#rotwoods lore

[bciphergrl]

Ello everyone! I know that we, the fans of Tophat On A Stage, have been celebrating the death of Chip Rotwood Jr. That horrible jerk will never be missed. But that's not what I'm here to talk about. Oh no no no! For today's theory, it's related to the purple titan itself. You see, the creator just released her newest comic, issue 52. It dives into the types of reoccurring dreams that Newton keeps having. I'm focusing more into the fact that he has been keeping seeing the purple titan more often, since the death of Jr. But I know that you're here to listen to my theory, not me explaining what happened in the comic. So, here's my theory: the purple titan isn't gone for good.

I know. It sounds pretty vague. Just let me explain to get your gears rolling as much mine has. I get it that the purple titan is dead. I don't doubt that. The creator of Tophat On A Stage literally confirmed that multiple times (even in her recent fun facts of the week) before and there's definite proof in the movie "Out Walking The Dog 2".

(Seriously, go give it a rewatch, if you don't believe me.) HOWEVER she didn't say anything about a possible of it being gone for good. I can already hear someone saying "But how is that possible for it to still exist, if it was already killed, before the comic series even started?". That's a good question. I have re-read the comics to get a better answer to it. It's honestly rather simple. The remnant within Newton. You see, Marlon has remnant of the yellow titan within him and uses it's powers. This applies to Newton as well. He was only to finally use the power of the purple titan (even though unintentional), assuming, for the first time out of fear of Jr ending his life.

Despite those two titans being dead, I believe that having a remnant of them allows them to still use their powers. Marlon has demonstrated that more than plenty of times within the comic series so far.

After all, the color of his eyes shows which titan. Even though having a remnant of a titan still allows them to use their power, it shouldn't influence them....right?

That might not be necessarily true. We saw how much it mostly changed Marlon. I know you'll probably say "That's because the green titan is the only one who wasn't killed" and you're correct. It's the only one who lived. However, that's doesn't mean that ghosts can't exist. Remnant from ghosts to be exact. What is exactly remnant though? Well, in order to answer that, I'm gonna need to talk a little bit about Five Nights At Freddy's for a moment. It has been mentioned there in the Fazbear Frights books I've read. To save you the pain and suffering from having to read it's complicated lore, both game and book series, I'll just tell you what remnant basically is in the FNAF universe. Remnant is anything that remains after a person's death. This includes memories, feelings and ghosts. It can embedded itself into objects.

But I believe the remnant in the TOAS AU is different in this case. It embeds into a living soul. This can very easily influence a person, especially if using powers more and more often (if that remnant had any in the first place). It could even talk to the living soul in their dreams, if the remnant has a strong enough influence on them. Think about it. Marlon isn't the same person he once was. He has changed into an (almost) entire different person. Who's to say that the same thing can't happen to Newton?

We did see him being able to talk to Captain Pud, since his father is a ghost.

This could apply to the purple titan as well. Just in a different way. For now, he can only see it in his reflection in his dreams. It seems to only interact with him by waving and/or staring at him. It was shown in the last two panels. He was able to see it's titan form more often, since the event with Jr. I think it's possible that the more he uses it's powers, the more likely he'll keep seeing it in it's titan form in his reflection than when it possessed him. It's gonna eventually start to actually talk to him, via influence him into a different person.

It'll be a slow process for Newton, due to only being one titan remnant within. Marlon has a live green titan and a remnant of the yellow titan. So, the influence got to him quicker.

So, in conclusion, the purple titan is dead DEAD. But still around as a ghost in a form of remnant to influence Newton into a different person, whenever it's a good thing or a bad thing. It's more so on the latter in my opinion. This could be important to know this for the future of issue 100. We can only wait and see. But hey! That's just a theory! A Tophat On A Stage theory! Thanks for reading! Have a good day or night and stay hydrated!

(All the images belong to @theizzizzy)

[plushee-cant-draw]

KLEI :D

Starvent short, oxygen includn’t short with a new dlc announced, AND a rotwood cinematic trailer with some lore

[darthkvznblogs]

Viste Jake Long no es asi?? bien entonces cuales son tus episodios y personajes favoritos?? vas a incluir algun concepto, personaje, tu en tu historia??

Perdón, otra vez, contesto en inglés porque es demasiado para traducir.

(Transl.)

Q: You watched Jake Long didn't you?? okay then what are your favorite episodes and characters?? are you gonna include any concept, character, in your story??

A: Sorry, again, answering in english because it's too much to translate.

I actually really liked the finale, and generally the episodes where you have a bit of actual stakes when they play around with Rose and Jake's identities. I was pretty disappointed by the Dark Dragon, tbh, though I have some ideas to fix things for the Kverse (and yes, I've already mentioned I plan to include Jake Long eventually). The Huntsclan was cool until they bizarrely decided they needed tween dumbasses in their ranks (definitely some weird choices in this show).

I'd say my favorite characters were Rose and Grandpa Lao Shi (I liked him better in S1 admittedly, he became kind of a joke in S2). I like Jake, too, but he makes bafflingly stupid choices sometimes. I found Trixie and Spud acceptable in small doses, but more often than not they annoyed me too much to like them. I only like Fu Dog when isn't being misogynistic, which...isn't as often as you'd think (??? wtf was that choice about ???). Haley was also really grating usually (but I have a really fun idea for her!). Jake's dad was fun when he didn't outstay his welcome. Jake's mom was...barely there (and I actually don't like that the dragon powers "skipped her generation", they do absolutely nothing with that). And yeah, despite the stereotype, I did actually enjoy Rotwood (the VA's line delivery just really sold it for me and I freakin' loved when he finally proved Jake was a dragon).

