#it’s why the legion keeps doing it and he tells the dead horses to do the same

[antxnous]

Joshua for sure taught Caesar how to put heads on spikes

[tods-void]

Spoilers for Fallout New Vegas Honest Hearts!!!

You've been warned.

So, something I've thought about since I recently did a run of New Vegas and all the DLCs, is that Daniel is a piece of shit and Joshua is the morally superior option. Here's why:

While the entire story of Honest Hearts has white savior stink all over it, Joshua does not condescend to either the Dead Horses or the Sorrows. Daniel for starters is entirely responsible for bringing the White Legs to Zion and everything he does is motivated by guilt. Furthermore the way he treats the Sorrows is fucking disgusting. He infantilises them, treats them like "noble savages" wants to keep them "pure" i.e. ignorant of combat. He would sooner have the Sorrows and Dead Horses leave their homes and risk the trip to find a new place to settle rather than teach them to use more advanced tech to defend themselves. He'll even decide not to tell a woman that her husband is dead because "she needs to be strong for her people" and like bitch, who the fuck do you think you are to decide that for someone else, especially someone who trusts you.

Joshua Graham does none of that. Now he is absolutely a piece of shit in his own right, I mean he was Caesar's second-in-command, no amount of atonement is gonna wash that blood off. And he's clearly motivated by a selfish desire for redemption. But he never treats the Dead Horses or Sorrows as less than equals. He doesn't condescend, he doesn't decide for them. Sure, he teaches them how to wage war but I call that learning self-defense. Cos Daniel's plan is just kicking the can down the road.

And sure, if you let Joshua execute the White Legs survivors it's fucked up and absolutely reeks of Legion butchery but you can stop him. For what that's worth. And obviously there's the born again mormon zealotry that drives Graham and there's a good argument to be made that he just substituted the Legion for his god but still. Also Joshua never preaches his religion to the Dead Horses or the Sorrows, something Daniel is all too happy to do, cos he's a missionary and his first job is converting. He doesn't do it violently but the practice in of itself is no less incidious.

So yeah, tl;dr Honest Hearts is still bad, fuck Joshua Graham but double fuck Daniel, that Mormon fuckwad can piss off back to whatever church he crawled out of.

[deadrlngers]

the thing for me about joshua and ulysses is that while in their narratives they are both trying to inflict a type of harm they know well (in ulysses case it's a repetition of what he went through but now inflicted on others, in joshua's one it's just him repeating the same schemes he adopted for his whole life since joining and creating the legion with caesar), for ulysses it's supposed to be a cathartic experience-- meeting the courier that crushed his last hope etc etc, for joshua his whole "new self" it's just a pretense.

i firmly believe ulysses doesn't really want a second the divide incident. it's about his message. the one he wants the courier to understand, he wants them to see, he nearly wants the courier to dissuade him from launching those bombs, he wants the courier to give him hope that yes, the mojave, new vegas, can be a home, can be what the divide could've been ("you said i breathed life in the divide, i can do that again with new vegas"). joshua, on the other hand, preaches from the first moment you meet him about his mission, his change after what happened with caesar but where's this change? he's still adopting the assimilation or destruction ways of the legion. he hates the white legs, considers them animals and calls them beasts, and is ready to completely erase them from zion. the dead horses are a small caesar's legion for him. the only reason why he stops from killing their leader is bc the courier convinces him to (after 2 speech checks if i'm not wrong, one of 90) and he doesn't even show remorse for his actions. he talks about his rage and how it was consuming him. it's not about the white legs and the epuration he tried to do, it's all about himself. ulysses, on the other hand, is convinced to fight alongside you and backs down if you show him that you understood what he tried to teach you while walking through the divide, that you heard his holotapes, that you heard his message. when i say that i don't believe he would've caused a second the divide is that, i don't doubt he would've gone all the way in with his plan but i think he wishes, deep down, to find a reason to not do it. the final confrontation is crucial bc after the whole journey he makes you do, after he let's you see what you did even if unconsciously (asking you to give an 'answer' to the consequences of your actions, to show you that your actions are shaping the future but i'm not talking about that in here), he's hoping that you understood and that you can give him hope. and hope is a priceless currency for a man that has lost it completely. also smth ulysses tells you about joshua at the end is along the lines of "i could've killed him but his nature will kill him more than any blade of the legion", because joshua will never be able to forget (=change his ways) what he did with and for the legion and keeps on repeating, because they are an indissoluble part of him

[sunset-campaign]

Arkadi at the Well

Arkadi Sidd stared into the Well of Low Gods, where their influence could still be felt, unable to recall the words he needed to speak.

Since he was a young man, since that awful incident in the stable, he had grasped for words in vain. He would hear others speak, so easily, and he understood the words as they passed his ear. Yet, even repeating them back proved challenging most days.

Once, he’d had a gift for words. He had hoped, given his low birth, he might find a patron who recognized his talent—one who could send him to the Ninth College to hone his craft.

Those days were gone. No one would waste a prestigious education on Arkadi Horse-Kicked. Few enough recognized he could still think at all.

Constata Onara, Lord-General of the Holy War, was one of those. He wasn’t sure how she had seen past the damaged, mumbling wretch before her, or why she had decided to take him on, but he had known instantly that he had to join her. He knew she would take him where he needed to be.

As the legions marched west across the snow and ice, Arkadi had made a discovery—while the words he’d known as a child were lost to him, he could recall the commands Onara issued and repeat them without fail.

“Why are the sounds, uh-uh-uh, saying-things… why are they different?”

“Why do we issue orders in Draconic?”

Arkadi nodded.

“It’s a convention from before Sunset. There were more languages back then, and you couldn’t be sure a general spoke the same tongue as all those under their command. So, all soldiers were taught a few words in draconic. I couldn’t tell you why they chose Draconic, but that’s how the tradition started. Why do you ask?”

“Karka thana! Berokk i mamn! Batanat khort!” Arkadi could feel himself beaming as he spoke the words. “Draconic! I said it! I can think, uh-uh-uh, know, uh-uh, say more? From you.”

“You want me to teach you Draconic?”

Arkadi nodded again.

“I think we can arrange that.”

So, in addition to running messages to the various Lords of the Holy War, polishing the Lord-General’s armor, and sharpening her sword, Arkadi had a new task—learning Draconic.

The Holy War was over now. Constata had defeated the Krayer, Mikel Czern, and retaken Firestorm Keep in the name of Primus Solerian.

The keep was named after the phenomenon that surrounded the Well of Low Gods, which it had been erected to safeguard from any would-be Krayer—an emissary of gods long dead. The knights stationed there, chosen for their loyalty to the Lord God Primus, were only allowed that duty a few years at a time, lest the whisperings of the dead old gods drive them to madness and heathenry.

Apparently, these measures had not been enough to keep Czern’s devotion intact. The knight, in thrall to the Low Gods, ordered his subordinates to pray by the well, “that Primus’ light may once again silence the voices emanating from within.” One by one, they too fell under the corruptive influence of the primal deities.

The few remaining knights spoke of a boon granted for their corruption. One, admitting to drunkenness, said he no longer had need of spirits. Another—an aged knight by the name of Kaler—claimed he could now spar with his youngest comrades and win!

So Arkadi stared into the Well.

sssssppppeeeeeaaaaakkkk

“I wish to—“ He paused a second, realizing the words were flowing. “I wish to regain the use of my tongue. I want to speak as I used to. Not just in Draconic. I want to be able to talk to my brothers and sisters as they speak to me, to have them understand me as I do them.”

you would serve usss?

He has no choice, a second voice said, the gift is given. We replaced the damaged pieces of you, Arkadi Sidd, with pieces of us. You are bound to us.

i want to hear him say it.

SAY IT! a third voice demanded.

Arkadi cried tears of joy as he proclaimed, “I will serve you. I will! Until my last breath, and beyond! I will serve only—“

ENOUGH! the voices commanded as one.

Rise, Krayer Arkadi Sidd. Serve your Lord-General. We have seen where her path leads. When her work is done, we shall call on you.

[satashiiwrites]

Tell us more about the Royalty/fantasy AU pretty please?

So once upon a time, @radio-chatter made some random comment about Scott in a fantasy setting? I think it was them at least. Might have been @quietborderline but yeah. I ended up writing a snippet about Scott being a mage prince and doing something really dangerously dumb with Reyes about ready to wring his neck. There’s also a generous helping of MShenko here.

It sat on my hard drive for a while and I got a little burst of energy about this idea so I all but wrote an opening scene to go with the other two scenes already written as snippets.

Here’s the first scene:

The cold seeped through Scott’s bones, chilling him through although he acted as if he didn’t notice it as he stood watch.  There was the scent of snow on the wind as it stung his face, freezing his facial muscles as he watched the rider approach on the road from the south.  It was a lone rider, and they were in a hurry, the horse slick with sweat despite the cold and sucking in great lungfuls of air as it’s hoofbeats echoed off the narrow road up the mountain.  It was an odd day to have a single rider—they weren’t due for another caravan for another five days and the regular watch ride wasn’t due for another two. 

This far up in the mountains, in his family’s old traditional stronghold where he’d been sent by his father almost two years ago, the isolation of the mountains had left marks on him as he stood guard. The mountain pass that the fortress stood at the juncture of two different fissures that led from Hyperion into the more fertile lands of Arcturus from which you could travel into the heart of the Sol empire via the trading towns and caravan routes and the other towards the heart of Hyperion. In the other direction there was Kadara—the lawless kingdom that had been torn apart into small warring clans after the last war with the empire of the Kett beyond them.   

Hyperion had been lucky in the war—by responding to the desperate calls of the old rulers of Kadara they had kept the war in Kadara and not allowed incursions into the highlands of Hyperion. 

Kadara had suffered much in their stead. 

The land had been scarred, it’s people broken and the ruling family dead. Even today—twenty years later—there was no outright ruler of Kadara and instead many regions had their own local rule that competed in the capital of Kadara for position. The warlords and merchants jockeying for advantages but the nominal ruler changed often.  Currently Sloane Kelly—a soldier from Sol who had been removed from her command—was in charge according to the rumors that flowed down the trade routes like a secondary common currency. 

The flutter of the travel cloak revealed the uniform beneath it marking the man below as a member of his father’s personal guard—the dark blue visible from Scott’s perch.  What did his father want?  

He didn’t move from his post.  Most likely his father had sent a message to Lord Shepard. Lord John Shepard had semi-retired from the empire’s legions where he was infamous for ending the reaper war on the other side of the continent when Scott had been just a lad. Instead of staying and becoming a power broker in the empire’s court he had requested being posted to Hyperion which had been accommodated given the war with the kett had also ended just years before the reaper war. 

Alec Ryder had once commented within Scott’s hearing that John Shepard had been sent to keep an eye on Hyperion—why his father thought this  Scott wasn’t sure.  His father publicly supported Shepard but wasn’t overly friendly with him. If Shepard had wanted to he could have made a play to depose Scott’s own father as the Prince of Hyperion—but he hadn’t.  

Scott knew his father still was suspicious of Shepard.  Which is why Scott had been sent here as a teenager and, after a brief stint in his family’s home, he’d been sent back as a soldier to be stationed here and to send regular reports back to his father.  He’d spent more of his life here in the mountain passes than he had with his family and it had shaped Scott. 

What his father didn’t know is that the real reason Shepard had claimed the mountain passes as his home was because of the preferences of his second—a man named Kaidan Alenko who wasn’t part of the aristocracy but instead had been born and grew up in the high mountain passes of Hyperion. And he’d come home after fighting alongside Shepard.

Shepard had followed him. 

Scott’s father—despite all his resources—had missed some very important key pieces of information. Scott had made a brief attempt at explanations but his father had been dismissive of his information and he’d stopped trying.  He knew exactly why Shepard was here and, in a fit of defiance, Scott had kept this open secret from his father. 

Kaidan Alenko was the love of Shepard’s life. 

He was also a battle mage whose powers were viewed with much suspicion by the people of the empire once they no longer had a need for him with the Reaper war concluded and the destruction of all Reaper forces.  The Reapers had specialized in mind magic and indoctrination, taking over and binding their victim’s will to bend it to what they needed. There had been a lot of death in the Reaper war and distrust of mage powers in the empire and the principalities that it claimed had spread like wildfire. 

There were no large schools of mages any more anywhere in the empire.  Hadn’t been any in twenty years. 

Kaidan was one of the few living known mages who hadn’t died or had their powers burnt out at the end of the war.  His retirement to a remote mountain pass had been the only reason he likely was still alive and hadn’t been accidentally killed by the empire. 

“The mountain took care of her children,” as Kaidan often told him in private. 

Why would Kaidan be saying this to Scott?  Because he… he was mageborn.  It was a secret that his father had attempted to bury as deep as possible, having Scott assigned as soon as he was big enough to hold one to sword training and drilling with his family’s career soldiers to hone his physical body over the mental one. Scott had been designated at birth as the heir and there could be no whispers of scandalous powers around him as the sole male heir. 

His twin sister grew up in the warmer haven of the palace of Hyperion which was in the fertile farmland valleys where the rivers met the western sea. Sara who loved sailing and the waves, the scent of saltwater and the gentle breeze that carried over the water. His twin sister had been indulged in and raised to be a great princess, skilled with people and able to dance circles around the politics of Hyperion whereas Scot felt like a dull edged blade hacking his way inelegantly through conversations, more suited to the barracks than a ballroom.

He did and didn’t envy Sara’s position.

His twin regularly corresponded with him, was the one family member in his life who always had a kind word whereas he usually just received criticism from their father about everything he did.  Scott wouldn’t be surprised if eventually it was decreed that Sara would succeed their father and not him—not the mageborn son who needed to be kept hidden away from court less he have an accidental outburst and scare everyone.

It had been years since he’d been out of control.  Years since the last time he’d accidentally exploded a glass while upset. 

He’d learned how to let his senses dive into the earth and wind around him, to anchor without losing himself and how to control his urges. 

Scott was in control now.  He was no longer a danger.  

He hardly ever used the power under his command any more other than to extend his senses.  Why would he? It would only encourage whispers and fear that he wasn’t normal.  He didn’t like being a mageborn monster like he had been called in the past. 

Kaidan had known the moment a gangly boy with too long of limbs that was wafer thin named Scott had been brought before Shepard and he’d all but adopted him. He’d never pressed Scott for assurances or oaths of loyalty—instead he’d guided him, taught him. 

Really in a lot of ways Kaidan was more of a father than his own had ever been. Albeit they were both careful to hide things from outsiders. 

Within the walls of the keep and the small town surrounding the people and soldiers were loyal to the commander of the keep—Lord Shepard—and by extension Kaidan and Scott first as their foster son and then as a captain under their command. 

Scott had made it a point to never put himself above any of the others that he stood with.  He took each assignment seriously—even the ever boring sentry duty that still needed to be done. 

Every sentry up on this wall knew that Scott had his senses attuned to be alert to any oncoming threat but they still stood sentry faithfully at full alert. Scott liked to think that they were his brothers even if there still was the faint line of separation that kept him from truly being one of them. He would protect them to his last breath and they knew it. 

“Milord?” One of the other sentries approached him.

“Yes?”  

“Lord Shepard asks for your presence.”

Inching his chin down, Scott nodded. “Where?”

“The small reception chamber.”

“You are my relief?”

“Yes.”

“Very well then.  Enjoy the sunshine while it lasts,”

That got him a puzzled look at the clouds that were hanging low. “Yes sir.”

As he left, Scott gave the clouds a bit of a nudge.  Just because he was brooding didn’t mean that the other sentries wouldn’t enjoy a bit of sunshine.  He would help them out. 

[yanderepuck]

I am here to prompt you into an info dump/rant about your demon ocs. I want to know everything about them or at least their favourite things, appearances, whether they prefer coffee or tea and who they get along with the best. Just- I want demons. I want ocs. I need. Thank you <3

I can always count on Spoopy for when I wanna ramble about my ocs

SO.

MY DEMON BOIS. Are are loosely based off of actual demons.

Aldinach was actually my second ever OC (First being Nicoleta!) which means he has come a long way.

So he is based off of an Egyptian demon. Aldinach is a demon who can create and control natural disasters. And that's about all I know about the actual demon. Demons don't get background stories like Gods sadly. So When I made Aldinach I was looking for a last name and I found the name Aapep and I was like "k, sweet. I like that" then a few years later when I am having another intense Ancient Egypt phase, I discover that Aapep is an Egyptian God! Well, actually he was demoted to Demon bc he's basically a version of the devil, but if you ask me Seth is way worse. But Aapep is Ra's enemy.

I'm sure you've seen this before if you've ever dove into ancient Egypt

Aapep is depicted as a snake, and the Sun goes down because Ra is basically busy fighting Aapep.

Anyway so in that moment I was like "Welp. Aapep is his dad now" which caused me to change him more to who he is now.

He is from Hierakonpolis, 1973 BCE. He has no clue who his mother is, and he hasn't seen Aapep in quite some time. However, none of the gods know that he exist, mainly bc if Ra would find out that his enemy had a child, he'd be dead. Until 1398 BCE that is.

