#prompt 27: hail

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #27 - Hail

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Fill under cut.

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Garlemald, Regio Urbanissima, 6AE 1565

  For a mercy there was no snow this morning, although the fat grey clouds overhead lay bloated with the promise of more to come. They hung thick and close in the sky over the procession winding up the road past the Palatium Novum and towards the upper reaches lying beyond the wall that split the city in twain. 

Attendees and onlookers alike watched from the sidewalks, their expressions running the gamut from idle curiosity to pinched solemnity. In truth precious few of them had known the dead man at all, let alone well. But his family name was a noble one and carried some considerable weight within military circles, and the families of the imperial aristocracy - while still ranked well below the importance and puissance of the emperor himself - had upon the dissolution of the republic retained the rights to their old funerary traditions when one of their so-called 'great men' passed. 

Aurelia privately suspected that this particular bit of concession owed itself not to lingering respect for the traditions of the old republic's ruling class, but merely to the old man's well-known love of the theatrical even amongst his own people. Never mind if he had actually known her father or not. That was immaterial.

Naturally, she had no intention of voicing that thought aloud to anyone. She wasn't that much of a fool.

Traffic on the road had been rerouted to clear a path all the way from the Enceladeum, where the transport holding her father's remains had docked to await preparations for a final interment. Burial was a rare luxury in the far north. Even with the country's relative prosperity in the wake of its industrial revolution, in the capital itself that was still a privilege afforded only to the nobility, and most were interred in stone mausolea near the imperial palace.

Despite the relative fame she had enjoyed in theater circles as a composer, even with imperial favor and recognition of her marriage, Aurelia's mother -- a commoner by birth -- was allotted no space in the family crypt. She had been placed upon a simple pyre and her ashes scattered, in far-off Dalmasca. 

All that Julian rem Laskaris had done to escape the fate that his family had mapped for him appeared to have come to naught in the end. Her father would be buried alone. Bereft even in death of the woman he had sacrificed so much to keep at his side, had adored beyond anything and anyone else in his life-- even his own child.

It seemed to Aurelia an appropriately tragic bookend to a short and unhappy life. The realization penetrated even the dull cloud that surrounded her emotions. 

So thinking, silent and morose, she led the van behind the bier: a transport outfitted for the occasion, draped with the ivory flag and its tripartite chain links and framed with roses and lilies. They were vibrant, the only other color to be seen from the sides of the road, and they were an illusion. Each flower had been alchemically preserved as a safeguard against the elements. It wouldn't do if they were to wilt before the coffin had completed its journey.

Julian rem Laskaris' daughter appeared to be in deep mourning herself, shambling in a haze behind the transport all in black crepe from head to toe, a veil obscuring her features from the gathered mourners and curious onlookers. It fluttered in the wake of her steps and nearly obscured her view of the grim-faced soldiers lining the last few yalms of the street up to the gate.

Ahead the Ist Imperial Legion in their black and scarlet held their gunblades aloft, a gesture of intended respect as she and the other members of her family drew near. The curvature of the swords formed a steel half-arch as the coffin passed.

As she made her way forward, shoes crunching upon the gravel, Aurelia felt oddly like a ghost or a wraith or perhaps some otherworldly creature born of the snow and ice that blanketed this frozen wasteland, left to wander for an eternity amidst the detritus of her old life. Passing beneath a gauntlet of watchful eyes and stiff salutes and the honor guard that flanked them.

A lone orphan playing at grief just as the flowers played at beauty. No doubt Solus zos Galvus was enjoying the pageantry of it all from his palace windows.

[cadrenebula]

Prompt #27: Hail

Adelena grimaced down at the book on her bed. Inside might be answers. Might not. But it was what the captain had given her when she’d gone knocking. Asking questions about her father. She’d figured if anyone had known who he mother had been with, it would be the captain. Her mother and the captain had been close.

She’d not found what she wanted to do with her recently gained free time. So she’d begun to wonder about the truth of where she came from. No, that wasn’t exactly right. She knew she was a Siren and had been born into the life. Her mother had been a Siren since before she was born. But that left her to wonder who her father had been and where he’d come from.

Mother never had the natural magical talent that she did. So that meant it had to be from her father. But rarely did any of the mothers among the Sirens talk about the ones that sired their children. Her mother hadn’t been the exception in this.

But the Sirens didn’t have nearly as much work right now with current happenings. Some had already taken up other jobs in the downtime. But Adel hadn’t found anything that called to her. Not for a lack of trying either. What was she if not a Sanguine Siren? Who was she?

Grimacing down at the book that was her mother’s private journal, left in the care of the captain. What answers lay within it? Did she really want to know the truth of what sort of man her father was? Invade her mother’s private thoughts written down? 

She’d told Keten before she didn’t give a damn who the man had been who helped sire her. For the most part she still didn’t give a damn. Should just ignore the journal and find something else to do. But some part of her? Wanted to know. If for no other reason than to spit on him.

With a deep breath that is let out in a sigh, Adelena opened the journal and began to read. Akir the otter came up to snuggle in her lap as she scoured over the pages.

[idanwyn-et-al]

(XIV||22-27): Hail.

(Continued from here.) (♪)  

The heaviest sin to bear, of course, was putting her family at risk. House Bale had always been an unusual one, largely keeping its noble status through its ability to produce an Azure Dragoon every few generations. Her father’s brother, Alberic Bale, was one such; his adopted son, Estinien Varlineau, did not claim the rights of her House, but he had no need to. His merits stood on their own.

Perhaps some of her strength was derived from prideful competition with her cousin; they had been close in their youth, the feisty red-headed middle child and the orphan fosterling getting up to largely-harmless mischief in the Pillars.

Anne-Sophie doubted Estinien would be present at her trial; he was far too busy elsewhere with the Warrior of Light; someone that she also knew as the Warrior of Darkness. That heretical knowledge again; she had travelled to places only that vaunted Warrior was supposed to go. Another world; the First Shard. Instead of taking pride in a daughter of Ishgard devising her own independent method of travelling there, she was condemned.

--Previously, in the North Shroud, just outside of Fallgourd Float:--

"Once upon a time---because that is how all such tales start---there was a young noble, born into a minor Ishgardian House. Were it not for said House's ability to produce Azure Dragoons from time to time, they would likely long have fallen out of favor. This House, you see, holds its words in high esteem; suos cultores scientia coronat." The fire opal earrings and signet ring she wears glowed softly in the shade at those words. "Knowledge crowns those who seek her, it means. And this House fervently sought said crown. Knowledge deemed heretical was squirreled away in libraries; a country estate, too, now an icy ruin, but once a bastion of life. But this daughter of House Bale, though she was dutiful, sought another world; one where ceaseless conflict didn't plague her every moment. A land of dreams, of perpetual spring. Il Mheg, she learned it was called; from the faerie tales she consumed like a wildfire from her earliest days."

She paused here, listening to the gentle susurrations of the wind, checking in with her captive audience.

Rae-Hann closed his eyes as he listened, the better to focus on the words and not the oft-oppressive presence of the woods. He knew at least how much stock Ishgardians put into their houses from the little time he lived here, so that made well enough sense. However, he opens one eye as he hears a familiar name, half troubled yet half...well, still curious. "An Eorzean who knew of Il Mheg? I'll admit that was not exactly what I was expecting."

"You have read the tales, too? Then this is made much simpler!" Oppressive though these woods may be, she was either not sensitive to such things, or too focused on them as a place of refuge to allow the doubts to creep in. "Our Mystic Knight, having served her tours in the Dragonsong War, became...focused, she would say, whereas others may rightly call it obsessed with this Il Mheg. The possibility of this world not being an old tale, but a world in sooth!" Here, she closed her eyes and held her arms wide, then let them fall back to center as her eyes opened once more. "This image drove our Mystic Knight. And...she found it. Through dreams, and a faerie of her own coaxed from the ruins of Nym, she made a connection. Time and time again she tried to go, but she failed. Rituals are like that; one little leaf of furymint starts to turn, and the whole thing is rendered useless." Here, she exhaled sharply from her lower lip, sending a ripple through her copper hair. "But our Knight was determined. She found a way there. And...here, you will think me mad, but...our Knight was correct. There *was* a whole other world, and Il Mheg but a sliver of it! Beauty that defies words, but...sadness, too." She paused again, her eyes on the middle distance for a moment before looking to "R'hahn".

He actually laughed at the comment of finding her mad, as that is the general reaction he himself faces whenever mentioning the stuff of dreams. "Maybe it is a sort of madness, that which drives those who chase dreams. That does not make it wrong, however." He considered this for a long moment, but realized that she is implying she found her own way to his world. Some way wholly separate from the event that had brought his own band of Eorzeans there . Curious. "So... she was there, in truth?" he said slowly, not wanting to assume. "Not just in dream or in spirit alone?"

Anne-Sophie, for the second time that evening, found herself relieved. If he was going to think her mad and turn her over to the Inquisitors, he was doing an excellent job of hiding it. "She was, our Knight. Nearly drowned in the waters that had previously drowned the Kingdom of Voeburt...a name that she had not learned of in her tales, yet nevertheless recognized, somehow. Our Knight and her heavy pack made peace with the Pixies---a peace negotiated largely by the Nymian faerie, who has since..." she faltered, but picked herself up and carried on. "Who has since left our Knight. But all of these tales are...secondary. What is the cause of our Knight's heresy? You see, in Ishgard, a great column of aether opened from her tower in the Pillars. In fact, this happened twice; nine days apart, almost to the bell. When the first gate opened, our Knight left this star behind; when it opened again, she returned...and missed her mark, it should be said, crashing into the gardens below. But for our Knight, it had been just over two years. Subtle though it was, she had aged slightly upon her inglorious return to Ishgard; a quandary, wouldn't you agree?"

Rae-Hann recalled the lake in the mountains, a place he'd only had the misfortune of seeing twice despite having desired to visit so many times before that. He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "Well, you were lucky that your little friend was able to help you broker said peace because many that enter that place never leave. Even luckier still that those of the water didn't get to you first." Yet, it was with a rather mulish huff that he returned his full attention to Anne-Sophie. "I do find myself slightly vexed that an Ishgardian noble finds a way to travel from Norvrandt and back so completely, and yet I had to seek help from a -different- Ishgardian for a job done half as well. But, alas, nothing to be done about that now. I'm not entirely sure why three years there would equate to only nine days here, though, so yes, that is rather a quandary. Perhaps something did go wrong somewhere in your fumblings."

