#she is a healer (former poison master) so there’s that

[rosesncarnations]

I’m alive I swear

[goldenhallas]

˚⭒. ☽ Meet my Tav ☾ .⭒˚

Name: Vierae Nicknames: Vi Age: 83 Gender: Female Race: Drow (formerly Lolth Sworn) Background: Urchin Class: Palabard with 1 Cleric for deity Subclass: Swords Bard, Ancients Paladin, Light Cleric Birthplace: Menzoberranzan Occupation: Sword Dancer of Eilistraee, former Lolthite assassin Deity: Eilistraee Alignment: Chaotic Good Romancing: Astarion Song: Get Free by Lana Del Rey

Vierae was a drow orphan who grew up on the streets of Eastmyr, Menzoberranzan. A former assassin and Underdark escapee, she is now a sword dancer of Eilistraee. She was headed to the Dancing Haven in Waterdeep with a group of fellow Eilistraeean's when she was kidnapped by mindflayers and had a tadpole forced into her brain. When she abruptly becomes the leader of a group of six similarly tadpoled misfits who are all seeking a healer as well as grappling with their own secrets and chequered pasts, she finds herself inexplicably drawn to a handsome pale elf who is in a similar place to where she herself was a few years ago – finally free of his master, of a lifetime spent in the dark, and learning how to live for the first time. Vierae and Astarion get off to a rough start, but unexpectedly find themselves growing closer over time, slowly falling in love as they help each other open up and reclaim parts of themselves that were buried under a lifetime of cruelty and fear.

full backstory under read more bc it's looong (if you read all of it i owe you a cookie <3)

Full Backstory

Vierae was a drow orphan who grew up on the streets of Eastmyr, Menzoberranzan. She was a vicious little thing who clawed her way through childhood with bloody hands and a feral gleam in her eye, and at the age of ten, her ferocity caught the attention of the Church of Lolth. The priestesses allowed her to train with The Spider Fangs, an elite group of assassins commanded by the Church.

The Spider Fangs conditioned her not to think of herself as a person with her own will and wants, but as a weapon of Lolth; honed to carry out Lolth's will and show devotion through cruelty and bloodshed. She was to think of nothing beyond how she may best serve Lolth at any given moment, act only in the interest of the Dark Mother and her Church, and never question the wisdom of Lolth's priestesses. Wielding dual blades and poisons, she eliminated many, many enemies of Lolth's Church, and for 78 years, kill or be killed was all she knew of life.

Even so, there was a defiant, dissatisfied part of her that asked, why? She and her peers tore each other apart for any scrap of power, yet it ultimately changed nothing about their lives. She had seen how the nobles of Menzoberranzan lived, knew the gilded gates would never be open to the likes of her - to anyone from Eastmyr - no matter how many drow she sacrificed in Lolth's name. And the nobility, while they had their luxuries and lived comparably better lives, were still caught in Lolth's twisted, bloodsoaked web just the same. What is all this for? resounded in her mind often. She could never come up with a satisfactory answer and it ate at her, but she buried her dissatisfaction down deep and kept going, for what else could she do? What else was there? She was Lolth’s weapon, and if she did not obey her orders, she would be subject to an even worse fate: not just punished by the priestesses, but eternally cursed by Lolth, most likely by being turned into a drider.

Then, during her nightly 4 hour trances in which she usually experienced only a deep nothingness, she began to dream; vivid dreams about male and female drow living in harmony with each other on the surface, dancing under the moonlight, and a beautiful, ethereal drow goddess who promised to guide her way out of the dark. The visions terrified and angered her at first – they were blasphemous, fanciful lies – and yet, she found she couldn't stop thinking of them no matter what she did, or rid herself of the sharp pang of longing they made her feel.

She tried harder to prove her loyalty to Lolth and silence her blasphemous thoughts for a time, until a certain mission she was sent on changed everything. She didn't so much as blink at cutting down political rivals of Lolth or taking out one noble or another, but being forced to personally hand over an infant to be sacrificed in a dark ritual was too much. Watching the priestess kill the babe - a male third child of one of the noble houses - broke her heart and shook her to her core. It cemented the realisation that the drow of Lolthite society, all of them, were just pawns in the goddess’ bloody, never ending game, existing only to serve the Spider Queen's whims and be discarded when they were no longer of use. The drow people endured cruelty, unfairness, pain, and misery on the daily…and it was all for nothing.

Vierae felt an intense, searing anger roiling within, and for the first time in her life, she chose her own path. She began to plot her revenge against the Church – for moulding children to follow an evil goddess who inflicted nothing but pain and suffering on her followers, for creating a society built on predation and fear and suffering, and for turning her into this monster who handed over babes to be slaughtered. She vowed she would get her retribution even if it killed her. The strength of her conviction was such that she became a paladin of vengeance.

She kept up appearances, outwardly appearing to be the devoted Spider Fang she had always been, while in secret she plotted against Lolth and her Church. She slowly began taking out members of the Church's clergy, one at a time with months in between, so as not to draw attention to herself. A knife in a dark alley here, a poisoned goblet there... she was careful to leave nothing to trace the murders back to her. Until she made it personal.

She killed Mother Sabiira, the High Priestess who had found and recruited her as a child, and given her the distinctive, ragged scar across her cheek when she was fourteen. Caught up in the the thrill and fury of vengeance, Vierae couldn't resist carving the priestess a matching scar, which branded the kill as hers. It felt good, for a moment, getting her revenge, until the cold realisation set in that it didn't really change anything. Drow society kept on the way it always had; priestesses continued raising children in Lolth's image and sacrificing others at her altar. Vierae alone was not powerful enough to change it in any meaningful way, and after killing Mother Sabiira, she knew she couldn't keep this up. Before long, the eyes of Lolth and her chosen would be upon her.

The dreams of the ethereal moonlit goddess and her spirited followers had become even more vivid and frequent at this point. She even began to have visions while she was awake, and each one featured a thread of moonlight guiding her out of the Underdark to the World Above. The thought of leaving the Underdark terrified her – it was the only home she had ever known, harsh and cruel as it was – but if she stayed, she would be slaughtered by the priestesses or turned into a drider by Lolth herself. No, staying was no longer an option, she had only one choice: escape the Underdark through the vast, unmapped twists and turns of the cave networks, or die trying.

Dying was pretty much a certainty if she tried to navigate the tunnels alone, though, so she decided to call on some connections she had to Black Balaeryn's Band; a gang of orphaned young drow led by the warrior-mage Balaeryn. Vierae had known them since she was an orphan herself, they were the ones who taught her how to pick locks and pockets, as well as showed her some discrete, little-known exits out of the city. They also had connections to Bregan D'Aerthe, an infamous mercenary and mercantile band who traded goods from the surface; it stood to reason that if anyone knew a sure path out of the Underdark, it would be a member of Bregan D'Aerthe.

Vierae had done enough jobs for Balaeryn over the years to earn his respect, so securing a meeting with him wasn't difficult; getting him to introduce her to a member of Bregan D'Aerthe was the problem. She and Balaeryn had a business relationship, but they did not have trust - whatever that even meant in the Underdark - so she had to convince him why it would benefit him. And she had to do so without overplaying her hand, because she couldn't be sure he wouldn't stab her in the back and turn her over to the High Priestesses. Whoever stood to gain from her downfall would more than likely take the opportunity; that was the way of the Underdark.

Vierae told Balaeryn that if he introduced her to a surface trader from Bregan D'Aerthe, she would run a series of jobs for him - any jobs he wanted. Balaeryn accepted. He gave her the most strenuous, perilous jobs he had, ones that pretty much nobody would be foolish enough to attempt; including stealing a priceless Netherese artifact from the noble house Baenre, which very nearly got Vierae killed. She almost had her throat slit but narrowly managed to escape with a ragged cut across her neck, and returned to Balaeryn wounded but triumphant. Balaeryn kept to his word, setting up a meeting with a Bregan D'Aerthe surface trader due to take place in a tenday.

The surface trader was a drow female named Erellin. Vierae knocked on the door of her temporary room using the special knock she had been taught by Balaeryn, and Erellin opened the door just a crack to see who was there. The surfacer had violet eyes, dark cobalt skin and white hair, but those typical drow features were accompanied by a very atypical smile, warm and genuine, which was such a rare sight in the Underdark that Vierae had had to fight the instinctual urge to attack - usually, if a drow smiled at you, it meant you were about to die - but the moment the other woman drew near, the visions of the moon goddess she’d been having for months now flashed into her mind, staying her hand. Over the years she had become a master of deception, hiding her true feelings and thoughts from everyone – the cutthroat drow she lived among, the priestesses of Lolth, even from the Spider Queen herself – and she was used to putting on whatever face she needed for the moment, so she easily kept her expression neutral, but she thought she saw a flicker in Erellin’s own eyes for a brief moment, gone before she could get a proper read. Erellin smiled again, offering to negotiate trade over wine and cheese, and Vierae found herself accepting, curiosity and desperation getting the better of her. She followed Erellin into her room, wondering why the other drow continued to return to the Underdark to trade; sure, it was possible to make decent coin by selling rare goods from the surface, but it hardly seemed worth venturing into a pit of vipers just to do so. She suspected there was more to the story than that - was she a spy? A secret assassin? - but a calm, steady feeling deep within told her Erellin could help, so she decided to risk it. Hells, what did she have to lose at this point?

Erellin poured two glasses of wine and served a platter of cheeses, and the two drow sat down at a little wooden table, covered by a tablecloth made of shimmery purple fabric that caught Vierae's eye. Vierae subtly sniffed the wine, not detecting any poisons, but that didn't mean it was clean - it could be laced with something from the World Above that Vierae had never even heard of. She pretended to take a sip, ignoring the cheese, then got right to the point; offering to give Erellin everything she owned in exchange for safe passage to the surface. Vierae travelled lightly, with a backpack containing a change of clothes, food, mess kit, lockpicks, trap disarming tools, a ragged blanket, some alchemical ingredients, and a few potions and poisons. What little of value she did have was kept in a secret hideaway in the caverns of Eastmyr; scant savings and a few trinkets and baubles she'd found during various jobs over the years, including some precious and semi-precious gemstones, and the one item that might be valuable enough to get her out of this place: a silver circlet with a moon in the centre that let off a subtle, magical glow. She had found the circlet when she was a child, and though she never wore it or showed it to anyone, she held onto it for a long time, as it had always felt inexplicably significant; perhaps this was what she'd been saving it for. Vierae couldn't think of a better time to use it, though part of her didn't want to let it go. The other things - gems, coins - she could replace, but this was rare; she had never seen its like before. Hopefully, it was worth the price of her freedom.

This caught Erellin’s attention just as she'd hoped; the other woman studied Vierae for a while, considering, then said giving up her possessions would not be necessary. Erellin reached beneath her collar, and Vierae tensed, preparing for a fight, but she just pulled out a delicate silver chain, dangling from which was a faintly glowing silver moon pendant; the exact same as the one on the circlet.

Vierae felt her heart begin to sink - perhaps the moon circlet was just a common trinket on the surface after all? - but then Erellin revealed that the moon pendant was the symbol of her goddess Eilistraee, and that she was one of her specialty priestesses; a Sword Dancer. It turned out that being a rare goods trader was a front for the real reason Erellin came to the Underdark; to help other drow escape from Lolth's twisted web, just as another Eilistraeean had once helped her many years ago. Vierae stared at Erellin with wide, half hopeful, half disbelieving eyes, all pretences dropped. If this was true, she had really done it; she had found her way out of the darkness, for there was no one better to guide her to the surface than a Sword Dancer.

As she explained the beliefs of her goddess, Vierae noted the similarities between her description and the dreams she had been having - had the goddess herself sent those dreams? Song, dance, beauty, freedom, and joy were the heart and soul of Eilistraeean worship, in complete contradiction to Lolth, who revelled in betrayal, bloodshed, torture, destruction and death. Erellin was an Underdark escapee, and she was sitting in front of Vierae, living, breathing, smiling proof that there was a life outside this cursed place for drow.

Vierae knew that going to the surface meant entering a whole new world, both physically and mentally. The sunlight would be blinding and painful; surfacers were terrified of her kind; and in truth, there was a lot more she didn't know about the World Above than what she did. And, while she had never had so much hope for her future as she did in that moment, there was a little, nagging part of her that said it was too good to be true, it had to be a trap. Still, unless she wanted to risk finding her own way out, going with Erellin was her best and only option. Vierae found it impossible to believe that nothing was expected of her in return for Erellin's help, and the idea of owing the other drow was distressing, so she demanded a deal be made. Erellin agreed, and her offer was this: she would guide Vierae to the surface, if Vierae would promise to stick around for a while, meet her fellow Eilistraeean's, and give reasonable thought to joining them. Not being the sociable sort, Vierae reluctantly agreed, though privately she had already decided she would absolutely not be joining them. She was better off alone; it was safer that way for everyone. Besides, a goddess who truly loved and cared for her people seemed too good to be true.

Vierae spent most of the trek out of the city fighting the paranoia that Erellin had set up an ambush, that Lolth’s spiders would crawl out of the dark at any moment and pounce. It didn't take long before they were attacked by a former peer of Vierae's. They were just outside the city limits when G'eldavin and her spider companion struck from the shadows. G'eldavin was a mercenary ranger, and ran in similar circles to Vierae; the two had despised each other at first sight. For a brief moment Vierae thought she had been betrayed, that this was a set up by Erellin, but the moment G'eldavin and the spiders attacked, Erellin cast a Shield of Faith spell on her and fought tooth and nail to protect her, putting those fears to rest. Vierae had always been an excellent fighter, and Erellin was something else, each movement fluid and graceful, as though she were dancing; their combined talents made short work of G'eldavin, though the giant spider was more of a challenge. Vierae was bitten during the battle, the spider's poison coursing through her veins, but she fought through it; once the spider had fallen, Vierae fell as well, exhausted. Erellin cast Protection from Poison followed by Healing Touch on Vierae, and then the two hurried on their way, not wanting to be surprised by any more of Vierae’s old “friends”. Vierae felt a rush of satisfaction at finally being able to kill one of Lolth's beloved spiders - a grievous offence Lolth deemed punishable by death. She'd always hated them, disgusting things that they were.

The Spider Queen's eyes seemed to be occupied elsewhere - perhaps they were blessed by Eilistraee, perhaps it was sheer luck - for they made it to the surface without being attacked again. Vierae followed Erellin's winding path through the labyrinth of caverns, trying, and failing, to remember each turn, until finally, they saw a soft blue glow just up ahead. She had never seen it in person before, but recognised it from her dreams; moonlight.

Leaving the Underdark felt like the weight of the world being abruptly lifted off her shoulders, the newfound freedom and possibility more than Vierae had ever dreamed of. The euphoria and relief she felt upon stepping into the moonlight for the first time was unlike anything she'd ever felt before; she was completely overcome by it, such that at first she couldn't stop laughing, and then she couldn't stop crying. Erellin let her express her feelings, telling her she'd felt exactly the same when she first came to the surface as well. Once Vierae had calmed down and gotten her cool, nonchalant mask back into place, Erellin brought her to a small settlement of Eilistraee worshippers who lived in an enclave in the woods, just a few miles from where they exited the Underdark.

Vierae planned to stay with the Eilistraeean's for just a few days, while she recovered and adjusted to life on the surface. But unexpectedly, she found herself growing fond of the place, the company, and even more surprisingly, Eilistraee herself. She never thought she would put her trust in another deity after what life had been like under Lolth, but Eilistraee was different. Markedly so. Vierae had always avoided drawing Lolth's attention as much as possible, because whenever she had it, all she felt was a deep, cold dread and the sensation of phantom spiders crawling on her skin, even when the Spider Queen was pleased with her; but all she felt when Eilistraee's light touched her was warm, safe, and loved. She had never felt those things before in her whole life, and it was like finding water after almost dying of thirst in the desert; she wanted to guzzle down as much of it as she could before it was gone. So she basked in Eilistraee's light, dreading the moment when it would be taken from her, but weeks passed, and then months, and that moment never came. Thus, Vierae devoted herself to The Dark Dancer, learning her rituals, the art of sword dancing, how to play the flute, and how to sing. She danced under the moonlight for a whole month to honour Eilistraee and become a fully fledged Sword Dancer, vowing to spread light and joy wherever she went henceforth (the strength of her conviction changed her Paladin oath from Vengeance to Ancients). She worked with the other Eilistraeean's to provide protection, healing, shelter and food to those who needed it, especially drow, as well as spreading joy through song and dance. It was after her first Run ritual that she truly felt like she was beginning to understand life on the surface, and it only strengthened her resolve to work hard to prove herself worthy of Eilistraee's light.

Four years passed, easily the best four years of Vierae's life thus far, but that didn't mean it was all sunshine and rainbows. No matter how healing those years were, they could not erase 78 years of being an assassin of Lolth in the predatory depths of the Underdark. Vierae struggled with the darkness of her past, with the guilt at all she had done, and her use of Ziran – a drug from the Underdark – became a nightly ritual. She also kept her heart closed off, kept people at a distance, because she was used to it and didn't know how to let anyone in. After all, if you never let anyone get too close, they can't stab you in the heart while you're sleeping...

At the beginning of her fifth year with the Eilistraeean's, she and a few of her fellow Sword Dancers, including Erellin and her wife Zilvra, embarked on another Run. They were just outside the city limits of Waterdeep, on their way to see the Dancing Haven temple of Eilistraee, when they were set upon by mindflayers; Erellin and Zilvra died during the attack, but Vierae was kidnapped and taken aboard a mindflayer ship. Upon waking up on the beach after the ship crashed with a mindflayer tadpole wriggling around in her brain, she set out to find someone who could extract the parasite, banding together with 6 other survivors who all needed their parasites removed as well. She found herself naturally stepping into the role of leader, doing her best to follow the teachings of the community of Eilistraeean's who saved her and taught her how to live.

Along the way, Vierae finds herself growing closer to a certain pale elf, who she didn't trust as far as she could throw him at first - he did hold a knife to her throat on their first meeting, after all - but then they discover they have a surprising amount in common. Astarion is in a similar place to where Vierae was herself only a few years ago; finally free of a cruel master after a lifetime spent in the dark, and learning who he is and how to live again. So Vierae guides him through it, the way Erellin and the other Eilistraeean's did for her, guiding him toward the light, and they slowly fall in love as they help each other open up and reclaim parts of themselves that were buried under a lifetime of cruelty and fear. 

Notes

Vierae means "dark dancer"

Sabiira means "void herald"

Erellin means "moon armour"

G'eldavin means "spider guardian"

Dividers

[casuallivi]

it’s a beautiful thing, being able to be someone's safety zone.

For Elriel Month 2023. Prompt 5: Darkness Lets the Light Shine @elriel-month

Set: the events vary from post ACOMAF to post ACOWAR. 

