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darsynia · 3 months

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Dragonfly (Steve/Reader fantasy AU)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST | Ro Roll

Summary: Evil has prevailed. Your mentor’s dead, home destroyed, family scattered--you’re all that is left. At the last second, a stranger is called by magic to save your life. Can the two of you defeat the villain before he reaches the pinnacle of power?

Words/Warnings: 4,700 | canon-typical violence

draGONfly is 3/7 of my birthday gift set for @ronearoundblindly and is an action/adventure, angst with a happy ending story set after the blip. I know right now is a hugely busy week for you, Ro, and there's no pressure to respond right now, they'll all be here when you have time!

NOTE: it's MCU Steve in here! 'Worlds Collide'

Excerpt:

“You’re afraid,” Steve says from only feet away.

You close your eyes. “Yes.”

“Sometimes fear is a friend. It was definitely that in the army. Kept us sharp. You could tell when a soldier lost his fear because he was suddenly very brave. Problem was, we needed the brave ones sometimes.”

He falls silent, and you can’t help but look at him. The bleak look in his eyes is clear, despite the distance between you, and in that moment you decide to trust him. If he’s another monster construct, if Micht can understand you that well, then the villain deserves the win, and all is lost.

Dragonfly

You’ve been on the run for ten days, with no safe haven to look forward to. The magic hunting you is relentless, fueled by hatred of your now-dead mentor and everything the two of you stood for. Your only reprieve is sleep; your enemy wants to witness the horror on your face in your moment of death.

All you can do is forge a path deeper into the forest, away from any innocent who could be harmed by Jovann Micht’s conjured creatures. As if watching Bram die hadn’t been torture enough, it seems you’re destined to die in the wilderness, alone.

You lean back on a tree and risk a pause to drink from your flask. Deep inside you feel your magic tremble; rest, food, and hydration is needed to stay powerful, but that is the point of Micht’s pursuit. Eventually you’ll falter, and he’ll achieve the last of his goals.

Does he know you bear the vial of his destruction? Those few teaspoonfuls are a potent culmination of your mentor’s study of the arcane, a life’s work of gathering and refining the most dangerous, mystical ingredients and combining them to make a weapon. You’d been able to see just two of the substances interact before being sealed into the final mixture, and the light they’d emitted had lingered in your vision for almost an hour afterwards.

There are three ways this can end: ideally, you’ll pour the vial into the glacial source of the valley’s drinking water and let the power propagate amongst the population Jovann Micht means to control. If that fails, you might be forced to break the vial with your dying strength, spilling its beautiful potential into the ground rather than empower one of Micht’s monsters-- or Micht himself.

The worst, most horrible option is for you to drink it yourself and spend the rest of your life battling to control the power Bram Ersk warned you about.

Heavy buzzing nearby sends your adrenaline racing, but it’s only a dragonfly angling its way past you toward the stream you've been following up to the mountains. They’re your favorite insect, brightly colored and free, with wide wings that decorate tree branches too delicate for a human’s weight.

You tuck away your canteen and check to see that your weapons are ready. The bow and arrows had only served to slow you down, so you’d sent them towards the plains with a burst of precious magic, a misdirection that hadn’t worked. Bram’s sword is cumbersome but necessary, and the daggers scattered through your clothing are a last resort.

Seconds later your preparedness pays off. The barest rustling of the leaves above your head has you crouching down with one leg stretched out for leverage if you need to run. You draw a dagger from its sheath at your back and watch in fascinated horror as your newest attacker reveals itself.

It’s a huge snake, fast and menacing. It strikes out and you dodge sideways, performing a half-roll to distance yourself, dagger still at the ready. Smoke rises from a splash of venom on your padded trousers, and a stab of fear strikes your gut. The snake can spit, likely with magic-enhanced distance. Is this how you finally die? Worn down with nowhere to hide from this acid toxin, then slain once exhaustion drops you?

You curl into a protective stance and tighten your grip on the dagger, drawing the creature in. Once it’s close, you spin up from the ground in a flurry of slashing blades. One dagger connects, but it’s glancing, enough to send the snake into retreat, but not enough to kill.

That only makes things worse. Your field of danger has increased to include the entire forest canopy.

There may only be a few minutes before the next showdown. You wipe your dagger on the nearby moss and place it back in its sheath for now. The forest around you is new growth, full of brambles and other scutgrass that tear at your armor, with a hundred branches arching over your head. You fight your way through to the stream with fear choking your throat, worried that you’ll have to expend more of your depleted magical energy to save yourself. If you need to use magic to survive his enchanted attackers from this point on, there won't be anything left.

You’ve kept that power in reserve for some kind of final showdown, but there's at least a day left before you get where you're going.

Despair hits, and you scrabble at your neck, suddenly furious at the friend and mentor whose plans have brought you to such misery. The locket he’d given you has always been a talisman, a symbol of hope, but now you look at its silver concentric circles and feel nothing but betrayal.

Movement catches your eye, and you swing out blindly, the locket flying from your grip. As it spins, a blinding golden light spills out, growing larger and brighter until finally a figure steps forth--just as Micht’s devil-snake launches directly at you.

“Down!” a voice commands, and you drop, watching in shock as the glowing figure hurls a disk through the magical snake. The horrid thing lands in pieces that immediately shrivel and writhe. They melt into the ground, leaving only a low-lying, putrid fog behind.

The man stalks towards you, still obscured by the now-fading golden light. Instead of finishing you off, he strides past and pulls his disc-- his shield-- free from the tree it had sliced into. When he turns back your way, the man tucks something into a pouch on his chest, and the glowing light diminishes enough to see him. He looks you over, brows furrowed not in anger, but obvious confusion.

“Are you all right?”

“Thank you,” you say, struck near-dumb by the imposing presence of the man. He’s tall and broad, handsomely clad in padded armor with leather accents, but it’s his shield that has your attention. Its concentric circles and inner star look just like Bram’s locket, but in color.

He seems self-conscious about it, spinning the shield around and attaching it to his armor at his back. “Was that-- did I interrupt some kind of re-enactment?” your savior asks, curiously examining the last remnants of the toxic fog. He turns to look at you with the same studious intensity, but your head is spinning. Did Bram conjure this man with some sort of latent magic? “You should sit down,” he declares, thrusting out his hand with the confidence of a commander. The man clearly wants you to take it, but your hesitation prompts him to give up and walk over to a cluster of rocks. “Here. Do you have something to eat?”

Bemused, you pick your way toward him, deflecting your ‘I usually have to forage for something to eat’ answer with a question of your own. “What’s your name, hero?”

The word turns up a shy little smile that flies like a joy-tipped arrow right through your chest armor. “Steve. Yours?”

“Well, Steve, you’ve shown up for a battle, but I’m still fighting a war.” There’s no more time for niceties. You walk past the rocks he’d suggested you rest on, and pick up a sturdy-looking walking stick. It’s safer to stay close to the stream, and you’ll need the stability. “You’re welcome to come?”

There’s a chance that this summoned savior will disappear soon. You only have so much physical strength left, and you can’t spend it like this.