"Oh, it certainly must have been a miscalculation on my end. Even accounting for the path that the Warrior of Light and Darkness blazed through the rift, the beacon I placed within my mirror should have been absolute. And yet, by my calculations, I was thrown off by that very same esteemed personage's passage through..." she trailed off mid-theorem, stepping back a pace. "Not R'hahn. *Rae-Hann*. Wicked white, you're a *Mystel*?!" Sometimes, the scholarly knight managed to connect a few dots, even if the ink between said dots left her spluttering and smudged. "But...no, that....and your friend, with the souls, and....Norvrandt, yes, that's not written down anywhere, or at least it wasn't until they returned, hailing from the First Shard, and...and..." she sputtered to silence, utterly flummoxed.

The Mystel hummed. He'd heard rumors that the Warrior of Darkness had been from another world, though he hadn't put too much stock in it. From his little corner of Norvrandt, fact very rarely survived the changing of hands. Either way, it didn’t matter overmuch, as Anne-Sophie seemed to have come to a realization or two. "I knew you'd get there eventually. Yes, I am a mystel, not that I get to use that term much anymore." He tilted his head to the side then. "What wasn't written down, though? 'Norvrandt'? A bit strange that they would only name Il Mheg unless perhaps the tales were written by someone who perhaps saw the place in a pixie-given dream? It's possible, I suppose..."

Anne-Sophie was unable to reply sensically. "I...can I touch your hand?" she blurted out.

"Hmmm." Normally he was the one asking for people's hands, and yet this is the second time in as many weeks that it's the inverse. Still, Rae held out one gloved hand. "All right."

"I am going to draw my sword. This was supposed to figure into the next part of the 'faerie tale'," she put a little lilt on the words, sarcastic in nature, "but my Fury's Looking-Glass was a key part of my journey to your world. It serves as something of a focus for me. Do you allow this?"

"My previous comment of not wanting to be stabbed still stands, but so long as we're clear on that then I am fine with this." Probably. Hopefully. Rae was supposed to be working on the whole 'blindly agreeing to everything for curiosity's sake', but... Well. He wasn't very good at that.

The Mystic Knight was content to take the words as given, though she sensed his reservations. "No stabbing; terrible way to use a sword, anyroad." With reassurances thus offered, she drew Glass from its swordbelt. The sword hovered in the air, point towards the earth, as her hands released it. "Mirror, mirror, standing tall; share with me his aether's call." She took Rae-Hann's hand, and Glass completed one deosil rotation around the pair. All things considered, the rite was completed very quickly; under thirty heartbeats. As Glass displayed a telescopic image of Rae-Hann on the forest floor, some six ilms tall, Anne-Sophie spoke. "Curious...though your attunement to earth aether is strong enough to spark levin between its isles...there is but a void, dominating all. And Glass shows you..diminished, somehow."

She released his hand, and Glass returned to its place at her hip, singing through the air as it moved. "Yet you do not appear...lesser, in any way. Tell me, as a native of Norvrandt...how do you feel, here? And how did you come to be here? And what was the First like before the Light subsumed it? And what was it called before only Norvrandt remained? And..." she trailed off, stepping back. "M-my apologies. You were correct; when there is silence, someone will often opt to fill it with questions and chatter."

Rae shrugged as he flexed his hand briefly before crossing his arms. "The ambient aether here was overwhelming at first. Even after becoming accustomed to it, I still find myself tiring easily. I thought that merely a symptom of past maladies, but an aetherologist seems to think it due to the sparseness of mine aether." He took a moment to mull over the many questions before continuing. "However, I was born after the Flood, so I cannot say much as to what it was before. My family was not even from the continent. It's by chance that they were there in the years just prior." As for how he came to be here... "Well, the 'levin' aether you sense is, presumably, the remnants of the one who brought me here. Though, I don't mind sharing if you're truly interested."

"I...I would really love to hear it. Rae-Hann, yes? I did catch the glottal stop correctly this time?"

"Yes, that's correct," he affirmed with a nod. And from there he... stopped. Oh no, now he actually had to try and explain everything. Rae made a face as he tried to decide where to even begin. "I'm not much for storytelling, but I'll try to make it as comprehensible as possible without boring you with extraneous detail. Firstly, I had a device in my possession, meant to heal much as an aetherial healer would. However, it was eventually augmented with machinery, and tied into my own aether as well as that of a pixie's. The ‘why’ isn't exactly important anymore, but it could connect aether and dreams between there and here. When it accidentally pulled the souls of several Eorzeans to Norvrandt while they slept, I wondered if it could similarly allow me to visit this place in my own sleep. It did, and I spent quite near a year visiting in such a fashion."

He lifted a hand to tap at his chest, just below the collar bone. "I met someone on one of those visits. A witch, you could say. After one poor deal later, I realized I'd given her possession of my soul. I carry her still, so that when I die she takes my aether. Seeing as I'd already made one deal, what could another harm? So, I gathered her more aether from here and there, and in exchange she would make for me a body with which my dreaming soul could be placed. Or rather, her partner who had researched Allagan cloning made the body, and she is the one who dealt with transferring my aether safely. So, here I am, in a rented body, I suppose. It's done me well enough." He shrugged as his story concluded. "And... that's about it really. It's fairly straightforward."

Anne-Sophie drank his words in like a plant seeking the barest hint of rain. "By the Fury...your aether seems weak not because of your place of origin, but because you are a Dreamer." She reached out towards him once more, then let her questing hand fall.

"Hm! I hadn't thought of that, but it is very possible indeed." He nodded, glancing back briefly to the mushrooms as he thought this over. When he looked back, he canted his head to the side, bemused at her outstretched hand.

"Your body in Norvrandt; what has become of it?"

"I left it in Il Mheg, funnily enough. There was an amaro that kept following me around... I did tell it to not stick around after I fell asleep, but I honestly couldn't say what happened after for, ah, the obvious reason of being technically dead, I guess."

"Technically...technically dead! And with the Amaro! Those who remember my knight...oh, Oberic, I pray mirth lightens your vigil!" Her throat released a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "I am sorry...it is just...all along, you said you were from across the sea, and...I had never expected said sea to be the Rift.” She continued, start-stopping her words; she was more reluctant to share another’s story than she was her own. “There is another like me, by the by...an Ishgardian who found herself in the First, and worked as a Crystarium guard. Sawyer Reeves. We met by chance...both there, and here."

Unsurprisingly, Rae-Hann didn't recognize the name of the enstoned knight, nor that of the other Ishgardian. Still, he drummed his fingers along his arm. "Hm. Two of my wayward Eorzeans were also Ishgardian, and another from Tailfeather. I almost half wonder if those from the area are more predisposed to phenomena involving the two."

"It might be, Rae. Because, you see," she took on her Scholasticate manner once more, "for those of us from Ishgard...we have ever sought the 'lived happily ever after'." Her lips pursed into a moue before she continued. "There are many parallels between Voeburt and Ishgard, too. Rak'tika and the Shroud; Amh Araeng and Thanalan and Gyr Abania, both. Nothing so neat and pat as to be perfect, but...reflections. Eulmore, even, reflects the fatuous nature of Limsans that fancy themselves nobility." She took a relieved breath, and concluded, "But I have ended the tale of our fair Knight, for now. She learned that the happily ever after is what you make of it. And so she returned like a comet, striking the earth, recovering from it for a full season or two."

Rae-Hann grinned at that, though without mirth. "Yes, it was fascinating to see how similar they all are despite their differences. Though, the other that told me that the worlds are but reflections seemed bent on the notion that only my own was the reflection. That this here is in fact the source of the reflection, hence its name. Might I ask what your view on that would be?"

She stepped back. "I do not have enough data points to determine a proper response to your question, Rae-Hann. By your own admission, you have curious points in your aetherial makeup that can be attributed to the one who gave you physical form, yes?"

He tilted his head to the side, bemused, but didn't press the matter. Eventually, he nodded. "That is true. Wouldn't do for her to lose track of me, after all. Are you saying that the fact that aether from both places can coexist would have a bearing on which point is true or not?"

"I am of the opinion that there is but one place that all originated from, and it is not even the Source; at least not as we know it. This theorem is heretical, even among the progressive minds of Ishgard." Anne-Sophie lifted her hands in a shrug, amused resignation playing across her foxlike features in the fading sunlight. "If I am going to be taken in for heresy...let them hear the full extent of my bizarre theories. Though I be found guilty, the words will lead those who walk after."

"So, you would posit that the Source is in fact... not the true source at all? Heretical or not, it is rather interesting." After considering this further, Rae arched a brow. "Mind if I ask why you believe that, though?"

She introduced her answer more like a professor leading a lecture than a peer; something that she was too awkward to notice as irritating at best, insufferable at worst. Using a bracelet with a shell-shaped gem as its sole ornament, she described her theory; that the shards were strung as a bracelet about some unknowable wrist, the chain between each bead a small portal that connected the worlds. In truth, Anne-Sophie had reached this conclusion by reading the works of much sharper minds than her own. From time to time, her wayward foster cousin Estinien would send her some treatise or the other that his companions were working on, and she devoured each one.

When she’d concluded her lesson, Rae ran his hand over his face, ears flicking backward as he filed what he’d learned away for later. Things to chew on after having some time to think on them, to consider over tea or something. He frowned, then spoke. “Knowledge does have its consequences. Though I am surprised that is what would cause Ishgard to pursue you to such an extent. I was more expecting... horrific experiments or something, not theory and knowledge." He paused. "I'm no oracle, so I couldn't say as to what will happen in the future, of course."

At length, the Mystic Knight stepped back, and offered him an awkward little bow in gratitude. "Keep the bracelet, petty a token as it is. Knowledge crowns those who seek her...and we risk much in seeking that crown. They have, ah." She frowned, then specified who ‘they’ were. "My House has suffered much for my reach. But I never conducted any horrific experiments; at least, not by your measure, nor mine. I am wanted because I sought another world, and found it. In so doing, I did make the Holy See of Ishgard aetherically vulnerable; twice, in nine days, actually.

Rae-Hann glanced back down to the bracelet with a nod. "Petty? Perhaps. Though I will find a use for it." When he looks back to her, Rae swivels one ear forward at her words. "I've never been one to get in the way of one with the ambition to bring their dreams to fruition, so there's little reason I would report your location to the Holy See. However, I do believe you are likely not safe here. This is the main means of travel between Ishgard and Gridania, after all."

