#i was holding out hope that the cool dragonborn was just in over his head but episode 17 sure made him seem more than just complicit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hellishhin · 3 years

Text

And They Fell

Length: ~1,500

Content warnings: Violence, blood, injury, magical attacks, electrocution, unconsciousness

Post themes: combat

Summary: This post is a little different because it's just the subsequent combat scene following up from the last post. This is my first real combat scene ever and I got a lot of great advice for it. If you want to, I would really love some solid critique on how this went. A few questions I'm wondering about most: is this confusing? Does it pace correctly for a fight scene? Did I jump around too much? You can reblog/reply with as much or as little critique as you want. You also can just read for fun and you don't have to critique anything if you don't want to! I also may repost this as a rewrite depending on advice I get, we will see :)

Intro with links to all previous posts

[next post]—-[previous post]

Taglist: (adds/removes always open!) @betwixtofficial @taerandcalentavar @talesfromaurea @faelanvance @definitelyquestionit @drippingmoon @dontcrywrite @a-wild-bloog

One time fight scene tag: @author-a-holmes thanks for being willing to look it over!

Kireen’s blade sang from its sheath and her warrior’s mind kicked into action. This was enough evidence to start an investigation so it was clear they wouldn’t be allowed to escape. Two strides, sword in motion, but it came to a jarring halt against two elvish scimitars belonging to the crossbow man’s comrade. Kireen was able to stave off the biting steel but she couldn’t match the speed of two swords forever.

Another bolt was being loaded but Kireen was too preoccupied to notice so K’lai’a’la, throwing knives at the ready, sent them hurtling in his direction. One caught the wood of the crossbow which did no more than mar its polished surface. The second struck his upper arm. She saw the crossbow shudder in his hands and his lips tighten but he slammed the bolt fully into place. K’lai’a’la knew it was coming. With her reflexes, it was nothing to sidestep the bolt and hear it clatter against the stone. Before he could load another, her attention was drawn to a battle cry from Brimir who had drawn his own sword and plunged into contest with the two remaining elves. Sadie seemed to be safely keeping behind the lines so K’lai’a’la drew her own scimitar and stepped to Brimir’s side.

It was vital to keep to one’s strengths so as her friends stepped up to engage the elves, Sadie stayed back. As another bolt was prepared, she knew she must target him to keep his attention off her friends.

“Hey!” she called and he turned his attention to her “if arrogance and stupidity had a baby, you would be the afterbirth.” Each word was wrapped tightly into the weave and entered his mind like a dozen shards of glass. She watched him recoil but regain his composure quickly and loose a bolt just for her. It breezed through her hair as she flinched away, unharmed. He was quickly placing another bolt and she shouted at him once more. “If you don’t start using your head for more than a hat rack, I’ll start using it to store my swords!” His shot went wide and lacking the patience to reload, he tossed the crossbow away and yelled something in elvish. Sadie grinned, knowing in her soul that she was just insulted, but his carried no magic.

A man twice her height barreled down on her but she drew her rapier and held her ground. One misdirection and his blade went wide. She went in for the groin but he backhanded her blade away. She could hear his blade whistling toward her again but she didn’t move in time, giving her a stinging bite across the jaw; her vision blurred. She thrust blindly and felt it give into something soft. She heard a grunt, steel flashed, her rapier lifted in defense to take a moment and make sense of the blur in front of her.

The elf who had intercepted Kireen was not prepared for her draconic strength. He was parrying her blows but losing ground and Kireen saw it. She pushed harder, increasing the force of each swing but she faltered when the man with the crossbow discarded his weapon and charged past her to where she knew Sadie was standing. Her opponent took his opportunity to step into her guard and thrust his sword into her underarm. Sensing his move she twisted so the armor took most of the blow only leaving her with a sharp ache. With him inside her guard, a quick pommel strike to his head crumpled him. Kireen spun and saw Sadie with blood dripping off her chin, barely holding her own against the onslaught. With a roar, Kireen charged.

Sweat beaded, muscles burned, breath rasped sharply but K’lai’a’la and Brimir kept pace with their two opponents. They all bled from several minor cuts but the pain heightened their instincts. One slip was all it took and when K’lai’a’la over-rotated her wrist, the enemy sword broke her guard and cut deeply into her arm. With a feral snarl she lashed out with pure instinct and landed a similar blow across his shoulder. Brimir’s peripheral caught the break in motion. He flipped his sword out, sinking the point into the other elf’s thigh but the one he had engaged swung for the opening. Brimir brought his arm up, catching the sword on his bracer and he winced at the force.

Seeing her opponent stumble to Brimir’s sword, like a predator to the weakest prey, K’lai’a’la redoubled her efforts. As her sword whistled through the air, she watched the elf’s lips move. The air around him rippled and he sidestepped, disappearing entirely. Her sword continued through the air with such force that the tip struck the ground. Brimir’s opponent balked, realizing it was now two on one. He retreated toward the open door just as an older elf with vicious blue eyes stepped through it. Lightning arced through his fingers and K’lai’a’la could hear the arcane language on his lips.

The draconic roar behind him made the elf turn his attention away from Sadie to see a blur of red scales and teeth grab him by the front of his armor. Kireen made to bite his face but he pulled away in terror and she only grabbed the side of his neck. Her mind was set on protecting Sadie so the elf’s dagger plunging into her side surprised her and she pulled away. This left her open for two more dagger thrusts to her gut almost bringing her to her knees. A third was incoming but was pulled up at the last second when Sadie’s rapier plunged into the back of the man’s thigh. Kireen was about to rally when a second set of swords appeared seemingly out of nowhere and began pressing her back.

There was a carnal satisfaction that flashed through Sadie when she saw the elf’s features contort with pain while her rapier embedded itself further into his thigh. All Kireen needed to do was take advantage of his distraction. Then the second elf from across the room stepped out of a ripple in the air.

The enemies were aware that the dragonborn was the bigger threat. With Kireen already weakened, Sadie knew it was now or never. With a deathgrip on the weave she twisted the strands around the mind of the elf who just appeared before them. His strangled mind succumbed to her power. He began to laugh, a horrible cackling laughter that rang above the clash of swords and scuff of boots. Sadie’s laughter rose with his but the elf laughed so hard he dropped to his knees. Presented with the opportunity, Kireen took it, her sword sprouting from his back in a wash of blood. He died with a twisted smile on his face.

Kireen’s entire body burned but whether from wounds or exertion she didn’t know. There was now a second elf or she was seeing double. Either way she was swinging frantically at both until one of them began to laugh. Once on his knees she thrust and found that it was no illusion. She wrenched her sword free of his corpse but her strength flagged, she was backed against the wall, her breath came in ragged gasps. Then she couldn’t see. Everything was white, her muscles contracted all at once and fire seared through her. She couldn’t even scream. It stopped as fast as it started and she welcomed the coolness of the floor on her cheek.

The arc of lightning ripped through his body and he staggered but managed to stay on his feet. Beside him, K’lai’a’la was not so lucky. She succumbed without a cry of pain, collapsing into a heap. He looked over his shoulder and saw Kireen fall as well but to his relief, Sadie remained standing. He had one chance to save his friends. One well-placed sword thrust and this mage would be done. Brimir made it one step before there was a silent concussive force around him and the man spoke a word. “Kneel”. The word echoed around in his thoughts erasing all others. He dropped to his knees.

When she could finally breathe again, Sadie let out a sob. She looked to Kireen for reassurance but saw her friend lifeless on the ground. Her thoughts were sluggish, looking to call K’lai’a’la for help but she too was on the ground and Brimir was kneeling before the man in the doorway. She was the only one left. It was up to her to get them out of this. Emotions hit her like rolling thunder and a scream of rage pealed out of her. She released her grip on the magic she handled with such care and brought her hands together. A shattering crack echoed around the room loud enough she thought the roof might collapse.

When the dust settled, all the elves were still standing. She had failed. Her last hope was to heal them, she had the magic, she could help her friends. Sadie took one step but a hand in her hair halted her. Pain blossomed across her cheek from a sadistic backhand and that was all it took for the world to go dark. Silence fell along with Sadie. Pure chaos, over in seconds that stretched out into a lifetime but not even the chaos stirred the unconscious people still laying in the corner.

#original work #high fantasy #oc #d&d #writeblr #sadieblaze #kireen #k'lai'a'la #brimir #combat #violence cw #blood cw #injury cw #electric shock cw

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monster--mama · 3 years

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Meeting Kaidan

Ravenna was expecting the abandoned tower to be empty when she walked in. Instead, as she leans her tired, sun-heated form against the cool stone of the inside, she catches a whiff of all the smells that shouldn’t be there. Armor oil, fire, food, magicka, and various human smells blend in with the damp, moldy smell inside the tower. She hears distant footsteps, ascending one staircase, then another, until those armored feet stand right across from her. The Thalmor soldier gazes disdainfully at her. Ravenna stares back, deadpan. She uses her vampiric hypnosis right as he attempts to draw on her. “Be a dear,” she says as she pushes off the wall and starts deeper into the prison, “and answer a few questions for me?” The Thalmor soldier, pacified for the moment, follows behind her with a scowl. “Yes,” he answers, but his voice is strained as he tries and fails to resist her vampiric charm. “You’ve no men posted outside, you drew on me as soon as I entered without a second thought once you realized I wasn’t one of yours. You’re doing something here that you’re not meant to be doing, aren’t you? What is it?” Gritting his teeth, the Thalmor answers through tightly pursed lips. “We’re interrogating a prisoner-“ “What kind of prisoner do you have that you can’t interrogate on-record?” She presses as they descend lower into the prison. “We think he knows something about the Blades,” the Thalmor answers after a long stretch of holding his breath, spitting out the words like vomit. Ravenna knows of the Blades; dragonslayers of old, back when there still were dragons. Last she recalls, they were working with the Empire while they waited for the next Dragonborn to resurface. “You’re telling me you’ve imprisoned some presumably innocent individual because you’re scared of the Blades? Since when do they even have anything to do with you? And you’ve been torturing him too, I take it? Is that why the stench of blood is getting so strong down here?” “Yes.” “I think that’s all I wanted to ask, thank you for cooperating,” she says, turning to him. Just as the seduction begins to wear off, Ravenna grabs him, wrenching him down to her height and burying her fangs in his throat, drinking the soldier dry. She takes a moment to wipe her mouth off on a handkerchief before she moves on, exploring further inside. The deeper in she gets, the more the smells of blood and terror sweat crowd her senses, until finally she reaches the source. The prison cells. She spots their prisoner right away, and, Shor’s Beard, he looks like hell. “Divines, what’ve they done to you? Hold on-“ she says to him as she searches the table in the middle hallway. She snatches a key from it and hurries over to his cell door, to unlock it. The door clicks open and Ravenna approaches the imprisoned man with no hesitation. “Are you-“ she begins, but he, likewise without hesitation, spits a glob of bloody spit into her face as soon as she is close enough. “When I get out of here, I’ll kill you all myself,” he growls, and the intent is there but the vengefulness is missing from his spirit; he’s already half-dead, and, Ravenna figures, unimaginably terrified. “Calm down,” Ravenna says, evening her tone in the hope of prompting him to settle down, too. As Ravenna pulls out her handkerchief again and wipes her face clean, the man lifts his head and actually studies her for a moment, squinting and frowning at her through his injuries. “You’re not with the Thalmor, are you?” He asks her after a long pause. Ravenna picks spit out of her eyelashes. “No, I’m not. I was just passing through and needed somewhere to rest a few hours. My name is Ravenna Rosewood,” she introduces, putting away the handkerchief, “Who are you?” “Kaidan,” he replies slowly, “My name is Kaidan.” “Well Kaidan, I think it’s about time you were discharged, don’t you agree?” She asks him, already reaching over him to unlock his stockade, having to stand on her toes even in heels to reach. Kaidan hears the tiny gasp she lets out when she sees the gore on his back, where he is injured the most heavily. As he stands back up, the tiny Imperial grips him by one of his elbows, as if to steady him, even though he is most definitely several feet taller than she. “Hold still,” she insists, “I know a bit of healing magic.” And he does; Kaidan stands still as she flattens her softly glowing palms against his sternum, letting her work as he feels his flesh knitting itself back together.

#the Friendship is Magic playthrough #Ravenna the Dragonborn #kaidan 2 #kaidan skyrim

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

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For the prompts: Sternay, Centaur, NSFW. Thank you!

Here you go!

Note: I use “races” here in the D&D sense.

Most nights, Barclay works undistracted until the end of dinner. Tonight, looks out the kitchen window so often Moira teases him that she’ll close it to save him from cutting off his own hand by mistake.

He can’t help it. Every time a new party returns from an adventure or demands a table so they can sit and plan their next epic quest, he pokes his head into the dining room of Amnesty Lodge to see if a certain orc is among them.

Technically, Joseph is half-orc, as his father was an elf, but his orcish traits dominate in all but his build and his ears. He’s so handsome, the first time he addressed Barclay by name he blushed for an hour afterwards.

That was the second time they’d met, Joseph having returned from his job as the hired rogue of a party of treasure hunters. He’d been a spy during the last great skirmish, and now put his observation and information gathering skills to good use for a fair price. He, like other adventurers for hire, used Amnesty Lodge as his base, as it welcomed creatures of all kinds and had the best food in all of Kepler.

When Joseph became a regular, it didn’t take long for him to post up in the place where it was easiest for him to talk to Barclay, and more than once he stayed to help the centaur put up chairs and wipe down tables. Four months ago, before he left to help some mages in search of rare artifacts, he knocked on Barclay’s door in the pre-dawn rain and kissed him goodbye, telling him to consider the kiss an offer he could refuse or accept on Josephs’ return.

Barclay kissed him back immediately in reply.

Ever since that morning, Barclay’s orientation towards time changed. He no longer saw his life in weeks and months; instead it was divided into times when Joseph was in town and times when he was gone. It helps that Joseph prefers quests that are about knowledge and have a low chance of death, as he has little taste for violence (in fact, the only orc he knows with less taste for it is Duck, who seems annoyed at the fact the universe thinks it’s his destiny to fight).

When the last diner stumbles upstairs to their room, Moira pats his side, “I can get Jake to help me clean up. You go on home.”

A short walk brings him to his cottage on the edge of Amnestys’ grounds. He gathers his mail, starts a kettle for tea, and contemplates if he should take a bath now or wait for Joseph in the hopes he might join him.

Knockknock

He hurries to the door, throws it open and finds a disheveled but pleased looking Joseph holding a bouquet of branches.

“Hey” his brain offers no further thoughts, too busy drinking in the sight of the boyfriend he’s been missing these last ten days.

“I’m sorry I’m late, we ran into some kind of conflict between two water golems and had to take a longer route. I, um, brought some apple blossoms as an apology.”

“No need to apologize, blue eyes” Barclay takes the flowers, “I’m just glad you’re back in one piece. Uh, do you, uh, wanna come in? I’m making tea and, uh, I was gonna take a bath if you wanna join me.” In spite of the fact Joseph is already through the door and taking off his shoes, Barclay worries he’s moving too fast.

“A bath sounds great, big guy” Joseph cups his face, takes his time kissing every inch of his lips before releasing him, “I’ll go get it started.”

Barclay shuts the door and trots towards the kitchen. He munches two stems of blossoms and then sets the rest in some water on the table.

He joins Joseph just as the orc closes off the sluice that directs the water from the hot springs outside into the massive, rocky tub. It’s designed with multiple wide, stone benches so Barclay can sit comfortably with his legs tucked beneath him. He sets the mugs of tea by the edge of the pool and wades in, settling on his preferred bench as Joseph floats over to him. A grey scar runs up one side of his green chest which, combined with the stylish piercings in his ears and the one stud in his nose, make him look a mixture of tough and debonair that never fails to make Barclay paw the ground with frustrated desire.

The orc is so handsome, has kissed Barclay breathless and given him the honor of tasting his cock several times, but there are things Barclay wants from him that he will never ask for. And so, as the orc drapes his arms around his shoulders, he puts those lurid thoughts from his mind.

“Do you want me to get your back?” Well-trimmed claws scritch the sensitive line where fur meets skin.

“Fuck yeah.”

Joseph splashes to his side, retrieving one of the milky-white bottles lined along the rocky edge. The scent of oatmeal and chamomile fills twines into the steam as the orc guides a generous line of the shampoo down his spine. Barclay would never admit it in public, but he uses this blend in part because it brings a shine to his dark bay fur, the color of which he is immensely proud.

“You have such a handsome coat” Joseph murmurs, fingers creating a path of suds as he rubs them in circles, “then again, the rest of you is handsome too, so it’s only remarkable in that it puts every other centaur I’ve seen to shame.”

Barclay squeezes the loofah he’s using on his shoulders, groans when Joseph digs his fingers into the spot on his back legs that is always sore after a day in the kitchen.

“Look at all that strength buried right here” Joseph pets up his leg and along his flank, “gods, Barclay, maybe I should count myself lucky that you work somewhere you aren’t seen so that I’m not constantly fighting off every centaur who passes through town and sees what a catch you are.”

“Babe please” he dumps water over his head, which does fuck-all to clear it, “please, when you talk like that it’s, I’m-”

The hands switch to soothing circles, “I’m sorry, if it’s making you uncomfortable I can stop.”

“No, no it’s more like, uh, fuck” he takes a deep breath, “talking to me like that while you touch me, while you’re right there all naked and perfect I, it turns me on and I don’t want to make you deal with that.”

Soft splashing as Joseph moves in front of him, “I think now is the time to tell you I’m, um, more than happy to deal with it. In fact, I was kind of hoping we could do that tonight. We can take our time, since neither of us has work tomorrow and I, um, well let’s just say I thought about you a lot while I was gone and wanted the chance to act on some of those thoughts.”

Barclay snorts, softly, “Trust me, babe, even if you think it’s a good idea now, you won’t when it happens. Lots of people love the idea of fucking a centaur right up until the moment and then they bail. And I mean, like, that’s cool, I don’t wanna fuck someone who’s freaked out and they can call it quits whenever but...yeah. I appreciate the thought, blue eyes.” He smiles, trying to show that he means it, because he does, he loves that Joseph thinks of him that way.

Joseph massages some of the shampoo into his hair, the two of them still face to face, “Do you remember that black trunk I left here last time?”

“Uhhuh” He closes his eyes, neck relaxing, “said it was stuff you needed to keep at my place.”

“It is, and now I know you didn’t peek at it. I did a bunch of research into the best way to prepare to get fucked by a centaur, and everything we need is in that box.”

“Aw babe, you did a research project for me.” Barclay hides his face in Joseph’s shoulder.

“It’s my love language.” Joseph kisses his cheek, “Barclay, if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that this isn’t some idle fantasy for me, with you filling the role of hot centaur. This is something I want to do with you, my boyfriend who I adore and want to get fucked by.”

“Promise you’ll say something if I’m hurting you?” Barclay mumbles against soap-tinged skin.

A kiss on his head this time, “I promise.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

Joseph is conscious of his reputation. He always has been, whether that was how his superiors saw him or how his potential clients see him now. This is why he’s well-aware of the joke that goes as follows:

Did you hear about the undiscovered creature?

No. What is it?

A race Joseph hasn’t fucked.

That’s the translation from orcish, anyway.

It’s not as if he has a checklist of beings he wants to bed. It’s that he’s never seen a creatures race as a deterrent. Not the very charming bugbear who bought him a drink his first time up in Vogel Pass. Not the shy dragonborn who asked him to dance at the Festival of the Two Moons. And certainly not the sweet, gentle centaur who owned his heart from the first time he smiled at him.

Joseph considers himself practical, but Barclay forces him to confront the romantic streak running through his heart. He’d debated how best to show it, considering traditional gestures of orc courtship or a long, long letter, before an exasperated Duck pulled him aside and told him to just tell him, please Joe for fucks sake this is painful to watch.

Over the last few months, he’s learned which flowers to bring his lover, what places to pet and scratch to melt that strong body beneath his hands. He’s also observed that Barclay is sexually pent up yet never asks for release, no matter how many times he swallows or strokes Josephs’ cock. So, while his research and subsequent offering of his ass are far from selfless, he hopes it will show his boyfriend that he will put in the work to bring him pleasure.

He’s busy laying out the four glass cocks of increasing sizes next to the largest bottle of lube they had at fantasy Costco while Barclay arranges a set of cushions, bars, and ropes near the bed. When put together, the items form a rig that allow centaurs to fuck smaller partners. Barclay bought it the last time someone expressed a desire to fuck him; it’s never been used.

