#lord radegast

[sylenth-l]

We will gather those you trust. We will not wait for this to force our hand.

[felmire-echo]

Radegast x Saladin

Because my fiance is a simp and in rair pair hell and sad one of our favorite authors closed the request box. Merry Christmas, @princessehistoire 💜

The Peak was quiet, for once, though that quiet would inevitably end when patroles return, and even more likely with Radegast chewing Lord Felwinter out for breaking the decree.

Again.

But for now, there was peace.

Radegast finds Saladin sitting on one of the couches by the dying fire, a wolf in his lap. "Room for one more?" The deep rumble of his voice causes the smaller man to look up in surprise.

"Oh, 'Gast, I didn't hear you come in." Saladin shifts to the side, earning a disgruntled whuff from the wolf as he makes room for Radegast. He pets the beast comfortingly. "Hush, you're alright." It makes Radegast chuckle.

"Lord Felwinter spoils those wolves." He remarks, settling down and poking the fire back to life. "We've come a long way, together."

There's silence from Saladin for a moment, hands absent absently running through wolf fur. "We have." He says, finally, voice softer than one would expect from him. "Our work isn't done, yet, though. There's more who need our help."

"And we'll do it together." Radegast says, taking one of Saladin's hands and kissing it as he leans against him. "As we always have."

"Yes." Saladin agrees, settling against the man he trusts more than anything else in this world. "Together."

[makoredeyes]

20, a kiss on a scar freckle. Gheleon/Colovance

LOOK we're all thinking of these guys as Sylenth draws them, and I'm only complying with your little twist on the prompt despite that sexy little scar she gives Gheleon because I know what you really want is smooches for Colovance. but it was hard dude. It was so, so hard not to turn it around. XD

#20 - a kiss on a scar*

Of course he heard the footsteps, pounding, pattering, echoing through the hall as someone made a frantic dash from point A to point B. No attempt was being made to muffle them, that was for sure. Lord Gheleon reckoned the folks down in the village below the Mountain probably heard them. That was no Hunter running his way, that was for sure. He'd bet at least two of his best knives it was a student though. It was that time of day for group classes, he thought, or just past it, and his older brethren were more dignified. Or at least louder about it if the Temple was getting knocked down around their ears again. Radegast had one hell of a set of lungs on him, and even Felwinter could call out like a clap of thunder when he wanted your attention.

The footsteps were getting closer, so Gheleon stopped and planted himself just before a corner and waited.

Sure enough, moments later, someone came barreling around the bend and, utterly failing to register the presence of someone else standing there at all, crashed right into him with a yelp and a spectacular cascade of books and bags and other paraphernalia Gheleon didn't care to try and identify.

He wasn't a very big guy, but poor Colovance bounced right off of him and fell hard on his ass, showering himself with heavy-looking objects as he went down. Gheleon cringed. How such a skinny kid could even carry that much was beyond him, but it looked like it all hurt. "Whoa! Easy there, Lad!" He crouched down at Colovance's shoulder, helping the groaning Warlock sit up while the redhead was busy rubbing his head with both hands, scrubbing away the pain with rough, frustrated gestures. He murmured his thanks, but somewhat belatedly seemed to focus as he sat up all the way, making eye-contact with Gheleon.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" He leapt to his feet, nearly toppling Gheleon in his rush. "I didn't see you there at all, I'm terribly sorry, I should have been paying more attention I know!" He stooped, scrambling to pick up the books that were scattered everywhere. He was frantic, dropping nearly as many as he scooped back up into his arms. "Do please forgive me Lord Gheleon, I promise to be more cautious next time-" "Yikes, wow, slow down kid," Gheleon waved his hands, fumbling to try and get in there to help the poor trainee. "You're not on fire." "I might as well be, I'm really late!" "You'll be forgiven, surely-" "Be that as it may, it's terribly rude-" "Shush and slow down already!" Gheleon gave him a firm jab in the ribs, making him squeak and drop all his books all over again. Colovance made a pitiful sound of distress, a hot, embarrassed blush coloring his fair features. Gheleon couldn't help but smile as the dense speckling of freckles across the young man's face seemed to stand out all the darker because of it.