"You are...quite correct, Rae-Hann. I have been made, as they say, twice in a sennight."

The Mystel sighed once more, turning his gaze to the heavens. "Ah. Stars above. How are you still a free woman? I'm not surprised that someone else has already spotted you. You haven't exactly made much effort to avoid public places, and you're fairly recognizable when compared to those posters they've got posted in the city. Who knows how far they've distributed those, as well."

"I actually was spotted. Before you did, I mean. By Baron Rosaire, as it happens!" She laughed; it had the tinge of exhausted madness to it. "Ahhh. And, at the end, he decided that my heresy was not meet with the current orthodoxy. What do you think, Rae-Hann? Was my crime worthy of Witchdrop? Ah...that is, being shoved over the edge of a cliff, left to fall to my death for heresy."

"A man of some common sense, from the sounds of it. I'd thought Ishgard was reevaluating its stance on heresy these days. Hm." At the mention of Witchdrop, his eyes glazed over. Right. "Yes, I know the place. But, no, I do not think that an appropriate response in this situation. If anything, what you really need to some proper sleep."

"Sleep! Yes. I do. I enjoy the Bobbing Cork, and its inn rooms immune to the orthodoxy. In a few moons, I will be on trial, and I will confess that I created a portal to your world for my own personal gain. My obsession that led to discovery. If...if you can find it in your heart to advocate for me, I would appreciate it. Futhermore, my trial aside...full glad am I that you avoided Witchdrop, and would like to know more about you. Possibly too much more. And...next time, I will buy you the meal of your choosing."

He blinked. "Advocate for you... If you think it would help, I don't see why not. I haven't been to Ishgard in some time, so that will make for an excuse to do so." His expression brightened at her offer. "Ah, but I could never turn down a free meal. You've an interesting mind, so I could see myself taking the opportunity to see what else is hanging about in there. Try not to get into too much trouble until then, though, hm?"

"I will...actually try to not. I am ashamed that I was so easily spotted, twice in a sennight. I think...I will spend one more night here, then retreat to the Gyshal's Greens until my summons take effect." She fiddled with Glass’s crossguard. "I have to ask, for personal interest. Are you lonely, here, in this world? This bead of the bracelet around the wrist none of us chose to adorn?"

Rae-Hann nodded, apparently satisfied with this place. However, as he turned to make his way back toward Fallgourd, he stopped in his tracks. He really didn't have to answer that, but... "No. Not here. Not anymore." With that, Rae shrugged before making his way back up the trail.

Anne-Sophie remained behind for half a bell longer, looking upon the fungi on the boulder. Now that night had fallen, their spots and gills emitted a faint glow. Life sprung from a stone. In time, she returned to her inn room and slept a dreamless sleep.

((Thanks again to @yokasaris for the awesome RP that spawned today's and yesterday's posts!))

(Continued here!)

[desertarchaeo]

Prompt 27: Hail

((NOTE: This takes place after the events of prompt 26: break a leg))

The leather drape over the doorway was flung back and into the dimly lit space stepped an elezen wearing, well Thea wasn’t exactly sure what it was supposed to be. It covered the essentials but looked more like a tangled collection of belts over his chest and legs rather than actual clothes.

“What in the twelve are you even wearing?” Thea lifted her head from her pillow to squint at her colleague in mild confusion. The healer had re-dosed with with some fruity herbal concoction that made her feel floaty and less painfilled and itchy. She also wondered if she was seeing things.

“Hail, and well met to you too!” Jonas huffed and flounced, Thea blinked thinking she was still imagining things, yes he did indeed flounce, over to her bedside. He plopped himself into the stool at her bedside and gave her a sunny smile.

Thea pushed herself up to a sitting position, annoyed still at her leg and reached for the cup on the bed stand, sipping the tepid water and motioning to him with her free hand to please explain himself.

“This? One of the warriors was explaining some of their festival gear and she offered to let me try it, said she’d never seen it on an elezen before.

“Was this before or after you bedded her?” Thea set her cup back down.

“How dare you assume I am spending my time slutting it up while you convalesce. I happen to be learning about the local culture and taking plenty of notes for the Studium. Now I won’t tell you the good news I got from a journeyman passing through this morning.” He tried to look offended and actually moved to leave when she shot her hand out to grasp at whatever bit of costume she could reach.

“No, wait, I’m sorry! Tell me. You have to tell meeeee.” Thea even tried to move from the bed as if to chase him, cursing when pain shot up her splinted leg.

Jonas immediately put his hands to her shoulders to stop her moving. “Idiot.” This was said with some fondness, “Stay. You’re going to set back your healing if you move. I’ll tell you. Now be good and stay.”

Thea flopped back against her pillows and sulked, everything sucked.

“The guild is sending a sage from the college of medicine to see if we can get you back to Sharlayan. They should be here within a few days as they can aetheryte travel and are attuned to the closest one to here. Relax just a little longer, I’ll go send their healer in to check on you in a bit.” 

Thea tugged the blanket over her head and tried not to scream in frustration. Just a few more days, she could handle the boredom of being stuck in bed for a few more days.

[katalinhunter]

Hail

Mindscape

This was an absurd fight. Redcoat should've been slashed, torn to pieces, crisped, dead in so many ways at this point. Not that she wasn't giving it her all. Hells, somehow she was managing to keep in the air, her feet finding purchase where there should've been as she launched herself back into the attack again and again. Still though, she was steadily being driven down to the island.

Elsewhere, a mummified form was suspended in the midst of an all-encompassing White. Harle was bound tightly within it, wrapped and coated in lacquer. Outside the body-forming shell she could hear voices clear in her mind, a kingdom's worth of jesters and harlequins dancing and cavorting around her. Trapped, silently screaming there in the midst of nothing.

On the island itself there was a murmur of voices. Lights coming from cabins that were once dark, shouts of "What's going on?", "Keep it down!", "Shut the hells up already!", and even "Hey, what's up with the moon?"

In the manor itself, Kat and Ifritia were going at it. "Look at you, pathetic!" the skin-suited one taunted.

Between the crimson threads twisting around her and the threat of the scythe when she got to closer, Kat was having to keep quick on her feet and attack when and where she could. Despite lacking the years of experience that Harle and Redcoat had she was managing to keep her own and they were about equally injured. One of Ifritia's eyes was swollen and blood spread from her shoulder and hip while the younger Kat had strips of necrotized flesh where the threads had caught her here and there. In pure physicality, speed, strength, endurance, she had an edge and it made up for any crudeness of skill.

"You're not even a real version of me. Redcoat told me about you, just a cover story corrupted by another's dream and power. Don't get any sense of, oh, hey, this is what I would be like if I was fucking psycho with a scythe."

Ifritia raged at the taunts and shot forward, more threads shooting forth from where she had been stabbed, spending all of her energy in this final surge. Kat kept dancing back towards the door, waiting it out. She could literally see the other draining herself, winding down, unable to keep up the assault. Just keep out of range for a few moments more.

A foot hit the center of her back, sending her tumbling forward right into Ifritia's grasp, lines of energy pulsing as they held to Kat. In the doorway the overseer stood, watching the fight coming to a rapid conclusion, Ifritia standing up taller as her threads restored her vitality.

"Finish this up, we've got..." Behind her, hail had begun to fall across the island. She reached out with a hand to catch it then blinked. Not hail, a scale.

The fight above had grown much closer and despite the one-sided nature of it, Redcoat had finally managed to score a solid hit, her weapon stabbing into the dragon and sending an explosion of pristine aetheric scales down. Not that there wasn't still a lot of dragon to deal with but it was a satisfying strike. Her left arm hung near useless at her side while her other hand clung to the weapon. Burned, battered, and singed, but still holding as the dragon raged beneath her.

[theimperialnuisance]

FFXIV Write 2022  //ffxivwrite info//prompt list//character info//master post//

Prompt twenty-seven: Hail | noun: pellets of frozen rain which fall in showers from cumulonimbus clouds. | Word count: 635 Characters: Kien Eilath (aged 16) and Ranald Eilath (his adoptive dad <3) Cw: none Notes: 'tis appropriate to get this word when I’ve got a cat 4 hurricane headed my way ^^; not that I think we’ll get any hail but I think the rainfall definitely influenced this fluff piece. Short but sweet! Set pre-ARR so Kien is about 16 here–no major spoilers!

-----

Ranald was never fond of rainy days, not since his son Kieron died five years ago. The quiet gloomy days were always a painful reminder that his son was no longer around to experience his favorite kind of weather–it was also always a reminder of the day he did die because it had been raining very much like this when his illness finally won. Normally, the Hyur would close the curtains and do his best to distract himself on days such as this but ever since he took the young Miqo'te Kien in, he found himself enjoying gloomy days again.

Mayhap it was because the way Kien so fondly loved the rain very much reminded the Hyur of his son and the days he would spend watching the rain fall with him. It had become its own kind of tradition again without him realizing it.

Today was no exception to that--it had been a hot summer afternoon when the clouds began to roll in. Kien had been sitting outside watching the oncoming storm, chattering away to Ranald about many things when he suddenly grew quiet. The rain had begun to fall, softly at first but quickly picking up the pace. Ranald watched him warmly, quietly getting up to make them cups of coffee as the heat had significantly lessened and it felt right in the moment.

When he returned, he nearly had to pause and pinch himself. The way Kien leaned against the wooden post made him think of his son and for a moment, he swore he saw his messy mop of brown hair instead of Kien's black hair. It was only when Kien turned to smile at him that he blinked and reminded himself of the present time. He returned the smile, a sense of nostalgia settling in as the Hyur sat back down next to him and handed him a steaming hot cup of coffee that would soon be forgotten about as Kien's ears twitched at the sudden sound difference the rain was making.

“Oh? What’s happenin’ now?” Kien leaned forward and looked up at the sky, reaching a hand out in wonder, pulling it back quickly when he noticed the rain felt like ice and watched it with a child-like fascination as it bounced off the forest floor.

“Ah, that would be hail,” Ranald replied with a chuckle. “It’s pretty small compared to what I’ve seen in the past.” 

Kien turned to look at him, his eyes full of wonder. “You mean the icy rain can be bigger?” 

