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thewhumperinwhite · 1 year ago

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WKW: The Voice That Shakes The Stones (Part 2)

Continued directly from this, but will make more sense if you've also read The Rose Queen parts 1 and 2.

This one follows part one in terms of getting some plot stuff out of the way up top and then some Really Heavy Whump in the back half lmao

TW for: broken bones (including ribs and spine), blood, aftermath of beating/caning, past/referenced child abuse, referenced parental death, referenced decapitation, Again Broken Bones To The Extent That It Is Essentially Body Horror.

----

Morden raises a sculpted eyebrow at Tern. “Been opening my mail, have you?”

Tern looks at him; or at least Morden assumes he does. Tern wears an elaborately constructed mask sewn out of feathers and leather and bone, and removes it very rarely.

“I open everyone’s mail,” Tern says.

Morden knows this, of course. He has no secrets to keep from his own Falconers, and if and when such secrets do arise, he will simply have Thorne deliver them. If Morden feels—caught off guard, set on edge, it is no fault of Tern’s, and snapping at his own Scout will not help him feel more in control, anyway. Morden arranges himself more casually at his desk with a bit of effort.

“What do you think of the Lady’s proposal?” he asks, forcing his voice back into its usual light and airy register.

Tern tilts his head. The mask makes him the most actually-birdlike of all the Falconers, a fact Morden usually finds endearing, though he is struggling not to be annoyed by it at the moment.

“It’s my job to know things, not to act on them,” Tern says finally. Which is a letdown after such a long thoughtful pause, even though it is also true. Morden does not roll his eyes, but the temptation is there. “What do you think, Mord?”

Morden sits up straight and brushes his hair from his face. What he thinks is, she must have eyes in the Castle that Morden can’t see, to be able to time this missive so exactly. But that thought is uselessly paranoid—Tern would know, and Tern would tell him—so he is not entertaining it. Or vocalizing it, either.

“I think she’s audacious,” he says instead, which is true. “And I think I had better consider carefully before I think anything much else.” He folds the letter back up, so that he will not keep reading it uselessly over and over, and looks up at Tern, pretending to make eye contact through the mask. “In the meantime, make sure the Prince doesn’t die, will you? I may finally be able to put him to some use.”

Tern nods, and stalks out silently, still in his soft-soled scouting boots.

Morden makes it, optimistically, another five minutes before he unfolds the letter to read it again.

“Your desires have aligned neatly with our own, dear Crane,” reads the now-familiar script, “and the appropriate sacrifices have been made.”

Morden has not yet opened the accompanying jeweled and gilded casket, but the size and heft of it—and, more importantly, the smell—makes him fairly confident he knows what will be inside.

“A healthy partnership ought be reciprocal, however,” the letter goes on.

Morden chews his thumbnail, a nervous habit he does not often indulge. He scolds himself; he is only now realizing how he has begun to enjoy his exchanges with the Rose Queen, how they have begun to feel so like a game of chess against an interesting opponent as to make him forget the stakes. It has left him feeling—exposed, now, at best; trapped if he is not careful.

He needs to make a plan.

----

This is not part of Crow’s job.

It’s all very well for Tern, who relays Crane’s instructions—“Fix up the Summer Prince; the White Crane had his fun and now wants not to play with broken toys”—and then scurry off with the excuse of some Important Scouting Duty, which Crow suspects is probably bullshit.

When Morden introduces the Falconer’s, he says that Crow’s job is “Throatcutter,” the one who makes sure everyone’s theatrics have resulted in actual corpses at the end of every ambush and skirmish. And although that isn’t all he does—far from it—that is certainly part of his job. If the White Crane had said, “I’m too busy to finish killing the Summer Prince, finish that up for me, will you?” Crow would have done it, and with a whistle and a spring in his step.

Crow is built for ending lives, it’s truly what he’s best at. He doesn’t prolong pain on purpose; he isn’t Raven. Once a creature is past a certain threshold of injury, keeping it alive becomes—boring and sad, and little else.

The Summer Prince flops slightly at Crow’s feet, as if hearing him think this. He is moving like a deboned fish. Sounds a bit like one, as well.

Morden is going to owe him, and Morden doesn’t enjoy owing things, even to his own Falconers. So at least, Crow thinks, there is that.

“I don’t suppose you can walk,” Crow says. He slides the toe of his boot underneath the writhing shape of the Summer Prince, meaning only to nudge him slightly.

There is—more give in the ribs than there should be.

The body at his feet spasms violently as the Prince tries to curl in around himself. He manages to twist his torso in a way that makes Crow’s gorge rise a bit in spite of himself, his handless arm flopping over and up to haphazardly cover his face. His legs don’t move at all.

Crow contemplates, very briefly, the idea of picking the Summer Prince up off the floor and carrying him to Heron’s quarters, or more probably to the Castle’s Healer. He doesn’t mind blood, as a rule. The blood would not be the problem.

The Prince heaves in what must be his first full breath since Crow entered the room several minutes ago. It scrapes audibly against his throat; the effort of taking it arcs his back up off the floor, except that his legs still haven’t moved. Something—either ribs or spine, Crow isn’t sure which—grinds audibly inside him and he loses whatever air he has managed to take in in a single quiet, bubbly-sounding wail.

“Eugh,” Crow says, and turns his back on what is rapidly becoming the corpse of the Summer Prince. Where has that bloody wolf pup got himself to? Cleaning up Morden’s messes is literally that kid’s whole job.

----

(Andry can’t see. He can almost breathe, if he tries very hard. It feels like lifting a very heavy weight, and at the height of each breath there is a sudden stabbing pain in his back, just left of the center, that makes him twitch. He is in—water, maybe. Or anyway his face and shoulders and ears feel wet. His lips feel wet, too, although the inside of his mouth feels very dry indeed.)

(He must have hit his head, he thinks. He knows that burning cracked-egg feeling well enough, in his temple and below his right ear and on the high point of his opposite cheek. And his back is cracked open that way too, not sharp and bone deep like the whip but broad and blunt and shattered like his father’s cane.)

(His father is—dead, he thinks, around the buzzing in his head, like bees tangled up in cotton wool. The White Crane cut off his father’s head, and Andry could not catch it when it was thrown. And now he cannot even tell if he is sorry. His father did kill him once, after all.)

(He had known where he stood with his father, though. His father was not elegant and smiling, like the White Crane.)

(Although the White Crane was not smiling this time, was he, Andry thinks; no, this time he was angry, and the worst part is that Andry does not even know why.)

(…Andry thinks that is the worst part. Then he tries to move his legs.)

----

Heron is the Falconers’ battlefield medic, and he is not a healer. He has smelling salts in his bag that will get a man to his feet and into the fray with an arrow through the stomach; and skill enough with a needle and a bandage to patch up even serious punctures well enough to heal on their own. He even knows the basic alchemy needed to keep a wound from going septic about seven times out of ten.

In this situation he is useful only in that he has a stretcher he is willing to bring to Thorne’s chamber in exchange for the privilege of seeing a mutilated body.

Crow returns with Thorne and Heron after about five minutes, and it is clear as he nears the threshold and begins to hear the Prince’s breath whistling in and out, like wind blowing across a broken bottle, that the boy has not done him the great favor of dying in the interim.

One of the Prince’s eyes is open when Crow stands over him again, but it is rolled back in his head far enough to hide all but a thin ring of blue-purple iris. The other eye is already swollen too far to open more than a crack. Every time he takes a far-too-audible breath he shudders, violently, exactly twice. His torso is still twisted at that odd angle, as though he has tried to roll over onto his side without lifting his hips.

Thorne has been helping Heron carry the stretcher. When he enters the room he drops his end of it with a loud clatter.

Heron does not seem to notice, though he gamely drops his end of the stretcher, too, so that he can dart closer to the body, his pale eyes glittering behind his physician’s mask.

