#i love drawing dragons so his silhouette looks great to me

[themoonstonechronicler]

Drew a lot of Erin and Voidy over the last week, so here's a dump of some of them. Top to bottom: Erin in a dress, Void!Erin, and The Void Dragon. I wanted to play around with the idea of Voidy having his own aurora, so that featured in two of these.

[hoardcloneheadcanons]

Misread Fates Chapter 5: A Festival of Relief and Blood

The gossips back at the bar grabbed the table so hard they split the wood grain under their fingernails as they desperately tried to keep themselves steady against the shaking.

The rumbling faded bit by bit, and once the fear of falling over subsided, everyone’s attention turned towards the window, to the empty dusk sky right above the High Cliff Mountains.

A breath was held, as they all waited to see a black silhouette on the high horizon emerge flapping from the peaks, angry and roaring and soaring toward their town

They did not see that.

They did, however, look just in time to see the tallest mountain in the range change shape forever as a piece of it caved in and crashed down, sending a large crack of noise and a second round of fainter tremors.

Again they waited for the beast to rise, all of them assuming that it was the source of the noise and destruction.

A moment passed, and then another, and even another. Eternities ticked by in seconds as people waited for it to come, unsure of why it was bent towards the destruction of its own home.

The Fretner the Tailor got up and ran for the door, determined to check on his wife and newborn son and get somewhere safe and a spell of shock was broken with his movement. They didn’t they had extra time to flee, but they were determined to use it. A few stayed in the bar in morbid curiosity but more than half began to leave, urgent to find safety for themselves and those they loved in the spare moments they had before it came.

Gertrude scowled at the window as she stood up.

“Great. That young hero went in and pissed it off and now it's throwing a tantrum. Idiot child. It’s probably coming for the rest of us next.”

Johanason stayed glued to his seat, lost in memory.

“That felt like the old gunpowder,” He looked up, awareness drawing him back to them, “I used to work on-site when the mines were open, helping them identify valuable minerals, and processing the ore they’d haul a pile out. If they found a patch of rock devoid of value they’d blast it until they got to a better spot. Sometimes they used it to open up tunnels wider. I used to hear those blasts every week, though, smaller more controlled versions. I remember what they felt like. That was them. That was the old gunpowder, that wasn’t the dragon.”

Gertrude blinked.

“Do you think it’s the boy?”

“He asked them about them. It's likely. Though with a blast that big he must’ve used all we had. Spirits know long he must’ve taken to haul all the barrels down there.”

The anger disappeared slightly from her eyebrows and she looked down at the table before looking back at her friend.

“Could that kill it?”

“Couldn’t tell you. I can tell you it’d easily take out 10 groups of 8-manned mining expeditions in a series of shrapnel and landslides, but I don’t know what it takes to kill a dragon.”

Mordecai already had his coat on.

“The young man- he’s going to need medical attention. I’m going after him.”

Johanason tried to grab the shoulder of his rickety friend. “Mordecai…. he’s- he’s probably not alive.”

“ Johan, this is the first person to try to help us in��years. I don’t know why he tried- But I can’t just let a boy half my age go and do a job we should have attempted years ago while I do nothing. We owe him this much. You can’t stop me.”

Gertrude drained her mug. “Then you’re not going in alone. Give me a moment to grab some of our neighbors. You’re going to cart at the very least.”

….

The cart was loaded with barrels of salve and a cot. A small band of assorted townsfolk circled it, none drawing too far from the pack. Gertrude managed to gain a small, scraggly group of farmers and craftsmen, reminding them each of favors they owed her, and the importance of keeping their only town doctor alive.

They carried unlit torches and lanterns and kept their makeshift weapons, a mixture of hunting and farm tools, close at hand. Not a single person spoke.

They weren’t used to walking around at night. It hadn’t been worth the risk for years.

They were all listening intently for wing beats of it moving across the sky. But the night remained quiet. Because they could not know its true location, it was in every large shadow they passed, and every rustling of the branches. It kept them all jumpy

But as the night stretched on there began to be a small bubbling of hope. Gertrude had told them all about the young man they were trying to save, the one who attempted the impossible. Maybe just maybe he succeeded.

But it was only when they reached the foot of the mountain that they could release a tightly held breath.

Johanason was the first to light his lantern and reveal the morbid image in its full splendor.

The dragon was very clearly dead.

 Its body was covered in rock and rubble, a full ridge of the mountain crushing it. The visible neck and head were twisted round wrong. Its neck was distorted by the shape of vertebrae coming out of place and trying to poke through the skin. Shards of rock were in its permanently open eyes. And the night was still silent.

 “He did it. I can’t believe he did it.” Johanason breathed

Gertrude stood by his left shoulder.

“He’s gotta be dead now, nobody could’ve survived that collapse.”

The crowd was silent, giving a moment of recognition to the young man who’d quietly dispatched the source of their famine.

Then a young woman pointed out a foot, sticking out between the monster’s teeth, slightly smoking.

There was a silent agreement to get him out. At a minimum, he deserved a proper funeral from them. The strongest of them put their backs into lifting the upper jaw. Those who couldn’t brought in logs to prop it open as it was lifted. Even dead, heat emitted from its maw, threatening to scald their skin as they lifted. Inch by inch they opened it until there was enough room to pull him out by his ankles.

He had a full-body suit and mask on. All of it was made of the same brown leather as Johanason’s gloves and apron. It was put together with messy stitches and rivets. The seam was obvious on the outside and the structure ripped in so many places. In each opening, the exposed skin was blistering and bubbling. And there were many openings of tears, seams rips, and burned-through holes.

Mordecai was on him without a word. He took a small knife, and cut the mask from the rest of the suit, exposing the neck. He put two fingers on the throat of the young man and closed his eyes.

Then his eyes popped open and he looked back at the body confused before checking again.

“He’s alive!”

“Wha-How?!” Someone from the back of the crowd shouted.

“That doesn’t matter. Someone bring me the cot, the water and the burn salve, and the herbs. We don’t have time to waste.

Mordecai got to work immediately. First, he posted up a young man by the boy’s face and handed him a bottle,

“Pour this down his throat. He needs fluids and it's got herbs in it that will keep the swelling down in his airways. He’s survived so much we can’t let him suffocate now.

 A small team around Mordecai to hand him bandages covered in salve as he needed them. The boy was more bandage than man by the time he was done and still, he was not finished. He tied them all quickly and efficiently before feeling around for broken bones to splint.

The apple seller and her husband brought a cart that they gingerly lifted him onto. They carried him off into the night, to take him somewhere safe where he could recover or pass into death peacefully. Mordecai went with them, insistent on keeping a watch over his new patient.

Johanason stayed back, only helping to lift the boy into the cart, his fingers too clumsy for tying knots or stitching up skin.

He turned away from Mordecai’s departure to see Gertrude, staring at the dragon, flames in her eyes. She wasn’t alone. Beside her stood a small gaggle of farmers: Thompson, Sloan, Takashi, Guilderoy. Each had watched their herds shrink one by one every night for years while they could do nothing but usher their cows under protection from the sky and hope the dragon went after someone else. Each had their profits dwindle and the clothes on their kids get more torn, and the food on their table get smaller and smaller in proportion.

 “Does anybody think we could get to its hoard? Spirits know it owes us.” Thompson asked.

“That’s a fool's errand; The gold is all probably under half a mile of the mountain” Said Sloan

Silence rang over the crowd before Takashi, the eldest of them, spoke up.

“That’s an awful lot of meat and leather to go to waste. Shame for it to go to the maggots.”

“Give me the first hook, “Said Gertrude, “This beast owes me blood debt”

While the farmers got to work, Johanason walked back to town and woke up his neighbors, telling them each the good news and to come down with their carving tools. There was enough for everyone. Everyone could come to see, could feel with their hands that it was finally over.

Throughout the night the villagers cut the dragon piece by piece. First, they went after its tongue, then to its neck, and then deeper down into the muscles of its shoulders. That was as far as they could go before they had to contend with the crush of rock, but still, some talked about exploring deep down into the insides and trying to cut out pieces of its heart to feed the hero when he woke up.

It was feral, vengeful, and joyful all at once, a small improvised festival made of relief.

They stayed up through the night. Old Higgins brought down ale to drink as they made an assembly line of salting and carving and loading meat onto carts to take back to their cellars and storehouses, now full where they had been dwindling.

Gertrude dropped out early, collapsing onto one of the carts. She wasted her energy early on, taking her rage out on the dragon with full-bodied whacks followed by warlike bellows. Johanason, being one of the bigger men, was one of the few who lasted through the night into the light of the next day. He carried hunks of meat in a sack slung over his shoulder into town, covered in sweat and dragon’s blood and whistling all the way.

……..

Bruin woke up.

Which wasn’t a thing he thought he was ever going to do again.

His entire body ached, so- he was pretty sure this wasn’t the afterlife. He felt the heavy weight of a blanket on him and smelled sweat and medication thick in the air. His vision was blurry but he could make out the vision of an unfamiliar ceiling.

“Oh good. You’re awake. Do you know, how incredibly inconvenient you’ve been?”

Bruin snapped his head toward the sudden noise. There was a blonde man with a strong jaw sitting by the window, sunlight playing in his curls. He was dressed in silks and was staring at Bruin like he was some smudge on his shoe.

Bruin, let out an utterance that could have become a word if had given it time.

“You had one job. To die. Many people find that fairly easy. They do it accidentally every day by slipping on sharp stones or falling off roofs. And you had a dragon to help kill you. Yet you still couldn’t accomplish such a stupidly simple task.”

“You’re…royal, I take it?”

“I am Prince Phillip, son to Henry the second of the Guidance lineage, and heir to the throne. My slaughter of the dragon was supposed to engender respect and awe within the common people of this land so my coronation could go off without incident. Do you know how difficult that is when the Dragon is already dead?”

“It died?”

“Yes!” Phillip through his hands up into the air, “You dropped an entire mountain on it! What did you expect to happen? There were shards of rock the size of my leg going into its brain. Where did you even get that amount of gunpowder?”

“Uh- Blackmailed a mayor? I got lucky. They had some left in storage from before the dragon shut down the mining efforts. I didn’t think it would kill it, just… make it hard to fly. Their wing bones are the most delicate they have. Thought my fate would stop it from fully working.”

“Well, it didn’t,” Philip said through clenched teeth

“How-How I am alive? I thought- It ate me.”

“Good question. Apparently, it couldn’t finish the job either. It didn’t swallow you. It didn’t even chew you. You were in its mouth when they found you, and its head was one of the few parts body that wasn’t under a rock. I suspect the force of the explosion forced it out of the cave before the entire thing fell on it. It would explain the twist of the neck. You must’ve been seated just right to not get damaged in the fall. Something out there must really love you because you should not be alive.”

“Yeah….”

Bruin wondered if he had his mother’s fate and if this was some miracle he was supposed to doubt. But he wasn’t experiencing extreme skepticism or trying to come up with a logical explanation. He was willing to accept that this was absurd- but it felt off somehow.

“And ANOTHER THING. This could have all been fine. This could have all been manageable if you didn’t have the loudest, showiest weapon in all the kingdom. Gunpowder? Must you? If you had quietly killed it, we could have lied. We could have pretended I killed it and you would have still served your purpose. But you picked the one thing that would cause everyone in the surrounding area to go check out the situation. Do you think I could lie to them now? They were cutting up the dragon themselves by the time I got there.”

“A dragon’s skin is impenetrable.”

“Turns out it's easier to cut from the inside. They scooped out the beast. They even managed to pull off its scales by going inside and cutting around the section of skin it sat on. They took them home as souvenirs. Physical proof, that the dragon of Langdon is now dead. They even started selling them to surrounding towns and telling the tale of you. 

I can’t lie after all that. I can’t even destroy this town now that they’ve spread it around. I’ve had to play nice and grateful all week. Smiling, and telling them how happy I am that the man we sent in finished the job.

Philip's head rested on his fist and stared and his nostrils flared as he stared at Bruin.

Bruin tried to gather his thoughts his mind went back to his mentor.

Guillermo had led him all the way to the edge of town. But just outside of Kingstown, a band of soldiers from the capitol came to Guillermo and told him his wife was sick and that she needed him. He remembered his mentor’s face going white before he left with the others

 “Guillermo-his wife. She was unwell, is she alright?”

“Oh her? She’s fine. We cured her”

He waved his hand.

“It was the sickness caused by some herbs in her drink. Guillermo knows the type. If he hadn’t come home in time we wouldn’t have given her the cure. Anyway, on to more important matters. 

You’ve done me a favor by waking up at a convenient time. There’s barely a second in which that medicine man isn’t looming over you, but you happened to wake up when he was distracted. He'll be back soon, so let's make matters clear: I need you to die. That’s how we fix this. We’re going to celebrate your victory with these people and then we’re going to find another monster. On that is believably stronger than a dragon. You’re going to die by it, and then I’m going to defeat it. That way the people will see I’m stronger than you and that they need me to protect them. And before you protest, no, there is no other choice. If you chose to try and escape or avoid this fate I will have both of your parents, your new wife, her parents, your mentor, his wife, and his kids killed. You’ve been asleep for quite some time Bruin Slater, and it’s given me time to prepare. Are we at an understanding?”

Bruin was still only half conscious, and this was a lot to take in.

“I think so?”

“I need a yes.”

“I understand, and will do as you say.”

“Good, you’re clever. I like that.”

Their one-way conversation was interrupted by footsteps coming towards the door. It swung open to reveal a grey-haired man with a rough apron looking to be somewhere in his late fifties. He had calloused hands and a hooked nose and crows-feet that indicated many years of smiles. Bruin vaguely remembered ordering salve from him.

All of this was overshadowed by what looked to be a tray of hot soup and warm bread in his hands.

Phillip was suddenly all smiles and charm.

“Ah, Mordecai! I’m so happy you’re here. Our young hero has finally woken up. I was just about to call you in.

The older man looked surprised and delighted. Finally! You’ve been doing better, but we’ve had a few scares there and was scared you weren’t going to wake up. How are you feeling?

“Sore. Could you bring that closer? I feel like haven’t eaten in a very long time.”

“Absolutely.”

Bruin quietly ate his soup and watched as the intimidating shadow from earlier turned into a generous host, gushing over him and singing his praise. Bruin worried that he might have had a bit of brain damage from his fight. He couldn’t tell if the conversation he’d had before was real or some paranoid fantasy. 

"-We were so worried when Bruin split with the regiment to go fight it on his own,” said Phillip, “ I understand he wanted to keep his fellow soldiers late, but it was so reckless. We’re just glad he’s alive,”

“Well, I’m glad they’re training you all so well up at the capitol.”

“I’m not a soldier,“ interrupted Bruin

While Mordecai turned to look at Bruin, Philip's eyes went dark with rage, though he maintained his smile.

“Don’t be ridiculous Bruin; you still have your spot in the army. We’re not going to kick you out after you saved a town, even if you did disobey orders.”

Oh. Oh, this was a lie.

“Right-I’m grateful, sir.”

So that moment from earlier was real.

Bruin had one social skill, and it was keeping his mouth shut at the right time and he used it to its full capability now.

[fangirltothefullest]

i love your art and how versatile your styles are - do you have advice for experimenting with art style? like i know that to find ur own style its best to experiement a lot and develop it constantly, but where do you find motivation for that? did u fond inspiration from other artists? do you have a drawing routine? are there specific drawing exrecises that help/helped you?

sorry for so many questions, i love ur art and have a great day!

Thank you! It always makes me grin stupidly when people comment on my art with words like “versatile” because I do try to have a lot of fun with it! And it’s no trouble at all! I’m always playing with my style.

Getting the style I have now currently that I use most took work- I looked at my style and tried to change things deliberately until I was happy. I experimented with eye shape and face shape, body shapes and such until I was happy. That took a lot of study and work because I wanted the anatomy to look decent:

The other styles (because I play so much....) don’t all look that different, only mildly. The cute one I just did for that comic I approached in regards to shapes. I kind of have this idea that I want a character to be a shape or word- so for Patton I chose “circle” and so I made most of his features round in some way. Not full circle but soft~ Logan was “square” so he looks a little boxy but I wanted him approachable so I softened his angles a liiittle bit. The twins were “tall bold” so they have a lot of sharp or elegant lines. Virgil was “droopy” and so he sort of just... droops. Puffy jacket, longer lines for the hair, and curved legs so he looks tired. Janus was “refined/put together” so most of his lines are pristine. All sharp and clean in most of his clothes but curved hat and hands to make him a little more snekky curvy if that makes sense. Note that their eye shape also reflects their shapes a little too. Virgil’s eyes are tired and droopy and Logan;s are quite squared compared to Remus whose eyes are taller because it makes him look more awake (too much coffee lol).

The Poisoning Pigeons animatic was interesting because I am really slow at doing animatics but this one was based on something comedic so I literally sat down and went.... ok, what’s the fastest way I can draw these characters while maintaining their basics? And I was thinking about how @aimasup​’s style is REALLY fun and captures the sides in a unique way. What I like about it is the clean shapes so I thought, how can I do something a little similar but also REALLY FAST because I’m super distracted and get bored easily? I come up with stuff like this, wherein I drew the characters’ most basic silhouettes/defining features faster and faster until I reached a point where they were super quick to draw and still recognizable (Note that I always seem to draw their hair the same lol I can’t help it I gotta max the floof): 

Read more below for Starcrossed stuff cause this post is already getting long. XD

And then there’s Starcrossed. This one is interesting because I went through a lot of style possibilities with these through development. I tried my regular style but that took too long even when not really coloured which is why I didn’t do many of these. I was in school and had no time for it.

 I tried a cleaner style but that took even longer with the colours. It’s beautiful but just not possible.

Then I tried this one but it was not round enough/exaggerated enough for the cutesie feeling I wanted. If I was gonna go for cute it better be CUTE but also it had to be uniform- if you are having your characters all together they ought to look appropriately like they all come from the same 2d plane of existence if that makes sense lol so this was just not gonna cut it: 

Finally I landed on specific shapes and a style that complemented each other and settled with some rules: Anvity would always have sharper features because he is a Dragon so horns, ears, wings and eyes all had to match that; Moxie cannot have any sharp edges except for the points of her eyelashes, Viran would look inquisitive but approachably soft etc. so his glasses can never be fully square or rectangular:

Vircei would always look a little bit weirdly elongated regardless of how tiny he is because he is a monster and quite spider-like at times so his hyperflexibility needed to be shown in his elongated limbs:

Anyways, I’d say a good way to practice is DEFINITELY looking at other people’s art to get inspiration. How to they make their shapes and thinking about why it works for them. I recommend googling “Character Design” and browsing the images there or searching character design here on tumblr. You’ll find a lot of them definitely play with shape which I think is incredibly important! 

As for motivation, I dunno I just really like drawing so I have a lot of fun playing with style!

