#if she slowed down more then shed be a gnome

[phlegm--princess]

my honest tierlist

[recentanimenews]

J-Novel Club Anime Expo Lite 2021 Announcements

  J-Novel Club took to Anime Expo Lite 2021 to announce yet another sizable slate of titles, many that will launch later today on the service digitally, from pulp novels to its light novel bread and butter and everything in-between, J-Novel Club’s latest slate has something for everyone. Without further ado, the slate of announcements.

      Maddrax by Various Authors with Cover Art by Nestor Taylor 

When a comet struck Earth, Matthew Drax found himself sent 500 years into the future - only to find civilization in ruins. In a world filled with barbarians, hostile mutants, and lost technology, Drax and co. cross the globe in search of adventure. Having recently saved the world by restoring the moon from its falling orbit, an accident in proceedings causes pockets of parallel worlds to dot the globe. What new dangers await Matt and his travelling companion, the telepathic warrior queen Aruula, as they cross these strange gaps in time and space? 

A J-Novel Pulp title launching today with Part 1 of Volume 1!

A Late-Start Tamer’s Laid-Back Life by Yuu Tanaka with Illustrations by Nardack

Old MacDonald had a...gnome?! The Law of Justice Online, also known as LJO, is the hottest new VRMMORPG of the season, and office worker Yuta Sasaki is one of the lucky few granted access to the official launch. After some careful research, Yuta is chomping at the bit to start his virtual life as a Tamer, a class that harnesses the powers of wild monsters. Luckily, upon building his character, Yuta manages to land not only his chosen class, but a heap of bonuses to boot! He soon finds, however, that his abilities are not all they're cracked up to be, and that the talents of the rare first monster he is granted lie not in combat...but gardening! Already well behind the other adventurers, and facing a long and slow progression path ahead of him, Yuta is left with two choices—start over from scratch, or make the best of what he has been given. For Yuta the choice is obvious: When life gives you manure...start up a farm!

Launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

Chillin' in Another World with Level 2 Super Cheat Powers by Miya Kinojo with Illustrations by Katagiri 

The Magical Kingdom of Klyrode summons hundreds of heroes from other worlds every year to fight in their war against the Dark One and his army of powerful demons. Banaza is one of those heroes, summoned from the Royal Capital Paluma, but something’s not right—Banaza is only an average merchant. He has no magic, no fighting ability, and his stats are abysmal. Worse, a mishap leaves him unable to return home! Rejected as a hero and stranded in another world, abandoned to the far reaches of the kingdom by a cruel king who just wants him gone, Banaza’s fate looks pretty bleak. But what will happen once the failed hero candidate finds himself with super cheat powers once he hits level two? 

Launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

Min-Maxing My TRPG Build in Another World by Schuld with Illustrations by Lansane Commissioned in death to save a world in peril, a tabletop RPG fanatic is reborn as a humble farm boy with the rulebook for the universe at his fingertips! Young Erich’s quest for an invincible character build will require more than his decades as a number-crunching munchkin, though. Even with powerleveled skills, feudal life is no cakewalk—especially when you keep drawing more attention than you can handle…Can Erich adapt to his strange new world before his worst impulses take the campaign of a lifetime completely off the rails? Let the dice fall where they may! Launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

The Reincarnated Princess Spends Another Day Skipping Story Routes by Bisu with Illustrations by Yukiko 

After an accident, a modern careerist is reborn as Princess Rosemary Von Velfalt. She soon realizes that her new life is identical to that of a rival character in an otome game that she’d once played to “100%” completion. Luxury and magic abound in the Kingdom of Nevel, alongside a collection of attractive men. However, beneath the suitors' dazzling faces lie awful personalities: masochists, necrophiles, and perverts, oh my! But it’s not all bad news—the side characters are perfect, and Rosemary has fallen for the captain of the royal guard. 

Since the game offers no true route to happiness, Rosemary decides to forge her own path; to avoid marriage with the suitors, she'll have to skip their story routes and fix their deviance. She’ll navigate palace and marriage politics, kidnappings, and the threat of war, all while contending with a world that’s drifting further from the game she remembers. “100%” game completion isn’t all it’s cracked up to be— sometimes, “0%” is the route to a dream life! A J-Novel Heart title launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

My Instant Death Ability is So Overpowered, No One in This Other World Stands a 

Chance Against Me! —AΩ— (Manga) by Hanamaru Nanto, Based on the Novels by 

Tsuyoshi Fujitaka with Original Character Designs by Chisato Naruse

Awaking to absolute chaos and carnage while on a school trip, Yogiri Takatou discovers that everyone in his class has been transported to another world! He had somehow managed to sleep through the entire ordeal himself, missing out on the Gift — powers bestowed upon the others by a mysterious Sage who appeared to transport them. Even worse, he and another classmate were ruthlessly abandoned by their friends, left as bait to distract a nearby dragon. Although not terribly bothered by the thought of dying, he reluctantly decides to protect his lone companion. After all, a lowly Level 1000 monster doesn't stand a chance against his secret power to invoke Instant Death with a single thought! If he can stay awake long enough to bother using it, that is...Launching today with Chapter 1 of Volume 1!

Reborn to Master the Blade: From Hero-King to Extraordinary Squire♀ (Manga) by Moto Kuromura, Based on the Novels by Hayaken with Original Character Designs by Nagu 

From his deathbed, Hero-King Inglis, the divine knight and master of all he surveys, gazes down on the empire he built with his mighty hand. Having devoted his life to statecraft and his subjects’ well-being, his one unfulfilled wish is to live again, for himself this time: a warrior’s life he’d devoted himself to before his rise to power. His patron goddess, Alistia, hears his plea and smiles upon him, flinging his soul into the far future. Goddesses work in mysterious ways—not only is Inglis now the daughter of a minor noble family, but at her first coming-of-age ceremony at 6, she's found ineligible to begin her knighthood! However, for a lady of Inglis's ambition, this is less a setback and more the challenge she was (re)born to overcome. “It's not the blood that runs through your veins that makes a knight; it’s the blood you shed on the battlefield!” The curtain rises on the legend of an extraordinary lady squire reborn to master the blade! Coming Soon to J-Novel Club!

My Daughter Left the Nest and Returned an S-Rank Adventurer by MOJIKAKIYA 

with Illustrations by toi8

The life of an adventurer isn’t always a glamorous one. 

Belgrieve finds this out the hard way when a deadly encounter robs him of his leg and the ability to pursue his dreams not long after setting off for fame and fortune. But fate isn’t finished with this retired adventurer! While gathering herbs in the wilderness, he discovers an abandoned baby girl and names her Angeline after deciding to raise her as his own. Angeline grows up to become a top-tier adventurer in her own right, yet after venturing out into the world and making a name for herself, fame, fortune, and power hold no allure for the accomplished S-rank adventurer: her heartfelt wish is for nothing more than to see her father again.

Launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

Dragon Daddy Diaries: A Girl Grows to Greatness by Ameko Kaeruda with Illustrations by Sencha 

“Daddy!” The dragon blinked as the wee little human called out to him. Him? Her “Daddy”? Powerful enough to have been venerated by humankind, yet warmhearted and even a tad ditzy, the dragon soon finds himself raising and doting on the precocious Olivia as if she really were his daughter in this touching tale. The toddler may be impossibly cute now, but just you wait—she’s a curious child and she’s growing up real fast. You can bet that one day, she’ll be the strongest human there is! But first, how will he handle little Olivia receiving an acceptance letter to a human school? Launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

Dahlia in Bloom: Crafting a Fresh Start With Magical Tools by Hisaya Amagishi with Illustrations by Kei 

After dying of overwork in Japan, Dahlia is reborn into a world filled with magic. Raised by a master of magical toolmaking, she develops a passion for the craft and becomes engaged to her father’s apprentice. Before her father can see her wed, however, he suddenly passes away. As if this weren’t enough, on the day before their wedding, her fiancé announces that he’s in love—but not with her! Dahlia finally realizes she needs to live for herself. She vows to be her own woman from now on and devote herself to her craft, even if it’s not quite the quiet life she was hoping for! From a chance encounter with a knight to starting her own company, there are challenges aplenty on the horizon. But this young craftswoman is no longer a shrinking violet—she’s Dahlia, and she’s ready to bloom. 

A J-Novel Heart title launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

  Hell Mode ~The Hardcore Gamer Dominates in Another World with Garbage Balancing~ by Hamuo with Illustrations by Mo 

“‘Level up even while offline’?! That’s not a game on ‘easy mode’—that’s just an AFK game!” The online game Yamada Kenichi had been playing religiously is shutting down its servers, leaving him with a void in his heart. He looks for a new game to fill it, but everything he finds is way too easy. The kind of game he likes—the kind punishing enough to make players want to spend thousands of hours on it—just isn’t around anymore. “What’s this? ‘You are invited to a game that will never end.’” Kenichi stumbles upon an untitled game, one promising incomparable challenge with unprecedented potential. Without hesitation, he selects the “Hell Mode” difficulty. Lo and behold, he finds himself reincarnated in another world as a serf! Now called Allen, he sets out to unlock the secrets of his mystery-laden Summoner class; without the convenience of walkthroughs, game guides, or online forums, he must grope his way to the top of his new world! Launching today with Parts 1 and 2 of Volume 1!

  By: Humberto Saabedra

[renaer-is-allegedly-hot]

actual session 8 notes

• I made a mistake

○ Mistake as in I came in late oops

• Anyways

• They're talking abt hair

• For sneak attack you roll 2d6 just a friendly reminder to yourself

○ oH IT TELLS U IN DNDBEYOND HOW MUCH FOR SNEAK ATTACK OKAY

• Now they're talking abt pranking ppl in the rides

• Now they're talking abt disneyland problems

• Now they're talking abt rollercoasters

• Jacob's fish ate each other

• Ok dnd time

○ "no worries" re: me being late s u r e ok nvm it's not depression time

• Passive perception checks and then we do smth idk

• Last session(s)

○ Downtime and then breakfast was bombed

○ Found out the attack was deliberate

○ Went to the one fancy villa house and got into a few fights

○ A nimblewright ?? Was responsible for the attack ig

○ We dipped and it's rainy

• The city is engulfed in thiccccc fog

○ Walking back to mirt's house

§ Lillian got prankt

• Lillian's sister has a guinea pig

○ Its name is buttercup

○ "buttercup dumpy tho" - jacob, 2020

• We're talking abt china's laws wrt eating dogs

• We're in the fog going to mirt's

○ Mirt's house is in sea ward, we're in north ward (a ward away)

○ If we just walk it's a half mile away

○ But there r streets so like a mile walk

○ Visibility is bad bc spring fog

○ Disadvantage on perception checks, visibility reduced to 30 ft

○ We're walking we get there

• Cel knocks

○ No one answers the door

○ Adam is making an investigation check

§ Does a short tour of the front, nothing out of the ordinary

§ Door is locked

§ Looking into the house there's an occasional candle burning by itself

□ Adam uses thaumaturgy to rapidly change the color of the lights inside to see if he can get anyone's attention

® Lights change color, nothing happens

§ Maybe we'll break in but cel will try the pebble on a window thing first

□ Throws, door opens and floon lets us in

□ Mans just got up

® We're a lil wet

□ It's abt 5am

• Short rest? There's no medium rest

○ I want cake I might make cupcakes after this bc I need cake sugar

§ I'll make cake after this and watch criminal minds bc it had me scream

○ We're taking shifts for keeping watch sleeping in mirt's living room w windows facing out onto the street

○ We're taking a long rest

• When cel is on watch she's just watching the door and windows

• Eventually renaer and floon get up n operate on a normal schedule

• Cut straight to wake up

○ Once we're all up it's raining

○ Hi jacob's dad isn't his name frederic ? Oh god I could b v wrong but I'm p sure bc when marguerite named the squirrel someone was like it's jacob's dad

§ "usually what I say should be cut off" - frederic, 2020

§ Aw bye jacob's dad

§ Jacob sounds exactly like his dad

□ Tb to the one time we were playing split the room on jackbox w my cousins and my dad and the choice was trading ur average newborn for an uber smart one or not and all of the cousins and myself said don't trade and mY DAD SAID TRADE

• It's pouring

• Mirt doesn't seem to b here but we can talk to renaer and floon

○ Gonna talk to them abt the mansion n ppl / things at the mansion

○ Oh a nimblewright is the one thing

§ Oops I accidentally googled it and turns out they're employed as bodyguards / assassins / spies

○ "renAer . Do u recognize this symbol"

§ He is indeed familiar w the crest

§ "well to me this looks like the house of grahlund (idk) ?? Or smth"

§ The houses of waterdeep

§ We're suss abt the book

□ We don't see any other black pages tho

§ Adam says the gnome was unfortunately barbecued

□ "trying to deliver the stone of galore" to us probs

□ Y would he deliver it to us

□ "bc mirt is relatively well known ,, this house is probs well watched"

□ The stone of galore v sought after by noble families apparenTly

□ The house ppl r embezzling that's y they want the rock

□ Had their robot blast our door for it

□ But now city watch probably has it

□ Theo remembers the one elven lady having seen someone run off

□ The zents want it, the nobles want it, the citywatch want it

○ So is the plan to go find a zent ??? Or what we'd learn if we went to the robot's location

§ I don't remember any frickin robot I'm just trying to pick up on context clues

§ Oh right grinda in mistshore ? 

§ We're gonna go find grinda

□ It's like around 4 in the afternoon

□ Sun not shining too brightly

□ Renaer not coming

® Ur leaving groot w renaer this time

□ Neither is floon, mirt mentioned he had to go do some business elsewhere

® Adam is currently suspicious of mirt

□ We need a ride

® We all dish out 3 copper for a taxi

® Dom dabbed and no one cares

○ Can u drop a message to the guy ?? Somehow ?? Somewhere ?? Just like ,, keep him in the loop ???? Ur confused

• Ok we pay

○ Adam is playing the uke

§ We're in the cab 

§ Imagine it's raining aggressively

§ A dwarf guild member picks us up

§ Ugh I want cake

§ Could I bake while playing hm

§ Cab driver has a rigging of sorts set up

§ I have to pee too

§ Any interesting looking ppl in the cab w us ?

○ A gnome w a fedora looking p drenched, dragonborn woman half sleeping kinda elderly, human man

§ Adam slaps the gnome, you stare at the gnome, gnome looks at adam and adam runs an insight check adam rolls 23, gnome tries to look surprised but looks like he's overacting

§ "there's not a lot of big ideas here"

§ "well that's obvious enough"

§ Gnome picks up on stare

§ You get the paper you flip it, you roll for insight gets 22

□ Takes the bait, looks at the paper; eventually human gets off

□ We're getting close to outskirts of dock ward, road is mud

□ At some point the gnome tries to start conversation

□ "say what's that you've got there"

□ "well I only saw him at the carnival that shows up every fall"

® Common in the autumn but not nowadays

® Would have to wait another summer

□ "are you a nimblewright fanatic sir"

® "all I'm saying is I like springtime rain as much as the next guy but when the wind season comes in it's kinda unusual"

® Gnome's name is elbridge

◊ Adam rolls for insight

} 25

} Looks like he's used to saying that name but it might not be his name

® "say I have some business to attend to so driver u can keep the tip just don't tell the guild" dwarf nods and slows the horses down, gnome gets off and dips

• Adam wants him to blow a nose

• "did he leave any little hairs" - marguerite, 2020

○ Cab driver shouts and says no stabbing on the cart

• We're in the dock ward, cart stops and dwarf leans over and makes us get out

○ Shakes his head and says we shouldn't go to mistborne

○ "is there any instruction you can give us for how to 'get there get there' because you're not 'taking us taking us'" - adam, 2020

• Aerana's leading

○ Dom sends a map

○ We're not standing on the muddy running water streets but on wooden planking

○ You have your dagger at hand

○ Beached ships but ppl living inside them probably

○ U can see there r some ppl peeking out of various doorways + shifty characters milling abt

○ Cel and adam r holding hands

○ Adam is sweating a lot but cel still holds it

○ At some point a dragonborn that looks like a sailor or smth w lots of battlewounds n tattoos looks p savage w dull brown color to scales, stands in front of u without saying anything

○ Ur like a lil shorter than humans and dragonborn r much taller

§ "I have business in mistborne what are you doing in my way"

§ Not so many city types

§ Adam mumbles smth under his breath

□ Asks adam what kind of business

□ "we're looking for grinda"

® Tries to appear jovial

® Says ah yes she lives here

® Dragon therapy

◊ He takes and puts to temple 

◊ U pay him 3 gold

◊ Grinda garloff

} Strange woman w a shed at the end of the dock

} Take a left here and follow the sounds of the waves

} Throws out a fourth

– Has many visitors w strange visitors

◊ Cel says she likes his tattoos

} "yes these r when I was sailing around the isle of chault"

• We follow his directions and eventually get to d1, we see ppl trying to set a fire

○ Walk down the dock towards d2, door to north of d2 has small assemblage of ppl

○ Can see up to 60 ft away some odd looking ppl

§ Four thugs bearing weapons; three humans w a dwarf barking instructions, attempting to break down the door to d2

§ Might b grinda's house but we really don't know

§ Adam spruces up the one fire of the dock workers

□ Cel lets go of adam's hand

□ They don't notice adam did it

• Adam tries to hear what the dwarf is saying bc it's rainy and doesn't hear anything

○ Lots of shifty ppl around

○ Some of them r watching the scene and also us

○ We approach the audience

§ Adam nudges the friendliest looking person

§ We all go up onto the elevated ship

§ Immediately ppl look at us suss

□ Confrontational almost and eventually a half-elf woman asks us if we're here to watch them string up grinda

® Cel makes persuasion check

® Isn't there another door ?