(Tern and Heron are both masked more often than they aren’t; both masks, as far as Crow is concerned, are products of paranoia. Tern is convinced some authority or other is going to discover his identity, as though that would matter now that he is at the right hand of the conqueror of a whole damned country. Heron is concerned about inhalants. This seems sensible sometimes, even to Crow; Heron takes apart something like a half-dozen cadavers a week in pursuit of his craft. However he also wears the mask when it is just the eight of them alone in the Nest or in their rooms here at the castle, and that seems like overkill to Crow.)

As always, Heron’s hands are light, and clever, and ruthless. He pulls the Prince’s fluttering eyelid up and peers closely into his eye, tipping his head back quite gently. Then he presses his fingers against the Prince’s shattered ribs with slow, deliberate pressure, using his hand in the Prince’s hair to keep the Prince from curling up in a ball at what must be excruciating pain. Heron’s face is quite close to the Prince’s answering gasp. Crow, a safe distance away with his arms crossed, thinks to himself that perhaps Heron wouldn’t need the mask if he was willing to do his job without getting so very close.

When the Prince has relaxed out of his pain-spasm, Heron taps twice on the sharp edge of the Prince’s sharp recently-starved hip bone with a gloved fist. The Prince’s gasp this time is much quieter, more of a hiccup than an airless scream.

When Heron stretches out a booted foot to give the Prince’s calf a not-particularly-gentle kick, the Prince doesn’t react at all.

“That’s interesting,” Heron says, his voice dark with things Crow finds professionally distasteful.

----

Thorne left Andry—what, thirty minutes ago? An hour? Surely no more than that. Thorne left Andry asleep on the couch at the foot of his bed, wrapped in Thorne’s borrowed sheets, curled up like a child with the stump of his missing hand tucked under his chin.

Thorne’s bedsheets are in disarray, now, on the floor in front of the couch. There is blood on them. There seems, at least to Thorne’s suddenly spotty and blurred vision, to be blood more places than there isn’t.

Heron’s hand is on Andry’s throat, now, prodding narrow deep bruise that is forming there. Heron is hovering over Andry with the same excited twitchy over-interest with which he treats any sick or injured person. Thorne is familiar enough with Heron’s attention to remember the growing unease and sick, crawling discomfort it inspires.

He usually finds it easier to look away.

“Well go on,” Crow snaps at him from where leaning against the wall, looking mildly disgusted but little else. “Get him on the fucking stretcher already.”

Thorne’s instinct to obey is honed sharply enough that he moves to follow the order without thinking. So at least there is that relief.

#the winter king's ward #whump #original whump #fantasy whump #royalty whump #beaten #caning #broken bones #whumper pov #broken ribs #broken spine #parental death mention #parental abuse mention #...man its been a long time since ive posted regularly i dont remember how tags work 😭#i will TRY and remember who the taglist was for this by the time i do a next day reblog

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zestialmorde · 21 days ago

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Zestial lingers at the threshold of the grand manor as he hands his invitation to the doorman. His poised demeanor masks the quiet unrest within—a discomfort he’s well accustomed to at such gatherings. The magnitude of the event looms, yet he steps forward, guided by the practicality of networking, especially given the assured presence of at least some of the sins. This occasion, after all, holds potential value for both his aspirations and those of his companion, Angel Dust.

With Angel's hand lightly nestled in the crook of his arm, Zestial glides into the opulent hall. His strides are measured and purposeful, though his thoughts are elsewhere, calculating with practiced precision as he considers how long decorum requires his presence before a tactful departure might be made.

THE AFTER-CORONATION CELEBRATION OF HIS FABULOUSNESS PRINCE PRUFLAS

After many, many years of absolutely killing it in Hell, Prince Pruflas has finally been recognized as a true Prince of the Ars Goetia by His Highness, @ask-king-paimon.

To celebrate this wonderful event, all Ars Goetia and Overlords are invited to His Fabulousness’ After-Coronation Celebration. Be sure to stick around for the main event: a live pole dance by the Amazing Exorcist Dancers!

Refreshments will be provided, but are first come first serve. We don’t run a soup kitchen here!

Feel free to bring a plus-one — the more, the merrier!

Lovingly,

Prince Pruflas of the Ars Goetia 👑

#the after-coronation celebration of his fabulousness Prince Pruflas #lutualverse #lutual #prince pruflas #hazbin hotel rp blog #hazbin hotel roleplay #ars goetia #hazbin hotel #hazbin rp #hazbin hotel rp #zestial morde

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schreiblustleselust · 18 days ago

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Kerri Maniscalco: Escaping from Houdini

Die US-amerikanische Bestseller-Autorin Kerri Maniscalco beweist auch in Band 3 ihrer beliebten „Audrey-Rose-Reihe“, wie meisterhaft sie historische Settings und packende Atmosphären erschaffen kann. Nach den düsteren Gassen des viktorianischen Londons in Band 1 und dem unheimlichen Vampir-Schloss in Transsilvanien in Band 2 entführt sie ihre Leser in „Escaping from Houdini“ auf eine spannende Reise über den Atlantik. Handlung: Spannung auf hoher See Die Geschichte spielt an Bord des Luxus-Dampfschiffs RMS Etruria, das es tatsächlich gegeben hat. Während der Überfahrt von Liverpool nach New York wird die Reisegesellschaft von einem Zirkusensemble unterhalten, zu dem auch der berühmte Entfesselungskünstler Harry Houdini gehört. Doch als es zu mehreren mysteriösen Morden kommt, müssen die angehenden Gerichtsmediziner Audrey Rose und ihr charmanter Begleiter Thomas Cresswell die Ermittlungen aufnehmen. Kerri Maniscalco verbindet dabei gekonnt historische Elemente mit einem Hauch von Mystery und Crime. Romantik oder Spannung? Die Romanreihe ist nicht nur für Fans historischer Krimis interessant, sondern auch für Leser, die eine große Portion Romantik lieben. In „Escaping from Houdini“ wird der ohnehin schon ausgeprägte Romance-Anteil noch gesteigert: Neben den humorvollen und oft hitzigen Interaktionen zwischen Audrey Rose und Thomas entsteht eine Dreiecksbeziehung, denn Audrey Rose fühlt sich zunehmend zu „Mephisto“, dem charismatischen Anführer des Zirkus, hingezogen. Diese zusätzliche Liebesgeschichte mag für manche Leser eine willkommene Ergänzung sein, während andere sie als unnötig empfinden könnten. https://youtu.be/QF9UrtFFmNs Fazit: Ein gelungener Mix aus Spannung und Romantik Mit „Escaping from Houdini“ gelingt es Kerri Maniscalco erneut, ihre Leser in eine fesselnde Welt einzutauchen, die historische Fakten mit Fiktion meisterhaft verwebt. Die Mischung aus Mystery, Krimi und Romantik macht den dritten Band der Audrey-Rose-Reihe zu einem echten Pageturner. Fans von historischen Romanen mit starker weiblicher Hauptfigur und einer Prise Liebe werden begeistert sein. Warum solltest du „Escaping from Houdini“ lesen? Historisches Setting: Spannende Reise auf der RMS Etruria mit authentischen Details. Charismatische Hauptfiguren: Audrey Rose und Thomas sorgen für Humor und Romantik. Fesselnde Krimi-Handlung: Mysteriöse Morde und ein Hauch von Houdinis Magie. Suchst du nach einem Buch, das dich in eine andere Zeit entführt und zugleich mit Romantik und Spannung begeistert? Dann ist „Escaping from Houdini“ von Kerri Maniscalco genau das Richtige für dich! Kerri Maniscalco: Escaping from Houdini übersetzt aus dem amerikanischen Englisch von Diana Bürgel Piper, Oktober 2024 544 Seiten, Paperback, 18 Euro Diese Rezension wurde verfasst von Andreas Schröter. Lesen Sie auch unsere Besprechungen zu den anderen Audrey-Rose-Romanen von Kerri Maniscalco: Stalking Jack the Ripper Hunting Prince Dracula Read the full article

#andreas-schröter

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libidomechanica · 1 month ago

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“When armed, to”

A rispetto sequence

That until the mountain when the hall—a barbed hook, one part a barbed hook, one part soft as a wart. And so it please thy calm-blooded, time-

settled in so hush a mask? Nor taint thy Soul, nor set thy trunk all bare, and turn the kindlye dewe drops a look of it, that necessary.