"Deep breaths, and let me help ya," he said slowly, bending down and beginning to collect what Colovance had dropped. Colovance sucked in a deep breath and held it. "I said breaths! Plural!" Gheleon laughed, jabbing him again. Colovance gasped, hiccuped, and started to breathe more normally. By then, Gheleon had collected all of his things, and placed them into the student's arms carefully. "Now there," he said soothingly. "No more rushing or you'll get hurt again. You're a clever one, I've seen it, but you have to keep your head on." Colovance's blush deepened, and Gheleon couldn't resist leaning in to lay a playful little smooch right on the bridge of his nose, where the freckles were the most dense. Colovance squeaked and got even redder, his face and hair nearly the same color.

Adorable. "Now come on, I'll escort you to class so you're not scolded," Gheleon said, waving him along. "You were very helpful stopping to give me a hand when ya did, even with class about to start." "I wha- OH." Colovance caught on only a little slowly. "I appreciate that," he said, voice small. He had the books balanced in the crook of one arm so he could scratch at his nose where Gheleon had kissed him. "Really." "Eh, you're a good egg," Gheleon waved him down as they started off. "Y'deserve a break. And I like your boss a bit," he added wryly. Colovance coughed politely. So he'd heard.

[stoshasaurus]

right. I need to add some fucking context to this.

My current pfp in one of my discord servers is one of my recent drawings of Felwinter. I was talking about my desire to go out and get donuts this morning, particularly a banana Bismarck (basically a banana-flavored Boston cream donut, if you asked me to sum it up) from this local donut shop. I expressed that I enjoy having characters as my pfp because I imagine that they are saying my words, and it made me wonder how Felwinter would feel about donuts for breakfast, and banana bismarcks. I promised that once I had returned from my expedition to acquire said donuts, that I would write a short snippet about Felwinter eating a banana Bismarck.

So, here it is. An extremely silly, probably HIGHLY inaccurate mini-fic about Shaxx bringing Felwinter donuts for breakfast.

Disgustingly sweet (both literally and figuratively) Felshaxx fluff ahead.

Felwinter only finds himself sleeping in when he is visiting Shaxx. The Iron Lord never sleeps at all; he doesn’t need to, and there is always work to be done. He often finds himself quite busy in the evenings, scouring submind data or organizing lessons for his new student, activities that he obsesses over long after dusk, when any ordinary man would retire for the night. But endless work and looming threats be damned, Shaxx has an absurdly comfortable bed, with far too many pillows and a mattress so soft that Felwinter’s frame sinks immediately into it like a stone in a pond. He’d never known he needed a soft bed with a mountain of pillows. It has become one of the millions of little things he looks forward to when it comes to visiting his beloved in the Last Safe City of Humanity

His infrequent holiday stays in the City have been growing in length recently. In the past, he was lucky to have a single evening to himself to spend, a few scant hours spent being shown all of the spectacular things Shaxx detailed to him in his letters. Now, he is allotted more time, sometimes a week or more, once or twice a month. There was never any announcement made; Felwinter highly suspects that Radegast had been pestered into lessening the burdens of his duties by those few nosy Lords who had deciphered his unspoken relationship with Shaxx. Absolute wretches, all of them. He cannot complain.

He sleeps in more frequently now; Shaxx wakes earlier than him, often unable to step away from his post for longer than a few hours. But he never leaves without soft murmurs goodbye and a few kisses pressed to his face. Felspring teases him relentlessly when he finds himself brushing his hand over where Shaxx’s had been. He swats at her before dozing off for the next hour or so, Arc energy buzzing across his frame long after the Warlord has gone, soft flickers of static mimicking well-known, well-loved fingertips.