Ranald laughed with a nod. “Oh yes, and it can hurt too so if it’s any bigger than this, I’d advise you to take cover. But look–” He cupped his hands and held them out, gathering a smile pile of the pea-sized hail before turning back to Kien to eagerly stretched out his cupped hands. “You can catch and hold it when it’s this small.” 

“Woah—!” Kien marveled at the sight of the hail being dumped into his hands, his smile growing wider as it slowly began to melt from the heat of his palms. “How does this happen?” 

“I don’ rightly know,” Ranald shrugged with a chuckle. “But I always find it just as fascinating too.” His gaze softened as he watched Kien stretch his hands out again to catch more of the hail. Kien may not have been a child but he certainly had a child-like wonder about him as he experienced his first hail storm–It made him fondly recall the days when his son Kieron experienced this kind of weather for the first time too. It felt warm and nostalgic, almost as if this was always meant to be. 

How he soon to grew to love the rainy days all over again now that he adopted Kien as his own.

[mariacallous]

On April 24, Ukraine and its supporters around the world breathed a sigh of relief when U.S. President Joe Biden signed a long-awaited foreign aid bill that provides more than $60 billion in aid to Ukraine. While the bill was ensnared for months in Washington politics, Ukraine’s position on the battlefield was looking increasingly precarious, with its forces literally running out of ammunition as Russia was expected to launch a new offensive. The situation prompted a growing drumbeat of bleak assessments from senior security officials. “The side that can’t shoot back loses,” NATO Supreme Allied Commander Gen. Christopher Cavoli warned. Internal White House assessments were even bleaker. Even the normally upbeat Ukrainian president, Volodymyr Zelensky, predicted that Ukraine “will lose the war” without additional American support. With the aid, Ukraine now has a fighting chance.

Unfortunately, Ukraine’s challenges go beyond mere resources. The recent fight over the aid package strikes at the heart of the strategic paradox plaguing Biden’s strategy toward Ukraine. On the one hand, Biden has pledged that “our commitment to Ukraine will not weaken” and that U.S. support will be there “for as long as it takes.” At the same time, however, the Biden administration has been steadfastly concerned about escalation and the prospect of a direct confrontation with a nuclear-armed Russia. Judged independently, both are laudable goals—but put together, these objectives are increasingly working at cross purposes. Ultimately, Biden’s balancing will become untenable.

Undergirding the Biden administration’s Ukraine strategy was the idea that, at its core, Kyiv—backed by the collective might of the West—had time on its side. After Ukraine beat back the initial Russian invasion, this appeared to be true. Ukraine had fully mobilized its society to fight the war from the start, whereas Russia—at least initially—had not. Russian casualties were significant, mounting, and almost certainly higher than the Kremlin had anticipated. Hundreds of thousands of Russians were fleeing the country. And that was before Russia felt the bite of economic sanctions, hailed at the time as the “most impactful, coordinated, and wide-ranging economic restrictions in history.” With the situation seeming to favor Ukraine, the Biden administration believed that Kyiv could afford the precautions imposed by Washington in the name of escalation management—including restricting the types of weapons Ukraine received and the targets it was allowed to strike.

Fast-forward two years, and the assumption that time would favor Ukraine looks increasingly doubtful. As Cavoli recently testified, Russia is reconstituting its military “far faster than initial estimates suggested,” and its military is now larger than before the war. Despite the sanctions, the Russian economy posted modest growth in 2023 and is on track to do so again this year. And while Russia has lost tens of thousands of soldiers and seen hundreds of thousands injured, the casualties have not translated into unrest in Russia or visibly shaken the Putin regime.

On the other side of the equation, Ukraine’s strategic position is becoming progressively more perilous. Starved of weapons and ammunition, Ukraine has been forced to cede ground on the battlefront—with Russia making its most significant advances since July 2022 and supposedly gearing up for a summer offensive. Even though U.S. weapons are now flowing again, it will take time for them to make their way to the front.

All the while, Ukraine is bleeding out. Although estimates differ widely, they all place the number of Ukrainians killed in the tens of thousands. The figures are especially significant given Ukraine’s smaller population compared to Russia’s. In fact, Ukraine recently had to lower its draft age, from 27 to 25, to replenish its ranks. In and of itself, that’s neither catastrophic nor unusual. The United States used to draft men at even younger ages and still requires men aged 18 to 25 to register for potential military service. Still, Ukraine’s change in its draft policy is a sign that the country is under increasing strain.

Perhaps even more pressing than the military situation are the political dynamics of the war. A year and a half ago, we wrote that the United States had more patience to back Ukraine than many commentators then believed. The fact that House Speaker Mike Johnson, a former Ukraine skeptic, put his job on the line to finally pass the aid bill reaffirms this point.

Nonetheless, there is no denying that any future Ukraine aid faces significant headwinds. In Gallup polling, Americans today are evenly split between those who believe the United States is doing too little to help Ukraine and those who think it is doing too much. Support for Ukraine aid among Democrats has risen sharply since the last such poll in the fall, whereas Republican support has lagged behind, so that future Ukraine aid may depend on who wins in the U.S. elections.

Ukraine also has fewer opportunities to reverse the strategic narrative. With another war in the Middle East and an upcoming U.S. presidential election, Ukraine does not attract the same level of media attention it once did. Whereas Ukraine sinking another ship of the Russian Black Sea Fleet or striking another Russian fuel depot used to make headline news, those same actions get less attention in major Western outlets today. Similarly, the American public does not seem as enthralled by Zelensky’s speeches as it once did. All this means that if trends continue, the political fight over the next tranche of Ukraine aid—whenever that may be—may be even more intense than the past one.

Not all the news is bad. European support remains robust and has been steadily rising. Some countries—including France and Lithuania—have even signaled an openness to committing ground forces to the conflict, whereas others—such as Britain and Norway—are much more willing than the United States to let Ukraine strike targets in Russia. And $60 billion still gives Ukraine a lot of weapons, and with them, a lot of strategic time. Even former U.S. President Donald Trump’s opposition to Ukraine aid has seemingly softened a little, potentially giving some room for Ukraine to regain some Republican support. In other words, Ukraine still has some strategic room to maneuver, but it will need to fight differently if it hopes to reverse this slow decline.

First, Ukraine will need to strike deeper inside Russia proper, for two reasons. Current reporting shows that Russia relies on its internal railway network to support its occupied portions of Ukraine. If Ukraine wants to impede Russian logistical networks, and by extension forestall further Russian advances, it needs to hit these hubs. The other reason is trickier. Even with all the air defenses that the United States, Germany, and others have provided Ukraine over the last two years, it is still far from having sufficient capacity to cover its vast size and intercept everything Russia throws its way. Instead of intercepting arrows, Ukraine needs the ability to shoot the archer—in other words, rather than just trying to intercept missiles and drones in flight, it needs to target Russian air bases, bombers, and missile launchers. That, in turn, means striking Russia.

Britain has already taken a step in this direction by allowing Ukraine to use British-supplied Storm Shadow cruise missiles to hit Russian territory. Now it’s time for the United States to follow Britain’s lead and give the same kind of permission to use the longer-range version of the U.S. Army Tactical Missile System (or ATACMS) to strike Russian operational support targets inside Russia.

Ukraine will also need some kind of air-power capability if it wants to succeed in a ground counteroffensive at some point in the future and evict Russian forces from its country. Russian air power—particularly its attack helicopters and drones—was one of the key reasons Ukraine’s 2023 counteroffensive petered out. And in contrast to the considerable damage to Russia’s ground forces and Black Sea Fleet, the Russian Air Force has lost only about 10 percent of its aircraft. Consequently, Ukraine needs not only air defense, but also its own air power to neutralize Russian air power, strike Russian bases, and stop Russian armor.

The F-16 fighter aircraft that some U.S. allies in Europe will be sending to Ukraine—after some initial reluctance from the Biden administration—will help in this regard, especially if they are equipped with the right munitions to target Russian forces and supported by sufficient maintenance capability to keep them in the air. Even so, as the commander of the U.S. Air Force in Europe, Gen. James Hecker, has noted, the F-16s are older aircraft that normally require years of training to master. They are unlikely to be a silver bullet for Ukrainian air power.

For Ukraine to get the air-power capability it needs, it will likely need a broader suite of capabilities, including higher-flying, sophisticated drones and electronic warfare capabilities from either ground or air-based platforms. This combination provides a way to create pulses of Ukrainian air superiority, in a given area, over Russian air and ground forces.

Finally, Ukraine will need to take more operational risk if and when it launches a counteroffensive. The long-range strikes against Russian military targets in Russia proper, combined with a pulsed air-power capability, can set the conditions for a ground counteroffensive to succeed. But the Ukrainians will need to accept operational risk and face a likely possibility that the initial days or weeks of this counteroffensive will cost them heavily in casualties and materiel in order to create the kind of operational breakthrough that might shatter Russian defensive lines.

The Ukraine war may look particularly grim at the moment, but the conflict’s outcome is far from preordained. If Ukraine is to regain the operational momentum it has lost, it will need more equipment and munitions. Thanks to the most recent aid packages, Ukraine now has the resources to get them.

But more importantly, Ukraine and its Western backers will also need to change their overall approach. Ukraine can no longer afford to simply wait the Russians out, refrain from striking military and logistical targets inside Russia, and hope that the artillery duels in eastern Ukraine will eventually turn in their favor. It will, instead, need to go on the offensive—and that involves some degree of escalation risk. That’s an easier sell for Ukraine, given that its very existence is on the line.

For the Biden administration, though, accepting such risk will mean abandoning a pillar of its strategy for the past two years, choosing a single path, and accepting the potentially escalatory consequences that might follow. That’s a tough choice. Not choosing, however, may be even riskier.

[negative-speedforce]

13, 19, 26, 27, 46, 49 for any of your Trek OCs in the Unusual HC prompt list, please?

Answering for my OCs Liah Abdul and Qiara

13: do they like the room cold or hot when they sleep?

Liah and her other partner Marie keep the room warm, since they're both from species that hail from rather warm planets.

Qiara... doesn't really care. She doesn't really experience temperature like naturally corporeal beings do, so she'll just go along with what her girlfriends do.

19: what are their phobias? do they have any at all?

Liah has severe agoraphobia. She can't stand crowds, which is why she ran away to join Starfleet after finding out just what being a movie star entails.

Qiara doesn't exactly have any "phobias" per se, but she's terrified that one day she'll need to use her powers to save someone, and they won't work, since they're spotty at best.

