#now ash is holding it to their chest. now Laudna looking at it. now chetneys looking at it. now it’s just floating there- OH YEAH

[hand-of-devotion]

One of the funnier underrated things to happen last night was the entire party (especially Tal/Ashton) struggling SO hard to figure out what the hell they’re even supposed to do with the shard.

Only for Matt to push an arcana check to get Marisha/Laudna to remember they have a device specifically used for siphoning power out of artifacts and into someone waiting for them.

Then Laura’s immediate response to the revelation being “OH WE’RE IDIOTS!”

[lyuenger]

** Authors note. Obvious C3E91 spoilers.

[[ update, thanks to @ReaderOfDragons sending me an invite I'm now on AO3, and it's posted! I did make a few changes/updates/fixes - so read it there for the updated/better version ]]

Also, my first fan fic (and I don’t have an Ao3 invite yet, so I’m sharing here). The moments after played in my head, and the players didn’t act it all out, so I figured I would share tge version in my ''mind palace'. I’ll be sharing more art soon, now that my main job is on summer break.

Note that it switches perspectives. Also, pasting it here messed with my formatting (but I think I fixed most of it).

Faithful End

Chet couldn't hear the sounds of the metal clanking around him, only the ringing in his ears, as he stood in shock and disbelief. The air tasted of blood, sweat and red earth. Quickly his world snapped back into focus and he began to survey the battlefield. What remained of Otohan was charred and strewn about near the freshly made crater on the cave floor.

Orym.

Orym lay still and limp, covered in blood (surely both his and his foes), his sword in the nearby dirt.

A slight rise of his chest showed he was still alive, somehow.

He's alive.

Ash..

A quick look to where he had finally fallen at Otohans blade showed Imogen and Laudna rushing to aid him.

Chet rushed to Orym, knelt down, and fumbled in his pockets until he touched the cool glass of his last healing potion. He uncorked the bottle, pulling the limp Orym up and cradling him into position. “You did good, my boy.” He quietly croaked, as he carefully poured the red fluid into his mouth.

Orym’s chest rose, filling with air, and fell again as he started to exhale, then cough. Green, tired eyes opened and looked up into his own. Chet sighed in relief.

******

Orym coughed, the metallic taste of iron and the familiar herbal taste of a healing potion filled his mouth.

He hurt.

Everything hurt.

He just wanted to sleep, but he felt someone gently holding him, stroking his hair. He lazily opened his eyes, and saw the blue eyes of Chetney looking at him with concern.

Otohan. I have to kill Otohan and get everyone back safe.

With a new burst of adrenaline flowing through his veins he quickly, albeit unusually clumsily, pushed onto his feet. Intense green eyes, framed by the fresh blood that smeared his face, darted around.

There was an odd stillness on the battlefield.

Laudna and Imogen were clutched together.

Shaking.

In fear?

No. Crying. They were crying. Sobbing.

He lowered his eyes and saw an empty glass bottle abandoned near Imogen.

Alert green eyes shifted slightly, resting on Ashton. He was sitting next to them, face buried in a large stoney hand. He couldn't make out his words, but he knew Ash… “Fuck. Shit. Piss.” Surely.

His eyes shifted once more and discovered a newly formed crater, and the charred and bloody remains scattered around the red and now sparkling earth. The sight caused his heart to skip, until he recognized the features… Otohan.

Oh thank the Gods.

He hadn’t believed they would survive that fight, but his friends had pulled it off. He closed his eyes and worked to catch his breath… slow his heart rate. It was over.

It would be okay… he gave himself a moment to let the adrenaline subside, and opened his eyes again.

The sparking red soil caught his eyes now. Pieces of metal? Where did all the metal pieces come from?

The gears in his head began to put the information together, but it didn’t seem to want to click into place. His shifting eyes scanned the cave once more and fell on Fearne. His Fearnie…

He watched those big eyes of hers filling as she stepped into the crater bent down.

Wait, what happened… why was she so upset otohan was dead? Why were the others so upset. They won, somehow.

At least this fight. He knew it wouldn't be their last.

He scanned the cave again checking on his friends. Immogen and Laudna were looking pretty battered and drained, but not quite as rough as Ash. Then again, Ash always looked pretty rough. Chet (who had moved over to check on Everoa) looked real rough, but he had went down hard. Luckily FCG had helped him.

FCG. Did he escape? He had been running…

Movement caught his eye, and he looked over in time to watch Fearne stand, clutching a large metallic chunk… what remained of FCGs smiling face. The eyes were cracked and FCGs smile was now disjointed and crooked, but it somehow still felt… warm.