As I've mentioned before, I'm going to be adapting the Jake Long lore into the established magical world of the Kverse. This does mean a few important changes, but I've tried to keep the important stuff intact. You'll have to wait and see how that develops!

[siltfr]

@majestyrising @fusefr @archaic-fr @hellkite-fr @jollyroger-fr @deadlanddisciple @jadedragons

i dont even know if all of you are active anymore lmao im sorry. as always, let me know if you want on or off the ping list. warnings for violence and death and also me trying to write action scenes.

They don’t notice them until it is too late.

Oshosi tugs lightly at a small, round berry and watches it roll in circles in his palm, leaving a small trail of red from where he accidentally punctured its skin. His pouch is almost full of its brethren, ordered by one of the witches and therefore something he knows not to taste, and he lets the berry roll off his palm and into the pouch before pulling it shut and hanging it on his belt.

A sudden outcry from one of the others has him whirl around to see one of the younger ones, Mali something or other, on the ground with a large brown dragon on top of him, snapping at his throat but not quite reaching. Oshosi lets instinct take over and leaps forward, his form shifting as it does, and slams into the Leafrot dragon with enough force to topple both of them to the ground. The enemy slithers out of his grasp seconds before his jaw would have shut closed over his neck and rolls them around to get on top. Oshosi grasps at his shoulders and tears off a piece of bark-like skin, though his opponent barely registers it and stoops down to do to Oshosi what he tried to do to Mali moments before. Oshosi twists away from his grip and crawls to his feet, taking the opportunity to get some distance between them. The Leafrot dragon considers him with narrow eyes, and then he leaps forward in a flurry of teeth and rage, which Oshosi narrowly escapes by slithering to the side, immediately responding with a violent blast of red that hits him in the side. The dragon roars in pain as his flesh sizzles and smokes, the edges of the wound rapidly turning black and rotten. There is a smell of burnt timber in the air.

His hind leg gives out for a moment, and then he looks back at Oshosi. He recognises the look and rolls to the side when claws come for his face in a final desperate attempt at dragging him down, too, and then his enemy collapses, still alive, but not for long.

“Watch out!” shouts someone to his right and Oshosi looks up just in time to see another, this one small and fae-like, send a blast of magic towards him. His arms move and sends his own magic in response, and there is a loud pang as the energies collide with a violent flash of light; Oshosi is sent backwards from the force of it.

He doesn’t give himself time to feel if he is okay but stumbles to his feet just in time to parry another blow of magic from the fae; in the corner of his eye he can see Hirsch fighting off two other Leafrots, her claws digging into their hides with reckless abandon. Somewhere else, he hears Iraulie roar.

The fae notices his distraction and barrels forward to shorten the distance between them, a circle of something that looks like glowing knives manifesting around her as she does. Oshosi digs deep in the ground and and raises an arm, a wall of rot coming crawling out of the forest floor as he does. He makes it, but barely; the knives come at him like projectiles and dig into the wall just as it solidifies, some of them almost making it all the way through. The ones he missed whizz past him and disappear into the woods behind him.

He flaps his wings, once, and the wall comes tumbling down, mere inches away from the fae that still hovers in the air. More knives have formed around her; they hum with magic.

Another blast like the one that killed the other one, but she parries it almost effortlessly. He won’t have time to build another shield.

So he drops and rolls to the side just as the knives are fired; one of them puncture his wing, but the rest miss their target and follow the others into the woods. Oshosi sends another blast at the fae, but doesn’t wait to see her parry it before he leaps forward, too. As the magics wipe each other out, he barges through them with an open jaw and goes straight for her throat; her tiny claws barely even scratch him as his teeth digs into her neck and he tugs; with a quiet pop, her bones snap, and she goes limp in his mouth. He drops her to the ground and looks around to see if there are anyone else waiting to attack him.

Hirsch stands over the bodies of the two that attacked her and pants, blood splattered on her face and arms and her mouth twisted into a grin. Iraulie has already abandoned the one she fought and sits crouched next to a bush and plucks its leaves. Mali sits where Oshosi left him, looking from dead body to dead body.

“You alright?” Oshosi asks him, ignoring it when he flinches and looks up at him with wide eyes.

“I think so,” he says, but sounds far from sure. Whatever. Eztli will get to work her magic on him later.

“Good,” says Oshosi, and looks down to his belt, where there are no pouches anymore. “Ah.”

“You’re injured,” says Hirsch, bringing his attention from the hour he just wasted plucking berries, to the searing in his wing. She wipes her mouth, but it only smears the blood across her face.

“It’ll heal,” he says, tucking his wings closer to his body and beginning to scour the ground in search of the bags he lost. She watches him for a moment, and then she shrugs and pulls out a knife, kneeling next to one of the dead Leafrots. Oshosi only finds one of his pouches, the thread used to close it having loosened and most of its contents spilled. He saves what little he can, and then he returns to the berries and sits down, preparing to stay there for a while.

[emachinescat]

Way Back Wednesday #3

Welcome to Way Back Wednesday! Every Wednesday, I am delving into my past as a fanfic writer and reflecting on and sharing one of my stories… starting from the very beginning, 16 years ago, when I was a 14-year-old kid discovering her love for fandom. ❤️

Today’s story is…

Choices

American Dragon: Jake Long

Summary: Since that fateful day when Jake found out Rose's secret, nightmares about confronting her have been haunting his dreams. What follows is an epic and harrowing series of events that will change his life forever.