Joseph sits on the bed, all his supplies in reach, and pats the large mattress to indicate Barclay can join him.

“Should I help?” The centaur tucks his legs under him, tail twitching once.

“Yes, by holding me while I warm up. You won’t be able to when you’re fucking me, so I need to get my fill.” He rests his back against Barclay’s bare chest, tips his head up so his boyfriend can kiss him, “if you’re good, maybe I’ll let you open me up some of the way.”

Barclay whines, nuzzling his hair as he preps the smallest toy. It slides in easily, Joseph working it back and forth with soft moans. It’s not long before he trades it for the next size, the one he uses most often. The centaur’s arms twine around his waist and his chin rests on his shoulder, jostling in time with Joseph’s thrusts.

The third toy has a flared base and he grunts, spreading his legs wider as he pushes it in. He stops mid-way, needing a moment to relax. Barclay rubs his thighs, asking if there’s anything he needs.

“A little distraction might help.”

“I can manage that.”

“GAHahnnnnm, shit, that works.” Joseph moves the toy incrementally deeper as Barclay nibbles his ears. The playful pain always makes him shiver and submit to whatever’s happening, and soon the toy bottoms out. He fucks himself with it until the idea of taking more feels not only possible, but wonderful.

The fourth toy is, according to his research, to inches shorter and an inch and a half thinner than the average centaur cock. It’s an intense stretch and he groans, falling back in Barclays arms. The centaurs breath is coming in hot puffs on his neck and chest, and the bed is moving more than it was a minute ago.

“Enjoying the show, big guy?”

“Uhhuhnnn, I, fuck babe this is making me so fucking hard but I, I didn’t wanna say anything in case you needed to back out.”

“My sweet, considerate Barclay. Here, I have an idea.” He tips forward, splaying out on his stomach with the toy sticking part way out of his ass, “I want you to finish getting me ready.”

“Okay” He can feel Barclay’s hand shaking through the length of the toy, “fuck, your ass looks good like this.”

“It’ll look even better with yours in itAH gods, that’s a good speed for it, gods that feels so good.”

Barclay growls, pushes the toy all the way in as Joseph arches off the bed with a wall-shaking moan.

“That’s it, ohmylord, see big guy, I can take whatever you give me. You won’t break me, won’t hurt me, just fill me up and make me cum so hard I white out-”

“Who says you’re gonna get to cum, blue eyes? Maybe I’ll just fill that tight orc ass up and leave you there until I’m ready to breed again.”

There’s a smack just as the toy stops moving. Joseph turns to see Barclay with his hands clamped over his mouth.

“‘M ‘orry.”

With some effort and another moan as the toy shifts, he rolls onto his side and holds up two fingers, “First off, I’ve heard way more explicit ‘breeding talk’ including from my own kind. Second of all, if it bothered me, I wouldn’t keep talking about how strong and capable you are when I want to wind you up. I was a spy, Barclay; I’m very good at telling what people want and what they’re hiding.”

“Joe….” it’s a whine. Rarer still is the use of his nickname, something Barclay only does when he’s far gone with desire. Joseph allows himself some internal smugness before smiling at his boyfriend.

“I’m ready for the main event if you are.”

Lube drips down his thighs as Barclay helps him into place. There’s a large, square cushion with very little give shoved up against the wall. It’s waist-height for Joseph, so he bends over it and lets his boyfriend strap his wrists and ankles down against the faux-velvet.

“Is that okay? You don’t need the extra pad under your feet?”

“Assuming we’re at a comfortable angle for you, I’m all set.”

“Right. Cool.” Barclay sounds almost impatient; what an evening of firsts this is turning out to be. “I’m gonna put the last piece on.”

A cool circle of stainless steel sits snugly against Joseph's ass. In his reading, he learned that a common issue was the cock slipping out during the precarious first pushes, leading to frustration for everyone. Since Barclay can’t guide it with his hand from the angle he’ll be at, the ring offers a tactile clue and keep him on course once he pushes in.

The centaur moves so he’s behind him, then steps forward so his front legs are on either side of the block Joseph is strapped to. From here, the heat of his body surrounds the orc and he feels safe instead of smothered. After three mis-judged nudges, his cock threads though the ring, the flat, wide head of it parting Joseph’s ass as they both groan.

“Shit” Joseph hisses. Barclay freezes above him, so he adds, “that was good cursing.”

It remains so as the thick head stretches him open, and he gasps with relief when it’s done breaching his body. The shaft is narrower, so that’s the hard part over with. Better still, his preparation pays off; the cock slides most of the way in with little resistance.

“Can I start moving?” He can’t really see Barclay’s face from this angle, but the centaurs' shy, lustful hope is clear in his voice.

“Yes, big guyFUCK! Ohfuck, yes, holy hells that’s good.” The first thrusts make the purpose of the straps clear; if Joseph weren’t tied down, he’d be bounced this way and that, increasing his chances of injury. Trapped as he is, there’s less chance for accidental harm and no distraction from the massive cock relentlessly thudding into him.

“Fuck, Joseph, you feel so good baby, fuck I never think of you as small but it’s like I can reach the back of your fucking throat like this.”

The comment draws his attention to what he assumes is a lump in the flat surface of the cushion that’s causing his stomach to rock at an angle.

“Holy shit that’s, that’s your cock. Barclay, it’s, it’s literally bulging my stomach out.” He wishes the set up allowed him to see it, he wants to sear the image of Barclay’s cock molded against his flesh into the deepest corners of his memory.

“I can feel it babe, believe me. Fuck, such a tight fit, you’re like a fucking toy, stretching to take me.” More force behind the thrusts, suggesting Barclay is using the bar enchanted into the wall for this exact purpose, “shouldn’t waste a breeding load on a toy, but fuck me if I care.”

“Gods almighty” that fact hadn’t appeared in his research, but makes perfect sense; if a centaur hasn’t fucked in awhile, their biology might generate a greater amount of cum the next time around in hopes of continuing their kind.

“Yeah, you like that, like the idea of taking my cum so deep you’ll be able to taste it. Gonna fill you up babe, fuck, gonna leave you dripping for weeks.”

“That’s right, big guy, you can cum as much as you want.” His comment dies out into a prolonged whimper as his cock ruts against the cushion, pushing him towards orgasm.

Barclay stops, huffing, and rumbles, “It’s cute how you think you get to make that call, instead of taking me for as long as I fucking say like the needy little piece of ass you are.”

“Sweet fucking hell” Is all Joseph gets out before his words give way to desperate, ecstatic sounds. Barclay fucks him so hard and fast it shakes dust from the ceiling and a picture from the wall. The entire lower half of his body is stretched and pounded so mercilessly and with absolutely no pauses, meaning his orgasm only registers when splatters across the floor. His sensitive cock gets no reprieve, bouncing in time with Barclays increasingly sharp thrusts and making Joseph gasp whenever it rubs against the cushion.

His assumption that Barclay is going his fastest goes out the window when the centaur quickens his pace, Josephs wrists and ankles twisting in their bonds as his mind falls silent. All he hears is Barclay grunting as his cock tries to go deeper into his ass.

“C’mon babe, c’mon, take it, take me deep, take the whole godsdamn fucking thingohfuck, Joe.” There’s a deep, broken cry as cum pumps into him, his body aching at the further intrusion. Barclay whimpers and moans above him, hips still jerking as he keeps cumming. By the time he gives a final thrust, cum is escaping back down his shaft, Joseph’s body unable to contain it.

“Do, do you want me to pull out all at once?”

“Yes, best to get the mess over with instead of dragging oOWut.” His body gives up any pretense of supporting itself when the centaur slides out of him. Thank goodness for the cushions. Barclay isn’t faring any better, knees wobbling as he undoes Josephs’ restraints and helps him to the bed. The orc just manages to remember to toss a towel out for him to lay on so he doesn’t stain the bed sheets with the spend still running down his legs.

Barclay nestles protectively around him, guiding his head to rest on the still-shiny fur of his back, “I can’t believe you did that for me.”

“For us. I don’t know if you noticed, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”

“Kinda got that sense, yeah.” Barclay rests their heads together, “Even so just...thanks. Thanks for taking the time and effort it takes to fuck me.”

Joseph toys with Barclay’s hair, tucks it behind his ears, “Barclay, I love you. Part of that means figuring things like this out together. Even if being with you, in any sense of the word, was a hundred times more complicated, that wouldn’t be enough to stop me from trying.”

Barclay doesn’t ask if he means it. Instead, he draws him into a kiss, works his magic with his lips and tongue until Joseph is practically draped over him, content and exhausted. Before the centaur scoops him up for another bath, he kisses his cheek and rumbles, “Thanks, babe. And I love you too.”

#sternclay #reader requests #agent stern/barclay #monster march #centaur boyfriend #monster boyfriends

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haikyuuanypercent · 4 years

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karasuno first years playing D&D 5e

I’ve been watching fantasy high recently (okay, rewatching... for the third time), so that got me thinking about what the haikyuu characters, specifically karasuno’s first years, would be like playing Dungeons and Dragons! I know they’ve already been in a traditional tabletop fantasy setting with Haikyuu Quest, but I take that as more of an AU than as how they would actually play so here are my own headcanons:

- yamaguchi has actually wanted to play for a long time, but never had the confidence to ask since it was “nerdy” and he didn’t want to seem lame. but one day hinata is at his house and asks him about the D&D manuals on his bookshelves, and yams starts explaining the game to him, getting a lil enthusiastic in spite of himself

- and to his surprise hinata is enthusiastic too! he insists they get a game together, and they each drag kags and tsukki into it

- kageyama agrees to play because he remembers that oikawa played D&D (ofc oikawa plays D&D, he’s a huge nerd, debate me) and thinks maybe he’ll gain some insight into oikawa’s ability to strategize and work with a team

- tsukki agrees after yams bothers him a bit because he’s actually read through the manuals in yams’ room before and thought they were interesting, but didn’t want to play back then because he was too worried about seeming cool

- yams is happy to DM, and walks everybody through character creation, which is very difficult with hinata and kags

- “no hinata, you can’t play as a dragon, you can play as a dragonborn though?”

- and that’s how hinata ends up playing as a spritely little dragonborn fighter who’s on a quest to get strong enough to fight real dragons. yams quickly changes the BBEG to a dragon and even makes a note to find or make a homebrew dragon race for hinata to play as next time

- tsukki snarkily asks if hinata is sure he shouldn’t be playing as a halfling, so hinata angrily makes his character 6′3″

- kags remembers that oikawa played a bard and insists on playing a bard, which makes yams nervous because a) spellcasting can be hard for new players and b) kageyama? a bard? but he goes with it because kags seems really determined

- so kags ends up playing as a travelling half-elf bard who wants to become the most powerful bard in the world, the only problem is he put all his points into strength and intelligence instead of charisma

- “what’s a spellcasting modifier? if you have more strength, that means you’re stronger, obviously”

- yams gives up on trying to explain it to him and just hopes he’ll understand once they’re ingame

- tsukki decides to play a 6′4″ high elf wizard who’s only adventuring out of an obligation to return some arcane texts that were stolen from his family, which immediately sets off yams’ DM Instinct and those texts instantly become a centerpiece to the plot that hold a deep dark secret about tsukki’s character’s family

- they have quite a few bumps starting out as everyone learns the mechanics, but kags’ character is immediately hilarious - he’s the grumpiest bard anyone’s ever seen, and often chooses to simply smash people over the head with his lute instead of casting magic

- tsukki’s character on the other hand probably should’ve been a bard. yams considers bending the rules to give him vicious mockery because he DEFINITELY inherited tsukki’s scathing sarcasm.

- after their wizard is done demoralizing the enemy, hinata’s bubbly dragonborn is more than happy to pummel them into the ground. his tagline becomes “let’s fight, bastard!”

- there’s tons of bickering around the table ofc, but after awhile that bickering starts to become more and more in-character. and they’re all shocked by how sassy and nasty yams can be when he’s playing rude/evil NPCs

- but overall yams is a nice DM, think Brian Murphy from NADDPOD. he holds them to their dumb decisions, but gets super nervous and softens his narration a little when things go really bad

- he also puts a ton of effort and care into the campaign plot, making sure to weave in everyone’s backstory, and the players all gradually get more and more invested

- hinata’s character starts having more serious moments, and when something dramatic happens or an NPC they care about dies, he can be shockingly intense.

- kags listens attentively to any bard mentors he encounters along their journey, and eventually forgets all about his original motivations for playing the game. yams ends one session on a cliffhanger, and kags actually seriously freaks out, leaning forward and demanding to know what happens next. yams is super touched cause he’s only ever seen kags this invested in volleyball

- and when the plot twist with tsukki’s character happens, yams picks up on all the little cues his best friend gives that he’s actually really emotionally affected by it. he tries to hide it, but when yams asks him after the session if he liked the plot twist, his response is a muttered “...shut up, yamaguchi.” yams coyly responds with “sorry, [tsukki’s character’s name].”

- I could definitely see them continuing this campaign all the way up until their third year for a super emotional climactic ending, but I think they’d also probably do smaller campaigns with different DMs so yams gets to play.

- tsukki is generally a good DM, except he sets traps for hinata’s characters specifically. the enticingly glowing volleyball that explodes when you touch it was a mean trick.

- yachi also DMs a short campaign for them. she’s super nervous at first, but once she gets into it she actually loves the roleplaying element. watching her play terrifying pit fiends and diabolical liches is hilarious

if you’ve read all these, I hope you enjoyed! these are by no means all my thoughts and I’ll probably make a post about the other karasuno boys sometime down the line, because if you think ennoshita and suga don’t DM you’re dead wrong-

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu headcanons #karasuno #d&d #d&d 5e #d&d fifth edition #hinata shoyo #kageyama tobio #yamaguchi tadashi #tsukishima kei #yachi hitoka

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intheseautumnhands · 4 years

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Sorting Hat Chats: Oxventures

Hey look, I finally actually got a sorting post written! .... and it's one that I'm pretty sure interests absolutely nobody else, because I don't think anyone else in the Sorting Hat Chats community is into Oxventures, and also the reverse. But the brainwanderings will go where they wish and they don't ask me for permission, and I've been marathoning (and sleeping to) a lot of Oxventures lately, so let's go.

Just in case anyone does choose to take a look, I'll do a brief sum up of both system and canon, so that no one's lost. System first, because I have some other thoughts about canon I want to mention. The full rundown of the basics is here, but just so we're all on the same page:

A VERY BRIEF OVERVIEW OF THE @sortinghatchatsSYSTEM

Your Primary house is your motivations, values, and why you do what you do.

Lion Primaries do it this way because their gut tells them it's right.

Bird Primaries do it this way because the system they've put together to guide them tells them this is what's right.

Badger Primaries do it this way because it's the best thing for the community as a whole, or for the most people.

Snake Primaries do it this way because it's the best thing for the people they prioritize.

Your Secondary house is how you approach the world, the methods that come most easily and naturally to you.

Lion Secondaries charge. They attack problems head-on and directly, and they're in their comfort zone when they are their authentic selves.

Bird Secondaries plan. They collect tools, skills, and information, and they're in their comfort zone when they're prepared for the situation.

Badger Secondaries toil. They put their nose to the grindstone or they build connections to get things done, and they're in their comfort zone when things call for steady, consistent work.

Snake Secondaries improvise. They're adaptive and quick on their feet, and they're in their comfort zone when they have the wiggle room to go with what comes to them.

Other terminology may come up as well. I will try and link to posts that explain it better if I end up using anything.

A VERY BRIEF EXPLANATION OF OXVENTURES

Oxventures is the D&D Actual Play show done by the youtube gaming channels Outside Xbox and Outside Xtra, DMed by Johnny Chiodini from the tabletop game channel Dicebreaker. They've been going since fall 2017, first in-person and now streamed. It is an extremely fun show with a group of very entertaining players that have been basically learning to play as it goes. If you're into D&D shows and not too bothered by a very hand-wavey approach to rules, I greatly recommend it.

There are, however, some things that make it difficult to sort. It's a comedy show, and while I don't think this is true for every comedy, in general, it's very easy for characterization to occasionally get passed over for a laugh. It's sometimes hard to tell what jokes are being thrown around OOC versus IC. And the D&D format means there is no going back and editing anything; characterization is developed on the fly, and there's already been discussion that talked about how some of the characters changed as they were being played. Also, it's action-driven -- you don't always get a lot of information on what's going through people's head, so motivation can be hard to pin down.

So it's a little difficult and I've gotten wobbly on a lot of them. Which makes it a great choice for my first sorting!

(...To be fair, it's my first sorting post. I've been watching this system and sorting things to myself for -- *checks when I first mentioned it* wait hold on five years? Really? Okay, cool. Excuse me while I sit and have a mental montage to How Far We've Come as I remember all the fine-tuning it's been through in that time.

Anyway, I've been sorting things to myself for five years, so I'm not new to this, I'm just new to trying to explain my whys, so I hope this comes out understandable. I'm sorry for the rambling, because we're already 750 words in and I haven't even started.)

ANYWAY LET'S GET TO THE SORTING.

Corazón de Ballena, human pirate rogue Corazón, oh Corazón, what... do I even do with you. He's clearly not a Badger -- fairness and other people's needs are not his priority. Between the obvious Jack Sparrow riff and the "pirate seeking glory" thing, my instinct is to say a Lion Primary, probably a Gloryhound Lion in specific. I could see a Bird Primary, just because there is something extremely constructed-feeling about Corazón -- I think his truth would look very Snake-like, prioritizing himself and the people he chooses, but I could see it.

But I'm going to lean into a full Snake Primary, I think. While he doesn't care about most people, he does care very much about the people who do matter to him -- see his whole complicated relationship with his father, even after his father tried to kill him; see his burning down a guy's house because he's mean to Prudence; to some extent, see his attempt to help end his old crew's curse. He puts people above anything else, but only the people he chooses to (or where can't help it, in his father's case) I think he'd almost like people to believe that he's Burned and doesn't care about anyone else, but he very much is not, though he doesn't seem to let new people into the circle often or easily, either. I could still very much see a Gloryhound Lion, but in the end I think if asked to put the party first or fame and fortune first -- he would complain, he would never let them hear the end of it, but he would also choose the party every single time.

For Secondary: Corazón would really want people to think he's a Snake. If he could read the descriptions and pick his own, I'm pretty sure he'd say he was a Snake. Adaptable, cunning, deceitful -- and it's not that he's not these things, but the way it manifests itself feels much more like a rapid-fire Bird Secondary. He's analytical, he learned magic entirely from books, and I haven't actually counted, but I would bet you that he makes more investigation rolls than anyone else. While his quickly thought up plans do work, they often tend to rely on things he already knows -- disguise self and minor illusion come up often, hiding and evading, etc. He seems to be one of the party that gets the most non-combat use out of his various magical abilities. It's a very quick and jack-of-many-trades style of Bird, but it's still very Bird.

Dob, half-orc bard Dob is quite possibly the loudest loyalist primary... just, that I have ever seen, ever. To start with, I'm just going to drop this quote here: "I know there's good in you, jailor I just met!"

How about the way that he's first introduced as a bard who goes from town to town playing the lullaby his lost sister used to sing to him, searching for her. Or his habit of, to quote TV Tropes, "engaging in random acts of adoption". Or the time he tried to learn spells to apologize to the dead orphans. Or how he still managed to forgive the skeletons that killed the orphans. Or the time he forgave the cult that almost got them all killed. Or giving the cultists (from a different cult) relationship advice. Or the time he ended up listening to the jailor's marriage woes. Or....

Look, I could keep going but I think we've got enough examples. So: Badger or Snake? On the one hand he definitely seems to worry about saving his particular people first when there's danger... but, there's a level of guilt about innocent people who have died on his watch, and that habit of taking in random people on multiple adventures, that really makes me lean towards a Badger Primary. Dob seems to genuinely care about everyone they cross as a default, and of all of them, he's the first I can see coming to the aid of an enemy who he has no prior positive experiences with.

As for a Secondary, Dob is the master of quick plans, quicker lies, and steamrolling NPCs into going along with things. The entire party ends up thinking on their feet more often than not, but he seems to do his best work that way, as a Snake Secondary often does. Sometimes he goes so fast that he forgets something and makes a mistake -- which is how "don't be a Dob" has become a thing -- but his impulsive ideas actually work out more often than it doesn't, and he's also very good at connecting with a wide variety of people. On the page for Snake/Slytherin Secondaries, the SHC site says,

"Slytherins will adapt to their own best advantage without thinking about it. They’ll walk into a situation and things will work out to their benefit without them quite knowing what happened or what they did to influence it."

