#our ancestors feel so distant; our hearts are so far from home

[andromeda3116]

it makes me feel something raw and aching when i see the monuments left behind by ancient cultures, the pillars and the carvings and the steps rising to the sky and the temples and the pictograms, like for thousands and thousands of years humans have stood in awe of the universe and poured their energy into building places to worship the gods they imagined made all of this, the way their wonder and their belief have lasted well beyond even their culture's lifetimes

for us to still see these places and feel the memory of their hands and their heartbeats carved into the stone, for us to know, thousands of years later, that they were there and they were amazed at what they saw

idk, in this sanitized world saturated with advertisements and cold steel and corporations squeezing the life out of the planet for another quick buck, it's gut-wrenching to look at the stones of gobekli tepi and feel shadows of the awe we once beheld the world with

[gigglomancer]

To Antoine de Saint-Exupery,

I owe you many thanks: first, thank you for being born 93 years before me. Had it been 94 or 92, you would have been such a different person, and you and I would not share asteroid B-612. Did you feel it beneath your feet when you were born? Maybe not, but it was there in your 4th house that day in late June, just as it passed over you in the 10th in the African desert. While it was very noble of you to proceed me by almost a century, this unfortunately means you're dead now. Your sacrifice has meant a lot, and I hope you were not alone in your life. Somehow, I doubt you were. Second, thank you for being French. Bet no one ever thanked you for that, right? I read Le Petit Prince for the first time in my 5th grade French class. With the Collins French to English dictionary in my lap, your book and my notebook on the desk, I diligently translated my way through your story to search for meaning. And honestly? Initially, I was terribly afraid you were dry and boring instead of terribly condescending like most adults, but when the question of "the hat" came up, I knew your frustrated heart immediately, and I started paying real attention. Had you not been French, I would have had to read Jules Verne, and he was a wonderfully bright-hearted person, but he and I do not share B-612 - you see the problem? Who could have told me about the rose, the sheep, and the baobobs, if not you? Finally, thank you for teaching me the basic premises if magic, which my heart already knew, but was threatened to extinction in my mind.

I come from a long line of pirates, travellers by sea and sky. Long ago, my ancestors travelled from a distant point and landed in West Africa, thousands of miles from where you met the Prince in the Sahara, but closer than where either of us were born! They passed over B-612 once, long before the rose sprouted, and they saw your golden-haired Prince without thinking much of him. You see, pirates aren't just explorers, they're treasure hunters, only interested in the prizes that glimmer under sunlight. They abandoned their watery little planet in search of "something of value." They knew nothing about baobobs and the work it took the little prince to maintain his home, nor why it should matter, for B-612 is just another small asteroid, thus of no particular value. They met the man with his tallies and sums, and jealous were they indeed! "How smart was he, to think of owning the stars? We wish we thought of that first." But truthfully, "matters of consequence" were too troublesome; the pirates couldn't stomach the tediousness of just watching him count. Imagine if they had witnessed the Prince caring for his rose - they could not fathom such a thing at all. "Life grows from the ground to feed our bellies," they'd say, "not to make demands." As far as the pirates were concerned, the sun rose to warm and darken their skin; the wind blew to wick their sweat; and the ground rose up out of the ocean to bring them vantage points from which to seek new treasures. They know nothing of taming - that relationship to effort and time which gives things their importance - because pirates wish to steal even time. Earth is a place of great treasures, they tell me, where many things glimmer and shine, and no one has to work so hard as to count the stars, light the lamps, or weed the baobobs. "What is the value of working so hard?" But this is also what they said when Earths treasures were out of reach. They would declare something of value, then soon after say "but to work so hard for it? It's not so valuable." But if you listen to pirates, what's valuable is always meant to be sold or exchanged, is of no use to the self, and changes with every news cycle. How can anything truly be valuable? How can anyone who truly feels their own beating heart ask that? I come from a long line of pirates, so I have seen and come to know that nothing is truly valuable - nothing is truly anything, and frankly, nothing is true. Or rather, there is no singular truth: we are awash in a sea of subjectivity, the waters of our subconsciousnesses washing up against each other, shifting temperature and tide. Most only see what washes up on the shores of their minds; in the desert, you had nothing but endless shore. There, you discovered the first building block of magic, as I see it:

It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.

The only things of true value are the ones that glow in your heart; that which calls to us, again and again, the tantalizing and frustrating alike; that which you tend to daily.

"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."

This is the love of oneness Virgo and the 6th House speak to, the asymptotic relationship humans have to perfection: if you tend to your beloved rose daily, maybe one day, you will cease to be separate.

"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . ."

"Taming," as the fox puts it, is the art of familiarizing yourself with reality by spending time within it. One only understands that which one tames, and so one can only do spellcraft or energy work with that which is tamed by the self. Spend time in nature, with plants, animals, and stones, and one will find over time that each calls to mind different (although at times overlapping) sentiments - emotional flavours - that one can utilize creatively in their workings. I will never make spell lists; my spells will not work cast by anyone but me, they are made up of that which I have self-tamed. Likewise, so will your most effective spells - the spells of others are only worth studying for their composition and creativity, not because they can be robotically applied to your own circumstances. Beyond nature, all things in this world are tameable, from its sights (visual art, photography, sculpture, etc) to its sounds (music, speech, storytelling, etc) to its tastes (foods, candies, spirits, teas, nectars, etc), and so on. To tame is to know, and to know is a process of experiencing over time. Not all things we tame will be sweet to us; this world is full of spice and bitterness too. Taming is a two-way process, but most of reality desires to experience and be experienced by others - to turn away from that process is to turn away from life itself; those who do not wish to experience surely wish to not exist. Experience is all we ever do; for the aspiring magic practitioner, that experience demands more examination: life demands to be deeply felt, and each feeling in each passing moment tasted and considered. 42 sunsets in a day and never bored. We long to experience reality with the same attention to detail our bodies feel when the hairs stand up on your arms or legs, each felt individually. A tree feels like one big thing until, one by one, the leaves come flittering down. Thank you again for being the first of many friends, inspirations, and mentors that have lead me on this path. I'm sure it would bring you happiness to know you sparked a lasting sense of wonder in a young child and a hopefulness in my journey to find others like us, beings I might never have imagined had I not chanced upon your story. Perhaps, one lifetime or another, you'll chance upon mine too.

[foxsimthings]

Nino Moretti & Michi(ko) Okeke for @galaxsims Love Island!

Nino Moretti Young adult | Bisexual Firefighter | Heroic | Family-Oriented | Bro

Michiko Okeke Young adult | Pansexual Massage Therapist | Dancer | Comforting | Laid-Back

(you thought I could stop at one? you were mistaken. I also feel like I’m usually the one making sims to stir up drama, but there were already a few drama-stirrers so here we go ehuehuhe)

Nino has always suffered from looking like a far worse guy than he actually is.

Is he, perhaps, a bit of a jock? Sure, of course. Does that thick Brooklyn accent sometimes make him sound a little extra arrogant? Maybe, now and then. But underneath a healthy layer of bravado, dudeliness, some slightly archaic beliefs and a lot of cologne, he’s a good guy who tries his best.

Nino’s family wasn’t always the most accepting, and the Moretti family only really hung out with extended family. Cousins, aunts, distant cousins, great grandparents - he can list every relative he’s ever had back to his ancient caveman ancestor Tito Moretti who invented putting out the fire, but he can list friends he has that aren’t related to him on one hand. 

Being in such a closed environment, some of his beliefs are still a bit archaic, but he tries hard to correct them when he realizes they’re wrong. Those close to him may have found him a bit intimidating to talk to at first, but he’s extremely open to and willing to learn and if he says something that’s perhaps not so correct, he has no problem apologizing when corrected and doing his best to fix himself. 

A firefighter working out of San Myshuno, he risks his life pretty much on the daily and is always the first into danger and the last one out. Nino’s apartment is overrun with stray animals he scooped up off the street and his landlord has been lenient with her no-pets policy because, I mean, it’s Nino. 

Coming from a big family, it’s Nino’s dream to have a big family of his own, a nice big house for everyone to get together in, a loving husband or wife, and a few little chickens.

Name. “Nino Moretti.” Age. “Twenty-five.” Occupation. "Firefighter, been for uh couple years now. It’s awesome.” Hometown. “San My, baby.” Sexuality. “Uh, I forget if it’s pansexual or bisexual. I like ‘em both. Er, wait, there’s more than two now right? Oh shit, have you been writing all this down? Oh man, I’m gonna look like the biggest asshole. Okay just scratch all that out, just put down bisexual.” Ideal Type. “Must love animals, first of all. I got like six cats back home. You know people just dump off their old cats? It’s fucking disgraceful is what it is- sorry, no swearing, sorry. What was the question? Right, ideal type. Yeah so they gotta love animals, gotta have a good heart, but not too... soft, you know? Like if they cry every time a diaper commercial comes on maybe not, but a good person. Gotta get along with my Ma. We gotta be best friends, we gotta love each other’s company. I want us to have fun, go places, laugh until our faces hurt. And if they don’t think my memes are funny, I mean, it’s over. I just wanna settle down with a good person, an animal lover, who cares about family and doing the right thing. And can put up with my ugly mug, aha!” Why are you applying for Love Island? ”I think it’d be fun. Is that okay to say? I dunno, I mean I’ve worked since I was fifteen, I went from high school to training to become a career firefighter and, you know, I don’t take no breaks or nothin’. Well, no, that’s a lie actually, I was at my cousin’s wedding in Tartosa. You never been? Aw, we should go. No really, it’s beautiful, we got a villa out there and-- I’m sorry? Oh, sure, yeah. I guess I’m applying because it’d be fun, because I could use a break, and I mean, who doesn’t wanna be on TV, you know? All my buddies back at the station’ll be going bananas!” What do you hope to get out of this experience? “I mean, that depends if the drinks are comped or not, hah! No, don’t write that, that’s stupid. Uh, I mean I don’t know if I’m looking for forever but I’m definitely hoping for... for now. You know what I mean? You probably shouldn’t write that either. I just don’t wanna come off desperate or nothin’, you know?”

-----

Coming from a very mixed family with Japanese heritage on one side and Nigerian heritage on the other, Michi has always experienced a lot. A lot of culture, a lot of language, a lot of food and spirituality. She’s also an only child, which means everything her parents had they gave to her; and it was a lot. She was loved endlessly - still is, for that matter - and though her family isn’t as big as some people’s(^), it’s a warm, tight-knit unit. 

Michi grew up in Del Sol Valley where her father continues to work as a dentist. While perhaps the Okeke family isn’t incredibly wealthy, they certainly have never wanted for much. Michi has babysat for Brytani Cho, ridden horses with Holly Alto and gotten high with Venessa Jeong. There isn’t a Simschella festival that she hasn’t attended. She’s always sat right at the periphery of stardom and celebrity, and it’s always suited her quite well. While it might have been easy enough to slip in a connection or two and rise to fame herself, she prefers a more down-to-earth lifestyle.

One can’t walk into Michi Okeke’s apartment without being struck by the smell of lilac and lavender. A crystal sits in just about every room and she’ll explain at length why her jade egg is her most valuable possession. She’s obsessed with lepidoptery and keeps rosy maple moths. Michi calls her parents every night and cooks them dinner every Sunday. She believes that ghosts are made when people die holding on to ‘bad vibes’.

Her presence is often regarded as calm and motherly. Very little seems to get under her skin and she’ll try just about anything once. 

Name. “Michiko Okeke, but people usually just call me Michi. Or Itchy. Or Iko. People call me kind of everything.” Age. “I turned twenty-three on July 2nd. Gemini squad. But it’s crazy that you and I are even chatting because you’re a Virgo, right? No, I can totally tell.” Occupation. “I’m an RMT, a registered massage therapist.” Hometown. “Del Sol Valley.” Sexuality. “I’m pansexual, I kind of lean toward men sexually but romantically I can and have loved everyone of every identity.” Ideal Type. “Spiritual, romantic, spontaneous. I like a little wild, but not crazy wild. I mean like... let’s just go get lost in the woods for a week and live off the land wild. I want to get sick off random berries with you and go swimming after dark and push you on the swings. I just want to experience all of life with someone, the good and the bad, and just be so in love with someone that even the bad is hard not to smile through. But what about you, what’s your ideal type?” Why are you applying for Love Island? “I’d love to meet some new people, make some new friends. And my friends have been pushing me to do it, so I figured I’d just take a chance. Worst case scenario, I have a great time and come home as single as I left. Best case scenario, I fall head over heels in love and next thing you know we’re starting a kazoo band and touring the world.” What do you hope to get out of this experience? “Everything! Anything! I’m just excited to experience something new, there’s so much life out there to live.”

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Speech Writers

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord ) The politics of the universe hold just as much sway as the governing laws of nature themselves in the distant future. With the passage of a few laws empires rise and crumble in the ever changing cosmos like the changing of the tides with the Draconian Empire as a prime example.

Spanning 17 star clusters and ruling over nearly 83 different worlds they were considered the prime super power of the galaxy at the time. Their fleets numbered in the thousands and their armies the millions of professional soldiers ever ready to take up the banner of conquest.

Most neighboring civilizations had either been wiped out from fruitless attempts at military defiance against Draconian expansion or had negotiated unfavorable deals to secure their independence with the empire.

Such was the scale of the military that equally as large was the governing body that oversaw the day to day functions. Legions of clerks and data archivists researched and gathered data for additional armies of legislators, governors, senators, and high council members and even the royal family themselves as a sea of information and statistics flowed daily over the span of light years.

To be a member of such a labyrinth of government was to be a one of many; a cog in a machine whose purpose is so far reaching that one risks being buried into the depths of obscurity.

And such we find regional overseer V'tet Darorn of Sector 12.

Unlike many of the Draconian species, he was not considered normal by many measures. While other of his species were thick with muscle and scales of such redness they made blood look pale, his frame was slender and his scales appearing as a rust red. Where other's wings on their back were full and strong, easily able to carry them high into the sky, his wings had developed a genetic deformity that made them extremely painful to fully open and thus remained closed.

V'tet had obtained a seat on the overseer council for sector 12 of the empire more through family connections and contributions to the empire then by initial skill. That was to say he was not dedicated and hard working, but in the grand mechanisms of the governing powers of the Draconian Empire new comers rarely gained more higher postings. This frustrated V'tet as he had developed new ideas that would push the power of the Draconian Empire to even greater heights, and yet was never able to sway his fellow council members to vote with him leaving him in a state of limbo.

That was until fate saw fit to intervene and introduce V'tet to one of the strangest people he had ever known.

Her name, was Rayah Amari. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The council chamber was a vaulted circular room of black stone and a vaulted ceiling made entirely of stained glass. Each piece of glass was from a different world under the domain of the Draconian Empire with the piece in the middle being made from the very planet beneath their feet.

At the center of the room was a descending pyramid built into the floor with levels of chairs and desks for each of the some several hundred council members to sit. At the very bottom stood a pillar known as the "Speaking Stone" which any council member must mount to earn the right to address the council. Not only was it symbolic, it also weeded out the weak as whomever mounted the stone would be gazing upwards at all of his fellow members and feel the weight of their gazes baring down on their every word.

Though any council member could mount the stone to speak, not many could handle such a matter save for several of the most senior members whose years of experience had numbed them. Indeed, some of the newer council members would go so far as to attempt to bribe senior members to mount the stone for them to push forward their motions with promises of wealth and political support.

It had been rare for a new council member to last long atop the stone and so it was quite the surprise when young V'tet began his descent from the stony steps towards the speaking stone.

As he passed by others he would nod a greeting or shake a hand but his descent was never stopped until he reach the bottom level.

Obrik and Htvala stood before him and blocked his path to the stone. Together they were the most senior members of the council and their respect was such that they had warranted seats beside the speaking stone itself.

"Come to propose your new plans once more?" Obrik's voice was a low grumble, like that of thunder rolling over the distant hills.

"You should let us speak in your stead." Htvala's voice was of a higher pitch which made him sound far younger than he actually was.

V'tet smiled. "Thank you, but I shall be fine."

He moved to get around them but Obrik stood in his way once more.

"Think carefully young runt." His tone dripping with smug superiority. "You wouldn't want to make your proposal and choke at the last moment."

Htvala snickered. "You never were one for words; it's not too late to make us an offering."

"You are both most generous, but I shall be fine." V'tet side stepped once more and approached the speaking stone.

"I've recently hired someone to take care of my short comings." he said as he slowly clambered up the stone. As he climbed the stone the murmur of conversation surrounding him slowly died away until finally he stood atop the stone and saw every council members eyes fixed on him.

He stared up at as many councilors he could as he slowly turned on the spot taking the grandeur in before stopping to read some of his notes on a scribbled piece of paper, to which Htvala and Obrik chuckled.

As if ready, V'tet set his notes and papers down and clasped his hands behind his back.  

"When I was a child," V'tet began, " I considered taking my own life."

Whatever the councilors had been expecting this was certainly not it and a rush of gasps filled the chamber.

"Doctors had told my parents that my disease would only grow worse with age and eventually I would never be able to spread my wings again."

He began slowly pacing atop the stone while the eyes of every councilor were glued to him.

"Can you imagine it?" He asked, stopping in place and spreading his hands out to his colleagues. "To be blessed with the gift of flight only for it to be taken from you; to never feel the rush of air beneath you nor the softness of clouds against your scales ever again?"

Several of the councilors reached for their own wings while some flexed them instinctively.

"So when I learned that one day this would be taken from me I went to the tallest cliff I could find and planned to leap from it." V'tet stood at the edge of the speaking stone as if reenacting it, the tips of his feet hanging off the edge. "I planned to feel the rush of wind one last time before I faded away to join the eternal glide of our ancestors."

"I leaned forward over the edge," he spoke as he too began leaning over, " and just as I was about to plunge into the void once again my father came from behind and pulled me back." He spun in place and took several steps back to the center of the stone.

"He looked at me and said "What madness has taken hold of you?" to which I replied that I knew what would become of me,  that I knew what the disease would take from me."

He stopped and put his hand to his head and pinched his brow and he appeared as if holding back emotions. After several seconds passed in silence V'tet spoke again.

"My father knelt beside me and put his hand on my shoulder and said "My son, just as the clouds are ever changing so too must we; for to remain stagnant as a mountain is not our way."

"He took hold of me in his arms and to my surprise leapt with me over the edge I had nearly fell from mere moments before." V'tet was circling the stone now, his arms wide in motion as if gliding through the air as he captivated the council. Obrik and Htvala looked on and scoffed at the seemingly childish antics unbecoming of a councilor.

"As he carried me in his arms as we flew home he spoke to me words I have carved into my heart. He said "Every problem we face will always have a solution, even if it was one we had never considered.""

V'tet stopped and spread his arms once more to the chamber.

"I tell you this story as now our great sector faces problems that even now seem impossible." V'tet's gaze wandered over the councilors as he spoke. "Our citizens earn less and less with each passing cycle while prices soar ever higher making their goals ever farther from their reach; but do not despair!"

V'tet's voice rose and he smashed his clenched fist into his chest. "For as my father taught me and as each of you know in your hearts there is no problem that we Draconian can not over come!"

A chorus of approval cam from a few of the councilors and some even clapped.

"When the Yupori war machine invaded did we cower behind our walls?"

"No." was cried out by several councilors who had served during the Yupori Crisis Wars.

"When our very sun spat ever growing deadly belts of radiation, did we flee from this sector with our tail between our legs?"

"No!" came a chorus of councilors who served the trade commission that had made countless negotiations with numerous other political bodies to import a rare element so powerful it stabilized their sun in a matter of weeks, saving billions from lethal radiation.

"And when our very own surrounding sectors sought to steal our glory and present them to the emperor himself, did we allow such a travesty of justice to unfold?"

"NO!" was the reply of some hundred councilors who served as the old guard who had stopped a plot from sectors 11 and 13 to mislead quota reports to make them appear more beneficial to the empire when in reality sector 12 had out performed both sectors combined.

"NO!" V'tet shouted. "When impossible tasks have been set before us we Draconian haven risen to meet each and every one of them; and we have emerged victorious in each and every one!"

The councilors were now cheering as they became swept up in their achievements, V'tet's words filling them and swelling them to the brim with pride.

V'tet was in full motion now, as if he was a hurricane made manifest that sought to sweep every councilor present up in his gale. "This challenge of wealth is not some monumental undertaking, nor is it some impossible task, not even is it something we should hide and fear from the very discussion of!" V'tet was staring directly at Obrik when he said this as Obrik had been the one in the passed who had pushed for delaying talks of economic reform in favor of the current system.

"No my fellow councilors, my conquers of the impossible, my defiers  of the very fates themselves!" V'tet turned back and faced the massed audience. "This is but another marker for the very foundation of our greatness!"

The cheers were much louder now and several dozen councilors now were standing and clapping their hands while Obrik and Htvala's eyes narrowed at V'tet.

"For as my father told me I now tell you all!" V'tet stopped his speech and appeared to be in pain. The cheers and applause died down as the councilors wondered if something was wrong when they noticed V'tet's wings twitching.

Slowly and with painful bellows V'tet cried out as his wings shakingly stretched out. The creaking and breaking of muscles and bones reverberating up through the chamber until even the lowest members could hear the pain.

Finally, through gasping breaths shaking hands, V'tet stood proudly at the center of the speaking stone with his wings fully outstretched.

"Nothing is impossible for the Draconian!" V'tet roared and the chamber erupted in jubilation as nearly every councilor stood to their feet and cheered the young councilor.

-----------------------------------------------------

"I heard you put on quite the performance."

V'tet looked up from his files and smiled.

"Given by these messages of support I would say so."