26: what are they most passionate about? what could they debate about for hours?

Liah is most passionate about dance! Specifically Bollywood style dancing, but she knows a lot about other kinds of dance as well. However, one thing she could debate for hours (and the one thing she's willing to get into a vehement argument for) is pacifism.

Qiara, being an omnipotent space god, knows a whole lot about just about everything. However, knowledge doesn't equal praxis, so she gets in a lot of arguments with her superiors because she thinks she knows everything, but doesn't really have the experience to implement it.

27: what do they never, ever want to speak of, ever?

Liah would prefer to put that incident with Mork, her almost ex-husband, behind her. Liah was drugged and kidnapped by a group of Ferengi while at a bar, and was nearly forced to marry one of them, until Qiara and Marie showed up and saved her before Liah could finish the vows.

Qiara would prefer not to speak about her condition. Because of something that went wrong when she was willed into existence by another Q, Qiara's powers don't really work right. Using them at all completely exhausts her, and sometimes, they're volatile and hard to control. However, this embarrasses her, and she'd prefer not to talk about it.

46: if they could control one thing in the world, what would it be?

Liah would like to be able to control weapons, only so she could force them to not work. Because her parents died in an uprising when she was 4, Liah's developed strong pacifistic tendencies, believing that war (and all other kinds of violence) are inherently wrong.

Qiara would like to be able to control her own powers. They're erratic and patchy at best, and she'd like to be able to keep them in check, and always be able to access them when she needs them.

49: do they have a creative outlet? if so, what is it?

Liah loves music and dance. Since she's not a big fan of large crowds, sometimes she'll perform for small groups, usually for friends who are having a birthday or something.

Qiara enjoys watercolors. She's not exactly talented with it, since art isn't exactly something you're taught when you're supposed to be all-powerful, but it makes her feel like there's something in her life she can control.

[sjsmith56]

Home - Chapter 28, Lord Buchanan

Summary: Lord Buchanan arrives home, introducing Quin to Rhodes and Ileana. After a reunion with his wife, he learns that his wolf, Sky, has disappeared. Immediately, he sets out to find the wolf, prompting Rhodes to go searching for him in the forest.

Length: 4.4 K

Characters: Lord and Lady Buchanan, Bruce Banner, Baroness Blackstone, Quin Torres, Rhodes.

Warnings: Minors DNI - contains sexual content which may not be suitable for readers under the age of 18.

<<Chapter 27

🥃 🌖

While the cart carrying the cask took the long, flat route back to Buchanan's estate he, Bruce and Quin travelled by the ravine route.   Magnus was tethered to the cart as Buchanan didn't want to risk injuring the great horse further on the rocky path of the ravine.  As they ascended on the other side of the rocky path he noticed a group was there, pulling books out from the library.  Coulson, guard commander for Baroness Blackstone hailed him as he approached and the lady came out of the building.

"Lord Buchanan!" she called, pleased to see his return.  "You have returned from your long journey.  Where is your great horse?"

"Magnus suffered an injury," he said.  "I felt it prudent to return him the long way.  Baroness, you are choosing books for the formation of libraries in your estate?"

"Aye, sir," she said, her young face showing her pleasure.  "Interest is high.  Your lady wife was good enough to give me the numbers corresponding to the different subject matters.  We have also taken an assortment of children's books as I have sponsored several schools to be opened for the tenant's children.  Who is this young man with you?"

"This is Quin Torres," he said.  "He has travelled from the Kingdom of the Western Plains to foster with my family for a year.  He will be training in my garrison at the same time.  He hopes to return to his family ready to assume his position as successor to his father's business.  Quin, this is Baroness Blackstone.  Her lands border mine."

"My Lady, the pleasure is mine," said Quin, taken by her self-assurance and confidence.

He started to say more but Buchanan gave him a look that said he was over stepping his station and instead he smiled, which she returned.  Buchanan gave his farewell greetings and they resumed the journey out of the ravine.  Bruce looked at the boy and caught his friend's eye, winking at him.

"She is a beautiful young woman," said Bruce out loud.  "Barely 18 and already showing her aptitude at running an estate."

"She runs the estate?" asked Quin.  "No husband, brother or father directing her?"

"Her investiture was a short time ago," said Buchanan, "after months of preparation at the palace.  She's a member of the Queen's Guard, as well."

"Nobility can be in the Queen's Guard?" questioned the boy. 

"Any woman, married or unmarried, noble born or common born, can join the Queen's Guard," replied Buchanan.  "My own wife is.  All any woman has to do is show up and request to be admitted.  Lady Isabella, as she was known then, was to be married off to a much older man.  She rejected that fate and took her destiny into her own hands, pledging her service to the Queen.  After her father was found guilty of treason she, as his only child, inherited his lands."

"I wish ...," said Quin, then he stopped talking and rode on in silence.

"Say it," said Buchanan.  "You can speak freely to Bruce or me."

"I wish I had a say in who I could marry," he said.  "Someone like the Baroness would interest me."

"It's true your parents have tried to arrange a marriage since your tenth year?" asked Buchanan.

"That you even know that means you know it is true," replied the young prince.  "My own parent's marriage was arranged and although they tolerate each other there is no love, no common grounds.  I often felt torn between both of their desires for me."

"For this coming year you aren't a prince," said Buchanan.  "Any woman is free to marry who she chooses, although a high born lady keeps her status over her husband.  Baroness Romanoff married a soldier in her garrison.  He remains a soldier in her garrison, someday to be a commander of the garrison if that is his will.  Their children will inherit her estate but he won't."

"Are you saying, as a recruit of your garrison I can court her?" asked Quin, stopping his horse in the middle of the path.  "That would be permitted?"

Buchanan turned the roan mare around and faced the boy.  "I'm saying that if you really want a love match with any woman there is nothing stopping you while you are here," he said.  "If it is a true love match and you wish to marry a high born woman, then either you willingly give up your place to your father's throne and stay a soldier but married to her, or you petition your parents to search her out for marriage with a prince and accept their decision.  That is, if she even accepts you first.  Quin, this is part of being a responsible man, weighing your options, and choosing the best path, whether it benefits you or not."

The boy considered Buchanan's words then prodded his horse gently to walk again.  He rode ahead of them, deep in his own thoughts.  Bruce walked as Buchanan rode; neither man saying anything for some time.

"I think you are quite a romantic man, at heart," said Bruce.  "You found your great love and you're helping that boy find his."

"If I were really a romantic I would find you a great love," said Buchanan, eyeing him from the side.  "I just want him to know that there are some absolutes and there are areas that aren't absolutes.  At the end of the year he has to decide if he is willing to be a king or happy to be a commoner.  His father is a good man and his mother a good woman but it was obvious even to me that they were not a good match.  The result was a confused and unhappy young man with the weight of expectations crushing him.  I have a year to teach him how to carry the load and be willing and happy to do so.  My fear is that I will fail him and that will fail many more people."

Buchanan rode ahead of Bruce to ride equal with Quin.  Banner couldn't hear them talking but he knew that his friend was being honest with the boy.  Perhaps that, more than anything, was what Quin really needed, honesty.

An hour later they approached the grounds surrounding the estate.  Buchanan's face looked with anticipation as they drew closer to the gates of the castle. As they entered the courtyard he saw Ileana and Livia, already waiting in the courtyard for him.  He dismounted and embraced his wife fully, kissing her deeply then holding his daughter and kissing her black curls.  Taking Ileana's hand he brought her to Quin who had dismounted and waited patiently.  Rhodes was also present, having been informed of their approach by one of the turret guards.

"Lady Buchanan, Commander Rhodes, this is Quin Torres, a young man I have agreed to foster for a year," he said.  "At the end of the year he will decide whether to stay as a soldier in the garrison or return to succeed his father in business.   While he is here, he will live and train with the garrison, learning the life of a soldier.  He will also accompany me on my rounds so that he learns how I handle the day to day business of running an estate, learning skills he can apply to his own situation if he chooses to return."

"What business does your father have, Quin?" asked Ileana.

"Horse breeder," he said readily.  "He gifted this roan mare to Lord Buchanan for taking me on.  I believe my father will receive the first colt born from the breeding of her to Magnus."

"Where is Magnus?" asked Ileana, noticing the horse wasn't present.

"He suffered a leg injury," said Buchanan.  "He is taking the long way home as I didn't want to chance making the injury worse by taking him through the ravine.  There is also a gift from Princess Maria, a cask of fine bourbon.  Magnus mounted a good dozen of her horses while we were in her island kingdom.  Commander Rhodes, Torres here has trained in sword play, pike and archery.  I am sure you will want to assess his skills before assigning an older soldier to mentor him."

"Yes, M'Lord," replied Rhodes, assessing the young man visually.  "You brought your own horse as well?  Is he battle tested?"

"No, Commander," said Torres.  "My father wouldn't allow me or the horse into battle.  I would like to learn, however.  If the time comes where I must defend my countrymen I would like to know what I'm doing."

"Very well," said Rhodes, pleased with the boy's honesty.  "Come with me and we will stable your horse then assign you quarters.  Do you have more clothes?"

"They are in a trunk coming on the cart that carries the cask," replied Quin, then he bowed to Lord and Lady Buchanan and accompanied Rhodes to the stable, leading his horse.  The stable master came to see the roan mare, running his hands over her.

"She is a fine mare, M'Lord," he said.  "Is there anything more you can tell me about her?"

"The breeder claimed she was already battle tested yet was gentle enough for a child to ride her," he said.  "Perhaps she can be Livia's horse when she is old enough."

"Aye, she seems calm enough," said the stable master.  "Magnus' injury, was it serious?"

"The veterinarian thought it was a strain but he hasn't been ridden for almost a month," said Buchanan.  "He may be sore after walking from the port.  Until he is ready I am happy riding the mare."

"Very well, M'Lord," said the stable master.  "I will house her with the other mares but we will have her ready with a saddle that fits her better than this one belonging to Magnus."

During this whole exchange Bruce had waited quietly, watching how the boy handled the questions thrown his way.  Now that the pleasantries were done Ileana turned her attention to him.

"Bruce, it is good to see you," she said.  "Stark and the others have missed you but have soldiered on.  The supercomputer, was it for real?"