-- and doesn't that just fit with Dob's ridiculous amounts of luck?

He does seem to spend a fair amount of time in his neutral state, or at least adapting in a non-conscious kind of way. There is something generally blunt about Dob a lot of the time, enough that I considered Lion pretty heavily -- but in the end, he works best when he's running on the fly and making shit up, in a way that feels extremely Snake to me. And he's not only so good at lying, but so quick to default to it, that Lion doesn't feel accurate.

Egbert the Careless, dragonborn paladin Poor Egbert, the worst paladin. While his original order really seems to prioritize a very classic Paragon Lion Primary, Egbert barely seems to have a model of one -- it's more of a performance, which is being chipped steadily away by the rest of the party. He tries, but I can't see a genuine Lion Primary from his background killing people so casually. Or hitting an old man with a cursed mace over and over until he turns into a seal. And then keeping the seal as a pet. Or just... saying "maybe crime is good!" because he likes the food at the crime den. He's trying, but he's really not good at it. So the question remains: what is he?

I think it's hard to place him because, one, he really want to be that Lion. And second, whatever he is, I think the values that motivation is set on are... kind of in flux? I don't think he's super burned; I think he might be lightly charred at best. But: if he's a Bird, he's in the process of losing the truth of "whatever the Order of the Dragon Door says is right" to something that comes more from the party and probably more genuinely. If he's a Badger, he's in the process of changing communities. If he's a Snake, the Order is getting pushed more and more out of his inner circle, replaced by the party.

I was leaning Badger, but the more I think about it, I think that's the remnants of the attempt to play Lion. I think Egbert's a Snake Primary who is starting to shed his old skin. (There's like three layers of bad joke in that, and I'm sorry.) The Lion priorities made that Snake look a little more Badger-y, but he does so, so many things that just don't strike me as caring deep down about need. Like the thing where he turned an old man into a seal. I just keep looking at that incident and I either need to completely ignore that incident -- which is hard, when Seal Gaiman is still hanging around -- or go with something else. His reaction to Dana's bigotry in Snow Mercy does feel a little more Badger-y to me... but that could still be that Lion Performance flavoring, and/or a symptom of how the party as a whole gets pissed about anti-tiefling sentiment coming out in sympathy of another maligned race. I also feel like a Badger would be working a little more actively on atonement and stop getting distracted.

He is, however, a very loud Lion Secondary. While the party as a whole does a lot of ploys that involve deceit or talking their way into things, Egbert is rarely the one doing that part. He doesn't bother with subtlety, or with doing any of the many things he can as a paladin, which is how we got the whole glorious "you've been able to teleport for how long?" moment. He does sometimes manage to make connections that move the story along, and he always does it by being himself.

But most of all, I can't think of a better word to describe how Egbert attacks a situation than charging. I'm just going to quote again from the site:

"their problems are met head on rather than subverted, negotiated, or cajoled. They have an efficiency so direct it’s almost combative."

And that seems like Egbert to a T.

Merilwen, wood elf druid Merilwen is a Badger Primary whose version of "people" is "animals, my community, and also I guess these four now". She doesn't really seem to care about what would traditionally be considered "people", and Ellen (who plays her) has spoken about how Merilwen's morals towards non-animals is pretty much entirely influenced by the party -- but with the things she cares about she strikes me as extremely Badger. She's absolutely ready to throw down everything for the party, but when they're not in danger from it, she will also absolutely fight the rest of them for an animal -- see that incident where she talked everyone out of fighting the Owlbear. "Animals are hurt" or "you hurt my friends" is the fastest way to bring out her viscous side.

She could also maybe be a Snake who includes all animals in her circle, but: one, I very much feel like she'd choose whether to prioritize her friends or an animal over who needs her more. Two, the way she interacts with her family and her community in Elf Hazard seems very Badger to me. Her worry about not being able to see her family again, her unwillingness to disappoint them and decision to take a new name to make them happy, even after the danger is past. Things like Merilwen's Meat-Grinder also strike me this way -- specifically, her willingness to do massive damage to save the party and subsequent discomfort with having done it, even though she doesn't care that much about the people who were hurt even after having done it. "Fair and loyal" seems like a good way to sum up her morality in general. Her being so close to Dob and understanding each other so well also adds to this (even if a lot of that likely has to do with Ellen and Luke (who plays Dob) being so close as much as anything, but if I try to separate out things that are OOC-influence I will be here forever).

I'm torn between the foundational Secondaries for her: Bird, or Badger. There is something about her likelihood to fall back on "I turn into a [cat/bear/octopus]" as a plan that feels a little Bird-like to me -- that fallback on the favored, most well-used, best-understood tools, even in situations where it takes a little forcing to make them fit. On the other hand, she seems to be the one most likely to see a job that's not being done as part of the plan, and go fill that role. She's certainly steady, trustworthy, quiet, and consistent. I don't think she has a problem with shortcuts on many things, but could see her raising objections about things she actively cares about. She also often solves things by connecting with animals, which fits when you consider her people/community largely being animal-based. I'm still a little back and forth on this, but in the end, I'm going to lean towards a Badger Secondary.

Prudence, tiefling warlock I'm having a hard time putting my finger on Prudence. I think this is partly Jane's play style -- I feel like she's the least likely to go into what's going on in Prudence's head or why she's doing things, and she doesn't really have a driving goal we're aware of except "do things to make Cthulhu pleased", but that's mostly along the way. She's not a Badger. I would lean towards not a Lion; I guess it's possibly she's a Lion whose gut morality is about hedonism, "I should have what I want", or something like that, but I really don't get the impression that she has much of an internal morality overall. "Some things are just wrong and you can't talk your way out of it" (to quote the Lion/Gryffindor Primary page) absolutely does not sound like something Prudence would ever thing.

So again we're between the decided Primaries: Bird or Snake? I could see her being a Bird, but I have no idea what her truth is at this point. Still, I want to lean towards Snake Primary, specifically one that was burnt. We're going into how-IC-was-this-anyway territory here again, but there's a moment early on, in Brawl of the Wild, where Jane is narrating Prudence hurling herself in front of two of the others and stops mid-narration to ask "wait, why am I doing that" -- it feels incredibly like a Snake who's found themselves unburning while they weren't paying attention and now is trying to figure out how this happened. She's also pretty open with how fond she is of the party, pleased as punch when Corazón burns down the house of a guy who's an asshole to her, even more pleased when Egbert seems corruptible, seems genuinely happy that the group has gotten more lax about killing, and of course there's "You'll never leave me, Corazón, I'll kill you first" and hugging the Egbert-statue after he's been kidnapped when no one can see her.

But more than the party, what makes me lean towards Snake is her relationship with her warlock patron. There's nothing cold, nothing business-like, it's not even worshipful: Cthulhu-dad is kind of a joke, but... it's also not? Even if the actual fatherly-ness of it can be read as joking, she still genuinely seems to have warm, loving feelings for him, and that particular set-up really strikes me a loyalist thing.

(That gives us an all-loyalist party, but honestly, considering they're not the most moral people around and how quickly they all bond... that kind of works?)

Bird Secondary -- her plans tend to be the most practical, she has her favored methods for handling things, and her interest in all things magic strikes me as very Bird-with-a-favorite-thing. Her Bird seems pretty good at reading people, too, particularly knowing the party's strengths -- which is often chaos and making things up. She's not quite a rapid-fire as Corazón, but she's pretty good on her feet if need be... it's just that her lack of interest in what's morally right means the plan she usually pulls out is "eldritch blast". To be fair, it usually works.

IN SUMMATION:

Corazón: Snake Primary/Bird Secondary (possible Snake performance)

Dob: Badger Primary/Snake Secondary (possible Badger model)

Egbert: Snake Primary (attempting to model the Order and possibly Shattershield's Lion Primary, which comes off weirdly Badger-ish in the end)/Lion Secondary

Merilwen: Badger Primary (whose "people" are animals, the elf community she grew up in, and now the Oxventurers)/Badger Secondary

Prudence: Unburning Snake Primary/Bird Secondary

OXVENTURE IN THE DARK BONUS ROUND:

Very recently they've begun an Oxventure spin-off series, playing Blades in the Dark instead. We're only two episodes in, and since part of the plan is to rotate who's in each episode, most of them are only in one -- and since we've gotten so little of the new group, and so much can change as the players learn their characters and find their feet, I can't confidently sort them right now. But I think it'd be interesting to share some initial impressions and see how they hold up down the line. Spoilers for both episodes if anyone's behind, I'll put Lillith and Barnaby last just to be sure.

Edvard: If Edvard the inventor is not a Bird Secondary, I will eat my hat. I could see him going the way of the traditional SHC impulsive scientists who do things For Science, and ending up in Lion/Bird territory, or going towards Bird/Bird; at the moment I don't think he'll be a loyalist, but we'll see!

Zillah: I think we know less about Zillah than anyone else at this point, but we do know that, one, she's doing crime to get money for her family, and two, she seems pretty level-headed. I'm thinking maybe a Lion Secondary, leaning away from Bird Primary but at this point could see anything else.

Kasamir: Between his class/playbook being about having his fingers in a lot of crime pies, Johnny saying he's not really good at anything besides crime, and his slight mentor-y vibe in episode one, I'm getting Badger Secondary or Bird Secondary vibes -- leaning Badger right now, but we'll see. (I'm also getting Mozzie-from-White-Collar-but-more-physical vibes, but I cannot find the sorting that Moz used to be under, unfortunately. I want to say either Badger/Bird or Bird/Badger.) He doesn't strike me as a Lion Primary at this point, but we'll see.

Lillith: I was going to say Bird Secondary because she's leaning so hard into the intellectual, but so far she has tried to solve problems by befriending a ghost girl and convincing the workers to start a union so.... I'm feeling some Badger/Lion or Lion/Badger vibes coming off her at this point. She might slide into a more Bird-y role in the future, or it might end up looking more like a model.

Barnaby: Despite having gotten through two episodes now basically saving the day by being himself, I don't get Lion Secondary vibes from him -- actually, I'm thinking he could end up a Badger Secondary, just extremely far on the Courtier Badger side of the scale, and one that’s very full of himself. Not sure on that yet, though. Primary: no idea, but probably not Badger.

#sorting hat chats #oxventure #i should probably wait til it's not 6:30 am; reread this; and make it shorter #but screw it! have my rambling!#if you read all this you get a cookie #but it's out of my head now at least #there are many other sortings i'd like to do #we'll see if i ever get to them

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afni-fics · 4 years

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Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 19: Dragon Rising (part 3)

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 19: Dragon Rising (part 3) by C_R_Scott Chapters: 19/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Modded Skyrim, Skyrim Spoilers, Tim Drake is Dragonborn | Dovahkiin, Batfamily-centric (DCU), Tim Drake-centric

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Summary:

After the battle with the dragon at the Watchtower, Tim wakes up in the Temple of Kynareth for the start of his healing process.

-------------------------

"...Dovahkiin..."

"...Dragonborn..."

"...Motaad sizaan sil..."

"...Tremble lost soul..."

"...Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde..."

"...My overlord will devour your soul in Sovngarde..."

"...Draal fah dinok..."

"...Pray for death..."

***

Tim's eyes snapped open as he woke with a gasp to escape the nightmare of draconic voices whispering horrible things to him from the darkness. As his sleep blurred vision began to clear and the echos of his nightmare drifted out of reach, he became aware of several things one after the other.

First, he was no longer on the battlefield. Instead, he was in some sort of building, laying on his right side on a moderately comfortable bed.

Next, the pain that had been wracking his body from his burns all week long were significantly dulled. There was a deep ache in certain areas, but overall things were far better than they had been earlier.

Finally, while he was still very tired, suffering from what felt like a bone-deep exhaustion, he was also very thirsty. His gaze wandered around the small bedroom he was resting in and fell upon a nearby end-table with a ceramic pitcher and cup just out of reach.

Gingerly, Tim began to sit up, groaning softly with the effort. He almost didn't hear the soft footsteps approach the room and the quiet knock upon the doorway. He looked over to see an old Nord woman in a hooded robe standing there, a bowl and some linens in her arms. She smiled at him kindly. "You're finally awake," she said as she entered the room. "That's good. We've been concerned you might not wake up anytime soon." She immediately went to Tim's side and placed a cool hand against his forehead. Tim flinched a little, but didn't pull away completely. "Still a bit too warm, but at least your fever is headed in the right direction. Another day of rest and it should be broken completely."

"I'm sorry, but who are you, and where am I?" Tim asked.

"My name is Danica," she replied as she moved to the end table with the pitcher. "And you are in the Temple of Kynareth here in Whiterun. I'm the head priestess here." She poured out a cup of water and handed it to Timothy. "Drink slowly," she instructed before turning back to pour the rest of the water into the bowl she'd brought over.

As Tim brought the cup to his lips, he paused. He could smell something medicinal in the liquid, and the color was not quite right for just water. Still, he was extremely thirsty and he took small, careful sips until the cup was drained. As he drank, he watched as Danica placed one of the smaller linen towels into the bowl and soaked it before wringing it out and folding it into a compress. She then turned her full attention back on Tim and tried to gently encourage him to lay back down.

The idea of laying back down and going back to sleep was tempting, and he was so tired, but still...

"I can't stay too long," he murmured as he tried to maneuver his legs off the bed.. "I need to speak with the Jarl about that dragon and--"

"No you don't," a familiar voice said firmly. Tim looked at the doorway to see Lucien standing there. He had a firm, determined expression on his face. "You are under strict orders by the Jarl himself not to set one foot out of this Temple until you are cleared to leave by Sister Danica herself." He stepped fully into the room and Tim could see he had a basket in one hand. Though covered with a cloth, Tim could see part of a loaf of bread and some fruit peaking out.

A corner of Tim's lip quirked upward despite himself. "Oh really? So we're listening to the Jarl's orders now?"

"We do when the Jarl's housecarl Irileth herself has decided to fold you under her wings as a fellow 'soldier-in-arms' and has made your recovery one of her top priorities." Lucien remarked as he set his basket down on a nearby dresser. "Apparently she has a reputation of being a strong advocate for the soldiers under her command, despite her stern demeanor, as well as a reputation of speaking her mind with the Jarl when something troubles her. This..." Lucien made a vague circular motion with his hand that seemed to indicate Tim's whole physical state. "...troubled her greatly." He shrugged. "Apparently when Irileth speaks, Jarl Balgruuf actually listens. Imagine that... A Nord actually taking the words of a Dunmer to heart. Will wonders never cease?"

Then Lucien's expression turned more serious. "So long story short, the Jarl has instructed that you be given all the time you need to recover from your illness and injury. The Temple itself is not to be disturbed by anyone unless they are approved by Irileth or if they are in serious need of healing themselves. So please, Timothy. Will you please just sit back and rest? This is the first time you've woken and been coherent in three days."

"Three days?" Tim echoed with slight disbelief.

Lucien nodded and took a seat at the foot of Tim's bed as Danica added a pillow so Tim could recline comfortably, but be upright enough to eat. He pulled out an apple from the basket and began to peel it with a small pocketknife. "You were deathly ill when Irileth had her men brought you to the temple after the battle with the dragon. Your burns were deeply infected and all the stress of that battle exasperated your condition." Once peeled, he cut a slice and offered it to Tim.

Reluctantly, Tim laid back down on the pillows, a soft sigh escaping him when Danica pressed her compress against his forehead. The cool cloth felt good, and the medicinal aroma from the liquid wasn't an unpleasant smell. It was rather soothing. Tim had a suspicion that the herbs had some sort of soporific effect, but he wasn't really in any position to complain against it. Still, for the moment hunger beat out the immediate need for sleep, so he took the offered apple slice and took a small bite.

While he ate, Danica took a chair next to the bed. Then, she gently took Tim's left burned arm. The young man startled at the touch, but Lucien reassured him. "It's alright. Just let her work."

Curiously, Tim watched as Danica focused on his arm, holding it with her left hand. She murmured what sounded like a soft chant under her breath and held her free right hand over the area that was scarred by the burn. A warm golden aura radiated from her hand and eventually travelled to his injury. Tim watched with awe as the lingering ache in his arm began to fade even more, and the wound itself began to look far better. Rather than an infected angry red wound, it now looked more like an aged silvery scar that was a few shades lighter than his normal skin tone. After a few minutes, Danica finished her chant and she returned Tim's arm to him.

"That's... amazing," Tim whispered as he tentatively touched the scar.

"How does that feel? Is there any lingering pain anywhere in the arm?" Danica asked.

Tim moved his arm experimentally, testing the range of motion he now had. When his face reflected a twinge of pain around his elbow, though he didn't complain about it, Danica used her magic to heal the area with a more precise touch.

As Danica worked, Lucien watched with a content expression as he continued to cut fruit, bread, and cheese and feed them to Tim. Eventually the priestess was finally satisfied with the state of Tim's arm and shifted her focus to his back. This part of his body, it seemed, was still in a worst state than his arm. Even after several passes of healing magic, there was still quite a bit of pain left deep in the muscles and bone and it showed on Tim's face, though he didn't complain verbally about it.

"I think that is enough for now," Danica announced after a final pass. She gently stroked some of Tim's hair from his face, She could feel the heat of his lingering fever radiating off of him, and carefully repositioned the pillows so he could lay back down completely. "The burn and infection on your back went far deeper than what your arm endured. Because of your fever, you'll need to rest before we can proceed with more healing."

Tim, for his part, was exhausted. Though he didn't do anything except eat and sip water while he was being healed, he felt as if he'd just run a marathon. He closed his eyes as the compress was placed on his forehead again, and he relished how good it felt against his overheated skin.

Danica didn't leave immediately, though. She studied Tim for a moment. "Just wondering, young man, but were you sickly as a child?"

Tim cracked open his eyes. "Sickly?"

"When you were a child, were you prone to illness and took a long time to recover?"

He shook his head. "Not as a child, but last year I received a... permanent injury that I've been told might make me more prone to illness." Tim wasn't about to try and explain how he'd lost his spleen and its function. He was unsure how much knowledge of human anatomy and the function of individual organs was known here. He hoped the vague explanation would be enough.

Danica sighed. "The costs of war..." she murmured with a shake of her head. Clearly she was assuming his injury had been from the current Civil War strife plaguing Skyrim. She then went over to the nearby dresser and pulled open the top drawer. From it, she removed an amulet and tied it around Tim's neck.

Curiously, Tim lifted it from his chest to get a closer look at it. The amulet was strung on a leather thong, appeared to be forged from iron and some other pale metal he couldn't identify, and was shaped to look like a bird in flight. In the middle of the bird was a sky blue gemstone. It was a lovely piece of jewelry, but that was not the most remarkable part of it.

"It's warm?" he mused. Tim wasn't sure, but it almost felt like the warmth was pulsing like a heartbeat.

"It's an amulet of Kynareth," Danica explained. "She is our patron Divine here at the temple. Through Kynareth's blessing, the amulet improves one's stamina when you wear it. This should help with improving the speed of your recovery while in the temple." She gathered some of the dishes and spent linens. "Now get some rest. I'll check on you in a few hours.

Once Danica was gone, Tim turned to Lucien. "So... who is Kynareth?"

"She's one of the Eight Divines," Lucien explained. "A nature goddess of the sky, air, and wind, and the patron of travelers who traverse both land and sea." He smiled a bit. "When you're feeling better, before you leave the Temple you ought to take a moment and pray for a blessing at the shrine here. It wouldn't hurt to seek Kynareth's guidance as we try to find your way home."

Tim gave Lucien a strange look, and the scholar's smile faded. "Is the worship of gods different in your homeland?"

"Well... There are different religions throughout my world. Some believe in many gods. Others believe in just one." Tim sighed. "And still others don't believe in any at all." He glanced away from Lucien. "And back home... I fall into that latter category."

Lucien's jaw dropped and his eyes went wide. "You... You don't believe in any divinity?! How does that even work?"

Tim shook his head with a shrug. "I believe in science and in things I can see with my own eyes. I believe in real mortal people who live their lives and make their choices. I believe in the existence of powerful beings who have abilities that far outstrip those of normal human beings. There are plenty of those on my home world. But I don't believe them to be gods and I don't believe in any necessity to worship them."

"Have you always believed like this?"