[radabadabing-bing]

Wager of Weights

So embarrassing story, I wrote the bulk of this in 2019 and apparently had it like, almost complete?? I don’t know why I didn’t finish it then, but I cleaned it up and got it all ready to go because, while perhaps not totally reflective of my current work, there’s no point in tossing it down the drain. I will also say it’s not totally what I usually write, and my first time writing a lot of the content present in it, so it may also not be the best? But I’m a harsh judge of my own work haha. To clarify, this was (and still is) a gift for @pangtasias-atelier all the way when they were still Kink of the Emblem. And really I have to give him a lot of thanks for helping me grow this blog in the first place, so thanks for that. If you are somehow following me but not him, do that because he makes some good stuff (and comms good stuff too). And if you’re reading this right now- You’re awesome dude, love your work, and I hope you enjoy it!

It was no secret that the Summoner played favorites, and those favorites were Grima and Tibarn. One or the other was usually found by his side, and at times even both. But the problem had laid in the fact that there were two favorites...and one summoner. Tibarn didn’t seem to mind too much about this. So, perhaps more accurately, the problem laid with Grima.

Grima was a controversial figure among the heroes themselves- something of the territory coming with being an ancient dragon with little to no regard for human life. The Summoner had pacified Grima into being passive-aggressive to most of the others...Though Tibarn usually faced the aggressive half. 

Grima had been feeling particularly vitriolic on this day. The Summoner had gone out on patrol without either him or Tibarn, leaving the two in awkward coexistence. “You know, if this vessel had the muscle your body had, I’m almost certain the summoner would enjoy my company much more. Enough to leave you behind.” “Really now?” As said, Tibarn didn’t mind the venomous words. He viewed the fell dragon as a bit of a blowhard, never really giving it too much thought. The guy thought he was on top of the world, and as a nigh impotent god he sort of was. 

“Almost certainly.” Grima retorted, unaware of what he was starting here.

“Hmm...Well, why not a competition?” A good challenge had presented itself to Tibarn, he wasn’t about to miss the chance. “Me and you- We work ourselves harder than ever. We both commit ourselves to getting stronger and stronger, and see if your little theory there holds up.” “Deal.” Not a moment of hesitation from Grima. “I’ll come out on top- just you watch.” The King of Phoenicis grinned at this. It would be an interesting challenge at the least.

Tibarn only needed to ramp up his standard workout. A little more weight. A little more time spent doing it. The rewards of this weren’t immediately noticeable, but as the days rolled on his pecs seemed to bulge ever slightly more, abs right along with them. His thighs and calves refined to a great extent, looking in shape enough to crack stone. Biceps nearly tearing apart his sleeves, Tibarn finding himself needing more bandage to cover his arm to his liking.

Even his silhouette- already intimidating from a good height and wingspan, seemed to grow ever further. A few inches on both his height and wings. His clothes constrained ever so slightly more to contain his greater apex form.

Grima had a more interesting growth period. The vessel he inhabited needed no sustenance as long as he controlled it, and similarly had a nigh boundless energy pool, meaning that it was simply what effort he was willing to put into the competition. To self improve took valuable time away from being at the Summoner’s side, but not doing it would give the hawk a free victory, and Grima hated that even more.

The growth he had was more dramatic than Tibarn’s, but ultimately he could only just catch up. Just a few inches under the laguz, just able to lift a bit less than what Tibarn could, and most frustratingly seeing that the Summoner hadn’t actually changed who they spent the most time with. Proving Grima’s theory wrong. This had frustrated the dragon to no end, how could he possibly be wrong?

But during a session, where he attempted to still catch up to Tibarn, it dawned on him. He didn’t necessarily need to beat the hawk king, no. It was futile at this point, not without submitting himself further to this...mortal regimen. No, all Grima needed to do was drag Tibarn behind! And drag him very, very far behind.

Tibarn already ate quite a bit, and having a rigorous training session now only seemed to increase his appetite. Which made it exceptionally easy to slip in a curse or two on some meat. But Grima wasn’t about to make it obvious. This would be a slow burn.

At first, Tibarn’s gains seemed to stagnate. Simply stopped growing. At a glance, someone would think that he had hit the apex. He just couldn’t improve anymore. Though once a slight layer of pudge formed near his waistline, it was clear he hadn’t only stopped his growths- he was degrading.

Each passing day, Tibarn seemed to be gaining more and more weight. Getting wider rather than taller, his clothes ill-fitting not because of burgeoning muscle, but fat. With the greater weight, his workouts had become too laborious to follow up on, which certainly didn’t help the sudden expansion. Soon constrained to the ground, too heavy to even be lifted by his wings the slightest bit.

All the while Grima watched with sadistic satisfaction. Tibarn’s body swelled by the day, the laguz undoubtedly having lost at this point. Grima’s vessel had grown significantly- past Tibarn’s form before he had laid the curse. His shirt hardly fit, more akin to a crop top, and the cloak that had once only been an inch or two from the ground was now hovering near a foot. If Grima’s simple status as the fell dragon hadn’t kept people away before, his pinnacle form sure had now. His mere presence exuded a terrifying aura, though this once again didn’t keep away the summoner.

By chance, Grima had encountered Tibarn one day. Whom was waddling now, something that Grima took some amusement in. “I...I don’t know what happened.” He admitted, a slight jiggle to his two chins. “It would appear I’ve surpassed you.” Grima said with a smug cadence. “And indeed, the Summoner spends more time at my side.”

“Right…” Tibarn wasn’t exactly sure how true that was, but he couldn’t argue that Grima had indeed beaten him at this point.

A few more moons, and the hawk could no longer be found waddling through the halls. Apparently he had grown too large to even move. Music to Grima’s ears.

Until he noticed something. The summoner had started to periodically disappear throughout the day- not off to battle clearly, not with the food he was carrying. With Grima’s interest piqued, he tailed the Summoner, managing to not be noticed even with his larger size. Not the first thing on his mind, as he was far more frustrated with the destination. Tibarn’s dwelling.

It was back to the drawing board for Grima once more. He simply did not understand. He had undermined Tibarn to immobility...Exceeded his body. What was he getting wrong? There was a piece of the puzzle missing...and it dawned on him once more.

The Summoner hadn’t gone out of his way to see Tibarn before the laguz had been grounded.

Grima had been trying too hard all along. And in doing this, had let Tibarn win the adoration of the Summoner, though it was still soon enough to steal this victory back. For every curse the dragon had laid, he always had a solution. 

Night had fallen, and Grima’s final plot was being enacted. With no pesky heroes to gawk at him or see where he was going at this hour, nor the summoner’s watchful eye, the path to where Tibarn’s massive form slept was simple to traverse.

Grima would admit, he never got a good look at the hawk king after that last brief conversation. So seeing Tibarn now was something of a shock. His body had overtaken the bed, though calling it a “bed” was a bit of an overstatement. More like mattresses to keep something between the floor and the laguz. It took Grima a moment to make out limbs and a head.

It would’ve been amusing, if it wasn’t so effective at getting the summoner’s attention. But that privilege would not be Tibarn’s for much longer. A glow to his eyes and hands, he began to cast the spell. The giant tanned mass seemed to rumble, beginning a transformation, or rather, a reversion. Though this didn’t rouse the still slumbering Tibarn. Meanwhile, Grima’s form began to change- his set of washboard muscles beginning to disappear, as a gut formed in its place.

With the counter curse successfully placed, Grima could leave the room satisfied. As the hawk shrunk like a deflating balloon, the dragon’s vessel did the opposite- body expanding every which way as he returned to his own chambers. Thighs now beginning to chafe, clothes straining to contain the stolen fat. Seams popping and tearing, a smug grin on his plump face.

In the morning, Tibarn awoke, like a weight was lifted off of him. Quite literally: He could move once more. And not just move at a waddle- His adonis form had been completely returned to him. How, Tibarn wasn’t sure. But his inner laguz instincts were happy about it, ready to return to the battlefield that very day.

Though one hero was not very ready to join Tibarn out in the battlefield, which was Grima. His body anchored firmly down within his dwelling, only able to make the slightest movements as he looked down upon the summoner. Just as immobile as Tibarn had been a few hours prior.

“Summoner, it’s quite terrible!” He said in a casual, almost mocking tone. “I simply woke up like this. I certainly can’t go out to fight in this state...or leave this chamber at all.”

That wasn’t Grima’s concern. Sure, he had certainly lost the wager he had made with Tibarn, but that was all worthless in retrospect. No, the look of awe on the Summoner’s face- That was all Grima needed to know he had won.

[kerra-and-company]

For Kerra’s 1st Birthday

So. You know how sometimes we imagine animatics in our heads that we never make? I did that, but I was picturing it in such detail that I wrote it down. I still don’t have the skills to animate or draw it, but I figured it might be a good birthday present for Kerra. :)

I’m a couple weeks or so late (very sorry, Ker!), but I’m counting it as her first birthday present. I’ve been playing this game for over a year now, which isn’t long compared to a lot of you, but I’ve definitely fallen in love with it, and I appreciate the community here on Tumblr, no matter how big it might or might not be. Thanks for a great first year, everyone. Love you guys, seriously <3

(I don’t know if this is going to be something other people are super interested in reading or not, but if you are, go for it--it’s under the cut! :) The song is Dirt Around The Tree by Candi Carpenter, and you can listen to it here or on Spotify if you want. Thanks again, folks. I appreciate you a lot.)

[Introductory music plays over brief intro text. Just before the beginning of the song, the text fades to dense clouds.]

I was born in the fall

 [The clouds clear, revealing Caledon. The camera/POV swoops through quickly in the direction of the Grove, with various recognizable places there visible as it does so.]

The season when everything is dying

 [Camera continues its swoop. If we look closely, we can see that it’s winter, or at least sometime cool, in Caledon. There’s no snow, but there’s frost, and many trees are missing leaves. Farms and gardens are bare.]

We must know what we're in for

 [Camera enters the Grove, skirting past the trunk of the Pale Tree and slowing down by pods of not-yet-awakened sylvari. It settles on one.]

That's why we come into this world crying

 [The pod splits open, and Kerra falls out. Nearby sylvari try to help her up, but she scrambles in an uncoordinated fashion to her feet, calling out Caithe’s name.]

 My mother always told me life's not fair

 [The Pale Tree in the Omphalos Chamber, arms open wide, eyes closed. On the word “life”, the camera cuts to Kerra in “Beneath a Cold Moon”, fighting Tiachren. On “not”, the camera cuts to Kerra standing over bodies, next to Caithe and various Wardens. One of the bodies is Tiachren’s. On “fair”, the camera cuts back to the Omphalos Chamber, but this time to Kerra alone. Caithe and Aife are just barely in the image (their shoulders at most), but the focus is on Kerra’s face—troubled and grieving but not quite crying.]

That's probably why I ran away

 [The camera spins back around so that we see Kerra looking at the Pale Tree. This time, she’s flanked by the three sylvari order reps, and Cai—the rep from the Order of Whispers—is holding her hand out. Kerra looks down at it. On “why”, the camera cuts to just their hands, clasped in a handshake. On “ran,” the camera cuts to Kerra and Tybalt on the mission to rescue Demmi. They’ve just opened the door to the room where Demmi was locked up, and Kerra’s holding her hand out to Demmi.]

I don't think that I felt safe at home

 [Camera zooms in on Kerra’s hand, going to brush her hair-leaves back. When it zooms back out, we see Kerra sitting next to Rel. They’re on the beaches of the Weeping Isle, and her mouth is open, like she’s saying the song lyrics. She’s more in silhouette here than a clear picture, and the focus is on Rel’s face. His forehead is furrowed as if in concern.]

And I don't think that's ever gonna change…

 [Kerra’s face comes into clearer focus, still mouthing the words, but this time she looks straight into the camera for a second. As the camera pans around her head, the landscape behind her changes to an airship. She starts to turn away from the camera on the word “ever”, and by “change”, she’s facing away, and we can see her standing at the front of an airship alongside Destiny’s Edge, flying to confront Zhaitan. Kerra’s wearing a long coat now, brown with just-visible green embroidery, and it flaps in the breeze.]

 Tell me, what's at the root of all my guilt and anger?

 [The image blurs as the camera zooms towards the ground and under it. We see roots, twisting and shifting, twining together.]

What's in the dirt around the tree?

 [The camera pans up, more slowly this time so the image is clear. We exit the ground, passing through the levels of the Grove, ending on the plaza in the center where the Pale Tree’s leaves spiral up towards the Omphalos Chamber.]

Heartbreak runs in the family

 [Three images. The first is the Pale Tree, eyes down and half-closed. She looks pained. On “runs”, the image shifts to Caithe, with shiny eyes and a shadowy Faolain behind her, side by side with Trahearne, who’s holding Caladbolg with a gaze that’s both tired and far away. On “family”, the image shifts to Kerra, still in the same outfit from the airship, but with a dark background. Her eyes are wide and unsure.]

That's why I'm still running from me.

 [The camera zooms out to show two Kerras, now, separated by just enough distance that they’d have to move closer to touch (so maybe a couple meters or so). The first is Kerra as a sapling, in her sylvari armor, and the second is Kerra in her airship outfit. They each look at the camera. On the word “running”, they turn to each other. On “me”, the second Kerra turns away and takes a step away from the first.]

 [On the instrumentals, Kerra steps from the black void into the snow, her bow on her back and Felix beside her. She looks worn and tired, her coat torn. She walks from there into a house with Nisha (with a stack of letters), and she smiles. When she leaves the house, her wardrobe changes from brown to blue, and she walks into Southsun, facing Canach and then meeting with him in his cell after. Other images flow after, briefly—her and Dragon’s Watch facing Scarlet, then the party with the nobles, then facing Aerin. Finally, it settles on them all together before the summit, waiting below the Omphalos Chamber for the dignitaries to arrive.]

 I read that trauma is genetic

 [The camera pans up to the Omphalos Chamber, which is under attack by the Shadow of the Dragon. We focus on the Shadow first as it roars (on the word “trauma”) and bares its teeth, and then we pan to Kerra’s face on “genetic”. She’s terrified—but she’s terrified of what the Shadow means, not that she can’t defeat it.]

Who was the first to hand it down?

 [Brief flashes of scenes again. Kerra briefly trying to help her Mother as menders run towards them on “Who”, Kerra-as-Caithe (and Nisha alongside her) watching Wynne’s confession on “first”, Trahearne giving the order to fire on “hand”, and airships falling over Maguuma on “down”.]

Was it my grandpa or his father?

 [Kerra, wearing her HoT clothes, standing beside Canach and Caithe to face Mordremoth, the camera fully focusing on him as of the word “grandpa” and leaving them as silhouettes with weapons at his feet.]

You can't ask someone who ain't around

 [Kerra running to Trahearne while he’s trapped in Mordremoth’s vines and hanging above the ground, grabbing his hand in hers. On “someone”, the image melts into Kerra holding Caladbolg out in Mordremoth’s mindscape, alone. She’s pointing it at a large seed, and Trahearne’s silhouette is behind her. She’s protecting him. On “ain’t”, Kerra begins to glow purple, and the image fades to brightness and then Mordremoth’s power exploding through the jungle, like the cutscene in canon, implying his death.]

 Tell me, what's at the root of all my guilt and anger?

 [Again, like before in the first iteration of the chorus, the camera blurs as we zoom down to roots, shifting and intertwining, but this time we can see clearly that they’re growing, too.]

What's in the dirt around the tree?

 [Again, we pan through the levels of the Grove to reach the centerpoint with the spiral branches and leaves of the Pale Tree.]

Heartbreak runs in the family

 [And again, we have the three sets of images, but they’re slightly different. The Pale Tree is dimmer, clearly wounded and in pain even if the wounds themselves are not visible. The shadow of Faolain looks like the Mordrem version of her, and Caladbolg is shattered. Kerra’s in her HoT outfit now, with nicks in a few of her leaves. She’s not much different physically, but something in her expression makes her look older.]

That's why I'm still running from me.

 [And last but not least for repeats, we enter the blank void again, but there are three Kerras this time—sapling-Kerra, Zhaitan-Kerra, and HoT-Kerra. They all start off looking at the camera. On “running”, sapling-Kerra and Zhaitan-Kerra look at HoT-Kerra, and she looks back at them. On “me”, she turns and takes a step away from them.]

 [Instrumentals follow, and the steps turn into a full-on run as she crashes into Canach and Nisha’s arms, laughing. Her outfit switches to her LWS3 one as she swings from their arms to Tarir, watching Aurene hatch and pulling her close. Caithe is in that image too, awe and faint affection on her face. As the deeper strings are overrun with lighter notes, a few scenes flicker by—Lazarus awakening, the battle with Caudecus, Balthazar’s reveal. The strings reach a high note as Kerra is shown on the airship to Elona, her clothes changing again to those she wears in PoF. Vlast’s death is shown, a bright light and Balthazar and crystals, followed by Kerra in Kesho and then a flash of her traversing the desert on her raptor. The notes begin to downswing into the bridge as the battle on the mountaintop comes into focus, Kerra fighting Balthazar hand-to-hand with Caladbolg, and on the final few notes, we see him slash down at her where she’s lying, barely breathing, on the ground. There’s darkness, and on the last note, she opens her eyes in the Domain of the Lost. They’re red.]

 I wanna be more than a lost little girl

 [Spirit-Kerra takes a step forward. She picks her bow up off the ground on “be”, meeting Nenah’s eyes as her guide gestures towards a hill. Glowing blue silhouettes of memories are visible in the distance, but only just barely. On “lost”, we see the full image of Kerra looking towards the hill, determined.]

I'm gonna grow up someday

 [The camera shows Kerra climbing the mountain, past various memory images. Some we’ve seen in the video, some we haven’t. In the last image, right on/after the word “someday”, we can see Caladbolg at Kerra’s side.]

Maybe I'll plant another family tree

 [Kerra pauses at a memory of her with her partners. It’s not one we’ve seen before, but they’re all smiling at something or someone the memory doesn’t show. Canach’s arm is around Kerra’s waist, Nisha’s is around her shoulder, and she’s holding them both. On “another”, she reaches out as if to touch it but stops just before she does.]

Somewhere far, far away

 [Kerra continues and reaches the top of the mountain. The memory there is Aurene, still very much a baby, desperately trying to protect Kerra, and then being wrapped in chains. She looks at the image for a few seconds, blue light giving her face an eerie cast, before grasping Caladbolg’s hilt and nearly leaping down the mountain on “away”.]

 [As the music upswings to the final chorus/verse, Kerra bows to the Judge, slashes through the Eater of Souls, and rushes past a very irritated Joko into the portal back to Tyria.]

 Far from the root of all my guilt and anger

 [The light from the portal fades into a cloudless sky and a vast desert. On “guilt”, the camera pans over to the mountain where Kerra fought Balthazar. Wisps of smoke still come from it, but they’re faint. We can see figures on the mountain, but not well enough to determine features (though if you’ve played PoF you could guess who most of them are).]

