#played against skull merchant once and i hate her

[unnerving-presence]

My Wesker is p79 now after weeks of playing dbd 🥹 I don’t really like grinding but damn this cute and sexy man got me in a chokehold I can’t resist him.

Btw I didn’t play him every single match for the bps I main nurse and spirit (aka the sanest person in dbd) so lmaoooo

i can’t play more than like 3 hours of dbd or else i suffer brain damage (i have devoted my time to playing dbd only all day every day on the anniversary event though.. that’s gonna be fun 😭😭)

i commend like anyone who has a high prestige i pretty much always go solo and usually get tunneled out so it’s not the most fun experience playing dbd as i don’t really get many bloodpoints nor do i have the most fun (unless i play against wesker 🌝)

[fanfiction-funtime]

Alexander Vodka lines

I did most of the characters, but some I don't know or genuinely can't think of anything. Hope this is good >-<

Hello: Hey there, your that Traveler fella ain’t ya? Hope I don't owe you copyrights for  the name. Hm? I don’t? Well then, what can I help ya with?

Adventures? Sure why not, I could use the inspiration.

Two names: You’re curious why I have two names? Well it's sort of a thing in Snezhnaya that officers and other high ranking people have two names, like how harbingers do. Since I’m a high ranking member of the Schneznayan authors association, well former member, I have the name “Eis Cay’zar” meaning “ice ruler”. And Alexander Vodka is a pen name. Hm? What's my resistance name and real one? Well now Traveler, a man must have some secrets.

Change of tone: Ah yes, people often find the way I change from more eloquent speech to more casual off putting. Well it's the same reason I wear two sets of clothes: sometimes I feel like looking like an old noir hero, other times I like looking like a new age caped crusader. Sometimes I like sounding high society, other times I enjoy sounding like I’m from Khaen’ria.

How do you know about Khaen’ria: Well I was looking for accents and found out about a place called “New York” or something, a bit of investigation and I discovered everything. My source? That's a secret, ehe.

Good morning: Mornin’ Traveler! What's in the mornin’ paper?

Noon: Lunch time, my favourite time of the day. Let’s go get some pizza, I’m famished!

Afternoon: Almost time to punch out, let's go knock some skulls first.

Night: *yawn* Today was fun, thanks buddy. Get some shut eye, or if you can't come meet me at (wanmin/angels share/the tea house), first rounds on me!

When it rains: I am so glad I got over my fear of contacts.

When it rains(with glasses outfit): Hey can we get under something? I can barely see!

When it stops raining: The smell that comes after rain has always been one of my favorites.

When it snows: Perfect weather to bundle up with a nice hot cup of hot chocolate!

When it stops snowing: Do you ever miss home, Traveler?

About freedom: I warned Barbados, you know that? I knew that as long as he saw it coming, Signora wouldn’t stand a chance. But he just looked at me and said, “good, when I’m gone mondstadt will be truly free of the gods”. That’s a man I’d follow to the depths of the abyss and back.

About Venti: Speaking of Barbados, he’s a great drinking buddy. Me and him knock back a couple hundred rounds whenever I’m in Mondstadt! Course I’m always paying the tab, but I consider it a way of repaying him for making songs about my books.

About Kaeya: The cavalry captain? He’s pretty cool if you ask me, modeled as Rex Mondoleon for the cover of a historical fiction book I made. But I’d still like to know what he’s hiding behind that smile.

About Diluc: Don’t tell him I told you this, but one time I found Diluc after he was hit by an abyss spell that made him drunk. While he was drunk he kept ranting about how sorry he is for kicking out his brother. The poor guy has all that forgiveness in him but he’s too afraid to let it out.

About Jean: The acting grandmaster of the knights is someone truly deserving of respect. She leads by being a good person and earning the respect of her people, and she has never once tried to cover up the mistakes of the knights. In fact if a knight makes a mistake she’ll rush out to fix it. Jean should be the grandmaster, not that crooked old bastard.

About Lisa: Lisa was my first friend in Mondstadt. She mailed me about getting copies of my books into the Mondstadt library, I said I’d do a signing to promote a new one, one thing led to another and now we have tea every ninth day of the month.

About Rosaria: Don’t tell anyone, but I’m very sure she’s a vampire. A nice one, but still.

About Barbara: Awe that little doll? I once saw her kill multiple fatui because they threatened some sick and injured travelers. So I think she’s a great person, takes compassion to save lives and guts to handle taking them as well.

About Bennett: Bennett? Yeah I know him, nice kid. He likes my books but kept breaking them, so now I make special enchanted ones so he can’t break them even if he tried.

About Razor: The guardian of wolvendom? He’s a weird one alright, but he’s not a bad guy. I taught him how to read and write.

About Fischl: That crazy kid? I don’t care what everyone else says, she’s nice. People need to learn to just leave people alone, she’s not hurting anyone with her persona.

About Noelle: You will never find someone more dedicated too...well anything than Noelle is too the knights and her training.

About Klee: Klee and I are great friends! Nothing is more stimulating than massive explosions!

About Amber: She always has interesting stories to tell, like one time where she got rid of some bandits by making a dummy merchant cart filled with explosives! Or the time she had to help a kid get her pet giant snake out from the cathedral!

About Zhongli: Heh, he thinks he’s slick, but I know he’s Rex Lapis. Gotta say I kinda hate him for just giving up his gnosis, however he did it to free his people so I can’t be mad.

About Ninnguang: Never much cared for economics because I don’t know much about ‘em, so I can’t say anything about her business sense. But I can say that she’s a great leader who puts her people first.

About Keqing: Haven’t talked to her enough to know much, but she’s dedicated to her people and that's enough for me. Her dislike of blind faith in the gods is definitely enough to make me want to get to know her better though.

About Qiqi: Qiqi’s a nice kid, I don’t care what anyone says her being a zombie doesn’t make her bad.

About Baizhu: Snake man? Nice guy, helps me be accurate in my books. Always worry about him though, one hot breeze and he’s out like a light.

About Xingqiu: Xingqiu always tries to hide his good deeds, and while I can respect anonymity I can’t let a hero go unsung. So I’ve written multiple short stories about him using a different name, and put in the beginnings that it’s based on a true story.

About Chongyun: His popsicles are great inventions, I’ve played around with the idea a bit and made flavored ones. So far I’ve got strawberry and grape down and am working on this weird fruit called a..Banananana? I think?

About Beidou: Captain Beidou is so cool! She tells me stories about her journeys out to see and I write about them, but after seeing her in action I can’t really say that I do her justice.

About Kazuha: Kazuha has suffered so much, yet he refuses to give up and curl up away from the world when he so easily could. I have immense respect for him.

About Xianling: You’d be surprised at how good slime and boar tusk can be.

About Xiao: I’ve written down many myths and legends of the yaksha, but sadly I've never seen him in person.

About Verr Goldet: Oh she’s great company! Good business sense, and always polite.

About Gorou: Many people rightly attribute the Resistance’s survival and victories to general Kokomi, but it’s wrong to say general Gorou isn’t a brilliant strategist. He knows how to rally his men against impossible odds, and how to keep them standing against them. I’d follow general Gorou into battle any day.

About Ayaka: Ayaka seems so lonely, I hope when this is all done she can have some form of social life.

About Thoma: Thoma’s as cool as he seems. He always has a level head, and solves problems smoothly and without issues.

About Yoimia: KABOOOM!

About Kokomi: One time I was doing an interview of her excellency, to boost morale and draw new members. I intended on asking for her autograph, only for her to ask for mine! I’ve been riding that high for a while now and still ain’t come down.

About Signora: I hate fatui, but without that she has some good qualities: most of her power is her own unlike most other harbingers, and she’s a sharp dresser. Plus she’s actually justified in her choice to join the fatui, not excused, but isolation can justify many crimes in my book. But no matter what I can’t forgive her. She attacked my friend without a chance for him to fight back, and was unfairly cruel. Nothing can justify that, and I will not forgive her as long as she remains unapologetic for her cowardly cruelty.

About Childe: Fatui are scum, but Childe’s probably the best of them: he personally tries to keep civilians and the weak out of fatui business, and he’s only in it to make sure his family lives well. He also is powerful on his own, but most of his strength is the Tsaritsa’s well deserved gifts. Still though, he’s just a single stressful day from losing all his morals. I can’t leave the fate of my homeland to a madman like him, not unless he gets therapy.

About Scaramouche: Scaramouche...that bastard, it’s been five years and he still owes me 30,061 mora.

About the Fatui: The fatui are really just people who are lost or genuinely believe they’re in the right, and while I can sympathize and respect many of them I can't agree nor can I just stand by and watch. The grunts usually aren’t that bad, honestly they’re more like underpaid graduates new to the workforce, but the fighters you see daily? Almost all of them are scum no better than raiders, and debt collectors are the worst of them because they’ll do anything they can to scam you out of everything in their contracts.

About us-commissions: You know, if you’d like to commission a biography it’s 100 mora per ten pages.

About us-inspiration: You’re a font of inspiration for me, ya know that?

About us-fellow rebels: I’ve been with ya enough to know that this path you’re on, the one to find your sis/bro, you’re fighting against something far beyond my ability to deal with. I won’t abandon you, I’ll be here every step of the way.

About us-friends: We’ve been through a lot pal, I’m glad to call you my friend. Please, call me my rebel name: it’s Belgrade, named after the city where some very brave men took their last stand against oppression.

Hobbies: Well you have reading and writing, otherwise? Can't think of anything.

Favorite food: Grilled tiger fish, come get it while it’s hot!

Least favorite food: I really wanna try it, but I can’t have almond tofu. Or any nuts. Closes my throat right up.

Something to share: Hehe, I got embarrassing dirt on all the harbingers. Signora? She has a Tsaritsa body pillow. Scaramouche? He knits sweaters for his pet pig, cute but he hates letting people know. And Childe? Hoo man, the pics I’ve got on him have put a pretty mora on my head.

About me: Hey have you seen my dice? I wanted to teach the mondstadt kids how to play them...hm? What?! No, not gambling! It’s, uh, a tad embarrassing...h-hey look! Literally anything else, let's pay attention to it!

About me II: Alright! These rolls are great, can’t wait to use them next game. I’m so proud of Fischl, so young yet so imaginative. She’s already-ah! T-traveler! What are you doing?..

You know I’m the one meant to be learning the secrets here.

About me III: Back in Snezhnaya, everyone looks down on things that don’t “conform” where even the most rigid of nations like Inazuma have stopped caring. Adults can't play games, men can’t wear dresses, can’t even have a “weird” sense of humor. No laws against it, but being outcasted is...it’s not good…

About me IV: I wish I grew up in Mondstadt. The kids there are so free to be themselves, and the adults aren’t pressured to be nothing more than working hands. It’s not perfect, after all people are rude to Fischl and Benny for being “different”, but it’s better that’s for sure.

About me V: Hey traveler...this is...no it’s not embarrassing. You’re my friend and I have no reason to be embarrassed by wanting to enjoy time with you! Fischl’s going to run a pen and paper dice game, ever played one? It’s super fun, you get to be anything you want really, and it’s a great way to bond.

You will? Great! I’ll help you make a character!

Alexander’s troubles: It’s so hard to find publishers these days. Noone wants an actual plot, they just want twist after twist. What’s up with that?! Shock value is no substitute for characters you love living fulfilling lives.

Happy birthday: Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday you crazy bastard, happy birthday to you! Seriously pal, you put yourself in harm's way every day it seems, we literally met when you were fighting an actual god! Actually, know what? No danger all day! We’re wrapping ourselves in blankets and just relaxing!

Feelings about ascension-intro: woah, somethin’ feels different. I like it!

Feelings about ascension-building up: man, I’m feeling inspired all of a sudden! Hey traveller, give me a prompt!

Feelings about ascension-climax: HA! I don’t know what high I’m riding but I like it, I just finished writing a whole book series!

Feelings about ascension-conclusion: WOO! YEAH! ULRICH MIKAEL KEEPS WINNIN’!-I-I meant Alexand-ah forget it, I’m feelin’ too good to care!

OCs:

About Louis: That crazy inventor guy from Fontaine? I heard he got used by the fatui, damn shame that. Noone deserves to have their heart played with like that.

About Spritefather: You ever heard of Spritefather? I’ve only heard legends, but the fanmail I keep getting tells me that sometimes things are only legendary until someone writes them down.

About the Storytraveler: There’s this woman who travels from universe to universe to fix things, she’s in Teyvat right now. You should meet her, really nice person. But her powers are a bit weird, why does she transform like that? It takes so much time!

_____________________

Tagging: @love-psxlm, @storytravelled, @genshin-obsessed, @golden-wingseos

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Beside The Dying Fire (part ten)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Word count: 4271

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

Hot. Scorching. Sweltering. Searing. Balmy. Parching. Oven-like. Those, and so many other words could describe the desert Katherine and her companions were trekking through, Katherine just couldn’t think of anymore because her brain was being melted.

The Brazen Empire--or just “Braze”--was the desert territory on the far east side of Atlas. It was boxed in on all sides by tall, platformed plateau mesas called the Highland Cliffs, which kept the land in solitude from the rest of the continent. 

Golden rolling dunes stretched out as far as the eye could see—which, to be fair, wasn’t very far because Katherine was sure she was seeing mirages everywhere. Cacti and shriveled shrubs stuck out of the ground, somehow surviving in the wasteland despite the cruel elements. The sky was an eye-bleedingly bright blue with not a single cloud in sight, letting the blisteringly hot sun rain down on the land.

And Katherine HATED IT.

  “God, this is awful,” She panted, sweat burning in her eyes. Her dirty blonde hair felt like tassels of fire on her head, and her ears were like little torches attached to her skull. 

Catalina laughed. “What are you talking about? This is amazing!”

Catalina had grown up in Braze, so she was used to the desert life. Katherine and Joan, however, were not as fortunate to have been raised in a scorching wasteland of dehydration and skin disease.

Katherine sluggishly wiped away a torrent of sweat from her brow. Jane had given them supplies for the journey to the different territories, but the glass bow strapped to her back felt like it was burning her alive. Joan was lucky enough to just get a simple ebony dagger, but she looked just as miserable. Her grey felt clothes and extra fur paddings for protection looked like they were roasting her like a chicken. Hints of blotchy sunburns were already starting to appear on her long, whip-thin white tail and ears. 

Catalina gazed over a sand dune, looking for any signs of her home city. Behind her, Joan doubled over, heaving her breaths. Katherine could see several streams of sweat cascading through her white-blonde hair.

  “We shouldn’t be far.” Catalina said, turning back to them. It was clear she was trying not to laugh at their discomfort. “Just a little longer!”

�� “Easy for you to say,” Joan wheezed. She lifted her tail to keep it from touching the sand. 

  “Trust me! We’re almost there!”

They began their trek once again.

  “So, what’s this area of sand called?” Katherine asked, falling into step beside Catalina. “Wasteland Number Six?”

Catalina laughed. “This is Droughtmaster Dunes,” She said.

Katherine blinked. “That’s actually very fitting.”

Her friend laughed again. “Isn’t it?” She looked up at the bright blue sky, smiling. “I’m actually happy to be back. Nothing beats the sun here.” She stretched her arms out to catch the rays and signed happily.

  “And that’s a good thing!” Joan barked from behind them. Heavily hindered by the sun, she was falling behind slightly. “The sun here SUCKS!”

Catalina tittered. “The mythical bovine, the Brazen Bull, was said to have made Braze, which is why it has that name. The Bull made everything here. It dug out the land it claimed for the territory, it lifted Highland Cliffs with its horns to protect us from other territories, it scraped its hooves through the ground to create the canyons, it stamped its feet to created pools for oases, and, after it was all done, it shook out the dust in its fur and filled Braze with sand.”

Katherine smiled as she listened to Catalina talk. Her friend rarely ever spoke about her homeland, so it was nice to see her reminiscing over her childhood territory.

However, she went quiet for a moment and fiddled with the sunstone necklace around her neck, lightly touching her belly with her other hand. There was an unreadable expression on her face.

  “Just a fair warning,” Catalina said, “that my family is kinda weird.”

Katherine chuckled lightly. “Alright. I’m sure they’ll be fine, though. After all, you turned out amazing.”

Catalina smiled again, nudging her. “Aww. You softy!”

Katherine smiled back. “I speak the truth!”

  “I need water,” Joan wheezed from behind them.

  “We’re almost there, sweetie,” Catalina said, giving the poor Tiefling a sympathetic, but amused look.

She was right. After clambering over a particularly high sand dune, the capital city of Braze was revealed.

Aragon was a city that was smartly built around several oases. Shiny golden walls that glittered in the sunlight boxed in the civilization, and the tips of sun-dried brick houses and a particularly tall tower could be seen peeking out from over the high edges. Hints of a huge skeleton was sitting behind the furthest wall in a sunken sand pit. The clamor of people could be heard as the three of them approached the front gates where two Aasimar guards stood, wearing long, protective garbs covering every inch of skin and holding spears. They bristled as the trio approached, but their jaws weirdly dropped open after a moment.

  “Princess Catalina!” The grey-skinned guard exclaimed. “Y-you’re back!”

Katherine’s and Joan’s heads whipped around to Catalina, their eyes going wide.

  “Princess?!” They both yelped.

  “Surprise!” Catalina said weakly. She gathered herself up regally and turned to the dumbfounded guards. “I request to see the King and Queen.”

Both guards nodded hastily. “Of course, princess!” The grey-skinned one said.

  “Right this way!” Said the other.

The three of them were whisked inside the gates.

Aragon was filled with sun-dried brick houses and sturdy wooden huts. Merchant tents and carpet canopies were set up on the entrance pavilion, where shop owners hawked their wares to anyone who passed by. Fruits and fried meat, protective desert garbs and sunscreening oils, venomous scorpions to use for something and vials of antivenom--there were so many different items being sold. The smell of sizzling meat and roasting scarab beetles and brewing coffee swirled through the hot air, attacking Katherine’s nose with aromas that made her mouth water.

Small pools dotted the city, rippling softly in the heated breeze. Some of them were burbling like a fountain, while others were edged by lush greenery that seemed to be surviving much better than the plants outside the walls. Children were playing in a few of the pools, keeping cool in the midday heat, but some adults were collecting water in buckets.

A bronze statue of a giant bull sat in the center of the city, in front of the steps leading up to the palace. It was reared up on its hind legs with its fur bristled in powerful rage and horns thrown up in the air. Smoldering coals were set in its skull, and the furry tufts of its tail were crackling with orange fire.

The palace behind the statue was huge and majestic. It seemed to be made out of actual gold, glowing in the sunlight. Gemstones were inlaid across the outer walls, sparkling like colorful eyes. There were no front doors so the breeze could filter inside, so the guards led the three of them right inside.