Steve turns in a circle, taking in the trees, the stream, and you, then nods, squaring his shoulders. “All right.” He certainly doesn’t seem at ease here, and you wonder if he’s real, whether he was somewhere fighting with that shield of his before Bram’s magic plucked him away.

Truthfully, you’re afraid to ask, as if naming the magic will destroy its cohesion.

Instead you lead the way along the uneven stones and brush that edge the stream, and he follows in clearly baffled silence. Sometimes you pause to adjust your armor or fill up your canteen and catch his brow furrow as he looks around at your surroundings. Once, he lunged forward to steady your steps on a slippery stretch of rocks. The warmth of his hand through your many layers was enough to bring rare tears to your eyes.

It's been so long since you’ve been touched in comfort.

Steve sees the tears but can’t know their context. You’re not willing to tell him, so you speed your pace, and he remains silent. If he’s been summoned as support, you question what triggers the magic might use to determine you’re no longer in need. If it’s words shared, you’ll hold yours in reserve. If it’s help provided, you’ll labor beside him with every ounce of your remaining strength until you finally ask for that help. If it’s distance traveled… well, you can’t think about that now.

Countless birdcalls and shared silence later, the landscape starts angling up more, and the trees thin out.

“Oh,” Steve says. His stunned tone makes you stop and look back at him. “I came to the forest--a forest to retrace my steps, looking for the echoes of what we lost. I didn’t want to. I didn’t know what I’d do if I found that the dust of my lost friends had fertilized plants that their shadows never--” he faltered, and you make your way to him, powerless to help, desperate to try.

You recognize this grief. It's the hopeless kind, where a person just stands desolate in the aftermath and looks for the signs of their own death.

“Steve--”

“It’s not the same forest,” he interrupts, a catch in his voice. “That’s a mountain.” He tears his eyes from the now-revealed peak in the distance and looks at you, concern and an odd sort of exhilaration in his eyes. “I kept walking because I thought we’d eventually get where you’re going, but we won’t, will we? Not today. Where am I? When am I?”

“‘When’ is easy: my waking nightmare. ‘Where’ is tricky. Who’s to know you won’t be pulled back where you came from if I tell you?” You can’t keep the bitter fear from your voice.

Steve steps forward to look down at you with gentle kindness. He’s so handsome you can’t help but feel self-conscious, clad as you are in shapeless armor, sweating with the exertion of carrying Bram’s sword (actually heavy) and Bram’s vial (metaphorically heavy)-- but you drift closer to your unexpected savior, catching the earthy scent of his sweat. You can see the sheen of it on his forehead, and you lift your hand to draw a finger across and feel the moisture of it.

“You’re real,” you breathe, surprised despite the snake, despite his steady presence behind you for this stretch of your journey.

He moves his hand to touch the drops of freshwater that have spilled from your canteen, going as far as to taste the tip of his finger. “So are you.” As though realizing that’s an intimacy the two of you haven’t agreed on, he steps back and squares his shoulders, the picture of a warrior again, despite his lack of weapon. Perhaps he is the weapon. “So what’s the plan? Camp for the night?”

You sway on your feet at the thought (both that he’d put aside his own situation and at the idea of rest), but shake your head. “Micht will send something else soon. I must reach the base of the stream. Everything relies on that.”

He looks askance at the darkening sky, then back at you. “What would make you willing to camp?”

A promise that you won’t leave me! you scream in your mind. A look of determination crosses his face, and you realize you may not have spoken the words aloud, but your body language has done that for you. You pull in a breath to prevaricate, but he brushes past you, headed into the forest.

“There’s a clearing,” he calls out, a minute later.

“Steve, I can’t--”

“You can.”

A terrible, insidious, horrid thought crosses your mind: that Steve is not from Bram at all, but an illusion with the same purpose as all the others that Jovann Micht has sent you. That his attack is formed from trust this time, rather than fear.

The shape of Bram’s locket is the only thing you can think of to refute your fears, but couldn’t Micht have torn that knowledge from Bram before killing him?

“You’re afraid,” Steve says from only feet away.

You close your eyes. “Yes.”

Steve can hold a lot of supplies in his ‘tek’ suit, as he calls it. He gives you a few dense grain bread things, full of dried fruit and nuts that revitalize you. While you eat he lights a fire for the two of you, meaning you can save your newly bolstered energy rather than using it for warmth-- and best of all, he has a strange silver blanket that seems to hold heat so much better than anything you’ve used at night, even the homemade blankets from your cabin. Despite all this, you find it hard to relax, and Steve can tell. You are reluctant to explain and thus relive the trauma that sent you into the forest, and he doesn’t elaborate on his own.

He seems surprised when you want to sleep right away. That surprise morphs to a quiet, concerned anger when you explain the thin agreement you have with your aggressor, that he’ll only kill you when you’re awake.

“That won’t happen,” he declares, and you believe him. Just like a parent who promises they’ll always protect you, his words have an unspoken caveat; ‘for as long as I’m here to stop it.’

It’s enough.

You wake with the light, finding to your surprise that Steve has slept at your side, his broad back acting as a wall between you and the dangers of the woods. It’s been a week since you’ve been able to lay still in the morning, but your respite is marred by a large worry: why hasn’t Micht sent something else? Had he sent his most fearsome conjurations early on in your journey because you’d been stronger? It would be like him to conserve his energy and insult you at the same time. If you die to something more mundane, that would just add to his narrative, after all. The alternative is that he knows about Steve, and his new plan is to create something fearsome enough to destroy them both.

“You’re barely breathing,” Steve rumbles.

Selfishly, you want him to turn over. You want a memory to cherish when he’s gone. Just once, you'd had someone lying beside you whose sole purpose was to ensure your safety.

He does roll over. He’s no less real for it, and that thought lets you release everything you’d held back since Bram, since the village, since the slain, tortured lamb that was the harbinger of all the horrors that followed.

Wordlessly, Steve pulls you to his chest and lets you cry.

The next attack comes within sight of the glacial moraine. You were right. Micht had sent his worst to finish you.

Steve pulls his shield from his back as soon as you pass through a group of boulders and see the creature. It’s twice as tall as he is, a four-legged monstrosity with the same number of snarling heads. Each serpent-like head is riddled with teeth, and like snakes, they bob and weave easily, able to turn and react with lightning swiftness.

“Your sword, please,” Steve says grimly.

“It’s armored--”

“So am I.”

Adrenaline mixes with the magic surging inside you. “Listen. I have a thing to do. It’s all that matters,” you tell him breathlessly. “After that, I don’t care what happens. Do you hear me?”

He’s looking at the creature, and you can see his soldier’s mind. You watch the fear dwindle, replaced by bravery, and you cannot let that happen.

“Steve!” you beg-- and he looks at you, still alert and ready to fight. “This was always going to end one way, okay? I just need you to--” The thing screeches with many voices, each wielding a knife that slices away some of your resolve.

You swallow hard and start taking off any extra weight, dropping your canteen, the sheathed dagger at your back, even the heavy brigandine leather that covers your blouse. It isn’t a match for a hydra’s teeth and claws anyway, and you must be fast.