Blood in the dirt and on the leaves

 [The words describe what we’re seeing. Kerra’s blood is on the sandy dirt of the mountaintop, and it’s splattered in specks on her hair-leaves and face.]

Tell me, what's at the root of all my guilt and anger?

 [On “Tell”, Kerra opens her eyes wide. They’re faint purple, as they should be. On “me” she sits up straight, gasping. As the rest of the phrase plays out, we see what she is seeing as her gaze tracks across her friends. Kasmeer, Rytlock…Canach and Nisha. Kasmeer has a tentative but disbelieving smile on her face. Rytlock looks very much like “what the fuck”.]

Am I who I'm supposed to be?

 [There’s a beat while Kerra stares at Canach and Nisha and they stare back at her, but on “supposed”, her partners reach their hands out to her. She looks back at them, wide-eyed, like she’s about to cry.]

Heartbreak runs in the family

 [On the musical downswing, the image fades into current Kerra in the blank void. Just her, no one else. She’s sitting on the ground, in clothing that’s damaged and burned, with too-bright eyes.]

That's why I'm still running from me.

 [There’s six Kerras in total now, in a line as they’ve been in the previous choruses, but all but the first and the last fade into the background on “me”, leaving just sapling-Kerra and PoF-Kerra to stare at each other across the distance of the blank void. Both sitting, both very different. The distance is much larger than a meter.]

Heartbreak runs in the family

 [The three picture sets flash, but this time they’re interspersed with Canach and Nisha moving towards Kerra, and they’re different now. On “Heart-”, the image of the Pale Tree is of her with the Menders, giving them a faint smile. On “break”, we see Canach and Nisha taking a step forward. On “runs”, we see Caithe holding a tiny Aurene in her arms, and they both look overjoyed. Trahearne no longer has Caladbolg and his face is scarred to look half-Mordrem, but he’s standing next to Rel, who’s laughing as he kisses the back of Trahearne’s hand. On “the”, we fully fade back to the mountaintop, and Canach and Nisha take another step forward before throwing Kerra into their arms. At the end of this line, we see Kerra crying and holding them tight, with Kas wiping her own tears away and Rytlock starting to laugh with unexpected relief.]

Why am I still running from me?

 [Slowly, the image fades back into sapling-Kerra and PoF-Kerra in the void, staring at each other. PoF-Kerra is still crying, but on “me”, she smiles, too.]

 [As the final instrumentals play out, both of them stand up. They run toward each other, and they meet in the middle with a tight hug, burying their faces in each other’s shoulder.]

 [THE END]

[5lazarus]

White Nights, Ch. 2: The Docks

A year or so after Trespasser, Lavellan takes a brief vacation from mapping weaknesses in the Veil to Val Royeaux, and brings a new lover with her. She steps out to her balcony to enjoy the melancholy night, glances over curiously when a man steps out to the balcony attached to the room next to her, and freezes. It looks like the Dread Wolf had the same idea.

She says, “I won’t tell if you don’t.” Ch. 2, The Docks: They walk, and they keep on talking. CW: Discussion on whether or not Solas "laid with her under false pretenses." Neither comes to a satisfactory conclusion. Read on AO3 here. I made the banner, and yes, it’s from the movie adaptation of the Dostoyevsky novella of the same name. It’s a good watch! I suppose you can call this a Dostoyevsky/Dragon Age crossover :’’’’)  read Ch. 3: The Broadsheet here. read Ch. 1: The Balcony here.

In the dull lamplight Solas is almost unrecognizable, with the gray in his closely-cropped hair, the carefully groomed beard. Still, she recognizes the silhouette, and part of her thrills to see him. She had hoped he would have already left. She draws closer and notices the embroidery of his shirt: a gift from Clan Lavellan. She touches the filigree at the collar and traces the edge of his jaw. His breathing catches. He is also afraid. They are making a mistake, and she knows she will have to hold herself partly culpable for this. “So,” she says, and waits for him to fill in the silence. Instead Solas puts his hands behind his back, and she rolls her eyes. “This is a mistake,” he says tightly. Yet he came anyway. “So you’ve told me, from the beginning,” Lavellan says pleasantly, “one of many horrible little things you did to me. Still, you keep cropping up. Unavoidable, actually. Like a fungus.” A smile ghosts across his face as they both remember Cassandra. “I am sorry. Loving you--” “I wish you wouldn’t apologize,” Lavellan interrupts, “when you are going to repeat what you did, over and over again. Banal’nadas. The Blight is inevitable. We don’t have time to relitigate this.” Solas takes a shaky breath. “No. We don’t.” He lets his arms fall to his sides, relaxing his shoulders. She takes his hand. He looks at her ring ruefully. “You have always liked symbolic gestures. Your vallaslin--” “I want to show you something,” Lavellan stops him. She lifts her chin, makes a face. “To show you what you mean to me.” She squeezes his hand. “Come with me.” Solas winces dramatically. “I suppose it was foolish to hope you would not remember my worse words. Where are you taking me?” She says drily, “Not a swamp.” Solas rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. “It wasn’t a swamp when I was there last...perhaps two thousand years ago.” “What was it then? A sewer?” Solas thinks for a second then twists his mouth wryly. “I have called it a cesspool before.” He laughs at the face Lavellan makes. “Fine,” she says. “Keep your secrets.” She starts forward, tugging him along, and she both enjoys and hates the slight bounce to his step as he matches her. Walking with him was always like a dance, twisting in and out of each other’s magnetic orbit. “It was my house,” Solas bursts out. “Or at least the place that held my laboratory, when I was still…working with the Halla-Mother. Where I decided to break with the Evanuris and Geldauron’s clique both. I had planned to tell you everything.” She stops so suddenly he stumbles. He looks at her, afraid, and she lets go of his hand and touches the plastered wall of the building at the corner to ground herself, closing her eyes at the sudden rage that has swept her. He waits, awkwardly, as she breathes. They have done this routine before, of course, she has always struggled with her anger. She reminds herself of what she can feel: cobblestone worn smooth below her feet, ocean-cold air on her skin, the metal end of the prosthetic digging into what is left of her arm. The Veil is so thin now, and she does not want what could have been to tear it. Solas says, “I should not have told you that. That I was going to tell you.” “No,” she agrees. That possibility sits between them, and throws its arms around them companionably: there could have been another way. It should not be like this. Lavellan rubs the bridge of her nose, trying to calm herself down. “You are angry,” Solas says warily. “Did you expect applause?” She flexes the fingers of the prosthetic, as if to check if they still work. The middle finger sticks slightly, and she bends it back into a fist. She does not want to look back at him and see the pity and shame cross his face. She has built her life out of the ashes from Haven, and he has not been the worst thing to happen to her. She has survived worse humiliations. She smiles grimly. At least she is still moving. Solas says, “I have always been too rash in matters of the heart, and even after these long years, I have not yet learned moderation. I indulged myself at the wrong moments, and held back too. And for that, I am sorry.” He sounds like his Keeper has made him sit and think about his apology before reciting it aloud. It has the touch of rehearsal--but Solas has always thought themselves in some tragedy. Lavellan had always thought she was the lead of her own play, but it seems she has been upstaged. Lavellan musters herself to look at him. His eyes are pleading. The beard is ridiculous. She touches it, tracing where he has trimmed it along his jawline. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch like a cat. “I am not your Keeper,” she says. “There is no reason to confess. And I don’t forgive you, anyway. As you said. This is yet another one of your mistakes.” Solas does not rise to the bait. He rarely does. “Where are you taking me?” Lavellan does not know. She picks a street and keeps moving, and he matches her stride. His arm brushes against hers. They look in opposite directions, lost in their mutual self-pity. The night itself is liquid, a wet breeze teasing through the narrow streets. Magelight spills onto the cobbes, worn smooth by three hundred years of human occupation. Her great-great-grandfather on her mother’s side had been from Val Royeaux. He had died in yet another failed raid on Halamshiral, long before her mother was born. The streets are as old as history, and she misses her misspent youth, running goods from Orlais to the Free Marches, taking the Minanter through half of Thedas and leaving friends and enemies in her wake. Tomorrow she and Anders will visit some of them, and see what has changed. She has to clean her mother-in-law’s grave, too. She wonders what her late husband would have thought of this, what he would say. He would say something clever about her moving from the slapstick comedy of their smuggling career to epic tragedy. She says casually, “You know I met my husband here. When I was a student, working for Briala. And then when the Carta began paying me better.” Solas has always been amused by her past. He enjoyed the rumors flitting about her wake, and how they twisted him into it. The truth was stranger than the story, and the story served to entertain. He says, “Mahanon? Yes.” They duck into an alleyway that has an unguarded gate into the alienage--an example of Briala’s munificence. Before Solas stole the key, Briala had kept an eluvian there. A sick hatred rises up her throat, and Lavellan swallows as they turn into the elvhen quarter. A statue of Fen’Harel faces outward, away from the Vhenadahl. Solas grimaces and pats its head. She steers them away from the Vhenadahl--he does not deserve it--and towards the docks. Jasmine vines up the ancient buildings that date to the Exalted March, and she breathes in that heady scent with a rush of nostalgia--for whom, for what, she cannot tell. Perhaps herself, before--before all of this, before love. As they pass, Solas plucks a blossom and places it in his pocket. A perishable souvenir, she thinks: quickling memory. How apt. Solas says, “I was surprised to find how effectively you and Briala had seeded the various great ports of Orlais and the Free Marches with your organizers. And you joined the Friends of Red Jenny, did you not? An interesting move, considering their decentralization cripples their coordination. But it does leverage you into the back alleys of Denerim, Antiva City, and the Grand Necropolis. Though the Qunari invasion has stymied their recruitment efforts in Tevinter.” He is wrong, but she will not tell him that. “The Qunari,” she hedges. “They think if they find out your name, they can reveal your true nature and master you.” Solas chuckles. “I was, and always have been, Pride first. Fen’Haril, and then Harel,” he grimaces, and Lavellan cannot help the rush of affection at how he is still affronted over the name, Keeper Deshanna reckoned the vowel shift must have occurred over two thousand years ago, he has been quietly seething over it since before the fall of Arlathan, “--came during the war. And if Mythal could not master her pride, I have no doubt the Qunari will likewise fail.” The street widens as they approach the dock but he bumps into her anyway. She tucks her good arm into his. They can pretend they are old lovers and not political enemies locked in a cold war. They can accept that they are old lovers, currently locked in a tense nonaggression pact. Lavellan’s mouth twists. Leliana will be so horribly pleased with the whole situation. It is all so terribly Orlesian. Lavellan asks, “Who named you?” She does not expect him to answer. They reach the docks, and he turns to her, smiling. “Do you know,” he says, “you are the first person who has bothered to ask me that? Most assume I chose the insult for myself.” “Yes,” she says. “You’re far too proud to laugh at yourself.” He is avoiding the question, but he has still revealed that he has kept a close eye on the Red Jennys, which Sera suspected but could not confirm. “I have you to do that for me. You keep me humble.” “And here I thought it was Cassandra and her Smite that kept you from picking fights. With anyone but Vivienne, Iron Bull, Thom, Sera--didn’t you have a go at Varric once? What did you call Orzammar? Ah, yes. ‘The severed arm of a once-great empire.’ But now I know you were projecting. Is that what you call the Dalish? Twitching to give the appearance of life. Never dreaming,” Lavellan says bitterly. “Left for dead.” Solas looks at her strangely. “Not anymore,” he says quietly. He walks to the edge of the dock and sits down gingerly, avoiding wet spots and fish guts. He leans back, feet dangling above the water, and looks up at the stars. It is a beautiful night in Val Royeaux, and Lavellan’s heart catches. She remembers too much--friends long dead, friends lost, her first husband. She sighs and sits next to him. He shifts closer to her, pressing his leg against hers. He still smells the same. “Tell me about this place,” he requests. “It holds some significance to you.” “It doesn’t matter,” she says. Those stories are not meant for him. In another world, she would tell him about the Portinari boys, about Sylanna and Garta and Briala’s first girlfriend, and maybe she would have even told him how she asked Mahanon to leave Val Royeaux, on a night as cool as this. But, as he himself told her, that world is not this one. It cannot be. She says instead, “You were going to tell me your name.” She rests her head on his shoulder. He nuzzles into her hair and breathes deeply. Such an odd thing, scent: he must miss it too. He puts his arm around her, tentatively at first. When it is clear to both of them she will not pull away, he holds her tighter, and takes her hand. Solas says, “You know my name.” Lavellan says mildly, “You know lying by omission is still a lie.” “No--” Solas draws back, and the wooden pier creaks beneath them. “Careful,” Lavellan says. “Don’t fall in.” Solas stares at her. “I never lied to you. I...may have misled you. My meaning may have been ambiguous. Our language is one of intents, my heart.” Lavellan’s frown deepened. “You know my intent. In that I have always been clear.” He looks at her, afraid, and he braces himself for what she will say next. Lavellan thinks, oh I don’t want to talk about this oh but there’s no going back oh I should’ve stayed with Anders and ignored this white night. Solas says, desperation in his voice, “Our time together may not be kind for either of us--it isn’t. We both know that. But I did not lie to you. I did not lie with you under false pretenses!” Lavellan says slowly, “Is that guilt I hear in your voice?” Her mouth twists, and Solas’ lips thin. “I do think you protest too much, Dread Wolf. Fen’Harel, or Haril --whatever you call yourself.” Solas opens his mouth to interrupt but a furious look from Lavellan silences him. “You know you did wrong by me. You know what your name is, you know what you should have told me. You--dishonored me, you lied to me--do you think I would’ve fucked you if I knew--” “Then why am I here?” Solas demands. “Why are you here? Tell me--why do you keep tormenting --” “Me or your conscience?” Lavellan snaps. “Nosing at the edges of my dreams! You use me to torture yourself, because you’re guilty and you know you’re guilty, but you’re too proud to admit it so you’ll keep wearing me like a hairshirt--” “I did not force you,” Solas hisses. “I asked you to leave. You pulled me back from the door. Every time. Time and again, I warned you. This...connection has been cruel from the beginning.” He puts his head in his hands and breathes deeply. Lavellan is momentarily concerned, but anger is burning below her skin, despite the chill off the ocean. “If that is what you think…” He is at the brink of tears. “If that is what I have done to you.” He swallows hard. Lavellan is unmoved. “I have been nothing but myself, and my worst self, with you. I was Solas first and I have been Solas since. Did you expect me to tell you, when Cassandra held us both prisoner--oh, to keep us on even standing, I am the monster of your people’s mythology.” He laughs bitterly, wiping furiously at his eyes. He smiles at her sardonically. “Do you think I did not rehearse it constantly in my mind? From when I gave Tarasyl’an Telas, to Wisdom’s murder--and what would you have done? Would you have treated me fairly? Would you have given me hearing?” “I don’t know,” Lavellan says. “Did you, for me?” She meets his gaze steadily. He is at the brink of tears, which brings out the almost violent tinge to his gray eyes. She tells herself she is unmoved. She has watched him cry before, in fear and loneliness, when he could not sleep for the nightmares in the Emprise. They had both been haunted by the mines, and he had been particularly upset at the report that the red lyrium had taken root. Now she knows: he understands the rot has sunk into the soil, eating away at the people, and he was despairing. Then she had been worried for him, now she is glad. Finally, Solas looks away, ashamed as he had been in that ridiculous armor. They both enjoy a good costume performance, but she has him as stripped as she feels. Solas says, “Why are we here? To growl at each other like two territorial wolves, and sniff out what the other knows and does not know. Now you know the Blight that is upon us. You know this world have been doomed since Corypheus slaughtered the city of Kirkwall to break open the Black City.” “Before,” Lavellan says. “The Titan. I found your bolthole in the Crossholds. For a man who keeps his secrets close, you do like to dangle half-truth all over your walls.” Solas laughs hollowly. “I paint. That is what I am, before I am called to Mythal’s service.” Lavellan notes the change in tense, but allows it to pass without comment. “So now you know.” “Dread Wolf,” Lavellan says. “Fen’Harel. Fen’Haril. Rebel. At the feet of Mythal. And Pride first, Pride before all. I’ll spare you the pun about the fall.” “Two millennia too late for that,” Solas says. “But you are the only one counting.” She cannot help but smile at that. She stretches her legs and throws herself down to the pier, looking up at the still-visible stars. Solas looks down at her, fondness mixed with sadness. She squints and picks out a familiar pattern to the embroidery of his shirt. “I gave you that,” she says. “My clan sent that to you. I didn’t know you kept it.” She lifts a hand to his collar and examines the filigree. The magic responds, familiar: her aunt Ithilien sewed the pattern, but Deshanna enchanted it. They thought she would bring him home. From his collar, she moves her hand to his neck, traces it down to his collarbone, and contemplates tightening her grip. Solas closes his eyes. “Stop,” he says. She does not remove her hand. His heart beats steadily under her palm. They wait, listening to the waves gently lap against the shore, the planks of the pier creak, the carousing from beyond them, in the alienage cafes. She remembers fucking her first husband down at the docks, both daring in plain view of the moonlight, then more slowly in the shadows, even overturning, laughing, a boat, grabbing at some poor fisherman’s net. She looks up at Solas. She can imagine him grunting, half in pleasure, half in pain, her scrabbling to get him out of his clothes--perhaps someone opening their shutters to see what the noise is about and rolling their eyes at these two horny middle-aged elves. What good would it do, what pleasure would she take from it? She misses sharply the feel of his skin against hers, she misses him holding her hot against him, all those freezing nights. She says, “Do you remember those nights in the Hissing Wastes?” He says, “And those languid days.” He wraps his hand around hers and removes it from his neck. “My heart.” “Melodramatic,” Lavellan says. “Cassandra will love it.” “High intrigue,” he adds. “Devastating to us both.” He lies down next to her and caresses her shoulder. “Varric will pillory me in song. More than he already has.” She snorts. “Truly, he could not have helped Maryden come up with a better rhyme? And the book . That book--is the moonlight still glinting off my ears? Or has the effect changed, since I grew out my hair?” “He misspelled my name,” Lavellan says. “Called me by my matronym. I think he did it on purpose.” “Entertain me,” Solas says. “What ending will Master Tethras write for us? Because I do not know how to leave this gracefully. Though I suppose any ending is better than the last one, when I left with your arm.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Lavellan says, “you’re not allowed to make me laugh after I’ve made you cry.”

“Rules of engagement,” Solas says. “You do not strangle me, I let any cancers you encounter strangle  you--no laughing, but we can both cry.”

Lavellan presses in closer to him, eyes sparkling. “But only in the moonlight, under a,” she glances up quickly, “waning gibbous moon.”