® Adam goes to cushiest looking person and asks y they're after grinda

◊ Old grizzled halfling answers adam and says grinda took smth she wasn't supposed to have

◊ "we're here to make sure that grinda doesn't escape unharmed"

◊ "we're pretty tough as well" adam says

◊ More ppl come over closer to us

◊ Adam asking how much it would be to outbuy

◊ "that depends on how much you're asking oh wrinkly one"

◊ Halfling confers w fellows

◊ Halfling appears to be a ringleader

} Says 15 dragons

– 19 for insight

w Confident guy, lived a tough life

w Ppl put their trust in him

w Halfling says 15 is bargain price

w Unsuccessful try to push the price down you all cough up 3 dragons

– They start distributing dragons

w Not used to containing excitement

○ After distributing money asks if we have a bone to pick with the xants

§ Adam's gonna play them a song and plays it so hard it casts shatter on the dock the thugs are standing on

□ Constitution saving throws for everything

® Two of the bandits and the dwarf fail their saving throws, other two succeed

® Tl;dr the dock - two of them r shocked so hard they're either dead or unconscious

® Dwarf Is particularly affected

® Dock they're standing on collapses

® Door blasted off inwards

◊ "that's a little trick I learned at bard school"

◊ Ppl on the boat have moved away

® Humans and dwarves screaming

◊ 3 left

} We're not killing them just going into the house

} Go to the side entrance

– V small room w all bare necessary fixtures

– Strange safes n intricate bolted locks

– Hanging talismans from the roof

– Nvm went too fast

w Aerana jumps and runs into a wall but you run into a cabinet

w 3 damage

w Human woman looks unconscious

w Adam casts healing word

w Resuscitates her

w Has mismatched eyes, one yellow other dark green

w V gray hair

w Doesn't look particularly old just has gray hair

w Startles when she wakes up trying to assess our intentions

w Adam tries to convince her the thugs outside tried to blow up her door

w 18 for deception

w Lie works

w "who are you people?"

® Theo asks if she knows anything abt this *pulls out paper*

◊ Affirms we're not w the xants

◊ "I appreciate what you did my name's grinda"

◊ Doesn't look used to talking to this many ppl at once

◊ Stands up and busies herself w putting the room back in order

◊ Looks like she had been barricading the door w stuff before everything was knocked over

◊ "you're telling me you just happened across this place and drove off some xants for some odd purpose"

◊ "actually we were looking for you" - theo

◊ Were told she might have smth to do w the paper

◊ "all the homies hate xanathar" - adam, 2020

} "I've had my dealings w the xanathar before…" admits she was in over her head

} Looking at the paper "so this nimblewright was instructed to drop off an artifact I was supposed to hold for the xanathars

} She got greedy bc she's a treasure-seeker

} The artifact is worth a lot

} "it's just what we do lady" - adam, 2020

} Adam is gonna charm her

– Adam tries to flex "what exactly what was the dangerous item that put a poor, poor, well-facially featured woman like you in danger" what is this jacob

w 17 persuasion

– Her expression changes a little

– It's the stone

w "I was attempting to attune with it but I was unable to in time"

w She put it in a hide hole

w Adam offers to trade hidey-hole locations

w She has a rat familiar and instructed it to take the stone to the city of the dead

w "can you tell the rat to bring it back"

• The city of the dead: mass cemetery where ppl of waterdeep bury their dead within city limits

○ Almost like its own ward

○ In the garlock? Garlof? family mausoleum

○ Adam gets her to pull out some of the items she's collected; some resistance

§ She comes back w a brass ring

□ Once one is attuned to it you are rendered invisible

□ "hold on to that for me hun and I'll come back"

○ Aerana is aware there are guards posted at night but it's a vast open space

• To the cemetery we will go

• Summary

○ Successfully dispatched the thugs

○ Gradually learning more abt the alleged horde of dragons

[cinetia]

Loose Ends

--September 24

She waited patiently, leaning back against the metal wall, just barely out of sight and consumed by the shadows that surrounded the place by design. The nearby tram was loud as it sped past, causing wisps of golden tresses to brush against her pale face beneath the cowl that hid her features well. The transport shook the very walls and flooring that made up the area before screeching away back towards Ironforge and barely managed to swallow up the roar of the crowd down below as one fight ended and another began. 

Even from her position at the top of the stairs, those same roars came rushing up from the pub below before echoing all around, giving the idea that it was much busier than it actually was. It was addictive, that crowd, no matter the size. Especially when they were cheering for you. At least, from her experience. 

For once, the woman wasn't there to join in on the gambling, the drinking, or the fights. Patience was not her strong suit, despite her years of training, and the small leather pouch that was in her hand was tossed lightly in the air every now and then, causing the gold coins within to clink against one another. The robed priestess stayed out of the way as a group of patrons made their exit, conversation overheard as they discussed their winnings and comments in the various fighters that had tried their hands at Bizmo's lineup.

"She’s there," came the gruff voice of a Worgen as he made his way out of the pub behind the group, not bothering to stop as he spoke. His massive hand brushed by her own as she slipped him the small pouch she'd been holding, the transition a smooth one. A single job he'd had, and though she'd been hoping for a different outcome, at least he'd been swift with the information. 

Blowing out a calming breath, the young woman made her way down the steps, but was stopped at the bottom by an outstretched arm of one of the bouncers. 

"You're out of place, priestess," came the voice of yet another worgen. 

She smiled as the cowl was pulled back, bright blue eyes looking up at the male. Her quiet voice was almost musical as she spoke. "M-my name is Alana Thorne. I wish only to aid those that have suffered from the arena. My presence has been requested by Bizmo himself, as I understand he is low on healers for his own fighters," she lied smoothly, producing a parchment from within her robes that had the gnome’s official seal, and false proof of request. 

The offered missive was taken and scanned over, the worgen’s glowing amber gaze flicking towards his pandaren counterpart before a nod was given and the parchment handed back. "Straight to the back, corner door. Last door on the right. But be warned, it won't be pretty sight for someone like you" he said with a twisted grin, mocking her. 

The cowl was brought up once more, shadows covering her freckled features. "Th-thank you for the warning, sir." The conversation was kept short, and she navigated her way through the sea of drunken spectators and headed towards a well known area to her, having needed a healing hand every now and then after her own fights.

Down the steps she went, the large door slamming closed behind her with an echo, managing to block out the noise from the majority of  the crowd. She didn't bother to look in the open doorways as she passed, Bizmo's fighters talking amongst themselves or preparing for their next go in the arena. Focused, she was, and when she pulled open yet another door, her gaze scanned over those who were not so fortunate to make it out of the arena unscathed. 

Beds were lined up along the walls, and what she assumed to be two healers were currently tending to the injured. The priestess looked incredibly out of place, easily remembered and recognized given the white and gold flowing robes that covered her fragile and delicate looking form. She looked as if she'd just stepped free form the abbey; youthful and full of hope and joy, ready to bring peace to the world one individual at a time.

The cowl was pulled back, blonde waves falling free to tumble down her back as she scanned over the room. Not finding her query, she moved towards one of the gnomes that was bandaging up a patient. 

"Excuse me. I'm looking for my dear friend, Camila. I was told she was injured in a recent fight, and I've come to offer my assistance." A soft smile appeared as she explained, allowing just the right amount of worry to appear in both voice and features.

The gnome didn't pause in her tending, voice squeaking out in response. "Oh! Ye mean the redhead. Nasty, that one. She's back there in the corner." The gnome glanced up briefly, eyeing the healer. "Make it fast. You're too pretty to be down here," she said with a huff before getting back to work.

She blushed at the comment, pink coloring her freckled cheeks as she looked down at the floor a bit self consciously. "Do you know what happened to her, exactly? Th-they were vague when I was called for."

The gnome shook her head. "Wasn't up there, sweets. Too busy down here. But she looked like rats had gotten to her or somethin'. Cuts all over her face, chest, an' arms. She hasn't spoken since being brought down, been sedating her since she's screaming every time she wakes up." The gnome shook her head, pink pigtails bouncing from the action. "Don't know why some even bother to fight. Got her all bandaged up, but the healing’s been slow since more severe wounds take precedence"

A small nod was given in response, and the woman took a step back. "It is not for everyone, no. Thank you for your help." A slender hand reached out to rest at the gnome’s shoulder. "You do fine work here, and any assistance that she's been given is appreciated." 

Looking up again, the gnome smiled. "Aye, I get paid well enough, can't complain."

A quiet laugh escaped as her hand was pulled back. "I will leave you to your duties." Doing just that, unhurried steps were taken as she made her way towards the back of the makeshift infirmary and found the redhead without issue. She was fast asleep, the majority of her upper body bandaged. 

A saddened sigh escaped as she knelt down beside the cot. To anyone else, it looked as if the priestess was praying for her friend. In truth, she was simply studying the woman's sleeping form, half tempted to gain more information than had been required by her new employer. It was sloppy work, in her opinion. Not only the location in which the event had taken place, but the sheer fact that Camila had been allowed to live. Thrown into the fighting pit while still alive… that led to a loose end, and the Curator refused to allow that to happen since she had been the primary source acting in getting the woman to talk. 

Sloppy work from all involved, as far as she was concerned. Granted, Bizmo was paid well to look the other way, but that didn't mean a spectator wouldn't cause trouble for them later. 

A small vial was removed from the billowing sleeve of her robes, along with a needle. Her actions were well concealed as she stuck the syringe into the vial and tipped it over. Dark green liquid was sucked into the tube, and the vial was tucked away before blue eyes took a careful glance around the room. Not being watched, she acted fast. 

The woman’s arm was taken, bandages pulled back and unraveled until the crook of her arm was revealed. It wasn't her first time doing such a thing, and finding the vein was relatively easy. A quiet tune was hummed by the priestess as she stuck the needle in, and pumped that deathly liquid into her veins, a quiet moan escaping from the redhead. It was a guaranteed killer concoction, one shed used several times in the past as a last resort, often preferring a much more hands on approach. After all, when granting one the gift of eternal silence, it should be a personal touch. this, however, was clean up, and the tying of a loose end. It was rather anticlimactic in the grand scheme of things.

The needle was removed, and tucked away before she got to her feet. Making her way back to the gnome who had moved into another patient, a small smile appeared. 

"Apologies for a second interruption. She's still asleep and I won’t be able to move her. I’ll return in the morning with someone to assist in carrying her out once the crowd has died down a bit more."

"Sure thing, doll," the gnome responded. "She won’t by dying today so I’ll keep an eye on her if she wakes up again." 

"Thank you," she said softly before making her way outside. Through the tunnel, up the steps to join the crowd again, and before the door closed, she heard the muffled shout and the cry of the gnome, knowing that by now, Camila was writhing on her cot, foam and spittle bubbling up past those pale lips and dripping down her face. It would take only moments before she’d lay still and her heart stopped beating.

A few unexpected and unwelcome touches were given to the woman as she slipped away, and she fought from taking hold of one of those hands and breaking their wrists. 

Fucking pigs, she thought to herself. 

Still, she managed to leave without issue, and the reflecting prism that had been used upon entry was tossed away, shattering upon impact as the delicate gem landed against the metal plates that made up the flooring. 

Earlier in the evening, the blue-eyed, blonde-haired priestess named Alana entered the tunnel that connected the city of Stormwind with the tram  that gave one passage to Ironforge. Exiting, however, was the green-eyed, raven-haired Curator. 

With a slow glance towards the darkened sky, Cinetia Manceaux went about her business, hands cleaned of the ordeal, and her gift having been given.

[amandasarmada]

Deleted Scene - Summer’s Cauldron

Summary: This is a deleted scene that takes place immediately after Chapter 15 of Summer’s Cauldron.  (For context, it might be helpful to reread the ending of Chapter 14, but it’s up to you.)  It includes Newt-and-Tina-waking-up-together-for-the-first-time, and other-people-fangirl(/boy)ing-over-newtina-in-universe. it’s pure self-indulgent trash and I LOVE IT

Newt opened his eyes, glancing blearily around his case.  For a moment he wondered if he was still dreaming.

Tina was laying sprawled across his chest, her breathing slowed as she slept soundly.  He remembered dimly conjuring them a second blanket, shortly after Tina had started to snore.  He moved carefully as he draped it back over her shoulders, reluctant to wake her, hoping he might be able to spend a few more moments with her in his arms.  

He got his wish.  Tina barely stirred as Newt cradled her closer, his lips pressed to the side of her temple in a fleeting kiss.  He watched contently as she slept on, his heart warmed.  She looked calmer than usual, he suddenly realized.  The thought was a comfort; he felt a profound sense of pride in his ability to soothe the witch who so often seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders.

It was another moment or two before Tina woke in earnest, and then he was looking down into a pair of bright brown sleep-heavy eyes.

“...Morning,” she murmured, smiling shyly.  

Newt returned her smile with one of his own, stroking the side of her face.  A breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding slipped from between his lips; he could see Tina's eyelashes flutter in response. “Good morning.”

Tina said nothing, shifting on her side as she cuddled further into his chest. Newt's heart gave a swell of joy.  The smell of milk and honey was tracing his nose, leaving him feeling as if he'd just gulped down a cup of his mother's very best tea.

“...It seems we did indeed fall asleep,” Newt added, an edge of trepidation creeping into his voice.  Tina nodded mutely, her face still buried in his neck, and Newt slid an experimental hand over her waist.  Somewhere in the recesses of his mind it had already occurred to him that their current predicament could be considered wildly indecent, and he supposed he ought not push his luck, but there was something difficult to resist in the possibility of beginning their day with kisses and cuddles, and if Tina was truly as unconcerned as she seemed about keeping up appearances...

“It was nice,” she whispered after a moment, pulling back to meet his gaze.  There was something tentatively tender in Tina's expression, and the sight made his eyes prickle.

Before Newt knew what was happening, Tina had leaned back down, claiming his mouth with her own.  The sigh that ripped through him was enough to make his whole body shiver.  Her kiss was sweet and soft and over entirely too soon.

“You should feed your creatures.”

Tina had pulled away, her dark eyes dancing as she grinned down at him.  Newt could only stare, his mind a tangle of thoughts and sensations.  His lips still tingled where she had touched him.

“Come on.”  Tina smirked, giving him a playful shove as she climbed to her feet.  “Get up, you need to get moving if you want us to have time to eat breakfast together.”

The thought was enough to stir him to action.  Tina grinned as she helped him up, her messy hair still standing awry from sleep.  

“Why don't you get started on your rounds,” she suggested smoothly.  “I can get some eggs going for us.”  

Newt's confusion must have registered on his face, for Tina cocked an eyebrow, looking amused and more than a tad rueful.  “...You don't think I can handle scrambled eggs?”

He blushed at hearing the challenge in her voice.  To be fair to himself, despite the many meals they'd shared together, he couldn't actually recall ever seeing her cook - though he supposed it was a bit foolish of him to assume she didn't know how.  

Tina was smirking at him, shaking her head.  “Go on then, I'll meet you upstairs.”  Her eyes twinkled for a moment as she considered him, then she was striding back toward the shed, pausing only to throw him a glance over her shoulder.  “I might not be as good in the kitchen as Queenie, but I'm not going to poison you.”

* * *

As it turned out, he'd underestimated her; his eggs and hash browns that morning were more than satisfactory.  And if their breakfast was a bit plainer than one prepared by Queenie might have been, Newt found himself no less content for it – there was a charm in the simplicity of it all that he quite frankly adored.  Tina had accepted his compliments graciously, and grown downright giggly when Pickett had wiggled his way out Newt's breast pocket to join them at the table.  She'd found a lid from one of her sister's spice jars and fashioned it into a plate for him; the bowtruckle was now chewing happily on a bite of eggs, to Tina's delight.

“Ah.”

Newt had been caught up in the serenity of the scene, quite forgetting himself as he took a sip of the tea Tina had prepared.  When she'd first set it before him that morning, it had been all he could do not to spit it back into the cup, though he managed to keep his expression carefully controlled as he gulped down the concoction. Tina was watching him as he wiped his mouth, his eyes watering.

“Does it taste okay?”

“Yes,” Newt lied, throwing her a grin as he privately vowed to teach her to make a proper brew at the next possible opportunity.  He'd make a game out of it, in fact, request that she show him how to make her silly American coffee exactly the way she liked it, and he'd toss out two gnomes with one throw.

Tina looked unconvinced.  “I'm better at cocoa,” she admitted, a twinge of pink appearing in her cheeks.  Newt merely smiled at her. Tina was looking much more awake after a shower and a cup of coffee, though she still wore her early-morning look; her hair had dried into a mess of soft, fluffy waves, which hung around her tired face like a halo.  Newt had found his gaze returning to her all through breakfast, unable to quite keep himself from appreciating her in this sweetly domestic state.

“...That's odd.”

Newt glanced up at the sound of Tina's voice, raising his eyebrows as he followed her gaze.  Tina was staring vaguely at something over his shoulder, her forehead wrinkling in consternation as she set down her mug.  

“Is something wr-?”

Newt heard it too now, the distinctive rapping on the windowpane.  “Is it the post?”

Tina was already walking toward the window, looking confused.  “But the mail already came, it arrived while you were downstairs.”

Newt turned in his seat, his own curiosity piqued.  The curtains flew open with a flick of Tina's wand, and sure enough, he caught a glimpse of tawny feathers before Tina obscured his view.

“But why...?”  He could hear an edge of concern in Tina's voice.  “You don't think he's hurt, do you?  I don't recognize him.”

Newt had shifted in his seat, his breath letting out in a low chuckle. “No,” he sighed, rubbing his hand across his face.  “No, I reckon it would take nothing short of a herd of thestrals to slow down Argo here...Theseus trained him well,” he explained, flashing Tina a smile.

“He's your brother's?”

Newt nodded.  He was on the verge of climbing to his feet when something caught his eye that had him leaping from his chair.

“BLOODY hell!”

“What-?”

Tina looked alarmed; Newt had knocked over his chair in his haste, crossing the room in a sprint.  He grimaced in response, wresting the window closed as the owl hovered beside his head.  A scarlet-coloured letter was attached to its leg, its edges emitting copious amounts of what he had taken at first to merely be fog.  The smoke was growing thicker by the second; a string of curses fell from Newt's lips as he detached it from its carrier.  Argo gave an indignant hoot as he flew off, before settling upon Tina's cabinet and looking on disapprovingly.

“Newt, what is that?  What's going on?”

Newt shook his head, having no time to explain.  He fumbled for a moment for his wand, dislodging it from its holster and pointing it at the door to the Goldstein flat with a face screwed up in concentration. “Muffliato.”

He'd acted just in time.  The letter gave a shudder as a final set of sparks erupted from its crease, and then it was exploding with a sound like a cannon blast.  Tina shrieked, the sound drowned out by the voice that had just boomed out of the parcel.  She'd leapt backward at the noise, her own wand already raised high in defence.

“NEWTON ARTEMIS FIDO SCAMANDER!”

Newt winced, feeling Pickett scramble deep into his pocket to avoid the excitement.  Tina took a step towards him, looking bewildered, but any words she might have wanted to say were squashed by the ensuing onslaught.