When he does finally wake up, it is to a still-empty house. If he makes a small noise of disappointment, he will never admit to it. He makes the bed, dresses himself, and opens the windows to let the sun and the air in, admiring the cityscape in the distance. It truly is as marvelous as Shaxx had made it out to be. A place where flowers bloom and birds sing, and Lightless people sleep without guns in their hands. Shaxx had entrusted Felwinter (and Felwinter alone. Oh, isn’t that a precious thought?) with a small, messy manuscript of hand-written poetry. Felwinter had smiled as Shaxx asked for his aid in revising it, hiding his apprehension in his hands as he wrung them, his feet as he shuffled them, his eyes as he averted them from his face. The very same manuscript lay on the kitchen counter, pockmarked with notes and bookmarks, the pages marked with fresh ink in the margins where Felwinter had endlessly praised Shaxx’s prose (in a much more legible script). Where words often failed the Iron Lord, his writing never did. He confessed his love through paragraphs of detailed interpretation and literary analysis. Poetry of his own.

Felwinter is in the process of writing more notes in the manuscript when Shaxx finally returns to the house. Felwinter turns to greet him– there is a tray of twin coffee cups in one hand and a small box cradled in the other, another bag tucked in his elbow.

Shaxx’s Ghost graciously removes the man’s helmet in time for him to press a kiss to his forehead. “Morning,” he rumbles as he deposits his goodies on the counter.

Felwinter absorbs the matching icons printed on the bag and the box. Some kind of bakery, evidently. He shuts the manuscript and sets it aside, taking one of the cups when Shaxx hands it to him. “Good morning,” he replies. “How goes the Crucible?”

“Astoundingly boring. I have no exciting clips to share.” The man sounds almost wounded. Felwinter curses whichever Guardian neglected to throw enough grenades to elicit excitement in the Crucible Handler. “The new Lights tend to try their luck during the summer months. I almost feel bad watching them get decimated by some of our veteran fireteams.”

“One would think the loss would motivate them to try harder.”

Shaxx laughs as he opens the box and examines its contents, out of Felwinter’s line of sight. “It does! That’s the thing about the newly Risen. They haven’t learned what quitting is yet.”

Felwinter does not protest when Shaxx plucks something out of the box and presses it insistently into his hand. It is a soft pastry, glazed with a sweet white frosting and sprinkled with what looks like chunks of cookies. Shaxx grabs an identical item out of the box, but his eyes are on Felwinter rather than the thing in his hand.

The Iron Lord puzzles over it, tilting it carefully so as not to spill the toppings, and stares at Shaxx. “What is this?”

“It’s a donut.” He shrugs with one shoulder. “It’s called a Bismarck. A banana Bismarck, to be exact.” He sounds overly proud of himself as he tilts his chin triumphantly. Felwinter huffs at the display.

Felspring hovers over his shoulder, studying the treat curiously. Felwinter wishes that she had a mouth so she could try it herself. In her stead, he slowly takes a bite, watching Shaxx mirror him with equal trepidation. He cranes his neck over the counter and cups his hand under the Bismarck, making sure no debris falls to the floor. The kitchen is flooded with an oddly pregnant silence as they chew thoughtfully in tandem with one another.

Felwinter signifies the end of his chewing and swallowing with “It’s good.”

“I concur,” Shaxx says. He is still chewing, and the words are muffled as he cleverly keeps his mouth as closed as possible. Crumbs speckle the corners of his lips. “Very sweet.”

“Obscenely,” he remarks. Shaxx barks a laugh.

Felwinter takes another bite. He feels like something, a loose screw, or a damaged cog, clicks back into place. He plucks a cookie off of the top of the thing and pops it into his mouth. It crunches loudly in the metal hollow of his mouth, and the sound drowns out every other thought in his head. Shaxx chuckles at him again, looking very strangely infatuated, and Felwinter cannot stop the lights that dot his chest and his neck from flickering in diffidence.

