkest hours of the night.  But their plans came together, bit by bit, until at last they parted ways to rest and prepare for the opportune moment.  Slipping through the plaza, Grima made his way toward the soft glow of the gates that led beyond the Askran kingdom.  If conditions were in their favor, they might be able to set things in motion with the next nightfall–

“Where is Kiran?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Hoshido’s archer prince as he emerged from the shadows of the pillars.  “Not here,” the fell dragon replied brusquely.

“Where?”  His voice sounded hoarse. Narrowing his eyes, Grima watched the noxious violet fog swirl and eddy around the young man.  The possessed one, then.

The volatile one.

“I haven’t seen them since the battle,” the fell dragon said.

“I need to find them,” Takumi insisted.  “Where are they?”

“I could not say.  But they are not here.  Look elsewhere.”

“I’ve looked.  Everywhere.  Nowhere else to go.  I need to find them.”

“…why?” Grima asked.

“It won’t go away.”

The archer pressed a hand to his face, fingers curling into an unsteady fist.  “I try.  I try to block it out, but…the voice keeps telling me…to kill them, all of them, and I can’t make it stop, I need Kiran to make it stop, I need them, where are they…?”

“Gone.”

Takumi looked up, his expression an unsettling mask of distress and rage.  “Where?”

“Captured.”

Are you sure you should be telling him that?

“By who?” the archer growled.

“Múspell,” Grima replied.

“Get them back.”

“The Order intends to do nothing,” the fell dragon sneered.  “They will sit on their hands and wait for Surtr’s demands.  Or for him to put Kiran’s charred corpse on display.  Whichever comes first, I suppose.”

The mist around the prince seethed and roiled, and a thin smile cut across Grima’s face as he watched the bow at Takumi’s side begin to tremble.

You’re doing it on purpose.

“I will go.”

“The Order won’t allow it,” the fell dragon remarked.

“I don’t care.  I’ll go.  I’ll kill them all for Kiran, I’ll get them back, I’ll…”

“You want Kiran back so badly?” Grima murmured, knowing the answer even before he asked.  Takumi nodded, offering no more than a low, guttural noise of assent.  “Then collect yourself.”

The singer might be able to help.  Azura?  Kiran called her in to help before, I think…

The fell dragon gestured for Takumi to follow, making his way back into the halls.  Considering their purpose, a performer could prove advantageous, though a songstress ran the risk of betraying their position…

But if you plan to use him, you need a way to keep him together.  Besides, a singer doesn’t need room to perform the way a dancer does.  Reach out to the one in blue, she’ll have a better chance of blending into the dark.

The fell dragon grinned.  Perhaps it truly had been a stroke of luck that he’d been bound to a tactician’s body.

You can thank me any time.

…he might consider it if they succeeded.

***

Laegjarn had been true to her word: following the retreat from the village, the Múspell general had personally escorted the Summoner through the march to the edge of the forest before placing them – under heavy guard, of course – in a private tent near the heart of the camp.  While Kiran was grateful for that, it didn’t stop anxiety from gnawing a hole through their gut, leaving them queasy and sleepless through the next few days and nights.

It didn’t help that Surtr was on his way.  Laegjarn hadn’t said anything about it, but the Summoner had heard her call for a messenger shortly after they made camp.  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess what she was going to send.  

Aside from the unbearable waiting, though, it wasn’t as bad as Kiran might have expected.  No one bothered them, the general was conscious of their needs, and the conditions were more than fair given their prisoner status.

The Summoner wondered, often, as their nerves twisted their stomach into knots, what would end up happening to them.  Laegjarn had vowed that no harm would befall them, but with Surtr on the way, that seemed like a hard promise to keep.  Would she be able to convince her father to discuss nonviolent terms?  Would the flame king overrule his general and act on whatever violent whims ruled him?  Would…

…would the Order somehow find a way to save them?

Impossible as it seemed, that was the thought that gave them the most heart.  Heroes swooping in to the rescue, defeating the Múspell soldiers…

A flurry of activity on the third night made their heart seize up.  Kiran heard Laegjarn calmly directing the soldiers as she strode past the Summoner’s tent…and as she passed, someone entered: not the eldest princess of Múspell, but her sister, her face an expressionless mask and her eyes far colder than her heritage would have implied.

“Is something going on?” Kiran asked, feigning calm.

“You will come with me,” Laevatein ordered.

The Summoner heard no room for argument.  And they weren’t exactly in a position to protest, either.  Rising to their feet, Kiran approached the young general, submitting without protest as she took hold of their arm and led them out of the tent.  