“Letters?” He heard the words croak out of him, as he looked into Fearne’s and then Chets eyes. He read their faces. Tight, with wet eyes. Feeling his heart shattering, he knew.

“No. Nonononono.” The words softly left his lips. Fearne, barely holding back tears, rushed to him. Her comforting arms gathered him up and Orym buried his face into her.

****

Ash woke up, feeling like he had been ran over by a dragon, but that was nothing new. He always hurt. Although he didn’t always feel this weak.

Having friends, with concerned faces, helping him up was new though. So he sat up, and then stared wide eyed at scraps of metal that had settled across the ground.

Why was there metal on the floor?

That color…

The same color as… The color of FCG.

He scanned the room, quickly taking in the destruction. The crater. The remains.

Why?! Why did he do that. We talked about that.

He knew that damn automaton was going to sacrifice himself one day… he had hoped he would get through to him, but no.

No one gets left behind.

But Letters was gone.

His friend was gone. Gone.

Bits spread everywhere across the cave.

He tucked his face into his hand.

“Fuck.

Shit.

Piss.

Damn it.

You self sacrificing litt….” The words that escaped his mouth registered in his brain, and his eyes flew wide with panic.

Wait.

Orym. She got Orym. I have to help Orym.

Eyes darted to where he had seen him fall, and saw Chetney holding him as he set down an empty glass bottle. Orym’s tiny body shuttered as he coughed awake. Ash felt his body exhale in relief.

Orym will be okay. He's a little guy, but the toughest guy I know.

He's okay.

He's okay.

He took a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself, wiped his eyes, and looked around the room again. So many metallic scraps littered the rusty red floor.

“Fuck. Shit. Piss.” He muttered angrily to himself, and punched the ground in frustration.

He vaguely took in Ferane running to Orym and Chet, and the other two witches clinging to one another for another moment before jumping up and rushing around to look for something.

He stood dumbfounded and unsteady, leaning against his hammer and lost in thought, until his eyes caught on an unnaturally bright glint of metal in the cave wall.

No one gets left behind.

The words echo in his head on repeat, but all that escapes his lips is “Fuck.”

He takes several slow strides as his feet lead him to the rocky wall near their exit.

The piece of metal, a distinct shape…

The coin. That. Fucking. Coin.

That fucking coin that he always trusted.

What a lot of damm good it did him.

He jammed his fingers into the rock around the metal, gripped firmly and yanked. The rock crumpled away easily and he palmed the coin, staring at it for a minute before slipping it into his pocket.

“We have to make this count” Chets scratchy voice stated matter of factly. Ashton looked over to see him snatching up the backpack.

“Right.” Ash muttered to himself, and he moved to help the others gather anything they could.

***

The blood and dirt covered halfling wiggled out of Fearne’s arms, so she reluctantly set him down gently, making sure he was steady enough on his feet before fully letting him go. His eyes darted around the debris littered on the ground. He knew, deep down, it was futile, but he helped them gather all the pieces they could.

Fresh Cut Grass.

His body may have been weak from exertion and damage, but Orym’s perception didn't fail him. He could sense Fearne following near him, as he maneuvered towards a shiny chunk that had caught his eye. He wearily crouched and picked it up, turning it over in his small hands carefully, avoiding the sharp edges. Familiar slash marks arched across it. Like blades of grass reaching for the sun, or swaying in the wind. Tiny, calloused fingers, stained a brownish red with the soil and dried blood, carefully caressed the recessed lines in the smooth metal.

Letters.

He closed his eyes and hugged the piece of metal tightly to his chest.

FCG.

Faithful Care Giver.

FRITA. Fuck.

What am I going to tell FRITA…

Unconsciously he gently rubbed the moons on his shoulder. The physical pain taking a backseat to the anguish that burned through him. It was not a new feeling. He didn't like it. He would rather feel the physical pain.

It should have been me…

Letters should be with FRIDA, and I would be with Will. And Dad.

Oh Dad, I failed.

Again.

This is too big, and I'm, I'm too li….

A firm hand gripped his shoulder, breaking him away from those spiraling thoughts. He glanced up, first to the hand, then up Fearne. Her expression was full of concern, her voice soft, warm, and comforting, “You okay?”

He didn't think he knew the answer to that yet, and he knew he couldn't talk without falling apart, so he simply flung himself around her in a tight hug. If she could feel the tears soaking into her skirt, she didn't say anything.

*****

Fearne was barely holding it together. FCG was gone. She had never lost anyone she loved like that. But her best friend needed her, so she focused on him. Orym was a hardened soldier, the Savior Blade of the Tempest. He fought steady and bravely. He was a little guy, but so strong and agile. She had never seen anyone do so many sit ups, or wield a sword with such grace and control.