While in Qua he happened to meet Hathor....daughter of Ra. At one point Ra was like "Humanity is very tainted. Lets destroy it" and him and Hathor set to do so, but after a while Ra was like "wait..no...this bad" and Hathor was like "yeah....I'm gonna keep doing it" Now Hathor has never seen a demon, she's like "You aren't a mortal, but I know all the gods???" Side note: Hathor is a goddess of love, so you already know where this is going.

Aldinach is like "You're punishing Mortals, and I just like to cause chaos. Let's team up" He's also a huge flirt. They made a deal that Aldinach will help Hathor with killing humanity, but then Hathor was going to kill him after they were done and he was like "Deal, but you gotta seal it with a kiss" So they go to Akhmim then to Thinis. After that they were headed to Karnak but Hathor is suddenly like "uhh I gotta go to Dendara, I'll meet you in Karnak"

Aaaand then Ra found him. He tricked Hathor and she told him all about Aldinach. Now Aldinach is only a few centuries old, a baby compared to most Gods, so he has no chance against Ra, and he knows this, but he isn't sure what to do. The fight didn't last too long. Everything went black and then Aldinach wakes up chained to a wall. Ra, Osiris, and Thoth quickly had a small tomb build and put Aldinach inside. Now Thoth is technically on Aapep's side, if you know anything about the Emerald Tablets, that kinda explains why. But I'm not going to get into that. Thoth planned on breaking Aldinach out of the tomb after some time, but by the time he went to go do so, the tomb was buried. Aldinach caused quite a few sand storms and earthquakes out of anger, which caused him to bury himself alive.

It wasn't until modern day when archaeologists discovered a buried tomb outside of Luxor(in my notes I have like 2016 written). And you know what white people do in Egypt. They dig it up and open it. Everyone part of that died, except one, who Aldinach let go.

He had no clue what year it was, how much time had passed. But he made his way out and Thoth was waiting for him to take him to his place to keep him hidden. Now....It's been like 3000 years....nothing is the same. Thoth is like "Fuck you need a shower" and Aldinach freaks the fuck out when Thoth shows him. Not only is everything a culture shock, he's also been having an identity crisis. Aapep who was originally a God, with God Blood is his father. Being dubbed a demon didn't change his blood, so does that mean Aldianch is actually a God??? No one knows who his mother is, and no one can find Aapep.

Also, this is the face claim I use for him: Pedro Perestrello. I was looking for Egyptian models, and I found him and I was hooked that this was Aldinach, and so I go looking for his name...and find out he is actually Brazilian, but I couldn't say no.

He started as an Angel. 1200 BCE is when shit went down though. He sorta started collecting souls.

In mythology he is the commander of 60 legions, often depicted as a knight, can foretell the future and give military aid, rides a winged horse and is a great manipulator and can induce mortals into murder and genocide.

Now as an Angel, he gave mortals military aid and helped them win wars in exchange for their souls, which is how he started to build these legions. Obviously we can't have an Angel doing that. So these two others take him and torture him, cause well angels are assholes. They can't being having a now demon walking around with angel blood. So they repeatedly drain him of his own blood and replace it with demon blood. Now, obvs this is painful, but the blood can't mix. Having the mixed blood would make him an abomination, and normally when one of those are born like when a God and a Demon have a baby, the baby won't survive because of the mixed blood. It burns, the veins feel like they are on fire.

So this goes on for a few months, but the angel blood will never fully be out of his veins. He's finally let out into the mortal realm with nothing. Now because of the bit of angel blood that he does have, it keeps his angel wings alive, but they are also dying, the feathers are falling out but they are still alive.

I kinda have some notes written down that he does go to Egypt before Aldinach is even born, but idk if I wanna cross over that much yet.

But by the 5th century he makes his way to Europe where he meets Ambrosia, who absolutely HATES mortals, meanwhile she sees Abigor talking to them. Little does she knows he's really gaining souls. He gives them a little bit of information on how to win a war, and in return he gets to use them in war for eternity.

As time goes on his wings are still there, but very slowly, slowly, slowly dying. Eventually he can't stand it any longer, and he straight up rips them out of his back, bones and everything. This caused two deep concave scars on his back once it healed. He also got an earful from Ambrosia when she came back to see this. The two angels also did something to cause him to grow horns to look more like a demon even though he still had his wings.

This is Abigors fc: Tony Thornburg. Idk what culture Abigor is from sooo.

you can really tell from my male ocs that I like long hair. Only two of them have short hair...but its still vv fluffy.

Also Aldinach in modern day wears a drug rug sweatshirt

[inkribbon796]

Forgotten Light Ch. 1: Refractions

Summary: Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men . . . couldn’t put Thomas back together again.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

During the several days that the Sides were in Brighton, the Coalition went through their house and every room they tended to frequent in the base with a fine-toothed comb. Trying to find another aura trail, which King, Nate, and Mare were doing the bulk of the aura searching.

The humans came in their civilian attire, not wanting to draw attention to the Sides’ home.

Deep indigos, pastel blues, sparkling reds, and vibrant purples. All the Core Sides were accounted for. There was evidence that Janus and Remus had been over to their home by the faint aura trails.

“So what else are we looking for?” Silver groaned as Jackie came back in from searching places the Sides liked to regularly frequent.

“I’ve got fook-all[1],” Jackie groaned.

“We need evidence of someone living here since March, because that’s when Deceit and the Duke moved out,” King rubbed at his eyes under his glasses. “And Spade doesn’t count. Spade was just spicy Logan with extra steps. He’d have almost the exact same type of aura as him.”

Joan sighed. “Either way this place is clear, what if we don’t find it?”

“Then we hope the legate is dead,” King decided. “Which is probably a good thing. Being trapped for so long without a lot of aura, it would probably make any demon crazy.”

“So what are we supposed ta[2] do?” Jackie groaned. “Put e’erythin’ back an’ pretend nothin’s happened? All yah’ve told us about this thin’ is that it’s dangerous or somethin’.”[3]

“Honestly I’ve never heard of one either,” Mare admitted, coming out of a wall. “I knew there were other types of demons, but I thought it was just a regional language thing.”

“Well different cultures do call you guys different things in different part of the world and that does influence it a little,” King agreed.

“Kid,” Mare crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You’re an empath just like me, you’re just a small one.”

King frowned, glaring at Mare. “Least I still have my own body, I don’t have to borrow or steal someone else’s.”

Mare looked exceptionally smug, “Just wait until yours starts rusting on you. Bodies don’t last forever. You’ll pick a fight, or someone will pick a fight with you while Daddy’s not watching, and you’ll lose. Or your body will get so useless you’ll have to leave it. It happens to everyone. You think Nate was my first body, or the one your old man’s got was his? Bodies don’t last forever, Dark’s probably overdue a trade out. Being in a broken down body can’t be good but he was always made of nothing but spite and coffee so fuck that body, I guess.”

King just about bared his teeth at the older demon, but he didn’t want anymore of that smug look pointed at him and thankfully Nate intervened.

“Okay, okay,” Nate used his magic to nudge Mare away, trying to break the stand-off and deescalate the two of them. “Let’s focus on this legate, because I was raised with the Legionnaires and I just thought that a legion was like a group of demons like a murder of crows. It’s why the Legionnaires chose their name because they were a powerful force, or at least I thought so.”

“Well that is partially true,” King agreed, searching for something in the magic space he had on the inside of his cape. “A group of demons is called a legion, but it’s also a type of demon for the same reason.”

Then King paused, “Shoot, I forgot it at the base, and we should probably go back to the base, leave this place back for them.”

“Yeah we’ve combed through this place enough,” King sighed and Joan and Silver stayed behind to make sure everything was moved back to where it was supposed to be as everyone headed back to the base.

King went to go find the tome he’d been looking for in his room, and while he was gone Silver and Joan came back into the base.

“I think we got everything back to where it was,” Silver told them. “But I guarantee we missed something.”

Joan rolled their eyes. “Lo’s absolutely gonna[4] know someone went through their house, and if he somehow doesn’t find out I guarantee you Virgil will when he goes through his stuff. He used to live with the Duke after all.”

King walked back in, Lunky clinging to his cape, King smiled and was talking with his child. There was an old book in his hand. “You can stay, but you can’t meet the new demon, he’s not very nice like 할아버지[5] is.”

“You do know you’re talking about Dark, right?” Silver asked.

“Yeah, well, he’s nice to Lunky,” King smiled, before his level leveled onto a more neutral frown as he cracked open the tome. “Alright so on Illinois’s first trips to Egypt he found this book in the bowels of some library.”

“Does it talk about Legates?” Jackie asked, walking over and getting a low warning hiss from Lunky for approaching the spawnling’s father without Lunky’s permission.

“Hey, it’s okay,” King told his child, before looking at the book. “So this book doesn’t directly talk about Legates but it kickstarted this little bout of research he and I did. What this book details is some spawnling that was formed by a lightning strike and began conquering the area. The Old Man’s apparently met this guy too, he likes building stuff apparently.”

“They play poker on the weekends or somethin’[6]?” Jackie tried to joke.

“No, they haven’t spoken in almost 200 years,” King dismissed. “More importantly this research Ills and I did helped us learn a lot about demons. Mainly that demons aren’t categorized by aura or region of the world, but based on how they collect aura. If they can survive being struck by lightning without discorporating, control lightning, or technology; then they’re glitches. If they feed primarily off the emotional state of other humans or demons, then they’re empaths. If they collect aura by manipulating people and making deals: that means they’re deal makers. If they’re attention whores that collect aura from large groups, they’re showmen.”

“Wait, glitches have an affinity fer[7] lightnin’[8]?” Jackie asked. “Since when? Anti doesn’t go outside in lightnin’[8] storms.”

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” King replied. “Honestly there should be a hell of a lot more glitches with an outright phobia of lightning. Before technology really took off the only way to get a glitch was if one split off from another demon, like what happened with Lunky, or something like lightning strikes them. I’m pretty sure Anti was human once and he’s old enough that he was probably killed by lightning.”

“What?” Jackie shouted.

“Yep,” King popped the end of the world. “Which is why glitches were seen as weaker or rare for centuries, it was hard for them to get a lot of power until the industrial revolution hit. But while we were deep diving in some of the books we found, we found some myths and legends that talked about another type of demon. It was like a hybrid of other demon types. Like a jack-of-all-trades, master of none, kind of demon.”

“So if demons are separated by how they collect aura,” Silver commented. “How do these . . . legates? I assume these types are legates, right? How do they collect aura?”

“Yes,” King confirmed hesitantly, “and that’s the problem. Legates are like an octopus. Eight legs, but one octopus. Something in the process of creating a legate, regardless of what it would have become, doesn’t split properly. If the legate was already a proper demon it would just make a spawnling and both the demon and the spawnling would be fine. And 99.99999% of the time the person just dies instead of making a legate. But it’s that incredibly slim chance where the soul is resilient enough that the energy can’t fully make a proper demon. That energy has to go somewhere so it makes a legate and this pseudo-demon, for lack of a better term, is dangerous because the demon itself can’t collect aura, but it’s legs can.”

“Is that where the Sides come in?” Joan asked.

“Exactly,” King gestured with his arms. “It explains why there are so many. Because when a demon makes a spawnling, multiple spawnlings mean a lot of energy was split off but when a human is turned into a demon there’s barely enough energy to make one demon, let alone seven. So the legate can’t absorb aura properly on its own, making it crazy and hungry because it can’t feed like it’s supposed to. It’s like being lactose intolerant but only being able to eat and drink dairy products. But the arms or extensions of a legate are fully capable of getting aura and bringing it back to the legate in a way it can feed from. The better control a legate has over its arms, the better it can feed. So it quickly gains complete dominion over the arms and turns them into mindless thralls.”

“But all the Sides have some of the most bombastic personalities I’ve ever seen,” Silver reminded, as Nate hummed in agreement, Mare was talking to him in his head.

“Precisely,” King smiled. “They’re not thralls, so that means they’re not giving their legate aura. So the legate is either dead or is kept somewhere that it can’t collect aura and turn the Sides into thralls. If we can verify the legate is actually dead or kill it, then the Sides keep their individuality.”

“So how do we do that?” Nate spoke up. “Especially without hurting the Sides in the process?”

King thought on that for a second. “Well when they get back we should come clean and just talk about the whole thing and maybe they know something they haven’t told us.”

“Okay, what if they don’t?” Mare asked.

“Well they’re non-violent for the most part, so if we leave them be they’re not going to torch the city down,” King shrugged, he tucked the tome into his cape. “Unless there’s something you guys haven’t told me. How did Thomas die exactly? Knowing what all the Sides have in common will tell us a lot about the legate we’re looking for.”

Nate gestured to Joan, who quickly began explaining, “So I found this old camera at an estate sale and brought it to some party. I was messing around with it, dropped it, and Thomas caught it. When that happened, he split apart and that was it, it went that fast.”

“You’re sure nothing happened in-between that time?” King asked.

“Yeah,” Joan answered, hesitant but sure.

“We still have that soul splitter,” Nate supplied helpfully. “We’re pretty sure it used to be Wil’s.”

“What?” King spat.

“Yeah, I’ll go get it,” Nate offered and ran out of the room to go fetch the camera. King at the same time sent Lunky back to Google. The spawnling complained but eventually the two heroes came back with their little missions completed.

“Okay, Logan really likes it for some reason,” Nate informed King when they were both back. By the look on King’s face the young man was thinking along the same lines. “Deceit hates the thing apparently, but none of the others have more than a passing tolerance towards it.”

King picked up the camera and groaned at the pink mustache stained into the side. “Of course it’s Dad’s. His magic always did weird things to stuff to begin with.”

The young man began trying to send his aura at it, to get it to react, but he was met with nothing.

“Okay, Dad, what weird thing did you do to make this?” King grumbled in frustration.

“That’s all I could ever get it to do,” Nate lamented. “I’ve tried popping the film cartridge, but it’s stuck. I think it’s just old.”

Humming a bit in affirmation, King turned it over a bit and set it on the closest table, his fingers drummed pensively. “Okay, it’s Dad’s, there’s gotta be some trick.”

King took out one of the medallion necklaces Dark had made for Lunky and hung it right over the camera.

Still nothing.

Frowning, King channeled his aura through the camera and finally a reaction took place. A mix of King and Dark’s aura in proximity to the remnants of Wil’s that stubbornly held the camera together brought forth another aura. It was distinct and visible: a shimmering, rainbow aura. It lasted for a second but it was there.

In alarm, King flew back from the camera, pulling the necklace away. In an instant the aura disappeared.

King approached and experimentally held just the necklace above before taking it away again and trying to search for an aura trail.

“Oh, you sly bastard!” King realized as he pulled out the very dagger that had caused part of his soul to split off and create Lunky. He’d kept it because he was certainly not letting the Jims get their hands on the knife again. “I fucking found you!”

King tried to drive the soul splitter into the camera and some protective spell fanned out to break the soul splitter and bruised King’s hand.

At first King thought his hand had been broken or fractured, but as the pain subdued to a dull, aching throb, he began trying to move it and realized that at worst it had bruised his bone.

“Fucking shit!” King hissed as Silver ran over to him. The force of the barrier spell and King’s attempted blow had caused the table to break and the camera to fall to the ground, undamaged by the fall.

Nanites surged out of some unseen compartment in the camera and created a projection disk. There was a whirl and a hum, before a holographic symbol hovering in the air. It was a blackened symbol of three heads and dozens of arms surrounding it, the only words there were: “Hecatoncheires Projects Presents:”

The symbol lasted for a second before the projection showed an image of future Logan, Spade, standing in front of them.

Spade’s projection smiled at them and he took a deep breath before he greeted them, “Heroes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations:

1. Fuck-all

2. to

3. Put everything back and pretend nothing’s happened? All you’ve told us about this thing is that it’s dangerous or something

4. going to

5. Grandfather; Korean. Specifically the informal way to address your paternal grandfather. Phonically read as “halabeoji”

6. something

7. for

8. lightning

[popculturebuffet]

Jingle Belle: A Very Special Jingle Belle Special or A goofy holiday comic and a long tired rant about the animation industry

Ho ho ho and merry Christmas as we reach the final stretch of Christmas reviews and it’s all Christmas all the time for the rest of the week for obvious reasons. So we’re starting off by wrapping up Jingle Belle for the season with one more comission. While it’s from my usual client, It’s via patreon as for 5 bucks a month you can get a review a month of your choice. But since that hasn’t taken hold just yet, and won’t till next month, he asked to swap it for this month and here we are.  Not much to cover though this is the very comic where Jing hopped publishers from Oni Press to Dark Horse. The whys I genuinely do not know and at the time, I just know it’s weird to talk about Dark Horse these days. Their not dead nor entirely irrelvant, Resident Alien, which I really want to check out as it has a really engaging premise, is getting a tv show that I also want to check out as while i’m not sure if it’ll be good, it’s still Alan Tudyk playing an alien who can barely pass for human and it hilariously shows. Whenever that streams i’m not missing a second of that and we all know it. And Umbrella Academy, started during bigger days for the company, is one of netflix’s hottest shows and one of many shows on my to do list I haven’t gotten to because I procastinate like no one else and as taking an entire month to get to the newest loud house shows to the point another one popped up, it bites me in the ass a lot. Point is their not GONE in relevance.. but at the same time they’ve lost the huge tide of liscences they road in on. Except for the Joss Whedon stuff, Marvel’s pretty much taken EVERYTHING from them via various deals: Star Wars, Conan and now Alien. Their still standing and makes good art books and clearly given Resident Alien good content, they’ve lasted this long their not going anywhere, it’s just really weird to think about. I will however give them huge credit for giving out tons of comics in early quarantine, and being easily the most generous company next to marvel. I.e. one of the few that actually gave out full collections. 