Faint feminine crying ignites his conscious back to life.

The pain is excruciating. Everything hurts, every muscle and tendon in his body burning as if he had been bathed in corrosive acid, his magic struggling to purge the poison and power from the king of Hybern. A swarm of angry shadows stop anyone from approaching. The healers gather in a corner, not knowing what to do.

“Help! Help!... Father!... Nesta!... Help me!”

In his mind, Azriel is sure he’s moving, broken ribs and cracked bones protesting as he fights to sit up, determined to aid her.

“No! Stop, stop it! Please, stop.”

In reality he doesn't move, can't move, prone in a stretcher, the only proof to his distress being the frenetic movement happening behind his closed eyelids, the smallest tightening of his knuckles in the former white sheets now smeared with blood. His blood.

She’s crying now. Choked whimpers evolving to full on sobbing. It's agony, this suffering, piercing his ears so loudly not even his shadows’ whispers can cut through her pleas. Her pain. His pain. He doesn't know what hurts more. Can't tell the difference anymore. Pleas for help merge with a strangled scream, then everything goes silent. His breath catches. His heart stops.

What happened?

Where is she?

The room trembles, chunks of stone dropping from the walls. Screams come from the medical bay now, healers running out of the way from his shadows, darkness engulfing everything. Azriel can't calm them down; they mistake the agony as his own. He urges his shadows to go to her, but they refuse to leave him, high on alert, too worried about their master, set on protecting him now that he lays vulnerable.

It feels wrong, this silence. Unnatural.

Help, he remembers. He can help.

He’s a Shadowsinger, a spymaster, a powerful Illyrian warrior turned Carynthian from effort born from blood, sweat and tear. His brother’s blood as well.

Go, he pleads. Go, now. It’s no use.

He can't help. He wants to. He can't.

Seconds. His moments of lucidity last for seconds.

Azriel passes out again.

~~~

In and out of conscious he goes.

Distorted images flash behind his eyelids. His father’s cell. His hateful siblings’ cruel laugh. The earth-shattering shriek from his mother. Fire blazes and burns and scars. He doesn’t cry. He never cries.

The shadows are his only friends, his everlasting companions. Illyrian cockpits are always covered with fallen children, bruised and broken –but not beyond repair, at least not until the rite. In his High Lord’s office, bookshelves are overturned in a raging fit, paranoid about his child growing night-kissed power. Screams of terror fill the dungeons nestled deep down the Court of Nightmares, a predatory smile stretched in his face, the blood of others dripping down his mask.

Wherever he goes, havoc follows. Destruction. Despair. Not a single face is welcoming at the sight of him unless he’s disguised. His brother fears him sometimes. He understands him, truly. Most nights he fears himself. Scared that, even for a millisecond, he might come to lose control of the darkness brewing in his soul. Might let free the shadow-being that can shapeshift into him; the being that lives for ruination and mayhem.

What is time, if not the meaning you attach to the memories you make?

Memories are his own personal Hel.

Azriel would rather forget them all.

~~~

A dark shape comes closer, withered bony hands probing and prying

Tension radiates from his head to his toes.

‘Madja.’

His quiet sight of sigh of relief is missed by the female.

‘Healer.’

The weary low whisper of his shadows are a balm to his ears.

If can hear them again, he's getting better.

Azriel will heal.

He'll survive.

~~~

Her silence is deafening.

He can’t take it no longer.

Azriel pries one eye open.

Brightness is blinding.

Closed it is.

His voice is rough from disuse, painful to push out.

"You wail like an old lady.”

It’s the wrong thing to do; announce he is conscious, able to speak, to an over emotional Cassian. His brother takes his jab as an invite, jumping on top of him, nearing crushing his half-healed body in a bear hug. Coughing hurts. Cassian helps him to sit up.

Exhaustion is hard to combat.

~~~

Once awake he leaves the healing bay under hard protest from the elderly female. His shadows know where to go even if he doesn't. It's not hard to find her. He does let himself be seen by others.

She lays in bed all day.

He can see Nesta constantly tries do feed her, but for the looks of it, her efforts are not fruitful.

Her light is dimmed, hollowed, wrong. There's no smile to rival the sun now. Silent tears fall down her face, their scent filling the bedroom with salt. It’s a horrible sensation to feel powerless again after so long. For a moment he’s nothing but a boy, alone in the dark. Azriel hates it. He needs the sun to live.

‘There’s no one here,’ his shadows sing. ‘Far away. Gone.’

The statement leaves him puzzled. She is right in front of him, yet they speak as if she left the place, only traces of her sadness lingering behind.

Rhysand doesn't voice his intent, but Azriel knows all the same. The shadows are quick to inform his brother wants to meddle in her mind, nudge her out of bed, oblige her to eat. Azriel’s hand flies to his chest by pure instinct, fingers curling over his shirt.

“Don't."

"This little girl has not eaten a single morsel since she got here."

He knows. But they have all been there before. Struggling with the harsh reality of life. All immortals do.

"Give her time."

“How do you expect me to explain to Feyre her sister died from starvation? She will eat.” Not his brother anymore, not now.

The male in front of him is every inch of a High Lord, the imperative tone leaving no place to question whether this is a request or an order. Azriel doesn’t care. He stands taller. Wings flaring behind his back.

“She will. When she’s ready.” He doesn’t want his brother in her mind. Wandering, prying, exerting influence.

Azriel knows Rhysand well; knows his habit of acting “in favor” of the ones he cares for. A beautiful disguise to cover his own selfish agenda. To protect them, he says, to protect you. Azriel knows better. Knows the seeds he can plant in one’s mind, knows the gates are left wide open for him to return whenever he seems fit, do whatever he judges necessary.

“Let her be.”

“I do not understand you.” Cunning violet eyes set on the shadows gathering over him. “Is this girl a problem to my court? Is that why you are set on killing her?”

Hazel eyes gleam with violence. No one’s dying on his watch. Not her. Never her. Still, the mention of death sends his siphons flaring to life, a cobalt haze engulfing the corridor, Rhysand’s own night power rises in alert, his wings snapping into existence, expanded to their full length. Azriel's are bigger, they both know it. Smirking, Rhysand myst his away, feigning not to notice he came up short.

“Calm down.” His High Lord demands. “What is wrong with you?”

Illyrian pride, Azriel feels no pleasure in recognizing, burns in veins as he tucks his wings.

“Nothing.” He wouldn’t understand. None of them do. “Nothing at all.”

Azriel turns back to her bedroom door, warding her with the most reliable weapon he has; his shadowsinger magic. Ancient, powerful, inconspicuous. He trusts no one. Never has. Is how he survived for so long.

Azriel watches his brother’s every move, makes sure he’s not crossing lines meant to be respected.

Rhysand stays out of Elain’s head.

As long as Azriel stays near to guard her.

~~~

Elain finds her way to the library.

The windows are closed, heavy rain tapping against the glass where her palm is pressed, forehead glued to the surface, peering down at the fat dark clouds, the city far underneath. She's finer, brittle. Shadows slithering into the room, hiding between the crevices of the hardwood floor, mingling with the shades cast by the faelights.

‘She’s back."

"She’s here.’

The message is delivery to his ears alone, yet, Elain moves as soon as they speak, head snapping to her left. Toward the shadow who ventured closer to her, curling under the armchair leg.

“I want to go home.”

A heavy weight settles on his chest. How could he tell her that there was no home left to return to? Now that she was made into High Fae, there would be no warm welcoming for her in the human lands ever again.

Her lips tremble. “You don’t know that.”

Her forehead returns to the cold glass. “He is waiting for me.”

Is not wishfulness he hears when she speaks. Is assurance. Unbreakable trust. Blind faith. Elain is sure her fiancé is worried about her. Waiting for her to return. Azriel clasps his hands behind his back to hide the shaking.

The scent of the older Archeron burns his nostrils as she barrels in the library, gasping at the sight of her sister; out of bed, bathed, dressed in fresh cloths. Speaking. Nesta has not heard Elain’s voice in weeks.

“You are up.” She marvels. “How are you feeling?”

Azriel can hear the quake in her voice. He knows she’d never cry in front of one of them. Nesta’s tears are reserved for the privacy of her own room, in the dead of night, when she thinks all of them have gone to bed.

“I want to go home.” Elain repeats, not looking at them. “I want to go home.”

It’s too much for him to bear.

Azriel leaves the House of Wind.

He doesn’t fly far, doesn’t land anywhere.

It’s not long before he’s back. Alert and vigilant.

Azriel has many eyes and ears spread along the realm, fae eager to please him and prove their value, even if through the menial task of watching a female who spent most of her days in a catatonic state.

Azriel doesn't delegate.

None of them are trust worthy.

None of them are good enough.

None of them is sharper than the spymaster.

~~~

Her lower lip is trapped between her teeth, face lost in concentration. With a sigh, Elain pushes the board game away from her.

“I give up.” She looks over her shoulder, eyes fixed on the empty sofa. “I cannot figure how to play this.”

One blink and Azriel materializes from the shadows, elbow perched on the arm rest, chin in hand.

“It’s a game for two.”

Elain stands, rounding the table to pull the other chair with a flourishing gesture. A silent invitation. It never occurred to Azriel how difficult it is to hide a smile. He doesn’t have the habit of doing so.

His steps are calm and assured, Azriel going to the opposite side of the table, pulling her chair. Elain quirks one brow up, nodding at the chair she has classified as his. He never sits with his back to the doors or windows, so the chair whose back remain to the stone wall are, by default, his.

“I believe I was sitting you.”

“Ladies first.” A human custom. One to be mocked, and frowned upon, by those brought up by a race where females are downgraded. He's made sure to learn them all.

There's no price to the glow in her eyes.

He pushes her chair back in.

Azriel wears no armor today –haven’t for a couple of days now. His gloves come off like a second nature, carelessly shoved in the pocket of his pants, a single siphon dangling in a chain under his black shirt, shifted into a necklace. At least one has to remain. It's safer this way.

Elain interlace her fingers beneath her chin, watching him settle each piece in its correspondent place, long scarred fingers organizing the thirty-two ivory miniatures with careful precision. Dragon and horse-rider are put side by side, but all the goblins stay in the front, like a protective wall. Elain cocks her head to the side, the pattern turning recognizable.

“Is it… fae chess?”

She sounds “fae” like a curse. A forbidden word that should not be said by well-bread ladies. The sharpness of her mind is always a thing of wonder for him.

“Similar.”

“Are you good at it?” Elan asks softly, as if she’s afraid of disrupting his concentration, or being responsible for him misplacing a knight.

“I'm adequate.”

“You are good at it.” She declares.

Her innate confidence in him has his wings jerking behind his back, a quick sharp flare he's even quicker to tame. Shadows skitter in delight. What’s wrong with you. Behave.

"I haven't play it in roughly a hundred years."

"A hundred years!” A small laugh escapes her. “So dramatic."

“Am I?”

Elain lifts her eyes from the board, ready to shower him with reasons for judging him so, when they catch on his wings. Two large membranous appendages shaped like the ones of a bat, thick veins running under the leathery skin which expand and contract, before comfortably fitting between the slits in the chair.

Wings.

Because he is not human.

Neither is she.

The room spins, walls closing in on her. The gurgling of water is deafening, black dots edging her vision, ghost hands tugging her legs. Oh no. Azriel’s lips are moving, but she can’t hear a word he’s saying. She can’t hear anything but that heinous cackling laugh, mocking her, the same way it did when she drowned. Elain hyperventilates.

Her hands fly over the boardgame, meeting his halfway, colorful ivory pieces falling down with a loud thump. She grabs onto him, short nails digging on the bump curves of his scars. His scars are real. Azriel is real. He’s not speaking anymore, just breathing, deeply, the painful squeeze of her hand instigating her to follow. She does.

Azriel is aware Elain is remembering she’s no longer human, knows unwanted memories are striking her the same way they do to him in the dead of night. He knew she was about to be triggered the moment her gaze locked in his wings, eyes widening together with the quickening in her breath, confusing swiping her features. They are more infrequent now, her panic attacks, but every once in a while, he witnesses them. Feels her despair as if it was his own, even if he’s not around to help her ride the wave.

It’s a painfully long process to help her calm down. Time matters not to him.  Azriel has only Elain in his mind.

Slowly – so, so, slowly – Elain feels the walls retroceding to their original place, the ceiling high and above, not even close from crushing her skull. Her suffering sigh of relief breaks the tense silence, vexed shadows quieting at the feet of their master but refusing to vanish, the everlasting eyeless watch following her with keen attention.

One of his hands start to leave hers.

"Don't let me go!" Elain yelps helplessly.

"I won't." The hand doesn't go far, cradling her face, his thumb swiping the solitary tear running down her cheek. "I won’t."

He stays with her.

Azriel stays with Elain and does not let go.

~~~

“You are letting me win.” Elain sulks. "Stop that."

Azriel finds her complain endearing, but then again, many things she does can be classified that way.

"I'm teaching you. Enjoy while it last."

"You have the power to destroy me."

“Where’s the fun in that?” Elain moves her remaining dragon to eminent extermination. He holds her hand before the piece can touch the board – losing the right be moved– guiding her to place it two squares below the one she aimed for. "I can teach you better tactics," he wiggles his brows, "war strategies."

“No, thank you. I want to bargain.”

Hazel eyes find her so fast Elain feels a little dizzy. He tends to do that to her, steal her breath.

"Bargains are more than an agreement between the fae." He begins carefully.

"I know." Elain says calmly.

"They cannot be broken."

"I know."

"We'll be bound by magic."

"I'm aware."

"And you still want to bargain?"

"Yes."

"With me?"

"Yes."

"Over a match you'll certainly loose?"

"I will not lose." Elain scoff with confidence. Azriel places a hand in front of his mouth. She slaps it away. "Do not laugh, I will not lose."

He shouldn't do it. Azriel knows he should not do it.

"Name it."

He never had a chance. Azriel is a slave to competition.

“We’ll have another match. If I win, I want you to teach me how to winnow.”

“We don’t need a bargain for that. I can teach you regardless.”

“No,” Elain shakes her head, declining politely. “I want to earn it. I win, you teach me. And if you win,”

“When I win,” he corrects her, relaxing on his chair. Elain rolls her eyes.

“If you win,” she begins again with annoyance. “I’ll grant you a wish.”

“The conditions?”

“None.” She states with a little shrug. Azriel sits properly, the devil in him giving her his full attention. “I’ll grant you a wish of your choosing. Any wish.”

“Any wish?” He asks, not believing his ears.

“Any wish.” She confirms.

The Shadowsinger rattles his cage, anticipation filling him with energy.

“You should really stipulate more rules.”

“I don’t need to.”

“It’s dangerous to make such a loose bargain.”

“I trust you.”

Well, fuck him.

Elain shouldn’t trust him so easily. Elain shouldn't trust him at all. At this point, Azriel has nothing but bad intent in mind. He tries to scold his features. Is impossible. His lazy smile soon turns into a grin from ear to ear, eyes going wholly black. Azriel rolls his shoulders in a dramatic maneuver, feigning to stretch his muscles, before extending a hand towards Elain.

“My lady.”

“My lord.” Her smirk is supposed to be threatening. She could not be cuter if she tried. “May the best one win.”

“That one happened to be me.”

They shake on it. Magic instantly zaps between them, rising up his arm. Their hairs stood up a little. They move at the same time, Azriel returning her curls back in place as Elain flattens his. They smile at each other.

“Best be ready to lose.” She sings excitedly, smoothing his ears after she's done with his hair. Contouring the round shape of it. “I have a secret up my sleeve.”

She doesn’t.

Azriel wins

~~~

It isn’t until much later that he realizes she lost on purpose.

