#i love writing this trouble half-orc girl

[valiantvillain]

WIP Wednesday

Chapter 3 of Duty, Diligence, Devotion (The Bastard of House Cordaign)

Snippet from my more Miraz-centric chapter for this fic. Also I meant to do this earlier today but totally forgot so sorry for late night tags to my mutuals.

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One would think they could get used to walking into nightmares at this point. Everyday another corpse. Everyday another tragedy. A raging fire seemed so mundane compared to the slimy stinking bodies of mindflayers and the violent depraved delights of goblins. It inspired a most shameful relief in the knowledge that the screams were the result of smoke and flame and not broken bodies bursting with the snapping of bones and shifting of sinews. You could help someone from a fire and leave them in tact. Disturbed and changed in spirit, but still themselves, minds and bodies yet their own. The mindflayers offered no such mercy. 

Fires Miraz could handle. Even if the ghostly tendrils of gray were more akin to tentacles than she would have cared to admit.

With Wyll, Karlach, and Gale not far behind, Miraz strode into the still burning ruins of Waukeen’s Rest with purpose. She saw the wide doors of a building and the line of Flaming Fist straining against the burning wood and hissing iron. From there she did not think. Only acted, guided by the unerring flow of experience. Without hesitation the paladin joined the struggling soldiers and, clasping her hands, bore the weight of her broad shoulder upon the door. Heat flared against her cheek, wrought forth beads of sweat upon her brow, as it gave with a groan. Miraz was vaguely aware of Karlach’s bulk beside her, adding her strength to the chain. A flash of memory. Of breaking down similar obstacles with Armand gritting his teeth at her side, synchronizing into a rhythm of one…two…three. This door proved no different, caving in on itself in a shower of splinters as it surrendered to their collective assault. 

Miraz drew in a long, acrid breath before she followed the lot within, the party close at her heels as she followed the lot inside, up the stairs. Then they repeated the process twice more to allow a slender elven woman to race out to safety and a poor fellow far more injured to be guided along until the mere sight of a sliver of blue sky spelled safety and he stumbled off on his own. 

So busy had they been with freeing those trapped within the flames that Miraz had hardly bothered to look at them save for the passing realization that the woman had been dressed too splendidly to be a commoner. Perhaps even a distant inkling of familiarity in her low voice swiftly forgotten in the chaos. She had not expected to recognize the elf that stood before them as they exited the building, coughing smoke from their lungs and half-heartedly shaking ash from their hair. She had not expected Counsellor Florrick, even less so that she would recognize her and Wyll. 

The shock at his new fiendish appearance however, was sadly a little too expected. She called upon him first and so it was revealed that the Blade of Frontiers was in fact Duke Ulder Ravengard’s wayward son who had been whispered to have been unceremoniously exiled from beloved Baldur’s Gate. A shock to say the least, but it made sense, when Miraz thought about it, followed the path through the years past. When she and her old crew had returned from a job dealing with a group of Shadow Druids trying to breed manticores to find hushed whispers of the boy’s forced departure abound. You could have scarcely stumbled from one market stall to the next without catching wind of another wild theory or speculation. It was a matter of great interest to Lord Cordaign at the time, Miraz remembered. Or rather the potential for political gain, the subtle poking and prodding of a powerful man nearly as aloof as he to find a newly received chink in his armor. A sliver of grief to seize and exploit. She had always been rather pleased to know he had come up with little opportunity. 

Now the boy of rumor stood shoulder to…well, not exactly, more like shoulder-to-some-unclear-point-on-his-jaw with the boy of legend. Now a young man of age with her second brother and with a career of heroics behind him. Who would have thought that the Blade of Frontiers and the young Ravengard had been one in the same all this time? 

It begged the question of whether Mizora might have been involved. How very like wily patrons to isolate their charges. 

Miraz offered a silent prayer to Helm that the reunion between father and son would be far warmer than any she would have with her own family. Provided avoiding one entirely was out of the question. 

Rescuing the duke. Yet another reason to pursue the trail of this Absolute cult, if the glowing members of bodies of drow and goblins were any indication. What was another item on the list of impossible tasks? 

Then the Counsellor turned her steely gaze on Miraz. Instinctively, her spine straightened, shoulders rolling back as though a soldier awaiting orders. Instead, the woman’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her an instant before something like a knowing relief eased the creases in her face. 

“Saer Miraz Cordaign,” she said, letting each word fall with a gravity befitting of something more dignified than a bastard. “How fortunate I am that you bear little in common with the rest of your family. Though I rather imagined I'd not see you again, given the circumstances of your departure.”

Shame tore through her, burning and white hot. The phantom of fear, however, gripped her heart with icy fingers. The shattering of bones and screams rang in her ears. She had not thought then either. Only acted. Only swung her hammer. Up, down. Up, down. Until her arms were nearly numb. 

It hadn't been justice. It shouldn't have been justice. It should have broken. Why had it held? Why was it guilt that haunted her and not a broken path?

Miraz’s hands clasped behind her back, then squeezed one hand around the other's wrist. She sensed the eyes of her companions upon her. The astonishment of wide-eyed revelation bore into her skull at three angles. She stared straight on at Florrick, just as she was taught. Muscles made rigid by memories of blue-veined hands manipulating her posture until it was acceptable and made to stand still as a statue. 

“They were most regrettable circumstances, Counsellor.” Miraz’s answer was level, formal as befitting one of Florrick’s lofty status. Though if she knew of what Miraz had done, than regrettable was a gross understatement. The paladin swallowed a sudden hard lump in her throat. “How does Aldred Cordaign fare?”

Her jaw clenched at the thought of his death. Tighter when Florrick arched a brow, her own face as meticulously unreadable as that of Miraz. 

“Your brother yet lives, if that is what you are asking. Though if there exist healers capable of restoring bones from dust, then they are not to be found in Baldur’s Gate. He will never walk again. As well as a fair few other things. Some, given his reputation, might consider it a just punishment. Would you agree, Saer Cordaign?” 

The briefest bubble of relief to learn that her brother had not succumbed to his injuries. But then Miraz’s grip tightened around her wrist, so hard she could already feel the steady bloom of a bruise like a flower unfurling under sunlight. Tension hung thick in the air, thicker than the smoke that burned her nostrils and irritated her throat. 

“I…am not sure I can say, Counsellor. Judgment was warranted, I will say that much. Whether the one I gave was fitting however, of that I have my doubts.”

“Does your oath still hold?” 

Miraz nodded. “It does.”

“You are certain?” She asked, the tentative shadow of skepticism creeping across her unlined features. 

“With all due respect, I am a paladin. I would know if I was an oathbreaker.” 

A half-truth. In the heat of the moment it was easy to mistake the sick sensation of guilt rising in your gullet for the sundering of an oath. Yet all the abilities granted to her by the oath of devotion had been just as present as before even after days of doubt had gnawed at her heart. Miraz certainly did not relish the thought of losing them, of losing that which had defined her by the virtue of her own deeds, her own will, the one thing that had always been well and truly hers to claim. But it seemed so very, very wrong to consider what it meant: that violence, raw and angry and uncontrolled, unburdened by restraint, had been justice. 

The elven woman’s shoulders sagged incrementally, almost imperceptibly, with what looked like relief. Why would she be relieved? What did a single inconsequential bastard of a disreputable noble house matter to her? Especially one who had fled before the blood could stain the carpet.

“Should you rescue Duke Ravengard, I shall ensure you may return to Baldur’s Gate without being accosted.” Florrick’s words were sharp with the edge of an offer, likely an additional incentive should Miraz consider the duke’s rescue low on the list of priorities. If there was one thing the Counsellor had in common with her grandfather, it was that they were both shrewd. “From the Flaming Fist anyway. I unfortunately cannot say the same for whatever sellswords Gaetan may have hired.” 

Of course he had. She had finally given him reason to retaliate in full force, hadn’t she? All these years spent loathing her ugly illegitimate existence and now he could justifiably persecute her in the eyes of the coin-swayed law. 

A rueful grin worked it way across her lips with a snort. “So he’s already set his sights on arresting me.” 

“To the fullest extent of what the law will allow, from what my people have told me.” 

In a way it was a relief, to have the breadth of the animosity laid bare. The threats would be veiled no longer, all the aggression divested of the passivity he’d displayed for so long for fear of a broken jaw. 

She supposed it was too much to hope that Aldred would have grown a conscience. The sigh that left her lips tasted of cinders and regrets. 

“I thank you for the generous offer, Counsellor Florrick but such promises will not be necessary. I would have agreed regardless, with or without Wyll. Nor do I intend to return to the city once our work is done.”

“You would prefer a self-imposed exile? When even your oath sees fit not to condemn you. Most in your position would argue their innocence far more vehemently.” 

“My intent is not penance,” replied Miraz, shaking her head. “Merely to get out from under the Cordaigns’ long shadow. Nor was I innocent. What that means for my oath, however, is something to ponder in time.” 

Preferably when her head was blissfully absent of a parasite. 

Florrick, however, seemed to remain unconvinced, frowning haughtily. Truthfully, Miraz had only seen the woman a handful of times when her grandfather had dragged her to those cursed balls and events of the Gate’s rich and powerful, and always at a distance. Standing near the walls, ever in the backdrop like a piece of crudely hewn decoration someone had placed there more for the novelty than any sense of aesthetic pleasure. Yet it appeared that the Counsellor had taken more notice of the bastard of House Cordaign than she once thought. Did Miraz dare to consider such interest may have carried a touch of admiration? That an illegitimate half-orc such as her could garner enough of a cutthroat patriarch’s respect to yank her out of the temple to which he had given her at his discretion? To sculpt and chisel her into his version of perfection? 

Nonetheless, in that moment the woman did not yield, only nodded in an imitation of acceptance. 

“Be that as it may, the offer will stand,” she eventually said, after having given Miraz one last appraising once over. Perhaps trying to catch a hint of trepidation, an uncertain shuffle of her feet or an instant’s aversion of her eyes but finding nothing. “Baldur’s Gate may yet benefit from your strength.” 

You mean my hammer, Miraz thought to herself. Such was always the case, wasn’t it? Both beneath notice when all was at peace and yet vital when something needed doing. Either way, some form of ridicule or reticence usually came with it. At least when it came to nobles anyway. 

“Of that I have no doubt, Counsellor. Rare is the city that does not have a use for strong arms and stronger wills. May Helm watch over you on your journey.” 

“You as well, Saer Cordaign, Wyll.” 

It wasn’t until the Counsellor and her retinue of Fists had passed beyond the smoldering outer gate that a long exhale released from Miraz’s lungs. Her eyes briefly shut with relief and the muscles pulled taut in her shoulders finally relaxed. A faint soreness ringed the wrist she had held for the entirety of their conversation. Even so, her heart thudded knowing that she still felt the weight of her companions’ stares. 

No pressure tags: @poetikat, @arendaes, @captastra, @perhapsrampancy, @isobel-thorm, @mxanigel

[frogbearwhatever]

Owlbear with a Sore Head

The following is a short story I wrote about Thar Bludtusk, the half-orc cleric I’m going to be using in a new campaign. It starts with him in Phandalin, so this is a story about him on his way there and why he’s headed for the town. I hope you enjoy.

            *       *       *      *       *

The horse whinnied nervously, hooves stamping the earth, and the man only kept it from bolting by holding the reins with white knuckles as the half-orc stepped forward, stretching his thick, muscular arms. 

Thar Bludtusk wasn’t especially large by the standards of the human-orc hybrids, but still towered over the man.

Muscles flexed and coiled beneath his dull, swampy green skin, and he hoisted the cart up with one hand, the other manoeuvring the wheel into position.

The man’s daughter rushed forward to fasten the bolts and the cart was roadworthy once again.

“Good as new!” Thar proclaimed cheerfully.

“Thank you so much.” She said, looking up at him and smiling. She’d never met a half-orc before and they definitely weren’t as scary or ugly as she’d been led to believe from papa’s stories. 

Definitely less ugly.

“No trouble, miss.” Thar smiled, aware that his sharp, prominent tusks might make this expression less reassuring than intended. 

The girl didn’t seem to be bothered and returned the smile.

“Well, um, thanks for your help.”

Her father thrust the reins at her.

“Hitch Trig up, that’s a good lass.”

He rummaged in his pockets and produced a copper piece.

“Ain’t got much I can give you as thanks, sorry.”

“It’s alright, friend. A good deed is its own reward.” Thar shrugged. “Though might I trouble you by asking for directions?”

“Where you headed?”

 “Phandalin.”

“Aye, you’re on the right road. Keep on to the next town, Posea, and take the left road as you leave. About three days from Phandalin, as the crow flies.”

“Thank you.” Thar gathered his pack and mace. “May the Moonmaiden watch over you and keep you safe.”

He nodded at the girl, who smiled and blushed slightly and set off.

Despite the monastic robes he wore there was no hiding the half-orc’s muscular form and she had been rather enjoying the view.

Thar’s dark robes were ill fitting. They were the best the abbey had been able to find though, and at least they fit around his shoulders and torso, having previously belonged to Brother Augustus, a human follower of the moon goddess Selune who was infamous for his inability to walk past a buffet table. Some of the brothers joked that Augustus was on a holy mission to become as spherical as the moon herself.

The problem was that Augustus was considerably shorter than Thar and as a result the robes stopped just beneath the younger cleric’s knees. 

Thar travelled light, and his pack wasn’t a burden as he walked along, singing a child’s hymn to himself in a voice full of enthusiasm if not tune.

“Silver maiden of the night,

Guide us true, guide us right.

Light our way with kindness,

Wisdom, grace, love, grant to us”

He was an unlikely servant of Selune, having inherited the warlike appearance of his mother. The tusks and muscles seemed ill suited for a man of faith, but Thar’s faith was as strong as anyone’s and he believed that his strength had been a gift to aid the weak.

       *        *       *       *        *

Posea was a one horse town, and that horse was only there because he’d been tied up outside The Tiger’s Eye inn.

Thar strode in and bought an ale with a bowl of stew and seated himself in the corner. His robes, and thee pendant of the eyes encircled by stars reassured the innkeep that the hulking figure wouldn’t be starting any trouble, though the mace suggested Thar might be able to stop it.

The other patrons either ignored him or gave small nods.

“Blessing of the Moonmaiden be with you, Brother.” A half-elf offered.

“And with you, sister.”

Seated he enjoyed the ale and endured the stew, deciding not to probe the vague title of “Meat Stew”.

As he ate, Thar retrieved the letter from his pack, and read it again. The writing was well known to him, although the sender remained a mystery. These letters had been arriving for much of his life, often with gifts from a generous, but secretive, benefactor.

Dear Thar,

I trust this letter finds you well and that you are enjoying your new life as a travelling Brother in the service of the Moonmaiden.

As you know, I have long taken an interest in your life and offered assistance where possible. While I was always happy to do this without any obligation on your behalf, I must confess that this situation has changed and for the first time, Thar, I must ask something of you.

I need your assistance and thus request you join me in Phandalin as soon as possible so that I might explain these unusual circumstances.

A pity, as I have rather enjoyed this cloak-and-dagger routine. We have met before, of course, but now my role in your life and the reasons for it must be revealed.

See you in Phandalin, I remain, as ever,

A Friend.

While the tone was friendly, even jovial, Thar had been unable to shake a sense of unease since receiving the letter. What could he help with? And whatever it was, could he refuse given all that he owed this sponsor. After devoting himself to his faith and a good life, he dreaded being asked to perform some less noble actions.

Also, the mystery had intensified, as now he tried to remember people he had met who might be the benefactor.

Any further thoughts would have to wait as a youth ran into the inn, frantic with fear.

“Owlbear!” He panted. “There’s a crazed owlbear on the Phandalin road.”

Across the barroom a young knight in gleaming plate stood.

“At last, a fresh test, this savage creature will taste my steel in the name of Lady Orlaith!”

And with that, the lad rushed out.

Thar sighed, regretting his vows that obligated him to assist the injured and sick, even when those injuries befell bloodthirsty young knights who liked to kill animals.

          *       *       *       *        *

It was not going to plan for the knight.

He’d managed to bloody the owlbear with a few slashes, but this had enraged the beast and now the knight, and his squire were hiding behind a tree.

Thar watched for a moment, hoping that the owlbear would flee into the woods, but then saw that the words of the young lad were true, the hulking brown creature seemed crazed and its beak opened to release angry shrieking cries.

Summoning all his perceptive skills, Thar realised that behind the left ear of the owlbear was a small lance buried in the flesh.

The pain from that injury was no doubt affecting its mood and Thar wondered if there might be a way to solve this problem with the minimal amount of bloodshed.

Thar drew his mace and darted forward, stopping to pick up the knight’s dropped sword, which he hurled into the undergrowth.

“Sir knight!” He called out. “I’ll distract the creature and you fetch your sword.”

“Thank you!” The knight and his relieved squire vanished into the woods and Thar slowly approached the agonised creature, with raised palms and began talking softly.

“Easy there, big fellow. That’s a good owlbear.” He said as he neared. “Moonmaiden, please don’t let this be the embarrassing fate of your devoted follower and soothe this creature in its pains.”

The prayer seemed to work, and as he approached the owlbear became calmer.

Still with hands raised, Thar circled the beast until he was at its side, its eyes still fixed on him.

“Okay, forgive me, friend, this may hurt.”

His green hands enveloped the lance, which he guessed was of gnomish design, and he yanked it free.

The owlbear roared with pained fury and rose, but then hesitated, realising that as the sharp pain faded the original discomfort had gone.

Thar hastily chanted a healing prayer under his breath, causing his hands to glow silver for a moment, the same glow emanating from the bleeding wound upon the owlbear, who now seemed much more relaxed.

It gently nudged Thar and then crashed into the woods, vanishing surprisingly quickly for an animal of its size.

     *       *        *        *        *

A moment later the knight returned, red in the face, but with his sword.

“Where’s the beast?”

“Oh, gone. I-” Thar began to explain.

“Gone?! You let it escape!”

“Well, yes, as I-”

“You dunderheaded oaf! You let a vicious beast flee?!”

“Hey, now, friend, if I could-” Thar said, doing his best to remain calm.