The frantic bustle of activity set their nerves on edge as they moved toward the lanterns lighting the front of the camp.  “Your sister seems pretty great,” they noted quietly, watching soldiers scrambling from one corner of the camp to another.  Kiran swore they saw the ghost of a smile cross Laevatein’s face at that, though she made no reply.  “I’d like to thank her, if I could.  Sometime.  Y’know.  I really appreciate everything she’s done…”

Anything else they might have wanted to say died on their tongue as they approached the edge of camp.  The lights they had seen were not lanterns at all: they were naked flames, writhing in the air and nearly choking the Summoner with their heat alone.  And at their heart stood the Ruler of Flame himself, his dark eyes staring down at them through the rippling haze.

“I present the Askran Summoner,” Laegjarn said, gesturing to Kiran as Laevatein released their arm.

A wicked sneer sliced across Surtr’s face, and any breath the Summoner might have salvaged to speak abandoned them.  “Pathetic,” he chuckled, a sound so low it seemed to shake the ground.  “This wretched thing is what’s given them such nerve?  They look like they would lose to a mere ember.”

Kiran had to admit that they probably would.  But the words would not come out, even if they’d wanted to speak.

The man’s smile grew, exposing teeth and gums alike.  “I wonder how well they will burn.”

He raised a hand, and the Summoner stared at the flames licking his fingers, sparking across his nails and crackling in his palm.  They could not speak.  They could not move.  Try as they might, all they could do was watch in growing horror as his hand stretched toward them, the heat baking their skin and singing the edges of their hood and oh gods this was how they would die, they would burn to death here and they couldn’t even cry as they stood rooted in terror beneath the burning gaze of Múspell’s king–

A hand closed on their arm, pulling them back a step.  

Kiran stumbled, gasping into their sleeve as Laegjarn placed herself between the Summoner and her father.  “I gave my oath that no harm would befall them,” she said, her voice perfectly composed.  “The Summoner is a valuable bargaining chip.  We can deliver terms of surrender to Askr in exchange for their safe return and end this war tomorrow, but only if we have the Summoner to offer–”

“You should not have made such a hasty oath,” Surtr growled.  “Stand aside, or the flames may feast twice this night.”

Kiran’s knees threatened to give way beneath them as Múspell’s king brushed his daughter aside, leaving her armor scorched from even so light a touch.  Another step and he loomed over them, the flames making him seem still larger as they flared around him, and the Summoner could not be sure whether it was the haze of heat around him or the adrenaline coursing through them that made his silhouette waver and blur–

And in a flash, chaos erupted all around them.

Horses shrieked and bolted with glowing green wolves snapping at their heels, blue-black ravens descended on the archers reaching for their bows, and wyvern riders taking to the skies fell to a hail of arrows.  Kiran scrambled blindly out of the way of the scattering soldiers–

Someone gripped their arm.  The Summoner yelped, whirling in a panic…

“Stop sniveling, Summoner.”

Their breath caught.

“…Grima!?”

***

The weather held throughout the day and after the fall of night.  Thick clouds obscured the moon and stars from sight as the band of Heroes made their way through the dark: two mages, two dagger wielders, two archers, a swordsman, and a songstress with an ornate axe.  Not a brigade for sustained combat, but they had all agreed it would suffice for a strategic strike.

They found the Múspell camp with little difficulty.  Gaius and Matthew slipped from the cover of the trees, darting across the icy ground to the pillars of ice that sheltered the enemy tents.  They would need time to assess the situation and return to brief the rest of the company…

A sound overhead drew his attention.  Glancing up at the heavy clouds, Grima narrowed his eyes at the winged silhouette moving against the sky.  He scanned their small force, catching Takumi’s eye and gesturing up to the enemy on patrol; the archer followed his gaze, raising his bow and taking careful aim before loosing a bolt of black energy into the air.  The fell dragon saw the wyvern jerk and list in its flight an instant before its wings crumpled…

A sharp hiss drew his attention back.  He frowned, watching Takumi shudder while the aura pulsed and coiled around his neck.  Nodding briefly to the dark-clad singer, he focused once more on encampment glowing against the blue-white ice while a soft song filled their ears.  Even from this distance, he could see soldiers moving hastily through the lines of tents, seething and swarming like ants disturbed from their mound.  Something was going on, that much was clear…

He heard, rather than saw, the return of the spies from their patrol, the faint crunch of pine needles and snow under soft boots betraying their presence.  “We gotta move fast,” Gaius muttered as he slunk up to Grima’s side.  “Bad news just walked in.”