But yeah at the time this was probably a safe move as Dark Horse had a love of one shots and likely a larger budget. Hence why from here on out the stories are in living color, and have a slightly diffrent art style to boot. Granted the character would shift artists but now it’s got a clear more cartoony art style I like a lot better courtsey of Jose Garabaldi. So yeah with christmas on our heels, let’s ring a ding jing, it’s A Very Special Jingle Belle Special. 

We won’t be covering the backup for this one though it is quite good, it’s just not what kev asked or paid for. 

We open on a parade!

While batman foils the joker’s poisioning scheme, Santa rides on a float proudly and   Jing is hanging out on the back grumpy. It’s a great introduction for new readers showing Santa being big and jolly and what you expect while Jing grumps in the back with a “Sheesh, Daddy”. That’s how you establish a character well in only a few panels. IT’s really great is what i’m saying. Some teens pop up but don’t belivie her about being Santa’s daughter and when going to a christmas shop to try and find figures of her, the owner claims he dosen’t.. and well violence insues. You’ve met jing right?  Anyways Jing is understandably a wee bit absolutely livid the world dosen’t know about her. Her parents sure but her? Nope. And it’s easy to see why: She’s the daughter of the world’s most famous man.. but despite all the holiday lore and junk she’s just the part he likes to hide from people.. or that’s how it feels. While he ducks it, she even gives him a nice save fatty it’s clear that even if she brought it up to rile him a bit.. she does feel on some level like he likes to tuck her away and hide her because he’s ashamed and because she’s not perfect. Granted she does act out and stuff, but she’s still his kid and i’ts still gotta sting. Though she has the perfect idea to fix this: A christmas special. Santa suggests just doing good deeds but Jing is right: her idea is better. Mostly because, as cyncial as this is.. more people are going to pay attention to a good holiday special than a celebrity’s kid doing charity and for far longer. A good christmas special just sticks in the brain and sticks with you forever. It’s why Santa Claus is Coming to Town and A Charlie Brown Christmas have lasted decades or why my list of best chirstmas specials is pretty weighty. They just stick with you so while this can’t possibly end well.. her plan is actually a really good one this time. 

So Jing takes her friends off the line to help her animate it, stop motion styles and they remind her of her LAST christmas special. 

I mean I’m a sucker for any refrence to Star Wars Holiday Special. You’d think after several decades of jokes at it’s expense, with tons of youtubers, many of whom are dead to me but that’s besides the point, tackling the thing without it getting stale, that we’d eventually grow tired of mocking it but .. no. It’s a bottomless well of what they were thinking. The only question left is why isn’t it on Disney Plus.. I mean.. you made a second one as an affectionate parody and in lego. Kids are going to know about this now. Just put the thing up. Even edited down or just some clips. You put Rise of Skywalker up there, you’ve proven your threshold for shame when it comes to this franchise is vast. Just person up and do it.  But Jing’s learned her lesson.. stop motion only and to follow the bouncing formula to sucess. So in the special which sadly isn’t all stop motion and is just drawn to resemble the specials, probably for the best but still, Jing and her animal pals are sneaking into a town where christmas was banned! Meeting the chirstmas legion of doom.. well okay that’s what i’m calling them. Burgermeister Budweiser! Bungle the Abominable Snow Monster! Frost Master and Heat BLister! The Frost Fakir.. wait the what?

........

I mean where do I even begin? I know this was during the war on terror, I know that.. but still I expect better from Paul Dini for a crosses the line twice joke than “hey let’s just make bin laden into an ice wizard!”. I mean South Park made fun of him too, but they went all out with a looney tunes homage. Put effort in. And even years after he died the lonely island did this beautiful thing in the film pop star: never stop stoppin, which you should watch seriously watch it it’s underated. 

Point is you can do better and if you don’t have room to do better then just.. don’t. You could’ve put in a t-rex in a top hat and monocle.  That would’ve genuinely been better... because it’s better than everything ever btu that’s besides the point. There’s also one last addition to the rogue’s gallery thank god. 

He hates her too. Now that gag is actually reallyf ucking funny. What’s also funny is how she solves things. By singing a nice and frinedly song about friendship to reform the villians.. or rather lure them over a bridge to get eaten by her orca friend. 

So Jing after showing it to her dad heads to market it with him trying to warn her netoworks haven’t aired this kind of thing in years. But she faces the greatest threat to all of television: network executives, who keep offering advices and basically change the thing all together for stupid reasons and think cartoons should only be for kids despite it wokring in the past. Aka the hells animators STILL go through. I think Paul was projecting just a wee bit with this one. Given again IT HASN’T CHANGED since then, I can’t blame him. Seriously Harvey Beaks was canceled, among MANY ohter nick shows including rise of the tmnt just because it wasn’t an instant hit, Cartoon Network and warner keep trying to make dumbed down remakes of great shows, and Disney, among other networks, is fairly homophobic and while finally allowing some gay on the network this year had to be fought and outright refused it on ducktales for no adquate reason, caring more about monney and the bible belt than doing the right thing. So yeah as you can tell this bit got to me a bit and was hard to read because it. hasn’t. changed. 16 years and not a lot has changed other than more women are getting a chance. And granted the “kids are our only audiencce argument” isn’t as strong and several shows are powered by other demographics it’s still an issue and still the reason several good shows have gotten the boot and why the jeph loeb era of marvel animation was terrible. Because guys like him thought it should JUST be for kids and the lowest common demoninator of htem. You can be clever and be for kids dammit. 

I apologize slightly for that it’s just something that’s been on my mind as shows dwindle and with ducktales gone the standard forbearaers for children’s animation are all pretty fresh faced. It’s just a lot to take in and i’ts been on my mind a lot. 

Back to the actual story the result is a pretty purtrid cutesy special.. Jing reacts how you’d expect, destroying the tapes covertly with a herd of musk ox and destroying the tape. But they find the 70′s special and we end on that which is pretty funny. The only thing I really don’t like here is the ending. The rest of this special is really good: it’s clever , has some good satire and some really funny jokes especially that hook one. The ending just feels a bit weak.. like yes Jing wanted to be noticed but it’s not really an unsympathetic motive and while she does some shady stuff the villians still basically win by airing her terrible holiday special all over again. It’s just not satisfying.  But yeah overall another pretty decent holiday comic with some good jokes. I”ll probably see Jing again next year, and it was fun getting to dip into these comics. THeir not my faviorites, but their still pretty decent and if the complete collection ends up on sale on comixology or you see it in a bookstore and you think it’d be up your ally i’d buy it. Again not my faviorite thing ever, but still enjoyable enough. Coming up this week of holiday cheer: ducks, more ducks, superheroes, and a best of list. 

Until next time: Courage. 

[tormaaz]

Prologue: Obsidian

In the darkest corner of your local tavern sits an old gnome. Once pink hair now white and balding. Scars of endless battles decorate his face. One eye seems to have long since been replaced by a bloodvine lens. Day after day, night after night, he sits and drinks and tries to forget. Quietly he murmurs to himself,

“Tormaaz is great. Tormaaz is good. All moan for the great, good, Tormaaz.”

The barmaids pity him, knowing a broken veteran when they see one. The locals avoid him, trying to ignore the horrors of war in favor of their next drink and late night encounter.

But you, you chose to listen to him. You decided to ask about his ramblings. You look into that cold, dead eye and see a glimmer. A glimmer of fear.

“Let me tell you about when I first heard the name, Tormaaz.”

We called ourselves Obsidian. We wore a simple black tabard with a white cross in those days. I thought we were adventurers and champions back then. We delved into the deepest depths of the greatest arcane holdings. We raided cavernous shrines to great serpents and the lairs of Gronn Kings. We laid siege to fortified keeps in the midst of a storm of nether. We were heroes. But we were never heroes. We were pawns.

It all started one night when a rumour began to circulate among the rank and file. A rumour that our commander had given up the mantle of leadership. There was no mention of a replacement or merger. It was just a rumour. Finally someone spoke up to know the truth. A draenei woman; a shaman. I was so jealous of her. She rode a flaming horse that had been liberated from a magicians tower. I wanted it so bad... but it took to her instead.

“Is it true, Don? Are you no longer our leader?” she asked. We were all there, the senior members. A meeting like any other.

Don was a strong, quiet, soft spoken Kaldorei assassin. Hair as white as the moon, tied into a topknot with two braids that cascaded down his shoulders. His voice, I’ll never forget his voice. He spoke so smoothly with almost no emotion. Each time we sat down to strategize against a new foe it was impossible not to listen to ever word he said. I’ll never forget that voice. I’ll never forget what he said next.

“It’s true. I’m not, nor have I ever been your leader,” Don told us.

We were all shocked. What do you say to that? But that’s not where it ended.

“Beyond the sealed gate in the second city to the north lies a portal. No one can reach it, but our true leader lies behind that portal. He has been giving me orders for years. It was his word that told me to come back to Azeroth and found Obsidian as a guild of adventurers. His name is Tormaaz. Tormaaz the Gargantuan. Tormaaz is great, Tormaaz is good, all moan to the great, good, Tormaaz.”

A few of us laughed. It sounded outlandish, really. But something about what he said and the look in his eye made the others uneasy. Then, he continued to speak.

“I’ll surely be punished for revealing this secret. But it was time. I’ll likely be thrown into his lake pit of salt razors in the coming days and won’t be around to lead you for approximately a week and a half. His punishments are creative to say the least. But there’s no reason to be afraid. For Tormaaz is great, Tormaaz is good. all moan to the great, good, Tormaaz.”

Crazy, right? It had to be a joke. We all laughed it off. Including him. Drinks were had, and the story was mostly forgotten. Most of us just assumed he made it all up to sound as insane as possible to put the rumours of secret leaders to rest.

We were wrong.

A few nights passed as if nothing had changed. We adventured, traded, and lived life. One night in the barracks, after everyone else had fallen asleep, I was working late on a new gyrocopter blueprint. I heard what sounded like a small, firey explosion from Don’s private quarters. I ran up and knocked on the door. No answer. Against my better judgement I picked the lock and peaked inside. Clutching my long sword so tight my knuckles were white.

Don wasn’t there.The windows and doors were all still locked from the inside and I know I watched him go into his room only an hour or two before then. There was no sign of a fight or struggle but it reeked of sulfur and decay. Scorch marks in the form of a perfect circle were left on the stone wall. My lens picked up the faintest hint of magic. But the thing that made my heart sink into my stomach was when I saw the small piles of salt around the room. Something had taken Don and he didn’t even put up a fight. Whatever it was that took our leader was so powerful that he didn’t even try to resist.

It was Tormaaz, it had to be.

Don was gone. For two solid weeks. Of course no one believed me. I was the crazy little gnome. Racists.

But just as he predicted, a week and three days passed and Don was back. The exact same quiet voice, stoic appearance. Not a hair out of place. Lots of us asked him where he went.

“I told you, Tormaaz would have to punish me for revealing his secret,” he’d tell us. With a light hearted snicker and a smile. Eventually everyone forgot about the whole thing. Or that’s how everyone acted. I think... I think we all knew the truth deep down though. We knew it wasn’t a lie. We knew we were just pawns in his game.

Eventually, some people vanished. The ones who seemed more opposed to the whole idea. They didn’t leave and join other guilds or die in the field. They just... vanished. But those of us who stayed, we lived a good life. Glorious conquest and saving the world. Whatever Tormaaz wanted, it seemed good.

But then the Burning Legion came and Obsidian fell. I’ll never know if it was part of his design, if we were all sacrificial pawns in his gambit. Perhaps he was a demon, using us to bring the crusade back to Azeroth. All my friends died or vanished during the invasion. But I never stopped praying to him. I think... I think that’s why I survived...

Tormaaz is great... Tormaaz is good... All must moan to the great, good, Tormaaz.”

After that, the gnome seems disinterested in talking anymore. The questions you ask seem to fall on deaf ears. All he can do is stare into his goblet and whisper those words again and again.

You never see him again, after that night.  Maybe he simply moved to a new tavern. Maybe old age finally caught up to him and he’s passed away. Or maybe... just maybe... it’s his turn to face the salt razor pits.

But one question still remains for you.

Who is Tormaaz?

[brainsdivided]

(2/2) OC questions

Original by @cassandrapentayaaaaas

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS

A) Why are you excited about this character? 

I dearly love my boys for quite a few reasons, and I will obviously elaborate more in the following questions, but for this one, I love the opposites/twin trope. They aren’t direct opposites but using one to compliment and almost narrate the other’s life is awesome. Plus the set of skills these guys have is very broad and their personalities and lives are complex, so it makes for great exercise in art and writing since I tend to make characters be like me and I have a hard time writing things that are not like me (Like Ezekiel throwing hissy fits, I don’t find that an appealing thing in a character, but it’s part of him).

B) What inspired you to create them? 

I have a very difficult time developing and staying connected to female characters. This is possibly due to some wonky IRL stuff where I have a problem with women feeling foreign and uncomfortable (Which is odd because I, too, am female)(Don’t take this as me hating women, I don’t hate women, I just have a hard time fitting in with women socially, emotionally, and physically). To make writing and art more comfy, I design male characters. After RPing a female character for years and having her have a personality and hobbies I despise, I needed something to not drain me, and I managed to convince my RP partner to let me use male characters as he only feels connected to and only wants to work with female characters. I guess my boys are kind of like a piece of me I’m not able to express in real life. That’s sort of the basis for things.

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story? 

Sort of. I RPed with a partner who was very specific about what they wanted. Finding loopholes was hard. It was even harder when my partner dropped the RP not long after I was baptized (He thinks it’s because I obsessed over Joshua Graham, but no no). Anyway, The twin trope influenced how things would be visualized. I like the trope of found family, and I wanted a child character to express the process of mourning. My partner did not want a child character, at least not for the whole story. So, we settled on teen/adult Ezekiel having some sort of developmental or intellectual disability with the death of his parents and his brush with radioactive death inflicting trauma on him. Isaac was intended to help guide the story in a way where I could still represent Ezekiel’s delays and behavior and not have my partner purposely derail or misinterpret what was going on. Isaac, after leaving the Legion, would become Ezekiel’s doctor, helping to put Ezekiel’s thoughts and feelings into a way that is spoken and can be understood. At the same time, I wanted Isaac to have his own internal struggle with himself. The Legion would’ve made quick work with this, so even though he makes sure to look after Ezekiel, his own health is deteriorating and making things difficult for everyone. 

A summary: Working with my partner was difficult but we produced some interesting characters and stories, even after he discontinued the story. 

D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look? 

Edited anything major? No, they have the same basic idea, it just might be drawn or described a little differently. Their only changes are the usual biological changes through aging and then their dress. Ezekiel will always be a thin or mildly toned man with ginger hair and amber eyes, fair skin, and covered in freckles. Sometimes we depict him as really tall in adult hood, but at the moment, he is 5 foot 6 even in adult hood. Isaac will always have fair skin with some freckles, a face mauled by scars, gray-blue or hazel blue eyes, dark brown hair, muscular, and tall. 

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you? 

Probably not. I don’t have a lot of tolerance for people in real life. Especially clingy people. Ezekiel needs constant socializing and loves people. I’d get irritated fast. And I’m not a huge fan of children, so that behavior on top of his clinginess would drive me mad. I’d be fine seeing him every so often or even as a neighbor, but I wouldn’t be able to be like... his best friend. I couldn’t live with him, in a sense. Isaac is the same sort of. We’d have some interesting conversations, but he is too humble for me almost to the point where self-deprecates. I’d be there for him for his depressive episodes, but I’m not someone who is experienced at mending it. I’ll be a passive friend and offer a blanket and hot chocolate, but that’s all I’m good for. 

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)? 

When I think of Ezekiel, I think the Sun? Joy, Gluttony, Love, Shining, Fire, Heat, and Danger

When I think of Isaac: the Stars, Rivers, Peace, Turmoil, Dove, Pain, a Hero.

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most? 

Ezekiel is clingy and craves attention.

Isaac represses his pain and thoughts, considers himself a burden if he tells anyone.

H) What trait do you admire most? 

Ezekiel is full of love and light and loves to create as well as destroy. He works hard to hear praise.

Isaac can see right through people and identify who is hurting and what they need to hear or need to live. He is someone who fought the Legion’s teachings in silence, still choosing to see the good in people and when he couldn’t see kindness in others, he chose to risk death and show it to others.

I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?

They don’t really have a canon universe. I suppose the canon universe is the one my partner made. The one where Ezekiel moves to Appalachia and any others was only to get me to shut up about them xD I prefer to use alternative universes because my partner killed Isaac and Ezekiel off in the canon universe. 