The younger man's expression became clouded and distant. "No... not always..."

"What happened? What changed?"

Tim sighed. "I... really don't want to talk about it."

Lucien regarded Timothy quietly. It seemed that the scars visible on the young man's skin were not the only ones he carried. Never in his own life could Lucius even fathom the existence of a spiritual injury that could mortally wound a person's faith itself.

It was a disquieting thought.

"Timothy... I..." Lucien started to say after a long moment of silence, but paused. He noticed that Tim had curled up onto his side and his eyes were now closed in slumber. Lucien's gaze softened as he rose and pulled the blankets over Tim's shoulder. "You may not believe in our Divines here, but I'll pray that they watch over you regardless," he whispered before blowing out the candles and leaving the room.

There, in the dark of the room as Tim slumbered, the blue gem set in the amulet of Kynareth seemed to glow faintly.

As he slept, the voice of the dragon that had plagued his nightmares before did not trouble him again.

-------------------------

Note:

Unfortunately no screenshots with characters in this scene. Just couldn't seem to get a right angle for any screenshots within the Temple of Kynareth. I have included an image of the Amulet of Kynareth Tim received. In-game all the amulets of the Divines offer some sorts of buffs to your characters, and it seemed appropriate that a stamina buff might help Tim since he's sick. I also figured that since Kynareth/Kyne is going to feature heavily during the journey of the Dragonborn, despite Tim being an atheist, she might be a bit "invested" in his well-being.

Just because you don't believe in a goddess doesn't mean she doesn't believe in you.

But because she is one of the Divines and not one of the Daedra, she's not going to be able to interact with Tim directly, but I think there needs to be some obvious-ish indirect influence. I need to think about this... Hopefully I'll have a better idea by the time Tim starts making his journey to meet with the Greybeards.

#elder scrolls dc#fanfiction#tim drake#skyrim fanfiction#batfam fanfic#red robin#batfam#crossover#lucien flavius#wip#afewnovelideas

#elder scrolls dc #fanfiction #tim drake #skyrim fanfiction #batfam fanfic #red robin #batfam #crossover #lucien flavius #wip #afewnovelideas

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sinnerandafool · 4 years

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Winter to Spring - My Skyrim Thieves Guild Fanfic

This is my Skyrim fanfic, based loosely on my current play through. If you are able to use mods, I highly recommend Take Notes - Journal of the Dragonborn. Writing a journal as my character definitely made me more invested in her story.

Here is the link to the whole story on Ao3 x.

I’m a rookie fic writer, so any feedback is appreciated, but mostly I hope you enjoy it, and that it serves as a good distraction from the hellscape we live in (Americans).

Title: Winter to Spring

Chapters: 4/?

Warnings: Rape/Non-con (the MC experienced some in her past, and is experiencing sexual harassment in the first chapter.)

Rating: M (for violence, eventual sexual content)

Relationship: Brynjolf / Female Dovahkiin

Chapter 1

Aerlith woke alone, drowsily opening her eyes as the sounds of morning birds and running water filtered into her consciousness. A piney scent permeated the little fur tent. She rolled to one side, her sore muscles protesting. She closed her eyes, trying to fall back into the delicious dream she had been having. All she recalled were light touches, warm embraces, and a soft, deep voice calling her name. Well, not her name precisely. No one knew her true name, only the false one she used day to day. She sighed. For the thousandth time in her life, she cursed her past for making her a fugitive. She rolled over again, restlessly seeking sleep, but hunger nagged at her stomach, so she reluctantly got up and exited the tent.

Sitting on a boulder next to the stream babbling by, she stared up at the entrance of the ruin before her. The Twilight Sepulcher. The trials of the Pilgrim’s Path were still painfully fresh in her mind. Aerlith never liked ruins. The smell of decay, the damp darkness, and worst of all, the deafening silence, which often signaled the presence of slumbering draugr. She shuddered, recalling their evil glowing eyes and hollow flesh.

Despite her fear, Aerlith had been successful in her mission to return the Skeleton Key to its rightful place. She felt apathetic about Nocturnal, and suspected the lady of twilight felt similarly about her. Daedric princes were never concerned with the fates of their human worshippers, and to Aerlith it seemed a tad foolish to risk one’s life in exchange for unreliable favor. But no matter her skepticism, she’d completed Nocturnal’s trial, and at last reached the Ebonmere, where she returned the Skeleton Key. She didn’t do it for Nocturnal. She did it for her family.

She smiled sadly, thinking about Karliah and Gallus, saying their final goodbyes before he faded into the Evergloam. Gallus had extended his spectral hand to touch his beloved’s cheek with such tenderness and sincerity it made her heart ache. “Farewell,” Karliah had intoned softly, leaning into his intangible touch. “Eyes open, and walk with the shadows.” Her voice was even, and Aerlith couldn’t see her face, but something in her tone betrayed absolute misery at the parting.

Aerlith took the last bite of her apple and stood. She stretched, then set about packing up her camp. She was tired, yes, but she was also brimming with excitement. Nocturnal would no longer sabotage the luck of the guild, and their chances of success would increase. The wealth would marginally improve the lives of her newfound family, and she couldn’t wait to share in their happiness. And, of course, she was curious about what he would have to say.

Aerlith hired a carriage to take her from Falkreath to Riften, opting for comfort and rest in exchange for one hundred-fifty hard earned septims. But it was worth it, she thought, snuggled under a warm fur cloak and hood, watching the scenery pass by idly while the horse did all the work. Her life for the past few weeks had been constant hiking, camping and delving into dangerous ruins. She was ready for a break.

One long day and night later, the carriage creaked its way up a gentle rise, and Riften Stables came into view. Feeling lethargic and in need of exercise, Aerlith tapped the driver on the shoulder and asked him to let her off. He obliged, and urged his horse up the road without her.

She strolled languidly along the road, slowly stretching her stiff legs. The Rift was blooming. The aspens sprouted new leaves, wildflowers grew madly across the landscape, and birds were everywhere, singing their chirruping songs. Aerlith breathed in the clean spring air, intoxicated by the warmth and life of it all. After the dank Sepulcher and gloomy Falkreath hold, this was paradise.

By and by she reached the main gate of Riften, nodding to the guards in their livery, who smiled coyly at her as she passed. They knew who she was, or at least, they knew her reputation in the hold. She had been gone for a long time, and among the nosy guards there were several betting pools on whether she’d make it back alive. The guard guffawed and shook hands with his partner, who reluctantly tossed him a purse. Arielle had returned home at last, and he was rich.

Aerlith skirted the marketplace, moving quickly along the perimeter towards the keep. Though it was a warm day, she pulled her hood securely over her face, and kept her head down. Thankfully, it was a busy time in the market, so she was able to slip through without attracting much attention.

At the secret back entrance to the cistern, she nudged the button and waited for the coffin to slide back. As usual it made an unpleasantly loud grinding sound, and she wondered for the hundredth time why none of the citizens ever commented on it, or attempted to gain entry. It was another strange feature of Riften life. She still wasn’t used to the confounding apathy that permeated the city.

Below, she lifted the hatch and descended the ladder into the darkness. Though the cistern was damp and cool, warmth spread from her heart when she saw her guildmates gathered on the center dais. Everyone was here, safe, and from the looks of it listening raptly to Karliah. The dark elf stood beside Brynjolf, entertaining the small crowd with her part of the tale of the Skeleton Key’s return. Arielle approached silently to listen.

“I was working to clear some rubble when I saw the portal glow to life. I knew what must have happened, and I eagerly stepped through it and into Nocturnal’s sanctum. I just managed to catch the lady fading back into her realm, and then I saw Arielle. Her face was the perfect picture of shock. I called out to her and she looked at me as if from a hundred miles away. I swear I’ve never seen her look so bewildered.” Karliah smiled, and Brynjolf chuckled softly, looking thoughtful.

“In all fairness,” Aerlith said softly, feeling the eyes of her guildmates shift to her, “If you’d just taken a leap of faith, fallen toward your certain death, and then come face to face with a daedric prince for the first time, I imagine you’d look the same, Karliah,” she smiled, meeting her friends’ eyes.

Karliah beamed at her. “Welcome back Arielle!” She crossed the dais and pulled her into a tight hug. “Would you care to share your side of the story?”

“At the moment, all I would like is a bath and a bottle of Surilie wine,” she said, smiling. “And, to be honest, I think our lady would like to keep some of her secrets sacred.” Aerlith winked at Rune, who was staring at her with boldfaced shock.

Brynjolf stepped toward her, smiling. “Well done, lass. It’s good to see you in one piece.” He clapped her shoulder, then became more serious. “I’m not much good at things like this, but I need to thank you for all you’ve done for the guild. I’m so proud-”

“Oh, enough fluff Brynjolf,” Vex said exasperatedly. “We’re all happy. Let the poor woman have her bath in peace.”

Karliah grinned and squeezed Aerlith’s hand. “Indeed. Let’s all go to the Flagon and have a proper celebration!”

The guild all made approving noises and began to filter out, several of the members stopping to offer words of encouragement to Aerlith.

“Arielle!” exclaimed one, a handsome, burly nord with striking warpaint beneath his eyes. “I’m so glad you returned safely. ” He took her hand and kissed it, never breaking eye contact. “My sword and bow are always at the ready for you. You need not fear any foe with me by your side.”

“Hello Thrynn,” Aerith said tiredly. “Pleasure as always.” She pulled her hand away. “But I really would like to go relax now. It was a long journey from Falkreath. If you’ll excuse me.”

He stepped closer, a mischievous smile on his face. “Perhaps you’d like some company in the bath, little dove,” he growled softly, his voice like the ragged edge of an old battleaxe. She could feel his breath on her ear. A chill ran down her neck, goosebumps rising.

“No,” she said firmly, “Thank you.” She pulled away from him, and strode, head held high across the cistern to the entrance of the baths.

Thrynn admired her retreating figure until it vanished into darkness. He turned to go to the Flagon, but was stopped short in his tracks by Brynjolf, who leaned against a wall by the door, face wreathed in shadow. Thrynn scowled. “What are you doing skulking around like that, Brynjolf? Out of the way.” He tried to push past, but Brynjolf stopped him.

“When will you give it up, Thrynn?”

“Give what up?”

“Arielle. I don’t know how many times you need to be rejected for the message to come across loud and clear,” Brynjolf stood up, taking a step closer.

Thrynn laughed heartily at the threat. “You know nothing of women if you thought that was rejection,” he said, his voice dripping with menace. “Women always play hard to get.” He smiled lasciviously then continued, “That’s what makes Arielle so irresistibly delicious.”

Brynjolf’s mouth set into a grim line. “Don’t talk about her that way. She’s not a blushing lady for you to seduce. She is your sister in arms,” he said forcefully.

The bandit chuckled. “Not like you to be so hypocritical, Brynjolf. You hold your subordinates to a higher standard than yourself.”

“Not sure what you are implying, but I advise you to choose your next words very carefully.” Brynjolf’s green eyes hardened, the anger in them sharper than the finest glass dagger.

Thrynn swallowed. “Everyone knows about you and the fence,” he said boldly.

“Oh yes?” Brynjolf smiled darkly at Thrynn, and the bandit wondered for a moment if he should be ready to brawl. “Get out of my sight,” the second in command spat at him.

Relieved, Thrynn pushed past his superior and rushed through the door to the Flagon. Brynjolf frowned, his brow furrowed, and stared off into the darkness where Arielle had been a moment before.

Aerlith had never been so happy to sink into a hot bath. She wasted no time, quickly shimmying out of her light armor, leaving it in a heap on the floor. She lowered herself indulgently into the water. The grime from the Sepulcher, the dust from the road, and the cold of Skyrim that permeated her bones gave way to the warmth of the water. She glowed with happy contentment. She was home among her friends again. The faces of Karliah, Vex, Brynjolf and Delvin brought such joy to her. After her lonely sojourn through Skyrim, she had everything she needed. And Brynjolf was proud of her. His warm green eyes and welcome smile made her glow even brighter. She grabbed up her soap and began to wash, smiling to herself.

Her mind wandered unbidden back to Thrynn. The former bandit was friendly enough, though difficult to trust at the best of times. But his constant flirting was beginning to be more than just a minor annoyance. She’d failed to reject him firmly enough the first time, and he had been ignoring her subsequent tries with horrifyingly admirable gumption.

When Aerlith first joined the guild, Thrynn, along with practically every other man with eyes had been quite open about their interest in her. At first she had blushed furiously red when they complimented her, or touched her. She would always freeze in place and clam up, her mind unable to form thoughts, her mouth unable to speak. Her innocent reaction made them laugh, at which point they would ruffle her hair and leave her to go about their business. Aerlith began spending more time with Vex, observing how her friend would openly laugh at the men accosting her, and she learned how to handle unwanted advances with more confidence. As she rejected the men, one by one they moved on. It was better this way. She hoped their interest stemmed merely from her novelty, and not from any other motives.

Thrynn was not as easy to deal with. He pushed past her discouragement, whether it was polite or harsh. He continued to harass her, to touch her, to whisper vile things in her ear that made her blush. She felt beat down by his constant disregard for her wish to be left alone, and had resolved to just ignore him when she could. It reminded her a little too much of the way Jarl Siddgeir’s sneering, lecherous expression, when he cornered her in the darkened servant’s quarters all those months ago. She shuddered at the memory. She could still feel his body weight pressing her into the wall, the hard length of his arousal grinding into her angrily. Something died within her that night. She had no skills, no strength, and no way out. Her silver eyes hardened. Things had changed. If she ever met Siddgeir again, she would have her revenge.

Aerlith soaped her long, pale blonde hair, gently teasing out the tangles. She never felt more powerful, more able to protect herself at this moment. The frightened and helpless girl she once was had grown into a dangerous woman. Her mediocre skills with a dagger, which had been scoffed at by Vilkas of Jorrvaskr, had improved under Brynjolf’s friendly tutelage. Thanks to him, and to the other members of the guild who shared their expertise, Aerlith was silent, fast, and deadly.

Feeling clean and refreshed, Aerlith allowed herself a moment to wallow in the hot water. There was one man in the guild who was ostensibly uninterested in her: Brynjolf. His attentions to her were friendly, but professional. He patiently taught her the tools of a thief’s trade, gently correcting her when she needed it. She was grateful that he did not ridicule her inexperience. He offered his advice after giving her a job, and usually ended by staring her down with his shiny green eyes as he said, “And be careful, lass.”

When she returned successful and pocket jingling with coin, he would clap her on the back or shoulder, offering her encouragement and smiles that she hoped contained pride. She was his protege, after all. Thanks to Brynjolf, Aerlith had a safe place to sleep, and a well paying job that allowed her to keep a low profile. She was more than grateful to him, and their relationship was more than a simple friendship. But whether her feelings for him were platonic was a question she desperately tried to avoid. She knew he didn’t see her as anything more than a pupil.

However, Aerlith occasionally caught him staring at her from across rooms, his eyes serious as he contemplated her. It seemed unfair to her that she couldn’t decipher the meaning behind this. It was all too easy to imagine that he felt something for her too. On the night they met, Brynjolf flirted with her shamelessly, and though she knew now that his attention had been false, simply a means to an end, her attraction and interest in him that night was real.

Another memory fought its way to the surface. The guild threw a large celebration when the three Nightingales returned successful, Mercer dead and Karliah safely home again with her honor restored. That night, Aerlith begged off an arm wrestling match with Vex, opting to take a cup of wine to a quiet table on the outer ring of the din. There she sat and watched the merriment, laughing as Vekel hit on Tonilia and she slapped him forcefully for his impertinence, nearly knocking the slight man down. Tonilia huffed away, going to sit across from Brynjolf at his table. As Aerlith’s eyes followed the woman in amusement, they lit upon Brynjolf and stuck there. He was watching her again. She looked back at him, surprised. She couldn’t make out the expression on his face. The shadows made it too difficult to see, but the glint in his eyes couldn’t be mistaken.

She didn’t look away. Neither did he. Aerlith felt heat beginning to rise in her cheeks, but she was transfixed. His green eyes shone at her as he leaned forward into the candlelight, resting his chin on his hand. The light revealed his faintly amused smile, which she returned hesitantly. But then, Tonilia said something to him and he looked away, the tension released. Aerlith felt let down. The rumors of Brynjolf and Tonilia’s romantic involvement may not have been true, but to Aerlith it seemed they shared a closer relationship than was usual. It pricked her to see him smile so easily and openly with Tonilia, joking raunchily and teasing her. With Aerlith, Brynjolf acted as the wise teacher, the helpful mentor. Her gratitude prevented her from feeling resentment, but her disappointment could not be helped.

Aerlith finished scrubbing her hair and rose from the bath. She toweled herself quickly and dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, pulling on her stockings and boots. She didn’t bother to arrange her hair or apply any cosmetics. Fatigue wore on her, and she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the giddy depths of a bottle.

She entered the tavern a few minutes later. Karliah, sitting with Vex and Delvin, saw her come in and motioned for her to join them. Aerlith smiled and went over.

“Here you are, yer ladyship,” Delvin said gruffly, pouring her a cup of her favorite Surilie vintage. “Only the best for the woman of the hour.”

Aerlith sat down and picked up the cup. Seized by a sudden emotion, she raised it and said, “To the guild! May it last another thousand years.” The others raised their flagons as well, adding their “Hear, hear”s and “To the guild!”s. Aerlith drank deeply, draining half her cup in one go. She wasn’t planning on drinking lightly.

“So,” Vex said, “Care to tell us more about your exploits, Arielle? Delvin is practically foaming at the mouth with curiosity.” She smiled wickedly at him, and he smacked her hand.

Aerlith laughed. She had missed the banter of her friends during her long journey alone. She drank again, considering. Vex was still looking at her curiously, so she said, “Not much to tell I’m afraid, Vex.”

Vex scowled. “You Nightingales and your secrets,” she muttered darkly. But she brightened up quickly when she spotted something over Aerlith’s shoulder. “Watch out,” she said, smiling sneakily at Aerlith and rising from the table. “Delvin, Karliah, come here. I want to show you something.” Vex beckoned them across the room, leaving Aerlith alone with her wine.

Puzzled, Aerlith drained the rest of her cup, and reached for the bottle to pour another. A larger, rougher hand covered hers and tightened it against the glass bottleneck.

“Thirsty tonight, eh little dove?” Thrynn’s rough voice whispered in her ear. Aerlith pulled her hand away, and watched as Thrynn poured her wine, filling her cup nearly to the brim. He moved and sat down in the chair next to hers, resting his head on one hand lazily. “I can think of many more delicious ways to quench your thirst.” He licked his lips, the suggestion obvious.

Aerlith rolled her eyes. “Thank you for your input Thrynn.”

He chuckled. “So cold. Any other man would think you hated him.”

“Then why don’t you take the hint?” Aerlith asked sharply.

Thrynn leaned back in his chair and regarded her. She felt his eyes roaming over her face and body. “I want you to sing for me, little dove,” he crooned, taking her hand in his. “I’ve the skilled hands of a thief and the strength of a barbarian...care to take a ride?”

Aerlith yanked her hand away, standing unsteadily and staring down at him. She swallowed her nerves and said, “I am not your little dove , Thrynn. I am a Nightingale, an agent of Nocturnal. And believe me,” she said, her words pure venomous threat, “I am more than capable of making you sing for me.” She rested her hand on the hilt of her dagger, staring at him pointedly.

Thrynn stood and pulled her to him, his hands tight on her waist. His eyes burned with desire. “That’s the fire I love about you,” he said roughly. Before she could react, he pressed his mouth hungrily to hers.

Panic took hold of her, and she tried to wrench away, but he was too strong for her. Desperately, she fumbled for her dagger, drew it, and stabbed it mercilessly into his thigh. Thrynn howled and released her. Aerlith pulled her dagger back and brandished it, sinking into her fighting stance.

“Little bitch,” Thrynn spat. He reached for his battle axe.

“Enough,” Delvin said, stepping between Aerlith and Thrynn. “Calm down the lot of you.” He looked over his shoulder at Aerlith. “All right?” She nodded. “Good. Now, get yer hackles down Thrynn, before I gut you like a fish.”

Thrynn looked from her and back to Delvin. The tavern had gone quiet. Aerlith did not turn around, but from Thrynn’s mild panic, she could tell the thieves were watching the scene with little love for the bandit. “Fuck you,” Thrynn spat at Delvin, and turned to leave the Flagon from the front entrance. The door slammed behind him.