The fell dragon growled low in his throat.  That would explain the activity.  “Then we had best make haste.”

He moved swiftly, hearing the others following his lead.  They moved swiftly, dark shadows against the pale ice, taking shelter behind the icy stones that littered the plain.  As they drew close, he saw Surtr speaking with one of the two Múspell generals, watched him brush the woman aside, his hand reaching for…

Kiran.

“Now,” he hissed.

They did not hesitate.  The tacticians leapt into action, their spells descending on the encampment and throwing its soldiers into disarray.  Jeorge and Takumi took aim at the wyvern riders, arresting their attempted flight while Grima cleared the remaining distance, his attention fixed on the Summoner’s gilt robes amid the chaos.  Taking hold of their arm–

Kiran whimpered, rounding on the fell dragon and raising their free hand to shield their face.  He could feel them trembling beneath his touch.  Typical.  And yet, the fell dragon felt a smile curve across his lips, a soft rumble of laughter rising in his chest.  “Stop sniveling, Summoner.”

Kiran stilled, turning their face up to look at him.  And in spite of himself, he could not hide his grin.

“…Grima!?”

“Who else would it be?” he asked, turning back the way he’d come.  “Quickly, now–”

“Hold.”

The fell dragon stopped, moving the Summoner carefully behind him as Surtr towered over them.  “Stand aside,” Grima commanded.  Even at his full height, the fell dragon was forced to tilt his head up to look the Ruler of Flame in his scarred face.  But he felt no fear, even as the man lifted his axe, tongues of fire licking the glowing blade.

Surtr sneered.  “Or what?  What can a puny thing like you do?”

Grima’s smile widened, exposing his fangs.  “I will devour you,” he replied.  He raised his hand, gesturing to Múspell’s king as the man uttered a booming, mirthless laugh…

The clouds above roiled and parted for the six-eyed dragon, its maw gaping wide as it descended toward the camp.  Surtr paused, watching the dragon’s descent with a vaguely amused smirk.  “Keep close,” Grima muttered, sheltering the Summoner with one outstretched arm as the dragon overhead breathed a cloud of violet smoke over the encampment…

“Foolish wretch – you will learn the meaning of fear,” Surtr laughed.

Sparks danced through the veil of haze.  The king of Múspell raised his axe high, flames coalescing into a ball that rivaled the sun – and as he swung his weapon, it soared high, striking the dragon squarely in the jaw.

The fell beast shrieked in rage and agony, expelling another cloud of noxious fog across the enemy’s forces.  He felt Kiran’s hand grip his sleeve, and without hesitation he retreated through the dark, away from the Múspell forces and onto the snowy wastes beyond.  He saw the others ahead, pulling back with equal speed, cutting swiftly across the ice and into the shelter of the trees beyond; with the songstress speeding them along their way, they continued without pause until at last the light and sound of the battlefield had faded from a ringing in their ears to utter silence.

And then, at last, their breathless troop stopped, collapsing beneath the shelter of the Nifl pines.  Grima glanced across the battered force, an odd sense of relief settling over him as he found them all accounted for.  They had done well.

And moreover, they had succeeded.

The fell dragon turned to the Summoner beside him, looking them over carefully as their breath at last grew steady.  They appeared unharmed, if slightly singed…  “Are you alright?” he asked.

Kiran drew in a shaky breath.  And when they looked up at him, their wide eyes were full of tears.

Before he could speak, the Summoner flung themselves at him, pressing close and clutching his coat in their trembling hands.  “He was gonna kill me,” they whimpered.  “Gods…g-gods, I could’ve died, he was gonna burn me alive, and I couldn’t d-do anything – I froze up, I just stood there, like s-some dumb…I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t even run away, I was gonna die th-there…”

Grima hesitantly coiled one arm across Kiran’s shoulders, the other awkwardly patting the peak of their hood.  “What did you expect?” he asked quietly.  “You do not fight.  That is not your role.”

“I could’ve…a-at least run away, i-instead of dying like…like some c-coward,” the Summoner sniffled into his increasingly damp shirt.

“There is no cowardice in what you did,” the fell dragon murmured.  “Brave words can mask a coward, but his actions will betray him.  You showed great courage.  You held firm in the face of fear.  You faced a foe that even Heroes fear.  You should take pride.”

“I’m no Hero,” Kiran mumbled.