“I need to get to the base of the stream. That monster is here to stop me.” It probably isn’t. If Micht knew you bear this potion, he’d have long ago crushed you into paste and taken it for himself. “Don’t you dare lose your fear!”

Steve laughs ruefully. “I wondered if you would remember that.”

“Something sent you to me, and this is why. If there’s any justice, it should send you back, once I succeed.” The words stick in your throat, but you get them out.

“It’s a hydra,” Steve says with a hatred in his voice you didn’t think he was capable of. “I was created for this.”

You both turn to face the horrible creature. Steve lifts the sword and you ready yourself to run.

“Wait,” Steve says, a manic happiness in his eyes. He steps close and dips his head, kissing you. It’s awkward, with the sword and shield held wide at his sides, but that just makes it more real. “Go get him.”

Then he charges toward the beast.

You’d planned to wait until the two were fully focused on each other, but every fragment of magic in your body is screaming for you to help Steve. You tamp that down and hold still, certain that the hydra will only focus on Steve if bloodlust blinds it to your existence.

That’s even harder when there are multiple sets of eyes to look for you.

Steve makes first contact, roaring up and smashing his shield against the first head that lunges toward him. The thing reels back in obvious surprise, the injured head lolling to the side. The other heads rear up, and you take the moment to run far to the side, sticking to the treeline, even though it means farther to run. You weave between trees, catching glimpses of the battle but always hearing it. Screech follows screech follows the smash of metal against armored skin, over and over and over.

Just as you’re forced to cross into the rockfield, the hydra lets out an agonized scream, and you risk a look over. Steve’s holding his shield protectively above himself as he hacks at the two heads he’d sliced from the hydra. He’s panting from exertion, and as you watch, magic bubbles at the sliced necks, growing two new snarling heads from each stump. They sink down to the body of the beast and then stretch back out as individual, fully-realized necks right in front of your eyes.

You can’t send any power to Steve, not yet. Instead, you send it to your own legs, and the burst of resulting speed tears through the remaining distance. You reach into your shirt--

“You could have given it to me right away, foolish child.”

“Liar!” you spit at your enemy, furious and fragile. “You wanted this.” Of course he’d known. Micht had always loved theatrics.

“You’re right. That’s quite a guardian you’ve found for yourself,” Jovann Micht muses, leaning casually back against a large boulder. He’s standing between you and the stream.

You’re done with this. One way or another.

“Move.”

“I don’t think so.” He moves towards you, confident, commanding. “Hand it over.”

Behind you, the screeching gets louder, and oddly, Micht stumbles sideways, hissing. You risk a look over your shoulder and see that Steve’s sliced off more of the creature-- a leg this time. It brings the deadly heads closer to him, and you can’t watch.

Micht has conjured a walking stick that he’s now leaning on with a vicious look of delight on his face. “I prefer an intelligent adversary.”

He doesn’t mean you.

He’s always underestimated you. Everyone does.

Your fingers close around a vial, and you pull it free. It’s been shaken up by your headlong run, as evidenced by the blue glowing light.

“If you want this, you have to catch me.”

Your burst of speed still sings in your veins, and you start to run-- toward the hydra, not the stream. Gathering up all of your magic, you hurl it toward the back legs of the hydra, meaning to destroy them and hopefully disable Micht, if your hunch about the connection between them is correct.

The fireball hits home. The ground shakes as the terrible beast falls sideways, all seven heads turning to assess the damage. One catches fire, its agonized scream piercing your ears even at this distance. You can’t see Steve, but the desperate flailing of the inflamed head soon spreads the fire.

You hook around, satisfied. Micht is in a heap not far from where you’d left him, recognizable by his signature blood-red suit. All that’s left is to get as close to the headwaters as you can. Bram had confided in you about the rip current that swirls right at its base, sucking the water down into a secondary stream that he’d helped the village tap into.

It serves as the drinking water for the whole valley, surfacing down past your former home and bubbling down to the sea, or so it’s said.

If you can get even half of Bram’s concoction into there--

A powerful blow knocks you to your feet, and you lose your grip on the vial. Dazed, you struggle to your knees, watching as a hand curls around the vial.

Get up! You have to be convincing! UP!

You’re unsteady as hell, but you lean into that, begging with a suddenly raw throat for Micht to stop. Your magic is almost gone again, but you grit your teeth and start for the vial. Behind it is your goal, the origin of the stream. Just ten strides, and he’ll think you’re giving up and throwing yourself in instead. Eight strides…

A rough hand curls around your neck and pulls the true vial from your bodice before shoving you to the ground.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” Steve roars. Through tears, you can see him running toward the two of you. He swings his arm, releasing his shield.

Micht stands triumphant with the vial, unstoppering it in preparation to drink. It’s all of your worst fears realized, and the moment seems to hang in time, more misery for you to experience right before he kills you face to face, just as he’s always wanted.

Steve’s shield smashes into Micht’s midsection, knocking him backwards. The vial flies up, its contents fanning out in a glowing blue rain over Jovann Micht. Everywhere it lands, white lightning and red flames erupt. He’s screaming, you’re screaming, thunder and agony crashes all around you, until finally, he’s gone.

The silence is oppressive. It’s as though your blood’s stopped pumping, the air’s trapped in your lungs, and your muscles are frozen solid. The pressure builds until Steve stabs the bloody sword into the ground beside you and slumps over to rest his hands on his knees.

“We won.”

Your body's working again, but you don’t know whether to feel happiness or horror. “Yeah.”

Both of you are exhausted, the kind of bone-weary that isn’t possible without having experienced something unspeakable. The smell of burnt hydra is horrendous though, so Steve pushes to get as far away as you can before collapsing beside the placid stream. You let your hands dangle in the frigid glacial meltwater, needing to feel something bad that isn’t horrible.

“Don’t fall in. I’m too wiped to go back for the rest of your armor, and that’s a white shirt.”

He’s speaking in riddles, and honestly it's the first regular thing Steve’s said to you since… all of that. “What?”

“The water makes it transpar-- Never mind.” Embarrassment drips from his words, and it’s enough to make you scooch around so you can see him.

Steve’s black armor hides most of the blood, but he’s almost drenched in it. He’s got his legs stretched out in front of him, and he’s wrapping a once-pristine white bandage around a gash on his leg, pausing every few revolutions to rest. Noticing your scrutiny, he offers you a weak smile.

“That fireball was something.”

“So’s your swordsmanship.” You search your resources and make a decision. “Want me to heal that?”

“What?” he says, then laughs, the sound genuinely joyful, though astonished. “I just fought a real hydra. Did you know that’s the second bad guy that’s disintegrated right in front of me? Of course you can heal. This place is… this place is something.”

His voice breaks on ‘something.’ You don’t know him very well, but the trauma you’ve shared tells you he needs a moment. Avoiding eye contact, you reach out, sending your magic in a gentle golden trickle across the ground between you. It slides smoothly over his boots and up the fabric of his trousers, finally sinking into his wound. You send a little extra, too, even though it makes your chest ache with warning. It’ll soothe his mind, and that’s worth it.