Chapters: 45 | Words: 30,171

Year Published: 2005 | My age: 14

Relationships: Jake/Rose | Characters: Jake, Rose, Trixie, Spud, Fu Dog, Lao Shi, Jake's parents, Haley, Huntsman, Dark Dragon, Professor Rotwood, General Chang

AO3 Tags: Action/Adventure, Romance, Friendship, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Fantasy

My reflections on and "review" of the story are after the break! :)

I have so many wonderful memories of writing this story. It was the first "long" story I'd written (back then, 30k words was like a whole-ass tome), and I was so proud of it. I remember where I wrote some of the chapters, and even have core memories of writing chapter 13 at a family friend's house in their basement. Strange, the things we remember.

Honestly, I really enjoyed revisiting this story. My writing wasn't as honed as it is today, but the grammar was good for the most part, and the plots (yes, plots, I milked this story for all it was worth and had like four plots, one right after the other) made sense. By this point, I'd gotten better at description, but I still glossed over some aspects that I don't think I would have today. I did create some of my own lore and an OC leprechaun, both of which were pretty well executed.

I am very proud of 14-year-old me for not making Rose an entire sad sack, though she is still pretty useless through most of the story. It's been years since I've watched the show, but from what I recall, the characterizations and voices were pretty spot-on.

Structurally, I feel like the story could have been far less chapters - maybe 20, instead of 45. Some were so short that nothing important really happened in them - a couple were too insubstantial to even be considered filler chapters! I do recall this being a time where I would have to write what I could when I could, as I did not have constant access to the Internet, and I was grounded a lot.

But yeah, this isn't actually a bad read; it's actually pretty fun. A bit contrived and wordy in some places, but it's a story I can definitely be proud of, considering I was a freshman in high school when I wrote it.

I do remember getting one of my first critical reviews (it wasn't even negative, just constructive) on this story. Basically, the reviewer commented that the story seemed to be going on longer than it needed to. Now, I see that as a fair point. Back then, I was a very emotional teenager who couldn't take any kind of constructive criticism, and I think I wrote back a snappish response to the reviewer. If you're out there, reviewer, I apologize for freaking out. I was a stupid kid with a lot of self-doubt.

All that being said, I really hope you enjoy if you read this story. Do remember that it is an old one, and that even if it is pretty well executed, I was still 14 years old and just finding my voice as a fanfic writer. :)

[chippa-thoughts]

Kwami Buster Theory: Mousinette Debut

I agree with a lot of people when they say Kwami Buster is most likely the episode where Multi Mouse will debut. Here's my thoughts on it:

The fact that Ms. Mendeleiev is going to be the one who gets akumatized reminds me of this episode in "American Dragon: Jake Long" where Jake also has a professor at his school who spends his time making conspiracies and trying to prove that the mythical world is real.

After seeing a Kwami, she tries as hard as she can to convince everyone that she's seen them and they exist.

Following the narrative of the American Dragon episode, my guess is, something happens that causes either Plagg or Tikki to be exposed and Ms Mendeleiev witnesses it. It could be something as simple as Tikki floating about and Ms Mendeleiev just happens to walk in on it by accident.

OR/AND

Ms. Mendeleiev actually has gotten a hold of Tikki. (Maybe we'll get some Plagg/Tikki moments where it's actually Plagg who's been careless but Tikki takes the bullet for it.) Marinette tries to explain that it's just a toy, but Ms. Mendeleiev swears that she saw it move. So she does what every teacher does and "confiscates" Tikki.

As a science teacher, discovering a kwami could be ground-breaking: she'll want to study them, expose them, learn about them! (I think what would be great for added character depth too is that she's already interested in Kwami lore and has been obsessing over it in her spare time - much like Professor Rotwood in American Dragon)

I reckon she would freak out in front of her class/confront them about it.

This would give us a great opportunity to see Chloe, Alya, Nino, Adrien and Marinette awkwardly pretend they have no clue what she's talking about.

Marinette especially, seems particularly passionate about saving the little red creature from Ms Mendeleiev's captivity and Adrien takes note of this.

So everyone tries to disprove her even though Ms M is insistent that she saw what she saw and she's 100% not lying.

This would be where the Akuma comes flying in. Maybe she's angry/upset that no one believes her. Maybe she's humiliated and embarrassed because she DOES in fact have evidence but people think she's crazy. Or perhaps she has Tikki in her captivity but Tikki escapes and when Ms. Mendeleiev is just about to reveal her new "discovery" to everyone, no evidence is there.

A similar plot point happens in American Dragon.

Then she becomes "Kwami Buster" - the akumatized!Ms. Mendeleiev has the power to seek out Kwamis - maybe track down the escaped Tikki or hunt down more! Hawk Moth gets excited - perhaps this villain might actually be able to track down the miracle box, or it might be easier to defeat Chat Noir and take his miraculous now that they have Ladybug's Kwami in their posession and she cannot transform. Maybe they'll use Tikki as bait to find Ladybug's identity.

Marinette is now Tikki-less and perhaps she runs to inform Master Fu that Kwami Buster has either captured Tikki or she can't find Tikki anywhere.

OR perhaps, Master Fu finds out himself that Tikki has been captured (maybe through the news, or witnessing the villain running rampant up close).

Now, even though it's logical for Master Fu to give Marinette the mouse miraculous himself right there on the spot, I really want ADRIEN to give it to her.