“No,” Grima agreed.  “You are not.  You are a Summoner.  But what makes us Heroes is not our presence in Askr.  It is not our histories, nor our titles, nor our lineages….it is you.  You are the one who makes us Heroes.  Your belief in us.  Your faith.  You are not a Hero, Summoner…but we are not Heroes without you.”

You’re waxing poetic again.

It seemed effective, though.  Kiran’s sniffling abated, and they turned their gaze once more up to look at his face.  “…do you really think so?” they whispered.

“I think any here would agree,” he nodded.  The Summoner drew back slightly, mustering up a shaky smile as they dried their eyes and turned to scan the assembled Heroes…

“Holy shit, what happened to Takumi!?”

Kiran broke away, hurrying over to where the archer sat.  His head came up, bloody lips curving into a relieved smile as the Summoner settled beside him.  “You’re back,” he mumbled, the shifting aura around him beginning to disperse.

“Of course I am,” they chuckled.  “You guys can’t get rid of me that easy.  Don’t suppose a healer joined the party…?”

“No,” Grima confirmed, moving to stand beside them.  “But Askr is only a brief warp away, and there are clerics enough there.”  

“We should probably get going, then,” they said, helping Takumi to his feet.  Nodding in agreement, Grima turned–

Something tugged on his sleeve.  Looking back, he found the Summoner’s hand on his arm, a familiar smile taking its place once more on their face.  “Thanks, Grima,” they murmured.  “For saving me.  And…for everything else, too.”

The fell dragon inclined his head slightly, concealing his smile beneath his raised hood as he turned to join the tacticians in seeing to the preparations for their return.  The commander would likely have harsh words for them all, but…he would bear them without complaint or apology.  The risk had been well worth the reward.

[captainbashybae-blog]

The Advent of Remixes and the Shade of Triple Q

__________

If you were to ask me, the remix is more a part of the millennial culture than an archetypal motif of postmodernism; even if the definition of a remix lends itself to postmodernism well.

If you were to ask Kirby Ferguson on the matter, he cites remixes appearing as back as the early hip-hop days of the Chic sampling music off the Sugarhill Gang in the late seventies. And if you watched his documentary “Everything is a Remix”, Ferguson argues that all ideas are derivative off the success of others—which is pretty much postmodernist ideas in a nutshell.

After all, Isaac Newton famously wrote in a letter to Robert Hooke, “If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants."

What is a remix?

To remix something is to simply mix it again, a definition that seems blatantly unhelpful in elucidating the concept of a remix.

But like that definition implies, you take copy an original concept, you alter it in transformative manner, and you combine the two together into something new.

To simplify, you copy, transform, and combine.

Led Zeppelin’s song, “Stairway to Heaven” is an early example of a remix: Zeppelin took part of the melody of Randy Wolfe’s “Taurus,” used it as the opening of a new song, and earned a reputation that skyrocketed his band to fame.

One might ask what’s transformative about gluing on someone else’s riff onto their song; they’re not wrong in asking this. “Stairway to Heaven” is only one of many notable (and recent) instances of music copyright reaching the ears of judicial court.

The jury adjourned to let Zeppelin’s song sing free in a court case akin to a soap opera, but copyright cases are not always black and white. In 2013, Robin Thicke and Pharrell Williams payed 5.3 million to Marvin Gaye for the use of his bass line in “Got to Give It Up”, and Funkadelic sued hip-hop group NWA for a single guitar riff. Even the first rock-themed copyright case, The Beach Boys v. Chuck Berry, ended with a strange compromise that allowed the Beach Boys to continue playing without Berry’s credit, but Berry’s company earned publishing rights.

The remix became the crux of the copyright debate as we approached the digital era, an era that once celebrated innocuous cat videos and inside jokes about hamburgers and green frogs (the ones who didn’t cause riots on the Internet). As Lawrence Lessig alluded to in his TED talk about user generated content ( http://www.ted.com/talks/larry_lessig_says_the_law_is_strangling _creativity?lang uage=en), people on the Internet have unique ways of expressing their creativity that don’t lend itself to traditional copyright law. And like the farmers who tried to sue airplanes from flying over their land only to fail miserably, the way modern times explore content should be reflected accordingly in its laws.

What’s a remix today?

The remix in modern times evolved to encapsulate many forms of media—especially in the digital era.

If I wanted to discuss the modern remix in context of online video, I can cite the many anime music videos (AMVs) that inundated the early 2000s.

