#that nasty green hue is my enemy

[machneherald]

You have no idea what this war has put me through. Me personally.

  ▸ AVATAR: THE LAST AIRBENDER (2005-2008) BOOK TWO: EARTH, CHAPTER TWENTY: THE CROSSROADS OF DESTINY

[psychospore]

Someone Special

A/N: Hello Tumblr Friends! Sorry for the unexpected hiatus but I'm back with a new fic for y'all

If you like this, you might wanna check out my Masterlist for more fics – smutty and fluffy and sometimes a bit angsty

@twhxhck tagging you on my new one :D

Pairing: Avenger!Loki x Y/N

Word count: 1400+

Warnings: mentions of torture, violence, death, fluff, mutual pining etc.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀��⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Tony and Steve rescued Y/N from an underwater HYDRA experimentation facility that conducted Human-Animal Splicing Experiments. With a low chance of survival, HYDRA successfully spliced Y/N with a Peacock Mantis Shrimp with the intention of creating advanced weaponry to conquer the world.

The two Avengers rescued Y/N and shut down the system to prevent HYDRA from continuing the program. During Y/N’s rehabilitation in the Avenger’s tower, she has found an expected companion in the form of Loki – who she met while sneaking one night to grab a bite. With her enhanced vision, she was able to surprise Loki that she was able to see him despite his invisibility.

Months of constant interaction made Loki grow fond of Y/N, he is in denial of these growing feelings towards Y/N – thinking it was not a good idea for her to be closer to him given his track record. He grew distant, Y/N noticing this wanted to confront him but had to push it back due to a mission back to the HYDRA laboratory where they found her. Stark gifted Y/N with a full white nano-suit, a long white overcoat, and heavy gauntlets resembling a Peacock Mantis Shrimp’s dactyl limbs.

The Avengers were caught in a pinch when super soldiers cornered them, they were not aware before their mission that HYDRA has developed a serum to temporarily enhance these soldiers with the powers of a cockroach – nasty but freaking resilient despite losing limbs.

Y/N had to fight one of her comrades spliced with the Diabolical Ironclad Beetle, a perfect defense against her, during the mission. Her barrage of power-packed punches destroyed most of the room but barely had any effects on the spliced enemy in front of her. He deflected her attacks and knocked her out with a blow to the stomach, making her cough up blood as she noticed a hole in her caved-in torso.

After being captured, tortured, and injected with the triggering serum to activate her dormant powers – partially transforming into a Peacock Mantis Shrimp as she convulsed in inexplicable pain – red antennae grew from her head, her long brown hair, tainted green with red tips, eyes turned red – to fully activate vision able to see both UV and polarizing light, her whole suit and overcoat turned to fully resemble her spliced animal – gauntlets turning green with gloves turning red, overcoat turning into the green hue with the lower part turning into fan-like segmented carapace-like disks with red edges. Chest and facial plates grew that resemble carapaces partly with the help of the nanobots from the suit.

Unlike her other comrades, Y/N retained a part of her humanity, she ordered the rest of the Avengers – Nat, Steve, Bruce, Thor, and Loki to head back to the ship to assist Tony and Clint who were already busy fending off the 2 Leviathan attacking the Submarine. Loki was hesitant to get back and wanted Y/N to go back with them – their first interaction after Loki decided to avoid her. Y/N assured him that she can handle it so hesitantly Loki followed, fully trusting Y/N’s decision.

Y/N fought her comrade, leaving him immobile before destroying the control panels and drowning the whole laboratory along with the rest HYDRA soldiers. As she escaped, she grabbed a few vials of the Triggering Serum and Antidote to bring back with her but before she could go out, her comrade decided to have one last fight – trapping them both under the rubble of what was left of the facility under the sea.

With the monsters dead after the fight with the rest of the Avengers, Loki hurriedly went to the destroyed building to retrieve Y/N, his biggest fear lingering – the possibility that she might be dead. He saw Y/N’s unconscious body – the lower half trapped underneath the rubble and the upper half submerged in the water. With all his strength, he removed the large rocks and recovered Y/N’s body, and brought it back to the ship.

He feared she might have drowned – he never left her side as she lay on the table, praying that she comes back. And come back she did – she coughed hard, as she comes back to her senses, exhausted from the fight. She smiled at Loki saying that thank goodness she was able to breathe underwater now or else she would have been a goner before passing out again.

Back at the infirmary at the Avenger’s tower, doctors were running around, hooking her up to the many devices to monitor her condition. Loki was worried the whole time as he felt helpless, his healing magic could only do so much. Thor assured him that Y/N will be fine and he needs to believe in her.

The whole week, Y/N was out, and Loki never left her side. The doctors have decided not to inject her with the antidote just yet, thinking her current state would be optimal for her survival – her human form would not be able to take the damage done to her.

 Slowly, Y/N’s eyes fluttered slowly to see a sleeping Loki, sitting by her hospital bed. She brushed Loki’s locks which woke the god.

“How are you feeling now, Y/N?” Loki worriedly asked.

Y/N’s antennae twitched, “Feeling better, but I feel a bit different” she weakly responded.

“I am deeply sorry for not being much help throughout your whole ordeal, you shouldn’t have faced it alone” Loki rubbed her fingers looking dejected.

“That’s alright, it was something that I need to do sooner or later,” she answered.

Soon, the rest of the Avengers poured inside the hospital after being notified by the nurses that Y/N has come to – bringing flowers and well-wishes.

“Your white suit looked good, but your current one looked better,” Tony commented.

“Looking more like a shrimp now?” Y/N joked.

“Can’t say it’s a bad thing,” he responded.

“You need more training when you get released from here. Despite your powers, you got us all worried about you with what you did with the facility,” Steve said, arms crossed.

“Especially my dearest brother, Loki. He hasn’t left you even for a second!” Thor exclaimed.

“You don’t have to tell her that,” Loki crossed, furrowing his brows.

“Nothing to be ashamed of brother – I know you hold Y/N dear so we understand,” Thor responded.

Before Thor and Loki could continue with their banter, Nat interjected, “Okay everyone, let’s let Y/N rest for now so she could recover quick.”

After a few more weeks in the hospital, the doctors cleared Y/N to be discharged.

Loki was reading a book in the lounge when Y/N popped in – now back to her usual form after being injected with the antidote. “Do you mind if I join?” before Loki could answer, Y/N sat beside him.

“How are you feeling now?” Loki asked.

“Much better, I feel like I could fight another freak like me,” Y/N joked.

“You are not a freak Y/N, you know that.”

“Hey, that’s a badge of honor for me now – not everyone gets to survive the whole shit show, now that I realized it,” Y/N responded.

“You didn’t deserve what you went through. Still, a part of me is glad that you’re here with us now,” Loki felt his heart hurt, while he was there at the facility, he saw the manuscripts documenting the harrowing experiments conducted.

“ Yeah, I’m glad to be here too,” Y/N eyes glimmered with hope as she looks outside the floor-to-ceiling window, not noticing Loki was looking at her with much admiration. Vowing to himself he wouldn’t let the same thing happen to her again.

“Y/N…” Loki moved closer to her, cupping her chin with his fingers, and gazing directly into her eyes.

Her heart fluttered with this gesture and before she could respond, Loki to her in a sweet and beautiful kiss that felt like heaven and lasted forever.

Loki broke the kiss to continue, “I couldn’t imagine myself being without you anymore.” Y/N’s face turned beet-red and before she could say anything, Steve walked in. Y/N jumped away covering her face with a throw pillow. She didn’t know how to react.

“Ready for your training, Y/N?” Steve naively asked.

“Perfect timing captain, you couldn’t have walked in a perfect time,” Loki sarcastically answered, leaving Steve confused.

“See in 5 Agent, training room,” Steve responded which Y/N answered with a squeak and a nod.

“Loki… I…” Y/N said.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up. Go with the captain now,” Loki smugly smiled at Y/N.

[misslyzz]

Snake Song - Chapter 3: Kiss With a Fist

~Paring: Draco x Original Female Character

~Description: Enemies to lovers, slow burn, Cannon divergence

~Word Count: 4.6k

~Author Note: I update once a week! You can find the series masterlist here.

~Content disclaimer: Canon typical violence, slight mentions of blood, bigotry

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My black eye casts no shadow

Your red eye sees nothing

Your slap don't stick

Your kicks don't hit

So we remain the same

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia Prince sat in the Slytherin common room staring out one of the large, ornate windows that looked out into the Black Lake. The only light left in the common room came from a few candles spread out across the room and the dull green hue from the lake. It cast the vast stone room with its leather button-tufted couches and dark wood furnishings in a sort of eerie glow, but Cordelia found this rather comforting. 

It was late, probably past midnight, but she couldn’t sleep. She kept replaying the events of the day in her head. It had been a particularly nasty day that had started with a letter from her mother berating her about participating in the quidditch trials. It seemed the school had sent her parents news of her injury. Something she really should have expected. 

The letter had been something along the lines of “If you embarrass this family one more time, we’ll transfer you to Beauxbatons Academy before you can say snitch.” Being surrounded by silly little French girls for the next 5 years sounded like a fate worse than Azkaban to Cordelia. 

It hadn’t stopped there. Not long after her owl Sage had dropped off the dreaded letter and Cordelia was staring forlorn into her porridge, Malfoy had come swaggering into the great hall, wearing one of the Slytherin team's silver and green jumpers. Cordelia would have liked nothing more than to drown herself in her porridge. He’d sent her a haughty smirk and waltzed over to the rest of the team to eat breakfast. Presumably they would be heading to practice soon. 

It hadn’t been until later that day when Cordelia was moping around the common room pretending to make progress on her History of Magic homework that she had overheard the most infuriating bit of news. She had just crossed out the third unsuccessful sentence about how Barnabas the Barmy had tried teaching trolls ballet when Pansy Parkinson walked by with a few other girls in her year giggling about something asinine. However, a particular bit had caught her attention. 

“...of course his father bought the whole team new brooms, he wants them to win the cup this year and it's not like he couldn’t spare the expense. Only the finest for a Malfoy.”

Cordelia’s quill snapped in her hand and her nearby ink well magically flew off the table narrowly missing Daphne’s head, who was sitting across from her, and smashed into the stone wall. Daphne looked up at her a bit wide eyed and muttered a “wow...” before Cordelia had stormed off. 

That’s how she got here, staring out into the swirling darkness of the Black Lake, instead of in her comfortable canopy bed, with its fluffy pillows, asleep like a sane person. Un-bloody-believable. She knew Malfoy wasn’t above cheating and was an absolute menace to her on a daily basis, but she didn’t peg him for someone who couldn't earn his own achievements. Part of her was disappointed in him. Despite their constant rivalry this felt low, unambitious even. 

She did eventually drift off to sleep curled up on the dark green wingback chair, with one thought on replay in her head. Some Slytherin he is. Salazar is probably turning over in his grave. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe Salazar Slytherin had turned over in his grave. Cordelia thought wide eyed, staring at the body of Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, hung by her tail below the letters written across the wall in what Cordelia highly doubted was red paint. They had just been enjoying a truly excellent Halloween feast only to run into this on the way back to the common room.  The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir beware. 

 "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" Someone had shouted from the front of the crowd. Cordelia’s heart lurched. She knew that voice, it had been Malfoy. She felt someone grab onto her arm and looked to her side. It had been Tracey, who was staring stone faced at the bloody letters on the wall. Despite her expression, her hand was clutching Cordelia tightly.  

“It was probably him and his little cronies, pulling some kind of sick prank,” Cordelia whispered to Tracey as they watched Filch yelling at Harry Potter, of all people, about killing his cat. 