“You are no friend of mine, greenskin! I should have known better than to trust a half-orr!” The knight raged. “You probably worried you might be related to it! For I suppose if your whore of a mother opened her legs for an orc she may have lain with anything. Treacherous halfbreed, I should-”

What the knight should do would remain a mystery as at that point Thar hit him.

Hard.

The knight staggered back a few feet and then, with a noise like a kitchen accident, clattered to the ground.

The squire gaped but seemed unwilling to defend his stricken master.

“I’m sorry.” Thar said, trying to regain control. “My temper has long been a flaw of mine, and sometimes I succumb to it. Tell your master I’m sorry, but that he shouldn’t insult people’s mothers and the owlbear, having been placated, is unlikely to attack unprovoked again.”

The squire just nodded dumbly.

“Blessings of the Moonmaiden upon you.” Tharr said and walked off, continuing on his way to Phandalin.

[danihow]

Flower love

Legolas x human!reader

Lord of the rings

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: While crossing through the forest, our dear Y/N decided to help Legolas to braid his hair back.

Warnings: Fluff, that’s it. 

A/N: I actually thought of this after learning the meaning of some flowers. Im so sorry ittook me a month to finish this and I’m not even please with it.

The sun was half an hour away to be hidden by the tall mountains that surrounded the valley when Frodo and Aragorn came to the agreement of staying the night in a forest opening near a stream.

The girl nodded with a little smile just before leaving the bag she helped Sam carry beside an oak near them. She could still feel her back tense after carrying a hobbit for what seemed like hours while crossing some really high grass a couple of days before, when horses were not available to use. Those little men could be short but all the food they could eat a day really weighted on them.

Then, she looked at her surroundings, her gaze danced over the men who she shared her everyday with for the last couple of months, her gaze went from the four hobbits that gathered in a small circle talking over what should Sam cook for supper before going to sleep, Frodo being the center of the debate that Sam was arbitrating. Next to them, sat against the log of probably the eldest oak in the bunch that circled the fellowship was Boromir, his long legs stretched in front of him while his head was abutting the log, a small smile spread on his relaxed face as he overheard the hobbits’ chatter, almost closed eyes staring at nothing but a yellow hyacinth a few feet from him. 

Then, she spotted Gimli arguing with Legolas for who may take the second best place near the fireplace Aragorn was building up, the woman could see how Gimli scrunched his nose in disgust when seeing the other option perfectly placed near the fire was over some wet mud, mentally determining himself to win over the elf, who looked with a playful smirk at the dwarf getting angrier, even Frodo knew that the elf was bothering the dwarf for mere fun, he did not need a fire to keep him warm.

Lastly, there was Gandalf, sitting with his pipe in what seemed to be the perfect place, not too close yet no too far, a place where he could watch over each member of the fellowship during what was left of the evening without getting cold.

“Who’s turn it is to check the surroundings?” Frodo asked once their little gathering agreed with Sam to prepare some rabbit soup.

“It is mine.” The lady told she took her bow and quiver from her champagne horse and he nodded, looking up from the fireplace as he finished. 

“Be careful young Y/N, this woods are not to be trusted.” Gandalf warned in his wise voice, looking at the young woman with kindness, receiving the same smile back as she waited for Aragorn’s permission to leave.

“Be back before the sun is out, if not, Legolas will go and search for you.” The ranger said without looking at her, knowing well she was more than capable of handling any inconvenience by herself.

“Of course I will be back before darkness arrives, there will be no need to search for me.” She told with a smirk just before leaving the little safe place they have established themselves for the night.

With light steps she jogged through the woods, taking in the smell of wet dirt mixing up with some wild flowers, probably some dragon flowers. Her warm eyes wandered in between trees and looked up the branches, noticing hints of the bronze highlights making their way throughout the branches, giving the woods a special feeling. The thin golden brims of light could be seen shining down to the ground covered in either moss or clovers.

Her cheeks caught the whisper of nature that summer was in its way in the warm breeze that blew around as her ears could catch a distant chirping, oh, how much did she wished to have the hearing of an elf to listen better to the beautiful melodies birds gifted in this season.

Time went by as she enjoyed the peace the woods carried as her eye caught nothing irregular that deserved extraordinary attention. Now, in a slower pace she walked alone to the opening just when the sun finally sat below the horizon and nothing but darkness could be seen, taking her time to arrive as she spotted the warm light of the fire not too far from her.

“Just in time, young Y/N. We were about to search for you.” The old wizard muttered at her returning with the pipe placed in between his lips. Making her notice how the silver-haired elf left his own bow aside and sat back down in the place he was before, it appeared the elf have granted the log to Gimli since the dwarf was proudly sat on it at the contrary side of the fireplace. 

“There are no signs of orcs in the near paths, they seem not to like these ways.” As the words fell from her mouth relief seemed to take over the hobbits a bit once she finally took off her quiver and bow and placed it near where her loyal horse, Dagros, rested. 

With much grace a human could have, she sat in the free place next to Legolas, reaching for a little notebook she kept in a little bag attached to her cloak

“Miss Y/N.” Pippin called, getting the woman and the elf’s attention. “What is that notebook you write in each night?” The curiosity in his voice make her chuckle as Merry elbowed him in the ribs.

“Pip, you cannot ask people things like that.” He scolded with a frown in his features.

“It is okay Merry.” She smiled warmly at them as Pip smile got back to his face in pride as he did not actual wrong. “Well, Pip, I just like to write what happens each day so when I get old, I can read and remind it in case I ever forgot any of the crazy things we do now. Is like a journal.” She said, opening the notebook to a random page, just to find a sketch of the mountains and a dry blue flower, which she carefully took in between her fingers. “I also keep the flowers we recollect, so I can frame them and treasure them in some years as I do now.” And with that, she had gained the attention of the four hobbits, who stared at the blue poppy and the acacia blossom the elf at her side had collected for her around a week ago.

“That is an amazing idea, Miss Y/N.” Samwise spoke as he stirred the rabbit soup he had in the fire and Frodo nodded by his side, staring directly to the soup with hunger.

Then, everyone returned to their usual chatter, Merry and Pippin chattering their mischievous plans someone should worry about later, Frodo talked with Sam as he cooked, Aragorn seemed to be talking with Gandalf in their own voice level, Boromir was resting with his eyes closed for some minutes as the dwarf sharpened his axe a few feet away with total concentration; the elf, sat at the other side of the fireplace, looked at the orange flames without attention while his ears searched for any strange sound near them and the woman by his side scribbled something in her notebook, knowing that the elf would not betray her trust and look over the pages she transcribed her life in.

Minutes passed by and the elf bit his inner cheek, his hand playing with some flowers he found earlier and kept in his pocket. “Y/N.” He called to get her attention, once her gaze was placed on his and he got a kind smile, he talked. “I found these near the stream before sunset, thought you would like them.”

His hand grabbed the flowers and revealed to her two pink peonies just blooming, one smaller than the other one but still with a far more vivid pink tainting her petals. “Legolas, thank you, they are beautiful.” Her delicate hands grabbed the flowers from his, touching for enough seconds to make his heart twirl in his chest with joy.

A few feet away, the wizard and the ranger looked the scene with a little smile on their own, knowing farewell what the elf was doing and how oblivious they both were to it in their own minds.

“I will keep them as long as I can.” Her words were sweet and warm, making his chest warm at her as she placed the flowers in between the two pages she wrote in a few moments ago. “I have not seen these type of peonies in a long time, back home we only grew tree peonies.” Her smile may not have been wide, but in her smallness all Legolas saw was comfort and happiness, making himself happy.

He smiled at her one more time and guided his gaze to the fire in front of him, losing itself in there. Gears in his head started to spin, taking himself down memory lane for some long minutes. Thinking about everything and nothing, like the trip they had ahead, the woods and its creatures, thinking about the fellowship and more; then, he started to remember, all kind of memories striking their own way back in his mind, the last months, his mother and father, anything his mind could get access into, he remembered.

“Legolas.” A distant voice talked to him, but he was still lost in his mind.

“Legolas?” A voice and a squeeze in his forearm took him out of his own mind, looking up he found Sam with a bowl of soup standing in front of him with a concerned look on his face, the elf, concerned by himself on what was happening look to his side to find Y/N with the same concerned look in her facial features while one of her hands slowly let go of his arm. “Sam is asking if you want a bowl of the soup, its rabbit.” Her words were slow for him to understand why they were calling him. 

“Oh, sure, thank you.” With a small nod the bowl was taken out of Sam little hands into Legolas’, careful to not spill any food in the ground. Once Samwise had walked away to serve Aragorn’s and Gandalf’s soup, the pair sat in silence, enjoying quietly their own soup.

“What has you so troubled? If I may ask.” Her voice asked in a mutter some moments later. There was no way in the world she had not noticed how he was lost in his own thought to the point his keened ears were shut from the world, something not so typical in any elf.

“Nothing, lady Y/N, just some memories from the past.” He answers, leaving the empty bowl of soup aside as looking at her, finally noticing the bits of worry in her eyes. “Seriously, there is no need to worry Y/N.”

“I cannot help but to when you wear such a look on your face Legolas. It almost depresses me too.” The young woman joked with a knowing smile on her face. “But is okay you don’t want to tell, just let me know if I can help.” She muttered, making the elf smile at her, how could she be so sweet?

“Thank you, Y/N.” He said with the sincerest smile he could give her. 

“And what happened to your hair?” She asked, just now noticing how the braids he wore were more undone than done.

"The orcs in the morning probably messed it up.” He mutters while his hands passed over the thin braids on the side of his head, remembering how in the last village they visited the woman in front of him braided a bunch of young girls’ hair. “Would you like to braid them for me?”

“Are you sure you want me to?” Her voice was pure concern, she knew about the traditions of the elves and the dwarves, she��knew what the hair meant to them. “Is not that I don’t want to, I do, is just... I mean- It is your hair what we are talking about and I am... me.” She tried to make him understand her point because of her fear of disrespecting other culture, yet, deep inside she yearned to braid his hair for a long time now.

“I know you are you.” He chuckled, reassuring her. “And that is why I am sure, do not worry about that.” He nodded in her direction and make himself comfortable in the ground in front of the log they were sitting in, right in between her legs so she could have it easier. “You said you would want to help me how you could, believe this would help me a lot. You can braid whatever you want in there.”

“Alright, if you say so.” She whispered, untangling his soft blonde hair with her fingers, it felt even better than silk or velvet. Soon, she started braiding his hair, taking two thin braids from each side of his face to the back of his head, forming a big braid in the middle with both of them and tying it. Then, with her delicate fingers she soothed the hair that was left down, smiling to herself as the soft strands of his hair ran through her fingers with such ease. Through the process, the elf whose hair was being braided was smiling wide as he felt her fingers brush again his hair and in some occasions, against his ears, causing him goosebumps. 

Meanwhile, both Aragorn and Gandalf stared at the scene with a small smile in their faces, both of them could see at bare sight the special bond the elf and the human had together now and the eldest could predict how it would evolve in both of them, still, that was not ought to be said now.

“And... I’m done.” She muttered once she fully finished, making the elf to raise his hand and carefully touch the braids. 

“Thank you so much, I love them.” He said, getting up from the ground to sit back again in the log. 

“Next time an orc messes up your hair, make sure to pick up more flowers so I can braid them in your hair, maybe some more acacia blossoms.” She smiled while a blush covered her cheeks as he turned to face her.

And while the woman played with the pages of her notebook and the new peonies inside, rethinking if the braids and flowers meant what she thought they could mean; the elf smiled back with gratefulness as he may or may not try in a future to mess his hair more if it meant she would be the one braiding it. And then maybe, just maybe he could ask to court her.  

Yellow hyacinth: Jealousy.  Dragon flowers: Grace, strenght.  Blue poppies: Oblivion, imagination. Acacia blossoms: Concealed and chaste love Pink peonies: Romance, love at first sight.

[elvish-sky]

Aerinithil Character Sheet

i’m so delighted to introduce you to my new OC, Aeri! I’m so nervous about this, but I really adore her and I’m so proud of the work I’ve put into her so I hope you all love her!

Aeri, by the incredibly kind person and wonderful artist @lady-latte !!!

Name: Aerinithil, meaning ‘sea of moonlight’ is the name given to her by her elven mother.

Nickname: Aeri. It’s what her father called her when she was little, and it’s stuck. (pronounced air-rhee)

Heritage: Half-elf, half-human. Her parents were an elf from Lothlorien and a man from Rohan that got lost and fell in love with her mother. They disappeared from everyone they knew and lived together in the foothills of the mountains west of Fangorn, raising Aeri there. The only being that ever knew there had been another union between elf and man was Gandalf. They were killed by orcs when she was in her 40s, her father living a very long life for a human. However, she was not offered the choice between a human lifespan, and an elven one, instead only given an extended lifespan. However, she doesn't know how long that lifespan is until she meets Gandalf for the first time.

Age: She was born on February 14, TA 2414, and is almost six hundred years old at the Council of Elrond.

Appearance: Aeri is 6’3, a normal height for an elf, but tall for a human. However, she is shorter than Aragorn, who stands at 6’6. She’s very muscular after so many centuries of physical activity, and lean, but not slender like the elves, a reminder of her human heritage. She does have the elven pointed ears, though.

Her hair is a mahogany color and wavy, reaching to the small of her back when she actually leaves it down. Which is rare- one of the things she hates the most is having hair in her face, so it is almost always in a long ponytail or various kinds of braids.

Aeri has piercing blue eyes, a much darker blue than usually seen, but with starbursts of aquamarine around the pupils. She has a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and a few around her face. She also has a triangle of freckles on her right shoulder, something that her father had too, which has always puzzled her but she sees it as a connection to him. Her nose is slightly upturned, and her lips are somewhere in between rounded and heart-shaped, but she can never decide which.

She has a lot of scars all over, a result of centuries of fighting and a whole lot of clumsiness. She has one on the bottom of her chin from tripping as a child, that Aragorn tried for years to get the story about out of her and once he succeeded has not let her forget it. She received a scar at Helm’s Deep that stretches from her hip, across her thigh and almost to her knee. She also has a small one on her cheek from where an arrow grazed her during the battle at the Black Gate.

Personal Information: Aeri is usually very hostile with new people, but secretly craves connection and is rather touch-starved. She’s become almost numb by the time she joins the Fellowship and only does that because she received a message from Gandalf, who, when she met him centuries before, had promised to never ask her for anything unless the situation was truly dire.

She does have a sense of humor and enjoys the antics of the hobbits. Her common sense is strong, and her intuition is finely honed. She’s also inquisitive, sensitive, and has a large amount of hope, qualities that come to light as she starts to unconsciously think of and treat the Fellowship as a family.

Aeri is scared of bees, but she doesn’t know why (and thinks bumblebees are adorable, she’s just scared of any other kind). She has nightmares about her parents’ deaths that constantly trouble her, and hundreds of years later often wonders that if she’d been there, would she have been able to save them? She also suffers from panic attacks and is very nervous in large crowds, but she has learned how to cope over the years, and Aragorn teaches her tricks he uses as well.

In the years between her parents’ deaths and joining the Fellowship, she traveled Arda, visiting everywhere from the Shire to Erebor. She always returned home to the cabin in the foothills of the Misty Mountains near Fangorn, alone, with the books and goods she brought back to keep her company. And her horses and dogs over the years.

She’s fantastic with any weapon you put in her hands, but her favorites are her long twin daggers (that she bonds with Legolas over) and her long cutlass that befuddles Aragorn and Boromir.

Aeri, from this picrew!

Friends: Once the Fellowship gets her to trust them, on the way to Caradhras, she opens up a little more. She becomes fast friends with Merry and Pippin but enjoys Sam’s quieter company and Frodo’s thoughtfulness as well. She also knows a lot about compulsion and temptation and helps Frodo with the ring. Boromir quickly becomes her brother-in-arms, and she manages to take down the Uruk-hai that tried to kill him, saving his life. Legolas has a harder time trusting Aeri, especially because he can see the elvishness in her but knows she’s not fully elven. However, when she rescues him from an orc patrol one night they become friends, and he teaches her more about her heritage. She and Gimli don’t interact much until Moria, but he sees the respect she’s showing and they begin to like each other.

During the several months between her arrival in Rivendell/The Council of Elrond and the Fellowship’s departure, she becomes friends with Arwen, the first being she lets her guard down around in many years. However, she always feels a sense of jealousy around the elf, which she doesn’t realize is because of her feelings for Aragorn for a long time.

She also becomes really close with both Glorfindel and Erestor during her time in Rivendell, enjoying the warrior’s battle-wisdom and humor and the councilor’s quiet thoughtfulness and sass.

Love Interest: Aeri and Aragorn do confess their feelings for each other some time during the quest, much to Merry and Pippin’s delight when they hear of it. However, it takes a while, and there is lots of pining along the way as both think the other wants nothing more than to be friends. Aeri is intimidated by the fact that Aragorn is the Heir of Isildur, and Aragorn is intimidated by the fact that Aeri is a half-elf that’s been alive for eight hundred-ish years. Some hilarity ensues from this as well, much to Boromir and Legolas’s enjoyment.

Aeri and Aragorn with this picrew!

i’m tagging everyone on my everything tag, as well as people i think might be interested and just some that is really like to see this! i’m sorry if you don’t want to be tagged and i hope you’re not mad, i’m just very excited about this!!@entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1 @kumqu4t @katbby16 @thewhiteladyofrohan @kirstenscaffeinateddisaster @beenovel @shethereadinghobbit @guardianofrivendell @hey-its-nonny @laurfilijames @grunid @claraofthepen @gossip-girl-of-middle-earth @starryeyedrogue @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @ladylouoflothlorien @lady-latte @luna-xial @elles-writing @band--psycho @annkdarar

this character sheet was inspired by @guardianofrivendell ‘s for her amazing OC Tullaina, which you should check out here!

and a huge thank you to @laurfilijames who gave me the push i needed to do this. thank you so incredibly much, i hope you like her!

[peninkwrites]

Oh, may I ask 4 (because I miss Romy), 31 and 40?

Yes yes! :D

4. Do you have any OCs? Do you have a story for them?

Oh this is gonna be a long one lol. Thank you for asking me this one I get to go a little wild!