That done, you turn back to the water, staring past your fractured reflection into the stream’s shallow depths. Across the stretch of rocks and bubbling froth a dragonfly twists and dips, reacting to shifts in the air too subtle for you to notice. It’s a reminder that not everything’s been affected by the life or death struggle you’d just experienced. It helps, so much so that you don’t notice that Steve’s come to sit beside you until he speaks.

“Did you know that dragonflies are a symbol of grief and rebirth?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. “Part of their life cycle is underwater, I guess, and the story goes that each one reaches a point where they need to surface. They each promise they’ll come back and tell the others what they find up there, but--”

“--but they can’t. They’re trapped either side,” you breathe.

“Trapped, yeah, but not dead.” The word is ragged, and you look up at him, even though it hurts your neck. “I lost friends in my forest. They turned to dust. We lost.”

Your hand is freezing, but his armor is thick. You reach out and squeeze his leg, and Steve stays still, clearly moved to quiet reflection.

“There’s a second life, is the moral. I don’t know if this is mine, but I wouldn’t mind if it was.”

You don’t dare hope, but you pour yes please into your expression. He smiles and pats his chest.

“There’s a pocket here. When I first showed up, you threw a locket--” he shakes his head curtly, enough to stop you from speaking. “I only caught a glimpse, but it looks like my shield.”

You squeeze his ankle, and determination hardens his expression.

“I think you might-- I think this place might need me. Do you have enough magic to, I don’t know… freeze it? Put it in stasis so it doesn’t send me back? I know just where I’d like to put it.”

You feel brave, but it’s not due to a lack of hope this time. This time, you have an abundance of hope.

“I’d like that very much.”

#the_slumberparty #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #fantasy au #angst with a happy ending #captain america x f!reader #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america x you

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raayllum · 5 months

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i'm gonna break down the poster later but for now I wanna talk about the poem

As others have noticed the first letter of each line, read bottom to top, spell out "The Red Wedding" which is likely the episode title, so I'm not going to speculate too much on that.

Like we know at this point hardly anything is accidental in TDP especially when there's blatant opportunities to hide clues, so with that in mind, I want to look at stanza by stanza to the best of my ability.

Gnash your teeth, O Dragon Fierce! Night’s not far away

"Gnash" is an aggressive reference to teeth, which makes me think of "ivory draconic" for the Nova Blade, but also of scenes yet explained (the arc 1 intro of human warriors gathered on one side of the border, and Thunder's display of power). However, I think it's likely that what the poem is referring to is even farther back in history, given that "night" might refer to a time period (i.e. the stars leaving) happening soon.

In the sky that watchful eye Does weep and stare and pierce

"White as the star's heart it pierced" and we see eyes in reference to dragons' ire against Elarion. That said, this "watchful eye" could belong to a long ago Startouch elf (Aaravos, Laurelion, Leola?) who cared about what was happening, hence being 'watchful.' Pierce has a less peaceful connotation, but this section of the poem definitely reads as "in the past to me" (I say, preparing to eat my words in the future)

Dance away, O Golden Queen! Eternal fiery flame While shadows jeer into your ear Don’t forge a blade from shame

This, meanwhile, feels like a pretty straightforward reference to Janai in present day. She is both queen and the Golden Knight of Lux Aurea. Dancing is a part of Sunfire proposals, she has fire powers, and she's planning a wedding. "Shadows" could be references to her nightmares from Aaravos and the shadow monster creatures Karim's army is probably going to accidentally turn into thanks to Pharos' lingering corruption. She wields a Sunforge blade, of course, and has doubt/shame surrounding her choices and status as queen as it moves back and forth... so maybe "don't make a harsh choice out of shame/fear of unworthiness?" But we shall have to see.

Now onto what's probably my favourite stanza:

Eight in a line, O Chosen Mine! Ready for a war Endlessly burning Hopefully yearning That love will triumph once more!

"Eight in a line" makes me lose my mind because there's 8 pieces across the board in chess (2 rooks, 2 knights, 2 bishops make 6, + 1 king and queen make 8; as well as 8 pawns, of course). "O Chosen Mine" also makes it sound like Aaravos is the speaker of the poem, which given that he's someone poetry has been written about up until now, is deliciously meta.

"Ready for a war" might apply most straightforwardly to the Sunfire elves, but I don't think we even have eight named Sunfire characters in show, so it must encompass more main players. Perhaps unrest in the Pentarchy, and of course, the Dragang taking steps to try to go to war against and defeat Aaravos.

"Endlessly burning" has a couple different meanings, given that 1) fire cannot burn forever, 2) it seems humans were gifted sun magic first way back when, and 3) fire/burning has a more positive association with light. "Hopefully yearning" has a positive connotation, even if people on both sides can have hope for various reasons ("There is one weird hope" from Claudia in 4x01 vs Ezran's "There is a hope" in 3x03, etc). To yearn for something is to have "a strong feeling of wishing for something, especially something that you cannot have or get easily" and we know that wishes and wants are something that can go from good to bad in TDP's world, especially when it comes to Aaravos.

The characters are hoping/working/wishing that "Love will triumph once more," the way it did for them in 3x09. This reflects back into love > control, narrative of love > narrative of power, etc. It also caps off this stanza of "eight in the line" having the game motif, and then triumphing also indicates winning the game.

But, of course, they can't. Not in S6, anyway. 😈

#tdp #tdp meta #the dragon prince #6x07 #s6 spoilers #arc 2 #s6 speculation #predictions #analysis series #analysis #tdp spoilers

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lysenfeu · 23 days

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Devil in the Details •Part 2•

Captain John Prices makes a desperate decision and takes a huge risk to try and resolve his grief.

Rating: Mature

Eventual John Price x Reader

850k words, Slow Burn, Drabble/Short Form Writing

CW: Dark themes, Mentions of death, Grief, Supernatural events, Occultism, Demons, Corruption

(Part 1)

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Price wastes no time, the moment he's home he lays the book out flat on his desk and studies the circle intently. His fingers trace over the black marks on the page, eyes poring over every splash of ink, no matter how small or smudged. Each line and symbol burning into his mind.

By the time he bothers to read the warning printed boldly beneath it, the words are meaningless. A hindrance only to someone who has something left to lose. It does nothing to quell his determination, this is no longer a choice he's making but an obligation. A duty he's been forced to accept by his own pride.

He gathers his supplies, the list is rather short but specific. Red chalk, a red candle, a small knife and a small red dish. He shoves his desk out of the way and rolls up the corner of the area rug, making room on the hardwood floor for his work.

He forces the small tremor out of his hands as he carefully marks out the symbols onto the floor with the chalk. There is no room for error in this, each stroke of the chalk must be exact. He must create the perfect replica of the sketch in the grimoire. He lights the candle and places a dab of hot, melted wax on each of the twelve star points. Careful not to disturb the chalk, he places the dish in the dead center of the circle. His nerves thrum in anticipation as he anxiously completes the last step, pricking the tip of his index finger with the knife, allowing a few drops of blood to splash down beneath him.

Finally, it's finished.

The circle crackles and hisses to life, the red outline illuminating itself as a cloud of smoke quickly rises from the centre.

He steps back, eyes wide with awe.

It worked.