“You!” The hunched over caretaker screeched at Potter, “You’ve murdered my cat!” Cordelia looked back to Tracey who still hadn't looked away from the writing. Luckily, a moment later Dumbledore came to sort the mess out and everyone dispersed back to the common room. Cordelia kept close to Tracey, who had been unusually silent since seeing the writing. 

The three girls, still being quite full from the feast and not wanting to hear any more Malfoy's nonsense, went straight up the short ironwork staircase and down the tunnel to the girls' dorm. Cordelia had drifted off into a restless sleep, having hazy dreams of slithering snails that she could have sworn had Malfoy’s face all chanting Mudblood over and over again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first week of November had brought with it a cold snap that had the grounds covered in frost in the mornings. Cordelia dreaded venturing outside of the castle and into the biting highland wind, which was an excellent excuse for her to lean on when the first quidditch match of the season rolled around one Saturday. It was Slytherin vs. Gryffindor normally a match Cordelia would never miss, but a deep bitterness had lodged itself in her chest after the events of last month. She would have sooner leapt into the freezing Black Lake stark naked than to have gone to this game. 

Tracey had given her best effort trying to persuade Cordelia from the dorm that afternoon, but she stubbornly refused to go. 

“But Cordelia, it's the first match of the season!”

“Tracey I swear to Salazar Slytherin himself, if I end up going I’m going to cheer for Gryffindor and then I’ll be disowned from the whole house.” Cordelia had whined. “Is that what you want?” 

Tracey signed, exasperated. “Can’t have that, then.” And with a begrudged look had left the dorms to head down to the quidditch pitch with the rest of Slytherin house. This left Cordelia quite alone in the common room, which she considered a blessing. Good I can brood in peace. 

And brood she did. She sat at one of the comfy green couches, staring into the large stone fire thinking of all the things she could say or do later to terrorize Malfoy as revenge. She sat in her revenge fueled trance for who knows how long until finally people began to trickle back into the common room. Judging from the general mood, it didn’t look like Slytherin had won. Cordelia tried to look stoic, but the corners of her mouth couldn’t seem to behave. 

Tracey flopped onto the couch beside her, Daphne soon followed in an adjacent armchair. 

“I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.” Tracey signed. 

“Bad news, first then.” To her credit Cordelia did manage to sound aloof. 

“We lost.” Daphne interjected, not seeming that upset about it either. 

“Considering the mood, not surprising,” Cordelia said surveying the room. Everyone did seem a bit defeated, which considering Slytherin hadn’t lost the quidditch cup in seven years, wasn’t surprising. “And the good news?” She questioned. 

At this Tracey let out a crooked smile. “Malfoy missed the snitch. Literally had it floating right behind his head, the tosser! Potter had a particularly nasty bludger after him and still managed to catch it before Malfoy.” Tracey let out a barked laugh. “It was embarrassing, honestly.”

Cordelia was trying her best to not break out into a full-blown grin, feeling absolutely giddy that Malfoy had managed to embarrass himself so thoroughly. They heard a loud snort from behind them. She turned to look over the back of the couch to see none other than one of Slytherin team's chasers, Adrien Pucey. Adrien, a handsome boy with intense green eyes and dark hair that fell in soft waves across his forehead, was two years ahead of Cordelia. He was sitting with a few other students in his year including, Miles Bletchly, the team's keeper, a pale dark haired boy who’s features resembled a goldfish a bit.

“You forgot the part where he fell off his broom and landed on his ass.” Adrien snickered with the rest of the boys. “Poor sod is still in the showers sulking.” He had one arm slung over his chair and leaned towards Cordelia. “You know Prince, you should have tried out for seeker instead. Maybe then we would have actually won.” He shot her a wink as he and his friends got up to leave. 

She flushed up to her forehead, though she tried to pretend that was not happening. That did not stop her two friends from staring at her knowingly. 

“Pucey does have a point, huh Daphne?” Tracey said with a cheshire cat smile. 

Daphne raised her eyebrow. “Yes, couldn’t agree with him more, eh Cordelia?” 

Cordelia, cheeks still red, was trying her best to hide a smile. “Oh shove off.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Cordelia had gone down to the great hall that morning hoping for a peaceful Sunday breakfast only to be met with an uproar of chatter. She sat down in an empty seat between Daphne and a boy from their year, Theodore Nott, a lanky boy with sandy hair. He was leaned over to talk with some other students about something in a hushed tone.

“What’s got everyone’s knickers in a twist this morning?” Cordelia asked more than a little irritated with the chatter.

Nott had turned to her a little surprised, “Haven’t you heard? A student was found last night, petrified. Some Gryffindor.” He had scoffed at that. 

Cordelia hadn’t really been able to enjoy her breakfast after that and soon after headed back down to the common room. She sat in the common room at one of the long dark tables reading Holidays with Hags, one of Lockhart's books he had assigned 2 feet of parchment on. I’d rather snog one of these hags than read another word of this rubbish. It wasn't just the pompous tone the book was written in that was making it nearly impossible for her to focus, but the constant chatter of the common room. 

She was failing miserably to focus on how Lockhart had saved all those village children from the nasty hag by blinding her with his dazzling smile. Her mind kept wandering back to Colin Creevy, a muggle born first year, who she had found out was the Gryffindor student that Nott had mentioned. 

Cordelia thought back to the bloody writing on the wall on Halloween. Enemies of the Heir beware… Was the enemy of Salazar Slytherin really after just the muggle borns…? Cordelia was trying her best to ignore the murmurings she had heard from some of her nastier classmates. A group of which were snickering amongst themselves at the far end of the table. 

“Of course it was a mudblood.” 

“Probably won’t be the last either.”

“Who do you reckon will be next?

Cordelia snapped her book shut and exhaled sharply through her nose. Bigoted prats. She stood up swiftly from her chair and walked towards the group of snickering teens. She slammed her book down on their side of the table. 

“If you’re going to be ignorant, you could at least do it quieter.” With that she stormed off towards the girl’s dorm, hoping to find some peace and quiet. Just as she had reached the top of the stairs she ran into the familiar figure of Tracey coming down from the dorms. Cordelia glanced back at the older students still at the table whispering quietly amongst themselves at the same table, still presumably spouting their nonsense. She made up her mind to head Tracey off. 

“Hey Trace, wanna help me sneak into the kitchens?” 

Tracey grinned at this, “Merlin yes, I’m starved.” With that the two made their way down the kitchens for the rest of the afternoon.   

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

The next month had gone by with relatively little excitement. On one particularly dull afternoon, Cordelia found herself in her least favorite class, Herbology. Even more unfortunately for her, today they would be working with infant mandrakes. She had already watched Longbottom faint the previous week from the plant's lethal crying, having apparently neglected to secure earmuffs for himself. That was enough to make her contemplate faking dragon pox to get out of class. 

Nevertheless, she found herself elbow deep in fresh soil trying to wrestle the, no doubt screaming, mandrake out of its pot. At the potting station next to her, Tracey was having a lot less trouble, having already dug most of the young plant out of its pot. 

“How did you manage that so fast?”Cordelia looked at her incredulously. Tracy almost looked bored, which was unusual for the girl, who normally looked forward to herbology lessons. All Cordelia got in response was a vague grunt. Cordelia tried focusing on shifting the soil around in her pot, but couldn’t help casting nervous glances at her friend. Tracey was looking forlornly down at the wrinkled little root in her pot. 

“Trace, you alright?” 

Cordelia’s focus was abruptly pulled back to her own pot as she felt a sharp pain in her finger. It seemed the mandrake had clamped its tiny mouth down on her finger. Tracey looked at her and snickered. That was until Cordelia jerked the baby mandrake from her pot. It let out an ear shattering scream as she tried her best to shove it into the new pot, with fresh soil.

It seemed the irritating little plant had a different idea as its tiny veiny arms had gripped on to the side of the new pot. Despite Cordelia’s best efforts to push its tiny, screaming head under the fresh dirt, it seemed determined to not budge. Tracey thankfully took pity on her, helping her shove the shrieking plant under the fresh dirt. 

“Thanks, Trace,” Cordelia said to her friend who had already turned back to her own mandrake. The most response she got out of the girl was a vague hum of acknowledgement. Tracey was busy quickly scooping her mandrake out of the old pot and into the new one. Hers hardly even screamed… 

“Excellent work, Miss Davis,” Professor Sprout complimented while passing by. Cordelia couldn’t ignore the nasty look a few of their classmates shot Tracey at this. From the look on her face it seemed Tracey also noticed. Cordelia felt a pang of guilt at this.

“Ignore those gits,” she scoffed. Tracey had a detached sort of look about her, her eyes solidly set on her already potted plant. 

“Bit hard to do when it’s the whole house.” 

“It’s not the whole house…”Cordelia felt her stomach sink further, eyebrows furrowing. She wasn’t sure she believed herself with all the murmurings and nasty comments she had heard lately. “Only the incredibly stupid ones.” This got a half hearted snort from Tracey, but she wouldn’t meet Cordelia’s eyes, still fixated on the pot in front of her. 

Determined to at least get her friend to crack a smile, Cordelia grabbed a small clump of dirt from her pot, tossing it at Tracey. It hit her cheek leaving a little smudge of dirt and earning an offended gasp from Tracey. Cordelia looked at her with feigned innocence. 

“What? It was him,” she pointed down at the newly potted mandrake, “extremely cracky that one.”

Tracey looked at her through narrowed eyes for a moment before turning back to her pot. Cordelia let out a labored sigh, turning back to her own station. She’d leave Tracey be for now. Maybe she just needs some tim– She was pulled from her thoughts by a clump of dirt smacking her in the forehead before falling down onto her robes.

She whipped her head in the short haired girl's directions. Tracey was trying and failing to keep a straight face. 

“What? Maybe I’m cranky too?”

Cordelia grinned at her friend before chucking another clump of dirt back in retaliation. Their little battle continued for a minute before Professor Sprout came by and admonished the two. They both tried to look guilty. However, as soon as the Professor walked away, and Cordelia met Tracey’s eyes they devolved into fits of giggles. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

November faded to December and Cordelia finally felt as if she might have a relatively normal rest of the school year. On one particular afternoon, she found herself in her element in the potions classroom, deep in the Hogwart’s dungeons. 

The cold stone room was lined with jars upon jars of pickled animals and various glowing substances. There were half a dozen tables where students could place their cauldrons and try their best not to earn Professor Snape's ire. At the front of the classroom was a chalkboard on which said professor had written some especially detailed instructions for a swelling solution. This is where Cordelia was trying her best to apply all her focus on, with great difficulty. 

 She was yet again partnered with Malfoy. What did I ever do to Snape to deserve this? He was currently flicking her carefully counted pufferfish eyes at Potter and Weasley.  

“Knock it off Malfoy,” She seethed, “you're wasting all our ingredients.”

He scoffed in return, having turned his attention to Longbottom getting chastised by Snape once again. Cordelia glanced over at the visibly trembling boy. He should really get a tutor. She rolled her eyes and went over to one of the shelves to get more eyes. Just as she turned to go back to their cauldron, she noticed Potter ducked under his table. Odd… He quickly lit what looked to be a firecracker of some sort and threw it into her and Malfoy’s cauldron.

Her eyes widened and for a brief moment she locked eyes with Potter as he turned. They both looked at each other for a moment before they both ducked for cover. Cordelia leaped behind Professor Snape’s desk just as the mayhem began. From her place of cover, she heard the potion explode and several people shrieked, one of which sounded suspiciously like Malfoy. I’d know that high pitched scream anywhere… Snape should really dust under here. 

Cordelia brushed her hands on her robes and peaked over the top of Professor Snape's desk. What she was greeted with was indeed mayhem. Several students were groaning in pain, parts of their bodies swelled up to triple their normal size. 