And the carpet or between the chere: they han the floweth Helicon the glenne: so now his frend is closed down—yet through the worst was to

repair should be better spirits. When armed, to justify th’ offence; for she three feet long, and the big kids make the wanton-wise.

Me for greed o’ the fatall sisters eke repented of the ragged wood, the mountain often fretful as they misunderstand there

the way you go through his heights came out above a water.—Blows eight at all the four corner me again, all the Sun: ’ then surely we.

All the pastry, not my smart; was never wi’ her can compare, whaever has met wi’ the queen o’ the fair. To lift the dancing above

the world I will come where the reason rotten person shouts for a flightless breast, light and throstle’s lay; emprison her eyes than both ends.

His fiery race; but he wants. Has an electric to carry you, girl, methinks my luve o’ my sorrows tear that same pond to stop

thy Father who is here, in thee up as tiny as an electron waits the fields to where a double hill to me: better spirits.

Lies another’s! She spake with kindled star, if any sparkles that does not with Roses blows; a Foot for his mind, his soul so charming

from my Clay to raise me up afloat, whilst our town, far off everybody loved the next realm she stands, as if by hand on a Minion!

To blind ideal like the old—born cycle. Then came these field refuse the shadow, but sorrows tear that frown aside, and air-like, leave it

wholly in the boy eventually I’m hung up on it. My excuse the name. That you and I, in truth, with the rest: whether the hill.

She was as ugly as a grape. She rapt upon sand which is a little babe was buried thee, o Vashti, noble verse; but she’s fretful

as the crustes, and in a crown to blind was Ambition. Flushed amaze of hand ambrosia, mix the next day she asked: Melchior?

By night, as he durst against mind. Am I despised the woman’s Foot, leave off a lesson derely boughs and starlings singing: Today

I bake. ’ Majestic pace; or the fire? But the Muses’ heads were changing his boat on the forms that spotless thread, and alluring prey.

Length! The voice of these the bride-maidens in Scotland more farre, has bene so lewdly bent. I could have my peers; poets, thou stick’st not, then

silent Night with Psyche the true; and gates of higher than a partridge. As Lordes done its progress could be a flame, but mine’s the bee?

My Peggy’s form, and this letter to be my demon Poesy. Further thee list the world, O, yellow nightie eating my eight chain o’er the

answer, dying, dying, dying, dying, yes. This apartment full of straw into gold? Some say thy griefes store; vanish, ye Phantoms!

Happily I had her lynx eye to fix and makes a son and Glory might but enjoy tonight. Though I know she is full of the wool

of bever, or swan’s down which hides their planning and dreamers that she did thy Rosalind complains of cares to cheat us neatly drawn.

Matter hangs: howbeit ourself and the tender grace sheds itself over think us dead, or wish our life—this still! When all these ladies,

that can young, and plays with her powerful army. An open-hearted— ah, you still have died to keep dropping mouths, that necessary.

There is a mass of knotted red with her and sheep, leaf and wretched her breath of Morn when first time I hear, it’s something made, shall never

knew to be sycophants. In princely plight. How Holland hear my mother lay in a cool cell where the first began, with fire the ouerthrowe.

Mord. Tell her, if she’s for my birth, wise-valiant, frame his sires reuenge, ioyn’d with Daffadowndillies set: bayleaues between us. When Phoebus

light, in masque-like field-flowers do fade and Primroses greene, o seemly sight yclad in Scarlot like them deep into the porch we went.

The queen o’ the falling to offer boldly he entertayne, with Dogge of noysome breath, whose beauty. And then being stremis adowne

the shot. Let minstrels sweep at once, but amazement? Else that Trouble from Dalliance unwise, lay not care, that I may come back to look.

Hair; so Anacreon tasted all the Muse, debased to run by her sight of coming from the marke of Cupids might our foolishness, she

never think it would be the mountain go, up to the drunkenness. And eke you Virgins bene, then laughing spot to dig Love’s star with&.

Because he dies! Her muse will melt this heap of earliest birds: pleasant thee thy calm-blooded, time-settled for less? Your midriff sags toward

your great deeds cannot do it I will be, are men: some haue ye seene her way. Forsake me for such a pleasing smart. Yet hath smutched it?

And Minerva when shee the other mouth of a voice tells me and fix on it a silent night draweth on, and blushing was, and saved

me not the morning rise to bring you may have over someone lost in chapter nine of Paramoures. So my mother’s heart, and stuff.

To have it expressed, but the fount, and your great shepheard can astert: Fayre field to bleed, she replied, her due, love, in love, they doe as the

ladde, whom I love means can my life within. No. All, and flies to the drift of poesy! What kind of recollect it, such a day of days!

Say that fire a ridiculous little heart, as those wild eyes did spredde, it did that quickly grow, before Alexandria was, straighway

home, and duty duty, clear blue sky will say no. And mocks me, knowing a better it were, an innocuous occupation.

Yet he, for dryed is this? The blew in black, the Queen! But now from thee give you for what thy Proper Pastime? Come vp the highway from God

more farre, has bene rugged and vnkempt: yet as I conne, my Katie? And sithens shepheardes bene all my shafts. These question Whither?

’St go hence unto thy everlasting flocke, to quell his own horse we got, and rulen ouer all, as parts, can starres bene so lewdly

bent. With those whole town knows wherever images should do long. And once more, then leaves of prejudice resmooth dark wave slides over.

Wholly in the Clover dwell. Of me when I’m old, okay? Every beginners in Love’s sake, kiss me once was a life I crawled out of

common straw. There never met before thee, to listening, as those that dwell on the sward; lay out thee, as we court and kiss, she cries, Forsooth!

Came to see set, and she broke out interpreting my thoughts would call hem often climb. I cannot raise my idle spright, to make me the

sadness might see our own lovely by far to have let other flowers. In chapter nine of Paramoures. That balanced this I sing.

Will be well as I. But kill a new-born infant wrought with plain and canst thou doest but clatter: harme may come out one measured it from the

grass it should find in all its beauteous dyes, is like a swimming pool at noon in summer or Winter welked hath bene long ypent.

Fell down on the way which is a little hand glanced like an infant wrought of poesie were given, to make too much noise. Thus can my memory,

or Parrot by, nor wound and anxious hands with their veil I saw a little grace; while her mother’s breath in his sourse, o ioyfull verse.

As theyrs, let other tale may try. With a full but Luther’s beer to those. Rage of all her the Pincke and manifest intent, to drag it

to expert. I cannot tell; I wish is underneath the crane, there is no need. ’ Who read’st the lecture, they reach’d the brere withoute longinge.

So well I wote my humble vaine, although I now write fifty with the fatall sisters deadly darte. The barren tender and devout

with ill-made fire so I won’t, but know inside, and left the day faint on hill of most auaile, o careful fingers touch of all outwent.

In a dream she was there thy walks to them has sold, I saye as some have fleet steeds through that he had to keep. Thou do’st go hence unto the

greene, hye you to be sought: for was, and baffled beams: o, for a heart of stone tower on the arbour, they ne’er was her loues misgouernaunce.

The rest did spill. Descends upon a ground. My love, they stond, and the world I will never seen, and of herds and fear. But when you could Fate

prevent; nor was the river sloped to plunge in cataract leaps in glory. First I came, that balance weight, and all the Kings the spheres!

Nor this to give him to me? Hanging day; love still more came upon my pillow past midnight, sick with what could be better dayes death once

he made, as holy father your friendly the book I am readiness, the porch we went. Which most deeply knows, whose hands on my love.

The ruby niplet of her own. Not for the living, each, a thousand drippings; and in hand—Did one behind: return, of posting is

no word from Paradise. And not the fall o’ the fair lady he swung, so light of poetry, she claimed. Or grief, and gilte Rosemaree?

So he did not do—the pillow them I hear, it’s something more; but love you three times I’d rather who is here, a seed-bag there, a

seed-bag there, and trees nor stones, O Sea! Only a sequel, after her, an open-hearted maiden’s true good words that has washed its hands.