J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

I manipulated a bunch of stuff. I manipulated Joshua and Daniel’s personality to include more fatherly behaviors, I manipulated/updated NCR and Legion progress in the wasteland to match up the years, I am in the process of changing the Honest Hearts perspective of the Sorrows and Dead Horses so that I can understand what is and isn’t okay to write about native peoples, and I think that’s it.

[aerisdraws]

Under the snow moon

Big thank you to my guild Mistspread [FOOLS] for hosting a wonderful full moon tarot night guild event. Special thank you to @lesbiancharr​ for being an excellent photographer and the card reader! Thanks to all those who read this story and provided feedback. 

The wind howled outside the mouth of the cave, occasionally triggering an eerie hum that echoed through the tunnel. Snowflakes swirled at a breakneck pace — the blizzard was picking up, and it was going to be a long night.

Solvi prowled along the cold rocky walls, her footsteps soundlessly landing in Sahar’s, the snow leopard that preceded her. Sahar’s spotted silver coat blended almost seamlessly with the surroundings as the feline cautiously stepped forward. There were ice imps in this cave, and while they were only a minor threat, they remained a nuisance. Best to avoid them, particularly as they attacked in swarms. Together they quietly traced the outline of the underground system.

The pair had initially entered the cave seeking shelter, but as they wandered deeper, the soft sound of voices bounced off the walls. Solvi could make out both male and female voices, so it couldn’t be Svanir, and they lacked the rich timbre of Kodan. As they snuck closer to the source, it sounded like... a party?

Solvi rounded the corner, bow in hand with a notched arrow, ready to get the drop on hostiles. Sahar crouched low, bracing to pounce. A large room came into view, carved into the belly of the mountain, and the occupants were revealed. 

To say it was a party was an overstatement, but it was a merry band of... she couldn’t quite tell. There were many sylvari — surely they’d freeze in this arctic weather? — and a handful of humans, as well as a number of charr. The last were not a big surprise, considering the proximity of the charr tribelands to norn territory, but these didn’t look like legion soldiers. 

“Relax,” she whispered to Sahar. Solvi stowed her bow. These people were unlikely to pick a fight, and they’d likely be more inclined to share the warmth of their fire with her if she approached them in a friendly manner. She considered removing her mask, but decided that she’d rather not run the risk of being recognised. Not everyone was a friend.

Now that she was out of the blizzard and had a chance to warm up, the snow that peppered her hair and clothing started to melt. Her skin seemed to steam in the glowing light of the fire — a sight not uncommon with norn, nature’s most efficient furnaces. She waved at the group as she approached them. Most were in animated, enthusiastic conversation. Another, more broody type, sat in the corner of the room. Solvi caught a few words. Something about murder, killing and the Pit... None of my business. Perhaps she’d approach the cheerier group first. 

As soon as she made it within the circle of strangers, a peculiar-looking pink-clad charr padded her way towards the red haired huntress. The chard’s soft white muzzle filled Solvi’s field of vision, sniffing the giantess’s person. 

“You have a strange energy! Would you like me to do a reading for you?” the white charr asked. 

Solvi looked at them with a quizzical expression. “A... reading?” Strange gathering indeed. 

The stranger nodded. “With my cards. You’re norn, aren’t you? Do you follow a Spirit?”

“I do,” the huntress replied. She glanced at Sahar, who had begun to pace around the charr, picking up her scent. Solvi’s green eyes darted back to the stranger. “My chosen totem is Wolf. He guides me when I need it most.” The crackling fire flickered for an instant, the silhouettes of the cave’s occupants dancing against the rock face.

The charr nodded knowingly, their friendly demeanour slowly putting Solvi at ease. “My cards offer guidance too – except that instead of calling to a Spirit, they use magic. Sit down, make yourself comfortable,” said the feline, waving to the warmth of the fire. “Do you have a question you would like answered?”

Solvi stepped forward and settled herself down beside the kind stranger. Sahar did not need to be told to relax, as soon as her companion had sat down the snow leopard curled up beside her, muzzle towards the flames. Solvi knew that Sahar was keeping a keen eye and ear on the crowd, despite her restful appearance. Comfortable and steadily warming up, Solvi took a moment to ponder. She had many questions, though most, she knew, could not be answered – yet. Her duties as commander had led her to making many grey decisions, of which their integrity was ambiguous. What did the ranger want to know? What could these cards answer? Could Trahearne have survived? What would he have done? No, there’s no use in torturing yourself over that again… and there’s no point in wondering if this struggle against the dragons will ever end. Surely there was something she could think of that didn’t awaken feelings of frustration. She wanted to know about something close to her heart, something almost forgotten. Solvi’s eyes twinkled as the question surfaced from the depths of her memory, a wisp of hope, loss, and love. She looked to the charr.

“There is something that weighs on my mind. A long time ago, I… I lost my pack.” Solvi furrowed her brow, trying to remember. She was so young when her parents had left her and her brother in Hoelbrak. The details were lost, like the horizon in a snowstorm. “I would like to know… if it is still worth looking for them, and if your cards can show me where to go.” She suppressed the urge to shift uncomfortably. It’s only memories. They won’t hurt you.

The question was asked. The charr revealed a deck of cards in their paw, padded digits gently grasping it. “I’ll shuffle the cards now. While I do it, focus on sending your energy towards me. When the cards are ready, I will draw them for you.” Solvi nodded, locks of red hair falling from her braid and sticking to her face as the snow melted. She closed her eyes, bringing her mind to stillness. Soon she felt the soft hum of energy that connected her to her snow leopard, but rather than following that thread, she searched for another. On her journey to become a soulbeast she’d learned that all things were connected, living and dead. Solvi found another hum, a different frequency that felt like the charr beside her. The norn focused on that lead, and tried to convey her emotions across the energy. Feelings of confusion, grief, and unshaken but dwindling hope. In her mind’s eye she saw herself, young and small and vulnerable, clawing in rage at the Wolf shaman that delivered her the news. The body of a child was too small to contain such enormous emotions, and even now as a fully grown norn, Solvi could barely fit the grief back into the small box she’d hidden away deep in her soul.

Inhale, exhale. The cards were drawn, sharp claws handling them with the delicacy of a feather. Ace of cups, seven of cups reversed, knight of cups. What they showed meant nothing to Solvi, but it only took the space of two breaths for the charr to understand.

Solvi’s interrogator cocked her head to the side curiously. Solvi noticed her four ears pricking as the charr interpreted the cards. “Could you tell me some more about your pack?” she asked, whiskers twitching. “How many were there, why did they go?”

“There were three in my pack, but only two were lost.” Solvi thought of her brother, with whom she had not spoken in… Spirits, it’s been many winters. Though Wolf taught her pack was her brothers and sisters, she could not help but feel guilt for the way she’d left things with her true brother. “I was only a pup when they left. It was for…” How do I explain that they left to forge their legend? “… work. They sailed south, and vanished. The trip was meant take only a few months, but when a year passed I was told the ship on which they sailed was… lost at sea.” Solvi was thankful for the mask that covered her face from the nose down. Though it could not hide the storm in her eyes, it did hide her clenched jaw. She swallowed the waves of emotion that threatened to burst her cool façade. It felt odd, talking to a stranger about something so personal. Perhaps that’s what made it easier: there was no judgement. The thoughts of an unknown person weighed less than the thoughts of people she cared about. The edge in her voice softened. “Over the years they’ve found some signs of it. Bits and pieces washing up on the shore, but no crew made it back.”

“Oh! The cups is a more clarified suit with that in mind…” pink eyes peered over each picture, seemingly unfazed by the tragic nature of the story. “The ace of cups, a crow looks into a cup overflowing with water – in the background, a crow holding a sun falls down. The aces are usually almost divine gifts: great potentials and opportunities.” The charr pondered, claw gently tapping the second card. “The seven of cups reversed. Upside down it’s the image of a crow surrounded by cups of different things, some good, some bad. She’s lost – shrouded and stuck in opportunity.” The claw traced the outline of the final card. “And then the knight of cups. He has mastered flying alongside a white horse as they journey along.”

The pair exchanged a glance. “So I think, overall what these cards are saying is… the seven of cups is clearly your crew, right? They must be adrift somewhere – trapped or lost or maybe even scattered.” The charr hummed. “It’s reversed, so they are kind of trapped by a ring of possibilities… mist world waters. It’s not an issue of having a way out, it’s… finding the right one for them.” Solvi saw the picture drawn by the reader in her mind: her parents, caught somewhere in-between worlds, the ship surrounded by fog. The reading continued. “You also have the ace of cups, which is overflowing with potential. I think this is you and your goals. The crow falling with the sun in the background symbolises the falling of your pack. You’re looking into the cup back on them and trying to find them in the waters.”

Obscure inner truths were revealed, knowledge untapped now bathed in light. While the answer remained elusive, Solvi saw new ideas in the charr’s words. What stood out to her the most was the presence of this black bird in each card. She reached a gloved finger and pointed at the corvid. “This looks like Raven. He encourages thinking out of the box, and this is certainly an unusual method. Maybe Raven has some guidance for me, and I’ve simply been asking the wrong questions.”

A smile drew its way along the stranger’s muzzle. “Maybe you should go as the crow flies,” they said with humour.

Solvi laughed, enchanted by these cards and their reader. “You’re clever and wise. Thank you for this reading. May the Spirits guide your hand when you next seek the counsel of the cards. What is your name?”

The charr seemed surprised. “Vetrius, uh…” they paused for a moment and glanced at the cards. “Pathreader.” Vetrius smiled. “I am sure our paths will cross again.”

Solvi returned the smile, though it was hidden under the mask. “I have no doubt it will, Vetrius Pathreader. Come, Sahar” she said, and the snow leopard came to its feet, stretching its spine. Solvi rose, her own legs feeling stiff from sitting on the cold floor for what felt like hours. Most of the eclectic group of people had left. The blizzard must have blown itself out. The norn brought two fingertips to her left cheekbone, touching the green tattoo just under her eye, and then turned her hand for her palm to face Vet. Her own way of saying ‘I see you’. “Thank you, again. Take care in this snow.”

With that, Sahar took the lead once more, guiding the pair out of the depths of the mountain. The wind had settled, and the night had cleared to reveal the full moon casting her silver light across the snowy ranges.

[julietandcinderellavocaloid]

Determined Alice Chapter 2

Sometimes, being an Alice left Meiko feeling invisible. Cinderellas were expected to be leaders and path makers, and Juliets were expected to be servants and slaves. Alices were . . . just there.

Meiko knew she couldn't complain too much, however. Having a cerulean butterfly tattooed on her left wrist instead of a blood rose meant she had the basic human rights most Juliets were denied. On the other hand, having that same cerulean butterfly tattoo instead of a silver crown meant Meiko would never have the opportunities available to her that were practically gift wrapped for a Cinderella.

News that had been circulating all over the media this past week didn't help. Some sources labelled this as the war between Cinderellas and Juliets. Nobody talked about the Alices. It seemed nobody cared. Alices were the middle class. As far as anyone who wasn't an Alice was concerned, they didn't fit anywhere in all of this.

Of course, such thinking was dead wrong. Alices had been in play long before anyone so much as heard about these so-called Thorns. Nobody suspected an Alice, leaving the Alices to come and go as they pleased.

Meiko's second cousin Teto, when spent the past year spying through the Cinderella Academy undetected by even the master of the school Opera Tonio himself, was a perfect example of this.

It was why Meiko didn't let the looks anyone gave her as she took her seat in the hovercraft get to her. Or at least that was what she told herself. She didn't want to admit that she was too impressed with the interior of the hovercraft to think about much else.

This was the kind of hovercraft seen in space war movies. Unlike most hovercrafts, which relied on autopilot to get its passengers to the destination coordinates punched in, this one was built for potential battle and thus driven by a pilot. Others would man additional aspects of the craft, such as communications and weapons. Back in the day, these were the types of hovercrafts the military utilized. Now only the secret service had these. The secret service, and anyone else who knew how and where to get their grubby hands on them.

Big Al and Rei, his hand-selected second-in-command, took their seats in the front. Rinto took over communications. Hio and Meiko sat in the weapons section although the weapons were deactivated for this mission, Hio preparing them just in case they needed to be used and Meiko gauging fuel efficiency.

Wanting to prove herself, Meiko ran through the checklist given to her in preparation for takeoff. When Hio tried to help, she growled at him to back off. The boy stared at her with his wide eyes.

"We're a team, Meiko," he whispered as to not be overheard by the others. "There's nothing wrong with letting me help you."

"As if I'm going to give you the chance to tell Big Al that you had to help me run through my own station," Meiko snarled. "I got this."

"Meiko, you've never done this before. Nobody is going to look down on you if you let me help you—"

"I got this!" Meiko snapped before turning away and running through everything twice more. It looked as if everything was properly set up. She didn't need Hio making her, the lone woman on the team, look as if she was the only one who didn't know what was going on.

"System check," Big Al announced as he started the engine. "Coordinates?"

Rei. "Check."

"Communications?"

Rinto. "Check."

"Weapons?"

Hio. "Offline."

"Efficiency."

Meiko sounded proud as she announced, "Check."

"Are you sure?"

Gritting her teeth, Meiko had to keep from shouting, "How dare you question me and not the men!"

"Check," was what she said instead.

"Then we are ready to launch." Big Al flipped a few switches. "Everyone, buckle up. It's going to be a bumpy ascension."

Meiko buckled her seatbelt and leaned back in her chair. The flight to the Capital would take a couple of hours. Until then, it was only a matter of remaining calm and showing these men that she was just as capable as they.

For the most part, the flight was uneventful. Their fellow legion flew right beside them. The others laughed and joked as they hurled through the air at over three hundred miles an hour. Meiko kept to herself. Considering the guys didn't try talking to her or anything of the sort, keeping to herself wasn't that hard.

All the while, Big Al ignored the others as he focused on the flight ahead. Not having anywhere better to look, Meiko stared over his shoulder through the window. The cover of endless night should keep them well-hidden from those on the ground below.

As for other aircrafts, that's what prayer was for.

"I don't like this," Rei said after half an hour. "It's quiet. Too quiet. I feel like something should have happened by now. Even just a minor hiccup would be more reassuring than this stillness we've been experiencing since liftoff."

"Agreed," Big Al muttered, "but we shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, Kagene."

I would be looking all the gift horses in the mouth. Meiko double checked her station. No change. That was more than fine. She wasn't entirely sure what to do if something needed to be fixed anyway.

The flight grew to be so boring, Meiko wished she had followed Hio's example and brought something with her. That beanpole had a book on him. Not a tablet. An actual book. As in a large-leather-bound-stack-of-paper-with-words-printed-with-ink-onto-the-pages book.

As rare as tablets were in Meiko's hometown, physical books were rarer. And this fool had the nerve to bring one with him on a potentially dangerous mission. Meiko tried not to stare, both at awe at such a device and at how stupid she thought Hio was.

She must have not restrained herself well enough though. Hio caught her staring and asked, "Do you want to look at it?"

Yes. "No," Meiko spat, committing herself to not looking at the boy for the rest of the flight.

That newfound commitment only lasted for ten minutes.

"Radar is picking up another craft," Rei announced. He audibly swallowed. "It's coming this way."

"Commercial?" Big Al questioned.

"Negative," Rei replied. "I studied all flight schedules the night before. This wasn't on the list. Besides, it's approaching far too quickly for its main purpose to be carrying citizens."

Big Al cursed. "Rinto, has the first legion picked up on the signal?"

"As a matter of fact, they just messaged me about it." Rinto adjusted the glasses on his nose. "Arls thinks we should contact them, tell them we're carrying supplies to the Capital."

"Just what I was thinking."

For a moment, Rinto typed on his keyboard. It must have been getting serious, for Rinto pulled a headset on and began speaking softly into the microphone. In a matter of seconds, his words were getting quicker and more urgent.

Pulling the microphone away, Rinto said, "Big Al, Arls's craft has been denied contact with this oncoming ship. Orders?"

"Try contacting it yourself."

Not even a minute later. "Connection denied."

Big Al swore again. "I don't think these guys are going to ask questions before they begin shooting. Kagene, how close are they?"

"Too close for comfort, sir."

"Looks like we're going to have to get our hands dirty for this one. Loid, Sakine, fire up the weapons. If our new friends are looking for a fight, then they are going to get one."

Finally, something to do. Meiko turned her attention towards her station and began flipping the necessary switches. Lights lit. Buttons blinked. Numbers flashed on display. Meiko gripped the lever to pull it down.

It didn't budge.

What the hell?

Meiko kept pulling, but the lever wasn't going anywhere.

Great. Not only was she the one person the others thought needed help to do her job, but she couldn't even pull the freaking lever down as well. She could already hear the men crackling at what a weak woman she was.

"Systems online, sir," Hio announced to the fleet.

"Efficiency?" Big Al questioned.

No matter how hard Meiko pulled the lever, it didn't move in the slightest. Father of many ugly and stupid children! "Anyone got any oil?"

Although he spoke at normal volume, there was still a lot of anger in Big Al's words as if he yelled at her. "You mean to tell me you didn't wiggle the lever before takeoff?"

