#ninepines

[faeree-layne]

Rip Van Winkle: having too many flagons with the kobolds & missing the Revolution

[bebethsas]

look, I know this applies to multiple blorbos, but show of hands:

how many of us immediately thought of Eddie Munson?

🤚

can you come collect your freak of a man please. He’s doing things

[trucenz]

CLEARED OUT AND HEADING NORTH

[jiubilant]

cw: brief blood mention, child experiencing medical emergency (asthma attack)

He supposes that the child will die before its father will allow him upstairs. The mother and an ancient steward had hurried him into the vestibule, stammering dire prophecies like priests in a Hlaalu play: the boy was purple, he couldn’t breathe, he could only weep and cough and choke on draughts of honeyed shein. Save him, the mother had begged. Save him and I shall pay you double.

The healer lashes his tail, impatient, and digs a hand into the bowl of dates on the antique stand. The steward wrings his hands by the staircase. Upstairs, the child’s father shouts something insulting and familiar.

“He’s a healer,” the mother protests. “A Guild healer, Moder, of good standing—”

More than half of the healer’s house calls in Ald’ruhn start and end like this. He cracks the pit of a date between his teeth, one of the few violences that his vow allows, and gives the steward a cloying smile. “Will my services be required after all, sera?”

“Oh, yes,” says the old man, clacking the yellow fingerbones of his prayer-string. His eyes are red and watery as tavern wine. “Oh, yes, Argonian. I pray you’ll wait. Please, the master is, is”—the prayer-string shakes in his hands—“is only concerned for his son—Tisa!”

The thing flying down the steps, the healer deduces after a startled pause, is likely Tisa: a wan and curly-headed child in the sackcloth of a Temple novice, her face wild, her eyes puffy and red. The steward tries to catch her. She ducks him, nimble as a nix, and skids to a halt before the healer.

“You’re wanted upstairs,” she says, breathless. No honorific, of course. She lifts her chin like a pale little Rilms. “Ama and Ada bid you come at once.”

More shouts echo down the stairwell. The healer gives the lying creature an incredulous look. “Ama and Ada bid nothing of the sort.”

The girl hesitates. Then, with a look of repulsed determination, she takes his sticky hand.

“Please, kena,” she says. Her face quivers. “He’s only three.”

He lets her tug him up the stairs. Double, the mother had said. The healer only gambles when he likes the odds. The boy’s cough—a thin, strangled rattle, just audible beneath his parents’ noise—is one he knows well.

“In here,” whispers his escort, and pulls him into a chamber with all the usual charms of a sickroom: the sour air, the family flapping around like cliff racers, the suffering child swaddled seizing and choking on the pallet—

“You fools,” the healer snaps, pushing the parents aside like ninepins. “You smoke-sniffing s’wits—sit him up!”

It’s the girl Tisa who leaps to do his bidding. The father’s outraged spluttering he ignores with a practiced ear; he’s already deep in his bag, rummaging for the ingredients of the vapor that he mixes often for himself. Oil of corkbulb, oil of kurroot. Spirit of hartshorn, imported. The hovering steward, at his command, rushes in a bowl of water; the healer infuses it with a dropper, boils it with a snap of his fingers, and thrusts the steaming bowl under the child’s nose.

“Deep breaths,” he says, watching the child’s struggling face. “Through your nose. Your nose,” he repeats sharply, for the boy is still gulping for air like a landed fish.

Pious Tisa, holding her brother under the armpits, gives the healer a look that could peel paint. “Don’t snip at him!”

“What’s it doing to him?” demands the master of the house.

The healer wishes briefly and fervently for more date pits. He passes the bowl to the girl, checking first that the boy’s turned a healthier hue, and bows to the affronted man with his hand on his heart.

“Muthsera,” he says with his most sycophantic smile, “the child suffers from an ailment of the lungs. I’ve treated it before. To ease his breathing, muthsera, I’ve mixed a remedy—”

“It smells,” says the boy in a weak, scratchy voice, then sniffles. His sister sobs in relief and throws her arms around him, nearly spilling the bowl.

“Hold that steady,” the healer snaps, then pastes the smile back on. “In cases such as this, muthsera, much that enters the passages of the lungs can choke them. Most dangerous are ash and dust, smoke—even sanctified smoke—bottled scents, strong spices, excessive exertion or excitement—”

“How long must he breathe of this remedy,” the mother interrupts, her voice hoarse, “before he is cured?”

“This ailment can be soothed,” says the healer. “It can’t be cured. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a charlatan.”

“If it can’t be cured,” says the master of the house, his face hard as a Redoran club, “why should I pay you?”