Two thrones were sitting at the back of the wide, high-vaulted entrance room. They were made of solid gold, embedded with rubies and emeralds and cushioned by soft camel fur pillows. A curtain of water was pouring out behind the royal seats from the ceiling, collecting into a bubbling trough pool. The desert could be seen rippling behind the sheet of water. 

And in the thrones sat the king and queen.

Queen Isabella was glowing like a polished garnet. The dress she wore was made of silk, in a rich dark orange shade that allowed her thick black hair to be shown to best advantage, and edged with ribbon and lace that perfectly set off her fire-like amber eyes and dark tanned skin. Golden veils wreathed her blood red wings, and yellow diamonds, topazes, sunstones, and tourmalines hung from her arms in glittering curtains of wealth. An elaborate headpiece made of gold and rubies sat on her head, with strands of gemstones dangling down into her face. Three golden medallions hung around her neck- one had a symbol of a broken rib cage etched on it, the second had what looked like small intestines forming the shape of a coiled snake, and the third had a faceless head.

King Ferdinand was less flashy than his wife, wearing simple cotton clothes with a camel fur cape around his neck and onyx wristbands on his wrists. His skin was slightly blotchy from sun damage and his hair was long and ash brown. Pale orange-salmon wings were folded neatly against his back, not nearly as big as the queen’s.

The two of them leapt to their feet from the throne when Catalina walked in.

  “Catalina!!” They both cried, bustling over to their daughter. They threw their wings around Catalina, swaying her in glee, but Katherine noticed how Catalina just barely hugged them back.

  “Oh, my dearest desert flower,” Ferdinand said. “You’re finally home after all these years!”

  “It’s so good to see you again,” Isabella said. “You’ve been gone for so long!”

Catalina nodded reservedly. “Yes. It has been.”

The king and queen stepped back, taking in the sight of their daughter. Isabella’s joyous expression faded into a calculating one when she noticed Catalina’s pregnant belly, while Ferdinand just blinked at it.

  “You’re pregnant,” Isabella said. 

  “Yes, I am,” Catalina said, ruffling up the feathers in her hair. “I hope that isn’t any issue, Mother.”

Isabella considered the bump, like she thought the baby was going to jump out now and steal her throne. “Who’s the father?”

  “His name is Arthur.” Catalina said.

  “Where is he?”

  “Not here.”

  “You aren’t with your baby’s own father anymore?”

  “Oh my god.”

Catalina glanced back at Katherine and Joan for a moment, giving them a, “Here we go again” kind of look. She turned back to her parents with as much reserve as she could manage.

  “What is he?” Ferdinand asked, glancing at Catalina’s belly every few seconds.

  “A human.” Catalina answered. “I hope that isn’t an issue, Father.”

Ferdinand just cleared his throat and looked away. Katherine could tell that he didn’t have as much power as his wife, therefore making him weaker in disputes, even ones that don’t have to do with court matters.

  “You shouldn’t just sleep with random strangers, Catalina.” Isabella scolded.

  “I’m not!” Catalina barked, her face heating up. “Arthur is--was different! And why does it even matter to you? It’s not your body, it’s mine! And if I want to use it to sleep with people, then I should be allowed to!”

  “Well, your body is holding my grandson. Or granddaughter.” There was something icy about the way Isabella said that word, and Katherine noticed how Catalina shuddered and set a hand over her belly protectively. “Plus, you’re still my daughter and I’m concerned over what you’re doing. You already ran off and disappeared for five years!”

Catalina rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like you weren’t happy.”

  “I wasn’t.” Isabella growled, her blood red feathers standing on end like an angry cat’s fur.

  “Sure you weren’t.” Catalina challenged her.

Ferdinand quickly put himself between his wife and his father. “That’s enough, that’s enough,” He said. “The point is that Catalina is home safe. That is what matters.”

  “Hm. Of course.” Isabella said, settling her expression back into stolid noble maturity.

Catalina growled softly underneath her breath, and Katherine set a comforting hand on her shoulder. Isabella glanced at her, an eyebrow twitching up.

  “Introduce us to your friend, Catalina.” The queen said.

Grinding her teeth a being ordered around, Catalina said, “This is Katherine. And this over here is J--”

  “TIEFLING!”

Katherine jumped at the cry. Isabella suddenly whipped out a hidden dagger from inside her right wing, her face contorting with rage and feathers ruffling up into two big red masses. Several guards around the room jumped to attention with their weapons raised, and even mellow Ferdinand growled softly and raised his wings to look more threatening. Meanwhile, Joan just blinked in frightened confusion, curling her tail in close.

  “Catalina, you brought a TIEFLING into our home?!” Isabella shouted, and Katherine saw Joan wince and lower her ears.

  “I didn’t recognize it at first,” Ferdinand said at her side, slightly more to himself than to the others in the room. “Why does it look like that? Aren’t they usually red or blue?”

  “Her name is Joan.” Catalina said, stepping up beside Joan, exuding a protective aura. “And she’s with me. There’s no need to worry.”

  “There is every reason to worry,” Isabella hissed. “You brought a Tiefling into our city! A TIEFLING!! Don’t you know what they are?” She didn’t wait for Catalina to answer her, “They’re DEMONS! Goat-faced, hell-touched, unbirthed DEMONS!”

  “Mother, will you stop shouting?” Catalina said, agitation biting her words. A few people from outside were peeking in and ogling the scene with wide, curious eyes. “Joan isn’t bad. She’s my friend. And you’re not going to throw her out.”

Isabella narrowed her eyes at Joan, sizing her up several times. She sniffed. “We’re going to have to put her through decontamination.”

  “Mother--”

  “You will not fight me on this, Catalina.” Isabella said firmly, turning her knife-like gaze on her daughter. “She will be back with you soon enough. But she is a Tiefling and this needs to happen for our safety.”

Catalina clenched her fists tightly, but said, “Fine.”

Isabella smiled like a venomous snake. “Very good.”

Catalina turned to Joan and cupped one of her cheeks. “You’re going to be okay, sweetheart. My family is just super paranoid over some races and feels the need to do a really stupid examination on them before they can have free reign in the city.” She brushed an unruly lock of white-blonde hair out of Joan’s face. “You’ll be out in no time, alright?”

Joan nodded quietly, and Catalina gave her a quick hug before a group of guards came to take Joan away. The young Tiefling glanced back at Katherine and Catalina, her tail slightly tucked between her legs and ears folded back, before disappearing down a hallway and out of sight. Isabella shook her head with a look of visible distaste.

  “I don’t know why you would ever befriend one of those beasts,” The queen said, earning a growl from Catalina. Katherine put her hand back on Catalina’s shoulder, hoping to provide some comfort to her. “Anyway, I’ll alert the chefs. Your arrival back home needs a celebration!”

And celebrate they did.

That night, when the desert dropped to a startling cold temperature for a blisteringly hot wasteland, the Brazens of Aragon rejoiced in the return of their missing princess. Firelight emblazed then night sky, the Bull’s horns were lit with golden flames, and a band played Catalina’s favorite instruments. Cactus juice, strange alcoholic concoctions, and camel milk were passed out in tinted yellow glasses, and roasted desert fruits, grilled meat, and spicy hot foods were served on bronze trays you could see your reflection on. Aasimars danced and twirled in the main pavilion, celebrating gleefully, all while Catalina stood at the top of the steps leading to the palace, receiving guests and graciously accepting their best wishes. Everyone had a smile for her. Some of the adults looked at her appraisingly--only to be expected, Katherine supposed, as she was royalty--and many of the youngsters tried to flirt. Catalina humored them lightly solely for the entertainment of their reactions.

Katherine got lost in the festivities rather quickly. One moment she was getting her tongue melted by a painfully spicy dish, and then next she had a glass of translucent greenish juice thrust into her hands. She tasted it as she tottered up to Catalina and made a face at how bitter it was. Catalina laughed lightly.

  “That’s Snake Wine,” The princess told her, “It’s made out of cactus juice that we put a dead snake in and leave out to ferment in the sun for a week.”

Katherine silently spit the mouthful of Snake Wine back into her cup. Catalina burst out into laughter so loud it rivaled the blaring music and made several people’s heads turn in curiosity.

  “That is, umm,” Katherine said, covering her mouth. “Ah--”

  “Horrible?” Catalina smiled and passed her a napkin. Katherine took it gratefully.

  “Your words, not mine,” Katherine said, wiping her mouth. “But yes.”

Catalina giggled. “It’s better than that weird berry crap you used to have me drink.”

Katherine gasped with a wounded expression. “Berry Milk is amazing, thank you very much!”

  “Berry juice and milk do not go together! You have to choose one, Kat! ONE! You can’t have both!”

They both laughed, earning even more confused stares.

  “Are you happy to be back?” Katherine asked after a moment of serene silence between her and her friend.

Catalina shrugged, losing her smile. “I guess. I mean, I like seeing the city again and all my old friends, but…” She cast a frustrated expression at her parents, who were chatting animatedly with two old nobles. “Like I said before, my family is weird.”

Katherine frowned. “I’m sorry.” Hoping to get Catalina’s mind off of her family issues, she looked over at a tall orange tower in the far right corner of the city. It was made of dried clay, with several twists, points, and spires, and Katherine noticed the deep red of a Kobold snout peeking out of one of the large barred windows. “What’s that?”

Catalina looked at the tower. “Oh that’s Hotshot Hall. It’s our prison.” She said. “Mother doesn’t like having the prisoners near the palace, so they’re kept as far away as possible.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “Ah,” Katherine nodded, watching the Kobold pull back inside the tower. 

  “Well, maybe you’ll get to see a Calf Scramble while we’re here,” Catalina mused. “So that’s something to look forward to.”

  “Calf Scramble?” Katherine looked at her confusedly.

  “Oh, it’s great,” Catalina said. “Five people are taken out to the sinkhole in the back of the city and have to try and catch these camel calves we release with them. It is HILARIOUS to watch them run around and slip in the sand!”

Katherine smiled. “I look forward to it!”

  “Princess Catalina! Princess Catalina!” An eager young voice called. 

  “A princess’ work is never done,” Catalina said to Katherine, smiling. She bumped her shoulder affectionately. “Have some fun, Kat. I’ll talk to you again later.”

Once Catalina whisked off to go speak with more people, Katherine delved back into the party for a little while longer before straying away to explore. 

Aragon was truly a lavish city, even for a civilization in the middle of a desert wasteland. She passed by several cozy-looking houses and lively bars decorated with desert flowers, all abandoned for the celebration. 

She soon found herself in a small clearing between buildings where an oasis pool sat. Two bendy palm trees swayed lightly in the breeze, and clustered of paddle-shaped succulents hounded the edges of the pool. Katherine sat down on a smooth stone and looked up at the sky, where every single star in the entire universe seemed to be visible.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

Katherine jerked around, nearly falling off of the rock and into the pool.

Queen Isabella was standing in an alleyway feeding into the clearing, darkness shrouded over her. She stepped out into the moonlight, and all her gemstones glittered like eyes around her. 

  “Yes,” Katherine nodded, composing herself.

  “Why aren’t you celebrating?” Isabella asked, standing above Katherine. 

  “I’m just taking a breather, Your Majesty,” Katherine answered. “Is that alright?”

Isabella eyed Katherine suspiciously. “Of course,” She said slowly. She looked up at the sky. “When did you meet my daughter? You seem to be good friends.”

  “Five years ago,” Katherine said. “She lived in a city next to my forest village and wandered in one day. After an interrogation, I was showing her out and we just started talking. She kept coming back after that and became a regular visitor in the village.”

  “Hm.” Isabella said. “Well, I thank you for bringing my daughter back home safe.” She looked down at Katherine and smiled, sending chills down Katherine’s spine. “I am so, very pleased.”

————

The celebration was still going on when Katherine eventually turned in for the night. She went to her lavish guest bedroom in the palace to sleep, but not before visiting Catalina.

Catalina was in her own huge bedroom, sitting under the marigold velvet blankets in her equally giant bed. She was looking down at a painting in her hands, and didn’t look up from it when Katherine walked inside.

  “I ran away because I wasn’t happy in Aragon.”

Katherine walked over and sat down next to Catalina. The painting she was holding had four girls in it, all smiling and engulfing each other in their wings. 

  “I was restricted from doing so many things and Mother watched my every move.” Catalina went on, her voice brimming with hate. “I couldn’t stand it.” She brushed her hands over the surface of the painting, an expression of longing in her eyes. “You probably think I’m just being selfish and snobby, but you don’t know how things happen here.”

  “Then tell me,” Katherine urged softly. She set a hand on Catalina’s thigh, letting her know she was there for me. 

Catalina sighed. “The queen rules in Braze. And that’s great, you know, girl power, yay!” She laughed dryly. “But the way we take the throne…” She trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. “Only daughters, nieces, granddaughters, and aunts are allowed to challenge for the throne. And they do this by fighting the queen. To the death.”

Katherine frowned, quickly understanding why Catalina didn’t like the system.

 “Mother’s three sisters died young, so she didn’t have any competition growing up.” Catalina went on. “She challenged my grandmother when she was twenty-two and killed her swiftly. Crushed her ribs during the fight. Then, she married Father and started having children. She said she would only humor four female heirs. No more than that.”

She pointed to the tallest girl. Her wings were dark indigo and powerful-looking, and she had glowing golden skin. Dark brown hair was cut short around her head, bordering her fiery green eyes. She was wearing the sunstone necklace that Catalina now had around her neck.

  “That’s Juana, my second oldest sister. She had the wildest temper and always thought of fun stuff for us and my other sisters to do. She also LOVED to challenge the teachers she had.” A smile pulled on Catalina’s lips, then quickly disappeared. “She challenged Mother when I was ten. I swear, she nearly beat mother to death; Juana did not mess around when it came to combat. And she would have won, too. She should have won. But then Mother, bleeding, bruised, and pinned on the ground beneath her, looked up and said, ‘I’m proud of you.’ Mother doesn’t say that often. Rarely ever. Juana hesitated, smiled, and then Mother slashed her stomach open with a dagger hidden in the bends of her wings. I still remember Juana’s face. That look of realization. She had looked down at her organs now hanging out of her stomach and grabbed at them like she was going to try and put them back in, then looked at me and my sisters with the most agonized face I’ve ever seen on her before.” She dipped her head and swallowed thickly, blinking back tears. “I think--I think she thought she failed us.”

After a moment of silence, Catalina swiftly wiped her eyes, sniffled, and then pointed to the next girl. Her wings were narrow but shiny and the color of raw salmon and hibiscus flowers. Her tree bark brown eyes were calculating and calm, but her smile was bright and beaming.

  “That’s Maria. My oldest sister. She was like the voice of reason for the group, but she always got dragged into mischief anyway. She was also really good at getting us out of trouble. Except that time Juana mooned our history tutor.” She laughed, tracing her fingers over Maria’s long brown hair. “After Juana died, she became a lot more protective over me and my sister. I never thought she was going to challenge Mother, but she did when I was sixteen. Because Mother gave birth to another female child. A healthy baby girl. But, three days after she was born, she just--disappeared. One night, she was there, and then the next morning she wasn’t. Nobody ever said anything about her again, but Maria was furious because she knew Mother had killed our baby sister.” She swallowed thickly. “Maria was never a fighter. She was good at non-lethal combat, not--not what the challenge for the throne was. After she was beaten senselessly, cut up and bleeding all over the sand, she begged Mother for her life, saying she forfeit the challenge and wouldn’t try to overthrow her again. And Mother decapitated her.”

With the sadness of losing her sisters came anger, and Katherine saw Catalina grip the sides of the painting tightly and grit her teeth in rage.

Catalina pointed to the last girl. Her wings were fluffy and a goldfish orange color. She was small and had large, innocent dark amber eyes and sun-kissed brown hair she kept up in a messy bun.

  “That’s Isabella Jr. Pretentious of Mother to name her that, huh? We just call her Izzy.” Catalina said. “Izzy’s the youngest out of the four of us. She was always worried in a cute way and was super smart. After Maria died, she became a lot more clingy towards me. I let her sleep in my bed at night because she was too scared to sleep alone. Not that I blamed her. Mother always looked at us like she was just daring us to challenge her. It scared the poor thing.” She shook her head. “But then I ran away. I left Izzy alone. I didn’t tell her where I was going or what I was doing, I didn’t even leave her a note or ask her to come along. I just--left.”

She gently touched her pregnant belly. “I hope they aren’t a girl. I can’t stand the thought of Mother doing something to them to get rid of competition.”

She shook her head and looked up at Katherine, her eyes shining in the candlelight. “This may be my home, but this is not my family. You and Joan are.”

[lenacopperleaf]

A (Not So) Brief Summary of The First 27 episodes of Critical Role

So @i-do-as-i-want had mentioned wanting a summary of the first bunch of episodes so that they could get to the part without Tiberius and his player. I was originally going to message this to them but then it got long, and I figured others might be interested too. I tried to be brief while still covering everything important (27 episodes is still almost 100 hours of content ya’ll). Feel free to add if you feel I missed important stuff, but be kind as I did this pretty quickly. This isn’t a post to talk about what went down with Tibs’ player. There’s a lot of those posts around rn and they serve their own purpose. But this post is just supposed to be a summary of in-game events. Summary under the read more!

Underdark Arc (episodes 1-16)

We meet Vox Machina—Percy a gunslinger nobleman who’s trying to avoid his past; the half elf twins, Vax the rogue, and Vex the ranger (and her bear Trinket); Keyleth the half elf druid who is completing her journey to become her people’s Voice of the Tempest; Scanlan a gnomish bard; Pike a gnomish cleric of Sarenrae and her best buddy Grog the barbarian; and Tiberius a dragonborn.

They are a group of adventurers who have just successfully saved a city called Emon. After a six(ish) month break where they have split apart to complete pieces of their individual stories they have rejoined to find Lady Kima, a friend to the Sorcerer Allura whom they met in Emon. Kima, a paladin to the Platinum Dragon, had gone to the Kraghammer to deal with an evil vibe she had been getting. VM arrives, talks to a bunch of people and go to a mine where creatures had been coming to the surface from the Underdark. They make a deal with the mine owner to take care of his creature problems for a lot of gold pieces.

VM goes through the mine defeating a vast assortment of creatures such as umber hulks, intellect devourers, and illithids. Along the way Vex and Keyleth meet Clarota, an Illithid who has been cast out, they invite him to come along to help defeat a mysterious figure known as K’varn who the group believes to be the source of the problem. They then reach the castle of the Underdark Dwarves (duergar). The evil king and queen had been holding Kima! The gang rescues Kima, who dislikes Clarota and wants to leave him behind. VM has a battle against the king and queen. The King dies but the Queen gets away with Grog. Eventually the gang gets back Grog, defeats the Queen and heads on to face K’Varn. The group finds out that K’varn is a beholder controlling the mind flayers through their elder brain, battles him (ep. 11) and wins out. Then it turns out that the god Orcus is trying to use K’varn through the Horn of Orcus-this reanimates the beholder corpse. After persevering again VM unintentionally frees all the controlled mind-flayers and Clarota betrays Vox Machina in the hopes his people will take him back.