"It was," he said, as they started walking back into the castle.  "A NASA supercomputer.  They gave me the report from the data it had when it went down.  I gave them new data and they will send printouts via ship." He noticed her surprised look at the mention of printouts. "They have working printers, even gave us one with extra cartridges and paper but they aren't networked so we'll have to decide which computer to set it up with.  We gave them the second ham radio so I can have real time communication with them as well.  It was a satisfying visit but I'm glad to be home."

"I'm glad you're home as well," she said putting her hand on his arm.  "Livia missed you, didn't you sweetie?"

The little girl shyly smiled at Bruce as he tickled her under her chin with his large index finger which made her giggle.    Mary was waiting inside to greet Buchanan and Bruce.  She advised Bruce there were many reports from the other scientists waiting for him in his quarters so he excused himself to start catching up.  Then she put her hands out for Livia.

"Come, little one," she said.  "Cook has something special just for you.  We can keep her busy for a couple of hours, M'Lord."

She left with a smile while Ileana looked expectantly at Buchanan.  Together they went up the grand staircase to their quarters where he closed the door, locked it, then went to the dressing room doors and locked them from their side.  Ileana stood at the foot of the bed and he joined her, slipping his hands around to the back of her neck and head to kiss her deeply.

"I missed you," she said softly.  "The bed was lonely without you."

"As was mine," he said.  "I was offered a mistress in the Kingdom of the Western Plains but made it clear I was not interested.  The king never offered one again.  My love, no one will ever replace you in my heart or my bed."

He embraced her fully, kissing her with a passion that comes from too long a separation.  With haste but not a frenzy they undressed and slipped under the bed clothes together, touching and caressing.  His cock grew immediately upon seeing her unclothed and he eased it into her, mindful that their weeks apart could make their joining uncomfortable for her but Ileana was afire, moaning and whimpering for him to thrust harder into her.  She wrapped her legs around him and grasped his firm buttocks often, willing them to press closer into her.  As their lips crushed together and their tongues tasted the other his hands were on her breasts grasping and feeling their softness.  When the kiss was broken he mouthed her neck roughly, running his open mouth over the pulse point under her ear.  With a loud moan her body tensed as she reached her apex.  She came with a loud cry and grasped his arms tightly with her hands.  He reached his bliss also and called out her name as he gasped, filling her with his hot seed.  Again they kissed deeply and sensuously while he laid on her, touching each other gently. 

"James," whispered Ileana, "I hope that makes a son for you.  I want another child."

"As do I," he whispered back, rubbing his face against hers.  "My Ileana.”

They spent some time whispering the soft words of love to each other before joining together again, eager to resume the intense physical and emotional relationship their marriage had grown into before his journey.  As they lay together talking of all that happened on the estate in his absence Ileana brought up the boy, Quin Torres.

"Tell me the truth," she said.  "His father isn't a horse breeder, is he?  The boy is too well spoken, his hair is cut well, and his hands manicured."

Buchanan breathed deeply.  "No, he isn't a commoner," he admitted.  "He is the heir to the throne of the Kingdom of the Western Plains.  It was him who injured Magnus after he stole him, believing his father had bought him from me.  It was a thoughtless and immature action from a boy who has been pulled between many factions, not truly knowing or understanding his place in this world.  He was to be executed at worst, banished at best, and I entreated the King to give him a year with us to learn how to be an honourable man.  If he doesn't take the throne it will go to his father's cousin, a man locked in the past who believes the asteroids are God's punishment upon us and has promised to destroy the supercomputer if he rules.  You mustn't treat Quin differently.  He has accepted the challenge I gave him and we must succeed, both of us."

"All of us," Ileana corrected him.  "You are a good man for trying to help a prince be what he needs to be to rule.  It doesn't surprise me that you took this challenge on.  Who else knows?"

"Just Bruce," he replied.  "I didn't even tell Steven.  Quin needs to learn so much."

He rubbed his face as if just realizing the enormity of the task ahead of him.  Ileana kissed him tenderly to reassure him and he soon regained the optimism of his decision to help the boy.  After more time talking of all that had occurred they rose, cleansed themselves and dressed to return to the daily duties of their station.  Buchanan found the process of helping his wife dress to be almost as pleasurable as helping her to undress and mentioned it with a kiss that made both laugh.  When they left their rooms Mary advised them that Livia was napping, the cart with the cask had arrived and Magnus had been taken to the stable.  Together they went to the stable where the veterinarian had already been called and was examining the great horse.

"They did well, M'Lord," she said, after running her hands down his legs.  "There is little swelling from the walk from the port.  I will put a poultice on it for tonight, with witch hazel and rose water.  It will reduce any swelling that still exists.  We will set up a schedule of walks and exercises to build up his muscles again.  If all goes well he should be rideable within the month."

Quin came out to pick up his trunk with his clothes in it.  He stopped and asked if Magnus had taken the trip well.  Buchanan assured him the horse would be fine then asked the boy if he was satisfied with his quarters.

"Aye, M'Lord," he said.  "They are much better than the equivalent in my ... where I come from, according to friends who joined the King's Guard."

Ileana smiled at the boy, after he caught himself revealing more than he should.  He nodded his head at the two and returned to his quarters with his trunk.  Rhodes watched him return then turned to Buchanan.

"There is something about the boy that is puzzling," he said.  "He wears the clothes of a workman but his hands are well manicured, smooth, and he speaks very well for a common born man.  Are you sure he is what he says he is, My Lord?"

Buchanan fixed his gaze on Rhodes.  "As far I am concerned he is what he says he is," he replied.  "He has been friends with high born sons and perhaps fell into their habits by association.  He has satisfied me and that should satisfy you."

Rhodes bowed his head and returned to his garrison, understanding all the hidden meanings of Buchanan's words to him.  From there Buchanan and Ileana returned to the castle, going to see Cook who almost gathered him into her arms, so pleased was she to see him.  He asked about the cask of bourbon that came and was told it had been put in the wine cellar.  Then he reached inside his jacket and pulled out the sheets of recipes that were given him that could use the liquor for a sauce.  Buchanan did tell her there was a replica Tennessee whiskey that would soon be available and he wished her to try it as well in the same recipes.

"Now, have you seen my wolf?" he asked both Ileana and Cook.  "I was expecting to be greeted by him but no one has said anything about him."

Cook and Ileana looked pained and the latter drew him away.  "I was waiting to tell you in private but our joining pushed it out of my mind," she said.  "Sky has gone missing.  It was a full moon three nights ago and he bolted out of the castle when he heard the other wolves howling.  I think he has returned to the wild.  The tenants and farmers nearby have been on watch for him but there is no sign.  I'm sorry, I should have told you immediately."

"I am pained to hear this," he replied.  "Has there been any attempt to search the forest for him?"

"Rhodes has tried but there was some extremist trouble again and he felt it more important to have full guard complements at the silo and the Library," she replied.

Buchanan left the kitchen with emotion, pulling Ileana into a room that was more private for them.

"The truth," he said, firmly.  "Has anyone, at any time gone to look for Sky?"

"Yes, but not for the past two days," she replied, looking down at the floor.  "I went out with them myself the day after he bolted and there was no sign of him.  In fact, there was no sign of any of the wolves.  It was as if they were summoned elsewhere.  We contacted others by radio and apparently the same has happened with the wolves in their estates.  They have disappeared.  The Sorceress was contacted and she says they are alive but she doesn't know where they are as they don't appear to her for long enough to determine their location.  James, something is going on but I don't know what it is."

Buchanan's face was grim as he left her there, striding up the stairs.  She followed him out to the stables where he asked for the mare to be saddled.  As soon as she was ready he mounted her and rode out without a word.  In a panic, Ileana ran to Rhodes office.

"Lord Buchanan rides to the forest to search for Sky," she said.  "He's gone alone without saying anything."

"Damn," he swore, as he rose from his desk.  "With all the wolves missing there could be something much more dangerous waiting for him.  I can't spare any soldiers to look for him as the threat of the extremists is too high.  I will go, put Wallis in command while I am gone.  I promise that I will find him, M'Lady."

"Take the boy," she suggested.  "He hasn't been assigned yet, has he?"

"He's untested," said Rhodes.  "I don't know his capabilities."

"But James has become his friend," she said, turning to him.  "That counts for something, doesn't it?"

"Aye, it does," he said. He looked sharply at her.  "What is it about him that Lord Buchanan doesn't want me to know?"

"It's not my place to say," she replied.  "But the boy is more than what you see.  He will help you, I promise."

"Very well," replied Rhodes.  "I will take him with me."

"Rhodes, did you ever see Lord Buchanan as the White Wolf?" asked Ileana.

"No, I've only heard the stories," he replied.  "You don't think he will transform himself to find Sky?"

She raised her hands and shrugged, unsure of much.  "If he does only these words will bring him back," she said,  "longing, daybreak, homecoming ... in that order.  Something has drawn the wild wolves and our tame one away.  It may be what drew the wolf in my Lord away as well.  Please be careful."

"Aye, My Lady," said Rhodes with determination.  "I will."

A quarter hour later he and Quin rode towards the forest trying to track where Buchanan had gone.  As they ventured deeper into the thickening array of trees they became aware that it wasn't just the wolves that were missing, other animals were as well.

"There is no birdsong, no chatter of squirrels, no deer," said Rhodes.  "This silence is unnatural."

"It is unnerving," replied Quin.  "I feel enclosed in this forest.  We don't have them this thick and dark where I come from."

"You have more open spaces," stated Rhodes.  "I am sure there are sounds there that assure you all is well as you ride through it just are there indicators when all is not well."

"That's true," said Quin.  "We occasionally get destructive thunderstorms.  Prior to their arrival it seems as if the animals that live on the prairie prepare.  Some leave their dens and search for higher ground, others hunker down and prepare to ride out the storm... Is that the mare, over there?”

Quin pointed to a spot some distance from them.  Rhodes spurred his horse and they both approached the mare who was feeding on the sweet grass in a small clearing.  She was untethered, seeming unbothered by them as they approached.  Quin dismounted, took her reins and fastened it to his horse then watched as Rhodes dismounted.  They both called for Lord Buchanan but there was no response.  They went further afield by foot where Quin found a pile of clothes.

"Commander, over here," he called, picking up the familiar blue leathers of Lord Buchanan.

Rhodes took them from the boy.  "Damn," he swore, "he must have transformed, like Lady Buchanan predicted.  He could be anywhere."

"Transformed?" asked Quin.  "What do you mean?"