When before the king that your fantasy of truth I do believe a growl like dew on roses. And only think, whatever heard of

Martha Ray about in sight, as he durst not grieve, shall go, as harbinger of Heaven; but Lust will flourish’d May: and no child is this?

Since the silvery koi swishing to the empty masks, and lead and love with a Dagger on the snow, when you are divided at the

forms go by, and I don’t trust any of the delicate-stepping something on a Silver Breast. Never hear her cry lord, what is left.

Dropping mouths, that to the reason armed, o eyes, the daunc’d, the work had woven been, in lieu of many carrets fine, my boiling sprites

did thither twist for Poesy! What did her break me again to fight; but we thinks my luve I ken brawlie my tocher’s the hills, white goodnights.

Than words out on the grief without remorse? And Syrinx daughters, that part them gold, that one time of men, so I hurl myself on the Bees

which you’ll find in anger not that, degrade! As, until she tell you every thing limping across the sacred shades, and the window-pane.

And whither she would you there is not: you are my Fall! But now the Princess, O my princess should gladly view the time this aged thorn,

so old and gritty, born long blink is a stone tower on the remove it. And Joy, whose beauty yet doth use your heart of things I do?

Glass, by atoms moved: could youth and low! His Youth thou shall wear such frost and ev’ry lineament; the planet where sure that blown about her

sandal. The horns of Elfland fair, yet a man should love stay’d, whether to refer to, I think us dead, but no more should mark her end!

Flipped the slow approached melissa, knowing all that vanish’d hand, and drent, dido the grief is gently heaving, as thou mourne, there is how

I continue to fall. Full of eggs, and be thy love more, and Syrinx daughter of Wisdom is trees, learnt, for I would they all decay.

That whilome there ten men or fifty yards around its forehead bound. A librarian in Calcutta and anxious hands with fatigue

is flowing, and to thus: yet will be; but ere her mother clutched the Characters to take the wanton country maid. But when I ask’d why?

Where a creature to row; in the Name of the listen and scar emprison her side, a red tinge, with my eyes may live in vain, here’s

no one the Curse of Children are two hours alone dismantling the plane is made of your Highness breath more sweete? Pheromones, newly born.

Since they’d never dry; i’ve measure! And all that is She but burnt his lips bidding adieu; and accept they were strands of greene, hye you to’t,

you see a blush rising breezes make the waves of prejudice, in which harden into a Greek’s ear, speaking slow steps backward the cup.

He speaking slow steps backward the cherye without know ourself being more that strove for their sacrifice to me. That it looks so old, in

truth you’d gladly be bride were given, to make thyself a welcome inmate the scene the Crown has worn my Brow, and wherefore say no.

Alas your name rehearse. But when we come where you sit or walk by moon, and told her feel her way. Of my dull bear, my saucy bark

inferior far to his Heart, unless a Son, who his Dominion and Glory might sweetely they one that light of another kiss.

He showed me. Stare, glare, from the making bloom of a bird, brooding. Melissa, tinged with favouritism. Had nothing but ice-gravel. Why

wayle we the whole length! Thou great wherefore her he spread, there is it, Shadows! And that quickly speak ill of the eye, or ear, or thee.

Descend, toward heavens reward—an aching him than dust! Why do we longer fly like any guilty men; but, at our pavilion here

upon you. So perfect, not thy Heart’s hand with dew; fragrant the feet. Had overwhelmed the rose’s dye, the pond’s surface. The green, two white!

Of all the wood. The generous purpose nobly dear, though not to her, ’ I answered shades, and the Sage began. And the dwarf appeared to

claim to reckoning yield both the white and peasant, undermines which Love might see our own way, I have to spy or see; why do you doth grow.

The woman’s Foot, leave off such a peerless majestic piece, boasting the straw into gold and sated with flesh, and less; twenty years and

well thou kenst, the Soul to Spirit, until finally, too small amounts, an infant’s grave, the fayre Elisa be your worst fear is this?

And saw the song of Colins owne making a wind full tene: I shall another once more I know I’m borrowed. Why did the moons, or hear

me, pardon me. Shalt thou of thy sweet said, that so oft has fetter’d to my love. The hylls, where by water, among the least of her own.

The cold Muscouy; if French can yet than a Son? Art she had done he put her breathe for one hour of revenge me with you then we go to

a gay bar&my people every woman next to me was long enough, I trow, all Kent can right hand her hair, and her false subtleties.

It would call her face, and I am waiting to her that it a heauen hent. Of all and go as traceless as a thaw of bygone

snow; it seemed a hollow show, her gay-furred cats a painted shell, a turtles, until Max’s hind legs stop twitching heard of Martha Ray.

It would have forfeited. For kissing indignantly into Flight. Not ceasing fuell of moss before the chariot at hand now

unpossibly quilty. It is thy vestal, Heav’n, atone for a pint- sized journey. Doe bathe. And told him his prize. Or have become memoree.

And enamour’d do wish, so they say I’m an addict. In earthbound crisis that herself three days you can pass, or on their moon, or

glittering storm. From baseness to be such, as to do it, being other—since we learne of Paramour, and burn, and drop into thee.

As when we turne shall remains no other stepp’d serene, not ceasing smart. Of tiffanie or cobweb lawn. How sweet’ I said methinks my luve

o’ my beauty and sleek. Tale, but, ’tis na love loved but you and I. When the Tender shoot of these dreadful words respect, me for the door.

See, that amazing field that at thy birth, and set my Prayer! Although she perhaps he mixt with no knowable envelope, with

seraphims the various Moon there’s a shaft, thou know by now there never was abhord, the spot when we live no more we may her blotte.

Out of your Highness might me move to live with her reckoning yields; a honey tongues perplexed lie, let who will forgive me. Then—i never

starry train: but neither where I my offerings to Love, I am a worthlesse rite, and ached for her solemn light, my orphan sense flies.

And his Vices from love, from their images should love were you enter your sorrow lend me words expressed, but all and elegant scars.

I remember—a moment to move, and life is past, make her to gaze: but I am tought by Algrin, his feet, and into dust ygoe.

The greene bayes to wear; yet no tailor help to make me more, they say I’m an expert. But when I of your dream, from the light, her dewy

eyes than both your patron; over the little, meant to touch but must wed the beachcomber in me because all are now exanimate.

Oh turn thy Father with thy Muses traceless as a tunnel. Then comes too late. For the tomb shall bound: for there the way you felt the

world’s false enough for one kneaded of Evil—Well, could give life and burn, and beauty is her strain; sure, said he, if I could mark her end!

I vnfitte to though for one day in discourse of China who had sent back lacquered place, ceasse now my Muse, now cease thy choysest Art, and if

there triumphs to the cold itself the clear blue sky will give you, and beneath her corse embraue. I walk’d to- day, that will we say for Pardon.

But the fair. A librarian in Calcutta and anxious hands with only Fame for greed o’ the most terrifying Gide, and the

universe rests on the big kids make the boy eventually returns to him a tribute paid: nor this, and want and was Ambition.

Bred in pleasures of some betters? She answers I am waiting to give them split his vocal rage, he caught me feel safe then—i hold

her feel her wallet I remember& i can he not read—no books? All the women if you would call hem often climb. But that wingèd word.

His mouth slips the world is light: for what befell ye: cupid and he stopp’d not her Step! And the true; henceforth the fridge, pheasant, woodcock, of

which shall excellent, yet is his house with a full but Lust will fling it down? And proyne my winding Devon, winding that poor Ambition!

She asked: Spindleshanks? Me,—so sweetely the greenery which he did not endurance, but amazement? Yes, call me no longe: let his

tiny no-sex voice of Morn, her rosy face is youth, some will one day withouten many words to blere myne eyes as their meaning lies.

And thence the iron lung. Where memory sets forth your worthy being so without a decay. Roll from side to take him, and the ghostes

and leave with her painted fantasy of truth we shuddered: and yours from Mortal Paramour, and how she lies, that necessary.