The gang fight-run away from the mind flayers and through the use of a teleportation circle return with Kima back to Emon. There is a shopping episode where we meet Shaun Gilmore, Vox Machina’s favorite merchant who has a bit of a flirtationship with Vax. (Ep. 14) The band of adventurers is summoned to Sovereign Uriel and the council of Emon. VM tells the council about the Horn of Orcus and decide to bring it back to Vasselheim where Kima’s temple is where they should be able to keep the Horn safe and away from dangerous creatures/people. VM does this, traveling by air ship. They return the Horn to the Platinum Dragon’s temple. They also say good-bye to Pike for the time being as she has decided to stay to fix the temple of Sarenrae (Ashley Johnson was cast in Blindspot).

Adventures in Vasselheim (17-23)

After saying goodbye to Pike, VM looks for things to do. Grog gets in a fight against Kern in what is known as The Pit (ep. 17 part 1 quite good). Grog loses just barely and is very sad. The group looking to cheer him up and get back to what they’re good at, leave Vasselheim and come across a hydra, and defeat it. Unfortunately Vasselheim has an organization known as the Slayer’s Take who are given assignments to hunt monsters and other creatures and the hydra slain was one the Slayer’s Take was supposed to take care of. Vox Machina is told that they must join the Slayer’s Take or will be persecuted as poachers.

Vox Machina is split up to undertake the Trial of the Slayer’s Take. Vex, Scanlan, Grog and two new friends go to slay a white dragon. Vax, Keyleth, Tiberius, and two other new friends have to beat a Rakshasa (I like these episodes and reoccurring guest characters are introduced. Ep. 18 and 19 have no Tiberius, ep. 20 and 21 have…well a lot more Tiberius. For the reoccurring guest character of 20/21 it is Kash a cleric/paladin who is played by Will Friedle. Kash is interested in Keyleth romantically and Vax gets jealous. Kash is good here but there are other instances of him after Tibs so no big to just avoid these ep if need be just know the Rakshasa will be a problem again in the future). Once everyone has passed their trial they become members of the Take. Yay!! Then they go to the village of Pyrah so Keyleth can pass the Fire trial of her Aramente. They go to the Fire Realm, things are hot but they get by and Keyleth passes. On their way back they have to hide from a big scary red dragon (foreshadowing!!)

Before they leave back to Emon, Grog returns to the Pit where he faces off against Kern, and this time…is victorious!!!! (ep. 23, part 1. There is some Tibs but the Grog part is pretty good and is pretty heavy Grog centered which is the last we’ll see of that for a little while.) Fan Favorite NPC Viktor the gun powder merchant is also in this last episode in part 2, (2:08:29)

VM returns to their keep and meet Kynan (recurring NPC) who wants to join Vox Machina. Vax knocks him out and then revives him in an attempt to teach Kynan that their work is dangerous and not for him at that time. He tells the boy to train and that one day maybe he can join. Kynan runs off saying he will do that. Vax later feels guilty and tries to find him but cannot. Seeker Assum, a member of the Council, sends word to Vox Machina that they are invited to a fancy feast next week to welcome Emon’s new fancy guests…the Briarwoods (aka the people who invaded Percy’s home and killed all of his family).

The Briarwood Arc (24-27)

After receiving the invitation Percy finally tells Vox Machina all of what had happened to him before he joined the Adventure Party. Basically bad people came in, killed everyone, Percy was tortured before he was able to escape and now he wants revenge. On 5 of the 6 barrels of his gun there is a name—Lord and Lady Briarwood, Anna Ripley, Sir Stonefell, and Professor Anders. The group says that they will help Percy.  The group splits to do errands, get their money from Kraghammer and play with Trinket.

Then the group goes to the feast, Percy disguised as Vax. They see Silas and Delilah Briarwood and hear their version of how they acquired Whitestone (ie. The de Rolos got sick and died and they were in line to inherit), Vax although asked to go with Seeker Assum sneaks off and does his own thing (after agreeing to say “Jenga” over the magical earrings if he needs help). He ends up getting caught by the Briarwoods in their room. As dinner ends Vax finds himself in deeper and deeper trouble as he isn’t able to speak or move.

When he gets a chance to break the spell Vax throws himself out of a window and yells Jenga. A Very intense fight follows (ep. 25 is really good overall though as it is nearing the end of time Tibs was around things are starting to get strange/tense with him so watch if interested and you can just skip him really) as the group fights to save Vax and stop the Briarwoods. They fail to stop the Briarwoods though they do save Vax. Percy begins to act more rash than is normal for him. Sovereign Uriel and his council are unhappy with VM as it seems they attacked Emon’s guests. He agrees to look into it but VM is on some thinnnnnnnnn ice. The gang does some…questionable stuff when some bloodhunters come after one of their new friends (This is where the Vox Machina hates old people comes from). There’s a filler episode where Scanlan turns everyone into Cows. Its kinda amusing though skippable overall.

Okay, now we’re at ep. 27. The tension throughout the episode is weird at the beginning and terrible by the end imo. Unless you enjoy second hand embarrassment/awkwardness/weirdness I would suggest trying to avoid this episode. Percy begins to have nightmares and dreams of a smoke entity before ghosts attack Grey Skull Keep. They fight off the ghosts and then later in the day start to make plans.

Seeker Assum comes to see them and says that he thinks that Uriel is under a charm like Assum was earlier. Keyleth had used Greater Restoration on him when the council was talking with VM, but Assum pretended it didn’t work b/c he wanted to stay in Uriel’s good graces to help VM later.  After more debate, and an offer to raze Whitestone from Tiberius, and some creepy smoke voices in Percy’s ear, Percy decides that they will go to face the Briarwoods and that they will have a week to prepare. (Now comes the worst part of the episode tension wise). The party makes their preparations to leave the city, Vex leaves a note for Uriel.

Then they leave for Whitestone. The journey goes okay though they lose their horses to harpies. Keyleth is becoming increasingly concerned for Percy, feeling he isn’t telling them everything. The next day they continue on their way and the episode ends as they are faced with a dragon-ish creature.

The next episode they continue onto Whitestone but Tibs is controlled by Matt. The disappearance of Tibs’ player is brought up sometime over the next few episodes but he does not come back to the table and you can now enjoy the rest of the episodes of Critical Role! 

[constantlyirksome]

Review: All Good Things Must Come to an Endgame. (major spoilers.)

Capping off phase three of the Marvel cinematic universe was always going to be a monumental task. It had to be a film that worked both as a sequel to Infinity War, while also tying together buckets of plot and development from over twenty movies over the last decade. The Russo brothers had to juggle actors contracts being up, coming up with a believable fix to The Snap, while subtly hinting at what might come next for phase four. For the most part they managed to create a thrilling, satisfying movie that had me cheering in my seats, but definitely had me thinking about certain (mostly inconsequential) details that didn’t feel quite right.

Review under the cut.

The Time Heist.

We knew that somehow, no matter what, the remaining heroes from Infinity war would find a way to get everyone back. It’d be a crap end to the franchise if they didn’t, and also confusing considering there are movies planned that depend on certain characters, you know… existing. Time travel was the prevailing theory for a lot of people, and it makes the most sense. Still, the way that idea was used, to go back to key times in MCU that were both infinity stone locations, and places were each character could grow and reflect on the past was beautiful. And it was entertaining as an audience member seeing characters that have grown so much over the years encounter younger, stupider versions of themselves (looking at you Starlord.) The heavy emphasis on the original avengers film in 2012 was important; as that was arguably the first movie that proved a shared cinematic universe could work. As the present day Scott, Tony, Steve and Bruce scurry around the 2012 battle of New York we get a look back at the original six heroes kicking ass, as well as a sneaky view into what happened after. The way they all just took the tesseract, scepter and time stone felt very easy but was enjoyable nonetheless. In fact, the collection of all the stones, barring the soul stone guarded by Red Skull were all collected incredibly easily, so the focus was more on nostalgia than a complicated heist plot.

(A highlight was definitely Tony perving on “America’s ass”.)

Not All Hero Arcs were Created Equal.

With the destruction of half all living things the movie was able to zero in on a smaller core cast, and luckily the first six Avengers, the people who have been on the journey the longest, it was a final chance to give them a thoughtful, meaningful farewell. With the addition of Rocket, Rhodey, Nebula and to a lesser extend Carol (more on that in a bit) the original cast were able to close out their storylines. Some of these were more successful, Hawkeye getting his family back, or Bruce finding a balance between beast and man were nice. The Hulk thing was strange and could be written off as a joke, it’s hard to take Bruce or the Hulk seriously as the weird mash-up they ended up as.

Some of the storylines ended, in my opinion, kind of sourly. As soon as Hawkeye and Black Widow rocked up to the soul stone planet, you knew one of them was doomed. Scarlett Johansson rose to the occasion in a big way, as she sometimes falls flat. First as the tired warrior trying to hold down the Avengers after the snap, which was a cool evolution to a character who used to be a loner, then as the sacrificial lamb. It was a truly heartbreaking thing to watch Clint and Nat try to save each other, a final ode to their relationship, which was one of the best in the MCU. When Clint returned to the present without her it felt heavy, so I was frustrated she didn’t get as great a send-off or the same emotional response that the other major death got.

Thor’s fate is already one of the most contentious outcomes on the internet. I hate that basically any development made during Thor Ragnarok has been undone, I wish that the Russo’s had been more faithful to the ideas Taika Waititi and Chris Hemsworth made. But I do believe his current state, as a drunk, overweight recluse, isn’t totally out of the realm of possibility. He did lose everything and blamed himself for The Snap, so to want to spiral, to break down and lose hope, isn’t beyond possibility. The weight gain could be seen as just a punch line, (making fun of people who gain weight isn’t funny or cool) but it’s also a conscious step away from “perfect man, perfect body angel pirate” thing. He still got to play around with Meek and Korg, which was great. I do not believe for a second he would just leave New Asgard and the people he fought so hard to join the Guardians. That’s dumb, but when an actor wants to put a character to rest concessions have to be made. The big issue will be explaining his absence if he’s not in Guardians 3. (He could and should replace Chris Pratt.)

Tony and Steve, Captain America and Iron Man, were always going to be the two characters with the grandest ending narratives. They have led and been the leaders of most movies. They got, in my opinion, very suitable and bittersweet endings. Cap has fought and fought, slowly inching away from the patriot of the 1940s, to see him go back and get the ending he was robbed of when he went into the ice was really nice. The rules of fictional time-travel, not just in Back to the Future, say he shouldn’t have been able to do this. To totally change his past things would change in the future but whatever. Would he leave all the friends he’s made the last decade, to revert back to a more difficult time? That’s for the message boards to debate. He got a happy ending, which is fitting.

Tony Stark has had one of the best character arcs in movie history. From “the merchant of death,” to a hero who was still an emotionally stunted lone wolf, to a team leader who has tried to sacrifice himself at least once in every movie he’s been in. The hero that started the entire franchise in a cave with a box of scraps. He sort of got his happy ending and then didn’t. He got to spend four years happy with a family which is what a lot of people wanted for him. But in the end, it was him that made the ultimate sacrifice. There’s the idea that to have a character suffer for so long to only die at the end isn’t entertainment. But it was fitting, it was emotional and it was beautiful. He had the strength to do his own snap, and then he got to be with his wife, his best friends and his adoptive son Peter one last time. (I thought I couldn’t cry harder than when Peter turned to dust, but the sequel hurt, where the two roles were reversed, way more.) Robert Downey Jr's work, his acting in not just those final scenes but in the whole movie was a master class. Hopefully, Peter and the rest of the world will be able to move on… But I doubt it.

Thanos in Infinity War said to Strange during their first battle “You never used your greatest weapon” which back then was the time stone, but this time it was Captain Marvel. The excuse that she was in space explained why she never helped the Avengers before pretty well but to use that again to explain how little she was in Endgame was a cop-out. The first ten minutes, where they fight Thanos the first time and she put him in a chokehold was so satisfying. The second time when she took the full brunt of a head-butt and not flinch was even cooler. Imagine if she’d had the opportunity to travel to 2012 or even to go collect the power stone. I understand that she has solo sequels pretty much assured, but she definitely should have been in Endgame so much more… and her haircut made her look like Hillary Clinton.

The next generation, Valkyrie, Wanda, Carol, Sam and Bucky all have bright futures, and I think it’ll be very exciting when Disney releases television shows starring some of them.

Fight!

Finally, I wanted to mention how perfect, how epic, how breathtaking that final fight was. Starting with the big three against a no gauntlet Thanos, that almost would have been enough. We got the fan service of Captain America holding you know what, Thor fighting with long hair again. But when Thanos’ army comes over the hill, and then Doctor Strange opes up a hundred portals I screamed. Why neither of these armies showed up in Infinity War is a mystery but it was beautiful all the same. And that sequence, all the female heroes of the last decade (Including Pepper in some dope blue armor) lining up and going ham on their enemies was my favorite part of the movie hands down.

Final Verdict

So the overall feeling as I left the theatre was lots of excitement, and that the journey that the movies and the audience had been following for so, so long had come to a pretty satisfying conclusion. Any problems audiences may have so far seem to be subjective, and could be debated, about Caps goodbye, Thor’s weight, or whatever else. Endgame did an amazing job of celebrating the old movies, and was full of amazing action and fight sequences and left the door open to the possibilities for more movies with some fan favorites.

[johnismyreason]

Episode 4: « I force the entrance »

gif credit: @peakystitches

PREVIOUS EPISODES

The next day, as expected, the Solomons and the Shelbys met at the same café the day before, at the same time. They had coffee and breakfast and set off.

"I have several places to show you, in several different parts of Paris, all different. What kind of customers do you want ?”

“The best” answered straight away Arthur.

“That has the merit of being clear. Well, I have what you need."

They get into a car, which Elsa drove. They crossed all types of streets, boulevards, avenues,... Once again the English discovered Paris and marvelled inside. They're English, they don't let anything appear, right ? They finally arrived in front of a fairly busy café-bistro: it was a mixed population. There were bourgeois, merchants, craftsmen, workers,... They were all mixed because they come to this café particularly because it made most of the sports bets, especially horse racing. The manager sees the group entering his establishment and already knows what will happen.

"Good morning, gentlemen and lady. My name is Clément. What can I do for you ?”

“We're going to have some tea," Elsa replied.

“Good. Green, grey, black tea ?”

“Give us the color you want, man. We're going to sit down.”

“Perfect” he swallowed. “I'll bring this to you right away.” He waved to them to move forward in the room to settle in. They sat on a red couch under large mirrors.

“So what do you think ?” asked Alfie.

“I say it's fucking chic here. This makes me want to fart in silk" said Arthur. John laughed at his brother's remark, while Tom looked up at the ceiling, jind of desperate.

“The place welcomes all types of people. There are no longer any social classes when it comes to making money effortlessly," said Elsa. “It seems that the manager makes 5000 francs in just one week. Not just when there are horse races. People bet on other sports too.”

“It looks very good to me," said John.

“Besides, if you have a racehorse, people will take it as their mascot, and bet on it. They will come to consume and play even more.”

“It's a good strategy," commented Thomas. “Are the games rigged ?”

“No, everything is in order.”

“And the manager, what do we do with him ?”

“We'll take care of it.” At the same time Clément walked in with the tea and served his customers. “Do you need anything else ?”

“Yes. Your business.” Elsa answered, looking into his eyes. Clement, stopped moving and breathing. He knew he was going to lose his bistro the moment Elsa came in with his gang.

“I can't, miss... This bistro has been in the family for generations. I can't sell it to you.”

“Who told you I want to buy it ?”

“I thought that....”

“No, I'm gonna put the pressure on you, the pressure of my gun on your skull and either pull the trigger or not. It's up to you.” She took a sip of her tea, as if her threat was a little friendly message.

“Miss Solomons, I'm really sorry, I can't give it to you.” Elsa put her cup down.

“The thing is, it's not even for me. It's for them” she pointed at the Peaky Blinders with her chin. “They wanted to have a business in Paris and I thought this was the best place to do it. You know, you're very lucky it's for them and not for me. They're much softer than I am. They may be willing to buy it from you.”

“Again, the bistro is not for sale.” Clément raised his voice, which Elsa didn't like.

“Very well. We're leaving. I'll leave the tea on your account, huh... As compensation for the bad service.” She got up and signaled to the men to do the same.

“We're leaving ? asked JOhn who didn’t understand the conversation in french.

“Yes, he's a wanker. I'll find you another place. Come on.” Thomas caught the young woman by the arm.

“There is no way I'm leaving," he said quietly to Elsa.

“Who told you we were leaving ?” She freed herself from Tommy's grip, and turnt to Clément. “Where is the phone, please ?”

“There is one only in my office," replied Clément.

“Well, where's your office, then," she sighed.

“It's this way.” Clément showed him the way to his office. They entered a small room with a window. He handed Elsa the phone. She took the member who allows to hear and stunned Clément with it. He fell to the ground but Elsa immediately lifted him up by the collar, and punched him in the nose. Then a second time, a third time. That was when the Peaky Blinders came into the office, alarmed by the screams.

“Elsa !” shouted Tommy. But the young woman didn't care and put Clément against the wall. He moaned in pain. She approached his ear and whispered:

“You're gonna give me your bistro or I'm gonna blow your fucking head off, understand ? I'm losing patience here, I don't know if you've noticed.” Clément cried and grined. His whole body was shaking with fear and pain. As he gave no answer, Elsa pulled out her weapon, removed the security and pointed it at the poor man's temple. “I count to three Clement, then I blow your brains out. One... two... two... thr…”

“Alright !” he shouted. “It's okay! It's okay! Take the bistro... Take it…” he sighed. Elsa had a smile of satisfaction on her face.

“Thank you. Wise decision.” She dropped him to the ground and he curled up moaning in pain and sadness. “There you guys are, you're the new owners of the bar. We'll make new documents saying you own the place. My guys will do that.” She paused for a short while and examined the desk and the man on the ground, then turnt to the Peaky Blinders. “Shall we have a drink to celebrate ? You invite me hahahaha !” She laughed hysterically. She took her uncle's arm and they left. Arthur got behind the bar and served the group some whiskey. They each had a drink and Elsa rose hers. “To the new bosses ! Welcome to Paris, darlings !” She made her glass ring on those of others who imitated her.

A customer walked up to a server and asks: "I would like to bet on Moca, number 7. I bet 150 francs". Elsa looked at the boys who didn't understand what the man had just said.

“Guys, you're going to get yourself some golden balls," she said, drinking a sip of her whiskey.