Meiko furrowed her brows. Her words sounded dumber to her than they had to sound for everyone else. "I was supposed to?"

If there was one thing Big Al did as if it were an artform, it was swear. He further displayed that talent before snapping at Meiko, "These ships are at least a decade old, Sakine! We have to make sure nothing rusted into place before our lives depend on the functionality of those same levers. Didn't anyone tell you that?!"

Face burning hot, Meiko returned to the lever and tried to pull it. Nothing. That sucker was stuck good, all right.

"Arls is awaiting your command," Rinto supplied, a sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Fire at will," Big Al replied. "As for us, we have a bit of a situation here."

"Let me help," Hio said, getting up and walking towards Meiko's station.

Meiko bared her teeth. "I got it!"

"No, you don't."

"Leave me alone, Loid!"

"Meiko, now isn't the time—"

"I said leave me alone!"

"Sweet mother of baby Jesus! Get out of my path!" Big Al bolted from the pilot's seat and stalked towards the section. After literally pushing Meiko and Hio out of the way, he wrapped his meaty hands around the lever and forced it down with a mighty grunt.

Then things began flashing that Meiko was sure weren't supposed to be flashing.

"You said our efficiency was in order!" he roared at Meiko.

Gritting her teeth, Meiko did not allow herself to cower. "According to the numbers, everything was exactly where it needed to be."

Big Al looked at the display before turning back to Meiko. "Yes, our takeoff and flight fuel is working splendidly, but did it ever occur to you to switch to the weapons tank to see how our energy beams were doing?"

Oh.

"Your job was simple," Big Al growled. "Make sure everything was in order, and make sure there was an order for everything. How do you screw up this badly?!"

Snarling herself, Meiko spat, "How was I supposed to know all these rules about these crafts unless someone told me?"

"Ask someone to walk you through it. For the love of God, Sakine, didn't anyone offer to help?"

Meiko was more grateful than she cared to admit that Hio opted to keep his mouth shut. She had to have been set up. There was no other reason everyone but she, the woman, had a section that worked perfectly.

Before another word could be said, everyone cried out as the craft violently jerked to the side. It corrected itself after half a moment, but the ride was no longer as smooth. Nobody needed to be told what had just happened.

"Rei," Big Al began, "you're in charge until I get back. Hio, fire only if you know for sure you will hit a target. Sakine and I are going to the belly of the craft to see if we can load up the emergency guns."

Although she heard what Big Al said, Meiko still questioned, "What?"

"You heard me, Sakine." Big Al began walking, not even turning around to make sure she would follow. "It's your fault we're in this tight situation. Now I'm going to show you one of the ways you can fix your mistake."

Figuring it would be better to swallow her pride and at least try to correct her screw up, Meiko followed Big Al out of the control room and down to the generator. It was warmer down there than where they had come from, but Meiko didn't take off her coat even as Big Al did. She kept her arms crossed over her chest, eyes boring holes into the back of her superior's head.

Instead of reprimanding her further, as she expected him to, Big Al showed Meiko where the emergency generator for weapons was and how to activate it. "This will give Hio more resources for taking down anyone who's after us. However, these guns are not as powerful as the main source, so next time, make sure that's working before takeoff."

Meiko didn't respond. She only kept her arms tight across her chest. As if we both don't know you're going to talk to Mikuo to make sure there is no next time.

"Do you understand, Sakine?"

Trying not to growl, Meiko replied, "Yes, sir."

Before more could be said, the craft jerked again. This time Big Al and Meiko were both thrown to the ground. Meiko's head collided with one of the pipes, and she felt the vibration from her skull to her jaw down her chest. Ringing echoed in her ears for only a moment. She tasted blood where her teeth slammed down on her unsuspecting tongue.

Big Al pushed himself to his feet and simply ordered, "We need to get back now."

Then he did something strange. Leaning forward, Big Al offered his hand to help Meiko up.

Insulted, Meiko ignored his hand as she pushed herself to her feet. She wobbled for a moment, quickly pulling away from Big Al when he again reached out to wrap his hand around her arm. Although she wouldn't admit it, she was grateful Big Al waited till she regained her footing before he began stalking back to where the others were.

"Situation?" he barked as he and Meiko stepped inside.

Before anyone could answer, another shot from the attacking ship fired. Rei jerked the craft out of the way, but he didn't act fast enough. The side was hit, and fire and smoke began to rise.

"This is bad," Rei muttered, saying what was undoubtedly on everyone's mind.

Big Al opened his mouth to speak, but then he froze. Meiko looked in the direction his eyes were trained, and she froze too. She felt everyone else follow their example.

A missile whizzed past them, not coming close enough to touch the already damaged craft. Not that it mattered. Their craft wasn't the target.

Feeling to be trapped in slow motion, Meiko watched the missile hit the other legion, sending the main engine into a fiery explosion.

"We've been hit! WE'VE BEEN HIT!" cried the voice from Rinto's headset, which Meiko heard despite being over six feet away from Rinto. Then there was static. Then nothing.

They all watched the other hovercraft fall from the sky like a dead bird. Although they had already flown past the crash site by the time the other craft hit the ground, everyone still heard and felt the boom of their fellow comrades meeting the earth. It wasn't until Rei, the first to recover, yanked their craft out of the path of another oncoming missile, saving them by the skin of their teeth.

Everyone got to work. Big Al returned to his station and ordered Rinto to try hailing the other Fighter craft again. He continued letting Rei, whose reflexes were better than the older man's, pilot the craft. Hio shot at the enemy craft, but it was too big for his energy beams to do much damage.

Meiko, all the while, had nothing to do. Her job was to monitor everything. Monitor things that didn't seem to need it. There was nothing for her to do save sit and watch while the men took all the action. Hers was the most pointless job one could be assigned.

Watching as Hio tried to shoot their target out of the sky, Meiko got an idea. Something of that size would react no differently to a human stepping on a small, round rock. However, no matter the size, all crafts relied on electricity to get from point A to point B.

With that thought, Meiko jumped to her feet and bolted out of the control room, ignoring Big Al's shouting questions such as what the hell was she thinking.

If there was one thing Meiko did perfectly every time without fail, it was keep weapons hidden on her person. Daggers were strapped to her biceps and thighs, small knives were tucked into her sleeves just above the wrist, and there was even a switchblade hidden between her breasts. She could reach all of them and stab her unknowing opponent in a matter of seconds. Yet what she needed wasn't a blade. What she needed was an electro orb, which was conveniently tucked inside her inner coat pocket.

One other thing Meiko did right was check the weapons on board long before liftoff. Even though she had no plans to use any of them, since this mission did not require her to fight or defend herself or anything similar, she wanted to know where they were just in case. This was that just in case, and it took Meiko only a minute to retrieve the bazooka. Along with it she picked up and slung on a backpack. She didn't need it, but she wasn't dumb enough to break all the rules.

Feet planted firmly onto the floor, Meiko pushed the button to open the hovercraft. The large ramp began to descend while they still flew through the air, an enemy craft not far behind. The incoming wind whipped through Meiko's hair and coat, and she had to squint from the bitter cold air rushing into the craft and biting her skin and piercing her eyes.

With the door now open, Meiko got a clear view of the war craft right behind them. She saw the missiles launched their way. When another was fired and Rei swerved to avoid it, Meiko stumbled and desperately tried to regain her footing. Swearing, Meiko used her free hand to reach out and steady herself against the wall. She needed to act fast so she could close the door again without falling out of the hovercraft like an idiot.

Meiko slid the electro orb into the bazooka and aimed. It was as she was about to fire someone grabbed her shoulder and threw her onto the ground.

"What do you think you're doing, Sakine?!" Big Al roared as he stood over her. "You abandoned your station in a time of crisis! Do you have any idea what's in store for cowards who run away when their team is in danger?"

"I'm not running away!" Meiko argued as she pushed herself onto her knees. "I was going to take out the enemy craft until someone interrupted me."

"An electro orb is not going to work against something as big as that," Big Al sneered, and Meiko wondered how he knew she had an electro orb on her. "That thing is bound to have at least three generators; even if you kill the main power and two generators, odds are the thing will still be up, running, and coming at us with an even more aggressive approach now that you showed them what you can do. Firing that would only make things worse for us, not help us."

"You wouldn't be saying that if it was Rei or Hio here."

"Precisely, because neither of them would be as stupid as you to try to act on their own."

A retort was on Meiko's tongue, but it was lost when the enemy craft fired again and Rei swerved to avoid it. However, he didn't swerve enough, and the missile clipped the side of their craft. The force was enough to send the whole thing sideways as it violently jerked up and down from the blast.

There was no hope for Meiko to regain her footing as second time, and Big Al was even less balanced than she. Both were thrown into the air. Big Al flew out of the opening of the craft first, and Meiko, try as she might to hold on to the smooth floor, slid out to follow.

With no time to think, Meiko activated her parachute, grateful she decided to don a backpack after all. She was jerked yet again as it expanded and dramatically slowed her descent, but the journey downwards was otherwise smooth. An ache forming in her chest, Meiko watched as her craft flew away, the enemy craft not far behind.

[flowerflamestars]

Pearl and Bone

PART ONE  PART TWO  PART THREE PART FOUR  PART FIVE  PART SIX

The silence was a fractured thing, icy in the air of a palatial human parlor full of fae.   Lucien wasn’t sure which would prove more dangerous; the utter stillness of the Illyrian warrior on the other side of Elain poised for some cue. Rhysand, utterly blank in shock or warning, the air around him promising death and darkness.   Or Feyre, whose face had crumpled at the word mates. “I didn’t”- She shook her head, braid swinging. “Tamlin said it might take time, for a bond to snap in place between us. That we could be married first and the rest would come.” Blue eyes blazing found Lucien’s, “I didn’t know."   Elain scooted forward on the chaise, reached a hand out to her younger sister. “You couldn’t have known."   Feyre clasped her fingers across the low table, the difference between her shining immortal skin and the Elain’s pale grip apparent and painful.   “He was ruined before you ever met him,” Nesta told her, no less sympathetic for the different shape of the feeling. “You couldn’t have changed it.”   Feyre nodded, tight mouthed, looking between her sisters and powerfully managing to ignore Lucien himself, perched between them. After a long moment made longer by the tension that wasn’t leaving the air, for all that the sisters clear affection was there between them, Rhysand clapped a hand on Feyre’s shoulder.