I miss Romy too!!! She's one of my favorite characters I've ever made ahh she's so cool. I've thought about trying to write an original story, but it would involve a lot of detangling from the teen wolf canon which I haven't bothered to do yet lol. But I did play as her in a d&d urban fantasy oneshot!

For the uninitiated Romy is my punk rock butch lesbian werewolf hunter who was lowkey raised in a cult to hunt werewolves. she's got trauma and charm and no respect for authority. She has a propensity to adopt miserable bisexual men and is quite good at it, but everything she does is indeed, for the ladies <3

I have a pinterest board for her because she is everything I want to be.

My other major OC is my d&d character Row who I love so so much. They're a half-orc ranger/barbarian who was raised by frogs in the swamp. They are so big and strong and don't know what a society is <3 Their defining moral principle is "if it can beg for its life it is no longer meat" and that is their only moral quandary on what they can kill and eat. Everything is food until it starts begging. This doesn't change, but in general after some character development they're a bit less isolated, they're happily "married" to an anxious elf cleric whose god is justice (something Row doesn't really believe in) and a father of one. They do believe in protecting their pack above all else <3. And all their frog family is dead. so. they've been abandoned since they were like 12 until they got some found family who they would do anything for! They're a strange creature, a bit wild, good at making soup and carrying people and killing things with almost joyful abandon. They were fearless for the first 23 years of their life until they realized there are some things they cannot escape into the swamp to get away from. Like alternate dimensions. They've recently learned what "guilt" is, and worse it was for something they had no control over. Like their husband getting stabbed in their place

I also have a pinterest board for them too because some things about them I cannot describe. It's a vibe.

Aaaand one more bigger oc I have is a miserable little man.

His name is Ritz (short for "the beast of many rituals" which is his stage name) who is a fake medium/conman. He's in his 40s. He's single and hating it. And also a whore. He's got two ex wives and mixed success on reconciling with them and 4 daughters that he loves more than life itself. He's a failure in every way except fatherhood. At the very least he tries his best. He sleeps on his best friend's couch even though technically he's homeless. He does not realize he is madly in love with that best friend and his best friend doesn't realize either! He drinks too much on week nights (because weekends are for the girls!) He's in debt to some bad people, but he keeps that stuff as far away from his daughters as possible, taking more and more dangerous jobs to try and wipe that record clean. The majority of the world doesn't respect him and worse for the most part they're right to. He's a liar and a cheat (but never on his wives! he was an absent figure because he doesn't know how to settle down and that is what wrecked his marriages broadly speaking) who gets into trouble with his big mouth and sneaky hands. The crux of his character arc is incited by him working a job at an actual haunted house and finding out he's actually a medium. That leads to many mental crises. Alas. One day hopefully he'll be proud of himself the way his daughters are and he'll kiss his best friend on the mouth (sober!). I could write a novel about this silly little man. maybe one day.

He also has a pinterest board

Yeah, those are the big three! I love them all so much. love to write something with them someday lol

31. I answered here!

40. Write a 9-word fic.

(ohh this is a challenge. but I get to go back to my scisaac boys so I can't complain :) (this reads more like a fic summary??? but it's nine words what can ya do)

Isaac hasn't been home in days. Scott starts worrying.

[cottonfluffballofdoom]

And now, I present something no one asked for... Ikemen Sengoku warlords playing World of Warcraft (part I)

(Kudos to @amenomiko for encouraging me to do it)

Oda forces:

Nobunaga

Race – Human female

Class – Warrior dps/tank

Alt – Worgen Death Knight dps

PvP or PvE? - Both

Guild leader

not reading any guides and somehow he always tops dps

loves PvP, but at the same time he's hardcore raider

the more badass the boss looks the more he get's hyped up

usually last man standing

he feels the best doing arenas and battlegrounds

he usually doesn't camp res points

unless he sees Kenshin or Shingen

then he camps graveyard for like 15 minutes just to annoy them

spams local chat with rude comments on Kenshin and Shingen

“Kenshin has his warrior wear cloth armor!”

his characters always look like MC

“if I have to look at someone's... back.. for this long, it should be my Fireball’s” ( ͡^ ͜ʖ ͡^)

Hideyoshi

Race – Human male

Class – Paladin tank

Alt – whatever Nobunaga asks him to

PvP or PvE? - prefers PvE, but he'll be doing what Nobunaga is doing

always in party with Nobunaga

actual guild leader

yells at voice chat, but never swears

(”moar dots”, but without the fucks)

Language!!!  ୧( ಠ Д ಠ )୨

hoards gold on Auction House

hoards pets

hoards mounts

yet doesn't hoard achievments

he sometimes likes to relax by doing some quests

lowkey loves the booterang quest

reads all the guides

for all classes

and nags if someone fucks up what he's supposed to do

has a hidden folder with revealing Jaina pics

Masamune

Race – Night Elf female

Class – Demon Hunter dps – bc looks cool

Alt – a ton. All races. All female

PvP or PvE? - both, but prefers PvP, as it doesn't demand strictly sticking to the tactics

secretly admires Leroy Jenkins

always sets the title Jenkins

(is an avatar of Leeeroy Jenkins) \(*´∀`) /

just let him kill some mobs/players

lvls up proffesions only because Hidemama nags him

except of cooking – this is always skilled up to max

he doesn't read tactics before (- 50 fking DKP)

shines brightest in PvP

he can pull some crazy ass tricks to get everyone out of the trouble

(the one he put then in in the first place bc fuck tactics)

afk in Goldshire inn

much into roleplaying

flirts with girls on priv

uses too much emotes

and, yes, he's the one who - while the raid group stops for any reason – instantly starts jumping or dancing if he's not afk

has a pic of half-naked Sylvanas as a wallpaper

Ieyasu

Race – Draenei female

Class – Priest

Alt – Orc Rogue

PvP or PvE? Whatever he feels like atm

reads all the guides for his class and some for other clesses

always ranting on voice chat (눈‸눈)

don't let him lead the party, bc “moar dots” will happen

(Hideyoshi: Language!!! ୧( ಠ Д ಠ )୨ )

hoards pets

achievment whore

pet battles FTW!

when not doing pet battles or raiding/bgs with Nobunaga he logs on his Horde alt and stalks and ganks Mitsunari

or NPCs in his location

or stands on mailbox while on Traveler's Tundra Mammoth

herbalism is ruinning his life

if you pick up the herb just under his nose

prepare to be stabbed

Mitsunari

Race – gnome female

Class – Mage

Alt – Draenei Priest

PvE or PvP? - PvE

sucks at PvP

though he's good at making general strategies

got flag snatched from under his nose way too many times

stood in the fire

Nobunaga banned him from battlegrounds

Hidemama makes him sit with him and strategize, but he's easily distracted

but in raids and dungeons...

that's where he shines

makes the best strategies for raids and dungeons

loves doing quests

keeps his Loremaster title all the times

and cat pet

he actually read all the quests in game

and in-game books

and all game-related stuff

all guides too ofc

he's shocked that he dies so often while doing quests or farming mats

“why am I dead again? (´◦ω◦`)”

“I was sticking to the road (´◦ω◦`)”

“and why are all the npcs dead (´◦ω◦`)”

“poor npcs Ó╭╮Ò”

he leaves his character in the inn, sitting by the table or sleeping in the bed like all the time when he logs out

Mitsuhide

Race – gnome male

Class – Rogue

Alt – Warlock

Alt – troll druid (bc ofc he's a troll)

PvE or PvP? PvP

kinda sucks on PvE

doesn't read quests like at all

got lost in game more than few times

he'll read quests only if someone reccomends it for being especially funny or exceptionally good

he yeeted himself from Teldrasil bc fun

and from all the really high places

(he secretly worships elevator boss)

another one to level proffesions only bc of Hidemama's nagging

spies on the Horde side with his troll druid

surprisingly, he's into roleplay

loves trolling low-level new players by directing them into high lvl zones or onto elite mobs ( ͡^ ͜ʖ ͡^)

PvP is his world

rogue to the bone

Horde won't even know what hit them

vanish and backstab supremacy

another one jumping/dancing on raid breaks

he also puts up toy train

I would be grateful for any suggestions so I can improve my writing

Kasugayama in part II

[bogariel-frogariel]

The Bad Kids Visit Middle Earth Part 4

This is very fun. It’s not very popular but it is very fun.

-----

Boromir was awoken by shouts.

 His eyes snapped open and he jumped to his feet, eyes scanning the snowy ground on top of the mountains which reflected the moonlight faintly.

 The two elves were already up, Legolas with his bow in his hand and Miss Abernant with her sword in hers, both of them staring out at the same thing some point beyond Boromir's line of sight.

 Everyone else was snapping to attention, Aragorn already unsheathing his sword.

 "What is it?"

 "Orcs. With wargs," Legolas said quickly, already knocking an arrow and sending it into the night. There was a screech but the elf didn't acknowledge it outwardly, moving forward as he loosed another.

 "We don't have time to run," Miss Abernant informed them, her voice strained as she helped pull a tense Frodo to his feet and pushed him behind herself.

 Boromir only had time to register everyone getting their weapons out, and Mister Gukgak joining Miss Abernant in front of the hobbits, his crossbow at the ready, before his attention was focused on the mounted orcs that had materialised out of the night.

 He heard Gimli yell, "A bloody lute won't help ya here, girl!"

 It was followed by a mocking laugh from the devil, but he didn't have time to look as he charged forward and buried his sword into the closest warg. The next short while was a blur as he cut down opponents, but after a minute or so, there was break in attackers which gave Boromir time to look up.

 The first thing he noticed was the supposed half-orc (though he didn't look like any of sort of orc that Boromir had seen) Mr Thistlespring, swinging his axe, which was larger than Gimli's, tearing through wargs and orcs with a ferocity that Boromir had trouble matching with the soft spoken man.

 Mr Seacaster was leaping between wargs in almost a dance. He'd unfurled the cape that he always seemed to wear and was twirling it in one hand whilst he wielded his sword in the other hand. He was spinning between the wargs in almost a dance, cape and sword tearing down orcs in a whirlwind.

 The snow here was shallower than it had been throughout the walk in the day, so no one was sinking down in it, but now, the half-elf, who had been able to walk across the top alongside the two elves, looked as if he was floating.

 Mr Gukgak was still guarding the hobbits, nailing any attacker that got within twenty feet of them with arrow, firing impossibly fast from his crossbow.

 What was most surprising were the women of the party.

 Miss Faeth had run out into middle of the brawl and Boromir felt his heart leap to his throat at the sight. She didn't even have her bow or her sword out, only holding her strange stringed instrument in her arms. However, when a warg lunged towards her, she struck the strings and a wall of deafening sound, that wasn't exactly unpleasant, just completing shocking, rung out from it. The air in front of her rippled, pulsing towards her would-be attackers and rending them limb from limb.

 An unseated orc came up behind her and she didn't quite manage to dodge out of the way, his jagged blade grazing her arm. Boromir was about to run to her, but Miss Faeth's eyes glowed red and fire licked around the orc, causing him to collapse in screams.

 As Boromir gaped, his attention was caught by Miss Applebees, who ran past him and then slammed her staff into the ground. Ghostly spectres appeared out of thin air around her. One of them was a gigantic wolf, almost as big as the wargs, another was a large cat, a few of them were obviously scholars, with books and writing implements in their hands and one looked like it was a constellation of a woman plucked directly from the sky.

 As soon as a warg lunged for her, the spirits lashed out, the wolf springing forward to grapple it whilst the cat pounced on the orc rider and one of the scholars smashed it with their book. The warg rolled away with a yelp whilst the orc stopped moving, its body oozing black blood. All the while, the woman was slinging bolts of light from her hands, causing the eyes of orcs to glow before they fell to the ground, dead.

 Miss Abernant drew Boromir's attention last when a cone of flame burst from her sword. She ducked past an orc and a glowing translucent hand slammed into it from behind, shattering its chest. She threw flaming spheres at orcs around them, the hand moving around the clearing and smashing through orcs' chests.

 She looked to be doing very well until one warg darted forward, clasping it's jaws around her side and throwing her through the air. Miss Abernant rolled through the snow for a few feet, the spectral hand flickering out mid-attack and Boromir started sprinting towards her, but knew that he was too far away to help her, his heart sinking.

 However, Miss Abernant bounced to her feet, her the braid which had been pinned in a crown around her head and a complicated knot at the nape of her neck coming loose as she glared at the animal charging towards her. Her eyes glowed white and her right fist lit up with a blue light that licked up her arm like flames. She cocked her fist back and slammed it straight into the warg, a blue wave of light ripping through it and knocking it back twenty feet. It didn't get up again, but the orc on its back had landed on his feet.

 Miss Abernant's hand clutched her side which was gushing blood from a huge bite wound as she stumbled. However, before the orc could take advantage of her vulnerable state, the Hangman's jaws clamped around his neck and ripped its head off, not even breaking its stride as it bound over to the injured elf, who immediately leant against its side, even as lightning burst from the end of her sword and hit one of the few remaining wargs.

 Boromir was again distracted as he had to cut down an orc that had lunged at him and was occupied for the short time it took them all to slay their remaining opponents.

 When the last orc had fallen, beheaded by a stroke of Aragorn's sword, Boromir immediately looked towards the hobbits (a small, dark part of him that was growing more rapidly than Boromir was willing to admit, was looking for the Ring and not for the purpose of ensuring Frodo's safety). When he found them unscathed, still standing behind Mr Gukgak, who was yet to lower his crossbow, he sighed, managing, with some difficulty, to tear his eyes from Frodo's neck and swing his gaze towards Miss Abernant.

 She was still leaning heavily against Hangman, gazing at the blade of her sword, which was dripping with oily black blood. Her free hand was still pressing into her side. She was taking shallow breaths and her pale blond hair was more unkept than Boromir had ever seen an elf's, some of it falling out of the braid and strands sticking up at odd angles.

 Boromir stepped towards her as Aragorn strode over.

 "Are you alright?" the ranger asked.

 Miss Abernant's head snapped up to look at him, and she blinked slowly.

 "Oh," she said after short pause. "No. I'm not alright. I've been bitten."

 Her tone was extraordinarily calm, if a strained.

 "You need to lie down," Aragorn ordered, putting a hand on her shoulder, but the elf pulled back, shying further into the Hangman, who gave a low growl, snarling warningly at Aragorn.

 "It's alright. Kristen will heal me."

 Miss Abernant looked around, perking up visibly as Miss Applebees and Mister Thistlespring walked up to them. Mr Thistlespring was pulling an arrow out of his side, two or three already resting on the ground behind him, surrounded by drops of red blood.

 "Wow, Adaine, that looks bad," the red headed girl said as she crouched down and pulled Miss Abernant's friend away from her wound.

 The elf hissed, but didn't move away.

 "Yeah, that's going to need a few spells."

 Miss Abernant was looking up, her eyes clenched shut, her sword hanging loosely at her side.

 "Not to rush you, Kristen darling," she grit out. "But could you maybe get on with it?"

 Miss Applebees jerked away, picking up her large curled staff that she'd lain on the ground.

 "Right sorry. Professor Shadow said that I should examine wounds before I magically heal them. Something me about understanding them helping my magic heal them correctly."

 Miss Abernant nodded even as she grimaced. "That's very interesting. I'd love to hear about it. Later."

 Miss Applebees smirked but stood up. "I can get a message."

 The man beside her snorted and she shot a glare at him.

 "I'll get on with it."

 She closed her eyes and the end of her staff glowed purple, the same light emitting from Miss Abernant's side and the various wounds on Mister Thistlespring's torso. The half-orc's wounds closed up and the bleeding at the elf's side slowed.

 Then, Miss Applebees pressed her hand to the bite wound, causing it to glow again. Boromir blinked as the previously life-threatening wound knitted back together, and all that was left was bloodied skin which glowed slightly under the moonlight. With a wave of the elf's hand, all three of their garments were completely mended, and they all looked as if they hadn't been in a fight at all.

 They all reconvened under the moonlight and Boromir tried to come to terms with what he'd just seen, even as Miss Faeth struck another not on her instrument, causing Boromir to feel a spark of energy go through him as his wounds healed over. Never before had he witnessed such feats or such strange fighting techniques.

 He had been unsure when he'd seen the motley group, but now he knew that the gods had truly granted them a boon.

 With their help, they may just be able to actually destroy the ring.

-----

The next chapter will be very entertaining.

[eveninglottie]

hello i am interested in some more deets about song of sunder 👀

WELL SINCE YOU ASKED smash cut to about two years ago when I was so badly wanting to play dnd that I just threw seven characters into a half-baked world and played pretend with myself (I’m not kidding there was actual dice involved). since then it’s been brewing in the back of my head and I only really started to think about it seriously last year. I’m sure some of it comes from my obsession with CR and my fic brain going “dothisdothisdothis” because it’s very much a ‘formative text’ for me, but it’s been this nice little feel good place for me to go back to, especially this year. 

it’s actually at the top of my list in terms of what I’ve been thinking about diving into (since I apparently cannot write fic anymore lol it’s fine), and I’ve been working on it a lot recently just fleshing out the world and the character arcs. 

though, one of the things I have been considering seriously is just how you write a story like this, in a format meant to be read rather than experienced like any other dnd campaign. like is it just seven povs with separate chapters (a la game of thrones) or, and this is the one I’m drawn to but have no idea what it would turn out like, is it a story told from a third person omniscient narrator, weaving interchangeably through perspectives just like a dm would do in an actual game. like a screenplay but with prose. dnd is such a subjective experience, and while a lot of people have had success adapting liveplays to other visual mediums, like animation or graphic novels, I’ve never seen someone do it in fiction. I especially have never done it lol. I only ever write from distinct povs and switch them out, so this would be hard. maybe. I haven’t actually tried it yet. 

the story itself is pretty standard high fantasy dnd, a ‘sundered’ world where the planes all kind of smushed up against each other (familiar? :P) with a bunch of different factions and nations and secrets and wars and people trying to be gods and all that jazz, with a group of assholes thrown into the mix to become big damn heroes (the bones of the world are actually what I used to flesh out DW but shh don’t tell anyone). every arc (9, one for each character and a beginning and an ending) would open with ari, the bard, almost like she’s telling a story to the reader. 

my pie in the sky ideas for it would be some kind of serialized fiction, if I could get my ass in gear to actually do it. I’ve thought about how amazing it would be to do an audio drama one day with different voice actors and music and sound effects and all that shit, like oh my god do I want to do that. I have no idea how to do that, obviously, but that would be The Dream. I’ve even gone so far as to pick out a theme song, because I clearly don’t have enough things to worry about in my life. 