Aerlith breathed out, slow and steady. She grabbed a linen from the table and wiped her dagger on it, sliding it back into the sheathe. Karliah appeared at her shoulder. “Are you alright, Arielle?” she said with concern.

“Fine,” Aerlith said, anger still coursing through her. “That bastard deserved it.”

“He did indeed,” Karliah said, a smile curling her lips. Around them, the thieves returned to their drinks, and conversation began to buzz again.

“I need a drink,” Aerlith said, beginning to relax again.

“It’s on me,” Karliah laughed and headed to the bar to procure another bottle.

Aerlith sat with Karliah, watching her guildmates fraternize and drink. Delvin brought out his lute, and Dirge his drum, and the two began playing a lively tune. Tonilia got up and started to dance, her lithe body and agile feet drawing the eyes of every man in the room. Aerlith’s eyes drifted to the bar, where she saw Brynjolf sitting the wrong way round on his stool, leaning back on the bar as he watched Tonilia dance, smiling and occasionally sipping his drink.

He is so handsome , Aerlith mused. Brynjolf had shiny long hair the color of garnet, which set off the color of his deep set green eyes. But it wasn’t his appearance as much as his personality that made him stand out. He had a habit of catching her off guard with a sly look in his eyes, saying her name with his lilting accent, catching her in a daydream when she was supposed to be learning lockpicking. She would snap out of her trance and meet his eyes, and get lost again for a moment before smiling apologetically and telling him to continue with his teaching.

All the lifesaving lessons he taught were sorely needed. After her family went missing, she arrived in Skyrim and became a ward of the old Jarl of Falkreath, the suspicious and feeble Dengeir. Her mother had a cousin who worked in the longhouse, so Aerlith was allowed to live there in return for working in the kitchen and cleaning up after the Jarl’s family. She didn’t hate it there, but when Dengeir’s nephew Siddgeir assumed the throne, the trouble began. Siddgeir took an unhealthy interest in his ward, resulting in the terrifying night he had confronted her in her room. Worse, once he had his fun, he threw Aerlith cruelly out into the street, claiming that she was a liability he couldn’t afford any longer. He may very well have been correct, but without his protection, Aerlith was a sitting duck.

The day two strangers came through Falkreath asking after a pale haired girl with silver eyes, she fled with her few possessions and never looked back. Aerlith didn’t adjust well to life on the run. She arrived in Riverwood hungry, filthy and tired, and nearly collapsed on the porch of the inn. She had enough money to pay her way, but being a weak young lady with riches and no protection, she soon lost half her purse to a sneak thief in the night. Desperate, she moved on from Riverwood to Whiterun, with shallow hope that she would find sanctuary at the Temple of Kynareth.

Lost in reverie, she realized she was still staring at Brynjolf. He hadn’t noticed her yet, so she turned back to her bottle, attempting to drown out her thoughts with the intoxicating liquid. Karliah regarded her, sipping from her own cup. “Something on your mind, friend?”

“That business with Thrynn took me back to a different time,” she said, her face hard. “I haven’t always been as good with a blade.” Aerlith wanted to unburden herself and share her troubles with Karliah, but she couldn’t risk it. From Falkreath to Riften, she was hunted by various heavily armed strangers. She suspected they were the same men who took her parents away, come to finish the job. Telling her story to anyone was foolish and could possibly bring harm to them.

Karliah smiled sadly. “Being a woman in Skyrim is tough. But you are strong and worth their respect,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the gathered guild. “It is good that you remind them now and then.”

Aerlith grinned. Though Karliah knew nothing of her past, Aerlith always felt that her friend understood her perfectly. It was a comfort beyond measure. “At least I have you, my friend. I couldn’t ask for a better sister in darkness.”

The dark elf laughed and patted her hand. “I’m off to bed,” she said, standing. “Eyes open, and walk with the shadows.” Aerlith nodded at the familiar send off.

“Good night.”

Some time later, when the music had ceased and most guild members had stumbled off to bed, Aerlith tipped the bottle into her cup once more, only to be disappointed when nothing poured out. She sighed and leaned over the table, contemplating throwing in the towel and going to bed. Questing in the interest of the guild was great and noble, but it definitely didn’t make her rich. She tiredly imagined how many jobs she would have to take on before she made up for all the traveling expenses.

While she was lost in thought, Brynjolf came over silently and plunked a full bottle of wine on her table, making her jump a bit. “You shouldn’t have an empty cup, lass,” He said, looking down at her with playful eyes and a warm smile.

Aerlith nodded her approval and reached for the bottle. She noted that Brynjolf also looked pretty deep in his cups. His cheeks were reddened and his eyes were extra shiny.

“May I join you?”

“Of course,” she replied, taking a sip and offering him the bottle when he sat opposite her. He poured out a cup for himself, then looked at her for a moment.

“I never got to thank you properly earlier,” he said.

Her heart swelled, but she kept her voice even as she said, “I got all the thanks necessary from Lady Nocturnal herself.”

“Oh, I doubt that very much,” he laughed. “But truly, without your help, the guild would still be under the thumb of Mercer and suffering from a daedra’s displeasure.” He looked at her seriously, and she felt herself beginning to blush. “I’m very glad I chose to scam you of all the people in the city that day,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Aerlith took a swig of wine to cool herself. Feeling vulnerable, she spoke quietly, “If you hadn’t tried to rob me, I never would have joined the guild, and would have wandered alone forever.” She chanced a look up at him. “All the skills you’ve taught me have saved my life countless times already. Performing this task for the guild was nothing in comparison to what I’ve received.” Saying it felt right, but Aerlith thought Brynjolf would laugh at her sincerity as he usually did.

He surprised her by reaching across the table and grasping her hand tightly in his. His grip was warm, his calloused fingers rough as they held hers fast. “Don’t be silly. You’ve accomplished something great, and I’m proud of you, Arielle.” He stared intensely into her eyes, burning her with the heat of his conviction.

She pulled her hand back and took another long drink from her cup. She grinned at him. “It’s a strange thing, hearing a thief speak so earnestly,” she joked, trying to dispel the tension she felt.

“As I said, I’m not one for sincerity. Enjoy it while it lasts, lass.” She relaxed a bit, knowing that the hard part was over. “Now, about that bandit,” he said, looking at her smugly.

“What about him?” She asked, twisting the silver ring on her right hand repetitively. Maybe the ‘hard part’ would never really be over with Bryn.

“I enjoy seeing Thrynn being put in his place. Well done indeed, Arielle,” he replied, a sly smile playing over his lips.

Oh. He saw that . Shame burned a blush in her cheeks. She didn’t like to imagine what Brynjolf must have thought, seeing her with him. The memory of Thrynn’s hands on her felt dirty. “He wouldn’t leave me alone,” she said, looking down. “I did what had to be done.”

“And did it well,” he said gently. Aerlith raised her eyes to his. Brynjolf smiled. “Chin up, lass. That bastard couldn’t best you if he trained for a hundred years.”

A poignant feeling of relief and sadness stung her. Aerlith fought back tears, disguising her pain by gulping deeply from her cup. She wanted to say something, but her thoughts were scattered. Her mind’s eye kept flashing to Thrynn’s face, his mouth stealing hers, his hands gripping her painfully. Siddgeir slid into her thoughts too, clouding her vision with fear and shame. She breathed out shakily, carefully training her gaze into her cup.

“Arielle? Are you alright?” His chair scraped the floor as he stood, coming up close beside her. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

Finally, she looked up at him. “I don’t know,” she said, voice breaking. She felt tears begin to fall and blushed, looking down again. Brynjolf knelt down and leveled with her gaze.

Tentatively, his eyes searching hers, he reached up and touched her cheek. His thumb brushed a tear away, and she inhaled shakily, unsure of how to react to his touch. “It’s all right, lass. Whatever the trouble is, we can make it right,” he said slowly.

“I can’t shake them, Brynjolf,” she said, trying to speak through the sob choking her. “No matter where I go.” She hung her head again, resting it in his palm. “I will never be free from my past,” she concluded, and despair overwhelmed her. She cried softly in front of him, hating herself and hating her weakness. But she was tired, so very tired, and his kindness had opened a floodgate within her.

For a horrible moment, Brynjolf stayed very still, and she dreaded his reaction. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he took her hands in his and pulled her to him, carefully encircling her in a gentle embrace. “All right, Arielle. It’s all right,” he whispered. He stroked her hair, letting her ride out the sadness. Finally, her crying quieted into sniffles, and she felt him pull her tighter to him “That’s it, lass.” He pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

Aerlith tried to calm her breathing. She squeezed her eyes shut as visions of the past threatened to take her over again. With her head pressed against his chest, Aerlith could hear Brynjolf’s heartbeat. The steady rhythm pulled her focus back to the present. Gradually, she felt herself coming down to earth as her breathing slowed and her thoughts cleared.

Reality rushed back in like frigid water, a cruel reminder of who she was, who he was, and where they were. Aerlith pulled away from Brynjolf quickly. “I’m sorry,” she said, bowing her head. “I should go.” She nodded to him and tried to make a hasty exit.

“Wait,” he said, and grabbed her arm. Aerlith didn’t look at him. She couldn't. “I’m worried about you, Arielle. Can’t I help you?” The worried kindness in his voice almost made her break again.

Aerlith steeled herself. Turning to her mentor and smiling brightly, she said, “Nothing’s much wrong, Bryn.” His brow furrowed as he watched her skeptically. “I’m just very, very tired, and I think I’ve had too much wine. I’m sorry to make a scene.”

“Alright, lass, if that’s really how you feel.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then pulled her into him again, wrapping her in his arms tightly. He held her silently for a long moment. Aerlith listened to his heartbeat again, wishing she could hear it forever. I broke so easily for him , she thought, squeezing her eyes closed. Wrapped up in his warmth, she realized that for the first time in a very long time, she felt totally safe. Safe enough that the iron doors of her resolve cracked open, revealing the vulnerability and fear within. The revelation scared her, but she didn’t pull away this time. She breathed him in. His scent was leather, wine, smoke, and just a hint of sweat. Eyes closed, she let him lull her into a state of serenity.

Finally, he held her out at arms length. “Get some rest then,” he said, smiling gently. Before she could move, he took her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead, lingering there. Aerlith's eyes widened in surprise. So many invisible lines had been crossed tonight, but what truly surprised her was how right it all felt. Brynjolf took a deep breath and pulled away, blowing it out slowly as he stared at her. The look in his eyes confounded her. It was a cross between tenderness and fiery determination, with a touch of heated aggression that made her breath catch in her chest.

Aerlith smiled. “Thank you, Bryn,” she whispered. He nodded, his eyes still burning with that mysterious energy. “Good night, then.” Aerlith walked off to bed, praying to the divines that it hadn’t been a dream.

#brynjolf #f!dovahkiin #f!dragonborn #skyrim fic #thieves guild #fanfiction #romance #brynjolf x dragonborn #are there even tags for this ship?#brynjolf x dovahkiin

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the-marvel-ous-hobbit · 4 years

Text

To Slay a Dragon: Ch. 3

Summary: Three trolls, two chaotic Dwarf princes, one senile Wizard and an exhausted Dragonborn.

Warnings: like two curse words?

Word count: ~5800

A/N: We’re back, and we’re seeing this thing through. If anyone would like to be tagged, just let me know :)

part two || part four

A bright, cloudless dawn rouses me from the narrow bed in the Green Dragon’s pokey attic room the next morning. The sun warms my back as I dress and triple check my bags, but can’t thaw the dread in my gut.

My new travelling companions are slow to rise and even slower to load and mount their ponies. As I wait astride Shadowmere, my fingers drumming on the saddle, the conversation between Gandalf and Bilbo echoes around my head.

I’m certain I recognised something in the Hobbit’s eyes during Gandalf’s lecture about goblins and golf. A long time ago, I saw the same innocent expression in the mirror—the desire for a quiet life, far away from fear and danger and disappointment.

I desperately hope Bilbo Baggins won’t make the same mistake I did.

Shadowmere nickers softly, nudging my shin with his nose. The Dwarves are already disappearing down the track. Gandalf casts a furrowed glance over his shoulder. Shadowmere breaks into a trot without prompt. The Wizard doesn’t say a word as I draw level with him, but his eyebrows make it clear I’ve already managed to annoy him and we haven’t even made it out of Bywater. I busy myself with admiring the scenery—green hills, green trees, green grass—and twine my fingers in Shadowmere’s mane.

I spent an hour last night studying my map of Middle-earth, trying to get a feel for where we were going. The journey will by no means be short. I’ll have to make extra effort to remain on Gandalf’s good side, and stay out of Thorin’s way entirely. It’ll be best for everyone if I keep my head down and don’t piss anyone off too much.

Guess I’ll have to try harder.

“Wait!”

My stomach drops into my boots. Ponies snort in protest as the procession grinds to a halt. I hold Thorin’s glare for a heartbeat before twisting in the saddle to face the direction of the shout.

Bilbo flies along the track, bare feet smeared with dirt, curly hair in complete disarray. A length of parchment streams behind him like a banner. He waves the contract in triumph, eyes gleaming. A cold fist clenches around my heart.

“I signed it!” He hands his prize up to Balin, who pulls out a monocle to peer at the neat signatures.

Gandalf practically beams. His determination to drag Bilbo on this quest is suspicious, and I don’t trust his motives.

“Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

Bilbo is less than thrilled with the offer of a pony, but his protests are cut short when Thorin’s nephews bodily lift him and deposit him in the saddle. I hide a snigger behind my hand at his disgruntled expression, and nudge Shadowmere closer to his pony. If he insists on being foolish, the least I can do is keep an eye on him.

We’ve barely been walking for ten minutes before Bilbo brings the entire company to a halt again, fretting about a forgotten handkerchief. I rub my hand across my forehead, warding off the brewing headache. At this rate the dragon will die of old age before we can get to it.

“You’ll have to manage without pocket handkerchiefs, and a good many other things, Bilbo Baggins, before we reach our journey’s end,” Gandalf announces as we move off yet again. “You were born to the rolling hills and little rivers of the Shire, but home is now behind you. The world is ahead.”

Very poetic, Gandalf, but dramatic speeches won’t make him any less flammable.

Two weeks into the journey, we stop for the night on a large, rocky outcropping overlooking a steep drop onto a flat expanse of grassland.

Dodging the flurry of nightly activities, I pull out a whetstone and choose a spot away from the fire for my nightly ritual. My body settles into the familiar rhythm of cleaning and sharpening my blades. A prickle on my neck alerts me to the eyes watching me, but I refuse to take the bait. Instead, I drag the stone along the blade with slow, deliberate movements, twisting my wrist so the edge catches the last of the sun’s rays. Not quite threatening, but it sends a clear message.

I haven’t forgotten Gandalf’s warning back in Bilbo’s parlour. I have no idea how he’s kept Thorin off my back so far, but I’m not about to question his methods so long as they work. Given the way Thorin bristles if I stray within ten feet of him, getting him on my side, as the Wizard suggested, is completely out of the question. As long as Gandalf’s around, there’s no reason to resort to arse-kissing.

Satisfied with my work, I raise my head to soothe my protesting shoulder muscles. A pair of eyes catch mine across the space. The fair-haired prince inclines his head towards the blade in my hand, then to the pile at my feet. One eyebrow arches, and the corner of his mouth curls into an almost-smile. A spark of pride ignites in my chest and spreads to my cheeks, warm, foreign and wrong.

Metallic warmth floods my mouth as I duck away from his gaze. It’s been a long time since anyone looked at me like that, and for good reason. The only person foolish to harbour any sort of affection for me is far away, buried beneath a meadow of wildflowers.

A steaming bowl slides into my field of vision. My fingers tighten around the hilt of the Blade, a reflex I instantly regret when Bilbo’s eyes widen like a startled rabbit’s. His chin wobbles as I lower the blade from pointing at his throat.

“Sorry.”

“Oh, that’s – quite alright.” His voice catches on every other syllable, but his eyes crinkle at the corners as he offers a shy smile. “I brought you some food.”

Tucking the Blade safely out of sight, I take the bowl and cradle it close. His eyes drop to my hands—they’re shaking, the stew slopping gently in the bowl.

Before the concern can fully form on his face, my feet carry me towards the edge of the cliff. Cold stone bites through my trousers as I curl onto a rock. The bowl sits untouched in my lap as my mind wanders across the shadowy grassland towards the miles of saltwater between me and everything I once knew. The knife in my chest morphs into a hand gripping my throat. My breaths come shallow, and my eyes burn as I fight the urge to blink.

Of all the trials I’ve faced, all the times I’ve been inches away from death, my worst memory is of watching my husband draw his last breath.

I grip the bowl tighter and glance up at the circle of firelight, aware that I’m falling to pieces in front of an audience. Thankfully, most of them have their backs to me. They sit huddled close together despite the pleasantly cool spring evening, their laughter unusually restrained. An instinct I’ve learned to rely on taps me on the shoulder.

I sit up straighter, tuning out the chatter and casting about for any sign of danger. My gaze snags on the Dwarf-shaped thorn that is Thorin Oakenshield. He glances quickly away, but something in his expression echoes the voice in the back of my head. My fingers clench and unclench on my thigh, fingernails catching on the rough fabric. Gandalf continues to puff away at his pipe, the flames dancing in his restless eyes.

A full moon rises, bathing the landscape in silver. The Dwarves settle around the fire, leaving the two princes take the first watch. They sit close together, legs not quite touching. Restless rustling slowly descend into rhythmic snoring. Only the crackling fire and the princes’ murmured conversation disturbs the silence.

Movement catches my eye across the plateau. A short, curly-haired silhouette creeps around the snoring Dwarves towards the patch of grass where the ponies are tethered. Bilbo moves silently, almost unnervingly so. He locates his pony, Myrtle, and offers her the stolen apple he pulls from his pocket. As Myrtle happily crunches up the gift, Bilbo shushes her with a guilty glance over his shoulder. His eyes meet mine, and his cheeks flush pink.

A scream pierces the stillness. The sound shoots through my body like a bolt of lightning, vibrating through every nerve ending. Bilbo skitters back to the fire as a second shriek answers the first. His eyes are round as pennies.

“What was that?”

Kili’s brows knot together. “Orcs.”

The colour drains from Bilbo’s face as he scuttles closer to the fire. “Orcs?”

“Throat-cutters,” Fili says, peering at Bilbo over his pipe. “There’ll be dozens of them out there. The Lone-lands are crawling with them.”

A shudder bunches the muscles in my back. I’ve never liked Orcs.

“They strike in the wee hours of the night when everyone’s asleep.” Kili’s hushed tone covers the sound of my footsteps as I slink to the spot on Gandalf’s right. Only Balin notices me move, and has the grace not to draw attention to me. “Quick and quiet. No screams. Just lots of blood.”

Bilbo sways a little on his feet, his mouth hanging open. The princes exchange a glance and dissolve into sniggers.

“You think that’s funny?”

The grins vanish. Thorin looms over his nephews like a thunderhead.

“You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?”

“We didn’t mean anything by it.” Kili’s voice is barely a murmur. Fili’s shoulders curl inwards, his eyes on his boots.

“No, you didn’t,” Thorin growls. He turns to stride away, towards the edge of the plateau. “You know nothing of the world.”

I stare after Thorin for a moment, my gaze drawn to him without my permission. The moon’s ethereal glow illuminates his hunched shoulders and lowered head. Kili gently touches Fili’s shoulder, and the blond prince barely lifts his head to smile at his brother.

“Don’t mind him, laddie,” Balin says to Bilbo, who looks on the verge of collapse. “Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs.”

Oh good, I’ve been waiting for an explanation as to why he’s such an uptight pain in the arse all the time. I shift into a more comfortable position, resting my back against the rock behind me. The Blade is a comforting weight across my palm.

“After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria,” Balin begins. “But our enemy had got there first. Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs, led by the most vile of all their race: Azog the Defiler. The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin.”

If Thorin’s shoulders get any stiffer they’re going to shatter. I can’t say I blame him – the words ‘giant’ and ‘Orc’ have already set my teeth on edge.

“He began… by beheading the King.”

Oh.

“Thrain, Thorin’s father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing. Taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us. That is when I saw him.”

Balin lifts his head to gaze at Thorin. Powerless to stop myself, I do the same. He still has his back to us, fingers clasped behind him, a light breeze stirring his dark hair.

“A young Dwarf prince, facing down the Pale Orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe, his armour rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield.”