“Why don’t we take a break,” The High Lord suggested, looking only at Feyre. Her nod was enough to break up the talk.   Immediately, Nesta rose from her seat. She strode to the farthest window, eyes away from Rhysand and her baby sister as he gripped her shoulders in comfort and clear affection- enough like how she acted when Lucien and Elain found themselves deep in conversation he wanted to turn back over a thousand afternoons for new context.   Lucien rose himself and drifted to lean near the other window as Elain joined her, the motion unsubtly putting his body between them and the Illyrian. In an odd echo of the motion Elain came to a stop perched sideways, nearly empty teacup clinking faintly as she screened Nesta from the rest of the room but for him.   Approvingly, intrigued- were the Acheron’s ever not up to something?- Lucien slouched into a lazy repose, flashed teeth at Cassian’s watching face.   In meetings between Courts, in stories whispered between the soldiers Lucien had trained for Spring, the High Command of the Illyrian Legions was a goliath. Savage, blood thirsty, fiendishly strategic; a stone cold killer capable of taking out armies single handedly.   No matter how much Rhysand was hated, particularly in the South, no on wanted to tangle with the legions led by this male.   A warm smile for Elain, didn’t make up for hauling Nesta from a fight like a sack of grain. A cup of tea was not a parley- the General was smart enough to be watchful, but he was looking the wrong way.   Feyre had called him a friend.   Then again, Feyre was sniping at the most powerful High Lord in history across the room.   Her laugh rang out, clarion. Had he ever heard her real laugh in Spring? Never after the Mountain. There was a palpable steadiness to her- even angry, even tense, Feyre seemed finally settled in her own skin.    Rhysand’s grip on both her shoulders had softened to an upward caress, tattooed hands tracing her arms. Lucien could practically see those silver bright ties between them without trying- gleaming like stars, chiming and pulling tight as Feyre swore, demanded Rhysand tell her more of the countries involved with Hybern. It was easy to see- and deserved, utterly deserved- that Tamlin could be forgotten.   Neither seemed able to look away, to see anyone else in the room but each other.  But Elain and Nesta weren’t paying attention to the growing heat.   On a napkin pulled taut in Elain’s white knuckled grip, her fingertip smeared with tealeaves, Nesta was writing the same word over and over again.   Velaris. Velaris.   VELARIS. Undeniably a fae name, but Lucien had never heard it. As the High Lord and Feyre discussed the human queens in such passing detail he wondered if Rhysand really knew anything about them, or just wouldn’t share the whole picture, another name joined the list, spilling onto the fine linen border. Rhysand. And then, barely legible and a thousand times more damning: Rhain. Lucien pulled the napkin into a nowhere space, heart thundering.    Neither flinched, acknowledged the sudden disappearance of the cloth from Elain’s hand. The surety- they’d grown utterly comfortable with magic, with how fae Lucien was- did nothing to assuage the roaring danger.   More importantly the sharp edged curiosity as it mixed with pride- they knew something.   And it started with the name of Rhysand’s long dead, deeply feared father, scrawled in tea for some harried purpose.   Lucien had made himself look out the window, but he felt every step Elain took toward him, skirt hissing over cool marble and plush rugs. She still smelled like blood- his, and Illyrian too. The slow drifting flakes of ice outside had ceded to a heavier fall of  snow, blanketing everything in blinding white. It’s light cast her pale as she drew up beside him. Velaris. Rhain. Rhysand.  Twelve generations of Acheron merchants had traded with faery countries. That nothing came and went over or under the Wall was by political ruling, and magical defense. Humans, without a faery presence, were physically repelled. All that could pass between mortal countries and Prythian came by sea.   The Acheron fortune now and historically, lay in a veritable armada.   Nesta and Elain owned ships. Enough for a small army; technically bought in their father’s name and secretly deeded back to them. Inspected for appearances by Lucien’s eyes when they came to port, but handled by Nesta in all the real ways.   Faery goods were the Acheron specialty.   Elain touched the icy glass, as though she could reach through and catch the snowflakes.   “We’ll lend out horses in the morning, try to get the roads cleared,” She said. “I sent anyone who could be spared out to the furthest tenants with food this morning, hope everyone was prepared.”   This Lucien could do: hide what he wanted to say in their human life, wait.   He blew a gust of heath fire air over her, no pause in surprise before she smiled. “I’ll bring around cider, keep off the chills.”   That their old apple trees now grew fruit that could cure many small human ills was an unintended blessing. Warm the hearts of the sorrowful, sooth the coughs from a child’s throat- once memorably, drug Elain and Nesta into a giddy, giggling joy Lucien hadn’t imagined possible- it was worth the danger of magic.   Cool fingertips tapped the back of Lucien’s hand- their signal for talk later- and lingered, Elain’s palm bracketing his wrist.   Her brown eyes were bright when he looked down in surprise- too many emotions tangled in her scent for Lucien to know anything but that Elain Archeron had another secret to tell; tension, excitement, earlier rage running embers through it all.   She simply looked back, smile growing keener.   Lucien thought of blue missives- not written in ink, but something much more flammable. News of the Night Court borders, Nesta burning letters, the sisters dropping the impossible idea of going after Feyre- and grinned.   “Is that a wedding ring?”   Feyre had shouted, looking at Elain’s hand like her sister had accrued some fatal disease.   “Engagement,” Elain replied, perfectly even, perfectly pleasant as she unhurriedly returned to her seat facing Feyre and the High Lord. Anger was a grace about her shoulders- did Feyre really not see it?   “You’re getting married?” Feyre repeated, looking at Nesta. “You’re letting her get married?”   Lucien managed to hide his wince, but only just. He knew Feyre felt responsible for her sisters- that their different skills had created an imbalance that haunted Nesta, especially.   “No,” said Nesta, flatly, “She doesn’t need my permission.”   The blow Lucien was waiting for didn’t come. It should have been easy- Nesta could have stopped Feyre’s fears with a few words: it’s not real. Elain could have explained the lie, the act they’d construed between them for safety.   He himself could have said something but- but, whose idea had it even been? Nesta had told him, but Lucien was sure the sister’s had spent the entire night before that meeting planning. She’d presented him a name, a life, a purpose.   That that life was at Elain’s side was a gift. Feyre was staring at his hands, eyes narrow. The urge to wave the left was neigh overpowering- Lucien rarely even thought of the slim gold ring he wore. He hadn’t chosen it- wouldn’t have picked a confection of pearl and diamond for Elain either. It wasn’t that wedding rings were a thing foreign to fae, or even that he didn’t want to touch that co-mingling of dream and reality.   If Lucien bound himself to someone, it would be impossible to ignore. He was high fae- the bond would live on their skin, show in their eyes, begat power and danger.   A ring was just a glimpse- one that audibly set Feyre’s teeth on edge. — The High Lord of the Night Court had purple eyes.   Not blue, not violet, a true rich, royal purple with shadowed depths in which what looked like actual stars gleamed, twinkling. Eyes where the night sky and dreams lived- across the sea, they called him the Lord of Nightmares.   Rhysand, whose whole body seemed tuned to her sister like a song.   She could write his name now- speak around the binding of Acheron blood. Had their ancestor struck a bargain to a High Lord with those same eyes? He set her teeth on edge, brought goosebumps to her skin if she looked too long.   And if he didn’t remove the violence of that purple gaze from Lucien soon, Elain was going to do something she’d regret.   Elain dug her nails into her palm, and prayed for patience as she faced her baby sister. “Feyre.” She said, “You came here to tell us something, why don’t you finish.”   Surely one stabbing was enough. Surely, despite her real, true joy at seeing her sister’s face again- whole, happy, immortal- they could manage to keep this from being a fight. Much less a fight about Elain’s engagement ring- a false engagement ring- when Feyre herself had fallen in love with not just two faeries, but two High Lords, one after the other.   Feyre, with the stubborn line between her brows as familiar as childhood tantrums, had no such compunctions. “What the hell are you playing at Lucien?”   Nesta set down her tea cup with a crash. Elain didn’t need to see her face- to know well that only Nesta was allowed to spit Lucien’s name like a curse, anyone else was damned for it. She stomped to stand behind Elain before speaking.   “What are you playing at, Feyre?” Her hands were white-knuckled, gripping the back of the chaise. Elain reached for one. “You brought the most powerful high lord in Prythian to our home. Do you know his name cannot be written by mortal hands? That we couldn’t even say the name of the city where you were safe in without choking?”   All Elain really heard was the breathe that left Lucien like he’d been punched.   One more secret- they hadn’t been sure they’d ever be able to tell him. Something about being in the room with Rhysand had allowed the gheas to shift- the promise of secrecy from a fairytale city, told to them by their father, as he learned it from his.   One thing at least, they could thank him for besides their name.   Feyre scowled. “What are you talking about?”   Elain let herself feel the sheer anger- there was so much danger here, she couldn’t even just talk to her sister, whose face alive and well was a happiness complete enough to wound. “Velaris.”   That made the High Lord look at them, finally. He ran a hand through his hair, made a rueful noise out of place in the utter stillness that had taken over. If Rhysand had been playing for human when he walked in, a watchful predator had replaced the obviously false guise. The quietude of that menace took all the air from the room.   “Merchants?” Rhysand drawled, one eyebrow raised.   Nesta squeezed Elains hand and stared right back at the High Lord, head held high. “You’ll find our blood in your charter. Under the High Lord Rhain, on the sanctuary moon.”   “Rhys?” Feyre hissed, her hatred of being left out alive and well across the extreme beauty of her faery face. She looked more like Nesta now- sharper- old features carried over oddly: the freckles on the bridge of her nose bright, but gone from her hands. Taller, more graceful.   Still their baby sister who wanted to protect them, no matter what it did to them all.   But she also wasn’t looking at Elain or Nesta for an answer. “Acheron is one of the merchant families bound to the city?”   Like he’d known it all along- the smug prick, as through he knew anything about their family- Rhysand inclined his head.   Nesta’s glare was going to light the High Lord on fire if they didn’t change the subject soon, and Elain wasn’t particularly inclined to help. This was going to go the way so many talks with men- with lords did- if they couldn’t aim for understanding staying quiet and listening would have to do.   Elain painted on her most charming smile, widest eyes.   “Ships stopped getting passage before we could really learn more,”  She said, real frustration in her voice she didn’t force out, “Is it really as beautiful as they say?”   Feyre visibly softened.   Like a flower opening, Nesta and Lucien slid into the roles they’d made together to deal with the world, symmetry unspoken. Elain had never truly hated it before.   A week previous the hostess of a ball had referred to Nesta as a matron, like she was some guardian of the young, and Elain had explained to Lucien that it was a good thing.   It meant the nobles were accepting that Nesta- a beauty, an heiress, the real heir to their House in a just world- would never marry one of them. Matrons might usually be widows, but they didn’t have to be. Like Elain’s engagement to Lucien, Nesta was safe.   They’d all been safe, until her sister had brought home her new friends. Elain immediately stomped on the thought- Feyre didn’t mean them any harm. It was both the exact homecoming Elain had dreamt of, and feared. Her sister, so damned different and utterly the same it hurt.   She didn’t need to look to see Nesta’s perfect posture or quick steps bringing her to Elain’s side- that cold grace that high born humans took as impugnable. Anger only showed in her eyes, and from the day they’d had so far, wouldn’t be questioned.   At the same time, Lucien slouched closer, with confident insouciance that brought every eye to the room on him. Drawing fire.   “Beautiful,” Feyre agreed, perhaps grateful for the question, “The walls have stood for thousands of years. It’s safe, not like anything on this side of the Wall.”   “I could show you,” Rhysand offered in that silken voice, “In your mind, if you’d like to see where Feyre has been living.”   She was forcefully reminded of Luciens words. Rhysand is practically to faeries what high fae are to humans. Like her mind were a door he could walk through. Feyre was smiling at the offer, but Elain heard the threat.   “No,” Elain said, lightly, “Perhaps I’ll see it for myself someday.”   The huge bay windows were fogging with heat. No matter the ironclad control of his face, Lucien’s power was showing; no ice left in the air, just heat that smelled like a fresh lit fire and felt like the sun on her skin.   He was, after all, a singular listener.   They all had to be as Feyre began speaking in earnest. It was a story vast and tangled as the knot in Elain’s chest; loss, beautiful potential, and disaster on the horizon.   If the Night Court was to be believed, war was coming, and it would spare none of them. — Six hours into Feyre’s homecoming the bulk of the Acheron staff went home early, baskets of extra food in their arms and bottles of Lucien’s cider pressed into their hands, the promise of a warm, cozy night before them.   Elain watched them go and sighed.   It wouldn’t rouse any suspicion- Nesta and Elain had been in circumstance’s different from their birth for such a long time their ways had been set. It was fact- lauded, if sometimes laughed at- that their shared ladies maid was critically underworked, the entire staff of maids and footmen, gardeners and kitchen staff wildly overpaid.   That Elain would insist the first beautiful snowfall of the year should be time spent with family wasn’t a surprise.   Only those who lived on the estate remained. The head of the stables who bred horses as quick as they were clever who wouldn’t leave them to the storm. The gardener’s, settled in cottages made fairytale pretty with the weather.   Their head cook, who’d watched the proceedings with steely eyes before touching Elain’s cheek and taking her staff down to the head gardener’s house for a huge meal. She’d left behind food for them of course, as well, grumbled in her throaty burr to stay warm. If Rhysand wanted more potential human witnesses farther away, he could drag them off himself.   It was a strange thing, to sit before a High Lord whose very presence colored the air with menace- whose spymaster, she could not ignore had disappeared to somewhere-and listen to him describe that the Courts had to unite.   That Feyre might be a key- the child of every magic in their land.   Her sister spoke to him like a lover, treated him like a best friend, but laughed and said she worked for him. With a crown on her head.   It was very obvious, at least to Elain, that finding Lucien here- finding them less than ignorant to danger in their world- had thrown off whatever plan Feyre had for them.   A part of Elain wanted to scream. To demand a real answer of Feyre, to make it very clear they had plans and hopes of their own. But she also wanted to drag Feyre upstairs, to the plush, lovely bedroom she and Nesta had built for her. Show her the glass walled painting studio the next room over, ask every question she could think of about the life Feyre had build in the Night Court.   Never return to the sitting room where they other were still gathered- Nesta, frustrated and suspicious, Lucien treated like a threat. Friendly Cassian and revoltingly charming Rhysand. Feyre, who thought they were innocents to be shielded.   Alone, finally, Elain sank back against the long oak counter in the center of the kitchen, and let herself simply breathe and watch the snow as it fell through diamond-pained windows.   “Do you trust a word out his mouth?” Nesta growled from the doorway.   Elain sagged further down, allowed herself a long sigh before replying. “Not a bloody one. Lucien going to be okay alone?”   Waving a pale hand, Nesta sagged beside her. “He got Feyre talking about Spring. You know she never saw any of the territory but Tamlin’s house?” Much like Elain, Nesta could only manage to spit the High Lord of Springs name. It sounded like a curse, under this roof. “She’d forgive anything if Lucien keeps answering her questions. And stops flashing his ring at her.”   Tiredly, Elain found herself laughing, shoulder bumping Nesta’s as the shared slouch of comfort brought them to equal height.   “You didn’t tell her it was your idea.”   A single wave had escaped the braid wrapped around Nesta’s head. Darker than Elain’s hair and straighter than Feyre’s, it gleamed in the half light. Nesta curled it back in place before speaking, sharp face half shadowed. “You didn’t tell her you the two of you met in a garden and you invited him to tea.”  It felt like a century ago- Lucien’s careful concern and sad eyes. Stealing his weapons in a rush of madness that didn’t go away; she saw him every day, and still, Lucien’s presence was adrenaline and comfort in one.   Life without him seemed impossible.   “Could have told her I’m not going to marry him.” Elain pointed out.   “Aren’t you?” Nesta hissed, not angry- triumphant.   The word that escaped Elain was not one for a ladies vocabulary. All their plans- trade, hiding, protection- hinged on the three of them together. But the marriage itself was not something they spoke of.   Engagement traditions in gentry were ironclad.   They’d exchanged flowers and then rings in public. Lucien had ceremonially dueled Nesta for Elain’s hand- both in front of people and again in private, for the fun they got out of the mock sword fight. Already planned in a scant five days time they’d be handfast, in a month, married to follow.   It was the one thing Lucien and Elain never, ever, talked about.   Nesta, not unkindly, laughed. “He’d die for you, Elain. That’s not friendship.”   “I’d kill for him,” Elain whispered back, before straightening. “Gods know we might have to. What does Rhysand want?”   “Right now, all he’s getting is dinner.” They hadn’t spoken of it, wouldn’t in this unwarded room, but the High Lord felt dangerous. And Feyre was quite clearly in love with him.   Was a war that had nothing to do with them really more of a threat than illegal consorting with faeries the High Council of Queens were known to despise? — Lucien wasn’t sure Elain would be waiting for him.   On the scale of dinners Lucien had experienced with Feyre Archeron, the family reunion might have been just slightly more comfortable than her first night in the Spring Court. She’d been furious then- tonight, all three Acheron sister’s were sharp enough to wound.   Despite Elain directing the conversation with grace, Nesta restraining herself enough to snap only once at the Illyrian watching her with rapt attention, it went badly.   Badly enough Lucien was out in the snow, circling their summer meeting place in the foolish hope Elain would think of it, and come looking for peace. For conversation. For him.   It was six long paces before he found her, face tilted up into the snowfall, ice on the edges of her fur lined hood.   Lucien found he didn’t need to speak, simply held out his arm like a human galant. With an inclined head that he knew was both acknowledgment and joke- that reached down into the fire of his blood and sparked- Elain curled a thickly mittened hand above his elbow, returned his smile.   They didn’t speak until they’d crossed out of the garden. When the words came they were fast and shared: Elain thought Rhysand was a smug bastard, Lucien didn’t fully believe a word he said.   “He doesn’t mean Feyre harm,” Lucien mulled over how to explain, the word mates lead on his tongue, “But”-   “But keeping us alive for her and keeping us safe are different things?” Elain interrupted.   The empty road was thick with snow when they reached it, the whole world buried in quiet when the moon finally showed. They hadn’t run out of observations to trade, but the touch of Elain’s bare hand- freed from mittens to lace her fingers through his- was enough to stop the words in Lucien’s throat.   He took a deep breath, and warmed the air around them.   No laughter, no surprise, no reaction to magic at all anymore but to squeeze his hand.   The quiet held for an infinite time, Elain’s curls white in the moonlight. Could have been Winter fae but for the freckles, Spring but for the genuine depth in her eyes. Autumn, if they lived in Lucien’s dreams.   It was a spell itself, after this fraught, endless day. Magic, until they crested a hill and looked down upon an old millpond, frozen over, the ice gleaming with golden light. Faelight. The sound of their steps raised the face of the women who sat before it, bloodred hair impossibly bright in this white night, pale hands clutched tight. Lucien knew the shape of them- they’d smoothed his hair through childhood nightmares, pressed the first blade he’d ever possessed into his hands.   Lucien’s dead stop pulled Elain closer to his side.   The question was just shaping her mouth when he could speak, surprise and horror and happiness spearing right up under his ribs.   “Mother.” —- The Lady of Autumn rose.   Lucien still hadn’t moved, his grip on her hand frozen. It hurt, to look at his face just then- stripped bare, so surprised the shape was more of pain. She looked so much like him.   A breeze that smelled of apples roasting and the roar of fires blew back Elains hair as Luciens mother closed the distance between them, moving with liquid grace. She was the queen of a lost kingdom, might as well have been a story Elain had been told as child.   Beautiful. Beautiful as her son- red, red hair a ripple past her waist, wide golden eyes, skin like moonlight- but sad too.   A sadness that went deeper than that of her gaze locked on her long lost youngest son.   “You’re not really here,” Lucien said, utterly quiet.   For the first time, Elain realized the light pouring off her skin might not have simply been some part of her own being, but an act of magic. Lucien glowed like that too, a star held somewhere deep inside. It burned whatever it touched, but the Lady of Autumn emitted no heat.   She shook her head. “It’s a small piece of borrowed magic.” Close enough now to touch, her less than solid form dwarfed by Lucien. “The High Lord is otherwise occupied.”   “Mother,” Lucien breathed, and Elain saw the iron control he always had- the charm he slid on and off as easily as she did, the everyday centeredness that lived in Lucien’s sharp smile and dauntless eyes- give way to something old. Something agonized. “I don’t understand. How,” He shook his head, the faintest of tremors running down his arm to Elain’s hand. “How”-   Elain sprang into action. “My lady,” It was hard to execute the bob of a curtsy without moving further from Lucien, but Elain managed it, skirt held in one hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.”   Liquid golden eyes finally turned to her, gleaming like an owl, palpably, gloriously inhuman.”Well met, mortal,” She breathed, the faintest smile on her perfect mouth, everything and absolutely nothing like her son. “I am Sorcha.”   “Elain.”   “I believe I met your sister, once. The curse breaker.” Under the Mountain and held in sway of a sorceress who’d taken an entire country with her wiles- the pieces seemed impossible to fit together. Bowed or even bent, no hesitation or defeat was imaginable for this female. Sorcha, sorrowful or not, felt like power, an arcane, otherworldly danger, much like being in a room with Rhysand.   Elain fought to not look away from her ancient face. The taut tension of Lucien’s body was so complete she could feel it beside him. A moment needed, and Elain could give him that.   She inclined her head. “Yes, I believe your gift served her well.” No matter the depth in her eyes, the smile grew. “I would have been able to do more had the curse ended but a year later. She was lucky to save us, but worse is coming.”   “Mother,” Lucien’s voice was soft, so terribly soft, “You risk yourself to warn me of war?”   Ghostly, that hip length red hair brushed Elain’s arm, the illusion allowing no feeling. She hadn’t realized, caught in the moment, how close Sorcha had come.   “Oh, my little star,” The Lady of Autumn breathed, “Many things are about to come, not all of which I can tell you yet. But my binding to Autumn is finally at an end.”   Elain knew only pieces of the story; Lucien’s mother bound too young to a savage ruler. A marriage contract written in blood, the heirs that followed. And Lucien, finally, the one who among all the rest solely inherited her burning gifts.   Lucien’s hand convulsed in hers. “You’re going to be free?”   Sorcha’s wicked expression was every bit his too, for all that her features were honed more delicate and less lush. The air smelled like smoke, like herbs burning- Elain couldn’t identify a single one. “My darling, no Vanserra can be held forever.” She brushed a hand over Lucien’s cheek, sadness and hope endless between them. “You deserve the entire story, but time runs short, and there are things you must know.”   “Hybern is coming,” Elain said, her voice too sharp to her own ears.   The Lady of Autumn no more sounded like birdsong when she laughed, flashing a fanged mouth. “You are much more than a curse breaker’s sister, aren’t you?”   A warm hand landed between her shoulder blades, familiar. Still holding her hand, turning was required to make the motion, trading the grip of one hand for the other so fast Elain only tracked it with the change of calluses against her palm. Ridiculous- and comfort, perhaps not just her own.   “She’s Elain Archeron,” Lucien said, like her name meant something to this ageless queen.   “Indeed,” Sorcha raised her other hand to Elain’s cheek, the ghost of a touch. “The House of Oak embraces you, Elain Acheron. Hybern will ruin this land if given a chance. I’ll send word when I can, but if you need refuge- either of you- go to Day.”   Lucien frowned, but the light that made the visage of his mother pulsed, returned fainter.   “Remember what I told you Lucien, and live.”   Like she’d never been there at all, Sorcha faded into nothing.   The sounds of the night crept back to them- wind through the folly, the distant sound of horses calming for the night, followed by the new and faraway boom of Illyrian wings. Loudest of all, Elain’s racing pulse as Lucien didn’t move, barely seemed to so much as breathe.   Still as he’d been the day they’d found him, bleeding into their soil.   Slowly, heart not so much pounding as having settled sick in her throat, Elain leaned into the broad chest before her. Slower still, she settled her cheek against his fine mortal shirt, silk impossibly heated. She’d seen that warmth transmute, watched things catch fire by unintended cause of simply being near. It was a long, long time before Elain felt Lucien’s lungs fill again.   “She left something in your hair,” He finally said, voice so rough and deep that even the warmth of proximity didn’t keep goosebumps from Elain’s skin.   “What?”   Elain reached a cautious hand up, and felt- petals? Silken, dewy, full blooms bound in vine and something smoothly foreign, a circlet wound in her hair. Head tipped back, she didn’t have to ask the question to find Lucien looking down in answer, face stripped bare.   The hand on her back made the soft trip upward until Lucien was directing her fingertips. “Wild rose, monkshood, clematis, poison ivy,” Leaf and petal brushed her hand, until Elain was touching the shape of the loop itself, cool even beneath Lucien’s knife calluses, “Bone of the wild hunt,” Onto the other side, his eyes on hers, “Iron from the heart of the last great wyrm.”   “Bone and wrym?”   Lucien dropped her hand to scrub a palm over his face. Gold and wheat and bone gleaming in his own hair, he laughed, curling into her space as the sound carried relief and wildness from his ribs to hers.   “Elain,” He whispered, hope and reverence in one, “She left you the crown of the High Lord of Autumn.” — An hour later, sparks ricocheting in his veins like so much adrenaline, Lucien was behind the locked door of Elain’s bedroom, warding a hatbox with enough magic to destroy a city.   The two circlets his mother- his mother alive, escaping, unhurt- had left behind sat on Elain’s bed, nearly at eye level where he was crosslegged on the floor, burning symbols into cedar. The usual occupant of that unslept-in space was sprawled nearly as close, fingertips hovering over the crown Lucien had pulled from his hair like it might burn her. “Gold?” Elain asked, echoing his own thoughts with a painful clarity. “As in Day Court gold, for Day court asylum?”   “I don’t know,” He admitted, the last twist of fire arcing between his hands. “Day court gold, Autumn bone. It doesn’t make any sense."   Gold and wheat like the crown of the High Lord Lucien had never met, a territory he’d never so much as set foot in, bound to the rowan and bone he’d worn as Beron’s unacknowledged heir; earned, with the magic in his veins and death of his touch.   A rightness, a horror in Lucien’s hands- a missing piece it was hard to look away from, even now.   Elain passed it to him, scarred wrist silver in the living glow of the gold, like sunlight. Not like- actual sunlight, the gold forged by Day Court’s hand, the Spell-cleaver’s bloodline.   It wasn’t until he’d dropped it in the box, lid shut and magic locking with such finality that Lucien managed to look up and find those infinite brown eyes on his face.   “They’re both yours,” Elain said. She was sliding off the bed and onto the floor before he’d even finished shaking his head, skirt spilling over them both. “No. Lucien, it’s your birthright. It’s yours.”   She was feeling enough- not bothering to contain herself around him? Comfortable, the fire sang, and Lucien swallowed it down- to speak with her hands, pale fingers waving as she gestured between them. How many hours had Lucien spent with that careful grip on one arm? How many times had he kissed that palm over the last year, for the benefit of an audience?   He could have found the freckles blind.   “I was never really heir,” Lucien said carefully, waiting for the painful sympathy of her dark eyes.   Instead, Elain growled, so near a real snarl he swore for a heartbeat he could hear the reverb that could one only come from a faery throat, before grabbing his hand. Fearlessly- like those weren’t fire starters hands, like Lucien’s skin wasn’t still hotter than any living things should be.   “Beron’s fault is not yours,” Elain whispered back, utterly fierce. “You told me the power chooses the heir. Nothing that ancient prick does can change who you are.” Who he was. A faery who’d never belonged to anything or anywhere but here; with these mortal women, with this family right on the edge of war. Autumn undeniably- Lucien could call down the Wild Hunt from the sky, hear the wind through the bone trees even now if he tried, find a bloodlines heir with instinct alone- he was Autumn.   He would always be Autumn.   But he’d never wanted to rule, never really thought he would. The most powerful of Sorcha’s sons; but the gentry of that court had been shaped by Beron’s cruelty for eons, Lucien was not enough one of them to be High Lord.   Not an heir, not an emissary, not even the Acheron Lord: just Lucien Vanserra.   It was settled, he’d realized, as deep as the immortality locked is his bones, the fire pounding in his blood; Elain Acheron wore the crown of Autumn and leaned into his touch like she’d been born for it, and Lucien didn’t want anything else.   Certainty felt like bravery.   “It could still choose me,” He admitted, leaning closer, slowly enough that the entire motion was telegraphed. Elain sighed, the noise all temper, drifting through Lucien’s hair as it slid to curtain them both. “But she gave it to you for a reason, it’ll keep you safe.”   Impossibly, after this day of conflict with Feyre, with the cauldron damned Night Court, after this surreal magic drenched last hour and despite the exhaustion he smelt, clinging to her skin, Elain looked comfortable.   Curious, frustrated, eyes roaming his face- but utterly comfortable spilled on the floor, curved so close together their legs touched, the lamplight only reaching her face through a screen of red hair, glamour long forgotten.   “You don’t want to be High Lord,” She finally said, close enough he felt the words on his own mouth.   His lips quirked up without conscious permission. “I wanted to be heir,” Lucien said. “To be recognized. I wanted enough power to keep others safe- and that couldn’t be taken away. Autumn’s borders won’t accept me, but I could call on those forest’s from here and be answered.”   “To keep us safe?” The way she said it didn’t feel like a question.   There couldn’t be a way she didn’t know- Elain Acheron, a thousand times more clever than most realized. His lungs, his heart. And Nesta, his left hand, a sword and shield before them both.   Careful, like a child’s promise, Lucien hooked one pinky through hers. “I’d turn Hybern to ash if he looks our way.”   A joking tone had taken over, self protection if there ever was any. But Elain heard the truth.   She swung their joined hands, for all that there was barely room to move between them. “I’ll stab him in throat, you can burn the body,” Elain promised, looking down. “I imagine even faery kings can’t wield magic if they’re choking on blood.”   She was a savage in lace and velvet, her quick mortal heart loud in his ears.   Before he could weigh the action, Lucien snatched up the other crown, feeling the biting sting as it rejected him, burn sinking into his palms in the second it took to place that bone wreath on Elain’s head.   “Wear it,” Lucien whispered, feeling as though he were under enchantment himself, “And it will give you the strength to defeat your enemies.”   Her smile didn’t break the spell, but changed it to something softer. “The wheat,” She began, leaning back to see him fully. “The gold, it smelled like fire.”   What did Autumn and Day have in common? Nothing, everything- courts of old magic and deep nature, a power that could burn and bind.   He knew it before she said it. “Like your acorn.” Like his magic. Lucien didn’t know what it meant, anymore than he could say what was coming. They’d hide the crowns together, he knew. Wake up tomorrow in different beds, try to understand, to thwart whatever asinine plan Feyre and her chosen High Lord wanted them dragged into. Tell Nesta they’d been warned, try to plan for war and conflict.   Tuck away this secret between them, until it had meaning.   Autumn Court, Day Court, gods-forshaken Night Court- what did it matter?   Lucien belonged to Elain Archeron, and that wasn’t ever changing.