(it’s a lullaby, like a story, told by a siren, like a bard, get it, get it)

and because I’m feeling indulgent and I spent all day making these face refs (thank you, you little monster) the aforementioned assholes (they all have multiple classes and subclasses because I have the Too Much gene): 

ari (ariannai), an autumn eladrin bard/druid (college of glamour and lore/circle of dreams) from the feywild, soft and sweet and perfectly capable of gutting anyone who tries to fuck with her, has a gold pseudodragon familiar named trill whom she loves like a child, plays a masterful mandolin, her voice is magic (literally), actual snow white, leliana and josephine were huge inspo for her

kayd, a human fighter/warlock (eldritch knight/hexblade and undying) from the frozen north, a charming sailor with a thirst to prove himself (listen I love fjord a lot okay) and a cursed sword (don’t worry about it), likes purple and flirting with everything that moves, frequently gets into trouble because of this, but he can talk his way out of a jail cell (and has!) so it’s been fine so far (don’t think about the cursed sword)

verity, a half-tiefling/half-drow monk/rogue (way of shadow/assassin and soul blade) from the shadowfell, a ruthless thief and a terrible shit-starter running from a dark past, she has a pet rat named poe and loves gossip, looks like a child but is actually the oldest in the group, knife girl, her horns are tiny enough to fit in a hood but not tiny enough to fit in with her elvish family so that sucked but hey they’re all dead now so who came out on top in the end

esher, a human artificer/fighter/sorcerer (battle smith/gunslinger/phoenix soul) from a bustling white city on a hill, an obnoxious noble with a long lineage and a complete disregard for politics and propriety and his own privilege (he’s a younger son so he’s usually left alone and ignored and that’s fine, obviously), he loves nerd shit and his ancient owl, hornsby, and sometimes he sets things on fire with his fingers which would be fine only he sets things on fire with his experiments as well so things are on fire a lot around him

goya (goyzadara), a half-orc/half-elf fighter/paladin/ranger (samurai/oath of the ancients/beast master), a princess in exile, honorable to a fault (which is why she was exiled), big into history and politics, finds a baby gryphon and immediately goes to pieces, Disaster Sword Lesbian, likes embarrassing men by kicking their asses in fighting rings, though she never takes the money, because she’s noble like that, has a weird obsession with dragons, does embroidery in her free time to chill out, can’t cook for shit

sabrathan, a scourge aasimar blood hunter/ranger/sorcerer (order of the ghostslayer/monster slayer/divine soul), a half feral girl from the woods who knows way too much about how to disembowel monsters three times her size, skittish and intense and maybe an angel but don’t ask her about it or she will disappear for a few hours and come back with an elk for dinner, never seen out of the company of her crossbow or her sickles, more comfortable around animals than people

theo (theoderic), a human sorcerer/wizard (runechild/school of chronurgy and conjuration and transmutation (he’s a special snowflake)), the smartest person you will ever meet and he knows it, socially awkward and unnervingly quiet, not actually an asshole just neurodivergent (but also sometimes an asshole), craves Phenomenal Cosmic Power and affection, has anime hair and terrible handwriting, Gay as Fuck

their group name would be Sirenox (the name of the last dragon seen in Sunder over five hundred years ago, whose final act was to grant a group of adventurers a boon to stop an archlich from plunging the land into eternal darkness), and I love them all very much, and definitely already have full romance arcs fleshed out for all of them, because that’s more important than worldbuilding, obviously.

so anyway there you go, my own little dnd campaign that I will probably never write, just think about wistfully until I die 

[kotas-dump]

We’re just people Part2

Jakoby fanfic. Part 1

Jakoby POV

You woke before her, half tangled in her limbs as she slept on top of you. Shaking her shoulder gently in a failed attempt to wake her you laid there for a moment longer. Was it bad you secretly enjoyed it? Her warmth was a welcome comfort and her hair smelled like strawberries. Brushing her out of her face you sighed.

She was so beautiful. It made no sense to you. How could someone so beautiful, so skilled, think so lowly of themselves? A fluttering thought crossed your mind and you brushed it off. She’d never like an orc. A woman like her? She could get anyone so she’d never just settle for you.

Gingerly you get up, replacing your body with a pillow and blanket. You tried to prepare for work, shower and get changed. But as you were brushing your teeth, the thought returned.

Your hand drooped, mouth still foaming with toothpaste. She held you last night. She held you. Much like you had done when you pulled her over the rooftop ledge. She’d nailed how you felt with such conviction in her eyes. It was like she didn't even see what you are but who are and she accepted it. Maybe..? Shaking your head you went back to brushing your teeth.

As you flipped the pancakes that persistent nagging thought came back. She’d been clearly painting you. How many other orcs could she know? A lot probably... but there had been no tusks on that painting. None.  And she’d been embarrassed when you saw it...It could be... No no. You were an orc. She was human.

Walking over to the couch you went to wake her but she clutched at the pillow, face half buried in it. Sighing you knelt down and admired her. No. You couldn’t wake her, you didn’t have it in your heart. Your golden eyes flicked around, looking for something to write with. A spare ticket book being the only thing. Pulling your pen from your uniform you flipped it over and wrote a note on the back. Leaving it on the arm of the couch before regarding her once more.

Nodding to yourself you turn and leave for work.

---

Nothing could shake your happy demeanor today. Not Ward’s asshole teasing nor the heavy workload you were dealing with. You were happily rocking out to the music you played in your head, drowning Ward out some of the time. 

He was mid-sentence when you spoke up. “She’s really talented did you know that?”

“What?” Ward gives you a sharp look. “Who?”

“The woman we rescued from the rooftops. I- well I went to her house and it’s covered in art-”

“Woah woah woah. Hold up.”The human raises his hand, head shaking slightly.”  You went to her house?” Ward shoots you an incredulous look.

Blinking you glance over to him. “I mean.. We’d been talking. We’re friends now.”

The look he gave you could probably curdle milk it was so sour. “WOW.” Nodding slowly. “I didn’t know you could make friends.”

Rolling your eyes you focus back on the road. It would roll off your back today.” Her drawings are like pictures from a camera- they’re amazing. You should see the one she has- It’s a painting- but it’s huge and it looks like me. She’s only ever seen me in person Ward- and she- She can just draw from her memory a picture that looks like- like me. I mean the markings were spot on-” Glancing over at him you ignored the flabbergasted expression on his face. “She’s really  talented. And kind!” Your breath leaves you in a huff as you turn the vehicle. “I’m glad she’s still alive. The world needs more people like her.” You’re both quiet for a moment but your thoughts are racing. “She looked at me Ward and- It- it was like she saw me. My soul. When she touched me it was-”

“You- WOAh! I can’t believe this. You slept with her?!” Ward practically shouts, making your ears twitch in pain.

“What? No! Well... Yes? I mean I didn’t... you know? But we fell asleep on my couch. It wasn’t dirty or anything it was like two souls connecting. It was  beautiful.”

Ward’s surprise faded into something else. Studying his expression you couldn’t quite pin it? Smug? Skeptical? “W-wha- why are you looking at me like that?”

A smile pulls at the human officer’s lips and he laughs. "So this girl...You what? Dating?”

The corners of your lips turn down. Okay that got to you a bit. “No. She’s-”You huff, turning to the radio as a voice spoke, bringing your conversation to an abrupt end. A small part of you was thankful that the siren drowned out the hope for conversation.

---

Weeks had passed since that night with Nick and you’d barely had enough energy to leave the house. You did, the next day, for work but after that you called off and then just...stopped showing up.

Instead of working you plopped your blanket wrapped burrito self in front of your painting of him and stared. Cracking away at it over the hours and days that passed. Work would no doubt fire you but what was the point? You didn’t like working there anyways.

At the end of the second week, god it was practically valentines day, you’d managed to finish the painting and end up drunk and drifting in and out of dreams by your door. You don’t even remember going to get the almost empty bottle of rum in your hand now. You knew you painted better drunk and maybe that was why? Nah. It was the loneliness of this time of year that drove you to drink.

A loud knock on the door roused you from your half- asleep state. What time was it? What DAY was it? Another knock, this one sounding like a fist banging desperately on the door.

Grunting you stand, opening the door only to receive the full force of an orc cop prepared to bust down an unlocked door.

Tackled to the ground your bottle clatters to the ground and starts spilling all over the floor. “Ah jeeze what the hell..?!” Bleery eyed you shove at the person on top of you.

Nick clambers to his feet, helping you to your own two feet as his deep sniff drink in the scent of alcohol. “You’re drunk?” He points out, closing the door behind him.

“Astute observation for a rookie cop! I paint better when drunk..” You mutter, lurching forward for the bottle. Righting it you swipe your hand across your face and look to him. “Less thinking. More doing...What are you doing here?”

Nick blinks, as if the answer to the question was an obvious one. “You haven’t shown up for work in over a week...?”His eyes glance around at the weeks worth of mess left uncleaned.

Snorting you laugh, stumbling over to the painting and plopping down in the chair before the floor caught you again. “I think it’s good. The painting I mean. You should have it. Be like.. one of those fancy pants elves who keep their portraits above the mantle of their fire place. Sitting in those ridiculously firm chairs... sipping red wine.” A dry laugh leaves you as you mockingly sip from an imaginary cup with your pinky out, swaying badly.

The orc comes to stand beside you, looking at the portrait. You’d painted him with the sunrise at his back, the light giving him a halo effect. When he looks down at you it isn’t with humor it’s with concern.

Sighing you shove at him.” Don’t.” Stretching you slide over a stool, patting it. “Sit.”

Jakoby does sit, watching you and scanning your face with those intense eyes.

Humming you flick between the painting and the real deal. You’d messed up the cheeks and lips a little. Reaching out slowly you touch the skin of his face, your thumb brushing over his lips.

Before you realized what you’d done your lips were pressed softly against his and you jerk back before he can shove you off him like you know he was going to do. You were pathetic, drunk, stupid and suicidal. Who would want you kissing them? No one that’s who.

Bringing your hands to your face you curse. “Oh shit. Fuck! I’m so sorry. I’m drunker than I thought.” Tearing away from his eye contact you wilt in your chair. “You should just leave. You don’t want to be here with me when I’m drunk. Hell I wouldn’t want to be around me when i’m sober.” Your veins burn from your heart to your wrists with embarrassment and you push your baggy sweater sleeves up to claw down your arms. Leaving red angry lines behind before his hand grabs your wrist.

“Stop.” The word is said so softly, so pleading you jerk your hand out of his grip and yank down your sleeves.

“Don’t touch me.” You whisper sharply. Groaning you avoid his eyes. “Why? I’m just saving you the trouble of rejecting my pathetic ass. I don’t deserve to be loved and especially not by someone who could do so much better than..me. A suicidal artist who can’t even keep a job? I’m gross, disgusting, broken, and I want to die so what’s there to love?” You pause but don’t give him the chance to really speak. “You think you can fix everything and that’s admirable but I just.. I’m tired Nick. I’m just... tired and broken. Just... You stop.”

“I don’t think you’re any of those things.” Nick counters says softly. “Normally you smell quite nice actually. Not that I- It’s just that orcs have a sensitive sense of smell. ”

Snorting you shake your head and the world heaves and spins like a top. “Yeah I know about orcs sense of smell. I just- I don’t know Nick! You’re so nice, kind, amazingly heroic, brave, inspiring and you’re hot as hell in that uniform and I just.. I can’t help but like you? Your perfect. To perfect for someone like me. I deserve only the horrible people. The people who use me and leave me once they’ve grown bored. That’s my kinda people. Pancakes for breakfast...? A hot orc cop saving me and liking me? PFFFT. That’s storybook relationship shit you only see on TV. That ain’t real. I know it was a stupid mistake for me to kiss you but- but you can say it. It’s okay to say it. You’re not responsible for me or my choices.” A bitter laugh spills from your lips like poison. It leaves the air between you two soured. You know he’s going to tell you you’re to broken for him. To unstable for him to try to even care for you. How draining it was to be around you. Someone who was sad all the time. You could start acting for him but he’s an orc. He’d know and then he’ll drift away and you’ll let him as you slip back into your old habits. Maybe this time he wouldn’t be there to catch you.

Nick is silent for a moment, watching you as your eyes stare at the legs of the easel and grow glassy. Heart already in a free fall to the deepest pit of your stomach. “I..” Here it comes. The rejection. “Do like you.” And there it is- wait..what?

Your head whips around so quickly he startles. “What?”

“I do like you.” He repeated, firmer this time. “But you are drunk and you need rest.” Sighing Nick stands, helping you to your feet.

You stare at him, reeling back and almost falling. His hand catches you and slowly turns you toward the bedroom. “Nick?”

“Yeah?” He gently pushes you forward, urging you to walk on your wobbly legs.

“I think I died.” You whisper softly. “I’m kind of glad. Didn’t hurt really... I suppose that’s good?” Looking at him you squint, poking his face. He felt so real but this? This wasn’t real life. This was a dream like the others before it.

Nick just laughs, a light and airy laugh. “You need to sleep. We’ll talk when you wake up.” 

You fall into bed and he pulls the blankets up over you as you wiggle under them. He turns to leave but you grab his sleeve. “S-since i’m dead or whatever. Will you lay next to me until I go? Dying wish. You have to do it.” You laugh and hold the blanket up.

“I left the car running. I’ll be right back though. I promise.” Nick pats your hand but places it carefully back on your bed.

Nodding you smile and roll over to your side. He’d be back.

You lay there and wait, staring at the wall....minutes roll by and he’s still not back. Eventually you just sigh and pull a pillow down and hug it to you, laying your head on it like you would if it was his chest. Closest you got.

---

When you wake up it’s to the bright afternoon light and there’s no Nick. It was just a drunken dream. Bummer. Grunting you pull the covers over your head and tuck into yourself. Hiding in the darkness.

[thatoneloser-kid]

Jester's mom thinks beau and jester are dating

A/N: I started writing this before 33 & 34 but finished it just as I was watching 34 so that is why it isn’t completely canon.

The trip to the Menagerie Coast was, for them, uneventful.

Yasha found them not long after they broke through the mountains, waiting in a tavern like she knew they would be there and when.

Jester greeted her with that large smile on her freckles face and a hug around Yasha’s broad shoulders.

Yasha in the beginning would have tensed up at the contact but she had been with them long enough to just tap Jester’s arm a few times before picking up her drink.

Jester rambled to Yasha for the rest of the night, bouncing on the spot and using her hands as she was speaking.

And Beau watched from the opposite side from Yasha, her cheek in one hand and a drink in the other, enjoying how Jester’s tail spent most of the night tickling her lower back.

Jester put on a glamour just as they were entering Nicodranas, a beautiful half elvian woman with long black hair and a sculpted face, she even put on an almost sultry English accent to go along with the disguise.

It was exactly the type of woman Beau would have fawned over before.

Before she joined the Mighty Nein.

Before she met Jester.

Within hours she missed the blue Teifling’s freckled face and annoyingly grating voice.

She missed the horns and the way Jester somehow always managed to be touching her with her tail.

She had known for a while, how she felt about Jester, but this was a whole other level.

She settled in the double bed she was sharing with Jester that night, Jester still in disguise.

“Jess?” Beau murmured, watching the way the candle light flickering across the ceiling.

“Yes, Beau?” Her voice was back to her normal Jester voice, which was something.

Beau turned to Jester, noting the way the light flickered and hit all the completely foreign angles of this woman’s face.

“Can you drop this for now?”

“Of course,” Jester agreed immediately, and the illusion fizzled out and Beau was life with a grinning teifling. “You didn’t like her?”

“She was fine,” Beau shrugged. “I like you better.”

“But you described your perfect woman before, wasn’t that her?” Jester rolled onto her side, her tail snaking up to straighten almost straight toward the ceiling, probably stretching, before it moved to touch Beau’s hip.

Beau laughed, because of course Jester would remember a conversation she had -not even with her but with Fjord- at the beginning.

“I think maybe it’s what I thought was my perfect woman.”

“What about now?”

She could say it, describe Jester and Jester would probably grin and, even if she didn’t like Beau like that, she would hug her and say thank you.

Nothing would change, but Beau still couldn’t force the words out.

“I dunno,”

“Well, what changed?”

“Before I have never seen outside Kamordah but we’ve travelled more, more people, different people.” Beau shrugged. “I suppose my tastes have evolved.”

Jester nodded. “I’m seeing my momma tomorrow.”

“You are,” Beau smiled. “How are you feeling about it?”

“Excited,” Jester grinned, but it slipped after a few seconds. “Scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know,” Jester shrugged. “I guess I haven’t seen her in so long, what if she doesn’t remember me? Or thinks it is better when I’m gone?”

“There’s no way she would think that.” Beau said confidently. “I lost you for a few weeks and I can assure you it was not better without you, and I’ve only know you for a few months.”

“Really?” Jester asked unsurely.

“Really,” Beau swore. “It’s gonna be okay.”

And it was.

Jester mom teared up at the sight of her little girl, cupping her cheeks and just gushing over how beautiful she was.

Beau was inclined to agree.

Jester introduced them after that.

Fjord kisses Marian’s hand, and got all blushy when she eyed him a certain way.

Yasha gave her an awkward little bow, and then kissed her hand like Fjord had, glancing at the half orc who nodding in approval. Yasha didn’t seem affected by Marian’s sultry tone and smirk.

Caleb was awkward.

Caduceus was vacant but pleasant.

Nott was introduced as Jester’s partner in crime, making Marian take an immediate liking to her.

Then Jester finally reached Beau.

“And this is Beau, momma.”

Something changed in Marian’s features then, and Beau took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“Ah, so you are the Beau I have heard so much about.” She asked, and Beau glanced at Jester, who was uncharacteristically bashful. “It is a pleasure to finally put a face to a name. And you are right, sweetie, she is beautiful.”

Jester’s eyes widened. “Pft, that’s not- and this is Nugget and Sprinkle.”