V'tet had returned to his office some hours later after the council finished for the day. After his speech the days discussions had been shifted to tackling the economic problems facing the sector with almost laughable ease.

His companion had been waiting for him in his office and it was her he now enjoyed the quite evening with. She sat comfortably across from his desk swirling a caramel liquid in a crystal goblet.

"I could almost hear the applause from here." Rayah Amari said as she smirked and took a sip of her drink.

V'tet set down his data pad and stood up from his own chair to face the window behind him.  The view overlooking much of the city from the council chambers to the slums of the grit district.

"I still find it hard to believe that your speech worked."

"Don't sell yourself short." Rayah quipped, finishing her drink before pouring another. "You did well reading it and going through the motions."

V'tet shook his head and looked at her. "I have given speeches before, yet none of them have ever been as impactful until I hired you to write them."

"I am but a humble word smith." She raised a glass to him and relaxed back into her chair.

"Now who is selling themselves short?" V'tet said as he sat back down and poured himself a glass.

"I've read your previous speeches; they were decent enough but they failed to sell capture you audience."

"How do you mean?" V'tet looked puzzled at her remark. " I laid out the facts clearly for all to understand."

"But it lacked spectacle and flare."

V'tet must have still appeared confused because Rayah leaned forward and pointed her glass to him.

"Arguments made with reason are good, but there is a time and place for them." she said. "You were making your case before you even got in the door, and no one wants to listen to the ravings of a man on the street."

"Then how did your building get me inside?" V'tet asked.

"By blinding them with emotion."

"Emotion?"

Rayah grinned. "When people feel emotions while listening to something they immediately become more invested in it, regardless of what it is." She put down her glass and cracked the sore muscles in her neck.

"My speech opened with something known to every Draconian, your wings." She motioned to his which had folded back tightly behind his back. "Every Draconian has them and uses them and deep down fear what would happen if they couldn't use them."

V'tet nodded at this, as not a day had gone by that he did not think of his wings.

"You lure them in with a tale of sadness, but you end it with a high not; a moment of inspiration that things will be better."

"Is this important?" V'tet asked, to which Rayah nodded. "Despite what some people think the majority of the population likes a happy ending."

"Next we stoked the pride of the people you would most need the support of." She held up a single finger.

"Mentioning military pride ensures you will have support from a few of their members as they enjoy being seen as proud defenders of their people, regardless of the problem they face."

She held up a second finger. "The merchants and money lenders who are often overlooked now have been moved front and center as their support will be helping the people, which will in turn boost their image and importance thus giving them a stake in your venture."

She held up a third hand. "The old guard who would most likely be opposed to change. By mentioning the previous clashes with neighboring sectors we've shifted their focus to what is best for the empire; something they are more likely to support given their national pride."

V'tet nodded as he followed along. "So by making each of these parties feel something, and giving them a reason they could benefit from it; the speech ensnared them?"

"I wouldn't say that," Rayah said as she finished her drink and set the glass down, "but it got them interested enough that their own imaginations will begin painting pretty pictures of what could be if this succeeded and they were the ones who most contributed."

Hearing this strategy V'tet was not ashamed to say he was impressed beyond measure that a single speech could have such depth of underlining themes and sentiments.

"Hiring you was one of my best decisions yet it seems." he spoke as he smiled to her.

Rayah shrugged. "I've had of practice with using emotions back home. You'd be surprised how often I could get people to vote against their own interests."

"Then I look forward to a long and mutually profitable cooperation." V'tet said as he raised his glass to her.

"As do I councilor." Rayah said with a devilish smile crossing her face. "As do I."

[apiratewhopines]

Look at the mesmerizing artwork by @teamhook. Can you spot the villain of this little story?

In the Offing

Chapter 18 — The Stable Boy

Summary: In which our heroine misplaces something

Chapter 18 on AO3

“A guilty conscience means at least you’ve got one

Who will forgive you when I’m gone?”

-Here He Comes, The Wallflowers

“That went further than I intended,” Killian whispered against her throat. She could feel his smile against the sensitive skin and knew that while his words sounded like the beginning of an apology, it was really more of an observation on their current status. Their completely unclothed, totally sated status.

“Hmm, there is something about the motion of the water,” Emma said by way of agreement. She was lazily running her fingers through his mussed hair, appreciating the way the thick, short locks felt silky in her hands. His laughter rumbled through his chest and she gave in to the temptation to run her fingers through the hair there as well.

“I’ll make a pirate out of you yet, Swan.”

“Well, I need to do something special for a man who would trade a secluded afternoon with the most famous actress in the world to spend time with his unknown, magnet-for-trouble house guest.”

She should get up. Lord only knew if there were locks on the door or if they could be interrupted. However, she wasn’t lying about the sensation of being lulled to sleep by the waves. Although sleep was the furthest thing from her mind a few minutes ago.

“House guest? Is that the label we’re going with? How about girlfriend? Lover? Angel? Magnificent creature?” He punctuated each question with a nuzzle against a different section of exposed flesh. “Besides, I am a seafaring man and all sailors know that it’s bad luck to have a redhead on board. Thank goodness I didn’t have to take her out on the open seas. You may never have seen me again.”

“That would have been a shame. I do enjoy seeing you. The more of you, the better.” She allowed her hands to wander over the expanse of skin on display, thankful that the afternoon was warm since there was only one sheet and their picnic blanket from the other day to cover up with. Her eyes had drifted closed during their idle exchange but she cracked open her left to look at him as she felt the bed shift under his movements. He had propped himself up on his elbow and was resting on his side. She was surprised to see his expression had turned serious. “What’s on your mind?”

“I think it’s time we talk. I like the odds of you staying put since you’re naked,” he added with some of his usual swagger.

“If you’re ready,” she told him. Reaching up to cradle his face in her hands, she knew that nothing he said would make any difference to her. She was too far gone already. The only possible outcome was she would fall deeper under his spell. “No matter what, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know what those words mean to me, love.” He pressed a forceful kiss to her lips and returned to his earlier position. His eyes focused out the window and glazed over as he became lost in his memories. When he spoke, his voice had deepened with emotion. “Liam and I moved here a decade ago with one purpose and one purpose only: To find Frederick’s bloody treasure trove. There was nothing for us in England, hadn’t been in years really. I was graduating and Liam was finishing up his enlistment with the Navy. To my surprise, he didn’t doubt for a moment my claims that I could find our fortune on the rocky beaches of Maine. So off we went without a backward glance at the shores of our ancestors.”

She could imagine a younger Killian, full of life and confidence, pulling along his older, more seasoned brother. After all, no one was more jaded than her and she was already prepared to follow him to the ends of the earth.

“It took us more time to find the pub in Storybrooke than it did to find the first treasure hoard. Oh, Emma, I wish you could have been there.” His grin was something that belonged on a schoolboy’s face, not a man in his mid-thirties. Unable to help herself, she reached up and traced it with her fingertips. He captured her wayward digits and pressed a heartfelt kiss to the tips. “Most pirate treasure was in the form of goods like timber, cotton, sugar, or tobacco. But good old Frederick didn’t disappoint. There was enough silver to make us wealthy even by today’s standards. There were some interesting historical bits as well that will one day find their way into a museum but I won’t bore you with those details.”

“Such a gentleman,” she murmured with a chuckle. “What did you do with it? Aren’t you supposed to alert the authorities when you find stuff like that?”

“I want to be a better man for you, Swan, but I will never be a saint. We haven’t disclosed any of our findings. We simply dip in when we need something extra. Some day we’ll let it see the light of day but for now it rests in Davy Jones’ locker.”

“Wait, I know that one. You mean it’s hidden under the sea?”

“No, we put it in my grandfather’s old locker and buried it under the cottage. It’s the only thing my father left behind when he abandoned us all those years ago.” When she rolled her eyes at him, he simply chuckled. “But to answer your question, the laws vary by state and country. Maine is actually quite lenient with their buried treasure as long as it isn’t found on state property. Luckily, two of the piles we found were on my land at the cottage. Technically, I didn’t own the land when I found the first one but it was under contract. I quickly remedied that and it was all above board when I found the second stash a few days later. That one had more coins and a few loose gemstones.”

“Gemstones?” Visions of The Goonies filled Emma’s mind and she had to stop herself from asking about One-Eyed Willy. Because, as fantastical as it seemed, the man who held her heart in his hands also had a knack for finding buried treasure. A gift she hoped he would survive considering someone out there desperately wanted to get their hands on it.

“Yes, darling,” he answered. “I think several have your name on them.”

“No way,” she argued. “I don’t want any of it. What if it’s cursed?”

“Cursed, you say?” He looked thoughtful as the sunlight was momentarily blocked by an errant storm cloud outside. “Yes, I suppose that may be true. Shortly after I uncovered the third pile, I went to the Rabbit Hole to celebrate my victory. Liam had just met Elsa so I was on my own for the most part those days. Not that it mattered, you know how this town takes to new people so I never lacked companionship for a drink or...whatever.”

“Whatever, indeed,” Emma teased in her best impression of his accent. She sensed he was coming to the part of his story that was the most difficult to relay and tried to infuse some humor into the conversation.

With a rueful grin that acknowledged her effort, both with the accent and the humor, he continued. “I met Milah that night. She was a sight to behold in the dim light of the bar, vibrant in a way that seemed too much for this little town.” He narrowed his eyes as they made contact with hers. “I didn’t know at first that she was married. Lads of twenty-four aren’t known for pumping the brakes when a beautiful woman gives them nothing but green lights and I was no different. Honestly, I was probably worse. I was a rash young man far from home and high on my own cleverness. It never occurred to me to question my good fortune or wonder why no one else was vying for her attention.”

“How far gone were you when you found out the truth?”

“Completely,” he confessed with a shaky breath. “The fight we had when I found out, well, it would have melted paint off the walls. I was a dirty little secret, the younger man who captured her attention but not her affections. It was always like that with her. She was so restless. Always moving, always searching. Nothing was ever enough. It took me a long time to realize that I wasn’t enough either. She wanted someone to rescue her from a life of boredom, someone who would carry her away and show her the world and fill her days with adventures. I couldn’t be that for her but I nearly destroyed myself trying to be.”

He was lost in the past, his eyes distant and filled with pain. Reliving the end of the most meaningful relationship of your life wasn’t easy, Emma definitely understood that. Especially when you gave all you had to it and it still collapsed in pieces around you.

“Her husband came to visit me one night toward the end. Offered me money to break it off,” he scoffed as if the idea still insulted him. “I refused of course, convinced he was the villain in our little drama and that I would win the heart of the fair maiden in the end. At it turned out, I was wrong on both counts. The villain was the fair maiden. Mr. Gold and I were both pawns in her scheme to escape a life she hated. When she had the opportunity, she took the money and ran. In my kinder moments, I feel sorry for her knowing she must have felt trapped. But then I remember the way the whole town thought I killed her and any kindness I’m able to scare up disappears. Just like she did.”

“You’ve never heard from her? You have no idea what happened to her?”

“No. When it ended, it ended badly. She wanted me to take her husband’s money so we could leave town together, was angry when I refused to be chased off into the night. It was then that I realized she didn’t care who she was with, as long as she wasn’t in Storybrooke. It was a tough blow to stomach. I only saw her one time after that, a couple of nights before she disappeared. She showed up at the cottage to apologize. Told me she would never regret our relationship but it was time to move on. She left the map as a parting gift. I knew then that she meant to leave. Make no mistake, Emma, Milah is alive and well somewhere on this globe, living her life to the fullest and not sparing a thought for anyone in this town.”

“Then her absence is no great loss,” she observed.

He shook his head slowly as if he wasn’t sure he agreed with her assessment. “The day after she stopped by for the last time was when I pulled my idiotic stunt. I got drunk and tried to sail directly into a Nor’easter. Liam caught me at the docks and insisted on coming with me when he couldn’t talk me out of leaving. Our boat capsized about a mile up the coast. I’m only glad I was able to pull him to shore.”

“You saved his life? One-handed in a gale?”

With a bitter twist of his lips, he bit out, “Not sure you’ll allowed to claim such a thing when the only reason a person was in danger in the first place is because of you. He was trapped under the broken mast. I’m still not sure how I got him out but I crushed my hand in the process. Got a pretty nasty infection and the doctors told me the hand couldn’t be saved and if I wasn’t lucky, I’d lose the arm too. Seemed like a no-brainer.”

She felt the tension gripping him and trailed her hands down his left arm, running her fingers over the smooth scars she felt there. He didn’t pull away but he didn’t relax either. “We’re all scarred in one way or another, Killian. Yours are a bit more on display than the average person but this shows that you are a survivor. I’m beginning to think it might be a bad idea for me to find Milah. She has a lot to answer for.”

“You know, I’ve tried to track her down but I’m afraid I don’t have your abilities at finding those who don’t wish to be found. I thought I had tracked her to Paris a few years ago, there was a new artist there that had her style of sketching but I could never be sure and they disappeared before I could make contact. I still have a file on my desktop with the various artwork I found in the gallery catalogues. I always thought I’d pick up the search again later.”

A little afraid to hear his answer, she nevertheless asked, “Why do you want to find her?”

“At first, I missed her. I wanted to hear her voice. Pathetic, right?” When Emma simply gave him a look that clearly disagreed, he smiled at her. “Hmm, my secretly romantic Swan. You have a tender heart that I adore but don’t worry, I won’t let anyone know.” He looked at her with such fondness that she was tempted to go for round two right then. However, on some level, she knew this conversation was more important than their physical connection.

Unaware of her thoughts, he admitted, “Lately I’ve wanted closure. Not for the relationship. It’s been dead and gone for years. For the case, in order to clear my name. I’ve done a lot of things that I’m not particularly proud of since I arrived here but I would like any doubt removed about this crime.”

“If you don’t mind sharing, perhaps we can find her together,” she offered shyly.

“Emma, everything I have is yours,” Killian told her. With a laugh he added, “Including the gold bars I found in the third treasure hoard I uncovered.” Taking her in his arms, he held her as they laid in the Captain’s Quarters in peaceful silence.

—

The rain that had threatened in the afternoon made good on its promise by the time they arrived back at the cottage with carryout from the pizza place. Fortunately, it was the kind of summer rain that moved through quickly and left the air feeling crisp and clean.

After her third slice of pepperoni, Emma leaned back in the patio chair and sighed. “I’m supposed to meet Graham tonight to search the woods. I guess I should head back to Mary Margaret’s place eventually anyway.”

With a quizzical look, Killian took a sip of his iced tea. “A date with another man and moving out? Have I done something to offend you?”

“Very funny,” she retorted. “I think we’ve gotten things a little out of order but there’s no reason to rush into this.”

“Darling, we have already fallen headfirst into the fast lane. There’s no reason to get scared now. Besides, I happen to know that David and Mary Margaret have reached the toothbrush phase of their relationship. You will be taking your sanity into your own hands if you head back there tonight. David is a loud...sleeper.”

“I don’t even want to know how you know that,” Emma said with a shiver of disgust. “Fine, I guess I’ll have to stay with you for the foreseeable future. If you don’t have any other plans, you can also join me on my date. We’re looking for bodies in the woods.”

With a grimace, Killian studied her profile. “Okay but only if I get to plan our next outing. A man likes some mystery in a relationship but dead bodies are a little overboard.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Jones.”

Forewarned about the activities for the evening consisting mainly of traversing hilly, overgrown terrain, Emma did a better job of dressing the part. Outfitted with flashlights from Killian’s emergency kit, she knew if the search lasted beyond the light of the midsummer sun they wouldn’t injure themselves in the dark at least.

Arriving at the Sheriff’s station shortly thereafter, Emma was surprised to find it empty and unlocked. Since another brief summer rain was moving through town, she texted Graham and they decided to wait it out at the station. Twenty minutes later, the rain was over but she still hadn’t heard from the sheriff. “That’s weird. He’s usually better about replying.”

“Text him a lot, do you?”

With a amused shake of her head, she admonished him. “Now is not the time to be jealous, Killian. He’s a friend and, unless I’m mistaken, he’s your friend too.”

“He’s not an enemy,” Killian conceded grudgingly. With a hint of teasing, he said, “But perhaps he is competition.” He moved around the station nonchalantly as if he might find the sheriff under a pile of papers or resting in one of the cells at the back of the open room.

With a deep breath, she walked over to him and linked her arms around his neck. “Not in my eyes. I’m not sure how to convince you that you’ve ruined me for other men.”

“I can think of some persuasive methods that will get your point across.” His roguish eyebrow was cocked in a way that she always found so endearing and sexy. “Why don’t we postpone this search party and you can give it your best shot? I promise to keep an open mind.”

“Keeping an open mind has never been your problem,” she laughed, playfully punching him in the arm. “I have a job to do so stop trying to distract me. We’ll have to go without Graham. We’re losing daylight and I’m running out of time before Henry comes home.”

What she didn’t add was the crossroads his arrival would bring. As much as she had fought against this thing with Killian, now that she was in, she was all in. While the four hour drive to Boston was not an insurmountable distance, she found the idea of being separated distasteful. She knew it was a conversation they needed to have and she wasn’t avoiding it exactly. Her rational mind kept reminding her that they had only met a month ago and people didn’t fall in love and move to different states after a few weeks of knowing someone. Especially single mothers who had children to think about.

Having officially given up on the sheriff, they headed toward the town line. Minutes later, they arrived to find the cruiser already parked on the narrow shoulder, driver side door open and cabin lights on. Jumping out of the truck, Emma exchanged a worried look with Killian and observed, “This looks like trouble.”

He followed her to the cruiser and placed his hand on the front seat. “It’s dry so he probably didn’t get here until after the rain moved through.”

“Graham!” Shouting his name repeatedly probably wasn’t an effective strategy but damn if she could think of anything else to do. Settling in the driver’s seat she found the keys still in the ignition and his walkie on the dashboard. Picking it up, she paged David. Within a minute, he answered, confusion evident in his tone.

“Emma? Why do you have Graham’s walkie?”

“We found his cruiser at the town line. No sign of him. We’re going out to the woods to search but you probably want to get here as quickly as possible. I’ve got a bad feeling about this whole scene.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Wait for me.”

True to his word, David’s battered old Ford pick-up pulled behind their truck in record time. Mary Margaret had made the journey with him and as soon as the car was in park, she rushed to Emma’s side. “Still no sign of him?”

“No,” Killian answered with his eyes scanning the thick woods.

“He headed this direction and he was in a hurry,” the brunette observed, her finger pointing toward an invisible trail as if it were obvious. At Emma’s silent question, she explained, “All-State Orienteering champion and the best tracker in town besides Ruby. Knowing your way around the forest is still a skill set that’s valued in Maine.”

“Sure. I mean, why not?” Emma said sarcastically. “Why don’t you lead the way then? We’ve already wasted time waiting around the station.”

Grabbing the flashlight that David handed her, Mary Margaret stepped off the shoulder and moved noiselessly into the woods. She would occasionally murmur an observation regarding a broken twig or boot print in the soft ground. Emma made a point to try to locate whatever signs the other woman noted on their pursuit but was only able to see the tracks occasionally. In no time at all, they had circled back up the hill to come out at the road not even a quarter of a mile from the cruiser. “Great. Back were we started.”

“No,” Mary Margaret disagreed. “Look here.” She squatted down and shined a beam of light on the asphalt.

Sure enough, Emma saw some kind of liquid that had dripped on the road. “What is that? Motor oil?” Reaching down, she lightly pressed her finger in one of the droplets and smeared it against her thumb. Looking at the bright red color, a chill ran through her. “Blood.”

“And tire tracks from an SUV if I had to guess,” David added, his light illuminating the wide tracks partially visible on the wet dirt of the shoulder. “Someone took him.” He immediately started back toward his truck, getting on his radio and calling the other deputy to round up some volunteers and meet them out at the woods.

—

Entering the cottage at four the following morning, Emma dropped on the couch in exhaustion. They hadn’t found any other clues as to the whereabouts of the sheriff or who grabbed him off the deserted road. Had he been followed out to the town line? Is that why he hadn’t responded to her text? Why would he have not reached out to her or David if he thought he was in trouble?

Settling next to her, Killian pushed her hair back behind her ear. “We won’t find him by staying up and worrying. You need to rest.”

“I can’t shake the feeling that this has to do with me.”

“With you? Why do you think so? Didn’t you say he found something in the woods? Something related to a disappearance that happened when you were a baby.”

“I know it’s crazy...”

“I didn’t say that, love. If you think this has something to do with you, I wouldn’t bet against your instincts.” Smiling at her with an expression of full support, he added, “You’ll figure it out. But it doesn’t have to be tonight.”

“He could be out there hurt, Killian, or worse. I think we need to regroup. Go through everything again. I must have missed something. And we’re going to need all hands on deck. The situation is escalating. When are Liam and Elsa supposed to come back?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Perhaps you should convince him to come back sooner.”

“That will be a pleasant conversation,” Killian muttered with a roll of his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll call Elsa instead. She’s the more reasonable one.”

“Coward,” she whispered against his lips as she kissed him softly. She would never get tired of this, having him within arm’s reach. His very presence made all her worries melt into the background.

“You have more than enough bravery for the both of us,” he complimented her. “But I’ll do as you ask. After all, he’s the one who brought you into this mess. Not that I’m complaining.”

“See that you don’t. I have ways of dealing with complainers,” she ordered tartly, forcing herself to get lost in this moment with him. As she got up to walk away, his fingers hooked into the pocket of her jeans and tugged her back into his lap.

“Saucy. I like that.”

“Behave, Dr. Jones.”

There weren’t any coherent words spoken as the early morning light started to break over the horizon. He had decided to disobey, misbehaving in the most delightful ways.

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (156/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: This story takes place about 1000 years before 66 years after the events of Dragon Ball Z.