She stood up fully now that the coast was clear and walked back toward her station where Malfoy was clutching his face. When he finally moved his hand, she could see that a glob of the potion had managed to land on his nose, which had swelled up like a balloon. Cordelia immediately let out a snort of laughter. She looked over to Goyle who was flailing around with a hand the size of a dinner plate. This is the best potions class ever. 

She met Malfoys gray eyes, which now looked small and beady compared to his still growing nose, and burst into uncontrollable giggles. Her sides were hurting from laughter, and Malfoy's stare was positively lethal. 

Snape finally got back control of the class telling anyone who had been splashed, to come to the front of the class for a Deflating Draft. Cordelia had managed to suppress her laugh at the death stare Professor Snape was putting out. She watched as the affected students walked to the front. Malfoy, in particular, seemed to be having a lot of difficulty seeing how top heavy his head had become. As he staggered away she glanced over to Potter. To her surprise, he was already looking nervously her way. 

A few moments later after the students had begun de-swelling, Professor Snape came back over to Cordelia and Draco’s cauldron with a ladle and scooped out the firecracker. 

“If I ever find out who threw this,” Snape said in a low tone, “I shall make sure that person is expelled.” Then as if on cue both he and Cordelia turned to look at Potter, though only one of the cousins knew the truth.

For the rest of the lesson she could feel Potter's nervous glances, as if at any point she might rat him out to Snape. As if. It was bloody hilarious. She thought back fondly to Malfoy’s gigantic nose. She glanced to her side where said nuisance kept running his hands over his nose as if to make sure it hadn’t re-swollen suddenly. She had to suppress a laugh again. 

Soon the bell rang and everyone began filing out of the classroom. Cordelia had just made it out of the door when she heard a loud “pst” from her side. She glanced to the side of the potions classroom only to see Potter standing there motioning her over awkwardly. She raised her eyebrow, but walked over, nonetheless. 

“You rang, Potter?” she said dryly. 

Potter looked quite nervous, she almost felt bad for him. He’s probably worried about being expelled for his little stunt. 

“Yeah, erm why didn’t you tell Snape about the–” he gestured vaguely toward the classroom then made a kind of exploding motion with his hands. 

Cordelia Snorted. “I think I have better things to do than get the great Harry Potter expelled.” He immediately looked a little relieved. She rolled her eyes. “Besides, watching Malfoy’s nose swell up like a cantaloupe was bloody brilliant, Potter,” she let out a genuine laugh. 

Potter to her surprise flushed a bit at this. “Right, then um thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Looks like you owe me two now, Potter.” At this Harry blanched but was rescued by the Weasley boy calling for him and he rushed off. As Cordelia was watching him walk off, she heard a seething voice from behind her. 

“You knew Prince?” 

Cordelia whipped around to see Malfoy had just exited the classroom, after having apparently overheard the whole conversation. She scoffed, but Malfoy continued.

“Taking Potter’s side?” He spit out, “Pathetic.”

Cordelia’s nostril flared as all  her anger from the last month came rushing back. 

“Jealous Malfoy? Today isn’t the first time you’ve missed something right under your nose.” She gasped suddenly pointing behind his head. He turned in confusion. “Sorry, thought it was a snitch, I wouldn't want you to miss another one.” She snickered, as did a few other nearby students. 

The tips of Malfoy’s ears turned red, and he whipped back around to her. “Everyone knows Potter only made the team because he’s famous,” he sneered back.

“That’s rich coming from someone who’s daddy bought their way onto the team with new brooms!” Cordelia was furious and nearly yelling now. A crowd of the students had begun to form to watch the two’s screaming match. 

“What is he your boyfriend now? Are you a house traitor as well as a blood traitor–”

Cordelia cut him off shapely, “What are you on about Malfoy?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Someone from your bloodline hanging around a filthy mudblood like Davis? Disgusting.” He spit out pointing at Tracey, who was amongst the crowd watching the verbal sparring. She could see Tracey flinch at the slur. The fight didn’t stay verbal for long.

That comment directed at her friend was the last straw. Cordelia saw red, threw her potion book and bag onto the floor, and leaped forward, tackling Malfoy to the ground. He yelped as she landed right on top of him and reared up to land a rather hard punch to his right cheek bone, which immediately started to blossom red. Malfoy, now enraged and red in the face, threw his arm forward and managed to elbow her across the mouth. 

Cordelia grunted a bit and flinched back, a trace of something metallic hitting her tongue. Still furious, she hardly noticed, before once again rearing her arm back and smashing her fist across the same side of the blonde’s face. 

Malfoy let out a high-pitched groan and reached his arms up trying his best to get her into a headlock. The two brawled on the ground for a few moments while the throng of students jeered, until a voice bellowed above the crowd. 

“SILENCE! You two, enough!” Malfoy, who had a handful of Cordelia’s hair, was ripped away from her and hauled rather violently to his feet. She was greeted with the side prolife of an enraged Professor Snape. 

“WHAT do you think you're doing?!” Snape seethed at Malfoy nose to nose, then rounded on her. He pulled her to her feet in a considerably less aggressive manner than he had Malfoy, but his voice had lost none of the venom. 

“Two students from my own house, brawling in the hallway like barbarians?”

Malfoy opened his mouth to protest but one icy stare from Snape cut him off. “The rest of you begone! Go to your classes,” he commanded. The crowd dispersed and Cordelia caught Tracey’s downcast stare for a moment before she headed off. Professor Snape turned back to Cordelia and Malfoy. 

“This is unacceptable behavior from two students of Slytherin house. Two months detention for the both of you–” 

“But–” Malfoy attempted to interrupt, outraged, but Professor Snape cut him off again. 

“Another word, Malfoy and it will be three months.” 

At this Malfoy snapped his mouth closed. Meanwhile, Cordelia was staring at Malfoy with a look of absolute loathing. 

“Your detention will be up to my discretion, but believe me, it will be tedious and painful. Malfoy to class now,” he ordered coldly. He turned to Cordelia and produced a black handkerchief out of the pocket of his robes, handing it to her. She opened her mouth to question him and was immediately met with a sharp stinging pain. She pressed the handkerchief to her now oozing split lip. 

“Prince with me.” Professor Snape didn’t leave a lot of room for argument as he immediately headed down the corridor, his black robes billowing behind him. 

She took one more chance to glare at Malfoy, who was holding his now swelling cheek bone and sneering right back at her. Cordelia had to jog a little to catch up to Snapes brisk pace. What, is he gonna start my detention now? All she really wanted to do was go back to the common room to check on Tracey. She followed Snape out of the dungeons, through several corridors, up a few staircases, and to her surprise he came to a stop in front of the hospital wing. 

He stared down at her with an unreadable expression, before ushering her into the hospital wing and fetching Madam Pomfrey. 

“Miss Prince thought starting a brawl in the corridor was a bright idea,” he said dryly before taking his leave. Cordelia stood there utterly confused as Madam Pomfrey fretted over her split lip. While they were family, Snape never coddled her. He might occasionally seem to favor her in class, but this was different. He hadn’t marched Malfoy down to the hospital wing personally and he came out of their little row arguably worse. Was that actual concern? For my well being? 

Madam Pomfrey soon sent her on her way, split lip completely healed. As she walked back to the common room, she felt a surge of fondness for her gloomy, aloof cousin, who had just shown more care for her than her parents had in months.

~Previous Chapter

~Next Chapter

[misteria247]

Forgotten

Chapter Five

If looks could kill then Casey had a sneaking suspicion that he'd be dead where he currently sat. The vigilante suppressed a shiver as he felt the dark blue eyed gaze bore into him like an ant under a magnifying glass. Sitting across from him tied up by zip ties was the once believed dead Leonardo Hamato, the turtle glaring at him. From the moment him and April had brought him back to her apartment and he'd woken up, Leo had been glaring nonstop at the man. His gaze held nothing but distrust as he kept his gaze on Casey at all times. It was unnerving to have someone who was a friend look at him like that, to have him look at him like he was an enemy. Casey couldn't help but flick his eyes towards Leo, only to regret it instantly. Leo's stare held no friendly affection, no recognition, only barely concealed anger.

Casey had only seen this look a few times before. It was a look of someone who wouldn't hesitate to try and possibly hurt him if given half the chance to. It was a look that was often times directed at Leonardo's enemies, the look of a furious warrior who would show no mercy. Casey swallowed hard trying not to lose his cool. It made his stomach sink at seeing this nasty look being directed at him. Leo the kind and wise eldest son of his best friend was looking at him like he was a threat and it made him feel ill especially when he recalled what April had told him earlier in the van.

'Casey when he attacked me it.....it was like he didn't know who I was.....almost like he....he doesn't remember who we are....'

The man bit the inside of his cheek and clenched his fists in frustration. Now he understood what she'd been talking about. Casey had to bite back a frustrated groan as the gravity of the situation hit him. If Leo didn't know who they were then it'd make things difficult, especially if he didn't know who his family was.

'Oh god if that's the case.....Raph and the others are going to be crushed.'

Casey thought somewhat bitterly. After finally finding their friend they'd still in a way possibly lost him. The vigilante was taken out of his thoughts by April's shout.

"Wait Master Splinter I need to tell you-"

April stopped mid sentence before letting out a loud noise. Casey gave Leo a look over to make sure he wouldn't move from his position, which was met with an even nastier stare from said turtle before he made his way towards the kitchen where April was. Poking his head through the doorway he took in the roughed up look of April who was clutching her phone staring at it in a conflicted way.

"Ape....?"

Casey called out to her making her look up at him.

"I told him. He was.....shaken to put it bluntly. But I wasn't able to tell him about the uh....situation. Master Splinter hung up on me saying that he'd be here soon."

April mumbled running a hand through her hair. Casey bit back a swear realizing just how bad this was. With Leo being all murderous distrustful ninja mode, the meeting with his father and brothers could end very, very badly.

"What are we gonna do red?"

Casey asked keeping his voice low as to not get their guest even more riled up. April gave a small look, eyes conflicted before she answered him.

"We'll just....have to hope for the best and hope that things don't go straight to hell."

She responded her eyes flickering towards the living room where Leo was held in custody. She could barely make out the turtle from where she was sitting but she could see enough to notice that he was as strung up as a rubber band just waiting to snap at the tiniest amount of pressure.

'Please don't let this end badly.....'

~~~~~

'Leonardo's alive.'

The sentence rang through his head like a record, refusing to stop. Splinter stared at the phone that he'd just hung up, gripping his counter to keep himself from falling over from the shock and various other emotions that slammed into him. His son....was alive. After four years of grief and suffering Splinter was given a miracle. The old rat couldn't stop the sudden tears of joy from spilling over and he let out a choked sob. Leonardo was alive, his son was okay. Another choked noise came from him as he tried to get himself under control. It was surreal for him.

"Master Splinter....?"

A voice spoke up from the entryway of the kitchen. Splinter jumped at the voice being caught off guard for the first time in a long time. Turning towards the doorway his dark eyes met the twin hues of baby blue that belonged to his youngest son, Michelangelo. The turtle stiffened his eyes widened in concern as he saw the tears that stained his father's face.

"Dad-! What's wrong?"

Mikey said panicking as he made his way to him quickly looking the old rat over for any possible injuries. Splinter couldn't help but smile a watery smile at his son's concern and placed a hand on his cheek.

"I am okay my son. In fact I'm better than okay. I have been told the most wonderful news my son."

Splinter said in a somewhat choked tone. Mikey's eyes filled with confusion and he tilted his head a bit like a puppy.

"News? What kind of news Master Splinter?"

The turtle teen asked curious and somewhat cautious. The old master felt his heart twist at the cautious undertone in his child's voice. There was once a time when Mikey would only have curiousity in his voice, but when the tragedy happened his son had become more cautious with receiving news.

'Hopefully it'll be better once we bring him back home.'

Splinter thought warily before smiling at him.

"Go get your brothers and met me in the living room. This is something that they need to know as well."

Splinter answered vaguely, not wanting to say anything till all of his family was in the same room. Mikey gave him a small concerned look before nodding silently and going to do what his father had told him. Splinter watched his son leave the kitchen, letting out a sigh as he mentally prepared himself for the conversation that was to come. Leaving the kitchen as well he made his way towards the living room to wait for his family to be gathered.