They stayed in the hotel that night, and Beau found herself down in the empty bar while the rest of the Nien busied themselves with other things.

“She is very special, you know?” A voice said, and Marian slipped into the stool beside her. “My little sapphire.”

“I know,” Beau said sincerely, drinking her drink. “Believe me, I know.”

“I trust you would never hurt her?”

“Jester?” Beau frowned. “No, of course not.”

“Good. Because I know she is a little excitable, and can cause a lot of trouble but-“

“Those are two of the things I love about her.” Beau said, a soft smile on her lips as a few rounds of drinks are placed on the table along with wine. “There’s never a dull moment, you know?”

“I know,”

“And even when we are just travelling, Jester always finds a way to make it fun. Did you know she can do this really cool thing with her mouth where-“

Marian held up a hand. “You seen lovely, Beau, but I don’t not wish to hear of my daughters sexual escapades.”

“What?” Beau frowned, but it slowly dawned on her. “No. God, no, that wasn’t- she does this thing where it’s like there is a tiny person trapped in her mouth. Sex? Me and Jester?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to assume, I just figured, with you being her girlfriend-“

“Woah woah,” Beau held up a hand. “Girlfriend?”

“Well, yes.”

“No,” Beau laughed, shaking her head and taking a gulp of her ale. “No, Jester is way far out of my league.”

“But she talks so highly of you.” Marian frowned. “She has mentioned the others but you, she writes pages upon pages about you.”

That caused Beau’s chest to flutter with something akin to hope, something she swore she would never feel again, after her father. “She does?”

Marian nodded once, sipping her drink. “And the look on her face when you kissed my hand said it all.”

“I don’t- I’m not good enough for your daughter.”

“In a mother’s eyes no one ever is, but, from what she has told me of you, you come close.”

“I would love for your daughter to look at me like that, but I think she would rather Fjord and Yasha over me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because she flirts with them all the time.” Beau shrugged.

“Oh, honey,” Marian smiled. “We never unabashedly flirt with the people we want most.”

Beau nibbled on her lip thoughtfully, that was true, Beau had outwardly flirted with Yasha, and Keg, and a few other woman they had crossed paths with, but never Jester.

“I will leave you,” Marian said, standing just as Jester bounded over, her previous disguise in place. “I will see you upstairs, honey.”

Marian kissed her daughters forehead before leaving.

“What were you guys talking about?” Jester asked, watching her mother go as she sat down beside Beau.

“You,” Beau admitted, taking a swig of her drink.

“Me?”

“Mm,” Beau hummed. “Your mother was under the impression we were seeing each other.”

“Seeing each other?” Jester frowned, but a look of realisation washed over her after a few seconds. “Oh, you mean-“ she trailed off, waving her hands about in a gesture that Beau was sure meant something to Jester. “Why would she think that?”

“I don’t know,” Beau took another gulp of her ale before setting it down on the counter and leaning closer to Jester. “But why aren’t we?”

That got Jester’s attention, prompting her to look up from the empty cup she had been fiddling with. “Well, I mean, you like Yasha, right?”

“Wrong,” Beau slid closer, her hand resting on the thigh of Jester. “You’re so wrong.”

“But you are always flirting with her, and Keg, I just-“ Jester trailed off with a shrug.

Beau glanced around the bar to make sure it was empty, with the only people there being her, Jester and the bartender. “Can you drop this?” She asked, wiggling her finger in Jester’s direction.

Jester dropped the disguise immediately, staring at Beau with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Would you punch me if I kissed you?”

“I would never punch you unless you asked.” Jester swore.

“Comforting,” Beau hugged out a little laugh, her fingers dancing across the skin on Jester’s knee. “Can I kiss you?”

“Ja, of course.” Jester said in her ��duh’ voice.

Beau shuffled forward in her stool, he knees sliding either side of Jester’s, her palm sliding up to rest of her hip.

Beau smiled softly at her, their noses brushing together briefly before Beau softly kissed Jester’s bottom lip.

She only lingered for a few seconds before pulling back and surveying Jester. Her eyes were closed, eyebrows raised and lips parted.

“Softer than I imagined.” Jester whispered, her eyelids fluttering open, her lips immediately splitting into broad smile when her eyes focused on Beau.

“Is that a bad thing?” Beau asked unsurely.

“No, no. Of course not, you just- you are always so rough, when you fight, when you flirt, everything you do. I have never seen you soft.” Jester pouted thoughtfully. “That is a lie, when you wake up you are so sleepy and soft, but other than that you are always to rough. I just figured you would kiss rough, too.”

“Do you want me to?” Beau questioned, her eyes running over Jester’s features.

“Eventually,” Jester nodded, her eyes flickering to Beau’s lips as she traced her fingertips along Beau’s sharp jaw. “But this is good.”

“Can I do it again?”

Jester giggled, resting her forehead against Beau’s and peering into her eyes through her eyelashes. “I think you’re past asking, Beau.”

Then Jester kissed her, taking Beau completely by surprise, causing her to squeak in surprise, but Jester simply cupped the back of her neck, holding her in place.

A deep ‘Wow’ from Fjord forced them apart, and Beau glanced over Jester’s shoulder to see the half-orc starting at the ceiling, obvious surprise plastered all over his face.

“Fjord,” Beau greeted, almost smugly.

“Hi, um-“ Fjord cleared his throat, holding his hands out toward them. “We are headin’ off to look for Adgar, are you guys ready to go.”

“Oh, I have to go say goodbye to my mom.”

Jester skipped off and Fjord lowered his head to look at her in disbelief. “How did that happen?”

Beau opened her mouth to speak, but ended up shaking her head and frowning. “I have no idea.”

Fjord laughed, shaking his head as he cast his eyes toward the floor briefly before lifting them to Beau, that sincere look in his eyes he always got when he was talking to her about something serious. “I’m happy for ya’ll, it’s about time somethin’ good happened.”

Beau smiled at him, a soft, thankful smile, before she rolled her eyes and stood, bumping Fjord softly with her shoulder. “Let’s go kick some ass.”

[night-filled-mountain]

I think I mentioned earlier that I’ve been working on writing a...thing (not really a fic, more of a reflection?) inspired by events in Hupperdook and especially in episode 24, “The Hour of Honor.” And I just went back and read the opening scene and started bawling (not because my writing is Beautiful and Devastating, but because of recent events :-P). Highly unsure if I’ll ever bother finishing the whole thing now, but I thought I’d post just this little opening fragment, because, uh...I accidentally ruined myself and would like to pay it forward?

So...

IT DIDN’T START WITH HUPPERDOOK

It didn't start with Hupperdook.

Caleb realized this as he was moodily stringing silver thread around the border of the shuttered smithy, murmuring his alarm spell to protect four gnomish urchins who had robbed them of nearly all their gold just the other night.

Four gnomish urchins and Kiri, he reminded himself, his thoughts lingering briefly on the absurd crow-child they seemed to have collectively adopted...but it didn't start with Kiri, either.

It started in Trostenwald. It started with Mollymauk.

It was Molly, of course, who had handed out flyers for the carnival that brought them all together—but that was not the incident Caleb had in mind. He'd gone to that carnival for a lark...or rather, because he'd figured Nott deserved a lark, after all those long, hard treks through dark woods and down dusty back roads, avoiding anyone who might recognize either of them for the monsters they were. She'd saved his life, for gods' sake, that first day in Trostenwald. He had to do something to repay her.

But that wasn't the choice that had set him on the road he was currently walking with the Mighty Nein. Nor was he thinking of the choice to fight the undead horrors unleashed on the carnival. That was about survival, plain and simple, and it was only the lucky possession of certain skills and weapons that had determined who would engage in that battle: a ragged wizard and his goblin companion, a courteous half-orc, an impish blue tiefling, a cynical young monk, an imposing bouncer...and an ostentatious fortune-teller who had proceeded, inadvertently, to flip Caleb's world upside-down.

Because it was Molly who was arrested in the battle's aftermath. Molly and the rest of the carnies, but the others didn't matter, because Molly was the catalyst. He had fought by their side, and when the Crown's Guard put him in chains, something broke inside Caleb. Something turned, subtly, like the needle of a compass, pointing him in a new and uncharted direction, away from the path of least resistance that he had walked for so many years.

"I can vouch for this one, the colorful one."

What had possessed him to say it? What had possessed Caleb Widogast—murderer, madman, fugitive—Caleb of the hooded cloak and downcast eyes, whose only friend wore a doll's face to hide her goblin features—to challenge the authorities who could snap their fingers and send him back to jail, back to the asylum...or worse?

It wasn't fair. A laughable complaint, when Caleb looked back on his own life, but that was what had gone through his mind that night, and it was no use denying it now. He'd looked at Molly's gaudily adorned devil-horns, his flamboyant robes and forked tail, his scarred throat and sarcastic smile, and he had known: It didn't matter how many zombies Mollymauk Tealeaf had cut down. It wouldn't matter if he saved a hundred children from a burning orphanage or helped old ladies cross the street. Trouble had come to Trostenwald, and Molly would be blamed for it, because one look at him said he didn't belong—not there or anywhere.

If Molly hadn't been on hand, a ragged wizard and a little masked goblin might have served the Guard's purposes just as well.

So Caleb had protested, for all the good it had done. And when they'd dragged Molly and his colleagues away, when Fjord and Jester had gone with them to testify, Caleb and Nott had followed.

Oh, at a distance, to be sure. They'd given no testimony of their own, but they had followed. They hadn't even set foot inside the courthouse, but Caleb had sent Frumpkin in, darting down the hall to find out what became of their comrade-in-arms. Beau and Yasha were roped in by their own arrests, but Caleb had followed willingly, when the words of defense he had so rashly offered fell on deaf ears.

There was no money in it, no incentive of knowledge or power. Only a fellow outcast at the mercy of the Empire. Only a long-dead spark, unexpectedly re-kindled in Caleb's heart. A foolish, dangerous urge toward...justice.

Justice.

Caleb had seen it twisted, perverted, beyond all recognition...in his own heart, in the heart of the girl he loved. That spark should have gone cold in him years ago. That compass needle should have been immovable, guiding him solely toward self-preservation. Yet still, he'd spoken to the Crown's Guard. He'd stood outside the courthouse. He'd held Nott's hand and waited for Jester and Fjord to work their magic, to make justice pure again.

"Thank you," Molly had said after they'd engineered his release (and Beau's and Yasha's for good measure). "I don't owe any of you anything...but thank you."

It didn't start with Hupperdook, but it was only in Hupperdook that Caleb had begun to make sense of that moment. To wonder whether it might be true that Molly owed them nothing—whether it might, in fact, be the other way around.

[lanaarwenlazar]

in honor of villain releasing and me starting it later today, here is a special insight into my brain in the form of the notes i made on my phone as i was reading monster last year, completely unedited (so with all my spelling mistakes and freakouts)

there are spoilers for monster, obviously

(keep in mind that i was very emotional about being back in the gone-universe, so don’t judge me lmao)

i ship malik and shade already. can’t habdle them they’re too cute

oh my god shade is basically a true crime fan, thanks i hate it

“WHATEVER MALIK DID IT GENERALLT SOMEHOW WORK” MY LOVE

...it will be interesting to see what people have to say about mg writing his first trans character

transphobic violence already, i think someone will have a problem with this chapter being called “the meet cute”

where

is

dekka

WHAT THE FUCK SHADE WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOURE INSANE

I WAS RIGHT BY THE WAY THE MOVIE SUCKED AND WAS A BAD IDEA AND I HOPE ASTRID AND SAM ARE SUFFERING AND HAVE NO FRIENDS

nooo dekka sweetie :(((

oh my god a dekka chapter what if we get updates on everyone i’m not ready

dekka is broke no :(((

but she drives a motorcycle i’m so in love

dekka has a cat. marry me

“Of those three hundred thirty-two kids, fifty-one developed one supernatural power or another. Only nineteen of you developed major powers and survived. And of these nineteen, seven have since developed serious psychological disorders” NO MY KIDS IM CRYING

“Lana Lazar spent time in a mental health facility” eeelp

“I know, she’s a friend of mine. She’s fine now.” THEY ARE FRIEND.jzoddbfb

“Others’ like Sam Temple, the supposed hero of the fayz, have had-”

HAVE HAD WHA TOM??!!!?!

“’Supposed hero?’ Screw you. You don’t disrespect Sam Temple where I can here it.” I’m 😭😭😭😭😭😭

sam was in rehab has an alcoholic kill me

and he’s on the wagon sober for sixteen months ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

DEKKA REMEMBERINH BRIANNA KILL ME

Hey, Sam’s sober and Astird got her head screwed on straight so leave them out of this - dekka out there defending her people

MG in the online: edilio is the true hero of the fayz MG in the books: sam is the true hero of the fayz me: so what is the truth?

oh my god that just means edilio is still underappreciated

DEKKA WANTS SAM AND ASTRID TO GO TO COLLEGE WORK AND ONE DAY HAVE A BABY GIRL NAMED DEKKA WHAT THE FUCK SHOOT ME

Me @ me: mg loves edilio. he will be in here. mg loves edilio. he will be in here. mg loves edilio. he will be in here. mg loves edilio. he will be-

Four year old Sean is here to cause trouble

Cruz singing my love ❤️❤️

We’ve literally just met him and Justin DeVeere already sounds like a potential school shooter

also how dare mg give him the same name as justin roger’s little brother

He’s so disgusting yikes

I don’t understand what just happened and what erin and justin are up to but WHY do i feel like they just had sex so they could have a gaia-like baby

is justin turning into the hulk or orc

Justins arm is turning into a sword

Is justin turning into drake...

Or orc/britney? Orc/britney/justin?

If Aristotle Arno Adamo is anything like Ari from Aaddtsotu i already love him

oh he’s not

Armo is the Quinn of Monster pass it on

Will Quinn be mentioned in this book?

“Armo was not part of any clique, because there was one, only one Armo at Malibu High School” oh my god he’s awful i love him

“I want to take Danish. My family is danish” bitch mine too

“You understand that everyone in Denmark speaks english right? Usually better than most Americans?” drag america i love t

god i love him

armo just survived a serious accident and he’s crying because he wreacked his car whaya guy

what are they doing to armo :(((

SHADE WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT

noo poor cruz

whyy would mg introduce malik tenerife, the biggest sweetheart and shade’s closest friend and make me fall in love with him, and then in the SAME CHAPTER introduce cruz, a new best friend for shade and then just never mention malik again???? i love cruz but i miss malik

where is knightmare

“I REREAD THE ELLISON BOOK” ASTRID WROTE A BOOK

yikes a milady dude and homophobia all in one page!!

WHY IS EVERYONE IN THIS BOOK JUST TRANSFORMING INTO BOOKS

oh shit i just understood why mg says this is part animorphs

Malik’s back my boy

DEKKAS CAT IS NAMED EDITH WINDSOR I JUST----

DEKKA TOOK THE FRAMED PICTURE OF BRIANNA WITH HER OH MY GODDD

“Only now did Dekka see that those last four years had been a dream, unreal, somehow. The FAYZ was real.” dekka bby no :(((

oh my goooood taylor is back bitches i just got chills

SHE GRABBED THE CELEBRITY GOSSIP MAGAZINES OF COURSE SHE DID I LOVE HER

dekka be nice to taylor she’s had a hard life she deserves to know the goss :))

when they’re only talking baout the kids with power... when will edilio come in

aaaand there is drake ugh. “a violent, sadistic psychopath. A rapist. A torturer. A murderer”

EDILIO WAS THERE TOO THERE TOO THE FUCK

DID MG FORGET EDILIO ECISTS

BRIANNA DEKKA SAM ASTRID TAYLOR DRAKE LANA HUNTER ORC HAVE ALL BEN MENTIONED

WHERE IS EDILIO AND LANA

Drake responsible for 18 instances of rape mutilation and murder in the last year y i k e s

Justin has a lobster claw for one hand and a sword for the other o k a y

oh my god shade could kill tr*mp

“There are three types of superheroes, Shade: Hero, Villain and Monster” *looks into the camera like i’m on the office*

CAINE AND PENNY GOT THEIR MENTIONS

NOW GIVE ME EDILIO

Malik is still in love with shade rip me

oh no cruz bby you’re invisible :((

i feel like this series will be more hard sci-fi with aliens and government and powers than gone was, gone was more of a sci-fi/dystopian/lord of the flies/survival-mix

i’m worried about armo :((

me: had never read an animorphs book in my life also me: wow this reminds me so much of animorphs!

HES A POLAR BEAR NOW

THEY’RE LITERALLY SAYING THE WORD MORPHING

should be interesting to see what kind of shit mg will get for this y i k e s

WHAT THE FUCKKKKKK IS HAPØENING THE SEAN WAS HE TURNING INTO A CATERPILLAR WITH NO MOUTH WHAT THE FUCK HE IS FOUR YEARS OLD

OH THERES HIS MOUTH WHAT THE FUCK

fuuuuck i knew he would be knightmare

at least knightmare really is the name of a shitty pretentious art student dude

a group of girl scouts just fell to their deaths off the golden gate bridge

WHO ARE THE DARK WATCHERS

i actually think they’re aliens

pls get over brianna dekka

at least mg is realizing that brekka was kind of weird

why is dekka watching danish sex. what does that even mean.

this book is unrealistic bc it’s page number 208 and dekka still hasn’t thought about edilio. who goes that long without thinking about edilio.

oh no dekka is morphing with some animal too

DEKKA HAS MEDUSA HAIR WHAT THE FUCK

the cat died WHAT THE FUCK

“Motorcycle gangs and white supremacists and registered sex offenders, that’s who dominated Perdido Beach today” yikes

Dekka mentioned the word gaiaphage and i had a physical disgusted reaction, but not because of the actual gaiaphage, but bc of that fucking website. god i lvoe that gaiaphage.com is dead.

why has mg created a worldwide perdido beach situation but just given is three books to fix it

“I was Sam’s soldier” NO??? You wrre edilio’s soldier the fuck

EVERY TIME I SEE EDITH MY HEART SKIPS BECAUSE IT STARTS WITH EDI AND I THINK ITS FINALLY GOING TO BE EDILIO

Armo and Dekka is my new brotp

WHO THE FUCK IS JEHOVA

LESS VILLAIN POVS MICHAEL PLEASE

“Hey. You. Should. Um.... Stop. Being. An. Asshole.” SHADE

Combining the villains into one villain. Very schmart michael 👌🏻

PAGE 308 EDILIO MENTION OH MY GOD

Edilio on page 309 kill me cant even quote it

GRAVES STILL THERE

IN RESPECTFUL MEMORY TO BOTH THE WISE AND THE FOOLISH WHO STRUGGLED TO SURVIVE UNSPEAKABLE HORRORS IN THIS PLACE im 😭😭

ALBERT GOT HIS DUES YEAH

BUT HOW IS EDILIO TODAY

WHERE IS DINAA LOSER

GRAVE FOR MARY 😭

GRAVE FOR DUCK 😭

GRAVE FOR HUNTER 😭

GRAVE FOR ORC 😭

Grave for Caine 😐 “Caine Soren. “King of the FAYZ. Blaze of Glory”

FIRST DIANA MENTION AND ITS HOW MUU CAINE LOVED HER IM

BRIANNA HAS A LAST NAME SOS. “Brianna Berenson. “The Breeze”. None More Bold.”