[1 December Age 893, Earth.]

Throughout the night, Trunks had been exploring the simulated universe in the popular arcade game Super Dragon Ball Heroes.   To the Earthlings of the 9th Century, it was just a video game about famous warriors and battles from history, but it was in fact a secret project backed by the Time Patrol.   The game world in SDBH was a scale model of the actual universe, based upon the Scroll of Eternity itself.   This provided a unique gaming experience for the unsuspecting civilians, but it also allowed Time Patrollers like Trunks to conduct research and interact with historical events without altering history.   His main objective to was to learn more about his new partner, Luffa.    So far, he had spoken to several Saiyans across time and space, and each answer he found seemed to raise a new question.

At the Hero Lab, where the SDBH game was programmed and maintained, Trunks pondered these questions over takeout food.    Dr. Leggings had cleared off her desk for the plates and napkins.    Her assistant, a girl named Anne, was fussing over the bags of food, determined to make sure everyone’s order was accounted for and properly distributed.   No one asked her to do this, but she was the type who couldn’t relax otherwise.    She still complained about it, but Trunks knew she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nearby, Beat and Note had rolled their own chairs to face one another, and they each propped their feet up on the edge of the other's seat.    He had recruited them for help on a case when they were younger, and it was strange to see them as teenagers.   He wondered if there was something more than friendship developing between them, or if they themselves were aware of it, but it seemed undignified to ask, so he let it go.    There were more important things to consider anyway.

"The main job's been accomplished, at least," Trunks said after he swallowed a bite of eggroll.    "I know where Camelia's key planets are located, and our historians can probably fill in a more complete map of the galaxy from that era.   Then we can work with Luffa to figure out the correct date and location she came from."

"You don't sound very satisfied with that, Master," Note said as she fished out a piece of shrimp from her takeout box and fed it to Beat.  

"I'm not," Trunks said.   "We thought Luffa might be from a distant civilization, but one in the present day.    Now, it's starting to look like she's from our galaxy, but eleven centuries in the past.   Maybe twelve.   The Rehval that I spoke with was the third Saiyan King with that name.    The one Luffa mentioned may have been his father or grandfather."

"Why is that bad, Trunks?" Beat asked.   He found a piece of pork in his box and passed it from his chopsticks to Note's chopsticks.    "I mean, so what if she’s from twelve centuries in the past?   You guys are the Time Patrol, after all.   If anyone can send her home, you can."

"It's not that we can't send her back," Beat, " Trunks said.   "The problem is that I'm not so sure we should.   From the start, I just assumed Luffa was from the present time, or close to it.   Without realizing it, I've shown Luffa things that will happen in her distant future.    To us, it's the past, but if we send her back with that knowledge, she could change the course of history."

"Would she?"  Note asked.    "I mean, I'm sure she's an honorable person, or Shenron wouldn't have chosen her as your ally, Master.   And now that she's seen the dangers involved with time anomalies, I'm sure she'd never tell anyone what she learned about our era."

"It's not that simple, I'm afraid," said Dr. Leggings.    She was chewing on a bone from her order of spare ribs, and Trunks couldn't help but appreciate a very faint resemblance she had to his father.   Leggings looked a lot more like his mother, particularly with the way she wore her green hair in a ponytail.    She was no warrior, but there were definite hints of Saiyan to her.    He liked this.   In his own timeline, Trunks was an only child, and the last of his father's people.   It was comforting to spend time in places like Hero Town and Toki Toki City, where he had an extended family of sorts, no matter how distant.  

"What do you mean, doctor?" Note asked.

"We've seen how even minor changes in the past can cause major changes in the present," Leggings said.   "The game world makes it easy to see, because we can jump from one time period to another very quickly, and we can reset those changes as easily as refreshing a computer.   It's not just a matter of winning a battle you were supposed to lose, or telling secrets that you aren't supposed to know about.   Luffa might change history without even realizing she's done it."

"She's right," Trunks said.   "When I first went back to the past, I tried to be careful not to make any unwanted changes.   I only wanted to warn Goku about the Cyborgs and give him the medicine for the heart virus.    But somehow he got sick about six months later than I expected.   I still have no idea why that happened.   My guess is that he was training for the Cyborgs, so he must have been in a different place than he was in my timeline, so he wasn't infected under the same circumstances."  

"You think Luffa might do something differently, now that she knows what's going to happen to the Saiyans?" Beat asked.

"She might," Trunks said.   "Luffa hates King Rehval, and now that I've met the guy, I can't say I blame her.   If I understand correctly, there's a direct throughline connecting Rehval's policies with the class system used by my grandfather on Planet Vegeta.   So she might blame Rehval for the downfall of the Saiyan race, and try to take revenge.   For that matter, she knows about the Dragon Balls on Namek.   She might be tempted to use them in the past, to try to make wishes to prevent some of the terrible things she's seen in the future."

"That'd be good, wouldn't it?" Beat asked.    

"Not for you, it wouldn't," Note said in a scolding tone.    "Son Goku is your ancestor, isn't he?   If the history of the Saiyans changes too much, then they might never send Goku to Earth, and you would never be born."

"Oh, right," Beat said.   "Maybe Luffa should stay in Toki Toki City, then."

"And that could have consequences too," Trunks said.    "Luffa might still play a role in history, however small.   Shenron may have only brought her to us because he knew the Time Patrol would eventually put her back.    But there's also the matter of her power level..."

"Power?" Anne asked.   She had already finished her meal and was busily cleaning up the discarded cartons and wrappers.     "Don't tell me that's a problem on top of everything else!"

"Yup, I'm afraid so, Anne," Trunks said.    "Luffa's done well on her missions, but she's nowhere near as powerful as what I had expected.   Now that I know what time period she's from, that makes more sense.   King Rehval told me he was the strongest Saiyan of his era, and he's a lot stronger than Luffa, but he wouldn't stand a chance against the kinds of enemies I've had to fight.   Luffa defeated the Ginyu Force, and Rehval might have handled them more easily but that's about all I could expect from either of them."  

"That's nothing you can't fix, Master!" Note said.   "I'm sure you can train Luffa just as well as you trained us!"

"I appreciate your confidence, Note," Trunks said, "but Luffa's not exactly what I'd call 'teachable'.   Besides, she seems to have improved dramatically on her own.   Even she doesn't understand how she's doing it, but she may catch up before too long.   But if she returns to her own time with all that extra strength, then that could mess up history too.    And if she has to remain with us, then I'm not sure she'll be any good on future missions."

"Why not?" Beat asked.   "She's sure to get stronger."

"I thought so too, but maybe I've been taking that for granted," Trunks said.   "I'm used to dealing with Saiyans descended from Son Goku, or from my own family.    Goku and Vegeta were extraordinary fighters, even among Saiyans, but Luffa could be... Well, there's no gentle way to put this.   She might not have the same potential."

"You're not going to just fire her, are you?" Note asked.    

"Of course not," Trunks said.   "If we can't send her home, I'm sure we can find a place for her in the Time Patrol.   But we can't risk sending her on certain missions.   Towa and Mira are dangerous, and if I'm right, their raids on history's warriors are only going to get bolder.   Luffa could find herself in deep waters with no one to help her.   Shenron may have granted my wish, and maybe she is the best person for the job, but that doesn't mean I can gamble with her life.   I need more information before she goes back into the field."

"I'm sure whatever happens, it'll all work out, Trunks," Beat said.    

"You always say stuff like that," Note groaned.  

"Well, I'm right, aren't I?" Beat shrugged.    "Well, most of the time, anyway."

"This has been fun, but I should probably get moving," Trunks said.    "I need to report my findings to the Time Patrol, and maybe the Supreme Kai of Time has a fresh lead on Towa."

"You have to leave already?" Beat asked.    "But it feels like you just got here!"

"Yeah, it was beginning to feel like the old days," Note said.  

"I've missed you guys too," Trunks said.   He stood up and brushed loose grains of rice from his pants.   "You've grown up a lot while I've been away.    You too, Anne."

"I guess it's kind of childish how I keep calling you, 'Master'," Note said.   "Force of habit, I suppose."

"You're welcome to call me 'Trunks' if you want, Note.    But to be honest, it reminds me of when I was a kid.   I used to call Gohan 'Master', back when he trained me to fight the Cyborgs.   He meant a lot to me.   Hearing you say it... It's a good feeling."    

"I'll keep the Hero Switches ready in case you come back," Leggings said.    "You'll probably need to do some follow-up work to pin down an exact time for Luffa."

"Good call," Trunks said as he slung his sword over his shoulder.   "I'll probably have to bring her with me.   I'll see if I can get her to make some more of that lasagna she made for us the other day."  

"Lasagna?" Beat asked.    But Trunks vanished before he could get an answer.  

*******

[4 March, Age 850.  Toki Toki City.]

Luffa felt ridiculous doing this, but she had no other ideas for how to handle the situation.   She knew the way from her apartment to the Time Nest, and the Time Vault was unlocked and unguarded, but she had no idea what to do on her own.   Trunks had always contacted her whenever she was needed, and he always had the Scroll ready to send her on her next mission.     Without him, it seemed that the Time Vault was a useless building with a tree sticking out of the roof.    And so, her only way forward was the Supreme Kai of Time, who lived in a modest capsule house in the Time Nest, next door to the Time Vault.    Luffa felt awkward simply entering the house, and so she went back to her apartment and baked a cake.   That wouldn't make things less awkward for her, but at least there would be something to eat during her visit.    

"Luffa, Hi!" Chronoa said as she answered the knock on her door.    "Ooh, what's that?  It smells good."

"Uh, I got in a mood, so I made some cake," Luffa said, in a failed attempt to sound nonchalant.   "And I thought I should check and see if you and Trunks had any update on the search."

"Afraid not," Chronoa said.   "But perfect timing on the cake.   I just put on a pot of tea.   Come on in!"

The interior of Chronoa's house was littered with technological gizmos.    There were entire jet engines laying around the Time Nest, and it seemed that this was because those larger objects were the only ones that wouldn't fit inside.    Chronoa tossed several of them off one of the couch cushions and gestured for Luffa to take a seat.    

"I'm glad you finally came over," Chronoa said.   "I was worried that you might be having trouble fitting in with the Time Patrol."

"It's uh... it's not so bad," Luffa said.   "My roommate is kind of weird, but we get along well enough.    I've met a few people here."

"They're all a very special bunch of people," Chronoa said.   "I haven't been able to get to know them all as well as I'd like to, but they've helped me out a lot.   That goes for you too, Luffa."

"Listen, uh... I think I owe you an apology," Luffa said.   "I was in a pretty bad place right before I ended up here, and... well, I might have taken out some of my frustrations on you and your staff."

"You've had to adjust to a lot of changes very quickly, Luffa," Chronoa said.    "And we didn't exactly give you a choice about coming here.    You're entitled to get frustrated with us."

"Thanks, but... I'm a mercenary," Luffa said.   "Well, I used to be.   My parents always taught me how important it was to maintain a professional discipline around the clients.   I don't think I've lived up to my own standards."

"I don't think of the other Time Patrollers as mercenaries, Luffa," Chronoa said.   "We're a team, and we're friends.    At least, I'd like to think of you as a friend."

"Yeah, I guess so," Luffa said.   "I... Can I ask you something?"

"Sure!"

"You're a god, aren't you?   A god of time."

"That's right."

"Don't you already know how all of this turns out?"

Chronoa chuckled as she sipped her tea.  

"Did I say something wrong?" Luffa asked.

"No, I get that a lot, actually," Chronoa said.   "The short answer is: no, I don't know the future.    Not in the way you're thinking of.    I watch over time, and maintain the flow of time.   When it's necessary, I correct problems in that flow.  But I don't make time, or control it."  

"It's just... I'm kind of anxious to get back on the trail of those demons," Luffa said.   "And we've been waiting for them to make their next move, and it occurred to me that it doesn't make much sense that we have to wait.    You could jump ahead to the moment when they've already made their play."

"Well, now that's something I could do," Chronoa said.   I can travel to the future and find out when the next mission happens.   I could even take you with me so you wouldn't have to wait."

"You can?" Luffa said.

"Oh yeah!" Chronoa said.   "I can do a lot of things.   But I shouldn't do it, so I won't."

"Oh."

"It's not an arbitrary rule, either," Chronoa said.   "Most Supreme Kais are only permitted to travel forward through time, and only to observe future events.   They can't interfere, so they have to limit their use of that power.    With me, the problem is that if I skip around too much, I run the risk of upsetting the balance of my own timeline.   Things have to proceed in order.   That's what time is all about."

"I guess that makes sense," Luffa said.  "Honestly, I had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy, or you would have already done it.  But I had to ask."

"You’re right, it’s not that easy.   In fact, it's part of the reason I established the Time Patrol," Chronoa said.   "For millions of years, keeping watch over the flow of time was pretty simple.  I just had to keep Tokitoki fed and watered, give him plenty of enrichment.   But as the universe grows older, it becomes more complex.    Once, there was no Supreme Kai of Time.   We didn't even need one.   But then we did, and now we've reached a point where I need a whole staff to help maintain things.   If I could just jump back and forth in time any way I wanted, maybe I could do the whole thing alone.   But it’s more satisfying this way, with all of you.”

"Why mortals?   Why not get other Kais to do this work?" Luffa asked.  

"Because there aren't enough of us, for one thing," Chronoa said.    "We come from a place called the 'World Core'.    There aren't many Core People, and few of us ever achieve the rank of Kai.    Fewer still ascend to the status of Grand Kai, and even fewer make it to Supreme Kai.   There used to be seven Supreme Kais in this universe, including me.   These days, there's only three."

"Is three enough?" Luffa asked.

"For now, it'll have to be," Chronoa said.   "Besides, I've found that mortals are very dedicated and resourceful.   To say nothing of all the technology they produce..."

She reached for an end table and picked up a machine that looked vaguely like a can opener combined with an alarm clock.    Luffa expected her to use the device, but instead Chronoa simply admired its surfaces.  

"So what's all this stuff for, anyway?" Luffa asked, gesturing to the assortment of similar gadgets that lay in every direction.  

"Nothing in particular," Chronoa said.   "I just find their designs fascinating.   The electronics, the cogwheels, the little blinking lights.   It's helpful for contemplating the nature of time."

"If you say so," Luffa said.    

"Without time, everything would happen all at once," Chronoa explained.  "Birth, death, creation, destruction, none of that would mean anything without the passage of time to separate those moments.   The oven you used to bake this cake.   Without time, there would be no need for it.   Cooking would be meaningless.    You can't preheat an oven or leave a cake inside for seven hours, not when there's no hours."

"S-seven hours?" Luffa asked, but Chronoa paid no mind.    

"Mixing the ingredients would be pointless, too.    Even the pan you put it in, it would be unnecessary, because there could be no cause or effect.    There could be no hunger, because there would be no time for you to become hungry."    

"That's why you like these tools, then?"  Luffa asked.   "Their functions remind you of the flow of time?"

"Yes, that's one way of looking at it," Chronoa said.     She picked up another object that had a handle connected to a transparent dome on wheels.   Inside the dome were several colorful plastic balls, which bounced around inside as Chronoa pushed it along the floor.  

"What does that thing do?" Luffa asked.  

"Oh, this is just a child's toy," Chronoa said.   "Same idea though."

"Okay..."   Luffa decided this was as good a time as any to serve the cake.   It was yellow with chocolate frosting, a recipe which suited her aesthetics, though she had no idea what flavor “yellow” was supposed to be.    She wondered if “yellow” was a kind of fruit, like the oranges used to make the juice she had discovered while shopping.

 "Very impressive," Chronoa said as she took a bite.   "You must have turned the oven up to full power for this."

"Uh, not exactly," Luffa said nervously.   She was beginning to get the impression that Chronoa had no idea how cooking worked.  "Jayncho found a recipe, and they had everything I needed in the Industrial District.   I've been using my downtime to get a handle on Earth cuisine."

"That's great!   You know... when we figure out how to get you home, Luffa, you wouldn't have to stay there.    You could come back for missions."  

"Huh?"

"We have a lot of Patrollers who still live on Earth, in their own native eras.    Mostly ranging from Age 850 to 1050, but there are a few exceptions, like Trunks."

"Well, that's nice and all," Luffa said, "but I don't know that it would work for me..."

"Do you have any family?"

Luffa hesitated before answering.    "No," she said.   "It's just me." To explain further would require her to reveal that she knew she was from the distant past, and she wasn't ready to divulge that just yet.   She wasn't sure she ever would be.   But somehow, sitting in Chronoa's home, sharing snacks with her while they watched the view outside her window, Luffa felt like she could trust her.

She just wouldn't trust her today.  Not yet.   Like Chronoa had said, these things had to happen in the proper order.

"Have you heard of ‘Providence,’ Chronoa?" Luffa asked.

"I know the term, if that's what you mean." she said with her mouth full.  

"My... a friend of mine, she believed in a divine plan.  I just wondered if you, or one of the other Kais, had any connection to that."

"Are you religious yourself, Luffa?"

"Not really.   But I've known people who were.   You wouldn't know a god with nine eyes, by any chance, would you?"

"No, I can't say that I do," Chronoa said.  

"What about Beerus?"

"Oh, well that's different," Chronoa said.   "You see-- Wait, what was that?"

She put her plate on the coffee table and stood up, as though looking for something beyond the walls of her house.    

"What is it?" Luffa asked.  Her own senses picked up nothing out of the ordinary. 

"Something's wrong," Chronoa said.    "We need to go to the Time Vault."

"Is it Towa and Mira?" Luffa asked.  

"I'm not sure," Chronoa said, “but I think it could be."

Luffa punched her right hand with her left as she stood up from the sofa.   At last, it seemed like her waiting was over.

*******

[24 December, Age 762.   Planet Namek.]

The Namekian Dragon Balls were ordinary stones.   Two wishes had been granted, but they petrified upon the death of their creator, Guru.   When Frieza arrived to discover this predicament, he was furious.    So furious, that he wasted no time in destroying the objects of his wrath.    Within minutes, Krillin, Vegeta, and the Namekian child, Dende, were all dead.    Piccolo, newly resurrected by the Dragon Balls, joined the battle, but far too later to do any good.   Gohan was next, and then the only one left was Goku.    

"Who... are you?" Frieza asked, as Goku cradled his dead son in his arms.     "Never mind.   I don't need to know."

Goku followed the others soon after. 

*******

[4 March, Age 850.    Toki Toki City.]

"It has to be Towa," Chronoa said.   She had the Scroll of Eternity unfurled on the great octagonal table in the Time Vault.    Luffa watched over her shoulder, while Tokitoki flapped his wings and hooted overhead.    

"This looks like the same day as the Ginyu Force battle I was just in," Luffa said. 

"It is," Chronoa said.  "This new temporal change takes place thirty-seven minutes after you left.    Towa must have decided it was the last place we would expect her to strike.   I didn't think she was prepared to try her energy stealing techniques on someone as powerful as Frieza."

Luffa had never actually seen Frieza before.    Until now, she had only heard about him.   During her previous mission, the Ginyu Force and Vegeta had spoken of him as being present on Namek, but occupied elsewhere.   Before that, she had heard about Frieza's conquest and destruction of the Saiyan homeworld from the Toki Toki City historian, Dewar.    Dewar had said that Frieza was a clansman of his own species, and now that Luffa could see Frieza in the mystical images generated by the Scroll, she could see the resemblance.   Mostly, Frieza had purple colorations wherever Dewar had blue, and Frieza didn't bother wearing clothes.   He was a white-skinned, muscular humanoid with no hair and three-toed feet.    A long, thick tail waved behind him.  The purple aura from Towa's magic seemed to suit his cruel, indifferent expression.  

"Looks like it's the same story as before," Luffa said.    "Frieza got a power boost and he overwhelmed these guys too quickly, so I'll have to step in and balance the scales."

"It's not that simple," Chronoa warned.   "Frieza is far more powerful than anyone you've faced so far."

"He can't swap bodies like Captain Ginyu, can he?" Luffa asked.    

"No, but--"

"Well then, this should be a lot more straightforward," Luffa said,  She held up her hands and began cracking her knuckles.  

"Wait," Chronoa said.   "Luffa, I really think we should hold off on this until Trunks gets back."

"What for?" Luffa asked.   "I'm the one who has to go on these missions, and I'm ready right now.   With any luck, those miserable demons will still be there, and I can pick up where I left off."

"You don't know what you're dealing with, Luffa," Chronoa warned.  "Every time you've come back from these missions, you've been badly hurt.    Fighting Frieza is one thing.   If he hurts you, you can be automatically recalled to the Time Nest before you die.   But if Towa decides to step in, that might not work.   She's already threatened you, and there's a lot we don't know about her temporal manipulation abilities."

"Then it's time we found out," Luffa insisted.   "I don't know what kind of Saiyans you have working for you in the Time Patrol, but I'm the kind that doesn't back down from a challenge.    I think your pet Dragon noticed that, and maybe that's why he brought me here to help you out."

"There's more at stake here than whatever chip you have on your shoulder, Luffa," Chronoa said.  "I can tell you're out to prove something.   I don't know what, but I won't risk your life like this."

"And what happens if they try to alter history somewhere else while we're waiting around?" Luffa asked.   "We need to address this sooner rather than later.   And no matter what we do, it's going to be me who ends up going.   You know I'm right, Supreme Kai of Time.    I wouldn't be here if I weren't."  

Chronoa regarded her for a moment, then looked back at the Scroll.    "All right, we'll try it your way," she said.   "But I'll be watching, and at the first sign of trouble, I'm pulling you out of there."

"Thanks," Luffa said.   "I was thinking about making a grab for the Scroll, but I didn’t want to upset you.   I've never fought a god before, and I didn't want to make things awkward between us.”