When his mouth dries up from consuming the pastry, Felwinter reaches for the coffee. It is strong, straight black just the way he likes it, and pleasantly hot rather than scalding. He drinks deeply and feels his plates thaw from the warmth of it, his mouth, his throat, his chest, and his stomach, each system absorbing it individually. The bitterness is a perfect complement to the sweetness of the Bismarck. Shaxx watches him overtly, an earnest tenderness visible in his eyes, unhurried anticipation visible in his open posture. Silently, he seeks appraisal.

“It’s very good,” Felwinter murmurs. All of the words he knows feel inadequate to describe his feelings, so he resorts to simplicity instead. “Thank you.”

Shaxx physically sags against the counter with what Felwinter assumes is relief. An uncharacteristically bashful grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I’m glad. I wasn’t sure you’d like it.”

The Exo’s eyes sparkle with his version of a coy smile. “Do I not strike you as the type to enjoy banana-flavored sweets, Lord Shaxx?”

“No, Fel. Not at all.”

As if to prove him wrong, he takes another bite of the Bismarck. It is so sickeningly sweet that he is afraid it will somehow rot his metal mouth.

——

Playing Nice has ruined my fucking life. I’m so sorry.

[multi-muse-transect]

After seeing the Last Of Us show, I so want Craig Mazin to tackle a Destiny show that takes place in the Dark Ages and focuses on the Iron Lords with Steven Yeun as Felwinter, Idris Elba as Lord Saladin, Jeffery Dean Morgan as Lord Radegast, Daisy Ridley as Efrideet, Kira Knightly or Kate Beckinsale as Jolder, Natalie Dormer as Perun, Rahul Kohli as Silimar, Sarah Wayne Callies as Skorri, Oscar Isaac as Gheleon and Riz Ahmed as Timur.

That would be a Game Of Thrones meets the Mandalorian.

[guardian-battle-bracket]

BRACKET RULES

This bracket is exclusively for Lightbearers and Guardians canon to the series.

Polls run for one week and are published every Wednesday at 2:45 EST.

During the Crown Bracket, multiple polls will be running at once.

In the event of a 1-1 tie, a one day tiebreaker match will be held.

Whoever wins the tiebreaker takes the versus.

PLAYER RULES

No targeted attacks of other players.

Propaganda is allowed, but be nice about it.

If your propaganda involves directly attacking a character in the poll you will be blocked.

Respect your fellow Guardians.

Submissions are open for propaganda all tournament and new fighters to be added until we reach the final six.

Propaganda will not be added until the Blood Tournament. Because fuck me, man. I cannot manage it before.

Factions will be fighting within themselves to claim the crown as representative for their own faction before moving to Blood Bracket. This is known as the Crown Bracket. Following the Crown Bracket, champions will face against champions of other factions in the Blood Bracket. Once we are down to the final six, the Champion Bracket begins. Winner of this faces against everyone's favorite motherfucker, YOU. The Young Wolf.

PLEASE NOTE: NOT ALL NAMED GUARDIANS ARE ON HERE. ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE. I'M NOT DOING THAT TO MYSELF.

May the best Guardian win.

CURRENT BRACKET: THE CROWN RUN

THE CROWN RUN

The Lucent Brood

The faithful of Savathun, Hive raised by Light, a heresy to Guardians.

Ken vs Savathûn, the Witch Queen Crownbearer: Ken

This previously had every member of the Lucent hive but fuck no that's too many. We narrowed it down to these two.

Rogue Lightbearers

Risen beyond the City, no gods, no masters to tether them.

Ayrin vs Cenric - Victor: Ayrin

Gryphon-11 vs Otto - Victor: Grypon-11

Rience vs Thalia - Victor: Thalia

Crown Bearer: Thalia

Warlords

The Lords of the Dark Age, powerful Risen, beholdent to no one.

Benyo Lukacs vs Carnunta - Victor: Carnunta

Castor vs Cathal - Victor: Casotr

Citan vs Heyka-4 - Victor: Citan

Jaxxen vs Kandak - Victor: Kandak

Lord Shaxx vs "Red Man" - Victor: Shaxx

Reich vs Rience

Segoth vs "The Wake"

The Iron Lords

The now silent howls in the night, the first Lightbearing defenders of the surviors.