The healer looks to the child’s mother. Like the light slanting in from the window-slit, her eyes slide to the ground.

* * *

He’s so disgusted with the whole business that he slips around the house to the kitchen. The family’s servants—elves all, but elves more bent and deferent than their masters—greet him with effusive kenas and more work: he lances several boils, draws a splinter like Rangidil’s sword from a houseboy’s thumb, and smiles politely at the cook’s goiter. When he spells the swelling from the steward’s knees, the old man weeps and tries to embrace him. He dodges the spindly arms and hurries to the Rat in the Pot for supper.

“My Wit,” says the so-called Nerevarine when he drags his cushion to her table. When she smiles, her single sharp eye all but disappears in the folds of her face. “I thought you had forgotten me.”

“Pah.” With an ill-tempered jab of his eating-knife, the healer spears a slice of curried yam from her bowl. “I have nightmares about you.”

The eye twinkles. “Will you come tomorrow?”

“To watch Bolvyn Venim gut you in ritual combat?”

“The other way around,” the Nerevarine suggests, smiling. “If I am what I will be. Many touchstones try the stranger.”

She’s trying him. After an hour of trying to outdrink her, she asks with amused sobriety about Skink; he pays stiffly for their greef, bundles his face, and wobbles out. A wind kicks dust and ash down the lamplit street. The three-year-old will be coughing again, unless Saint Tisa has the sense to stuff the windows.

He’ll leave the Black Isle, he thinks with a sudden shiver, like that of a fever. The filthy wind stirs his feathers. He’ll beg Skink for a post in some Niben guildhall—no, he’ll board a ship to Akavir as surgeon, salve the scrapes of merchant-mates, and the air he’ll breathe a thousand leagues from Morrowind will be clean and salty-sweet.

“Kena,” a sweet, fluting voice calls from the alley.

Every feather on the nape of the healer’s neck prickles. He turns.

What sways like a sleepwalker into the lamplight is, he sees at once, no longer a man. The knife in its jerking hand is red and wet. He knows no remedy but one for a dreamer of the Sharmat’s dreams, which drip like the knife with blood.

“We see you,” it whispers, trembling with rabid joy. “With our eye.”

Most dangerous, the healer thinks, are ash and dust. Exertion and excitement. He takes a deep, even breath—

The thing springs. Drink makes the healer slow. It’s almost on him before he throws out a hand, seeking with his magicka through the hallways of its body: capillaries, veins, the great orchestral chambers of the heart.

The knife flashes. He closes his hand into a fist.

He’s examining the body afterwards—and wondering, between breaths ragged with shock, what he will tell the guard if they appear—when heavy footsteps crunch to him through gravel and ash. The Nerevarine claps him on the back with a huge hand.

“Well done,” she says, sportsmanlike, as though he and the dead man had been playing quoits. She kneels beside him to inspect the corpse’s knife—a rusted kitchen tool, useless to her—then flicks it aside into the dust. “Did you do to him what you did to those smugglers in Gnaar Mok?”

The healer breathes with rigid calm through his nose, through the scarf spelled to catch the worst of the ash. The breaths come in rasps, as if through a hand around his throat. “Yes.”

“And to that necromancer your Master Wizard set you on?”

He remembers Skink’s praise, that sibilant voice like silk drawn through a golden ring. He grimaces. “Yes.”

“Leaves no trace.” The Nerevarine stands with a grunt, dusting her knees. “The duel with Venim is scheduled for high sun, in the battle-pit under Skar.”

For the first time, he half-believes her the true incarnation of Nerevar. She takes no chances. She’s asking him, in the middle of a street in Ald’ruhn, if he will stop the heart of the Archmaster of House Redoran.

It’s shortness of breath, the healer thinks, that’s made him so weary in so short a time. And the greef. He closes his eyes. Every bone in his body aches for the hard, communal pallet in the Guild of Mages’ dormitory—not the one across the street, but the one in Balmora, where he wakes to Ranis’s barking and the rich, dark smell of Ajira’s coffee.

He’ll always want that pallet, wherever he goes. He sighs and rubs his forehead. “I’ll come.”

The Nerevarine, with a kagouti’s smile, helps him to his feet. “I’ll walk you to the guildhall.”

He stifles a cough in the scarf. The road-dust ripples like the sea.

[swaps55]

Mass Effect Vanguard Guide

Other Guides: Guide to Basic Infiltrating | Shield Gate and YOU | Adept Guide | Sentinel Guide | Soldier Guide |

First and foremost, this is exactly what it says: a guide. It is not the right way to play this class; it is a way that I have found very effective after well over a thousand hours spent running different builds and different classes in campaign and ME3 Multiplayer. If you build it differently and like your style better, great! If you are having fun, you’re doing it right.