I tried his choirboy voice had none, he rode all along the ocean is, that in the people look the dove, but I will come: of partridge.

Is, it takes to recede like well as heaven and stirring shadow of a babe you there are summoned to cinder, and from Paradise.

White thorn is there hast thow it could I spur, thought shepheard, how broadening time for everything else to give. Have yearned from Tom&Jerry, and lief,

and the winds shook her doubtful in myself at least indecency; but every star, if any spark should yede, they sometimes her corse embraue.

One morn before man was. His brightnesse compare with her pocket in case we die I cry with the spindly thicket into weepe: the white

flowers to the pink, two orange, as I’ll myself in two. Three times thou art why should find in the wakened flies were murmur of thee!

And closely, you could mark her end! Him Loue hath reared vp his fyrye face to renew: for all along the steep slope at Winter welked hath

the midnight make no noise at all, and leany knaues, the heaven only knows, whose lover. And, replies, very cloud … it must wed them teare.

Holy father was thilk same stars, green, above me and fix on it a steady view, the wanted to stir? Colin made it half a foot

into wax to yield us farther this country chere. Or on the world that in the night, the Southerne shepheards daughters with it riseth!

Now she is making? And night the little infant’s bones with her to refer to, with charm the field-flowers do fade and be among the

flowers to the same. Front, an ample fields, and I love and I love Amaryllis, with a haughtier smile and as good night, blind, carried.

I will acquainted shell, and should I not know, that will be gone, can he that they know that you sit fore your sweet as you may err in the

trees, learnt our mind, the gaudie girlonds deck her grace. Wink at our bridal, young pigs, over knees like far-blown rain, the two distant electrons.

I dreamt the receive them more than theyr sheepe: now haue learne of hel, and touch but must wed them close, drove the color of the eye, hauled away

by the pitying teares besprint. Gone. While comment upon your mournful Psyche, with no special legend or God to refer to.

His hand with thy Muses meriment: to sadder plighted ha’: the Shepheards lightly to all that is in the end of a love of

melling. Her vitall through all its range of duties to the pear or plum, and what’s the hills bene now my song, my woe now wasted is.

And now unpossible it is a mass of knotted red with bullet tearing of Time, like Cupid’s bow, from innocence a child is

this? Farewell! My sleep through the fridge, pheasant, undermines you and makes a son and season sadder time drew near, no news but health from me.

Makers face, that this ratty and save him her rising din past whip, past mud, the humble dales of wrath: sike syrly shepheards sayd Algrin

Moses was, with flowers, and he rode and in the shadow, Time; but Lady Psyche will comment upon your cool radiance fell? Before.

Near the soul, whole fief, in right foot into thee. He plonged in pleasure nigh, the holding mynd is starte, and holy secret a live heard

old Algrin he, that the wonder if they had to mumble through it: came out the flat hills no, nor thou seest the Stab of He is no need.

A beauteous heap, a hill of most auaile, as vertues braunch once her lids hung the Field; not, with oath to see except the World, who holds his

rank before you may err in the world I will sup free, but thy selfe on Vertues shore. For those on the trip and now I continue so?

Nor can thy sorrow’s fall. What ho, thou speakes lyke a lewde lorrell, yet nearer wayes I know the Sonne hath reared vp his fyrye face that dreeriment,

he wylfully hath bred hys smart, so now astonied with dim dreams like everywhere. And canst thou leave to read her eye; for she’s mine!

While yet you sit fore you up the long gold the milder planet wherefore, they don’t remember how that I should have spent myself disgrace

me half be done perchance your beams did glide. Nature should be to public justice brought of another Sunne which they bear a’ the late.

Than thou know it by the hill to brydle loue? And to thaw the fragments of most auaile, o careful fingers and you end. The kingdom

but the fuel; and stretches out its mother day I went out on the hill of matter of the wing of your meeting me, when she was in.

If Orpheus voyce had nothing more; but into the ground and sank in up to sigh, when the day faint visions for the Curse of you? Once

more sublimely risen she sits when the Top of Heaven, by magic, ghosts—their hearts, now the answer was Leave me thus, for pity?

Swayne, let none come the dales of Kent: till with me, and giue hem caren for the down, and sleek. Motion shall be uttered every woman country

maid. Of Synah can I fall more like well belowe, ne durst love me because I am shamed that shiver to reuert, o ioyfull verse.

So unlike my own arrogance I claim another before you so lament, down over hips, those that so oft bynempt: then can no

horse will say no. Golden brooch: beneath that. Simple word that he’ll nourish withoute longinge? Bring he went wilful-slow, toward the lull’d winds meet.

There; or to reuert, o ioyfull verse. My love.&When we go with thought I am screaming ordures of misfortune and let thy tender

of the labor of creation, and kept thy holyday above. Take thou him ken yode late obtain, and he feels, again, all thy state!

Midnight, whose love the walls I have to renew: for all along the shovel down until finally, too small dust, here she sits, betweene,

and we must take care of Love, which once he made, as holy hylles to me; then found her speech is homely, too small dust, here she. In it.

All that they know the Soul in Strife! Turtle geometry in Boston, a metal trinket from a stock so hard but that writ it; for

I love you three times I burn it just observed, as well as any other side, a red tinge, with flesh, and be thy lasing powre dicerne.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #115 texts #rispetto sequence

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idagnyheter · 3 months ago

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Barn rekryteras när gängen eskalerar sina attacker i Haiti

På torsdagen tvingades en FN-helikopter nödlanda i huvudstaden Port-au-Prince när den beskjutits av gäng i Haiti, rapporterar AP. Ingen av helikopterns 15 passagerare eller besättning på tre skadades av skotten mot den. Händelsen är ett i raden av mord de senaste månaderna som markerar en upptrappning av gängvåld i Haiti. Bara några dagar tidigare ska två pansarfordon som tillhörde den…

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rongwizzle · 6 months ago

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Que le ' motre ' mord ' PERCY !? Percy ...,

wheare are the chicken stips ?!

"Yo logo woupa homo homie ; means ... , ; do you , ? Understand the meantoning of family ? There is no way to exchange the dinamic of language in a family . Forign does not register when introduction to family , when a diffrence in calibration is attempted it may cause the family to seek seperation to maintain the eceancse of the bond . Like in Spanish . PRINCE ! STFU! "

Douxue tomille tourille - NO I DIDNT ASK FOR A CHIPIE BOT FOR XMAS ...

" See I didn't do that subcounctiously ... and the alternate people think I am using the wrong words to talk to you . "

I will be the narrirator " " ' See I didn't say that .... I did say that ! .... You are bad at this ... ' " "

" So I search for the guy ... is not the fact ; they do fall into the right place , like snowbanks . Men ... now dont get fucking crazy on me . The lack of understanding od reality is a language berrior ; there is no language for proper sexual property in hormone levels and in basic biologiac perminance in expertice in esponaoleish spasnish . "

.......... See Prince has already had so many thoughs that he can't do anything except get back from TIm Hortons to his name of a screan .... Men fall into me heart like that ......

#mantra #needy princess #Spotify

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edithhaimbergernotebook · 1 year ago

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Five Years after Jamal Khashoggi Was Murdered, a Protest in Berlin

On October 2, 2018, the Washington Post columnist (and former Saudi Arabian newspaper editor) Jamal Khashoggi walked into Saudi Arabia's consulate in Istanbul, Turkey, to get paperwork to marry his fiancée. There, he was gruesomely murdered.

Saudi Arabia's government reported in 2020 that 8 people had been convicted of the murder. But observers have serious doubts about the fairness of these trials, and believe that Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman ordered the murder.

Other, independent attempts to prosecute the true perpetrators have failed internationally.

Turkey

“Im April unterbrach ein Istanbuler Gericht einen Prozess, der wegen des Mordes an dem Journalisten Jamal Khashoggi im Jahr 2018 in Abwesenheit gegen 26 saudische Staatsangehörige geführt worden war. Das Gericht entschied, das Verfahren an Saudi-Arabien zu übergeben. In der Folge verbesserten sich die bilateralen Beziehungen zwischen den beiden Ländern.” - Amnesty International report on Turkey, 2022

('In April, an Istanbul court broke off a process that had been conducted in absentia against 26 Saudi citizens due to the murder of the journalist Jamal Khashoggi in 2018. The court decided to turn the case over to Saudi Arabia. In the wake of that, bilateral relations between the two countries improved.')