The way I see this happening is if Master Fu delivers the message to Adrien saying that Ladybug's Kwami has been captured and she cannot transform. So Adrien has to pick a partner who will help him stop Kwami Buster and track down the missing/captured Tikki.

And he remembers how passionate Marinette was about saving the little red creature and chooses her to fight alongside him. OR perhaps he just thinks Marinette will suit the Mouse Miraculous well and gives it to her anyway.

OR if Ms Mendeleiev has truly captured Tikki and reveals it to everyone - Adrien will recognise her (from Reflekdoll with the Kwami Swap) and he'll put two and two together and realise Ladybug can't transform without Tikki. So Adrien takes the initiative to visit Master Fu himself and gets the mouse miraculous from him. If this happened I think it would be a great moment for Adrien's sense of initiative to shine again (like in Oni-Chan when he realised Lila only faked being hurt to get him away from LB, or in Oblivio when he made CatBox) however, I'm doubtful this would happen because the show has a pattern for making Marinette initiate most ideas and it's only so often we get to see Adrien take on a similar mantle. (Here's to wishful thinking though!)

Side note: if this happens, it will be the first time Adrien chooses a hero himself! (We have yet to see Viperion and Pegasus' debut to test that thought though). The fact he chooses Marinette shows how close he feels to her and how much he trusts her (this is why I want HIM to give it to her, it would add more layers to their friendship) But perhaps it might be another "Bee Miraculous" scenario where Marinette intended the Bee for Alya, but Alya gets apprehended. In the same way, perhaps Nino might be Adrien's first choice (as his best friend) but something happens to Nino that makes him unreachable, so he picks Marinette instead. (But if Marinette is his FIRST choice oh boy wouldn't that be the sweetest).

And if Adrien DOES give the miraculous to Marinette as Chat Noir, can you IMAGINE the interaction they'll have?!

Chat Noir (with a soft look): "Marinette Dupain-Cheng, this is the miraculous of the Mouse/Rat. You will use it for the greater good."

Just imagine all the possibilities! The MARICHAT content! She could:

- Accept it right away

- CN would flirt with/tease her and make all the Cat & Mouse puns and jokes (Check out @Solunia on insta & tumblr for all the cutest Chat/Mouse comics!)

- She might resist it because she's already "Ladybug" and who knows if Chat will recognise her. But if she does resist can you IMAGINE Chat insisting that SHE'S the one he's chosen, and there's no better person he could trust: "I've chosen YOU Marinette, there's nobody else better suited for this that I could think of but you"

And boy, I am weak for those cheesy, soft, one-liners.

Then after they have retrieved Tikki, CN takes the Mouse miraculous off Marinette, thanks her for the help (I'm hoping for some hand-kissing action here ✋), then he delivers both Tikki and the jewel to Master Fu who dismisses Chat (to protect their identities) telling him he'll alert Ladybug that Tikki is safe and he should go and hold back Kwami Buster until she arrives. Marinette then sneaks her way to Master Fu, transforms into Ladybug, apprehends Kwami Buster, purifies the Akuma, calls on the miraculous ladybugs and calls it a day.

OR perhaps NONE of this happens. Maybe Tikki AND Plagg both get captured and Master Fu gives the Mouse and Snake miraculous to Adrien and Marinette individually. And we get Aspik AND Multi Mouse. However this will take away the chance for Adrien to give it to Marinette and I would love for that to happen instead and fingers crossed maybe Aspik will show up some other episode.

As of Ms. Mendeleiev... Will she forget all about it? Will she suspend her belief and call it all a fever dream? Will she continue to obsess over kwamis? Who knows, I guess we'll find out.

Well! Those are my thoughts/theories so far about Kwami Buster! Feel free to reply and comment what you think too!

[siltfr]

He has been having dreams lately. Messy ones, the kind where too much happens to understand any of it; a whirlwind of voices and faces and his own heavy limbs buckling under everything. The soft murmur of his father encouraging him to try again, you’ll get it right this time, while people whose faces make his blood freeze bang on the door and laugh. Something dark and shapeless slithers between his feet and when he looks up his father is bleeding black. Water roars past him and he can’t hear what he says. The door behind them opens and someone hidden by bright lights beckons him closer, closer, come to me, now. Come.     But his father has turned into Wrath’s flashing eyes, a fiery stare he only now realises is hiding hurt, and the voice of a young child is talking over the savage river; his head hurts. The figure in the door screams and reaches for him with sharp, blinding white claws, and when he moves away he stumbles and falls, but the fall is slowed down. Come to me, the figure weeps, and the anguish in his voice curls around Baldur’s heart and squeezes. Save me, please.

Try again, his father says kindly, leaning down to look over his shoulder at the arrow buried in a wooden pole, a couple of feet below the target. You’ll get it right this time. Baldur breathes in and raises the bow as his father steps back, and pulls the string until his index finger rests along his chin, his thumb brushing against his cheek. He feels the string against the corner of his mouth, his nose. And then he lets go.

-

When he wakes in the morning, a crow sits perched at his windowsill, watching him.

( @fusefr )

[siltfr]

Rats III

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

@majestyrising @fusefr @archaic-fr @hellkite-fr @jollyroger-fr @deadlanddisciple @jadedragons

let me know if you want on or off the ping list!

Warmly tinted sunlight filters through the window and dyes the dark wood red. Baldur watches as the young woman in front of him carefully picks up the items he has brought and puts them out on the table between them in an order only apparent to herself, while a sprite buzzes around her head. He can’t see her eyes behind her veil.