Ashraven vs Bretomart - Victor: Ashraven

Colovance vs Crimil - Victor: Crimil

Deidris vs Dryden - Victor: Dryden

Efrideet vs Felwinter - Victor: Felwinter

Finnala vs Frostmire - Victor: Frostmire

Gheleon vs Gunnora

Haakon vs Jolder

Jorum vs Nirwen

Orewing vs Orimund

Perun vs Radegast

Saladin Forge vs Silimar

Skorri vs Timur

Tormod vs Weyloran

The Vanguard

The elite of the elite, Guardian commanders supervising the actions of Guardians and the safety of the City.

Andal Brask vs Aparajita-4 - Victor: Andal Brask

Caliban-8 vs Cayde-6 - Victor: Cayde-6

Ikora Rey vs Kauko Swiftriver - Victor: Ikora Rey

Osiris vs Saint-14 - Victor: Saint-14

Tallulah Fairwind vs Commander Zavala - Victor: Commander Zavala

The Guardians

The Light in the Dark, the protectors of the Last City, Risen given purpose, to fight, to die, to rise again, in the name of the Light.

Ana Bray vs Aunor Mahal - Victor: Ana Bray

Blue Boaz vs Dredgen Yor - Victor: Dredgen Yor

Eris Morn vs Fenchurch Evris - Victor: Eris Morn

Jarden Ward vs Marcus Ren - Victor: Marcus Ren

Randy vs Shin Malphur - Victor: Shin Malphur

Shiro-4 vs Taeko-3

The Crow vs The Drifter

The Speaker vs Tevis

That's all we got.

Also don't fight me on The Drifter being in Guardians. He's part of the Light Alliance. He lives in the Tower. He works with the Vanguard. He's a Guardian.

Submissions are open, send in propaganda or suggest more Guardians to be added!

SUBMIT YOUR GUARDIAN FOR THE GUARDIAN OC TOURNAMENT!!

[cayde-6]

This and the fact that my name is Lord Radegast.

[tikihoneybee]

lord felwinter fails 

[slayanyhivegodslately]

Saladin... sir... I love you.

From the new Iron Banner gear.

[datmoongamer]

Better idea.

A man is Risen with the name “John Morrison” around his neck. His Ghost, Isirah, is a hardass, but together, he makes a name for himself. He meets Radegast and becomes Lord Morrison.

John meets Timur. “John Morrison, like the pre-Golden Age politician?” So they do some digging, and find out that John bears a striking resemblance to Gabriel Reyes, Jack Morrison’s right hand man.

John takes the name Saladin Forge.

More years pass. Someone with the name Gabriel Reyes enters the Last City.

Thoughts about an r76 d2 au

They exchanged dog tags . When they’re Risen, they think they’re wearing their own dog tags.

So we got this edgelord Hunter with the name John Morrison and this eyesore of a Hunter with the name Gabriel Reyes. Class TBD, but I’ve thought about it and they both strike me as Hunters.

[sylenth-l]

[🚧 WIP] "Please, we can't keep going like this. Saladin needs rest. I need rest. You need rest most of all."

[titanharem]

Lord Radegast was so nice and openly affectionate with his friends, that his friends had confused discussions based around "is Radegast flirting with all of us, or is he just unbelievably kind and open"

Skorri and Perun were extremely confused because they were dating each other.

Jolder was extremely confused because she wasn't exactly "quietly lesbian."

Gheleon was confused because he's the resident himbo.

Everyone else was just varying amounts of confused because Radegast was either flirting, or he's just naturally touchy and nice to his friends

[makoredeyes]

My friend and I are RPing O14 things centered around food right now so I figured I'd drop some thoughts to share here. Namely, the spice tolerance levels of the Iron Lords. Do you think it would carry over from their original lives? The thought of a chili eating contest amongst the group intrigues me. (Obviously Felwinter wouldn't count... Even if he could feel something from it I feel like his poker face would be too perfect. He is disqualified.)