"Uh... sure.   Well, promise me that you’ll keep that in mind if I have to bring you back from the mission early," Chronoa said.   "If you can't handle Frieza, then you definitely don't need to be picking fights with me."

Luffa smiled as she picked up the Scroll, and then she was gone.

NEXT: 「F」

[highladyluck]

Wheel of Time Playlist

Mat Cauthon/Tuon Paendrag: The Soundtrack

Direct link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1LWolFwiwWQtcnQV7zceMj

30 songs, 1 hr 43 min. This is my take on the canonical arc of Mat Cauthon and Tuon Paendrag's relationship, told largely through swing music and 80s power ballads, with a few surprises here and there.

I put a lot of time and thought into this so I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! There are spoilers in the playlist and track listing for Winter's Heart through A Memory of Light, since this is meant to mirror the narrative. It's organized mostly chronologically, though a few songs cover multiple books, or reference scenes placed slightly out of order, to better alternate points of view.

The order will be preserved if you have a paid Spotify account. (I know that's not ideal; I tried for several hours to get this into 8tracks through a series of increasingly convoluted methods but wasn't able to, as I don't directly own the music used.) If you can't listen to it in order, I've got the track listing under the cut so you can at least see what I was trying to do.

Track List:

1)      Royals (feat. Cory Gray) – Jake Coco, Corey Gray

“I’m no lord. I’ve more respect for myself than that.”

And we'll never be royals (royals)/

It don't run in our blood

2)      Almost There – Anika Noni Rose

Behind her veil, she was merely the High Lady Tuon, of no higher rank than many others of the Blood, but in her heart, always, she was Tuon Athaem Kore Paendrag, Daughter of the Nine Moons, and she had come to reclaim what had been stolen from her ancestor.

Ain't got time for messin' around/

And it's not my style

 3)      Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man – Sammy Hagar

“I’m a gambler, not a soldier. A lover.”

I ain't good looking, but you know I ain't shy/ Ain't afraid to look a girl in the eye

 4)      Primadonna – MARINA

 “She is my wife! Your bloody Daughter of the Nine Moons is my wife!”

Would you get down on your knees for me?/

Pop that pretty question, right now baby

 5)      Been Caught Stealing – Richard Cheese

And Mat and the others galloped out into the storm, carrying with them three Aes Sedai, two of them escaped damane, and the kidnapped heir to the Seanchan Crystal Throne, while behind them a far worse storm broke over Ebou Dar.

Walk right through the door/ Hey all right!/ If I get by, it's mine/ Mine all mine!

 6)      Luck Be A Lady – Frank Sinatra

“As soon as I can figure out how to send you home safe and sound, I will. I promise.”

[...]

“So long as you keep your promises, I will neither escape nor betray you in any way, nor will I cause dissension among your followers.”

Let’s keep this party polite/

Never get out of my sight/

Stick with me baby, I'm the guy that you came in with/

Luck be a lady tonight

 7)      Holding Out For A Hero – Bonnie Tyler

“Do you remember Hawkwing’s face, Toy?”

I'm holdin' out for a hero 'til the morning light/ He's gotta be sure/ And it's gotta be soon/ And he's gotta be larger than life

 8)      Play The Game – Queen

“I’ve changed my mind, Toy,” she murmured, placing the white stone carefully on the intersection of two lines near the center of the board. “You play very well.”

All you have to do is fall in love/

Play the game, everybody play the game/

Of love

 9)      Poker Face – Lady Gaga

Despite himself, Mat began to laugh. He threw his hat down on the floor and laughed. With everything, all his efforts, he did not know this woman at all! Not a bit! He laughed until his ribs hurt.

Can't read my, can't read my/ No, he can't read my poker face

 10)   Young Dumb And In Love – Mat Kearney

Her big eyes were dark pools a man could spend a lifetime swimming in. Her rare smiles could be mysterious or mischievous, and he prized them.

I'm talking much, and you don't make a sound/

The prettiest face and those rock-a-bye baby browns/

All I've waited for's come true/

To be young and dumb and in love

11)   Zebra – The Magnetic Fields

She was still beaming. Her big eyes shone. “She’s a very fine animal, Toy. A wonderful gift. Either you have a good eye, or you were very lucky.”

“I have a good eye, Precious,” he said warily. She seemed more delighted than even the razor called for.

so there's one thing I crave/ when my days become ho-hum and blah/ I want a zebra

 12)   Steppin’ Out With My Baby – Fred Astaire

He grinned at Tuon, who gave him a slight nod. He had missed this, dice in a common room or tavern, coin on the table, wondering how long his luck would hold. And a pretty woman at his side while he gambled. He wanted to laugh with pleasure.

Steppin' out with my honey/

Can't be bad to feel so good/

Never felt quite so sunny/

And I keep on knockin' wood

 13)   Mack the Knife – Louis Armstrong

Tuon nodded approvingly. The bloody woman was dying to see him get into a knife fight!

[...]

To him, the world consisted of his two knives and the men crowding each other to get at him, and his knives sought the places where men bleed most heavily. Some of those ancient memories came from men who had not been very nice at all.

You know when that shark bites

With his teeth, babe

Scarlet billows

Start to spread

Fancy gloves, though

Wears ol' Macheath, babe

So there's never, never a trace of red

 14)   Rescue Me – Fontella Bass

“If one army is out to kill you, then they probably all are, and there are too many soldiers between here and Ebou Dar. But don’t worry; I’ll find some way to get you back safely.”

[...]

His boot slid in a patch of blood, and as he staggered, he knew he was about to die.

Abruptly Tuon was there, left hand seizing the young woman’s wrist—not the wrist of the knife hand, worse luck—twisting so the arm went stiff and the girl was forced to double over.

Come on, baby, and rescue me/ 'Cause I need you by my side

 15)   Too Close For Comfort – Eydie Gormé

He bent his head to hers. She was far from the first woman he had kissed. He knew what he was about. Surprisingly—or then again, perhaps not so surprisingly—she did not know. She was a quick pupil though. Very quick.

Be wise, be smart, behave my heart,/ Don't upset your cart/ When he’s so close.

 16)   Fever – Michael Bublé

She laid fingers against his cheek. “I thought so,” she said in that slow honey drawl. “You’re feverish. Some of your wounds must be infected.”

[...]

Mat blinked. He gave her a kiss that had to have curled her toes, and all she said was that his face was hot?

When you put your arms around me/ I get a fever that's so hard to bear/ You give me fever when you kiss me/ Fever when you hold me tight

 17)   Burning Down The House – Tom Jones, The Cardigans

Karede felt as if Hartha had kicked him again. No, not Hartha. Aldazar. What madness was this? Cauthon looked like a man watching an arrow fly towards his face, knowing he had no chance to dodge.

“Bloody Matrim Cauthon is my husband. That is the wording you used, is it not?”

This had to be a fever-dream.

Watch out you might get what you're after/

Cool babies strange but not a stranger/

I'm an ordinary guy/

Burning down the house

 18)   Love Is A Battlefield – Pat Benatar

“The next time I see Seanchan, I expect it will be on the field somewhere, Tuon.” Burn him, it would be. His life seemed to run that way no matter what he did. “You’re not my enemy, but your Empire is.”

“Nor are you my enemy, husband,” she said coolly, “but I live to serve the Empire.”

Both of us knowing/ Love is a battlefield

 19)   Empire – Alpines

Tuon straightened her back. She had not thought to become Empress for many years yet. But she would do her duty.

[...]

Fortuona was empress.

 I'm building an empire/

I'm building with my body and soul/

I'm building an empire/

So little time and so much to do

 20)   Distant Stations – Andrew Bird

Stay well, you curious man, she thought, glancing back at the balcony, northward. Do not dig yourself into trouble deeper than you can climb to freedom. You are Prince of the Ravens now. Remember to act appropriately.

Wherever it is you are.

[...]

Thom finished by making a wavy line through the center, as one did at the start of any game of Snakes and Foxes.

[...]

Mat crouched beside a fern, unseen by the dozen or so Deathwatch Guards who stood in a ring around Tuon as she went through a series of fighting stances.

 It was a triangle/ With soft, round edges/ And a split down the middle of one corner

I waited for you/ But I never told you where I was/

I waited on the steps for you/ And I hid in the bushes whenever a car pulled into the parking lot

 21)   Black Coffee – Sarah Vaughan

I should very much like to have him back. She froze; she hadn’t meant to admit so much. She found her own emotions curious, however. She had felt safe with him, ridiculous though it seemed. And she wished he were with her now.

Black coffee/ Feelin' low as the ground/ It's drivin' me crazy/ This waitin' for my baby/ To maybe come around

 22)   Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps – Cake

“Love?” Tuon sounded surprised. “Perhaps we will come to love each other, Matrim, but I have always known I would marry to serve the Empire.”

[...]

“And do you love me?” he asked, forcing the words out.

 You won't admit you love me/

And so how am I ever to know?/

You only tell me/

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps

 23)   Best of You (with Elle King) – Andy Grammar, Elle King

“When you saw me,” Mat explained, “with a dagger in hand—as if to throw at you—you didn’t call for your guards. You didn’t fear I was here to kill you. You looked over your shoulder to see what I was aiming at. That’s the most loving gesture I think a man could receive from a woman. Unless you’d like to sit on my knee for a little while…”

 'Cause the best of me loves the best of you/

And all the rest, I can see right through/

You trust in me and I'll trust you too/

'Cause the best of me, loves the best of you

 24)   Dance Me to the End of Love – Leonard Cohen

“I’m not going to sit on your knee,” Tuon said, pulling one arm out of her robe, exposing her breasts, “though I may allow you to sit on mine.”

 Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on/ Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long/ We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above/ Dance me to the end of love

 25)   Roll the Dice – Annie Vincent

Order in one hand—something known, something she could measure—chaos in the other. Chaos in the form of a one-eyed man who knew Artur Hawkwing’s face.

Had she not just told Selucia she would bet upon him?

Roll the dice (C'mon)/ Take a chance with life, just roll the dice/ This will be your time, so roll the dice/ And nothing's gonna stop you now - no, no, woah

 26)   Short Skirt/Long Jacket – Cake

She was something incredible, though. He felt a thrill each time she gave orders; she did it so naturally.

 I want a girl with a mind like a diamond/ I want a girl who knows what's best

 27)   They All Fall Down – XY Unlimited

“A last stand,” Mat said softly. “All of us, together, at a one place where the terrain favors us.”

 One by one the soldiers stumble/

See them as they stand and tumble/

You're here with me

 28)   Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off – Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong

“I’ve had it with you,” Knotai said, waving a hand at her. “You and your bloody Seanchan rules just keep getting in the way.”

“Then I have had it with you as well,” she said, raising her head.

[...]

“I suppose you give me the opportunity… perhaps the mandate… to follow what my heart would choose, whether or not it is wise.” She stood. “General Galgan, gather your troops. We return to the Field of Merrilor.”

 For we know we need each other/ So we better call the calling off off/ Let's call the whole thing off!

 29)   Never Knew I Needed – Kathryn

“Well, I guess I’m off the hook, now. You have an heir.”

“I have an heir,” Tuon said, “but I am the one off that hook. Now I can kill you, if I want.”

Mat felt his grin widen. “Well, we’ll have to see what we can work out. Tell me, do you ever play dice?”

 You are the best thing I never knew I needed/ So now it's so clear, I need you here always

 30)   Twin Human Highway Flares – The Mountain Goats

All he had to do was convince Tuon to forsake her throne and run off with him.

  You turned to me and asked me if I'd always be your boy/

As we drove across the river into western Illinois/

And on the railroad bridge, half a mile of solid steel/

Wheels were spitting out sparks, scraping at the rails

[itsjustlyle]

President Andrew Jackson's Case for the Removal Act

First Annual Message to Congress, 8 December 1829

It gives me pleasure to announce to Congress that the benevolent policy of the Government, steadily pursued for nearly thirty years, in relation to the removal of the Indians beyond the white settlements is approaching to a happy consummation. Two important tribes have accepted the provision made for their removal at the last session of Congress, and it is believed that their example will induce the remaining tribes also to seek the same obvious advantages.

The consequences of a speedy removal will be important to the United States, to individual States, and to the Indians themselves. The pecuniary advantages which it Promises to the Government are the least of its recommendations. It puts an end to all possible danger of collision between the authorities of the General and State Governments on account of the Indians. It will place a dense and civilized population in large tracts of country now occupied by a few savage hunters. By opening the whole territory between Tennessee on the north and Louisiana on the south to the settlement of the whites it will incalculably strengthen the southwestern frontier and render the adjacent States strong enough to repel future invasions without remote aid. It will relieve the whole State of Mississippi and the western part of Alabama of Indian occupancy, and enable those States to advance rapidly in population, wealth, and power. It will separate the Indians from immediate contact with settlements of whites; free them from the power of the States; enable them to pursue happiness in their own way and under their own rude institutions; will retard the progress of decay, which is lessening their numbers, and perhaps cause them gradually, under the protection of the Government and through the influence of good counsels, to cast off their savage habits and become an interesting, civilized, and Christian community. These consequences, some of them so certain and the rest so probable, make the complete execution of the plan sanctioned by Congress at their last session an object of much solicitude.

Toward the aborigines of the country no one can indulge a more friendly feeling than myself, or would go further in attempting to reclaim them from their wandering habits and make them a happy, prosperous people. I have endeavored to impress upon them my own solemn convictions of the duties and powers of the General Government in relation to the State authorities. For the justice of the laws passed by the States within the scope of their reserved powers they are not responsible to this Government. As individuals we may entertain and express our opinions of their acts, but as a Government we have as little right to control them as we have to prescribe laws for other nations.

With a full understanding of the subject, the Choctaw and the Chickasaw tribes have with great unanimity determined to avail themselves of the liberal offers presented by the act of Congress, and have agreed to remove beyond the Mississippi River. Treaties have been made with them, which in due season will be submitted for consideration. In negotiating these treaties they were made to understand their true condition, and they have preferred maintaining their independence in the Western forests to submitting to the laws of the States in which they now reside. These treaties, being probably the last which will ever be made with them, are characterized by great liberality on the part of the Government. They give the Indians a liberal sum in consideration of their removal, and comfortable subsistence on their arrival at their new homes. If it be their real interest to maintain a separate existence, they will there be at liberty to do so without the inconveniences and vexations to which they would unavoidably have been subject in Alabama and Mississippi.

Humanity has often wept over the fate of the aborigines of this country, and Philanthropy has been long busily employed in devising means to avert it, but its progress has never for a moment been arrested, and one by one have many powerful tribes disappeared from the earth. To follow to the tomb the last of his race and to tread on the graves of extinct nations excite melancholy reflections. But true philanthropy reconciles the mind to these vicissitudes as it does to the extinction of one generation to make room for another. In the monuments and fortresses of an unknown people, spread over the extensive regions of the West, we behold the memorials of a once powerful race, which was exterminated or has disappeared to make room for the existing savage tribes. Nor is there anything in this which, upon a comprehensive view of the general interests of the human race, is to be regretted. Philanthropy could not wish to see this continent restored to the conditions in which it was found by our forefathers. What good man would prefer a country covered with forests and ranged by a few thousand savages to our extensive Republic, studded with cities, towns, and prosperous farms, embellished with all the improvements which art can devise or industry execute, occupied by more than 12,000,000 happy people, and filled with all the blessings of liberty, civilization, and religion?

The present policy of the Government is but a continuation of the same progressive change by a milder process. The tribes which occupied the countries now constituting the Eastern States were annihilated or have melted away to make room for the whites. The waves of population and civilization are rolling to the westward, and we now propose to acquire the countries occupied by the red men of the South and West by a fair exchange, and, at the expense of the United States, to send them to a land where their existence may be prolonged and perhaps made perpetual. Doubtless it will be painful to leave the graves of their fathers; but what do they more than our ancestors did or than our children are now doing? To better their condition in an unknown land our forefathers left all that was dear in earthly objects. Our children by thousands yearly leave the land of their birth to seek new homes in distant regions. Does Humanity weep at these painful separations from everything, animate and inanimate, with which the young heart has become entwined? Far from it. It is rather a source of joy that our country affords scope where our young population may range unconstrained in body or in mind, developing the power and faculties of man in their highest perfection. These remove hundreds and almost thousands of miles at their own expense, purchase the lands they occupy, and support themselves at their new homes from the moment of their arrival. Can it be cruel in this Government when, by events which it can not control, the Indian is made discontented in his ancient home to purchase his lands, to give him a new and extensive territory, to pay the expense of his removal, and support him a year in his new abode? How many thousands of our own people would gladly embrace the opportunity of removing to the West on such conditions! If the offers made to the Indians were extended to them, they would be hailed with gratitude and joy.

And is it supposed that the wandering savage has a stronger attachment to his home than the settled, civilized Christian? Is it more afflicting to him to leave the graves of his fathers than it is to our brothers and children? Rightly considered, the policy of the General Government toward the red man is not only liberal, but generous. He is unwilling to submit to the laws of the States and mingle with their population. To save him from this alternative, or perhaps utter annihilation, the General Government kindly offers him a new home, and proposes to pay the whole expense of his removal and settlement. . . .

May we not hope, therefore, that all good citizens, and none more zealously than those who think the Indians oppressed by subjection to the laws of the States, will unite in attempting to open the eyes of those children of the forest to their true condition, and by a speedy removal to relieve them from all the evils, real or imaginary, present or prospective, with which they may be supposed to be threatened.

[razieltwelve]

Ember (Final Rose)

Yang staggered to her feet and wiped the blood from her mouth. It was hard to focus. She could barely see the Grimm in front of her. All she could see were the graves. How long had it been? Too long. She wasn’t supposed to be the last one left. She’d always thought she’d be the first to go.

The ground trembled. Claws sliced through the air. Her Semblance flared. The embers in her soul began to blaze. Dying embers became a bonfire. A bonfire became a blaze. A blaze became an inferno. An inferno became a star.

And she knew what happened next. 

She welcomed it.

X    X     X

Yang reached over to wake up Neo and froze. The other woman’s Aura signature was gone. Her mouth opened and closed, but the words wouldn’t come. There were only tears. Instead, she woke up Blake and Winter. She didn’t have to say anything. Their senses were keen enough. They knew.

Seventy-five. Neo had only been seventy-five.

The diagnosis was simple. Neo was the product of two distant offshoots of Saviour and Ragnarok joining together. The fact that she’d survived awakening her Semblance at all was a minor miracle, but her body had always been living on borrow time. Once her Aura capacity dropped low enough, the two conflicting sets of genes had begun to tear away at each other.

Yang had simply thought it was arthritis or something like that. Neo had never told any of them what it really was. The stupid idiot had probably been trying to avoid worrying them because there hadn’t been a cure. At least her children would be safe. Their genes were stable enough to avoid the problems she’d been plagued with.

Watching them put Neo into the ground, Yang had half-expected the little troll to leap out of her coffin and claim it was all a prank. But she didn’t, and they buried her on a rainy day late in spring. 

X    X     X

Yang shone more brightly than a star. A corona of pure Aura surrounded her, a violent, raging maelstrom of raw power that simply incinerated anything it touched. There could have been a thousand Grimm or even a million and not one of them would have laid one claw on her.

She laughed, and there was something wild and desperate about it. The lesser Grimm were either dead or fleeing, and she finally got a glimpse of her real opponent, a colossal Grimm, the kind that could crush entire civilisations. Dimly, she was aware of it raining, but none of the rain reached her. The conflagration around her evaporated it long before it could touch her.

The power inside her continued to build. How much time did she have? Five minutes if she was lucky, maybe less. She was old now, so old, and her Semblance wasn’t as easy to control as it had. Already, she could see her skin blistering as her body began to fail under the strain.

Not yet. Just a little longer.

The Grimm roared, and she roared back. 

X   X    X

Winter passed away early one autumn morning. She was out on the porch in her favourite rocking chair when she went to sleep and never woke up. In a way, Yang was glad. For the longest time, Winter had been afraid that she would die on some mission far from home with no one by her side. Instead she’d passed after a brief illness with her family right there with her.

Yang had been brewing some tea for her when Chomp V padded into the kitchen and nudged her. The Saint Bernard was getting on in years too, and she had a feeling he was hanging on just for Winter. No one could ever replace the original Chomp in their hearts, but this particular descendant of his had been one of Winter’s favourites.

When he nudged her leg and gave a low whine, she knew. Without saying a word, she went out onto the porch and tucked the blanket a little tighter around Winter. It didn’t matter anymore, but it felt right to do. Even if she couldn’t feel the cold anymore, it seemed wrong to let the blanket slip loose when there was a chill about.

Ninety years old. Not a bad run, Winter would have said, certainly much longer than she’d expected given her career choice and all the close calls she’d had over the years.

They buried her next to Neo, and a week later, they buried Chomp V nearby too. That old dog really had been holding on just for her. 

X    X     X

Yang hit the Grimm like a meteor out of the sky. The force of the impact shattered trees for more than a mile around and tore the leaves off others even further out. The Grimm barely flinched, and its counterstrike would have reshaped a mountain. Yang took the blow with a mocking laugh, and the blaze of Aura around her burned ever brighter.

The night was gone. In its place was a day born of the radiance that was Yang’s Aura, a raging, furious star that eclipsed even the sun itself. Her next blow hit harder still, and the one after that was even stronger. The ground shook, the clouds parted, and still the Grimm refused to fall.

Brighter.

Hotter.

Stronger.

The inferno in Yang’s soul was reaching its zenith. Her skin sizzled, and her hair began to char. But she was smiling. She’d been away from home for so many years, but she’d be back home soon. She could feel it. It was right there, but there was still one last thing to do.