Because Azriel learns from Cerridwen that Elain has known how to winnow since Fall.

~~~

The pungent stench of burnt food brings her back to reality, where she stands frozen in the middle of the kitchen, dark smoke rising from the oven. Elain knows is useless, but she still rushes to save her pie. In her hurry, she forgets to put the gloves, burning her hands in the hot pan, which she hastily drops in the counter.

“Shit!” the hushed curse is inevitable.

People curse so much in this household, is beginning to rub on her.

Elain holds her injured hand to her chest, breathing heavily as the images of her vision flash one last time before her eyes, the details fogged, hazy. What was it that she saw? It has vanished now, she cannot remember.

On her peripheral view, Elain can see a body emerging from thin air, a silver fork shining in a scarred hand as he nicks a piece of the pie.

“Wait!” She gasps.

Her warning comes too late. He’s eating it already.

Elain covers her mouth in horror, watching him chew a generous piece of the burned pastry, eyes trained on the movement off his strong jaw, the elegant bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows the lumpy mix. Her mouth feels dry.

She licks her lips, feeling unsettled for an entirely different reason. “I don’t think that’s edible…”

“Uncooked and burned at the same time,” Azriel comments, staking the fork in the middle of the pie. “That’s some skills you have there.”

“Just spit it out.” She asks with shame, looking around the messy kitchen, mentally moping about all the cleaning she has to do before remaking the desert.

He’s behind the counter now, the beautiful cobalt stone on top of his fingerless gauntlet flickering quietly as he asked for her hand, the pale skin of her palm turned to a raw pink. She hisses as he touches the edges, their eyes meeting briefly.

‘Does it hurt much?’ His say.

‘I’ll live.’ Hers answer.

Azriel turns the faucet on, briefly testing the temperature.

The back of her hand rests on his open palm as cold water cools the wound. They stand close, the hard muscles of his torso pressed to her side, brushing against her with every rise and fall of his chest.

“It’s superficial,” he tranquilizes her, “give it an hour and you’ll be good as new.”

An hour. A wound that before would have peeled her skin, blistered and swollen, before probably leaving a scar would now heal within the hour. A shiver runs down her spine.

Azriel notices her tension right away; the scrunch of her nose, the downward tug of her lips, the twitch of the fingers on his hand. He makes not comment, doesn’t chastise or console her either, letting her process her emotions at her own time and pace. He knows Elain struggles with her new body, but it is not his place to comment when he cannot stand his own Illyrian features from time to time –the facial structure that resembles his father.

Her eyes fall closed, ears twitching at the array of sounds. His controlled breathing, rhythmic heartbeat, nose buried in her hair, the subtle inhale of her scent, his lips pressing ever so slightly on the top of her head. Elain is getting used to dampening her super hearing, but sometimes... Sometimes she let her abilities unchecked.

The faucet is turned off.

Elain opens her eyes, silently watching as he calls a shadow, a small metallic container appearing on his previously empty hand. Azriel unscrews the lid, applying a generous coat of a greenish ointment on her skin, soothing the burn. A moan of relief escape from her lips. He smiles.

“You are quite vocal.” Azriel comments.

“You make me feel good.” She sighs contently.

Azriel pauses, and so does Elain, gauging his reaction. It’s a genuine confession, not one stirred from the act of care he’s demonstrating right now, but one born from the combination of all the ones done before that.

“Azriel."

He doesn't trust his voice to answer.

"Mmh?"

"You make me feel good.” Elain repeats. Feelings she’s been trying to tame bleed out from her heart. Pouring like a torrent.

He drowns in it.

Gladly.

One kiss to her palm, then he is pressing it to his heart.

“You make me feel good too, sweetheart."

And she does.

Azriel feels like he has it now.

Light.

Not to purge the darkness.

But to shine the brightest where his darkness is.

[ultranos]

You mentioned Yagoda couldn’t fully heal a wound from a corrupted spirit like that. Was that just referring to the scars, or did Azula take psychic/spiritual damage that wasn’t able to be healed fully as well as the physical wounds/scars? If the latter, does she have any sort of side effects?

Yagoda couldn't heal the scars specifically. Azula did take some spiritual damage from that attack, but Yagoda was able to heal that part, which really was the more critical issue. But Dark Spirits are officially Weird and this one that showed up had a grudge against La and Tui. So not only was it resistant to waterbending, so were the effects of its attacks. (Azula did note the golden poison/venom dripping off it.) That includes healing the physical damage, which means Azula's face has to heal the normal way. Even water from the Spirit Oasis itself was only able to heal the corruption to the spirit.

As for side-effects from this, well, La basically dragging her from the ocean like a sodden kitten had already left it's mark on her, so Azula was already registering as more than a little bit spirit-touched to those who could sense that kind of thing. After, well, pretty much everyone in the NWT figures out that oh, that's why La sent them this particular feral burn-y child in particular.

(La: "She's not my cat Firebender!" Tui: "Keep telling yourself that, dear.")

Yagoda is overall really unhappy that she's unable to heal the scars fully, mostly because she's the best master healer, waterbender or other, in the Tribe as well as the fact that one of Azula's adoptive fathers is her son. So that's a huge part of it.

There's also the fact that Yagoda can see La's hands all over this kid, that La for some twisted reason wanted this particular Fire National child to fight like this, and now La's gifts to her won't even let her fix things.

(At this point, Yagoda and the rest of the NWT don't 100% know Azula's former identity as a royal. Pakku suspects, based on some intel from Iroh, but Pakku takes a "trust but verify" approach to any and all intel from his FN White Lotus colleagues at best.

After this, he tells his suspicions to Arnook. He has absolutely no intention of even mentioning it to Iroh. The child's said some frankly disturbing things that make Arnook's grim theory that her family tried to kill her sound eerily plausible.

Pakku can admit his most unorthodox student has grown on him. Like lichen or a particularly stubborn barnacle.)

[nightingaletrash]

Meet the OC - Sif

A file kept by the former High Kinlady of Skywatch, Estre Errinorne, on one of the Four Ambitions, kept and maintained since striking her alliance with High Priestess Celdina.

Name: Sif Race: Nord/Imperial Designation: the Fox Power: Wind Preferred Weapons: Bow, Hand-to-hand Current Location: Fargrave

Gathering the details surrounding the Fox has proven challenging, as it has with all the Ambitions, but while the others are referred to in secret codes and inconspicuous records, the Fox’s were removed before Emperor Leovic even came to power. While the records do show the births and deaths of the children known as Sombren, Calia, and Destron, there is no mention of a child named Sif. Had Celdina not chosen to share some of her knowledge with me, it might have been impossible to determine the truth of her origins and how she came to be the Fox. And it is important that I understand how these Ambitions came to be, so that I might understand how to best utilise them when the time comes.

To begin, the first three Ambitions were each born in 2E 561, the twin Rams born in the height of summer, while the Boar was born in the midst of autumn. Following this pattern, it stands to reason that the Fox was intended to have been born that winter. However a contagious disease swept the Imperial City during this time, and while most citizens recovered without consequence, most children under the age of ten had perished. Indeed, the spike in infant deaths was devastatingly high and upon his emergence from the Imperial Palace a year after the beginning of his seclusion, Emperor Moricar proclaimed several decrees that would encourage his people to have more children to bolster the city’s population.

It stands to reason then that the intended Fox likely joined the scores of young children that passed of sickness before they could be gifted with Lord Dagon’s power, and so the master lacked his Fourth Ambition.

I have no doubts that the Long House Emperors feared for their future when they suddenly found themselves falling short of their bargin. And yet Moricar could show no weakness before his Empire and pursued his famously doomed plans to subjugate Western Skyrim, a campaign that resulted a long and drawn out death that not even the best of his healers could prevent.

It was during this campaign that High Priest Vandacia and Disastrix Celdina had been charged with the task of discretely finding a solution to the problem in addition carrying out their other duties in preparing the existing Ambitions and refining the Cataclysts. It was not until the year following Leovic’s ascension to the throne that the security of the bargain was once again assured.

In 2E 565, rumours began to circulate through the Imperial City that a child named Prosperina had been born to a favoured concubine in the Imperial Palace, and that both mother and baby had died within hours of one another after an arduous labour that resulted from a pregnancy that had been fraught with sickness and frailty.. One of the most popular rumours surrounding Prosperina was that Clivia Tharn - Leovic’s newly wed bride and Empress - had been poisoning the concubine to ensure her death and that of her child so that her own heirs by Leovic would go unchallenged.

On the surface, the story seems unassailable. Leovic was known to enjoy the company of his concubines, and it is no secret that Clivia Tharn was a callous, enterprising woman of vicious ambition. Poisoning a pregnant woman was a drop in the ocean compared to how far she had been willing to go to secure her power and her legacy. And yet the supposed birth and death of Prosperina aligns with the Waking Flame’s success in creating the final Ambition and the assignment of assets to Doomvault Vulpinaz.

Most would have been content to accept that Prosperina’s death was merely a cover for her empowerment as an Ambition and would have left it at that, but I have had my own share of schemes and know better than to leave it to a single layer of intrigue. After some digging through the records secured from Leyawiin, I was able to track down and interrogate a former advisor to Emperor Leovic known only as the Rat. He was completely deranged by his experiences during the Planemeld, but with the proper application of physical and magical tortures, I was able to draw out his memories of that time.

Prosperina was a lie, a story concocted by High Priest Vandacia and Emperor Leovic to deceive the Imperial Court and keep them blind to the plan. In truth, the concubine in question was in fact a willing supplicant of the Waking Flame who bore a daughter to none other than Vandacia himself. The child, named Proxenia, was then empowered by the sacrifice of her mother and placed into the trust of her caretakers in Doomvault Vulpinaz.

Did Vandacia always plan to father an Ambition himself, or did he simply take matters into his own hands to ensure that Moricar’s end of the bargain was upheld? If Celdina knows, she won’t tell me. But I suppose it doesn’t matter now. Vandacia is dead and his child is the Fox.

As for how Proxenia became Sif, I can only speculate. The only certainty is that Vulpinaz was forced open by Varen’s forces just as Porcixid was and discovered the Ambition hidden within. Perhaps Proxenia did not tell them her name and so they needed something to call her. Perhaps the rebels decided Proxenia did not suit a girl whose Nord heritage is so much more potent than the Imperial. Or perhaps she chose it for herself to avoid being found by the Waking Flame once more. Would a twelve year old human child possess such self awareness?

Regardless of the reason, Proxenia vanished from her vault and Sif was taken in by the rebels for a time until her growing power led her to finding Sombren and coming into the care of the Dremora known as Xynaa.

Some might disregard such information as a waste of time and needlessly digging into irrelevant details. But in my experience, the best way to manipulate someone is to know them better than they know themself. Every detail, no matter how small, will tell me how to best approach the Ambitions when the time comes to lure them into the trap.

And it will come. It’s only a matter of time.

[ask19thcentury-doctorgilbert]

I don't know a lot about Bioshock (yet Dr. Beilschmidt stealing children to save them? Accurate) But I read Assassin's Creed and now I'm 👀! Care to share your thoughts on that?

👀👀👀

Oh boy, I have a lot of Thoughts(tm) about this so let me try to condense it under the cut! (And I highly recommend playing or watching a let’s play of the bioshock series it’s a wild ride and one of my favorite game series’ ever)

So I have two versions of the Assassin’s Creed AU, one that fits in with regular nation canon and a second one that’s a completely separate, human AU

In regular nation canon, I’ve been toying with the idea that during the 18th century, the Prussians found a Piece of Eden during their conquest of Silesia. I imagine there was a brotherhood of assassins stationed in the kingdom who struck a deal with the new king, Frederick II, to help with his goal of taking the Austrian province so that they could get their hands on that piece of Eden. Templars in Austria (which I imagined, along with the Holy Roman Empire, to be a Templar stronghold) were none too pleased with the fact that the artifact fell into assassin hands and were big supporters in Maria Theresa’s court for war against Prussia so they could get a chance to take it back. 

I like thinking that the Assassins enjoyed more freedoms under Frederick the Great’s reign and enjoyed a mutually beneficial relationship with the new king. They had a tougher time under the former king, Frederick William I, who was loyal to the Emperor and surrounded himself with Templar-aligned cronies that kept the brotherhood in check. Under Frederick II, they were free to operate as they wished, so as long as their endeavors didn’t stand in the way of the King’s own ambitions for his kingdom. That means that Gilbert and Reiner have both worked with assassins at times during their campaigns in the 18th century on everything from spying, sabotage, and actual assassinations.

Also can you just... Imagine using the Brandenburg gate as a viewpoint? Or climbing to the top of the Berlin city palace? Or Sanssouci??? There’s so many fake ruins out there that would make for good sync points.

As for my more human AU, Gilbert was raised by his mother and father who were loyal to the templar cause. Both his parents were informants working under the guise of being your typical high-born socialites and were careful to keep their son in the dark about the true nature of their work for his own protection. In truth, his father Otmar and his mother Lina were working as moles for the assassins from within the Order, reporting on the Order’s activities while supplying them with enough info about the Assassins to keep his cover up.

Eventually though, the truth caught up to them and the Order made plans to murder the family as punishment for their deception. They’d succeeded in killing Otmar and Lina, but Gilbert was spared from this fate when his mother hid him away before the attack started, telling him not to come out of hiding until either she or his father come back for him. The boy won’t be found until almost three days later when assassins come by the place to learn why their steady stream of intel suddenly stopped. 

He’s found by an Assassin by the name of Vasya (Reiner’s mother) who brings Gilbert back with them now that he’s been left orphaned by the Templars. She introduces him to her own son and raises him as her own. 

He and his brother Reiner grow together and train together, eventually becoming capable assassins in their own right. Reiner is definitely a more traditional assassin, fond of using his hidden blade to eliminate enemies quickly and quietly though he’s not opposed to open combat if he can’t avoid it. Gilbert, however, found his place with the healers and medics — Which also means he’s quite fond of working with poisons. He’s become known as something of a poison master; he can cook up anything from something to put targets to sleep or something to kill them quickly without a trace. And he has plans to put those skills to use when he finds the people who murdered his parents

[seimeinotaka]

A beautiful gift for a beautiful flower: the Legendary Sword (Vil X MC fic)

It is still the 9th, so I’m still on time to upload a fic to celebrate Vil’s birthday. I wanted to give something he would love, so here it is, given and made with him and Ann in mind. Maybe one day I’ll upload Ann giving him also his so-wanted list hehe. But for now, I hope this will do!

Thanks to polyphenols@AO3 for beta-reading this!

-

This is a story from a young prince who lived in a faraway land.

~ ° ~

Vil had just returned from his afternoon walk as he crossed the now empty lounge, devoid of any of the birthday tables and balloons for his own celebration, as expected for it was the day after. Well, it was empty except for the lone presence of Ramshackle dorm’s prefect, Ann Hawthorne, and Vil’s almost professional headache.

“Vil-senpai, here!” the young girl said as she handed Vil a thick-looking envelope, with a purple ribbon on top.

The unexpected gift made him raise an eyebrow. “Potato, my birthday was yesterday and you were here, with your usual birthday interviews for the School’s News Section. You even took a picture of me. Did you somehow not know it was my birthday yesterday and made a last-minute gift to excuse yourself?”

Ann rolled her eyes and made a mocking grin. “Haha, how funny, there is no way in hell I can make this in one night. I had actually brought it with me, but well, I wanted you to read it, and I didn’t want to take up your time at your birthday party. I mean, you didn’t read Rook-senpai’s poems either, so it was fair that I handed you this now.”

Vague curiosity in his eyes, because he wasn’t really interested, just a little, Vil opened the envelope and took out a large stack of papers bound together with a purple thread. The words “Legendary Sword” could be read on the first page, and with a quick glance, Vil realized it was a script with some pictures in between.

~ ° ~ 

Long ago in the hidden remains of the Araceae Kingdom lived a beautiful young man, with brilliant cold amethyst eyes and delicate flawless skin. His hair was silky golden and he blinded everyone with his appearance. Every day, he devoted himself to his studies, from arts to economics, languages and science. In the afternoon he would train his body, fencing, wrestling, running, horse riding. He worked harder than anyone, never complaining, as he pushed himself day after day.

However, he was feared and scorned, for he was the scion of the wretched Zantedeschia household, Schwartz Zantedeschia. His family had ruled the kingdom with an iron fist, and had seized control of every other kingdom under the sun.

Shedding blood, many fought the Zantedeschia until one day a brave hero, wielding a mythical sword, was able to dethrone the cursed family and their household vanished from history. The hero, coming from the Leiron family, the rulers of the Lilium Kingdom that everyone had dismissed as negligible, was of pure heart and as the chosen hero, he was able to vanquish the evil.

However, the Zantedeschia weren’t completely destroyed and each heir was carefully trained in hopes of achieving their dream.

Before Schwartz, no one had been as successful nor had anyone worked as hard, and he was the only one to cast off from the shadows to fulfill his mission, leaving his homeland in shambles behind him.

To regain their former glory, and extract revenge, that was the reason for his journey.

~ ° ~ 

“A villain protagonist, really? This is your gift to me?” Vil took his eyes off the script for a moment to give Ann a dismissive and insulted glare.

Unamused, the girl rolled her eyes as she pushed the script closer to his face. “Keep reading, Vil-senpai.”

Vil kept his penetrating and heavy stare on her, though the young girl didn’t even flinch, probably used to his flair for the dramatic. However, the actor kept on reading.

~ ° ~ 

To fulfill his quest for revenge, he would need to seize the mythical sword Durendal, which had been the fall of his family. The next chosen holder would be Weiss Leiron, the heir of the Lilium Kingdom, adored by everyone for his purity. As soon as he turned of age, he would become the legitimate owner of Durendal.

Prince Schwartz had known of Weiss, meeting him long ago when he hid his identity to get to know the faces of his enemies. Even now, he was painfully aware, Weiss was beloved by every creature in the land, his affable nature charming everyone in spite of his failings. During that time, Schwartz came to learn that his own nature scared others, finding himself pushed away even if his true name hadn’t been revealed. His beauty alienated everyone he had met and his stoic personality was found distrustful by many, no matter what he did or said.

Thus for years, he couldn’t help but to grow deep resentment in his heart, jealousy taking root like a bloody, poisonous flower. So for Schwartz, this quest meant also his own reassurance of his worth to the world that had shunned him.

~ ° ~

“Do you enjoy making me upset?” Vil squinted as he kept on re-reading the last line, his frown growing deeper and deeper with every word.

“Do I look like I’m enjoying this?” Ann replied with a not so concealed smarmy smile.

“Your suspicious gaze makes me wonder if you are secretly a sadist. You’re not even trying to flatter me in the slightest, and of all people, you had to put him as the hero again. Really, you have a morbid sense of humor.”

“Who says Neige is the hero?”

“I am obviously Schwartz, as the narration clearly describes me. That would mean Neige can only be Weiss. Stop playing around, you aren’t fooling me.” Vil let out a long sigh. “At this rate, I’m going to have you list 200 beautiful things about me instead.”

“Please finish reading the thing, Vil-senpai? Do you judge books on the first page?”