“HOW YOU DARE – I CANNOT BELIEVE...” Theseus's voice drifted off for a moment, as if he was struggling to gather breath, then he powered on, his volume increasing with every syllable.  “THE SHEER AUDACITY OF YOU – HOW YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN JUST DROP SOMETHING LIKE THAT, AND NOT EXPLAIN!”  Theseus's affrontedness was only growing as he got into his stride.  Newt's face turned crimson as understanding sunk in; he found himself suddenly quite unable to meet Tina's gaze.

“ . . . .WHO BOUGHT YOU THOSE DRESSROBES?  THOSE WERE IMPORTED FROM GREECE, YOU SOD, I HAD TO TRADE WORLD CUP TICKETS FOR THOSE, THE STRINGS I PULLED – HOW MANY HOURS DID I SPEND, COACHING YOU AND OFFERING SUGGESTIONS . . . . ”

Newt's eyes were still darting across the floor; he chanced a glance in Tina's direction, finding her gaping at him with hands clamped firmly over her ears.

“What IS that thing?!”

Tina had to shout to be heard over the din; Newt bit his lip, unsure how to respond.  The letter was still smoking, his brother's voice as loud and clear as if he'd been in the room with them.

“. . . . JUST WHERE YOU THINK YOU GET OFF – A POSTSCRIPT, I ASK YOU! - I EXPECT A PROPER LETTER BY THE END OF THE WEEK, YOU CHEEKY BASTARD . . . 'Courting Miss Goldstein'...” Theseus's voice sounded suddenly mocking, as he quoted back Newt's words in a scandalized tone.  “THIS – WEEK – NEWT!  AND SO HELP ME IF YOU TRY TO GIVE ME THE BRUSH OFF AGAIN...I SWEAR TO PARACELSUS – I'LL! WRITE! MUM!”

Newt stared down at the letter in dismay, barely registering it as the parchment erupted into flames.  The room had grown eerily silent, the only noise that of his brother's owl still haughtily ruffling its feathers over in the corner.  “Erm-”

Tina had waited a moment before lowering her hands from her ears, clearly unsure if the bellowing had truly stopped, but now she was staring at him in shock, her brows wrinkled in confusion.  “What was that?”

Newt bit his lip, unable to quite raise his eyes to hers.  “It's...called a Howler,” he finally explained.  He cleared his throat in an effort to rid himself of his hoarseness.  “A – erm – message, from my brother Theseus.”  His blush seemed to have grown three shades darker, and yet it seemed he was finally able to manage a flustered smile in her direction.  “I mentioned, at the end of my last letter, you see, that I'd been - successful in gaining your affections.”  Newt was gazing at the ground now, though he could feel the grin stretched across his face.  He gave a feeble chuckle, chancing another glance upward to meet Tina's pensive expression.  “It seems he's quite eager for more details.”

[pinesconessecrets]

Ice to Meet You

Merry Christmas @ladynightmare12 ! I hope you enjoy the fic!! <: I had a lot of fun with the soulmate AU, since it’s something I’ve always enjoyed. I combined it with the first meetings AU too. Have a great Christmas! <3

****

Wirt had given up on trying to find his soulmate when he was thirteen. He still remembered the conversation that came after he mentioned it to his mom. She had choked on her tea, wheezing until she’d managed to regain control of herself again. Then began the spiel about, “Oh, sweetie. You’ll meet her at some point in your life, don’t give up now!” and Wirt just sighed. Internally, of course. He didn’t want to upset his mom any further. A good bit of everyone in his grade had found their soulmate, leaving Wirt feeling terribly alone. Sara tried to comfort him, except she ran into her soulmate a few months later; it was some guy named Brian. That was a fun day.

He was a little more than relieved to graduate high school, which meant moving away to a college in a different state. A college in Oregon had caught his eye and he applied, half expecting to get denied. But lo and behold, the college actually accepted him and even had a full ride scholarship too.

Greg was against Wirt moving across the country when he broke the news. Wirt reassured him that he would call every day and keep in touch. He wouldn’t be left out just because Wirt didn’t live in the same house anymore.

Wirt enjoyed the trip to Oregon. His parents rented a small u-Haul for the stuff Wirt could take to put in his dorm. He was lucky enough to score a single person room, complete with his own bathroom. He didn’t think he could have managed if he had to share a dorm and a bathroom, much less having to suffer from public bathrooms.

They made the drive out to be like a mini vacation, taking their time since they left a few days early. Wirt’s nerves almost got the best of him a few times, the realization of him living somewhere that wasn’t with his mom and stepdad. Thankfully Greg managed to quickly distract him before he grew too anxious, eerily able to quickly figure out when his nerves were beginning to act up.

With the help of everyone, it didn’t take long before Wirt’s room was set up. He still had a few things to tweak here and there, like moving his desk closer to the window and hanging up his poems on the walls. He didn’t have much time to be particularly picky about how his room was set up with his parents and brother around.

They stayed in town for a few days, exploring the place with Wirt in tow. It definitely was a college town considering the absurd amount of fast food restaurants around. Like seriously, who needed this many fast food places? At least there were a few cafes for Wirt to hang out in. Cafes were pretty sweet places to chill at and they had a great effect on Wirt when it came to writing poetry. He was excited about that.

Tears were shed by his mom and Greg on the day they had to leave. Greg made Wirt promise to call him every day, and that was a rock fact. Wirt lingered in the parking lot for a bit longer than he intended, staring off into space before letting out a long sigh. He hoped he would be able to survive the semester before Christmas break. His next adventure in life had begun, only to bring challenges he had no way to prepare for.

Wirt got to studying diligently when the semester began. The majority of his classes were the core classes every freshman were required to take, including math. Thank god that he only needed to take two semesters of it due to his major in English. Math was one of his most detested classes; it was the worst. Maybe he was being overly dramatic, but Wirt would rather prefer to listen to someone scrape their nails on a chalkboard repeatedly for hours than be stuck in math class for even an hour. The entire point was above him, and the fact that other kids were majoring in math just blew his mind. They were to be feared.

The semester started out slow but picked up steam as the weeks went on. Midterms came and went, letting Wirt breathe a sigh of relief when his passing grades were posted.

He video called Greg before he went out trick or treating on Halloween, both happy and mortified that Greg decided to go as a garden gnome. Their trip to the Unknown was still very present in their minds years after it happened. At least now it was easier to deal with, and they didn’t have to worry about being sent into a fit of panic when winter rolled around anymore. Wirt admitted that Greg wore the outfit far better than he did, earning a protest of “No, you wore it better!” from Greg. They bickered back and forth until their mom told them to knock it out or else Greg wouldn’t be getting any candy that year. That shut Greg up and he hastily told Wirt goodbye and that he’d show him how much candy he got before going to bed.

Wirt found himself growing progressively more stressed as the end of the semester rolled around. His professors shoved study guides down their student’s throats and made it very clear that passing their finals would make or break their grades. Wirt found himself spending more and more time at his favorite cafe. He would have been surprised that he hadn’t drunk all of their tea if he wasn’t so stressed about passing his finals.

A week before finals, the unthinkable happened.

Wirt was on his way to the Jasmine Brew Cafe, lost in thought about his upcoming math final. It was the one he dreaded the most, and rightfully so. Other students in his class struggled as much as he did. The professor didn’t know how to break down the lesson so other kids could understand what he was trying to teach. Wirt barely managed to understand what the heck he was talking about most the time, and he hoped it would be enough.

Of course, the dork was so lost in thought that he wasn’t watching where he was walking. His foot made contact with frozen ice on the sidewalk, causing him to slip and fall down to the pavement. Wirt miraculously held onto his notebooks, laying on his back, winded from his fall.

Someone with unruly brown hair peered down at him with a look of mild concern. Wirt wished he could turn invisible because he knew that everyone around him saw what just happened.

“Hi there. It’s ice to meet you finally.” The other boy paused, before continuing. “I hope that’s not weird? I’ve seen you around campus before and I noticed you were always alone and I was going to say hi but I always got distracted and oh my god I’m sorry I’m kinda rambling. I tend to do that a lot and my sister always punches me and yep I’m gonna shut up now.”

Wirt’s wrist burned. That was what his stupid soulmate mark said. ‘Hi there, it’s ice to meet you finally.’

He wanted to say something witty back, but all that could come out of his mouth was, “Was that a motherfucking pun?” He rarely cussed, but dangit he was sleep deprived and angry that he was stupid enough to fall and slip on ice.

The other boy blanched, his extended hand frozen in shock. Wirt shuffled to his feet, clutching his notebooks to his chest. An awkward silence enveloped the two, only to be broken by the other boy.

“Do you want to go somewhere warm? Get some coffee or something?”

Wirt broke free of his surprise. “Uh, um, sure. I was heading to the Jasmine Brew Cafe to get some studying done. It’s right up the street here.”

“Cool. I’ve only been there once or twice, so lead the way.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, looking at Wirt expectantly.

“Right.” Wirt turned on his heels and began walking to the cafe, fidgeting with the spiral of a notebook. He knew that he was probably acting slightly like a jerk. Okay, a lot like a jerk. He had spent the majority of his teenage years resenting the idea of soulmates, knowing he’d never find his and that he’d live the rest of his life alone. But look what happened. He ran into his soulmate.

The rush of warm air made Wirt feel grateful for heating, heading to his usual spot by the wall. He sat with his back to the wall, and a large window to his left. Being able to look out into the street helped declutter his mind.

He almost relaxed, until the other boy - his soulmate - slid into the chair across from him. He looked as nervous as Wirt was.

“I’m Dipper, by the way. I don’t think I introduced myself yet.”

“Wirt. It’s um, nice to meet you, I guess,” he mumbled, his awkwardness hitting him like a fricking train. Now that the fact that yep, him finding his soulmate was a thing, was starting to sink in, a feeling of panic also begun to set in too.

“Hey, are you okay? You look like you’re freaking out there a little. I mean, I’m kinda freaking out too, but that’s because I’m super pumped to have finally run into my soulmate.” Dipper looked giddy almost.

Wirt chewed on a nail. “Y-yeah, I’m okay. It’s just… I gave up on finding my soulmate years ago, so I never thought I would actually run into them. I hope you don’t think I’m a jerk or anything because oh my god I feel so bad for being cold to you.”

When Dipper was silent, Wirt looked up to find him holding back a snicker. With the biggest shit eating grin, Dipper replied, “Was that a motherfucking pun?”

“Oh my god.” Wirt groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “Do not use my own words against me.”

“Kinda hard to considering they’re right here.” Dipper rolled his sleeve back, revealing the words scrawled across his arm. God, they were even in Wirt’s own handwriting. How crazy was that?

Wirt reached out to touch the words on Dipper’s arm, stopping short once he realized what he was about to do. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know it’s a lot to take in. But I don’t mind if you wanna take a closer look at them.” His voice was quiet.

Figuring that he may as well roll with the punches, Wirt pulled his own sleeve back, exposing Dipper’s godawful pun written on the inside of his forearm. Dipper didn’t hesitate before running his fingers over Wirt’s pale skin, tracing the scratchy letters of his own handwriting. It looked different from his own, his letters rushed and hurried versus the flowing loops of Wirt’s.

Wirt finally caved and traced the words on Dipper’s arm. The two dorks sat in silence, no words needing to be exchanged as they let the importance of the day truly sink in.

The corners of Dipper’s mouth quirked up in a grin after a while. “So, did you wanna get a coffee and chat? And maybe tell me how you’ve bean all these years.”

Wirt had a feeling the puns weren’t ever going to stop.

[alittlepieceofwarcraft]

A Meeting of Minds: Part II

Of course, the Prophet had been beside himself with worry. They’d missed the evening meal and it was reaching close to midnight. He’d been moments away from sending a search party out into the darkness when all five stumbled in, each out of breath from rushing to his quarters in the Exodar. They rambled at first, until sat down with a cool glass of water, each being encouraged to calm down and collect themselves. They spoke of a new friendly race with strange face markings and big, pointed ears to which Velen seemed apprehensive about –  until they mentioned the orcs. They knew the orcs? The orcs were here, in this land? How could this be?

 Another expedition was formed and sent out, just two days after the first encounter. Kali was instructed to extend a formal invitation to the kaldorei to come to the Exodar wherein O’ros would be able to decipher their words with more ease that the previous party had. In an act of good faith, they brought with them baskets of gifts: gorgeous gems of warm amber, glistening emerald and a vibrant violet were set in a shining silver to create necklaces and rings to adorn their new friends. Silken robes dyed in hues of blood red, bright turquoise and glorious jade had been specially tailored just for them. Roasted meat was wrapped in cotton, heaped on top of a grand serving of root vegetables the draenei had discovered. Recalling the child she’d interacted with, Kali ensured that a large box was filled with soft plush elekks for their younglings to appreciate. The extravagant display was welcomed on behalf on the kaldorei by a group of unaware scouts, one of which was the pink skinned one from before. Recognising Kali, she’d flagged down the boat with an exaggerated wave, a pearly beaming smile spread across her face. Kali returned the grin as she docked and unloaded the piles of presents, pointing at them and then to the kaldorei, trying to say, “these are for you”. After the pleasantries had been clumsily given and received through a lengthy translation process of waving hands and pointing, she managed to indicate that she wanted the pink one to come back with them by beckoning.

“You may bring your friends, and more if you wish,” Kali had tried to suggest, flapping her arms around to attempt to make the invitation clear. Nodding at the vegetables, miming eating, waving her hands a little more before saluting, she wanted to say, “please come and dine with us and speak to our leader.” She dropped her sword to the ground, making a cross with her arms over her chest, “No weapons, you will be safe.” The pink one had paused after each charade, nodding in understanding most sentiments, but not others. After a short while, the kaldorei grasped the concept. She bowed, nodded at the boat, pointed towards her companions, then lifted a hand to present a single finger upwards before gesturing at the sun.

“Thank you for the gifts,” Kali gathered from her motions, “we will come with others, but in one day.”

 And so, it was. True to their word, they arrived at midday sharp. A group of kaldorei strung up their boat upon the shores of the draenei-claimed isle and gifted their own tributes to in return. Blocks of wood had been elegantly carved; chipped into intricate depictions of woodland creatures or twirling patterns. Wind mobiles fashioned from twigs were bound in twine, marble-like shells from the beach clinked against smoothed crystal when hung up. They too brought food and drink: sweet, rich wine that the draenei had greatly craved was shipped in by the barrel. But by far the greatest present were a small pack of giant saddled cats, beasts of which none of the draenei had never seen before. White coats were almost cut through with slashes of black markings, eyes glowing a ghostly grey. At least a dozen had been brought over the narrow sea to be handed to the draenei. They’d been unsure if they had mounts and the forest could be thick with enemies, the kaldorei later explained, these cats would be a much safer getaway should a hunting group encounter the wrong enemy. Although they bore no weapons, the two dozen kaldorei were armoured an indigo plating, almost blending in with those who were of a purple shade, feathered paldrons shielding their broad shoulders. Velen himself was there as they docked, giving a deep bow to the small army of kaldorei that had accepted his invite to their now-home.

“Greetings to the kaldorei,” he announced from the front of the draenei gathering as he tried to wrap his tongue around the softer kaldorei dialect, using as many words from their language as he could remember from the recitation of phrases the original scouting party had relayed to him. He opted to replace words he did not know with draenei and using hand gestures to convey the meaning, “I am Velen and I lead these draenei. I am most glad that you accepted the invite, and that you were pleased enough with our humble gifts that you brought your own. It was most kind.” One stepped forward, smiling warmly. Her hair was a blue shade, azure even, contrasting brightly against Velen’s own alabaster hue.

“I am Shandris Feathermoon,” she replied, giving a slight nod of the head to Velen, “I lead the kaldorei Sentinels. We were happy to return the favour and see the place you call home.” Velen pressed his lips together puzzled, unsure of what exactly she represented. “Sentinel” was not a word he knew of, but O’ros would grant clarity once they had reached his chamber. He stretched an arm out toward the direction of the Exodar.

“The vessel that is now our city lays just beyond. Please, we will lead you there.”

 All formed an orderly line when it was time to enter the Exodar that rested to the other side of the isle, all gave small gasps of amazement to the alien architecture none of their kind had ever beheld before. The walls almost hummed with a foreign energy, nearly sang with a sense of fractured peace from centuries of travel. They were fascinated by the tall ceilings that paralleled their own stooped roofs, the smell of sweet and spicy draenic seasonings wafting out of nearby bubbling pots, so different to the warm vegetable brews and slow roasted meats of kaldorei meals. Perhaps the most intriguing sensation was being able to witness a bright being of glimmering navy: a collection of geometric shapes floating up from the ground, echoing a gentle buzz around the small hall in which it dwelled. O’ros’ blessing reached around every member of both parties, almost whispering within their minds to unite their thoughts and bridge the linguistic divide between them. Through his power, the draenei and kaldorei managed to speak freely without restrictions, shedding light by further explaining past conversations that had previously spoken in a string of broken words and simple scribbles in the dirt, and learning much more about both sides.

The draenei discovered many things. The kaldorei were a race of elves, specifically night elves, and at least one other race – known as high elves – lived across on another continent. Ah yes, another continent, two more even, existed on the world of Azeroth: this one was Kalimdor, across the sea lay the Eastern Kingdoms, concluding with an icy domain known as Northrend.

Noon turned to evening, too quickly for either party to realise and would have happy chatted on for hours more if the draenei cooks hadn’t notified them that the banquet was ready. A lavish feast was prepared for the guests: smoked deer meat and slow roasted tender boar dripped with peppery gravy; steamed root vegetables of fluffy potatoes, juicy leeks and sweet turnips, all accompanied by the aged vintage of the night elves poured into silver goblets. The grand meal was laid out on a long dining table almost reaching one end of the city’s main auditorium to the other to host the honoured guests as well as those chosen to entertain them. Velen ensured that Shandris would be seated at the head and decided to seat himself to her left, concluding that conversation between representatives would be easier there rather than having to raise voices from one end to another. Velen had wanted to sit down properly to discuss other races of the land. A topic he both was mightily interested in, but also heavily concerned about. Past traumas kept him off the subject until his plate was nearly emptying. Unable to put it off for much longer, he asked her.

 “Clearly, you night elves are a successful and thriving people,” he said, reaching out to a goblet and taking a sip of wine, “and you mentioned your Quel’dorei cousins.” He prayed that he’d pronounced it efficiently through his thick draeneic accent. “Do you know of other races that live in these lands?” Kalimdor’s natives would be a much more efficient starting point before brancing out into the Eastern Kingdoms. Shandris chewed on the last slice of meat upon her plate, slowly to savour the flavour. After swallowing, she gave a small smile.