But his heart was fragile, having already been broken, and not yet fully mended.

Not that it ever could be. Some wounds never fully heal. She was starting to understand that. Her heart began to crumple under the weight of their mutual loss, compounded by seeing the pain in Orym’s face. She could feel his rough, gasping breathing as he clung to her.

She couldn't fix their broken hearts.

So she gently rubbed small circles onto his back instead, pushing away the sad thoughts, and focusing on comforting him.

I can't fix this, but I can remind him that he's not alone.

Orym suddenly jerked his head away from her to look down the cave entrance. She could see the damp (and blood and dirt stained) spot he left behind… Although her clothes were already quite soiled before that. Chet had also glanced over his shoulder at the same time. They must have heard something.

Quietly but firmly Chet informed them “We have to move, we won't be alone here long.”

She watched Orym nod, his face now stern and determined.

A soldier's face.

Orym slipped the hunk of metal he had been gripping into his bag as Fearne lifted him, easily swooping him up and onto her shoulders. Man was he light! And so drained, his grasp weak as he held on. Being so drained from the fight, she was sure he couldn't move as fast as they needed to. And they needed to move fast. They needed to find a safe place. They all needed to rest.

***

“Let's go!” Chetney growled.

“On it!” Ashton raged and punched the wall where the exit was.

“We still need to find the …” Laundna’s frustrated statement was cut short.

“Found it!” Imogen exclaimed, briefly holding up the staff FCG had been carrying. Laudna stopped her search with a sigh of relief, and they made their way to the others.

Smart.

Imogen was smart. Orym had known for a while that she was leadership material. They would need the staff for it's ability to teleport everyone. Soon. Too bad it needed to recharge first. Not to mention, someone would need to attune to it.

Because…

Letters.

Letters was gone.

I failed. I failed Letters. I wasn't enough, even with the powers Nana Morey gave me.

Orym felt a firm squeeze on his leg, grounding him. Fearne kept one hand gripped firmly on his leg to make sure he didn’t slip off and she rushed down the tunnel.

He held onto her with as much strength as he could muster, as the remaining Bell’s Hells fled for their lives. He looked at his friends, all beaten and tapped out, but pushing themselves past their limits once again. Helping to steady one another and make sure everyone was keeping up. Orym hugged Fearne’s head tighter and nuzzled it a little. He had great friends. Weird, but great.

I couldn't save FCG, but for now I need to focus on getting the others home.

Home safe.

Alive. Somehow.

Dad and Will wouldn't stop fighting, and neither will I…

[ratinayellowbandana]

imodna prompt fill

from @hellsbells-emptynight: “Imogen didn't work things out with Laudna between the rock and Otahan. Like got friendlier but Laudna just construed it as keeping the team together. Right before she was stabbed she said, ‘I'm no one's favorite.’ Imogen is even more desperate to bring her back.”

Thank you for your reply! This was perfect for dusting off some old skills. I don’t think this is exactly the angst you were looking for, but I had fun with it, so I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