Vil sighed again, gently shaking his head as his eyes went back to the papers in his hands.

~ ° ~ 

To aid him on his quest, Prince Schwartz had been sent with two trusted knights serving the Zantedeschia, the bow master Vert and the young knight Violett. Vert was a self-proclaimed defender of beauty and followed Schwartz wherever he would go. Violett had a tense relationship with Schwartz, feeling constricted by Schwartz’s rules and strictness, and with a promise of freedom after this journey. Whatever their goals were, they would protect him with their lives, as his travel would grow more dangerous the further he went. Prince Weiss had seven renowned knights and no matter Prince Schwartz’s prowess in combat and magic, it would be safer for him to be accompanied. The Araceae Kingdom was also on the northern end of the continent, hidden behind a harsh tundra and treacherous mountains, and Schwartz’s safety was to be prioritized.

As the prince and his knights traveled south, to reach the center of the continent where Durendal was enshrined, they met a group of four travelers in peril, surrounded by foul beasts. Even if it was dangerous, as it could blow his cover, Schwartz and his knights went to their rescue. In gratitude, the brawler Azure, the thief Vermillion, the young lost researcher Ai and her magical talking cat Hai joined Schwartz on his travels south.

~ ° ~

“Why do I get vague videogame allusions from this?” Vil arched an eyebrow at the recent development.

“Well,” Ann replied with a shrug. “They are classes you find in RPGs. It would make sense for Schwartz to gather several comrades that can cover any weakness he might have.”

“Then? What is your class, Ann?” Vil turned to the girl, a mocking smirk dawning on his beautiful face. “I don’t think you’d be able to be a Healer here.”

Ann pursed her lips before reluctantly answering, “I am the very important NPC tagging along. You all can fight to protect me.”

“Fufufu, bold of Ai to wander alone with her talking cat who can barely manage a spell. I wonder if they will be of help.” With a dark chuckle, Vil resumed reading.

~ ° ~ 

Vermillion and Azure hailed from the Rosaceae Kingdom, a land not far away from Lilium and the shrine for Durendal. Originally a couple of bandits, they had initially attempted to trick Ai and her cat, lost travelers who had just survived a shipwreck and were looking for a way back to their homeland, the Asteraceae Empire on the other side of the world. However, after being saved by the same girl they wanted to rob, they decided to reform and help them reach a port. Being told of their quest to reach Lilium, the group tagged along unaware of Schwartz’s true intentions. They all believed he was a young man kidnapped and sent to Araceae who was trying to go back to his own land, Vermillion and Hai hoping they could snag a reward for their efforts.

To reach Lilium and the shrine, the group would need to cross a perilous desert, where the rays of the sun would be so merciless that the unprepared would easily die. Unaccustomed to such warm weather, Schwartz and Violett struggled with the inclemency of the climate, growing weaker with every step. However, Schwartz was not willing to abandon his mission, even at his own health’s peril, and he continued his trip until he grew gravely ill.

~ ° ~

“You’re not writing this right now, but one could think you were expecting me to question your abilities and you kindly decided to get some petty revenge on Schwartz,” Vil said flatly, as his eyes dangerously narrowed, throwing daggers at Ann.

“Excuse me, I would be incapable of doing that, Vil-senpai.”

“Have you forgotten the time your hand slipped and your fist casually connected with Rook’s jaw? Or the time you-”

“That was a legit reason to punch him, okay?” Ann pouted as she folded her arms in front of her. “And we don’t need to talk about other things, go on and keep reading.”

~ ° ~ 

Taking a detour, the group reached the land of Oleaceae in hopes of finding a doctor to treat Schwartz and Violett. In their search, they found a pair of young men running away from a large group of pursuers. Ill and weakened, Schwartz still led the party to defend and protect the men in need of help, learning that the people running away, a dancer by the name of Asfar and his servant Burtiqali had been wrongly accused of murdering Asfar’s father. Even if Asfar had chosen to distance himself from his father’s business, one of the largest spice traders in Oleaceae and the land, he was the heir to the family and people within the clan wanted to get rid of the father and son to claim the business for themselves.

After a narrow escape from Oleaceae, the group learned that Burtiqali was a proficient chemist, and he provided relief to Schwartz and Violett, in gratitude for helping them escape. With no place to go, Asfar and Burtiqali decided to travel with Schwartz, hoping to find a way to clear Asfar’s name if they reached Lilium and found the hero Weiss.

Meanwhile in the Lilium Kingdom, word of Schwartz’s quest reached the ears of Weiss.

“Someone sullied is not fit to be a hero, only those pure can be one. Envy, jealousy, those emotions are unbecoming. A hero is a beacon of hope, a model to follow, a paragon of virtue. Someone who is envious of the natural course of things is not fit to be a hero.”

Those were the words of the beloved hero, the next in line to inherit Durendal. He looked at the eyes of his loyal knights, seven brave men who would follow Weiss wherever he went, taking his word almost as if it came from the heavens. Anyone wishing to follow the right path would look closely at the Prince of Lilium, with his bright and kind features and no darkness in his eyes. For his sake, they would even shut their hearts, to do what was right.

If Schwartz was willing to attack the hero, they would prevent him from even touching a single strand of the hero’s hair. A villain must never win, and good will always defeat, vanquish evil. In these times of crisis, with the kingdom’s growing unrest year after year caused by the Zantedeschia, the populace was suffering. Inequality, famine, disease, they had been slowly creeping in Lilium, and Schwartz’s arrival would be the key to opening the forbidden box.

Thus, they needed to bring swift judgement to the villain trying to usurp power once more.

~ ° ~ 

“A paragon of virtue, the meaning of a hero,” Vil uttered those words, almost wounded.

“In my world, the origin of the word ‘Hero’ was one meaning Defender.”

“It’s the same as this world. Color me surprised, though, I wouldn’t put you as a reader.”

“How rude, senpai, even after all this time you still think the worst of me.” Ann pretended to sigh dramatically, though Vil just rolled his eyes. “You probably think I spend my time thinking of how to annoy you and picking my nose.”

He let out a chuckle, his now trademark sardonic smile aimed at her. “Given how much you neglect your appearance, would you blame me for believing it?”

~ ° ~ 

As they traveled, the burden of his secret mission weighed heavily on Schwartz’s shoulders, as he found himself growing attached to his companions. Keeping an aloof distance and not hiding his critical tongue and stoic and strict nature, he had assumed they would be simply people he would be using to achieve his goals. Schwartz had always been alone and feared by everyone, so he hadn’t expected anything else. The kind interaction of these people made him at times believe they could be friends, something he had once thought impossible.

After all, no one knew better than him that he was sullied with jealousy and anger, stains perhaps too deep in his soul to be the hero recognized by Durendal. After all, the legendary sword would only choose someone who was a hero and the more Schwartz looked at himself in the mirror, the further he traveled in his journey, the more he believed himself to be the villain, just as his ancestors before him.

~ ° ~ 

This time, Vil had no snappy retort or effusive reaction. Instead, he solemnly stared at the words in front of him, his lips pressed together into a thin line. He wouldn’t admit aloud that Schwartz’s feelings were hitting too close to home, the traces of his Overblot still lingering in his thoughts. His own failings caused his heart to be tainted with ink and even to his day, he struggled with his wish to be cast once as a hero, to prove he wasn’t the villain everyone appointed and believed he was.

His eyes briefly met Ann’s, before he diverted his gaze. He recalled the times she had called him several things, such as kind, that he, to this day, did not believe he was, and he wondered if there were some of those feelings portrayed in the script in his hands.

She didn’t say anything, as she quietly looked at him with a warm soft smile, in hopes that he kept on reading to find the answer he was suddenly seeking for.

~ ° ~

Just as the travelers arrived at the shrine where Durendal rested, Schwartz came to face his sworn enemy, Prince Weiss, the paragon of goodness and the hero of the land. He almost laughed maniacally, as the seven holy knights came to protect him. It would truly be a fight of good and evil, and for once he decided to unveil his ugly mask to the oblivious people who wrongly decided to accompany him.

~ ° ~ 

“Did you honestly write ‘Fighting scene goes here’?” Vil arched an eyebrow, with a dismissive and almost stunned glare at Ann, who simply blinked in return.

“Do I look like I know how those kind of fighting scenes normally go in a script?”

“Shouldn’t you know it? You ARE writing this after all.”

“You can make it up as you want.” Ann waved her hand nonchalantly, and Vil let out a groan. The nerve of the girl to leave out the most important part of the scene, and he thought of thousand ways to express his utter shock and frustration. Ann huffed. “If you really want it, you can pretend I wrote you kick Neige in the balls…Ah, but be careful with your heels, you might break his baby-making machine and that might give you trouble.”

“Baby. Making. Machine.”

“His dick, senpai. You break his dick.”

Vil’s blank expression was on her for a couple of seconds, before his line of sight was interrupted by her gently shoving the script toward his face.

~ ° ~ 

The knights defeated and Weiss wounded, Schwartz would lift his sword, deep in anger to decapitate his nemesis, at the protest of his friends. The anger of knowing that his family had been shunned for years for crimes they never committed, Schwartz finding himself damned for the only reason of being born under the Zantedeschia name fueled his fatal blow. As the sword fell like a guillotine, an arrow threw it away from its trajectory, his friends deciding to oppose him in a battle they knew they might lose. But they would face him because they knew what kind of person Schwartz truly was, cold and aloof, but secretly caring, and they didn’t want him to commit a heinous crime.

Somehow, his words reached Schwartz, horrified at the monster he had become. Falling on his knees, he threw away his magic tome and his sword, realizing he was no hero, he was the villain awaiting his execution. He would no longer be capable of wielding Durendal, no, the idea of wielding it was ridiculous from the very beginning. And to wound him further, his close knight Vert had picked up the Legendary Sword, handing it to a wounded Weiss, as he protected him from any harm on their escape.

“I was hoping you would recognize your own worth without needing external validation. You do not need Durendal. The wielder of Durendal is the one who shines like the sun, the most beautiful at heart. One day, you will surely be recognized, farewell, Schwartz, but my heart truly lies with Weiss, who is unclouded by sin and is as radiant as any star.”

Vert’s betrayal caused everyone to fall back, taking everyone by surprise. While Asfar, Burtiqali and Ai had caught grasp of Schwartz’s true intentions, they never realized Vert had sent a warning to Lilium. Tending their wounds, Schwartz finally explained the truth he had concealed.

Long ago, as a great war emerged, the Zantedeschia were one of many houses caught in the strife. Fighting to protect their territory and lending a hand to nearby lands, they grew in power, and lords of other lands deemed them too dangerous. While they hadn’t invaded other kingdoms, they were plagued by fear, and decided to vanquish them before they could do anything. And thus, they imparted their judgement and executed most of the royal family except for one who managed to escape, keeping the bloodline alive and hiding at the ends of the world.

They gave the honor to a random lowborn house, the Lilium, as they would make the better heroes for a loving fairytale. A chivalrous story of the good and weak defeating the evil and strong. Pinning all of their internal problems on the Zantedeschia, they decided it was for the best to brand them as the evil of the world, and thus it would be allowed to destroy them. Because Durendal happened to choose the prince of Lilium, they could embellish their tale which was no more than political machinations to benefit just a small few, while giving crumbs of justice to the unknowing folk.

And thus, with the passage of time, the world would know of the story of the evil Zantedeschia and the good Lilium and it became the truth for everyone. Except for the surviving bloodline of the Zantedeschia who relayed their truth to their successors, hoping that one day, they would finally be acquitted of something they never committed. And if Durendal chose any of them, then it would finally be proof that they weren’t the evil they were always thought to be.

“Did you want to wield Durendal for yourself or for your bloodline and your people?” Ai had posed this question to Schwartz, who had tried everything and had failed.

“For them, but also for myself, though it no longer matters. Someone like me isn’t meant to be a hero. Which Legendary Sword would choose a murderer driven by jealousy? Which kind of people would follow a hero tainted by anger, envy, and resentment? Weiss is as radiant as the sun, I am the cold moon doomed to die at every dawn.”

“I don’t believe you are the villain you have convinced yourself to be, nor is that one born a hero. If you still wish to try, there is still time for you to see if Durendal has rejected you.”

“Even if it doesn’t choose me, I want my clan’s name to be cleared for sins pinned on us.”

Because of Schwartz coming to Lilium, the official ceremony for Weiss to become the next wielder was rushed and would be before he was of age. It was also to quell people’s anger, as their issues in their land had become unbearable to wear and a hero would bring peace to the people, as Weiss truly believed with all of his heart. To bring light to cast away the shadows, he would take his place as the hero.

Apologizing for what he had done, Schwartz asked his friends if they would accompany in a final quest. If he were to be fought and executed, so be it, and if he was never to become Durendal’s wielder, so be it, but at least, he would want to denounce the infamy his family had been accused of. He would accept his death if it at least meant the truth was finally known, and with it the Zantedeschia would be no more. He was surprised when everyone decided to go on with the journey, everyone knowing what kind of man he was, and wishing to support him one last time.  Thus, Schwartz and his friends traveled to Lilium to set right what was wrong.

“I am Prince Schwartz Zantedeschia from the Araceae Kingdom and I have come to reclaim the innocence of my people, unjustly accused in the past of crimes they did not commit. If I have to fight the hero chosen by Durendal, so be it! But on this day, the truth shall be known!”

“I will not let you, Prince Schwartz,” Prince Weiss proclaimed. “The Zantedeschia have become the evil of this land, and will be purged once more. You even wanted to steal this holy blade, someone like you is unfit to be Durendal’s wielder.”

Prince Weiss fought Prince Schwartz, not letting him say anything else. And deeply wounded after so many battles, Prince Schwartz fell on his knee, the sign of his loss and imminent execution. With a heavy movement, Prince Weiss swung Durendal, only to find that it wouldn’t even touch one strand of Schwartz’s hair, falling to the ground and staying there unmoving no matter how hard Weiss tried to lift it.

For Durendal would never harm the wielder it had chosen.

Surprising everyone, Schwartz included, he found himself picking up the sword, glowing as beautifully as the sun, a sign it had picked his newfound hero. However, before anyone could rejoice, the flames of revolution stormed into place, as Schwartz and his friends had to flee Lilium.

~ ° ~ 

“And that’s when the first movie ends,” Ann chirped happily as Vil closed the script having finished reading it, “setting up the second one where Weiss goes batshit evil because he wasn’t the chosen hero as his land falls into shambles because of a revolution unfolding because the government was trash. Schwartz and his friends had to flee and embark on a journey to unfold a thousand year conspiracy and reveal the people behind the scenes of every tragedy. Burtiqali might or might not have to face the fact he kinda murdered Asfar’s dad and tried to set Asfar up but it blew up on him. Ai and Hai try to go back home, Violet has to reevaluate his relationship with Schwartz, tension between Vert and Scwhartz for the treason he committed, and Azure and Vermillion try to redeem themselves from their petty felonies while working as comic relief.”

Vil blinked for a moment before bursting out laughing for a couple of minutes. “A sequel, really? You even thought that far?”

“There are too many developments to fit in one movie. This isn’t a cash-grab sequel, it’s because the plot is too heavy to work in only one.”

“Pffft!” Vil couldn’t even stop himself from making that grin, between condescending and touched. “I didn’t know you had quite the imagination, I know you make a comic and you made your friends cry with it, but I didn’t expect a conspiracy for Legendary Sword. You truly never watched any of the films, the sword’s name is Excalibur by the way.”

“I knew the name, but Durendal fits better, duh. The meaning of Durendal’s name has been debated actually, but a common point is how it resists and endures. It was a sturdy sword, so of course it would endure, that is why it had to be the Legendary sword here.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow your obtuse logic, Ann.”

“If you’ve read as much as you claim to have, you will concede that former heroes weren’t good-natured people. It was a term given to those humans who defied all odds to achieve something impossible. In fact, many of them were terrible people struggling with vices. It was with time, especially modern times, that the word hero morphed into what we see, the pure-hearted paragon of goodness.”

“I almost poisoned Neige. How many heroes kill their rival in a fit of jealousy?”

“I like reading, and I realized the most valuable heroes weren’t the ones who never did wrong, but the ones who faced their own weaknesses and demons, and at their lowest, they could go on. You aren’t born a hero, you become one. Durendal chose Schwartz because he was willing to live on with his resentment and envy and help others. Durendal recognized Schwartz’s struggles and the time and effort he had spent all his life, trying to live up to his own morals. He saved people he encountered because it was the right thing to do, even if it was at odds with his goals. Would you call a villain someone who helps others out of the wishes of their heart?”

Vil opened his mouth to refute everything she had said, but Ann lifted a hand, a sign she wasn’t even done.

“You didn’t harm Neige in the end, and you overblotted because you regretted what you were going to do. You had a moment of weakness because you bottled it all in and because you are human. But your weakness doesn’t define your worth, it’s how you deal with your failures and faults what does. I told you, didn’t I? You are a hero, Vil. And I thought of making a story for the hero you deserved to represent.”

“…You depicted what happened during the VDC. That is no original story,” he mumbled, though he wasn’t mocking her. In fact, he was saying it to try to confront his own mixed feelings, at how she had turned his own struggles in a story of him being the hero. To be seen at his worst, yet being given this…

“It stops being based on that at the end, and there’s still the sequel, don’t forget. I haven’t finished it, but it can be a future birthday gift, right? I am a no-name person, but I’m giving it to you so you can give it to a director or a producer or a big shot and tell him ‘Hey, I got this great idea for a movie’. Obviously, you are Schwartz, the description was there so no one would get funny ideas of casting Neige.”

“You have no idea how these things work. No one will take me seriously if I hand them this.”

“Then arrange for someone to hand it to them then, duh.”

Vil chuckled. “Of course, I might follow your whims, if you behave well. Though I can’t say I hated this gift, you’d better improve your written action scenes next time.” There was no way he was giving this to Adella.

With a bright smile, not knowing that her gift would never reach the light of any studio, Ann excused herself, not before waving at him as she disappeared from the corridor. Vil himself reached his own room, carefully closed the door and threw himself on his bed. The script was carefully held between his arms, as he sighed.

“What a naïve girl, no one would make this film,” he said to no one, disappointed.

Vil knew how the industry worked. Such a story as the one depicted in this tale deviated too much from the norm to become a mainstream film and the budget needed was too large for an independent studio. Thus, only Vil would know of this story, the story of Schwartz Zantedeschia.

Even so, he held the script tightly against his heart, as he closed his eyelids to hide the tears forming in his eyes.

-

This has a lot of Author’s notes to make things more understandable.

Every character’s name is, as you might have guessed, based on a particular color. The color designation was depending on the origin of the fairy tale. Schwartz (Vil), Weiss (Neige) and Violett (Epel) got the German names for the colors black, white and violet, respectively. Vert (Rook) is the only exception, his name coming from French for green, this is to highlight that in the end he is a traitor of sorts to Schwartz.