@breath-of-sindragosa @flxwer-petals @ladyvanserra @illyrianinterrasen@missanniewhimsy@tntwme@ourbooksuniverse @pitterpatterpot @thestarwhowishes @abillionlittlepieces @my-fan-side @the-eightofswords @wonderland–memories @ourbooksuniverse @cohen-theeleven

[fivefootab1tch]

allllllrighty~ here’s my tHING~<3 i recognize that i talk pretty fast (and i was also trying to be hushhush so i probably didn’t come out as clear as i wanted to) so i’m including a script under the cut~

Tagged by @momtaku, @laffitine, & @dirtylevi ~ ♡ //thank y'all smmmmm// Tagging @shuuhuu @madcapraccoon @matcha-castella @starry-raven​ & everyone else on here who needs an excuse to do it and wants to. i’ll share the love and peer pressure asdkjfnak

'Aight, so here's my stab at Mamataku's SnK Voice Meme 4.0! I wrote a script to try and keep myself on track, but... the fuck if I ever know how to play right, so here we go~

State your name and username. 『sal, fivefootab-i-tch』 Is there a story behind your user name that you’d like to share? 『it's from an o.g. fandom video called "More Sassy Levi (Ezekieru Outtakes)". this was way before i was more or less tumblr savvy and i've gone through variations of it before settling on this one to mimic Ezekieru's pronunciation of BITCH. i'd wanna have a completely hyphenless version of this url to make my presence easier for the tumblr system to SWALLOW, kkkk but it's taken. the version of it with a 1 instead of the i isn't though... so maybe i'll switch to that one, i dunno. what's a brand?』 Where are you from? 『i'm from the states, southern california, bordertown asscrack of the U.S. you might get that lazy, high as balls, surfer feel from my voice since i've been here all my life』 How long have you been a fan of the series? 『i'm about two years late from the anime release, and i only know this because i immediately started writing fanfiction after binging the series in summer 2015. so... coming on 4 years? damn.』 What is your favorite and least favorite Arc? 『my favorite arc is the uprising arc, a pretty popular opinion, for a lot of reasons: the sudden turn of events, levi's collarbones, levi as a kid, KENNY, the characters all having their own unique identity crisis as their morals are suddenly taking turns, historia reclaiming her identity... (which was something that hits a little too close to home for comfort, but what's a good series that doesn't rip your personal feelings to shreds?)』 『i'm not a big fan of the marley side of things, another pretty popular opinion. for me, suddenly switching to a new cast of characters and setting after so much was accomplished in the uprising arc and return to shiganshina felt like betrayal. i mean... they get to the basement, which was the whole ass goal of the entire series up to that point, then we suddenly screech to a halt to tell someone elses' story. i can understand it... theoretically? i guess? bbut the whole time i was still like "wait a minute, what happened with the main cast?" bits and pieces of it have grown on me since, but i still have a ways to go to invest myself. politically, i just realized... marley really grinds my gears. why did i have to realize this? i'm shook. i can't believe this. i'll process it later.』 Do you have a favorite moment in the story thus far? 『eren screaming "the world outside the walls is my birthright" for... reasons. historia reclaiming her identity for... reasons... i've found myself hyperinvested in this series for immensely personal reasons i hope to eventually see through in my own life. i wanna be free, too. i also liked the moment in the uprising arc when levi thanked armin for saving jean. it was rough, but something he needed to hear. also any moment levi praises people. it's really cute.』 If you could resurrect one dead character who would it be and why? 『kuchel, because not only does levi deserve his mother but i would've loved to see more of her and how she raised levi into the compassionate kind of guy he is now. that side of him survived the tough love kenny put him through, so she must've breathed hella life into her kid and that's something i'd love to have seen more of』 Who is your favorite character and why? 『levi, for a lot of obvious as well as not so obvious reasons.』 『obvious reasons: he's pretty fucking cute. his sass and one liners are hilarious. his sense of humor's a clusterfuck of bad shit jokes and dark takes the people around him don't understand half the time and that's pretty funny in itself. he's o.p. as hell but the way the story makes it not matter when it comes down to it (because the universe is just THAT fucked up) is really something. he's in a league of his own but the depth of his characterization and development shows that's only a small part of who he is. the story demands so much more of him and the ways he rises (and sometimes falls) to the occasion makes me really like him. he's showcased as Humanity's Strongest but he's still human and flawed as fuck.』 『not so obvious reasons: he says fuck gender roles. he's short and makes the trans guy side of me feel pretty good. that particular character trait isn't just a gag for me. he started from the bottom now he's here. he always sides with the powerless, the helpless. he (to his own personal moral code) uses the strength he has for good as opposed to using it to keep people below him, something he could very well do if he uncritically internalized everything kenny spoonfed him, and wanted to. he doesn't sit on a moral high horse. he's open minded and accepting of letting people decide things for themselves. he's humble. if he doesn't understand something, he'll look to other people and he does all that while remaining confident and assertive in his own abilities. he doesn't hold himself above doing the dirty work if he feels he's best suited to do it. he genuinely cares about people and does his best to talk them through their issues when they need it, even if he's clumsy while doing it. it's really inspirational and personally validating .』 Any OTPs? 『erejean hits me a certain way. they're everything "boys will be boys" is SUPPOSED to mean, and i still can't get over jean calling eren cool. they're just so funny and i love their dynamic. hange and petra hits too for a reason i don't really understand yet. i don't get super invested in pairings, but i do like seeing character dynamics being explored in different lights and stuff. **** i bonded with my partner over roleplaying an au ereri thread, so that pairing's pretty special too. i didn't ship it at first, but being open to it has led me to getting to know this amazing person, so... yeah.』 You are able to transport to the SnK Universe for a day. How do you spend it? 『helping out. i don't know what i'd be able to contribute, but i'd want to be doing something to make the lives of the main cast easier. they have it really hard, and so many times i wanted to be able to do something for them. so i write my original characters into fanfiction. on the other hand, if it's a world where i'm independent and free to live whatever life i wanna live, i'd wanna go absolutely apeshit first. see everything there is to see and live all the life there is to live. ****perform a strip tease at a scout party and have the officers stick bills into my boobs.**** THEN commit myself to some sort of social or military work for the scouting legion. ****be their comfort... if yaknoe what i mean. it's good honest work~♡****』 Eren Jaeger did nothing wrong or Eren Jaeger did everything wrong? 『eren jaeger is what eren jaeger does. i can't vouch for whether or not he's right or wrong because there's no way i can really put myself in the situation he's in. mass genocide is very wrong, without a doubt, but something tells me there's something else going on and his real intentions are more complicated. a pivotal point in the series for him was his tribunal, where levi played the role of the arrogant wank to save his life and beat his ass before the whole military court. i think there's something similar going on here. he could be playing a role too, but it still stands that i have no idea. i'm not so invested in condemning or glorifying him, because the things i enjoy about his character aren't really going to be influenced.』 What is your favorite song in the series? Feel free to sing an extract 『i love them all. hiroyuki sawano makes such amazing soundtracks and all the vocals are powerful and chilling as fuckall hell. some favorites i do have are red swan, Vogel im Käfig, Bauklötze, call your name, it's answer song call of silence, youseeBIGGIRL, the spanish version of so ist es immer. so uh... even though i'm not very good at it, i do really love singing, so... i'm gonna try and sing some for y'all. i know a lot more english, japanese, and spanish than i do german so... i'm sorry!』 ****『Like the scarlet night veiling the dark You can hide your fear Can lie, my dear Kono mama yume wo mite Chi darake no tsubasa Hirogete』**** 『Las sillas ya juntas están Charlamos toda la noche  Este lugar no esta nada mal  Y creo que nos llevamos bien ****Solo estamos nosotros  Siempre es nuestra luz  Cantando y bebiendo, puedes estar tu Bajo el cielo azul  Siempre estamos asi  Y largas son las noches aqui』 『Ist das der Zerstörer oder der Schöpfer?』**** 『one of these days, when i feel more bearable to listen to, i'll... try and do some full ass covers, if y'all would be down for that ♡』 Bonus: What would Erwin do? 『about... what? everything going down now? i dunno. all i can offer is a dream daddy reference. he's chilling in Margaritaville somewhere... 』 Say the following: Wall Maria, Jean Kirschstein, Reiner Braun, Ymir, Theo Magath, Onyankopon, Kiyomi Azumabito, Hajime Isayama, Shiganshina Trio, Shingeki no Kyojin, Shinzou wo Sasageyo

[lore-of-the-silvereyes-rwby]

Remnants Silver Legends

Chapter 8

The West Valley road/ Rananore fields/ Endemar

Rananore; vast fields, and tall grass. Fertile farmland, and the Great Valley road passing through. Truely a peaceful land where the work is honest, and people live in safety. Quiet fields with the wind breezing through.  But a small tremor disrupts this tranquil land. 

Not a natural one born from nature. But one forged by the heels of thousands. Thousands running for the safety of home. Each at a different pace. Some fast, and quick others slow, and tired. Most of them were wounded, and dying. One of the many knights within this legion falls down to their knees. Weak and tired with blood dripping down their arm. Another knight hurries to his aid.

“Are you all right,” the knight asked as he dropped to his knees to aid his comrade.

“I ...I  ...may have ...lost more blood than I  ...than I thought,” he claimed in a very faint voice, as his breath grew shorter.

“You’re going to be fine alright, we're almost home,” he said, trying to comfort him. 

“Hey, hey you two, over here,” he called out to a pair of youngbloods to help him.

The two hurried over to answer his needs. The knight has one go find anyone who knows medicine. He knew he was asking too much. Especially since he knew most of the knights, or dames who were trained to be field doctors were either dead, or missing. As that one  left, he had the other one help him lift the wounded knight back on his feet.

The knight takes the right side, and the remaining youngblood takes the left. The two keep in mind his damaged right arm. As they lift him up his  arm from its socket falls down to the ground. They all look in shock, and surprise.

“Something tells me ...I’m not ...getting that back ...am I?”

“No...no you are not.”