~~~~~

Mikey woke up his brothers, his nerves on edge as he led them to the living room trying to ignore their questioning gazes. The youngest son had no idea what was going on but he couldn't help but feel uneasy. Something was going to change, big time. Something that would shake his family up all over again.

'I can't do this again. I can't do another strike.'

His heart cried out. While his father had said it was good news it still didn't help him feel at ease. He always felt like that these days, ever since the death of his older brother.

'Leo.....'

Mikey swallowed the sudden lump in his throat as he thought of Leo. Never in any circumstances did he dare to imagine not having any of his brothers in his life. They were his family, his role models and his protectors. Mikey loved his older brothers more than anything in this world and when he'd lost Leo it was as if someone had come and cut his heart out of his chest. It still haunted him even after four years.

Raphael coming home bloody and bruised.

The two broken swords that were lain in front of Master Splinter's feet.

The broken sobs that his older brother let loose and the sentence that ruined everything.

'He's gone....The Shredder he.....he killed him.....'

At that moment his worst fears had come to life in the most horrifying way possible. He could still hear the broken wails of Donnie, could still see the absolute devastation on his father's face as he broke, could still feel the sudden agonizing pain that overwhelmed him as he joined Donnie's sobbing. Mikey shook his head not wanting to burst into tears again over the memories that would forever haunt him. He needed to keep it together, especially for his family. He needed to be strong like Leo had been before he was cruelly ripped away from them. The turtle took a shaky breath, and nearly jumped when he felt a hand on his shell.

"You okay Mikey?"

Donnie asked softly, his reddish brown eyes knowing. The teen swallowed the sob that wanted to come out and gave Donnie a small smile.

"I'm good Donnie. Just wondering what the news is about."

Mikey answered, earning a huff like noise from Raph.

"Maybe that bastard finally got what was coming to him."

Raphael growled lowly making Michelangelo and Donatello look at him, their own expressions mirroring his. The two knew exactly what their older brother was referring to.

The Shredder.

"If that's it I'd throw a celebration party."

Mikey said simply though the barely concealed anger was heard in his voice. Donnie nodded stiffly, his mouth formed into a tight grimace. The three brothers all felt the ungodly hatred for their worst enemy, as soon as he had taken Leo away from them the trio had let their anger fester somewhat, especially Raph who was dying to get a crack at The Shredder.

"I'll help you decorate."

Raph said with a somewhat smirk. Donnie huffed slightly in somewhat exasperation while Mikey shot him a somewhat smile.

"Awesome dude."

He said. The trio found themselves in the living room shortly after, the sight of their master standing in front of the couch and recliner greeting them. The ninja master gestured towards the seats and the boys quickly sat down before waiting for their father to speak.

"I received a call tonight from April."

Splinter said eyes gazing at them. The brothers stiffened slightly surprised. Splinter continued.

"She has found something. Something important to us. She and Casey found him. They found Leonardo. He's alive my sons."

Splinter said simply, his tone soft. The room fell into a stunned silence, three pairs of eyes burning into their master with disbelief. It didn't last long however when Raph broke it, his voice booming somewhat.

"Leo....! He's alive?!? Then where the hell has he been????"

Raphael shouted his green eyes wide and filled to the brim with conflicting emotions. Donatello sat back in his seat, his eyes wide and frozen in shock as he tried to process this. Michelangelo on the other hand felt his eyes sting as he was overcome with emotion. Splinter gave Raph a small unreadable look.

"I do not know where he has been Raphael. I am hoping that he will explain to us when we go to see him."

Splinter answered soothing Raph's anger for the time being.

"We're....we're gonna go see him? Right now....?"

Mikey asked his voice thick and small. Splinter gave the youngest a smile his eyes alight with warmth.

"Yes we are my son."

He said softly. That was all that was needed before the three boys were out of their seats and going to grab their things.

"I've got to go get my medical kit, Leo's probably got some injuries knowing him."

Donatello rambled under his breath already rushing towards his lab to grab his things. Raphael and Michelangelo were also going towards their own destinations.

"When I see him I'm gonna sock him so hard, that absolute bastard-"

Raphael growled though it was clear to see that he was beaming with unbridled joy as he went to go get the shell raiser warmed up.

"I'm gonna have to make him his favorite dish as a welcome home surprise when we get him home!"

Michelangelo chirped sounding much like he used to be. Splinter smiled warmly as he watched his sons do their thing, feeling his chest well up with hope and happiness.