 She gave a briefing Velen on those who shared their continent. The Tauren, from how she described them, sounded to be quite the gentle giants: some standing at ten feet tall, horns curving out from their skulls and fine fur coating their bodies. Shandris spoke of a long war thousands of years ago in which the Tauren aided the elves in against terrifying foes, as well as one of the beasts later going on to be tutored in the ways of the druid by a prominent leader of their people. She noted a civil passiveness between the two races, until an orc had overthrown the tyranny of his captors and rallied the bovine-like beings into a horde of sorts. Velen winced at the mention of an orc but let her continue verbally depicting the other races across the world. Gnomes, funny little creatures, were a stark contrast to the towering Tauren; most growing to a mere three foot. However, they appeared to have a large interest in tinkering and inventions. Goblins appeared to be an unsavoury counterpart, standing a little taller but baring smaller pointed ears, their skin an olive hue. The Prophet listened politely, occasionally pressing a detail he thought he’d missed, asking a question about the culture of the people in question. From this, he noted that innovative dwarves possessed a mountain city housing a vast forge to satisfy their smelting and blacksmithing interests. Rumours of wolf-man monsters had travelled across from the east, but yet not confirmed.

“What is a man?” Velen enquired, reeling from the extensive life Azeroth offered in wonder.

“Human,” Shandris extended, and pondered for a moment. “I suppose they are much like us night elves. A little shorter, and they have strange tiny ears and eyes. They rallied many races together into what they call “The Alliance”: the humans, the dwarves, the gnomes and more recently my people. To fight the new Horde.”

“New Horde?” Shandris nodded. The general went on to explain the events of three wars Azeroth endured: the invasion of the orcs, destruction of the human capital, the end to the Dark Portal. Names Velen knew of were spoken: Blackhand, Durotan, Orgrim, Gul’dan. All had met their ends in this new world, their blinded followers only managing to find clarity within the internment camps of the humans. Her accounts were hazy, the information second-hand to her, however her recall became much clearer towards recanting the Third.

“My own people assisted the orcs and humans during a conflict that did not involve the Horde and Alliance. The dead rose, and our world tree was sacrificed for the sake of the mortal races.” Velen’s face froze in puzzlement.

“The dead rose? How can this be?”

“They call themselves the Burning Legion: an unending army of demons. Meddling in foul forces, draining life and giving life back to the dead to create mindless puppets. The right hand of their vile leader tried to use the magics of my people to gain great power. The Defiler Archimonde was ended by our shan’do… oddly enough, he and some other demons appear to be a far more crimson version of your own people, with bigger horns and fiery eyes now that I come to think of it.” Velen’s face did not move upon hearing the name, nor did it upon her epiphany of the eredar and draenei’s similar appearances. Wearily, he merely lay back in his chair, giving a sad smile, his eyes’ twinkle fading a little.

“You have told me much of your past, Sentinel,” he inclined his head at her, “perhaps it is time that you hear of ours. Our tales are more intertwined that one may expect.”

Concludes with A Meeting of Minds: Part III.

[ashcraftia-blog]

“I’ll keep you warm.”

The rain was coming down hard overhead, and mist was rolling in from the sea. The night had set in quickly amid the downpour, and brought with it a fearsome chill that would have left even a dwarf from Dun Morogh bristling at his whiskers a little. On a night like this Sibyl should have been in... several different places. She could have been in manor, reading the boys tales from their big books of fables as they drifted off to sleep. She could have been in her own quarters, nestling into her quilts and dozing off to the sounds of the other gossiping servants. On a good night maybe she'd have been swept into someone else's bed after a night out on the town.

But tonight she had none of those comforts. Tonight she was just trying to survive. Tonight crazed monsters roamed the land, some of fur and fang and others of unholy and blighted flesh. Hours ago she had been sent scurrying from her last hiding place near the Reach when a band of those feral brutes came rushing through, ransacking the abandoned homes in their search for prey. Sibyl still wasn't sure how she'd managed to sneak out without them taking notice. Perhaps it was just a lucky turn for once in this whole sordid affair.

Still, if it had been lucky then, she surely wasn't feeling it now. She'd found an old shed while fleeing through the woods. It was part of what looked like an old hunting lodge out here among the forested thickets- remote, abandoned, and a roof overhead. She'd picked the lock, got inside, and started a meager fire to warm herself as soon as she was sure she wasn't being tracked. That first moment feeling the heat rush through her body, the hot ash coating her hands as she set her kindling alight... it was rapturous, after being soaked to the bone in the freezing rain. But it wasn't enough. Not for lack of ability of course- Light, if she were able she'd have lit all of the old clutter in here up in an instant. She'd have set the whole damned shed on fire if it meant being warm. But... too much light would draw attention.

So she stood there, shivering, shaking, her teeth chattering as she tried to gather what warmth she could from her fledgling flame.

And then, out amid the rattling rain came a sound. Snapping twigs. A snarl. It was one of the beastmen. Sibyl's blood ran about as cold as her soaked skin, and her eyes winced shut. With a regretful sigh she ashed out the fire, a plume of warm soot washing out through the shed... before settling and being replaced with the oppressive cold once again.

She heard it coming closer. It was moving slowly. Searching for something? For her?

A knock.

She waited. The sound came from the lodge nearby. She'd tried to get inside herself earlier, but it was too sturdy a lock for her half-baked skills. Now there was a worgen scratching at the door to it. Perhaps it was for the best that she hadn't ended up in there after all.

More knocking. Then more scratching.

Sibyl closed her eyes and sunk down. She tried to make herself as small as she could manage. If she was lucky the beast would be on its way soon enough.

The minutes ticked by. The knocking subsided after a while, but he was still there. Still pacing around. So she kept waiting. Eventually she felt herself on the verge of sleep, somehow.

She woke to the thrum of the driving rain, the biting cold of the night... and a whimper. Cautiously she crept along to the edge of the shed and eased it open, peering out into the darkened wood around her as the pitiful noise carried on. The worgen was still there, curled up against the door to the lodge and shaking like a leaf. She could see it pawing idly at the door, its sharpened claws raking against the hardy wood.

She had to have been standing there for a good ten or fifteen minutes- partly processing what she was seeing, and partly... well. Deciding what it was that she'd even do about it. None of these things had shown any sense of reason so far. They'd just came barreling at her, claw and fang ready to tear her to shreds. But then... This one was all alone. And even if it was frightening, it looked pitiful.

Her lips curled into a grim frown. She set a hand on the pistol holstered at her hip. She stepped out into the rain with a shivering gait- this time not just from the cold- and began to approach. As the shed door creaked open she could see the lupine beast dart up. Its glowing eyes narrowed at her, and she could tell it was poised to break into a sprint. She gripped the hilt of her pistol a little harder and slowed her steps, her shaking lips fumbling open to speak up.

"'...Allo. Please don', uh. Get angry or nuffin'. I ain' gonna hurt'cha." she assures him- though to her that much was obvious. If anyone was in danger here it was her. "Y'look a bit miserable out 'ere. ...Y'cold?"

The worgen stared her down. Its eyes were tracking her every move. But... it didn't charge her or bare its fangs. Did it understand her? She knew... what they were, more or less. She had seen the tattered clothing clinging to the bodies of some of the other ones, but she'd long given up on there being any person left inside the things.

"Well. I am too. Rain's soaked me t'tha bone." she continued, her teeth chewing anxiously along her lower lip. She came to a halt just short of the lodge's porch, still a few fair paces from the furred creature. So far it had yet to act. So... she kept on. Her fingers, cold and numbing though they were, flexed carefully as sparks of fire flickered over them. She felt the heat washing down from her hand as a fighting flicker of flame began to lap up through her digits, growing upon her palm and beginning to drift out, until the porch was illuminated in that comforting glow.

The worgen began stalking its way towards her, rushing quickly down half of the porch, hurrying towards that fount of warmth. Sibyl immediately shrank back, her arms raised defensively as she saw the creature's scarred, bestial visage closing in. But, as she drew back, it stopped. It waited. As her guard lowered it pressed itself up onto its legs, its hulking frame padding closer with a much calmer, slower gait.

"Sorry. Spooked me a bit." the gnome mutters back. She holds her glowing hand out as the worgen draws to the edge of the porch. She's half expecting to get it bitten off. But instead the cursed man hunkers down near it, letting out a throaty growl of approval as the warming rays run over its damp, dirty coat. "Y'can't... talk, can ya?"

It glances up at her briefly, then dips its head back down, sunning itself in the glow of the gnome's fire. That seemed like a no.

"Figured not. Would make fings too easy. I'm gonna come up under here too. Outta the rain. Keep calm for me, arright?"

She walked along to the stairs, trying to ignore the lurking form trailing behind her. With a sigh of relief she stepped up into the shelter of the lodge's awning, quickly seeking out one of the braziers beneath it. With a flourish of her hands she lit the remaining kindling within aflame, stoking the fire with her magic until a cloud of ash began to rise out from her hands, and the blaze had crackled into a hearty, roaring hearth before her.

The worgen watched, distancing itself as the gnome displayed her magic and sent the flames into a frenzy. Sibyl's eyes drew towards him as she left the fire to burn, and despite a nagging voice in the back of her head she ushered him nearer. "Nah. S'fine, see? Nice an' toasty." she assures him, holding her hands out over the blaze, even managing a genuine smile as she felt the heat crawling through her chilled body. "...Y'look all, um. Big. A-an' ferocious an' such. Y'just stand here an' keep lookin' that way."

She nods as he takes a cautious few steps closer to the fire. She has a hard time reading what's going on behind those glowing, alien eyes. They frightened her just to look at them... but she thought, fleetingly, that she saw something akin to relief in them. "We'll make a deal'a it, yeah? Y'keep me safe," she starts, gesturing out into the dark forest around them. "An' I'll keep ya warm."

The worgen hunkered down next to the fire, his fur bristling as his tight, tense form sagged and relaxed before the fire. With a shaky sigh Sibyl felt the tension in her body fading too. "Deal it is, then."

[masked-fox-creations]

When the Strangers Blew In, Ch. 23, The Finale

This is it.

Summary: Stanford and Stanley Pines dream of a different life. One where they’re not just tidying their pa’s shop or helping ma take care of the baby. Where they can live freely as the men they know they are, instead of pa hounding them to marry before they become spinsters. They get a taste of that possibility when two strangers blow into town, but with them comes a heap of trouble.

Pairings: Rick/Stan (stanchez); Fiddleford/Stanford (fiddauthor)

Warnings for this chapter: Preparing for an execution, fighting, a not too graphic gun injury, lots of guns waving around, some general misgendering and dead naming as par for the course. 

ao3 link

Chapter 23- I know I'll Hear You Singing Underneath Those Lonely Stars

Rick and Fiddleford watched their partners being drug away helplessly, a sinking feeling growing inside them that said this was the last they’d ever see of the twins.

As they disappeared out of sight, their yells of protest fading with them, Filbrick ordered the pair to keep moving. Exhausted and verging on delirious they didn’t struggle as the other men led them through the sleeping town. They ended in a part of Gravity Falls neither were familiar with. Filbrick dismounted and motioned with his gun for them to go into a little shed. Rick thought about spitting on the bastard as they passed him, but they hadn’t had water in nearly twenty-four hours. It was very cramped inside, even more so when the door slammed behind them and the sound of a padlock clicked into place.

It was dark, save for a few holes in the walls and roof. It afforded them little illumination. They stumbled about in the darkness. Besides the floor there was a small bench to sit on, which Rick found by banging his knee on it. They both could just barely fit on it if they pressed together.

“Fuck,” Rick said hoarsely, letting his head thud back against the hard wood.

“There was no moon.”

Rick glanced at Fiddleford, though he could hardly see the other man.

“Nope,” he replied, resting his head against Fiddleford. It was the only comfort he could offer with his hands bound behind him.

“We’re going to die, Rick.”

“Probably.” Fiddleford let out a deep sigh. “At least the boys are alive. They’ll find another way to escape this place again, I’m sure of it.” “They’re pretty resourceful,” Rick agreed. “You should get some sleep, Fidds.”

He snorted. “Why waste the last few hours of my life?”

“Wh-who knows, maybe we’ll figure out way out of this. We’ve done it before.”

“You’re right,” Fiddleford replied with a forced optimism. “We better save our strength for our moment of sudden brilliance.”

They didn’t get any sleep.

——

It was nearing sunrise. Slivers of pink light streamed in through the cracks of the shed. Rick had never hated the sun more.

Beside him Fiddleford’s head was bowed, eyes tightly clenched as though trying to shut out their predicament. Rick knew what this was, even if Fiddleford’s hands weren’t in the usual position. For a moment Rick simply watched his partner pray.

He believed once, when he was a kid. Rick wished he could feel that sort of faith again but he was just too tired.

When the silence threatened to destroy the last of his nerves Rick finally asked, “Praying for your eternal soul?”

Fiddleford shook his head. With a heavy sigh he admitted, “I’m prayin’ fer th’ boys. I’m afraid what’ll happen to ‘em after we…after we’re gone.”

“Nothing good,” Rick mused.

The pair fell silent. Slowly Rick’s hands balled, ragged nails digging into his flesh; he desperately wanted to punch something until his fists went numb.

“I-I-I should have realized what kind of man Filbrick was the second I laid eyes on the bastard. I’ve seen enough of his kind.”

“Ya can’t beat yourself up over that, Rick. Just because you didn’t have a good mother doesn’t mean you have some sixth sense for awful parents.” If he wasn’t tied up he’d have put a comforting hand on his partner. Instead Fiddleford leaned over and pressed his forehead against Rick’s shoulder. “I wish we had known just how awful a man he is, too, but I don’t blame you or me for not realizing it. Just like I don’t blame the boys for not telling us.”

Rick sighed and unfurled his hands. Regret was useless now, anyway.

The shed door was thrown open and their heads snapped up. The figure was bathed in shadows, but as it loomed over them the pair knew who it was: their executioner.

“Get up,” Filbrick growled.

“Or what? Y-you’ll shoot us?”

Pain erupted across Rick’s face as Filbrick backhanded him. Then he was being pulled to his unsteady feet. He teetered dangerously, but the other man had a strong hold on the front of his shirt.

Fiddleford stood without any prompting, and they were marched out of the tiny shed. The sunrise assaulted their sensitive eyes. They weren’t allotted the chance to adjust. Shoved forward, the pair stumbled a bit but managed to stay upright. They trudged forward, led by the sheriff.

Instead of a procession of silence, they were forced to listen to inane chatter as Bud and Preston discussed first the exceptionally pleasant weather, then wedding plans.

“A double wedding, of course. I’m sure that would delight the girls.”

“Indeed. I’ve already marked several dresses for Leah to choose from.”

“Ah, so have I. There’s one in particular I know would look strapping on Leanne.”

“The one with a blue ribbon on the back of the bustle, and embroidered flowers down the skirt?” Bud hummed in confirmation. “I was leaning towards that one, as well. They would look splendid in it.”

Rick and Fiddleford shared a look of pure disgust.

“I can't wait to die so I don’t have to listen to this anymore.”

“This hogspittle is either meant to torture us, or the real means of execution.”

That earned both of them a butt of a pistol slammed into their backs, causing them to lurch forward and cry out in pain.

Finally they reached a familiar part of town. The dance platform was set up and suddenly they were back on the last pleasant time they’d had in Gravity Falls. Not just pleasant, spectacular.

Until the bastards beside them had ruined it.

Standing like a mockery to that day, a beam with two nooses hanging from it was attached to the platform.

Powers went up first. When Rick and Fiddleford faltered Filbrick pushed them forward none too gently. They walked up the steps with heavy feet, unable to do anything but let themselves be led to the rope. They stood there staring out at the waking town, and at the simple tools that would end them.

“Rick?”

“Fiddleford?”

“I don’t want to die.” Rick shrugged with a forced nonchalance. Fiddleford tore his eyes from the waiting rope and gazed at his partner. “I love you, Rick, and I’m so glad you came into my life.”

“Yeah, same here.” In a few minutes nothing would ever matter to them again, because they would be nothing but dangling corpses. Rick turned and met his partner’s glistening eyes. “I-I love you too, Fidds, and I love Stanley.”

“And I love Stanford.”

“Hell, there are worst things to die for, right?” Rick flashed him a grin. “In the end we win, because we got what they want and will never have.”

Fiddleford let out a surprised laugh.

“That’s one small comfort, at least. Another is that they’re safe, and I know they’ll take care of each other.”

“Yeah,” Rick agreed, facing forward once again. He gazed past the taunting rope, out into the distant forest. “Ah-ah, at least they’re not alone.”

——

Back in their preferred clothing, Stanley and Stanford looked around the clearing they were waiting in. So far it was a clear skied, beautiful morning.

It was almost like a dream. The twins tried not to think too hard about what they were about to do—overthinking might break their illusion of hope. What if it really was a dream and they woke back up alone together in that cell, morning sun streaming in to mock them?

But ma was there, shotgun loaded and ready with a confident grin on her beautiful face.

“You look worried, boys.”

“Well, we are about to enact a risky, chaotic plan that is the last hope to save our partners from certain death,” Stanford pointed out, adjusting his glasses.

“Sounds like fun to me,” Carla quipped, coming up behind the twins and throwing her arms around them.

“A helluva way to say goodbye to Gravity Falls,” Stanley agreed.

Suddenly Susan burst into the clearing, Shmebulock on her shoulder. As she tried to catch her breath the gnome chattered rapidly.

“Whoa, slow down, buddy. Where were they headin’?” Stanley asked.

“Shmebulock!”

“We saw the nooses being set up earlier in the middle of town,” Susan added. “We don’t have much time.”

“Then let’s get this rescue started,” Martha said, twinkle in her eye.

The others nodded.

“Susie, you and Shmebulock go get the rest of the gnomes,” Stanley instructed. “Carla, ma, you go on ahead and make sure Rick and Fidds don’t meet their end yet. We’ll be there soon.”

“With Stanley’s history this shouldn’t take us long.”

“Laugh it up, Stanford, but this time you’re gonna enjoy me setting something on fire.”

Stanford hummed in agreement as the twins mounted their horses. With a quick goodbye the group went their separate ways, Stanford and Stanley heading towards the Sprott barn. It was deserted, no doubt everyone attending the hanging.