Oakenshield. The heroic image doesn’t fit at first, but slowly shifts into place the longer I watch Thorin. He’s the same hero who kept fighting despite losing so much, and emerged victorious. Something stirs in my chest, as though to reach out to him, and I hurriedly shove it down.

“Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Our forces rallied, and we drove the Orcs back.” Beneath his bushy white brows, Balin’s eyes shine with something fierce and pure that grows brighter each time he looks at Thorin. “Our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast, nor song that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow. There is one… I could call King.”

At some point during the story, the other Dwarves have woken up, and they’re all now gazing at Thorin like he’s a god in Dwarf form.

Which I suppose he is. Suddenly a lot of things make sense—the brooding, the short temper, why he’s so determined to see this idiotic quest through, and why twelve other idiots are all so happy to follow him towards certain death. He’s led them to victory against insurmountable odds before, and they believe he can do it again.

Admittedly, after what I’ve just heard, I kind of want him to succeed.

I clear my throat and look towards the forest, shaking off the spell. I can’t afford to be distracted and pulled along by Thorin’s current with the rest of them. The only thing that matters is getting my hands on that gold.

As the awed silence becomes unbearable, Bilbo pipes up, “And the Pale Orc? What happened to him?”

Balin opens his mouth, but it’s Thorin who answers. Growls, really.

“He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago.”

No one but me notices the glance exchanged between Balin and Gandalf that clearly says that statement will come back to bite him in the arse.

The weather holds up until the last week of May, with only the occasional shower interrupting the pleasant sunshine. Then the sky cracks open like an eggshell. The ground dissolves into a bog. The ponies slog through it with minimal complaint, though the Dwarves do enough of that for all of us.

“Mister Gandalf?” a voice pipes up behind us. “Can’t you do something about this deluge?”

Yes Gandalf, do something. I can’t remember what dry feels like.

The Wizard’s waspish reply emanates from somewhere beneath the heap of sodden grey rags riding in front of Shadowmere and me. “It is raining, Master Dwarf. And it will continue to rain until the rain is done.”

Very helpful.

“If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another Wizard.”

“Are there any?” Bilbo’s voice is barely audible over the waterfall pouring from the canopy above, though last I checked he was right beside me. “Other Wizards?”

“There are five of us. The greatest of our order is Saruman, the White. Then there are the two Blueses—do you know, I’ve quite forgotten their names?”

My confidence in this so-called Wizard is dwindling by the minute.

“And who is the fifth?” Bilbo presses before Gandalf can lose the thread of the conversation altogether.

“That would be Radagast. The Brown.”

Who on earth willingly calls themselves ‘the Brown’?

“Is he a great Wizard? Or is he… more like you?”

The arm of my shirt barely absorbs my snigger. Ahead of us, Thorin makes a weird choking noise that sounds a lot like a poorly-disguised chuckle.

“I think he’s a very great Wizard,” Gandalf huffs. “In his own way. He’s a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the vast forestlands to the East. And a good thing too, for always evil will look to find a foothold in this world.”

How he manages to be so dramatic while soaked through I will never know.

The rain eases up around mid-afternoon. By the time the sky begins to darken, I’m halfway to drying out, though the same can’t be said for my saddlebags. I’ll be wearing wet socks for days.

Eventually we come upon an open, grassy space bordering a dense copse of trees. Atop a small hill, a heap of broken support beams watches us, a weary silhouette against the greying sky.

“We’ll camp here for the night,” Thorin declares. “Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them.”

As Thorin gives out orders and the Dwarves scramble to obey, Gandalf wanders up the hill towards the ruined building. Barely anything remains beyond jagged shards of wall and a sagging, half-collapsed roof. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly what destroyed the house—no soot stains the wood, and despite an unpleasant odour, there are no signs of rot. The damage is recent—the air still hums with the lingering impression of chaos.

A prickle starts at the back of my neck and trickles down my spine. A terrible thought niggles at the back of my mind—only a couple of events can cause such a strong, long-lasting impression on a place.

“I think it would be wiser to move on.” The prickle surges into a fully-fledged shiver. If Gandalf concurs with my ill feeling, there’s no way I imagined the strange atmosphere. “We could make for the Hidden Valley.”

Thorin stomps towards Gandalf, out of the company’s earshot. He briefly glares at me as he passes, but for once his ire is fully directed at someone else. “I have told you already, I will not go near that place.”

“Why not? The Elves could help us.”

Elves. I’ve heard snippets about them during my year in Middle-earth, but never actually encountered one. Thorin never misses an opportunity to make his feelings regarding them clear, but I’m still curious. Surely they can’t be as bad as he says.

Thorin as good as spits in Gandalf’s face. “I do not need their advice.”

“We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us.”

“Help?” Anger pours into Thorin’s voice. He steps towards Gandalf, fists rigid at his sides. “A dragon attacks Erebor. What help came from the Elves?” Another step. “Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls. The Elves looked on and did nothing.” Toe to toe with the Wizard, Thorin glares up at him with enough ferocity to make a dragon balk. “You ask me to see out the very people who betrayed my grandfather. Who betrayed my father.”

The anger snags on the final word. His eyes flick to his boots, and I twist away before they can find me, pretending to fumble inside my saddlebags. Something quivers behind my sternum, echoing the faint tremble in Thorin’s voice.

Yikes. No wonder he was so against having me on this quest when he discovered I’m an Elf. My distant cousins sound like selfish bastards.

“You are neither of them.” Gandalf continues looms over him like a ragged thundercloud, white-knuckled fingers clenched around his staff. “I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past!”

“I did not know that they were yours to keep!”

I hold my breath, not daring to make a sound. The two glare at each other like rival alpha wolves, neither breaking eye contact. Gandalf turns on his heel and stomps down the hill, his staff slicing into the soft, damp ground. Heads lift to watch him as he storms through the centre of camp.

“Gandalf? Where are you going?” Bilbo trots after him, but is swiftly left behind by the Wizard’s furious stride.

“To seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense,” Gandalf growls without even glancing at Bilbo.

“And who’s that?”

“Myself, Mister Baggins!”

Like a retreating storm, Gandalf leaves a blanket of eerie silence in his wake. Bilbo looks thoroughly alarmed, wide-eyed and pale.

“Come on Bombur, we’re hungry.”

Just like that, the evening proceeds as normal. The grey sky darkens to starless black and the fire crackles to life inside the decrepit house. Bilbo casts frantic glances over his shoulder every few minutes, skittering about the camp like a nervous doe.

Perched on a section of the crumbling wall, I check the locations of all eleven blades concealed beneath my clothes. If Thorin decides to rally a mob to chase me away, I’m not going down without a fight.

The smell of boiled vegetables and herbs wafts beneath my nose, prompting a ravenous growl from my stomach. The Dwarf with the funny hat stands guard over the cooking pot, ladling its watery contents into bowls. Bilbo flutters around him, still fretting, too distracted to bring me a bowl.

“He’s been gone a long time.”

“Who?”

“Gandalf!”

“He’s a Wizard! He does as he chooses.”

Which is both inconvenient and extremely bloody typical. The senile old coot has probably forgotten I even exist, and I’ll have to spend the rest of this bloody quest sleeping with one eye open in case I wake up with a knife in my gut.

Mud squelches under my boot as I drive the heat in my blood down through my heel into the earth. Never, ever trust a Wizard. Especially not an ancient, weed-smoking hippie who thinks Hobbits make good burglars.

Rustling grass draws my attention to the woods just as maroon coat-tails vanish between the trees. I sit up straighter, blinking away my frustration, and scan the bodies nestled around the fire.

No Bilbo.

I’ve lost both of my allies.

The skin beneath my collar itches. I sense eleven pairs of eyes on me, though no one even glances in my direction. One word from Thorin and they’ll all turn on me. After Balin’s story, I can’t underestimate the lengths they’d go to for him. Even the fat one and the one with the ear trumpet would come after me with pitchforks if Thorin gave the order.

Though I’m nowhere close to the fire and mostly exposed to the elements, I can’t bear to stay inside the stifling farmhouse any longer.

I trudge into the open air, shivering as the sparse warmth recedes and a chill nips at my exposed skin. Pulling the roughspun cloak around my shoulders, I glance up at the mountains looming above serrated black trees. According to my map, we’ll have to cross them at some point—how we’re going to do that with sixteen stubby-legged ponies and all the baggage, I have no idea.

Shadowmere raises his head as I approach him. Early on in our friendship, I learned the hard way that he doesn’t like to be tethered. He patrols the treeline like a sentinel, barely distinguishable from the shadows. I reach to pat his muzzle but he jerks his head away and stamps his front hoof. His red eyes glow bright with unusual intensity.

“What is it?”

He snorts, shakes his mane and points his nose towards the forest. In there.

The shadows between the trees are too dense to see through. I step towards the edge, bracken and nettles crunching under my boots. My ears strain to pick up any sign that something’s off—I trust Shadowmere’s instincts just as much as mine, if not more.

There.

Two bodies crash through the undergrowth. Fili emerges first, and stops dead when he sees me. Kili slams into his back, pitching him forward a step. Kili steadies him, and they both stare at me, white-faced and breathing hard.

“What’s going on?” I peer over their heads into the trees. The teeth gnawing my gut elongate into fangs when no Hobbit emerges. “Where’s Bilbo?”

“Trolls,” Fili gasps, “took the ponies. Bilbo’s gone to investigate.”

My heart tumbles over itself. Metal bites into my palm—I don’t remember drawing the Blade. Stinging heat sears my palm, and blood slides between my fingers. “You sent Bilbo towards a group of trolls alone?”

“They won’t see him.” Kili’s hand finds his brother’s shoulder. “If he’s careful.”

I shake my head. The thought of Bilbo—soft, sweet, tiny Bilbo—facing even one troll makes me feel sick. “He’s in danger.”

Kili swallows, fingers digging into Fili’s collarbone. He leans close, obviously hoping I won’t hear, and murmurs, “We have to tell Thorin.”

Fili grimaces, as though the thought of approaching his uncle gives him stomach ache.

“How many of them?” An idea niggles at me, drawing my focus away from Fili’s slumped shoulders and Kili’s twitching fingers.

Kili’s gaze flicks up to mine. “At least two. Three, going by the stink of them.”

Three trolls. I’ve taken on trolls before, but never more than one at a time. But if I can pull this off and save his burglar, Thorin might leave me be.

I can’t believe I’m considering risking my life for someone else’s approval, but in the face of Gandalf’s indefinite absence, it might be my best option.

Never mind that. I will not stand here and let Bilbo Baggins get eaten by trolls.

Squaring my shoulders, I look down at the two princes. They both stare back at me, eyes wide, waiting. It’s a little unnerving. People don’t usually look to me for instructions, even when they should.

“Stay here. I’m going back for Bilbo. If we’re not out of this forest by first light, tell Thorin.”

To my surprise, they both nod. Kili’s arm remains around Fili’s shoulders, though he throws several glances over his shoulder towards the trees. Sucking in a lungful of cool night air, I curl my fingers around the Blade and step into the forest.

Beneath the black canopy, the darkness is tangible. Air sticks in my throat, thick and stifling. The stink of rot, fermented earth and something unbearably foul threatens to choke me. Snatches of sound dance past my ears—deep, jagged grunts and grumbles that barely resolve into speech.

Apparently these trolls can talk.

Barely ten steps in, footsteps crash through the brush behind me. I whirl and almost slice off Kili’s ear.

“Mahal.” He stares at the Blade in my hand as he straightens, transfixed by the faintly glowing markings. I forget what a formidable sight my dagger can be to those seeing it for the first time. I swiftly tuck it into my sleeve, breaking him out of his trance.

“What are you doing?” Even my quiet hiss is too loud in my own ears.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you—”

He plunges into the shadows. With a reserved sigh, I follow the trail of rustling and faint cursing, praying the trolls won’t hear our not-so-subtle advance. A smudge of glowing yellow appears amid the gloom, and I get my first glimpse of the trolls.

These trolls are nothing like the trolls in Skyrim. They’re much, much bigger—at least ten feet tall—and strangely humanoid in shape. Completely hairless, their skin is grey and cracked like granite. They’re somehow ridiculous and terrifying all at once. Behind them, the stolen ponies cluster together inside a makeshift pen, whinnying and tossing their manes in fright.

My heart skips as I spot something squirmy and Hobbit-sized struggling against the grip of a gigantic, gnarled hand. They’ve found Bilbo.

A hand seizes my wrist and yanks me to my knees. My shins bark in protest as they collide with the ground. Clenching my teeth against a hiss, I shake Kili off and peer through the thicket.

Bilbo dangles from the biggest troll’s fist like an absurd bat, coattails flapping around his head. The pointy end of a curved blade jabs his soft belly.

“Are there any more of you little fellas hiding where you shouldn’t?”

“Nope!”

A troll with a lazy eye sticks its ugly, rock-like face close to Bilbo. “He’s lying!”

“No I’m not!”

“Hold his toes over the fire! Make him squeal!”

Kili goes rigid beside me. Before I can grab him, he launches into the clearing, slashing at Lazy Eye’s calf. The troll shrieks, hopping backwards as Kili makes another swipe at its foot. He’s surprisingly good with a blade.

“Drop him!”

And also a complete idiot.

“You wot?”

Kili deftly twirls his sword. There’s a mad glint in his eyes that says he’ll willingly take on all three of the trolls if they don’t co-operate. “I said, drop him.”

This isn’t going to end well.

Something huge thunders through the trees behind me. I turn, and freeze.

A dozen Dwarves swarm into the clearing, and everything dissolves into chaos.

Thorin’s company attacks as a seamless unit, bounding off each other and hurtling in every direction like hairy cannonballs. Yells and whoops bounce off the trees, filling the night with savage joy. I can do nothing but watch, fascinated, as every single Dwarf throws himself wholeheartedly into the fight.

My eyes find Thorin of their own accord. His fighting style combines brute strength and a surprisingly graceful agility in a way that’s utterly mesmerising.

I shake the thought away, tearing my gaze from Thorin and searching the clearing for Bilbo. It’s impossible to pinpoint anything in the carnage, and I’ll never find him just sitting in this bush like a moron. I haven’t been in a fight for over a year, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

Rising from my crouch, I roll my shoulders and step into the fray.

The trolls smell even worse up close, their screams and howls deafening. Bodies catapult around me—Dwalin’s tattooed head, Balin’s white beard and Fili’s golden hair flit about my peripheral vision, but there’s one curly head I don’t see.

Where the hell is Bilbo?

With a chorus of joyful whinnies, the ponies break free from the pen and bolt into the trees. A green waistcoated figure clutches the trolls’ curved dirk, urging the animals to flee. The largest troll notices the commotion and, with an enraged bellow, lumbers towards Bilbo.

I launch into its path, skidding on the loose earth. The Blade sinks into the meat of the troll’s thigh, the force of the blow wrenching it from my grip. A boulder-like hand catches me squarely in the chest. The force of my back smashing into the ground punches the breath from my lungs. Fire twines around my ribs. The noise of battle submerges beneath roaring agony, the scene blurring into indistinguishable smudges of colour.

“Bilbo!”

Kili’s panicked shout hauls me back to consciousness. The Dwarves cluster to my right, their gazes fixed on something several feet in the air. Thorin’s arm is an impenetrable barrier between Kili and the trolls. The young prince’s eyes spark, his jaw tight.

Pain lances through my chest as I twist to look over my shoulder. Two of the trolls have Bilbo by his arms and legs, stretching his small body between them like he’s strapped to a torture device.

“Lay down your arms! Or we’ll rip his off!”

Thorin stays unbearably still, eyes burning. Then he drives the point of his sword into the ground. Grumbling and muttering, the others follow suit. Kili throws his sword down with clenched teeth.

What follows is a fairly predictable downward spiral, during which I struggle to hold onto consciousness. Half of the Dwarves are tied to a spit and hoisted over the fire. The rest are stuffed unceremoniously into sacks and chucked into a pile. My ribs scream as thick fingers seize me and my limbs are encased in burlap. A blur of red catches my eye—the Blade is still lodged in the troll’s leg. My pathetic attempt to lunge for it earns me a sneer and my vision plunges back into darkness.

A debate about how to cook us comes to me in jagged pieces punctuated by the ringing in my ears.

“Never mind the seasoning, we ain’t got all night! Dawn ain’t far away, so let’s get a move on! I don’t fancy being turned to stone.”

I try to sit up again, and discover I’m wedged between two solid Dwarves. My shins and ankles are pinned beneath a third and rapidly losing blood flow.

Dwarves are heavy.

“Wait!” Bilbo’s voice pipes up near the fire. I can see well enough over the bundle of bodies to tell he’s unharmed—the relief is almost worth the rush of nausea from the concussion. “You are making a terrible mistake!”

“You can’t reason with them, they’re half-wits!”

“Half-wits? What does that make us?”

It’s quite difficult to glare at Kili from this angle, but I manage. This whole thing is basically his fault.

“I meant with… With the seasoning.”

A migraine bunches at my temples. Coupled with a moderate-to-severe concussion and what has to be at least four cracked ribs, it’s getting harder to focus on what’s going on.

“What do you know about cooking Dwarf?”

“The secret to cooking Dwarf is to… skin them first!”

A boot catches me in the ribs, the taste of metal flooding my mouth as they all shout and struggle at once.

“Traitor!”

“He’s right!” Lazy Eye snatches up the nearest Dwarf, lifting him high above his ugly face by the toes. “Nothing wrong with a bit of raw Dwarf!”

Behind the trolls, something grey and distinctly Wizard-shaped darts behind a large boulder. I blink, squinting at the trees. Am I having pain-induced hallucinations? And why Gandalf, of all people?

“Not that one, he’s infected!”

Lazy Eye squeals, and the Dwarf slams directly on top of Kili.

“They’re infested with parasites. It’s a terrible business.”

“We don’t have parasites! You have parasites!”

Beneath the pain fogging my brain, I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. Nothing this ridiculous could possibly happen in real life.

A boot thumps Kili’s back, cutting him off mid-yell. Kili twists to glare at his uncle, and the realisation visibly dawns on his face. I can almost hear the rest of them catching on, like a cascade of coins pinging off the ground.

“I’ve got parasites as big as my arm!”

It might be the concussion, but I have a sudden, bizarre urge to laugh. I glimpse Thorin’s head poking out of the sack behind me and almost inhale my own tongue.

The biggest troll jabs a finger at Bilbo. “This little ferret is taking us for fools!”

“Ferret?”

“Fools?”

“The dawn will take you all!”

Oh, thank the gods. I’d recognise that dramatic, booming voice anywhere. Gandalf looms into view atop the boulder, a Wizard-shaped silhouette against the lightening sky. Every pair of eyes in the clearing turns to towards him.

“Who’s that?”

“Can we eat him too?”

Gandalf’s staff cracks down, cleaving the boulder clean in half, and the first rays of dawn spill into the glade.

With a series of rumbling groans, hisses and cracks, the trolls’ grey, craggy skin solidifies into stone. It’s over in a few seconds, and we are all left staring between three life-sized troll statues and the Wizard who arrived just in time.

The glade erupts into cheers.

@bluelinkmp ; @moloko-tyan ; @inumorph

#the hobbit fic #dragonborn au #tes: skyrim #crossover fic #to slay a dragon

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basine · 4 years

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Chapter 3- Really, Him? (Melona)

I held his hand as we entered the dining hall. This was the man who tripped and fell on me three days ago and she was talking to him… again. All Melona was concerned about was getting the correct answers to the homework that Master Yolinda assigned her class. What was his name again? Oh right, Axan. Axan was such a unique name for someone. Of course there weren't many dragonborn in the world but Axan was so much more mortal than she would have ever imagined. He had a laugh that was actually pretty cute.

Wait… did I just think that? Did I just say a boy’s laugh was cute. Melona, you told yourself do not get attached to anyone here. Everyone you have thought was cute has hurt you so stop it, Melona thought to herself. Melona letting go of Axan’s hand took a seat on the opposite side of her black tabaxi friend Carrie. Of course Carrie’s name wasn’t that short. Her actual name was Carry the Flame due to her parents being forge workers but she had just settled on the name Carrie. Melona patted a seat next to her and Axan willingly took a seat next to her.