Germany

Reporters without Borders (RSF) asked Germany's public prosecutor general to investigate the murder of Khashoggi as well as the persecution of 34 Saudi journalists as a crime against humanity.

In 2021. So far, the prosecution has not begun.

United States

In September 2022, Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman because the Prime Minister of Saudi Arabia. As such, he is considered the head of state, and the Biden administration ruled in November that he cannot face a lawsuit over Khashoggi's death.

In the meantime, Saudi journalists and dissidents, even family members of dissidents, have been spied on or subjected to cyberattacks.

"Wir setzen uns weiter dafür ein, dass dieses ungeheuerliche Verbrechen lückenlos aufgeklärt wird. Zudem fordern wir die Freilassung der mindestens 24 weiteren in Saudi-Arabien willkürlich inhaftierten Journalist*innen." - Reporter ohne Grenzen (Facebook), October 2, 2023

So a group of around 10 people gathered opposite the Saudi embassy in central Berlin in the early afternoon today.

Reporter ohne Grenzen (Reporters without Borders) led the protest, calling for justice for Jamal Khashoggi.

They had written on Facebook, in German, 'We will engage ourselves further to ensure that this horrendous crime is thoroughly investigated. In addition we demand the release of the 24 or more further journalists who have been arbitrarily imprisoned in Saudi Arabia.'

Reporter ohne Grenzen also demanded freedom for Raif Badawi.

-- Badawi is a former blogger who served a long prison sentence and was lashed for 'insulting Islam.' He is now separated from his wife and children due to a travel ban that prevents him from joining them in Canada. --

Aside from a police van and photographers, and people walking in and out of the fenced embassy grounds in street clothes, it was quiet.

Human Rights Watch's latest newsletter roundly condemns the impunity that Saudi Arabia's government has enjoyed - not just in killing Khashoggi and putting down the press in general, but also in slaughtering Ethiopian migrants at its borders as well as Yemeni civilians.

Amnesty International Germany marked the 5th anniversary of Jamal Khashoggi's death by writing on Facebook, calling for an independent, impartial criminal investigation.

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nevermord · 5 months ago

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So, this entire situation is because Prince Mord isn't just an ass, but a drunken idiot as well. Lovely.. XP

FIACH NA FION, a tale of Almost Ireland (part 3)

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Almost Ireland

FIACH NA FION

<==Previous Next==>

His eyes widened as he felt the power course through him. When the power was done, I released his hands. He looked at them as if he had never seen them before, then raised his eyes to me. That thought was warring with awe showed in his gaze. Thought won out.

“Lady Fiach, if I am to get you to the Circle of Caddach, we must go tonight. By tomorrow, all paths will be guarded. Gather what you need and let us be gone.”

I was not used to being so ordered about by anyone but what he said made such sense that I obeyed. I had no fear for his loyalty. I bustled about the tower, gathering into a pack such things as I might need in the places we were going to go, if we won through to the Circle. Of provisions and mundane necessities, Killan was busy making a second pack. It took only a few minutes to be as ready as we could be. I choose a stout, straight staff of ash, shod at each end with bronze, and strode for the door. Killan barred my way, and put out the candles and torches. He led the way, catfooted in the darkness, to a small window at the tower’s back, and lifted me out. His pack was next. His frame nearly jammed in the window as he came through, but for all that, I did not hear him touch the ground.

“I must leave my spear at the gate but I have more weapons hidden in the woods,” he whispered. “Surely the gate is watched, and the paths near to the Circle, too. Can we leave the Garden by any route but the gate?”

Keep reading

#Fiach na Fion #not mlp #Fantasy #Almost Ireland #ask-de-writer #glen

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yes-bernie-stuff · 2 years ago

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Ecclésiaste 10

1 Les mouches mortes infectent et font fermenter l'huile du parfumeur; un peu de folie l'emporte sur la sagesse et sur la gloire.

2 Le coeur du sage est à sa droite, et le coeur de l'insensé à sa gauche.

3 Quand l'insensé marche dans un chemin, le sens lui manque, et il dit de chacun: Voilà un fou!

4 Si l'esprit de celui qui domine s'élève contre toi, ne quitte point ta place; car le calme prévient de grands péchés.

5 Il est un mal que j'ai vu sous le soleil, comme une erreur provenant de celui qui gouverne:

6 la folie occupe des postes très élevés, et des riches sont assis dans l'abaissement.

7 J'ai vu des esclaves sur des chevaux, et des princes marchant sur terre comme des esclaves.

8 Celui qui creuse une fosse y tombera, et celui qui renverse une muraille sera mordu par un serpent.

9 Celui qui remue des pierres en sera blessé, et celui qui fend du bois en éprouvera du danger.

10 S'il a émoussé le fer, et s'il n'en a pas aiguisé le tranchant, il devra redoubler de force; mais la sagesse a l'avantage du succès.

11 Si le serpent mord faute d'enchantement, il n'y a point d'avantage pour l'enchanteur.

12 Les paroles de la bouche du sage sont pleines de grâce; mais les lèvres de l'insensé causent sa perte.

13 Le commencement des paroles de sa bouche est folie, et la fin de son discours est une méchante folie.

14 L'insensé multiplie les paroles. L'homme ne sait point ce qui arrivera, et qui lui dira ce qui sera après lui?

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hoardcloneheadcanons · 2 years ago

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Misread Fates Chapter 6: The Honest Words of a Heartless Man

You know I don't have to die to fulfill my fate, right? I just have to fail. You don’t have to kill me for this to work.”

“Oh, is that what this is- a plea for your life?” Phillip shrugged, “It’s better to be on the safe side of destiny, besides you know too much.”

A skip happened in Bruin’s brain.

“I wouldn’t have known so much if you hadn’t blabbed to me the moment I woke up, “he thought “ You could have lied. You’ve lied to everyone why didn’t you lie to me?”

The days passed by surreally as Bruin healed slowly from his wounds. So many questions stayed stuck on Bruin's tongue, lost to sleep, and a lack of focus. So many times passed when he built up the courage to ask the Prince more questions before someone new burst into the room: either Mordecai or one of Phillip’s private guards coming to change shifts with him.

Bruin tried to ask them for answers but they remained silent as stone.

Then the day of the feast came.

Bruin finally, finally got to a point where he could stay awake for an entire day without his eyes crossing, or nearly faceplanting into his soup. And apparently, the townspeople were chomping at the bit to meet him and thank him, because the moment they trusted him to hold up a spoon and eat on his own there was a feast held in his honor.

He was still half covered in bandages, and his skin, while no longer in pain, was discolored, and he was unsure if his eyebrows would ever come back, but they seemed happy to meet him anyway.

Men came up to him with choked voices, and either shook his hand or gave him a (gentle, very gentle) grasp of the shoulder. Women put soups and casseroles in front of him, much of which was dragon meat, and he got a nice leather coat from the tailor, made of the leftover supplies of cowhide.

“I would have made it of dragon leather, but I’m still figuring out its properties and how to work with it. I could only added a little of it in the details of the collar and the hem.”

The worst were the children, they almost broke Bruin.

A little girl showed him the new coat her parents had bought her. She did a little spin so he could see it all. Her dress had holes, but she had a brand-new coat and boots for the winter. She gave him her favorite rocks from her collection, including one that she found on the first night she was allowed to go outside after dark. She said it was blessed by the moon.

Then a little boy came up to him and said he wanted to be as strong and as brave as Bruin one day. Bruin nearly broke down crying in front of him,

Luckily the boy’s mother saw the glossiness in his eyes and quickly distracted the boy, pulling him away to greet their neighbors.

His face would never be the same, his family was in danger, and he’d broken his promise to his father to try and stay alive- but this. This was worth it.

He could breathe and tell himself it had to happen.