~*~

It takes you a moment to recognize the tug behind your navel and the tickle at the back of your mind. It's been at least a decade or two since someone initiated your summoning ritual, you were starting to forget what it felt like. But now you can feel the magic pulling at you, beckoning to you through the newly forged connection. You let it carry you, twisting and turning your form through time and space as you have no choice but to answer the call.

Dark wisps of smoke curl out and flood the space before you as you rise from the centre of your circle. Small blue flames dance along the edges, lighting you with a flickering, dim glow as they spin and swirl in haphazard patterns.

As the haze slowly clears, you're able to take a better look at your surroundings. The room is a decent size, filled with dark wood furniture and leather accents. Small half-full bookshelves run along the wall, facing a large, well-worn leather sofa. An unusually tidy mahogany desk sits between them, shoved further back than usual based on the imprints left on the plush, wool area rug underneath. Not a single skull or a shred of velvet in the whole place.

Hm.

Not necessarily a worrisome sign, but odd nonetheless. The type who usually summon you tended to be more … overt in their interest in the occult, if not downright predictable. The kind of person who always used to break out the Ouija board at sleepovers and then grew up to spend too much time antiquing, looking for just the right candle holder. More crystals than sense, the lot of them.

You weren't especially fearsome, your abilities were far more subtle than most. You weren’t really suited for great acts of revenge or rampant bloodshed, anyone looking for an imposing or dreadful creature would be sorely disappointed with you. To be honest, you were more of a party trick. Your summoners really just wanted you to put on a show. So you would dazzle them with billowing pillars of brightly coloured smoke, making licks of fire dance before their eyes, a truly theatrical production. It was a simple routine: make a grand entrance, flash a little horn and tail, accept the offering, grant the favour, done.

Simple.

Quick.

Easy.

On the face of it at least.

Really though, that was the true fun of it.

They never suspected a thing.

With the smoke cleared, you take a moment and study the reason you're here, forcibly called to this time and place. A man stands before you, tense but still on the other side of your circle. He’s tall and broad, handsome in a rugged and weathered way. You note that he’s well-groomed in a utilitarian fashion, showing no hint of the usual flamboyance or flair you expect from your usual patrons. Interesting. Oh well.

Showtime.

“Tell me why I'm here, human.”

The man takes a deep breath before squaring his shoulders and meeting your eyes with a steady, even gaze.

“I need to make a deal.”

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(Part 3)

A/N: Surpriiiise! *You're* the demon ehehe 😈

#lysenfeu fics #captain john price #captain john price x reader #cod fanfic #john price x reader

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probablyevilrpgideas · 2 months

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Rust monsters are cool and all, but consider-

Atogs

Atogs are a creature from Magic the Gathering, starting with the standard Atog all the way back in Antiquities (IE, almost as old as a card can get, the second expansion set, and the first expansion set that takes place in a setting entirely of WotC's creation). It's a small creature that gets bigger when you sacrifice an artifact card to it (in flavor- it eats magic items and gets stronger, notably, its name was created by just jumbling the letters in "goat"):

The original Atog, a classic "weird little guy"

Gradually, it was joined by other atog-typed creatures:

Foratog, in Mirage, which eats Forests

Chronatog, in Visions, which eats time (ie, your turns)

Necratog, in Weatherlight, which eats carrion (creature cards in your discard)

and Auratog, in Tempest, which eats magic (enchantment cards.

They have a general shared visual aesthetic, and a unifying mechanic which shows some fun variation by being tailored to what each color cares about and generally has a lot of- forests, corpses, enchantments. Chronatog eating time is mostly just thematic, but blue does have some ways to get around its downside.

Odyssey gave us some fun dual-colored atogs-

Lithatog, RG, which eats lands and artifacts

Phantatog, WU, which eats enchantments and cards from your hand

Psychatog, BU, which eats cards in your graveyard or hand*

Sarcatog, BR, which eats artifacts and cards in your graveyard*

Thaumatog, WG, which eats lands and enchantements

*special note- Sarcatog and Psychatog are especially good because when you discard a card from your hand or sacrifice an artifact, it goes to your graveyard, so they actually get two meals

And also Atogatog, which eats other atogs, and gets their full power as a buff to its power and toughness:

There's also Megatog in Mirrodin, which is just a bigger atog:

Rust monsters are fun, sure. But they're very limited, only consuming metal, and just making it rust. Atogs, even the standard atog, can eat any manufactured item, literally taking bites out of it. And (at least more recently) they're implied to be sapient, given that some are shown wearing clothes or having piercings. They're kinda like goblins who respond to crusaders wading in to wipe them out by taking a huge bite out of the crusaders' shields.

Atogs can just literally eat the adventurers' equipment. Auratog can eat spells, foratog can be the center of an adventure where elves ask the party to take out the infestation that's chowing down on trees, or necratogs are digging up graves and need to be dealt with. Admittedly, I don't know how to translate chronatog into D&D well.

But also, because they're sapient, they can be reasoned with, the PCs can negotiate with them instead of just cutting them down like animals. Maybe a dwarf forge has an atog employee who serves as a convenient way to get rid of slag or other waste materials from forging.

And then, there can also be a scene where the party meets the King Atog, who chows down on a subject in the middle of conversaton.

#dungeons and dragons #d&d #dungeons & dragons #fantasy #dnd #rpgs #Atogs #MTG #Magic the Gathering

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landwriter · 1 year

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Oaths | Dream/Hob | 51K | Explicit | Ongoing Ch.10: Oaths of Darkness and Light (4K)

Falling In Love, Magical Realism, Dream is a Beautiful Fey Creature and Hob is a Handsome Bandit, Protective Hob Gadling, Protective Dream of the Endless, Historical References, Scotland, Middle English, Border Reiving, Adventure & Romance, Fairy Tale Retellings, Alternate Universe - Historical/Medieval/Fairy Tale, finding beauty in hard times, Oaths & Vows, Curses, Outdoor Sex, First Time Blowjobs, Frottage, Anal, Kissing in the Rain, really a lot of banging, Hair Braiding, Dirty Talk, Ballads, Duty, Friendship/Love, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication, Canon Echoes, Self-Denial, Repression, Tenderness, Confessions, Bathing/Washing, Strangers to Lovers, Lovers to Friends, Friends to Idiots, BAMF Hob Gadling, (absolutely fucking feral Hob Gadling), unhinged words and deeds, or: a man and a fey walk into a meadow and they're both equally insane

He moved hidden through the mirk and moonless night. He had no need of torch or light. Rain had patiently gathered, and under the cover of darkness, finally rushed forth, announcing itself upon alder and birchleaf. Hob was glad for it. Within himself, he felt a forge. Desperate, consuming flame licked beneath his skin. His heart was a hammer in his throat. He was fevered with hope, and all he could do was follow the Ettrick upstream, to Miles Cross, to Dream. Only when he arrived before the stone bridge did the agitation in his heart settle at last. He moved into the shadowed gorse, and waited. It was easier than he thought; easier than being in Aikwood as though he were not tethered by his smarting heart to this spot where Dream would appear; easier even than making the journey of less than hour with the strange animal fears that something would stop him from arriving here. He waited, as the rain exhausted itself the night became quiet again. He waited, and thought of Dream, these last two days, alone. With no one to give him advice, no one to wish him well, no one to clasp his arms. With no one to tell. With nothing to do but hope Hob might be true to his word. Hob wished he could reassure him, even now. Wished that he was as fey a creature as they, that he might send sign on bended wing to his love. An owl or sweet nightingale, calling into the night in a tongue only Dream would understand: He loves you. He waits. He loves you. He waits.