“Obscure as your wit,” Solas says. “Agreed.” A draft of wind shivers over them, and they pull together. Lavellan feels hollow, exhausted, as emotional as the tides sucking at the Val Royeaux beach. Solas is  watching her. He always is. He says, “We will  not meet again.”

“One hopes,” she says. “Why that inn? Why Val Royeaux?”

“Because I am tired,” he says simply. “Because I like this city. I did not want to stay in the alienage and think  of you, and the hotelier did not sneer and call the guard when he saw my ears. And you?”

She parrots back, “Because I am tired. Because I love this city. Because I cannot bring a human to the  alienage, and the hotelier did not call for the guards when me too.” Solas’ eyes flicker, and he pulls away from her. She thinks, jealous? Good. He thinks of her in Val Royeaux, he thinks of her in the  alienage--just this one, or in general? They stayed in the alienage, when Cassandra brought her to testify to  the Chantry. The four of them had had a good time. “You should go to your lover,” Solas says. “Before he wakes.” Lavellan smiles thinly. He thinks she lied to him--a lie of omission, but a lie nonetheless. “And you to your empty bed?” He snorts. “Empty, and lonely, and ever-desiring what I should not. I have not changed much.” She is flattered despite herself, and triumphant, but then remembers that he has always laid the flattery a little too thick. “Desire?” she says teasingly. “What do you want?” He stares at her. “Life. More life. And not to die alone.”

[canadian-buckbeaver]

What is a Name Part 2

Just because Nikki wanted a second part where Iclyn was saved... <3

* * * * * * * 

The doctor groaned as her phone rang shrilly, interrupting her sleep. She had the misfortune of working a double shift on the baby ward and had finally gotten a moment to put her head down and get some much needed rest. Who could be calling her now?  It better be important… she grabbed her phone and sleepily put it to her ear.  “Hello?”

There was a pause before  a gruff clearing of a throat.  The voice that spoke sounded like one that had been recently racked with guilt.  “Hello. Is this the doctor with the baby quirk?”

Or maybe it was a customer. “It is yes. Can I ask who is calling?”

“My name is Shouta Aizawa.  We… my husband and I, ran into you in the grocery store a few months ago?”

Right.  The accidental quirk discharge. The girl had been adorable with those big blue eyes.  “Yes I remember you.  Can I help you?” she asked, trying not to sound harried.  She was so tired.

“Yes… I… we…” another deep breath.  “The girl vanished.”

What a shame.  There had been great potential with that one.  “Did you name her?”

“We… we hadn’t yet no…”

The doctor was doing her best as to not sound annoyed but her precious rest was slipping away.  “I did say that the girl would disappear in three months if she wasn’t given a name.”

Shouta interrupted her this time.  “We still had another day.  It hadn’t been three months yet. We were going to name her we…” his voice broke. “We just needed more time…”

The doctor sighed, sitting up.  “Listen. If the baby appears and is not given a name, they disappear like they were never there.  But if the baby is feeling helpless and incredibly upset, the chances of them disappearing sooner increases.  I only heard of one such case before.  I had bumped into another couple who were not interested in having children.  When the baby seemed to lose all hope that they would get a name, they disappeared much sooner.  It is possible that this happened to your daughter.”

* * *

Shouta swallowed hard, tears dripping down his cheeks slowly. Akarin had been removed from the room by Tetsu, leaving him and Hizashi alone in the room.  “I understand.  Thank you.” He hung up the phone.

Hizashi looked at him.  “Well?” his voice was quivering.

“Apparently if the child loses hope at being named they will disappear sooner…” Shouta said, sitting beside his husband, looking down at Mr. Beary.  “It all makes sense now.  She had been so obsessed with names lately… asking when and why we named the cats, Midnight’s fists, boats, my grandmother…”

“Tetsu said that she had asked when Akarin had been named.” Hizashi mused. “We…. We fucked up.  Didn’t we? She was practically begging to be named, to be loved and we…” he choked out a sob and held the bear to his face, tears staining the fabric.

They sat like that, huddled together, trying to comfort each other and come to the new reality. There they were, surrounded by the few toys that she had, the drawings that she had made, and no daughter to speak of. Not anymore.  She was gone.

There was something else Shouta realized. They sat in silence.  Gone was her little footsteps, gone was her soft noises.  Anything that was associated with her and her alone, were gone.  He missed it already.  He missed her already.

And he wasn’t the only one.

Hizashi lips trembled again.  “She was completely alone when she disappeared.  We were right downstairs the whole time and we knew nothing…”

Shouta shushed him quietly.  “There was no way that we could have known.  She came up here for a reason…”

She didn’t want to burden them with her disappearing Shouta knew. She had given up on getting a name, she didn’t want to force them to name her.  Looking back Shouta could almost describe their actions as cruel. Always putting off the talk of names, not really answering her questions.  They had written it off as idle child curiosity.  But really, she was looking for her own name.  The lock that would tie her to this world.

The symbol of their love for her.

“Shouta… look…” Hizashi carefully pulled the long, curly hair off of the bear.  Not his. It was their daughter’s.  Hizashi’s blond, his waves… their daughter. She had Hizashi’s quirk and Shouta’s quiet thoughtfulness…

And they missed it all.  They were too wrapped up in their own little world to try and make room for one more.

“Iclyn Yamada-Aizawa,” Shouta whispers quietly, taking the hair between his fingers.  “It suits her.”

Hizashi eyed him before smiling softly, wiping at his eyes. “It has a nice ring to it.  Our little Iclyn…”

“Our daughter… we could call her Ice for short.”

“She needs a middle name. Perhaps Kai? Tetsu would love it.” Hizashi suggested.

“Iclyn Kai Yamada-Aizawa. It’s perfect.” A fresh pair of tears traced Shouta’s cheeks.

Hizashi sniffs, holding the bear tightly to him before reaching out for Shouta again.  They embrace tightly, allowing grief to run through them.  The perfect name for a perfect daughter.

Their perfect daughter.

There is a soft, warm whisper of a voiceless whisper and a bright flash of light.  In front of their eyes little Iclyn reforms, her hair falling around her face, hands clasped to her ears and her cheeks as wet as theirs.  She’s trembling and whimpering softly, pressing herself into herself, making herself as small as possible.

They don’t even hesistate.

Together they reach out, gently touching her shoulders and arms before picking her up and pulling her into their embrace.  Mr. Bearey is clutched to her chest as Iclyn slowly opens her eyes, taking in the colour of the world around her, and the feel of her dads’ embrace.  They are whispering soft, loving things to her ear.  How they will not let her go again, how she is there to stay. Little Iclyn is there to stay.  They whisper her name to her again and again, solidifying her in the world again.  Mr. Bearey falls into her lap as she hugs them tight, softly crying. And slowly, slowly she calms.

* * * * *

Iclyn’s cries out desperately, kicking at the darkeness, screaming and sobbing, pleading.  The darkeness is closing in on her, smothering her.  It is whispering how no one loved her, no one wanted to keep her, how she belongs to the dark. That everything will be ok as long as she surrenders to it.  Panic has long since set in.  Her heart races, tears stream down her face, her breathing rapid and shallow.  Her body is trembling as she is stuck in the middle of the extreme panic attack, a downward spiral that has no end.  This cannot be happening again, not again, not again!  She is loved! Her parents named her! Akarin, or Scarlet is her sister and adores her! Where are they? Why aren’t they saving her from the darkness that wants her soul and life and-

There is the whiz of sharp steel and the sound of a falling lock. Iclyn gasps and pulls her hands away from her googles in time to watch the lid of the container she was stuck in fly open with a bang, Stain’s wild silhouette against the brightness of the moon.

For a moment they don’t move, just staring at one another. There is a slight breeze outside, Stain’s scarf waving softly with it.  It smells cool and sweet, like the aftermath of a rainstorm. Yet the air feels warm, comfortable.  She must not have been locked in the container for very long then.  Iclyn gives a hard swallow, attempting to slow her heartbeat and her breathing, trying to stop her tears.  There is nothing to worry about. No absolute darkness, no whispers. She was ok…

Stain stuck a hand in, the bandages dirty and looking like they are steeped in blood.  But he doesn’t say anything, not now. He takes her hand, helping her sit up slowly, and then helping her out of the container.  She brushes herself off, straightening her googles and her blue jacket, making sure her boots were straight along with her directional speaker. It was nothing clunky like her Dad’s more like a tiny, dainty necklace in case she needed to add a boost to her roar. The scarf was still loosely tied around her waist.  Good. Pops would be beyond pissed if she lost another one.  After making sure that she was still intact, she rubbed at her face, cleaning the tears.

“Thank you Stain,” she told her recently reformed partner.  “I appreciate you getting me out of there…” she didn’t want to know what he needed to do to save her.

There’s a whisper of wings and a soft breeze before she finds herself wrapped up in arms and wings. “Iclyn! Thank Kami you’re safe… the villains split up after they captured you and cast a hologram. I’ve been chasing at least five other groups before I got here.  Thank Kami that Stain managed to get you out.  How are you? How do you feel?” Hawks pulled back enough to let him look at her, tucking her hair behind her ears and gently wiping her tears away.

“I’m better now…” she admits, her voice still wavering. Seems like she still wasn’t over her claustrophobia yet. She took a breath.  “Come on.  Let’s find Scarlet and Ground Zero. Before I was pushed into that container I think I heard their code for reinforcements.”

“That would explain the armoured cars that were in the distance,” Hawks says as he looks in the direction.  “Are you going to be ok, Iclyn?  Do you want to stop for a break or something?”

“I’ll be fine.” Iclyn says firmly, adjusting her googles.  “Come on.  Can’t let my dad’s worry too much or I won’t be allowed out, ever again.”

Stain gently ruffles her hair, the soft gesture enough to make her pause. He’s looking at her, an intense, unreadable look to his eyes. “Let’s make them pay, Ice Dragon.” He says, removing his hand.  

Iclyn smiles.  It isn’t her normal smile, but one that looks like a strange mix of Mic and Eraser.  “Let’s go.”

[visarnezam]

At the Rising of the Moon

The forge filled with the remnants of battle, anguished cries echoing within mountainous chambers.  “The Scion is dead!” shrieked the woeful chant that found the Lord Commander’s throbbing ears as he lay secluded from the others.  He knew it looked like the all-consuming brand that had covered his body were it not for the notably sanguine coloration of the crystals forming beneath his helm.

“The Scion is dead,” wailed another feminine voice, one which finally tethered to his cognition.  The half-melted helm whose chromatic residue had left imprints upon the crimson stalagmites glimmering as they swelled over the chasm where a simple scar once resided.  He could feel the blood draw from his veins and tire his heart as it began to form into the granite, pulsating shell.  His life force was leaving the internal machinations of his form, draining and waning his consciousness.  It eclipsed his right pectoral entirely now, crawling like the ground-eating molten eruption of a volcano toward the last of his living beats. 

His eyes peeled toward the domal ceiling, the rubble that rained down, having come loose from the Elder Dragon tearing through Melandru’s snow-capped dagger.  It was a respite he longed for, in truth, knowing well the curse laid upon him by the betrayers would swallow him soon.  A deep, bari-bass timbre serenaded a once jolly war-tune as he resigned, palms laid upward, titan's frame dressed in crimson crucifixion as he slumped against the rampart in absolute seclusion.

One more word for signal token, whistle out the marching tune With your pike upon your shoulder at the rising of the moon At the rising of the moon, at the rising of the moon With your pike upon your shoulder at the rising of the moon

The image of his betrothed, a child upon her hip and the other trailing to tug at her skirt forced a small smile to his lips.  The corruption lived in him all this time, stole from his ability to hold her as close as he wanted, to let his daughter, or son touch his features.  The impending doom had left him now as the mind directed toward the chambers of a young, gallant Vice Legate whose tawny beauty matched only by her ferocity as she reigned the justice he’d long fought so hard to purge.  

He was the last of the corrupt, the only good within him have twisted spears with the recruit, whispered brotherhood to the captain and promised fealty to those upon the ship as war waged before.  The wyvern, the harpies washing over the deck as the viperine fleet fought on, sailed through the ear leaving explosions like rhythmic drums remembered within his ears.

Out from many a mud walled cabin eyes were watching through the night Many a manly heart was beating for the blessed morning's light Murmurs ran along the valley to the banshee's lonely croon And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon.

He went quiet now, the walls erected to seal away the branded, blasting with crimson veins of lightning to reveal his affliction after all these years.  After all these years when he must dart off as the corruption swallowed.  It was his only secret, that which haunted and plagued the ones he loved, the doctor whose lips were sealed with each tear of the crystals of his spine.  He continued the sluggish, waxing ballad as his lips could no longer propel the words, simply mouth the gurgled hum as the crystalline stalagmite pierced inward, the rupturing cardio walls spasming as it consumed him.  However, beyond what closed lids could see, approached a shrouded figure who continued the echo with a newly enriched cadence, that of operatic practice and unfailing pitch.

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon All along that singing river, that black mass of men was seen High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green.

“I knew you would be here, my brother in war,” murmured the quiet Aguillard with a small cruiser vessel having hovered in his wake.  The languid, serpentine silhouette slipped behind the bloodstone mass fearlessly, his know vacuumed penchant for magic absorbing the wistful attempts to breach his own resolve.

Death to every foe and traitor, whistle out the marching tune And hoorah me boys for freedom 'tis the rising of the moon 'Tis the rising of the moon, 'tis the rising of the moon And hoorah me boys for freedom 'tis the rising of the moon.

And within moments, the ship slipped through one of the unblocked corridors leading outside, rising to the massive vessel that had barely dodged the departure of the dragon.  Within mere moments, the chattering crew carried the Vabbian into the depths of the medbay where the young countess stood. Regaled in a succinct, violet and obsidian admiral’s coat, the Countess awaited in solitude for her cousin to arrive.

As the sunkissed, molten behemoth was laid upon a padded, surgical slab, she watched with every calmed, azure hues angled by the unblemished heritage coursing through her veins.  “How did you find him?” Asked the dulcet croon to the mischievous lord. Fernand responded, reaching down to snap one of the grown stalagmites from his chest to expose the entombed organ beneath, an obscured view to the Mesmer as she leaned over.

“Alone.  His eyes closed as it overtook him.  He never saw me,” he assured.

The conclusion left the woman’s lips as she eased a hand downward.  The fuchsia embellishment of an elaborate time piece sealed upon the ruinous left pectoral.  “And he never shall,” she chanted, the lost language rooted within Kurzick secrecy hushed as the single, dominant hand of the warped timepiece began to forcibly tick backwards.  The bloodstone’s influence retreated, sending jolts through the Commander’s frame, the shock of a secondary magical force to conflict with the first tearing through him, shredding the calm of death with seizing ruptures.   Another tick, another seize to pair with a leonine roar marring his vocals, even without the sight of his crystallized eye.   She glanced to the physician shrouded behind her.

“He must be sedated until these can be removed from his chest and spine,” the lead physician announced as Tylen began to slip away, concealing a subtle stagger in her gate as best she could.  The other, looming figure unveiled himself to be the broad, corded frame of Doctor Dietrich Aguillard. His sturdy billed pillared against Tylen as they retreated.

Disquieted by what was transpiring, Fernand made his way to the forward deck of the ship, realizing only after he’d emerged into the daylight – and could not gracefully change his mind – that his cousin was there. Keleb Aguillard, the Count.

Months ago, he’d have veered to another mundane task as to not agitate the brewing tension only he caused.  But since the building of the dreadnought and its offering to Keleb, much of the toiling grief he had projected upon the Count withered.  No longer did the man threaten his worth, but expand upon it, simply allow the architect to exist in predetermined talents, commitment. Here in Fernand’s natural habitat, his years-long rivalry with the Count arrived at a cool impasse.

He joined Keleb and stood beside him. In silence, they watched the sun chase the moon out of the great arc of the storming sky.

“She has wound it back enough for his heart to beat again,” Fernand said, “but he will be comatose.”

Keleb clasped his hands behind his back, breathed a sigh. “Like last time.  His life will be in pieces, now.”

“Like mine,” Fernand said. His expression was thoughtful, humbled. “I used to wonder why she never did this for Stella. But I understand now what I was not ready to hear all those months ago.”

Keleb nodded, but wisely did not break the silence that followed.

“I apologize,” Fernand went on, with difficulty, “for my anger. Tylen has a responsibility to use her magic in a way that doesn’t cause –“

He faltered, swallowed and wet his lips. “Well. You know what can happen. I realize now that I was a mistake.”

“You were not,” interjected the Count before the self-imposed woe could descend entirely upon Fernand. It was a validation Fernand had longed for from the Countess.  And though it was not delivered by her, one of the few who had known every fabric of her nebulous behaviors so starkly confirming allowed the tension ribboned between shoulder blades to unknit a mere trice.

“She has learned from you. That is true.”  A pregnant pause permeated their existential proximity. “You are a great engineer, Cousin, but also a soldier,” he continued. “And Aguillard soldiers do not kneel to the enemy, even if that enemy is death. You must fight every battle until the wars are finished.”

As if in answer, the hull of Anne’s Revenge groaned beneath their feet. But a courier stepped out into the daylight.

“My Lord, Count Aguillard, you wish me to send the Lord Commander’s letter?” echoed the young steward.

Amidst the exchange, the Countess, the Priestess, the Physician all emerged from the bowels of the dreadnought.   The true-blooded Aguillards began to pour outward and face the incoming dawn as a singular force.

“Send word to Stella what occurred tonight.  Tell her of the ships, tell her of the dead rising again as branded, tell her of the Scion and the Elder Dragon’s retreat.  Tell her not of the Lord Commander. That news we must control, until we know what he remembers.” The courier nodded once more, vanishing inside as Rinaldo unveiled from prior vestige within the missile chambers below the deck, standing in mismatched rows and absolute silence.

  @stellasparkles @dietrichaguillard @theaguillardfamily @krytanministry

[mathiaskillmaster]

Rebirth of the Dragon (After GOT / Daenerys Targaryen) Part 14

Essos, Volantis

Another week had passed. After swearing his oath to the Queen of Dragons, Cade had returned to the Golden Company's encampment to announce the news to his men. Daenerys came in person with him, accompanied by Yara, Grey Worm, and Shen-zoan. She had to be present in order to leave a choice to the former mercenaries: join her or not. She promised them that no harm would be done to them if they refused to join the Order of the Golden Dragons, but in return they should not become obstacles to her. Among the 500 men of Cade, 300 accepted the offer and joined Cade to form the new order of knights created by Daenerys. The 200 remaining men were able to leave, as she had promised, abandoning once and for all their status as mercenaries of the now extinct Golden Company.

With the allegiance of the captain Cade and his 300 men, Daenerys also obtained the 10 war elephants, magnificent and powerful creatures with their own combat armors, which, according to Cade, could only be ridden by the most experienced men of the Company. Fortunately, 10 of the men who had sworn allegiance to all the remaining ones proved to be able to control the elephants. With this heavy cavalry, Daenerys knew that the power of her new army was again increased tenfold, reinforcing her determination to march against the slave empire and free Slaver's Bay again.