Azure (Deuce) and Vermillion (Ace)’s original story hails from England, so they got variants of blue and red. Aladdin was written by a Syrian author, so Asfur (Kalim) and Burtiqali (Jamil) are the Arabic words for yellow and orange. I don’t know Arabic, so I am not sure if that’s the proper way you’d spell those words in the English alphabet, so if you find any mistakes, please let me know. Finally, while Ann comes originally from England, her character Ai and Hai (Grim) are in a way from Japan, so they are the Japanese words for indigo and gray.

Every character’s last name comes from a particular flower. Schwartz’s comes from Zantedeschia, or the calla lily. The calla lily can be found in a purple color so deep it might even look black. In spite of its name, it is not a true lily, hence it comes from the Zantedeschia genus and from the Araceae family. In the language of flowers, it represents beauty (hence ‘calla’, beautiful in Greek), purity, holiness, faithfulness, rebirth and resurrection. Funny though, the flower IS poisonous because of course Vil gets a poisonous flower.  :^)

Meanwhile, Weiss’s Leiron is the Greek word people believe referred to the white Madonna lily, and his Kingdom’s name is Lilium, the Genus for the lily flowers. Lilies have different meanings, depending on the color. White ones represent virginity, purity and modesty, while yellow ones represent falsehood and gaiety and orange means hatred. It is used in funerals in the west and are actually poisonous as well.

The other kingdoms come from the family of the Roses (Heartslabyul people), Chrysanthemums (Ann and Grim), and Jasmine (Kalim and Jamil). Because the author of the story of Aladdin is from Syria, I picked the national flower from that country.

Also, it’s ok Vil, you can make it an anime, or you can blackmail Crowley for $$$ and make it your club’s pet project :^)  Ehehehe

It was longer than expected, but I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for reading!

[deputy-videogamer]

Gemini |Part 1|

Pairing: Geralt x Reader, Yennefer x Reader, Geralt x Reader x Yennefer

Part 2

Summary: This is based off of @deepestfirefun Witcher imagine where the reader is a powerful sorceress of the world and her father the king fears for her power and asked his royal healers to seal her powers. It does so successfully but the results led to the reader's mind to be split into two. One is kind hearted the other is a crazy murderous lunatic. Geralt is tasked to kill her, but finds something is off of this request.

A/N: Their original imagine is a Geralt x Reader, but I though it would be more interesting if it was also a Yennefer x Reader cause WE NEED MORE YENNEFER X READER FICS!

Being a person who possesses powerful abilities is something that can be feared by many, including the king; your own father.

Your mother was a woman who originally possessed your powers, but when she was pregnant with you, the chances of you surviving were slim. So she transferred all her powers to you in order to live, at the cost of her life.

Perhaps you father started fearing you when you were just a small girl who just had discovered your new found powers

You were in the garden being watched over by one of your many handmaidens as you were running around all over the place. The smell of fresh flowers filled the area, showing off it’s vibrant colors. While exploring the garden, something caught your attention, one of few fruit trees that were planted in the garden had a bright shiny apple dangling from one of it’s limbs.

You usually would ask your handmaiden to call one of the guards to retrieve the juicy fruit, but the limb of the tree was closer to the ground compared to the other fruits. Looking back at your handmaiden was busy knotting something, most likely another piece of clothing for you, taking this as a sign of distraction you quickly climbed up the tree.

Once at the top you then slowly crawl towards to receive your red reward. You danity fingers almost there as you struggle to get closer making sure you wouldn’t fall off. But as fate likes to put people in dangerous situations, your hand has slipped causing you to fall towards the ground and release a scream in the process. Your scream was heard from not only the garden but from inside the castle as well. The guards along with your father heard your cries and raced towards the guard to rescue you from any harm.

If only you had called your handmaiden to help you get the apple instead of you trying to get it yourself.

The first few guards had entered the guard, but instead of finding any types of assassin or even seeing their princess harm from the fall, the opposite had happened. There you were floating off the ground as you remained still in the crawling position with your eyes closed in hopes to not see the ground when you fell. Realizing you were not in pain, you hesitantly opened one eye to see what was the prevention. Your hands hovered over the ground as the air that kept you from falling had acted like a cushion.

The magic had stopped reacting when you managed to gently stand up. The air dispersed into nothing, you were amazed at your new found powers, wanting your father all about it. You were about to run and tell him about your new discovery when you looked up and saw your father. The smile on your face had dropped when you saw the fear in your father’s eyes. The handmaid that was with had fear that your father would do something to you and quickly scooped you into her arms, racing towards your room.

Being so young you thought that your father would be proud of having powers like this. But such fantasies are nonexistent and you knew so too. Ever since that day your father had avoided you, leaving you with your handmaiden to take care of you as you grew older learning to control your magic with the help of your mother’s former master. He had commented with enough training and control you would become the most powerful mage of all Tameria. This even puts more fear for your father.

You had remembered the day that everything changed just like it was yesterday. You were already at the age of 12 when your father had called you. Such an usual request from your father for he avoided you all your life. The child in you had believed that he had finally come to accept your powers and wanted you to forgive for such neglect after all these years. The thought in your head, had filled you with joy finally you can have a father.

The maids had escorted you to the dining hall where your father had sit on one side of the table as your seat was all the way to the end.

“Ah (Y/N), you finally arrived.” The first ever words that had spoken to you in years. “Please take a seat.” Your body skipped all the way to your seat.

With the sound of the bell, the servants had brought out food and drinks for the two of you. Your father had gestured to you to eat first. Being young you didn’t think little of it, bringing the chalice to your lips, the sweet liquid ran down your throat.

Placing the chalice back down on the table, a sudden headache had you clutching your head.

The pain. The pain was indescribable. It burned almost like someone had set you a curse that made you feel pain throughout your whole body. Your knees gave up sending you in a fetus position, as the pain continued to spread throughout your body. Your lips release a heart wrenching scream hoping for anyone one to hear you and to send help.

Then it stopped. The pain no longer was there, instead you felt empty. You couldn’t even bring yourself the only energy you had left was the movement of your eyes. Your eyes moved around the room to see anyone that would help you move. What your eyes caught was the shards of the plate scattered around the floor, it must have fell when you were in pain. Immediately, all the color vanished from your face when you saw that your eyes no longer look (e/c) in its place were blood red eyes in your reflection that stare hauntingly at you back.

Finally picking yourself back up. Your eyes angrily stared at your father who didn’t do anything to help you.

“What did you do to me?” Your voice didn’t have any other emotions but hatred. When he didn’t answer you threw the dinner knife at him. The small utensil caused a cut on his cheek.

“I-I- I did what I had to. Your powers have been getting too much ever since the first time you showed them to me.” You wanted to be shocked, instead you let out a menacing laugh.

“And you thought that poisoning your own daughter would save you sorry ass.”

“No, the drink was supposed to destroy your powers not kill you.” His reasoning only made you even more frustrated.

“Oh it did alright. But not without a price.” As the venom dripped from your mouth the hatred in your voice changed to an oddly sweet voice. “Instead of being a normal person who could show emotions. I now have only two emotions; happiness and anger.”

“I did what I had to do. It was to save you!” Save you? He took away the powers that were the only thing left of your mother. They could take away your appearance, make you deformed or curse, but taking away your mother’s magic wasn't one of them. 

The rage appeared once again in your heart, this time it wasn’t going anywhere. “No, you are wrong you didn’t save me. You saved yourself!

That was the final straw. Grabbing the glass shard from the ground, you tackled your father out of his chair, pinning him on the ground as you tried to stab him with the piece of glass. Your father cried for his guards as he struggled to keep the glass away from his heart. 

The sounds of heavy metal footsteps were coming closer to the dining room. You didn’t want to hurt the knights that were the only source of friends along with the servants, all you wanted was to kill your so-called father. With one final push the shard pierced your father's shoulder his cries of agony filled your ears like it was some sort of melody. You raced out of the castle, out of the town, out of the kingdom that you once called home. You didn’t stop running until you reached the heart of the forest, the dress you wore was torn and dirty, the heels that you wore were removed in order for you to run faster. The crown that you wore on your head was no longer there as it fell down when you ran away.

Wanting to forget your heritage you had ripped the remaining of your dress, shorting it up to your knees. You wanted to cry, but you couldn't. The emotion didn’t seem to exist to you all there was happiness and anger. Only the drops of the rain were the only representation of tears the only thing you could count as sadness.

It seemed like that piece of memory was like a horrible nightmare only it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. The day your father poisoned you were only 15 years old, no young woman should experience such a horrific event.

For the last 16 years you remained hidden in your forest that you now called home. You survived this long due to the books you read back at your home.You hunted for animals with the bow and arrows you created by hand, forged edible plants, bathed in the lake, and took shelter in caves or built your own hut. You even made friends with the nymphs, nereids, godlings, and even with the strange woodland spirits that had a deer skull for it’s head. When you told them about how your father poisoned you they pitied you and offered their help. 

As of right now you were picking blueberries to have for snacks and to share with the forests natives. Looking inside your basket it was full to the brim, it should be enough for you for a few weeks. Dropping a few more berries into the basket, you then headed off to your little cottage. The weather today was so relaxing, the gentle breeze soothing your nerves, forgetting the reminders of being an ex-princess. 

“You are humming.” A feminie voice called you out. On the right side of the trail a familiar looking nymph grinned at you. Just like all the nymphs here she wore no clothing, only her hair covering her chest. 

“Hello to you, Maia. What brings you here?” You asked her, offering her your basket to her. Which she grabbed a handful.

“Just wondering what you are doing now.” She plucked one of the berries from her hand into her mouth. “But also some concern.”

You slightly tilted your head to the side with your smile still on your face. “Concern? For what?”

Your friend’s expression told you something horrible was to occur sooner or later. She plucked one of the berries and raised it. 

“Do you know about the White Wolf and Yennefer of Vengerberg?”

Ah! So that’s what this is all about. It seems like your father is desperate to rid himself of your existence, it seems like it has gotten to the point where he called two of the most feared and deadly people of Tameria.

“I heard from my sisters that your father has requested for both their presence. Just how desperate is that man?” She squashed the berry between her fingers, wiping it the juices away

All you did was giggled at her response, the face on Maia’s face said otherwise.

“This is something to jest about (Y/N). Both names aren’t supposed to be taken lightly,there is a reason why they are feared.” All you did was shrugged, you twirled in place before dancing around the trail.

Due to the potion you drank. Your two emotions tend to do random gestures. For your happiness it meant singing, dancing, laughing, and telling jokes. The anger it would led to short temperance, fighting, and in some case the desire to murder, although as long as you were calm it won’t show.

You stopped your little dance to turn and face your sister.

“A Witcher and a mage?” You smiled at your nymph sister as she looked at you with concern. “I should honor the coming for my head….That is if they can get past my other half.”

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #59: Jeanne d’Arc

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re finally finishing up the original roster of servants with The Maiden of Orleans, Jeanne d’Arc! As you might expect from the holy maiden, Jeanne is 100% a Cleric, protecting her soldiers as she leads the charge.

Check out the level-by-level breakdown below the cut, or the build summary over here!

I’d also like to thank everyone who likes or reblogs these posts; I thought this would be a really niche topic, but this blog now has more followers than my main! We’ve still got plenty of servants to go after this, so I hope you’ll continue to enjoy them.

Race and Background

Like most servants, Jeanne’s a Human. Rather, she’s a bundle of magical energy roughly based on the impact a human made on history, but that’s a mouthful, and also not a race, so we’ll stick with Human. This gives her +1 to all stats.

Jeanne’s your typical Folk Hero; came from humble beginnings, achieved great things through sheer determination, and died a fiery death at the hands of those she saved. That last part’s not typical, but it’s also not part of a person’s background. Being a folk hero gives you proficiency with Animal Handling and Survival. You grew up on a farm, so that’s not too wild.

Stats

You receive visions from a higher power, and know other servants’ True Names on sight. That’s pretty wise, so your Wisdom has to be pretty high. Despite having zero formal education, you can argue theology with the best of them through sheer conviction- that’s Charisma. Third is Constitution; you have a martyr complex, so it helps to have some health in the first place before you go throwing it away to save others. Fourth is Dexterity, because it’s just more helpful here. Your Strength isn’t great. I know canon Jeanne can fold street lamps like pretzels, but sacrifices had to be made somewhere. Finally, dump Intelligence. Remember that “zero formal education” thing from earlier? Yeah.

Class Levels

1. Being a Cleric is a given, but being a catholic complicated our choice of domain a bit. Since you’re a monotheist, God falls under every domain, but your personal power set fits best in the Protection domain from an Unearthed Arcana. First level clerics get Spells, which they cast and prepare using their Wisdom. Protection clerics also get a Shield of the Faithful, letting them react to stick a shield or arm between an attacking creature and their target within 5′ of you. This makes the target harder to hit, imposing disadvantage on the attack.

You also have proficiency in Wisdom and Charisma saves, as well as two cleric skills. You’re a part of History, and I’m sure God’ll fill in any blanks you need to know. Religion is an option, but you’re not educated, just really persistent. That’s Persuasion. 

For cantrips, Light will help your dumb human eyes see in the dark and make your flag all glowy for your noble phantasms. Mending will help keep the soldiers’ uniforms in one piece while on campaign, and Spare the Dying will help keep the soldiers in one piece while on campaign.

Clerics prepare their spells, so your exact spell list isn’t a part of character creation, but I’ll still go over some to keep in mind. Compelled Duel and Protection from Evil and Good are part of your domain spell list, so you get them for free. The former can keep your squishier teammates safe by forcing an enemy to target you, while the latter can keep a key member safe from aberrations, celestials, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead. Given the number of golems you end up fighting most events, this is a good spell to keep on hand. Some other spells to keep in mind are Bless and Shield of Faith for combat support, and Healing Word to keep everyone on their feet.

Finally, the question of what weapons to use. The closest thing to a flagpole on the simple weapon list would probably be a Spear, used two-handed. However, your strength isn’t going to be great; you’ll mostly be using this to wave your banner around. You should also keep a Dagger on hand as well. I’d prefer a shortsword, but a dagger’s is the only simple finesse weapon, so it’s what we have to put up with.

2. At second level you can Channel Divinity once per short rest. As a protection cleric, you have two options to pick from.

Turn Undead forces a wisdom save on undead within 30′ of you or they have to run away for a minute or until it takes damage.

Radiant Defense channels holy energy into an ally within 30′ of you as an action. The first time they take damage in the next minute, that energy is released on the attacker, dealing 2d10+your level in radiant damage.

3. Third level clerics get second level spells, including your domain spells Aid and Protection from Poison. The former increases three creatures’ HP totals by five for eight hours, while the latter does exactly what the name describes. Some other spells to look at include Prayer of Healing for when you can’t quite take a short rest, Lesser Restoration for disease and conditions, and Augury to start getting some divine visions.

4. Use your first ASI to become a Heavy Armor Master. This reduces all nonmagical slashing, bludgeoning, and piercing damage by 3 while wearing heavy armor.  Calling what you wear “heavy” armor is a bit generous, but you’re throwing yourself in front of the enemy with d8s for hit dice, you can be a bit generous with yourself.

You also get another cantrip this level. Resistance adds a d4 to an ally’s saving throw, for when you need to be sure Spartacus doesn’t get charmed.

5. At fifth level, your Turn Undead transforms into Destroy Undead. Now when undead of CR 1/2 or lower fail the save, they just die instantly. 

You also get third level spells, including domain spells Protection from Energy and Slow. Sometimes an idiot lizard is throwing fire all over the place and you just don’t want to deal with it, and sometimes the DM gives you a maralith with seven extra attacks. These spells help protect the party from those situations. Some other spells to check out are Aura of Vitality for health regeneration, Beacon of Hope to give your party something to rally around, Daylight for the aesthetic, and Mass Healing Word for when your whole party plays barbarians.

6. You can now Channel Divinity twice between rests, and you are a Blessed Healer. Rather than just healing Brian Blessed, this means that whenever you cast a spell to heal someone else, you also gain life; 2+ the spell’s level, to be exact.

7. Seventh level clerics get fourth level spells. Your domain spells are Guardian of Faith and Otiluke’s Resilient Sphere. The former isn’t that in-character for you, but the latter gives a creature Invincibility at the cost of trapping them inside a hamster ball. Another spell to look over is Divination to ask the big man a question that burning you up inside.

8. Use your next ASI to become an Inspiring Leader. Give the party a 10 minute speech to give them temporary hit points equal to your level + your charisma modifier. You may not know anything about tactics, military history, who you’re fighting, or why you’re fighting, but you’ve got heart, dammit! And that counts for something! 

Also, your Destroy Undead kills at CR 1, and you gain a Divine Strike. Once per turn, you can add 1d8 Radiant damage to an attack for some extra holy favor.

9. Ninth level clerics get fifth level spells, including your final domain spells Antilife Shell and Wall of Force. The former can protect you from other creatures, so long as they aren’t forced through the barrier. The latter creates a solid wall between your party and danger, and is likely the closest you’ll get to invincibility at this level. For other spells, Dawn creates a cylinder of radiant damage you can move around the battlefield, and Mass Cure Wounds cures massive amounts of wounds.

10. You learn to call upon Divine Intervention. You use your action to beg the DM for a literal Deus Ex Machina, and roll percentile dice. If you roll lower than your level, you get some help. You can use this feature once per long rest, but if you succeed you have to wait a week before you use it again.

You also get another cantrip. Guidance lets you back seat game with the help of God, giving a creature a d4 it can add to one ability check.

11. Your Destroy Undead cranks up to killing anything CR 2 or lower, and you can prepare 6th level spells. Find the Path is another form of your Revelation skill, letting you find the most direct route to a chosen location, as long as that location stays in one place on the same plane. You could also check out Heal for, you guessed it, more healing.

12. Use your next ASI to become a leader on the battlefield with Tandem Tactician. Now you can Help as a bonus action with a range of 10 feet, and you can help on two attacks if they’re aimed at the same enemy. You’re not that accurate, so why not help out the who are?

13. Thirteenth level clerics get a Divine Strike Improvement, adding an extra d8 of radiant damage when you use it. You also learn seventh level spells! Divine Word can cripple weakened enemies, and more importantly it forces extraplanar creatures back to their own world for 24 hours. Regenerate is even more healing that you won’t have to pay attention to.