“It's all thanks to you," said John. “If you knew it made a lot of money, why didn't you take it ?”

“I don't know... I wanted to have other businesses than bars and restaurants. Also, I like to save bistros that suck. So there was no challenge there.”

“Anyway, it's a very nice place. Thank you again Elsa.” Tommy rose his glass in her direction.

“I should learn from you, Elsa," said Alfie.

“What do you mean?

“Put my fist in someone's face to get what I want. That's the only thing they understand. When I get home, I'll do that. The guy you just smashed up, he barely fought for what he has ! It's so easy.” Elsa laughed, but not the Peaky Blinders, still embarrassed by the young woman's methods of persuasion. They finished their drinks and left.

“What do you want to do now ?” asked Elsa.

“Let's go see the Bastille! I want to see where the fucking French cut off their fucking king's head," laughed Arthur.

“Arthur, first of all the Bastille was destroyed during the Revolution, there is nothing left, so you won't see the prison," explained Elsa with a slight hint of contempt in her voice. “Secondly, he was guillotined in the Place de la Révolution, now called Place de la Concorde. If you want we can go, and then there is the Tuileries garden and the Louvre. What do you think of that ?”

“It's perfect," replied Alfie always very enthusiastic. Let's go!"

They climbed into the car and Elsa drove them to Paris. They arrived in a perpendicular street to the Place de la Concorde, where they parked. They got off the car and walked towards the Obelisk. Once in the square, Elsa recounted what happened on January 21, 1790, the day the French guillotined their king. They then headed for the Jardin des Tuileries in the direction of the Louvre:

"It's still incredible that you dared to behead your king," John told Elsa. The other three men being further ahead. “You really have to hate your sovereign.”

“I don't think we hated our king. We hated the system to which we gave everything, but which gave us nothing in return, not even the right to express ourselves, not even the right to count in society. It had to stop. But you're not going to tell me you love your king, are you ?”

“I could !” he replied. “No, the thing is, I don't really care. I do my business and that's it. Politics and all that crap, it's not for me.”

“Your stuff or Tommy's ?”

“What do you mean ?”  

“Well, he's still the one who makes all the decisions without ever consulting you and Arthur, he makes you do the dirty work,... Alfie told me that.”

“That's not true. We decide together.”

“Oh, yeah? What about the story with the Russians ? Alfie told me no one knew what was going on except Tommy. And that he was giving you assignments and that you shouldn't ask questions. Isn't that true either? I thought your company was a family business. Tommy is a family member, he's not the family alone. You deserve to know what's going on.” She stopped talking for a moment, and saw that John was uncomfortable. “Anyway, it's none of my business. Let's talk about other things.”

“ About what ?” asked the youngest of the Shelbys.

“Anything you want.

“All right. Would you like to have dinner with me ?” dared to ask John. And here it is again, that naughty smile that has certainly broken many hearts. Elsa was surprised by his request.

“I don't know. I don't know. If it's asked correctly, we can work something out," she says.

“Elsa Solomons,” John stopped and standed in front of the young woman so that she faced him, “would you do me the great honor of having dinner with me tonight ?” He smiled and she didn’t know what to do anymore.

“Avec plaisir. But tonight I can't, I have business to do. Tomorrow, I'm free," she smiled. John imitated her, satisfied with the answer of his future date for one night. They started walking one step faster to catch up with the rest of the group.

They finally arrived at the pyramid. They then decided to enter the museum. They visited a few rooms, examining paintings and other works of art. Everyone stopped at different paintings to look at them.

"It pisses me off with all this museum bullshit stuff,” grunted Arthur. “What the fuck are we doing here ? And then this painting, what's so special about it ?”

“It's Arthur art, try to appreciate it.” said Thomas.

“Yeah well, it pisses me off," he replied, sitting on a bench in the middle of the room.

Thomas joined Elsa who was admiring a huge canvas depicting a war scene. She saw him approaching in her field of vision and started the conversation:

"Don't you think we feel the fear of the soldiers ? But also their hatred towards their enemies. I don't understand that.”

“ What don’t you understand ?”

“War.” Thomas closed his face in confusion. “After all, they are men used as pawns in a context they did not choose. The kings, the government chose, not them. They just wanted to survive and hope one day to live.”

“Isn't that what you do ?”

“War ?”

“Yes. You manipulate people, you use them as your pawns. You're confronting other clans. And the people you torture, they didn't choose that.” Elsa listened to the Shelby chief carefully, but didn’t look at him.

“Of course if they chose it. War is something I do locally, between two damn Mafia clans. Civilians are not in danger. You choose to be a gangster. I don't manipulate, I'm an open book in terms of my working methods. I'll let you know. People don't listen, it's their problem, they pay the consequences.”

“Did you choose to be a gangster ?” asked Thomas. Elsa thought, staring into the void.

“I chose to survive, Thomas. I had several choices, I chose this one. I will pay the consequences for the rest of my life.” She turnt to him. “So will you.”

“I’m not like you.”

“Fuck no, you're not like me. You're weak and scared... You're sentimental and you let your emotions guide you. We don't play in the same class, Thomas. You're not like me. But you're a gangster anyway, because you chose to get involved in this, and now you're already starting to pay the consequences.” She started leaving but Thomas kept talking.

“How do you plan to integrate my horse into Longchamps ?”

“How do you expect me to do that ? I force the entrance, old sport, I force the entrance…” She joint her uncle, and continued the visit.

After a two-hour visit, the Peaky Blinders and Solomons decided to return to their hotel, so they headed to their car. The vehicle was still there but someone was inside. Elsa pulled out her gun: "Get the fuck out of there, asshole ! Hurry up!". The thief started the car and it exploded, propelling the group backwards.

[starscreamloki]

Darker than Night

Summary: Loki has fallen in love with a peculiar creature who wields great power and his obsession for her makes him blind. When she invites him to come along on a dangerous mission the mischievous God makes a tiny error and is suddenly forced to play with creatures who are stronger and more dangerous than him. To escape and successfully accomplish their mission Loki has to play along in a dangerous game from which he isn’t entirely sure if he likes it. Will he succeed and free the person he is after or will he fail and fall in the hands of the Dark Elves?

Warnings: violence, mean/dark characters, implication of smut/BDSM but nothing happens, and just my special trademark of pushing Loki to his limits which is good for some angst.

Words: 4057

A/N: Well, this fic was a challenge. I already had been playing with the idea to throw Loki in front of the Dark Elves - or better said Drow - but I couldn’t figure a story until I started some roleplay with the Loki from @wintertink​ (thank you love!).

On some point in the story both Loki and de OFC swap gender and race and I have chosen to refer to the female Loki as ‘him’ and to the OFC as ‘her’ to keep it from being confusing.

Then there is a fair bit amount of mind-reading for which I choose to use bold marking.

Read on AO3

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“Idiot!” She screamed in his mind. “You utter and complete idiot!”

Loki looked down at the dozen gleaming blades that were trained on his throat and chest, a little fear creeping in his heart.

“I had told you not to speak out loud and yet you did!”

He could hear her sigh angrily in his mind and he knew he had made a grave mistake by not listing to her. It wasn’t as much he didn’t like to be told what to do as much he had forgotten not to speak out loud, though at that moment he couldn’t phantom the reason why they couldn’t speak, but now he did.

He glanced at the woman standing next to him and he was a little shocked to see she had changed to look exactly like the denizens from this realm.

Her skin was as black as the night, her hair whiter than snow and the length halfway to her back, her ears long and pointy and her eyes red as blood. She was wearing a black gown adorned with red lacing on the edges, their patterns intricate, bringing out the redness in her eyes which were set hard and cold.

Loki thought she looked beautiful but he had thought that from the first moment they had met, falling for her the moment he had laid eyes on her.

She was different, a creature that bore no name - but she had told him to call her Ixa - with powers that were beyond his. And even though she could have overthrown him, killed him even with a flick of her wrist, she had not. Instead she had shown him playfulness, kindness and a strange form of freedom. She had let him vent frustration in both fight and sex. And oh the sex had been good! She looked frail but he was sure she should could survive the sky collapsing on her because her powers almost seemed limitless.

Well, not entirely limitless. Ixa was bound to certain rules from which he only knew a few. He knew she couldn’t lie though he still hadn’t seen how she couldn’t - she had explained him it was physically almost impossible for her. And another weakness of her was that she could get called away by an unseen force at any moment, having to do a mission of some sorts to keep balance in the universe.

And they were on such an exact mission right now.

She had been called away and instead of leaving him behind, again, she had invited him to come along; an invitation he had greedily accepted so he could stay by her side.

Their journey had brought them deep into the bowels of a realm - Loki didn’t know which one or where - and they had been traveling through dark corridors of a cavern.

Loki didn’t know what creatures they were going to encounter although she had stopped him once to led a ‘something’ slid by and Loki had felt the shivers run down his spine when he saw something gooey slither in front of them. The feint light that had reflected from its paperwhite and almost translucent skin had given him the creeps. And he wasn’t one to get creeped out quickly but something that radiated from the creature, something he couldn’t quite grasp, told him he should be very afraid of it. She had been afraid of it as well as Loki had felt her anxiety rising when the ‘thing’ had crossed their path.

Ixa had later explained it as a mind-reader and mind-feeder which would crack open your skull to feast on your grey mass. The name of the monster - he could not describe it in any other form - which she had told him long forgotten from his mind, not deeming it important.

With a lot of effort Loki had managed to pry the goal of this mission from her but she hadn’t given him much. He wasn’t sure if it was because it pained her or for another reason - she seemed a little on edge for this mission and for someone with all her powers Loki felt a little uneasy. If she was frightened of something than maybe he should be too. But he didn’t want to dwell on it too long or he might take up on her offer to bring him back to a safe place and she would carry out the mission on her own; something he didn’t want because he wanted to stay with her and he didn’t want to show weakness.

Their mission was to save someone who had been captured by the denizens of this dark realm. Both the denizens and their target were named ‘Drow’, and their target was a merchant of great importance for some trades between the realms - whichever realms that might be - but the merchant had been captured and thrown into the dungeon of one of his kin. Apparently he had evoked the wrath of a Matron from what Ixa had explained as a ‘lower house’ and all the Drow belonging to that house had telekinetic gifts among probably another dozen abilities Loki knew naught about.

She had warned him that this mission was dangerous and that he should listen very carefully to her instructions or things could get ugly, and even though he trusted her, maybe even already loved her despite the short period they knew each other, he still didn’t like to be told what to do and had taken her warning lightly.

Maybe a little too lightly because the cold metal from the swords that were now pressed against his throat made him think he had made a tiny mistake. He hadn’t even seen the Drow nor sensed them and it scared him a little how silent and invisible these creatures had been until they had sprang out of the darkness of the cavern corridor.

Or did they have the aid of magic? Loki didn’t know.

A male dark-elf with the same white hair and black skin as Ixa, stepped in front of them. The armour he was wearing black and made from leather, the points and sharp ridges on it giving it a look that could only be described as ‘dark’ and ‘evil’. Loki felt himself tense at the menacing creature.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” he asked and turned to Loki. “A human,” the Drow said with so much disdain that Loki almost thought he would burn his tongue on the word, “and a-”

The Drow stopped in the middle of his sentence when he noticed the woman next to Loki and his face fell. “I’m sorry my priestess,” he said while stepping back, bowing as he did and frantically motioning to the other Drow surrounding them to lower the weapons trained on Ixa.

Loki could see that her red eyes were filled with malice and anger and she snapped at the Drow. “Lower your weapons on my pet or I’ll put you in my dungeon next to this human to become my plaything as well,” she hissed at the Drow which such malice and promise she would carry out her threat, that the male Drow visibly swallowed.

Loki swallowed too though he didn’t know it was because he felt a sudden heat at her authority or because he was a little frightened of her too. And what did she mean ‘pet’? Oh, she was going to beg for forgiveness when he was done with her when they would get out of here!

The male Drow started to stammer and fright filled his eyes while he frantically signaled the other Drow - all males Loki noticed now - to lower their swords. “As you wish, my priestess,” he said with a small voice and Loki felt how the blades fell away from his throat and he sighed in relief.

When Loki slightly moved to put his weight from one foot to the other he suddenly noticed his movements were restricted, and instead of cold metal blades at his throat he felt a metal collar around his neck and wrists, their shackles linked with chains.

What by the Norns?

“Bring me to Matron Khalorzza,” Ixa ordered the Drow, her voice almost emotionless except for the prominent promise of utter pain lingering underneath it.

The Drow inclined his head and eyed Loki with a loathing look.

“This one I can handle myself,” she bit at the Drow while giving the chains a tug, making Loki stumble to his knees for her strength was equal, if not greater, than his.

When the party started to move Loki quickly scrambled to his feet, Loki and Ixa in the middle of the group to protect them or to watch them; Loki wasn’t sure.

“You idiot,” she scolded him again talking in his mind. “Play along as I told you and above all, DO NOT SPEAK UNLESS YOU ARE SPOKEN TO!” she shouted in his head with multiple voices at the same time and his step almost faltered at the violent intrusion in his mind.

Oh, she would so pay for this!

He remained silent for a while and followed along in her plan though he hated it and simply nodded. He figured she should do the talking in this matter because he had been foolish once and he wasn’t up for furthering endangering them. But he also enjoyed the anger he evoked within her and the anger she evoked in him. His eyes gleamed mischievous because anger was such a delicious emotion for some good sex! Loki shuddered at the thought.

“Chaining me is a very different experience I’ve encountered with you so far, though I’m not enjoying this,” Loki spoke in her mind with revulsion. “But I will follow along and not speak,” he flicked casually and his eyes narrowed as he glimpsed sideway at her to make eye contact but she didn’t return the favor.

While they walked Loki noticed she looked straight ahead and didn’t even deem him worth a glimpse, her face stern and devoid of emotion.

“I know you don’t like this but if you don’t do as I tell you, no matter how much it marres your pride, I can guarantee you that death would be the least of our problems. This can get worse. A LOT WORSE!” she snarled in his mind.

Loki swallowed, not out of fear but because of her bitter demand and he figured that if she was enraged than this situation was dire indeed.

Loki noticed that some of the surrounding Drow on the occasion stole a glance at them and whenever she glanced at them they quickly looked away, almost quivering in fear.

Loki lowered his head and averted his gaze to the dark cold ground, milling over her words until his lips curled in a little smile as he began to talk in her mind. “Yes, I was not wise, and I might apologize for that later.” Might he told himself, after he was done with punishing her for putting him in chains.

When they turned into another corridor Loki could see a faint purple glow at the end and he was relieved that their journey soon would come to an end.

“Do you even know anything about Drow?” she asked him, her voice in his head a lot warmer than the cold tone she had used before.

Loki took a few quick paces so he was right next to her, walking beside her as a good dog would do - the irony of the comparison to a pet not lost on him and he scowled a little.

“I do not, but they seem to have a lot of history due to their appearance. They are an elf of some sort I believe, dark-elf, though they look different than the ones I’m familiar with,” he answered her with soft words and even sounding vulnerable. He felt like a little lost child next to Ixa and her knowledge. He had always thought that he was the smart one, and maybe he was, but she seemed to know so much more than him but he truly doubted her smarts.

He glanced at her, trying to catch something in her eyes but he saw nothing other than her cold red orbs. When he looked down he noticed from the corners of his eyes some of the Drow watching him, their expressions a mix of disgust and eyeing Ixa with some form of disrespect.

She started to talk rapidly in his mind, explaining him the basics of these creatures. “In Drow society females are in charge and males are worth less than the lowest Aesir slave. A human is even worth less than that and you look like one.” With a gesture she halted the party and tugged on Loki’s chain so he was facing her. She looked at him scornfully and with utter disdain, rapidly speaking in his mind again. “Males aren’t allowed to look a female in the eye unless they tell them so and they are not allowed to speak.”

At her explanation on the hierarchy a lump formed in Loki’s throat and he hesitated to show his fear, his eyes locking on the solid ground beneath him again. Loki wanted to answer her but she interrupted him.

“The former you just did while we were walking,” she continued, “and that is all the warning I can give you now.” Before she had fully ended her sentence she backhanded Loki across the face, hard! “Did you just look at me, Human?” she spat at him, the utter loathing in her voice apparent.

The smack had caught him off guard and the Drow around them snickered at his agony, further enraging him.

“Don’t look at me, don’t answer! I didn’t tell you to speak!” she commanded him in his mind, but Loki caught the plea that she had spoken it with. He wondered what had made her fashion her plea in this matter but he truly did not wish to find out because he didn’t feel in any position to argue.

Loki didn’t move while he warily continued to stare at the floor, feeling very small and vulnerable, but most of all hurt. The sting on his cheek from her backhand had already healed, but it was his inside that hurt for what she had done to him - did to him!

He had been sure she liked him as well, otherwise she wouldn’t have taken him along on this mission, but for the first time he started to doubt this and he felt more wrecked with every passing thought.

Loki blanked out his thoughts to protect himself from spiraling down a dark hole, but also so she couldn’t read his mind. When she signaled the party to move again he just trailed after her, his eyes fixed on the floor while following her.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” Ixa spoke in his mind, the feeling that she indeed felt very bad flooding over him and it made him feel a little better.

“Try to pay attention to your surroundings while we travel. It might be of use later,” she advised him and she quickened up her step so that she was walking in front of him now.

Loki just stayed behind her, not knowing what to do with the situation and resolving into silence to see how this would play out.

When the corridor ended they found themselves in a large chasm. Buildings from which their function was unknown protruded from the dark rock, their forms ridged and evil-looking. In the middle of the cave stood a weird stalactite which radiated purple light, softly glowing and lighting the cavern.

Male Drow ran to and fro and on a lot of places there were weird creatures with green skins at work; their appearance varying from small ones with long ears and noses to more brutal looking ones with large tusks and bulky muscles. On the occasion Loki spotted a human or a creature that looked like a human.

They all looked as if they could collapse and die any moment. The male Drow that surrounded the slaves bore crude weapons, prodding and shouting at them to keep working, and looking at the slaves as if they didn’t care if they would live through the next minute or punishment.

Loki snickered internally, their faith a lot worse than his but it suddenly dawned on him that if they played their cards wrong that they could end up there. He swallowed at the thought of it and quickly upped his pace to stay close to Ixa.

The party was led to of one of those weird looking buildings and they were led inside through more corridors until they were in front of a door. She opened the door and stepped inside the room which was sparsely furnished with just a single comfortable looking chair - clearly a waiting room though Loki was still trying to figure out why there was only one chair. Where would she sit?

The door fell shut behind them and she held up her finger for Loki not to speak. She waved her magic and a familiar shield shimmered over the walls, ceiling and floor, sealing of the outside world for onlookers and unwanted eavesdroppers.