As Stanford set all the animals loose, Stanley ran into the barn. He grabbed the lamp hanging by the doors and lit it with matches Carla had given him earlier. Then he slammed it down beside the large pile of hay in the back. The glass shattered, and almost instantly it was set ablaze. Stanley hightailed it out of there, hungry flames licking at his heels.

He let out a jovial laugh as he raced by his twin, grabbing Stanford’s arm and running together to their horses. Stanford matched his laughter and they rode out towards the others, and their men.

——

The nooses danced somberly in the wind. There was a crowd gathered now, but Rick’s mind was too far away to hear what they might be saying. Condemning them or demanding their release it didn’t matter; no one could change their fate. Rick felt like his soul had already left his body.

Powers slipped the rope around their necks, Filbrick’s stony glare never leaving them. While Fiddleford didn’t meet his gaze Rick cast a quick, hate-filled glance. He couldn’t bare to look at him too long, however.

“As men, even criminals like you have the right to last words,” Powers announced.

“H-h-how noble.”

“I could think of a whole speech on how unjust this whole business is,” Fiddleford told him, holding his chin high even as it quivered, “but why waste my breath.”

Rick admired his partner’s bravado, futile as it was. It gave him his own spark of defiance, and he spat at Filbrick. Mouth still dry, however, it didn’t fly far enough to reach the stoic man.

There was a sudden commotion in the crowd, drawing the sheriff’s attention. Smoke spiraled high in the distance and the farmer that had stopped the group on their way into town started hollering about his farm.

“All available men with me to Sprott’s farm,” Powers instructed, voice booming over the noise.

He left their side, but as Powers moved past Filbrick the other man gripped his arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Filbrick, there is a fire. I have a duty to stop it before it spreads.”

“You have a duty to finally rid me of these vagrants before they manage to do any more harm.”

Powers narrowed his eyes, and for a moment neither looked away. FIlbrick won out soon enough, Powers’ shoulders drooping defeatedly.

“Sprott!” he called out, not tearing his eyes from Filbrick. “Grab my deputy. We’ll be along soon enough.”

He ripped out of Filbrick’s hold and stomped back over to the condemned men.

“Last words,” he ground out.

Rick and Fiddleford hardly dared to believe the budding hope washing over them. Maybe it was a coincidence, and a part of them thought back to the terrible fire that had ruined their lives once before—what if this time it was the twins burning alive?

Then something caught their eyes, a familiar movement of tiny figures, and the pair grinned.

Rick turned to the bastards responsible for the nooses hanging around their necks and told them, “L-l-lick my balls, motherfuckers!”

——

The twins galloped over to their ma and friends. Both Jeff and Shmebulock were there, as well. After dismounting they handed the reigns over to Susan then crouched down behind the barrels. They were a safe distance from the gallows while still keeping it—and their partners—in view.

Men came running by and everyone ducked, but they went unnoticed. The group were headed in the direction of the fire.

“Well, now or never, boys,” ma said.

The twins nodded and looked down at Jeff.

“Go make yourself useful for once,” Stanley told him.

“Anything for the women of my heart!” Jeff whistled, and the rest of the gnomes scurried out of their hiding places towards the gallows. He turned to them hopefully. “How about one little kiss for luck?”

Ma scruffed the gnome and tossed him as far as she could. Shmebulock scampered after him.

There was chaos. The gnomes swarmed over the crowd, making their way to the stage. Several latched onto Preston and Bud. The pair screamed and flailed about; Bud stepped back, foot going off the side of the platform. He grabbed onto his partner, but instead of steadying himself all he managed to do was pull them both over the edge.

A few more gnomes jumped at the sheriff and Filbrick. The latter had drawn his gun, but one of the creatures grabbed his hand and bit down. Filbrick’s pained shout was just the cue they had been waiting for.

“Alright, ma, we’ll see you later,” Stanley said as the twins prepared to jump into the fray. They paused at her next words, however.

“No you won’t. Not if you succeed.”

It suddenly struck them how right she was. They turned to her like lost children.

“We ain’t got time for goodbyes, boys,” she told them, and they swore her eyes were moist. She pecked them both on the forehead. “I’ll always love you.”

“Ma…”

“We love you, too,” Stanford said.

“Oh, no reason to take on like so!” Carla spoke up. “What? You think once you escape with your men things won’t change around here? Hell, maybe I’ll be the new sheriff.”

“Now that I would love to see,” Stanford laughed.

“Alright, we’ll see you later. I mean it.”

Stanley flashed them a grin and then the twins were off.

Rick and Fiddleford were beaming by the time they reached the platform. Hopping up Stanford whipped out his nicked knife and started slicing away at Fiddleford’s bound hands as Stanley removed the nooses. Filbrick and Powers were occupied with the gnomes, leaving no resistance in their path.

“Miss us?” Stanley teased, winking at the tousled pair.

“Y-you have no idea, babe.”

“I’m so relived you two are alright—and that you came for us. I will say you cut it a little close, fellas.”

“Well sorry, but we had to break out of jail, start a fire, and get Jeff’s gang to help us out.”

“Always good to keep yourselves busy,” Fiddleford joked, trying to cane his head back far enough to see Stanford’s progress. “Darlin’, not to rush you, but maybe—”

“Hurry up already!” Rick snapped.

“This rope is extremely thick and this knife is rather dull so you’ll just have to be patient.”

“Patient!” Rick and Fiddleford exclaimed in unison.

“Right, of course, no rush. Jut take your time!”

“We really should have thought about getting another knife,” Stanley mused.

“Yes, well, we can keep that in mind for the next rescue attempt.”

“I kinda hope we don’t have ta do this again.”

Stanford snorted. “With the way these two get into trouble—and the way we get into trouble—I don’t think this will be the last time.”

The other three conceded his point.

Suddenly Powers approached them, no longer covered in gnomes. His mouth was a thin, angry line. Thankfully he seemed unarmed.

“Girls, stop what you’re doing. I swear no matter what your father says, if you continue aiding these criminals you will be held accountable. The state will not spare you just because you're women.”

Stanford sliced furiously at the last strands of Fiddleford’s binding.

“You take one more step towards my brother or our partners and you’ll taste my fist, lawman,” Stanley warned, cracking his knuckles.

Powers took another step, reaching out towards Stanford, and Stanley flew at him. Fist collided with jaw and the two went tumbling to the platform ground. Stanley was running on adrenaline and desperation; it was a good thing the sheriff was tired from their trek back to town and his scuffle with the gnomes.

They struggled against each other. Stanley remained on top, straddling the sheriff but barely keeping hold of his arms.

Stanford quickly scanned the crowd as he moved onto Rick’s binding. He spotted Shmebulock and called out for the gnome who quickly scurried over.

“Help Stanley!”

“Shmebulock!”

The gnome latched onto Powers’ face, giving Stanley the opportunity he needed. He let off of the sheriff who was trying to pry Shmebulock away. Stanley brought his leg back far then kicked him as hard as he could in the gut, causing Powers to double over with a deep grunt of pain.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you, Powers.”

Stanley pushed him off the side of the platform. For good measure he even spit on the groaning man, then gave Shmebulock a thumbs up.

“You useless little bitch,” a voice snarled behind Stanley.

Before he could react there was a hand gruffly grabbing him and throwing him to the floor. Filbrick glared down at him with a rage heavier than he had ever seen before. Blood trickled down Filbrick’s face from a scratch under his right eye, his hair and clothes were all akimbo, and he was littered with dirt and wounds.

And for the second time in Stanley’s life his father was pointing a gun at his head.

Stanford acted on instinct. He lunged at Filbrick with a wild howl and sliced at his hand holding the gun. It left a shallow scratch. Filbrick recoiled, clutching his hand to his chest. Stanford didn’t give him time to recover. He tried to stab Filbrick’s hand but the other man twisted and the blade went into his shoulder instead.

“You will never touch my brother again, you bastard!”

He tried to wrest the gun from Filbrick’s grasp but he stubbornly held on.

Stanley glanced from his brother to their partners. Fiddleford, tearing at Rick’s half sliced binds, motioned towards Stanford. Stanley nodded gratefully. He grabbed the knife sticking out of Filbrick and twisted, eliciting a holler full of pain and fury. He jerked away from Stanley, nearly tearing the blade out.

Stanford didn’t let go, still pulling at the gun. Filbrick refused to give up easily. He flailed about in an attempt to shake Stanford off, but when that didn’t work he let out a sound like an agitated, half rabid wolf.

“You two have caused me nothing but trouble since the day Martha became with child!”

He smashed his fist agains the side of Stanford’s face, stunning him long enough for Filbrick to shove him to the ground.

“You’re no prize of a pa yourself!” Stanley returned, hurtling at him. Their hands locked and they began to grapple. “You’ve done nothing but hate and torment us since we were born! That’s not gonna happen anymore.”

“For once in your miserable life you’re right.”

Then Stanley’s legs were kicked out from under him and his back slammed against the platform floor. Filbrick cocked his gun, pointing it at the twins.

“This ends now.”

A shot range out.

The bullet pierced Filbrick’s hand before any of them had time to react. There was the briefest of confused pauses, then Filbrick fell to his knees screaming and clutching the bleeding limb, gun clattering uselessly to the floor. Stanley scrambled to his feet and kicked it as far as he could off the platform, towards the gnomes who were already hurrying back to their forest.

The quartet looked out in the distance to see ma standing there with her shotgun, barrels smoking. She flashed them a grin and called out, “Time ta git, boys.”

The four returned her grin before jumping down from the platform. Susan stood just off to the side with Chestnut and Astra. They ran straight to her, barely slowing as they hopped up on the horses. They were hardly settled into the saddles before the horses started galloping out of town, and they waved quick goodbyes to the girl.

One of them started laughing loud and free, and the others joined in.

Rick wrapped his arms tight around Stanley’s midsection and Stanley turned around, pressing their lips together.

“Not two minutes free and already—” Stanford began. Then Fiddleford’s own mouth was on his, and the words were forgotten in the wind.

As they crossed out of town two horses raced towards them. The men could hardly believe their eyes.

“Katrina! Told you she always comes back to me.”

“And my Honeysuckle! What’re the odds?”

“Hey, didn’t we prove yet that Stanford an’ me are pretty lucky?”

“You fellas kidding? We’re the lucky ones,” Fiddleford said, kissing Stanford again like he needed it to live.

“For having us?” Stanley guessed with a snicker.

“Yup,” Rick agreed. Just like Fiddleford, Rick kissed Stanley as though being apart was death.

The twins focused on their respective partner, trusting their horses to ride just fine without their full attention. They had time to make up for, and they weren’t in any sort of hurry anymore.

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

A/N: That's it, folks, that's the end of this story. I can hardly believe I made it so far, and I'm amazed I even had an audience for a western involving two characters from different franchises, neither of which are westerns. This is quite possibly the most niche fanfic I've ever written. And it was supposed to be just a few chapters long. XD Thank you all for reading! 

And incase anyone's worried about Filbrick trying for revenge or some such nonsense, a shotgun to the hand isn't healthy. So the boys are fine on that front. :)

[cobracommanderofficial]

The Fall of Mt. Spring

Hey guys! Here’s a story I worked on during my flight to California last night! It has a pseudo-Lovecraft tone (It could best be compared to the Thing on the Doorstep) I hope you guys like it!

I know it seems like I have committed a most horrible deed, and in most other circumstances I would agree with you. However, with this note or story or whatever label you want to apply to it, I only wish to clear some things up. More specifically, I'd like to openly testify my participation in the incident that is now commonly known to the public as "The Fall of Mt. Spring", and how I acted in the just, at least from the perspective I held at the time. 

Now, I suppose I should give some background information on the whole affair, as it should signal why I was in Mt. Spring during the semi-apocalyptic week that shall forever scar our history. Now, I suppose I should start at the very beginning of this whole affair. Back when I was still in university (I've long since dropped out to pursue independent archaeology), I made the acquaintance of a fellow by the name of Edward Wallace. Now, Edward was a most peculiar fellow in several regards. For one, he was in no way ugly or unkempt, but he always exuded an aura of repulsion. Thus, he was never the most popular fellow. Second, his interests and hobbies were unique, to say the least. He spent nearly all of his free time working some sort of internship at the nuclear power station on the edge of the city. Besides that, all he really did was sleep and make others uncomfortable. Finally, his taste in music was absolutely terrible. I cannot put into words how much I despised it. One can only listen to the Spice Girls so many times before madness begins set in. However, in spite of all these overwhelmingly terrible aspects, I couldn't help but find myself fascinated with him. How could a man sustain a lifestyle such as his and not fall into a despair so inescapable that suicide is seemingly the only escape? I became the only thing that resembled a friend in his life, so presumably he spent more time with me than with any other human being. I never did develop an emotional attachment, but over time I slowly began to realize that Edward's entire perception of reality was some kind of twisted satire. He majored primarily in accounting, but wished to become an engineer full time at an atomic research center. He said both subjects took into account his worldview of total nihilism. I wondered what kind of upbringing could produce an individual as....special as Edward. So, I probed him for months about it. Alas, he remained mostly tight lipped. All that I was able to ascertain was that he was born and raised in a town called Mt. Spring, in Vermont, and that he hated it there more than anything. That was the only aspect of his childhood he would willingly talk about. How much he despised that town. How it's very existence was a threat to Edward's sanity. It was seemingly his life goal to destroy it, either physically or economically. I suppose that would explain his career choices. Now, one Saturday afternoon, I received a phone call from Edward. 

"T-Tommy. It's finally time. I'm going back to Mt. Spring. My mother has called me, and she's fallen deathly ill. The doctors think it's some kind of cancer. I want to be there for her. So, I must abandon my studies. In a couple days, you should get a package through the mail. It contains all the knowledge I have collected on possible methods via which to neutralize the threat of Mt. Spring. Guard them with your life. I'm sorry it had to end so suddenly. Perhaps one day we'll meet again. Perhaps not." 

Then, a click. He had hung up. When the package arrived, I looked through the contents with some curiosity. Inside there were three books. One was some sort of explanation of the possible weaknesses and faults in a nuclear power plant. The other was a collection of ramblings on covert government operations located in and around Mt. Spring, some of which seemed downright ludicrous in scale and purpose. Finally, a journal with a brilliant purple cover and a shining gold top. Stuck to the front of this was a Post-it note. It read 'ONLY FOR DESPERATE MEASURES. YOU'LL KNOW WHEN." These three pieces of information led me to draw one conclusion: That Edward was absolutely insane. So, I tucked the package under my bed and went on with my life. Soon enough afterwards, I dropped out of university to pursue my passion of archaeology. 

Work was slow at first, but that changed one stormy September evening. The one incident that secured my path to Mt. Spring that fateful day was also the most important day of my life: I had just discovered a fully intact ruin buried deep within the Rocky Mountains. It seemed to be some kind of holy burial site, filled with coffins and offerings. Realizing that no good would come of me sticking around, I made note of the coordinates and went to the press with my discovery. It was hailed as incredibly important, and shed light on some of the more obscure rites of one offspring of the Sioux tribe. How they got that far north, and how they survived in such harsh conditions (Most of the ruins, including the burial site, were located at some of the highest altitudes in the Rockies.) are still a mystery to us. However, my discovery helped expose at least one fragment of their seemingly expansive culture. Approximately a month after the burial site hit the news, I heard the telephone ring. I assumed it was a journalist asking for an interview, so I ignored it at first. It kept going and going and going. Eventually, more than slightly irritated, I picked up the phone. 

"Hello, this is Thomas Frost. What business do you have?" I seethed into the receiver. A familiar voice replied. 

"Thomas, it's me. Edward. I was just watching the news when I saw your name pop up. I was so surprised you abandoned theater. Say, would you like to take a visit to my place, for old time's sake? I'm not too far from Philadelphia, if that sweetens the bargain." Edward replied. Something seemed off about his voice. It seemed restrained and concerned, almost like someone was pointing a gun to his head as he said it. Moreover, I was concerned as to how he got my home phone number. Brushing it off as him having a contact or two in the journalistic industry, I spoke into the phone again. 

"Depends where and when. I would like to see you again. It has been ages." I had calmed down at this point, but I was unable to keep concern from reaching my face. 

"Oh, it's fine. I'm located at 457 East Roosevelt Drive, in Mount Spring. Also, any time works for me. I'm settled here. Not busy at all" his raspy voice replied. I almost dropped the phone in shock. He had willingly moved back into that town which so many years ago he had despised with the entirety of his being? I was most concerned. However, I agreed to his offer. I had to investigate why he had suddenly made himself comfortable in a metaphorical den of wolves. It was almost as if Ahab were to suddenly join Greenpeace and preach about whale conservation. The math didn't add up. So, the date was set. When I was packing my stuff for my week-long stay at Mt. Spring, I noticed a box sticking out from underneath my bed. It was that package from so many years before. I figured it would be a decent topic for conversation, so I added it to my luggage. After I had finished packing and locking up the house, I jumped into my used convertible and began the hour and a half ride to a place that would alter my perspective of reality forever.

 I drove past the city limits of Mt. Spring at approximately 5 pm. From the second I entered the town, I felt something was off. The architecture of every house seemed copied and pasted. When I hit what could be referred to as 'downtown', I was utterly appalled. It was entirely chain stores, without a single unique business or service offered within the whole town. I immediately understood why Edward had hated this place so much. Thus, I was even more confused as to why he willingly moved back here. After about half an hour of driving, I arrived in front of a clean cut suburban lawn. Several gnomes and flamingos had been erected around a patch of dirt, creating a defensive barrier between the petunias and whatever Nature could throw at the pitiful excuse for a garden. Otherwise, the lawn was featureless and was so vibrantly green that I nearly threw up. I walked up the cement pathway to the front door and knocked three times.

 No response. I rang the doorbell. After about twenty seconds, the door opened. A woman in her mid thirties stood before me. Her brown hair was held in a tight bun, and her piercing blue eyes were surrounded by laugh lines. On her right hand was a diamond ring, and she wore a long blue shirt with denim jeans. She took a moment, seemingly sizing me up.

 "And who might you be", she asked in a most demanding tone. I was almost too shocked to reply.

 "M-my name is Thomas Frost. I'm an old friend of Edward." I managed to sputter out. This woman's demeanor was almost terrifying. She turned back into the house and shouted, 

"Eddy, Tom is here to see you!." Slowly, a familiar gaunt figure shuffled towards the doorway. He wrapped his arm around the woman's shoulder, and I had to hold in a gasp. Standing before me was none other than Edward Wallace. However, something had changed about him. The aura of repulsion he had once carried about him had vanished. All that was left was a smiling blonde man with unusually tan skin.