Unfortunately, with all the hardships since her return, Daenerys was more and more stressed, almost unable to sleep on certain nights, and still had some nightmares. It was Shen-zoan who humbly offered a cure from his country, Yi Ti, and Daenerys accepted, trusting her friend.

For this, Daenerys was now in a quiet little room of the temple, away from the places of rites so that absolute silence reigns. Having taken off her clothes, wearing only a white towel around her breasts and another to hide her crotch, Daenerys sits on a small wooden table, while Shen-zoan, standing in front of a small desk, took care of open a box taken in his travel bag and containing very small and thin needles. Daenerys shuddered a little as he saw them, raising an eyebrow. Seeing her cautious in front of the needles, Shen-zoan smiled and reassured her.

_ "Do not worry, majesty, it does not hurt."

_ "How do you name this .... special medicine?" asked the young queen.

_ "Acupuncture if I remember, but I think they decided to change the name."

_ "And, what will that do to me?"

_ "Let's say ...." Shen explained, "by punctuating certain specific places of the body, it is possible to realign the energies that compose us, in order to bring back a semblance of balance and harmony in our body. After all you've been through, majesty, I think it can only do you good."

It seemed almost like a kind of mystical rite in Dany's ears, but once again she trusted Shen, who more than once had proved his worth and devotion to her. He never stopped to surprise her. She watched him sometimes wander about his business. Yara, too, talking to Daenerys, sometimes said that Shen spent a lot of time contemplating the landscapes around him, sitting for hours without talking or moving. He was fond of drawing, writing, playing a flute he had brought with him from his country and which formerly belonged to his late master, as well as smoking a grass with a strong but pleasant odor in a wooden pipe.

She had also seen him training a few times, practicing alone this particular and fascinating art of combat, fast movements and incredible precision. She also understood why he was nicknamed "Windwalker" because indeed, the air around him seemed to accompany him and dance around him in his combat movements.

As indicated by the man of Yi Ti, Daenerys lay on her stomach, her bare back lit by the orange glow of the candles lighting the room. Shen first stepped forward, smearing her hands with a lotion of sweet almond scent that nicely caressed Daenerys' nostrils.

_ "A special oil from my country, specially made to increase the efficiency of the circulation of energies in the body during the process ..... Can I, majesty?" he asked again, very humbly. She looked at him and nodded. From the flat of his palms, Shen began to apply the oil to the soft skin of the queen's back. The sudden freshness of the oil made her shudder, but not in an unpleasant way. She also felt the muscles in her back relax slowly. Daenerys, out of the corner of his eye, watched Shen. The man was very concentrated in his task, not allowing himself to be disturbed for a single second by the vision of the half-naked body of the queen. Daenerys admired that also from Shen. His restraint and respect towards women's bodies. She wondered sometimes if he did not prefer men? Or maybe he loved both men and women? Where, then, had his particular teaching in this art of meditation and combat raised him above all this? Did he no longer feel the need for the pleasure of the flesh? So many questions....

_ "Tell me, Shen ...." Daenerys suddenly asked "... now that I remember it, during our meeting, you didn't show any surprise when you saw Drogon."

Shen smiled as he continued to massage the queen's back with the oil and answered with great candor.

_ "If dragons are often described as ferocious and destructive beasts, where I come from, they are seen as spirits with great powers, guardians of nature, both benevolent and capricious. Some of them can bring the moon and the night, others good weather and sun, perpetuating the cycles of days and seasons.... "

_ "Are there any dragons in Yi Ti?" asked Daenerys, her irises shining of a nascent fascination.

_ "I can not say, majesty, I have never seen ..... but some say they heard their singings resound beyond the Mountains of the Morn, in the lands of the far east of Yi Ti. Some even say they have seen them .... tall, majestic, wingless but floating in the air ... their long, slender bodies like snakes dancing over the peaks in the twilight, their scales shining like jade and reflecting the light of the sun and the moon .... "

While listening to this most fascinating story, like a tale, Daenerys set eyes on the little throbbing flame of a candle sitting in front of her, seeing almost the dancing silhouettes of Yi Ti's dragons, hearing almost the distant echoes of their songs in their ears .... Daenerys felt nothing around her, seeing only the candle, the flame forming almost the peaks of the distant mountains of the lands of Yi Ti, the distant and graceful forms great spinning and dancing dragons under the midnight moon ....

Shen-zoan after properly applying the oil, then began to implant the first needle in the back of Daenerys, who does not even react, feeling no pain.

_ "Tell me about Yi Ti, Shen ....." Daenerys said, being all ears and eager to hear more about this legendary but little-known country from the rest of the world. Shen smiled to see the dragon queen's curiosity and was happy to tell her.

_ "A long long time ago, The Maiden Made of Light and the Lion of Night gave birth to an only son, the God-on-Earth, who founded the Great Empire of the Dawn and thus becoming the first god emperor. The empire stretched from the Bones Mountains to the Gray Waster, from the Jade Sea to the Shivering Sea, and the Emperor was traveling in a large palanquin, carved from a single pearl, and carried by one hundred women, the hundred queens of the god emperor."

One hundred queens for one sovereign? Daenerys was more than surprised.

_ "The emperor reigned thus for ten thousand years ...." continued Shen-zoan "... before going to join his ancestors among the stars, and thus leaving his place to his eldest son, the Pearl Emperor, who succeeded him as the new ruler of Yi Ti."

Daenerys listened without losing a word, more than fascinated by what she listened to as Shen continued to place the needles, one by one, with delicacy and precision. A sovereign revered as a god, described as the child of a couple of deities and having reigned supreme for several millennia ..... It seemed too mystical to be true, but after all that she had seen in her life, and having herself been plunged into fire without suffering the least injury, brought back to life by the will of a god of flames and light, the boundary between the world of mortals and that of the magic had become more and more thin ....

_  "I'd like to visit Yi Ti someday ..." Daenerys said softly, feeling the relaxing effects slowly invading his body. Shen understood the young woman's desire, but suddenly seemed less smiling, as if remembering much less happy things.

_ "I'm afraid it's impossible, majesty ..." he said, almost apologetically for having to say "... our country was once a powerful and prosperous empire, but that time is now over ... Today, Yi Ti is nothing more than a war-torn land, divided into several kingdoms, each emperor wanting to establish his dominion over the others, creating even more conflicts...."

Daenerys was sorry for Shen on hearing this. Seeing that the subject had plunged Shen into darker thoughts, she chose not to say anything anymore, not wanting to make him feel more uncomfortable and let him continue his medicinal treatment.

********** That night, in the temple of Volantis now plunged into the utmost silence, Daenerys found herself somewhere again, in a place that seemed to her both unknown and familiar.

Dressed in her elegant and light white silk night dress fluttering in the breeze, Daenerys walked in the midst of an infinite field of grass and wild flowers rocked by the wind, under a clear sky without any cloudy presence. She felt good, light, as if freed from a huge weight on her shoulders. Stroking the stems of the grass with her fingertips while walking and feeling the sweetness of the earth beneath her bare feet, the young queen looked around her, wondering where she could be this time, this dream still appearing very real to her this time.

She then noticed, in the middle of this field, an isolated brick dwelling, very well maintained and looking more than familiar. Step by step, Daenerys felt her heart leap when she recognized the house at the red door, where she spent part of her happy childhood. This house so dear to her heart that she wanted to see again at any cost. A pleasant smell came to greet the nostrils of the young woman .... a smell also familiar ..... lemon ...... Looking to his left, she saw there the little lemon tree of her childhood, standing just under one of the windows of the house, that of her room of yore. Daenerys remembered. Every morning she would wake up early to open the window and admire the rising of the new sun while inhaling with interest the sweet smell of lemons growing on the branches. She had always loved this smell, just as she loved lemon to taste. Viserys did not care about all this, only dreaming of one day being able to reconquer the throne of the family. Daenerys, as a child, had never known all that and aspired only to lead a peaceful life. Daenerys sighed, immersed in all these memories as her palm touched the dry trunk of the tree. As she thought about it, she almost wished she had remained the innocent and dreamy girl, to stay away from all the conflicts and power games that had brought her so much suffering and led her to death. She picks a lemon on one of the lower branches, probing her skin and sniffing her scent. She wanted to eat in, to remember a little more of her happy memories ....

_ "Daenērys Targārien ....."

Daenerys froze as the echo of that disembodied voice in Upper Valyrian crossed her, wringing a shiver through her body, dropping the lemon at her feet. The wild grasses also shivered in the violent squall that suddenly arose. Daenerys turned to see anxiously the red door of the house slowly open in a loud grinding.

_ "Māzigon isse ...."

The ghostly voice came from inside and invited him in. Daenerys recognized that voice. She had heard it many times, the first was during the ritual that brought her back to life. While she was still in the arms of death, that voice had called her, pulling her out of the clutches of death. As if attracted by this voice and not being able to resist, Daenerys advanced to the red door and entered the enclosure of the house, in a room of darkness as opaque as ink. Once in, the door slammed shut behind her, making her jump, blocking any possibility of going back.

The darkness vanished and Daenerys was now standing in the middle of a totally different place and this time, plunged her into memories far more painful ... Winterfell! She was in the middle of the courtyard of the Winterfell castle, very much recognizing the place and feeling the biting snow beneath her feet this time. The beating and breathing heart growing louder and louder, Daenerys looked around her without seeing a living soul.

Winterfell was a ruin, swept by the winds from the north making crack the wood of the foundations and the snow gradually covering the buildings with its thick white coat. The only sounds heard were those of crows roosting on the rooftops and jabbering incessantly. Daenerys wanted to take a step, and felt under her foot the texture of a fabric. Looking down, she saw a more than recognizable banner, the Stark Wolf, half buried in the snow but also slashed in half. Daenerys swallowed, contemplating this ghostly domain. What could have happened here? An icy wind enveloped her, forcing her to curl her arms around her body to protect herself, her silk dress not protecting her from the polar temperature that reigned. Quickly, she ran to take refuge inside the first building, before finishing frozen.

She came in, barring the door to keep the cold out. But turning around, she gasped in horror, paralyzed on the spot. In front of her was the great Hall of Winterfell, devastated, the tables and chairs upside down, the slabs of stone walls and soil impregnated with pool of blood .... but most of all, several bodies, nailed to the walls like butterflies in the window of a collector, and around them spirals made with bloody human limbs. Among the dead bodies, Daenerys recognized them all .... Jorah, Missandei, the head of Rhaegal, Grey Worm, Shen-zoan, Cade, Jon Snow ..... there they were, dead, disemboweled like animals, their blood having spread at their feet .....

_ "NOOOOOO! NOOOOO! NOOOOO!!" Daenerys fell on her knees before them, screaming, shedding tears and pounding the ground with her little fists. She was tired of these horror visions, of all that, she could not stand it anymore. When will the gods stop tormenting her? What an odious message did they want to tell her?

The big chimney in Winterfell's room suddenly glowed in incandescent flames, surprising Daenerys who stopped crying, staring at something in particular. In front of the fireplace, the back in front of Daenerys on a large seat, a dark figure was sitting, the fingers of his shady hands gently patting the wood of the chair. She seemed wrapped in a sort of very long coat of shadows, a raised hood hiding the head. Daenerys felt immediately crushed by that presence whose aura had suddenly invaded the room, plunging it into a great darkness and only the flames coming to bring light.

Very slowly, Daenerys went to her feet, tears drying on her cheeks and without looking away from the shadow sitting in the seat and at no time seemed to pay attention to her. Daenerys wanted to take a step towards her, but was restrained by an immense and invisible force, preventing him from approaching this person, or rather, that thing whose mere physical presence was enough to make her shudder.

_ "Konīr ao māstan naejot nyke, ñuha kivio mēre."

You have finally come to me, my chosen one. Daenerys understood what he was saying, but recognized again the voice that made her eardrums and skull shake, much closer than before and even making the walls tremble. When he spoke, the flames roared, intensifying for a few seconds. Daenerys swallowed, feeling the slightest part of her body tremble, but remained straight despite everything. She knew who he was ....

_ "You ..... you are ...... the one the red priests are calling ....." she began to say.

_ "R'hllor!!" suddenly shouted out the cavernous and inhuman voice, interrupting Daenerys, who, surprisingly, stepped back, as the flames roared like a monster trying to extricate itself from the chimney.

_ "Naenie brōzāt sia tepagon naejot nyke, yn iksan iēdrosa keskydoso, Konīr's mērī nyke ..... se ao, Mirre se ra glaestan jemagon ao naejot nyke."

Many names were given to me, but I remain the same. There is only me ..... and you. All the things that you have lived until now have led you to me.

_ "What ..... what do you want from me? Why did you choose me?" asked Daenerys, anxious to finally get an answer to this question, and who better than the master of light himself to provide this answer? But would he? Intermingling the long, thin fingers of her hands with each other, without turning away from the fire, the entity did not answer at once, seeming to evaporate in the air and reappear every second that passed.

_ "Mērī kostā keligon skoros kessa massigon Skoros ao ūndegon iksis skoros kessa sagon lo ao qringaomagon se vōljes lēda hāre kasta laesi iksis māzis, is mērī mīre qilōni kostagon iōragon is egros ázma hen perzys kostagon keligon zirȳla."

Only you can stop what will happen. What you saw there are the consequences of your failure ..... the raven with three blue eyes is coming, and only the one who can brandish the sword born of fire and ashes, can stop it.

The sword born of fire? Daenerys remembered that sword she recovered in the flames .... A vision as clear as water appeared to her like a flash before the eyes ..... she and Jon faced each other, both standing in the middle of a field of snow and ashes, and Jon staggered, his face haggard, while the blade of the sword of Daenerys had just pierced his heart, impregnating the silver blade of the weapon that was being covered by a growing, glowing flame ... Daenerys drove this vision out of her eyes and fell back, panting and trembling. The shadow and the flames in the chimney had vanished in the darkness, only the seat remained, empty, and again the heavy silence reigning as master.

Daenerys decided not to stay here for a second longer and hastened to open the door of the Great Hall, preferring to face the cold from the outside. But when she opened it, she found herself again in front of the house at the red door, under the heat and light of the great sun, among the grasses and the wild flowers. She also saw the lemon tree, unchanged, but this time, two people stood at the foot of the tree, and did not seem to notice the presence of the young woman. Daenerys, once again, remained frozen on the spot, unable to speak or even to think about what she saw.

It was she .... she saw herself there, at the foot of the lemon tree, a little older, and dressed very simply in a long azure dress and a violet fine silk shawl. And with her, sitting on her knees, a lovely little girl, with braided silver hair, and black eyes, that the second Daenerys hugged, both enjoying themselves and watching the lemons together. They were close to her, but their laughter seemed so distant, like echoes fading into the air.

Daenerys contemplated this scene seeming to come from another time or perhaps simply from her imagination. A tear flowed gently on her cheek.

The vision Daenerys then wore what was surely her daughter at arm's length, raising her to one of the branches so she could pick a ripe lemon, which she did. Around her wrist she wore a silver bracelet, shaped like a three-headed dragon. The little girl laughed, holding the fruit in her hand, but suddenly became more serious, slowly turning her attention to another direction.

The heart of the real Daenerys leapt into her chest. The little girl was staring at her. She wanted to reach out to that little girl, come and touch her ....

But Daenerys suddenly opened her eyes, pulled out of her sleep and found herself in her bed, in the middle of her room in the temple of Volantis. The night was still here. Daenerys sat under the sheets, a deep melancholy overwhelming her, her throat knotted, and felt the trace of the tear she had shed earlier on her cheek, touching her with fingertips. With her other hand, she gently touched her belly that continued slowly but surely to round. Outside, in the distance, she suddenly heard the howl of an animal to the full moon .... the howling of a wolf ....

[selenecrawford]

Selene Crawford: Baba Yaga, The Dragon , The Seamstress

Warning: Cursing, gun violence and car violence (don't worry you will see)

Tobias took a stroll slowly around the place, the stores, the people, the sound of trading. Nothing had changed much. He could still see him and Selene running around trying to escape their lessons with Ian on their backs cursing worse than a sailor. Time sure does not show mercy on people. It was almost ten years since the time he had to choose between duty, family and love. Of course his loyalty reside on Ian his only family. Selene on the other hand never thought on place loyalties. She was too pure for that. For her loyalty was an entire different affair. Escaping her fate, Tobias smirked at the memory. Always the dreamer Selene talked about being a productive member of society. Never thought that she was damaged, that society didn't have use for a being like her. People loved her and cared for her. Anywhere she went, people gravitated around her. How many times old people confused her with workers at the supermarket asking for where they could find certain product.

Certain memories hurt more than others yet, he never doubt that Selene will be a great woman. Unfortunately, neither luck or destiny was not on her side, she was chosen to be part of the shadows. To be one of the Grim reapers children, and yet her light never faded. Too bad her time was over. It was now her time to face the reapers wrath for betraying the code, for betraying the hand that feed her, for betraying him.

Passing by the stores he finally reached the end of the road. The sea, was before him, mysterious yet so intoxicating beautiful. Tobias, never wanted to come back he was content traveling the world, but his fate was already written. He will follow his path already chose for him. Never showing weakness, never letting emotions take the best of him. He learned his lessons very well and always stick to them. Ever since pledge his life to the clan, Tobias never lacked anything. Not money, nor luxury, not women. Love was ephemeral, yet at some point he missed it, well maybe sometimes.  A sad smile draw on his lips. Even that was already written for him. Love a wonderful thing he used to crave, until interferes with your path. Turning around he left a rose lying on the ground. It was enough, the time for memories was over now it was back to business. Its time the student who now became the teacher, start his lessons. To practice all that learned in order to fulfill his mission in life. A child of Baba Yaga, he became Ankou the reaper, which what he is right now.

Mai took Nobunaga, Hideyoshi and Kenshin with her to her warehouse. Her base of operations which was in a secluded part outside the city. The trip to the warehouse was done in silence, but from time to time Nobunaga side glance at Mai while she was at the driving. A man of commanding words, he felt at lost for the first time in many years. Mai was a precious petite woman and he was attracted to her. Shaking his head Nobunaga tried to clear his mind up.

“Something wrong, Sir?”

“No, Hideyoshi, just clearing my mind. Things are just unclear as ever.” said Nobunaga. (Damn it, this is no time to think about her).

“Selene, always told me you were a strict boss , but I can see there is more than meets the eye.” Mai's smile was like a bright ray of sunshine.

“So, How you know Selene?” Kenshin went direct to the point while observing Nobunaga.