And as surely as the Ettrick Water ran, surely as the day did fall and break, did Hob with a certain heart his journey make. Or: the wyrm-ening.

[Read on AO3]

#it's here!#the sandman #dreamling #oaths #oaths update #my writing #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman fanfic

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ginger375 · 11 months

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LUtober Day 19: Lucky

See the full collection on AO3.

Four dumped out his pouch onto the table. Wind had been digging through the tall grass to find a rupee he’d lost when he found something just as shiny. The blue kinstone has a funky little curve to its edge, which Four didn’t recognize.

“I don’t think I have any that match it, Sailor,” Four said as he sifted through the kinstone halves in his possession.

Wind held up the stone to the light, examining it from all sides. “So how do we find a match?”

Four gathered up all the kinstones he’d spread out across the table. “We ask.”

The duo set out to ask what Wind thought was just random people if they had the twin to his kinstone. They visited the market, the bakery, the school and the carpentry shop, but no one had a match for the Hero of the Wind.

Walking back to the forge, Four got an idea. “You could just hang onto it… or maybe…” he trailed off.

“Or what?”

Four gave him a side glance, brow raised. “How much experience have you had with shape changing magic?”

“Absolutely none,” Wind replied.

“Well, first time for everything,” Four said as he grabbed Wind’s tunic and pulled him just off the path and through the trees. Upon entering a clearing, Wind saw a single tree stump, which Four pulled him up to stand on.

“Just relax and try not to inhale for a few seconds,” Four said.

“What?!”

A flash of light and suddenly Wind was falling, through the crack in the tree stump and landing on a mushroom growing within. He bounced off that one to another before landing on the ground.

“Ouch,” the sailor said as he willed his stomach to settle.

Four’s face appeared above him. “You okay? How do you feel?”

Wind took a few seconds to look around—they were…inside the stump? “Are we tiny!?!”

Four grinned. “Yep. We’re gonna have to walk for a bit to get to the village.”

“What village?”

The journey to the Minish Village took longer than anticipated, but only because Wind was so gobsmacked by how huge everything was. He wanted to touch the blades of grass, chase the bugs, and hide under flowers. Four indulged him, for the most part.

They finally reached the hollow log that led to the village. Wind was once again in awe of the tiny homes of the Minish that he barely noticed Four speaking to one of them.

Four had shown him a Minish back when this adventure started, but seeing one that was the same size as him was so cool. The creature was like a little mouse wearing a jacket made of leaves.

“Pi cori ri Pico!” It said in what Wind presumed was a greeting. Four replied in kind and the two had a conversation, at least Wind guessed it was. The Minish suddenly waved and took off.

“Where’s he… or she… going?” Wind asked.

“He is going to ask the others if anyone has a unique blue kinstone. Save us some time.

Several Minish appeared on the path and started chattering to Four, who laughed with them. He gestured at Wind and the little creatures waved at him. Wind waved back and grinned.

A commotion further into the village drew their attention; three more Minish came scurrying down the path, chittering excitedly.

“Looks like we have a match!” Four said, his eyes shining as he gestured to one of the creatures to join him.

Wind pulled out the kinstone and held it up to the Minish. They fit their half into Wind’s and were in awe as it fit perfectly, before it vanished in sparkling light.

Wind was almost disappointed, but the joyful reactions of the Minish told him this was a good thing.

Four said his farewells to the Minish before leading Wind back to the hollow log.

“So what exactly did we do with the kinstone? I thought it was something you kept?” Wind asked as they walked back.

“You and Mirrari fused your kinstones, so you’ll both have a little extra luck.”

“Really?! How much luck?!”

Four hummed. “You might find some treasure, a secret passage you never noticed before might open, or it could be something really minor you might not even realize it.”

“You mean something like Wild making seafood paella for dinner?” Wind asked hopefully.

“You never know,” Four laughed.

#LUtober #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu four #lu wind #lu minish #ginger writes

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static-martini · 7 months

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speaking of pseudo-religion, I dug up an old fic I tried to work on last year when I was getting back into DC.

I've never read a Spectre comic regrettably! I figured since this was based on the YJ show, he'd take the role of messenger to Chaos, like how the Stranger was for Order in season 4 :p

the fic remains in limbo (hehe) because I sort of lost track of what it was going to be about <:)

transcript below if the images aren't loading!

[Picture 1]:

This planet will burn. Such a fate is inevitable.

But skin will not melt off its primary abusers, nor will the seas boil as creatures float above as their souls can no longer weigh them down. The stars will not quiver, and the animals will not hold their heads high, first to greet the reaper.

Earth will burn. Because he loves it so much.

His very name is what the mortals used to describe the voice of one of their various deities. The one who cannot be named by human tongue nor human language. Clarion, meaning loud and clear. Alas, he is a walking contradiction; he is Klarion, and a being forged of magic.

He cheats what the Holy name has created, stealing from the universe he governs not out of malice but curiosity. He is, above all things, a youth.

And yet, so too is he much more than that.

[Picture 2]:

The holy wrath feels like a blanket. How badly Klarion wants to rip it off of him as much as he wants to melt in it. So unlike the blue of the Stranger, this emerald kept him in place, allowing him the time he needed to gather his courage.

Courage to stare into the grim face of a Spectre.

O’ God, how could they have done this to him? Though not by Your hand was he made, forged instead with energies found in all living things and the corpse of a boy who once prayed to You, You feel obligated to love him even still.

He is not Your favorite– no one can replace the child cast below creation– but he is so very small. And Lord, You cannot blame him for loving.

Dear Lord, You cannot blame him for being alive.

“He is sorry,” Your agent speaks so solemnly. He alludes to You.

He, with a voice so clear and loud, wailed with the heavens.

#klarion the witch boy #klarion bleak #the spectre #dc extended universe #dc comics #young justice show #my writing #txt post

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blueberrypancakesworld · 2 months

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Seeing eyes of the future and love

Daenys ,,the dreamer” x Lady Belaerys!reader

warning : comfort, fluff, kiss, reader flies the dragon Terraxes and she is a descendant of Jaenara Belaerys, no use of Y/n

Summary : Dreams, dragon dreams magical and little known like the story of her homeland. Daenys finds herself with the Lady of House Belaerys to laugh, to talk, to read, to try to avoid the gaze of the higher lords but above all to fly together to a future in which they survive.

info : I love Daenys and Terrax with his rider Jaenara all three are just so fine plus Gaemon is a plus poinz and now have fun reading and see you next time :)

masterlist

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Dragons, secrets of ancient Valyria and dragon dreams things that happened an empire that had lived, dragons by the hundreds if not thousands drawn from magic and creatures there was a family of wealth and influence that would surpass anything three hundred years later.