X    X     X

Trust Blake to be the one to go down fighting. A ninety-eight year had no business on the battlefield, but Blake had spent so many of her teenage years running away that she’d refused to run away later in life even when it would have been smarter.

From what Yang had heard from the survivors, Blake had been an army unto herself. Her clones has washed over the battlefield and turned the tide. Oh, she wasn’t as strong as she had been in her prime - not even close - but she was cunning and skilful, and quantity had a quality all of its own.

In the end, it hadn’t been the Grimm that had killed her. At the end of the battle, standing victorious one last time, her heart had simply given out, that brave, kind, wonderful heart. She’d complained about some pain in her chest, and by the time they’d begun treating her, it was too late.

They’d buried her next to Neo and Winter, and Yang had stood there, utterly numb, realising that she was the only one from Team RWBY left. Even Ruby and Weiss were gone. They’d passed one after the other only a year ago. Looking around the crowd at the funeral, she realised that almost all of the people from her generation were gone. There were so few of them left.

In the crowd, Diana met her eyes. She understood.

X    X     X

Yang felt something inside her give way, and the rush of power from within her became an unstoppable torrent, a flood, a tidal wave, an onslaught that washed away everything in its path. The world flared, so bright it blinded her, and the blast that followed annihilated the Grimm and carved a vast crater into the ground so large she knew it would be visible from space.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there. It might have been ten seconds. It could have been ten hours. But then she heard footsteps. Was it the Grimm? No. She had just enough of her senses left to realise who it was.

Spiky hair, turned white by age, appeared at the edges of he hazyr vision.

“You know,” Diana drawled. “I’m kind of amazed you’re alive.”

Yang smiled weakly. Her Aura, which had blazed at millions of times its usual strength only moments ago was now little more than embers, dying and faint. “Not for much longer.”

“I figured that.” Diana sat down beside her and sighed. She wasn’t as sprightly as she had been in her youth. “You know, there is a song the Yun sing.”

“Oh?” Yang blinked. Diana was gone. No. That wasn’t right. She couldn’t see. Her eyes must have begun to fail. It wouldn’t be long then. She hoped her hearing would hold out a little longer. She had a feeling that this was important.

“Can you hear the bells?” Diana sang softly. “The bells calling the warriors home? The proud and mighty bells of Oerba long lost. The warriors hear the bells, the bells of the city long lost, the bells of the city fallen and not yet rebuilt.” She chuckled. “Trust me, it sounds better when you sing it in Yun, but the point of the song is that the warriors in the song are dead. The bells they’re hearing aren’t really the bells of Oerba because they died defending Oerba. Instead, they’re the bells that toll in the halls of our ancestors to welcome the Honoured Dead.” She reached out and took one of Yang’s scorched hands in hers. “Can you hear the bells, Yang? You’ve more than earned them.”

“Bells, huh?” Something swam into view out of the darkness of her lost vision. There was a house in front of her with a familiar dog waiting on the porch. She climbed the steps and opened the door to a time when everything was perfect and everyone she loved was still alive. They were waiting for her there, with smiles on their faces and words of greeting on their lips. She wasn’t an old woman anymore. She was young and so were they, and she felt more at home right now than she’d felt in years and years. “I think I can.”

“Then don’t worry about anything else,” Diana said. “You’ve done enough, more than enough. You’ve fought for so long, but you don’t have to fight anymore.”

Yang smiled and squeezed Diana’s hand. “I’ll say hi to everyone for you.”

The embers within her sputtered and went dark. Her hand went limp.

X    X     X

Diana reached out and closed Yang’s sightless eyes before glancing down at the syringe of emergency nano-machines in her hand. As she stood, Alison and Li arrived. The twins looked at their mother for a long moment and then back at her.

“You didn’t use the syringe, did you?” Alison asked quietly.

Diana smiled. “No. No, I didn’t.”

Li’s lips quivered. “Thank you.”

“For not using them?” Diana chuckled. “Most people would be mad.”

“She’s smiling,” Li said. “It’s been a long time since she smiled like that.”

Diana dragged in a deep breath. “I know - and that’s why I didn’t use it.”

“We’ll bury her next to the others,” Alison murmured. “They’ll be together again. I think... I think that’s all she’s wanted these last few years.”

“She’s certainly more than earned her rest,” Diana replied. “And I don’t think she could have asked for a better death than this.” She gestured at the crater around them. “She always did say she’d go out with a bang.”

X    X     X

Author’s Notes

So this is what becomes of the Neo/Winter/Blake/Yang group. Neo goes first followed by Winter and then Blake, with Yang going last. Frankly, Yang always thought she’d be the first to go, but life has a way of surprising people, and not always in a good way.

I wouldn’t say their story is a tragic one. They lived and they loved and they were very happy. But time passes, and time doesn’t lose. As sad as some of those last years were when she was alone, she’d happily endure them because of all the joy that preceded them. It’s fitting then that they’re waiting for her when she passed (and Chomp too, of course). Death can be sad and awful and tragic, but it can also be peaceful and welcome when it comes after a long life lived well.

Out of everyone in their generation, Diana is the last to pass. She outlives all of her siblings and all of her cousins and friends. Yet perhaps it’s for the best because she’d quite possibly the only one who could endure that sort of thing and not end up bitter about it. 

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here. I’ve recently released two stories, Attempted Adventuring and Surviving Quarantine, as well as two audiobooks, Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Army of Golems, Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire, and The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company. If you like humour, action, and adventure, be sure to check them out.

[silverflintdaily]

Schedule - udpates! Submit prompts and work on fills now through the end of the month! We’ll post a link to an ao3 collection closer to posting time.  Our main posting week is June 23rd to 30th! We’ll still reblog fills after that but want to have a week of new Silverflint stuff. :)

Submit prompts here: HTTPS://FORMS.GLE/LMGMVAYUHRAFZCVW6 Auto updated prompt spreadsheet: HTTPS://TINYURL.COM/YCGDCNNQ Full details here: https://tinyurl.com/y832muwv

FULL LIST OF PROMPTS AS OF 6/15/20 BELOW.

Ships/characters in bold

Max, Anne, Silver, and Flint They all go to burning man

Silverflint Instagram drama: Silver has crush on Flint, following with each other, Silver shove his love on Flint and Flint’s uncomfortable. Flint unfollowed him one day and Silver was devastated and disappeared from Instagram. Flint found out through friends and he must seek him before Silver did something stupid.

Silverflint Truth or dare

Silverflint  Canon era, one (or both) accidently calling the other one pet names

Silverflint (+sort of Flinthamilton)  Silver asking Flint, while having sex, to tell him about his sex with Thomas (in detail). I think canon era, placed after 310, would be better but it’s up to writer.

Silverflinthamilton + ?   summer vacation modern au - maybe they go somewhere warm (or not, as Flint burns so easily), maybe they meet some beautiful men there

Silverflint   post canon era reunion fic - fighting to kissing. they start out almost trying to kill one another

Silverflint   modern au - after a meet rude during the coronavirus lockdown they both can’t stop thinking about that handsome idiot they met. One of them tracks the other down online to apologize. how do they spend the endless weeks of shelter in place?

Silverflint  canon era - A small happy celebration with just the two of them.

Silverflintmiranda  canon era - Miranda survives the shot, convalesces with Silver

Silverflint  modern au where either Silver or Flint has an ASMR channel (or they both have) and they secretly love listening to the other. Could be distant pining or enemies to lovers etc.

Silverflint (+Hamilton[s])  tarzan au (you can choose who is on the island and who arrives there). Lord Thomas Hamilton and/or Miranda can also be included.

Silverflintmadi  “My name is (Long) John Silver. And I’ve got a long fucking memory [loss].”

Silverflintmadi  canon era. They go on a picnic and it starts to rain. Fluff or otherwise good times would be nice!

Silverflint    Flint is a cockslut and hasn’t had cock in ages. Silver is happy (and really fucking astonished) to present his for the taking. happens before Silver loses his leg, canon era.

Silverflint  Modern au with ‘there is only one bed’ trope and mutual pining. Silver is Flint’s long suffering sassy PA who’s been hiding a crush on his boss and friend forever.He has been successful so far. One day he has to accompany Flint on a business trip to let’s say Bahamas?! and there was a booking mistake - there were booked into a honeymoon suite. And since there is a summer festival there is no chance to get another room. Things happen!

Silverflint, Silverflinthamilton  7 years after their escape from Savannah plantation, James and Thomas are living a quiet, happily ever after life - money and jewels they grabbed on their way out were enough for decades of comfortable life which they now had. And almost everything was perfect-they had each other, got to know each other again,accepted each others’ demons and learned to handle each others’ nightmares and guilt. Flint long ago told Thomas about Silver and with time forgave, but didn’t forget him. After all Flint’s heart was broken on Skeleton Island and both him and Thomas knew deep inside he still loved John Silver. They talked about Silver-about the feelings Flint used to hide, about the pain and forgiveness and about love that didn’t had a happy ending. It was fine, discussing it all together, sharing these stories-past is in the past and that chapter of Flint’s life will remain there. Until one day the past refused to remain in the past and John Silver showed up on their doorstep, injured, delirious and looking for his own forgiveness.

Silverflint/Silverflinthamilton   Post canon S4: John Silver is no longer Long John Silver. Exiled from Madi and Maroon Island, he brought himself to somewhere nearby Savannah and disappeared. James Flint and Thomas Hamilton escaped from plantation, bought house and live happily together. 3 years later, Flint saw John Silver at tavern. But John Silver doesn’t remember him. Turns out he lost memories due sickness and always forget who he was everyday. Will Flint able bring John Silver’s memory back and reconcile?

Silverflint, Silverflinthamilton  Modern AU silverflint - Flint and Thomas are a happily married couple and Silver and Flint are bffs with a long history. But the thing is-Silver has been crushing on Flint forever and his pining is epic. He is also sure he is clever and no one figured it out. Only both Thomas and Flint did a while ago and Flint is determined to make Silver confess his feelings. He has turned Silver’s life into a living hell with his seduction techniques and jeans so tight they should be illegal in public. Meanwhile Thomas is having too much fun watching them two and making his own plans for their shared future together.

Silverflint  John Silver is 30 year old virgin and has never had a relationship and sex. Max and Jack decided to set him up with date at local bar. John Silver’s first date was James Flint, a loner and his last partner left him for indifference opinion. James Flint is working as cattle farmer (?) and their date went well. Except.. they are not rushing to have sex and taking time to know each other. There were lot confusion and miscommunication between them on next date. Will John Silver able to lose his virgin and will James Flint make first step to ask John Silver as his boyfriend? First kiss, first touch, sexting, first sex and hot smut.

Silverflint  smut ficlet to go with finnguala’s fabulous art

Silverflint post canon - old pirates having a day at the beach

Silverflint  Flint is distracted by Silver’s big hands.

Silverflint   Modern au: Flint found Silver’s missing childhood’s photo at Silver’s grandparent’s house. He told Silver about it and gave compliment on him (“you were cute as kid and I noticed how baby earsie you were and your smile was beautiful”) and Silver keep blush for non stop teasing. And then sweet, hot summer sex on bed ;)

Silverflinthamilton   pornstars au

Silverflinthamilton   After reunion. Thomas is trying to seduce Silver with a new, especially tight, pair of trousers.

Silverflint  Canon era. S1-S2 After an accident on the Walrus Silver and Flint end up being able to read each others thoughts. How does that end up going for them?

Silverflint + Miranda   just some porn where miranda is pegging one of them while the other watches them fall apart. canon or modern era, it doesn’t really matter.

Silverflint  Two idiots with mutual pining and obliviousness. Others try to help but it may not go so well at first.

Silverflint  canon era. After a really great haul the Walrus has a rum soaked celebration. The next morning Silver and Flint wake up together in the captain’s bed with no clothes.

Silverflinthamilton   After reunion. Silver finally appears on their doorstep, later they are talking over their dinner but something goes wrong and Silver and Flint start to fight. Thomas is trying to calm and separate them but Flint accidentally punches him instead of Silver.

Silverflint  Persuasion AU. An unmarried Silver encounters his former love Captain James Flint after he returns from battle.

Silverflint competing reality cooking show contestants

Silverflint  Silver and Flint have met before many years ago and even spent the night together. Now for reasons (there was a lot of rum that night, they’re both different people, memory loss etc.) neither of them remember. One of them has a nagging feeling when Silver joins the Walrus crew but one of them remembers nothing yet.

Silverflint   One of them needs to be restrained and dominated to truly let go. Writer’s choice who and what era.

Silverflint   Silver threatens to shave his head

Silverflint/Silverflinthamilton   (probably?)Post canon S4 and Treasure Island: Captain Flint’s ghost decided to haunt John Silver for revenge. However, Long John Silver was disappeared to nowhere. Fast forward for this year, Long John Silver’s great great grandson, John Silver bought property in Bristol. One day, he was haunted by ghost Captain Flint. Ghost Captain Flint wants revenge but ended up falling in love sweet, poor John Silver’s due social anxiety. Will they make up for loss done by his late ancestor? Happy ending for everyone. All depend on writer’s idea!

Silverflint AU Canon divergence during season 4. Madi really dies in episode 7; Thomas Hamilton is not found in Savannah. The war goes on, bolstered by an enraged Silver, fueled by the Urca gold. During this time of violence and grief, Flint and Silver become all each other has left in the world.

Silverflint   Sometimes one of them will keep the other on the edge for as long as he can stand. There is lots and lots of begging and pleading. There could be fingering and rimming and toys…

Silverflinthamilton Reunion fic where John finds James and Thomas in their home x nbr of years after s4, then realises he knows Thomas because they spent a month living together in Paris some years before Thomas met James and having a blast. John recognises Thomas who doesn’t recognise him until John shows a tattoo/mark placed somewhere there is no misunderstanding of why he recognises that part of him (because he’s seen john naked). Develops into threesome or twosome where the last person joins in later.

Silverflint  tentacles

SilverFlint / MadiSilverFlintHamilton  Post s4 Thomas and Flint are living together after escaping the plantation. Madi and Silver who are still together come to visit them. SilverFlint have palpable sexual/romantic tension and Madi and Thomas conspire to push them together. Afterwards when the tension is resolved Silver and Flint realize it was planned by their significant others all along and invite them into bed and the four of them have some fun

Silverflint    When drunk, Flint behaves like Toby Stephens’ Prince John in BBC Robin Hood.

Silverflint (hamilton)     Annihilation Au

Silverflint    Canon-compliant up til 4.06. When the Spanish attacks Nassau, Silver is the one who is thought to be dead and later revealed to have been captured (instead of Madi). Rogers tries to use to Silver to cause a rift between Madi and Flint, thinking that Madi will trade the treasure for Silver’s life while Flint will not. To everyone’s surprise, the opposite happens. Madi refuses to trade the treasure while Flint will stop at nothing to get Silver back.

Silverflint   firefighter au: silver keeps accidentally triggering the fire alarm while trying to improve his cooking (an actual fire may or may not be involved) and flint is the ridiculously attractive firefighter who has to deal with it

Silverflint   vigilante au: they’re both vigilantes watching over the same area and have a bit of a rivalry going on until they have to team up to take down a new threat.

Silverflint   modern au (amnesia): silver wakes up with amnesia and forgets that he was dating flint before the accident. as far as he remembers, they can’t stand each other, and he doesn’t understand why flint shows up at the hospital and seems genuinely worried about him. (roles could be reversed–author’s choice).

Silverflint   modern au based on this text post: How to kiss a boy 1)grab his waist 2)slip you hand in his pocket 3)steal his wallet 4)don't even kiss him 5)just run.

Silverflint    Fic set just after Silver loses the leg and Flint loses Miranda and they are stuck in the cabin together.

Silverflint    (Modern?) Soulmate AU (names on skin) - Flint knows Silver is his soulmate and thinks Silver either doesn't want him or doesn't have him as a soulmate in return, meaning a one-sided bond. In reality, Silver has no idea because his mark says James McGraw and all he does is wish the universe had given him a different James.

Silverflint (hamilton)    post series canon James is growing back his hair and gets a little teasing when it hits a truly awkward length.

Silverflinthamilton    Slow burn

Silverflint   Body swap!!! Preferably while they're interested but not yet together. Lasting long enough that they'll have to pretend to be one another for a little while.

Silverflint    One of them, or both of them, cries during/after sex.

Silverflint    knifeplay! let's just say that first meeting in the wrecks made quite an impression.

Silverflint + Silvermadi    madi pegs silver while he thinks abt flint

Silverflint    taking care of one another like tending to wounds post battle, caring for Silver's leg

Silverflint    Early s3 (probably during/after 3x01): Flint wears eyeliner on a raid, Silver doesn’t know about it until he gets back. He sees Flint wearing the eyeliner and is, unexpectedly and intensely, turned on by it. He wrestles with himself And his attraction but ultimately finds himself drawn into the captain’s cabin. Pining, angst, maybe smut? Writer’s choice!

Silverflint/Silverflintmadi   Silver and Hands do not escape Max and her men (Season 4, Episode 2). Hands is killed (?) and Max's henchmen drag Silver off and hold him prisoner somewhere until he can be secretly taken off the island. Bad things happen. Flint and/or Madi eventually locate Silver and find him alive and happy? dead and sad? half alive/half dead and thoroughly screwed up?

Silverflint/Silverflintmadi    Flint and the Maroons are defeated on the beach and Hornigold and the British make it through to the village (season 3, episode 10). Silver is captured whilst Madi retreats to the underground shelter to keep the villagers hidden. Hornigold proceeds to torture Silver to discover the location of the cache and to avenge Dufresne's death. Can Flint and the remnants of his forces mount a counterattack and save Silver? Can Madi sneak out of her hiding place and rescue him? Or is Silver doomed to die at the hands of a very angry, silver-haired grandpa?

Silverflint    Flint, Dooley and Joji are unable to rescue Silver at the wrecks (season 4. episode 3) and see him carted off to Nassau by the Redcoats. Rogers takes out all his frustrations on Silver during some rather brutal interrogations, and attempts to humiliate him and his cause by mocking the street for fearing/following a tiny, one-legged nobody. Somehow, Flint manages to rescue Silver before Rogers hangs him. Don't ask me how. I have no idea. But I have Great Faith in Flint.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars XXXV (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I am so sorry for forcing you to read this. The twins had an excuse but truly it is me saying I have no idea how to be funny.

Words: 2,168

Warnings: None!

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Seventeen: Valentine's Day.

Hermione had a dreadful time as a half-feline. 

People thought she'd been attacked and tried to take a look, Mel was having a hard time controlling her temper, but she managed to not scream at anyone, which was an utter success.

She was currently waiting for Erick at the far corner of the library, he'd sent her a note saying it was time she returned the favor and help him with his own search, she didn't know what he'd meant, but she wasn't too worried about it.

Harry and Ron were in the Hospital Wing, giving Hermione her homework for the day, so she wasn't expecting to see them in a while.

"Good afternoon, Miss," Erick sat down, going straight to business, "I've a list with all my doubts- I also have some petitions but don't worry, nothing about stealing human hair or making someone fall unconscious-"

"You'll never let me forget it, won't you?"

"Not ever," He pulled out a fancy notebook and opened it on its first page. "First thing on my list- What things do muggles teach to their kind?"

"You mean at school?" He nodded, "They teach them to write and read, then math-"

"Math?" Erick frowned, "subtractions and all that?"

"Yes, Erick. They need numbers too," She rolled her eyes, "What else... oh! They also have their own History lessons, science class- we don't have science here, but I guess we don't exactly need it since magic has its own rules..."

"Science?" The boy wrote it all down, "You have books on that?"

"Some, from when I was in muggle school- they're pretty basic, but they should do. I'll send a letter to my mom asking for a pair"

"Alright," He nodded, still writing, "You know about farmers?"

Mel laughed.

"A thing or two," She said, "what do you want to know?"

"How do they grow things?- And their animals?"

"They do that on its own, you don't need magic for that- wizards don't use magic for that either, I know it because the Weasleys had chickens and all"

"Oh," a faint pink color tinted his cheeks, "I didn't know that."

"You don't have a farm then," She tilted her head, "why do you live around so many?"

"The house belonged to my ancestors for centuries- we've lived there for ages," He shrugged, "my parents don't exactly love it but they never leave the house unless absolutely have to- the neighbors probably think we're mental"

"Anything else you want to know?"

"Yes," He turned the page of his notebook, "I... I need to know who's Rapunzel"

"What?" She raised a brow.

"Anne," Erick explained, "when I talked to her she told me I was like Rapunzel- that I was always locked down in my castle... is it some sort of muggle royalty?"

Mel tried to contain her laughter.

"N-No," She said with a strained voice, "Rapunzel... She's... She's a princess from a story"

Erick's eyes widened, his face turning completely red.

"Oh"

Mel snorted, hiding her face so the laughter would come out muffled.

"I-I think she didn't mean to insult you- maybe just teasing," She bit her lip, "Rapunzel's a fairytale. I could lend you that one too?"

"That would be nice. Thank you," He cleared his throat, "that's all I have."

"Alright," Mel smiled, "so... you've only talked to Anne that one time?"

"I didn't get a chance after that," The boy frowned, "my parents didn't know but they suspected something was off when she started to take the long path to her farm, the one closest to our home- They didn't allow me to leave the house after that."

"No wonder why you're so pale- Your family," Mel sighed, "are they like... the Malfoys?"

"They certainly want to be," Erick raised a brow, "but not really, some relatives have married half-bloods and muggle-borns- distant relatives though. My grandfather, my mum's dad- he's good with me. Never said anything dreadful- I think he doesn't care about blood. My parents are the problem... I don't know why are they so obsessed about it, I really don't. Guess I'm just that unlucky..."