“We went to high school together, after that we lost contact until we bump into each other at the docks. I had a small store my dream of making a business as a fashion designer were starting. One day, Selene got hurt, and while I was taking care of her and idea of making a bulletproof clothes was born. After selling the first suit I haven't look back. Selene refused to take credit with me. For her it was more important that I managed to get out of the docks. She had always been there. Now is my turn to help. She is just a wonderful girl. She deserves to be happy.” Mai's explanation was heartfelt full of love for her friend.

“Well we arrived. Now don't touch anything if you don't want to loose an extremity that is.” her a matter of fact tone, left no room for jokes.

The trio look at each other and followed Mai inside the warehouse. Inside the place was empty, once they cross the distance of two buildings they entered a cargo elevator and went down. The silence was deafening and yet they didn't dare to break it. In a movement that although lasted 10 minutes for them it seemed longer they finally reached their lower level. The office was completely modern technology Several wall monitors showed the surroundings of the surface around the warehouse. As well as around the docks.

“Selene wanted to keep an eye on the docks. Although she never voice it out loud she never trusted Ian McCloud. And she was right.” turn her view to one of the monitors Tobias can be seeing walking around the docks.

“Who is that?” asked Hideyoshi.

“Ankou a children of Baba Yaga.” Lancelot's voice interrupted the peace of the room. With him Kincaid who approached the quartet with grim faces. “Ian is the one behind us. He is bitter that Selene never adapted to us. The Clan of Baba Yaga, a group who was thought dead long ago, but we had to found out like this that is not.” said Kincaid with a regretful voice.

“Apparently, Selene and Tobias McCloud were selected a the new generation to revive the clan, with the setback that Selene never intended to be an assassin.” Lancelot's voice was full of regrets.

“We are here to help. I know Selene is holding up until we get her.” Kincaid added in a reassuring tone.

Mai went to the wall opposite them and open it up. A room full of suits were available as well as many types of guns, rifles and swords.

“Gentlemen have fun. Take as much as you want. It's on the house. As long as you can get Selene back safe and sound.” Mai signed at the display and Nobunaga gave her an appreciative calculated smile.

“What makes you think I take orders from no one?”

“Oh but this is not an order Mr. Oda, this is plea from a desperate woman who knows who you really are.” Mai's tone challenged Nobunaga's arrogance. She got him there. Which means that Mai was a woman to not take lightly.

“ Well then let's see what you got for us.” concede Nobunaga.

“About damn time.” said Kenshin who already was looking at the clothes.

“I already arrange for Masamune to be transfer here to keep him safe. As well as Mitsurani and the others.” this time Lancelot added while finishing a text message.

“Then lets wait for the other to get a plan. Knowing Ian he might as well will led us to a trap as soon as he can.”

Masamune was running among the fog, his labored breath made him stop. He tried calling Selene but no voice went out of his mouth. Taking a break Masamune took time to recover, feeling anxious due to his surroundings he heard footsteps approaching him. Masamune went looking for his gun but he was unarmed. Making an effort he closed his hands at his sides into fists. The fog started to cleared and soon he recognized the silhouette walking towards him.

“Father?” asked a startled Masamune.

“Son, how are you? It's been a while.” the man smile softly at the sight of his son.

“But you...?”

“I know I'm dead. But there are times when even death cannot detain a father from helping his son.” posing a hand on Masamune's shoulder he started to recover his breathing and calm himself down.

“We must keep walking there is something we need to talk. Tell me how things are for you?”

Both started walking while the fog was dispersing at their path. Masamune felt at ease with his father, and confided in him his love for Selene. His fear of losing her and how he let her being taken from him.

“I don't know what to do father.” his voice was lost defeated.

“You never had doubted yourself Masamune, for you it has always been walking forward. Never dared to second guess yourself, why now?” Terumune Date asked his son with raised eyebrows.

“I don't know, I guess I don't want to loose her the same way I lost you.” Masamune looked at his father with regret. Taking his life in order to save the rest of the family was one of the worst decisions Masamune had to take in his life.

“You did the honorable thing son. It was not easy but you did. I never blamed you for that. If you love this woman, be there for her, she needs you now.”

“How?” Masamune was still unconvinced that he could help Selene.

“Your heart, my son, let your heart will guide you.” with this Terumune Date continued to walk and disappeared.

Closing his eye Masamune put his hand on his chest and started to hear Selene's voice calling him.

“Masamune.” her sounded sweet and sad, a plea that went answered.

As he had conjured her imagine, scenes from the past months started a parade in his mind. Her smile, her tears, her love, her embarrassment. All the faces and reactions that he loved and adored. His heart, started beating with a renew purpose and opening his eye he looked to the light with a new goal. As he walked by the light became engulf by it until he finally opened his eye and took around.

Ieyasu was next to him when he saw Masamune opening his eyes.

“Welcome back Masamune. How are you feeling?”

“I could be better, but the description is being kicked on the chest by a mule. Ouch.”

“Easy, easy.” Ieyasu leveled the bed until he was sited. “Fortune was with you this time. If you haven't been wearing that suit you will be dead by now.” after that he showed Masamune the jacket.

Masamune touch the fabric softly remembering Selene's face when she gave it to him.

“Any news about,...her, about Selene?” it was hard telling her name but he needed to keep his wits together.

“Not yet, but we need to move you out of danger just in case. I'm putting you an anti-inflammatory and a pain killer. It won't knock you out but at least you will move.” said Ieyasu.

With the Help of Ieyasu and Mitsurani Masamune got dressed and were on his way when a group of motorcycles came to their encounter.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me. Mitsurani get the car. And you better take it easy.” said Ieyasu to Masamune.

The group started shooting as soon as they spotted Ieyasu and Masamune. Without any weapons they were easy target. The bullets were dangerously inching near until the roar of the RTR approaching them silenced the rain of bullets. Mitsurani was coming in reverse at 5 meters from them, spinning the car in a 180 degrees, drift to be in between Masamune and Ieyasu.

“Getting in.” he shouted while shooting back in order to give Masamune and Ieyasu time to get in the car.

“Go, go, go” shouted Ieyasu once they were inside.

Without losing time Mitsurani push the pedal and they went away.

Their attackers went on the pursuit, and started following and gaining distance.

“Do you have any more guns?” asked Ieyasu trying to look for one.

“Yeah on the back of the car.” said Masamune with a pained expression.

“Great just great, what the fuck?, They are gaining distance, how are we supposed to loose them?” said Ieyasu.

Just in that moment one motorcycle came next to Ieyasu ready to shoot when a car on the opposite side of the road smashed the motorcycle and the driver with it. The car a  1969 Ford Mustang Boss 429 in red with black racing strips gave a turn around taking in one sweep at least 3 other motorcycles; then began to follow them. Only two motorcycles remained and they decided to abandoned the pursuit and returned to base. Once alone the car accelerated and get to the side.

“You guys OK?” it was Shingen with Yuki and Sasuke.

“Yeah, thanks for the save.” said Mitsurani.

“We got a call follow us.” with this the cars went to Mai's warehouse.

“Welcome guys, is everything OK?” Mai was a bit anxious at the look of bullet holes on the RTR.

“Whoever it was wanted us dead.” responded Mitsurani.

“No fucking kidding Captain obvious.” Ieyasu was pissed off.

“At least we are OK. What's the plan?” asked Shingen trying to sound nonchalant about it.

“We will hit them before they hit us again.”

Everyone turned around to see Nobunaga, Hideyoshi and Kenshin dress to perfection on black suits and armed to the teeth.

@datemasamunemaiwaifu @elievalentine @unstoppablelinda @colivara @epicdragonlady @yeshasays @xathia-89 @blue-bean-exe @kimi00twin @pirateprincessyuki @sengokuotaku82 @cailannuesugi @notsafefortum-blr @jennacat84 @masa-little-kitten @kouei116 @la-piperina @shouta-bakugou

Notes: sorry for any mistake I will check it as soon as I get some rest. Thank you.

[thankyouforchoosingoptionone]

Eldritch Book one Cht 1

    The salt on the wind left his lips dry and cracked, too many days at sea. He didn’t keep track of it he just tried to sleep the most of them away, though it's hard to sleep when you are force to stand, or other wise hang by the wrists as shoulder height shackles keep you bound. The chains of the shackles were engraved with Elven spells made specifically for him. The inhibit manna flow and prevented him from using his magic. The dark confines of his cell were made even lonelier when you count he was the only prisoner being transported. He sat against the white oak of the ship the best he could with the irons digging into his wrists.

     He felt the irons bite, but soon he smiled to the sweet feeling of exhaustion and sleep. He was sure he was being taken to be executed, so this was luxury to him, a bit of sleep again. "You're not done yet.". He awoke to the sudden and deafening blow of a cannon ball through the hull, blasting apart the steel bars of his cage and sending a scatter spray of splinters all directions. "Good morning to you too…" He jests with a smirk in his cage. A bell starts ringing full speed above him, he laughs at the music of chaos the elves displayed. "The yellow skins act like they've never been attacked by pirates."

   Outside the ship, a massive Golden wood built ship with crimson sails was attacking this prisoner cargo carrier. Cannons lined in triangular triple gun patterns on the top row, but single more tight together on the bottom. The figurehead bore 3 serpent like necks connecting to individual unique dragon heads. The elven captain, dressed in his fancy whites and blues, only could whisper to himself from fear, "The Ghidorah" .

    Atop the helm of this battleship, the captain stood looming over a crew of mixed bloods. Hybrids, orcs, humans and one Sea Elf. The captain himself, dressed wearing only leather pants, a tightly woven burlap type shirt, and leather jacket, was the great Dagon Dragmouth. Orange scales covering the body of this lumbering Dragonkin, with his wings tucked onto his shoulders as a cape. He smiled with a maw of daggers as smoke left his nostrils like trails from a burning pipe. "Fire the Scatter!" . His command booms to the lower decks of his ship as a team of crew mates push forward one of the triple guns. The cannons weld together with one powder chamber in the rear, loaded with shrapnel of broken chains, rusted bladed, and fractured cannon balls. They ignite the fuse and the guns fire in a horrible noise. The shrapnel tears through the first hole made, making it big enough to fit a crew through.

  The Wiseman looked at his right hand, the shrapnel cannons blown past his hand, ripping the one shackle off with little damage to his flesh. "That’s stupid luck. Thank you impossible odds" He jests to himself again and stops when the silhouette of Dagon himself shown through the light of the ship's hole. Small waves of water would manage to reach up to his feet as he walked past the broken threshold he made. He laughs as he witnesses thirteen elven soldiers lined up in their ridiculous Black iron armor with the gilded trims. Dagon draws two massive scimitar swords, the heat from his throat was so hot the Wiseman could feel it, "whoa big guy wait!" but his warning went unheard and the Flames from the Dragonkin went fast and hot, setting fire to much of the wood it contacted with. The elves seemed to vanish inside the flames, until it was done burning. Once his mouth shut The elves stood unharmed. Red Manna runes engraved in the armor they wore shielded them.

    The Pirate lizard was taken back, growling and without aid at this level he stepped back. Suddenly, 3 portals opened around the group of soldiers. Purple rings of alien writings spin making these portals causing distraction to the elves and even Dagon at this moment. The first portal, directly above the elves, dropped a swarm of slime spitting winged creatures, like scaled bats with mouths on the belly and no head. The slime they spit was stinky and stuck to them very well. One small creature taking interest in Dagon spit at his face as well and flew off. All the creatures return to the first portal once all elves have been coated. Dagon wiped his face.

     The other two portals released strange tentacles covered in  some kind of chitin carapace, tipped with pincer claws found on crabs but wider with bowl like openings in the very center. These claw tentacles moved quick and made short work of the elven troops. Eviscerating and devouring them as they try to fight back. The elven steel cuts through the chitin easily but there are far too much of them and soon the tentacles retreat into the portals, having consumed all elves. Dagon looked upon the scene in awe and shock, but not horror. He turned his head to the laughs of the Wiseman who had one hand freed and seemed to be the source of this scene. His eyes burned a purple haze that matched the rings. This haze, while unworldly, faded away soon. The Wiseman smirks "let me out…we share an enemy.".

   Dagon sheathed his blades looking at this human. He never had before seen that kind of magic, it gave him a terrible feeling of familiarity. He had questions and this human didn’t seem to be a threat to him. The sea elf ran down stairs with two gun axes in his hands, ready to take on whatever he thought made that noise. Not expecting to see Dagon freeing the sole prisoner on the ship. "Oi, Captain?! What made all that noise? And..All this blood" he questioned, looking down at his bare feet now slick from walking in the elven blood. The Sea elf had blue green skin, and a set of frills around his neck with green hair he kept tied under a red bandanna. His teeth were like shark's razor and serrated.  Dagon smirks, "A new crewmate Innsmouth, mr. …?" The Wiseman smiled brightly, and kindly. You can call me Thomas…Thomas Eldritch."

    Dagon drew a blade from his belt "Can you use one of these?" and gives the handle end to Thomas, holding the blade in his claw. Thomas nods taking the heavy steel with both hands and smiled again. Innsmouth tilts his head to the side at the grin on Thomas's face. "You sure Cap'n? He looks….Sweet like" Dagon walked past him with an impatience in his step and tone, "Better this than that unholy image he burned in my brain just before.."

    Both Thomas and Innsmouth fallowed Dagon out of the smoldering underbelly of the ship. Topside his crew have subdued the last of the elves they did not kill. A few bodies scatter on the deck, mostly of the yellow skinned elven soldiers. Dagon came up the stairway to the topside. He looked at the ship around him "Tell me why a Highborn Prison ship has double crew here for one single man?" There was a clueless silence about Thomas, "Oh wait your asking me? Well because I'm the Aberration." Dagon, Innsmouth, and any crew in earshot looked at Thomas in disbelief.  Thomas rolled his eyes, walking towards the captain's quarters of the elven ship and retuning with a log book.

   The book was small and bound with linen that was resin soaked all over except the spine which remained soft linen. Leather straps acted as the muscle of the spine of the book. Dagon peers into the book of the last most recorded date. 6 weeks ago, and only one prisoner, Aberration was put in the last name category, leaving the first name blank Dagon looked Thomas dead in the eye, the silence broke with Dagon's laugh. "Of all the ships on all the seas, I find the one holding the oldest living thing on this world! And it turns out, the legendary Aberration the elves love to hate and hate to fear, is a Fucking Human!" Thomas laughed with him "I mean I'm far from Human at this point." They laughed together for a moment, until Innsmouth felt need to interrupt, "Cap'n, she's burning hot we best go now". Dagon wiped his jaw and nods, "Aye, leave the Yellow skins and take nothing. We have the big prize here". Thomas couldn’t help but feel his vanity make him smile.

    The Pirate crew bind the legs and arms of the elven crew, leaving them aboard the slow burning ship they dared to serve that day. Innsmouth took the helm of the Ghidorah and began his sailing away. Dagon taking Thomas below deck to the Galley, filled with the smell of salt meat, pickled vegetables, and fermented fruits. "The stink of a real pirate ship" Thomas smirked as he looked around. Dagon nods proudly, "Aye, if you don’t want to puke you're not on a pirate ship. Go ahead mate get some fill in you. Damn highborns must've starved you." Thomas had no hesitation to begin his inhalation of the food and drink. Dagon laughed, knowing any prisoner on an elven ship would think this food Gourmet compared to the stale bread and cold slop the elves fed you. "Come back topside when you feel acclimated mate. We need to have words and I do my thinking in the wind.".

    After eating himself a food baby belly, Thomas walked up the steps of the Ghidorah and felt the breeze of the wind tug at his long brown hair. He smiled, tearing off the rag garb tunic he wore leaving only his short trousers. He spread his arms to the wind and took a deep breath "Taste different, Don’t it?" Thomas looked to the port side of the ship, A young Uru orc boy smirked at him. His red skin covered in pirate tattoos, bearing no shirt and a face like a bald wolf "You got pulled off the ship, a prisoner. The air was bitter, gross, stale. But now the wind carries the taste of Freedom on the wind and it tastes sweeter right?" The orc smiled at him and walked up, offering his hand "Name's Jackoo, Quartermaster." Thomas smiled and shook his hand, then grimaced a bit at the orc's grip, "Remember my face, your going to know it a lot, and Remember my grip and hope I don’t have to use it again". Thomas laughed, his smile was goofy and entertained "I like you already, Just call me Th" "I heard your name, Eldritch. Know your place and we'll get along fine".  Thomas had to tilt his head in confusion, "And what's my place on this ship?". Jackoo pointed to the bow, where Dagon stood staring at the waves. "That's for the captain to decide. Best get now".

    Thomas approached Dagon slowly, not to disturb a man in thought. He was barely up to Dagon's armpits, the man was so big. Not tall but big, and wide. Dagon's voice lost it's rumble now, a beast calmed by the wind spoke to Thomas now, "My da once told me that the seas would take men to where they need to be. You just had to trust them. Break that trust, or doubt their hold and you damn yourself. Sailors only request direction, its her choice to take you there…" He looked at Thomas, "..and here we are, Two men of equal infamy to the Highborn Order. The sea pushed us together mate, now we must figure out if it's Damnation or Salvation."

   Thomas looked at him listening close. Then he looked at the water below the ship racing past. "I hear the incredible urge to jump into that water or off of a really tall place like the nest up there." He jests pointing. "But the voices that actually are there wont leave me alone about my, air quotes, duties". Dagon just stares. This madness was just that to him, madness. "Why do the elves hate you?" He demanded. "You mean you don’t know that much?"

Dagon shook his head at the question when he wanted an answer "Everyone knows the basic Bull..Your a human who doesn’t age…from before history was written, and you preach gods that don’t exist and use magic that shouldn’t exist."

"Don’t forget the part where I was taught an alien language and now all humans and a few other races speak it. How's that for a mind fuck?"

     Dagon smirked at the logic for a bit but then had to ask "What's and alien?" Thomas had to think. He smiled very manically when he found his answer, "Well, something so obviously not from this world that is a living being of some shape or form. Examples. " he spins his wrists upside down and forms 3 new small purple spell rings, creating the portals in the ring. The center most portal raises a small sentient warrior inside a glass dome. The warrior had 6 arms and 4 legs with segmented plates along the spine, scaled male going over the limbs. His weapons seemed to be tiny forms of riffles with jagged bayonetted ends. The left most portal made a sort of dog creature but made of stone. The  creature was infant in state and sleeping softly. Woken by the angry cries of the warrior next to it, though the warrior was not attacking the dog. It was attempting to attack the right most portal creature with futility. The portal raised a beast that was mechanical in origins but with science unknown to the pirate captain. Colors of red green and yellow strings wove through plates and joints with sounds of fluids moving metal rods and cylinders to move limbs. The machine beast was also trying to attack the warrior but prevented by a glass dome.