Word Count: 1106

CW: canon-typical blood and violence 

~~~

The moment Laudna falls, the world erupts in a sheet of white.

A scream rips from Imogen’s throat, raw and ragged, and the earth shatters.

I’m no one’s favorite.

The last thought to escape Laudna’s panicked mind before–

The ground races up to meet Imogen faster than she is prepared to catch herself. Sand bites into her palm, her elbow, and she hisses.

Blood pounds in her ears, a steady drum against whipping wind and the howl of her heart wrenched open.

Buildings crumble, boulders shake, and stone grinds against stone. Bricks tumble from high walls, and clay shingles clatter in a cacophony of percussion that forces Imogen to clamp her hands over her ears.

She screams again, and then–

Silence.

Red dust envelopes her like a storm cloud, settling over the landscape like a blanket. Through the haze, ruined homes jut from the sand like skeletal fingers reaching from the grave. Heaps of rubble settle, small chunks of rock tumbling, tumbling, to lie motionless in the sand. The earth calms with a groan like a mountain disturbed from slumber.

Imogen pants, breathless. Her lungs burn like ash, and she chokes weakly, coughing into the dry air.

Otohan is nowhere to be seen.

Laudna? She reaches out with her mind.

Silence.

She senses the familiar presence of Letters, Chetney, though only barely.

Laud? She tries again, heart rising to her throat, desperate, searching for a sign. A whisper. Anything.

Unstable feet prop Imogen upright as she blinks the white spots from her vision.

A piece of a demolished wall lies in the spot Laudna once stood, impaled by–

Imogen is running, stumbling, heaving across the remains of the road. Her knees smart as they make contact with the stone. Scarred hands move frantically, digging, clawing at the rubble. A fragment of broken glass embeds itself in her thumb.

“Laudna?” She is shouting, murmuring, wailing all at once. The name echoes, resonates in the hollow space of her joints, driving her onward.

“Please, Laud, please,” she mutters fiercely, “Hold on. Just hold on.”

Blood from a gash she did not know she had drips onto her forehead.

Vaguely, she registers another set of hands helping her dig.

Ashton?

A scrap of black cloth peeks between two hunks of stone.

“There,” she gasps, “There.”

She is frantic, she knows. Out of control. Dangerous.

And yet, she cannot bring herself to care. Not now, at least. Not when Laudna–

The ashen skin of a bony wrist is revealed, and Imogen sobs. Ashton works quickly, removing more and more bits of dried clay and rock until the dust uncovers her face, bruised and trickling with congealed ichor.

At best, Laudna is haunting in sleep. Eyes closed, lips opened slightly to reveal teeth just a bit too sharp. At worst, she rests with eyes open, glazed over in slumber, twin voids against pale gray. This is different. This is far, far worse.

Her neck is crooked at a terrible angle. Black eyes are closed, lashes coated in a layer of dust and grime. The tension in her brow has vanished, leaving behind smooth skin marred only by a cut along her hairline. She is still.

Imogen lunges, gingerly placing lighting-marked, unsteady hands against cool cheeks. She leans in, lowering her ear until she hovers just over Laudna’s parted lips.

“Please,” Imogen whispers, “C’mon, Laud.”

She waits. Long enough that even her friend’s sluggish lungs should have moved. Her chest should have risen, even incrementally. A hicough catches in Imogen’s ribs.

“Letters,” she shouts, “Letters! Over here!” Then, to Ashton, “Help me… help me move her.”

They comply wordlessly, delicately removing the remaining material.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Imogen murmurs into Laudna’s shoulder, “You’re gonna be okay.”

She has to be. Too much was left unsaid for her not to be.

Too many things Imogen had been too afraid to say for fear of upsetting the delicate balance that seemed to be struck between them.

She was foolish. She pulled away. The rush of frigid fury that overtook her when Laudna opened her fist aboard the Silver Sun overwhelmed her, blinded her from reason, and she had turned away. Turned her back on the woman she considered more of a home than Gelvaan ever was.

She lay alone in their cabin that night, curled on her side as tears rocked her. The frustration and grief and vitriol shook the bedposts, rattling against the wall as she wept.

The cruel words–the simple truth, so Imogen believed–she had let fall at Laudna’s feet like feathers. Like shards of a broken gem. An accusation that seems utterly meaningless now, with Laudna limp in Ashton’s arms.

Now, excavated from the ruin, Imogen can see the details of Laudna’s blouse. The embroidery she had done by hand on the road is stained, nearly hidden beneath the tatters of a hole in the fabric. Her chest is a dark mess of blood-like ichor, and Imogen has to look away.

“Is she your favorite?”

Imogen doubles over, landing on already bloodied hands and knees. She hardly registers the sting.

Your favorite.

Imogen had yielded. Conceded in with a cry, a broken plea.

Anything to keep Laudna safe, even as Imogen felt the flare of confusion rise from Laudna’s position near the wall.

Go, Laudna.

Then–

A blink. A sword. A scream.

Imogen’s fault. All of it. Not strong enough, not quick enough, not clever enough, not enough.

Her fault for being a coward without the bravery to confess her regret. For pulling away. For withholding.

For making Laudna think she was unwanted, unfavored, unloved.

For making Laudna die thinking she was unwanted, unfavored, unloved.

Imogen’s body feels as if her bones have turned to straw, and she buckles to her elbows.

“Shit, Imogen–look, she’s not gone. Grass’s gotta have something. Just–come on,” he nudges Imogen with the toe of his boot.

“She can’t die, Ashton,” Imogen manages. She can’t die; she can’t.

“Fuck, okay. Okay.”

Imogen takes a shaky breath as Ashton tenderly lays Laudna’s body in the sand.

“Fearne and Orym are down, too. We gotta–fuck. We’re gonna save them all. Okay? No one’s getting left behind,” they grit out. “Letters?”

Distantly, a conversation is held, but Imogen’s sole focus is the agonizingly still form beside her.

Her hands shake, and she tries to still them as she tenderly maneuvers Laudna’s wrists to rest neatly at her sides. Restless fingertips sweep clumped black strands behind gilded ears. Trembling lips press a kiss to an alabaster forehead.

“You’re gonna be alright, Laud,” Imogen whispers, “We’re gonna get you back. We need you.”

I need you.

Don’t leave me.

Please.