DIANA IS HERE I REPEAT DIANA IS HERE IN THE FLESH AND STILL BEAUTIFUL

DIANA PUTS FLOWERS ON THE GRAVES ONCE A WEEK OH MY HOD YOU HAVE NOTHING TO BE SORRY ABOUT I MEAN YOU DID GIVE BIRTH TO GAIA AND EAT PANDA BUT STILL

DIANA HAS A JOB AS A BARISTA HER OWN PLACE IS SEVEN MONTHS SOBER AND HAVENT TRIED TO KILL HERSELF LATELY

WAS HER AND SAM DRINKING BUDDIES

THEY SERVE A SAM TEMPLE CUCKTAIL AND A LANA VODKA

“I GUESS THEIRONY THAT FAYZERS HAVE A TENDENCY TO DRINK TOO MUCH IS LOST ON THEM” TELL THEM DEKKA

“YOU WERE GOOD TO KEEP SAM AND STRID OUT OF IT” NO TELL THEM LOSERS

DOES DIANA LIVE IN PERDIDO BEACH :((((

“THIS IS THE MOST INTIMATE IVE EVER BEEN WITH A DUDE” SAME

When Roger still hasn’t been mentioned and you know he wasn’t really that important so you can’t really complained but you miss him

and how is edilio really dekka hmmm???

Eww this Drake Brittany thing is worse if possible

wait wait wait what hoe did they get there what

if i finish monster and still don’t know how edilio is doing i’ll sue

the villain...breathes fire. he’s a dragon

Shade looks like a the bizzare cross between a flea, a Power Ranger and a teenaged girl w h a t

Vincent Vu: part fish!

noooo not malik :(((

one half of me: where the fck is edilio go talk to him dekka other half of me: edilio deserves a peaceful life thank i for keeping him away from it all

OKAY BUT WOULD EDILIO AND SAM AND EVERYONE SEE DEKKA ON THE FBI MOST WANTED LIST AND HEAR ABOUT EVERYTHING GOING ON AND SAY YIKES NOT OUR PROBLEM??? No tf they would help her!!!!

DEKKA IS WITH SAM DEKKA IS WITH SAM I REPEAT DEKKA IS WITH SAM AND HE IS HER STRONG RIGHT ARM SHOOT ME LET ME DIE

im emo

the end

missing: quinn and roger

[dent-de-leon]

Whats crit role?? I've seen it everywhere here but idk what it is

YOOO!!! Critical role is a series where a bunch of anime/video game/ect voice actors play dnd together it’s really cool :D I personally wasn’t interested in the first campaign, but they started a second one pretty recently, and it’s fantASTIC, I LOVE the characters!! Like, literally every person’s character is a favorite of mine it’s an amazing team. As for the cast:

Matt Mercer’s the DM. You may know him as Overwatch’s McCree, Fire Emblem’s Chrom and Ryoma, ect, 

Main players and characters of the second campaign I’m watching rn:

Laura Bailey’s got the cutest little tiefling cleric named Jester. And yes, she lives up to the name. Always making little mischief here and there. Also loves sweets. Her deity is more like a best friend, and watching her talk to him like a regular guy and write what’s more or less dear diary entries to him is just so endearing. Very Strong. Is a Cleric that didn’t think it was necessary to have a healer’s kit. Will braid your hair but also swindle you out of all your coin. Her VA’s also Fire Emblem’s Lucina, Fullmetal Alchemist’s Lust, Soul Eater’s Maka, Tales from the Borderlands’ Fiona, ect. 

Liam O’Brien (aka FUCKING GAARA,, I mean he’s played lots of other roles too but most importantly GaARA,,) is a hobo wizard that loves his books and is just trying to get by. Caleb Widogast has a lot of trouble trusting others, but still ends up committing to the group. Occasionally curses in German. Like everyone, he has his own hidden past. But he also has very real and relatable instances of dissociation and panic attacks and that just meant a lot to me. Has a cat spirit that he loves very much.

Travis Willingham’s character is a very level, pretty patient and understanding half-orc warlock. Fjord’s a sailor who’s pretty quiet about his backstory, but it seems he would’ve perished at sea if not for the being he made a deal with. Having earned his magic from the encounter, he makes it his goal to attend a renowned academy and further study the arcane. Wants the others in the group to trust him more, and is usually pretty empathetic. Has gagged out salt water after vivid nightmares. Later pretends to be melting into a puddle after Jester expressed her concern. His VA’s Fullmetal Alchemist’s Roy fucking Mustang, One Piece’s Ace, Mushishi’s Ginko, ect. 

Sam Riegel’s character is a little goblin girl named Nott. Nott, the Brave. As in…yeah. She’s…she tries. She really tries, and although she 100% runs away at times, she’ll shoot a giant spider in the throat first. Will also throw her tiny body over Caleb to shield him because the two are very close and care for each other a whole lot. Tiny goblin girl who can’t seem to stop impulse drinking and stealing. Likes to take Shiny and Pretty things, like Sticks (people’s canes) and Nice Rocks (read: priceless gems). Will also be just as happy about some nice buttons found on the road though. Tries to pass off as a harmless little halfling girl despite the large ears and sharp teeth–wears a creepy doll mask and bandages to do so. Will give Really Intimidating girls flowers out of fear. VA’s also Fate Stay Night’s Shinya, Fire Emblem’s Stahl and Donnel, ect.

Taliesin Jaffe’s Mollymauk, a very charismatic tiefling from a traveling carnival. Tells fortunes with tarot and gives pretty considerate advice. Acts very sly and flighty, but has lots of soft spots. Genuinely cares for the team. Has a flair for the dramatic and a peacock tattoo as a testament to it. Eccentric, but very level headed and calculating. Good at reading people. Understands others more than he does himself. Has a past shrouded in mystery that still haunts him. Likes making coin and throwing parties. Tricked Nott into trading him a vial of poison for a blank piece of paper. Arguably now my favorite character. His VA’s Zero Escape’s Snake, Fire Emblem’s Massena, ect. 

Marisha Ray’s character is Beauregard, a monk who’s always ready for a fight. Light on her feet and very Aggressive. Tries to awkwardly make forced attempts at being Supportive and Nice when the others mention how grumpy she is–Fjord coaches her through it. Wants to Fight the System. Part of a secret society. Has some history of criminal and underworld knowledge. Goes by Beau and uses a bo staff, a coincidence that she’s mentioned really pisses her off. Always rooms with Jester. Also gave Jester her med kit because “WhAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T HAVE A MEDKIT!!?? YOU’RE THE CLERIC!!” Her VA’s also Fire Emblem’s Mikoto, Effie, and Oboro, Final Fantasy’s Jeanne, ect. 

Ashley Johnson’s an Aasimar barbarian named Yasha. Socially awkward like Caleb and kind of keeps to herself. Appreciates when others offer small gestures of friendship though, and attempts to reciprocate despite her discomfort. Calm and quiet when not in a fight. Will come and go like the wind, just a passing storm. Mystery and intrigue. Strong. So strong. Like,, really strong. Beau flirts with her so many times I’ve lost count now. She worked with Mollymauk at the carnival and they’re also close because of it. Has carried Beau in her big strong arms. Her VA is Teen Titans’ Terra, The Last of Us’ Ellie, ect. 

Anyway, it’s a lot of fun to watch and I recommend it!! They’re all such good friends and it’s just nice for someone like me who really wants to play dnd but has no team to do it with lmao. But yeah I’m really invested in all the characters they have right now :’) 

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 19: Hunters and Haunts

It’s time for some proper horror movie monsters, y’all.

Before leaving Mornheim, we ask Aubrey about the scroll in her mother’s writing.  She’s baffled. “I mean, plenty of my ancestors dabbled in magic. The castle had plenty of secret rooms. But…my mom? As far as I knew, she was just a very talented gardener. That’s how my parents met! She was the castle gardener, he was the son of the lord, but she looked past that…”

She laughs nervously. “My mom wasn’t a druid. They don’t live in big fancy houses! They live in the woods and make friends with badgers! I mean, why would there even BE a druid in Mornheim?!”

“That’s a good question,” Gral admits. “Maybe to guard the old tomb in the Trollstones? If I understand correctly, it was a place blessed by one of the woods spirits they revere.”

“So you’re tellin’ me that MY MOM, Rosalind von Mornheim, was the secret mystical druidic guardian of a magic tomb that’s been on family property for, well, longer than it’s been our property?!”

“I mean, maybe? Skelbjor told us there always had to be a troll in Mornheim, maybe it’s like that?”

“I guess? Skelbjor’s been the local troll since Dad was a kid. He knew about all this?”

“Oh, nah, he just knew there’s always supposed to be a troll.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right, he’s a big galoot. Just tell me I don’t have to worry about this immortal troll demigod getting up and causing trouble. I have enough problems.”

“Don’t worry, he didn’t even get up for a direct summons from that dybbuk creep.”

Aubrey shudders. “If you ever wanna figure out a way to kill that guy for good, you have my help.”

Clem grimaces. “Believe me, I’d LOVE to.”

“Anyway. You folks cleaned up the water, stopped my people getting so sick, heck, maybe this’ll even slow down the undead situation. I owe you a lot of thanks. As the ruling lady of Mornheim, I can offer you…a bottle of hard cider or somethin’? I don’t have a lot. It takes all the money we have just to keep this place running. I’m sorry I can’t do more to reward you.”

Valeria smiles, the picture of a chivalrous knight. “I’m just glad to know there won’t be so much sickness. Hopefully things will improve for your people.”

“Thank you, I mean it. And, uh, sorry for glassing you in the face, Shoshana.”

The sorceress shrugs. “It’s water under the trollbridge. We all have family members who we would both hug and cry, and glass in the face. It’s chill.”

To everyone’s surprise, Valeria nods in commiseration.

“You’re welcome to stay if you want – I mean, things are crowded, the food sucks, and every night we get undead and penitents waking everybody up, so I understand if you don’t want to stick around. Can I treat you to breakfast?”  

We get breakfast, though the offerings are meager. Mercedes is cooking, and Aubrey scowls at her. “I’m mad at Mercedes because she’s a morning person. Also she lit me on fire yesterday.”

Shoshana nods. “Okay, I understand lighting people on fire, but being a morning person is a capital offense. I know this, because I live with THIS ONE.” She points at Valeria, who shrugs in acknowledgment.

“As ruling lady of house of Mornheim, I hereby banish 8am from my lands,” Aubrey grumbles. “My house is now renamed Midafternoonsheim. Like, 2pmheim. Especially if I spent the last day and a half chasing some regenerating superghoul through the tunnels.”

Mercedes and Aubrey tell us about taking out the superghoul they fought last night, bickering the whole time. “Okay, you don’t speak Goblin, but if I shout words in Goblin it only ever means one thing. I don’t cast buff spells. It means there is about to be fire, get out of the way.”

“If you ever find a cloak of fire resistance, I could use it,” Aubrey deadpans at us. “I might smother her with it.”

Gral chats with Mercedes – apparently she’s a skilled chef as well as a mage! “Yes, it is part of pyromancer training. To learn to respect the gifts of Brother-in-Flame, all students must take up a fire-related trade. Pottery, blacksmithing, cooking. That way if you wash out of pyromancer school, you have a trade! And you have respect for flame and know how to commune with it. Working with non-magical fire gives a natural guidance toward using Brother-in-Flame’s gifts. I will say, cooking contests at pyromancer school can get rather intense. If you burn the food, you have to burn your jacket.”

“Would you say they get…heated?” Shoshana quips, shooting finger-guns. Mercedes ignores her.

Gral considers. “Did you ever meet an orc who went by Firesong?”

“Oh yeah! Orc bard, wore a mask?”

“Uh, all orc bards wear masks.”

“Yeah, she’s why we can’t have the chili cookoffs anymore. She had to leave the Republics under, uh…circumstances.”

“She told me she has fond memories of her time there.”

“Oh, so do I! Passions were already high, and a professional orcish bard providing background music did not lower the emotional intensity. And, well, we’re pyromancers. We thought we were far enough from the swamp gas wells! If it hadn’t been for that damn bird – oh, one second.” She cuts off what was promising to be an excellent story to open the window and hand a sizable plate of eggs outside to Skulbjor.

“The first time I saw him, I jumped out of my skin,” she confides. “Have you ever met a swamp troll? They’re the reason we’re so good at fire.”

“The pyromancer school was originally founded to defend the Republics against trolls. So it was, you know, a liiiiittle bit awkward. Horrible creatures, swamp trolls. YOU’RE GREAT, SKULBJOR,” she calls out the window. “But I did almost light him on fire, until Aubrey stopped me.”

Gral murmurs an aside to Clem. “Is it just Valdian trolls who are weird, then?”

“I dunno, maybe bridges calm them down?”

After breakfast, we prepare to get on the road. Valeria resummons Aethis, and Skulbjor gives our good chomper some quality scritches. Already, the waters flowing into the town appear clearer, less foreboding somehow. Everything else is still, honestly, super Tim Burton-y, but we’ll work on that.

We head out, traveling the now familiar path to Three Oaks Junction. We’re glad to see the bloody chain banners have been taken down. The locals have even made new banners, featuring a shield with a chunk taken out of it, symbolizing they’re under the protection of Duke Shieldeater!

Business has resumed as normal. Some of the outriders are guarding the gate to provide a more visible presence. Not a lot, but they stand out. It’s more of a visual reminder that more orcs are coming and town has agreed to be under protection.

Gral’s pretty psyched his diplomatic master plan is working. Meanwhile, we’ve got trading to do. We manage to sell our old Aquilian coins to Pierre the furrier, who says they’ll be popular in the Demish court. Valeria keeps one of the coins as a collectible.

We’ve got enough stuff to carry and traveling to do that we decide to buy a cart. Clem, familiar with travel from her drow caravan days, heads over to the Used Cart Lot out behind the cart repair, where a guy named Sal shows her around. Looks like these guys do good repair work, with a line of apprentices and masters dating back to Three Oaks himself. Maaaaybe they might get a lot of business from selling carts which will shortly need to be repaired, but Clem uses her know-how and also her impressive guns to intimidate the guy into showing her the good stuff instead of the junkers.

She picks up a nice solid dark oak cart, secondhand, repaired recently. Clem checks it over and it seems pretty sturdy; seems like scavengers found it at an abandoned farmhouse. We also pool funds to buy two draft horses, a shaggy pair that came as a team package. The chestnut one is named Pierogi, and the bay one is named Chestnut. Shoshana attempts to have a Horse Girl Movie moment, but rolls a nat 1 and gets ignored.

Valeria, of course, buys a map to Hoska.

Clem checks her mail – she’s received a form letter thank you from the embassy in Schotzengrad – and sends 200 gold back home to her caravan, along with an update letter. Valeria writes a letter reporting back to Order of the Rose.

Clem gets busy decorating the cart in drow fashion to make it look presentable. She makes a start; a proper drow cart is decorated and redecorated over years and years. She encourages the rest of us to add our own designs, because in drow culture it’s important to have everyone in the caravan participate. We’re not at all familiar with the symbolic language used in drow art, but we’ll give it a try during a few long rests on the road.

Now we have a cart and horses and money and we bought some potions! We roll a mediocre enough survival check to meet the DC, so we head to Hoeska without issue.

Clem’s heard about Hoeska, which stands high in the collective memory of the czar’s military. During the Kevan occupation, it was said that castle was haunted. It was built 400 years ago by Gottfried von Hoesk, a Valdian warlord who wanted to become the first king of a unified Greatwood. He failed, but his descendants have occasionally tried again, and this is their ancestral seat of power. The elves, knowing its significance, took it as one of their first targets and stationed a garrison of 500 elves there. When the Valdian rebellion kicked into high gear, one of the big things that convinced the elves to leave was that the entire garrison vanished without a trace.

Shoshana, well, she’s heard plenty of stories about Hoeska. Every time a Valdian ghost story needs a mad wizard, or a ghost, or a vampire, or generally anything that lives in a big spooky castle, it takes place in Hoeska. Most of those stories are tall tales and urban legends, but on the other hand, there’s been an awfully long history of vampires and ghosts and mad wizards in Valdia, many of whom originated from or occupied the towering, dark castle on its isolated mountain.

Merchants who have been there say it’s a sprawling fortress; every inhabitant since Gottfried von Hoesk, from his descendants to various nobles to the elves, has added something else to castle, so it’s a big mismatch of styles. Some parts are a grim fortress, some are a luxury palace. The castle’s changed hands, but the von Hoesk family is still around and more often than not they ride in and reclaim their ancestral home. A couple of mad wizards were von Hoesks; when something truly evil goes down, usually a bunch of knights ride in and clear it out and some other von Hoesk descendant moves in. Rinse and repeat.

When the Cursebreakers were founded, their first move was to clear out Hoeska and take it over as their headquarters. It’s the Usual Suspect of spooky stuff in Valdia, but if the Cursebreakers found anything relating to the Curse there, they didn’t tell anyone.

Shoshana tells some ghost stories about it. Valeria eats them up. There’s a long Valdian tradition of “having a cousin” who worked at Hoeska as a servant and totally saw something spooky.