"You're not," She reached for his hand and patted softly on it, retreating before he'd react. "You'll grow up one day and you'll be able to do whatever you want"

"That won't come fast enough," He scoffed, leaning back on his chair.

"Tell you what," Mel grabbed her bag and took out parchment, quill, and ink. "I'll write the letter while we're here so I send it today, what d'you say?"

"I say I would walk you to the owlery- although someone might see us"

Mel smiled.

"That's the fun part."

"A diary?" Mel asked for the third time.

"Did you hit your head?" Ron frowned, "Yes a diary- We found it in Myrtle's bathroom"

"And you just picked it up," She raised her eyebrows, "bit thick from both of you- that thing could be haunted"

"That's what I told him!" Ron argued, "But he insisted-"

"I think it might be important," Harry handed it to her. Mel held it away from her body, "oh, don't be dramatic..."

"I'm being careful, there's a difference," She huffed, "have you told Hermione?"

"No, we found it after we visited her"

"Well now, and what're you going to do?"

"Dunno, wait for Hermione?"

"You could give it to Dumbledore," She offered, "it's a bit strange... I don't like it. It feels..."

She frowned, Mel didn't know why she felt that way about an empty diary, but she hated it.

"Come on now, and what we'd say? 'Excuse me, Professor, we found this on a toilet, thought you might appreciate it-' Ouch!"

Mel had hit Ron on the head with the book.

"Stop talking to me like that," She snapped, "why are you so moody?"

"Hermione can't help with our homework," Harry explained.

"Get it together," Mel demanded, "I'll help you if you promised to behave."

Ron's interest peaked.

"Would you?"

"I like to think that I'm clever enough to help others, you know?"

"You've got a lot to do," Ron dragged her to the nearest armchair and let all his works fall on her lap, "I've no idea of what've been doing in Potions and Transfiguration."

"The moment their acne clears up, they'll be ready for repotting again," Sprout was telling Filch as they walked into their herbology class,  "And after that, it won't be long until we're cutting them up and stewing them. You'll have Mrs. Norris back in no time."

It was February and the attacks had miraculously stopped, things were going back to normal, even for Mel and her friends. Less people thought that Harry was the heir, and they were finally leaving him alone, now she could focus on her to-do list.

One morning she walked in with Hermione and Ron to the Great Hall -apparently, Harry was too tired from Quidditch practice and Ron didn't want to wake him up- and got attacked with a mixed set of emotions.

Everything was sickeningly pink.

Mel liked pink a fair good amount, but this was just excessive: Roses on the walls and confetti shaped like little hearts coming from the ceiling, she felt inside a doll's house.

"Gross!" Ron hissed as soon as they walked in, reluctant to step further, "Who did this?!"

"Locktwat," Mel pointed to the teachers' table, where their professor sat, proudly wearing the pinkiest set of robes she'd ever seen.

"I should've known," He groaned, dragging his feet towards their table.

After half an hour, Harry finally arrived.

"What's going on?"

Ron pointed to the teachers' table this time, Mel had her eyes fixed on her plate.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart finally spoke up, getting her attention. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all - and it doesn't end here!"

Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

"Ugh..." Mel groaned, pushing her plate away, "I think I lost my appetite"

"Just eat quick," Ron said to Harry, "I can't stand this for another hour"

"I think it's nice he's trying to cheer us up," Hermione shrugged.

Mel glared at her, she was certain Hermione was one of those bloody forty-six letters.

After the first half of the day, a dwarf appeared out of nowhere and stood in front of her, he didn't seem in the mood to get a no for an answer.

"I've got a musical poem to deliver-"

"Oh no," Mel backtracked.

"Sweet as butter mellow," The dwarf started to sing -more like yell- and people stopped to listen, "Mel Dumbledore, your temper turns every boy yellow..."

She was dead, she had to be, this felt very much like hell and she was paying all her crimes.

"It sure hurts to fall on such bounder, but how pleasant it is to have our requital!"

She didn't have much experience with valentine's, but that didn't sound romantic at all.

"The twins," She growled- and sure enough, Fred and George were laughing at the end of the corridor.

"YOU!" She bolted over to them.

"Oh, come on, we went easy on you!" George snorted.

"The poem was lovely!" Fred added, "We did it in like, ten minutes or so. I'm sorry is not the best-"

"Be thankful I'm trying to control my temper now, otherwise you'd be running away with your heads turned into owls' nest!"

"Why are you so mad? We just declared our undying affection," George replied, Fred's chortles kept him from talking.

"Affection my-!"

"Mel, we'll be late if you don't hurry!" Hermione urged her, grabbing her arm and taking her away from the twins.

"They'll regret it," She growled, "those idiots- I'm going to win-"

"You won't amuse them," Hermione said severely, "don't let them get into your head!"

Ron and Harry's teasing definitely broke the deal for her, she was sure that by the end of the year the twins would end up regretting their decision.

On their way to charms, Mel got a bit of consolation.

'His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard.

I wish he was mine, he's really divine, The hero who conquered the Dark Lord'

"Oh, don't you love irony?" She smiled at Hermione.

Harry got up and started to pick up his things, Mel helped him with a little smile on her face.

"All right, divine boy?" She smirked.

"Shut up."

"Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now," Percy said. "And you, Malfoy-"

Harry looked up and turned pale. Malfoy was holding Riddle's diary.

"Give that back," He said.

"Wonder what Potter's written in this?" asked Malfoy.

"Hand it over, Malfoy," said Percy.

"When I've had a look," he replied.

"As a school prefect-"

"Expelliarmus!" Harry pointed to Malfoy and the diary flew up in the air.

Ron caught it with a triumphant smile.

Mel had to admit that looked extremely cool.

"Harry!" said Percy loudly. "No magic in the corridors. I'll have to report this, you know!"

Malfoy was fuming, he pushed some kids to walk past and snapped at Ginny.

"I don't think Potter liked your valentine much!" She ran into class with her face hidden behind her hands.

During their charms class Harry poked her arm to get her attention, she turned to see him hold the diary above the rest of his things.

"What is it?" She examined the book. "Is it ruined?"

"No," He frowned, turning the pages, "it's completely blank- the ink vanished!"

"Really?" She leaned forward, "How weird! D'you think that Hermione's right?"

"Looks like it," He admitted. "I'll give it a look tonight"

She nodded, then Harry perked up again and searched further on his bag.

"Look!" He took out a chocolate's frog in perfect state.

"Nice," She grinned, "finally a good thing happens to you, huh?"

He broke the chocolate in half.

"To us," He corrected innocently, "happy valentine's, Mel"

"Oh," She mumbled, grabbing a half, "I don't have anything for you..."

"S'not like I planned ahead, it's half a chocolate frog," He laughed, "you don't owe me anything"

"Still, it was nice..."

"Shut up you two," Ron groaned from Harry's side, "the last thing I want is to deal with your mawkish interactions"

"Shut up!" They replied.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@tiphareth2018​ @vampiregirl1797​ @siriuslysirius1107​ @celestialhayi​ @mikariell95​ @tomshollandz​ @omiwashere​ @steve-thotgers​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @reverse-hxlland​ @thesuitelifeofafangirl​

[awaywithwords03]

The Last Interview with Peter Watson-Lea

ACCESS TO DOCUMENT PROHIBITTED

I.D NO: 2375-1294-2256_

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 ACCESS TO FILE “PETER WATSON-LEA” GRANTED

 “Below is a transcript of the last recorded interview with Peter Watson-Lea. Recorded on the 24.2.22 at Chester County Medical Hospital by ERR. NAMES REMOVED. It is part of a series of testimonies to provide evidence for the existence and potential danger of the artifact known as the Evelyn Bones.”

 For the tape, my name is Peter Francis Graeme Watson-Lea, I am 42 years old, unmarried, I served in the great war as an artillerist and until recently I worked as an investigative journalist. I have no family to speak of, I was raised by my aunt after my parents were killed in a house fire. Oh, it was freelance, I worked as a freelance journalist. I came to this hospital of my own volition, as what I beheld gave me such disturbance as to make me question my own sanity. Start at the beginning? Yes okay.

 Pause.

 It was about a month ago, the beginning of the new year, I received a tip off from an anonymous source. I can’t remember the words exactly, apart from the last line, but the tip off pointed me in the direction of a place called Burnes College in Yorkshire and told me that there were things there worth looking into, that would be of interest to me and my work. Naturally, I was skeptical… I’m sorry? Oh I did say that didn’t I. The last line of the letter was “Keep your own eyes open, let the truth in.” I just thought it was a strange sentence, “Your own eyes”, as if I was going to be seeing to anyone else’s or…

 Pause.

 The train ride was rather pleasant, as you’d expect for that part of the world. Beautiful rolling green vistas with the occasional blur of purple or black heather with the hills in the distance like the shoulders of grey giants. To my surprise I was met at the station by a man dressed like, I want to say a priest? Or some kind of monk? He wore a long smart coat, like a cassock, with a white silk scarf, embroidered with strange designs thrown over his shoulder. His head was completely shaven and his features were sharp enough to cut glass. He was pleasant to talk to, telling me his name was Prest and that he had been expecting me. When I asked him how he waved the question off with an amiable nature and bade me follow him, promising a hot meal and hospitality, and explaining that all would be clear once we were back at the college.

 I did so, and soon found myself in the passenger seat of a well-kept Austin motor vehicle trundling down narrow country lanes and deep into the moorland. Prest talked freely about the location and where he had grown up, pointing out his old parish and a few pleasant landmarks, but he had precious little to say about the college, aside from the fact that he was a tutor of sorts there. Though in hindsight, tutor is far from the right word. He wasn’t at all uncomfortable with who or what I was and said if anything it was welcoming to have someone come and shed some light upon their little college. “Write all you can!” He declared with gusto, “Write till your lead wears to powder, your nib breaks and all the ink in Europe runs dry! Your insight Mr Watson-Lea is incredibly valuable to us. While you are in our care, every luxury shall be yours, be it food, drink, literature or any other pleasure. We want you at your best.”

 I enquired as to Provost of the College and Prest told me that his name was Provost Penbrooke.

 Pause

 I’m sorry errm, the College? Yes, the College. It’s a funny shaped building, with a strange mix of gothic architecture, some Italian columns and, I dare say some domes. It’s as if the building has been assembled by a blend of multiple architects from multiple generations, all mixed up in a pot, and tipped into a valley. Of course, I was totally lost by the time we reached there, but I remembered the signpost to the nearest town, Tellingham. We pulled up in the drive to this large manor and a pair of strong looking lads, dressed in a similar way to my new companion came down the steps and helped me with my luggage. Of course, by this point you must realise that I could not believe my luck. I am not a wealthy man, and as a former soldier finding a job had been very challenging, especially a freelance one. So, to be treated as a well-to-do sort was extremely humbling.

 “The provost would like to see you immediately.” My host insisted after a brief exchange of words with the two porters and I was escorted hastily up the stone steps and into Burnes College. Inside it was dimly lit by gas lamps and decorated with statues and effigies of strange gods and creatures I didn’t recognize. Creatures with humanoid and yet inhuman limbs with too many fingers and eyes a plenty. Strange fetishes and weapons etched with runes that made my eyes itch and Yhtog mylet. Tredgiy thethleikt…

 TAPE CUTS

 …orry again about that. I find it hard to think about what happened there.

 Hmm? Oh yes it does make me frightened. I don’t think I knew what true fear was until this moment, now on the other side of that terrible venture. But I will brave it, I know that I need to tell you what happened there, and the consequences should I fail…. Doesn’t bare thinking on.

 They led me up a labyrinth of stairs, past lecture halls and creaking shelves teaming with books, of which I had no hope of recognizing. Eventually we began ascending a spiral staircase, all made from carved stone like a castle and hung with portraits, like those one might encounter in rich ancestral homes. We immerged at the top of, what I can only call a tower, though I did not recall seeing one when I arrived. The room had a wonderful, panoramic view made possible by a single piece of curved glass that made the roof of the tower appear as if it was floating above us. It’s colour was tinted a toxic yellow, and it stank of ozone and sweat. Inside it was arranged like a study, with heaps of books on the floor, an ancient looking desk scattered with writing implements, notes and drawers. Lastly staring out of the great window was its lone occupant.

 The provost was bound to a wheelchair and looking out to the distant yellow tinted hills. Well, when I say looking, he was faced toward the view of the outside. He wore a flowing discoloured white gown, that spilled over the wheels of his chair, and upon his head was, what I can only describe as, a bulbous be-jeweled crown. The crystals and shapes upon it, resembled growths like tumors more than decoration and it gave me a queasy feeling to look upon it. Then he looked at me. And the face, oh that face…

 Pause

 What manner of injury had occurred to that man I shall never know, and never want to know. He had sores and boils, that blistered and crusted his entire face from the base of his nose upward. His eyes were completely gone amidst the mass of these red pestilent growths, and yet despite this as his sightless face turned to me, he smiled as if greeting an old friend. “Mr Watson-Lea!” He proclaimed with a voice soured by untellable age and honeyed by false warmth. “My word, it has been a long while that we have been searching for you!” When I asked him what he wanted with me he turned his chair without using his hands and it wheeled toward me as if pushed by some phantom force. “Your heritage my boy.” He replied, “Don’t you recognize your ancestors upon the stairs?”

 I suddenly began to feel very enclosed. Sweat prickled the back of my neck as the idea that I had been drawn into a trap began to close in on me. “The third from the top,” Penbrooke began, “Is Nathaniel Edward Francis Prendergast, born 1762 and died in 1884. The second from the top is James Michael Francis Prendergast, born 1854 died just 4 years ago. He died here in fact, in this very college.” I remind you, my parents were killed in a fire, or at least they were supposed to be. “Your surname, your true surname is Prendergast. The woman who raised you was no more your Aunt than any of us here. She was an abductor, denying you your true destiny.”

 I was too…. Terrified… awestruck… spellbound to speak. So instead, he spoke for me, gliding forward in that sinister manner on that chair and reaching out with his warped gnarled hands. “I will show you the bones, and you will read of them just as your father did and his father before. The translations you will provide, rib by rib, vertebrae by vertebrae will reveal wonders to you.” And like that he produced before me a single white bone. I am no doctor, but I could tell that the bone he held out to me was not human. It was elongated, and twisted like an ancient tree branch, crooked at alien angles. But worst of all was the writing. Runes that were as far removed from letters as could be imagined, covering the bone from tip to haft like the image of dancing figures in some horrific festival.

 And yet

 Pause

 Sorry… I could understand them. They came to life before me and made perfect sense, things aligned in my skull and my understanding of the world deepened, opening beneath me like a bottomless abyss. Black infinite and tarrying and I could feel myself falling. The terror. Oh, the terror was so much, my heart became water and washed my body with a quiver beyond description. I think I must have suffered a fit, for when I came to my senses I was in a bed. Opening my eyes, I was in a darkened room, of stone bricks and low wooden beams, covered with a thin sheet in a four- poster bed. A tiny arched window let a sliver of morning light in through my window and as I pushed myself to sit, I felt a searing agony in my hand and looked down to behold the ruin that you see before you.

 Hmm? Oh yes. For the sake of the tape, my hand has become permanently fused with a quill. It appears to be melted and reshaped to only be able to hold this strange spike that constantly leaks an ink from it. The pain I confess is maddeningly toxic. It burns like a fire under my skin and at the same time, I crave it… I enjoy it…

 Pause

 I’m writing down everything, yes.

 I’m doing it so that the ink doesn’t pool in the gland, for that only adds to the agony. I cannot stand to not be writing now. This is the cursed gift they have given to me, should I not be translating what was on those accursed bones I shpoyt julithyc myatholatrem brekrept yuklimpt a

 THE TAPE MOMENTARILY CUTS BEFORE RESUMING

 Are we recording again? I’m really sorry about…

 THE TAPE CUTS

 …ow much did I translate? I thought you would be more concerned with how I escaped that wretched place! Why do you even want to know what I… Oh God… It’s you… Please, please let me be. I’ll do anything I’ll… Please!!! *Screaming*

 THE TAPE CUTS

 THE FOLLOWING COULD BE HEARD IN THE WHITE NOISE THAT FOLLOWED THE TERMINATION OF THE INTERVIEW

 They’re here…

They’re here…

They’re here…

They have come…

The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones.

 End

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[null-is-sparing-you]

On the COL and Sky Kids

Heads up to those in Lore Discussion and Spoilers: This theory has changed a bit overnight.

If you have not relived all Isle spirits, the Read-more is your LAST chance to bail.

What we learned from the latest update:

A child star fell onto isle and was found by usher and another spirit. The child themselves appeared extinguished.

From the teaser - “It takes a village” -> the spirits actually tried to raise this child

What we may know from normal game-play:

From Valley -> Raising children is just a thing for  Ancestors.

From constellations -> At least some ancestors are stars/part of stars

From friend constellations -> “friend stars” -> we all have one? (uncertain, but useful)

Relevant  poems from ThatSkyShop:

Isle Elder Pin

Dawn breaks with stars fallen,

Ferries stir to distant calls.

Shepherd us home back upwards,

A herald awakes to heed us all.

"Dear Children, no hope was lost, 

We saw of your return to us."  

The Elder opens up the skies,

And together again, we fly.

Elder of The Forest Pin

"Don’t weep, dear Elder, we heed your heart,

Tomorrow is a new day.

The scattered light, you broke in vain,

No longer falls apart. 

“Dear Child, we waited your return,

Our true savior of the sky.”

Let love and compassion deeply in,

With you, we too will heal."

There are more, but I’ll keep it to two. I’ve bolded the parts that say “again”.

The Theory:

In the concepts, a major problem was that ancestors had become disconnected. Given how far apart stars would be in a constellation, and how rarely if at all they interacted with The Megabird Herself, it’s not surprising this would happen.

In the beginning, it was likely seen as a failing on the star. The star went out. That’s bad. Don’t be like them.

But it spread like a sickness.

Stars that happened to fall in the same area came together to figure out how to survive, and this did a lot to help them recover. After all, what better treatment is there for loneliness than building an entire society?

Back in the sky, Megabird was likely trying to build stars that were more resistant to the sickness.

Thing is, it doesn’t mater how strong your battery is, batteries run out of juice.

The COL was a case study for this. Extremely dense, powerful star. Went out and fell.

The Ancestors saw the fallen child, and did what the ancestors (and perhaps all stars) do. They got attached, raised the child, and helped them form new connections. The child healed and became strong again.

Built to be more powerful than the ancestors and elders, the child was able to handle the trails and ultimately light the way home.

But not everyone could go with them. Some felt responsible for stars still falling. Others just weren’t strong enough to follow.

The child had a responsibility, but it would mean leaving the very people who helped them. They were quite literally torn apart.

But there is a silver lining to this - the stars in the sky finally understood what was wrong with the stars on the ground. What was wrong with the child who fell.

The pieces that were in the sky were collected and transformed into something entirely new. Something that was part star, as we see in our constellations, but also part... Else. The Else was given the ability to fall and take flight over and over again, as necessary, to form and maintain connections.  This Else was given a place to land so that the little Else would not be lost when it falls. And the Else traveled across the land to recover whatever stars they could.

And when the Else returns to the sky, it gives the charge it gained to the stars such that they can feel the connection as well, allowing them to stay in the sky.

[akaluan]

Erich/Kisuke/Alexis: Soulmate AU + Character in Peril Part 8

He drifts awake to the murmur of quiet-familiar-safe voices in his ear and a slender, calloused hand combing through his hair. Everything is warm-safe-content, from the hum of Alexis’ soulmark to the press of spiritual power all around them, and he turns his head slightly to bury his face a bit more in his pillow.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Alexis says kindly, leaning over to press a kiss to his temple.

Erich grunts. Turns his head a bit more. Gets distracted by the muffled laughter that definitely isn’t coming from his wife.

“I told you,” Alexis says in amusement. “Given half the chance, Erich’s a night owl at heart.”

“I see that,” Degurechaff replies, and maybe he should be embarrassed, maybe he should force himself up, but…

Why should he bother?

(She’s seen him panicked and exhausted and wounded and helpless, and still she’s stood by him.)

(Why would this be the thing that changes her mind?)

Alexis’ fingers run through his hair again, fingernails lightly scraping his scalp, and he hums in enjoyment. He doesn’t have many opportunities to rest these days, and if they’re going to let him then he’s going to take advantage of it.

“Degurechaff and I have been discussing what happened yesterday evening and the training she’s going to need now,” Alexis informs him, knowing full-well that he’s perfectly capable of remembering even if he rarely responds when he’s in this state. “I offered to give her the basics she’s going to need for control, but you’re probably the best one to guide her after that.”

Erich makes an agreeable noise. Either of them could teach Degurechaff the basics, but if Alexis is offering then that’s fine by him. It frees him up to observe and make notes on how Degurechaff’s abilities differ from a Quincy’s, which will be important when they try to advance her training any further.

(He’s always been better at improvising and innovating, always trying to push the boundaries of his skills when he can…)

(It will be fascinating to see what Degurechaff is capable of.)

“She’s quite the talent,” Alexis continues, a hint of pride in her voice and contentment-pleasure-confidence sliding through their mark. “I’m certain she’ll have much of the basics mastered in no time at all.”

“I do my best,” Degurechaff demurs, then hesitates a moment before she blurts out, “Sir, I think you should take the day to rest and recover. I can handle the men just fine, and we’re not planning on doing more than sending a few scouts out. We’ve got the chance and I know most of the men are going to use it to sleep in, so…”

Alexis presses need-want-listen across their bond and Erich snorts at the heavy-handedness she’s displaying but… he can’t disagree.

(Almost collapsing after the Reaper left was… not a good sign.)