I can discuss the recent landmark case of Matt Hosseinzedah and H3H3 that massively benefited the content creators who used the videos of others in a transformative manner. I can write about a similar precedent where YouTuber Ray William Johnson lost to Junkin Media in court for the “misappropriation” of the company’s content and the struggles of a website that chooses to stay neutral in all copyright disputes.

Perhaps I can talk about the many movies in the last two decades that lovingly homage themselves to previous films and genres. One that comes to mind is Quentin Tarentino’s Kill Bill, a great movie that heavily borrows from blaxploitation film, spaghetti films and Bruce Lee movies.

I can even recount the stories of Jane Eyre but with Zombies and Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, books that take inspiration from historic precedent and reimagine them completely in the form of a gimmick. These books fall under copyright law as derivative work.

Let’s not forget that Fifty Shades of Gray was (and still is in my opinion) just Twilight fan-fiction set in a modern era—mixed in with torture smut. The author of Twilight did sue author E.L. James for infringement, a case dropped only after the alteration of a couple names of characters, and remains a dubious nonexample of copyright theft.

Instead, I wanted to discuss how remixes have musically flourished in the world of SoundCloud, Spotify and YouTube. I want to celebrate a place where creators embrace the derivative nature of their content, a place that gives them a chance to shape their own identity and content through an audience that stretches as far as the bandwidth of a computer.

More specifically, I wanted to look at the “mash-up artist”, creators who take two or more existing songs and combines them for the sake of a new musical aesthetic. In the case of the last couple years, the rise of YouTube channels like SilvaGunner took inspiration from the phenomenon of “Rick-Rolling” to create mash-ups of music for the sake of satire and innocuous trolling.

The content creator I’ll be discussing embraces both aspects of the art form to great success. He’s best known for frequently mashing up the songs and lyrics of Korean pop star PSY with different genres of music, amassing over 36 million views and 112,000 subscribers on YouTube.  Though these numbers pale in comparison to that of more popular, trending channels online, Triple Q’s prolific online presence beyond YouTube speaks volumes to the success found in even niche aspects of music.

The video I’ll be looking at.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-1zeoDrN2Lo

#SELFIE is a new and original song which doesn't plagiarize at all

 Uploaded on May 2nd, 2014, “#SELFIE is a new and original song which doesn't plagiarize at all” doesn’t hide the fact that the video pokes fun at the Chainsmokers highly derivative single “#Selfie”, a song that pokes fun at the vapid narcissism of selfie culture. However, ironically intentional or not, the song also borrows heavily from Sir Mix-a-lot’s “Baby Got Back,” utilizes a music composition similar to songs like “Valley Girl” and LMAFO’s “Party Rock Anthem”, and tries to copy the viral nature of “Harlem Shake” with its bass line. As one YouTuber, Irvan Issacs, commented on the original video from the DJ duo, the song is “90% taking, 10% song,” and music critic, Miles Raymer, of the Chicago Tribune, slammed the song as “garbage, paint-by-numbers, EDM only there to deliver the meme.” Nevertheless, the song earned 550 million views and was a success for the Chainsmokers.

 The title of Triple Q’s mashup of the song uses sarcasm underscored by its blatant lack of capitalization. Though not an ironclad rule on the Internet, content creators often forego proper title punctuation with long run-on sentences in order to preface a joke or meme; this is the case with this video.

 The second thing to note after the title is the image used for the video: a portrait of PSY centered above a #SELFIE logo, accompanied by fictional video game attorney Phoenix Wright, record producer Bauer, Redfoo of LMFAO, Deadmau5. Wolverine, Mikoto Misaka of A Certain Scientific Railgun, a wisp from the Sonic the Hedgehog series, and Pharrell Williams—all overlaid with what looks like Dark Souls boss Demon of Song (pics below).

(the overlaid image)

 It’s noted that this 3 minute 47 second song samples from 14 tracks, all cited in the video’s description:

"Pursuit ~ Cornered" - Masakazu Sugimori - Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney

"I Wanna Take You For a Ride" - Tetsuya Shibata - Marvel vs. Capcom 2: New Age of Heroes

"Harlem Shake" - Baauer

"#SELFIE" - The Chainsmokers

"Gentleman" - PSY - Psy 6 (Six Rules),

Part 2 "Party Rock Anthem" - LMFAO feat. Lauren Bennett & GoonRock - Sorry For Party Rocking

"Animals" - Martin Garrix

"only my railgun" - fripSide - To Aru Kagaku no Railgun

"Move For Me" - Kaskade & deadmau5 – Strobelite Seduction

"sister's noise" - fripside - To Aru Kagaku no Railgun S

"Happy" - Pharrell Williams - G I R L

"Planet Wisp: Act 1" - Kenichi Tokoi - Sonic Generations

"Gangnam Style" - PSY - Psy 6 (Six Rules), Part 1

Dark Souls death sound

It’s clear from these elements that the song is remix. It copies the original song, “#SELFIE”, transforms the song by extracting its bass and melody (or whatever melody it had), and combines it with 14 different songs and a death sound into a song. It’s also just catchy.