With the cart it takes like a day and a half to get from Three Oaks to the edge of Hoeska territory. As we approach, we see a guard house sitting on the road. Gral can see from a distance that the squat stone building appears to be abandoned. That’s not normal. We consider: should we avoid it because it probably has monsters in it, or should we go clear out the monsters and see if there’s loot? We’re gonna go see if there’s loot.

We get out of the wagon and approach, weapons drawn. The small stone building, just big enough for a couple of guards to keep an eye on the road, looks like it was abandoned in a hurry. We case the place quickly; there’s dried blood on the ground in the back storeroom. Maybe someone was killed here, or injured and brought here to get patched up? There’s not a body or anything. Gral’s keen eyes pick up a recent set of footprints; someone came in, after the guards had left, did something here, and then headed out into the woods.

The woods? In the Cursewood? Near the haunted castle? DEFINITELY full of dangerous monsters. But we’re PCs, so we want go investigate the mystery. Aethis stays behind to guard the cart, mildly weirding out the horses.

We follow the tracks into woods. Clem hears something behind her, and as she turns, a furry something whips out of brush and spears her for minor damage. She looks down and sees a scorpion stinger emerging from her torso. She barely has time to register it’s glistening with poison when she’s accosted by massive slavering jaws. This thing looks like it was once a huge wolf, but now has mutated into something far worse, and its teeth are buried deep in Clem’s armor.

Clem goes pale under her ash-dark skin, and must save against the panic and flood of memories brought up by the sudden sight of an attacking wolf.

How in the HELL did that thing get so close without us noticing?! Hell, we were following humanoid tracks – where did this monstrosity come from?!

Valeria immediately smites the hell out of it, and it does enough extra damage we suspect it’s some kind of fiend. Unfortunately, it’s immune to being Frightened, so Gral’s plan to Dissonant Whispers it past two tanks fizzles.

The wolfbeast uses the same tactic on Valeria as it did on Clem – as Valeria’s distracted by deflecting the stinger, it strikes in with its massive jaws, for a huge amount of damage.

Dammit, it’s resistant to Shoshana’s lightning, too. We’re in trouble.

As we’re barely fending this thing off, we can hear snarling and barking coming toward us from another direction. It sounds like wolves or dogs, smaller than this thing tearing through us. And Gral can faintly hear booted humanoid footsteps hurrying alongside them.

Clem misses on her first panicked swing but catches it on the upswing, Great Weapon Master letting her drive the blade deep. Valeria slices it good too, vines tearing through its corrupted flesh. Gral tries to Phantasmal force and fails) It swings its poisonous tail, and Valeria goes down, unconscious. Then it chomps on Clem. Clem is down – except, hold on, not so fast. She uses Last Gasp to use her Second Wind as she falls, in accordance with the Deal she has made with the Pale King.

Panicking, Shosha deals it thunder damage which it does not resist. BIG BOOM THO. That was dumb of me.

Shoshana, panicking, hits the thing with thunder damage. It doesn’t have resistance, but now everything in the forest knows we’re here. As Valeria passes her first Death Save, Gral shouts a Healing Word to keep her alive.

Three large hounds burst from the trees snarling and howling. A voice in Elven shouts “Alexei! Kill! Go for legs!”

Gral can’t understand Elven, so he goes for the neck with his sickle and draws a nasty gash across its throat. The thing glances around, snarling, furious at being deprived its meal, but it recognizes it’s in danger and withdraws, sprinting away into the forest.

A large wood elf wearing a tattered Cursebreaker coat steps out of woods holding a club and a heavy blunderbuss. He whistles sharply, and the hounds abruptly stop their pursuit. “No further!” He gestures, and the hounds spread out and form a perimeter.

“I do not know you,” he says in Valdian, though with a thick elven accent. “You fought the Shusva.”

“…The what?”

“That thing, the Shusva. At least, I found name in book. Seemed similar to this, yes? I am Ser Boris, of Cursebreaker Knights. What brings you here? Is dangerous territory.”

“Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service! We’ve been working with Ser Quentin Morozov.”

A grin breaks across his thickly bearded face. “Ah, Ser Morozov! I know him. The grumpy one! He talks to people, finds what is in hearts and minds. Goes to towns, finds cultists. As he is to the people, I am to the beasts.”

“Yes, we had information for him and needed to make a report. Also we were trying to meet up with another person headed this way?”

He grimaces. “How recently? This Shusva has been stalking roads.”

“Um, recent?” Shoshana interjects. “But he’s accompanied by two fuckhuge goliaths, so…?”

“Oh, yes, him. He is fine. Oh! You injured it!” Ser Boris cries, distracted. He pulls out a small waxed pouch and grabs a chunk of flesh off Clem’s blade. “Good! With this, we can track its scent! Not today, though, you are wounded. Must get you two to castle.”

“These are Alexei, Sasha, and Xander,” he introduces his hounds, which have heeled obediently.

“You are – ah! A drow!” He greets Clem in Elven. “You are very far from home!”

“Ah, home is where you make it,” she replies in kind.

He laughs. “Indeed, indeed. Come, we must share stories back at castle! I move here during war, think it would be peaceful.”

“Yeah, bit of a mistake, huh?”

“I do well enough. I have my dogs, I receive employment. And coat! Employment with coat is better than employment without coat, da?”

We go back to our cart, and Ser Boris is immediately taken with Aethis. “Oh, my! A wonderful beastie. Is it Celestial? May I see teeth?”

Valeria’s happy to make introductions.

“Have you cared for such a creature before? They are adapted for warm streams, not cold woods like these, you know.”

“Do they need any further care than occasional spellwork? That’s all they told us at the academy,” Valeria says, puzzled.

“Is gift from Rack, no? Then double important you take good care! It does not need it, but you must. Caring for exotic mount in inhospitable climate is difficult task. I will give you literature. You would not believe poor beasts Dr. Galvan had, I am giving him dietary instructions, seeing if I can create sweater for them to keep warm…”

He goes back to cooing over Aethis. “Nice luster on scales, though that is expected. Feets---oh, you’ve been running on hard road, you’ll get used to that. Very well. Castle is this way!”

He whistles, and the three hounds form a triangle around group. “Do not wander too far off, they may try to herd you.”

It’s somewhere around here that the pun finally hits the players. Ser Boris. Three dogs. …Cerberus.

The path winds up to the dramatic gates of castle Hoeska.

“Now if you look there, you will see castle.” A lightning bolt cracks dramatically across the sky, casting the castle in ominous silhouette.

“It always does that. It is very stormy around here. I do not know why. Impossible to get good sunlight. I worry for Alexei, he likes to frolic in sun, in fields of flowers. I am not allowed to let him in garden. How will Alexei frolic without field of flowers?”

There’s a Cursebreaker Knight at the gates, some kind of battlemage with a big staff. Next to him is a grim figure in full plate, holding a halberd and looking distinctly displeased to see us.

“Do not mind them, the castle guards do not appreciate us being here,” Ser Boris tells us cheerfully. “It is okay, we have permission. They do not like that we do their job better than them. Hello friend!” He waves. “These are guests, please open gate!”

The guard glares.

“Pretty please, open gate for Ser Boris and friends? And Alexei and Sacha! Oh, have you met Xander yet?”

The guard silently opens the gate, his withering scowl not diminishing a bit.

“I do not know what problem is. Must have woke up on wrong side of bed,” Boris chatters as we enter. “Maybe should not leave lunch where dogs can get it. Guard knows I am here with dogs! Maybe dogs have done nothing wrong ever in their life and guard should apologize for making such a fuss!”

We’re past the castle walls, in a large courtyard before entering the keep proper. As we pass our carts and horses off to some stablehands, we notice a familiar cart and two draft gatorbeasts in the stables, with quilted blankets thrown over them against the chill.

Parked incongruously among the carts is a looming metal construct in a hulking, vaguely humanoid shape, with buzz-saw arms protruding from the front and a machined metal owl mask affixed to what might charitably be called the face area. Peeling paint on the front reads “Valdian Tree Company,” and it’s chained to a heavy wagon proudly bearing the insignia of the Sturmhearst University College of Engineering.

Ser Boris shrugs. “Many visitors are here now. One shows up with that thing. I do not like. Not natural, so much metal moving on own.”

We step into the grand hallway of castle, past another set of guards and a big statue of a fine-featured man in armor, labeled Gottfried von Hoesk. Ah, Ingborg and Bjorn are there, drinking.

We hear someone clear his throat imperiously, and turn to see Ser Quentin, regarding us with annoyance. “You’re late,” he bites out pointedly.

“Uh, did we make an appointment to see you? Because I was certainly not informed,” Shoshana snarks back.

He doesn’t take the bait. “So. The Pale King.”

“…Yup!”

“That letter and those words are why we’ve been stuck here. You’ve been escalated to the higher ups, who would very much like to hear what you have to report in person. Follow me. The dogs can stay here.”

Ser Boris grumbles. “Is fine, they do not bite! Well, they might bite sandvich. I could go for sandvich. I get us all sandviches, yes?”

We head up grand winding stairs, into the more palatial section of castle, and find ourselves passing through long dark galleries full of portraits of von Hoesk ancestors. The eyes follow us as we walk by, natch.

The path we take is DEFINITELY a little bit Scooby Dooby Doors. Ser Quentin Definitely Does Not Get Lost on the way there, what are you talking about? “This place was built by a succession of mad architects in an intergenerational argument with each other, of course it’s a damn maze,” he huffs.

Eventually, we are taken into a small, elegant drawing room. Two figures sit in comfortable armchairs in front of a roaring fire.

“Allow me to present Ser Brigid Konig,” Ser Quentin states formally, gesturing to the old woman calmly knitting in the chair on the left.

The other chair holds a tall man with sharp cheekbones, a fine black and red outfit, and rather similar features to the statue in the foyer. “Our host, Ludwig von Hoesk,” Quentin introduces stiffly.

“Hello,” the old woman, Ser Brigid, greets us warmly. “Our dear Quentin has told me so very little about you. Quentin, did you offer them anything to eat? It would be quite rude to let our guests go hungry.”

“I am told Ser Boris has arranged for sandwiches,”

“Perfect. Sit down, everyone, pull up a chair.”

Gral unnatch 20s a perception. That Ludwig von Hoesk – maybe Gral’s gotten better at picking up on this sort of thing since we’ve spent so much time in in Mornheim, but there’s something odd about that fella. He’s a little too still when he sits still, his motion a little too deliberate. And his skin is awfully pale. The old lady? Her, he can’t get a read on, even with a 20. Daaaaang.

“If you would, please, tell us of your travels. Ser Morozov tells us you first worked together in Ovruch; why don’t you start there?” Ser Brigid asks.

We take turns describing the entities we’ve seen, how we’ve fought them, and how they seem to categorize themselves. We produce the Eyegis as evidence of the Key, and explain what the Astronomer told us regarding the concept of Prisoners.

Ludwig, though very reserved, seems keenly interested in Clem’s tale of Mornheim. Once we’ve told our tale, he asks us to produce the tapestry we took from the cultists in the manor. He examines the partially-woven image carefully, tracing a thin finger over the crowned, skeletal figure.

“Well, Luddy, does it look familiar?” Ser Brigid asks smugly.

The aristocrat is too dignified to roll his eyes, but just barely. “It does. If we’re just going to-“

“Oh, we’d have to clue them in sooner or later. They’ve done more in a few weeks than half my agents have done in years!”

Ser Quentin grumbles audibly. She ignores him.

“Ludwig, is that the symbol you described to me?”

“Yes.”

“And the name?”

“Yes.”

“Do you consider that independent verification of what I told you?”

“Yes.”

“So I think you owe me something, old friend.”

He lets out a huffy, aristocratic sigh. “Yes, fine. You weren’t lying, and I was right not to kill you. I apologize for doubting you.”

“Thank you. Oh, the sandwiches are here!”

He turns his attention back to the tapestry. “Yes, this is the thing that appeared to me and offered me a position at the head of its armies.”

…oh?!?!

He rolls his eyes at our alarm. “I refused, naturally,” he sniffs.

“I should hope so!” Valeria says, and removes her hand from her sword hilt.

“I have no interest in submitting myself to some power-hungry usurper.”

Ser Brigid winks at us. “Perhaps I should re-introduce us properly. My name is Ser Brigid Konig. I was on my way to Valdshart when the city went dark, to formally retire as the Duke’s chief vampire hunter.”

“And this is Ludwig von Hoesk. His son built this castle! For the past couple hundred years, my office has been dedicated solely to hunting and killing him. Greetings!”

She rolls her eyes at her companion, who looks a bit miffed. “Really. They would have figured it out eventually. And you are not subtle about it. With the spooky castle? And the red and black outfit? C’mon, Luddy.”

“A few years ago, shortly after the curse manifested, I had a dream. This in itself is quite unusual; I do not normally experience dreams. In it, a creature resembling the figure on your tapestry appeared to me, offering a position as general of its armies. As its power grew, it would gain control of all undead in Valdia, and it would like myself and my followers to be the first and most honored of its forces. Naturally I refused. There is only one king in Valdia, and it is not some strange skeletal specter.”

“Wait, we have a king?” Shoshana blurts. “…oh. You mean yourself, don’t you.”

“Yes. It was my son’s idea. And what can I say, I spoiled the boy. Now, I was wondering what to do about this vision when who shows up but a bunch of angry knights with crossbows? Not that we’re not used to such incursions.”

“Oh, I’ve been trying to storm this place for years,” Ser Brigid agrees airily. “Every time we try, a mysterious new von Hoesk heir shows up with money and a whole court of followers! People buy it every time. Wishful thinking, I suppose.”

“She accused me of being behind the Curse,” Ludwig explains dryly. “I argued otherwise, and eventually we came to an agreement. Which is why Brigid Konig, my worst nightmare, HAS BEEN LIVING IN MY HOUSE.”

“Yes!” she agrees, with a beatific granny smile. “This way, if you ARE behind it, I can kill you!” She lifts the blanket she’s knitting just enough to give us a peek at the crossbow hidden underneath. Gral sees runes on the crossbow similar to his heartseeker bolts. “The rules are simple! I get to use his house and money, and his people assist as we try to get to bottom of this thing! And in exchange, I don’t kill him!”

Ludwig sighs. “She removes the monsters. I don’t appreciate monsters in my land, and I genuinely will do anything in my not inconsiderable power to drive out these ruinous Prisoners. Even if it means entertaining a woman who’s been a thorn in my side for the last sixty years.”

“Not a thorn, arrows!” she retorts cheerfully. “And a scythe one time. You got better, you big baby!”

“Of course I got better, I’m a vampire.”

Quentin sighs. “Needless to say, all information disclosed in this room is top secret. Frankly, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have chosen to divulge even this much.”

Ser Brigid turns her level gaze on him. “Please. The orc would have spotted something and said ‘My goodness, Kyr Argent, I suspect something is up with that handsome and brooding fellow,’ and then she would have Detected Undead, and killed several guards, and the castle would be on fire, and we’d be in the dungeons having this conversation, but it would be far more awkward!” She turns to us. “Have I read the situation right?”

“…yup,” admits Valeria.

“See? Now Quentin, dear, eat your sandwich, you’re far too skinny.”

Ludwig is not eating a sandwich. He has a glass of red wine, of course.

They grill us a bit about the Key, specifically, and the Sturmhearst scholars we met who seem rather susceptible to the whole knowledge-seeking lure.

“Hmm, yes. We have several guests here, two of whom are professors. Professor Galvan, whom you’ve met, and a visitor from Sturmhearst. Professor Bjork, from the College of Engineering. I have some suspicions about things going on there. He’s told us a few concerning stories; you might want to pick his brain and get your take on the situation.”

“Such an august institution,” Ludwig agrees. “I gave some of the money to start the place, I’d hate to see it go bad.”

We wonder if he knows Dr. Wendell. But it’s getting late, and while the party discusses their experiences in great detail, we’re going to cut session and pick back up once they’re ready to go meet some other guests of the von Hoesks.

[jeanne44world-blog]

Ugh. Sansa.  Who would have thought a 11-13 year old fictional character could elicit such a maelstrom of fan-anger, blame-the-victim comments and, self-righteous shadenfreude?

The Good Little Girl. Teacher's pet. Little Miss Perfect. Homecoming Queen. Miss Universe.

She sews well; she embroiders perfectly; she paints like Picasso; she plays the harp and the bells and sings like a bird; she's a graceful dancer; she writes poetry about courtly love. She eats daintily and makes sure her hands never get sticky, she nibbles rather than bites, she sips and never gulps. She blushes prettily at some topics, looks tragic when she cries. Even when she belches it's pretty. She farts on key and when she goes to the privy she leaves nothing but a pile of rose petals shaped like a heart behind her.

He daddy thinks she's just a perfect little girl, her mother praises her, she makes the Septa feel like a genius ,  all the men in the castle smile at her and give her presents and  lemon cakes.

And to make it worse she never does anything really mean to her sister, the hyperactive tomboy whose always underfoot, always screwing up, so boyish and naughty and...disharmonious. But it would be unladylike to point it out to her. IN fact she's NICE to her sister.She's got everybody else in the castle doing it for her. Sansa was chatting happily aasaa she worked. Beth Cassel...was sitting by her feet, listening to every word she said, and Jeyne Poole was leaning over to whisper something in her ear."What are you talking about?" Arya asked suddenly.Jeyne gave her a startled look, then giggled. Sansa looked abashed. Beth blushed. No one answered. "Tell me," Arya said."We were talking about the prince,"Sansa said, her voice soft as a kiss....'JOn says he looks like a girl,"Arya said. Sansa sighed as she stitched. "Poor Jon", she said. "He gets jealous because he's a bastard." "He's our brother," Arya said, much too loudly.Septa Mordane raised her eyes...."Our half brother," Sansa corrected, soft and precise. She smiled for the septa. "Arya and I were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess with us today," she said...."Arya, why aren't you at work,' the septa asked. "Let me see your stitches. Arya wanted to scream. It was just like Sansa to go and attract the septa's attention.The septa examined the fabric. "Arya, Arya, Arya", she said. "This will not do. This will not do at all."

--A Game of Thrones

This is how we're introduced to Sansa.