Ixa turned to Loki, a look of dread crossing her black features. “You can speak and move freely now, they won’t hear us,” she said softly while looking down.

“What by the Norns were you thinking!” Loki barked at her and she cringed. He advanced on her, anger blazing in his eyes, his chains rattling. “GET THESE OFF!” he screamed at her, his face contorted in utter rage while he towered over her small form.

With a whisk of her magic the chains and shackles disappeared. “I’m sorry,” she squealed, “but you got us in this situation. If only you had listened!”

This time it was Loki who lashed out and backhanded her across the face, his anger momentarily getting the better of him.

“I deserved that,” she mumbled while putting a hand on her black-skinned cheek and looking back at him.

“Oh, you deserved that and so much more!” he hissed at her and grabbed her white hair, fisting it and yanking her head backwards so he could stare down at her. “If you’d be so kind to tell me how to proceed from here with this ‘clever’ plan of yours my wrath may not half be as harsh when we get out of here,” he hissed.

She swallowed and sighed. “I have no plan, I’m just winging it,” she said deadpanned. “But we will be summoned to speak with the Matron soon.”

“So you expect me to come along in chains again and act as your pet?” Loki snarled at her, the idea not appealing at all. Not in this form and situation anyway.

“Well, yes, that was the idea except for a little problem,” she said with a small voice but remained silent while she bit her lip, her red eyes still showing a little dread.

Loki roughly pulled her hair, yanking her head this way and that. “Speak!”

“I have all the knowledge to talk us out of here with the Drow merchant were are trying to save but-”

“But what?” Loki barked.

“But I can not lie!” she bit at him while she grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms down to relieve the tension on her scalp. “You have to do the talking!”

Confusion washed over Loki’s face and he let go of her hair. “You just told me females were in charge here and that Humans are nothing but an ant underneath their boots, how in the nine realms do you expect me to do the talking?” he asked still enraged. “On top of that I’m not sure if you have spoken truthfully because you say you cannot lie and yet you kicked me around like a dog and seemed to enjoy it quite a lot!”

Her head snapped up to look at him and an angry scowl formed on her lips.

“You did enjoy that didn’t you?” Loki asked threateningly.

Ixa bit her lip before she answered him. “I’m not going to say I didn’t enjoy it but I’m also not going to lie and say I did enjoy every bit of it!” she answered sceptically.

“See! You are a little lair,” Loki said while closing a hand around her throat, locking her in place, the action to assert his dominance earning him a bored look.

“If you do not believe me than I’ll show you,” she spat and before Loki could interject the words already tumbled from her lips. “I hate you and I could never love you!” she hissed.

For a split-second nothing happened but then she was suddenly torn from his grasp, a purple magic filled with twinkling  stars suddenly whipped around her, it’s origin unknown to him, and seeming to beat her violently. Her eyes glazed over and filled itself with the same purple color adorned with millions of stars, clearly hurting her as Loki could see the silent scream wrought from agony frozen on her face.

“Okay I lied!” she screamed and just like that the magic was gone and she slumped to the floor, panting heavily.

Loki looked in awe at her crumbled form, fear gripping his heart for he had not only seen what the unseen force had done to her, he had almost felt it, tasted it! And if something this strong could bring her to her knees, than he was very afraid of what it might do to him.

But what had caught him off guard the most was the lie she had spoken had and he felt his anger deprive a little, assuring him that she did like him, maybe even love him, and taking away the doubt he had felt earlier.

Suddenly he really disliked this mission and regretted on coming along but it was too late to back out now and he knelt so he could support her while she pushed herself to her feet. “What do you propose?” he sighed.

“A swap,” Ixa said simply while straightening herself.

Loki gave her a puzzled look and he got a feeling he wouldn’t like where this was going.

“You can shapeshift. Shift into this form-” she indicated her body with her hands whilst speaking “-so you can do the talking and lying while looking like a drow.”

Loki swallowed. “Yes, I can, but I know nothing about these creatures. How do you expect me to do the talking and not make a mess out of this?”

“I’m going to regret this,” she mumbled under her breath. “I’m going to shapeshift into you and guide you through all this while talking in your mind and giving you the information you need so you can lie our way out and retrieve the merchant.”

It took Loki a moment to recover from his shock but than an evil smile formed on his lips. “Oh, I like this,” he said a little too happy and she caught the malicious twinkle in his eyes.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door and entered the room. It was the same male Drow from before and he looked Loki straight in the eye. “Matron Qidia Khalorzza is ready to speak with you know,” he informed.

Loki felt like a deer staring at the tip of an arrow for he had not expected the male to address him but luckily she spoke in her mind and told him what to do. “I will be ready shortly,” Loki replied curt and the Drow bowed, turned on his heel and left.

Loki turned to her to ask what had happened and he was shocked to look back in his own eyes.

He quickly glanced down at his own form but he was still himself. “How?” he started.

“You are not the only one who can concoct illusions, Trickster,” she retorted in his voice and he felt a little creeped out. “Now shift into my female Drow so we can get this game started,” she snickered and with a whisk of magic she was wearing the chains he had worn earlier.

A false smile formed on Loki’s lips as he shifted form.

This was going to be a dangerous but such an enjoyable game!

I thrive on coffee

Last Part

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Taglist: let me know if you want to be added to the list for the next (which is also the last) part.

General taglist: @lusty-loki, @destiel1597,  @laralaufey, @welcome-to-fangirl-hell, @fairlightswiftly, @lokikingofasgardslover713, @daddymarvel, @vesperazylra, @annievvv7, @myclock, @hiddlestoner3095, @vethrvolnir, @occasionallywittyavengers, @wintertink, @jane-labban, @whovianwookie86-captainxev,

[onlymorelove]

fic:  the quality of mercy (1/1)

Title: the quality of mercy (1/1) Fandom: Teen Wolf Relationship: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken Characters: Theo Raeken, Liam Dunbar, Gabe, Mrs. Raeken Summary:  Liam tells Theo something he desperately needs to hear.

"You're not a monster, Theo."

"Are you sure?"

[Episode tag for S06E20: The Wolves of War] Rating: T  Read under the cut or on AO3. (Link has been fixed.) A/N:  Please note that since, thanks to a quick lesson from Deucalion, Theo took Tracy's and Josh's pain in Season 5 of Teen Wolf, I'm not interpreting Theo's inability to take Mason's pain as a lack of caring on his part. Sure, Mason said, "You can't take pain if you don't care," but that may have been out of spite, lack of knowledge, or the Teen Wolf writers not realizing they were violating their own canon.

If you read this, thanks. Feedback is treasured; constructive criticism is welcomed.

The quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes…

The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene I William Shakespeare, 1564 - 1616

When he was five-and-a-half-years-old, Theo Raeken ran down the stairs of his family’s small house to do what he did every morning before he did anything else—say hello to Mr. Blue, his parakeet. But on that day, brushing the sleep from his eyes with impatient hands, Theo found Mr. Blue lying still and silent on the scraps of newspaper that lined the bottom of his cage, surrounded by scattered birdseed.

“Mom,” he called, “Come here.”

His mother walked out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel dotted with blue flowers. “Honey, we need to get you ready for school. I already have your breakfast on the table.”

“Mom,” he said again. “Why isn’t Mr. Blue moving? Or chirping?”

She stepped into the room and stood next to Theo, bending until she was level with the birdcage. After peering inside, she turned to Theo, her mouth turned down at the corners. “Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry...Mr. Blue is dead.”

“Dead? Does that mean he’s sleeping late today?”

With a sigh that ruffled Theo’s hair, his mother sat on the floor and pulled him down into her lap. “No, Theo. I wish that’s what it meant.” Her arms tightened around him, holding him closer. He didn’t mind. “Dead means that he won’t sing anymore or eat anymore or fly anymore when we open his cage door.”

“But we can make him not dead, right, Mom?” he asked, shifting in his mother’s warm lap to look into her soft, blue eyes. She was the prettiest girl he knew. Way prettier than his sister, who liked to roll her eyes and make faces at him whenever he asked to play with her and her friends. Prettier than every girl in his kindergarten class.

His mother’s hand shook a little when it brushed his hair out of his face. “We can’t. But we can think about him. And we can talk about him. Is there anything you want to say about or to Mr. Blue?”

“Like what?” Theo replied.

“Like goodbye, maybe?”

A tear spilled down his mother’s cheek; Theo smeared it with his thumb before speaking again. Why was she crying? “Bye, Mr. Blue. You’re a good bird. I like how you sing.” His mother smiled a tiny smile before rubbing a slow circle over his back.

“Goodbye, Mr. Blue,” she whispered, gently rocking Theo.

At eighteen, Theo found himself sprinting down a Beacon Hills Hospital hallway that was scented with a thick perfume of bleach, fear, and anger. Arm outstretched, he shoved Liam Dunbar ahead of him, trying to make sure he didn’t get shot by a stupid, confused kid named Gabe. (What a shitshow Theo’d turned his life into.) He got a bullet to the shoulder for his trouble and a near heart attack as he watched Liam risk his dumb ass anyway, trying to wrestle a machine gun away from Gabe.

That was Liam: brute force and a heart so fucking big it was all Theo could see or think about every night as he lay in his truck trying to pretend a mattress covered in cool, clean sheets cradled his tired body. (He’d never tell Liam that.)

When the shooting stopped, leaving a vacuum of eerie quiet, Theo’s eyes sought Liam. Liam, with the lips that smiled as easily as they frowned. Liam, who asked him questions and waited, listening like he might care about the answers. Always Liam. Theo’s eyes found him next to Melissa McCall, struggling to get up, his movements slow and stiff, but his heartbeat thrummed steady and strong, like the man Theo saw him growing into. A better man than Theo. Satisfied that Liam was fine, Theo filtered out the other sounds in his environment and cataloged the remaining heartbeats. That done, Theo’s attention turned to Gabe.

As he dragged himself on his belly, Gabe left a long, crimson smear on the hospital linoleum. The copper and iron scent stung Theo’s nose; he tried not to breathe too deeply. Blood.Theo hated it, having seen and spilled so much of it that the smell of it made his gut churn.

Gabe ended his painstaking pilgrimage and propped himself against a glass-walled cabinet. Blood dripped from his mouth and the gunshot wounds in his chest. His breath scored the air, harsh, labored, a dry death rattle echoing in his chest like claws scraped across slate. Theo didn’t know much, but he knew death and had witnessed it or caused it enough times to recognize the futility of thinking Gabe would survive his injuries.

“It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts,” Gabe said, the words rendered into an awful chant that ricocheted in Theo’s skull and yanked him back to the moment when Kira had used her sword, and his sister had dragged him down, deep into the bowels of hell. His nails had broken off as he’d scrabbled for purchase on the ground, knowing with a terrible certainty that no one would help him. Why should they?

Scott! Help me, Scott!

Theo gritted his teeth and let his claws emerge just enough to cut into his palm. The flash of pain punched him back to the present. Ignoring the blaze of heat sparking in his slowly healing shoulder, Theo walked to Gabe. Brows drawn together, Theo gazed down at the boy with the faint shadows ringing his eyes. A boy not so different from him—not so different from Liam, who’d fractured the earth to bring Theo back from hell. Who’d shown Theo more kindness than he’d ever expected. Certainly more kindness than he deserved.

The space around Gabe stank, sour with pain, fear, and the urine Gabe hadn’t been able to contain. It should have disgusted Theo; it would have disgusted Theo, once upon a time.

As Theo knelt, two tears spilled down Gabe’s cheek, adding salt to the mix of smells already coating the air. Throat and chest tight as the restraints the Dread Doctors had used on him, Theo watched this dark-haired boy with the haunted eyes, this fragile, wholly human boy without any supernatural healing abilities, as he struggled with the pain inflicted by people he’d trusted.

Gabe had chosen the wrong side; maybe he deserved the brutal consequences.

Theo had chosen the wrong side before, too; maybe he’d deserved the injections that burned like both fire and ice in his veins as the Dread Doctors strapped him down to a steel surgical table and sliced into him with their scalpels, again and again and again, while he screamed...until no more sounds crawled out of his raw throat. Until he learned pleading for mercy was about as useful as wishing he could rewind his life.  

Theo had lied. He’d manipulated. He’d killed. He’d turned his back on things like goodness, kindness, mercy, hadn’t he?

Still, with the weight of Liam’s gaze on him like a tangible thing, and each sure pulse of Liam’s heart an anchor at the edge of his awareness, Theo realized those things hadn’t completely turned their back on him.

Maybe, just maybe, if someone had been able to help him when it all started, back when he’d been a clueless, misguided child who hadn’t understood nearly enough about consequences as he’d thought he did...

But all the wishful thinking in the universe couldn’t unwind the tangled skein of the past. It was too late to save the boy Theo had once been; he only existed in his aching chest, where his sister’s heart beat, a constant reminder of his crimes. It was too late to save the broken boy gasping in front of him. Was there nothing he could do?

No god existed for Theo to pray to for help. God hadn’t been there when the Dread Doctors had come calling. God hadn’t been there when his sister had come to reclaim her heart. God hadn’t been there when Theo had helped the Doctors find fresh victims to test their findings on.

There was only Theo and the twisted, Frankenstein-like creature he knew he was.

He could fill volumes with what he knew about how to inflict pain. This time he wanted to take it—and not so he could steal someone else’s power along with it. He just wanted this boy not to hurt anymore. It hadn’t worked when he’d tried to help Mason. What had Theo expected? He’d been engineered to kill, not heal.

Still, if there was even a slim chance he could help Gabe, he had to try. He had debts he could never repay, after all. Perhaps he’d add this to the long list of his failures. Or perhaps—

Theo’s hands trembled as he clasped Gabe’s forearm, easing his sleeve up, trying not to add to his torment. Let me help him. Let me do this one good thing. Let me help him.  

Black ribbons snaked up Gabe’s arms and threaded through Theo’s. He stifled a gasp as the banked fire in his shoulder flared anew and swept through the rest of his body. The intensity of it made it impossible to ignore entirely, but Theo shoved it aside.

Gabe’s pulse was a light, thready thing under Theo’s fingers, fluttering like the wings of the butterflies his sister had loved; he knew it wouldn’t be long then.

“Does it hurt anymore?” Theo asked, and it didn’t sound like his voice.

“No.”

“Good.”

As Gabe’s agony continued to travel into Theo, Theo watched the light and the life in Gabe’s eyes dim until they were left, finally, dull and flat.

After placing Gabe’s arm in his lap as gently as he could, Theo sat back on his heels. Head bowed, breath shallow, he stared at his hands without seeing them. He felt himself start to shake, the adrenaline that had driven him since Scott’s phone call wearing off and leaving him feeling weak; he couldn’t afford weakness.

The air behind Theo shifted until a hand, calloused and warm, stroked across the back of his neck, settling at his nape. “Maybe I’m not a complete monster?” A hot flush splashed over his chest and rose up over his throat and cheeks when he realized he’d spoken his thoughts aloud, and even worse, colored the words like a question. For a moment, he almost wished the ground would open up and swallow him again. Almost.

Liam kneeled in front of Theo, and when his fingers left his neck Theo made a small noise in his throat. But Liam reached for him then, tugging him forward with one arm curved around his good shoulder and the other wrapped around Theo’s lower back. Touch, Theo knew, was synonymous with pain. But Theo went, unresisting, letting himself be pulled until his chest was flush against Liam’s.

He should let go. He shouldn’t lean on Liam. He shouldn’t tuck his head into Liam’s broad shoulder and turn his head in toward his neck, where his pulse drummed a little faster than it should. He shouldn’t inhale, long and slow, drawing the scent of Liam’s skin, which smelled like sweat, comfort Theo would never deserve, and wild, green, growing things, deep into his lungs.

He shouldn’t, but he did.

Touch, Theo knew, was synonymous with pain. But this—touching Liam—didn’t hurt.

“You’re not a monster,” Liam murmured, his lips brushing Theo’s forehead with each word he spoke. “You’re a chimera.”

“Are you sure?” Theo asked, hating himself for the way his voice wavered.

Liam drew back and lifted his palms to either side of Theo’s face, and when Theo looked up from the green of Liam’s shirt, his gaze caught in eyes as endlessly blue as he imagined the water in Mykonos must be.

Head tipped to the side, Liam said, “I’m sure.” Then he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss next to the corner of Theo’s mouth.

Theo ignored the shocked gasp that reached his ears. Sure, it wasn’t the kiss he had imagined when they’d been in the elevator, but they had an audience now. Even so, his sister’s heart beat embarrassingly fast, like a wild thing running in his chest, and his fingers twitched with the need to tangle themselves in Liam’s long hair and hold him in place for a kiss Theo could taste.   “You’re not a monster, Theo,” Liam repeated.

Look, I’m not dying for you.

Theo didn’t want to die. Not anymore. Not for anyone. But he would, for Liam. Oh, he would. He would. He would. He would.

Later, much later, after they’d done the necessary things like tending to the injured and burying the dead, Theo lay on the grass at the Beacon Hills Preserve, with his head in Liam’s lap. He closed his eyes against the vast blue of the sky and let himself be lulled until the world narrowed to the feel of Liam’s long fingers stroking through his hair and curving against his scalp.

Goodbye, Tara. Goodbye, Gabe. Goodbye, Tracy.  I’m sorry.  Goodbye, Josh. Goodbye, Mr. Blue. Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad. Goodbye...

A/N:  Thanks for reading! Please comment if you feel up to it. :) If you want to send me a prompt about Liam/Theo, feel free.    

[endeavorsreward]

Excerpt (Bk. I, Entire Chapter 1)

[Editor’s Note: In my actual file, I use a particular font to make Arazlam’s text stand out better than it would on Tumblr. We work with the platform available.]

I.

The March of the Black Queen

It was over four hundred years ago.

In those days, recall, that our continent of Loar largely consisted of a kingdom that we then also called Ivalice; a kingdom separated into six regions all too soon to be unified by the great hero who began Ivalice's next “golden age.”

In the continent's center lay Lesalia, the royal seat; the others branched from that center, be it Fovoham to the north, proud Gallionne to the west, broken Zeltennia to the east, or Limberry and Lionel to the south east and south respectively. These were political divisions, rather than geographical; but in spirit if not in deed they all carried three great similarities: they answered to the Royal City of Lesalia and their king Ondoria III, they all knelt before the Church of Glabados, and they were all desperately poor. For in that time, the kingdom had not yet recovered from the scars of The Fifty Years' War with Ordallia to the east.

This last fact was held in contention for some years, as written documents of the era were largely recorded by learned men and the nobility – and there was no greater time to be noble than in the wake of a war. Coffers were overstuffed in the case of those who sent others to fight. One particularly noteworthy example was just months before the official declaration of the end of hostilities—the church, a wealthy body itself, hosted an opulent baptism ceremony for the newly-born royal baby, and it seemed all of Ivalice's ruling class was in attendance, even as many fields lay fallow and bones bleached in the dried Lake Poescas beds.