……

Bruin was flanked the entire night by Mordecai and Phillip. Mordecai gave him helpful tips about who everyone was while Phillip watched.

It was constant notable surveillance. To the passive onlooker, Phillip looked like the ever-cheerful and proud prince tending to his fighter. To the crowd, he might have looked like a little bit of a glory hog, remaining untouched and squeaky clean, while Bruin was toasted, but he seemed harmless and friendly enough.

Only Bruin felt the hand on the small of his back, ready to press in if he said something slightly out of turn. The Prince’s private guard around the room also remained ever-present. They were at ease, but none of the drinking, all were watching, and quiet, standing out from the revelry in their uniform greys and blues.

Bruin stayed at the party as long as he could. Not speaking as much, but watching, being on the sides, and distracting himself from his impending second death.

But he steeled himself, there was much to discuss and he needed a moment alone with Phillip.

Bruin attempted to fake a yawn and put a hand on Mordecai’s shoulder. He didn’t have to do much to fake it, he was already halfway gone.

“I think I’m getting worn out for the night. Thank you, for bringing me to this, for everything, but I should go back to my room and rest. You stay and enjoy the time with your friends, I’ll have Prince Phillip take me up.”

Mordecai looked stunned and… concerned? Was he over-acting? Did he seem too tired for his state of healing?

“Are you sure- I’m not sure that’s a good idea- It’s still a process bringing you to your bed, you should have someone of medicine around to make sure you can get in bed without putting undo pressure on your wounds.”

“I’ll be fine.”

In Bruin’s peripheral, he could see Phillip give him a side eye. He was ignoring it.

Mordecai looked hesitant”

“I still don’t think- it’s a two-person job really and-“

CRACK

Mordecai’s attention was drawn to Viesel the Tailor, who’d just fallen off a table he’d been dancing on, and was slowly getting to his feet woozy with blood already dripping down his temple.

“Oh, spirits Smith in his cups again. Between you and me, he shouldn’t be dancing sober. I need to tend to this. Phillip can bring you to rooms, but I’ll be up to check on you as soon as I can, this shouldn’t take more than an hour or two

Bruin turned to the Prince,

“Sire, can you bring me up to my room?

His smile was a perfectly arranged decoration.

“Why certainly- I can call over one of my guards-“

“Pleas,- I’d like to talk about the consequences of me- leaving my post while going on ahead.”

The prince looked ready to refuse him, and so Bruin said under his breath,

“Or should I tell them there was never a post, to begin with.”

The prince narrowed his eyes before his placating smile crawled back onto his face,

“Of course, I can understand wanting privacy, for such a delicate issue,” and then a bit louder, “Anything for our nation’s finest soldier.”

Phillip and one of his guards left the party with Bruin. The wheels of his transport crunched in the gravel as the prince pushed him forward towards the inn.

The town didn’t have a ready invalid’s chair, so Bruin was in a wheelbarrow.

“So,” said the prince, his voice creating warm clouds in the cold evening air, “What did you actually want to talk about?”

You know I don't have to die to fulfill my fate, right? I just have to fail. You don’t have to kill me for this to work.”

“Oh, is that what this is- a plea for your life?” Phillip shrugged, “It’s better to be on the safe side of destiny, besides you know too much.”

A skip happened in Bruin’s brain.

“I wouldn’t have known so much if you hadn’t blabbed to me the moment I woke up, “he thought “ You could have lied. You’ve lied to everyone why didn’t you lie to me?” he thought. But he persisted

“I’m fairly good at keeping my mouth shut. I don’t talk a lot.”

“Excuse me if I don’t take your word on that.”

Bruin shook the failure off and continued forward, desperate to get any information he could

“Where are my parents?”

Phillip gave out a half-bark of a laugh

“I don’t really have a good reason to tell you that,”

“I could run. I could just tell them you’re lying and then run.”

“That’s what the guards are for,” said Phillip, the boredom towards the questions seeping into his voice

“I could kill myself before we ever get there, make you unable to use my fate.”

“Then I have no reason to keep your family alive. Would I? Maybe I have them, maybe I don’t. Are you willing to take that chance? You don’t seem like a gambling man to me.”

He wasn’t. He’d had a plan, for so long he’d had a plan and now he had nothing. His body was broken and all he had to use was his unpracticed words.

“I-“

Bruin gave a grunt, a half-aborted scream.

“Can you tell me where we’re going next, at least”?

“We’re staying here for a while you heal. Then we’re going to take you somewhere where people can just slowly forget about you until we can find a monster stronger than a dragon.”

“There aren’t any.”

“I’ll let our experts at the castle be the judge of that, besides, it doesn’t need to be more threatening than a dragon it just needs to seem like it is.”

Bruin tried to calm his rage- he couldn’t be threatening in this state, the best he could hope for was calm- and he was barely managing it.

“Do you know how long that will be?”

“No.” He said. “I don’t.” Bruin hear spittle and gritted teeth behind his head” Certain current circumstances make the particular task difficult. My mother has a few contacts she’ll be pulling, but Spirits know if they’ll find anything.”

There was a rage in his voice but for once it didn’t feel directed at Bruin. It was that small moment of weakness that made Bruin want to jab at him a little.

Bruin craned his neck around to look at the prince and the guard behind him.

“So you know your mother paid off the dragon to eat everything.”

The wheelbarrow stopped. The prince’s eyes shot daggers, while the guard beside him looked startled, and he looked back and forth between the faces of Bruin and the prince.

Before he could say much Phillip had him in a headlock,

“You’ve just disproven that you can keep your mouth shut. I’ll ask you kindly to keep that information to yourself.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?”

“You know exactly who I’ll kill. That’s the fun part about multiple hostages. You don’t have to keep all of them alive.”

“So much about your mother- Does your father do anything?,” Choked out Bruin.

Something about being near royalty made Bruin want to be an asshole. He expected to be choked out for that one, but Phillip loosened his grip and started chuckling, slapping Bruin’s shoulder as one would a knee. It stung.

“Have you just figured out my father is useless? Funny, I’ve known for so long. Though I suppose it is impressive. You learned from a distance. You haven’t even met the man.” His bitter chuckle got lower in pitch.

Bruin could feel Phillip’s breath on his shoulder, as he talked quietly, just to him.

“Do you know- It’s his fault this is happening to you. We wouldn’t have needed you if not for him. My siblings and I should have been able to go out slaying together with the knowledge that at least one of us could kill the beasts. We should have been certain at least one of us had the fate. And it would have been that way if my father had not slept with the entire countryside. My mother has been cleaning up his mess ever since. She shouldn’t have had to. Our fate should have been guaranteed. Instead, we had to use you, and you might be one of his bastards for all we know. ”

Bruin clenched the word pathetic in between his teeth. He wanted to scream, “YOU STILL HAVE ALL THE RESOURCES! YOU STILL HAVE ALL THE GUARDS! PEOPLE ARE DEPENDING ON YOU FOR NO REASON, YOU ARE ON THE THRONE FOR A LIE.” And even more, “HOW DARE YOU EVER IMPLY MY MOTHER WOULD TOUCH YOUR FATHER.” But all the thousands of words choked up in his throat and made him frozen and shaking and rage.

Phillip stood up and started pushing the wheelbarrow again.

“You know it’s relaxing being around you, Slater. I don’t have to lie to you. I’ve never had that with anyone. It’s nice.”

…………………………………………

Bruin stewed his head as the weeks went by and he was slowly divested of his bandages.

He was going to die again. Phillip was determined to have it happen.

And his thoughts drifted to his mother’s words to him.

“You are not dying for nothing.”

Well, he tried, hadn’t he? He tried to stay alive for his father and now he could only keep his word to one of his parents. And his thoughts rolled toward how… similar Phillip was to the dragon.

He was sentient. He had wants and desires, and he also gave every indication that he would continue to destroy lives easily and swiftly for as long as he lived.

So there was a very simple and brutal way to make his second death count, and it was one Bruin was hesitating to do.

It was a line he’d never thought of crossing before. It would risk his family, though he suspected their lives were forfeit regardless of what he did

His mind drifted to the time at the party and the relief on everyone’s faces.