“Axan this is Carrie. Carrie this is Axan.” Melona said. “Nice to make your acquaintance tabaxi.” Axan said to Carrie. “Likewise. Master Y wouldn’t shut up about how good you are at defense. As someone who is training to be a monk like my older brother, how do you do it?” Carrie said excitingly to Axan. Axan glanced at Melona and then responded to Carrie. “I’m really not that great at it. I just really focus all of my energy on defending not myself but whoever I would be protecting. I’m a big beefy dragonborn so I can take a few punches before I start to look rough. It is all about protecting something. Nothing else really.” Axan said as he took a sip of water. This dragonborn knew how to speak. He spoke with a specific form of confidence but was never too cocky about anything. He understood a lot about combat training. As the conversation progressed Carrie did most of the talking while Melona just sat there and listened to him speak. He was funny and always made sure to include Melona into the conversation even when she was just listening. After the meals were finished they picked up their trays and headed over toward Eli and their cleaning crew.

“You know Carrie, if you wanted to I could show you some things up in the training room about defense. I know those training in the monk specialty never use shields but you could learn a thing or two from sparring.” Axan said to Carrie. “You would like to spar with me?” Carrie said excitedly. “Of course! It is always nice to spar against someone new. Who knows? You might actually catch me off guard.” “Okay! Let me go back to my room to get my gi and bo staff! I should be ready in like 10 minutes!” Carrie said as she hurriedly rushed off toward her room leaving Melona alone with Axan. “You know you can come too, right? If you would prefer not to that is-” Axan was saying as Melona cut him off. “Oh yes! I would love to watch you spar in your fancy silver armor. You seem like you know what you are doing.” Melona said hurriedly. “You wanna know a secret?” Axan said under his breath. “No one knows what they are doing until you are actually doing it.”

Axan then looked at Melona and winked. Melona then felt a rush of emotions run through her whole body. She felt her whole body warm including her face. She felt like her cheeks must have been as red as the tomato soup she just ate.

Melona, you are feeling this way about a boy? You’ve never liked a boy before why now? Melona thought to herself. “I forgot to ask, what are you training for?” Axan asked and then immediately continued, “No wait don’t tell me… druid? ARE YOU ONE OF THE DRUIDS!?” Axan asked, almost screaming in excitement. Melona’s face got even redder as just nodded her head in agreement.

What are you doing? He is just another person! There is nothing special about him! Melona thought to herself.

“A DRUID! I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO LEARN ABOUT DRUIDIC MAGIC! WOULD YOU TEACH ME SOMEDAY!?” Axan said excitedly.

“Uhhhh… yeah sure! I mean I’m not that special there is like… 7 more of us.” Melona said shyly.

“Yeah, but none of them want to share anything about themselves. They just change into little birds and fly away. I was hoping that the next druid to enter the monastery would be willing to talk about their experiences! Would you mind sitting down with me and talking about that?”

“Yeah! Sure it’s a date!”

Melona suddenly felt a rush of warmth running through her body as she realized what she just said. Did she just unintentionally ask this dragonborn on a date to talk about her druidic magic. Oh gods, she needed to fix this quickly.

“What I meant is that, like uhmmm, we can hang out like we did today and I can tell you all the cool things about being a druid. Like changing forms and all of that.” Melona said, embarrassed.

“Sure! Shall we get going to the training room? Carrie might be waiting for us.” Axan said as he started moving towards the steps up the mountain.

Melona followed in silence. She watched him as instead of taking every step as she did, Axan took two at once. After a few steps Melona realized she would have to pick up her pace to keep up with him. She started running up the steps as quickly as she could. She started to think about what would happen if she fell. Would he try and catch her? Would he help her up like he did a few days ago?

Melona looked up at the back of Axan and saw his tail swishing in the air as he walked up the steps. She knew that some dragonborns have tails but seeing it in person was very interesting. She wondered how it felt to have one all the time. She only ever experienced that when she changed into a cat and it felt super weird.

Axan turned around and said “Melona, you doing ok? I just realized that I take two steps when you only take one. Would you like me to slow down for you?” “No you go on ahead. I’ll be up there before you guys start.” Melona said between heavy breaths.

“No. I want to make sure you don’t slip or fall.” He held out his hand toward Melona to help steady herself and take a few breaths.

Melona gladly accepted Axan’s hand and took a few deep breaths before continuing up the steps. Axan slowed down just to make sure Melona wasn’t on the brink of passing out which she appreciated, but was still having trouble keeping up. About three minutes later they reached the dojo that sat atop the monastery. This is where all combat training was held to ensure that no one was carrying a weapon on sacred ground unless they were given strict permission. As Axan swung open the door Carrie was tightening her burgundy belt around her turquoise gi. Axan walked over to a locker and opened it. Inside was a shining set of silver armor. Axan quickly put on the armor and picked up his blue, silver and black shield and a wooden longsword. Both of the combatants stood on opposite sides of the dojo, one wearing armor that sparkled like moonlight and one wearing almost nothing.

“Now Carrie, don’t hold back. First to three hits on the other wins.” Axan stated.

“I agree to the terms.” Carrie replied.

“May the music guide you.” Axan said as he entered a defensive stance, ready for Carrie to attack.

#xaria campaign #dungeons and drawings #oc story #original character

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aaand-you-float-really-good · 5 years

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just doing my duty as the captain of the s.s jessek. with this entirely platonic piece of fanfiction..

It’s also on AO3. Have fun!

“E- Thain! So good to see you again! I missed you!”

Oh no.

Essek quickly swallowed his mouthful of wine, and feigned surprise at Jester’s approach, as if he hadn’t kept his eye on the Nein the entire evening.

Surely she hadn’t seen through his disguise?

No, a quick look at his hands confirmed that the illusion was still active, and while maybe he hadn’t been the most convincing back at the docks, she would have no reason to suspect Essek of all people. Surely.

No, this was just Jester being Jester and befriending anything and anyone that didn’t get away quickly enough.

Which meant that it now was time for Essek to be Dezran Thain, who didn’t have too big of a stake in current goings on, and who didn’t have a reason to be hyper aware of this random group of adventurers.

“Hm? Ah, yes… uhm… from the Mighty Nein, yes? But we only met a couple hours ago?”

“Oh, yeah, I guess. But a couple hours is enough to miss someone, don’tcha think?”

“I suppose…” Maybe if he gave short enough answers she would go away?

Oh, who was he kidding?

She pulled up a chair and sat down with their knees almost touching. “You know who I wish was here though?”

He would be here for a while. “Hm?” But short answers still saved him from having to come up with lies.

She leaned in, with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. “Our friend Essek!”

That. Was a truly unfortunate turn of events.

But at least it meant she didn’t suspect him.

“I… don’t think I’m familiar?”

Why did it have to be Jester of all people? Why did he have to feel this need to be gentle with her? He could have just been callous. He could have said that he didn’t care, and left.

But no.

It had to be Jester.

“He’s great! He’s, like, a really powerful wizard! And I think he’s, like, a spymaster or something? I don’t know, actually. He’s never explained that. I guess I’ll have to ask him the next time I see him. What do you think a shadowhand does?”

“Uhm… Well…” Actually that one was hard to explain, so it didn’t take too much acting talent to flounder over the answer.

“He’s really cool though!” Jester went on. “He floats everywhere! And he’s super nice, too! He’s been helping us teleport around, even though Fjord’s been a bit of an asshole that one time, but Essek still helped us out, because he’s cool like that and I think he loves us? He’s been teaching Caleb some magic too, so Caleb’s been doing all kinds of cool magic recently!”

“Caleb?”

Wait, why did he ask that? He should leave now, not elongate the conversation by asking questions.

“Yeah! He’s over there!” She pointed off to the side of the room, before giving a wave in the same direction. “Hi, Caleb!”

“Hallo!”

Essek glanced over to where Caleb had been standing for the last twenty minutes - because of course Essek had been keeping tabs - and saw the zemnian wizard give a quick little wave back in their direction.

Right, back in character, he’d never talked to the man before. “Ah.”

“Ooh, I wonder if he could teach Caleb how to teleport as well, then we wouldn’t have to ask Essek for favors all the time!”

Why hadn’t Essek thought of that? He’d have to keep that one in mind, in the event that it would come up again.

“Although, honestly, for the longest time that was the only reason why we were hanging out with Essek at all, and I do like sending him messages all the time! I don’t think he liked us or my messages very much at the beginning, but that’s okay, because I know that he likes us so much now!”

She wasn’t wrong, and that was part of why this was so hard. He hadn’t cared much for anyone, but especially not for the people who went and undid all his hard work . But he had warmed up to them, and now he did like them… so much.

He almost wished they hadn’t gotten involved, so they wouldn’t be in harm’s way now. Except for that very big and very selfish part of his heart that was so glad that he now had them in his life and wouldn’t give them up for the world.

Of course, he couldn’t tell her any of that.

“Ah, yes, that…”

“And we love him a lot, too, of course!”

Oh.

That had been both unexpected and painful.

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep tears from welling up.

They couldn’t know. There was absolutely no way he was ever going to let them know what he had done. Because if they knew then there would be absolutely no way they would still… love him.

“He’s always been so nice to us! He got us a house, you know! Well, his family did, but he was the one who showed it to us, so we kinda just associate that with him. But he’s really lovely though, and we love him so much!”

Essek couldn’t even think of a mumbled answer, because he was busy choking down his emotions, so he took a sip of wine, to hide his lack of a reaction.

“He’s hot, too,” Jester added as an afterthought.

Essek almost choked on the wine.

“Lord Thain! Are you okay?!”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He coughed a bit more until he stopped being in immediate danger of drowning.

He needed to get out of this situation. And quick.

But how?

“Ah… this… friend of yours? He sounds like… a good person?”

Well, that wasn’t the way.

“Weeell… Yes and no…” She leaned in conspiratorially and quietly whispered in his ear. “Actually we recently discovered that he is a traitor!”

Oh.

“Oh.”

Oh no.

“Yes!” She glanced over her shoulders and continued even more quietly, “He traded away some sacred artifacts.”

Oh shit.

“Oh my! How- how have you come across this information? Have you- uhm- have you informed the appropriate authorities?”

She leaned back and smiled at him, and that was a weird thing to do, right? “We’re not gonna rat out our friend! What do you take us for?!”

Did she- Oh fuck, she knew. Why else would she be telling a random stranger who just so happened to be Essek in disguise? This entire conversation made no sense if she didn’t know-

No, no. He had to assume she didn’t know. And if she had a hunch, then he had to do his damnedest to make sure he didn’t confirm it.

“And you’re telling me? Why?” It wasn’t possible that they knew. Right? He was the shadowhand, for fuck’s sake! Not getting caught was his entire shtick!

Jester winked at him playfully. “How do you think we found out?”

“Ah.” So they did know.

Unless they weren’t entirely sure and she was fishing for a reaction.

“I- And what does that mean exactly?”

Why was it so hard to lie to this little tiefling? If it had been anyone else, he would have been fine-

And, well… Okay, no, that was a lie. Caduceus was too perceptive for his own good, Caleb had spent enough time with him to recognize his tells, Beau… was Beau, and the rest of them… He considered them his friends, and as he had only recently learned, it didn’t feel good to lie to friends.

“Frumpkin was on the boat, watching, when you talked to Ludinus, and Caduceus did some magic to Beau that lets her see through illusions. Did you know that that guy over there is actually a dragonborn!?”

“I- can’t say I did. Uhm…” She hadn’t said it outright. There was still room for doubt. She could still be lying.

He needed to get out before he gave himself away. “I need to-”

“Essek,” she whispered, and took one of his hands in hers. “We know. We need to talk about this. We’re not trying to get you into trouble or anything! We want to help! Well… we probably want to help. Kinda depends on how evil your motives were, I guess. Although we did some pretty messed up stuff as well…” She trailed off, looking off into space with a furrowed brow.

“If…” There was no hiding it, was there? And if they were his friends… She said they wouldn’t sell him out. He trusted them. He needed to trust them. “If you knew then why did you say all of that?”

“I needed you to know that you’re still our friend, and that we still love you, and that we’re gonna help you with this! Unless if your goal is to destroy the world or unleash the Chained Oblivion or something like that. In that case we’d have to stop you, probably.”

She took another moment to screw up her face and think. “Also I was hoping that you’d reveal yourself. Because, you know, I was saying how great you are and how much we love you - which is all true by the way! I need you to know that! - and then you’d be all, like, overcome with guilt and also appreciation for your friends, so you’d cave in and just tell us what you did, and ask us for help, because we’re such cool friends!”

She stopped again, and pouted. “That didn’t happen, of course, but it could have! And it’s definitely better than Nott’s- I mean, Veth’s plan of just poisoning you!”

That sounded concerning. Maybe he should have a talk with Nott, or, apparently Veth now. Or better yet, maybe he should stay as far away from her as possible. Both options seemed reasonable right now.

“I- yes, I do appreciate that you didn’t go with that plan. But I- You want to help me? With this?”

“Yes!”

“You’re aware of what I did, yes?”

Jester looked at him with open and honest eyes. “You stole two beacons and started the war.”

Well, if you put it like that…

“And you’re okay with that?”

She shot him a subdued smile and squeezed the hand that she was still holding.“What you’ve done is in the past, and can’t be changed now, right? All we can do now is try to make it better! And handing you over to the Dynasty for punishment isn’t going to actually stop the war or bring back the people that died in it! Don’t get me wrong, there'll probably be consequences, and I don’t think all of the others still trust you right now. But we will help you fix this!”

“That- yes.” He bowed his head. “Thank you.”

Jester took that opportunity to scoot closer and press her lips to his forehead. “You’re part of this family now. Welcome to the Mighty Nein.”

#critical role #essek thelyss #jester lavorre #jessek #i will populate that entire tag by myself if i must #cr spoilers #i don't usually go out of my way to tag spoilers but in this case it's appropriate yes?#og #my fanfic

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hellishhin · 3 years

Text

The Ball: Part 1

Length: ~2,500 words

Content warnings: alcohol consumption, mild knife threats

Summary: Sadie, Kireen, and K'lai'a'la have arrived at Taerand's ball. They meet new people who are a bit more than they bargained for.

Taglist: (adds/removes always open!) @betwixtofficial @taerandcalentavar @talesfromaurea @faelanvance @definitelyquestionit @drippingmoon @dontcrywrite

The doors were open wide, allowing a lilting melody to drift toward them on the cool dusk breeze. Against the darkening sky, Ser Calentavar’s manor stood resolute. As the second largest building in Stawold, the manor’s half-timbered framework was filled in by mortar and rubble for most of the first floor. Above the sturdy base of stone, the beautifully aged timbers were filled with wooden planks painted a warm creamy white which served to protect the wood from the elements. Only the Margrave’s manor stood larger than Ser Calentavar’s as most of the lesser buildings in town had their timbers filled in with wattle and daub, most painted a plain white. What truly set Ser Calentavar’s manor apart was the full stone tower soaring above the third story. It was only large enough to contain a single room but was still a sight to behold among the wood and daub of Stawold.

Sadie looked up at the tower as the three women made their way down the cobbled street. She had awoken from her resurrection in the highest room in Stawold and yet he called it his guest room. He must hold his guests in high regard.

A gruff but polite request for their invitations pulled her mind away from the tower. Sadie reached into the bosom of her long rose-pink dress for the parchment. This dress was one of her favorites. She had hand-stitched some flowers across the hem. It was nothing impressive but it was the nicest dress she had.

Kireen handed over her and K’lai’a’la’s invitations as K’lai’a’la stood just behind them, ready to bolt.

“You look lovely tonight, ladies. Have a nice evening,” the guard kept the letters, tossing them into a basket behind him.

Kireen nodded and adjusted her deep blue gown, smoothing it down across her thighs. The embroidery along the sleeves and hem placed her quite comfortably among the crowd as they entered the main hall.

“Behave yourselves. K’lai’a’la, just stand off to the side if you must but you will not attack anyone for any reason. Nobody is going to hurt you. Sadie, supposedly you are familiar with these people so I trust you know how to behave yourself,” Kireen’s sigh said otherwise.

The over-excited halfling took that as her cue and she flounced into the party. Immediately, faces she recognized were greeting her. Jorgga Enteildotr, a very skilled seamstress approached and complimented her dress. Sadie knew it was mostly a nicety as her handiwork was nothing like Jorgga’s. Also in attendance was Otoc Alfandrson, a priest of Armorn the Protector; Alsteit Quinte, an artist whose work is seen in several noble houses in Stawold; and finally, Sadie is stopped in her path to the dessert table when she saw an older man with carefully combed silver hair. Draped in a royal blue silk tunic with golden trim it would be clear to anyone that this man is a part of the high nobility. A further step beyond that, Sadie was able to recognize him as Emmerich Hallgrimursson, the Margrave of Stawold.

Quickly looking around the room, she also spotted Hrimi Thaftheson and Thori Bjornison and almost all of the Margrave’s court! Never did she expect a ball to have both her name and the Margrave’s on the same invite list. Almost vibrating with excitement she turned back to find Kireen but found Ser Calentavar approaching her with a polite smile.

Kireen watched Sadie for a moment until her small stature disappeared among the skirts and cloaks of the crowd. There were no threats here, so the one she was actually worried about was K’lai’a’la who was stuck to her arm, nearly shoving her off her feet. K’lai’a’la had wanted to go with Sadie, Kireen saw that much as she took two steps after her small friend but when the crowd blocked their view, K’lai’a’la retreated back to Kireen’s side.

That was better than her getting separated and losing her head. The elf didn’t have any weapons but that would not stop her from being a threat if she felt the need. Kireen’s concern flew from her mind as soon as she saw the Margrave in his fine silken clothes. She had not been in Stawold for more than a few months and she still would recognize that level of luxury anywhere. Taerand had not mentioned the Margrave would be in attendance.

She had only been at the party a handful of minutes and none of this made sense. She was sure their invitation to the ball would have something to do with his damned favor but why would his favor include the Stawold elite. Only herself, and maybe Sadie would be qualified for anything near political intrigue. But as usual she would be left waiting on Taerand’s whim for any further information. Kireen swiped a glass of mead from a passing servant and tried to look like she was enjoying herself.

***

“Good evening Ser Calentavar!” Sadie curtsied, giving him a friendly smile.

“Good evening Blaze, I am glad you could attend. You are still feeling well, I trust?”

“Right as a sunny day, all thanks to you. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t still curious about how you did it.”

“Certainly, but a ball is no place to discuss such things,” his tone was still pleasant rather than chastising.

“Of course, you are absolutely right,” Sadie waved her hand through the air as if to chase the thoughts away. “You have put on a beautiful event tonight, thank you for inviting me.”

“After the favor you and your friends have done for me, you have earned your place here tonight. Please relax and enjoy yourself,” he gave her a polite nod and faded into the crowd.

Sadie liked Taerand. Something about him was mildly mysterious but she felt a connection to him after her resurrection. He seemed like perhaps, under his mask of professionalism, was a polite and caring man. Or perhaps that’s what she hoped. With a mental shrug, she continued to the dessert table which was tall enough she had to stand on her tiptoes to see what lay atop it. As she scooted along its length, deciding what she wanted, a servant approached and bowed low next to her.

“May I help make you a plate, miss?”

Sadie happily accepted he added everything she pointed out to her plate. Once her plate was piled with tarts, candied fruit, jellied pastries, and everything else one shouldn’t eat for dinner, she deftly wove her way back through the crowd. It wasn’t hard to find the tall dazzlingly red dragonborn with a terrified elf clutched to her sleeve. Coincidentally, Taerand was speaking to them as she approached.

“--reward for the service you provided me,” Taerand was saying.

“Then I hope to hear from you again,” Kireen replied, looking less annoyed and more resigned, nursing a half finished mead. Sadie silently offered her dessert plate to K’lai’a’la who examined it for a long time before carefully choosing a candied strawberry to sample. When her teeth stuck to the candy coating she wrinkled her nose and placed it back onto the plate making Sadie chuckle.

Taerand gave K’lai’a’la a glance that was almost pitying before he turned to leave. K’lai’a’la picked up on it and glared after him.

“Come on, let’s just enjoy ourselves. Did you see? Even the Margrave is here!” Sadie lifted her dessert plate to share with Kireen too but she declined when a man in a plain white tunic and a burgundy waistcoat strode up to them. He looked starstruck but also slightly out of place.

“Good evening, may I be so bold as to ask if you three are Ser Calentavar’s noble heroes?”

He was a fairly handsome man, a strong jaw offset by a muss of sandy-brown hair which looked like there was only a cursory attempt to tame it. What really set him apart was a pair of lovely blue eyes one could get lost in.