***

1995 OV / 1232 ZA

Month of Gemini

The wheels turned, and the goldleaf herald, the twin lions, emblazoned on the carriage's door was spattered with mud. Inside, a powerful woman brushed her long blonde hair back behind her without tipping her crown; she prepared to seize her destiny, unknowing that it would seize her instead.

The War of the Lions began and ended each with a miracle.

Queen Louveria Atkascha's eyes instinctively went to the newborn baby in the nurse's arms as the carriage bumped hard over something in the marsh. Then, catching herself, she turned instead towards the fourth and final passenger, whose gaze hadn't left the window.

“Must they jostle us so?”

The man, whose eyes were partially obscured by the elaborate, elongated-skull shape of his dragoon's helmet, showed what most would find to be a scandalous lack of protocol in not turning to acknowledge his queen. “The Siedge Weald is rough terrain for all, your majesty. It can't be helped, save we saddle you to a chocobo directly.”

“Disgusting.” She sniffed. “If I must be dragged halfway across Ivalice on this errand, I shan't be doing it birdback.” The nurse made a little gasp, and it was all Louveria could do not to roll her eyes. The nurse was lowborn and Galgastani besides; the Queen was nearly surprised she could understand basic sentences. Now she was to believe the woman was also a believer in St. Ajora?

The baby gurgled in a way that seemed prelude to a peal.

“You seem quite entranced with the view, Ser Garland, given the Siedge Weald is naught but a damp forest at best.” And of the season, far worse. With the brief melting of the snows in the Felmarian Highlands around Gollund and a higher-than-average rainfall, areas south and downriver of the Highlands were practically swampland. The chocobo train leading the carriage kept slowing as it would moor and unmoor itself in the mud that had once been the only cleared roadway through the forest.

The captain of the Lionsguard's lip turned up slightly. “Your majesty, we have come separated from our escort.”

It had been the tradition of the Ivalician royal family for generations that the Queen herself would take her firstborn to the Church of Glabados's seat at Mullonde in person to be baptized. In the hypothetical, it was meant to signify royalty's continued alliance with the church as much as it did a celebration of the child's birth. In truth, Louveria considered it a power play by church officials, that royalty would come to them, rather than vice versa. That the twenty-seven year-old queen alone need attend was what galled the most; that it was viewed as less aggressive because she was, to be pointed, less important.

Historically, the king still did travel to Mullonde with his queen. But Louveria's own husband, of course, was quite ill.

They had left the Royal City of Lesalia in gay pageantry and a hundred strong. By Gollund, however, much of that group had peeled away. Traveling in such numbers was often harder than in fewer. Her official decree to the people had been that in war's wake, the people of Ivalice did not need to see soldiers marching in their streets, regardless of the reason; but in truth, Louveria just didn't see the point in parading for the rabble. They'd not appreciate what they saw, anyway. But they'd still kept a company of twenty in the interest of security, a half-dozen of those mounted – they, at least, had been able to keep pace with the carriage. But now they were missing.

The baby began to cry.

“We shouldn't have come through the Weald,” she muttered.

Garland Verdun shook his head; his helmet made scraping noises. “We'd no choice, if we didn't want to travel through desert.” The Siedge Weald ran through the southeast borders of Gallionne – taking the mountain pass and traveling through the Merchant City of Dorter was the only southern path that didn't wind through climes that, to put it mildly, would put the newborn at risk. They could have traveled northwest of Lesalia, through Fovoham, but then they'd be favoring the Grand Duke Barrington's hospitality over that of the Merchant's Guilds, and the royal family had just levied higher taxes upon them, so...

If she was to die in a bog, please let it not be for such dull politicking.

Ser Garland thumped the outside of the carriage with one gauntlet and it rolled to a stop. Louveria could hear the birds warking and kwehing at the sudden halt in dangerous territory. He swung out with the door and closed it behind him, his face appearing in the open window. “Tarry here, your majesty.” And then he was gone.

Louveria turned to the nurse, who was trying to quiet the newborn. Until he was baptized in the name of the Great Father Faram and St. Ajora, the baby boy was nameless: a quaint tradition no doubt spurred by the number of children lost in the birthing.

“There there, wee one.” The nurse rocked him. “Your mum's just worried for your pa, that's all, no need to weep so.” The boy showed no signs of ceasing. In his wailing face, Louveria could almost see his true father's eyes, and she shuddered.

“There are goblins that have encamped in these woods before,” Louveria offered. “The Order of the Northern Sky has been trying to weed them out for years, but with so many at war all this time...”

The nurse, whose name was Eilonwy, rocked the boy. She had the darker skin of the Galgastani people, but something hawkish in her features suggested Romandan blood as well. She'd been plucked, apparently, from a kitchen somewhere. “Perhaps it's the moogles.” This to the child. “Long, long ago, these woods were full of the wee flying little beasties. Yes they were!” Louveria didn't give this faerie tale more attention than it deserved, smoothing out her dress and taking deep breaths. If it was going to happen, it'd likely happen... now.

There was some muffled shouting outside the carriage. She tried to see what there was to see from the window, but there was naught but a bubbling circle of what looked like gray mold, beneath a hunched tree resembling a gallows. How auspicious. Ser Garland was a celebrated veteran of the Fifty Years War, having served some degrees beneath Barbaneth Beoulve himself in the Order of the Northern Sky. She knew he would not fail her. But that sight from her window did give her pause.

“Your majesty?” The nurse, apparently quite scared, forgot her place. “Would you like to hold him?”

Before Louveria could reply, a man in the night screamed in what could only be his death.

They both looked to each other, then to separate windows. There was nothing there but the sour haze of the Weald, but they each of them kept squinting out, trying to catch a flash of steel. Because it had certainly come upon them now. There were men warring in the muck. The grunts and crashes carried. It didn't sound like magick, which was blessing enough – a stray fire spell was like to ignite the gases swimming in every popped mold bubble. It was said there was fungus in these woods that could kill with a breath.

“Is it bandits, your majesty, or the goblins?” asked the nurse.

“I can see no more than you, Eilonwy.” Most importantly, the fighting was still in a single direction, and those sounds moved no closer. She sat back and closed her eyes, thinking and counting.

“I am quite sure Ser Garland will protect us.” The baby seemed less sure, as he was howling. Her little minotaur. “T'isn't fair.”

“There's little 'fair' in a bandit's design, Eilonwy.” She said the woman's name the way that one might idiot.

“No, your majesty, I just meant...” She looked down at the boy. “That they'd hate you so, just for St. Ajora placing you above us all.”

Queen Louveria's mouth opened and closed, but no sound was forthcoming.

And then a corpse attacked the carriage.

Eilonwy shrieked and Louveria lurched backwards as a man's body slammed hard against the side of the carriage, rocking it and (in the moment) making Louveria believe it might tip. Its face was pressed against the window, or at least... half... was. She could see the man's skull, part of it, from where the flesh had been peeled back by blade, and the empty socket seemed to swallow her.

The boy had, oddly, stopped crying. Queen Louveria Atkascha knew that were the dead to rise, they could find worse targets for their rage than she.

And then the corpse was falling backwards, and Ser Garland was standing at the carriage's riding board, slapping again the outside, and the chocobos were moving, at a much faster, more frantic pace despite the uneven footing. Eilonwy clutched the boy closer to her bosom, and Louveria's nails gripped the fabric of her seat.

“Your majesty, we are betrayed!” From his place riding alongside, Garland called in to her. “They were of our own company!”

“Our escort?” She asked.

“Over half, bought by some unknown enemy!”

“They smell blood in the water.” Louveria crossed her arms. “Fools to a man, they are. The king's health improves by the day.” Eilonwy brightened at this, and offered her a smile and a nod. “But who in the kingdom could even offer the coin to turn members of the Lionsguard?” The Lionsguard, naturally the personal guard of the Ivalice royal family, was not merely a prestigious position, but one appointed only to war heroes like Ser Garland; and ones in noble families not well-enough connected to be threatening, at that.

“Perhaps we should indeed have gone north through Fovoham after all,” Garland muttered, but something in his tone of voice caught Eilonwy's curious attention. Louveria almost smiled. Then she saw the boy looking at her, and something in his gaze was like the dead eyes of the man who'd hit the carriage door.

***

The beginning of the Fifty Years' War can be traced to the death of Ordallia's King Devanne III, and his failure to name a successor. His cousin, Varoi VI, was next in line for the throne; however, King Denamda II of Ivalice—the uncle of Devanne III—proclaimed himself the rightful heir and declared war on neighboring Ordallia to the east.

However, this was merely a pretense to justify the invasion of the Ordallian province of Zelmonia, which bordered Zeltennia—of which it had, centuries earlier, been a part. Long an independent state, it had been annexed by Ordallia nearly a century prior. Ivalice had since been aiding the province in an effort to weaken Ordallia—an effort that ultimately failed. Tired of Ordallian rule, the Zelmonian leadership and nobility secretly petitioned Ivalice to take a more direct hand in their liberation.

After a victory in Zelmonia, the Ivalician armies marched on the Ordallian capital of Viura. As fate would have it, Denamda II succumbed to fatal illness on the road. The momentary confusion amongst Ivalice's troops gave Ordallia the opportunity it needed to regroup, and Varoi VI succeeded in pushing the Ivalicians back as far as Zelmonia. The resulting impasse would not be broken until the Romandan army's invasion two years hence.

Romanda, a powerful military state to the northwest lying across the Rhana Strait from Gallionne, marched on Ivalice at the behest of Varoi VI, a blood relation of the Romandan nobility. However, Denamda II's successor Denamda IV was a fearless warrior, personally leading his men into battle against the combined might of Romanda and Ordallia. This, along with an outbreak of the Black Death in Romanda, forced the Romandan army to withdraw after only three years.

Two military orders worthy of particular mention in this conflict are the Order of the Northern Sky, led by Knight Gallant Barbaneth Beoulve, and that of the Southern Sky, led by Cidolfus Orlandeau, known also as the Thunder God.

After countless victories at home, these two orders had been poised to advance into Ordallia. However, the protracted conflict had begun to take its toll on domestic morale. Peasant uprisings and revolts throughout Ivalice and Ordallia forced both countries to send their troops home to pacify their own citizens, resulting in another stalemate.

It was Denamda IV's sudden death by malady that broke the stalemate, although some claim that he was murdered. His successor, Ondoria III, was ill suited to the throne, and left the governing of Ivalice to his queen and retainers. Without Denamda IV's leadership, the armies of Ivalice had little prayer of preventing Varoi VI's successor, Prince Augustus Lennard, from defeating the troops stationed in Zelmonia and advancing into Ivalice proper. Despite the valiant efforts of the Northern and Southern Orders, Ivalice's leaders soon began looking for a peaceful alternative.

***

1995 OV / 1232 ZA

Month of Gemini

Mullonde Cathedral was the figurine at the center of the confection that was Mullonde itself, a small island in the south of Gallionne, where the Black Coral Sea opened up into the Bugross. The entire island was taken over with what they called the “Holy City,”  a series of tiered pavilions and hanging gardens that hid away the Glabados Church's infrastructure. From the causeway where Queen Louveria stood holding her newborn son, it looked like a sliding-tile puzzle that she'd been gifted as a child, an image scrambled into tiny squares.

It was a labyrinth, or a fortress, in architectural evening wear.

The rest of the ride to Mullonde had been uneventful. When they'd reached the Magick City of Gariland, they'd had an evening to rest before the few hours ride to Port Asyton on the coast, where they'd boarded a ferry that had been prepared and waiting, gilded and festooned to make of great import its toted cargo: two women, one important; a half-score of tired men; and one wailing infant. She'd taken the child from Eilonwy then, so that onlookers would see the queen bring her own son before Faram the Great Father with her own hands – and so that the rattled nurse could find wherever it was the poor people hid in the City of God to tell them of their great adventure in the forest.

A change of clothes later, and she now waited in the open air, looking over the one part of Ivalice that held itself to the authority of no kingdom but heaven. Since she had taken him, the boy had not cried. He was not as heavy as Louveria had suspected, and warmer. So warm.

Ser Garland stood by the door in silence, but it would not do for the queen of all Ivalice to enter the cathedral proper on the arm of an unknown guardsman. And so it was that her escort arrived in gleaming silver armor, a single line of sweat running down into his goatee.

“Your majesty.” Zalbaag Beoulve, Knight Devout of the Order of the Northern Sky, knelt low before her. Zalbaag was not unattractive, but his countenance was more noble than handsome. He was tall and his red hair was cut too short, out of a no-doubt misguided sense of battlefield necessity. His armor, however, was far more ceremonial than whatever he no doubt wore when he was cleaving heads at the Ordallian border. It was, in fact, his father's armor – she'd seen it often enough before – and it was perhaps a size too large for him, though that did not prevent him from moving gracefully as he swept his cape behind him on the way to his knees. It did make him look younger than he was, though – she was struck by the absurd thought that he was a year her elder, and yet had done more to win the people by age eighteen than she'd yet managed at all. Following in the footsteps of his father.

“You may rise, Ser Beoulve.” Louveria offered a gracious nod of her head. The previous king, a far more martial ruler, had been grandiose in his claim of Zalbaag as “the savior of Ivalice” after some skirmish or other, but he came from one of the best-bred families in the kingdom, and was known to be a man entirely without guile. “Until it is time, we give you leave to be at ease.” He stood, but did not relax. She'd expected little else. “Please, join us here at the edge of the causeway.” She took a step aside so that he'd come up to the edge and look out, as she had. “We were just admiring the hanging gardens, as we so rarely have chance to visit Mullonde. It is all so much more ostentatious than our cathedral in Lesalia.”

Zalbaag did not take the bait. “It is said the step formation represents the path upwards to sainthood, your majesty, and the winding spread suggests the temptation to stray, that each of us must avoid.” His word choice was careful, in that he did not contradict her. She graced him with a small chuckle. The baby rustled against her bosom.

“We would hear of your father.” Louveria found herself bouncing the boy a bit without even thinking about it. “Fathers and sons are very much of our mind of late, for quite obvious reasons.”

Zalbaag's head bowed, and he suddenly looked more tired. That spoke more honestly than what he offered in dialogue. “Lord Father is often ill of late, but he serves you without cease even from his bed. As Count Orlandeau meets with Prince Lennard's general Lanselot, letters exchanged between he and my father serve as his counsel at the peace table, or so I am told.”

She graciously offered Zalbaag a nod. As Knight Gallant and commander of the Order of the Northern Sky, Lord Barbaneth Beoulve should stand as her escort this day in the stead of the king. She idly wondered if he suffered the same malady as her own King Ondoria Atkascha III. And as for Count Orlandeau... “We are to understand some of the court think it less a peace than a surrender, Ser Zalbaag.”

Zalbaag's mouth opened, but something caught in his throat. Ah, how cruel of her!

In truth, after the sudden death of King Denamda IV, much of the spirit left Ivalice's forces, despite the charisma and example of its two leaders, and all the kingdom knew it. If so many of the knights had not needed to be recalled to deal with unrest at home, who was to say how the conflict would have ended? But of course, Zalbaag could not say so to the queen, certainly not without insulting the current king, who was so often ill that the burden of rule fell to Louveria herself.

Zalbaag's face finally restored some of its color. “I remember, your majesty, when I was younger, my father brought my brother and I to your grounds and we all made sport of a hunt together.”

She smiled. “We remember as well, Ser Zalbaag, and think on that day fondly. Though we admit surprise that you do as well, for as we recall, you did not enjoy that day as we had.”

He looked out to the hanging gardens. “I only mention this memory, your majesty, to provide context for my claim that I'd not known you one to surrender anything.”

And on that puzzling remark she'd be forced to dwell, as a page swung open the doors. It was time to be announced.

***

Augustus Lennard was not an exceptional martial mind himself; he was instead a gifted orator, who won his people with talk of liberating the “holy land” of Zeltennia and Lesalia, at the border of which lay Bervenia, the city where St. Ajora was said to be born. It is believed the stratagem originated with his general, Lanselot Tartaros, who hailed from what we now know as Valendia, far to the northeast of Ordallia. Concern that Ivalice had no right to St. Ajora's birthplace was met with fierce opposition from the Church of Glabados's Knights Templar, but the people of Ordallia in that era were ostensibly Reformed Pharist, and viewed St. Ajora not as a redeemer, but as an important prophet, and did not recognize the Church of Glabados.

In our own era we may find something quaint in the thought of Reformed Pharism, that one might well claim as easily that Kiltia sects had turned the world's stage to this new face. However, historians have of late unearthed records suggesting perhaps a tenth of Ordallians in that era actually practiced the outdated religion. Prince Lennard's accusations of the Church of Glabados were instead a means of projecting Ivalicians as the Other; he might as easily have said that they were practitioners of the Dark, for that is how his people took it.

In the sum of world events the concerns of faith are mooted by the politics of faith's influence. For while faith moves man, life everlasting exists only for the remembered. Faram's power is absolute, but man's is transient. The body is but a vessel for the soul, a puppet which bends to the soul's tyranny. And lo, the body is not eternal, for it must feed on the flesh of others, lest it return to the dust whence it came. Therefore must the soul deceive, despise, and murder men.

***

1995 OV / 1232 ZA

Month of Gemini

For the son of the queen, no less than the High Confessor Marcel Funebris—the leader of all the church—could perform the rite of baptism. At his side stood Cardinal Alphonse Delacroix, who himself had served in the war with distinction in earlier years. Delacroix handed the baby from Louveria to the High Confessor, who took him gently and looked right through her. Funebris was a very old man, and his sunken eyes were dimmer than the candlelight dancing across his high forehead, but his grip on the boy was firm and strong.

“Queen Louveria Atkascha, we receive this child into the arms of the Church of Glabados, that he may know the gift of life everlasting. Have you chosen a name for this child?”

“Yes, he is the Prince Orinus Atkascha, named for my father's father, named for the disciple of St. Ajora, for the Zodiac Brave.” Louveria daren't turn or look away from the High Confessor, but she knew that the cathedral was full of nobles judging her every breath and action. And she could feel her brother's eyes boring into her back.

“Queen Louveria Atkascha, do you believe in Faram, the Great Father, creator of heaven and earth?”

Louveria knew that at this moment, in Lesalia, as her husband the king slept in his room, attended by white mages and chiurgeons, a man was strolling through their courtyards, running his hands softly along the leaves and branches of the plants in their gardens. Divari and Hedychium, Leucojum and her precious Prima and Moon Bloom flowers. In one corner there lay one of the last known Agathis trees, and this man liked to sit beneath it to meditate and divine.