   Once he was sure Dagon understood the word Alien, Thomas returned the creatures through the portals and made the rings vanish. Dagon was dumbfounded, but he certainly took a firm hold of alien now. He quickly took annoyance to the joy Thomas got from watching Dagon. "…Well I got no more questions right now. So your going to help me out." he started walking back to the stairwell in the middle of the deck. "I am hunting a monster…and your magic is….well I Think I might have found some other kind of alien before I Found you..".

    Thomas fallowed, his ears pinned to the voice of the pirate lizard. His hope rose a bit, he wanted the alien to be the same one who changed him those years ago. Thomas had so many more questions of his own he needed to ask that being. He held hope that the alien was not dead. Dagon lead Thomas to a chart room in the ship, no doorway just a corner that holds a map on each wall and a massive globe sitting on a table. Dagon Rolls the globe around and stops it, leaving his finger over the Sea of Monsters. Thomas tilts his head looking at it. "My da and I saw it there...before the beast took his life…". Thomas lost that hope now, but continued to listen. "What did it look like?"

  Dagon's tone was low, solemn, and angry, "The beast was 4 times the size of this ship…scales covered it's body like amethyst tile plates. It's spine was traced with broken stone like ridges that stuck out to rip the wood from your keel. It's tail was a single long tentacle covered in tiny little hooks, just like the ones that covered is face…" "It's face..?" Thomas interjected. "Well if you call that mug a face, it bore what was like some freak leviathan squid as a head with the most hideous eyes. It's maw was several beak teeth that spit acid that burns flesh like my flames, it turns wood to mud and combusts in the water…I call it…the Nightmare Dragon."

     Thomas nods and looked at the globe "I know what it is, I can help you kill it. But why chase that thing when you seem to be capable as a pirate alone? You are Captain Dagon Dragmouth the most famous pirate ever." Dagon picked up his belt at his sides and let out a deep sigh, "I'll be straight with you mate, I am mid way through my life, and I've yet to find my own MATE if you get me." Thomas nods, understanding the sentiment. "So I want to do one big thing before my…Hiatus lets call it. I want to be able to tuck a wee gecko into bed on a galleon I built myself. This bed will be that monster's bones woven into a glorious nest for my child, and that gecko will look up at me and go, 'Da, tell e again how I got this amazing luxurious bed Da oh please tell me again.' and I'll go on and tell them How I Took it on my own beautiful self to slay this beast in my Da's name just to build my spawn the most perfect nest!"

    Thomas and Innsmouth both laugh, Dagon turned his head to face his second mate, "The fu..when did you get here?" Innsmouth salutes like an elf "Oh da please da tell me again" making Thomas laugh hard. Dagon growls at the two making them silent fast. "Point is mate, I want to give my family a legacy, or die trying. What say you Mate??" .

    Thomas returned the stares Innsmouth and Dagon were giving him. He sighed a little bit, "What the fuck it'll be fun". Innsmouth and Dagon both cheered, as did Jackoo and the crew above who all eavesdropped through the stairwell. Thomas laughed, he brought Dagon's attention back to the globe. "that creature, we are going to keep the name Nightmare Dragon, so much cooler than what it's called, is going to just sit and huddle in the squid waters. One ship clearly wont work, you need at the least…4 galleons."

    "how in the hell do we get 4 fucking galleons when we can barely keep track of 3 brigs?" Jackoo tossed the question at Thomas, who responded by putting his finger on one spot on the globe. Everyone leaned in to see the location, Seaport City. The only human city in the world. Innsmouth jests "Oh Excuse me Queen Annabelle but we PIRATES need to borrow 4 of your Galleons to hunt a monster that eats monsters and turns wooden ships into soup." Dagon smacked Innsmouth on the back of the head, "Seaport has no Dry Dock Construction laws, we can build the boat's ourselves…" Innsmouth rubbed his head and pouts defeated, while Jackoo thinks and looks at Thomas "But how do we fund that?"  Thomas smiled, "Your Hunters, pirates, and enemies of the Highborn Order. Queen Annabelle will gladly trade with us any ink, meat, and Beaks you get from squid, as well as spoils taken by the elves."

    Dagon nods "It'll take some years to do it, getting it off the ground earning her favor and what not."  Innsmouth interjected again "some time means like twenty years or what ever, that’s fucking forever." Jackoo glared, "yeah for me, you’re a newt, he doesn’t age, and captain is a Dragonkin.". "Call me a newt again you mud born little.." Dagon growled, "Enough, we are sailing to Seaport…We build the Galleons to Eldritch's specifications, as long as it takes to do it.".  The Ghidorah ship began it's sail towards the most diverse city on the planet, and home to the last of the human race.

[pasteladins]

A Surprise for Tactician and Princess

..:: This is a fic trade I made for @lunalove25! She’s really sweet and requested some birthday fluff with her summoner and Laegjarn! ::..

To the princess of Muspell, birthday celebrations were not common. As the daughter of Surtr, her only purpose was to grow stronger, be better, and be smarter. Menial celebrations like one’s personal growth meant nothing the the king of Muspell, so Laegjarn was never introduced to the idea of birthday celebrations. Thus, she found it odd when the summoner had gasped out loud when she said that her birthday was in a week.

“A week?!” The Askran tactician repeated, eyes wide and mouth agape over the recent revelation. “Aren’t you excited? Birthday parties are always a fun time!”

Laegjarn raised a brow, her hair falling past her ears. “Birthday… party? Beg pardon, but why should we throw a party over something so trivial?”

Her genuine curiosity threw Luna off. Of course, she knew she shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, Surtr wasn’t the best father in Zenith, so for him to disregard such an important milestone was not unusual. The tactician shook her head. That would definitely not do. Laegjarn deserved much better than Surtr, and now that she and Laevatein were free from Muspell’s violent war path, Luna was ready to show them what their new freedom would give them.

With a quick and sturdy push, Luna stood up from her seat and dusted away the dirt. “I have a tactics meeting with Robin in a few minutes, but I’ll see you later, yeah?” She glanced down at Laegjarn, who followed her actions by standing up.

“Very well. If you need me, I will be training with Laevatein.”

“Right. See you later!” The purple haired woman gave a cordial wave and ran off -- she had other things on her mind than tactics; something very important.

----

Laegjarn’s birthday had finally arrived, and with it, so did a frantic party planning Luna. She ran all over the castle halls, parchment filled with a list of To-Do’s for the celebration. Currently, she had Sharena dustracting Laegjarn by taking her to the market and visiting alternate Askr’s. The Askran princess was great at talking up a storm, her ability to keep heroes busy with social tasks was one of her many talents. In fact, it always seemed to put Laegjarn in a good mood. It was a pleasant change of pace from the constant war meetings and such.

Throughout the week, it was difficult to keep Luna’s plan under the wraps, especially with nosy heroes who tended to gossip over every little detail. Luckily, a quick threat to increasing time at the training stratums was enough to keep the Order quiet enough about her plan. Her heels clicked hurriedly against the stone floor of the castle. Following her was the exalt prince Chrom -- he was part of the manual labor division, putting up the heavier decorations and such. However, the Ylissean prince was not allowed to carry delicate items. Luna found that out the hard way when Chrom dropped a dozen wine glasses by tripping on a rug.

“Luna! Luna!” A tiny Fae rushed over with armfulls of flowers from the garden. Ylgr came running in toe, her satchel filled to the brim with flowers. The two girls dropped flowers wherever they went. They were quickly picked up by Lon’qu, who was in charge of flower duty, much to his chagrin. However, it was either that or help the ladies with other tasks, and he much preferred the former.  

“Where do I put these pretty flowers?” Fae asked, hopping on the tips of her toes.

Luna gave the two girls a pat. “You two can put them in the barrels next to the table with the cake. Thanks, girls!” The tactician gave them a friendly smile, watching them rush over to the designated area.

The Askran tactician gazed at her work. A week’s worth of planning had finally reached its final stage, evident by the abundance of hustle and bustle of heroes. Alm and Celica were seen assisting Laevatein with her special task of making a regal flower crown for Laegjarn. The crown itself was made from Muspell’s Fireposy. Each flower radiated a gentle warmth, their calming aura putting a genuine smile on Laevatein’s lips.

“That’s it! You’re getting the hang of it.” Celica spoke softly as to not startle the young princess. Alm had been there for moral support, seeing that Celica was much more of an expert in the art of flower crowns.

“H-Here… Is it… good?” Once the crown had finished, she showed the Valentian rulers the fruit of her labor, each flower meticulously tied together with their own vines. Alm and Celica gave Laevatein a pat on the head for a good job.

“It looks fantastic, Laevatein. Your sister will love it.” Alm was quick to respond, making the young Muspell princess’ smile grow. Her chest was filled with warmth, and not just from the fireposy. She was proud of her own work, and even… excited. Laegjarn would love this.

Just a bit of ways, Luna stood holding a box wrapped with a bright, colorful bow. She had spent just as much time looking for Laegjarn’s gift as she did planning for the whole party. Her gloved hands rubbed against the colorful packaging, eyes staring keenly at the box, silently hoping that the eldest princess would enjoy her gift.

“Summoner Luna?” Her thoughts were cut off when she spotted prince Alfonse approaching her. “Feh has informed me that she saw my sister and princess Laegjarn entering the castle. Are we all set to go?”

Luna gave a firm nod, eyes flaring up with determination… and nervousness. “Yes we are. Everybody!” Her voice rung clear in the banquet hall, all the heroes ceased their actions and turned to face their summoner. “Sharena and Laegjarn are coming -- take your places!”

Upon hearing her words, the Order scurried, hiding behind barrels and table clothes. However, Laevatein stood there, confused and flustered. Her eyes darting from left you right while her thumbs rubbed against the fiery petals. Luna was quick to notice, gently taking Laevatein’s hand.

“Here, come with me so we can give your sister the flower crown.” She spoke. Her gentle words comforted the young princess, and she gave Luna an affirmative nod.

Some of the heroes pulled down the curtains and blew out the lanterns, ensuring that the surprise would not be ruined right away. Heroes were heard giggling and whispering to one another, only to be quickly shushed when they heard the sound of heels clicking in the distance.

“Sharena?” Although she sounded far away, Laegjarn’s voice was immediately recognized. “Where are we going? I thought we were meeting Luna for lunch at the royal gardens?”

“We are~” Sharena was quick to reply, her golden locks hopping about while she walked. “But we had a recent change of plans…”

Her voice grew closer, an air of apprehension and excitement filling the room. Nowi and young Tiki were peeking from below the table clothes, only to be held back by Grima. She kept the two in place by holding them by their capes.

Laevatein fidgeted in place, making sure not to jostle the fireposy in any way. Her shoulders rose when she spotted two silhouettes making their way to the banquet hall.

“Sharena, it’s completely dark in here…”

It was now or never.

“SURPRISE!!” Laegjarn took a step back, eyes wide from the sound of party poppers and confetti flying about. The curtains pulled up and the lanterns were once again lit, revealing the decorated hall filled with an abundance of heroes. In the center stood Luna and Laevatein, both looking positively elated.

“Wh...What is…” She looked around, perplexed at the recent outburst. Luna was the first to answer her question, her hands behind her back as to hide her gift.

“It’s a surprise party!” She explained simply, her purple tresses falling in front of her shoulders. “After you said that you never celebrated your birthday, I knew I just had to throw a party for you.” Her cheeks with dusted with a light pink blush. “And the rest of the Order was happy to help! We got you presents!”

As if on cue, groups of heroes raised their respective gifts -- all ranging from cute drawings from the young dragons, to elegant tiaras and accessories from the royals.

The Askran tactician turned her head and nodded at Laevtein, giving the young princess an opportunity. She timidly walked over, carefully presenting the gift to her sister.

“Princess Celica and Alm helped me make it… I hope you like it, sister.”

Laegjarn stared at the gift, eyes shining against the bright gift. “I love it, Laevatein. Thank you.”

The response made Laevatein grin, and she placed the crown atop Laegjarn’s head. Thus, the festivities were now in full swing.

There was never a dull moment as Hector and Ephraim offered to arm wrestle any hero that dared challenge them. Laegjarn wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, and she accepted. Although it was a close battle, the princess of Muspell won against both Hector and Ephraim. Of course, she couldn’t have lost -- Luna was cheering her on. When the winner was declared, the Askran tactician had congratulated Laegjarn with a spontaneous hug. However, she immediately retracted, pulling up her cowl to hide her blushing visage.

During the party, Luna had effectively hidden her gift; her nerves had prevented her from showcasing her gift to Laegjarn. However, the princess of Muspell was quick to notice, catching the bright ribbon from under Luna’s cloak.

“Hm? What’s this, Luna?” Laegjarn leaned over, and Luna felt the heat return to her cheeks once again. In an attempt to compose herself, Luna pulled the gift out from her cloak, the ribbon still elegantly tied and in one piece.

“It’s your gift… I hope you like it.”

The Muspellian picked up the package, careful to not ruin the box as she pulled the ribbon. Once she opened the lid, Laegjarn’s lips parted in surprise. Inside the box was a necklace that contained fiery jewels located only in Muspell.

“Luna… how did you…” Her voice was naught a whisper as she tenderly raised the accessory at eye level.

The Askran tactician straightened her back.”Laevatein helped me pick it out. She said that you really liked necklaces that glow. I know they’re only found in Muspell, so Laevatein, Helbindi, and I did some exploring of our own.” Her brows furrowed, and her hands were clenched in fists as she spoke. “Do you like it…?”

“Like it…?” Laegjarn whispered. Slowly, she raised her head, facing Luna with a bright smile on her lips. The Askran tactician must have been seeing things, because she swore she saw a blush on Laegjarn’s cheeks!

“I love it.” She reached a hand over and placed it on Luna’s shoulders. “I’ll treasure it always.”

Hearing Laegjarn’s genuine words put Luna at ease, as she lowered her hunched shoulders with a heavy exhale. “I’m so glad!”

The two shared a tender moment, only for it to be interrupted when a rowdy Hector demanded a rematch.

“Well, I’ll need my talented tactician to cheer me one, if that is alright with you.” Laegjarn shared a knowing look to Luna, making the tactician blush.

“Absolutely. I’ll always be there for you.” She responded with complete confidence, taking Laegjarn’s hand and guiding her over to the table.

[reimahowaido]

Moar of them Spyro Elder dragons~ Because Why Not~? A carousel themed one - I’ll most likely be making another one because I wasn’t 100% satisfied with this one. It might be the colors, I’m not sure, the pose is nice and the silhouette looked great but I just couldn’t get the colors to work. Aaaaaaah but I’ve done a funky fun thing so this dragon here was given away and has another owner, which is nice~

Secretary bird Falconer - Certainly a Peace Keeper dragon~ I first considered making them wingless just to add in the fact that he probably doesn’t fly a lot on his own or might even be flightless, but I drew up the wings in the end, even if it’d be kinda cool to have something like that in the dragon world. He’s a Peace Keeper afterall, who knows what has happened! I dunno yet what I’m doing with the design

Silvius, or Silvus, kinda. So, here’s a story. Ya’ll know Tomas, right? The silly funky Artisan’s homeworld dragon? Well. Truth be told, he used to be my favourite, and his old design might still be just because of the Power of Nostalgia~!! But I, as a kid, always thought he had like, ram horns. I never saw him having a beard xD And his redesign is not quite hitting home for me because I had such dumb-high hopes for him~ Personality is still on point, that he gets points for :2 But yeah, as a kid we only really had a short demo of the first game. And OH, FUNNY THING, Tomas was actually named Silvus in that game! I was already going to try and draw what I personally thought of when I imagined Tomas’ redesign, but hey, what if I took the original name that was not used (in the original animation he’s sassy, puts a hand to his hips and even does a little crouch to be on Spyro’s level, like, man, I love this boi) typo it with my selective memory, struggle a little to think of the wing colors after making 12 versions of it and Boom, there he is. He’s still an Artisan dragon but he makes miniatures :2 Such a good boi

[kristallioness]

21 Questions about ATLA

I was tagged by @atypicalkataangist. Wow, thanks for including me in this quiz! I've seen others reblog a list of numbered questions similar to these, expecting to receive some asks that they could answer in return. But now I get to do them in one go.

1) Who's your favourite male character?

I'm unoriginal and gonna say it's Aang. Not only because of him being the main character, but also because he was the first boy in the show who I immediately started to like (Sokka was second, Zuko was third in the beginning since he was a villain and I grew to love him more and more along with his character development), the way he balances his carefree, childish personality with his more mature, responsible side, his back story and peaceful culture.. Most importantly, without him, there wouldn't be the second half of such a lovely couple like he and Katara are.

2) Who's your favourite female character?

Katara. She's not only my favourite female character, but favourite character of them all, right from the start and until the end. The moment I saw her I fell in love since she looked really pretty and she wore a braid, just like me. Seeing what a caring, motherly, fierce personality she had (like mine) only fuelled my love for her.

3) What's your favourite quote?

Since Katara's my favourite character, then my first choice would be: "I will never, ever turn my back on people who need me!" Because that's sort of who I am and what I'm like, too. It's almost like a motto that I live by without thinking about it twice. I'm self-sacrificing and try to help my friends whenever they need it and as much as I can. I just remembered another good one, a quote that affected me on a more personal level. I'm pretty sure that only 0.0000000001% of the fandom would choose this one: "I don't care what I look like. I'm not looking for anyone's approval. I know who I am." The best part is, this is something that Toph says to Katara after she's been made fun of for her appearance by a bunch of prissy Upper Ring Earth Kingdom girls. How did this affect me? I started crying when I first saw this scene. Why? Because this was something that I'd been struggling with for years. I'd been bullied for my appearance at school. It used to make me feel worthless, unlovable, alone, probably also the reason why I turned into such a quiet person who doesn't know how to be around real friends. Hearing a blind, tomboyish, badass earthbender say what I needed to hear all along made me understand that it's not true - my appearance does not define my worth or who I am inside.

4) What's your favourite fight?

I knew you answered Katara and Pakku's duel @atypicalkataangist (and that one came to my mind, too, since it is one of my favourites because of reasons), but since I recently rewatched "The Serpent's Pass", I'm gonna pick Aang and Katara beating up that huge serpent. That was some awesome bending teamwork there! I went through all of the episodes in my head, and I gotta say that I also really like the duel between Aang and Zuko in "Bato of the Water Tribe". And one of the first ones where Haru and his father Tyro, along with the rest of the earthbenders, fight their way to freedom in the prison. The ending of that episode always leaves me with such a powerful feeling.

5) What's your favourite episode?

The big finale, "Sozin's Comet, Part 4: Avatar Aang". I sobbed practically throughout the entire episode when I first saw it. The soundtrack playing in the end is so beautiful to listen to and it still brings tears to my eyes. This episode concludes everything the show set up in the most unexpected ways possible. I mean, did any of us foresee Zuko being crowned the new Fire Lord (after you watched the first episode)? Did our hearts break into a million pieces when Katara and Aang kissed and became a couple in the end? Enough said.