But if you are struggling at all with the Vanguard class or don’t click with it, this guide might help you. The build, loadout, and strategy are designed with higher difficulties in mind. This kit can easily make quick work of insanity and is a lot of fun if you enjoy using your face as a weapon.

THE BUILD

Shepard has 8 skill trees + a Bonus Power. At Rank 60, you can max out 8 skills and have enough points leftover to take the 9th to level 4. For this build, I recommend only taking Cryo Ammo to rank 4 (or skipping it entirely), and maxing everything else. 

Prioritize Charge, Nova, Incendiary Ammo, Assault Mastery, and probably a few points in Fitness here and there.  

Breakdown under the cut! 

Incendiary Ammo: Incendiary ammo might be one of the most brokenly overpowered skills in the game. The explosive evolution adds a flat damage value vs. a percentage on every other shot, which is insane. On rapid fire weapons that do less damage per shot, like the Tempest or the Typhoon, you're basically doubling the amount of damage you're doing. Add the area of effect you get with the explosion? You're now inflicting this chaos on anyone else who’s nearby. Are you using a piercing mod (the answer should be yes)? You now have a shot at another roll for another explosion, because the damage call can pass through the armored target and torment the cannon fodder behind it. A piercing mod reduces the damage on your bullet, but not the explosion. This is super insane on shotguns, because you get a shot at the extra damage roll per pellet, not per shot. Shotgun blasts have multiple pellets per shot.

Have I mentioned that this is affected by increases in power damage? So any power damage increases you take in Assault Mastery make incendiary ammo better.

Rank 4 �� Damage. To hell with your squad. I mean, your squad is amazing. But trust me, you want to be selfish with incendiary ammo. You can do so much more with it than your squad can.

Rank 5 – Are you handy with headshots? Take Headshot damage. Would you rather have more ammo capacity? Take Ammo Capacity. Whatever makes you happy.

Rank 6 – Explosive Burst. Always take explosive burst. There is no universe in which you want anything other than explosive burst.

Cryo Ammo: This is your dump stat. I don’t even put my leftover points in cryo ammo, because the circumstances in which you would choose cryo ammo over incendiary ammo do not exist, if you are going for maximizing damage. Cryo ammo is really nothing more than a debuff, and you know what’s better than a debuff? Killing it. Now, if you just want to snicker at enemies with a health bar freezing solid and toppling over, that’s different. 😊 But when it comes to higher difficulties, cryo ammo just doesn’t stand up to the effectiveness of other ammo powers.  

Pull: Pull doesn’t provide nearly as much benefit as your other skills, so I suggest speccing into it last. It can, however, be a fun way to toy with mooks if you’re bored of scattering them like ninepins, and offer an alternative for dealing with Guardians if emptying a shotgun full of fire into their mail slot doesn’t quite do it for you. Pull will also prime biotic explosions. It’s not elegant, but you can do it.

Rank 4: Duration vs. Radius: I go for Radius, because as a Vanguard nothing stays alive long enough for duration to matter. But if you are having trouble with timing to get biotic explosions, you can choose Duration here.

Rank 5: Lift Damage vs. Expose: Go for Expose, which increases all damage to the target, including biotic detonations. Again, things don’t stay alive long enough for lift damage to do much for you.  

Rank 6: Recharge Speed vs. Double Pull. DOUBLE PULL. Why would you choose one pull when you can have two? This skill already has one of the fastest recharge speeds in the game, so choosing recharge speed doesn’t gain you anything.

Biotic Charge: Biotic charge, of course, is the signature skill of the vanguard, and while there are plenty of playstyles you can use that don’t hinge on charge…why would you? Charge is stupidly fun. You can be reckless, silly, and stupid, and no one can stop you. You’ll make so many things explode you can hear colors. There isn’t a problem your face can’t solve, unless the problem is on a platform out of bounds.

Charge is also a detonator power, which means you can set up biotic explosions by painting a target with warp, reave, dark channel, and even pull, and then slamming your face into it. Charge will also create a fire explosion when you ram your face into something that’s on fire from incinerate or….incendiary ammo. Hey, who has incendiary ammo and can make their own fire explosions? VANGUARDS. 

Rank 4: Force & Damage vs. Radius. Dealer’s choice. Do you want to smash for face against one thing with all the force? Or smash your face against all the things with less force? ME3 tends to emphasize cannon fodder over high tier enemies, so if you’re a little shy about running straight into the arms of a banshee and prefer to use yourself as a bowling ball into a pile of husks, go for radius. Otherwise, go for damage.