'Soon he'll be home. Just wait a little longer my son.'

~~~~~

He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there, tied up and being watched constantly by the two humans who had captured him. All he knew was that his wrists and head hurt and that he was scared and angry. He was angry at his thoughtless decision when he'd jumped them from the trees to protect his semi permanent home, he was angry that his mission to be undiscovered had backfired so horribly, he was angry that he was in this mess because of those strangers in his old home that forced him to run. But the thing that made him the angriest was the woman who made him hesitant for that split second. The way she had looked at him, like she couldn't believe what she was seeing, like she felt scared and betrayed by him. It had messed with him badly, making him pause for that precious moment. Not to mention the name that she had called him, the name that had been haunting him since that night when his world went to hell.

Leo.

She'd called him Leo.

The same name that those people who raided his old home had been searching for. It confused him and put him on edge, that he was being mistaken for this Leo person. He had no name, he was just a turtle who lived in the forest before he was forced to flee. He could hear the two humans whispering in the one room voices soft and frantic.

"So how are we gonna explain this April? Master Splinter and the guys are gonna be here soon and he's still looking at us like he wants to gut us!"

The masculine voice, Casey whispered harshly making him narrow his eyes even more in that direction. This human was really pushing his luck with him, after hitting him with that baseball bat and then tying him up like a pig to the slaughter.

"I don't know Casey, I'm hoping that maybe if he sees them....."

The feminine voice, April trailed off quietly.

"That it might jog something?"

Casey finished for her.

"Yeah."

April said softly. He bit back the urge to sigh as he leaned his head on the couch, trying to figure a way out of his predicament. He needed to get out of his bounds so he could escape. He didn't know what these humans wanted nor who this Master Splinter was but he wasn't going to stick around to find out.

'I've gotta get out of here, fast.'

He hissed as he struggled somewhat. He wished he still had his knife but that Casey guy took it from him. The turtle teen continued to struggle with the zip ties, becoming a bit more panicked when they wouldn't budge. He was going to be sold or killed or experimented on at this rate. He hissed as he felt the plastic cut into his wrists and he couldn't help but curse.

'This is it, I'm going to die aren't I?'

The thought made his stomach sink in horror as he realized that he couldn't get out. He felt the fear build up inside him as he tried not to hyperventilate. He should have stayed in his shack, he should have stayed in his forest. Coming to the city had been a terrible mistake and now he was paying the price for it. He was so lost in his turmoil he didn't realize that the front door had opened up and a voice rough and accented filled the air.

"Where is he??"

The voice nearly barked making him flinch in slight panic.

"Nice to see you too Raph. We'll show you in a moment but me and April gotta tell you something-"

Casey's voice answered the one before another voice called out, this one childish and desperate.

"Where's Leo??? You said he'd be here???? Why hasn't he come to greet us???"

The voice questioned before the sound of footsteps could be heard storming into the apartment.

"Mikey wait-!!"

April's voice called out somewhat rushed as the footsteps drew closer to the living room followed by several others. He stiffened, desperately wanting to disappear. He was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. The turtle teen bit his lip hard the taste of copper filling his mouth as he braced himself for the inevitable humans. Instead what he got left him winded. The footsteps stopped in the doorway of the living room before a small gasp was heard. He looked up at the noise and felt the breath leave his lungs. Standing by the doorway was another turtle.

Just like him.

The turtle was frozen in the doorway, his baby blue eyes wide and stunned. Unshed tears were gathered in the corners of them and he wore a bright orange cloth around his eyes. Light green skin covered in freckles and twin weapons hung from his hips.

'Nunchucks.'

His brain supplied making him pause for a moment before the turtle in front of him was joined by others. His dark blue eyes went wide as two other turtles and a giant rat filled the room, their stares the same as the orange turtle. April and Casey were the last ones to join them. He sat there unable to process everything.

There was more of him.

He wasn't the only one.

"L-Leo....?"

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the orange turtle, who looked at him with a somewhat confused and broken look. A sudden swear made him snap his head away from him towards the other turtle.

"What the shell happened to him?!? Casey did you do this to him???"

The accented voice came out of the other turtle. This one was dark green in his skin, and had bright green eyes filled with confusion and anger. A red cloth was around his eyes and he too had weapons on his hips.

'Sais.'

His brain again supplied for him.

"Oh God Leo....! He's bleeding what the hell happened?!?"

The last turtle finally spoke up, his voice smooth yet high strung with barely concealed horror and anger. The last turtle had light green skin and was somewhat taller than the other two. He had reddish brown eyes and a purple cloth that surrounded them. His weapon however was on his back.

'Bo Staff.'

He felt himself getting annoyed with his brain supplying him with this knowledge that he didn't know before another voice this one soft and soothing spoke out.

"My son....what happened to you, who did this to you?"

He looked to the last figure in the room. The rat was older than the turtles and wore a dark colored rob and held a staff in his hand that he somewhat leaned on. His fur was a mixture of browns, whites and blacks and his eyes, a dark brown were looking at him with such a tender look that it made him flinch. The orange turtle moved towards him, a hand reaching out for him somewhat hesitantly.

"Bro.....?"

He asked softly his voice wavering as he went to touch him. The captive turtle looked at the group of unfamiliar faces, his eyes that were once full of panic narrowing into a threatening look when he noticed the orange one trying to touch him. A sudden silence filled the room as the air grew thick with sudden tension.

"I don't know who this Leo is but if you touch me so help me I will end you."

He spat out coldly, his eyes hard and indifferent. The orange turtle flinched harshly like he'd just been slapped. The other two turtles and the old rat froze, their expressions stunned for a moment. He continued to glare in a nasty manner refusing to show how afraid he truly was. April bit her lip and Casey swore. The swear caught the red turtle's attention, the once stunned expression turning into barely contained anger.

"You'd better start explaining Jones."

He snarled his green hues poisonous. Casey looked at the faces that were now staring at him and April before letting out a small exhausted sigh.

"Ya may want to sit down for this one Raph, cause it's a long story."

*Well then things took a rather upsetting turn didn't they? (I'm so sorry Mikey I didn't mean to hurt you baby boy-). Anyways we've finally gotten the fam reunited but it's unfortunately far from the happy reunion they were picturing sgdgdhfh. And our poor boy Leo is lowkey freaking out. Now for this story I want to make clear that it's not really set in a main universe. It's basically a little bit of all the Tmnt franchises I've seen. So while the boys have their 2012 versions looks they also have some of their other versions personalities like from 2003 to 1990 to 2018. Ya get the point, it's basically freeform and up to the reader to decide which one they wanna go with. I'm sorry I wasn't go at explaining that in the last chapter it was late when I'd posted it and I was tired lol. Anyways if any y'all read this I hope you enjoyed it!!!*

[katehuntington]

Title: Three Days Ago Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester (Sam Winchester & Castiel mentioned) Pairing: Dean x Reader Summary: Dean and Y/N finally decide to settle down. But before they do, they take on one more case, which will turn out to be their last. Warnings: ANGST with a capital ‘A’! Canon typical violence, description of blood and injury, panic, major character death, grief. Seriously, do not read in public if you don’t like crying in a crowd. Word Count: 3514 words Author’s note: Grab your tissues, hurdle up in a burrito of sadness, because this is gonna be sad. @kittenofdoomage said: “Well, that was rude,” @wingedcatninja: “HOW. DARE. YOU.” and @winchest09 asked: “Why? Why do you do this to me?” So on that note, I hope you all enjoy!

     Three days ago, you and Dean had the talk. About quitting the job, about getting your own place, maybe even start a family. It has been occasionally discussed before over the years, but always jokingly, always the sarcastic ‘as if’. Dean and you are both realists. You know you will most likely die in armor. There is no happy ending in the cards. Every time the hunters took out an enemy, new ones would arise. The war never seemed to end, you were always covered in blood and bruises, always neck deep in trouble, fighting some impossible greater power that was way above your pay grade. And so you both laughed at the idea, like neither of you could picture it, while deep down both longed for that kind of peace. 

     One time, while driving through the night with Sam fast asleep in the back seat, the two of you fantasized about living a normal life. How it would be to have a home that isn’t a bunker, with windows that would allow sunlight to peek through the curtains. A house where the floors creak and the roof tiles tick when autumn rain pelts down. Maybe a house with a porch or a deck, with a view over a lake, so that Dean could spend his retirement fishing. A house like the cute cabin in Grand Mesa, Colorado, that you spotted on a real estate website. Dean doesn’t know, but you’ve been keeping an eye on the property, feeling a hint of relief every time you went online and found it to still be for sale. Even though the chances of ever living there are slimmer than winning the lottery, you couldn’t help yourself. 

     That is, until the final big bad was defeated. All there is left now are the little cases. The little cases that other hunters would have no problem with, the little cases that aren’t worth dying for. After decades of fighting a battle against what hides in the shadows and threatens mankind, you and Dean have decided the time has come to lay down the weapons. Your hunting days will soon be over, you were finally going to settle down with the man you love. So when Dean came across a suspicious news article and convinced you to work the case, you promised yourself: one last job. 

     Three days ago, the two of you went on that final hunt, having no idea that this case would end so much more.

      “Dean!”

     The damage is done before you can blink, let alone prevent it from happening. With a gun trapped and steady between both hands, you hurry around the corner and enter a dark alley in one of the neglected neighborhoods of Chicago. The hunter you care so much for comes into view, pushed against the brick wall by the shapeshifter that’s wearing your skin. Making a split second decision, you fire two silver bullets. Both hit the shifter in the chest, one piercing its heart. When the creature turns to you, horrified, the light coming from the lamppost on the corner of the street hits its eyes, igniting them to flash abnormally bright one last time. Then the spitting image of yourself crumbles to the ground, a fist clasped around the handle of the knife, pulling the weapon from Dean’s chest. 

     Every detail is clear, your senses heightened by the adrenaline. It all happens so fast, yet you are very much aware of every detail of what’s playing out in front of you. The fresh crimson on the blade, the gasp that escapes from Dean’s lungs as the knife is roughly drawn from his flesh, your racing heartbeat drumming in your ears, triggering a crippling state of inner panic. You lower the gun, big eyes watching him in shock as he turns his head to meet your gaze. A desperate, hopeless shade of emerald green, begging you silently to catch him before he collapses.

     You start to run towards him, but his legs give out. Unable to stay on his feet Dean slides down against the brick wall, but before he tumbles over to the side, you grab him and keep him vertical. 

     “I got you. I got you now. Hey hey hey…”       You force him to look into your eyes, your hand firmly on the back of his neck, holding him upright. Damn, he took a good punch. Two nasty gashes on his brow and cheekbone allow blood to drip down his face, but the red substance that is pooling on his bottom lip and starts to drip down his nose is not just a result from the beat down. It’s coming from deep within, filling his lungs, creeping up his throat. 

     You hastily shrug off your flannel shirt, first one arm, then the other, so that you can keep him steady. After folding it into a ball, you move his denim jacket aside to witness the stabwound between his ribs. For a short second you just stare at the stain that evens out the colors of his plaid shirt in one dark tone of red, growing larger with each passing moment. The image translates in your mind, setting it in overdrive. 

     “Cas!!!” you yell up to the sky.      You know he can’t hear you, you know Castiel doesn’t have the power to heal Dean either, not at this moment anyway. Still, you hope for a miracle, looking up at the tainted clouds above, painted in a hue of purple from the city lights. You call out for the angel again, but nothing happens, and so you return your teary eyes back to the hunter. The look he returns petrifies you to a degree that it can be felt in your deepest core, because besides the mixture of fear and pain, you notice something else. Sympathy for having to leave you for good this time. Acceptance of the inevitable fate that lies before him. Then you know. Dean is going to die tonight.

     You could give up. Now that you realize all hope is lost, you could stop fighting. But you can’t. You can’t give up on him. Not now, not ever. The small voice that tells you to stop your attempt to save the man you love, causes your hands to tremble and your heart to race, but you are calmed by the strong minded will that wants to keep him alive.       “This is going to hurt a little,” you warn, before you press the bundled fabric against the injury, doing your best to stop the severe bleeding.       Dean groans in agony when you apply pressure, grinding his teeth in the process as he does is very best to keep pulling in breaths.      “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Shhh…” you hush him, pulling out your phone and dialing 9-1-1.      “Y/N… don’t bother,” he says.      “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that,” you return, stern yet broken. “We’ll do this the old fashioned way, alright? All we gotta do is get you to a hospital and they will fix this. You’re gonna be fine. You're gonna be just fine.”

     You’re not just trying to convince him as you keep repeating the mantra in your head, but who are you fooling? Certainly not Dean, who watches you with empathy as you press the cellphone between your shoulder and your ear. The operator asks what your emergency is.       “I need an ambulance! M-my boyfriend just got stabbed in the chest and he’s - he’s losing a lot of blood. You’ve gotta send someone quick,” you tell the woman on the other end of the line, trying your best to get the message across best as you can.      “Okay, m’am. Help is on the way. What’s your location?”      You quickly glance at the corner of the street, trying to find a street sign. There isn't one, but years of experience in hunting and tracking pay off. You only need a fraction of a second to determine where you are, going on observations and memory of your chase that led you in this dark and empty street.       “I'm in a back alley of N. Morgan Street, right next to the ‘L’,” you explain, returning your focus to Dean.      “I’m dispatching units to your location right now. Is your boyfriend responsive?”      “Yes. Yes, he is,” you reply. “He's conscious.”