6) From which nation would you like to be?

I'm not sure whether this is cheating or not, but since the story of ATLA continues in the comics and during Korra's time, I'd really love to be from the United Republic of Nations. I just love how it's a nation of mixed cultures, I am in LOVE with Republic City (as well as its 1920's aesthetic) and the capital reminds me of my own (Tallinn is also near the sea, has a marvellous silhouette, 4 seasons). Or if not, then my choice would definitely be the Water Tribes. I've explained it pretty well under the description of this drawing of mine.

7) Which element would you like to be able to bend and why?

Easy, I'd pick water since my 2nd choice when applying for university 5 years ago was to become a doctor. I'd like to use my healing abilities to cure people and my graceful waterbending to battle bad guys like Katara!

8) Favourite animal in the Avatar Universe?

I'm probably unoriginal, but I'm torn between the sky bison or the dragons. Oh, and the ostrich horses!

9) Who would you like to be your teacher and why?

I'm thinking it could be either Katara, Aang or Zuko, in this exact order. Katara and Aang would both be really supportive and I consider Zuko to be really wise (remember what he said to Korra before departing? he learned so much throughout the years).

10) What was the saddest moment in the show?

I have an entire list of the scenes/moments that made me cry, let me check.. *reads* Which sad moment made me cry the most, I'mma pick that one.. Okay, I can't decide because there are a few, let me name them: * the ones that stand out the most are all 3 finales * when Katara thought that her mother was alive in the swamp * when Aang enters the Avatar State and wants to kill the sandbenders, but Katara doesn't run away and instead grabs his hand and pulls him back down into her embrace and they cry together * Iroh singing the lullaby to his deceased son on his birthday (my parents have always said that one of the worst things a parent can live through is the death of their own child, so when I saw this scene, I understood what they meant and started crying) * Jet's death * Aang unlocking his heart chakra * almost the entirety of "The Awakening" (because everything seemed so hopeless and going the wrong way, when Katara and Hakoda talked), seriously, this is the most depressing episode in my book and that's why I love it so much * Sokka talking to Toph about how he's forgotten what his mother looks like and Katara is the one who's taken her place * when the invasion fleet was defeated on the Day of Black Sun and Katara knelt down beside Aang to comfort him * Zuko and his uncle Iroh's reconciliation and his speech to Team Avatar before they departed

11) What was the most shocking moment in the show?

You answered the same way: Aang getting shot with lightning. It came out of nowhere. When I saw Katara's face full of hope I thought that now they were going to make it since Aang had the power to face the Dai Li as well as Zuko and Azula. In a split second, everything changed and took a turn for the worst.

12) What was the funniest moment in the show?

There are so many good jokes, how do you expect me to pick just one??? Okay, umm.. when Sokka tried to fight against the villagers who believed too much of Aunt Wu's fortunes with logic and rational thinking (I can relate to him, poor Sokka).. How Aang messed up and unintentionally made Katara upset by insulting her instead of giving her a compliment when they were lost in the caves. Or the time Sokka and Katara had to pose as Aang's parents to go to the principal's office after school.

13) What was the most unforgettable moment in the show?

Maybe the whole scene before Zuko's coronation starts, "Peace" playing in the background, we see friends and family reunited, happy, alive. We witness something few of us could've predicted: the last person we ever thought, who went through and learned so much, is crowned the new Fire Lord. It's such a victorious moment and never leaves me without emotion.

14) Which one is your favourite book?

I have a weird system concerning this. Book 1 was sort of like the start of their journey, the world was slowly being built and introduced to us. Book 2 became much more serious, the characters gained more depth and the stakes began to rise. When I thought it couldn't get any better, I was proven horribly wrong. Book 3 became far more emotional than I ever could've imagined. So it's like my love grew with each book, and I kind of love the last one the most for this reason.

15) Who had the greatest character development in the show?

Everybody developed so much, but I'd definitely say it was Zuko. At first, I didn't really care much about him. Just another villain trying to capture someone for his own personal gain, I figured. But that all changed when I saw his back story in "The Storm". I started to look at him from a completely different angle. I began to understand where he came from, why he was doing this. I saw how much he struggled, how many wrongs he committed. The climax was when he faced his own father and told him: "No! I've learned everything! And I've had to learn it on my own. Growing up, we were taught that the Fire Nation was the greatest civilization in history and somehow, the war was our way of sharing our greatness with the rest of the world. What an amazing lie that was! The people of the world are terrified by the Fire Nation! They don't see our greatness, they hate us! And we deserve it." This is what he learned by spending time as a refugee in the Earth Kingdom, by witnessing firsthand what his nation, what this war was doing to others. And he was determined to set things right by joining Aang and his friends, teaching him firebending and stopping his own homeland from going down this path.

16) What do you love most about Avatar: The Last Airbender?

The story that Bryan and Michael came up with. I have NEVER cried so much, laughed at so many original jokes, heard such gorgeous instrumental music made by Jeremy Zuckerman, the raw emotion behind the voice actors.. every little bit is what makes this story and this series so amazing, fulfilling and perfect.

17) What do you hate most about Avatar: The Last Airbender?

I don't hate anything about the show per se, perhaps more about the way the fandom can act sometimes.

18) With which character do you identify most?

Like I answered in question 2, Katara. Her personality reflects mine the most, we share similar values in life, I love her family (Hakoda and Sokka) because they have such loving relationships with each other (Katara and Hakoda made me emotional several times, and they only had a few scenes together!).

19) Is Avatar: The Last Airbender your favourite cartoon/anime?

Ever since I discovered it, and I think it'll remain as my favourite cartoon for the rest of my life. Nothing can ever impact me as much as Avatar has.

20) Would you want to be the Avatar?

Thinking just how messed up our own world is right now, how my aggressive eastern neighbour has occupied parts of 2 independent countries, how helpless and angry I feel that I can't do anything about it - Y E S. I want to bring peace and balance back to our world, too. And if I had my own loving, supportive partner (like Aang) by my side, I'd do it again in a thousand lifetimes.

21) What's your favourite ship?

I personally ship everything that has been or is currently canon. My OTP is obviously Kataang, though I'm also one of the few friendly multishippers out here. Which means that I don't mind seeing beautiful stuff about Zutara either, for instance. (Seriously, you should check out my tag, there are so many lovely gifsets there, be it romantic or platonic.)

To sum up, thank you once more for tagging me! I'm not gonna tag anyone specific, but if any of you would like to do this, too, then go ahead! It was really fun to reflect back on why I love this show so much.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [233]

"I like it here,” Lavellan says.

She stands looking more at peace with herself than he’s ever seen her before in his life. He realizes, now, that he has seen her happy. He has seen her furious. He has seen her in the throes of grief. He has seen her apoplectic with rage and hurt and frustration and disbelief. He has seen her proud and unabashed. The Iron Bull has seen her torn with stress and scrambled back together under pressure.

He fell in love with her, at her most extreme.

He has never seen her like this.

At peace.

“Yeah?” He asks as he climbs the slope of the rocky hillside to stand closer to her. This jut of green cliff overlooks a large and verdant valley that the sun just happens to glance at just right on this particular morning.

The air is cold, and fresh, and clear. Invigorating.

“Here I am not their chosen one,” Lavellan says, the wind lifting a few strands of her dark hair. “I am not the chosen one of some god. Nor am I unchosen by some god. I am nothing here. I am no one.”

Bull doesn’t know what to say to that. He has lived his life being no one, being a number and an identification code. He has lived a great portion of his life not knowing that he wasn’t alright with that because he didn’t know there was another way to think, that he was not incorrect for thinking differently.

He has spent a majority of his life - to the point where if he lived to eighty he’d still be at that strong majority - understanding himself as a faceless, nameless material to be molded at the will of a greater authority.

It is just now, in these past few years, like a stumbling child, that he is beginning to unlearn, unbind, unshackle this from himself in order to unearth what he had considered flaws in his training.

“And what are you?” Bull asks.

“I am a woman,” Lavellan says, “No more, no less than any other man or woman who lives and breathes. Here I am a woman who makes medicine and cuts vegetables and tends a goat and some chickens. Here I am a woman with a simple house that I traded herbs and potions and healing to get help for building. Here I am a woman who can tell pretty stories or sing nice songs and toss out riddles. But I am not the chosen of a god. Nor am I the pinnacle of destruction. Or the beacon of hope. Or a symbol. Or a martyr. Or a rallying cry. Or anything else metaphysical and unreal.”

Bull remains silent as they watch the sun slowly stretch out over the valley, the wind creating waves on the green grass below.

“What do they call you, here?” Bull asks.

“Sabrae,” Lavellan says. “Our clans were kin, once. I think I have a cousin who’s still in that clan. There aren’t many Dalish tribes here. They wouldn’t know the family trees, anyway.”

Lavellan breathes out a long sound taken by the wind.

“Did they send you to find me?”

Bull could lie. She would know, and it would be a waste of a lie.

“Yes,” Bull answers.

Of course the Inquisition sent him. He’s the only one among them who’s only job is to be by her side. There is no higher goal or greater purpose.

Pavus has priorities and responsibilities in Tevinter. Sera runs a network of spies and saboteurs. Cassandra has an entire group of templars and Seekers that she’s been diligently repairing when she isn’t busy being the Divine of Thedas. Vivienne runs the Circle. Blackwall lives in a cycle of penance. Varric runs Kirkwall as much as he runs with it. Cole is…Cole.

Bull’s only purpose, his only duty, his only job is to be near her. To stand with her. To follow her.

There’s nothing to distract him from that. There’s nothing she can throw in his way to get him to leave, nothing that the world can throw at him to distract him from that.

Besides.

No one else knows her as deeply as he does.

Pavus was her best friend. Sera was her playmate and rival. Cole was her brother.

Solas was her teacher.

And Bull was everything else and in between.

“I would have said no,” Bull says.

“I don’t want to leave.”

“Then don’t.”

“Why did they send you?”

She does not mean why him specifically. She knows why.

“They need you.”

“I need me,” Lavellan says, and she means it in the way that Hissrad needed to become the Iron Bull, in the way that Cole needed to be Cole, in the way that Dorian Pavus needed to be Dorian Pavus, the way that all of them needed to understand and be at peace and unity with their real selves without the hunger of the world gnawing them into another shape. “There are other symbols to start wars over.”

“Not so many as decorated as you, Dragon Slayer, God Killer, Herald and Sword of Andraste, Inquisitor of Thedas, First-Thaw, and Keeper of Lavellan.”

“As if we do not all live in perpetual fear and awe of the Warden Commander of Ferelden, bringer of storms, tamer of lightning, keeper of shapes, breather of fire, Paragon of Dwarves, curse breaker, and earth shaker,” Lavellan muses. “As if we do not breathe awe in the face of Hawke, malificar of Tevinter, shatterer of cities, Champion of Kirkwall, survivor of many, guardian of gates.”

“But they are not the one we turn to when there is a tear in the sky, or a disruption in space, or a god or seven bearing down upon a people with the wrath of pride on their tongues,” Bull points out. “They are not the ones who they look to to kill a god.”

“Or nine.”

“Two are already dead.”

“What’s seven more?”

Bull shrugs.

Lavellan’s arms turn out a little, as though she is trying to soak in this last vestige of peace.

“I love me,” Lavellan says, “I love being me. I loved finding me again. I loved living as me and I loved loving me.”

“I wouldn’t have come,” Bull says. Because he does know. “I would have said no.”

“But you didn’t.” Lavellan’s arms fold down and he can feel it in the way her shoulders draw up. Like armored plates sliding into place, one over the other, reducing a person to a silhouette meant for hurting. “I wish I could stay here. As me.”

“I wish I could leave you here,” Bull says. “I still can. I could say I didn’t find you. If you asked.”

“You know I won’t ask.”

“Tell me, instead of asking me.”

“You know I can’t do that, either.”

“Should I do it for you?”

Lavellan’s eyes glisten, wet and heartbroken as she looks up at him.

“No. But I’ll do this for you,” She says, voice cracking, “Kadan, will you remember the woman you found here? Will you remember her for me?”

The first tear loses the fight against gravity as it slides down her face, quickly followed by several other brothers and sister.

“Kadan,” Bull says gently, “I will love her. I will grieve for her. But I will not be the reason why she leaves here.”

[wolfie-dragon-rider]

Big Hero 6: Baymax Returns, review

The new tv show based on Big Hero 6 began airing just now, and I watched the opening movie, Baymax Returns. It made me feel a lot of things, so I figured I’d write them down! I’ll split this into two parts. First part, below the cut, will be spoiler-free, while below the cut I’ll go into a bit more detail about the plot and characters and what I thought of it.

Before I started watching, I was very worried it was going to be a goofy silly ‘childish’ show that had forgotten what made the original movie so great. I had this problem with Race To The Edge, from How to Train your Dragon, for example. But I’m glad to say it really hasn’t. It keeps the focus on science and technology, and how they can help and hurt people. It’s about grief, but also about moving on. It’s about inclusion and being nerdy and how that can be freaking awesome.

Animation-wise, it’s very good. I’ll be honest, I’d would have loved to see BH6′s beautfully rendered San Fransokyo return, with its bright neon lights and dark alleys, the floating wind turbines providing power for the high-tech electric trains below. The 2D handdrawn animation has its drawbacks compared to the original 3D. Characters have little depth, look kind of cardboard-cutout-y, and the colors are awkwardly shaded with very clear transitions between light and shadow.

However, this style has its own charm. It has a lot of tiny details, with all kinds of writing on screens and machines drawn to the tiniest gear. It keeps San Fransokyo’s neon lights and dark corners, and the minimalistic style easily draws the eye to what is important. Another thing to note is that each main character has a very distinct silhouette, making it easy to identify each character at a glance, even if they’re far away or there’s a lot of action going on:

Character-wise, it stays truthful to the movie. Fred had a little too much focus in the first episode, and came off as annoying (more on that below the cut), while GoGo didn’t say much. A new character, Professor Granville, is an interesting addition with lots of room for backstory and growth. Her being a female African-American dean continues BH6′s inclusive and diverse message that anyone can be smart and nerdy, not just white boys.

One thing I didn’t really like where some of the new voices, particularly for Wasabi. He came across as kind of hammy at times, whiny at others, but it wasn’t too bad.

It has a lot of great comedy, particularly visually. I don’t want to be too spoilery, but the background event when Big Hero 6 decides this superhero thing might not work out well, after their first patrol, made me laugh for two minutes straight. It was brilliantly done, slapstick without being idiotic or too cheesy. Baymax’s dry understatements makes for more funny, yet also heartwarming, moments. There were a few jokes I kind of groaned at, mostly because they dragged on for a little too long, but overall the comedy is good. It’s obviously not dumbed down to appeal only to little kids, instead it assumes the kids are smart enough to grasp the slightly more complex jokes.

Some foreshadowing was kind of blatant and obvious, but often used for comedic effect. The writers are very aware of how their audience will perceive it.

Some of the trailers made me worry the villains in particular would be too cartoony and silly, like the themed villains from Batman, but so far that hasn’t happened yet. The villain in the first episode is genuinely scary, and there are hints of a greater evil still.

I’ll now go into a little more detail on the plot below the cut, but if you haven’t watched it yet, I’d definitely recommend it. It’s funny, cutely drawn, and overall just... smart.

SPOILERS AHEAD:

The episode starts out really well, with a short clip of Tadashi, making us remember him and what he meant to Hiro. The slow pace of the first 10 minutes or so reiterate the message of the movie: That it’s okay to grief, and that mourning and moving on takes time. Hiro is clearly not yet over Tadashi’s death, and he’s not expected to be. The rest of the team is supportive, letting him have his space when he finds Tadashi’s lab.

This entire first section is really just a reiteration of the end of the movie, where Hiro finds the chip and rebuilds Baymax, but it doesn’t feel boring. It adds detail, substance, humor, it lets Hiro adjust to ‘nerd school’, especially nerd school without his brother.

This part also introduces us to Professor Granville, the new dean, and the one in charge of the Robotics Institute, apparently taking the role Callaghan left behind. On that note, I wish we could have seen a little more of Callaghan or Abigail other than the one line in the opening where he’s said to be in jail. Perhaps in future episodes.

Professor Granville is well-written and, unusual for a kids show, is actually a responsible and caring adult figure. She doesn’t mince words, and can come across as harsh, but she clearly cares about Hiro, and doesn’t want him to waste his talents. She lets him mourn Tadashi, but also reminds him that he can’t wallow in guilt all the time.

Aunt Cass didn’t get much screentime, but she was funny and awesome in the few scenes we had. The fish scenes on the train were pretty funny, if slightly cheesy.

After this introduction where Hiro starts rebuilding Baymax, we get a sequence where Fred is trying to get the superhero team back. I found this a pretty weak part. Fred’s enthusiasm was clearly meant to be funny, but to me it came across as sad and a little pathetic. Doesn’t he have anything else to do? Doesn’t he get that his friends clearly don’t want this? Especially his pestering of Hiro seemed pretty mean and bordered on bullying behavior at times.

Yama threatening to kill people was a pretty big mood whiplash, but I liked that the show isn’t afraid to get dark and gritty. Baymax’s suit running away was a plausible reason for Hiro to meet Yama again. Yama made a good villain, he’s genuinely intimidating and a clear danger.

The sequence where Hiro and Fred tried to scan Granville’s chip was kind of groan inducing from Fred’s incompetence. I hope he’ll become more than just the team’s permanent goofball.

I laughed really hard when Hiro broke out of Yama’s jail and got captured immediately, the scene reinforced very well that they’re not gonna win on brawn. The fight sequence with Big Hero 6 dropping in was fast-paced and overall well done, though the enemies didn’t feel like too much of a challenge.

The second episode was also really well done, the lack of introduction allowing it to set up a bigger plot with the robot army. I really liked the scene where Hiro and Baymax try to sneak into Yama’s army at SFIT, and their discovery was well done, showing that the healthcare chip still overrides the superhero chip.

The statue being a sort of supercharger was an interesting twist, though I feel more could have been done with it. Perhaps we’ll see it again later.

The train sequence I really liked, best action scene in the episode probably, showing off each part of the team, while putting Hiro and Baymax in genuine danger. I would have liked to see a bit more aftermath. What happened to Yama exactly? How did Aunt Cass react to the broken train, and how did she get home? Does she realize Hiro is in Big Hero 6? What does the city and the news think of all this? I would have liked to see more on that.

I did like the final scene with Granville, with Hiro becoming more confident and deciding he’s gonna find his own path, not just blindly follow Tadashi’s. Granville is, again, supportive, and offers him Tadashi’s lab, though refuses his hug. It’s a budding mentor-student relationship with great potential.

Overall I liked the characters and plot, not too cheesy and cartoony, while staying true to the themes and messages of the movie. So yeah, I’ll definitely watch the rest of the show when it comes out!

If you have any thoughts, let me know!