“He’ll listen,” Alexis says for him as he lets sleepy agreement-acceptance-calm drift back to her. “Thank you again, Colonel Degurechaff. Remember to practice what I taught you whenever you think of it today, it needs to become almost as automatic as breathing.”

“I will.” There’s a rustle, quiet steps that fade away, and then the presence pressing like a heavy blanket across his body lifts.

(She’s stronger than he thought.)

(Oh dear…)

“Well then, now that I’ve got you alone…”

Erich twitches as Alexis kisses his cheek, her hand sliding from his hair and down his neck and side. Her hand is warm against his skin when she slips it beneath his shirt, her fingers tracing absent patterns that makes him shiver. Love-warmth-intent presses like fire through their bond, making the breath catch in his throat and the half-hearted protests die unvoiced in his throat.

(They’ll just have to be quiet.)

(It has been far too long, after all…)

He stretches. Reaches out. Pulls Alexis on top of him and into a kiss.

The world can wait a few hours.

***

“So, what do you want to do about our little soulmate problem?” Alexis asks as she sits up, one hand braced on his chest and her back arching into a stretch.

Erich takes a moment to admire his wife as he considers the question, trying to find the words he needs to answer it. He’s… conflicted about the Reaper, fear and caution and a touch of hate warring with the hope he’d once had and the spark of fondness that had grown in those first few days.

(He can’t forget that he slept the best he had in years because of the man.)

(He can’t forget that he’s healed because of him…)

“I don’t know,” he says with a sigh, reaching to the side to fumble for his glasses. “He’s a Reaper, but…”

“Pretty odd actions for a Reaper,” Alexis finishes for him as she settles back, the hand on his chest sliding down to rest on his hip. “Think he has actually left them?”

“Or been kicked out.” Which Erich suspects is the more likely scenario. There’s something about the man and the emotions he can sense from him that… make him suspect the current situation is not entirely of the Reaper’s free will. Not that that absolves the Reaper of anything; without knowing the reason, he can’t fairly judge anything about the situation.

(Can he even trust anything the Reaper says…?)

Alexis hums and glances aside, fingers drumming against his hip as she thinks. “We’ll need to talk with him, which will be… awkward. We’ll have to involve Colonel Degurechaff for translation, and even then…”

“Think he knows anything about emotion-sensing?” Erich asks on a whim, knowing exactly how Alexis feels about the imprecision of the method. The look she fixes him with is dust dry and exasperated, and he can’t resist a smirk in return. “Well, why not?”

“We’ll not leaving our decision to emotional interpretation, love,” she says firmly, leaning forward to jab a finger into his sternum. “We’re Quincy, not gods.”

Erich laughs and catches her hand, bringing it up to press a kiss to her knuckles. “I know, Lexi, I know. But it can help us get a better read on him and his reactions.”

“If we have a baseline for understanding, which we don’t,” she counters with a frown. “I’m not yet as connected to him as you are, but what I feel is… concerning.”

“The loyalty.”

She nods. “The loyalty. Even I can feel how centered upon you it is, and that’s…”

“I know.” He’d already thought it before; what sort of man is capable of that level of loyalty to someone they don’t even know?

(It makes him wonder if the Reaper knows any other way of living.)

(If he was like Degurechaff, pressed into service too young to understand the repercussions, and now…)

(Now he’s adrift and lost and hurting from the rejection.)

“If we could guarantee that loyalty for us…” Alexis murmurs almost absently, her gaze turning distant.

Erich can almost see the wheels spinning in her mind, the potential plans forming and being discarded and—

If he looks at the whole thing from an officer’s point of view, he absolutely agrees. A man with the abilities of a Reaper on their side would be a boon, would help them survive the aftermath of this endless, brutal war that’s spawned for Hollows than Erich has ever seen before. With luck and patience they might even be able to adapt their skills to be more akin to a Reaper’s as well, which would make their descendants less of a target.

(He’s not naive enough to believe that the Reapers will leave them be, but… anything is better than nothing.)

Still…

“He’s a person, not an asset,” he reminds her softly, squeezing her hand to draw her attention back to him. It’s a way of thinking that’s all too common amongst the brass — a way of thinking even he falls into more often than not — but this isn’t a military problem, this is a personal problem, and he cannot bring military coldness to the table if they want something that will last. “Abusing his trust like that puts us dangerously close to becoming a reflection of our ancestors, love…”

She stares down at him, gaze unreadable and her emotions a jangling, discordant mess, before she sighs and closes her eyes as she slumps forward. “I know,” she mutters, hand tightening around his. “I know,” she repeats, voice stronger as her emotions finally begin to settle. “We approach this honestly and together or not at all. I know.”

Erich rubs his thumb across the back of her hand, pressing warmth-love-reassurance down their connection. “We’ll need to step cautiously even so,” he says with a bit of a frown, mind circling back to his previous thoughts. “There’s a chance that being a Reaper is all he ever knew, and if they cast him aside…”

Alexis snorts and shakes her head. “No bet,” she grumbles, a touch of weary resignation slipping in. “With the sort of loyalty he feels to you? No bet.” She slowly straightens back up and fixes him with a steady look, asking, “Is that our decision then? We’re giving him a chance?”

“Do you… not want to?” Erich asks, wondering if he’s managed to read her wrong for the first time in years.

“I think it’s dangerous. I think Colonel Degurechaff is going to have opinions about this decision. I think we could end up welcoming a viper amongst our family and that history will not look kindly upon us for doing so, if any of our people survive the fallout.” Alexis takes a deep breath, shoulders pulling back and chin tipping up a bit, her gaze steady on him as she finishes, “But I also think we can’t let fear determine our actions. He gets one chance, and we don’t bring him home until we are certain that he’s ours.”

The reaction of their family to this is going to be… a mess, Erich knows. Having a soulmate who’s older than him is already fertile ground for rumors, but bringing a Reaper home? To the place where their children are supposed to be safe? Where their elderly retire? Where their wounded recover?

They’re going to have to step very, very carefully, especially if they want to try and leverage Reaper skills into their own repertoire.

But it all starts with a single step.

“Tonight?” Erich asks, feeling something settle in him as the uncertainty drops away and a path clears in front of him.

“Tonight,” Alexis agrees. “We’ll see where we go from there.”

He breathes out a sigh and presses a kiss to her hand. “Beloved,” he murmurs against her skin, letting his love for her rise to the surface.

She meets his love with her own. Leans down and claims his mouth in a kiss. Skims her fingers across his chin to cradle his head in a gentle hand.

For a moment, they breathe each other in and let the world fade away.

For a moment, they drown in love reflected.

But only for a moment.

There’s work to be done.

It’s time to get started.

[korkrunchcereal]

The Last Warlord

                                                                          As the first storm breaks

                                  The past must be confronted

                                       The last warlord comes              

             It was rare for the Barrens to rain outside of its wet season. Rarer still was when the rain became a storm. Like angry gods clashing in the heavens, great bolts of lightning crashed to Azeroth, and the booming of thunder echoed as war drums. It was a day to hide from nature’s wrath and seek shelter from the elements. Yet from a rise overlooking a vast swathe of grassland, the once Warlord Gargaron Khral meditated.

From his perch, he could normally see to the northern Stonetalon Mountains. Today however, he could barely see a hundred yards so thick were the clouds and rain. He sat in only a pair of trousers, the rest of his olive toned body bare to the elements. Water fell upon skin and dampened hair, though he seemed unperturbed. His eyes were closed, fists pressed together in front of him. A simple Bo staff lay in the dirt before him, along with incense long since snuffed out.

“Mmmmm…” his hum was nearly drowned out by the wailing of the wind, voice monotone in its pitch. Despite the figure of peace he presented, he was anything but peaceful. Lightning crackled, his brow furrowing and ears twitching. Thunder boomed, and his muscles tensed. Rain fell, and his teeth were bared. Focus. Focus on the water rolling against your skin. Feel the soothing touch on your skin as…

…the blood is hot against his skin as he strikes. A dying world groans beneath his feet, the very ground quaking in defiance much as he does. Something fires in the distance, the impact unsettling the dirt. He avoids the shot barely, his muscles screaming in protest. There is no time to think, or retreat. Kill or be killed.

An axe blow falls, his sword catching the blade and sliding it off course. There is no time to recover, his sword already striking. He doesn’t check as he pushes forward, knowing his target is dead. His heart is racing. Thump. Thump…

…Thump. Gargaron’s eyes shot open, his breathing laborious and heavy. He fell backwards, barely catching himself in panic. A crimson gaze darted around in confusion, hands clenching around grass. He knows this place. The hills are familiar. The sky is familiar. The land is familiar. Slowly he began to calm down, sweat mixed with rain against his skin.

“Raaaugh!” He roared in anger, slowly pushing himself up. His eyes narrowed as he faced the sky, teeth bared. This was not the first time he lost focus in such a manner, and he doubted it would be the last. His anger began to deflate much as his mood did, the melancholy he faced now matching the storm. Disheartened, he grabbed his Bo staff, giving one last look to the storm before descending down from his overlook.

A small part of him had hoped the storm would provide enough distraction from his own mind, but even he knew it was a vain belief. The memories were part of him now, and he had yet to learn how to live with them. Of course, that was not the only thing haunting his mind these days. Idly, he scratched at his long beard, his gaze distant now. He thought of much, and the solitude he had sought years ago was not as quiet as he had hoped. It was true he rarely saw another soul save for his rare trips to the nearby village. Instead, his constant company were unpleasant reflections and bitter moods.

“Oh what now…” His eyes narrowed, spotting his home. It was a small structure of wood, bone and hides of uneven shape and at times questionable durability. He had built it himself after several attempts for he was no carpenter, and though it was not much, it served its purpose. Instead however he focused on the figure that stood outside. As he drew closer, he could make out that it was an orc woman he wagered of mid thirties, her clothes and body soaked to the bone. She finally spotted him as he neared the house, waving her arm.

“Hail!”

“What are you doing outside in this weather?” Gargaron demanded, grunting as he slammed his staff into the fresh mud. This close he could see the woman was shivering. “How long have you been here?”

“An hour, I think. I would have gone in but…” she motioned her head to the piece of cloth that served as a flap. “You got a big wolf in there.”

“Ah good, Rosha’s home. Damn lazy beast…” He pulled his staff out, moving to the entrance. “Well? Come in. I’ll get a fire going.” He pulled aside the flap to stare right into the fangs of a massive wolf. Bred for war and combat, the beast was easily capable of tearing Gargaron to shreds. Instead it began to lick the orc, whining. “Bah! Enough Rosha. Ancestors, I was only gone for a…” he paused. He actually did not know how long he had been gone. “Now move, we have company.” He scratched the wolf’s black mane before waving his hand. The wolf slowly moved to a corner of the house, circling it several times before laying down.

“A cozy little place.” The woman stated behind Gargaron, causing Rosha to growl. He heard the woman pause midstep, gulping in worry.

“Easy Rosha. They’re a guest. Come.” His command was directed to the woman now, though he did not turn to face her. Instead, he moved to the small fire pit in the center of the room, a small stack of kindling and firewood beside it. “Take a seat. It’s not much, I’m afraid.”

“It is fine I…” a pause. “That’s an old horde banner.” Gargaron craned his neck, looking at the woman. She was standing in front of a tattered scrap of cloth, the horde symbol emblazoned on it. “Several years old, right?” she looked to him. He nodded as answer. “I served as a grunt for years.” she went on, seeming to admire the tattered rag. “Saw many different flags come and go in my service. This was Vol’jins era, wasn’t it? How long did you serve?”

“Why are you here?” Gargaron repeated his earlier question as he struck the kindling with flint, the small sparks of a flame starting. There was a moment before she answered, the woman moving to crouch next to Gargaron: “Our village lies several miles from here; I have seen you there occasionally. Recently our children have been playing a little too far from home and only a few days ago several of them stumbled onto an old Kor’kron barracks.” Kor’kron. The name brought many memories to Gargaron, and few were pleasant. 

“They’re abandoned, no?” he grunted.

 “We thought so, but the children came back saying something was living in that one. A group of our strongest went to investigate. I was among them.”

“And?”

“Something is living there alright. When we entered the ruins, we were attacked. We smelled it before we saw it. By the spirits I have smelled plenty of death in my lifetime, but this was…” She winced, trying to find the right word. “Overwhelming. Then we saw it, or at least flashes of it. It was black steel and terrible fury..., and the laughter! I’ve never heard anything so horrible. We were forced to flee quickly. Luckily, none of us died though several got broken bones.”

“So why come to me?”

“Whatever that thing is, it's dangerous. It defeated a group of us in, oh, seconds?” came an awkward laughter. She rubbed at her arm, looking aside. “Some Kor’kron machine gone haywire, I’m guessing.” She did not sound convinced by her own guess.

“You did not answer my question. Why come to me?” Gargaron poked at the crackling wood with a stick, shifting the kindling around and letting the flames grow.

“I know who you are. Though you no longer wear the crimson and black plates nor wield that big sword of yours, I recognize you… Warlord Khral.” Khral sat silent for a moment and let the flames crack. When he responded, his tone had turned somber.

“That is no longer my title.”

“Perhaps not, but it was what you were.”

“Yes, who I was. However, I am no longer that orc. Why not turn to the guards? The Crossroads is only some hours away by wolf.”

“They are dealing with their own problems. Quillboar are getting restless and threatening caravans, and there’s rumors of a new centaur leader. Believe me, I tried to get their help. Besides, I have seen the way you fight. None of them are like you.”

“Bah!” he exclaimed, tossing his stick into the fire. “I am no longer the orc you remember. I am sorry, but I cannot help you.”

“What? You can’t help? Gargaron Khral, former Warlord and Blademaster of the Horde can’t help?”

“No. My fighting days are over. I am neither warlord nor blademaster these days. These days I am a –“

“Coward.” She finished in disgust as she rose up from the ground.

“Monk.” His tone was calm despite her accusation. After all, he expected as much a reaction. “I am here to seek balance and peace.”

“Balance?” She spat in response. “I had heard you died. When I realized you were here instead of helping the Horde, I had figured it was for some better purpose than ‘seeking balance and peace’.” The Horde. For many years it had been home, but now he could not even bear to speak that name.

“What were you expecting?” Gargaron asked.

“I don’t know, but not…this. Hiding from the world and cowering from your duty to the Horde and-“

“My duty?!” A brief flash of rage fell over him as he rose, turning to face the woman. “Do you know how my loyalty to my duty was rewarded? Abandoned on the Broken Shore, along with what little honor the Horde had left. The Horde died that day…” as suddenly as it had come, the fury left with a deep sigh. Gargaron’s shoulders fell.  “All that’s left is a festering illness and forgotten memories. I cannot fight for a Horde that blindly followed another Garrosh. Not again.”

“So you hide. You’re worse than a coward, Gargaron. Hide here then. I will find someone else to help us.” The woman stormed outside though Gargaron did not pursue. Instead he sat back down at the fire, staring into it. Coward…

...A horn sounds in the distance. Gargaron turns in surprise, watching the Horde army slowly retreat. Why do they run? There are still injured on the field. They couldn’t abandon them to the demons. Faces move past him as he charges ahead upon his greying wolf. Fighting is everywhere. His blade cleaves demons in twain, but they just keep coming.

Were the Alliance warned? He has not heard their horn yet. Ancestors, has Sylvanas abandoned them without word? What cowardice to flee, now of all times. Or was this her plan all along? He doubts he will ever know. Ahead there are so many bodies. Comrades. Friends. All dead or dying now. Felhounds feast on flesh, the screams of the injured piercing the air. His Kor’kron are in the thick of the fighting and are being overwhelmed. They have not broken off yet, and for that his chest swells with pride. Yet they are his men. Their lives are his responsibility. His duty. He gives one final order, and charges into the thick of the demons…

The whine of Rosha stirred Gargaron from his memories. Her mother had died on the Broken Shore, like so many good sons and daughters. In many ways, so had Gargaron. Coward. Perhaps he was now. Rosha whined again, causing Gargaron to glare in her direction.

“What? Don’t tell me, you want me to go help that woman. My days of fighting are over, Rosha. Oh- come on, don’t give me that look! Bah, damn wolf. As stubborn as your mother.” He looked away back into the fire, his ears perking as he heard the wolf approach. Gently she pushed her snout against Gargaron’s arm. He no longer desired to fight. He had seen the cost of it and what it had done to his body, soul and mind. He had still not recovered, his spirit sick with the unfocused bloodlust and rage.

But then, who was Gargaron? He had never been a coward. He had been abandoned to fate many times now and had fought not only to survive, but to protect others. It was his nature to defend those who could not defend themselves. He could fight many things, but the only thing he could not fight was his own nature.

“Alright. Fine. You win.” He grumbled, rising up slowly. The wolf snapped her teeth in excitement, moving to the door. “Oh, you’re going to join me this time? Good! I didn’t feel like walking long in this weather. Bah! Where’s my pipe? There you are, and now…” he paused, hand hovering over his Bo staff. It was only for a moment before he grabbed it, turning to leave his home. Rosha rushed outside, the heavy rain making her fur damp near as right away. Gargaron grabbed onto a tuft, pulling himself onto the back of the beast. It let loose a long howl before it took off.

There was only a small walking path up the hill to reach his home. In this weather he doubted the woman had gotten far, and sure enough she had barely made it down the road. He pulled on Rosha’s mane, causing the wolf to slow down to a stop beside the woman. A growl escaped the wolf’s maw as the beast stared at the woman.

“Warlord?” She seemed surprised, having heard Gargaron’s approach and turning to face him.

“I told you, I no longer have that title. Now hop on. I don’t know where the ruins are, so you’ll have to show me.” He offered out a hand for her, who shook her head. Instead she hopped onto the back of Rosha herself, positioning behind Gargaron. Rosha turned, snapping her jaws in seeming annoyance at the second rider, but nevertheless pressed on ahead through the storm.

 “What changed your mind Khral?” she shouted to Gargaron. She didn’t move to grab him for support, seemingly keeping her balance with a firm grip of her legs.

“I cannot abandon who I am.” There was a moment's silence, before he changed the subject. “Now, you say it was a machine in the ruins?”

“I think so, but I’m not sure.”

“Mmm. You said you smelled death. Did you see any bodies?”

“No.” she said, but then looked up. “Wait, there was a dead Zhevra, and a lion too. I didn’t have time to see much else, though.”

“I see. Hmm. Hold on. Rosha! With haste. We must outpace the very heavens if we are to make it before sundown.”  The wolf obeyed, paws digging into dirt and mud with each step as it ran. Overhead the sky roared in fury and the wind howled. Gargaron did not say another word, letting nature’s wrath break the silence of the riders.

They remained silent for what felt like an hour as they rode east. The storm showed no sign of fading, instead growing harsher the further they travelled. He spoke only to figure out where he was going and to his luck the woman whose name he hadn’t asked for seemed to know precisely where to go. Though he could not see the sun he knew it fell beyond the mountains to his back, and he realized he should have packed a blanket or furred cloak for warmth.

In a way however the cool touch of the rain was soothing. Indeed, riding through nature’s fury was strangely peaceful, and for a time he enjoyed the moment of it. His mood grew dark, though,  much as the sky did, for his thoughts turned to bitter paths once again. Kor’kron. A name that had been fouled by evil machinations and twisted by rotten purpose. Gargaron had strived to redeem the Kor’krons name and once more make it become synonymous with honor. He had failed in that task. The poisonous roots that tyrants had left choked out any opportunity to-

“Something troubles you, Khral.”

“What?” Gargaron blinked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He craned his neck back to look at his passenger, brows furrowing.

“I sense great turmoil within you. Your very body is testament to that.” She raised a hand to his back, keeping a finger inches away as she dragged it down the length of his spine. “Such tension; it is like a spring ready to burst. Ah, your form is perfection, and yet marred with such heavy burdens.” 

“Hmm…” he grunted, turning back to look ahead. “You sound like a shaman.”

“It does not take a wise woman to see the weight you carry. I think however you have been dealing with your problems the wrong way.”

“Oh? And how should I deal with them?”

“Ah, that is not for me to decide for you. I am merely here to guide you. Speaking of..” She trailed off as faint objects could be seen in the distance. The air felt colder here as a damp mist hovered in stagnation. This was wrong. The hair on the back of Gargaron’s neck rose as he pulled Rosha’s mane, the wolf slowing down, his senses screaming at him.

“What is this?”

“I am not sure. This was not here when I came last. Look, upon that pillar there.” she outstretched her hand and Gargaron craned his neck to see. He followed her gaze to a broken stone pillar, the remnants scattered around in dense piles. On it had formed a thin layer of frost. His brow furrowed as a hand moved to unstrap his Bo staff, the weight a small comfort in his hands.

“Magic.” Gargaron uttered, teeth baring. As they moved further into the mist it became harder to see, for only faint shadows of outlines were visible. Rosha sniffed the air, whining at the scent. Gargaron hopped off the wolf, both hands clasped around his staff. He could make out more details. From the mist emerged warped ramparts and metal battlements like the great maw of a mangled iron beast, threatening to devour any foolish enough to come close.

“Khral?”

“Stay here. Whatever this is, it is no mere machine. If I do not return in an hour’s time, you must take Rosha and warn the guards. I sense great malice in this place.” She did not give an answer, nor did Gargaron look to see her reaction. He instead moved further into the mist, bare feet upon mud that gave way to cold steel and stone. Overhead a crude portcullis loomed, though the bars had begun to rust.

If his muscles were tense, now it felt like his tendons might snap in the rigid cold as he stepped into the barracks. His crimson gaze darted around. It was a standard Kor’kron layout; two hallways leading to a small armory and living quarters respectfully, before circling to the main hall where meetings were held, tactics were planned, and officers conversed. He surmised whatever stalked these ruins dwelled there.