Rank 5: Weapon Synergy vs. Power Synergy. For most playstyles, power synergy is what you want here, especially if you like to spam Nova, as power synergy makes your nova hit harder. However, if you prefer to charge into something and then stick your shotgun down its throat to set it on fire with fire bullets, take weapon synergy.

Rank 6: Bonus Power vs. Barrier: I recommend barrier here, because the number one problem vanguards have is not giving a fuck, and having charge give you your shields back when not giving a fuck lands you in a sticky situation will generally save your life. Also, the cooldowns on this kit are so fast you really don’t benefit that much from randomly getting a free one to justify giving up those shields you really need because nova.

Shockwave: Shockwave is another detonator for biotic explosions, and it’s a handy mid-range attack when you’re stuck in cover or don’t want ravager goo all over your face.

Rank 4: Force & Damage vs. Radius: Shockwave’s biggest weakness is its short reach, so I choose radius here. NOTE: In the Original Trilogy, this skill is bugged on PC. Choosing radius actually causes this skill to do ZERO damage. So if you are playing OT on PC, choose Force. This bug appeared to be fixed in LE when I tested it.

Rank 5: Detonate vs. Reach: While reach would be great, because again, range is this skill’s biggest shortcoming, detonating combos is what makes shockwave so good. I recommend detonate, unless you find yourself not using it for explosions.

Rank 6: Recharge vs. Lifting Shockwave: Either one will work here, really. Lifted shockwave is cute, and can help you set up explosions, so I tend to choose it.

Nova: The companion skill to Charge! A lot of people are afraid of Nova because it depletes your shields. But I encourage you to practice with it, because if you get comfortable with the pattern of charge + nova + shoot it on fire until it’s dead, there isn’t much of anything a vanguard can’t handle.

Yes, even banshees.

Rank 4:  Force and Damage vs. Radius: You can choose either here, though I will give the lean towards force and damage. If something manages to evade the radius, stick a fire shotgun down their throat to make them think about what they’ve done.

Rank 5: Power Recharge vs. Half Blast: I recommend power recharge here, because decreasing the effectiveness of nova means it dies slower, and Power Recharge speed increases your recharge speed by 25% across the board for 15 seconds. That means CHARGE recharges faster. Which means you can lock yourself in a continuous loop of faster recharge by charging and nova-ing until everything is dead. Remember, this kit does not have a grenade power because SHEPARD is the grenade. Realize your full potential and blow everything up.  

Rank 6: Pierce vs. Sustain: Don’t be tempted by Sustain, and the allure of sometimes not using up your barrier. Choose Pierce. Not only does this make you more effective vs. Armor and Barriers, but also shields, which is something biotics aren’t great at. If you feel naked without your shields, remember you have a FIRE GUN that can protect you until Charge is primed and ready to give you your shields back, and Rank 5 means that recharge is faster.

Assault Mastery: Here’s where things get stupid. Assault Mastery makes all your badass shit even more badass.

Rank 4: Damage vs. Influence & Force: I understand that the Influence bonus is really attractive here, but we’re focusing a build that services combat, not story, and Damage brings you to a 20% power bonus vs. the 10% if you choose I&F. Remember, power damage not only affects your biotic powers, but also your ammo power. Remember how stupid Incendiary Ammo is? This makes it stupider.

Rank 5: Squad Bonus vs. Weight Capacity: Be selfish. Your squad is great, but Shepard is a god, and do you know how your make gods even more badass? Let them bring heavier guns.

Rank 6: Shotgun Damage vs. Power Intensity: Even if you primarily use a shotgun and don’t rely heavily on powers, the 20% power damage bonus from Power Intensity is better, because it also applies to Incendiary Ammo. And it gives you the freedom to use other guns if you want to.

Fitness: Let’s make this short and sweet: As a vanguard, you are not punching things with your fists, you are punching things with your face, so for ranks 4, 5, & 6, go Durability, Barrier Recharge, and Durability.

Bonus Power: I recommend any biotic power that sets up combos, since setting up combos is what Vanguards are not great at. Between Reave and Dark Channel, I prefer reave, because you can paint multiple targets, it staggers the target, it stacks, and it gives you damage reduction. I do NOT recommend Flare. While it is a really cool power, it has a painfully slow recharge speed, and vanguards need to move fast.

Reave:

Rank 4: Duration vs. Radius: I choose radius, to paint more targets. It’s not gonna live long enough for duration to matter.

Rank 5: Damage Reduction vs. Recharge Speed: The recharge speed is a little painful, so if you aren’t having trouble staying alive, you can choose it. If you’re dying, damage reduction will help.