"He has become the White Wolf," said Rhodes.  "He was enchanted some years ago and the wolf lives in him still.  His transformation into the wolf is by his choice this time as he deliberately disrobed but his transformation back is possible only through an intervention.  We must find him and give the commands to transform back or else he will stay as a wolf forever."

"So what do we do, Commander?" asked Quin.  "Do we return and get help or do we stay and search for him?"

"You outrank me, your Highness," said Rhodes.  "It is your call, your command that I await."

"We find him," said Quin, without thinking, then realized he had been tricked into revealing his true identity.  "How did you know?"

"I didn't," said Rhodes.  "I guessed.  You are the heir to the throne in the Kingdom of the Western Plains, are you not?"

"I am, but I want no special treatment," replied the prince.  "I made a grave mistake when Lord Buchanan was in the kingdom, one that could have seen me executed as a common criminal.  He saved me from the noose and has given me this year to learn to be a just man so that I can be a good king when it is my time.  I owe him everything just for that.  Please do not expose me to others."

"I won't," replied Rhodes.  "Buchanan is the best of men and he wouldn't have taken you in unless he saw something in you.   I agree with you, Quin Torres that we should search for Lord Buchanan.  Like him, I will help you to be a better man.  It is part of my job, too."

Rhodes stuck his hand and arm out to Torres and the boy took his in return as agreement.  Together they rode further into the dark forest searching for the White Wolf and where he had gone.  Once they found the wolf tracks they followed them until it was too dark then they built a fire and ate the rations that both had brought, drinking from a small stream nearby.  Rhodes took the first watch while the boy slept then woke him when the moon was high.  The boy sat gamely through the remainder of the night, still unnerved by the quiet and closeness of the forest but he stood his watch. When the first beams of the morning sun peeked between the trees he woke Rhodes, they mounted their horses and began tracking the wolf again.  Neither thought they wouldn't find Lord Buchanan.

Chapter 29>>

Series Masterlist

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[autumnslance]

Prompt #27: Hail

“The stage is set!” The spirit of Amon howled triumphantly. “Let the curtains rise for the main attraction!”

Estinien heard Aeryn curse and call to the healers for their strongest shields, fear in her voice as heat flared.

There was nowhere to go from whatever spell the ghost was casting while utterly ignoring the Scions’ attacks.

Estinien rounded to find the twins; Alphinaud was behind him, sweat plastering his bangs to his face as he controlled his nouliths to answer Aeryn’s order. Alisaie was leaping forward with a scream of anger to slice at Amon with her blade, trying to stop him through sheer violence. She was near Thancred now, and he would do all he could to protect her from whatever was coming if she did not leap back…

The temperature abruptly dropped.

Estinien blinked.

For a moment, he was reminded of the scent of the Chocobo Forest’s trees, the rushing sound of them in the wind. The wind soon became the clear, cold familiar gales of Coerthas, his nostrils sticking together as ice drops formed in the air.

He blinked.

An achingly familiar vision coalesced in white and blue, elegant as she flew through the air. He heard Y’shtola gasp, Alphinaud’s cry of recognition.

From Aeryn, silence, though he could imagine her face, if he had the time to look.

He blinked.

Saint Shiva spun through the room, as she had in the skies of Azys Lla that terrible day. Snow fell in her wake, defiant of the rising heat. Lifting an arm, she snapped her fingers.

The Scions were forcibly slid across the rime-coated floor, a frozen pillar between them and Amon just as his fiery spell completed.

Protected by divine ice, they were entirely unscathed.

“My, what a boorish audience you are!” Amon ranted.

Estinien blinked, and she was gone.

Fare well once again, dear lady; now it was his turn.

“Time to end this!” Estinien roared. He dove at the ghost, Nidhogg crackling.

In the aftermath as they stood panting, even as the mages warned against the weakened Amon, Estinien spied a white glint on the ground. He bent to retrieve it.

A small, unmelting orb of ice, no larger than, perhaps, an elezen maid’s thumbnail.

He heard Alphinaud whisper, “Ysayle,” his hands clasped in a prayer.

Through this strange realm of ghostly memories, the others had seen visions of those they had lost, both friends and foes. Haurchefant’s had been the only one Estinien recognized; the others were stories his companions told.

Until the damnably righteous witch had saved them, one more time. “Such was the strength of her faith in us,” Estinien said, a fond smile on his lips despite himself.

He would find a way to make the hailstone into a gift for the boy; he deserved a memento.

After all—as Estinien checked his ancient dragonscale armor to prepare for what came next—he already kept Iceheart close.

[unfortunate-arrow]

𝐀 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

A/N: For @hp-12monthsofmagic’s September prompt (“Hoggy Warty Hogwarts”). Set in July of 1905.

“Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen,” Colm O’Shea murmured as he stared ahead at the crucifix that hung in the orphanage’s small chapel. It was nowhere near as grand as St. Mary’s across the street, but it held the crucifix and the stained glass portraits of the Virgin Mary and the orphanage’s namesake, St. Jerome. 

“In nomine patris et filius et spiritus sancti,” he murmured, making the sign of the cross as he rose from the pew as a sign of finished morning prayers. Not that he had done them correctly. He’d not recited the Hail Mary, but the proper wording eluded him, and the Our Father was recited during each day’s mass.

“Ah, good to see that you have finished your prayers, Mr. O’Shea,” Sister Patrick, one of the friendlier nuns, said as she entered the chapel. “You have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Colm echoed, his stomach twisting at the idea. “My ma?” 

“No, not your mother. A man, who dresses like he’s quite important”

“Oh.” He sighed. 

“Come along. We don’t want to keep someone like that waiting.” 

Colm nodded and followed Sister Patrick to the drawing room. It was probably the nicest room in St. Jerome’s, as the children were kept out unless someone important requested to visit with them. Not even the priests were important enough to warrant a reception in the parlor. Colm had always assumed that only Pope Pius X would be important enough for the parlor. Or maybe the king, but why would the king come to see the son of insurrectionists? Hell, why would anyone be interested in the son of insurrectionists?

They were standing outside the parlor before Colm had even noticed that they’d crossed half the building. With a deep breath, he pushed the door open and entered. The parlor was bright, with wide windows, and a coat of blue paint. A man, dressed in a sharply tailored but slightly odd suit looked up and offered Colm a smile and a gesture to sit down. Colm swallowed but tentatively sat down on the couch opposite the man.

“Hello, you must be Colm O’Shea. I am Caesar St. James, a professor,” the man said.

“Hello, Professor St. James. May I ask why you are here?” Colm asked. 

“Well, Mr. O’Shea, I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Colm let out a laugh. Witchcraft? Wizardry? 

“I wouldn’t be so quick to write it off, Mr. O’Shea. Magic does exist.”

“Magic, like turning water into wine? Or like I’ll make this disappear?”

“Well, I’ve never tried turning water into wine, but I can make things disappear.” 

Colm crossed his arms, his brown eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Show me.”

Professor St. James pulled out a long and thin stick of wood and murmured something as he waved it. The light went out. A second later, accompanied by a murmur, the lights were back. Colm nodded, trying not to look impressed.

“So, you’re saying that I’m magic?” he asked.

“Yes. Haven’t you noticed strange things happening around you?” Professor St. James asked.

“I have, but it’s either the devil or a saint.” 

“It’s neither dear boy. You have magic through your bones and you will be educated at Hogwarts, starting in September. You will turn eleven on August 27, correct?”

“Yes. But me? The son of insurrectionists? And why should I take your word as a bloody Englishman? The words of an Englishman mean nothing to me.” 

“Here is your letter, Mr. O'Shea, although you should watch your language. Most of my colleagues are a lot less tolerant of that language.” 

Professor St. James handed Colm a thick envelope. He took it with great care and suspicion. He opened it gradually, wedging a finger underneath the seal. 

“Dear Mr. O’Shea,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Caesar St. James

Deputy Headmaster,” he read aloud. There was more, but Colm couldn’t tear his eyes away from the letter.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“Not really, Mr. O’Shea. It can be dangerous for a young wizard to not cultivate their magic skills,” Professor St. James replied.

“Fine. I’ll go to your stupid bloody school.”

“Pleased to hear that Mr. O’Shea. And, given your circumstances, I will send someone to accompany you to purchase your supplies and to be sure that you reach the platform.”

“What about the sisters?” 

“Ah, I shall explain that your parents left a trust with a prestigious school in Scotland.”

“My mother and father were convicted of planning to commit treason. There should be no money.”

“Ah, we’ll handle it Mr. O’Shea.”

Colm eyed the professor warily. Six years in an orphanage along with the reputation of being both the devil and a saint had brought on a large dose of suspicion. 

“And you’re not part of the government?” he asked.

“No, the ministry of magic and Hogwarts are separate from the non-magic, or muggle, governments. Although, there is cooperation between our two governments,” Professor St. James replied.

Colm nodded warily. It wasn’t a response that inspired a lot of confidence. At least, not for Colm.

“Well, I’ll be writing to you to inform you about who and when you’ll be going to get your school supplies. Until September, Mr. O’Shea,” Professor St. James extended his hand and Colm reached out to shake it.

“Bloody Englishman,” he muttered under his breath as he followed Professor St. James out of the parlor. “Bloody magic. Bloody Hogwarts.”

[perchingowl]

Owl's whumpy-tober 2023 prompts

I've been thinking about whether to do whumptober or not, mainly because the prompts are much more geared towards modern day whump and I don't really vibe with that this year ^^; As such, these are my prompts for the month of October. So, let's see if I manage 31 fics ^_^

01 GETTING A LITTLE HEATED Alcohol | Fire | "It's getting hot in here."

02 HEY, WHO TURNED OFF THE LIGHTS? Broken light source | Lost | "We have been here before."

03 ON KNIFE'S EDGE Rusty Blade | Blood | "This will only hurt a bit."

04 HANGING IN THERE Rope | Dangling | "This doesn't look good."

05 BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS Drenched Sheets | Fever | "For how long have they been like this?"