But most of all there were the Targaryens a smaller family looked down upon yet proud of their heritage bright hair, violet eyes with five dragons they were gods in Olympus. In the family around Aenar and his two children Gaemon and Daenys, there was not much to tell in the history lost over hundreds of years in which fire and blood had reigned.

But in dreams, in dreams of the violet eyes of the highborn Lady Daenys, lost in time, there were words of other family, of relationships and trade between two dragons who offered each other something in a time when it could be the last.

The family of the Velaryons and the single case of the Belaerys family, the highborn family exactly at the level of the Targaryens, were supposed to have a time together, but only those who were born in this time of blood would know all this.

The daughter's violet eyes gazed from the high railing adorned with sphynix and fire at the city below and above her, the sounds of metal forging, books being turned and Valyrian speech echoing everywhere while dragon wings could be heard roaring and screeching.

Sounds she had known all her life, sounds together with the fine instruments of the servants, sounds she had always judged, whenever her gaze was caught by fire and stars and her dreams were blown away like winds.

But most of all, she had a dream when she looked at the mountains and felt the heat, saw the dracen flying skelts that would flee to the ground like the screams of the people. Tightening her grip on the railing, she let out a sigh, trying to enjoy the sounds again as she flinched when she felt a hand snaft on hers, ,,Dear sister, the Lady Belaerys has arrived,” Gaemon said, violet eyes gazing at her comfort, asking her in silence if all was well, which she replied with a nod.

They knew each other, they were the blood of the dragon the devotion and comfort they offered each other was something she appreciated. Before she took his hand and he led her up the spiral staircase to the expansive terrace where torches and candles burned, it was something they all liked, it gave them healing and comfort.

Gazing into the golden sky, drenched in sunlight, she saw the dragon approach, a relatively young beast a few decades old, on whose back the Lady Belaerys, a woman of about the same age, looked, the last representative of her house after the death of her ancestor, the fearless Jaenara, her house seemed to have only bad luck.

Illnesses and deaths quickly killed all relatives, but it was rumored, no, it was just known that the high family used any means to gain knowledge and those who could not defend themselves suffered, but of course this was all speculation. The dark black and green dragon with slightly purple scales landed on the rock in the light, sniffed the animal and shook itself slightly before letting its rider dismount.

,,A pleasure to see my honorable friends again I hope you have fared well?” she guessed and gathered her childhood friends and allies into an embrace the scent of flame surrounded them all even if the Targaryen dragon were small they were not yet big enough to ride they had a growing Balerion.

Listening to Gaemon's nods and short stories, her violet eyes found those of Daenys who looked at the older one with a shy smile, a certain something always lay between the three of them.

Perhaps it was openness, perhaps it was devotion but above all it was a bond with Daenys whose hand was taken by her, ,,We're back for dinner Gaemon I'll take care of her...and thank your father for the coins…it saved me from the fire” she said and saw the young man's serious nod and slight bow before he disappeared into the palace and she was left alone with Daenys.

Placing a hand gently on the Targaryen's cheek, violet eyes gazed at each other, ,,You grow more beautiful with every dream,” she confessed, seeing her Targaryen love's gaze fall in shame as Daenys clasped her hand tighter.

It was a gentle love between them, Daenys seemed to need her and Terrax, while she needed Daenys, her heart belonged to the young Targaryen, ,,Shall we?” she asked and Tarrax took a few steps towards them.

The dragon mumbled his head to Daenys and seemed happy to see her again before they both rose up one by one and she sat behind Daenys to give her a better feeling while flying the Valyrian words spilled from the mourner's lips and Terrax rose up with a screech before flying away from the terrace and up over the city.

Away from the people, away from the noises and up into the sky through the clouds above, ,,You always like it up here my dear” she commented and her hands gently held Daenys' who seemed to be completely relaxed up here.

Where the sun was and with them and the clouds below them, ,,Yes it is peaceful and I can think in peace not distracted by Valyria” Daenys replied and her light purple dress blew in the wind a contrast to her own dark green lilac.

Valyria as much as they both loved their home, they both knew it would soon be over in barely a decade, ,,Did you have another dream my star?” she asked and placed a soft chaste kiss on the neck of the one sitting in front of her, feeling the brief flinch followed by an audible giggle as her wings beat.

Daenys shook her head, ,,No a few yes but not of our belnagen dreams of dancing dragons and ice something that happened hundreds of years ago and our bones became dragons,” she murmured and looked behind her, the dreamer's gaze radiating a certain sadness, a sadness about the fate of dragon blood.

But above all, she radiated a sense of reverence. she took the elder's hand and stroked it, ,,But they are only dreams and now we are the ones who exist i can truly see you,” she murmured and leaned towards her before the two women shared a gentle kiss and two flames rode against each other and Terrax happily twitched and emitted flames.

They continued the flight for a little while Terrax flew her way alone, they met other dragonriders and exchanged a few words, but most of the time they kept to themselves, their hands never letting go and Daenys leaned against the others' upper bodies, cuddling and happy to be held.

While gentle kisses were exchanged and valiant confessions of love and affection were exchanged between them, they talked about dreams of love and intimacy.

They both knew that together with Gaemon and their father they would fly and sail into a future full of love, a future in which they were truly free until the day they flew back to Valyria in death.

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

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #daenys the dreamer #daenys targaryen #daenys x reader #gaemon the glorious #reader is female #female x female #terrax #house belaerys #targaryentuesday

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albentelisa · 11 months

Note

Hi there! So here is an interesting ask. You remember how Kanjigar and Bular were fighting over the amulet in the first episode?

Well, what if instead of Merlin creating the amulet in this AU, he had created a grimoire that was filled with a list of all magical creatures and how to beat them? The list is self updating and tells you if said creatures are still alive, dead, extinct or sealed away.

The Trollhunter is called the Guardian, and their job is to protect the book at all times.

Anyone who is not a Guardian can only see a blank book, and said book is very temperamental if insulted as Toby found out the hard way when he claimed it was a rip-off book.

An AU with a more strategic approach to fights? Count me in! I'd say that the stronger the creature is the more complicated taking them out is as well. That's the reason why Kanjigar (and all the previous Guardians) couldn't slay Bular. His entry has something along the lines that no troll could slay him. Everyone thought it meant that Bular could be only sealed or detained until Jim arrived and realized that he could possibly do it (as he isn't a troll).

It's more complicated when it comes to Gunmar. His defeat condition is that you need the Eclipse sword (forged from Triumbric stones) wielded by someone who is neither troll nor human and both of those simultaneously (that's where Merlin with his elixir comes into the action).

But before that, Jim and his allies fight against all kinds of creatures (both to protect Arcadia and the grimoire). Claire's shadow magic after she joins proves to be a great help (as it's involved in some defeat conditions). The whole fighting of monsters involves gathering the information (as sometimes they need the name or species), then preparation stages which may involve gathering ingredients, forging specific weapons, or finding the way to lure the creature to the specific destination (and shadow portals simplify the latter a lot).

The grimoire can protect itself by summoning minor creatures and it also summons those to punish those who insult it. The book disliked Toby for a while after that insult, so he got some minor surprises until it forgave him (and Chompsky was initially one of those).