Barriers & Armor vs. Damage & Duration: You can go either way here, but I prefer Barriers & Armor, because you can fire a reave at a banshee and then ignore her while you go bowling with the cannon fodder. When all your toys are dead, you can then ram your face into the banshee so she explodes.     

The Weapons

The weight capacity bonus you can get from Assault Mastery means Shepard can be this powerful and carry some REALLY good guns. I recommend weapons with a high rate of fire to take advantage of Incendiary Ammo. Shotguns are the obvious choice, but any weapon with a high rate of fire that keeps you close to or at a 200% cooldown is good.

My favorites are the Piranha and the Hurricane, the latter of which can take advantage of a power mag bonus. But since you are already giving up a valuable mod slot for the power mag, if you need a stabilizer to use it comfortably, I’d recommend going with something else. The Talon is a good choice because it is lightweight, fires quickly enough, and it has a damage bonus to shields and barriers. Basically, it’s a pocket shotgun. The Reegar is a weapon that can be REALLY dumb, since it melts shields, and it benefits from a piercing mod, but its drawback is that it is very short range on a class that already struggles at range. If you want to use it, I suggest the piercing and thermal clip mods.

Speaking of the range issue. I have two words for you: The Indra.

The Indra is an automatic sniper rifle, one of the absolute best weapons in the game, and Shepard can carry it and STILL HAVE A 200% COOLDOWN. Also? It costs 10k credits on the Citadel at the beginning of the game. Is it counterintuitive to carry a sniper rifle on a Vanguard? Yup. Is it immersion breaking? Possibly. But remember, this is a combat guide, not a story guide. Put the Indra on Shepard with Incendiary Ammo, and congrats! You are now invincible.

How to Play

Vanguard is a high risk/high reward class. It’s designed to play fast and at close range, so if you are trying to play it like an adept, you might not get good results. Get comfortable playing with your shields down (you’ll get them back with the next charge), don’t be stingy with medigel, and don’t fret too much about top tier enemies like phantoms and banshees. You might occasionally get sync killed, but truthfully, your damage output is so high you can often stagger them out of their murderous intent. Even turrets can’t stand up to this kit:

Turn on incendiary ammo the moment you load into a mission and leave it on. I suggest mapping charge, nova, and reave (if it’s your bonus power) to the hotkeys so you don’t have to use the power wheel for each, and make it a muscle memory. Charge everything. Nova with impunity. Shoot everything that isn’t dead until they’re on so much fire they wish they were. Use the power wheel to pause the game and get your bearings or figure out what’s shooting you. Use your squadmates to either strip shields or set up biotic explosions. Use and abuse combat roll to get out of trouble if charge is on cooldown. If you’re about to die, charge first, then medigel. Reload canceling is your friend. (If you are not familiar with reload canceling, I plan to make a post about it.)

A vanguard should rarely stop moving, except for the occasional stint behind cover to regroup, reload your gun, or set up an explosion. If you stop charging, you’ll probably die.

This class is a hell of a lot of fun if you let it off the chain and go hog wild. Don’t be afraid to die. Taking the risk – even if it doesn’t pay off all the time – helps you get comfortable with the batshit playstyle if it’s not something you’re used to.

I love all the Mass Effect classes, but this one is my favorite because this is how I really love to play the game. I hope this guide helps!  

[lasatfat]

Hi hi!! Happy Friday <3 How about "do you ever wonder what our lives will be like in ten years?" from the platonic sentence starters, for Eireann and one of her friends (or several!!)

platonic sentence starters | @dadrunkwriting

This is kinda rough around the edges - I haven't written Jowan before, but there's a first time for everything. I hope it's okay.

Ten Years' Time

She was nine years old when she asked Jowan, “what do you think we’ll be like in ten years?”

They were sitting out in the little forecourt, where mages were allowed to exercise. Wintersend had just passed, and the air still carried a chill, but the mages had been locked inside since the end of Harvestmere. Everyone had poured out of the doors as soon as they were opened. Eireann and Jowan were perched with books on the boundary wall. The water of Lake Calenhad spread out to the east, and the tower rose high above them to the west. The weak afternoon sun hung behind it, casting its long shadow out into the deep.

Jowan looked up from his book. After months inside, his pale skin was close to white, and there were purplish circles under his eyes. “We’ll both be enchanters,” he said, with a shrug.

“But what will we be doing?” she persisted.

Jowan was silent for a long time. Eireann decided that he must be ignoring her, and her face curled into a scowl. It wasn’t like it was a difficult question. There were only so many things she could be. Even before she came to the tower, she was limited. Human children might dream of becoming knights or Templars, but elves cannot wield blades in Ferelden. They might play at being princesses or adventurers, but Eireann knew what the future held for her. She would help her mother work, and when she came of age, she would be sent away to marry. She’d work for her husband, and the children she’d bear.