In fact, it’s a variation of a remix known as a megamix, a medley remix containing multiple songs in rapid succession.

The composition of this megamix follows the same order of the song list in its video description. It starts off with a combination of “Pursuit~ Cornered” and “I Wanna Take You For a Ride" and ends with the Dark Souls death sound. However, what’s consistent throughout the song is the use of the bass tracks of Harlem Shake, #SELFIE and “Party Rock Anthem”, all bass tracks that are near indistinguishable from one another. This choice of composition is not only a way to harmonize very different genres of music, but it also demonstrates how derivative and musically bland #SELFIE is as a song.

Whether effective or even intentional, “#SELFIE is a new and original song which doesn't plagiarize at all” interestingly uses a copyright tactic popularized by fellow YouTuber, Jim Sterling. Though mashups of this nature are often beleaguered by automated copyright claims from media conglomerates looking to cash in on video revenue, “#SELFIE is a new and original song which doesn't plagiarize at all” has enough copyrighted material to be claimed by more than one company. In the worst-case scenario that this song is protected by copyright despite being transformative under fair use, multiple companies cannot take further action without personal negotiation—negotiation often foregone to save time and effort among all parties. Regardless, Triple Q is well-known for challenging copyright through blatant defiance regardless of the consequence.

Conclusion

Now more than ever, the remix is a symbol of post-modernist ideals that shaped the way people look at entertainment and culture. And with the proliferation of the Internet and meme culture, Space-Jam mashups and anime shitposts will probably still persist somewhere.

And as a genre of music, mashups have introduced me a much wider range of music that I would never listen to without the work of artists like Triple Q and Botanic Sage; the two of them shaped my taste in music for better or worse.

[thickasthievesrpg-hidden]

WELCOME TO THE HEIST, KAT!

YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF MAGNUS LEE

A note from Admin Risa: What a lovely, straightforward app! Though I didn’t write Magnus’ bio - I know that your portrayal would make his creator proud. Kat, you have such a great understanding of his character, his whims, and his escapades; you captured so many of his aspects in this app. Beyond the fact that it’s Magnus motherf*ckin’ Lee we’re talking about (and I’m still screaming about that fact alone), I’m so very happy to have you join us! Congratulations on your acceptance! You’ve been to the museums, the banks, the isolated manors with their black dogs and gilded keys. You’ve stolen their necklaces, their jewels, the prized heirlooms in their vaults and their safes.They’ll watch out for you. Please visit the after acceptance page and submit your account within the next 24 hours – we’re excited to have you with us!

I. INTRODUCTION

Name/Alias + Pronouns:

Kat, She/Her 

Age:

19

Timezone + Activity

EST & I believe my activity should range from a six to a nine. I’m currently enrolled in college and that takes up quite a bit of my time on top of social activities, but I should be able to do some replies every day to every other day.

I. BASICS

Desired Role:

Magnus Lee 

Analysis: 

sexuality/romantic preference — Magnus Lee has never been too picky. If there is a sexuality based on attraction by pure interest and curiosity alone, it would be the perfect title for the Lee heir. He finds himself ceaselessly fascinated with people, their minds and bodies enthrall and tempt him so he digs his claws in and brings back out a fist covered in blood. He doesn’t intend to hurt those he shares himself with, he really doesn’t, but he has a tendency to only stick around long enough to sate his interest, never enough to fulfill theirs. Very much like a child who steps on ants, he doesn’t understand that he’s hurting those he leaves, but Magnus is much too slippery to cling to. He has a way of figuring out the maze to your heart then slipping away with the shadows as he always does. He’s commonly known by those he’s loved as ‘the one that got away’.