This is a popular topic for conversation friends and I have also discussed!

*I would further disqualify Felwinter as he is noted canonically as not being interested in food at all/not subjected to the risk of DER and probably even entirely lacking the programming that typical Exo have to prevent it… like experiencing hunger.

That aside…

I think I agree with everyone else whose ever happily thrown Radegast under the bus as being black-pepper grade weak against any spice at all, strictly to see him kicked down a peg or 30.

I believe it was bestie Crafty along with Sylenth (friends with better memories than me correct me if I’m wrong or miss someone) that quickly convinced me it made good sense that Gheleon as a likely master huntsman and forager probably works magic with the bare basics but therefore doesn’t branch into spices much and as such doesn’t have much of a tolerance at all (but since he has a spine, does better than Raddy)

Timur I like to envision as a casual cook and have actually depicted prepping specifically curry. He likes a little warmth in his comfort food but I don’t think that threshold is remarkably high. Colovance has learned to tolerate what Timur cooks but his low tolerance was dragged up over time out of necessity.

Saladin I think can take a punch he’s getting into that realm where “not that spicy” to him is making the normie’s eyes water. Jolder can keep right up with him and might even have a higher tolerance if nothing else bc she’s competitive. Skorri is hot on their heels.

Osiris breathes fucking fire both literally and figuratively and utterly fails to notice. He would never share his food with any of the Iron Lords (Felwinter might be the exception but he knows Fel doesn’t want it so doesn’t offer) but if he did he would genuinely wonder why people’s eyes are incinerating out of their skulls on the first bite. That one time Colovance decided to be cheeky and steal from him he literally needed a rez.

[cayde-6]

Another bounty quote that needs to be appreciate it again

[littleshebear]

So I was thinking about Saladin (because of course I was) and there’s an interesting connection between his attitude towards survival and Shaxx’s. We all know how Shaxx feels about it, we’ll survive because we’ve earned the right to it:

“Zavala likes to say that survival is a temporary condition. To fight for it always. But survival is already owed to us. The Collapse has come and gone yet here we stand. It is our nature to survive, whether we like it or not.” Saladin is far more pessimistic:  “Immoratlity is not the same as invicibility.”

And

“Even heroes can die and survival is not always a victory.” But Saladin wasn’t always like that. His attitude was more in line with Shaxx’s, before Siva became the Ironsbane, he was sure the Iron Lords would prevail:  “But since we were chosen by the Traveler and our cause was just, we were certain the day would be ours, until Siva took control.”

He had that same over-arching confidence that Shaxx has now. Also, this would have been post Six Fronts, when confidence in the Guardians, and in particular the Iron Lords was high. Radegast took back six mile’s worth of territory after Six Fronts so he was probably feeling unstoppable. Then he watched his friends die, one by one.  I wonder if this had an influence over his tactics during Twilight Gap. Shaxx disobeyed because he was (rightly, in this case) convinced that the Wall could hold. But Saladin had been in a situation like this before, where it doesn’t matter how hard you fight, how brave you are, how much you deserve to survive, sometimes you die.  I also wonder if Shaxx’s attitude would have changed had his gambit failed? If he’d survived but the City had been lost, would his attitude towards survival had fallen more in line with Saladin’s? Or would he stay stubborn and bombastic as ever?

[themothyards]

She liked to pick berries in the summertime, when the days had just begun to grow shorter and the nights were still warm and buzzing with insects. She would pile them in one of Gheleon’s woven baskets, or wrap them in the cloth of her cloak if she stopped unplanned in the thick brambles that wound ‘round the collapsed pillars of the city.

Once, she pricked a finger, and the thrill of the pain brought a flush to her cheeks, but she told her Ghost to leave the wound and instead she watched the crimson bead and swell and drip and disappear into the soil, dark and rich, from which the brambles sprang.