Eventually, however, he gave her an answer.

“I think you’ll be teaching the apprentices,” he said.

She leaned in, her anger forgotten. “You think so?”

He nodded. “Yes. You’d be good at that.”

Would she? Eireann had been good at looking after her brother, sure, but she’d never taught him anything. They mostly played with the other alienage children – prisoner’s base and ninepin bowling and hoodman’s blind. Mamae taught them how to speak, how to read, and how to write. Meallán struggled, because his eyes were bad. Eireann healed him with a prayer, and now, she’s here.

She shook herself mentally, before she started crying. Jowan had seen her cry before, of course, but not out here in front of everyone else too. “What about you?”

He didn’t answer for a long time. Perhaps he was taking a long time to think today. “You could help me,” she offered.

“If I’m still around,” he agreed.

Eireann frowned to herself. Where else would he be?

*****

She is nineteen years old when she sees Jowan for the last time.

She comes upon him in the woods, along the River Dane. The deer have long since fled, and the blighted have come to take their place. Jowan has been many things – a blood mage, an apostate, a useful idiot for their traitor king – but right now, he’s the only thing standing between a group of refugees and a fucking bereskarn. The old Jowan may have frozen in fear, or run for his life. Now, he stands rooted to the spot. Magic crackles around a simple staff, wood carved into the shape of a serpent. The bereskarn rears, ready to cut him down with a great, warped paw.

Eireann is a Grey Warden now. It’s her duty to stand against the Blight. She raises her sword to the sky, blade glittering with magic, and a bolt of lightning flashes out of the blue. It strikes the tainted bear on the top of its head. It takes one step, groans, and topples onto its side. A few meek twitches, and it’s dead.

When Jowan looks at her, he’s far more frightened than he was looking at the bereskarn. After all, a bereskarn can only kill you.

“Are you alright?” she asks. He nods, and she looks over his shoulder to the refugees. Three of them, two teenagers and an old man, each one shivering in fear. “You?”

It’s a pitiful group. They look as if they’re carrying everything they have left on their backs. But they’re alive, and they’re still standing. That’s no small thing, these days. Jowan has done a good job of protecting them. Eireann vaguely wonders where he learned to defend himself so well.

“Please, Eire…” Jowan catches himself. “My lady, I was just trying to do the right thing,” he pleads.

The older man steps forward, his arm extended to shield the teenagers from further harm. “Yes, Master Levyn has saved us three times over. We’d be dead without him. Don’t go turning him in now.”

Eireann considers them all, these people and their unlikely saviour.

“Then turning him in would be condemning you to death,” she says, firmly. “I’d consider that a far greater crime than apostasy, wouldn’t you?”

She turns to her party. Leliana and Alistair understand. Zevran doesn’t appear to be interested at all, though she knows better than to believe that. Mabu will do just about anything if there’s a Mabari crunch in it for her. None of them will oppose her in this.

“It’s settled, then,” she says. She turns back to Jowan, and bows her head. “You’re free to go.”

That should be where it rests. Jowan should leave, and Eireann should continue on her way. Instead, she throws her arms around him, and holds him tight against her. He might be crying. She certainly is.

“Thank you.” He whispers the words against her ear.

Make it count, she almost says. But she knows she doesn’t need to. She knows that he will.

[classiqals]

open starter !!

setting -> the main covered courtyard

" what, are YOU going to be courageous enough to put challenge to my record score? " the prince's lips pulled back nonchalantly, an eyebrow quirking up poised over a brow, and a glimmer in oceanic eyes as he regarded the other. a game had been set up of ninepins, parchment with script marking down those who had played, succeed; and those who had failed. " alright, here, give it a shot. " with that, ruby handed over the rolling ball, taking a step back with curious eyes, and crossed arms, hoping to yet secure his place as victor in the playful championship. " let us make things more interesting - shall we? best me in a round, and i'll put you up 10 rupees. "

[historia-vitae-magistras]

maybe when they were children? maybe???? 😭 i'm just imagining someone pointing a flintlock at Arthur while he's holding Alfred and instead of protecting him Arthur just tosses his tungsten baby like a fucking brick at the guy's head. like shit I need a weapon....alright son! make daddy proud!

Yeet the baby! Look at the wee bowling ball! He could knock someone over like ninepins! Baby boy and his army of chins could absolutely do the job. 10/10 best cannon ball. Fat baby boy my beloved.

[andrew-perkins]

what was your favorite game you liked to play as a child?