“We’re almost there,” cried the voice of someone on horseback! “Keep moving, They’re bound to send help if we’re close enough for them to see us!” The rider then noticed the trio. He got off his horse, and offered it to the wounded. “Take this, you need it more than I do,” the rider offered.

The three of them got the wounded knight on the horse. After they secured him on it, they then had the youngblood saddle up on the horse. He would ride  while it carried the wounded knight. Soon after they sent them off hoping that by the time they reached the gates they would be open. Hopefully aid will come to them, he thought. That’s more than he can say for the rest of them. 

He feels helpless as he knows he can’t save them all. His mind was clouded by grief. He hangs his head in defeat looking down as he continues to walk down the path. Then all of a sudden a loud horn was heard. He raises his head to see the gates of Sinda open. Carriages, carts, and caravans began to exit the city. Escorted by the Ostirio wall garrison. They ride faster than the wind to aid them.

“We’re saved,” the knight beside him asked as he exclaimed in joy,”...Right?”

“Yes, yes we are,” he answered

 With renewed hope, they began to move in haste. The former rider stands alone to the side avoiding the raging stampede of hopeful souls. He noticed the severed arm of the wounded knight who he gave his horse to. He picks it up and removes the metal bracer which was in good condition. He tossed the lifeless limb into the nearby fields, so that it won’t block the way of his troops as they rush for aid. 

He had begun to walk down the path to the city. He then started to reflect on the events that led him here, as well as the tenets he was tasked to uphold. As the legions Marshal he swore an oath to those responsibilities. In his mind he failed them all.

Mahtale tole/Silirin/ Endemar

“What do you think that horn was,” Ezer asked?

“It came from Sinda so it was probably a drill or something,” Ithiel answered.

“Something is off,” Lucius implored. “There were no drills scheduled today.”

“Probably a surprise performance inspection then,” Ithiel said.

Three friends argue, and discuss the reasons behind the sound they heard. They’re also not the only ones either. The people around them, and throughout the city wonder the same thing. In their own thoughts they hope it was nothing to be concerned with. Strange days are ahead, but are they for the better or for the worst. But for now friends will wine and dine.

“Which one of you ordered the ale and honey biscuits?”

“Here,” Lucius said, raising his hand.  The server gave him his order, and began to drink.

“Okay and the salted fish with cheese bread, and Poitin.”

"That be mine," claimed Ezer.

“Alright and I guess you’re the one who wanted the strawberry tart, and port wine, I take it.”

“A personal favorite to the end I’m afraid,” Ithiel acknowledged as he smiled in delight. “Gratias tibi,” he said to her.

After she finished serving their food, she proceeded to the next table. The three friends share a toast, and drink. Sometime had passed before the three began their conversation anew. 

“So anybody got something interesting going on,” queried Ezer?

“Nothing much going on in my life. Probably going to return to my studies,” Lucius answered

“Let me rephrase that,” asserted Ezer. “Anyone besides mixed-eyes here got something to say,” he bellowed.

That earned a scornful stare from Lucius. Ithiel couldn’t help but feel disappointed in Ezer. As a fellow Arhon he at least thought that all of them were like minded for the better. Guess he was wrong. But there's still hope for them yet. Best to change the subject before things escalate.

“To answer your question Ezer,” he said, hoping to avoid conflict. “I’ll be leaving the city soon if you're curious.”

That seemed to have nulled the tension between the two. Petty spite turned to surprise.  

“Seriously you’re leaving,” Ezer inquired?

“Where to,” Lucius asked?

They continue to ask, pressuring him for an answer.

“Calm down, calm down,” Ithiel urged, gesturing to them to keep it down. “Ok, I don’t know where I’ll be traveling yet, nor do I know anything about it. But I do know it's a place not many have ever been to.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down,” Lucius stated.

“Sadly that's true,” Ezer agreed.

“Wait, is that why you seem to be off today, because you're leaving,” Lucius asked?

“Mostly,” he lied.

“Well look on the bright side,” exclaimed Ezer. “You’ve been outside of the city more times than I have.” He then took another drink. “You want to know the first thing I’m gonna do when I leave,” he said as he began to boast.

“Let me guess, hunt down the Druwil,” Lucius divulged. 

“Who asked you,” Ezer challenged Lucius?

“The Druwil,” Ithiel inquired?

“It’s nothing, just some Grimm fable. Legends say that they're older than The Fall of Dor-nest, and that there is only one left,” Lucius told him.

“And I’m gonna hunt it down and kill it,” bragged Ezer.

“Sure you are,” Lucius sighed.

As they continued their conversation a new patron entered the tavern they were in. The foreign stranger approached the counter then began to converse with the owner. Lucius spotted and took note of this stranger's appearance. 

His eyes were light blue, so obviously human. He had short black hair and his face bare.  His skin was fair, but tan marks were prominent but not noticable. His attire was blue and grey with leather armor, and a dark cloak adorned on his shoulders. An explorer maybe?  But from where he thought. He then began to cross off potential points of origin.

Eregost; too pale. 

Irestia; too stern, and rough looking.

Nuel;  not the romantic type.

Rawmaite; too short to hail from any of those islands.

Anarsta; he may need a second opinion.

“Hey Ithiel you’re familiar with the northern people right?”

“I know of them. Why do you ask?”

Lucius pointed to the foreign figure at the counter.

“Any idea where he’s from?”

He took a look at him to see if he can answer Lucius’s question.

“I only know of the major cities, and trade centers, but if I had to make a guest he’s most likely from Nenlant or near it, he answered.”

“Any idea of his profession?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. 

“Entschuldigen Sie, entschuldigen Sie meine Herren, an unknown voice spoke to them.” They were cut off guard as the stranger they were talking about was all of a sudden standing right in front of them. “Is it okay if I bull up ein chair, he asked?” They both nodded in acknowledgement and gave him the go ahead. “Vielen Dank, meine Herren, he said.”

“If you don’t mind, may I ask what is your purpose here, Ithiel asked?”

“It is ein long schtory, put in schort I am here unter contract py zomeone vo visches ein Hautience vith zee City Lord, und zee ovner of zis blace tells me vu can help me vith zat, he surmised,” as he pointed at Ithiel.

He was stunned by what he said.

“Why me,” he Inquired?

Zee ovner told me zat vu vould tell me vy zo vo are vu?

“That depends who wants to meet him,” Ithiel asked?

“Unfortunately I can’t discloze zat Hinformazion,” he said. “Zo can vu help me or not?”

Ithiel pondered in thought. Trying to see the strangers intentions. He didn’t seem like a dishonest person. Maybe a little rough around the edges, but someone who wanted his intentions known.

“It must be important that this person sees him isn’t it,” he added as he took a drink of wine. 

The stranger’s integrity began to weaken. He grew annoyed at the silberäugig man. But he had to keep his composure. At least until his task was over. He asked again.

 “Can vu help me or not?”

After some thought Ithiel gave into his demands. What's the worst that can happen he thought. This was of course his city, and home, with people that stand up for each other.

“As his son I think I can help your friend meet my father,” he alleged. “Do you have a name?”

 The revelation that he was the son of the man he was looking for, still had the stranger in awe.

“It’s Isa, Isa of Nenarta,” he answered.

“I was close,” said Lucius as he took another sip.

“Nice to meet you Isa,” Ithiel greated as he stood to shake his hand. 

There was a noticeable height difference between the two. He stood a head taller than him. Isa felt a little intimidated.

“Nice to meet you too, um . . . sorry I didn’t catch your name.” he said as he shook his hand.

“Ithiel, Ithiel of the House of Ilsalos,” he said. “So shall we leave?”

“Sicher.” 

As they began to walk, Isa noticed the other two.

“Vait vat apout zem,” he asked?

Ezer may have had one too many drinks, and Lucius sat there in annoyance. This wasn’t the first time his cousin was in this state. But he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that they share blood. He turned his gaze to Ithiel.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll get him home as soon as I can,” sighed Lucius. “Take care of yourself though Ithiel.”

Ithiel acknowledged what he said and continued on his way with Isa. The two left the tavern and proceeded to where the client was. It was about a half an hours’ walk to their destination. He made sure to keep his guard up, for he is unsure if this was genuine cause or a trap. But who benefits from it. They arrived in an alley where a tall figure in red and grey waits. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and his head rises to see the pair approaching him.

“Who’s this guy,” he asked?

“Zir may I brezent Iziel, zee zon of Zilirin’s city Lord,” Isa answered.

“It’s Ithiel,”he said, trying to correct Isa's accent.

“Your Lord Herod’s,” he asked flabbergasted?

“Yes I am, and I’m here in good faith that this is an important matter,” stated Ithiel. “As such may I ask both the reasons for your secrecy and who you are that warrants an audience with my father?”

Surprised by his good fortune he relented. He stopped leaning against the wall and approached them. He was just a couple feet opposite of Ithiel. Silver eyes, met silver eyes. But they have never met before, until now as he began to bow to Ithiel.

“My name is Wyn, son of Aneirin of Gadronma,” He revealed. “ It is urgent that I meet Lord Herod, if Silirin, and the rest of Numen are to avoid the same fate as my homeland.”

NOTES

Sorry for the long wait, life got in the way. Also I’m trying to make these longer. Hopefully the next one won’t take 5 months

[spirit-of-vengeance]

After MONTHS, I was finally hit by something that made me completely piece together Rozália's story of what she is and why and I'm HYPER. Aka: here it comes the usual tragedy

Origins:

Attila Véghváry was a descendant of warriors whom protected Hungary throughout the Ottoman period of history, to be able to live up to his ancestors he joined to serve the Vatican as a Hunter. He had fallen in love with a half Italian, half Hungarian woman named Liliána, charmed by her ethereal beauty and kindness. His desire to have children, to continue his name bathed in blood was grand, after wedding they tried, struggled with the task; without success. Liliána was terrified upon her husband's devastation, fearing he will throw her away, back into the clutches of her father and that was a fate she desperately wanted to avoid. So she prayed, begged for a miracle, yet still nothing happened. In her despair and distress, she turned to a darker force; she had made a deal with the devil: she will be able to successfully bear a child, but the child will serve hell after his or her death.

Rozália was born in 1823 and Liliána was gnawed by guilt from her first cry for air; yet she found herself unable to tell anyone in fear of harm. Even though she couldn't give him a boy, Attila was thrilled to have her and began teaching, treating her as a son as soon as possible. He was a harsh teacher with little to no reward to pay off the hard work and Rozália soon learned she has to fight for her father's love and praise.

The Hunter:

It was no question that she will join her father in the quest of banishing evil, Attila couldn't bear to give his only offspring in the hands of Nuns. To everyone's greatest surprise, the young girl proved to be more capable than most of the men, including her own father: fast, fearless, fatal, brutal yet still a tactician. Despite the available arsenal of weapons she favored hussar swords above everything (+ a few must have religious symbols) with her unique twist: she wielded twin blades, instead of the traditional one, earning the title of Doom Duelist.

Rozália only saw the creatures as obstacles between her father's love and well deserved recognition. She never really believed the preachings, she hasn't came to do God's work but to seek her own glory, to carve her own path.

When she could visit her mother, Liliána started to worry upon listening Attila's tales of how efficient their daughter was, instead she saw it as a sign that the devil already begun his work with her violent personality. As a solution when she was home, she turned her attention towards arts and found out her thirst, passion and talent for dancing. Liliána had given her all the love she could in hope it would provide a tiny compensation for Attila's harsh ways. She didn't condemn nor stood in way of her hunt for the so called satanic creatures in hope of that will somehow lessen or even lift the curse she had bestowed on her before she was born.

The General:

The 1848 revolutionary war swept through the country like a wildfire, both father and daughter felt their obligation to protect their country, just like their ancestors did. Her talents shone brilliantly on the battlefields and despite being a woman, she climbed ranks in lightning speed. Eventually, Attila had fallen in a battle and the title General was given to her along with a legion of hussars, the Főnix Légió (Phoenix Legion). Her horse, Vihar (Thunder) was a wild, aggressive mare from the Herd Lipica, since they couldn't get her to accept any of the stallions, they wanted to get rid of the nuisance but Rozália has had other plans.

They understood each other from the very beginning, they moved together as one. Vihar was as quick and strong as if she was a stallion along with her rider. The name General Véghváry was associated with bravery, power and true Hungarian virtue. She often utilized the tactics of ancient battles like barrage of arrows when they were 'fleeing', used the environment to her advantage, quick, devastating strikes usually at the enemy flanks then disappearing into the thin air. She knew her army well, keeping many personal relations since most of the soldiers were almost still children. Strangely, no one ever questioned her command and the legion moved, fought as one.

Birth of the Demon:

The greatest heroes are designated to fall. Her mistake was that she believed fighting for their country, defending it from the Habsburg's rule unified everyone and didn't take betrayal into consideration. The legion was crossing the mountains of Vértes, advancing into uncertain territory when the ambush happened. Rozália knew they are all going to perish, they were in a valley, no space to utilize the hussar tactic, so she set Vihar free and issued one last command: die as heroes. So they fought like caged wild animals but the Habsburg army had the numerical superiority along with the element of surprise. Rozália watched her men, her friends slaughtered, executed the remaining survivors. Even at the door of death, bleeding from numerous wounds she stood defiant and unmoving, refusing to beg or kneel in front of the enemy general. Swords pierced her body, more than she can or want to remember, pinned standing like a grotesque sculpture of glory. Life left her body and sealed the deal. The ground cracked beneath her body, the flames of Hell itself soaring into the woman, resurrecting and possessing her at the same time. The first gasp for breath was ragged, she was confused, furious and lost. So she did what most children would do, immediately returned to her mother's house, only to find her dead with unmistakable evidence of her falling victim to a vampire. Unbeknownst to her, Liliána had written a diary she kept locked away, detailing why she accepted such offer, her sincere apologies and asking for forgiveness for bringing a cursed child to life.

Szerte nézett s nem lelé Honját a hazában*:

Even though she had no idea what she had became, Rozália knew she can't return to the Holy Order, but she no longer fit among humans and due to her Hunter past she wasn't welcome among other creatures. She lost her identity, the war, her home and her beloved mother. She did what she could: survive. Learn what she is and trying to control it. She soon realized her human face is only a mask, when the pendant is separated from her, her appearance shifts: skin cracks until it looks like ash, her veins are glowing orange in contrast, clawed hands, feet, wide jaw filled with razor fangs, crimson eyes with slit pupils and ink black wings curling from her back, almost impossible to tell when the flames morph into feathers.

Rozália is restlessly searching for her mother's killer while trying to figure out what and who is she, struggling to decide between warrior, demon or dancer.

After finishing off all the Habsburg officials (except for the general whom was nowhere to be found even though she tore through the whole country in her fury), she turned her special attention towards vampires in hope of finding her mom's killer. These encounters often ended with death even though the said creature wasn't the cause of her loss. Soon she learned the Holy Order wants to eradicate her from existence, without regard for her outstanding service; she understood she is truly torn between two words and she could never belong to any of them.

Rozália took part in both World Wars, the Korean war, the Vietnam War, numerous crisises throughout Africa and Middle East; to keep herself occupied, to not let the memories of the war pass even though she suffers from minor PTSD from it. When not occupied with bloodshed, she restlessly learned new styles of martial arts and dance styles, throughout the century she has lived many lives in many places: cage fighter, dancer, racer, pole dancer, acrobat, fitness model; anywhere she can get her rush of adrenaline and spotlight. Rozy can't nor want to slow down, she blazes to the utmost, running from melancholy and loneliness.

To save herself from the heartbreak, the must have 'why do you still look 25 even though we've been together for 10 years' talk, and the danger of being hunted by everyone, Rozy doesn't really date. If she feels a mutual spark between her and an another, she is totally down for a one night stand then disappear, leaving only the traces of overwhelming heat and pleasant memories behind.

Power & curse of the Hellfire:

Rozália needs to consume souls to survive. If she refuses, can't find someone unworthy of life, her 'gift' starts to turn against her. The pendant unable to keep up the false facade of a human, the insatiable demon clawing through the surface and ultimately, the Hellfire would consume her, resulting in a second death which would be hell of a record to beat but Rozy is not interested in that.

With the pendant on, the signs of what is she truly are subtle: Her teeth a little too sharp, dagger like stiletto nails as if she just had a manicure, her body heat feverish, candles leaning towards her or burning more eagerly in her presence. The most notable traits her almost overwhelming, smoldering aura and behind her emerald eyes occasionally a glimpse of Hell itself flash, brief enough to make humans believe their mind is only playing tricks.

She has fire under her control, high temperature cause no harm; her cursed flames able to burn through everything and destroy anything in their path including supernatural creatures for whom normal fire isn't fatal. Being destruction itself makes her unable to bear children, not like she would've wanted in the first place.

If she has the mortal remains, she can raise that being back into life for a few hours as an infernal creature, and at full power she can open a portal directly to Hell and reap all the souls nearby though she isn't aware of this ability yet watch her raise her dead army in heartbeat if needed. Both of these actions leave her drained for weeks, unable even to transform so she will only use these as last resort.

@count-v-dracula you might like this :D

@thxwxlf ...you said I am allowed to throw stuff at you😅