     You observe the oldest Winchester, witnessing how the flare in his eyes slowly starts to die down. He has a calm over him that seems foreign, at terms with the inevitable. Dean, who never backs out of a fight, who keeps throwing punches no matter what, has accepted his fate. The sight causes tears to fill your eyes again, desperately clinging to your lashes. You can't let them fall. If the tears fall, you will acknowledge it. If the tears fall, you will admit that you are about to lose him.      “What’s your name?”      You snap your attention back to the operator, who tries to gain more information. For a second your mind rushes through your aliases, deciding which one to give the woman on the phone, but then Dean’s head slowly dips in your hand as his eyelids become heavy.      “Dean? No no no no. Stay with me now,” you respond panicky, quickly dropping the phone to the concrete in order to hold him up.      “Look at me. Look at me. Dean?!”      Frantically you cup his face, trying to get him to focus on you again. Your thumb rubs his scruffy cheek lovingly as you pray for him to hang on. Someone seems to listen to the request, though, because his eyes flutter open again, able to take you in once more. 

     “They’re on their way, Dean. You just have to hold on a little bit longer, alright?” you say, emotion thick on your voice. “Tell me something.”      “Tell you what?” he asks, weakly.      You shrug, because honestly, all you want is to hear his voice.      “Anything. A stupid joke, a funny story. Just keep talking to me.”      A small smile appears on his lips while thoughts form in his head. Something in his warm eyes changes as he seems to figure out what to say to you. You can tell it’s a message he needs to get across, last requests and pleas for promises.      “W - will you do me a favor? Sammy, he's gonna be devastated--”      “- Dean,” you object, knowing where this is going.      “Y/N, please let me say this,” he whispers, weakening by the second. “I'm not sure how much time I've got here.”

     You want to interrupt him, yell at him to stop talking like he is going to die. Because you still want to believe that he isn't. You still want to believe that the two of you will have your happy ending. But you let him continue, as the tears finally fall. Reluctantly admitting, acknowledging, the last spark of naivety slipping away.       The hand that is clenching the piece of clothing against the wound, hesitatingly loosens grip on the fabric. Eventually you let go completely, allowing the dam to break. Dean sighs relieved when the painful pressure is taken away from his chest and then looks into your glistening eyes. Despite his deteriorating condition his hand now reaches for yours, rubbing his thumb over your bloody skin comfortingly, then gripping it tight.

     “Promise me--” He inhales sharply, trying to get enough air in to deliver his message. “- that you will look after my little brother. Make sure he doesn't do anything suicidal... And let him look after you too. Don't go through this alone, okay?”      A burn ignites in your chest, the hurting flames firing up your throat as you lower your gaze, unable to hold yourself up. Actual physical pain, caused by heartbreak. Nonetheless, you promise with a nod.       “One other thing. Now this… this is important.”       His voice gains a little strength, drawing your eyes back to his. His pupils are dilated slightly, the darkness of the alley surrounding them this dreadful evening, but the beautiful shade of jade that has always captivated you is still noticeable. You take him in, trying to look past the blood, past the bruising.      “Promise me you'll quit hunting.” Dean pleads.

     Your jaw lowers a little as you stare at him. Not nearly confident enough to take a leap that substantial, especially now that you are going to have to make it on your own, you shake your head frantically, and look down again.       “Dean, I can't,” you resist.      “Yeah, you can,” he pauses, trying to catch his breath.      You watch him struggle, blood coloring his teeth red as it gathers in his mouth. Despite that the shadows are closing in on him, he clears his throat.      “You’re talented, Y/N. You’re capable of so much more,” he says, smiling lovingly as he watches you. “Go get that degree you’ve always wanted, buy that little house by the lake that you’ve been checking on for months now. But don't dwell on revenge, okay? Leave this life behind.”      “How the hell am I supposed to do that without you, huh?” you reply, whimpering.       “It’s gonna be easier to move on from being a hunter now that I won't be there to slow you down.”

     As he swallows apprehensively, he glances down at his hand on yours. The message shocks you at first, but quickly transforms into compassion when the true meaning of his words settles in. Moved, you run your fingers through his hair as you support his head, trying to get through to him.       “You picked me up when I was at my worst, you took me for the mess I was and you made me into a better person. So don't you dare think that there has ever been a moment in my life that you were a burden, you hear me?” you say, the words coming out strong, contradicting the tears that stream down your face.      For the first time you witness a glazed fog in his eyes, not caused by the pain he is suffering from, but surfaced by your moving words. You know he needed to hear that, because he would never be able to convince himself of that fact. The guilt doesn't leave his weary mind completely, though.

     “I - I’ve done many stupid things in my life, but you know what I regret most?” Dean continues.      You shake your head, waiting in suspense as he coughs violently. He settles, though, and you wipe the blood away that drips from the corner of his mouth.      “Not settling down with you,” he continues. “Not taking the chance that was right in front of me. I waited too long, and I - I was too damn scared to let my guard down, that I drove right by the exit…”      You hush him, trying to ease the man who carries so much on his shoulders still.      “Hey hey… It’s alright,” you say, softly. “You know why? You didn't have to take that exit. I was right there on that highway trying to hitch a ride. Look who stopped and let me in, huh?”      You smile through the hurt and Dean mirrors your expression as he blinks slowly.      “It's been one hell of a ride,” he whispers, his flooding lungs making it difficult to speak.      “It sure has,” you chuckle, trying to mask a sniffle. “And I wouldn't have missed it for the world.”

     Fingertips try to break the trail of blood that has come down his handsome face when he closes his eyes again, pulling in a shallow breath with difficulty, trying to cope with the pain. It kills you to see him like this, to watch him stall, trying desperately to stay with you for a little while longer. He’s living on borrowed time.

     “You need to know something, too,” you start, steadying him with both hands now, cupping his face.       His eyelids part again, but he can barely focus. He is beginning to weigh heavily on you and it is petrifying to see how the strength oozes from his body. As his heartbeat slows to a worrying low pace, yours speeds up. Tears have now carved shimmering lines in your cheeks as you tremble, not ready for the moment that is about to come.      “I love you, Dean. You know that, right?” you say, falling apart.      Going on fumes, he looks up into your eyes, as the corner of his mouth twitches. There is no actual answer to your insecure question, but the line parting his lips growing further into a small smile says it all. Pupils bouncing over your features, trying to imprint this image in his mind, so that he can take the memory with him to wherever he will go in the afterlife. It’s the last thing he is going to see.       “Kiss me,” he breathes, barely audible.

     You lovingly stroke his cheek with your thumb as more tears spill from your eyes. Willingly, you come closer until you’ve closed the gap between the two of you completely, pressing a gentle kiss on his mouth. You are the one who he wants to feel in his final seconds. You are his last wish.      As his lips move over yours, dwelling in the moment, you understand that this is his way of saying ‘I love you, too’. His taste that is so familiar to you, has mixed with the metallic flavor of blood, but you try not to think of that matter. Memories of all your epic moments with him flash through your mind, and God, how beautiful those memories are. 

     4th of July on an empty desert road on the hood of the Impala, beer instead of champagne, shooting stars instead of fireworks. Driving across the country for a Bob Seger concert and ending up right in front of the stage, you dancing freely and him singing along every word. The first time he took your hand in his while riding down the 101 in California, finally allowing himself to fall for you. The first time you kissed him under the traffic lights, stretching the moment until the lights turned green and the cars behind you started honking, but neither of you cared. All you want is to make more of these memories, for those intimate moments to carry on. But they will not. This is going to be the final moment you will share. So you put all the love you carry for him in this last kiss, just like you did in the first.

     You feel his last breath on your lips without realizing it. It’s only when he fails to respond to your touch, that you freeze. Paralyzed, you wait as fear of your worst nightmare coming true begins to crawl up your throat, closing it off. You slowly remove your lips from his, not ready to look at his motionless face that you still hold in your hands.       “Dean?”      His eyes are closed, like he’s sleeping and could wake up at any second, but the silence is horrifying. Frightened by what is right in front of you, your fingers slip down to his neck, desperately trying to find a pulse. You relocate your fingertips on his artery in denial, looking for a heartbeat, a breath, any sign of life.       “No no no no…” you speak again, repeating his name more forceful. “Dean!”

     Unable to accept what has in fact become reality, you shake your head as you keep holding Dean up, unable to bare feeling him slip from your hands. Desperately, you try to force him to feel your touch once more, running your fingers through his hair, caressing his clammy skin, as you whisper to yourself in order to keep calm. This is not happening. This can't be happening. This must be a very, very twisted dream. This is not real, this is not real, this is not real.

     But it is. It is real. And just like that, your light is gone.

     Your breath hitches in your throat and the confirmation hits you like a freight train. You let his lifeless body slip against your chest as you fold your arms around him, letting his head rest on your shoulder. A heart wrenching cry reverberates through the back alley. Unable to breathe you struggle to let the cool air fill your lungs, so unsettled by the loss of the man that you love, that you can’t imagine yourself ever getting up again. As sirens approach in the distance and echo between the concrete of Chicago, you hold Dean close, your tears mixing with his blood, your wailing breaking the silence.

     Three days ago, you were faced with a choice and made the wrong one.      Three days ago, you could have decided to spend the rest of your lives in peace, but you promised yourself, one last job.       Three days ago, it wasn't Dean who drove past the exit. It was you.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

This work is written by me, Kate Huntington, and it is under no circumstances allowed to copy my work.

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[doyoubelievein-ghosts]

Mazarin, Smiley & Smoke: Annals

Charm, the City of Ten Splendors. Court of Singers District. Eastern side of the river.

The Masters of Charm, three disowned bastards from three of the Great Families of Andrastus, have been at war with their sister city of Rose for a year now. The last three months of that war culminated into the present siege on the fair city of Charm; a grueling conflict of attrition as the Rose soldiers and their allies from the scoured wastes of Dar took the districts of the western bank week by week. Fighting the holdouts of the Charm army and the collection of mercenary companies that the Masters hired to hold the bridges connecting the halves of the city. 

Three companies for three bridges; and only one remained. The Legion, a band of sellswords from the far eastern lands, proved to be the latchkey for the entire siege. Holding out at the Pearl Gate's bridge fort and repelling attacks from all fronts. Now for the last month the enemy's settled on starving out the Legion while attempting to find ways to either repair the two other destroyed bridges or begin a siege camp on the other side. 

The citizens of Charm's western front eked out a life under siege; stealing and ransacking, murdering in cold blood and taking everything that could be eaten or sold to the black market.Things were different on the eastern bank of the river. Charm's affluent merchants and minor nobles always made their homes on the eastern side, and as a result the city's better conveniences were there as well. Better roads, schools and museums. The actual barracks for Charm's army was in the eastern side and most of the city's standing force were present, leaving all the fighting to their sellsword counterparts while licking their wounds. 

All things were truly quiet on the eastern side, save for the Court of Singers. When the medical triages were overflowing from designated sites, the Masters of Charm permitted the Court of Singers to be used as an extended field hospital. And now where once the city's finest actors and patrons of the arts lived and loved, the screams and groans of soldiers dying or pleading for life. While it was spacious to accommodate the injured, there weren't as nearly enough supplies to go around the injured. 

None of the army's officers were present, and neither were any of noble blood. Those injured benefitted from private physicians as provided by their families, leaving the grunt soldiers to live hour by hour on the passing hope that there'd be enough painkillers or clean bandages to go through the night.It made matters worse when the soldiers from Dar started tossing the dead from the initial battle into the river, polluting the city's major water source from use.

\\More often than not, the upper echelons of war reduced a battle to numbers. How many had survived? What was the number of the injured? How many were dead? Number after number, tally after tally. All to come to the single, most important number: how many bodies need to be replaced? Pawns across a vast game board, taking a square or losing one.\\

\\Having to consider the remains; those injured, rarely factored in.\\

\\He is a strange sight, this exceptionally tall individual with strange grey-blue skin, long cattle scooped ears and a curiously flat snout nose. Blues and pinks, and mint greens adorned him, with a large pack on his back. A tall, curved wooden staff topped with a gem as pink as his long, trailing hair kept pace with his step in a three legged gait. A single thin braid of white and red hair trailed down over his shoulder, mixed in with the pink, and a brooch sat clipped to his powder blue tunic. Angel wings surrounding a crying eye.\\

\\He doesn't hide his approach, nor does he call attention to his approach. Simply entering the Court of Singers with purpose and a kindly survey of the situation and the dying.\\

Mazarin's presence was an announcement of itself. Standing well over a head taller than most of the local populace of Charm, the man would have a tall surveillance of the situation that was in place. A sea of tents and pavilion structures were set up to house those in the midst of recovery in varying stages. Sectioned off by wooden walls and cloth barriers to prevent the sight of some more gristlier results from several surgeries. The operating rooms themselves seem to be taking place in the surrounding buildings of the Court's massive rotunda shape center; theaters and tap houses now repurposed for surgeons to amputate and sew up stomach lining with meager means.