“This is all correct,” she says finally, placing one last herb on the table and raising her head, presumably to meet his eyes. “Congratulations, and welcome to the Blood Oak.”

He offers a tight-lipped smile and says thanks. The smile he gets back is soft. “The Chief will want to see you. If you hurry you’ll catch her before she leaves the councilroom.”

“I don’t know where that is.”

She waves her arm in a careless motion. “Lys will show you.” The sprite stops its mindless buzzing and slides over to him, grabbing a tuft of hair and tugging lightly.

“Ow-- kay. I guess I’ll see you around.” He raises his hand in a quick goodbye and barely sees Eztli respond with a wave of her own, mischievous smile on her face as she looks at her sprite, before Baldur does as Lys tells him and turns around towards the door.

He is lead out of the tree and along one of the bridges leading onto the next one, where the sprite bumps into the door a couple of times before he has time to push it open for her. From there, he follows her in a slow upward spiral along the edge of the tree, a windowless but warmly lit walk that ends in a door with a tall and rigid guard in front of it. The guard sees Lys and immediately steps aside, letting Baldur push the door open and enter into a large room.

Baldur had thought for sure they were nearing the top of the trunk, but the ceiling is still way above him. The room is empty, save for a long table that looks as if it has grown straight out of the floor. Baldur reckons it has.

A woman sits alone on the opposite end of the table. She is crouched over a messy pile of parchment, dressed in a simple brown dress and a woolen robe. Behind her hangs a tapestry in rich green, a golden tree in the center. The rest of the room is monotonous and dark, the light from the candles along the walls being swallowed up by the walls.

Lys glides over to the woman and sits down on the table. She looks up, and then she looks over at Baldur. She looks young.

She beckons him closer with a simple hand motion and shoves away the papers. When he’s near enough, she smiles and nods a greeting. “So you made it back,” she says. “Most aren’t allowed that gift.”

“So I’ve been told, Your Majesty,” he replies stiffly. She scoffs and waves a hand at him in dismissal.

“I’m not a queen.”

He stands still and waits. Now that he’s closer, he can tell just how young she is. Barely more than a child in his eyes, with wide red eyes and a roundness to her face that’ll disappear in a few years. Freckles litter her skin, and she has the prominent, straight nose typical in a ridgeback. Her hair is pulled out of her face, but several curls have loosened from the string and get in her eyes. She shoves one of them away now and eyes him curiously. “But you’re royalty, aren’t you,” she says, and it’s not a question. “That’s a heavy crown you’re wearing.”

“I took it off years ago.”

She smiles. “If only it were so easy.”

He doesn’t respond and she doesn’t force him to. Instead she begins to sort her parchments into a neater pile and lets Lys settle on her shoulder. Baldur takes the silence as an invitation.

“Has Tzitzimitl returned yet?”

She looks up. “The runt you came with? No.”

“Okay.” It’s only been two days. He was lucky. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Now, we expect you to make yourself useful eventually. Here,” she pulls a parchment out from the pile and shoves it across the table towards him, “is a list of Heads and where to find them. Contact one of them once you’ve decided how you can best serve the Oak.”

He mutters another thank you and picks up the list, skimming over it quickly before looking back up at her. She looks humoured. “Dismissed,” she says, and something in her tone tells him this is an order she does not give. He is too used to kingdoms.

He nods a quick goodbye and turns around to leave, Lys leaping up from the Chief’s shoulder to follow him instead. He is almost at the door when she calls out his name and he looks back.

“It is almost a rule that those Challenged, fail. Don’t waste your energy hoping.”

“Thanks,” he says, and raises a hand in a goodbye, before pushing open the door and walking down the corridor until he’s back outside. Night air washes over him, and he leaps down to the ground, changing form mid-jump and landing gracefully on four feet. Lys leaves him, presumably to return to Eztli, and he stretches his wings and breathes deeply, until his lungs feel like they’re about to burst. And then he changes his mind and takes off with a kick. Baldur flies around the Oak as he rises, until he’s as high as the top bridges. He lands on one of them, folds his wings, and sits down to watch over the territory, eyes peeled and senses searching for the well known buzz of Tzitzimitl.

[siltfr]

Rats II

@majestyrising @fusefr @archaic-fr @hellkite-fr @jollyroger-fr @deadlanddisciple @jadedragons

The soft glow from the outdoor lights catches on Tzitzimitl’s wings. Baldur watches her from the other side of the room, curled up in a small bed and using her wings as cover. She is completely still now, doesn’t even seem to breathe. The quiet is a gift.

Oshosi’s voice from hours before is still buzzing in his head, along with the slight tug of too much wine, and his limbs are heavy. It’s been a long, long time since he last felt like this. For a moment, his sister’s face flashes in front of his eyes, and then he notices fireflies outside the window and he sits up to watch them swirl around each other in an intricate pattern he is unable to discern.

“How do you mean?”

The wildclaw gives a lopsided grin--a scar on his face pulls his mouth down on one side--and hangs his mask on his satchel. “I’ll tell you all about it over a nice hot meal. Follow me.” They walk across the lair, underneath all the bridges, until there is a door in front of them. It is one of few on ground level, and it blends into the trunk as if the tree had grown that way. The wildclaw changes form and waits for the other two to do the same before he pushes it open and waves them with him inside.

It takes a moment for the eyes to settle in the darkness, but Baldur would recognise the stench of an inn anywhere. The room is a little too warm, the air rotten and chock full of food smells. A couple of patrons sit in the corner and offer them a nod in greeting, while the woman behind the counter grins. “Oi, Oshosi!” she says. “You finally found yourself some friends?”