birthdate — May 23th, 1989 

birthplace/hometown — Prague, Czech Republic. His father has always been about business, even when it came to Magnus’ birth. Especially when it came to Magnus’ birth. His father had stood by while his mother screamed in the agony of childbirth with his arms across his torso and his face rather grim. He remained stoic until he heard the first cries of a baby to which he only said a few words. “Is it a boy?” He wasn’t as concerned with his new child’s health as much as he was concerned with its gender. It wasn’t until he heard the word “yes” that he smiled, a brilliant smile at that. He now had an heir for when he should ever need one, and that was what made the birth so important. He had grabbed his wife’s hand and shook his head with a bit of a chuckle. “Long live the Lees.” 

occupation  — conman extraordinaire & heir. The silver spoon in his mouth didn’t sate his hunger, he was still always starving. Starving for things to do, places to see, and people to meet. He reached his hands out in front of him and grasped all that he could see. He learned trades and slipped into the shadows, he took things that did not belong to him sheerly for the thrill and satisfaction. He learned how to use his boyish looks to get people to trust him and hand over the things he wants. He learned his way around words, and he learned how to become a friend of the dark. Becoming a conman was easy, it was in his blood and in his name, he carried it with him everywhere he went. Magnus had wanted more, so he took it. 

criminal occupation  — the conman, burglar & aquisitioner. Crime is subjective, at least in Magnus’ opinion. Some people deserved to have their things taken from them, people like his father, and Magnus has no hesitation in taking from such people. The jump from young boy to conman was much smoother than one would anticipate. The key was maturity, and the lack thereof. If you worked immaturity just the right way, it could have others gleam at you the way they would a child, it can hit a soft spot. That’s one of Magnus’ strong suits. He could play people easily, a gangster in a dictionary definition. He snuck onto your radar in the midst of a bright day, his smile being the sun and his eyes the warmth that soaks your very skin, and then, in the night, he makes out like the bandit he was born to be. 

fire — Some Indians believed that blood holds all the bad spirits, and once a month in ceremonies they would cut themselves to let the spirits go free. Burning money and expensive things has almost the same effect for Magnus. He’s aware his money can sometimes get to his head and other times he begins to think he wouldn’t survive without it. So he starts a bonfire. Nothing calms the Lee quite as much as the look of burning silks and furs. It gives him a giddy sort of relief that not even drugs could match.  

Four Characteristics:

Charismatic (+) – Charming, out-going, and easily entertaining, charismatic is most certainly a word used to describe Magnus Lee. He has no difficulty when it comes to speaking to others or getting them to warm up to him. He has an infectious nature that generally makes him come across friendly and hard to turn down. He’s incredibly likeable and easy-going which is extremely useful, especially in his line of business. Intelligent (+) – It’s no secret that Magnus borders on genius in the social aspects in life, but he also has an incredible mind in and of itself. He always did exceedingly well in classes and he’s brilliant at finances as well. He’s everything his father could’ve wanted in a son. Too bad his father is precisely everything Magnus never wanted. Obsessive (-) – He has a tendency to get too far into things. If there’s something he wants, whether it be an item, a steal, or even a person, he can become severely one track minded until whatever it may be he’s pining for is achieved. This can sometimes get in the way of the more basic things in life, like sleeping and eating. It doesn’t happen particularly often or necessarily very intensely, but when it does, it’s unlikely that he’ll be seen for quite a while which can cause a bit of a stir. Stubborn (-) – Someone doesn’t disappear and stay away for five years without a hint of stubbornness, even if it’s for good reason. When Magnus is right and knows he is, which is more often than not the case, he can get very stuck on it which can cause some defiance and tension between him and certain people. He has an ability to immediately switch into a colder disposition when he feels as if someone is defying him or attempting to disprove his intelligence.  

Expansion:

Annabelle “Whiskey” Bishop – Beauty in its purest form; bitter, raw, and unkempt. Annabelle is one of those who Magnus finds himself interested in. From her name to her bite-back personality, she’s a thing to be marveled. He finds himself interested in many different types of people, it’s a part of his constant curiosity, but Whiskey is a rather new development. He had first met her in the presence of his dear Rozanov friends, and she was fierce. You could feel the power and brutal protectiveness of not only herself, but her sister as well, rolling off of her in waves so thick they could blind. He wants to know more. Liling Chen – Liling is a riot. She’s beautiful and brash and all of Magnus’ favorite things in a person, and he likes to consider them some form of friends. They don’t spend an excessive amount of time together, no, but the fleeting moments they spend in each other’s company are more than just entertaining, they’re worthy of their own comedy show. They fill the space with light-hearted snips and profanity that even truckers would cringe at. Magnus finds Liling to be a true treasure of a human being and very much enjoys being in her presence.  