 "Aaaaaaaah, Thomas. So glad you could make it. How have you been?", he asked me as we walked inside. 

"I've been fine, Ed. But I'm sure you know enough about what's happened to me recently. I haven't heard from you in almost a decade. How've you been?" I replied. 

"Ohohoh, right. You have no idea what's happened in the past 8 years. Well, I suppose I should enlighten you. But first I shall show you to the living room and prepare for us some coffee." He led me down a couple hallways, eventually opening up into a fairly luxurious den. There were three couches, a flat screen TV, and a real fireplace. How exotic. However, what caught my attention the most were the bookshelves that lined the walls. After my host excused himself to grab us some refreshments, I began to peruse the library. I figured, knowing Edward, that the books would be interesting if not totally incomprehensible. I slowly began to realize, however, as I moved from shelf to shelf, that this was maybe the most boring library I had ever seen. Nothing of any literary challenge had presented itself. It was all either bland romance novels, books on taxes and accounting and whatnot, or fiction that even a public library would be ashamed to put on display. I was so wrapped up in my judgments that I hadn't heard another figure enter the room. A shrill voice pierced the air.

 "There's an intruder! An intruder! An intruder in our house. Mama!!!" I turned around to see a girl that couldn't have been older than 7 standing in the doorway, crying. The woman from the front door quickly entered the room and began to soothe the child, promptly bringing her back to wherever she had appeared from. Almost as soon as those two had departed, Edward appeared. In his hands he clenched a silver coffee tray. We both took our seats on the couch, and he began his story.

 "Ah, well, it all began right after I arrived here. At first, I was as mortified as I had been when I was younger. I had truly hated this town back then, and now I just can't understand why. Anyways. I came to see my sick mother in the house she had bought with retirement funds. She had a brain tumor, Tommy. She wasn't going to live past November. I stayed there to comfort her. Slowly, she descended into lunacy. She began to say things about ants in her brain and how I had been right about hating this town. I simply ignored it as the ramblings of a madwoman. On November 3rd, she passed on to the next life. I was there at her funeral. It was Dios de los Muertos on that day, if you'd believe it. I went back to the house and began to pack my things when I heard a knocking at my door. A freak snowstorm had hit, and had blocked all the roads leading in and out of town. I was forced to stay there another night. Simply mortified, I couldn't sleep that night. The next day I decided to venture into town. Alas, there was nothing of interest there. Just the same chains you see everywhere. So, I began to head home. It was then that I was stopped by a simply beautiful young woman. We began to talk, and she decided to give me a gift due to the troubles the weather had caused me. It was a piece of cake. I decided there was no harm in accepting such a present, so I took it home and ate it. The very next day, I came down with a terrible fever. The young woman and her family took me into their care. They gave me medicine and clothes and made sure I didn't do anything dangerous. I had lost my sanity during those days, they said. I wrote odd things and put them in odd places. Notes addressed to my future self or something along those lines. Anyways, it seems they made sure to take most of the letters down. They feared that seeing any of them would reduce me back into the state of shock that had left me bedridden so long. I was sick for three months, Tommy, and over the course of those three months I fell in love with that young woman. Her name is Katherine, by the way. I stayed in town, in my mother's old house. We dated, fell in love, and married. I got a job doing tax returns at the local H&R Block, and Katherine worked as a painter. Soon, we bought this house. Not long after, Katherine became pregnant with Samantha. She quit full time painting to look after the kid, but she still does it in her free time. That brings us to the present. Here I am, living a happy life." 

The speech had knocked the wind out of me, to say the least. It was an absurd amount of information to process at one time. I slowly began to connect the dots while sipping my coffee. Ed went on about how I could save more money with his damn tax firm, and how he could snag me a special discount. But I wasn't paying any attention to that. I was more thinking of what had happened to Ed's mother. It reminded me of something I had read ages ago. One of the ramblings in the books Ed sent me. How they keep you in by forcing you to stay, whether through debt or through manipulating the weather or anything. They would do anything to get their hands on new test subjects. I had no idea as to who 'they' were, but I began to have frightful notions about the town around me. The rest of the day passed without event. Ed had prepared accommodations for me in the attic, so I headed up there to unpack. My lodgings had an almost frightening aura to them. Dingy, poorly lit, and wooden. Definitely not the kind of place you would want to sleep. However, I found them almost comforting. Something that wasn't a complete carbon copy. At least, I didn't think it was.

 My dreams that night were plagued with night terrors and images of demons emerging from fiery brimstone cracks. The next morning, the entire family (Me included) sat down to breakfast. Katherine had made pancakes. However, I didn't eat much. I had lost my appetite the night before. So, I made polite conversation with Edward as the fruits of the housewife's labors slowly went cold. We had decided the night before that today Ed would give me a tour of the town. So, we hopped in the silver Prius and began to explore the town. He slowly drove past the various strip malls, explaining in detail the services offered by each niche of capitalist hubris. Oddly enough, he sped by things that were far more interesting. At least to me. For one, he totally ignored a ruined house that showed signs of habitation. He sped past an unmarked cement building that emitted a bad aura. The straw that broke the camel's back, however, and the sight that made me force Ed to stop the car, was the nuclear power plant on the edge of town. 

"Hey, Ed, didn't you want to work at one of those places when you were younger?" I asked. I was genuinely curious as to why he had taken up a job distributing tax returns rather than engineering an atomic reactor.

 "Hmm? Oh, that? I was just joking around about that.", he replied almost robotically. We spent the rest of the day driving around the outskirts of town, admiring the scenery. We stopped at the local Denny's for dinner before heading back to the house for some relaxation time. While I lounged on the couch, Ed spring an unexpected question onto me. 

"Say, Tommy, you wouldn't happen to still have those books I sent you, would ya?" he said in a relaxed tone that seemed almost serious. I was filled with an immense feeling of dread. I felt like it would not be in my best interests to tell him yes.

 "Ha, I had nearly forgotten about those. Yeah, I threw em out ages ago." I tried to not sound or look concerned. Either I am a very good actor, or Ed is a better actor than me.

 "Oh, alright then." He sounded almost disappointed. I decided to head up to bed not long after. However, my sleep would not go uninterrupted. Around 2 in the morning, I awoke to loud noises coming from downstairs. I crept out of the attic, curious as to what was going on. Downstairs, I saw something most disturbing. Ed had been tied to a chair, and was struggling. Katherine was slowly injecting something into his jugular vein. I fled the scene before I could react. Something bad was going on here. I knew I had to get out of town ASAP so that I could tell the authorities. But I felt bad leaving Ed here, alone with whatever it is that's going on. I woke up early the next day. I decided first to explore the old wooden house that had raised my curiosity. I hopped into my Ferrari and drove down the winding roads until I reached the pile of wood that was at one point called a house. As I got out of my car and walked towards the ruins, I felt as if I was being watched. The hills have eyes and all that it implies. When I reached the main debris pile, I rummaged for a good hour. I had no idea as to why this place intrigued me so much. I suppose it was a guy feeling that led me there. After an hour of fruitless digging, I decided that the home was a lost cause.

 As I walked towards my car, I tripped over a pile of wood I hadn't noticed in my exhausted state. When I got up and dusted myself off, I noticed something odd. Some gleaming metal in the mass of plant matter. I decided it wouldn't hurt to check it out, and began to unbury it. No sooner had I started moving logs a trio of figures emerged from the woods in front of me. All of them seemed very old. Their eyes were possibly the most curious part about them, as they seemed to glow a golden yellow. The one leading the trio stopped the other two and began to talk. 

"Traveler, I recommend you leave this town soon. Nothing good will come of staying here. However, if you unbury that thing",he motioned towards the piece of metal,"there will be no turning back. They will not let you leave. What is it you choose?" Of course, I was immediately confused. Why was everything so dramatic and black or white? What had I done to deserve this warning? Just what the hell was going on in this town? The rational side of me reasoned the best thing to do would be to bail out of town ASAP. The archaeologist in me won over in the end, and I unburied what was now evidently a key. What it was doing here, I had no idea. I felt tired after that whole incident, and decided to head back to Ed's house. When I arrived, it was 10 am. The family had just sat down to brunch. I felt a sudden urge to ask Ed something. 

"Say, Ed, whatever happened to your mother's place?", I inquired. His face turned sullen. 

"Ah, yes. We drove by it yesterday. It was destroyed in a fire some years ago. Very sad." he returned to eating. I began to connect the dots. But now I had to be cautious. Things were getting deep. After a day of avoiding the family, I excused myself to the attic. While I was studying the key, I noticed something most peculiar about it. The material it was made out of bore a striking resemblance to the lock on the purple journal. I began to pace. What to do, what to do? Should I open it? I recalled the note. Was this a desperate measure? Ed seemed happy here. I didn't want to take that away from him. However, there was no ignoring what I saw last night. Maybe it was a kink thing? No, definitely not. I paced and paced and paced. At one point, however, I was so deep in thought I ran into a low set banister. I fell backwards, disturbing the few pieces of furniture in the attic. My impact had caused the bookshelf to fall down. I struggled to put it back up when I noticed something odd. Where it had once stood, there was a note surrounded by a rectangle free of debris. 

I decided my best option was to take it and right the bookshelf before anyone came to investigate. I waited an hour for all the noises and lights in the house to turn off. After 15 minutes of total silence, I took out the envelope. On the front, in Edward's familiar handwriting, was my name. My curiosity was piqued. Why was a letter that was evidently ancient due to it's location and state of yellowing addressed to me, when Ed claims to have forgotten about me until he saw the news report? I took out my Swiss army knife and cut it open. It read: 

Tommy, Desperate times have come upon us. I have been poisoned? No. Something? Maybe. The ruling body of this town, Thomas, they're they're they're they're. They have a hold on me and I they gavem me a fever that cake was l;acd with ssomethng. Now they have an excuse to pump me full of drugs and convert me into a goddamn pod person. ogmdman pod people are everywhere.E it kills you eventuall. It's what happened to motherr. The radio waves ithey send out from that damnable tsotne building tommy. then riado waves influnece you on once ytheyve established a footold in you mind. Don't eat the food. theyre dkeoeododestroying all my letters.i OI HOpe you dindfind this before it's too late. I mad e ap lan just in cas this thing happen. I have harbored a susopicion bou this or mnay years an and its confirmed, tommy! im not insane. i was engineeered, like this, you know. to be a repulsive monster. some experiemn by th cia or whoever the hell is running this. the books tommy. dot let me see thiem dont dont dont dont. run if you can but if you cant then fight your way out of this hellscape. i can fee l them isnide my head tommy. i hope you can sav trshis damnntown 

-the artist formerly known as edward wallace 

This letter shocked me, and fueled the growing sense of paranoia I had about my surroundings. I began to realize that if some big organization really was running this than I had no choice but to somehow put an end to this. I had no idea how. I decided the best choice would be to hide these sensitive materials in my knapsack and head to sleep. The fourth day was when I decided to take action. I ate with the family and left for town hall. Maybe I could glean some information from the official source, however biased it may be. There was practically no wait for the mayor. If Ed's crackpot theories were right, that's because the theoretical 'they' decide the emotions of the townsfolk. No unhappiness. I entered the mayor's office and took a seat. The mayor was a short and fat man with a withering toupee and a voice like sandpaper. I started off the exchange. "Mr. Mayor, what can you tell me about the concrete building on the outskirts of town? I'm a journalist and I'd like to do a report on the local sights and attractions." "Ohohoho, you can't fool me Mr. Frost. I've seen you on the news! But, I suppose I'll let this little lie slide for the sake of our visiting celebrity. Yes, that building isn't open to the public. It's some kind of radio station. You see, it's the wave of the future. A radio station that doesn't need an antennae. How wonderful. Yes, it is government owned. I believe it exists solely to test the new technology, so don't expect to tune into it. It's on a private frequency. Ultraviolet or ultraviolent or whatever those scientists call it." The mayor's phrasing disturbed me just a bit, but I figured that was the most information I would be able to glean from him. I stepped out of the building and rode out to the concrete, bunker-like structure. I began to investigate it, as it didn't have an immediately apparent entrance. However, after searching the nearby woods for half an hour, I discovered a door embedded in the ground. I tried to pry it open with my bare hands, but that was a fruitless effort. Using some nearby stones and sticks, along with that ever-handy swiss army knife, I was able to construct a pulley that managed to open the door by just a crack. Surprisingly, after it opened a bit it was as light as a feather. Truly, technology is amazing. I descended into the bunker, ever cautious of where I tread. 

This place had a bad aura about it. It was dimly lit, but I managed to make my way in the direction I believed the structure to be in. There seemed to be a series of tunnels beneath the town, leading anywhere and everywhere. It had disturbing implications that I had yet to witness. Eventually I reached directly below the structure. The mayor, it seems, had been lied to, to an extent. There was a working antennae, but it seemed to be buried underground. It was hooked up to all sorts of odd machines I couldn't possibly recognize, and I had a headache just from standing in the same room as it. That was when I noticed the security camera. I really didn't like that. I fled as soon as I saw it. Technically, what I had just done was illegal. The sun had set by the time I reached Ed's house. I noticed some black sedans parked out front, so I stopped my car several blocks away and snuck in through the back door. I saw Ed and Katherine talking to some men in black suits. I slowly ascended the stairs, checking on my belongings. The room was a mess. Everything had been turned upside down. Thankfully, I had what they wanted on me at the time. As I slowly looked around to assess the damage, I heard a shrill voice. "The intruder is back!" the little girl screamed. Great. I quickly went into panic mode. As the men in black and the rest of the Warren family began to ascend the stairs, I looked for an exit. I managed to budge the window open enough to climb out and descend the three story house. I fled my car and ran into the woods. 

The following 24 hours were a blur of adrenaline as I hid from the search parties and the spotlights and I recall being referred to as a threat to national security and labelled a terrorist and mother of god and I kept running and running. On the morning of the sixth day I awoke in a different place from where I fell asleep and immediately panicked. I was silenced by those same glowing eyed figures from before, who suddenly appeared before me. "So, I take it you've come to realize what's going on here?" the slender female asked. "Y..Yeah." "We realized that a long time ago. Before you were born. Before we were born. The experiments on Mt. Spring date back to the early days of the Cold War, if you didn't know. Besides general population manipulation, there were various experiments. Some were supposed to be psychological weapons, like your friend Edward. Some were born as laborers. Us? We were born as intelligence officers. Far too intelligent for our own good. Once we became self aware, they tried to get rid of us. It failed, of course. So here we are. In hiding. They've managed to accelerate the passage of time for us, so it shouldn't be too long before we pass on. But you. That purple goddamn notebook can put an end to all of this. Free this town, son." The leader said in an imperious tone before all 3 faded into darkness. I checked my knapsack. The key and journal were still there. I began to decipher... 

Ed had apparently planned this a long time ago: the utter nuclear annihilation of Mt. Spring. I suppose it isn't surprising, as he was a psychological weapon, but still. He played his part far too well. Using some insanely obscure psychohistory techniques, he was able to guess the entire future of the power plant on the hill for 15 years after the journal was hidden. All that was left was for me to play my part. Over the course of the day, I planned my route and strategy; luckily, Ed had already done the most difficult parts of the planning. All that was left for me to do was pull it off. I decided I'd do it the very next day. I decided to get an early night in. When I awoke, I began my journey. Avoiding patrol patterns and various sheriff's deputies, I made my way to the plant. Avoiding the guard detail was difficult if not impossible, but Ed had planned ahead for this. I just needed to get my timing perfectly right. After three hours of dodging guards and infiltrating security (A majority of that time was made up of me waiting for patrols to pass me) I made it to the central control room. Pulling out the purple notebook, I began to follow the instructions Ed gave me. It took me a good half hour to get everything done. The strain of pulling off complicated system overrides and time sensitive power shutdowns all the while avoiding any and all living beings can really take a lot out of a guy. But, finally, all was done. The only thing left for me to do was press the confirmation button after this prompt appeared

 [confirm basin destruction?] [Y / N]

 As soon as I pressed yes, a great rumbling overtook the building. I realized I had to get out of there ASAP. I began sprinting through the hallways as I heard the nuclear reactor being ejected into the valley below. Soon, Mt. Spring and the horrors associated with it would be blown to smithereens. I reached the outside of the plant and began running through the woods in the opposite direction of the town. A program installed inside the reactor's command processor began the sequence that would lead to annihilation. The most frustrating part of the whole deal was managing to disable the firewalls put in place to prevent such actions. But, it worked out in the end. I must've been about 10 miles away from the site of impact when it went up. I was knocked prone by the explosion. When I woke up, I was in custody. I was asked to give a statement. I refused. I knew there was no way in hell they would believe me. I wouldn't believe me. Besides, they were owned by the same government perpetrating those awful crimes. I was put under house arrest while they put the trial together. I know what will happen to me. I'll inevitably be found guilty, and tortured or executed or even worse. They know that I did it. So, this is my adieu to the world at large. Death is preferable to whatever they might have in store for me, experiments or otherwise. I hope that this manifesto makes it to the light of day. I'm sorry to the families of those I killed. They're at my door now. The police. I have to end it now. Goodbye. Goodbye. I'm sorry, Ed.

[pleasantlybrieftiger-blog]

Yet more from the first session of Ularian Prophecy

Part 3/3 of the Giun and Aki Pov

Also, the Tiefling, Dwarf, Dragonborn, Gnome, and Darkelf from the last post are my players.

“So. the Pyiford express?” Aki asked as Giun finished his breakfast.

“That's what he said. We need to get on it, go to Nay-Baix, and from there we are to ‘cure the traceless plague’.” Giun talked in hushed tones.

“Traceless plague? Droppers disease?” Giun only nodded. “Hmm. no doctor or lab-coat has ever found a symptom, let alone a clue. This will be a true challenge.”

“I guess when God says he has a challenge, he means challenge.” Aki didn't reply, choosing to simply nod.

“It’s a brand new locomotive… tickets will not be cheap. And i have just spent the last of the trappers money.”

“There are alternatives to buying tickets. I happened to overhear Sir brightwood last night-”

“You mean you spied on him.” Aki interjected.

“What you going to reprimand me for spying on Amrik dogs?”

“No. but you should speak clear. It's the mark of a strong soul, saying things as they are. And you have a strong soul Giun.”