“Well that absolutely would be us: noble heroes of Stawold!” Sadie declared before either of her compatriots could speak. This caused the man to bow low before them.

“Then allow me to humbly introduce myself as Ser Brimir Bjarkansson. I am truly impressed by your deeds and I wish to hear the account first hand, if that is acceptable.”

“Oh yes, I will gladly tell you of our peril-filled adventure to the Wraefen!” Sadie was in absolute heaven as she jumped into the story. Kireen soon went to find them some more drinks, leaving K’lai’a’la behind with Sadie.

***

The people all smelled strongly of flowers and spices, so much so she felt as though she couldn’t breathe. Despite living inside the walls for some time, K’lai’a’la would never get used to all of the different scents that came along with the cage-dwellers. Their vibrant clothing was equally assaulting on her senses and yet she found herself among them, smelling and looking like she belonged. It was an insult. These people were weak, they could not hunt their food. It came to them on a shiny tray and so many of them got fat. This was no way to live and nothing could convince her otherwise.

It even hurt to see the small one enjoying it so much but after seeing her as a corpse, happy and talking would always be better than the alternative.

The men with the glittering glasses kept offering her drink. She had tasted one and Kireen had to take it from her before she threw it across the room. Everyone was drinking the poison all the time wherever her friends took her. She would never understand that either. What she did understand was the array of blades set out neatly near the roasted pig which smelled over-seasoned even from several strides away. If she could simply have one of those blades tucked away, she could feel safe because surely others had their own blades obscured by their endless folds of colored fabric.

Kireen was off getting a drink and Sadie was enjoying her drink and distracted by the over-bearing man who was enraptured by Sadie’s retelling of the forest. K’lai’a’la did not want to hear that story anyway. She had lived it. Pretending the other patrons were simply trees to walk through, she avoided each of them on her way to the food table. Nothing looked appetizing but she stared at it anyway. As she leaned over to pretend to get a better look, her hand clasped around the handle of a knife and drew it into the folds of her dress. Perhaps the cloth was useful for one thing. When she lifted her head, unusual motion drew her gaze to the far side of the room.

There she saw a man with brown hair and blue clothing standing closer than normal to a man with black hair and red clothing. The two were whispering to each other and the brown haired one looked around in a similar way she had looked around when she wanted to make sure no one saw her take the knife. K’lai’a’la did not like their behavior to begin with but then they both slipped through a nearby door. This was a concern. She wove her way through the crowd until she was close to the door, then she tried to make it look like she was enjoying the party. She swayed on her feet from side to side and carefully sidled up to the door to concentrate on listening for what was being said behind it.

***

The story had Brimir enraptured, Sadie could tell because he had finished two drinks in the time it took to tell it and it wasn’t a particularly long story.

“Miss Sadie, your recounting has absolutely flagerblasted me!” he tried to set his empty glass on top of an hors d'oeuvre tray of a passing servant. The poor servant just took the glass while somehow maintaining composure. “Might I ask you to dance?” he held out his hands down to her.

Sadie had finished a drink of her own and she giggled “well of course you may.”

Despite their height, Brimir began to dance where they were, not even bothering to take her to a more open space.

“May I say that you and your friends make me want to be a hero? I’ve dreamed of bein’ a hero. Adventures, swords fights, monsters. Can I join you? Next time?” his eyes were a bit glassy but his gaze was earnest. “I know how to wield a sword and all I want to do is help people. Protect the weak, defend the innocent! And just… be friends with someone.”

Everything he said resonated loudly throughout Sadie’s entire being “you are one of us Brimir. We are now officially your friends and we will all help people together!” She declared. Sadie has always been able to read people well and this man had a heart of gold. Boy was she glad Taerand invited him here. The gods were on her side tonight.

“Yes, Ser Brimir, you are officially part of the heroes and we are now officially your friends.”

Brimir let out a victorious whoop, getting the attention of some of the people nearby but before Sadie could apologize, Brimir started spinning her around in his exuberance. They spun and jumped and Sadie couldn’t keep track of where they were or where they were going. She was laughing though, just delighted by his excitement. She wanted to drink with him more often. But her delight was cut short when Brimir backed into something with a thud. The world stopped spinning just in time for her to see the beautiful blue and gold vase that she had previously admired teetering from the plinth Brimir had just bumped into.

Sadie gasped and backed away, instinctively shielding her eyes from the oncoming shatter. Hero Brimir, on the other hand, tried to catch the vase. Arms out-stretched the vase hit just the tips of his fingers but the sweat caused it to sail right through. The sound of ceramic shattering silenced the entire hall.

***

There was too much noise, too much talking. She could not hear what was being said behind the door even though she knew it was important. If she pressed her ear to the door she would be noticed so she just inched closer and closer until she was standing in front of it and still--nothing. K’lai’a’la ground her teeth in frustration until her focus was shattered by the sound of something breaking across the hall. Her head whipped around, as did everyone else’s. It didn’t take her long to spot the story-man standing near an empty pedestal looking deathly pale.

Just then, the door opened behind her, instinctively causing her to whirl around. She found herself face to face with the brown-haired man, her knife out and pointed at his chest. He grabbed her wrist tightly but she dropped the knife catching it with her free hand. She raised the blade to strike when Taerand’s voice cut across the silent hall,

“Enough.”

And she froze.

[next post]----[previous post]

#oc #d&d #bard #writeblr #writing #sadieblaze #kireen #k'lai'a'la #taerand #brimir #post 30 #please tell me how I did switching between POVs #it was a new thing I tried #but I did it!#I got this out!#And it felt good!#drippingmoon I held my promise!

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daedriclorde · 4 years

Text

A Thief in Wolf’s Clothing, Part III: Chapter 5, “Is It True?”

Summary: As Kjolti and Aela return from their mission, it becomes clear that something is very wrong. Can they save Farkas? And will Kjolti be able to face the truth?

Read it here on Ao3!

Chapter 5, “Is it True?”

A tension hung between them the rest of the journey home. It was dusk when Whiterun came into view across the plains, the keep looming in the distance.

“We’ll be back in time for a meal,” Kjolti said longingly. A hot meal and cold mead was sorely needed after their journey.

“I’ll be glad to sleep in my own bed tonight,” Aela replied, breaking her silence. The women looked at each other meaningfully; all was forgiven.

Kjolti smiled. “I can practically smell Tilma’s cooking from here!”

Aela laughed and breathed in deep. “Smells like roast and—“ she stopped short, frowned, and sniffed again.

“Roast what? Elk, I hope,” Kjolti joked.

“Shut up.” Aela sniffed again.

“Fine, boar, whichever.”

“I said shut up! Can you smell that?”

Kjolti closed her eyes and breathed in deep. There was a vaguely familiar scent on the air.

“One of our brothers is out here.” She sniffed again. “It’s Farkas, but something’s off,” she said tenuously.

Aela looked concerned. “I think we ought to hurry.” The was more unsaid in her eyes.

The pair hastened through the plains. Kjolti’s heartbeat quickened. What was Farkas doing? He never hunted alone these days, not without her. What changed?

Aela sniffed again. Kjolti followed suit. They exchanged a glance and Aela opened her mouth to speak when the silence was broken by a wild howl.

It chilled both of them, sending shivers down their spines. A cold wind battered them, bringing an undeniable scent with it.

Frozen momentarily, Kjolti was the first to bring it to words.

“He’s going feral.”

Only a heartbeat passed before Aela and Kjolti took off running toward the sound and scent of their shield-brother. Another howl sounded, this one more wild than the last. It was a distinction only a werewolf could hear, but they knew the difference well.

No no no, Kjolti’s mind raced. No, Farkas, not now. You can’t. Wait for me, wait.

Another five agonizing moments passed before they saw his form in the distance. He was annihilating a deer with a single swipe of a claw.

Aela transformed. So comfortable was she in her beast form, that it only took her a heartbeat to shift her skin.

“Be careful, Aela!” Kjolti called. She would not shift. She needed to be human to bring Farkas back.

Aela arrived to Farkas in a few impossibly long bounds. He did not recognize her, and turned to face off with her. Kjolti spat an oath. This was bad.

Kjolti was grateful that Aela was such a strong werewolf. She had taken the blood so long ago that it flowed easily through her veins, the wolf skin as natural as her human form. Aela bellowed fiercely at Farkas and circled him, dodging his attacks and dealing out several of her own. Kjolti continued to run toward them, cursing her slowness on two legs, burdened by heavy armor. But she knew she might be grateful for its protection once she got closer to Farkas.

Aela was attacking very strategically. She tried to immobilize him, by attacking his legs first. She avoided the major veins and arteries. Kjolti quickly understood her intent. Aela was wearing him out, slowing him down. Trying to weaken him, but not critically injure him.

It wasn’t working very well. So close to going feral, Farkas had gone berserk. He seemed not to feel or notice the blows Aela dealt, as serious as many of them were. Kjolti breathed in, smelling the wildness in his scent. She ran faster, sweat coating her skin.

It seemed like an eternity before she got there. Aela continued to circle and distract Farkas, trying to wear him out. But Kjolti’s arrival caught his attention, and Farkas turned and unleashed a menacing snarl at the easy prey that had wandered to him. Aela was too far away to intercept.

Farkas lunged toward Kjolti. Fear seized her. She had seen Farkas fight in his beast form, was accustomed to his ferocity, but it had never been directed at her before.

His long claws reached out and raked her across her midsection.

Kjolti thudded to the ground, hard. Blood filled her mouth.

Aela reached Farkas and tackled him, grappling with him for a long while.

Kjolti looked down. Her armor was rent open, but it had stopped his deadly claws from ripping her apart. Such a blow would have killed her quickly. Even so, she felt as if several of her ribs were bruised, if not broken.

She pushed herself up, spitting out blood and cursing.

Farkas flung Aela from him, and she shot backwards with a whimper.

This is not good.

“Farkas!”

His ears flattened.

“Farkas! It’s me! Kjolti!”

He turned to face her, savagery in his eyes.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled her helmet off. This might be very stupid.

She shook her hair out. “It’s me, Farkas. Your friend Kjolti. Your shield-sister.”

Farkas snarled and stalked toward her.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Kjolti muttered under her breath, panicking. “Farkas. Come back to us.”

Aela attacked him from behind. He shoved her off again, and continued to creep closer to Kjolti.

“It’s me,” She opened her arms wide. “You know me.”

Something in his eyes flickered.

“It’s okay, Farkas.”

He growled low. Kjolti gathered her nerve and jumped toward him, surprising them both.

She grabbed his face in her hands, massive as it was. He snapped at her. Kjolti pulled back, nearly in enough time. His teeth grazed the tip of her nose, slicing the skin open and releasing a trickle of blood.

Her eyes watered in that annoying way when one gets hit on the nose, but she maintained her grip.

“Farkas,” she cooed softly. She ruffled his ears. “Don’t go,” she pleaded. “I need you.” Praying it wouldn’t be the last thing she did, Kjolti pressed her forehead to his.

Her skin met course fur.

A few heavy breaths filled the air.

His scent changed, his muscles relaxed. Kjolti released him and stepped back as Farkas became human again.

Aela dropped her beast form and walked over to him. Farkas was shaking in a cold sweat. He was staring at Kjolti intensely. She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t parse it for the emotions within. But she felt the raw power of the look, and didn’t like what she felt.

Aela knelt and wrapped her arms around Farkas, still shivering. Kjolti stepped back. She fetched a blanket from her pack and handed it to Aela, who pulled it over Farkas.

They sat like that for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Farkas blinked, seeming to be present again.

Aela looked at him sympathetically. “Let’s go home, brother.”

He said nothing, but nodded.

The three began to journey to Whiterun. The sun had set, and the cool night air chilled them. Kjolti reached out to touch Farkas’s arm, but he flinched back from her touch.

Something isn’t right.

Kjolti looked over to Aela, who had seen the exchange. She shrugged, but it was clear that she could tell something was off.

They finished the walk in silence. It didn’t feel right to ask Farkas what happened, not yet. They were just glad to get him home, alive and human.

Aela and Kjolti helped him downstairs and began guiding him to his room when Farkas finally spoke.

“I can make it myself from here,” he said gruffly.

Aela gave him an appraising look. “You know where to find me if you need me.” Worry filled her voice.

Farkas nodded in response. Aela glanced at Kjolti with a loaded look, and walked away.

Kjolti hesitated, then followed suit and headed to her room.

“Kjolti,” Farkas murmured. She stopped and turned to him.

“Did I hurt you?” Though fully human, there was a strangeness in his eyes.

“No, Farkas, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed out.

She gave a half hearted smile. “It’s just a scratch.”

He nodded. “Kjolti?”

“Farkas?” She smiled.

“Is is true?”

“Is what true?”

His brown eyes bore into her. “Did you and Vilkas kiss? Are you the Dragonborn?”

Kjolti felt like all her blood drained from her veins. Farkas’s stare was relentless.

Be honest.

She closed her eyes. “Yes. And yes.” She opened her eyes.

Farkas looked fifty years older, his face gaunt and worn. He said nothing, didn’t so much as look at her. He just turned to his room, shuffled inside, and shut the door.

Kjolti felt her cheeks flush in shame. She entered her room, closed and locked the door, and sat on her bed. The dragon in her chest was clawing at her insides, and the tears that she had been holding back for hours finally spilled down her cheeks.

***

She awoke hours later to pounding at her door. Kjolti moaned and rolled over. The shouting continued.“Kjolti! Get up!”

Spewing all sorts of profanities, Kjolti rose, flicked the lock off and threw open the door.

“What in all the divines’ names do you want?” she growled.

Eorland stood before her, holding Wuthraad. Now faced with a very disheveled Kjolti, the old man turned sheepish.

“Um. It’s time.”

Kjolti was disgruntled. “Time for what?”

Eorland thrust Wuthraad into her hands. “The others are waiting for you upstairs. You’re going to the tomb of Ysgramor. To cure Kodlak.”

Kjolti blinked and looked down at the reforged great axe in her hands. “The others?”

Eorland started to walk away, and called over his shoulder. “Yeah, you know. The youngins. You, Aela. Vilkas, Farkas. Only makes sense, you’re the strength of the Companions, and you all get along so well.”

Kjolti swallowed, the events of the previous night solidifying into a solid rock in her stomach. “Right.”

#skyrim fanfic #ATIWC #oc: aerisif/kjolti #nerd shit #tes #tes v #The Companions #Aela #Farkas

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izayoichan · 5 years

Photo

After leading him through the house, he finally opens the door, a room filled with books, posters and a general feeling of comfort appearing.

“Here you go, the den of the game master.” “You know, I have always wanted to try out this DnD stuff. But I never had any friends to play with, and the guys I hang with at school are the beer, fists and weed kind of guys so, I can't exactly suggest we go play DnD instead of going around kicking trashcans like we're so "rebel"...” “So does this mean you want to join properly, and not just be the comedy frog you were last time?”^ “I am game if you are!”

Rylan chuckles, grabbing a bunch of books, paper to write on, and a small bag that is filled with dice, putting it between them on the sofa.

“Well part one, what would you like to play as?”

“I don't know? Warlock I guess? Oh! But the type of warlock who summons animals and stuff! Like a nature warlock, can I be that?” “Hmh. Nah, sorry in this game's rules warlocks only summon the undead.. but, but the sound of it, you want to be a Beastmaster.”

Takes one of the books, flipping quickly through the pages, handing it to River when he finds the right one.

“Can I have a dragon companion?” “Not at first and only if you are really lucky later on”

Hands him the book in his hands

“These are the different races you can play as a beastmaster: Human, Elf, half-elf, Tabaxi, and Arakocra, I marked them for you, so you can see which one you like the most”

Leaning back he watches River, admitting this was not quite how he imagined the evening to be, but he also had to admit, he did not mind one bit. It was actually very fun to see River like this, so into something he would never even have guessed.

“So I can be a cat or a bird?... No half-dragons? I guess I can be a human then.” “Yes, sorry, the Dragonborn are fighters and have no spells in this game, silly I know. Now... a name?”

Holds a paper in his hand, where he writes down everything they have talked about so far, filling in his characters sheet as they go.

“Can't we change that? or are those fixed rules in-game?

Rubs the back off his head, trying to think of a name

“Flynn River? I know, sucky name, Rapunzel “ fixed rules made by the ones that has made the game, I'd need to make a full my own version if I was to allow that, and I'm not that good at this yet. Could do that, or...”

Flips the pages off the books until they land on human names

“Maybe these would help, although I do like Flynn” “ I think you could make your own. I'd help, sure Hayden and Vy would too. Flynn it is.”

Laughs and looks over the names

“Flynn Anders? How about this one?” “Would take a lot off time though, would have to make a ruleset entirely off our own making for every class and race. It sounds like a fun challenge though... And yes, sounds good to me.

Adds it to the paper, writing up the basic stats of humans, then hands the pouch with the dies to River -

“Now you find a d20... Ehm, just use the book and pour them all out, you'll need the set for playing later.” “ Wait, what?” “D&D uses a different type of dices for different things”

Stretches over him taking up one die.

“They are pretty much called depending on how many sides they have, this one having 20, so they call it d 20 for short. You need to throw it once for each stat so I can add that number to the base stat of your race and class.” “Oooh! Got it. So I throw the dice for each stat and it tells me which stat points I have? Okay, I can do that. Wait. can I like upgrade stats as the story goes?” “Yep, when you gain experience you get points and you can choose where you think they will benefit you the most. You're rolling a d20 to catch you up to the rest of the group, stats-wise” “Oh! And there won't be a problem with me joining your group? And more importantly, so I get perks from dating the game master?” “Nah, I made it so I can add people along the way, just have to put your character on the way off the group, so you meet up.”

Chuckles and shakes his head

“Nope, no perks other than maybe a kiss afterward, now finish the rolls and I will check what summons you can choose from” Mods and does as he told, getting the rest of the rolls, smiles at Rylan and sneaks a kiss from him, very quickly with a grin. Rylan just smiling, handing him yet another book as he finishes adding the rolls he just did to the character sheet.

“Okay, you can with your stats choose a main summon of a wolf, bear, snake or boar... And a scout summon is either eagle, hawk or..”

Flips through a couple of pages, stopping at a leafy looking tiny pink dragon.

“ah look... Pixie dragon. You can use that as a scout.” “There are pixie dragons?! Okay! I totally want this! I don't care if it's pink, fairy-like and adorable! It's a dragon! Can I teach it to hoard coins and jewelry on my pouch?” “Nah but they are very good scouts, so handy have, and the other, the one that will fight with you?” “It would be cool though. Imagine it decides to hoard flowers instead so my bag is also conveniently full of healing herbs because my pet dragons likes flowers! Can I have a wolf?” “Yeah, either a Worgen or a dire wolf, you had some pretty nice rolls there”

Chuckles at the concept off the small dragons bringing back flowers and herbs whenever it scouts. “Hmh... I might actually allow it to bring back stuff while scouting, but only on a very high roll on a d20.” “ Direwolf then. We can call him Lobo. or maybe that's too obvious... Farkas if he turns out to be black. And cool! I hope he brings flowers I can gift the "princess" with”

Rylan just shakes his head, as the two off them finish up the last finishing touches of the character, Rylan explaining a bit of the game as they go. His attention suddenly caught by the fact that River put’s his hand on his cheek, pulling him up from the books kissing him.

“I like seeing you like this, doing something you have fun with. It’s like a new side of you I missed out on seeing.”

Blushing slightly, he tells River how this was originally Hayden's idea, to give them things they could do together, even with him being sick a lot, this was normally something he would be able to do.

“I’ll talk to my mom about new years even then, so we can play. And you are sure they won’t mind?”

He had asked who they played with, learning that it was friends from school as well as some family members of theirs. River slowly growing tired yawning every now and then.

“ Maybe we should head back so you can get some sleep, I can just watch some movies or plot stories on my phone.” “I can always lay on your lap and sleep here while you plot? When did you get taller than me?" “When you lie down, I seem taller than you, dummy. And are you sure, the bed is probably more comfortable, although I admit to not knowing that fully.” “Alright, let's go try out your bed, then I can attest it's comfy or not.”

jumps up and grabs Rylan's hand pulling him up-

“Lead the way, my fair princess.”

🎶

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#Rylan Ward #River Silversweater #the ward legacy #there is a lot of geek talk here #and I love it #I used to play D&D when I was younger #not much #but enough to remember it #and miss it #and now River has a proper character to play with #and that is good #they will just have to sit down #and make their own game #with their own races

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