Oshosi salutes her. “Found ‘em crawling around in the bushes. Get Tejat to make us something good, will ya?”

“Gotcha.” She disappears, and Oshosi leads them to a table near the back of the inn and sits down, waiting for Baldur and Tzitzimitl to get comfortable on the bench opposite him. The wood is smooth from wear, but hard. Tzitzimitl immediately pulls the candle on the table over to her and begins to pick at the tallow. Oshosi leans forward.

“Now tell me, what made you come here?”

“Got lost,” says Tzitzimitl and ignores the warning glare from Baldur. Oshosi grins his lopsided grin and shows off sharp, white teeth.

“Most do. They don’t make it here.” He looks at Baldur and puts his head on one side, and Baldur knows that he knows.

“The Oak,” he says, not taking his eyes off Oshosi. He doesn’t notice Tzitzimitl giving him an a brief odd look before returning to her tallow.

Oshosi leans back with a single nod, something like satisfaction in his eyes. “That’s what I thought. Got a couple of others coming here ‘cause of it, too.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What is it?”

Oshosi shrugs. “Dunno. No one’s ever figured it out. Of course, if you ask the priests, they’ll explain the most popular theory for ya.” He leans forward as he speaks, leaning an elbow on the table and pointing at Baldur.

“So it’s divine.”

“Here you go,” says the bartender, placing large plates of food on the table in front of them. “We got rooms upstairs if you plan to stay the night. Just talk to me when you’re sick of him.” She motions towards Oshosi, who gives her a thumbs up back. The second she turns her back, Tzitzimitl attacks her meal viciously.

“So what’s happened with the others?” Baldur grabs his glass before anything else and looks over the rim of it as he puts it to his lips. Oshosi is tearing a leg off his chicken with his bare hands and looks up quizzically.

“Others?”

The wine shakes in the glass as it is put down. “You said others had come, too.”

“Ah.” Oshosi grins, mouth full of meat. “Does it matter?” Baldur frowns. “You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you.” It’s not a question, and Baldur picks up the cutlery instead of answering.

“What mind?” says Tzitzimitl, or tries to. Half a fish tail is sticking out of her mouth. She swallows her food and tries again: “What did you decide?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure,” says Oshosi, a glint in his red eyes and a pint of beer in his hand. He lifts it in a cheer and Baldur shakes the annoyance out of his head and raises his own glass in response. Oshosi nearly empties his beer before dropping the glass on the table with a heavy thud. Baldur watches the liquid inside swirl in uneasy circles, and then he looks up again. His host has about the same table manners as the toddler beside him.

“What did you mean before?” he says, before unwrapping the cutlery from his napkin. “About it being a strange time.”

“Mh,” nods Oshosi, mouth too full to talk. Baldur takes a small bite out of his own food and waits. “What I meant was we just got ourselves a new chief. She took it by force, which hasn’t happened in…” He clicks his tongue and looks at the abused candle as he thinks. “Couple hundred years, at least. People don’t know what to think, it’s a mess.” His fingers dig into the bird carcass in front of him again, and he begins ripping off smaller pieces, trying to leave nothing but the bones.

The fireflies have moved on and nothing but the vague shapes of nearby trees remain in the cautious light from the lanterns hanging near every door. Next to him, Tzitzimitl flicks a wing and grunts before going still again. Baldur sighs and sits back until his back hits the wall. The clan has welcomed them like friends, and they’ll remain friends for another week, Oshosi had said, and at that point they’ll either become clanmates or trespassers, depending on what they choose to do. Tzitzimitl had seemed to take the option very seriously, or maybe she had just been too full of food to yapper on, but Baldur already knows. He closes his eyes and feels the Oak like a rope around his ribcage, a constant pull to get him closer, closer.

[siltfr]

Rats

@majestyrising @fusefr @archaic-fr @hellkite-fr @jollyroger-fr @deadlanddisciple​ @jadedragons​

given how long it’s been since the last time, lmk if you want to be taken on or off the ping list! no warnings, except if you don’t like cursing. also it’s 2k words

When he finds his own paw print, Baldur realises he has been walking in circles. The trees around him rustle their leaves in malicious laughter as he carefully places a paw into the old tracks and sighs, closing his eyes to feel an oncoming headache. They’re toying with him. He is being toyed with by trees.

He looks from the paw prints and down the path he’s been following. Both ways, it twists and turns around trees and undergrowth; the tracks of all kinds of different wildlife make it look well worn, like it is gonna lead somewhere. Baldur offers it one last look before he shakes his head and steps off the trail. As soon as the trail is out of sight, he picks out a tree and places a paw against the trunk. The furrows in the bark look like a smirk, but he stops himself from thinking on it further and sears a mark into the wood. The world quiets immediately; even the birds in the treetops stop singing. He ignores the omen and continues pushing through the bushes, making sure to leave ugly, rotting marks on the trees every once in a while.

At first, the forest had seemed a blessing. Abundant in life and providing good shelter, it had been a relief to leave the otherwise dying Wasteland behind after weeks of lonesome travelling to gods know where, but for every day that has passed since he first stepped inside, Baldur has regretted his decision more and more. Every tree looks the same as the one beside it, and the thick leaf work above him barely lets in any sunlight. This place wants to confuse him, takes pleasure in watching him wander around in circles, unable to remember where he came from or where to go next. And when he tries to fly, to take off and climb up past the branches, the forest seems to shut down on him, branches growing thicker and twisting around each other to keep him in his place. It makes him miss the dead, but open landscape of the Boneyard; at least the plants there didn’t plot against him.