“Whatever, listen, the Queen has granted to tickets to a number of Nobles and Diplomats. So many in fact that hardly anyone will notice a few missing from the roster.”

“I don't know.”

“What do you mean you don't know? I thought that's why we came here, to destabilize and overthrow the Amrik empire!” Giun’s voice has risen, and Aki glared at him, however the Diplomat had also started yelling at the bartender, and it seemed that they had gone on unheard.

“Yes, but now Limbis has need of you Giun. i can only think that he needs you alive, and a quest for God overrules simple grudges like ours. We will need anonymity. Perhaps we can find the printers, and persuade them to make a few more tickets for us.”

“I swear to Limbis Thomas, if you don't fill my pint i will blow your brain out!” Brightwood rose from his stool, over turning it and drawing his half rifle. Giun made to move, but aki’s large hand shot out silently, baying the urge. The door to the tavern burt open, and three figures from before, the tiefling, Dragonborn, and Dwarf rushed in, the last of which released a odd shaped bladed object that arced through the air, deeply cutting the backside of Brightwood’s neck deeply.

“What the fuck!” the Diplomat ripped around, barely dodging a pistol shot from the Tiefling. However he could not move enough to dodge the drunken charge of the dragonborn, which pinned him firmly to the ground.

“Time to go.’ Aki muttered to Giun as the Tiefling drew a jeweled sword, and a rifle shot hit a front window.

Now, several Hours later, Aki found himself next to the black haired, dusty brown skinned boy he called a friend. They were in the south-west market, across the Locomotives valley path that separated Pyiford cities slums from the respectable places. They faced a printers shop whose name ran; Rames and Daughters Quality Press Printing. The store was closed for lunch, however Aki was dressed in a priests outfit, somewhat too small for his built frame, and Giun had hidden all of his weapons, including his precious rapier, which was now stowed in Aki’s robes.

“Maybe we should just sneak in, force them at knife point, like i said. I'm sure as hell not waiting for their lunch to be over. We only have two hours left as it is because you wasted so much time on this ridiculous get up.”

“You are only angry because i combed you hair and washed your face. You look nice, and remember, the good children of Limbis know that he calls at odd times. Like in night visions.”

“Dreams AKi. their called dreams.”

Aki did not responded, and instead shielded Giun from sight as the boy picked the stores lock in no time. As they entered they were greeted by a truly astonishing, beautiful tenor voice singing a song neither of them recognized, however the voice halted when the door’s bell jungled as both men made they way into the shop.

“Can i help you!” a man’s voices shouted, its owner unseen.

“I believe you can.” Aki responded, taking Giun by the shoulders gently. There was a cocking of a gun, and a gray haired stout man turned the corner fast, three curious women edging behind him.

Aki smiled upon seeing the pistol, it was a calm serene smile, however his arms subtly moved to protect Giun. once the man caught sight of Aki from across a printing press the man quickly uncocked the pistol and set it down. Looking as though he could have eaten his own hat.

“Forgive me priest, i did not know.”

“Forgiven sir. You where only protecting your family. You are Rames yes?”

“Yes, that me, and these are my daughters, Deliauh, Sarandanna, and Tylipa.”

“A Pleasure, and truly, forgive us for disturbing you during lunch. May we come in”

“Of course!” Rames said, turning to his daughters “let's fetch them lunch as well, Srandanna, please seat them.” and soon they were led into the back room, a somewhat spacious are, cluttered with racks full of typeset and jars and brushes for ink, and a desk against the far wall, facing away from the large window. Aki was sat in the biggest chair, upholstered with leather and made of a fine, if somewhat aged wood, and Giun was sat in the only other chair, a low backed seat with a floral print. The three daughters took the one couch, and Rames stood, a mug of tea in hand.

“That singing, which one of you was that?” Aki asked, siping the fine tea, probably the best the family had. They had just been served, and Giun was feasting on the cold meat and fruits. Aki subly nudged his leg, and Giun slowed, curious, then nodded, and resumed a more appropriate posture.

“That was Sarandanna.” Rames answered proudly. “She was showing us her piece that is going to get her into the Pyiford Opera.” Aki looked at the middle daughter and smiled warmly.

“You have astounding talent miss, truly.”

“Well thank you Priest. Truly if a man of Limbis thanks so, i may really have a shot.”

“You will get in, Easy, most of that Opera has half as much talent, you’ll be the star!” Giun said around a handful of cherries.

“So you said i could help you, how?” Rames asked, shifting the conversation, and his tone was nothing but polite and respectful, if not curious.

“Yes.” Aki said setting down his tea. “You see Redmond here has had a vision, a true vision from Limbis himself. And when he told the church about it our bishop prayed, for it made little sense to him. But upon return from his prayers he summoned me to escort Redmond to Nay-baix on a holy mission. The church believes that this journey will reveal the answer that has eluded so many men of science… Redmond will cure the reaceless plague.” the families eyes shifted to the boy, but Aki noticed something deeper than that, he noticed the way the father's eyes looked at that floral chair. There was a minute of quiet surprise from the daughters, but then the man, tear eyed turned back to Aki.

“But how can i help with that?”

“We need your trade. The church understands that you were commissioned for the production of Pyiford express tickets. And under normal circumstances we would send a messenger to Eddon and secure passage aboard the new Locomotive through the Queen, but time is short, and the Church has not the funds on hand to purchase tickets.”

“So you came here. I'm sorry father, i can make you tickets, but the official tickets where lined in silver and the letters were plated in gold. I don't have those materials on hand.”

Aki turned gave Giun a glance, Giun in response very subtly shook his head.

“I understand Sir. droppers claimed your wife correct?” there was a nod from the father., and Aki continued. “In times of so much plague, so much unfortunate death times can grow hard for families. When she passed i'm sure you gave her a proper loving funeral. That couldn't have been cheap, even for well done printing shops. Pyifords burial grounds are becoming crowded, no doubt the city asked a harsh price of you. But you paid it. And now a well off Print shop is in debt, cheap teas taste different no doubt. Plague took from you, city took from you, and then the city took from you again paying to little for a hard job. I understand Rames, the hardship. They probably didn't even trust you with enough money to buy your own silver and gold. They provided it for you yes?” another nod. “I thought so. And through that i'm sure you sought a way to get even. Take back some of what has been lost. Limbis blesses this, balance first yes? But. when you took the extra gold and silver and kept it, using nothing more than you absolutely had to, in the process of getting even with the wealth that was taken from you, you unbalanced your soul. You now have a weight of greed, and spite. The church recommends that you balance those out with Genouristy, and confession. Did you Rames, keep the extra silver and gold?”

Aki’s eyes burrowed into Rames’ own, and after a single tear was shed, no doubt in memory of his lost wife, the father nodded.

“Good Rames. Now the balance must be restored, you are a good person Rames, very little is unbalanced. In fact, the weight of to Pyiford express tickets would be perfect to reset the scales.

[the-short-stouts-tavern]

Woven Destiny

“Be careful, sir! Our luggage isn’t secure!”

“Ahah, t’weren’t complaining about the speed when we was departing Westfall, friend!”

Along the long-traveled roads of Elwynn Forest, a lone carriage came visible in the distance. It was the evening, and a fog had settled in. This was a blessing for its rider, as the form of a worgen isn’t exactly wholesome to a lot of people. Even years since rejoining the Alliance, the normal humans tend to see a worgen as a monster.

The tense atmosphere tended to lighten up once the worgen decides to put their top hat on, but not everyone enjoys a good hat trick.

The worgen in question wore a humble brown shirt, a sword and shield placed closely to his side. In his mouth laid a stone pipe, of Dwarven design, the smoke blowing immediately to the side as he snapped the reins of the horse, causing it to begin a quick gallop.

In the back of the carriage, a worgen woman and a draenei male struggled to hold a few large boxes steady. The woman, tall and gray, had clothes fitted to her form as opposed to frayed ends due to repeated transformation. The draenei, on the other hand, was adorned in a fine robe made from the silk of spiders native to another planet entirely.

“Sir!” The draenei cried out. “The boxes, they do not have secure mast! They will topple!”

“Well, it weren’t a good idea to not tie it down, now was it?” The worgen male shouted from the front.

The female sighed. “Don’t be too off-kilter at milord’s gumption, b-” The worgen bounced up in the air from a rock in the road being run over by the wheels, then steadied herself. “...but we are behind and am needing in Stormwind in due haste.”

“I do understand, bu-”

“Ahaah, here we are! Whoaaaaa girl!”

With a gentle nudge, the horses began to slow to a small gallop as they finally found themselves in front of the massive gates of Stormwind. Heavily fortified since the rebuilding after the Horde’s first attack, the kingdom has seldom had to close those gates for anything. It was a welcoming city of grandeur, no doubt a pristine city were it seen in the daytime.

“And there we are.” The worgen grinned, his fangs snugly nursing the pipe in his mouth. “Did you need help with your luggage?”

“Ah, no thank you.” The draenei bowed as he grabbed a small satchel of clothing from the back. “I am grateful for your assistance in getting me to this place. I have been told by many in Shadowmoon of the glory of the Alliance capital.”

“Ahhhh, which Shadowmoon do you hail?”

“....excuse me?”

“Ah, you know.” The worgen shrugged. “Is it blue or green?”

“...green. There’s a blue one now?”

“Ah, probably somethin’ to find later. It’s...a whole thing and all. Now out with you, we need to be on our way. Gonna be a long couple of days before ol’ Ironforge.”

“Still say we shouldn’t bother by carriage. The damn place will be nigh painful on foot the way we’re goin.” The female sighed.

The male worgen laughed. “Only cause you refuse to shift to human form and yet hate sailing the seas.”

“...the salt air makes my fur smell.” The woman grumbled.

“Besides, it’s just a chipper old gallop through Redridge, through Blackrock Mountain’s interior fortress and a quick ride through the roads to Stonewrought Pass. Pay Pebblebitty her due as we pass by and a few tunnel rides until chilly Dun Morogh.”

“And all of this would be prevented if the Stormwind guard would just let caravans onto the Deeprun Tram.” The woman replied, sniffing the air once and scratching the side of her cheek.

The draenei, meanwhile, nodded his head. He had no idea what these two dog people just described but it sounded complicated. Regardless, they were kind enough to let him on, and he certainly needed the ride to Stormwind.

He waved the two off as they began to prepare their departure. “Thank you kindly, you two. It was an honor.”

“Ah, t’weren’t nothing and you know it.” The male laughed, placing more crushed herbs into his pipe. “It was nice to have company on our long trek out north. The benefit of trading from the jungles of Stranglethorn is, Ironforge is extremely far. Gold practically falls to the ground at our feet. You were just a happy bystander, lad.”

“I hope your tailoring dream comes true, Sir Mamail.”

“I hope so, as well.” The draenei bowed his head and smiled. “Good luck with your trading empire.”

The worgen both waved their hands as they began to leave.

Mamail waved back and slowly turned around. “Ah, Stormwind. It took a couple of years but I’m glad I finally came.”

The harsh, demonic winds of Outland is really no place for a tailor. He’s had enough of the scraps of Netherweave found from the corpses of the clothed ones. Azeroth, as he’d been told, has a high, HIGH amount of cloth.

From what Mamail saw, most of it was Runecloth.

He’s heard from what little he could gleam from passerbys that there was also talk of a new source of highly magical cloth from some place called “The Broken Isles”. What an intriguing name!

He was going to apply for a tailoring position at the local clothing shop as soon as he is able.

But first, he needed a nap. Beside a tree outside of the gates, he put out a pillow, made from various furs and cloth found as he went along, and a blanket made from a hound in Duskwood, and nestled in.

Soon he will learn to craft with the best of the best, and weave a destiny unlike any other.

He yawned and closed his glowing eyes shut.

---

Walking through the gates of Stormwind felt much like the first day he joined the Sha’tar. He wasn’t really one for combat, but Mamail felt he needed to put at least a little bit of his life towards improving the damned lands of Outland and protecting the Naaru city of Shattrath. So he put his efforts towards his passion: weaving. Taking care of the priests of Shattrath was a long business, as the dilapidated city had grown more grimy as of late. Still, it was a joy to help.

Every little bit of knowledge he gained from that time was invaluable, but no moreso than the days before he left Outland. He was preparing for a trip back to his station in Shadowmoon when, walking through the center of Shattrath, he heard the chimes of the naaru A’dal usher him over.

The Sha’tar were trained not to disturb the naaru unless they wished to talk to you. It was usually the concentration of the lightpure beings that most of Outland had not been completely decimated yet.

Mamail knelt down before the naaru as A’dal’s gentle chiming voice rang to him. It spoke of a dream it had, and his destiny in it.

“In Azeroth, blue jewel, would thy destiny be woven. The needle shall prick, the darkness would feather. In the thread thy leave behind, will void become exposed. To the radiance of the Light, of dual fires and nature.”

And so he left immediately, to the lands the outworlders hailed from. To Azeroth, the planet Prophet Velen and the Exodar did flee to.

And there he walked, his hooved feet clopping down the paved road. After living in Outland for so long, the world of Azeroth felt...serene. Calming.

Nostalgic.

In front of the tailoring shop, Duncan’s Textiles. The owner, a human named Duncan Cullen, was quick to hire him. Not often do people come in who still bother with expertise in netherweave, and a craft like tailoring takes all kinds to make a good profit margin.

In the store were a few different apprentices working their craft, training under Georgio Bolero, a human male with a bit of a sarcastic streak about him. Didn’t seem keen on helping the Outlander with his preparations.

Training under him were a Pandaren Monk named Rufoleeane, a Gnome Priest named Boskurz, another Worgen named James McCloud (when he asked, the worgen spoke very fast, like some sort of speech impediment), and a Night Elf Mage named Ashe.

They all seemed a happy bunch, glad to take in a new perspective on their quest to improve their craft. Boskurz didn’t seem too impressed with him, but not a lot of friendships blossom immediately. As his cousin once said, it’s all about how much effort you put in something before the kindling is effective.

A Fire Mage’s motto, it seemed.

---

The training felt fairly standard for the week. Today involved a lot of running to what the humans call their “auction house”. It was fascinating to see the crowd of various people running to their bank and back, rushing through their crafting business, collecting whatever sort of ooze was in the bank, and running back to the auction house to try and get money made.

Today, I was assisting Rufolleeane with her crafting. She had trouble understanding the intricacies of the craft, but the matter of Emberweave required a gentler method from the previous cloths. She’s a very quick learner, and has a fine eye for the better ways to put a little extra to the things she creates.

The day was long, but rewarding.

---

On the third day, Mamail was resting in his new quarters in the Mage Quarter. A bed, a few tables, and a few fruits from the Trade District was all he had. It wasn’t a bad life, to be honest.

Moving to another world is a daunting task, but so far, he felt as though he wasn’t having much of a problem here. It helps that there’s nothing that truly differentiates him from the other Draenei that walk about. He did wonder why there were so many females out there that shed aside the Prophet’s deep belief of modesty, but he did not mind.

He was secure in his faith, both in the naaru and the Light. Surely they were, as well.

---

Another day down and James, or ‘Jmsmclou’ as it sounds like (I just call him J Mac) was having issues understanding the way Mageweave can be woven into bracers.

It’s not that hard, J Mac. You’ve been here for how long and you can’t understand the basics. Mageweave is not that painful.

See, when Ashe was still learning Silk, that was understandable. Silk’s hard to understand. But Mageweave is literally just cloth with magic inside of it.

Insane. We have books for a reason.

---

Fifth day in and Mamail was given a note on the way out. Apparently Ashe was inviting him to drink with the others at the Blue Recluse.

He had never really gone to a tavern to drink before. He stayed at the inns on the way to Stormwind, sure, but he never once stepped foot into the World’s End in Shattrath. He was no stranger to the sweet essence of a good spirit, but he did not take to being a social drinker.

He wasn’t even very social, either.

Still, he was in a new world. A new life. It’s not too farfetched to try and take initiative while waiting for whatever this destiny entailed.

---

Ashe was having issues focusing today. She seemed a little listless, eyes drawn somewhere else as she focused on Windwool studies.

I wish she’d understand that Windwool was just one more step in and she’d be getting into the Draenor stuff. If it’s anything like the Netherweave was, I was looking forward to seeing it pure.

---

The Blue Recluse was very popular tonight. Being so close to the Mage Tower meant a good majority of the studious mages spent their days there. From what Mamail was told, he needed to stay away from the other popular tavern in the district: The Slaughtered Lamb. Apparently that was where the unsavory types went.

Ashe came first. She was dressed in a very finely woven dress. It seemed that Mamail was correct in taking initiative by putting on his best tunic.

“Did you sew that yourself?”

Ashe laughed, her blue cheeks changing to a hue of ambrosia. “No, no, this was sewn by Rufoleeane.”

“Ah, yes. I see her wave in the hemline now.” Mamail pointed down, noting a light wave in the way the dress laid above her feet. “The design seems very...her.”

Before Ashe could answer, a huffed laugh came from the doorway. “Hah. Not a week in and you’re speaking of presumptions.”

Mamail smiled as he turned around. “Apologies, Leeane. It is not so, yes?”

Rufoleeane smiled warmly, her hand resting on her hip. “Yes, I suppose I do like that style.”

Beside her stood James and Boskurz, both wearing their normal attire. Apparently neither of them got the memo.

“H-hey, this isn’t fair!” Boskurz exclaimed. “Why are you two dressed up?!”

“What, did you not get the memo when I came with you?” Rufoleeane looked over at Boskurz, smirking.

James sighed. “Hrrrrm...Leeane, you are always dressing up.”

“Well, when you look as good as I do in these dresses, then you must flaunt it every chance you get.” Rufoleeane smiled, jabbing James in the arm. James snorted, growling a little by instinct.

Mamail laughed. “Ahaha, come! These drinks are on me, friends!”

Boskurz rolled his eyes. “How could you have gotten money already?”

Mamail smiled. “Netherweave, my diminutive friend. I took what I had crafted before on Outland and sold it. Apparently, nobles really like that stuff.”

Boskurz snorted, somehow in the same sound as the Worgen beside him. This prompted a round of laughter as Boskurz sighed over them. “.................Let’s just drink, please.”

“Haha, of course.” Mamail raised his mug. “To you all, my new friends.”

The group took a seat and smiled, raising the mug to them. Ashe smiled. “And to a prosperous future for all of us.”

Boskurz grinned. “I’ll toast to that!”