She got Arya in trouble! What a....goody miss two shoes!

Except she didn't.

What she did do is include Arya in her dumb 11 year old boy-conversation and ARYA called attention to herself because Sansa said that  Poor Jon was jealous due to his bastardy.

Jon Snow! The closest thing to a hero the whole series has. Who wouldn't object? That poor guy! Can't even sit with the family when the King visits! can't even practice at swords with the Crown Prince! Treated with a cold eye by her Lady Mother.

Always left out.

But it's true.

Jon IS jealous; and in fact has a secret core of rage about his bastardy, one that causes him to go berserk in A Storm of Swords when he flashes back to his youth and Robb Stark telling him he could never be Lord of Winterfell; he gets so angry he blacks out, and when he comes back he's beaten Iron Emmett of Eastwatch black and blue.

So right off the bat we are introduced to Sansa this way. Through Arya's resentful, jealous eyes.

Does Arya have a point?  

She's right that underneath the blemish free surface there is a smugness to Sansa. The smugness of the good little girl.

And it's a sibling rivalry has been magnified by the Septa and perhaps the rest of the castle.

But, like Jon, poor Arya is mostly jealous. Sansa doesn't do anything to her. Arya hangs herself on her own rope and blames Sansa.

But for readers, introduced to the character of Sansa this way...yeah, Sansa seems like a smug little brat.

And it's easy to overlook, at this early point in the story that Arya's point of view is limited and actually unfair.

Death of a Lady But it would be unfair of us to really characterize it as all unfair. Because as Game of Thrones goes on, Sansa does reveal herself as dishonest.

A lie is a lie. We can't deny that. But what a lot of readers don't see is why she lied. Amory Lorch and the sword that killed Rhaenys Targaryen

I think readers assume that Sansa lies because of her stupid crush on Joffrey. It's true that Sansa willfully seems to block the reality of Joffrey's character out of her mind and unfairly pins the blame on Arya and Mycah.

But Sansa is an eleven year old girl betrothed to marry a prince.

A prince whose family's rather dark history has been soft-soaped for her.

She knows that Jaime is the Kingslayer.

What she doesn't know is that: Cersei has had babies murdered and their mothers sold into slavery; Joffrey has ripped open his little brother's pregant cat and pulled the kittens from her Rhaenys Targaryen was ripped from hiding under her bed and stabbed dozens of times under Lannister orders Aegon Targaryen's little head was smashed against the wall under Lannister orders the murder and rape of Elia Martell was perpetrated by a man whose gigantic hands were stained with the bloody remnants of her own infant son's head under Lannister oders; the rape of King's Landing was ordered by a vengeful, triumphant Tywin Lannister eager to please the new King her own brother has been casually hurled out a window by Jaime Lannister

She knows none of this. We know it. She's been sold a sanitized bit of history.

All eleven-year-olds are.

(rant to follow)

People criticise the Starks for not teaching Sansa (and the rest of the Stark children) the harsh realities of history. I mean, in a world as violent as the world of Westeros, the violent reality should be taught from kids from the cradle. Right?

It's dumb.

Westeros is no more violent than our world. Are you kidding me?

(graphic stuff here--please skip if squeamish)

Two world wars, the Holocaust, genocide....Look into the details of atrocities in any conflict in the last hundred years.

You'll be having nightmares.

German children with tongues nailed to tables by Russian soldiers.

Mass rapes and murder in China by the Japanese.

Japanese POW's drawn and quartered by New Zealanders.

Depleted uranium bombs...why?

Fetuses ripped out of mothers and chopped up 'like sausage'.

Piles of dead bodies shoved aside by bulldozers...

I'm 45 and I'm sick to my stomach just thinking about it.

(graphic stuff ends)

Gregor Clegane may not be the NORM, but he's far more common than most people consider.

. As JRR Tolkien said, real-life Orcs are on BOTH sides.

And who taught you all that when you were eleven?

If you're American, who taught you about the My Lai massacre or the killing squads of Viet Nam, carpet bombing of Cambodia, tacit approval of genocide in Pakistan, atrocities against Native Americans and Phillipinos, illegally overthrowing governments, soldiers firing on striking workers?

If you're English, who taught you at eleven about concentration camps in Africa, willful starvation in the colonies or Ireland, atrocities in the Wars, the slave trade?

If you're Russian, who taught you about pogroms and gulags and tens of millions sacrificed on the altar of the New Society, forced starvation and cannibalism in Ukraine?

You get the picture.

Eleven year olds never hear that stuff. Why should Sansa or Arya? Or Bran? To them they are taught the same thing as you were: whatever happened in the past, it was for a noble reason, and soldiers are there to protect you from evil.

Hating Sansa's eleven year old naivete is, frankly, just plain stupid.

(End of rant)

Now we know all these things that Sansa doesn't. We know the Lannister's and Joffrey are BAD with a capital B. We know that Robert is a neglectful corrupt man drinking himself into an early grave while his kingdom falls apart.

Sansa doesn't. She thinks they're the GOOD GUYS. Just like you probably would.

And so Sansa is caught: she doesn't want to lie; but she doesn't want to face the truth. And so she clams up. She doesn't actually lie about what happened. She claims that she doesn't remember.

And she pays for it, in one of the most hideously unfair crimes of the book...with Lady, the living representation of her unconscious instincts.

And people want to say: it's her fault! She didn't corroborate Arya's story! AS if the murder of her pet was a natural or foreseeable outcome of her silence.

Again, that's plain stupid.

Let me tell you something. CERSEI ordered that murder. Not Sansa. And it was a completely, totally, mind-boggingly unpredictable and irrational thing to do!

Sansa's silence, in the face of a very uncomfortable situation with the family she thinks she's going to be spending the rest of her life with, is RATIONAL..

An attempt at harmony. Constructive. The best thing she could do with the knowledge she had.

If she hadn't told Cersei, Ned would have escaped! None of it would have happened!

Uh. No. That makes no sense whatsoever.

NED told Cersei of his plans to tell Robert about the Baratheon children's bastardy.

Let me repeat that.

Ned told Cersei of his plans to disinherit and endanger his children.

And again: Ned told Cersei to leave the country because Robert was going to murder her and her children because of Ned's information.

Flat-out, straight-up, kid gloves off.

The only thing Sansa's informing to the queen did was prevent her and Arya from escaping. Maybe.

And, yeah, it was wrong. Tragic consequences. For sure.

It was the act of a wilful girl at the blossom of adolescent; that period of time when children begin to question their parents' infallibility. Adolescents are, frankly, stupid sometimes.

I know I was. But hey, that's how we grow in life: by making mistakes.

I blame Sansa like I blame my own bad decisions or my 16 year old stepson's

. Luckily my family wasnt and isn't in the situation hers was in.

And Sansa didn't even know she was in that situation, anyway.

You can disagree with Ned Stark for not being explicit about it. But even that is understandable. Ned Stark was working to protect his children but, let's face it: when you play the Game of Thrones you take some risks.

At the end of the day it all boils down to the fact that Eddard Stark inaccurately assessed those risks.

And man did Sansa, and Arya, pay for it.

But why doesn't she break free? If I were her, I'd get out of there!I'd Arya wouldn't let herself suffer like that. Where is Sansa's  agency?

Ugh, I've heard that so many times.

To that I say: she does break free. She does get out of there and you probably wouldn'nt. Arya sees worse atrocities for months before she breaks free, too. Sansa's agency isn't in sliced throats and badassery. But she sure as hell has agency.

You're locked in a room for days. You have a friend. Your friend tells you 'they're killing everyone.' You hear fighting, screams, pleadings for mercy, howls of anguish. Your friend is taken from you. You never see her again.

You are in shock. You stop eating. YOu lose weight. You seriously consider suicide. An old man comes and touches you all over.

You take all the lady-like training you have at your disposal; all the courtesy and charm at your command. You take the good little girl persona and turn it into a tool; you plead for your father's life, pinning your hopes on the boy you think loved you, who you spent such a beautiful night with under the stars at the Hand's Tourney. You've trained all your life for this, and you do it.

And, of course it works. How could it not?

But then it doesn't.

And your see your father knocked down and  beheaded in front of your eyes.

And the veil is lifted from  your eyes. And you understand that you are in a cage and the the boy you thought you loved is a monster. He shows you your father's head, your Septa's. And you look at it. IN an act of defiance. And you refuse to break And the courtesy is dropped when you say: Maybe my brother will have your head. Boros slammed a fist into Sansa's belly, driving the air out of her. When she doubled over, the knight grabbed her hair and drew his sword, and for one hideous instant she was certain he meant to open her throat. As he laid the flat of the blade across her thighs, she thought her legs might break from the force of the blow. Sansa screamed....It will be over soon. She soon lost count of the blows...."Boros[said the king.] make her naked."Boros shoved a meaty hand down the front of Sansa's bodice and gave a hard yank. The silk came tearing away, baring her to the waist. Sansa covered her breasts with her hands. She could hear sniggers, far off and cruel. "Beat her bloody," Joffrey said....

--A Clash of Kings

Blaming the victim. Readers do it.  As if she could escape. The whole court is snickering at her being sexually humiliated and beaten. What is she supposed to do, magic up a killing wish genie like Arya and get out?

The closest things she has to allies, Tyrion and the Hound are actually her captors, too. But she hasn't just meekly accepted her position. She is trying to escape.

IN fact this is one of the thing that really burns me up. How can you blame a child when grown men beat her? It's ridiculous.

Sansa is not a warrior. Sansa's agency, and this is unique in fantasy literature as far as I know. Her agency displays itself through empathy.

When she sees the hapless Dontos about to die a horrible death from being forced to drink wine until his belly ruptures, she intervenes. Not only does she speak against it to Joffrey, whose vicious cruelty knows no bounds and who could have her head on a whim, but she uses her lady-like training to actually manipulate the King into making Ser Dontos his fool instead of murdering him.

And it's this act that ultimately leads to her freedom. It's a long meandering course that she takes but she pursues eagerly, meeting with Dontos and plotting her escape at every opportunity. And when the opportunity to fly comes...she takes it, without hesitation.

So stop saying she does nothing. She does.

By the way, empathy is a GOOD quality, a human quality. Only a person who falls for the gloominess of the show would scorn empathy.

Sansa's initial reacton to the Hound is shallow. She looks at him with profound horror and revulsion at his ugliness. He's everything that she stands against: rude, foul-mouthed, cocky, murderous, un-courtly, without a shred of politese; harshly abrasive... He looks like he is.

But when he tells him the story behind his hideous burns in a gleeful attempt to frighten her into his vision of reality she reacts with kindess. Instinctively. Her fear disappears and she comforts him.

Think of the amount of people who comfort others emotions in A Song of Ice and Fire. Arya comforts the little ones in Clash of Kings; Jon comforts Sam; Tyrion comforts Sansa; Penny comforts Tyrion; Meera comforts Bran.

Did I miss anyone?

But Sansa does so in the face of hte overwhelming force of Sandor Clegane's damaged rage? Rather than quailing or crying, she reaches out and touches his face.

Because she sees the truth in Sandor that he himself doesn't see. She sees the boy playing with his wooden knights and dreaming.

And later, in several conversations in which Sandor tries to intimidate her into understanding harsh realities she reacts appropriately: not with fear or revulsion: with understanding. She flat-out tells him he's horrible. He's awful.

Because his philosophy is a choice. And it's an easy choice. And it's the wrong choice. In that world, just like this one.

And she, like Ned Stark realizes it.

Who else has shown him these truths? Who else has stood up against Sandor about the very nature of his reality? Only Sansa.

And in that is weird sort of strength. Because through it all, depressed though she may get, she still refuses to believe that EVERYBODY is bad. Because it's not true after all. Not in our world. And not in her world, either.

In Maegor's Holdfast, in the thick of a battle that they think she will lose, it's Sansa who stands up and soothes the frightened women, children and elderly awaiting their bloody fate, leading them in hymns, lying to them of hope and protection. Even though she knows that Ilyn Payne's been ordered to murder her if Stannis gains the city.

And when, in a Feast For Crows, it's necessary for little Robert Arryn to cross the Bridge of Stone in the midst of an epileptic fit, it is Sansa with her innate empathy that soothes his shaking enough to cross. This is another feat of agency-through-empathy that goes remarkably un-noticed by her critics.

And in all that is  weird sort of strength. It's not a Brienne-style strength, the strength of the sword. It's not the furtive strength of the assassin, or the magical strength of the Greenseer. It's a strength of the feminine power to sooth. And it is a very, very real thing.

Because through it all, depressed though she may get, she still refuses to believe that EVERYBODY is bad. Because it's not true.

She's no warrior. She's not an assassin, or a wizard or a great thinker. But there's something indomitable about her strength.

A gentle side to her that never ever breaks.

Sansa is awesome as far as I'm concerned.

my skin has turned to porcelain to ivory to steel--Sansa, A Storm of Swords

Once the veil of her adolescence is ripped from her eyes, Sansa becomes a keen observer of human nature. She does so in order to survive.

I'm looking for a maid of three and ten...

But she's still being molded. She's in control of a man who had her father murdered; whose keen-ness of mind is balanced by his psychopathic lack of true empathy. Whose poisoning his young ward towards his own political ends.

Will Sansa, trained in the ways of feudal politics by Littlefinger, become Littlefinger? Will she be complicit in the death of Sweetrobin? Is the scene where she 'betrays' Arya and dooms Lady foreshadowing for worse deeds to come? Is the steel in her nature being warped by the pressure and stress she's been under? Do her 'mis-memories' signify something unwholesome? Is she going mad?

I think it's fair to say that, like Arya, like Bran, like Tyrion, there is a war going on in her soul. A struggle between a gentler reality and a more savage reality. And she may not pass that test.

But I hope that she does and that she slays the savage giant and gets back to Winterfell.

Her character is still developing. But thus far, I do not believe that she deserves  the hate she gets from some quarters. Thus far, I think she's one of the most subtly drawn and shockingly realistic characters of A Song of Ice and Fire and indeed in the whole genre of fantasy.

. WE'll just have to keep reading.

[puppetmasteraria]

The Doll Maker

Name: Aria Mari

Full Name: Arialia Mari

Nicknames: Doll Maker

Universe They Exist In: World of Warcraft

Gender and Sexuality: Cis heterosexual female.

Age: Approx eighteen  or nineteen. She doesn't really know and no one else could tell her.

Profession: Doll Maker and Gatherer/ collector. She finds and makes things to sell to feed and clothe herself. She often sleeps in corners of the city where she finds warmth and protection from the elements but when she makes more  she will sometimes rent a room in Stormwind, Goldshire or somewhere else if  she is travelling. She doesn't often go far from the city though.

Pronouns: She/Her

Ethnicity/Species: Draenai

Birthplace and Birthdate: She was born during a time of peace on Draenor, her family among  those that fled when she was just young. Her father and mother were  both among those killed when the Exodar crashed on Azeroth. She doesn't remember her birthday but she believes it to be in the spring and she often choses a day before it gets hot to sit by the water in Stormwind and remember her family.

Guilty Pleasures: Painting, books and stories, fresh fruit.

Phobias: Being alone, the dark.

Bit of Story:

Aria was passed from person to person growing up. Caretakers would come and go. Some finding they didn’t have the means to care for a young one while others would simply perish in the harsh days after the Exodar crashed down. Her most beloved  mentor was a shamanistic half orc half draenai named  Esme. Esme in all of her wisdom taught her to listen to the elements and she taught  her to hone her artistic talents.

Esme brought the girl to Stormwind city to sell some of the things they had made together and a fateful meeting with a random mugger saw her separated from yet another mentor. She has been living off the city ever since. Staying where it felt warm and safe and selling gathered herbs and gems  and on occasion a doll or two. 

What They Would Be Famous For: She would be known for being that little  trouble maker. Helping other orphans get away when they are in trouble...and for playing with her dolls instead of the other children. She is not famous by any means.  

What Have They / Would They Gotten Arrested For: Stealing food maybe? Though she would be taking the rap for someone else. She is a troubled  youth sure but her mentor taught her morals. She wouldn't be doing that herself.

OC You Ship Them With: No one...but she doesn't have any friends.

Your Favorite OC Relationships: Bit of a loner this one.

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: I hope...no one?

Favorite Book Genre: Paranormal romance/ adventure.

Least Favorite Book Cliche: Weakling damsels in distress.

Talents and/or Powers: She feels the pull of the elements. Shes been practicing shamanism on her own since her mentor taught her to listen to the earth. She is by no means powerful or in control of her powers but she is just learning. She is also a very talented artist. She choses to use her talents to create dolls and puppets. She has a passion for story telling with them and has sold a few  around  the holidays to keep her in a warm bed on cold nights. Lastly she has a talent for gardening and collecting. Another way she keeps money in her pocket is gathering herbs and gems for local shops and artisans/ alchemists.

Why Someone Might Love Them: She is a strange individual. Hard to talk to and distant with most people. If someone were  to get past the walls she puts up though...they might find a really genuinely caring girl.  She is sweet, loyal and passionate about her art.  A good friend if ever she allowed herself to make them.

Why Someone Might Hate Them: She is wary of people, selfish, untrusting, short with strangers, socially inept, and she can be downright mean and petty when wronged. She will usually keep to herself though unless trying to sell something.

How They Change: As she grows and learns to  care for herself shes become less angry and bitter. When she first lost her mentor it was  just another person to abandon her and she lashed out a lot. Anyone trying to help her would feel the scorn she had  toward life. She has had to deal with a lot though since being on her own  and she appreciates those that show kindness a bit more.  

Why You Love Them: I think shes quirky and crazy and that is fun for me to write. The weird little odd ball painting a face on a doll in the corner of the Cathedral Square while the rest of the world passes her by.  Her few interactions with  other  people have been fun.

Why you Hate Them: I just don't RP alliance side much. I can never find willing participants and so the little girl who needs a new teacher has turned into a  social  outcast and  I kindof wish I could find her a home.

OOC Stuff: I am looking for RP with her. Story line progression, long term or just a few interesting encounters. I am very flexible. In game or discord. Open to Dark RP, adventure and excitement. A new guild to join or even romance if the story calls for it. Feel free to message me or send me a prompt even. 

Tags: ANYONE that wants to do this!!