Ninepins was one of my favorites, as well as just playing around in the woods, putting on plays for my grandfather's chickens.... *chuckles* They never seemed too impressed I'm afraid.

[evil-maryland]

Silly Game Time: Time to take a gamble IF YOU DARE! Go to Wikipedia and click the option for a random page. Which is it, and do you feel about it on a scale of 1 to 10?

I got the Ninepin group islands and theyre pretty cool, 6/10!

[goliaththegiantpickle]

"i took an oath to uphold the law." (from constable dwight/jerry)

"Oh, yeah, but like, you should still gamble, y'know? Ninepin's pretty nifty. I can't fit in the building, though. Lack of tall enough doors, y'know?"

[burningvelvet]

On June 23rd, 1816, Percy Shelley and Lord Byron got a boat together and set out on a sailing trip around Lake Geneva while sightseeing and reading Rousseau’s famous novel Julie, which takes place there. Percy chronicles this in his and Mary’s joint publication (her first publication), History of a Six Weeks’ Tour. They don’t name-drop Byron for privacy, but call him their “companion.”

Day 1, June 23rd, 1816 —

Percy Shelley, History of a Six Weeks' Tour:

“It is nearly a fortnight since I have returned from Vevai. This journey has been on every account delightful, but most especially, because then I first knew the divine beauty of Rousseau's imagination, as it exhibits itself in Julie. It is inconceivable what an enchantment the scene itself lends to those delineations, from which its own most touching charm arises. But I will give you an abstract of our voyage, which lasted eight days, and if you have a map of Switzerland, you can follow me.

We left Montalegre at half past two on the 23d of June. The lake was calm, and after three hours of rowing we arrived at Hermance, a beautiful little village, containing a ruined tower, built, the villagers say, by Julius Cæsar. There were three other towers similar to it, which the Genevese destroyed for their own fortifications in 1560. We got into the tower by a kind of window. The walls are immensely solid, and the stone of which it is built so hard, that it yet retained the mark of chisels. The boatmen said, that this tower was once three times higher than it is now. There are two staircases in the thickness of the walls, one of which is entirely demolished, and the other half ruined, and only accessible by a ladder. The town itself, now an inconsiderable village inhabited by a few fishermen, was built by a Queen of Burgundy, and reduced to its present state by the inhabitants of Berne, who burnt and ravaged every thing they could find.

Leaving Hermance, we arrived at sunset at the village of Nerni. After looking at our lodgings, which were gloomy and dirty, we walked out by the side of the lake. It was beautiful to see the vast expanse of these purple and misty waters broken by the craggy islets near to its slant and ‘beached margin.’ There were many fish sporting in the lake, and multitudes were collected close to the rocks to catch the flies which inhabited them.

On returning to the village, we sat on a wall beside the lake, looking at some children who were playing at a game like ninepins. The children here appeared in an extraordinary way deformed and diseased. Most of them were crooked, and with enlarged throats; but one little boy had such exquisite grace in his mien and motions, as I never before saw equalled in a child. His countenance was beautiful for the expression with which it overflowed. There was a mixture of pride and gentleness in his eyes and lips, the indications of sensibility, which his education will probably pervert to misery or seduce to crime; but there was more of gentleness than of pride, and it seemed that the pride was tamed from its original wildness by the habitual exercise of milder feelings. My companion gave him a piece of money, which he took without speaking, with a sweet smile of easy thankfulness, and then with an unembarrassed air turned to his play. All this might scarcely be; but the imagination surely could not forbear to breathe into the most inanimate forms some likeness of its own visions, on such a serene and glowing evening, in this remote and romantic village, beside the calm lake that bore us hither.

On returning to our inn, we found that the servant had arranged our rooms, and deprived them of the greater portion of their former disconsolate appearance. They reminded my companion of Greece: it was five years, he said, since he had slept in such beds. The influence of the recollections excited by this circumstance on our conversation gradually faded, and I retired to rest with no unpleasant sensations, thinking of our journey tomorrow, and of the pleasure of recounting the little adventures of it when we return.”

UPDATE: I took my dates from Shelley, but his dates must have been confused and Byron's must be more accurate. Because I'd been confused by Byron's dates in the past, since he often wrote past midnight (thus often referring his prior day as "today"), I had assumed Shelley was more trustworthy. According to Shelley and His Circle vol. 4 pp. 700-701, they left on June 22nd which was a Saturday, and so I believe each day of their trip would be one earlier than I and Shelley stated in these posts.

Taken from Shelley and His Circle:

"TIMETABLE OF THE LAKE GENEVA TOUR

June 22, Saturday: Sailed from Montalègre, slept at Nernier.