---

A few drinks later, Mamail excused himself. The only one left at the party was him, Ashe, and Rufoleeane. Leeane was nowhere near done, her Pandaren genes serving her drinking well, but Ashe was already fairly tipsy still.

He offered to help Ashe home, but Leeane shook her head. That was fair. He was still new to this place and probably wouldn’t be able to find her place anyway. Besides, Leeane is obviously very protective of Ashe and most likely didn’t know him well enough to let her go with him alone.

With a wave, he wished the two a well and safe evening and departed. His eyesight was just a tiny blurry, but it didn’t really hurt him. Resting his head will help at his home.

Heh. His home. A week in and he was already considering this place as his home. If only his mom knew where he’d end up.

Past the Mage Tower, he walked into Essential Components, an alchemy store. The owner, Owen Vaughn, was clearly annoyed that Mamail was using his store as a shortcut, but he remained silent. Mamail smiled and waved, which no doubt left Owen even more annoyed. Probably thought he was a drunk.

Oh, was he stumbling? Nah, everything’s probably okay. He can keep up appearances.

He entered the grassy little section between the store and the main walkway. To the left, he knew, was where the path to the Slaughtered Lamb was. It was tempting to go over and see the rowdy nature of the place, but he probably shouldn’t.

With a sniff in the air, he began walking to the right when a familiar face stood in front of him.

“Oh hey, you. I thought you left already.”

...

“Heh. Sorry, we had a few more after you left. I know where I’m going, don’t worry.”

........

“I appreciate....you coming by to help...?”

....”Diminutive, huh.”

“Eh?”

The gnome stepped forward, his face cast in darkness. “That’s what you called me.”

“....I’m...sorry, I didn’t mean to off-MMMMMMP”

A sharp pain struck through Mamail’s bottom jaw, thrusting right through his upper lip. Blood began to pour out from his mouth as he moved his hand to clutch it. What the hell had just-

Some sort of hand grabbed his arm and brought it down, causing him to tumble to his knees. The hand that laid on his wrist gripped with an otherworldly intensity, but did not feel like a mortal hand. Yet again, a sharp instrument flew through his jaw..

“Mm...mmf?! MMMMMMMF!” He had noticed through his idled drunkenness and his teary eyes that whatever was causing this was some sort of tendral. He also noticed that the instrument that was causing this was...a needle.

Oh by the mercy of the Light. He was sewing his mouth shut.

“Mmmph!” Mamail tried to move his hand to his mouth, but the...thing kept both hands down. He shifted, wincing, trying desperately to look the gnome in the eyes. He wanted to exclaim why, but all that came out was “WUUUUUUH”

“...that was what he said, you know.”

“...m-...mph? MMPH?”

“Him.”

“.....m-”

The gnome slapped him hard, the sharp slap over his face somehow alleviating the extreme pain in his mouth at that moment.

“Pay. Attention. You damned draenei.” Boskurz moved his finger to his chin, immediately shifting from that split second of anger to a ponderous contemplation. “I...suppose maybe you draenei don’t know better words. Maybe it was uncool of me to assume.”

“....”

Boskurz’s face contorted to quick anger. “But ignorance is no excuse!” He stepped foward, the draenei’s pained kneeling bringing them eye to eye. “It’s no excuse for what he...or anyone does. And oh there is such ignorance in everyone. But it’s....no excuse, Mamail.”

Mamail nodded. He couldn’t help but nod. He didn’t know what he could do. His vision of the gnome was slowly darkening...or was it something else...? Even with the intense pain echoing from his mouth to the rest of his body, he still tried to consider asking why this was going on. Why?

“...Mamail, I enjoyed studying with you. You had a real knack for the cloth, I gotta say. But I wanted you to know something.”

“....m--mmm?” Mamail blinked a few times, trying to focus once more.

“Netherweave’s a bitch cloth.”

With a stroke, the gnome moved a finger to the draenei’s neck, bringing it across slowly. After it was done, something pulled the draenei’s head back.

He felt something cold rest on his neck.

And then, a flash of light. Then nothing.

---

I was supposed to help Mamail understand the intricacies of Frostweave, but he’s gone. Apparently he couldn’t cut the life of a Stormwind tailor. Too bad. He’ll never get anywhere with Netherweave. Bitch cloth, amirite?

The others are pretty bummed. Ashe especially, poor girl. Ah, well, serves her right for being interested in a male draenei. They’re all the same.

Yeah, I don’t care, I can be racist in my own journal, cause that’s freedom right there! They suck. Their tentacle beard is always so creepy. Their body’s always so big and boring. Their tail always gets in the way when they’re walking through the bank. Their accent is forced. I mean, come on, even the worgen can talk Common correctly. They try too hard.

God, draenei are the worst. They can all die for all I care. Especially him. But one day, right?

See you tomorrow, journal! <3

~Boskurz

PS: I was just told that Draenor had fur, not cloth. What a disgrace.

END

---

The Stormwind guard was clamoring. The meeting was getting heated as the top officials began their deliberations regarding the recent disappearances.

”That’s the fifth disappearance this month.”

“But there’s no evidence that they’re not just leaving the city. Everyone does! Remember when people left for Pandaria because the mages went on strike?”

“Yes, but four of the disappearances involve draenei males.”

“The one human woman alone does not-”

“And what about the blood, Chad? Does that not insinuate foul play, Chad?”

“Why are you emphasizing my name, you damned-”

The chief officer pounded his gavel on the ground. “Shut up, the both of you!” The clamor began to die down as the officer nodded. “Now, right now we are going to take this as a murder investigation. However, we are unable to place all of our resources on said investigation.”

The room began to rumble with loud protests. “Murder on the streets and we can’t focus on it?! Do you not remember the riots?!”

“QUIET.” The officer banged his gavel again. “Now, I understand the anger you all have for this, but we can’t have the guard actively investigating. It would cause the public to grow listless, which is already a problem due to the Legion invading.”

The mention of the Legion caused the room to hush up.

“You understand, then. Good.” The officer nodded. “Now, in order to protect the city fully, the guard will be on high alert, but in the same respect as we have been. I have called in for assistance on this investigation from any of the Class Halls, and the Knights of the Silver Hand have brought in a paladin to assist us. Sir?”

The officer stood to the left, bringing the room’s focus towards two figures. A night elf male and a draenei male. The draenei stepped forward, wearing a rather unorthodox set of cloth around him, his eyes covered with green goggles. He moved his fists to his sides and smirked, his mustache shifting up from his smirk.

“Greetings, everyone. I am Horusen, elected official of the Highlord’s elite investigations squad. Together with my roguish friend Elrizan here, we shall get to the bottom of this conspicuous catastrophe!”

Elrizan stepped forward. “Hey.”

The guard responded all at once. “Hello.” Elrizan nodded, then stepped back.

“Now!” Horusen smacked his gloved hands together. “Tell me everything.”

TO BE CONTINUED

[readbookywooks]

The Burrow

"Ron." breathed Harry, creeping to the window and pushing it up so they could talk through the bars. "Ron, how did you -? What the -?" Harry's mouth fell open as the full impact of what he was seeing hit him. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an old turquoise car, which was parked in midair . Grinning at Harry from the front seats were Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers. "All right, Harry?" asked George. "What's been going on?" said Ron. "Why haven't you been answering my letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles--" "It wasn't me - and how did he know?" "He works for the Ministry," said Ron. "You know we're not supposed to do spells outside school--" "You should talk," said Harry, staring at the floating car. "Oh, this doesn't count," said Ron. "We're only borrowing this. It's Dad's, we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with--" "I told you, I didn't - but it'll take too long to explain now - look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won't let me come back, and obviously I can't magic myself out, because the Ministry'll think that's the second spell I've done in three days, so--" "Stop gibbering," said Ron. "We've come to take you home with us." "But you can't magic me out either--" "We don't need to," said Ron, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning. "You forget who I've got with me." "Tie that around the bars," said Fred, throwing the end of a rope to Harry. "If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," said Harry as he tied the rope tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car. "Don't worry," said Fred, "and stand back." Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed to have realized how important this was and kept still and silent. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in the air. Harry ran back to the window to see the bars dangling a few feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. Harry listened anxiously, but there was no sound from the Dursleys'bedroom. When the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron, Fred reversed as close as possible to Harry's window. "Get in," Ron said. "But all my Hogwarts stuff - my wand - my broomstick--" "Where is it?" "Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can't get out of this room--" "No problem," said George from the front passenger seat. "Out of the way, Harry." Fred and George climbed catlike through the window into Harry's room. You had to hand it to them, thought Harry, as George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock. "A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick," said Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow." There was a small click and the door swung open. "So - we'll get your trunk - you grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron," whispered George. "Watch out for the bottom stair - it creaks," Harry whispered back as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing. Harry dashed around his room, collecting his things and passing them out of the window to Ron. Then he went to help Fred and George heave his trunk up the stairs. Harry heard Uncle Vernon cough. At last, panting, they reached the landing, then carried the trunk through Harry's room to the open window. Fred climbed back into the car to pull with Ron, and Harry and George pushed from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window. Uncle Vernon coughed again. "A bit more," panted Fred, who was pulling from inside the car. "One good push--" Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car. "Okay, let's go," George whispered. But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill there came a sudden loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of Uncle Vernon's voice. "THAT RUDDY OWL!" "I've forgotten Hedwig!" Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked on - he snatched up Hedwig's cage, dashed to the window, and passed it out to Ron. He was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door - and it crashed open. For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle. Ron, Fred, and George seized Harry's arms and pulled as hard as they could. "Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon. "He's getting away! HE'S GETTING AWAY!" But the Weasleys gave a gigantic tug and Harry's leg slid out of Uncle Vernon's grasp - Harry was in the car - he'd slammed the door shut-- "Put your foot down, Fred!" yelled Ron, and the car shot suddenly toward the moon. Harry couldn't believe it - he was free. He rolled down the window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were all hanging, dumbstruck, out of Harry's window. "See you next summer!" Harry yelled. The Weasleys roared with laughter and Harry settled back in his seat, grinning from ear to ear. "Let Hedwig out," he told Ron. "She can fly behind us. She hasn't had a chance to stretch her wings for ages." George handed the hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig soared joyfully out of the window to glide alongside them like a ghost. "So - what's the story, Harry?" said Ron impatiently. "What's been happening?" Harry told them all about Dobby, the warning he'd given Harry and the fiasco of the violet pudding. There was a long, shocked silence when he had finished. "Very fishy," said Fred finally. "Definitely dodgy" agreed George. "So he wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?" "I don't think he could," said Harry. "I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall." He saw Fred and George look at each other. "What, you think he was lying to me?" said Harry. "Well," said Fred, "put it this way - house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?" "Yes," said Harry and Ron together, instantly. "Draco Malfoy," Harry explained. "He hates me." "Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son?" "Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" said Harry. "I've heard Dad talking about him," said George. "He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who." "And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, craning around to look at Harry, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung - Dad reckons he was right in You- Know-Who's inner circle." Harry had heard these rumors about Malfoy's family before, and they didn't surprise him at all. Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive boy... "I don't know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf..." said Harry. "Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and they'll be rich," said Fred. "Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing," said George. "But all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that; you wouldn't catch one in our house..." Harry was silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; he could just see Malfoy strutting around a large manor house. Sending the family servant to stop Harry from going back to Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Had Harry been stupid to take Dobby seriously? "I'm glad we came to get you, anyway," said Ron. "I was getting really worried when you didn't answer any of my letters. I thought it was Errol's fault at first--" "Who's Errol?" "Our owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes--" "Who?" "The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect," said Fred from the front. "But Percy wouldn't lend him to me," said Ron. "Said he needed him." "Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," said George, frowning. "And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room... I mean, there's only so many times you can polish a prefect badge... You're driving too far west, Fred," he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Fred twiddled the steering wheel. "So, does your dad know you've got the car?" said Harry, guessing the answer. "Er, no," said Ron, "he had to work tonight. Hopefully we'll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it." "What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?" "He works in the most boring department," said Ron. "The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office." "The what?" "It's all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare - Dad was working overtime for weeks." "What happened?" "The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic - it's only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office - and they had to do Memory Charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up--" "But your dad - this car--" Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he'd have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad." "That's the main road," said George, peering down through the windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes... Just as well, it's getting light..." A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east. Fred brought the car lower, and Harry saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees. "We're a little way outside the village," said George. "Ottery St. Catchpole." Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees. "Touchdown!" said Fred as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and Harry looked out for the first time at Ron's house. It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which Harry reminded himself, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW . Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard. "It's not much," said Ron. "It's wonderful ," said Harry happily, thinking of Privet Drive. They got out of the car. "Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, Mum, look who turned up in the night!'and she'll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car." "Right," said Ron. "Come on, Harry, I sleep at the - at the top--" Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The other three wheeled around. Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger. "Ah , "said Fred. "Oh, dear," said George. Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket. "So ," she said. "Morning, Mum," said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice. "Have you any idea how worried I've been?" said Mrs. Weasley in a deadly whisper. "Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to--" All three of Mrs. Weasley's sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them. "Beds empty! No note! Car gone - could have crashed - out of my mind with worry - did you care? - never, as long as I've lived - you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy -" "Perfect Percy," muttered Fred. "YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You could have died , you could have been seen , you could have lost your father his job--" It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who backed away. "I'm very pleased to see you, Harry, dear," she said. "Come in and have some breakfast." She turned and walked back into the house and Harry, after a nervous glance at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed her. The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Harry sat down on the edge of his seat, looking around. He had never been in a wizard house before. The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens , and You're late . Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts - It's Magic! And unless Harry's ears were deceiving him, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was "Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck." Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like "don't know what you were thinking of," and " never would have believed it." "I don't blame you , dear," she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. "Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we'd come and get you ourselves if you hadn't written back to Ron by Friday. But really," (she was now adding three fried eggs to his plate) "flying an illegal car halfway across the country - anyone could have seen you--" She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background. "It was cloudy , Mum!" said Fred. "You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs. Weasley snapped. "They were starving him, Mum!" said George. "And you!" said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him. At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small, redheaded figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again. "Ginny," said Ron in an undertone to Harry. "My sister. She's been talking about you all summer." "Yeah, she'll be wanting your autograph, Harry," Fred said with a grin, but he caught his mother's eye and bent his face over his plate without another word. Nothing more was said until all four plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time. "Blimey , I'm tired," yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. "I think I'll go to bed and--" "You will not," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "It's your own fault you've been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the garden for me; they're getting completely out of hand again--" "Oh, Mum--" "And you two," she said, glaring at Ron and Fred. "You can go up to bed, dear," she added to Harry. "You didn't ask them to fly that wretched car--" But Harry, who felt wide awake, said quickly, "I'll help Ron. I've never seen a de-gnoming--" "That's very sweet of you, dear, but it's dull work," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject--" And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. George groaned. "Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden--" Harry looked at the cover of Mrs. Weasley's book. Written across it in fancy gold letters were the words Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests . There was a big photograph on the front of a very good-looking wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As always in the wizarding world, the photograph was moving; the wizard, who Harry supposed was Gilderoy Lockhart, kept winking cheekily up at them all. Mrs. Weasley beamed down at him. "Oh, he is marvelous," she said. "He knows his household pests, all right, it's a wonderful book..." "Mum fancies him," said Fred, in a very audible whisper. "Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. "All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it." Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside with Harry behind them. The garden was large, and in Harry's eyes, exactly what a garden should be. The Dursleys wouldn't have liked it - there were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting - but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants Harry had never seen spilling from every flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs. "Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know," Harry told Ron they crossed the lawn. "Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," said Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush, "like fat little Santa Clauses with fishing rods..." There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and Ron straightened up. " This is a gnome," he said grimly. "Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" squealed the gnome. It was certainly nothing like Santa Claus. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arm's length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down. "This is what you have to do," he said. He raised the gnome above his head ("Gerroff me!") and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry's face, Ron added, "It doesn't hurt them -you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way back to the gnome holes." He let go of the gnome's ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge. "Pitiful," said Fred. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump." Harry learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. He decided just to drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp teeth into Harry's finger and he had a hard job shaking it off - until-- "Wow, Harry - that must've been fifty feet..." The air was soon thick with flying gnomes. "See, they're not too bright," said George, seizing five or six gnomes at once. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay put." Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched. "They'll be back," said Ron as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. "They love it here... Dad's too soft with them; he thinks they're funny..." Just then, the front door slammed. "He's back!" said George. "Dad's home!" They hurried through the garden and back into the house. Mr. Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn. "What a night," he mumbled, groping for the teapot as they all sat down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned..." Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed. "Find anything, Dad?" said Fred eagerly. "All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle," yawned Mr. Weasley. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness..." "Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" said George. "Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr. Weasley. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it... Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking - they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face... But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn't believe--" "LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?" Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley's eyes jerked open. He stared guiltily at his wife. "C-cars, Molly, dear?" "Yes, Arthur, cars," said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly ." Mr. Weasley blinked. "Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if - er - he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth... There's a loophole in the law, you'll find... As long as he wasn't intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn't--" "Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly!" "Harry?" said Mr. Weasley blankly. "Harry who?" He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped. "Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron's told us so much about--" "Your sons flew that car to Harry's house and back last night!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "What have you got to say about that, eh?" "Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Did it go all right? I - I mean," he faltered as sparks flew from Mrs. Weasley's eyes, "that - that was very wrong, boys - very wrong indeed..." "Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to Harry as Mrs. Weasley swelled like a bullfrog. "Come on, I'll show you my bedroom." They slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry just caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes staring at him before it closed with a snap. "Ginny," said Ron. "You don't know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up normally--" They climbed two more flights until they reached a door with peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD'S ROOM . Harry stepped in, his head almost touching the sloping ceiling, and blinked. It was like walking into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then Harry realized that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically. "Your Quidditch team?" said Harry. "The Chudley Cannons," said Ron, pointing at the orange bedspread, which was emblazoned with two giant black C's and a speeding cannonball. "Ninth in the league." Ron's school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a pile of comics that all seemed to feature The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Ron's magic wand was lying on top of a fish tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat gray rat, Scabbers, who was snoozing in a patch of sun. Harry stepped over a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards on the floor and looked out of the tiny window. In the field far below he could see a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through the Weasleys'hedge. Then he turned to look at Ron, who was watching him almost nervously, as though waiting for his opinion. "It's a bit small," said Ron quickly. "Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I'm right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he's always banging on the pipes and groaning..." But Harry, grinning widely, said, "This is the best house I've ever been in." Ron's ears went pink.