There was no light in the halls, forcing Gargaron to move in the darkness. Several times he stubbed his toe on rubble or nearly tripped, though quickly corrected himself. Truthfully, he was distracted by the smell. The woman had not been lying when she said the stench was overwhelming. It was death, but in a rotten manner fit for long dead corpses, not the freshly slain. He was barely able to force himself not to gag, his heart threatening to flutter in panic. Yet panic he did not, steeling his resolve as he pressed on.

The air grew colder the further he moved in, sending a shiver through Gargaron’s body. Perhaps it had not been the wisest decision to enter bare chested, though it was too late to do anything about that. It grew lighter the closer he got to the main hall, a faint glow emanating ahead of him. He could make out more of the hall now, spotting discarded pieces of rusted armor and equipment, along with scattered remains. Relieving the Kor’kron of this barracks had not come freely it seemed. Ahead, the door had been shattered, and as he stepped through into the main hall he stopped, eyes wide.

Before him was a massive throne carved in iron, though much of it had broken away with time. More impressive however was the figure upon it. Monstrous in size, clad in massive plates of blackened steel while a great helm crowned with horns rested on his features. In one hand he held a brutish maul, the head of it buried in the stone floor beneath. The other was gripped against an arm-rest, denting the iron with the force of his grip. A layer of ice had built up over the figure and throne, extending the size of it to keep the figure seated. Gargaron took a silent step into the room, eyes narrowing.

“Who are…” Gargaron paused mid step, eyes shooting open in surprise. Though the helm covered most of the figure’s features, Gargaron could make out the thin strands of white hair and part of the face. Rather than flesh it was bone, burned away in years past. Though he had only met the man before him in passing and again during the trials of the Kor’kron, he recognized the figure. The juggernaut before him was an orc; a dark mark upon a blackened history. Tyrant. Warlord. Monster.

“Skullcrusha…” It had been years since Gargaron evoked that name. Leaving his lips it felt like a curse, and perhaps it was. Slowly Gargaron took another step forward, waiting for some kind of reaction. The enthroned orc did not move, nor had he for some time. A brief thought flashed in his head; had the woman led him into a trap? Was she some puppet of the former High Warlord?

“Skullcrusha?” The name was poised as a question now. Nothing stirred, though Gargaron did not loosen his grip upon his Bo staff. “Are you alive?” An ironic question for a dead man, but he received no answer. “Bah! of all the things I expected to encounter in here, you were least among them. Surely the ancestors have cursed me to find you here, beyond my nightmares and instead in the flesh.”

He cautiously approached, bringing his staff up to poke the orc. Nothing moved, though this close Gargaron could see a faint glow in Skullcrusha’s left eye socket. There was life in him still then, or whatever counted as ‘life’. Trepidation gave way to curiosity now, though Gargaron still kept his distance. Even when he fought he had little doubts the former High Warlord would crush him, and now? It would be a slaughter.

“How strange. I would have thought you’d be hunting former rebels or seeking your revenge in some bloody and violent fashion. Instead I find you here, hiding in this shell.” Gargaron could not help but smirk at that irony, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “Ah, I suppose in that we are similar. Two orcs, without a Horde to call home and fleeing from our failures. A pity how far we have both fallen. A pity indeed…”

...There is no pity or mercy here. There is only the next slaughter and the one to come after. Every day it is a cycle of vicious bloodshed, for that is the law of this land. The planet is greedy, demanding more and more blood to feed its thirst. He provides it in gallons, for upon this dying world he is death.

Time has lost all meaning to him. The wounds grow, but so do the bodies. He thinks he can reach the heavens themselves so high are the corpses he’s made. Every day is the same. Every day it is a cycle of…

Gargaron blinked, returning to the present. He bit down on his own fangs, knuckles white so tight was his grip. He steadied himself with his staff, sweat beading his brow despite the cold. He gave another look to Skullcrusha, then to the head of his staff. He could end it here. Thousands could be avenged with but a single strike. It was only wood, but in the hands of an orc it would strike like steel and crush the Warlord’s skull. The legacy of a monster would finally be over…

…but he could not bring himself to do it. Something stayed his hand. Perhaps it was mercy or perhaps something else. Gargaron did not know. It didn’t matter why, only that he did not strike. Shaking his head, Gargaron gave a final look to the frozen orc before turning to leave. It seemed Skullcrusha had been there for weeks judging by the thickness of the ice on him, which led to the question of why the woman had lied?

“Bah, it is no use. I am not sure anything is left of you to hear me now, Skullcrusha. You’re nothing but a shell of an orc now, trapped in this cage of your failings.”

Yet as he stepped away, a great crack echoed in the room. An icy chill ran up Gargaron’s spine, the orc slowly turning as he heard metal crash together. With great effort Skullcrusha had begun to move, pulling himself away from the throne. Chunks of ice broke away with the motion, the throne collapsing under the force of his movement. The warlord rose to his full height, hands clenched at his side. Gargaron never realized just how much Skullcrusha had been hunched over, for before they were the same size. Now the Death Knight stood well over a head taller and was much, much bulkier. Long extinguished torchlight flared to life around the room, casting Skullcrusha’s long dark shadow over Gargaron.

“Pretender.” Skullcrusha’s voice echoed with an unsettling hollow, causing Gargaron’s ears to hurt. “How strange that for months I was un-bothered and yet suddenly two figures from my past find me.”

“Two? Who was the other? A woman?”

“No. There was the Blackwolf, and now you.”

“Blackwolf?” Another name Gargaron had not heard in some time. “He was here?”

“Yes.” Skullcrusha’s attention seemed pulled away, his eye looking to the southern wall where Gargaron had entered. “Hmm…whatever brought you here had also brought the Blackwolf. I sensed it before just as I sense it now.” His gaze fell back upon Gargaron, balefire glowing from his eye with malicious intent. Why are you here.”

“A woman led me to you. You had scared some children and injured some villagers.”

“Did I? Ah yes, I did. I could hear them coming a mile away, their hearts pounding in their chest like war drums. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump. Quicker and quicker it beat.” Skullcrusha took a step forward, his steel boot causing the wood to buckle beneath his weight. “But not you. Thump. Thump. Thump. You had no fear, not like the others. Consider me impressed; you at least have foolish bravery.”

“I do not fear you, Skullcrusha.”

“You do not fear me?” At that Skullcrusha barked with laughter, the sound hideous. He turned around quickly, a hand wrapping around his maul. He wheeled on the ball of his heel, swinging his weapon in a wide arc and forcing Gargaron back. “Of course you fear me! All men fear me, for my name is a curse and my deeds a wicked mark upon history. I, who was fist of the Warchief himself!” He slammed his maul down, sending splitters flying as the boards shattered under the impact. “Now why are you here pretender.”

“I already told you.”

“My meaning is why are you here, in the Barrens. I heard rumors you had died upon the Broken Shore.”

“In a way, a part of me did.” Gargaron could not stop a sharp wince crossing his face. “I was captured on the Broken Shore by the demons and brought to their homeworld.”

“You were on Argus?” The name sent a chill up Gargaron’s spine. Argus. He had tried in vain to forget the name of that terrible place. He dipped a stern nod: “Aye. They tortured me for some time, but I escaped. This was before the armies of Azeroth invaded the planet. As far as I knew I was stuck there.. so I fought. I gave myself to the bloodlust to survive. They said it was only a year before Argus appeared in the skies of Azeroth, but it felt longer than that. Much, much longer. When Azeroth arrived, I quickly left the planet and retreated here to the Barrens, to seek solace. You sound disappointed at the thought of me dying though. I thought you would have been pleased.”

“And be robbed of vengeance? Do you know how long I have wanted your death, and the Blackwolf’s and the rest of you cowardly, treasonous wretches?”

“Cowardly?!” Gargaron growled, slashing his hand across the air. “Says the orc skulking in the ruins of his fallen glory. You can’t escape the shadow of the Kor’kron, can you?”

“Silence, worm.” Skullcrusha hissed. “I knew my duty, and that never changed. The Kor’kron is who I am, in all of its terrible bloody wrath. You consider this my failing, but this is my lesson. I can see where I went wrong in every piece of broken stone and rusted iron. In truth I would be doing the Horde a favor ridding it of your weakness.”

“Then why do you not seek to kill me.. You said the Blackwolf came. Is he dead?”

“No.” There was a pause. Skullcrusha’s entire body visibly shook. “You see.. I am beyond such desires now.” The sentence seemed forced from his mouth, as if he did not entirely believe his own words.

“You? Beyond vengeance?” Gargaron scoffed at that, loosening his grip on his staff. “What trickery is this?”

“There are greater problems in this world.” He said simply. “The petty squabbles of the Alliance and Horde are forgettable. The reign of Sylvanas was short-lived if bloody. Ah, Teldrassil. I was there for that you know. I watched as that proud and noble place burned to ash. I watched Lordaeron’s fall, and the death of heroes. I watched as Saurfang died upon the dirt of Durotar, and as the Banshee fled. I watched it all, and I was displeased.”

“Why? The Horde of Sylvanas was the heir of Garrosh’s regime. Another tyrant in a long list of them. Theramore. The Vale. Teldrassil. Is that not the Horde you served? Is that not the legacy of the Horde you helped to form?”

“Indeed that is the Horde. War. Violence. Conquest. As that is the truth of the orcs, so too is that the truth of the Horde. Yet this new war was done not for the Horde, but for the whims of an uncaring Warchief. Garrosh sought to strengthen the Horde, though the weakness of the rebels brought such designs to ruins. Sylvanas? We all heard her words the day Saurfang died. The Horde is nothing. It was a tool for her whims, nothing more. In truth I would mount the Banshee’s head on a pike were I to find her, but alas.”

“You speak as if war and bloodshed are the only things important in life.”

“For an orc, are they not? The humans were not born with a lust for blood. Nor were the dwarves, or the tauren or any of the other races save the trolls. We however were born craving violence. We were taught to kill before we were taught to read. One cannot build security and strength without domination.”

“It is a curse upon our people, Skullcrusha.” 

“A curse? No, a blessing. We orcs are unburdened by unnecessary ambitions or politics. We seek strength. Might makes right, pretender. The strong do what they will. The weak suffer what they must. Just as it is in nature, so too is it among our people.”

“Is that not a shallow life, to live only for violence?” Gargaron asked, and yet the word itself caught on his tongue. Shallow. How could such a word sting a thing as Skullcrusha? What did it even mean to a people who had made violence their creed; their life.

“I did not seek a complicated life. I sought to serve the Horde and serve it I did. I died for it. When I regained my freedom I returned to it. In the Horde I saw the strength needed to secure our people’s future, and all those who pledged to the crimson banner. I left the thinking to the seers and scholars, for I fought not with words but with steel.”

“Victory or death…” Gargaron muttered beneath his breath. His glare met that of the behemoth’s. “Look where it has led you. Look where the violence of the Horde has led! Another senseless war, and another defeat for the Horde. Strength is not power, Skullcrusha. These walls strengthened by stone crumble. These foundations buckle under the weight of its past, just as the Horde does again and again. The Horde’s legacy is of violence and defeat. That is all it will ever be.”

“Bold words from a pretender to my title. I had forged one of the greatest fighting forces this world had seen, and you brought them low. The weakness is not from the Horde itself. It is from cowards like you, like Blackwolf and like all the other men and women too spineless to do what needs to be done; too afraid to give your being to the Horde.”

“Bah! Why are you here Skullcrusha!” Gargaron demanded, changing the subject to cool himself off. “Why hide in these ruins, away from everything.”

“I sought solitude to think and dwell upon matters. I did not expect company, nor did I have a want to draw attention to myself. I had scared off the villagers for I had no need to kill them, but that was weeks ago. Or months. In truth I am not sure; time means nothing to me, anymore. Your arrival however has stirred me from my hibernation. I sense it is time for me to leave.”

“To where?”

“I am not sure. I feel a calling northward, to the frozen wastes beyond ice capped peaks and sprawling tundras. Will you let me leave, or must I fight you?”

“What will you do in the North?”

“I do not know. I am not seeking vengeance, if that is why you ask. Now, will you fight me?”

“No.. if you leave, I will let you pass without conflict.”

“Ah, a pity then. Gone are the days of fighters. Now I am surrounded by the dead and the weak. How.. disappointing.” Skullcrusha turned around, stepping back to the throne before pausing. “Before I leave however, I will give you a warning. A darkness is coming, terrible and mighty to behold. It may not be for months or even years, but it will come and swallow the world whole. Trust not the shadows, for in every inch of shade there is death unending. Heed my warning... or do not. I care little. Goodbye, pretender. This is the last time we will speak with one another.”

“Skullcrusha, wait.” The Death Knight either did not hear or ignored Gargaron, an armored talon tearing into the fabric of reality. Swirling green runes appeared in the air, circling to form a portal large enough for the armored goliath. In seconds he was gone, disappearing along with the portal and leaving Gargaron alone.  

Death unending. Grim portents from a monstrous tyrant, yet the words made Gargaron uneasy. Even if it was untrue Skullcrusha seemed to believe them. There was something wrong about the former High Warlord. He was different; far different then Gargaron remembered. He had always thought the orc was as stubborn and unchanging as the mountains. The curious change did little to ease Gargaron’s worry, and instead only heightened it.

“This tale grows stranger and stranger… Bah. Where is that woman? I must have words with her, and what her game here was.” She had not lied about the villagers, of this he was sure. She did lie on how long ago the incident was and had omitted the Blackwolf’s involvement. He had not seen Blackwolf since his return, and part of him assumed the orc had died of old age.

As he left the barracks, the air felt lighter. The oppressive chill and fog was rapidly evaporating, though Gargaron could not shake the feeling of dread that clung to him. Skullcrusha’s words had unsettled Gargaron for a number of reasons, and it was not just the warning given. Their talk of the Horde had rattled Gargaron more than he cared to admit. It was a debate he had faced many times with himself; was the Horde weak, or was he weak? Were the orcs more than their violent past, or was it what shaped them? He had never found an answer he liked, and their argument did little to change that.

As he stepped outside the barracks, he saw the mist had mostly vanished, replaced now with the steady rainfall. He saw Rosha some yards away, the wolf spotting Gargaron and running to him in seconds. Of the woman, there was no sign. This only troubled Gargaron further, bringing a frown to his lips.

“Where did the woman run off to, Rosha? Find her.” The wolf did not move. “Bah, lazy beast. Alright then, we’ll leave. This journey has done little to ease my worries or fears, I am afraid. Instead it has only given me more questions…” He slung his Bo staff across Rosha’s side before he pulled himself onto her back. Satisfied, he withdrew his pipe he had stored away in a pouch along with some herbs. His brow furrowed as he realized he had forgot to pack something to light his pipe.

“Damnit.” A sigh escaped his lips as he pulled Rosha’s mane. “Come on girl, let’s go home. Perhaps we will see her on our way back, though I doubt it. Ah how strange fate is, and how damn annoying!”

[bffhreprise]

Entry 360

 There were endless requests for my attention pouring through my mind, and they all seemed so pointless.  The handle on my tea cup broke in my hand, and I snarled as I allowed the cup to fall and smash into the table, obliterating the remains with a fist immediately after.  The table shattered and splinters of wood shot out in every direction.  Anwen started creating a spell to protect herself, far too slowly.  I saved her, the shock allowing me to reign back my temper… somewhat.

 “I’m sorry, Beloved.” I told her.  “I’m so sorry… It’s ti-time.”  The words left my mouth in a snarl as I fought another attack from the dragon within.  Dragons demanded flight.  As a Slayer, my duty was to reign in my nature so that I could attend to the well-being of the world.  Sadly, none of us could manage for too long with that blasted song pounding through our heads.  When the Dragon Mother left this world, she had left an extremely powerful spell calling all of us to her.  Being born into a human form, the Slayer family wasn’t forced to answer the call immediately, but resisting became harder and harder as the years went by.

 My wife stared at me with tears streaming down her cheeks.  “Adelmar, I-I can’t handle him… not without you.  He won’t listen to me.” she told me, obviously speaking of our son.

 “He’ll do his duty!” I told her, barely able to keep from screaming the words.  I longed to embrace her one more time, but I ran, fearing I’d crush her in a fit.  This time was different and much more violent than the others.  The rage was pounding through me with each beat of my heart.  I knew where to go.

 Fleeing the island gave me a moment of relief.  I always had enjoyed flying, and the dragon within me approved.  Not too far away from my home there was another island kept safe from the eyes of man through spells that had been carved into the bedrock by my ancestors.  Here another dragon would be born, completely alone in this world.  

 Suddenly, I became aware of others nearby, James and my cousin were near.  “NO!  GET AWAY FROM HERE!” I screamed, not wanting to harm them when the change took me.

 “Don’t worry, my friend.” replied James with a calm smile.  “You can’t hurt us.”

 Rage at his impudence shot through me, and I failed to fight it.  Almost of its own accord, my body flew at him with a fist aimed at his head.  My eyes couldn’t even follow his hands when he grabbed me, easily throwing me to the ground.  I almost attacked him with magic, but managed to gain control before unleashing the spells.  Spells would never harm James, but I felt ashamed that I almost had tried.

 “I'm sorry.” I told him, barely in control.  “James, you should take my cousin and run.  I… argh…”  The rage surged again.  “can't stop… the change.”

 James smiled again, saying, “Don't worry.  I've wrestled dragons before.”

 “Mother will be happy to see you.  She might get rather upset that Dani isn't with us this time, but I didn't want my daughter to see you like this,” my cousin insisted happily.

 Visions came to me from her.  I could see an enormous world with dragons soaring through the skies.  I could smell them, sense their minds, and… my aunt.  She was there!  With… All fight went out of me as I gazed upon the Dragon Mother.  She was the most enormous, beautiful thing I had ever seen.

 I was aware of James releasing me, but I didn’t care what he was doing.  All that mattered was reaching the Mother.  The song was louder in my thoughts than ever before, and I obeyed, intuitively knowing where I must go.  My head jerked to the side when I could suddenly feel the Dragon Mother close to me, at least much closer than she had been.  A rippling portal was in the air, opening to where the visions had shown me.  I leaped instantly, tucking my wings close to my body.  Part of my mind marveled at my speed and the ease with which I controlled my new form.

 “Welcome, Adelmar, to your home.” stated the Dragon Mother in a booming voice before lowering her enormous head to nuzzle me.  She could easily have eaten me in one bite, so great was her size.  She then lifted her head and addressed other dragons whom I hadn’t noticed, saying, “The rest of you be warned: I have granted Adelina permission to coddle this child for his first month.  Play nicely.”

 A moment of rage had risen in me at being addressed as a child, but a glance at the giant dragon above me had quelled it.  She was ancient and eternal, an unmatched force that could squash me as an insignificant toy.  She was beautiful.

 Two dragons came soaring directly at me, so I turned to face them.  I knew one of them.  :Adelina is that really you?: I questioned telepathically.

 “Yes, nephew.” she replied.  “Allow me to introduce Arthur.  He has volunteered to assist with your reeducation.”

 :Reeducation?  What do you mean?: I asked suspiciously.  Something about her tone wasn’t pleasant.

 “Your family history is chock-full of lies, so they mean to give some clarification on your family's role on things.” provided James.  

 I snarled, planning to correct his place among dragons, but a giant claw grabbed me and squeezed me, making me whimper pathetically.

 The Dragon Mother’s voice came to my mind.  :Touch my guest, and I’ll allow him to tear you apart if he wishes.  You have no standing here, little one.:

 The words shocked me and a feeling of great respect for James came with them from the Dragon Mother.  :Alma, how have you been coming here?  Why didn't you warn me!?: I asked, my voice sounding too much like a plea.

 “Sorry, but I didn't come here until my honeymoon, during which many years passed for me.” she replied with a gentle smile.

 More visions came from my cousin into my mind.  I saw a tiny, pink girl… her daughter, Dani.  As I watched, the girl grew from the scared little humanoid to the young woman I had seen in visions.  There was a sense in the visions of time, more time passing than the visions would account for.

“I am much older than you now, cousin.  James is even older yet.” stated Alma with a smile.  She was being truthful, I could feel it.

 “And don't you dare get grumpy at them.  I make them keep secrets.  You should be used to it, given how you ran things.” insisted Death, appearing as a little girl next to me.

 In a moment of anger, I swiped at her, but my claw was blocked by a small fraction of a much, much larger claw.  She had saved my life.

 “Child, don't die on your first day here.  No one will bat an eye if she skins you and makes a chair from your corpse.” cautioned the Dragon Mother, imparting the words into my mind even as she spoke.

 “Flee in terror, sure, but no eye batting.” teased the other dragon by my aunt.  He was shoved back as the Dragon Mother playfully nudged him, but he righted himself quickly.

 Then she flew off, covering what had to be over a mile with a single flap of her wings.  Her magic had shielded us from the air without me even catching the spells.

 The playful dragon turned out to be Arthur Pendragon himself, a distant grandfather to Alma and me.  Days passed as he and Adelina informed me of how my family had gone astray from our true course over the years.  I didn’t take the lessons well, especially with Death poking fun at me constantly.  Luckily, I managed to control my temper, which was said to be a byproduct of the change as much as a natural course from the stripping of my dignity.  On Earth, I had thought myself the king of kings.  Here, I was an ignorant infant to these much, much larger dragons.

 Through the torturous days of being rebuked, I found myself marveling at James.  At his wedding, I realized that he was even stronger than I had thought.  Watching him easily wrestle with dragons and impress even them with magic, I realized that I had no true measure of his strength or power.  He was an enigma that I hoped I might unravel eventually.  According to Adelina, I had all my life now to do as I pleased.  There were no great responsibilities burdening me anymore.