The bushes on his right stir but he doesn’t give it much thought; every other plant since he got lost has been shaking, and if he were to jump at every rabbit just trying to avoid being eaten, he wouldn’t be doing anything else. Instead, he sears another mark into a tree, only to see it heal itself the moment he puts his paw down. Oh, that’s just fantastic.

He is considering how much time it would take to just chop down the damn thing when a ridgeback hatchling leaps out of the bushes and latches onto his hind leg. He flares his wings in surprise but doesn’t do much else, opting simply to stare as the hatchling growls and gnaws at his thigh, trying, he supposes, the take him down. It’s almost endearing, until her teeth manage to hit a sore spot and pain shocks through his body.

“Fuck off,” he growls, and shakes her off. She falls backwards and rolls into a tree, but is quick to get back on her feet. Before he’s had the time to blink, she stands there growling, wings flared and head lowered.

Baldur ignores her in favour of his leg. She managed to puncture the skin, but only barely. A single trail of blood trickles down his leg; he wipes it off and turns back to the rat in front of him. She is hissing so fiercely she’s shaking.

“You can stop now,” he says. Her eyes flicker, she moves a hind foot, but she doesn’t budge. “I’m not gonna fight a baby.”

“I’m not a baby!” she shouts, but is too offended to continue, and stands up.

“Uh huh. Are you from here?”

Her tail swings from side to side in harsh, sudden movements. “No.” If looks could kill, Baldur would be nothing but a scorch mark on the ground.

“Why’re you here, then?”

She hesitates for a moment. Then: “I’m lost.”

Baldur looks at the tree he wants dead. Now it just looks like a normal tree. Too normal, maybe. “That makes two of us,” he says.

“Why?”

He frowns and looks back at her. She has stopped the angry tail swishing and stands with her head cocked to one side. “Why what?”

“Why are you lost?”

He blinks. She sighs, as if talking to someone far too dumb for her, and explains, “You’re an adult. Adults are supposed to know what they’re doing.”

“Supposed to… I take it back, I will fight a baby.”

“I’m not a baby!”

He stops himself before it can escalate; they’re not getting anywhere, and bickering with a child is pointless. Instead, he drags a paw over his face and looks around. The trees have become eerily silent now, as if they have grown bored with their own games. They just look like trees. In front of him, the hatchling has begun shoving dirt around on the ground.

“What’s your name?” he asks. She jumps and steps on her dirt pile, hiding it from view.

“Tzitzimitl,” she says. “You?”

“Baldur. Listen, we could team up, see if it’s easier to get out of here if we’re two.” For a split second, her eyes narrow, but then she straightens up and shakes her wings.

“Sure,” says Tzitzimitl. Baldur nods once, glances quickly at the unmarked tree, and begins walking.

“Come on,” he says, but she brushes past him before he has finished the sentence, offering a quick apology for the tiny cut in his leg. He snorts. “I’ve had worse.”

“Cool,” she says, and disappears underneath a thick bush. He doesn’t give himself enough time to begin regretting his decision before he follows the wiggling bushes away from the small clearing and towards what he can only hope is something.

It is something. At first, they don’t realise, until Tzitzimitl grows tired of leading the way and decides it is more fun stepping on Baldur’s heels, and the latter decides whatever, at least she isn’t whiny. When he pushes through a particularly unfriendly bush and lands on the edge of a steep hill, he knows he is finally onto something. The crater is small, but it is a welcome change to the otherwise seemingly flat terrain, and Baldur will take whatever he can get at this point. Besides, there is a small stream flowing at the bottom.

Tzitzimitl charges through the bush and Baldur just barely manages to jump out of the way. She doesn’t see the edge until it is too late and tumbles all the way down with a shout, while Baldur looks on curiously.

“You alive?” he asks once she’s hit the water with a splash.

“Water!” she replies, sitting up and immediately dunking her head back into the stream. Baldur descends carefully, feeling the clay beneath his feet slipping with each step, until he is standing next to Tzitzimitl and drinking, too. The water is cold and fresh, it feels like ice down his throat but it has been longer than he realised and he drinks until he starts to feel sick. Tzitzimitl takes a bath while he climbs back up the edge to have a look around. The trees don’t grow as thick here and he can see the sky; the harsh, relentless sun beating down on the world from far above the treetops hurts to look at, but the feeling of it on his skin makes it a little easier to breathe. He stretches his wings and takes off, beating the air beneath him with violent strokes, until finally, finally he is above the forest and can see again.

He climbs until he can see the edge of the forest, miles and miles away, and looks around. It is far bigger than he originally thought, and it seems that, despite the forest’s best efforts, he has been able to move at a pretty decent pace. In front of him must be the heart of the damned thing, with one particular tree standing out even among the enormous trees that surround it. It feels alive in an entirely different way from the rest of the forest. Its leaves are blood red, its branches stretching, stretching towards the sky, and Baldur’s mind goes blank. He wants to go there; it’s like it’s calling him.

Tzitzimitl brushes through his mind and he wakes up, looks back. He has flown several metres without even realising it. With one last look at the tree, he turns around and heads back to the crater, nosediving between the branches to find Tzitzimitl standing at the edge, slamming her tail in the ground.

“We could team up,” she mocks, “I am gonna abandon you when you’re not looking though.”

“I was just seeing where we are.”

“Sure you were. You know where to go, then?” She doesn’t believe him, but she doesn’t have to. He knows the way.