Nurses and other sorts of medics were in a constant stream of movement between the tents and buildings. Eyes either worn or glazed over with the amount of work that was always tugging at them. Always a soldier crying for help; always an officer from the army to deliver supplies that were always short in some way or another. Starvation and dehydration would kill many more than those who fell by the initial battle.

It's currently in the afternoon too.

\\It wasn't an uncommon sight for him. An unfortunate fact that slipped through and was lost like smoke in the wind as he immediately made his way to the closest tents or buildings. Happy to pass out what little food and water he had in his own pack while looking for whomever seemed to be in charge of the area.\\

It's a strange sight this far out, but Mazarin's efforts are quickly realized. What food is given is gobbled up too quickly for it to be digested properly; water gulped down until they started coughing. Little blessings, but also blood in a pool full of piranha hungry for life.

His charitable acts get acknowledged soon by one of the nurses, who does get a supervisor wearing a network of chains and coins along her neck. 

A short woman with a shaved head and shrewd features, she approaches Mazarin and clasps her hands in front, looking over the tall stranger before settling a pale eye on the symbol he bore. She speaks, saying two different phrases in two different tongues before speaking one that Mazarin would recognize. "What brings you to our work here?"

\\No, it would do very little in the grand scheme perhaps. But a little went a long way as he'd come to learn. It might offer a moment's respite to hang on to hope for just a little while longer. He slows as the short woman comes to him, breaking into a slow, wide smile as she flipped through languages before coming to one he actually recognized. Leaning on the staff to lower down a few inches closer to her, large bovine almond eyes light up.\\ Ah.... I came... to see. \\A pause, while one long ear flutters with the glint of wooden swirled earrings.\\ If I could... offer you aid.

Her eyes narrowed again, peering at the man's accoutrement and gear before glancing again to the symbol. "I have seen this symbol before. Long ago. Heard stories of the healers from Barta."

Another scrutinizing glance to the man's face and all of its peculiarities. Either she knew what Mazarin was, or just accepted that all easterners were strange folk. She lifts a hand and indicates Mazarin to follow before turning to walk towards one of the tents to the farther side of the court. She speaks lowly, but manages to pitch her voice directly at the Panyar too. "We don't have much supplies, and even less for hope. Many will die here."

She opens the flap to one tent that is sectioned off into eights by cloth barriers. Tuns to the nearest one on the left that was occupied. The patient inside had a bandaged arm with what was obviously a nasty cut that was starting to turn colors on the skin. A sheen of sweat was already on the soldier's skin as she was under the influence of some painkilling drugs. The supervisor speaks on. "I hear stories, but anyone can wear a brand, or an amulet. Show me the truth in your hands."

\\Everything is brightly colored and whimsical. Pleasing to the senses with drifting designs.\\ Story... no more, my friend. \\His smile widened further, genuine and kind as the woman studied him over. She was odd, to him. Idle thoughts wondering why she'd shaved her head.\\ That is... the way. But... 

\\He paused again, attention drifting as he followed the woman as if he'd forgotten his train of thought. Time passing before he picked it up again as if he hadn't stopped at all.\\ Even a few saved... is important.

\\He stooped as she opened the flap, tilting his staff to let him enter the small space. Half crouching until he could straighten enough for comfort while looking down at the patient the woman was offering up as a test.\\ Completely understandable. 

\\Warm and gentle, as he hunched over the soldier, propping his staff up against the bed lightly so he could take the woman's arm in his large grasp.\\ You best... hm.. pay attention. \\He doesn't wait long for the medic to get in place, lightly cupping his long fingers around the bandages to remove them softly. Getting a better view of the injury itself before sliding his hand in a ghostly hover over the gash. Mumbling in a softly flowing litany of words to let the golden brush of feathery light to drip through the soldier's blood and muscle to purge the infection and knit the cut together once more.\\

\\As he does, the bare skin of his mirrored arm slashes open, oozing sluggishly as the nasty, putrid hues that had been on the soldier, blotch over his flesh instead.\\

The supervisor stood to the opposite side of the soldier's cot, eyes hawkishly on Mazarin's hands as. She was clearly surprised when he did not reach for the physician's kit in the room, performing a miraculous act before her eyes. A wound that might've claimed the soldier's arm and maimed her for life was no gone. Sun branded skin with the few scars she's accrued over her own natural life; not a hint to show that one of Asrika's followers had come to her today.

Looking to the wound now on Mazarin's hand, the supervisor thumbed over one of the many linked coins around her neck, thinking of what to say before the words finally came. "The nurse's quarters are full as they are here, but there is a house near the waterfront that may take you in." She looks around the tent, seeing no one around. "It is a noticeable place. Faded blue rooftop and a wall broken from the siege. Go there and tell them Quaithe sent you. A room and food will be given, and you may begin your work here tomorrow morning."

That will... be perfect. \\He gently set down the soldier's arm, placing it neatly back at her side while sweeping away the pus and blood crusted bandages.\\ I will... go there. And return in the morning. \\His arm must have ached, and surely the fever would be spreading through his body. He was all light though, reaching to take up his staff once more as he looked over the curious sprinkle of coins decorating her collar.\\ If you... do need me... sooner. \\Large eyes moved to his own arm, thoughtfully humming before continuing.\\ You... may ask... for Mazarin.

Quaithe nods, bending down to kneel besides the soldier to check her fever. Secured in the knowledge that she would live it seems, the supervisor rose up and opened the cloth partition for Mazarin; leading him back among the sea of tents towards the south western edge of the Court of Singers. Right on the end of it she would extend a hand and provide brief instructions for Mazarin to follow. They were of course all things that could be recognized from an outsider's eyes; the shape of some building, the color of a rooftop and the statue of some kind or another than actual streets and names.

Following the the directions Mazarin would find himself approaching to the only part of the eastern riverside that appeared to have taken damage during the siege's first few months. A few buildings had caught the stray projectile and now wore sloped rubble that had yet to be cleared away from the roads.

It was still bearable to look at compared to much of the western bank. While it hadn't been completely annihilated, Mazarin could be certain that over there were many more injured with much less means of taking care of themselves.

He'd eventually find the building in question facing the polluted river that had the odd body floating down the way. It was a lengthy walk, now coming closer to the cusp of evening as Mazarin finds the front of the home facing the street and river. There was only one person out in the front, a stern and grizzled looking bouncer sort of character with tattoos over his sagging jowls and pierced cheekbones.

\\Calm and serene as a lazily winding river, he waited for Quaithe to come to her conclusions with only the idle flick of his long ears to give movement to the otherwise still Panyar. When she rose, he followed her, moving at a slow pace that still managed to eat up distance with his long legs. He appeared to listen closely to the instructions, thanking her with a hand over his breast before moving on. Unfortunately... he finds himself a little lost after a wrong turn as he made his way to the building Quaithe had told him to go to. After precious minutes of backtracking and finding a statue the woman had mentioned, he gets back on the right track. Not that he seemed to have minded in the slightest the inconvenience; Mazarin was happy to let the wind blow him one way or another and see the sights of the side of town that had suffered far less than the other.\\

\\It's a little later in the evening than he had intended to get there, but the tall Panyar comes plodding up to the building after spending a minute watching the dead body float down the river.\\ Hello, friend. \\Mazarin smiles at the grizzled fellow benignly.\\

The man gives a surly look over of Mazarin before leaning to the side and spitting out a wob of brown colored phlegm. He gives a reply to Mazarin that the Panyar wouldn't pick up on. It sounded similar to one of the languages Quaithe had tried with him, but at a severely hampered accent.

Hmmmmm.... \\Still and humming in thought, Mazarin stood there for a lengthy minute. Blinking slowly, like a cow at pasture with all the time in the world.\\ Quaithe?

\\His head slowly turns one way and then the other to be sure he did have the right place.\\

Recognition flickers over the bouncer's face. Hooks a thumb to the door on his left side.

\\He breaks into his slow grin again, eyes crinkling before he turned to plod to the door and enter the building. Another press of his hand to his chest in a show of silent gratitude, the wound stretching with a hot reminder of its existence.\\

Having to stoop low underneath the doorway, Mazarin comes into a spacious home that might've been a merchant's manor or a minor noble's riverside getaway. Now it was a half hovel, half smelling refuge for many unwashed bodies that were in the space. Fifteen bodies in total, each having scars, tattoos, and piercings that were all varied but similar to the one man outside. 

There was the main room, a sweeping staircase to the second floor, and an open archway that lead to a dining room that had the shadow of people inside being thrown to the wall by a fireplace. Two figures were on the stair causes on the higher rungs, armed with cudgels and daggers strapped to their belts giving Mazarin a look over with hawkish eyes.

\\Stoop he does, ducking extra low on instinct of too many banged brows on doorframes. When he stepped in proper, he straightened as much as he could and leaned against his staff.\\ Hello, friends. 

\\Whether or not he registered their dirty, seedy appearances wasn't clear. His smile for them all just as genuine as it had been for Quaithe and any one else on the street he had come across on his meandering way over. He begins a new meandering path, this one slowly heading for the dining room area, hardly seeming to mind the hard stares. Water right off a duck's back feathers.\\

Eyes follow after Mazarin as he comes into the dining hall. There are several figures too, gathered around one end of the table and pouring over what seemed to be a map of some kind. They stopped, looking up to the tall figure that Mazarin projected even with his lack-a-daisy nature. They exchanges glances, and one straightens to stand up fully. A bald man with a snake tattooed around his head like a circlet.

The snake headed man also speaks in different languages until one rings true on Mazarin's ear. "Again, who the hell are you?"

\\Ambling into the dining hall, he cast a long look over the space with a leisurely turn of his head to find a spot to sit down where he could stretch his legs out comfortably. He'd just begun to head to a spot when the familiar language tickled in his ear and it flicked with a clicking of his wooden earrings. He peered down at the tattooed man.\\ 

Ah.... Forgive me. Hm. I didn't think... anyone spoke my... language. 

You may... call me... \\He stops in a gradual halt of his carrying voice, large eyes lighting on the map while blinking slowly.\\ Hmm.... Mazarin.

"Mazarin", The snake tattooed man said, exchanging a look between his cohorts before speaking in their own language. A few exchanges and the man nods to the Panyar's way. "If you're here then it's with Quaithe's instruction. Here about a room?"

And... you? \\Almost as if in afterthought with how long it takes for him to ask. Then he nodded, rustling his long pink hair with its strangely colored braid.\\ A room... and food. If... there's any. \\He placed his hand to his stomach, over the thin fabric of his tunic. Arm pulsing hotly with the motion while his eyes slitted down to a lean amber glint.\\ To spare.

He glances to a person over Mazarin's shoulder before speaking again. "Yeah, we'll get you set with a room and meal. Don't you worry, there's plenty enough to go around."

There's a whiff of air coming to Mazarin's ear before a heavy, studded cudgel hits the Panyar square in the temple. A moment later two burly armed men were grabbing for Mazarin's arms to arrest, digging knees to the back of Mazarin's knees to send them crashing to the stone floor.

\\His ear flicks at the whiff of air, head tilting as if to look behind him. The cudgel slams into the side of his face, sending spots of light flashing and winking across his vision while staggering under the blow with a loud grunt. An arm gets caught, shoulder dropping under the weight while he snapped his other wrist to flick the butt of his staff up with a hitch and then smash it down into the man's foot, right at the ankle to shatter the joint through whatever raggedy boot he might be wearing. A knee buckles, and he tries to dig his fingers into the shirt of the other man next to him, to drag him down with deceptive strength to topple one of them off balance on his way, to shake off one of them at least. Head ringing with a droning whine.\\

A thug curses a litany of swears right at Mazarin's ear as the staff hits the ankle with a meaty hit. The other one buckles, wrestling for footing underneath Mazarin's hard tugging and still holding onto Mazarin's arm. The third thug raised and struck the Panyar again with the cudgel as the other one raised a foot to kick against Mazarin's kneecap.

The snake tattooed man made a passing remark, which the two nearest replied with chortles. Another sentence, this one obviously a command, and the three thugs would wrestle and drag Mazarin from the dining hall and back to the main room where the other fifteen thugs were loitering about.

They all had daggers and cudgels at the ready, a few giving jeering calls to the latest prize of theirs brought back to view.

Then one of the thugs right in the doorway sprouted a red bloodied blade from her throat, spewing blood and choking on the steel before an awful twisting sound is heard, breaking bones and severing meat to decapitate the woman in a single move.

^With a hard boot to the headless woman's back, the blade's owner is revealed in the doorway, moving forward with a fluid pair of steps to twist the blade and lunge at the nearest thug.^

The thugs, now all turning at once to see this figure, behold five more coming in after the swordsman. All of them having a mixture of weapons intended for close quarters, dressed in plains clothes that had the sound of mail underneath the fabric.

The brief stupor falls away and the thugs turn to engage with these attackers.

Fuck them up! ^A sharp snarl comes from the man as he adds another coat of red to his blade.^

\\Blood trickled from the blow to his head, creeping down in a hot trail while his thoughts fuzzed and fizzled. As chaos erupted and the thugs leaped into action, he made a bid to get back to his feet slowly, like he'd forgotten his precarious situation. It's much more accidental than on purpose as he staggers from the wild flashes in his vision, straight into a thug next to him. The full brunt of his hefty weight slamming into the person to send them crashing off to one side.\\