June 23, Sunday: Sailed from Nernier, slept at Evian.

June 24, Monday: Sailed from Evian, encountered storm off Meillerie, slept at St. Gingolph.

June 25, Tuesday: Sailed from St. Gingolph, saw the mouths of the Rhone, visited Chillon Castle, landed at Clarens, visited bosquet de Julie, slept at Mme. Pauly's house (Place Gambetta) at Clarens.

June 26, Wednesday: Visited Le Châtelard, and the bosquet de Julie, sailed from Clarens, visited Vevey, slept at the Hotel de l'Ancre at Ouchy.

June 27, Thursday: Visited Gibbon's house at Lausanne, slept at Ouchy.

June 28, Friday: Remained at Ouchy.

June 29, Saturday: Sailed from Ouchy, slept at [?Rolle].

June 30, Sunday: Sailed from [?Rolle], arrived at Montalègre."

[art-bigotti]

“Are you sure this is legal?” (to Alan from Rev Gilbert)

Alan gave a nervous chuckle, grinning that grin that only a man who was lying through his teeth could grin. "Of course it's - would I mislead you, Reverend? It's a nice, pleasant game of Ninepin, and all you do is just... pay a little fee. And if you win, you get your fee back, times however many people you participated against. Doesn't that sound perfectly legal?"

[trucenz]

RETREAT TO AUCKLAND

[degloved]

18, 20, 22, 24 <3

thank you for sending these on your own volition bc i definitely didn't ask you to. or anything. (+ you think you're being slick with the numbers but i see you with my own two eyes)

this one goes under 'read more' it's kinda long ngl.

18. what was the hardest fic to title?

ok so that's an interesting question and i've got two candidates. they were both drabble reqs (checks out, as those had me stepping far out of my comfort zone a lot as far as ships went. also i'm still taking them btw.) one is 500 and the other 1500 words respectively, so i'll give this honor to the longer of the two: falling like ninepins, the hoffheight fic. it's a cute little number, though i stressed over it a fair bit.

20. share your favorite ending line

believe it or not, this was a little challenging! mostly because i love ending things on short, choppy, punchy notes. two-to-four-line sentences that both satiate my penchant for dramatics and wrap everything up neatly and abruptly. that said, one work stood out to me. a short little thing i put together during an emotional mandy moment. the line is as follows: They buried Amanda Young at the Hoffman family plot. Wasn’t that nice?

22. Share an excerpt from your favorite scene

picking up rocks off the ground and chewing them and swallowing. i've been waiting for this moment. chapter five of blood, drying: ruby. “You know, Dr Lecter,” Will slowly leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands together and interlacing his own fingers. Hannibal’s eyes bore into his, but Will didn’t waver; he didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish. Truthfully, he was only making himself increasingly uncomfortable and antsy—and his stare most certainly did not have the desired effect on Hannibal, who persisted in his ambivalence to Will’s efforts. “You’ve always had a penchant for… peppering thinly-veiled digs and carefully constructed verbal parries throughout conversations. I wonder that this doesn’t count as rude in your book.” Hannibal had the gall to chuckle. “Are you calling me rude, Will?” Will tilted his head, a mirroring and a mockery, as though taking his turn to assess the other. “Do you think you’re not?” A beat. “What fate would you have me suffer for it?” “You invite retribution?” “I do so hope borrowing from your own vocabulary is acceptable,” Hannibal leaned back once more, at ease when he shouldn’t be (when Will didn’t want him to be), “Not retribution, no. Merely tit for tat.” Will’s lips stretched into a sneer, all derision. “Tit for tat? Well, then, your fate would seem crystal clear to me.”

24. what's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

feel like a dummy saying this, but i don't think so??? in a technical sense, perhaps—the amount of writing i can get done in one sitting, the amount of writing i can get down on some abysmally little sleep, the way my motivation can shoot up with one little comment and—on the flip side—the way i can find myself so enthralled by my own concept that external motivation/validation is the last thing on my mind. but plot-wise and such (as this question seems to imply), no!

[ask game]

[brinefathomcaves]

Jan 11: Game Room

A human bandit and a half-orc thug are playing darts in here. They’re using a decapitated zombie head as a target and bragging to each other about how they’d give the risen dead what-for if ol’ Vertin would let them. Not automatically hostile, but annoyed at having their game interrupted.

This room also contains two other dart boards (normal cork ones), a disorganized ninepin skittles lane, and a square table ringed by stools. Peanut shells litter the floor, taken from a sack by the eastern entrance.

The walls are scrawled with yet more graffiti, including "HIT THE FISH" written in Orcish (see Area 1.48).