“Yes,” he says, “it’s this way.” He jumps off the edge and glides to the other side of the crater, turning to wait for her. “Come on, Tzitzi.”

“Don’t call me that.” She looks down the crater for a split second, but before the doubt shows, she jumps off and attempts the same trick he did. Her wings aren’t long enough to glide all the way, but they get her far enough for several quick strokes to do the rest.

“Sure thing, Tzitzi,” he says, as soon as she has caught up, and turns around before he can see the furious glare. He continues through the underbrush. The tree beckons him to come closer, and he has every intent to listen.

It takes no time at all, now he knows the way. As he feels himself getting closer, he speeds up, jumping over the larger bushes rather than try to clear the way for his considerably smaller companion, leaving her to deal with it herself. It doesn’t matter how many curses she sends his way; he’s deaf to them anyway. He can only hear the tree.

He’s so distracted he forgets his usual carefulness, but Tzitzimitl doesn’t, so when she sees the symbol, she bites his tail.

“What the fuck?” Baldur shouts, turning around so suddenly Tzitzimitl barely has the time to let go of him.

“I tried shouting at you, but you didn’t react,” she says.

“No you didn’t.”

“No I didn’t. Look at that.” She points at the nearest tree, and the symbol etched into its trunk. Baldur walks closer. It has been carved deep into the wood, and it looks old; the tree has softened the edges but otherwise left it be. He puts his paw up and sears his own wound into the bark as a test. When he removes his paw, it heals.

“Huh,” he says.

“Huh indeed,” says a voice. Baldur whips around to see a beast-masked wildclaw looking at him. “You’re on Blood Oak territory, you know that?”

“No,” says Tzitzimitl, and Baldur shoves her behind him with a hind foot, positioning himself between the two.

“We’re just trying to pass through,” he says, the blood red tree in his mind. The wildclaw nods.

“Most don’t get this far, y’know. Which usually only means one thing.”

“What’s that?” says Tzitzimitl, ducking when Baldur attempts to shove her again.

The wildclaw turns his head towards her and Baldur prepares for a fight, but then he claps his paws together. “Means you’re guests. Follow me.” He turns around and takes a few steps before looking back. Tzitzimitl hurries past Baldur and trots up to the stranger, and Baldur sighs quietly and follows.

When the thick undergrowth finally gives way for dragon-lived land, it’s anything but that Baldur was expecting. Around and between trees are built bridges, high up from the ground, and it’s bustling with life. Dragons flying to and from, entering and leaving the hollowed out tree trunks. They have made the trees themselves their home, and more curiously, the trees have let them. And dead in the centre stands the blood red tree, calling for him louder than ever.

“Welcome to the Blood Oak,” says the wildclaw, taking off his mask to reveal one red and one bright green, pupil-less eye. “You’ve come to us in a strange time.”

[siltfr]

Prelude

@majestyrising @fusefr @archaic-fr @hellkite-fr @corpsejack-fr @deadlanddisciple @jadedragons

SURPRISE!! not the lore piece i complained about yesterday because honestly, fuck that one, but still a lil something. warning for some bloody bits.

Clumsy feet crawl over thick roots, and uncoordinated flapping of wings do little to prevent the unceremonious landing. The hatchling shakes leaves and dirt off of herself and looks around to see if anyone noticed. The trees creak and sway calmly from side to side, and she can hear birds call from above, but apart from them, she’s alone. She has never been in this part of the forest before; usually, her mothers keep a stern eye on her to prevent her straying off, but they didn’t keep a close enough watch this time.

Leaves crunch under her feet as she continues onwards, over roots taller than her and around tree trunks large enough to live in. The trees groan in pain when she digs her claws into their bark, but they let her pass. They like her, her mothers always say. She belongs here, and the trees know it.

She wriggles her way over another root and rolls down on the other side, looking around with eager eyes. A falcon screeches somewhere further ahead, and she jumps up, sneezes, and continues onwards.

The sound of rustling leaves grab her attention, and she turns to see another dragon watching her. He has the same warm brown hide as her, and a white tattoo of a tree on his shoulder. For a split second, her attention is only on the curious marking, but then he walks closer.

“It’s you,” he says, his voice barely more than a breath. His eyes look wild, and it makes her curl her tail around herself. “My child, it’s really you.”

Words fail her, and she backs away quickly until she hits the root she just climbed. A pang of dread courses through her; perhaps the trees do not like her after all. The dragon comes closer.

“I’m here now. I found you.” He stretches out a palm and she pushes herself against the root, out of options. His claws curl around her arm, and panic sets in.

“No!” she screams, instinctively shoving her palm into his chest; the world shakes and he is thrown back several metres; she hides her face under her wings and waits for him to take revenge.

But it doesn’t happen. Instead, she hears him wheeze and gurgle, trying to speak but ultimately failing. She dares look up.

He is lying against a fallen tree, clawing at the branch protruding from his chest. Blood is coating his torso and dripping to the ground. He looks at her, the hurt and confusion in his eyes quickly being overcome by lethargy as his movements become sluggish and slow, and he coughs. Blood splutters out of his mouth; she realizes he’s drowning. Frozen in place, she watches him continue to fight, even as his claws miss the branch entirely and latch onto nothing but air. The birds have become quiet now, even the trees hold their breath as they watch him take his last. He stretches his arm out one last time, not towards the branch but towards her, and his mouth moves as if he’s speaking, and then his arm falls and his body goes still.

In the distance, her mother calls her name.