“I do,” she said, and High Confessor Funebris anointed her son with oil. Behind them was the cathedral reredos, an altarpiece depicting the infant St. Ajora, floating above a well with arms stretched out – the Miracle of the Warding. There was someone behind the reredos. She couldn't see them, but somehow she knew. Someone listening, or waiting.

“Queen Louveria Atkascha, do you believe in the blessed St. Ajora, who drove the demons from our world and then died as our redeemer?”

This man in Lesalia beneath the Agathis tree, whose name was Stark, was the Court Astrologer. An adept whose powerful magicks could read the Zodiac and seemed to make the stars themselves move in his auguries. He was the keeper of all the secrets. But his powers were of no consequence to pollen of the Faren flower, which was virulently poisonous even mixed into the midday repast. It was known as a sudden killer. An old man already, Stark would seem to have suffered an attack of the heart as he fell to the ground beneath his beloved tree.

“I do,” she said, and High Confessor Funebris consecrated her son and lowered him into the shallow water. The figure that she could not see behind the reredos did not move, did not seem to breathe. She assumed it was one of the Knights Templar; the guardians of Mullonde, the strong arm of Glabados that punished the heretics and asserted the church's authority. She assumed it was such because in Mullonde, it was assumed they were everywhere.

“Queen Louveria Atkascha, do you renounce evil in all its forms? In man, monster, or Lucavi?”

Louveria knew at this moment that in the Grogh Heights, the farmlands north of Lesalia that provided the royal city with its food, a healer was walking the well-trod path to Yardrow, summoned to a noble's home for treatment. Tall wheat and rice and corn to each side, he walked uphill without another soul in sight.

“I do,” she said, and High Confessor Funebris raised her son to the Great Father, and to the ecstasy of the congregation. She no longer sensed the presence behind the reredos, but her brother's gaze remained.

“Queen Louveria Atkascha, do you accept the waters of baptism to walk in the path before your son in St. Ajora's name?”

Were bandits to murder this healer, named Barzini, nobody would notice it happen in the act. They could strike him quick, and again in the soft dirt as he hit the ground, and drag him prone into the rows of crops before a wagon or a band of discharged knights were to come across them. He could be buried in that ground then, returning life to the soil, and the total of it would be a richer harvest.

“I do,” she said, and High Confessor Funebris raised a wet and withered thumb and drew it across her forehead.

Cardinal Delacroix was handing Orinus back to her now, and she was shocked to realize it was over. The worst of it though was to come, though, she knew, in the accepting of the celebrants. Her son reached for her with one hand and found the pendant that had been her king's betrothal gift. He was smiling.

***

Consider the forgotten casualties of the Fifty Years' War: the people of the lost nation of Galgastan.

Lying north of Fovoham, Galgastan was once the seventh province of Ivalice. However, Galgastan's liege lord Duke Leundar Balbatos refused to aid King Denamda IV's military push. Claiming that the previous king's invasion of Zelmonia was a matter of pride at odds with his people—as drought had laid Galgastan low, and its people were starving—he declared Galgastan an independent nation, and petitioned Romanda for aid.

Much of Ivalice was happy to let them go—the Galgastani people possessed a darker skin, and the nobility often called them “goblinkin” in correspondence. Balbatos himself, who had dubbed himself “Hierophant” and “Lord” in the act of independence, was an exception: a distant relation of the Goltanna family of Zeltennia—Duke Druksmald Goltanna himself being able to trace his line to Denamda II—his skin was an Ivalician pale.

Romanda, seeking a beachhead in its campaign against Ivalice, welcomed Galgastani independence with open arms. However, in its aid it only brought the black plague. Without food, dying of the plague, and subject to Ivalician raids and banditry, the people of Galgastan dragged Balbatos from his seat in Coritanae Keep and put him to the guillotine.

There are few records of Galgastan following the War of the Lions. Much of the former province was a wasteland for decades, only eventually being overtaken by population increases in Ivalice during the golden age.

***

1995 OV / 1232 ZA

Month of Gemini

Louveria endured the effusive praise of feckless nobles for the better part of an hour, but when her brother, the Duke Bestrald Larg of Gallionne, chose his opportunity at last to approach, she announced that she'd take the air, and trusted Ser Garland—or Ser Zalbaag for that matter, or even the invisible Templar—to bar the door to the causeway. What she did not expect was to find that she and her child were not alone.

“Your majesty.” The pear-shaped man offered an insulting parody of a bow. “Did you and your dear child also come in search of the beauty of Mullonde? I find it rests a weary spirit.”

“Duke Barrington.” The liege lord of Fovoham was not an entirely unexpected guest – Grand Duke Gerrith Barrington was one of the church's favored sons, celebrated for his work in establishing orphanages throughout Ivalice. That did not, however, make him a welcome one, for—as anyone in the royal court could tell you—Barrington's generosity of spirit was not matched in the social graces. He was, plainly, a boor of the highest order. But better this than Larg. Queen Louveria stepped forward to join Barrington at the railing. “In truth, we sought solitude.”

“Not much more of that to be found, with little Orinus there.” The duke chuckled. “But of course, you have the nurses for that, I'm quite certain.” And there it was, right out the gate. Barrington was not a subtle man.

“We have indeed a young Galgastani with whom the young prince is properly enamored.” She waved it off. “We wish to express our appreciation, Duke Barrington, for your understanding in the matter of our processional.”

“Hm? Ah, 'tis nothing, your majesty, I assure you.” He did a sort of copy of her own gesture. “I think the peoples of Gollund and Dorter, being oft lowborn, were given a rare jewel in chance to see the royal prominence as it passed through.” He cocked his head. “It's only a shame that the route proved so dangerous.”

“Oh? Had you heard of our adventures in the Weald, then?” She smiled beatifically. “We had the pleasure of Ser Zalbaag's company before the ceremony, and had gathered the people of Gallionne were as-yet unawares. We expect the young knight would have saddled a chocobo on the spot to ride out in our honor had he known.”

“The Knight Devout, for all his martial cunning, is perhaps predictable in that way,” he allowed. “It's true that the nave's attendance was quiet on the issue. I'd actually heard before joining the celebrants.”

“Had you.” The duke had little right to criticize the Beoulve second son's predictability. While Louveria had not desired a confrontation on the causeway, the content of this meeting was exactly according to design. For his part, Barrington was smirking at his own cleverness. It made one whole side of his fat face look like fresh bread as the knife entered it to slice.

“It is in a way apropos that you mention your little Galgastani, your highness.” Barrington laid a hand on the railing. It was adorned in dozens of little rings and baubles and looked vulgar to her. “Before coming here to the event, I was actually in visit with some of the children, now grown, who had found home in my orphanages. Many come under the boughs of the Church of Glabados as they come of age, you see.” She didn't rise to the bait. “The Galgastani are truly fascinating people. Marvelous breeding stock. I spent time with them during the war.” Barrington hadn't fought himself. He'd hired a company of outland sellswords who had marched at his command. “So many of their villages burned at that time. There were many children cut loose from civilization overnight.”

“It is a wonder that more weren't brought to Coritinae Keep,” Louveria offered icily. “One might think Lord Ronsenbach would shelter his own.”

Barrington harrumphed, picking a piece of lint from his robes. “The late Lord Balbatos's footman cannot even keep his working vassals fed, I fear.” A state that Ivalice itself was all but destined for, no matter the heroic efforts of Count Orlandeau and his partner in correspondence. It was said that army deserters often broke for Galgastan first, but the country was in ruins following its failed alliance with Ordallia. “But of course, St. Ajora teaches us to love our neighbors before ourselves.” Not that Barrington had ever missed a meal in his life himself.

“You were explaining how you learned of our fright in the Siedge Weald, Duke Barrington.” Explaining, rather, how he was not responsible for hiring the traitors in the Lionsguard of St. Konoe. Queen Louveria had known that he would race to place himself above blame, the first act of any guilty conscience. In her arms, Orinus fussed and pulled at her gown.

“Yes! Quite. I can't imagine your majesty ever concerning herself with the whispers of the lowborn, but in walking those halls I heard so many fables and misapprehensions! It's quite striking, the credulity of the uneducated.” He leaned in and stuck his tongue out at the baby. “Can you believe, some even think this little angel was the result of swapping pans, like some little changeling?”

Orinus sniveled. Louveria's eyes narrowed. “Duke Barrington, you forget yourself.”

“Hm?” He looked up and saw her expression. “Ah! Quite right, your majesty, I humbly apologize.” The duke was nearly fifty, and had held higher favor with the previous king. He had often made habit of speaking as though he were of higher station, even when he wasn't pretending to an advantageous position. He dipped his head, but swiveled it back around to her. “I mean only to say that so often, their nonsense is only just; but I did hear a tale of surprising consistency, and of such recent vintage, that I wondered if it might not be true.”

“One half of my coterie yet lives.” She bobbed her son. Below, commoners and the lay were jockeying for positions where they could view the nobility who were already filtering out of the cathedral. “The other does not.”

“Pray consider your return to Lesalia, your majesty.” He bowed, and made a slightly better effort this time. “The roads of Fovoham lie open to you, and my own forces all too willing to bolster your own.”

“Best to keep your own working vassals fed, Duke Barrington.” She turned away from him and allowed herself a smile, for her – for her and Orinus – alone. “If Ser Garland requires aid, I can petition the Knight Devout's company. For many would say to approach the queen and her young prince when they are alone would be a treasonous act on its own.”

When she turned back, the large man was gone. His only wise move that day.

***

Ivalice only just had better love for its Crown. King Ondoria III's malady left a woman issuing proclamations that she claimed were of her husband's design, and those who still harbored grudges with Ordallia placed on her the coward's mantle. Though many proud and heroic women served in the Fifty Years' War, many in Lions' armies still viewed the hearth as woman's home.

Noble families oft sent their daughters for religious instruction, but Louveria spent few years within a monastery’s walls. Like Goltanna, the Larg family could trace their line to Denamda II, and Louveria's father the Duke of Gallionne often took her to Lesalia from even a young age, hoping to marry her to someone in Denamda IV's line. They found a love match in the offing with Ondoria III, a frail young second-born son who found himself the rightful heir when his elder brother died in the war.

By the time Louveria's father had died and her brother Bestrald instituted as the White Lion to Goltanna's Black in his stead, she was married to the new king. Ondoria III would be thirty-five at the time that the hero Delita made his entrance into the historical narrative.

The aforementioned birth of Louveria's son, the Prince Orinus, was met with some relief in the royal family. Two sons had already died in the birthing. Until that time, the only heir to succession was Princess Ovelia Atkascha, trueborn daughter of Denamda IV and half-sister to Ondoria III, whom they had adopted as a daughter when it appeared there would be no living sons.

***

1995 OV / 1232 ZA

Month of Gemini

“Ser Garland, we are much afeared from our travels. Please secure our chambers, that we may know peace of mind.” The guard nodded silently and entered the suite of rooms prepared for her, and then she closed the door behind them. Passing courtiers, pages, and assorted clergymen of Mullonde would assume only what had been rumor for a year's time now – that Queen Louveria had been having an affair with the captain of her guard.

When they'd allowed a moment for the hall outside to clear, she settled into a chaise and shifted the weight of her sleeping son. Eilonwy would no doubt be catching up with them soon enough. “Everything proceeds apace.”

Ser Garland removed his helmet and sat it upon the stone sill. His hair was damp and matted. If Louveria was the sort of woman who curried loyalty and affection in the manner the court suspected, she'd still find no place for the dragoon in her chambers when the meetings were adjourned. But Ser Garland was a smart man, a man whose loyalty was to leadership and power. He'd discerned early that as captain of the Lionsguard, his best role was beside the queen, not nursemaiding the man eight years her senior who already looked twice that when he was able to rise from his bed.

“Why Barrington, your majesty?” He pulled the hair back from his face with one gauntlet. “He is a viper, and the box in which Denamda kept him now lies open.”

“When I was a girl, I accompanied father on his hunts from time to time on the grounds.” Louveria held up Orinus and bounced him on her knee. “I had the taste for it even then, I suppose. But he taught me then that there's little to fear in a serpent, because you know it will strike. A hound is different, because it is loyal until it is angered. The grand duke's hungers have made of him a fool. Are you certain that you have carved out all the rot?”

“Those remaining are those loyal, your majesty.” Of the Lionsguard assigned to her, only some could be trusted to keep their loyalty to her and their mouths silent. The rest, Ser Garland and his men had fell upon in the Weald. There had been no bribery; but Eilonwy had told the story within minutes of their arrival in Mullonde, and Barrington's name would be on her lips. The lie would be in every noble's ear by the next sun-up as far as Zeltennia. “There is one other matter: the Princess Ovelia requests an audience with you.”

She frowned. Speaking again of boxes left open; she should have expected that Orbonne would give leave for her to attend the baptism. “I am weary from my exertions, the travel and the attack and such.” She made a vague gesture. “Express the due regret.” Pause. “Add something of the Queen Mother asking after her, perhaps that will placate.” The Queen Mother, who sat yet at Lesalia, who who yet lived, who left Louveria with fingernail grooves in each palm that drew blood.

“Yes, your highness.” He did not mention her brother the duke. “May I ask of you a question?”

“Speak.” Orinus's hands wrapped around her fingers. She smiled at the boy.

“Why the healer, Barzini?” He shook his head. “I understand the sense of Stark's killing, the threat he posed, but not the other.”

She frowned.

“I express no regrets in my service, your majesty. I seek only to know the way of it, that I might aid you further.”

She sighed. “To replace an inconvenient lie with a convenient one.”

“I do not understand.”

She looked at her son, and in that moment, found herself moved. This was the miracle at war's beginning. “Tell me again of your family, Ser Garland.”

“I... yes, your majesty.” He turned to the window. “Our nobility is slight, and young. My father served with distinction during the earliest years and was awarded a house. Before that, we were a line of knife sellers. My grandfather used to carry a massive whetting stone upon his back, up and down the streets of Bervenia. I have an uncle still, with a small but respected parish there, not far from St. Ajora's birthplace. With no family of my own, at times I send some gil-coppers to him when I'm able.”

“You should marry,” she offered, “Have a son of your own.”

He shook his head. “Harder then, to protect yours.”

Orinus giggled as though he'd understood. Ser Garland knew that she'd been poisoning the king; did he know that she'd poisoned the previous one, as well?

“I am weary,” she decided. “You command the Princess's hound, do you not? Send them back to Orbonne, Ser Garland. I must rest for our travel back to Lesalia.”

“Yes, your majesty.” He fixed the helmet back onto his head, hiding his expression. And then he left.

Louveria eased Orinus into the cradle the Church of Glabados had provided them, and watched him fidget. Eilonwy would return soon, to handle the changing of him and the feeding. In looking at his large eyes, she found herself shocked in loving him.

Ser Garland was not of risen nobility enough to understand why the rumor of the child's bastardry could not harm her in the way the truth could. Ivalice thought her barren from complications or possessed of a poxy womb; that Ondoria III had smuggled a mistress's spawn into the birthing room. When the midwife had died of old age shortly after, it had been her one stroke of luck; the rest she'd had to make herself. Barzini was the only living soul who had seen the baby's head crown.

Something fell in the other room of the suite. Her head jerked, and she spun, finding herself immediately snatch little Orinus into her arms to protect him. But there was nobody there. A shade, at best, of the many she had made herself.

***

The economy of Ivalice was brought to the very brink of ruin as it struggled to pay reparations to its former enemies and to repay the loans taken from neighboring states to fund its war effort. The loss of Galgastan's laborers and farmland caused further shortages. Soldiers returning from the front found themselves without pay, and entire orders of knights were summarily discharged from service, stripped not only of livelihood but also their fealty. The swelling ranks of the unemployed did little to relieve the people's distrust of the Crown and the nobility, whose tables never emptied. Many became rogues and traitors, men donning the thief's cloak and plotting treason against the Crown.

***

1995 OV / 1232 ZA

Month of Gemini

Queen Louveria again rode in the carriage through the Siedge Weald. The sun had started to set; leaving Mullonde had been a more trying task than arriving. Confessor Zalmour, a self-satisfied inquisitor, had set about blessing their travels, and some spare few nobles had lingered for a last chance at petitioning her. They'd sent a few riders ahead to secure adequate lodgings in Dorter; they'd never manage to climb the mountain at night.

Eilonwy was carrying the baby, and Louveria found she ached for him. The baby's every giggle sounded like shattered glass. How had this occurred? How could one half-day have been enough?

Ser Garland seemed lost in thought. She turned her gaze to the window and saw the same gallows tree. She blinked. “Stop the carriage.”

Garland signaled the driver, and they rolled to a halt. She allowed Garland to help her out so that she could view the stagnant pool of mold collected beneath the gnarled trunk, and nodded to herself. “Let it be here.”

“Your majesty?” asked Eilonwy, as she was helped out of the carriage. Louveria held out her arms, and the nurse handed her Orinus. Ser Garland led her over to the bubbling marsh, which seemed almost perfectly round. It was like the set of a stageplay. The nurse was shaking, until Ser Garland drew his sword, at which point she collapsed to her knees.

“Wh... your majesty, what... I'm so sorry, whatever I've done, I...”

“Shh.” She held Orinus close. “You'll scare him.” And when she really did quiet, Louveria felt a pang of regret. The dragoon raised his blade. Eilonwy would sink into the mold, vanished without a trace.

And then the carriage exploded.

With a searing flash of yellow, the entire forest seemed to swell and constrict as the wooden carriage erupted. Splintered wood flew past her face, and Louveria dropped to the ground, cradling her infant son and sheltering him from the sudden shrapnel. The chocobos were shrieking – one had already taken off into the forest, and another had fallen to the ground with a shard in its head – and when she called out for Ser Garland, she could not hear her own voice.

It was an explosion without heat, lightning without thunder—magick, certainly, but of a kind she didn't know. Her ears rang and her shoulders shook; she looked up to see their attacker standing on the gallows-branch of the gnarled old tree.

It was a fifteen-year old boy. His Galgastani skin seemed to make him one with the treebark and the darkness. He looked like he could be Eilonwy's son. Eilonwy... As Ser Garland rose to his feet, sword at the ready, blood caking one ear, she turned her head to find that the nurse had fled.

There were shouts in the dark again as the rest of her convoy came at last to their rescue. The boy stared at her. She found that she was crying; not for herself, but for her son.

“I come bearing a message.” The boy's voice was deeper than it seemed a body his age could allow. “When the crows feast upon your king, they will again upon Ivalice.”

One of her soldiers was at her side then, lifting her up as another nocked an arrow. But when it flew, there was nobody there to receive it. The boy was gone. The leaves rustled only, the sound of a crow's wings in flight. She rocked her sobbing child and prayed the young of Ivalice would not eat their old.

***

Records of the hero Delita first appear one year before the outbreak of the War of the Lions, not long past the first birthday of Prince Orinus Atkascha. It was a time of great unrest for Ivalice - murder and theft were commonplace. Many were the young adventurer and mage who stepped forward to counter this threat. Of such, the city of Gariland, too, saw its share...