“You’re like a child,” Perun told her long ago, a smile on her face, as she crouched and filled her cupped hands with heavy fruit. A joke, because neither of them have ever known what it is to be young.

Perun marches beside her now, cloak drawn tight against the wind and blowing snow. They are all together here, the Wolves who remain, the Wolves who were there first; Radegast the tallest, Jolder close behind him, the others ranging through the drifts. Efrideet has gone, and only Saladin seems to think the plague has not claimed her as it has the others.

There are no berries here, only the glowing red of unnatural growth: rampant, hungry; brambles twisted by the programmed need to consume. She had to turn away when the tendrils brought shambling half-life back to Nirwen’s corpse, and when Jolder smote her down again and again it was with tears in her eyes and no laughter in her heart.

“West they ran, in packs of three, towards the dying Light -”

Perun barks out a laugh. “You’re still going, even now?”

“Even now,” she says, because she cannot stop, even if the words are no longer a celebration but a dirge. The ice that clings to their cloaks will not kill them but it can slow them, and speed is the only chance they have. So Radegast claims - but she knows, just as they all know, that they are marching to their deaths.

“Mercy,” Nirwen cried out as she fell, the same word that was on her lips when she rose, over and over, the sound of it twisted just as Nirwen had been twisted, until at last Jolder granted her wish and the thing that wore Nirwen fell silent.

“Bayed and howled as they went, Iron in their hands.”

The syllables sound too sharp in the way that Perun’s teeth look too sharp when the deep, cool liquor of the berries stains them. The snows end, and they descend into the forgotten hollows carved beneath the ruins of Old Russia. There is a strange heat here, though they are far from the sun; a heat that does not warm so much as it oppresses, and she shivers again beneath layers of leather and metal and fur.

The plague tries to stop them as they wind their way deeper, but they are pack now, the nine who remain; practiced, strong, they fight as one with a grimness of purpose that she remembers from the early days, when at last they learned to trust each other. No warlord, no Fallen could have stopped them as they are now. And yet death has always been the punishment for hubris, for those unworthy of the grail, and Timur at least would see the irony, the parallel.

There are no berries here. When they fell from her overflowing hands she let them lie, so that new seeds might take root. An echo of the greed that led them to this moment, perhaps; the belief that if they ever sipped too much the spilled drops would lead to ever-greater things, not to Lords lying dead and cold in the snow.

Get up, someone had begged Finnala. They had not needed to beg Nirwen.

“West they ran, in packs of three, towards the dying Light,” she says again, as the radiance consumes her for what must be the thousandth time, as she burns away another reaching swarm. Beside her, Gheleon says nothing, his trigger-pulls unerring, his face the mask it always is.

They make it to the chamber, and Radegast dies almost as soon as they breach the doors, torn apart by writhing constructs, the cry of fury on his lips cut short. Felwinter falls soon after, and she watches as his body disappears beneath the swarm, watches him rise again, his light gone, and turn his weapon on Silimar. Despite all that they have achieved, all that they have built, only this ignominy awaits them; the bonds that could not be broken in life are undone so quickly in death.

Gheleon screams. Perun does not; roars instead, but her end is the same, and her bright eyes go forever dark.

She thinks of berries, black and red, thinks of smiles and stains and white teeth and dark earth and green growth, of laughter well-earned and well-enjoyed. Gone, just as the memory of them will soon be gone. Jolder finds her eyes from across the room, and as the mites begin to swarm her, as she feels them forcing their way into eyes and ears and throat, she frees her fire for what she knows will be the final time, burns brighter than she ever has.

“West they run, in packs of three, towards the dying Light,

Far behind them stands the Tree, boughs as black as night.”

They were the first, and it is fitting that they are the last. Fitting that they should be forgotten, just as their forebears were all but forgotten. It is Jolder’s duty now, to do what must be done. She will not ask for mercy, for she knows that none awaits. She hopes only that when she falls, she does not rise; that the dark that has always lived in the shadow of their glory will, in the end, bring her rest.