14. Your Destroy Undead increases to affect CR 3 undead. Now Mummies and Wights will tremble before your might! ...Isn’t it weird how the other Channel Divinity option doesn’t get any stronger?

15. Fifteenth level clerics get eighth level spells. Holy Aura will protect your party from anything Wall of Force won’t, Antimagic Field will give you a command spell to counteract most of the nonsense the other servants might be using.

16. Use your ASI to bump up your Wisdom for stronger spell saves.

17. Your Destroy Undead now destroys undead of CR 4 or lower, letting you instantly banish any ghost that comes your way. You also gain an Indomitable Defense. At the end of short or long rests, you can resist two types of damage from the following: Bludgeoning, Necrotic, Piercing, Radiant, and Slashing. You can also use your action to pass these resistances to another creature, who’ll hold onto them until your next rest or until you spend a bonus action to take them back.

Finally, you get 9th level spells! Mass Heal and Power Word: Heal will maximize your healing powers to help the rest of your party stay not dead.

18. You can now Channel Divinity three times per short rest.

19. Use your last ASI to round up your Dexterity for more accuracy and better saves and Charisma for more rousing speeches.

20. At your capstone level, your Divine Intervention Improvement means your calls for some holy help are always successful.

Pros:

You can set up a very strong Defense, shutting down and blocking out enemy attacks and spells. You can impose disadvantage, physically block their advance, counter any magic within 30′ of you, or make their attacks blow up in their face with some Radiant Defense.

Whatever damage does go through won’t be a problem thanks to all your Healing, keeping the rest of the party on their feet until the battle’s won.

Intelligence might be your dump stat, but you’ve got a hotline to the one who knows all, so it’s not a big deal. Spells like Divination and Find the Path will help keep the party pointed in the right direction.

Cons: 

You can’t really do all that much on your own, offensively speaking. Your highest attacking stat is a 14, and that will only help you swing a dagger around.

Your physical stats aren’t that good in general. 143 HP isn’t bad for a caster, but you want to be on the front lines, so it could be an issue. Aid is a great way to cover this weakness, but that does mean you’ll be spending spells to do so. Your low strength also means you’re stuck with the weakest heavy armor available, so your AC isn’t amazing.

You don’t need to worry about getting hit if the enemy has to shoot through a wall though, so stay on the defensive and pray your allies will take up arms with you.

Next up: Animal Abuse!

[padawanlost]

Would Jedi get sick? Or would they be healed much more easily than non-Force users?

Yes, jedi (and force-sensitives in general) are as susceptible as us to disease and injury. The only difference is that Jedi had access to the Order’s healers and their far more advanced process than the usual medical assistance available for the rest of the galaxy. 

“It looked like hard work,” Organa said, swallowing more ale. “But you were breezing through it. And I couldn’t help but notice there’s hardly a mark on you. A man gets himself blown up, you’d think he’d have a few scars.” Obi-Wan opened his mealpack to find some kind of curd-and-vegetable stew. It smelled pleasant enough, but his appetite was abruptly dulled. “Jedi healing is most effective.” [Karen Miller. Wild Space]

“Ha,” said Organa. “Now who’s being disingenuous? Sure, you’ve got a public face. Guardians of the peace. Upholders of the law. Protectors of the weak and helpless. Wherever there’s trouble, there’s a Jedi trying to put out the fire. Everyone knows that. But you’re a bit spooky, too. You’ve got this mystique. This—this aura. You’re not like the rest of us, Master Kenobi. You’re beings apart, with powers and abilities ordinary folk can’t understand. You get blown up and hey presto! You’re healed. Not a mark to show for it. Not a limp. Not anything. When normal people get hurt, there’s a consequence. But not for you Jedi.” Obi-Wan felt his jaw clench. “Really? You should advance that theory to my former Padawan sometime, Senator. He’d be most interested to hear it. And when you’ve done pontificating, he can show you his prosthetic arm.” Organa blinked. Then he dropped his gaze to the empty glass he nursed in both hands, and stared at the bedraggled blue twist of sarsata peel at its bottom. “All I meant,” he said at last, his voice tight, “is that it’s a shame the other people hurt in the terrorist attacks can’t experience the same benefits of Jedi healing that you did.” He looked up, then, and his eyes were haunted. “I saw some of them, you know. After. And even with intensive bacta treatment there are now children who’ll have to go through life hideously maimed and disfigured. It’s … sad. It’s cruel. That’s all I meant.” [Karen Miller. Wild Space]

Of course, none of this means they could fix *everything* or had resources to help everyone. Some conditions were beyond even their most skilled healers. 

“He felt a sudden stabbing ache behind his eyes, and sighed. So. It was back. The pain was an unkind legacy from his exploits on Zigoola. After all this time not even the Jedi healer Vokara Che had managed to banish it. Neither could he, despite deep meditations and the occasional, resentful surrender to chemical help. But then, perhaps he deserved it. Perhaps it was a reminder of mortality, a sharp lesson in consequences. ” [Karen Miller. Gambit: Stealth]

As for them getting sick, Taria Damsin was considered a terminal patient after eating a poisonous mollusk. All the healers could do was manage the symptoms and delay the process but they couldn’t just magically heal her. 

“So,” said Taria, once they were seated in a private booth with bowls of steaming bean soup and fresh, crusty bread. The dining hall’s air was warm and scented with good food. Scattered, cheerful conversations provided a backdrop of sound. “To make a long story short, Ahsoka, it’s called Borotavi syndrome. It’s not contagious but it is terminal. Eventually.” Ahsoka felt her mouth suck dry. Terminal? But—but—She’s so young and strong and amazing. So alive. “How did you get it?” “I ate the wrong kind of shellfish on Pamina Prime.” With a wry smile Taria stirred a pinch of salt into her soup. “Turns out it’s the blue-shelled mollusk with the green stripe you need to watch out for. Blue mollusks with black stripes you can eat till you burst.” She sat back. “Just a little tip to stand you in good stead, if ever you find yourself on Pamina Prime.” [Karen Miller. Gambit: Stealth] 

“I heard you were back,” Taria Damsin said, joining him. Long blue-green hair tugged into a careless braid, athletic physique wrapped in dark green stretchskin, she looked fit and vital and burningly alive. Nobody would ever guess, looking at her, that she was dying. “And I heard you were injured. Again.” […] “Truth be told, Taria, I’m a little surprised you’re still teaching advanced classes. Are you sure that’s wise?” Instead of snapping, she let her gaze slip sideways. No quicksilver temper, that warning glint fading. He’d rather she raged at him. The fear he could feel in her closed his throat. “Taria,” he said, wishing they were alone, his voice brimful of unspoken sorrow. A broken promise: he’d sworn he wouldn’t burden her with his grief. Her chin tilted, and suddenly he was reminded of Padmé. That same stubborn strength and pride and courage. “I’m in remission, Obi-Wan,” she said, carefully self-contained again, shutting him out. “For as long as it lasts I’ll live my life on my terms. Now come on. I need to set up the dojo and we don’t want to be late. How would that look? Our poster boy Jedi tardy to class.” [Karen Miller. Gambit: Stealth] 

If you are wondering about more common diseases like the flu, they did exist in the GFFA but I can’t think of any prequel era jedi every showing symptoms. But that can be explained by their privileged social/economic position in Coruscant and by their easy access to advanced medical care. The fact they should always be available for dangerous missions probably made them more aware of the importance of seeking medical assistance quickly and painting a health body.  

[queenmagnusao3]

All In a Day’s Work - Chapter 1

AO3 Link - Lin Beifong is the worst patient

I like to beat up my favorite characters so this fic has been creating so I can get it out of my system. Once I finish this part I want to write a companion piece with a separate oneshot for each one of these situations and Lin got herself into them

Healer Sora Yueng had seen a lot in her many years as a healer for Republic City’s largest and busiest hospital. She had trained under arguably the greatest healer in the world and now was a well-respected mentor herself. Tonight was pretty average, not too busy nor quiet. Another new intern had started training under her and they spent the better part of the last hour removing small shards of glass from a poor woman who had fallen through a glass door.

Now, the healer was taking a break while she had the intern manning the new intake desk. Sora downed the rest of her tea, overhearing a conversation her intern was having with a new patient. She instantly recognized the voice and cursed the spirits for not giving her just one nice, calm and normal evening.

“I’m fine. It’s just my arm.”

The voice hitched as it sucked in a breath of obvious pain. Sora rolled her eyes as she started making her way to the front desk.

“Maybe a cracked rib.”

“Don’t forget whiplash.”

The new voice was also familiar to the healer but she was surprised. It had been quite some time since she had heard the two together.

“Shut it, Tenzin. Why are you even still here? Just  get a healer over here and then I can leave.”

There’s her cue. Sora plastered a falsely sweet smile on her face as she rounded the corner to see one of her favorite patients; Republic City Police Chief Lin Beifong. The woman’s face contorted as she groaned.

“Of course you’re working tonight. I’m fine.”

I’m fine was the usual story and often meant that she was anything but. Sora couldn’t help a small chuckle as she saw Master Tenzin subtlety shaking his head at her over the Chief’s shoulder.

“On the off chance that you’re not completely fine why don’t you come on back and I’ll check you over?”

Lin grumbled something and Sora just smiled to herself. Getting Lin Beifong to submit to any kind of medical attention was a fine art and she was satisfied that she hadn’t lost her touch in said art.

“You can go home if you want, Master Tenzin. I assure you she’s in good hands.”

A look flashed across the airbender’s face.

“Or… you can wait down the hall unt-“

“Go home, airhead. I’ll be fine. And I’m sure your wife is worried about you.”

The healer couldn’t help but notice that the earthbender was making great efforts to avoid making eye contact with him. Apparently they’re relationship was still complicated after all these years. He really should be at home with his family. She had witnessed enough of the pair’s lives to feel a bit protective of Lin. Especially with that look he was giving her.

“Chief, the usual room is open if you want to head in.”

Without a word she turned and walked around the corner. Tenzin watched her as she left and Sora stepped directly into his line of vision.

“You should probably leave now, Master Tenzin.”

He looked at her and blinked rapidly as if coming out of a daze. He looked down, his cheeks reddening. He mumbled some sort of departing well wish before quickly making his retreat. Sora let out a sigh as she turned to her intern.

“I’ve got to take care of this one alone, hold down the fort while I’m in there.”

He nodded to her. There was a look of curiosity in his eyes that made her sigh again as she walked away. It was the look they always had when the Police Chief ended up there. She’d deal with his inevitable questions later.

Yosuke had been training under Master Healer Sora for about 3 weeks and tonight was easily the most exciting night so far. Seeing the son of the former Avatar and the Chief of Police was like seeing a couple of real life celebrities. He was immensely disappointed when his mentor had told he would be sitting out on the healing session with the Chief.

It was about an hour before he caught up with his teacher again. It was the middle of the night now and she looked exhausted. He was pretty tired himself but his excitement and curiosity about their current patient was enough to keep him wide awake.

“How is Chief Beifong? Was she hurt too badly?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, sitting down in a chair. After a moment she opened her eyes again and handed him a file.

“She’s lucky her broken ribs didn’t puncture a lung. Again.”

Her tone was exasperated but his eyes widened. A punctured lung was a very serious injury and the Chief of Police had survived one in the past. She obviously picked up on his expression and shook her head, waving a hand.

“Just go put this file away. And then I think we both need to get some sleep.”

He didn’t need telling twice, practically running down the hall to the room where they kept patient records. The records room wasn’t exactly organized. In fact, it had taken him several days to get used to the filing system. Some healers filed patients by just their first name since that was the only name many of their patients had. Others filed by last name first, when a last name was available. It wasn’t uniform and it took him a long time to figure out that he needed to stop trying to make sense of it and just check both places in the alphabet.

He quickly went to where the “B”s were stored and was excited when he quickly found the name Beifong. “Beifong, Lin” was first and his eyes widened again at how big the file was. He also caught a glimpse of an even larger file directly after, labeled “Beifong, Toph”. He felt goosebumps prickle his skin. He sometimes forgot that the legendary benders he heard about growing up were actual, real life people.

He pulled the current Chief Beifong’s folder out and opened it to put the newest file in it. He knew he shouldn’t but curiosity finally got the best of him and Yosuke flipped through some of the older files. He only picked up quick words and notes scribbled in the familiar handwriting of Sora.

 Mild concussion… fractured ribs… broken ribs… significant and inevitable scarring… rare form of poison…

The poison one immediately piqued his interest and he pulled the file to read more.

 “Chief Beifong was brought in, unconscious, by Master Tenzin with textbook symptoms of poison from-“

His reading was cut off by someone clearing their throat loudly. Yosuke turned around quickly to see Sora standing in the doorway with a knowing and somewhat amused look on her face. His face reddened as he closed the file and put it back in the folder. He quietly put it back in place and closed the drawer.

“Sorry, Sifu. I was just cur-“

“-ious. Yes. I gathered as much. Learn anything interesting?”

“That I do not want to get on Chief Beifong’s bad side.”

Sora laughed at that.

“You’ve got no idea, kid.”

She started to say something else but they were interrupted by another healer running up to her, out of breath.

“Sorry to interrupt, Master Sora. But Chief Beifong isn’t in her room.”

Yosuke looked away, trying to hide a smile as his mentor cursed loudly. She let out a frustrated groan before walking quickly back towards the patient rooms. He quickly followed after catching bits of the healer’s grumbling.

“That stubborn idiot!”

They came to an abrupt halt outside her office door. She walked in and around her desk, sitting down and pulling out a piece of paper. She furiously scribbled a note before opening a drawer. She took out a prepared small package and tucked the note inside the edge of the wrapping before holding it out for him to take.

“Would you please send this to this address? And be discreet about it.”

He took the package and waited as she wrote down an address on another piece of paper. He took it from her and she leaned back in her chair, hands clasped and resting on the top of her head. He immediately turned to leave but stopped abruptly as she called out.

“And Yosuke! I mean it about being discreet. I’ve spent many years earning Lin Beifong’s trust. And make sure the note doesn’t fall out!”

He started to move again but had to stop as the note in question slipped from the package. He quickly picked it up and couldn’t help but take a peak before shoving it back inside.

 Lin,

 Don’t move your arm too much and try to lay down so the ribs heal properly this time. You know where I am.

 -Sora

[twilightofthe]

Mace Windu Appreciation Day: Family

Hi everyone!  So I didn’t follow any of the specific prompts for Mace Day, but one thing people tend to get wrong about Mace is something that they tend to get wrong about the Jedi Order in general, that they don’t love and that they don’t have any concept of family.  I decided to give a massive “to hell with that” and focused my piece on Mace and his family!

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“This was not the way I was planning on having our first official line gathering once we were finally all together,” Depa told Caleb as she tapped gently at Mace’s knee, urging him to move it so she could balance the tea tray on his sheets-covered lap.

Mace obediently shifted his legs in bemusement, catching Caleb’s eye as he hovered worriedly in the background while clutching a tin of what Mace hoped were those cookies from that bakery a district over Depa had introduced him to and had cottoned on to him perhaps enjoying more than he’d admit.

Mace’s eyes met Caleb’s.  The boy looked uncertain.  Mace felt his mouth quirk and gave an over-exaggerated eyeroll at Depa’s fussing.  Caleb’s eyes widened in shock and he nearly fumbled the tin.  He caught it, luckily, or Mace might have had to explain away some frivolous Force usage to catch the maybe-cookies.

“I didn’t realize you had plans beyond our usual meet-up in someone’s quarters,” he said to Depa as she finally stepped back after arranging a warm teapot and various cups and pots across the tray, Mace and his bed now the makeshift table.

Depa gave him a fond shake of her head, stepping back to pull up two chairs for her and Caleb to sit.  “I didn’t.  I wasn’t the one who switched the location to the Halls of Healing.”

Mace allowed himself a huff, sitting back into the much too soft pillow the Halls provided.  “This was hardly my idea, Depa.”

“Yes, well, you’re here now, and I’m not letting this place keep us from tradition any longer,” Depa replied matter-of-factly, Mace feeling a slight pang of regret at the remembrance of her long injury.

“Tradition?” Caleb blurted out, ducking his head slightly as both Masters turned to stare at him.  “Sorry, Masters, I’m just curious.  I thought we were just having tea.”

“Oh, we are,” Mace assured him, watching his new grandpadawan shift in his seat with both nervous energy prickling off him in the Force as well as the typical energy becoming of a healthy thirteen year old.  It was hard for him to ever remember being that young himself.  It was getting harder to remember Depa at that age too, he thought with another pang as his former apprentice smiled gently at her own.  “Very important tea.”

Caleb looked confused again, and Depa snorted softly.  “When I was a padawan, Master Windu and I would try to carve out time, once a week, to sit and have tea and discussion.”

“Discussion?” Caleb asked.  Mace hoped he never lost his inquisitive edge.

“Oh, various things,” Depa mused.  “My apprenticeship, what I was learning in classes, what odd fact Mace had come across this week, the goings about of politics and society.”

Mace hummed in agreement, nodding along.  “Now, we could talk to each other whenever, but I find having a specific time to relax one’s mind and engage in conversation leads to a healthier bond and a more open mind overall.”

Caleb nodded earnestly; Mace could see the little cogs in his brain grinding to take all of this information in.

“Even after my Knighthood, we would try to always make time for our tea meetings at least once a month, twice if we were lucky,” Depa continued.  “It’s become more challenging with the war and all, and my injury certainly put a decent-sized gap between get togethers.”  Mace found himself fixed with another warm brown stare.  “So when all of us are together in the same place, I’ll take the chance to introduce my Padawan into our own little tradition where I can get it, even if one of us has landed himself on bedrest.”

“Technically, I am fully recovered and back to duties,” Mace pointed out, waving an arm at the datapad full of responsibilities delivered by one of the Council droids upon his request as soon as he received the all-clear.  “I’m just being kept here longer so my condition can be monitored.  If one of you would be perhaps willing to help me get out of here...”

“What was that?  Couldn’t hear you over the memory of you selling me out to the healers the last time I suggested getting out of medical earlier,” Depa murmured, taking the tin from Caleb and revealing the-- yes, the green nut cookies Mace had grown so fond of.

As Mace tried to hide his pleasure at the risk of Depa’s knowing smirk, he saw Caleb’s face again as he reached for a cookie.  The boy seemed surprised at their banter, and Mace regretted that it had taken so long for the three of them to get together like this.  It had been over a month and a half since Depa and Caleb’s pairing, and Mace had only seen Caleb once briefly since then.

Mace figured it was all the better to get Caleb comfortably into the fold as soon as possible.  “Speaking of the wrath of the healers, I trust Caleb here knows to ah, perhaps not remember what exactly we’re enjoying here; I don’t think outside food, no matter how good it tastes, is welcome in.”

Caleb instantly rounded on his Master.  “So you were having me smuggle it inside my robe when you told me the cookies were better warmer and with body heat!”

Mace couldn’t help a laugh at Depa’s unapologetically guilty expression as she nibbled on a cookie herself.  “Perhaps,” she said, and Caleb giggled, bright and happy.

“All to preserve tradition, right Masters?” Caleb quipped, and Mace felt another laugh coming.  The kid was sharp.

“Technically, the tradition only extends to tea-making,” Mace admitted.  “Part of the first early get-togethers were lessons in how to make tea properly.  It gives you an edge when Master Yoda eventually invites you around for tea.”

“Is he hard to impress?” Caleb asked, paling slightly.