Initially, the grimoire had no information on how to defeat the Arcane Order (as Merlin is the one who compiled it and he had no way to get the knowledge about that one), but with Nimue's help it was updated to include every creature not mentioned before.

#tales of arcadia #toa au #no trollhunter AU #grimoire AU #jim lake jr #toby domzalski #claire nuñez #text post #ask box #anon ask

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mtg-cards-hourly · 1 year

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Nahiri, Forged in Fury

Artist: Dominik Mayer TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

#mtg #magic the gathering #tcg #dominik mayer #nahiri forged in fury #march of the machine: the aftermath #legendary #creature #kor #artificer

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coreene · 5 months

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The Moonshaes

Cloaked in mists, the rocky cliffs of the Moonshae Isles rise high above the surf of the Sea of Swords, their tops clothed in ancient forests. The Moonshaes lie due west from Mintarn- and Baldur's Gate, and Candlekeep, and even Amn, for that matter: this great stretch of islands is nearly half as long as the Sword Coast, enclosing the Sea of Moonshae.

On the southern isles live the Ffolk, humans ruled by their High King, Derid Kendrick, from the fortress of Caer Callidyr on Alaron. The Ffolk worship a goddess they call the Earthmother; her druids gather in sacred groves on the islands. Some of these groves hold moonwells, magical pools that the druids say the goddess uses as her windows onto the world.

The northern isles are the territory of the Northlanders, who spread south from Ruathym to settle here, and have fought occasional wars with the Ffolk in the centuries that the two groups have uneasily shared the islands.

Alaron

The largest and most populous isle of the Moonshaes is Alaron. The Ffolk stronghold of Caer Callidyr overlooks a bay south of the Fairheight Mountains, at the northern edge of Dornall Forest. The forest is a perilous place, filled with goblins, worgs, and their ilk. The deeper one goes, the more otherworldly the woods become, with fey creatures leading travellers astray - or to their doom. Even the High King's rangers walk the forest with care.

Rumor has it the Rookoath dwarves of the Fairheight range-bolstered by Clan Rustfire of the isle of Gwynneth, and adventurers out of Callidyr-have won victories against the local ores and their shadow dragon master. High King Derid hopes to forge an alliance with the dwarves, but thus far they have spurned the aid of the crown.

Meanwhile, Kythyss, a port town on the Great South Head of Alaron, has been hiring mercenaries to guard caravans running north to Callidyr. Caravan masters there are always looking for help, if you're willing to brave the road for a while.

Gwynneth

Over my lifetime, the isle of Gwynneth has become ever more fey and mysterious, home to the elven realm of Sarifal, under the rule of High Lady Ordalf.

Sarifal shares the island with the reclusive mountain kingdom of Synnoria, the home of the Llewyr elves, plus a few small shield dwarf settlements, and the ruins of Caer Corwell, the former Ffolk settlement on Gwynneth. High King Derid wants to reclaim the old citadel and rebuild it as an embassy, but has yet to secure Lady Ordalf's consent to do so.

Gwynneth is also home to Myrloch Vale, a lush valley nestled in the mountains with the shimmering waters of the Myrloch to the south. Druid circles are active in the Vale, allied with the elves and the fey creatures of this area.

In the north of the island, High Lady Ordalf's son, Prince Araithe, leads the struggle against the darker fey of the forest of Winterglen. The prince is a pragmatist willing to accept aid in fending off his people's foes, and so has been known to allow adventuring companies to cross the Strait of Alaron and land on Gwynneth, if they pledge to aid the cause.

Korinn Archipelago

The Korinn Archipelago is dozens of rocky, rainy, and windswept islands populated mostly by Northlanders, who herd sheep, fish the nearby waters, and occasionally go raiding or pirating. Dozens of separate settlements are their own mini-kingdoms with little that unifies them besides a shared Northlander culture.

There's no safe harbour for outsiders; you just have no idea what you are dealing with. For other Northlanders, the settlement of Westhaven on Pandira serves as a neutral ground where Northlanders of all stripes who ply the waters of the Sea of Swords might come to port and wait out a storm or resupply.

Moray

To the west of Gwynneth, Moray is a land at war with itself. The embattled Ffolk of Caer Moray struggle to keep the port town open so that Dynnegall, farther inland, can receive vital goods and supplies.

These supplies sometimes include reinforcements to deal with the threats of the island, which are many and varied: the Black Blood tribe of Malar-worshiping werefolk, the giants of the Trollclaw Range in the north, and the ogres and ores of the Orcskill Mountains in the south.

The Ffolk of Moray are loyal to the High King. They hope for a return to a unified Moonshaes under the Kendrick banner and are determined to hold on long enough to see it.

Norland

North of Moray lies Norland, the stronghold of the Northlanders of the Isles. Much has happened among the Noris of late, weakening their grip on the Moonshaes, but I fear High King Kendrick lacks power to capitalize on it.

In recent years, a Northlander woman calling herself the Storm Maiden arose as a battle leader among them, which was unusual because Northlanders don't allow women to raid or fish. Said to blessed by both Valkur and Umberlee at her birth, the Storm Maiden gathered great numbers of Noris to her banner, and it seemed she might contest the king for control of Norland. However, a decade ago, she seemed to be consumed by the power of Umberlee, and she drove her followers on a mad quest to control the Sea of Swords. When at last she was defeated at sea, she and her ship vanished into the waves. She is known to be unable to drown, and many people fear her return.

Rault the Wise, king of the Noris, lost both his elderly son Olfgaut and grandson in battles against the Storm Maiden, leaving succession in question. He has a granddaughter of great spirit and wisdom, but in the male-dominated Northlander society- and so soon after the disastrous rise to power of the Storm Maiden - it is unthinkable that rule should fall to her.

Oman's Isle

The last time I set foot on Oman's Isle was just after the Moonshaes had unified, and it was a peaceful, lovely place. It had sheep, farms, and fishing boats, and plenty of folk willing to trade the gold from their mines for goods from the mainland or other islands. Now, Oman's Isle is a blasted place is controlled by giants, especially fomorians, that hurl huge stones at any ship that comes too near the coast. If you do make it to shore, bring friends, and plenty of weapons-it's a dangerous place, but might be worth the risk. I can scarcely imagine the reward Jar! Rault or High King Derid would offer to the adventurers who reclaimed the ruins of Iron Keep, once home to the isle's rulers.

Snowdown

The little isle of Snowdown, south of Alaron, is a possession of Arnn, where Lady Erliza rules from Caer Westphal. She is the second of her name, noted for her striking resemblance to her great-grandmother, the first Amnian ruler of the isle.

Since taking possession of the place, Snowdown's occupiers have cut down its woods, stripped its mines, and choked its waterways with the refuse of the overworked Ffolk under their rule. Lady Erliza and her soldiers have ruthlessly put down several rebellions, and the Ffolk here refer to her as "Bloody Erliza." Some Amnians believe the isle is becoming more trouble to hold on to than its diminishing exports are worth, and further uprisings are almost certainly brewing amongst the Ffolk, quietly supported by Alaron.

source: Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide pg. 67-69, top map

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