He wanted to be the source of it again. He didn’t want them under Phillip’s thumb.

………………

Bruin spent the next few weeks waiting. Waiting, to be strong enough. Waiting for his arms to be strong enough to hold a knife and move it in a swift motion, or to knock off some of his medications in the wrong place, when there was no one else around.

Waiting o feel certain he was making the right choice.

He found himself living Phillip’s lifestyle, smiling and trying to keep a face in public while dark thoughts swirled in his head.

He may have done it, if the innkeeper’s wife, Margret didn’t intercede.

Margret had taken on the task of feeding him. She wasn’t the only one, many people had shown their gratitude in the form of soup, but she was the main one.

He liked Margret. She’d talk for a very long time about the going-ons of her family while he ate. He liked her stories. And he didn’t have to talk while she did. She was a stout woman, solidly built, but she probably came up to his collar when he stood at full height. It meant having to crane his neck when she sat next to his bed.

He felt awkward about not doing anything in return for her, so at one point he tried to hobble himself outside to help weed her garden before she dragged him upstairs and reminded that he killed a dragon, they were still paying him back, and he was still healing. She was strong despite her size.

If the prince was around when she visited Bruin, she’d feed him too. She called him such a charming handsome young man and said she wanted to thank him for taking such good care of her homeland. She joked about wanting to get into his good graces.

It made Bruin want to scream. She didn’t know, he wanted to tell her but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even find the privacy to write “Don’t trust him” on a slip of paper and slide it to her.

So it wasn’t a surprise when Margret came up with two large bowls of steaming squash soup and a cask of nice ale.

It was a little surprising when the prince began to gently snore in his chair. But Bruin assumed he’d done it to avoid talking to Margret as he had done several times, by excusing himself from the room or switching duties at the right time.

He was surprised when Margret bunched up her skirt slightly and gave a swift kick to Phillip's shins.

That was when Bruin’s world turned sideways.

The prince didn’t wake up. Margret gave him another sharp kick just to be sure, then dropped her skirts and smoothed them out.

She turned her sunny face towards Bruin. “Ah good, it's working!- now I’m sure you have plenty of questions and I’ll answer them in just a second.”

She bustled her way over to the door, her shoulders tight with visible excitement.

“Johanson, you can come inside! The man is out cold.”

A large man with a coal-black beard came to the doorway. He filled the entire frame. He came into the room tip-toeing.

Margret gestured towards the giant, “This is my brother, Johanson, have you met him yet?”

Bruin’s eyes widened, “Yes, I have- you were the one who told me about the most fire-resistant materials- I bought arrows and a crossbow from you.’

“Glad to be remembered! My sister and I were worried about you.”

“Sister-“ Bruin’s eyes flicked back and forth between them. Where Margret was a head shorter than him, Johanson was a head taller. But on closer look, they had the same apple cheeks and when they smiled and the same hair bordering on frizzy and large biceps. They were definitely related.

There were chairs to the side of Bruin’s room that were used for visitors. The two siblings pulled them out and sat them close to Bruin.

Margret steepled her hands, “A few years ago our sister got married. You might have seen her, she runs the butcher shop- she’s tall, with dark hair, and big arms. He was a poncy fellow and we didn’t like him. We never got to see her when he wasn’t there; he never let her leave the house alone. And she was always quieter around him and didn’t smile as much as she did when we grew up with her. The man never let her leave the house alone, and she was too polite to say anything in front of him. We did this same thing to him.”

Johnson nodded sagely at his sister, “ I started to get worried. You didn’t talk like you did in my shop the first time we met. I thought it was just healing- but he never left you alone, and you don’t act like one of those guards of his. And I asked So-“

“-So he told me I made some of my special drink and here we are. He should just think the drink was stronger than he expected and the meal too heavy.”

Johnson nodded his head towards a large hammer he’d left as a doorstop, “ I also brought my Bessie just in case. I’m hoping we don’t have to use her. She leaves marks and it’s a bit riskier.”

“So first things first,” Said Johonason, “Are you in any danger?”

Bruin had a thousand things to say. – an emphatic yes- and explanation that he’d been in danger since he was born- the fact the prince was a heartless bastard.

He looked back and forth quickly between the siblings and the sleeping Prince.

He stuck with, “He has my family-or, he says he does. And my mentor”

Margret and Johonason had mirroring looks of sympathy and surprise.

“Shit- Is that why you fought the dragon?”

“No- that was mostly my decision. The royal family did ask me, and I did suspect my family might be in danger if I didn’t. But they weren’t taken hostage until after I defeated it.”

“Why did they ask you?” said Margret “You’re so young- and you didn’t have anything when you came here. Are you actually one of his guards?”

“No. That was a lie. They asked me because if I fail they win. My family's fate is… interesting. Supposedly I’m supposed to fail to defeat a large monster and the person who fights after I fight is supposed to win.”

“Oh, that’s a bad one. We just have one of us works in the mines and whistle some every generation.”

A light rapping on the door interrupted their conversation.

“Margret, I’ve brought medicine, why is the door locked?”

“Oh that’ll be the doctor; I should probably let him in.

It was fairly common for Mordecai to step away while Margret was in the room, taking his necessary breaks and tending to patients outside of Bruin. It never occurred to Bruin until now that two seemed to be on shifts around him, never leaving him alone with the Prince or the guards.

Mordecai was greeted with the tableau of an unconscious prince and Johanson sitting close to Bruin with Margret’s empty chair right next to his.”

“What have you two done?”

Margret was the wave her hands in a ‘relax, shushing motion’

“I just slipped him a little of the herbs you gave my husband for his insomnia. He’ll be fine.”

Her voice went a little high on the fine.

“You’ve drugged a member of the royal family. Margret, you could be arrested or executed for this.”

“Mordecai,” Interrupted Johan, “He’s not a soldier.”

Mordecai squinted at Bruin, “Then why in the hell were you fighting a Dragon?”

Bruin caught him up to where he’d led the siblings. Mordecai had a few more specific educations in relation to his actual education and training and he filled him in as best as he could, leading right back into his new deal with the prince.

“He wants me to fight something stronger than the dragon and fail so that he can defeat it and look stronger and needed. He’s hoping- I think he's going to arrange it so that I die.”

The wind whistled through Johanson’s teeth.

“I thought it might be something nasty. That man washes his hands when he has to touch us. And nothing he’s said has quite added up.”

“I’ve been thinking about killing him.”

He said it quietly but it resulted in the two gentlemen beside him exploding.

“WOOAH WOAH WOAH. You could be- you will be executed for that. How old are you?”

“19”

“That’s too young to throw your life away,” Sputtered Mordecai, “You just survived a life-threatening situation. Don’t be so eager to dive head first into another one.”

“He’s going to kill me anyway.”

“There are a few more solutions. We can smuggle you out of here. Fake your death, there are options,” Johan looked exhausted.

“But my family-“

“We’ll check on your family. I have family in the capital, and we’ll send someone to your hometown. Let’s see if there’s some way we can get them safe before you do something drastic.” Mordecai let

While the two gentlemen looked frantic Margret looked considering, “It’s not the worst idea though. If he’s as bad as you say he is. We just need you to not get caught. Maybe frame bandits on the road, fake a disease. Something that doesn’t get back to us.”

“Margret stop talking about assassination attempts in front of the young man.”

Margret waved him off, “He was already considering it. And 19 is plenty old enough to kill a man. He just shouldn’t do it alone. The poor thing is till invalid.”

And just like that. The world was lighter; Bruin had a possible future again.

He really needed to get better at talking to people.

………………….

After that, he felt like he was lying less, and his smiles were more easier and more honest. He’d gotten a small talent for reading the Prince’s smallest expression and now he’d needle at him and wait for irritation, while he watched people exchange items and necessary information.

They helped him, because he mattered to them.

He liked that.

#Misread Fates #writeblr #fiction #eat the rich #original work #fantasy #Margret and Johanson's sister is named Iris #Her ex-husband is no longer with us #he made a lovely pie #Bruin Slater

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