II. WRITING

Para Sample(s):

Seemingly priceless leather shoes carelessly kicked rocks on the gravel and an expensive heavy fur coat set to flames. Magnus Lee loved holidays. He loved the excitement crackling the cold December-turned-January air and the sweaty palms of middle class members of society praying for a better year. “Maybe I’ll get rich!” They mutter with their eyes almost wild and a wet upper lip as they light off fireworks and force down another flute of twelve pound champagne. He loved being the one percent of the one percent. His devilish Cheshire cat-esque grin seemed to glow and hover in empty air as he raised another glass to the skyline through the clouded window. “To another year in infamy!” The words boomed even though his voice remained casual, at a volume no louder than his average words, before he downed a shot of cheap burning whiskey. It rawed his throat on the way to his stomach and he closed his eyes, letting the dragon rip its way down. Oh how he relished in inexpensive bars. The patrons looked at him as if he were a God, large yellow-toothed smiles and beady little eyes gleamed up at him as he ordered the entire pub shot after shot of their shitty top-shelf liquor. His own dark eyes gleamed at the raunchy humor that filled the space, the thick, smoke corroded air forcing itself into his lungs as he chuckled. Magnus was a king atop his throne, throwing gold pieces down to his subjects. He was a robin hood among greedy thieves with greasy fingers and Turnbull & Asser ties, wanting everything for themselves. Of course, he couldn’t always blame them, because he was sure living on a salary with fingers only sticky from dirty snack wrappers could be a painful existence. He was sure they were suffering, but that’s why he had arrived in the first place. He got the poor drunk to forget about their lack, he gave them their moment of glory and forgotten bills through the sharp taste of straight whiskey. It was his gift. He’d wait until their eyes were dazed and faces flushed with intoxication before he made his leave. He glanced at his watch. “It looks about time I left.” The words left his lips with a chummy tone as to insinuate a friendship between him and the countless faces jammed into the bar. He didn’t recall not a single name of any of the one patrons, but they surely knew one of his. He heard a noise of dissatisfaction ripple through the crowd of people and he flashed his charming smile once more. “Do not worry; I’m sure you’ll see me again.” He said, his boyish voice and twinkling eyes making them all believe this sentiment despite its lie. He was leaving this city in two hours and he was sure none of these people would be in his presence anytime soon, if ever, again. He was sure that should make him feel sad, but it didn’t. It made him feel liberated. The patrons bid their farewell to a Mr. Jameson Scott as he made his way out of the pub and into the early morning. The sky bled from black to the lightest blue as the sun began its descent into the sky and Magnus’ smile didn’t falter. His skin raised goose flesh as the chill nipped at his arms, (perhaps he shouldn’t have burned his coat) and his breath escaped his lips in a ghostly wave of smoke. It was going to be a glorious day. He could feel it in his stomach, a growing warmth that was separate from the liquor. It was promise.  His hands slipped into his pockets and started whistling a tune he didn’t remember learning. This was the end of an era and the resumption of a past. The prince was returning to his throne, and the castle would be rebuilt.  

Starter Example: 

Wind whistled high above Magnus’ head as he walked leisurely through town with his hands in pockets. His eyes were shaded by dark sunglasses and his head was angled upward as if he were trying to look at the sun, this appearance was dampened only by the dense clouds that shaded said bright ball in the sky. He wasn’t looking at the sun, but instead the pointed top of a building that stood tall nearby. He was absently wondering what one would have to do to stand at the top. His eyes darted downwards a bit at the bark of a dog, but he kept his position relaxed and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, the beginning of a smile before his face turned quickly inquisitive as his gaze met that of the animal. It wasn’t barking at a car or a squirrel, but at him.  No, not him. At something, or someone, behind him.  Magnus made a humming noise, but didn’t turn or didn’t slow his pace, instead he spoke up. “Do you know why a dog barks?” He asked to an invisible person who may or may not exist. “They say it’s from a strong emotion or need.” He said before a short pause. “Could you imagine trying to convey what you’re feeling with only one word? It sounds rather frustrating.” He said, his voice nearing towards a murmur as he tampered off into an conversation almost with himself.

III. FREESTYLE/EXTRA

Optional. Time to let out your passion & creativity! This is where you may list anything else that you see for this character that is not stated in their bios. Go wild! This is the section that will be examined in the case of a multiple application tie, so don’t be afraid to let your muse out. (videos, headcanons, facts, song lyrics, diary entries, letters, memes, etc.)