06 FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE Letters | Secrets | "Why didn't you tell me?"

07 A LITTLE TORTURE GOES A LONG WAY Brass Knuckles | Pain | "Please, make it stop."

08 DON'T HOLD YOUR BREATH Garotte | Fighting for breath | "Give up!"

09 CAVE-ING IN Rocks | Buried Alive | "I wish I was with you instead."

10 READY, SET, GO! Ammunition | Hunt | "Run for your lives!"

11 JUST A LITTLE UNWELL Medication | Illness | "This will help you."

12 SHOW SOME RESTRAINT Shackles | Imprisonment | "You are never getting out of that/here."

13 DREAM A LITTLE DREAM (OF ME) Roof | Nightmares | "Is this real?"

14 NOTHING TO SEE HERE Blindfold | Deprivation | "That's enough."

15 ALL WRAPPED UP AND READY TO GO Bandages | Bleeding out | "So much blood."

16 IT'S NOT THE FALL THAT KILLS YOU Failsafe | Free Fall | "I can't hold on!"

17 MUSIC TO MY EARS Table | Screams | "They always tell us in the end."

18 OVER THEIR (DEAD) BODY Spike | Pinned | "Don't move!"

19 A LITTLE SHOCK NEVER HURT ANYONE, RIGHT? Metal Rod | Electricity | "Don't touch it!"

20 ROUGH SEAS Flotsam | Dry Drowning | "Deep breaths!"

21 WHERE IS MY MIND? Ring | Mind Control | "That's not you!"

22 THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN … Bright Light(s) | Blinded | "I can't see."

23 THINGS GETTING A LITTLE HAZY Maze | Disorientation | "What is happening?"

24 THE COURT IS IN SESSION Kangaroo Court | False Accusation | "Guilty as charged."

25 FRESH OUT OF LUCK Dead-end | Cornered | "There is no way out."

26 I'M A DOCTOR, NOT A PROMPT! Medical Bag | Field Surgery | "We can't lose them."

27 ALL ALONE Bars | Left behind | "Where are you?"

28 DEAD TO THE WORLD Blanket | Fatigue | "Rest - you will need it."

29 CALM BEFORE THE STORM Open Field | Hail | "It's close now!"

30 RED TAPE Muzzle | Silence | "Shut them up!"

31 REST IN PIECES Cot | Respite | "How are you doing?"

I've made these prompts for fun and wanted to post them for reference when I upload my fics. If you want to use them, feel free to - no need to tag me. Anyway, wish me luck, the last few months have not been conductive to being a fic writer (work got bloody stressful, my laptop broke with me still not having a replacement and I have thoroughly lost track of answering to messages and comments, for which I'm very sorry).

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

Where All Roads Lead (masterpost, FFXIV Write 2022)

For many, it seems as if Riven’s presence was a gift from the gods themselves--showing up seemingly out of nowhere one day, feet on the hero’s path.  But her past is far more tragic and darker than one could imagine...

Where All Roads Lead provides backstory for both the last princess and wayward(grand) daughter.  While some prompts are generally G-rated, quite a few have warnings for more heavy topics, such as child abuse and slavery.  These I’ll indicate in brackets next to the link, so you can avoid them if you so wish. Non-bracketed ones are G-rated.

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

1.  Cross

2.  Bolt

3.  Temper

4.  Invitation

5.  Cutting Corners (child abuse)

6.  Onerous

7.  Pawn

8.  Tepid

9.  Yawn

10.  Channel

11.  Kick (torture, murder, blood)

12.  Miss The Boat (child abuse)

13.  Confluence

14.  Attrition (murder, child abuse)

15.  Row (child abuse, violence, blood)

16.  Deiform

17.  Novel

18.  Revenge  (violence, blood)

19.  Turn A Blind Eye

20.  Anon

21.  Solution

22.  Veracity

23.  Pitch 

24.  Vicissitude

25.  Lightbulb (child slavery)

26.  Break A Leg

27.  Hail 

28.  Vainglory

29.  Fuse

30.  Sojourn

[ofscorchedearth]

#FFXIVWrite 2022 Masterpost

Prompt #1: Cross

Prompt #2: Bolt

Prompt #3: Temper

Prompt #5: Cutting Corners

Prompt #6: Onerous

Prompt #7: Pawn

Prompt #8: Tepid

Prompt #9: Yawn

Prompt #10: Channel

Prompt #12: Miss the Boat

Prompt #13: Confluence

Prompt #14: Attrition

Prompt #15: Row

Prompt #16: Deiform

Prompt #17: Novel

Prompt #19: Turn a Blind Eye

Prompt #20: Anon

Prompt #21: Solution

Prompt #22: Veracity

Prompt #23: Pitch

Prompt #24: Vicissitudes

Prompt #26: Break a Leg

Prompt #27: Hail

Prompt #28: Vainglory

Prompt #29: Fuse

Prompt #30: Sojourn

[thedarknesssings]

Prompt 27:  Not Far Behind

Prompt: Hail - FFXIV Write 2022 Characters:  Marius Steele and Ronan, mentions of Marius’s daughter (Isolde), sideways mention of Melanthian, and threats at Fian @dark-revelries​. Content warning: Refers to kidnapping, mention of drug use. (mild on both)

Lay down your head and whisper to me of your desires.

Braids flow between your fingers, dozens of them finely crafted from her coiled black hair and sleek against your skin.  Her face tips up, brown eyes wide and desperate.  Her lips move, mouths a word that pierces you through to your core.

“Dad!”

She doesn’t need to say help me. You know.  The memories of that night never leave your mind, nor the days you’ve spent since following her trail.  She’s not a child anymore, your daughter.  That many years have passed.  A young woman in her own right, but every time you dream of her, she’s the twelve-year-old you lost.  

“My desires–”

Your desires are simple things.  To see your daughter again and release her from the nightmare she’s caught up in.  Does she even recognise you or know her situation as wrong anymore?  Will she love you for saving her or hate you for meddling in her life?  

Is she loved?

Blue-green strands replace the flowing box braids.  Your hand closes in a fist around the wavy locks, grasping onto them with a growl.  No, not him too! 

Faerie swallows all things, despite what Ronan says.  The trust you place in that man is extreme.  Your only safe way through Faerie is drugged in his arms, to avoid the pitfall and temptations of the land.  You are their token human that the corporation has no desire to lose.

Even when your heart is turning you traitor to them.  You have to hold on.  A little longer.  Find her.  Find him.

“My desires–”

Fianynlas.  

You grimace.  The pain in your chest is like being pelted with hail stones.  The recognition of what he’s done in hindsight staggers you.  The man you were sent to spy on, to learn about in hopes of a trail to your daughter, played you.  You’ll find him again.  Demand Fian unravel the lies from the truth.  You’re not harmless against him. Not this human. You’ve no qualms about growling in the face of this fae, king or not.  He’s yours.

The blur of colour and the tingling in your limbs lessen.  Darkness sits behind your eyelids for a few steady breaths.  The scents that assail your nose are familiar, woodsy and warm, earthy and welcome.

“Marius?”  Ronan’s voice. Careful and sturdy as the sun that you feel heating your face.  “We’re here.” 

Where’s here?

-Hear, feel, think-

[usafphantom2]

Georgia base tapped to host F-35 fighters as A-10 fleet retires

Rachel S. CohenJun 27 at 04:15 PM

Moody Air Force Base, Georgia, is the service’s top pick to become the next active duty home of the F-35A Lightning II fighter.

The Air Force said Monday it plans to bring two F-35 squadrons to the Valdosta base starting in fiscal 2029, when it hopes to complete phasing out its fleet of A-10C Thunderbolt II attack planes.

The service must first study the proposed move’s environmental impact on the surrounding area before formally green-lighting the project. That review is slated to finish in fall 2025.

Switching missions at Moody isn’t expected to create any new jobs on base, the Air Force said, although it had previously announced that the U.S.’s most advanced fighter jet would bring in another 500 or so workers.

It’s unclear what other bases were considered as part of the process.

Winding down much of America’s combat operations overseas has prompted a significant shift in Moody’s missions at home. For almost two decades, the base’s A-10s watched over ground troops and strafed enemy forces with the Warthog’s iconic, armor-piercing 30mm gun.

Moody airmen also flew search-and-rescue missions in Afghanistan since the early days of the U.S. invasion and trained Afghan pilots on the A-29 Super Tucano ground attack aircraft to build the country’s fledgling air force.

The Air Force’s plan to swap A-10s for F-35s at Moody is emblematic of the Pentagon’s pivot from its longtime War on Terror to instead focus on military competition with China.

The service argues that the Warthog fleet must be retired because it is ill-equipped to face off against advanced air defenses, stealth jets and the vast distances of the Pacific. Critics say the A-10 can perform the close air support mission far better than the F-35, which was designed as the high-tech “quarterback” of the battlefield rather than to hunt convoys.

Georgia lawmakers hailed the decision as a long-term investment in the region’s military community as the country’s priorities change.

“This is a major step forward in our ongoing effort to strengthen and sustain Moody Air Force Base for decades to come,” Sen. Jon Ossoff, D-Georgia, said in a release Monday. “I will continue to champion Moody AFB and its future as a home for U.S. Air Force tactical aviation.”

“For decades Moody AFB has been key for our nation’s defense,” Republican Rep. Austin Scott, who represents the base’s district, said on Twitter. “I am pleased that Secretary Kendall has selected Moody as the preferred location for the F-35 Joint Strike Fighter. Moody is proud to maintain a fighter mission, carrying its strong legacy long into the 21st century.”

Active duty F-35 units already handle test, training and combat operations from Edwards Air Force Base in California, Nellis AFB in Nevada, Luke AFB in Arizona, Hill AFB in Utah, Eglin AFB in Florida, Eielson AFB in Alaska and RAF Lakenheath in England. Three more squadrons will start arriving at Tyndall AFB, Florida, this summer.

In May, the service announced that the Oregon National Guard will likely host the Air Force’s third F-35A training squadron at Kingsley Field, pending an environmental study. The decision would bring 20 jets but no new jobs to the installation.

“The Air Force needs F-35 squadrons available and fully mission-capable to prevail against peer adversaries,” the Oregon Air National Guard’s 173rd Fighter Wing said in a release. “That means they require more F-35 pilots. Team Kingsley’s adaptability and excellence allows us to fill this Air Force need.”

The U.S. plans to purchase 2,470 F-35s overall, more than 1,700 of which will be flown by the Air Force. The jets remain the Pentagon’s most expensive weapons program, at more than $1.7 trillion to buy, operate and maintain, the Government Accountability Office said last year.

Rachel Cohen joined Air Force Times as senior reporter in March 2021. Her work has appeared in Air Force Magazine, Inside Defense, Inside Health Policy, the Frederick News-Post (Md.), the Washington Post, and others.