Depa’s mouth quirked, reaching for the untouched teapot to serve herself.  “I’ve had tea with him many times.  I’d say my Master was a tougher critic than he was.”

“Oh!”  Now Caleb was very pale, and he was leaning forward slightly to shoo Mace’s hands away from the teapot.  “Maybe you shouldn’t drink that then, Master.  I-- I made it, you see, Master Depa wanted me to try.  I don’t know if it’s good enough yet for--”

“I’ve been on a steady diet of hospital food ever since I got here, Padawan,” Mace interrupted gently but firmly, swiftly plucking the teapot out of Caleb’s hands and pouring his own cup.  “This will be a welcome reprieve, even if it’s beginner’s tea.”

“Mace!” Depa hissed at him as Caleb’s face made another grimace.  Mace blinked back unrepentantly as he allowed himself the slightest dash of sourberry juice-- absolutely no sugar, he wasn’t a heathen.

Just because Caleb was a beginner didn’t mean he should pick up bad habits.  Allowing himself a sip, he did take pity on the nervous Padawan as he offered him a smile and a raised brow.  “Not bad.”

Caleb slumped in visible relief.  “Do you think Master Yoda would like it?”

Mace reached for another cookie.  “I wouldn’t get that excited.”  He laughed in his throat as Depa swiped the cookie tin away from him in disapproval and focused on Caleb.  “Master Yoda is very particular about how he takes his tea, and how others take it too.  It is one of the few lessons of the culinary kind you should take from him.”

Now Depa was the one laughing in her throat while Caleb’s brow furrowed.  “What do you mean by that, Master Windu?”

Feeling amusement bubble up, Mace let Caleb in on a secretive smile.  It was his right and civic duty to warn Caleb of this.  So few of the Padawans and even some of the Knights made their ways through their apprenticeships-- himself included, unfortunately --without knowing the one key piece of information about the Grandmaster.

Mace called this payback from the time his ignorance had gotten him food poisoning.

“Master Yoda,” Mace began, “has a very specialized diet for his species.  He can drink things like teas along with the rest of us, but his meals...”

...memories of himself and a group of other Padawans watching Yoda swallow a live frog on a field trip...

“Well, he eats different things than most sentients do, and when he tries to prepare food for others and offer it to them...”

Depa was full on hiding laughter behind her teacup now, and Caleb was watching him with a completely stunned expression, ever-questioning mouth hung open and silent for once.

Mace tok a delicate sip of not-quite-right tea.  “It is best you have a strong stomach-- or at least a strong sabacc face.  Now that I think of it, a Master that can teach you to cook so you know the difference between good and bad taste isn’t that bad a thing to have either.”

Stars, Mace had known a number of people either trained by or from a line trained by Yoda, and he could maybe name one from each line that actually could cook more than water.

“So... that’s another reason why tea lessons are so important?” Caleb guessed, and Mace smiled at him.  

“Exactly.”

Depa sighed in fake distress.  “Honestly.  Caleb, if you’re caught badmouthing the Grandmaster this way, you know whose name to give when they ask where you heard it from.”

Mace waited for Caleb to duck his head in laughter and focus on mixing his own tea before Mace mouthed to Depa, But who would believe him.

Depa’s eyes lit up with playful warning.  “Oh it is so good to see you again, my old Master.  I do hope that nothing happens to you that you should have to stay in here longer.”

Mace had very much missed his old Padawan’s sense of humor.

He grinned challengingly, drinking his tea at her aggressively, only to pause at Caleb voicing another question.  “How did you end up in here the first place, Master?”

He looked at Caleb in surprise, who promptly backpedaled just the slightest.  “That is, if you wish to share.  I just heard you had an accident with some pirates.”

Mace turned to Depa.  “You didn’t tell him?”

Depa’s brows rose in a particular movement Mace knew would mean he was due for some explaining in the face of interrogation.  “Frankly, I wasn’t sure if I read the incident report correctly.  It seems to have configured itself with some of the wilder Temple rumors the mill has spouted.”

Mace offered her a sly smile, and Depa groaned.  “Oh, you actually did.  How even--”  She grabbed at his hand and examined it, seeming to seek satisfaction Mace was truly there in front of her.  Mace humored her and wiggled his fingers.

“Caleb,” he addressed his grandpadawan.  “A word of advice: space without an atmospheric suit is very, very cold.”

Caleb’s eyes turned to two green moons.  “You were in space without an atmo suit?”

Depa made an irritated noise as Mace responded, “Not purposely.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Caleb,” warned Depa.

Caleb shook his head rapidly, spilling a small splash of tea onto Mace’s blankets.  “Oh, of course not.  But Master Windu, how did you--”

“Survive that long?” Mace finished, flashing back to the icy, tight, pressurized weight squeezing in on his Force shields he had barely managed to throw up in time.  “Well for starters--”

Depa made a warning noise in the back of his throat.  Mace smiled innocently at her.  Perhaps being the indulgent grandmaster was even more fun than he had thought.  He scooted over on his hospital bed and gestured for Caleb to hop up and sit by his feet.  

“To start with,” Mace began, with a conceding nod to Depa to settle her hackles.  “I would recommend not finding oneself in a situation where pirates are threatening to space you in the first place...”

[briapia95]

I read all of the arranged marriage AU and it's Chef's kiss. Because I'm a terrible person, I imagined the rest as Ultimate Bad End AU™ wherein LWJ loses his core and becomes Yiling Patriarch, dies in the Burial Mounds after LXC dies at Qiongqi way and WWX stays miserable and in cloud recesses because he thinks he ruins everything he touches and he doesn't wanna fuck things up for JC and Yanli

Omg that’s brutal and I love it xD. I imagine that the original AU while angsty, it won’t be as brutal (I think), but just for the lols let’s imagine that. I have this named in my docs as “the super bad ending lol noooope” just so you know;

[Here for the original AU]

LWJ is a powerful cultivator but there’s so much he can do anything against Wen Zhuliu (WZL?) when they’re at one of Dusk Creek Mountain’s many caves. He does not see it coming, one moment they’re trying to get away from the Xuanwu of Slaughter, Wen disciples trying and failing to climb back the way they’ve all come from and the next moment WWX is pushing himself in between Luo Qingyang and that wicked brand Wang Lingjiao (WLJ?) had used to threaten them since this excuse of a night-hunt began.

WLJ burns WWX, as in canon, but this time seeing this LWJ  furiously attacks the other Wen cultivators, WLJ realizing shit, I shouldn’t have done that, starts panicking and screaming; causing more mayhem in the midst of the current chaos that’s happening. This gives an opening for the other disciples from the different sects to fight against the Wen cultivators, using their corpses to distract the Xuanwu for a while many of them are able to climb out of the cave.

Meanwhile, WC tries to shut WLJ up, her clinging to him and making it impossible to escape, but then LWJ is coming after him too, that’s when WZL comes in between them. Too fast, too driven to protect his master for LWJ wrath. WWX somewhat near realizes, screaming “Lan Zhan!” in warning and desperation, but it’s too late now, he’s too far away, the second master of Gusu Lan has now gotten his golden core shattered.

The pain is not as terrible as the sudden cold that sinks into his bones. Making him almost lose his consciousness right there and then. He does not notice WC & company fled, WWX enraged and confused, manages to come to LWJ’s aid but because of plot reasons -don’t ask me- they still find themselves trapped inside the cave with a wild Xuanwu that while appeased, is still a threat to them. (the same happens here, JC & co. go get help now with the added bonus of not being pursued by the Wen)

WWX’s guilt starts to simmer, “if you had not come to my aid you’d still have your core intact, Lan Zhan, why would you do something like that?”, he whispers, tears streaming down his cheeks and onto LWJ’s cheeks, LWJ face pressed against WWX chest as he softly streaks his hair while his other arm keeps their bodies together.

“Is it not apparent?” LWJ asks, words strained from the effort that takes not to lose consciousness.

WWX trembles, throat thigh, tears still not stopping, “You are a stupid, stupid, man, Lan Zhan. Has nobody ever told you that? A stupid, noble, too good man” he finishes as the presses their lips together for the first time. LWJ kisses back, he has dreamed about this moment for months now and it’s everything he ever hoped for, his only regret that it has happened in the worst circumstances imaginable.

Flash forward to the rescue, they can’t really kill the Xuanwu of Slaughter but its hunger is quelled enough for it to not come when they get them out. JC is there and so is LXC and enough disciples to form a small army (Both Yunmeng Jiang and Gusu Lan sect forces intact and ready for action since the attract on Lanling Jin)

The state of LWJ’s core is kept secret since only WWX and WC & co know, everyone else too distracted fleeing the cave to notice.

Plot happens and the war starts, WWX being the former Yunmeng Jiang head disciple and married to the second young master of Gusu Lan goes to war too. (Also, hello there guilt, we love some self-sacrificing WWX that has not been able to cope much with the knowledge that his husband was defending him, therefore, in his mind, him being the reason he lost his core, even if LWJ has told him repeatedly that no it’s not his fault).

So as the war drags on, his husband not coming back and in a desperate attempt to help him and some convenient plot sprinkled in the way, LWJ finds himself at burial mounds, flash forward to three months later and ta-da! Yiling Patriarch! LWJ.

Let’s say the first supervisory office he goes to is the Yiling one, he meets WQ, and remembers how fondly WWX spoke about WN that time they met at the Qishan Wen discussion conference, so he does not kill the elders and healers, a-yuan’s mother probably in early pregnancy. But since this is a nope AU he does kill the rest of the cultivators, (probably a-yuan’s father amongst them), ordering WQ and what’s left of her people to try to leave somewhere far away or to renounce the Wen name or something. Then WC & co meet the same end as the novel canon.

So, the sunshot campaign is won thanks to LWJ, JGS is dead and JZX is sect leader, engaged once again to JYL and JGY being his right-hand man or something. LWJ is now cultivating resentful energy (probably in a more moderated way) and WWX still in love but now feeling more guilty than before, since now his husband is walking the path he used to abhor. 

There’s tension between LQR and LWJ because of the heretic path and all that, it becomes worse since LQR makes it clear that he thinks LWJ’s decision to help WWX all the way back in the cave was foolish. WWX pours himself into researching a way of cultivating a golden core again, he sneaks into the forbidden section of the Library pavilion but is found by someone (Su She?) and then heavily punished by LQR.

This leads to a big argument between LQR and LWJ, WWX intervenes, they get punished, LQR rasping out when is finished “This is your fault, know that my nephew who I have raised as my own is now walking this path because of your insolence and arrogance. His pain is your doing.” Guess what, it’s super effective, more guilt piling onto WWX. But at the same time that’s when LWJ snaps, he takes WWX and leaves for Yiling, he’ll create a home for them where nobody will reproach his method of cultivation, where the hollowness of WWX’s eyes disappears into the brightness he fell in love with.

They find WQ’s group at the bottom of the burial mounds hiding. After LWJ’s attack, the cultivation world believed all the Wen at Yiling died. Together they form a settlement at BM. And they’re happy for a while, LWJ limits the use of resentful energy, WWX researching with the input of WQ and all the nice and soft interactions between them and the Wen remnants.

That is until they’re invited to JL’s 100th-day celebration, the ambush, both JZX and LXC appear here, but something goes wrong, LWJ loses control of his powers when he tries to use the STS, and just when the people brought for the ambush are about to shoot him LXC steps in the way. The arrows were poisoned, and struck vital points, he dies bleeding out in LWJ’s arms.

It’s all a blur, next thing he knows he’s kneeling inside the demon slaughtering cave, WWX speaking softly to him, almost in a pleading way, holding him and petting his head, “come back to me” “it wasn’t your fault” “I love you” “don’t leave me,” LWJ breaks down again, the death of his brother a pain too hard to bear.

The siege happens (Lead by Gusu Lan and Qinghe Nie) and LWJ, still too distraught for any clear thinking, uses the STS once more. Not without making WQ use her needles on WWX to make sure WWX and, say, A-yuan are out of harm's way. There’s a goodbye and one last kiss. He tries to hide them but he’s not fast enough and WWX catches LWJ being struck by LQR’s sword, the pain in the elder’s eyes apparent even if he’s trying to hide it in righteous fury.

JC finds them, WWX now free from the needles is holding a-yuan as if his life depends on it, he tries but he can’t help his brother. WWX married into Gusu Lan and he’s now being taken as a temporary prisoner by LQR, the older man still takes pity on A-yuan, so he brings him back promising no harm will be done to him.  

WWX heart is in shatters, everything, the downfall of his husband, the death of his brother in law, the mental breakdown that took away his Lan Zhan even before LQR did, everything was his fault. If he had not married Lan Zhan, if he hadn’t told uncle Jiang that he was more than fine with marrying LWJ, everything would’ve been fine, Lan Zhan would be alive, the Wen probably too.

Months later JC is at Cloud Recesses, demanding WWX to be brought back to LP, but he refuses, he refuses to taint something else, better to be a prisoner there than a free man endangering the lives of people he loves.

Thirteen years pass and there’s a distress flare signal shot from Mo village. There’s no second thought, WWX will be dead before something bad happens to a-yuan.

I was not able to make it a tragic tragic AU (of an AU), so here’s a hopeful ending at the last moment xD Also! Thank you so much for reading the original AU, it makes me so glad you enjoyed it c:  

[pulpwriterx]

A SHEEP AS BLACK AS MIDNIGHT IN SPACE

It is a dark time for the Galaxy. General Enric Pryde and Supreme Leader Snoke have unleashed a reign of terror, dealing the New Republic a terrible blow with the Hosnian Cataclysm. But all is not lost. General Organa has discovered a New Hope from the desert of Jakku, who will become the Last Jedi. After Rey, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Poe Dameron and Finn, the former FN2187 undertook a daring raid that led to the destruction of Starkiller Base, Rey has gone to Ahch-To, to study under the reclusive Jedi Master Luke Skywalker. And he will tell her a secret. There is another.

I: THERE IS ANOTHER.

Luke Skywalker sighed, heavily.

“Master Luke, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I destroyed my own family, Rey. And the Galaxy is paying the price. Did you ever wonder why Han and Leia don’t live together? Why I’m in exile, here? There is another. Or at least, there was. My nephew. My paduan. The best and worst student at the Jedi Temple. Ben Solo.”

“Ben Solo! Didn’t he die at the Jedi Temple?”

“In a way, he did. He doesn’t use that name, anymore.”

“Then he’s alive? Do you know what happened to him?”

“A great many things. First? There were his mother's expectations. She had his whole life planned out. His Royal Highness, Prince Benjamin Skywalker Organa-Solo. He was going to be the perfect Jedi, the perfect young leader, the perfect fair-haired son of the New Republic. He wasn’t supposed to be a giant behemoth of a man, who was too much like his father and his grandfather to fit in any mold. Han and I pretty much figured that Big Ben was going his own way by the time he was six. His hair was down to his waist, and he’d scream and break the scissors with the Force if you came near him to cut his hair. He wouldn’t wear clothes. Just a pair of underwear, if you took him out. He wanted to be a Wookiee. He wouldn’t speak Basic. Just Shriiyywook. We worked it out. But Ben never really changed.”

Luke sighed.

“As he grew to manhood, I started seeing my nephew as a monster. His obsession with his own duality, and that of his grandfather. His heretical leanings toward the Grey Path. And his vows? Forget vows. Not my nephew, the king of taboo. Jedi are supposed to take vows of chastity, and honesty. To have control over their emotions. Ben sold cigarillos, wine, and rubbers from his father’s smuggling operation out of my father’s TIE Fighter, his personal vehicle. He lost his virginity when he was 14 to his best friend, Talia who was 13. As usual? Han was the best worst father, ever. He took her to get an implant, and kept Ben supplied with rubbers. Which he needed, because any of my female students who were curious about their resident Rebel Angel? Let’s just say, Ben never failed to satisfy their curiosity. He didn’t listen to me when I tried to stop him. He really thought he meant something to these girls. After all, they meant something to him. It took Talia telling him she was going to rent him by the hour out of her Wookiee foster father’s garage in Mos Eisley, because he laid more pipe to more satisfied customers than any spaceport gigolo. I mean, how do you teach a six and a half foot tall Force of nature who has been using the Force since he was a toddler in a crib to open the cupboard and get the cookies?”

“He likes cookies?”

“Ben? He eats like a Wookiee. Literally. Chewie taught him to cook.”

“But he likes cookies?”

“Eats them by the box."

Master Luke laughed.

“Now I see that all of it was so very minor. I used to get so angry with him about the TIE Fighter, and the smuggling, and Talia, and the other girls. He didn’t trust me to tell me how the Dark Side, how Snoke was stalking him. It had been a terrible day, for Ben. I disciplined his little group of girls, and all four of them blamed everything on him. Not Talia, though. She spoke up for Ben. But the other three girls? They didn’t take his side. They gave him up. He sat in his hut and cried, all day. He really cared. He did. The poor kid cried himself to sleep. I went to check on him, that night and I felt the Dark Side all around him. While he was sleeping. I thought he had given himself over to it. I attacked. I almost cut off his head, but Ben defended himself. He blocked my lightsaber with his and punched me in the face as hard as he could. If I wasn’t a Jedi Master who can anticipate my opponent's movements. It would have broken my neck. But he didn't mean to kill me. Ben was just scared. As it was, I was unconscious until the morning. By then? It was all over."

Rey couldn’t believe the enormity of the act that he had just admitted to.

Trying to murder his own paduan, his own nephew!

“What happened to your nephew after he brought the building down on you? Did he join the Dark Side.”

“No. He packed up his gear and walked ten miles to the spaceport, and made it there by morning. He left Yavin 4 on a Mandalorian freighter with a business associate of his father’s, Din Saxon, under an assumed name that he had identity papers for. Now he’s partners with Rotta the Hutt, Jabba’s son, Din Saxon, the Mandalorian, and Han Solo. They revived the old Galactic Black Market, and now there’s a war on, not only are they making a fortune? They’re the only game in town for a lot of little things that people find it hard to live without. They do sell arms and coaxium to both sides, but they only sell the low-grade junk to the First Order and at three times the price they sell to the Resistance. I hear that Ben’s doing well. He hasn’t realized his ambition to meet the girl the Force has bound him to, but he still has his friend, Talia. I trained her as a Jedi Healer, and she's since gone to the Republic Medical School. She's Ben's personal doctor. As reckless as he is? He needs to travel with a farkling doctor. Pardon my language. The point is, my nephew renounced the Jedi and the Sith, the Dark and the Light, that day. He wants no part of it. He follows the Grey Path. As it was laid out by Master Qui-Gon Jinn. He also wants no part of this war. His name is Ben Solo, but the name he does business under, the name you’ll have heard of is his alias. Kylo Skywalker. The Arkanian.”

“Ben Solo is Kylo Skywalker, the Arkanian?”

“Yes. And he and Han are looking to add a good scavenger to their operation, because Kylo just bought the salvage rights to the site of the Battle of Yavin-4. And he’s the new owner of the ruins of the Second Death Star. You were the best scavenger at Niima Outpost. I’m sure you're the woman for the job.”

***

Kylo Skywalker was truly a man larger than life.

He wore a black oilskin duster, caped and hooded, festooned with grommets, pockets, and epaulets over a black pair of pilot’s coveralls, tucked into tall black jackboots.

He also wore a huge pair of brown leather and Beskar chrome goggles, with shatterproof mirrored lenses.

And he was the tallest, burliest man that Rey had ever seen.

He sat down across from her at the table she had picked out at the Niima Cantina.

The man had a quiet air of undeniable menace about him.

It put Rey on edge.

“You should try to hide that you have that much strength in the Force. The Sith are real, and the First Order take who they want.”

“Not if I work for you, Jedi Temple dropout, right?"

“I picked a good time to leave. I hear you're the best scavenger at Niima Outpost.”

“I am. Can you take those goggles off? I feel like I’m talking to a man with no eyes.”

He lowered his hood, and took off the goggles.

Time stopped.

And it wasn’t just because Kylo Skywalker the man had grown up to be a black swan with dark, saturnine good looks out of the ugly duckling of a boy that Master Luke had described to her.

It was because Rey was fairly sure it was him.

The man with whom she had shared a bond in the Force, for as long as she could remember.

She never knew his face, or his name, but now that she saw him, she somehow recognized him.