[stoffelees]

Deserving of Acceptance: Chapter Two

Chapter Title: Brothers

Chapter Warnings: Minor Violence, Mild Language

Word Count: 2067

Summary: Sans is reminded what happens when you leave your stuff lying around. Papyrus comes home to a lazy brother.

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Sans awoke to the sound of rustling. Lids still heavy he opted to keep his sockets closed and try to fall back to sleep. His brother would kick him off the stoop when he got home, no reason to stay awake until then.

The rustling happened again and he realized it wasn’t the trees or a bush, it was plastic. Eye sockets flying open, he jerked his head to the side in time to see a small bunny monster in a striped shirt whip its head out of the bag. Pupils expanded before fear took over and it turned tail and ran, but not before snagging a prize for itself.

“hey! get back here you little shit! didn’t your parents teach you not to take things from monsters stronger than you?!”

Giving a frustrated groan he checked to see what the kid had gotten - the batteries of course. He recognized the white-furred monster child as belonging to the former innkeeper of Snowdin, the town he came from Underground. She now aided her sister in running a small shop since her former business was less useful here on the surface.

The rabbit’s shop Underground had always specialized in refurbished items, especially since much of what they had was human garbage collected from the river. But sometimes items one monster wants belongs to another. That was one of her specialties - getting things requested of her. Now that they were above ground, few human vendors were willing to sell bulk of anything to monster merchants, so they still found themselves turning to old habits such as sifting through garbage or stealing from each other. Thank the stars they could still rely on food shipments from the Underground or they probably would have starved by now.

He cursed himself for not tossing the bag inside before napping. No one would dare break in and steal from his brother. But Sans? He kept such a low-key profile everyone assumed he was just a pushover. Aside from the obvious fact that his LV was pitifully low, his HP was only one, giving him good reason to avoid the violent interest of other monsters.

His short stature and rounded features were key in helping him appear non-threatening. Sure he may not seem that short, but being at a meter and a half compared to the full two meters of his brother made him appear rather small. He had always been the big boned one anyway.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black jacket, he gave a huff and stood up. Life hadn’t always been like this. His left hand found itself leaving the comfort of the pocket to brush against his single gold tooth, razor sharp like the rest of his maw. He allowed himself to lament momentarily, but only briefly. He had learned what the reward for weakness was, and he didn’t care to remind himself.

Renewed anger and frustration swirled in his chest. Fishing for his keys, he fought with the lock before it yielded to him and scooped up the shopping bag, only to cast it aside once he crossed the threshold. Admittedly it was his brother who had earned this home, Sans had very little if anything to do with that. Papyrus probably only kept him around at this point because of some familial obligation.

A familiar red glow licked the left side of his skull. He was letting his emotions get the best of him again and willed himself to force the magic back down. Closing his eye sockets, he waited until the buzzing of his soul returned to its standard hum before opening them again; his white pupils returning. They swept across the darkened room and settled on the ratty green couch. Many of the monsters had opted to start fresh when they were moved to the surface, but Sans had insisted on bringing the couch. Papyrus hated the couch and only allowed the offensive piece of furniture to join them in their move so long as it was the only large item to join them. It wasn’t, but Sans wasn’t about to let Papyrus in on what else he had snuck to the surface.

Now for the most difficult question of the day: to nap on the couch or in his room? If he slept on the couch he would have little to no time to react when Papyrus came home, but if by chance he heard his brother beforehand he could play it off. Being caught in his room would offer no such opportunity as it would be clear the only thing he was doing was sleeping. Even then he had to take his brother’s mood into account. In his better moods there would probably only be door slamming. In his worse moods Sans could expect to get smacked around. And when Papyrus was really angry, such as when duties were neglected, well, that was when thrashings were doled out. Like the time Sans forgot to… awe shit.

A bony palm rose to greet his forehead with a loud clack. The batteries. He couldn’t admit to Papyrus that some kid stole them from him, but that would mean lying and saying he forgot them. Sans stole a glance at the clock above where their presently useless TV sat. Assuming the batteries in it still had some juice in them, it informed him he had maybe twenty minutes until Papyrus barged through the door. Not enough time to replace the lost package of batteries. Well, he’d just have to hope Papyrus’ meeting with Undyne went better planned; otherwise he’d be nursing some injuries.

The sound of heavy boots on pavement was all the warning any monster needed to flee. The window of opportunity to hide was small, but most residents habitually kept an eye on an escape route at all times. Long strides quickly carried him toward his destination. A brief detour through the more run-down part of the neighborhood was called for though, as his presence and authority should be reestablished on a frequent basis. A few well placed glares and he was satisfied with this patrol.

A sharp about-face and it was time for the imposing skeleton to return to his living quarters. It had been another long day of discussions and debates with little to no progress. He itched with pent up energy that was begging to be spent. He would have to spar sometime in the coming days or he was going to dust someone soon.

The buildings coming into view were in better shape and housed monsters he would describe as of a higher class. Of course he deserved nothing less; he was The Great Papyrus after all. He had worked hard for everything he had; he alone had earned all this.

He approached the two-storied brick abode, it was narrow but it was enough. Conjoined with half a dozen other duplicates of itself, there was nothing distinctive about it. Standing out made you a target, and the last thing he needed was for his property to catch someone’s eye while he was away. There were rows upon rows of buildings like these, almost like houses themselves save for the lack of space between each one on a row.

Sans had left the door open again. Groaning, Papyrus pulled the screen door to allow himself entry. Looking down he saw a discarded bag had been holding the front door against the wall. He snatched it up and inspected the contents, candles and matches. Could that lazy ingrate do nothing properly?!

Making a beeline for the stairs he paused on the first step. He was well attuned to his surroundings at all times and could feel someone watching him. Slowly turning he spotted the offender on the couch - disgusting.

“hey boss.”

There was clearly sweat already beading on his brother’s skull. Even with the ever-present grin plastered on his face a hint of apprehension shone through. His posture was atrocious as he slouched on the couch cushion and both hands were firmly buried in his pockets.

“so i…” he tried to begin.

“NOT A WORD SANS.” Papyrus retracted himself from his previous direction to face his brother. He had enough of this in the Underground, he would not tolerate Sans returning to his lazy habits here on the surface. “I ASKED FOR ONE SIMPLE TASK TO BE COMPLETED AND EVEN THEN YOU FIND A WAY TO HALF-ASS IT.”

Sans visibly sunk in on himself and the white lights of his pupils shrank to pinpricks. His brother knew he deserved this, Papyrus could see that.

“YOU WILL NOT SULLY THE NAME I HAVE EARNED FOR MYSELF, AND I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO CONTINUE LEECHING OFF MY SUCCESS. FIND A USEFUL PLACE FOR YOURSELF HERE OR SO HELP ME ASGORE I WILL ELIMINATE THE PROBLEM MYSELF!” Punctuating his final statement, Papyrus thrust his gloved hand to point at Sans.

They had done this song and dance before; Papyrus would chastise Sans and Sans would beg forgiveness from Papyrus. But as the taller skeleton continued to stare down the lump on the couch he noticed the edge of Sans’ grin falter. The white pricks in his eye sockets faded to hollow darkness.

“fuck you.”

Papyrus gave him no time to react. With honed speed, his right hand was brought up over his shoulder and swiftly arced back down. There was a loud crack as the back of his hand connected with the side of Sans’ head.

Arm outstretched, he slowly lowered the gauntleted hand back down to his side. How dare he. Taking advantage of the untouchable status Papyrus had given him, lazing about like he had not a care, and then openly defying him. How dare he!

Papyrus’ gaze crossed over his brother once more. Sans’ head was still turned over his left shoulder, eye sockets shut tight. There were no visible marks around the temple area; good, Papyrus was not in the mood to have to heal this sack of trash. The desire to finish what he started was strong, but he had control. The captain had always praised him for his control; to be able to inflict the precise amount of pain. Dust could not fear, so when killing a monster resulted in them simply being reduced to a useless pile of pale dust the aggressor had to get creative.

Sharp jaw leaned in, bringing Papyrus’ face within inches of his brother’s. He lowered his voice to a low growl, “GET OUT OF MY SIGHT.”

Right eye socket barely open, the eye light visibly traced a path of escape before Sans bolted up the stairs. Papyrus gave a small huff. That had alleviated some of his frustration quite well.

He made his own way up, pushing on the door to the left to reveal his room. A quick survey to ensure everything was in its place and he was satisfied enough to get comfortable. Although his armor provided him with its own kind of protected comfort, here he did not have to worry about being battle-ready.

The scarf came off first, and with practiced ease he unfastened the clasps hidden under each arm and lifted his breastplate over his skull. His gauntlets followed suit before he pulled on a dark sleeveless shirt to cover his bare rib-cage. Dinner sounded good now, and he’d be damned if he were cooking for more than one tonight. Sans could fend for himself this time.

The door slammed shut pulling him with it as he threw his shoulder into it. Sans pried his hand off the doorknob. Papyrus was not pursuing him. He was okay. He would thank the stars for his luck, but luck was made in this world, not given. What had possessed him to say that to Papyrus? Had he gone stupid?

Sans allowed himself to slide down the door. His knees pulled up as he curled into himself and just held his skull in his hands. Had he always been this weak? No, he wasn’t weak. He knew why he was like this. He pulled his hands away from his face. When had they started shaking? Dragging his bones off the floor he threw himself at his bare mattress. Sleep was always the solution, and this was no different. Tomorrow was another day. Maybe he could not screw that one up.

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[aromatickindling-blog]

Hmm, I’ll sort this out into the Stardew Valley Farmer as villager prompt with visuals and less words one day...

Green

Appearance:

    Green's an average sized young woman with minty hair tied up into a messy ponytail, part of her side swept bangs awning her sharp aquamarine eyes. If you're observant, you can see slight bags under eyes, covered with foundation powder to avoid questions from people. Her wardrobe's quite functional, filled with different boots for all occasions, thick working gloves, shade hats, winter fur caps, and cargo pants in different neutral colors, working well with her cotton button jackets. Her favorite happens to be the dark green formal jacket with a popped collar. The equipment she carries on her hip belt is well-taken care of, polished to the nines before being covered in all sorts of filth. She does have a strong liking for long scarves, goggles, and small, subtle hair pins, though.

    For some reason, her freckles tend to appear in curves and triangles; she has one that looks similar to Orion's Belt that she brings up as a conversation piece if she has to do small talk. Of course, she does take pains to cover up the scars she's gotten from her spelunking adventures in the mines and the Skull Dungeon. A Serpent pack left a particularly nasty one stretching down her left calf to her ankle. She prays to Yoba no one notices.

Summary:

    An ambivert erring on the side of introverted behavior, Green's the one of the twin grandchildren of Stardew Valley's previous farmer, come to take over Smaug farm. Thanks to years of neglect and her grandfather's 'brilliant' idea of staking land in a wilderness full of monsters, she's got her work cut out for her. Worse yet, with the Gotoran-Ferngill Republic conflict in full swing, she's especially reluctant to open up to anyone in the Valley. However, with the Adventurer's Guild and the Museum in town, she'll be able to settle in. Yet if anyone bothers getting to know her well enough, they might detect a hint of loneliness in her eyes.

At her Grandfather's grave, Green has planted an orange tree and told him:

    "If I can't see myself becoming part of the community here, Grandpa, I'll at least keep my part of the deal. I'll make sure the farm is up and running smoothly by the end of the second year. If the war continues...if Sage isn't back home here at that time, and I'm still unable to find someone I can trust here...I'll come after him. I'm sorry Grandpa, but I hope you can understand me on this. Mayor Lewis can take over the farm; it'll be a great source of revenue for Pelican Town...they'll need it more than I do. But thank you...for giving me an out from my former job. It was suffocating."

...For some reason, every Friday and Sunday Green never fails to greet the traveling cart merchant. Apparently, the two exchange letters; strangely, the writing doesn't match the merchant's personal chicken-scratch. After the bus has been repaired, you might even catch a glimpse of her with a strange bodyguard speaking about a "Mr. Qi." Who is this Mr. Qi, anyway?

Love: coffee, hazelnuts, goat cheese, poppy, fairy rose, dinosaur egg, all fossils and bone artifacts, duck feather, thunder egg, all soups, bone flute, mead

Likes: all flowers, all fruit, dried starfish, ornamental fan, ancient sword, fiddlehead fern, all dwarf scrolls, iron bar, copper bar, maple bar, lava eel, void salmon, honey, garlic, hot pepper, cloth, arrowhead, wine

 Dislikes: truffles, truffle oil (don't ask), super cucumber (once again, don't ask), beer, pale ale, morel mushroom (she's reminded of that one frog with all the holes in its back. And bot flies, the spawn of the underworld)

Hated: wicked statue, skull brazier, elvish jewelry, prehistoric hand axe, golden mask, Robin's axe

Personality:

    Green's the quiet observer of the twins, almost akin to a shade behind her brother's bombastic front. She's not the type to normally initiate conversation either, so only when she is required to, when she wants to give advice, or when she needs information will she, reluctantly, start one with a person. She's very polite about it too. But, you may have found her committing a social faux pas during the first year when she climbed on everyone's houses for a bird feather or little critter. Mayor Lewis chewed her out harshly for it. From then on out, it was only natural cliffs, rock faces, and trees she would climb onto, if not her own farm buildings.

    She is often found doing work on the farm, at the museum with Gunther, or training with Marlon at the Adventurer's Guild during the day, almost always with a cup of coffee and the occasional maple bar. Once Smaug farm is up and running, she does build a small training arena in front of the greenhouse. Don't ask why. When evening arrives, she disappears into the mountains and doesn't return home until 1:00 am in the morning. Some days may involve her leaving for Calico Desert early in the morning until 1:00 am. Shane often swears he would see blood leaking out of her when she was returning home at night. No one believes him thanks to how well Green dresses her wounds. This can only last so long with how she's burning the candle on both ends. On the weekends, no one is capable of tracking her down while she's out on her foraging hikes, much to her relief. Even better is during those evenings when everyone is at Gus's Saloon, when she can sneak into the Community Center to repair it with the Junimos before going home to refine sketches, put away gathered inventory, and generally wind down for the night with a tune from her harp, a nice hot soak, and a quick gaming session. Only on Sundays does she dare oversleep to offset the lack of it during the weekdays.

      Once more comfortable with people, she becomes more straightforward with her answers, although any questions regarding her family or her spelunking episodes are deflected or redirected to another topic. Outgoing villagers are more likely to get to this point. Snarky jokes will be made about the topic at hand, light teasing may occur if she is addressed directly, and, if it pops into her head, a few puns. Don't ask about her hikes or finds, she will become quite detailed with the scientific basis for everything she came across.

    Yoba help her if any of the single townsfolk become interested in her. Poor Green won't know what to do with herself, all her secrets might be spilled into the public square with that kind of relationship. What should she do now, how much of her activities should she cut back to spend time with them, what will they think of her once they find out what she's been trying to hide from the villagers, will their relatives approve of her, how long before they find out about her hiding her wounds from plain sight, do they like mint breath or coffee breath, are they allergic to poppies and fairy roses, will they mind her fossil collection, should she pick up cooking again, video game nights or movie nights, are they up for hiking, are they not okay with PDA, do they like cuddling, will they not mind her wrapping her arms around them as a greeting, do they like nuzzles, nape kisses, why her, and why are they even interested at all?! THESE ARE ALL IMPORTANT QUESTIONS...at least in her mind, they are. This is why she comes off as aloof, not only as a deterrent for anyone interested, but also as a result of her trying to strangle any feelings of affection that might develop for anyone else. Also, Yoba help the poor sap that does start to develop a crush on her; her lack of self-care and time during the weekdays is sure to wear on them.

    But, she is more than willing to make adjustments for them should they accept her, all of her. Green's probably going to ask them to come out to the beach at night near the solitary rock to spill her heritage as a half-Gotoran, half-Fergillan to them, mental escape routes calculating in her head but another part of her pleading this will be okay and she's just paranoid. From there, if accepted, she will tell about her brother and her parents, how Sage left for the army after a nasty spat with her regarding the Gotoran conflict, how her Gotoran Father died for helping the Ferngillan side, and how her Ferngillan Mother's MIA, probably in an underground resistance movement against the Gotoran government. She's only had her brother as a social crutch before he left, and it's the main reason why she bottled herself up. Why bother with people if all they're going to do is break your heart once you're close with them? But, she'll admit she was wrong, and then apologize for unloading all of this onto to them, and for not trusting them as much before. From there, she'll become more and more honest to them about her activities.

    The letters she was swapping with the merchant happened to be correspondences with her brother, usually curt and to the point. She makes it a priority to leave out any bitterness from his leaving her since he's in danger and needs all the help he can get. As for Mr. Qi...money is great and so is spelunking. That's all I'm going to say, other than it's a dangerous profession that has left her with a number of gashes...all of which she's refused to go to Harvey's for, much to her partner's dismay. As for the music drifting near the railroad tracks at night, it was her playing a couple tunes her father taught her on her mini-harp. She might even offer to serenade them from time to time.

    Despite her insecurities about herself, Green's quite the affectionate lover, offering sweet words in their ear, leaving small gifts for them after she visits their house, engaging in conversations more often with them, and giving out subtle public displays of affection, whether it be the joining of their hands, brushing their shoulders clean, a lingering look, or a soft caress on the back of their hand if they're slightly agitated. It's still quite confusing to her what to do and she'll hesitate early on about it, but she'll slowly ease into it...and wonder how the hell did this happen??? Then not care and nestle in close to them at night after pressing a kiss to their neck. Grandpa works wonders in keeping his grandchild in Stardew Valley. What a magnificent bastard he is.

Inventory:

·         Mini-harp

(You can hear the notes of a melody off near the mountaintops during the night, drifting down onto the railroad tracks...)

·         Obsidian knife

(A memento of her brother, before he left for Gotoro. Held closely to the hip, sometimes the chest whenever she thinks of him. It's as though the essence of the sea has imprinted onto this knife.)

·         Lava katana

(Can't go wrong with cauterizing deliberate wounds on monsters. Makes it less messy! Smells horrific...)

·         Herb satchel

(Most remedies have plant-based compounds to thank for their use. After trips to the mines or the Skull Dungeon, its strangely lighter. Smells strongly of mint.)

·         Pack

(Contains most essentials, from food to water to tools and, of course, a loaded first-aid kit. Got to be prepared for all sorts of insanity the spirits bring about when they're angry. For some reason, the pack smells of pine needles.)

·         Sketchbook

(Contains all sorts of colored sketches of landscapes, plants, monsters, rocks, animals, and even pressed flowers...wait...some of the villagers are sketched in here too? Has a light floral scent.)