“It’s OK. I feel it, too. The Force brings people together for all kinds of reasons. Look at it this way? Now you’re sure to get the job. You’re hired, Rey…”

Rey shrugged.

“Just Rey. My parents left me when I was a little girl. I never got a last name. I don’t have identity papers, either.”

“That’s OK. I can get you some, if you need them.”

The doors opened.

Rey was excited to see Han and Chewie, again.

Kylo laughed.

He had a beautiful smile.

“My father. And my godfather. But you knew that, because my Uncle sent you here to recruit me. But I get the feeling you might decide to stick with me and the Old Man, instead. Keep that quiet, though.”

Han and Chewbacca sat down.

“She really is a scavenger. A friend of Poe’s. He got her into this mess. I got her out of it. So, you hired her, right, junior?”

“I hired her.”

“How you been, princess? You don’t look so good.” Han asked.

“You can tell us. I used to be you, after all. The Galaxy’s only hope.” Kylo joked.

“It was awful, mostly. Really awful. Master Luke was nothing like I thought he would be. Sometimes, he was very kind. But sad. As if he forgot that he was supposed to be terrible. But some of the things he taught me just confused me. Or scared me. I’m afraid of myself, now. What I might do.” Rey admitted.

“Forget it. Forget everything he taught you. It’s meaningless. The Force has no Dark Side, and no light. That dualistic nerfshit thinking? People made that up. As an excuse to control each other. And make war. You shouldn’t be afraid of what you’ll do, like it’s not up to you. You make your own destiny, Rey. Look at me. I made mine. I’m no Jedi. And I’m no Sith. There is another way. The Grey Path. I can teach it to you, if you want. Think it over. But as for all that poison Uncle Luke poured into your ears? Look what it did to him. Forget it.” Kylo advised her.

“Sounds like Luke is in bad shape, junior.” Han mentioned.

Casually.

“When Rey reports back to him? We’ll send him some supplies.” Kylo said.

“Rey, do you really want to be a Jedi?” Han asked her.

Nobody had asked her that, yet.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, try working with us for awhile. If you don’t want to go back? I won’t send you. I learned my lesson on that. With junior, here. Even after that Snoke bastard burned the Temple, Luke tried to get me to send my kid back to him, one more time. I said no. Since then, I get to visit my wife, but we don’t live together. And the kid and her aren’t on good terms. But Ben’s alive, and doing good, and the Sith and the First Order didn’t get him. It’s worth it. Don’t go back if you don’t want to. Let ‘em have their farkling war, without you. Fuck ‘m.” Han told her.

Kylo raised his pitcher.

“Dark side? Light side? Fuck it. My side.” He said.

He motioned to the Rodian barman.

“Rey works for me and Solo, now. If there’s trouble with her? You’ve got trouble with all of us.”

“I never had trouble with Rey. You made a good choice, Rey. These guys are the real deal. Order what you want, kiddo. The Arkanian has deep pockets. The deepest in the Galaxy.”

Rey was very hungry.

She ordered a lot of food, and a cheap half bottle of red wine.

“Don’t bring her the cheap stuff.” Kylo told the Rodian.

“Why are you so rich, Kylo?” Rey asked.

“He gets dressed up like another Darth Vader. Red lightsaber and all. And we raid First Order ships with full cargo holds. Or Crimson Dawn freighters. Sometimes First Order warehouses and depots. All he has to do is show up and…say it, Vader junior. Say your thing.” Han suggested.

“I am Kylo Skywalker, Lord Vader. All of this belongs to me. Surrender to me all that I ask for. Or you will die. Quickly! I find your lack of haste disturbing.”

Rey shivered.

But, much to her shame, not entirely in fear.

“That’s why I call him junior. Because I ain’t calling him Kylo. I didn’t name him Kylo. You should see these assholes give up. They usually just kneel and grovel. Sometimes, we have to get tough? But most of the time? It’s all money, it’s all for the taking, and it’s all ours.” Han explained.

“I also liberate Stormtroopers. Snoke takes them from their families, when they are children. And he brainwashed, humiliates, tortures, and enslaves them. The First Order takes their faces and their names, and makes them kill. For Snoke. It’s what he did to me. It’s what he meant for me. I didn’t deserve to live that way. No one does.” Kylo added.

“What happens to them?”

“If they have a home to go to? I help them return to it. Or find a job. Some of them work for me. They are my people, I am their Chieftain. No one else cares about them. Not my mother. Not the Resistance. Not the New Republic. I care.” Kylo told her.

Rey nodded.

The idea that Darth Vader’s grandson, the Galaxy’s only Grey Jedi Master, a ruthless pirate with unlimited money, was the self-styled Arkanian-style Clan Chieftain of a small army of loyalists with military training was a little unsettling.

And that’s why the General wants him. She wants not just her son, but his people, and the influence he has over not just them, but potentially the First Order.

When Rey thought that, Kylo turned to her.

“The Old Man and I are dangerous, ruthless men. But compared to my mother? We’re baby Ewoks.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Han agreed.

And just like that, Rey was working for the Outer Rim Cartel.

Her food and wine showed up.

“So, junior, I talked to the guy? The guy about identity papers for Rey. You object to her being a Solo?”

Kylo smiled at Rey in a way that let her know she wasn’t the only one thinking what she was thinking.

“As long as she isn’t supposed to be my sister? It’s fine by me.” Kylo replied.

"Nah. It says I'm her legal guardian until she's 21. So, that way, nobody can steal you, from me, Rey. I also put you down as Junior's common law wife. Then, after you're 21? Nobody can steal you from him. Considering the way you two keep looking at each other? I figure you don't mind."

"So, this is my wedding night?" Kylo asked

"Watch it, kid. They're just papers. It's not like I bought her from Unkar Plutt and I'm giving her to you."

"Yes, Kylo. This is our wedding night." Rey told him.

Chewbacca made a comment.

"It was not fast, Chewie. Rey is her. The girl of Ben's dreams. It's the Thunderbolt. Didn't you know, when you first met Mala, that she was the one for you?"

Chewie said something about how he wasn't talking about that kind of knowing.

"Yeah, well, it's none of our business. They're probably just kidding around. Come on, old pal. Let's not be the extra dicks at the wedding."

Han got up.

Chewie said something, sternly, to Ben that Rey didn't understand, and Ben replied earnestly.

Rey decided she was going to have to learn better Shriyyywook.

After Han and Chewie left, Ben opened the bottle of wine.

"Since we've suddenly found ourselves married? I should make you some kind of vow. Think about the loneliness you felt on this desert, Rey. The longing for someone, something to come for you. Think about it, and let it go. Because you'll never be that alone, again." He told her.

"You have nothing to worry about, Ben. You're every bit as strong as Darth Vader. And just as much a man as Han Solo. You may think you're the ugly duckling. But you've transformed into a beautiful black swan. What happens, now?"

"We'll eat our dinner, and drink this bottle of vintage Corellian red. And then? We'll start doing whatever the fuck we want. And we'll keep doing whatever the fuck we want, until death comes for us. And the son of a bitch is going to have to sneak up on me."

Kylo poured two glasses of wine.

Rey began to think this might really be where she was meant to be, after all.

Happy fanfiction day!

[a-byronic-heroine]

Full Name: Sca’ir Gyda’i Wenwyn yn Barod

Meaning: Scorpion with its poison tail aloft

Nickname/Alias: Kly

Title: Former consort to King Auberon

Gender: Female

Orientation: Pansexual

Species: Aen Elle

Occupation: Sex worker

Marital Status: Widowed

Immediate Family: Her father (deceased)

Infancy: Kly’s mother had complications during Kly’s year long gestation. Kly wasn’t absorbing nutrients from what her mother ate, instead leeching off her life force, showing a propensity for magic even then. Her mother never really recovered and thus died shortly after giving birth. Kly was very small and frail when she was finally born. She was, for the most part, raised by a caretaker, as her father wanted nothing to do with her.

Childhood: When Kly’s magical talents began to manifest, she was sent to the Aen Saevherne. This was her purpose for being born, as breeding is very selective and intentional among the Aen Elle. Everyone is born with a duty in mind. She spent the majority of her life with the Aen Saevherne, being conditioned into a child soldier and tactician. She and many other children endured abuse and torture under the guise of training. Many didn’t survive the process. They were deemed weaknesses and failures. Failure wasn’t an option.

Adulthood: On the cusp of her adulthood, Kly underwent her tests to become a fully fledged Aen Saevherne. However, her beliefs regarding the Hen Ichaer and her inability to use and create interdimensional portals led to her failure. She was now without purpose, as she’d failed at the thing she’d been born for. She was dumped into the military ranks after that, serving under her father, a General. When Kly’s father was killed during a skirmish with the unicorns, she was left orphaned. Her noble family ended with her. To keep up appearances and use Kly politically, King Auberon forced her into being a consort. By this time, he was too old to be interested in any sort of sexual relationship and he wanted no child with her because of her failures. Auberon was completely withdrawn from his duties, so Kly was left to run the kingdom while he forced her to create illusions for him, allowing him to relive past memories.

It wasn’t until Crevan and Eredin brought the human girl Ciri to Tir na Lia that her life began to change drastically. By this time, she had taken on all political duties to compensate for Auberon’s apathy towards ruling and towards his people. She vehemently disagreed with the idea of using Ciri as a vessel to reintroduce Elder Blood to the Aen Elle line. However, Auberon was willing to consider the idea. The fact that he was so openly willing to give the human girl a child and not her made her more bitter than ever. Unable to impregnate Ciri, he was given an aphrodisiac laced with poison, killing him. A coup was taking place, so, knowing she would likely be blamed or killed, Kly took the royal torc’h and fled. She used a random interdimensional portal and ended up stranded on the human world.

It took her several years to adapt and blend in with the other species, but once she did, she worked mostly as a travelling healer. However, she spent much of that time barely surviving, never escaping poverty or danger. It wasn’t until a brothel offered her a deal that she saw a way to advance in the world she found herself in. Her aptitude for illusions came in handy here, as she could trick clients into thinking they had amazing sex when in fact they just sat on a bed for an evening. However, the Wild Hunt still searches for her and what she took from them.

Enemies: Eredin, Caranthir, Crevan (Avallac’h) (she considers him to be the one responsible for the king’s death), the Wild Hunt in general, humans, unicorns

Health: In Tir na Lia, Kly is considered a healthy, fertile female of reproductive age. However, in the Aen Sidhe world, she has no immunity to the foreign bodies there. She’s extremely susceptible to illness and gets sick easily. If she’s not careful, a simple cold could kill her.

Allergies: She’s severely allergic to wyvern blood. Anything with wyvern components in it that she ingests will cause anaphylaxis.

Mental Health: For the most part, Kly has adjusted to living in the Aen Sidhe world. Even to becoming a second-class citizen instead of being royalty. She can sometimes become paranoid and has problems with self loathing and failure and making personal relationships and connections with others.

Attitude: Look up bitchy ra.cist in the dictionary, and you’ll find the entire Aen Elle species. Kly is no different. Like most of her kind, she is very haughty and stuck up. Even among her own kind, she had a reputation for being a cruel tyrant. She has improved since becoming stranded on the Aen Sidhe world, though she still struggles with it. It’s hard to see humans as slaves and less than animals when she lives among them and starts caring about them.

Wardrobe: When she works, Kly wears very elf-inspired clothing. It’s always a light material and is revealing without being completely obscene. Outside of work, she usually wears commoner’s clothing. Whatever will help her blend in. Back on her world, she always wore very elaborate, ornamental clothing and armor. She had a massive wardrobe befitting her station. Because of the tropical climate, the clothing was sheer and flowing.

Mode of Dress: Kly wears her clothes like she’s in a second skin. She has learned to appear confident even if she may not be and carries herself and her wardrobe in that same fashion whether she’s on the job or wearing peasant’s clothes.

Grooming: She’s very picky about her hygiene and grooming and is rather demanding when it comes to maintaining it. She keeps herself very clean, bathing at every opportunity, and she keeps her hair and skin well kept even when she finds herself in less than amicable circumstances. Back home, her grooming regimen could take hours, but now she doesn’t have such a luxury as time.

Scars: Kly has a raised scar on her throat from an assassination attempt. She also has a burn scar she got from frostbite when she came in contact with the White Frost.

Posture: She carries herself as one of noble birth and high rank which is considered unusual among Aen Sidhe elves and common folk in general thereby giving her away in many cases. She walks confidently, like she owns the very ground she walks on and is considered graceful.

Scent: She smells like black currant and vanilla

Makeup: She wears eye kohl and blush when she works. Sometimes she will use a glamour if she has blemishes or bruising. Outside of working, she usually prefers to go without makeup or other painting. Sometimes she will use magic to hide her ears or make them look human while she’s traveling.

Possessions: Kly has everything she owns in a single bag so she can easily run if the Wild Hunt catches up to her. She has several books, some clothes, a small amount of money and the torc’h she took when she left her world.

Skills/Talents: Kly is a master when it comes to illusions. She can trick the mind and body into feeling and/or seeing almost anything. She’s also a skilled healer.

Pet Peeves: Humans

Flaws: Kly is stuck up and will underestimate all other races. She has problems being sincere or getting close to others. She has very limited physical strength and stamina to speak of when it comes to combat, and her use of magic is limited on the human world because it lacks the magical resources the Aen Elle world has.

Languages: Ellylon, Common, Nilfgaardian and some Elder Speech (whatever correlates or is similar to Ellylon)

Education: Kly was essentially raised as child soldiers are. She endured a great deal or abuse and torture under some of the wisest of her kind to become an Aen Saevherne. Even though she failed her tests to become one of the Aen Saevherne, her education is very advanced and nuanced. She’s skilled in healing and illusion magic, military strategy, her kind’s history, the lineages of her people and eug.enics as those subjects are expected to be known among the Aen Saevherne.

Morals: Kly has no morals. Morals were beaten out of her at a young age. All she cared about is the well-being and advancement of her people. However, the longer she lives on the human world, the harder it is to be so cold and cruel.

Fears: Kly fears capture by the Wild Hunt, as she knows that they will kill her if they find her. There have already been a few assassination attempts by Aen Elle spies. She also fears the White Frost. She saw its destructive abilities first hand as a child and it traumatized her. It’s why she hates being cold.

Guilty Pleasure: Sweets, animals

MBTI Personality Type: ESTJ

Enneagram: The Achiever

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

[renee-writer]

Songs of An Outlander Chapter 16 Justice?

Brian stands up before the king. “Laird Brian Fraser, to speak on behalf of my son.” He bows low. King Louis waved his permission. “Jamie was falsely accused while defending me. I was thrown in prison for the false charge of treason, accused of supporting King James of Scotland's bid to overthrow King George. Jamie, in the course of freeing me, was captured himself. He received two hundred lashes across his back. When he was liberated from the tender care of the English, a soldier was shot. Jamie was accused, but, on my honor sire, he wasn’t the shooter. He could barely hold his head up, let alone a gun. I know for I was in the rescue party. I saw my son safe to an Abbey, where he recovered. The soldier was shot by Lt. Randall himself. The same person, who with his lover, Lt. Grey, had my son's intended, Lady Beauchamp, held and threatened with interrogation, his lover was also seen with a Geneva Duscany, who was later thrown through my window, dead. On top of all this, a certain Duke of Sandringham is here, plotting with Prince Charles to finance the overthrow of King George.”

“That is quite a lot Laird Fraser. Master James, your father says you took two hundred lashes to protect him?”

“Aye your Majesty, I did.”

“May I see your back?” He nods and Claire, hands Fergus to Brian and gets up to help. When his shirt is off, he turns his back to face the king. His back is covered with deep red scars, that criss cross the whole expanse. After a moment he pulls his shirt back on and turns to face him. “Will you tell me your story?”

“Aye. My first contact with Lt. Randall was when he came to Lallybroch to gather taxes. That was his right, but to try to molest my sister wasn’t. If it wasn’t for my tenants, one of us would have been dead. That placed me under his eyes. So when I was next before him, he let me ken he recalled. When Claire, who came to Castle Leoch as a healer, and was called out to treat Lt. Grey. That is when she was almost assaulted. She also ran into him and the late Geneva before she was killed. The Duke of Sandringham was also at your Court that day.”

“Lady Claire, do you have anything to add?”

“Yes, they are bad men. All three. There is an evil about them. I just wish for my adopted son Fergus, a gift delivered to me at Castle Leoch, and Jamie and I to live in peace. I just want to go home to Scotland without a cloud over us. Peace is all I seek.” She curtsies and steps back.

“Well, you have given me a lot to think about. If I can prove things are as you told me, then I will see the price off your head, James. If it is the opposite, you will be thrown in the Bastille to be held for the English.” They all bowed to him and were dismissed.

“Master Raymond, you heard what the Frasers reported?”

“Oui' your Majesty.” The little frog like man bows before him.

“I need you to find out the truth of it.”

“It will be done.”

“So, do you think he will see the truth?” Claire asks as they head home.

“Aye, the truth always wins. We told the truth.” Jamie replies as he bounces Fergus on his knee.

“As much as we could anyway.” Brian adds. Fergus starts to fuss.

“Fergus, would you like to hear the end of Snow White?” He looks to her and grins. “I take that as an yes. So after supper, the little man cleaned up and after Snow White went to sleep upstairs while the 7 dwarfs sleep in the Great Room.”

“Which is how it should be little lad.” Jamie adds, tickling him. Fergus giggles. Claire kisses his cheek and Jamie's before continuing.

“So, the next morning, Snow White sends them away with a kiss on each of their cheeks. Doopy comes back for a second one. “You greedy little man,” She tells him with a kiss on each of his cheeks. Doc warns her to be careful of strangers. She promises but she has a kind heart. She heads out to gather berries to make them a pie. Meanwhile, the Wicked step-mother, is brewing up trouble, quite literally. She is making poison.”

“A true witch, laddie.” Jamie says. The bairn looks up at him with a huge smile. It does Brian's heart good to see his son so with a bairn.

“That she is. She takes an apple, dips it into the poison, then she uses a spell to change herself into an auld looking, bent over woman. Snow White, with the assistance of the forest animals, are tidying the little cottage. Snow White is singing,” Just whistle while you work,” she whistles and Fergus laughs. The old woman comes up, the witch disguised, comes up to her. The animals can tell she is evil but can't communicate that to her. The try to stop the witch from getting to her. Snow White though, only sees a auld woman and shoos them away. “You poor dear. Come in and have a drink of water.” The witch follows her in and offers the poison apple to her. It will cause a deep sleep like death.”

Jamie and Brian gasp

“Yes. So, the animals hurry off to the mine to warn the dwarfs.” They arrive at the house and Mary hurries out.

“Oh, I've such news!”

“We wish to hear all about it. Let's just get little man laid down first.” Claire greets her.

“Let me have him. I will see him to bed.” Mary offers.

“So what have you learned?” King Louis asks Master Raymond.

“The Fraser’s were right. Lt. Raymond and Lt. Grey are very bad soldiers. They have been seen in several houses of ill repute. Several of the ladies from this establishments have been found dead with wounds that match the unfortunate Miss Duscany. There are rumor Lt. Randall was the man responsible for the death of the soldier James Fraser is accused of killing. Seems the lad rejected his advances. As for The Duke and Prince, they are here causing trouble. The Duke is playing both sides against the middle. Telling Prince Charles one thing and King George another. He is after the funds the the Prince is trying to raise for a rebellion.”

“Grand job Master Raymond. Thank you.” He turns towards his secretary. “Sent a dispage to King George of England and King James former king of Scotland and England. Invite them to a meeting here as soon as possible.

The kings arrive, confused. They are cousin but the family bond only keeps them civil. Barely.

“It seems we've a situation here. King James, your son is running through my kingdom trying to start a rebellion to remove King George. King George, you have to soldiers, under your charge, commiting rapes and murders throughout Paris.”

Stunned silence.