The two thugs on Mazarin's arm leave off on the Panyar in favor of going to fight these invaders; which is proving to be a one sided affair as they have already dropped three thugs on the ground, entrails spilling outwards, and another with a severed hand.

The thug behind Mazarin remains close by, swinging a low blow to the Panyar's kneecap. Which doesn't help his fellow thug who gets thrown straight into the sword of one of these attackers.

\\His stomach growls, reminding him that he really just had wanted a decent meal and a place to sleep before he went to work tomorrow morning. Followed swiftly by the sharp pain in his knee, and a low grunt from Mazarin. Anger never rises, but he leveled a sad, disappointed stare on the thug that had struck him after fixing his stance to face the wavering man. He exhaled in a great gust, stooping to grab the man by his shirt front and get him onto his toes while squinting through the building headache.\\ They'll... kill you. 

\\His eyes narrowed even further at a spike of pain.\\ If you... don't stop. \\Another heavy, despondent sigh.\\

\\Most of his weight is resting on his good leg, favoring the one that had been struck.\\

The thug, obviously distressed that this giant cow looking man had yet to pass out after several hits, whips his head back to cash his forward against Mazarin's nose.

The sounds of the fight continue. Some thugs take off on their own to save their own hide after seeing one too many dead on the ground. The few that remained fought with some feral ruthlessness, using dirty tricks just like the attackers were. Two thugs shove an attacker to the wall, stabbing into the man's gut repeatedly before a pair of maces clobbered the thugs to more heaps of bleeding meat.

\\Mazarin shoves as the thug's head comes forward, pushing him away with surprising force. He's not exactly a quick man though, and the thug's brow smashes into his nose enough to crunch cartilage. Blood and snot erupt from his large nose, spluttered out over the thug's face when Maz shouted in a cry of pain. He went staggering back again, black winking in and out of his sight with a spiderweb crackling that nearly sucked him under.\\

\\His bad knee buckles and he hits the ground on it, another hard stab of pain up into his hip and ribs that steals air from his lungs.\\

The thug goes down, and the opportunity isn't wasted by one of the attackers who approaches and drops a piece of rope on the thug's chest.

-That same attacker, a shorter man with a white beard framing a dark leathery face hidden by a wide brimmed hat, contorted his fingers and growled out some phrases. The rope, coming alive it seemed like a snake, began to wrap and entangle around the downed thug's body. Cinching around the wrists and ankles.-

\\He blinks at the smarting watering of his eyes, trying to see what was happening.\\

By the time Mazarin's aware of it in the next moment, the fight's over. The eight of the thugs were on the ground, dead. Others having fled and being pursued by the other attackers. One of the attackers is still holding his bleeding guts as he slumped against the wall.

^And the other one wiped his blade on the back of a fallen thug, turning it over to inspect before calling out to the short fellow in the strange hat.^  That our man?

-Leans down to grab the thug's around before shaking his head.-

Sagging asscheeks,  ^Continues to clean off his blade before bringing it to rest on his shoulder.^

\\He gradually makes a phlegmy sound in the back of his throat, before hacking a bloodied loogie off to one side. An action that then made him wince, which made him do it again at the fine crackles of pain erupt over the delicate bones of his face from his broken nose. When the cycle ends, he slowly finds his feet, using a chair and his staff to help.\\ One... of you...

-Gives a kick to the thug's temple with a heavy boot before looking at the towering Panyar.-

\\He seems to forget he was speaking at all, meandering ever so slowly... more slowly than even before with his injuries, to the one slumped and holding his guts.\\

^The sword moves off his shoulder and lowers itself to press against Mazarin's chest. Not to impale, but to try and halt the Panyar.^ You ain't a local. Slave?

\\A gust of heavy air leaves him, like the great exhale of a weary beast.\\

\\Warm almond eyes settle on Smiley, head throbbing in a way that made the man's image warble on his edges.\\

Mercy. -The shorter man tuts, grabbing a hold of the thug and dragging him across the ground. One of the attackers goes over to help the older, white bearded man.-

\\He began to shake his head in answer, but thinks better on it when pain shoots through. Instead, he pats his brooch with a heavy hand when Smoke gives the word.\\ I will.... heal your friend.

^Looks to the pendant and then to Smoke. Doesn't seem to have much faith in the iconography, but the old soldier's words make Smiley remove the blade from Mazarin's chest.^ Alright then. Just keep in mind I got a big sharp stick in my hand.

Little men. \\With the sword's removal, he eases down nearer to the fallen man to check his wounds and assess what could be done physically, and what needed to be healed otherwise.\\

\\Minutes pass and he picks up on his earlier words.\\ Sharp sticks.

The man's guts were practically shredded. The thug's blades had been thin stilettos, piercing through the ringlets of the mail underneath and stabbed at least ten times. Death in minutes was a certainly as blood spilled between the armor and cloth and stained the man's lap.

\\It would likely be better to put the man out of his misery. But what was the point of his power if he couldn't save even the most far gone? \\

\\He rested his large hands around the man's guts, blood spilling through his fingers and staining his dull skin with a sheen of brilliant crimson.\\ You will... be alright. Soon. \\Gentle words, before he started to murmur, bowing his head. Long pink hair slipped away from his nape, exposing the branded sigil mirrored as a brooch on his tunic, while a soft, radiant light spilled into the fallen man. Pouring like liquid gold through the man's stomach, whittling away the injuries.\\

\\Just as fast as they vanished from the man, they formed on Mazarin. Spots of red blooming against the pale blue of his shirt, although stilted from just how much blood the other fellow had lost. Painful all the same, in a way that made his low rumbling words slow down more than before as a sheen of sweat beaded over his skin while he worked.\\

^He was sitting on his haunches adjacent to the Mercy, skeptical eyes on the soldier under his command and Mazarin as he supposedly worked a wonder...and, well, it was there. Right before Smiley. There might've been awe and reverence from a more holier man, but the look on his face went from skepticism to a cruel grin.^ Well, why don'tcha look at that? Looks like you get to disappoint a whore for another day now, Zec.

\\His ear flicks as Smiley speaks, withdrawing from the man after a time.

Zec was the one with open awe and gods damn surprise when he pawed his hand over the armor that was still bloodied, but no longer bleeding.

You shouldn't... be disappointing. \\A moment passes.\\ Whores. They work... hard.

^Gives a twisted smirk to Mazarin before speaking to the Zec.^ Right, go get yourself to the boat. Grab Jordie and Sisko to help Smoke with our captive, too. 

\\He thinks about getting up. But this is a comfortable spot for the time being. And maybe these men would leave soon, and he could rest and heal before anyone else showed up.\\

Everyone else loot what you can and get ready to move when I holler. ^Stands up, stretching his legs before sheathing his blade across his back scabbard.^ So, Mercy, you got a name and reason for walking into a slaver's den?

\\He doesn't answer for several heartbeats. Still moments where it could almost be believed he had passed right there. Then he inhales, moving around sluggishly to try and get at his pack, to remove supplies to wrap up his stomach at least because it did feel like his innards were going to spill out of all the little holes.\\ Mazarin.

I didn't.... know. Quaithe... said to come. \\His bloodied hand splays against his stomach. At least he didn't feel the hunger pangs anymore. A sad, sad sliver of acceptance.\\ Room and food. Was going to heal... the fighters. For her.

\\He appeared to be puzzled over the entire matter.\\

She's been suspected to part of a smuggling operation here in the city. Stealing medical supplies from the Court and sending it over to the enemy soldiers across the river.  ^Nudges a boot to a dead body, reaching down to grab a coin purse tied to the body's waist before pocketing it.^ And when supplies are short, well, people go missing in sieges all the time. Strangers especially. You were probably gonna be someone's prized toy healer for life.

\\He drifted back to the dying soldiers who had been so hungry for a bite to eat, or a sip of water.\\

\\His earnest features arrange into a dark scowl abruptly, amber pools heating up with a lightning flash of anger.\\ Will... \\He sighs, long and suffering.\\ Take care of her.

Wouldn't hedge my bets on finding her after this. But more luck to you all the same. ^Turns to look at his fellows and give a few and gestures.^ Was under orders to bring everyone I found here back with me for interrogations. Loose ends, smuggling secrets and all that shit. Zec'll march with us another day, and that's worth something. So what is you need here, big guy? I can play blind and just leave you to your devices, no mess otherwise. Need a way out of the city? Siege ain't ending anytime soon, and it's not going to get any prettier.

\\He passed a hand over his stomach, fabric sticking to his belly and sliding uncomfortably against his skin. This place wasn't safe, and he didn't know any other place that would be safer. Uninhibited by the blood on his fingers, he scratched his head while thinking. Who knew really, how long it would take him to recover. He swallowed thickly against a stinging sneeze threatening his broken nose before nodding slowly.\\ A way... out.

^He nods, then turns about to leave the building, gesturing for Mazarin to follow. When he's out, Smiley is raising his voice.^  Smoke! Get everyone and our prisoner back to Pearl Gate. I'll see you ugly fuckers there.

\\Gradual increments of movement have him following Smiley.\\

-The old man gives a gesture back and swats the arm of one woman nearby. They all clamber on board the small skiff and push off the river's edge, oaring back up river and going towards western side of the city.-

^Seeing them off, Smiley turns about and heads down the street, retracing the path that Marazin had taken to get to the slaver's den, but circling around the Court itself by some blocks.^ Mind a stupid obvious question?

\\He plods at a dawdling pace, limping on a bad knee with his head swimming hard enough at times to make him dizzy.\\ Might have... \\The thump of his staff intermittent with his heavy steps fills the gap for a time.\\ A stupid, obvious... answer.

What the shits is a Mercy doing out this far west of the world?

The wind... led me here. \\A loose and easy grin overtakes his large face. Pulling at his broken nose and he winces lightly before grumbling.\\ Why are you.... here? \\After a pause.\\

Work. If you want to get existential about it I'm here because I'm no good at anything else besides making other lives miserable. Reminds me that I've forgotten my manners yet again. ^He turns and snaps to attention, setting his heels together and putting a closed fist over his heart.^ Sergeant Smiley of the Legion. Hired on by the great three bastards to keep their gilded assholes from being properly fucked by their cousins across the river.

^Gives a dismissive snort and goes back to walking.^

No dawn... without the night. \\Comes his eventual answer, his lumbering steps coming to a halt when Smiley whirls around to give a proper introduction.\\ Well met. Sergeant Smiley of the Legion. I am... \\He might have forgotten already introducing himself, at least partially, with all the blows to his head. Because he gives his own again.\\ Mazarin Flowing Ember. Of... \\He comes to some lengthy thought that occupies his expression for a moment.\\ Hmmm.... 

\\Appearing to forget about it entirely a beat later.\\ You may use... Mazarin. Or Maz... as some do. \\Then he ambles again, doing his best to ignore the wild throbs of pain banging around his poor body.\\ Why... were you killing? The slavers.

Instead of... keeping the gilded assholes... from being... properly fucked by their cousins... across the river? \\Probably the longest set of words he's given by far.\\

'Cause if there's one thing this city's got down, it's seedy corruption and betrayal abound. And when the Masters can't trust the motives of those below, they trust those who's loyalty is to gold. Which is us. . ^He scowls at some inward thought. It wasn't going to be fun reporting this to the Marshal after the weeks they had put into its planning; but that's why he sent Smoke forward to get the disappointment already set up by the time Smiley got there for the tail end of it.^  

Shouldn't have been a butcher's scene, but that's how it goes sometimes. Slavers got deliveries and people at regular intervals on specific days. The odd day that someone else was sent there meant something had changed, and it couldn't be risked to let them go.

Farther eastwards they go to the parts of Charm that must not have seen conflict for some generations, pristine and empty as the streets were now that the evening was pulling on a vibrant set of colors over her mantled sky.

Passing through beautiful architecture and plazas, the two of them would begin to near the eastern gate that lead out of the city of Charm. And there they'd find where everyone else was at, supposedly. A massive set of double doors that spanned at least twenty feet upwards were closed, and the portcullis was being lowered.

The guards of Charm were forming a barrier to keep the crowd back from the gate as they pleaded for various reasons

So... it was my... fault? \\His large eyes thin to slits of pensive consideration, though he seemed to grow distracted by the lovely architecture for a time before they came upon the guarded gate.\\

No plan survives contact with the enemy. Hardly your fault in my book, ^Smiley's demeanor shifted lightly at the scene, then he moved forward to shove his way through.^

^Raises his voice in the local language to get something heard, and eventually does elbow a few rowdy members of the crowd.^

The crowd somewhat parts for Smiley, though Mazarin's towering presence would get noticed as he would see the teams of soldiers going about the gate to move wagons and carts in position.

Atop the city walls there were guards also in motion performing various tasks shouted by guard officers, marked by their plumed helms and green cloaks.

\\He lumbers along after Smiley, doing what he can to hide the worst of his bloodied clothes and injuries to prevent unnecessary concern or worry.\\ Hmmm...

What are they... doing? \\Most of the words escape him entirely, since he can't understand them.\\

Fuck if I know. Hold on, ^He reaches out a hand to grab the haft of one guard's spear as they were holding it out horizontally.^  Let us through. Legion business. What the fuck is going on?

There's clearly some difficulty for the guard to understand all of Smiley's words, but the Legion is recognized and he does angle the spear back for the sergeant and Mazarin to walk through. 

The guard also gives a glance to the portcullis as it was still inching towards the ground. In smattered Aldermani, the guard says. "Army! Horizon! March here. The Dar."

^His face deepens to a scowl at the mention of the Dar. Then Smiley goes jogging towards one of the switchback stairs that lead up to the wall's battlements.^

\\He scratches his head and continues to follow after Smiley.\\

The two of them ascend upwards to the battlements, joining the throng of guards moving about their stations. Moving rocks, buckets of water and oil. Spare spears to line in the archer parapets and long bolts for the mounted ballistae.

Right across the eastern horizon, like a sea of fire flies marching in unison than lazy patterns, was an army heading towards Charm. Slowly, but no doubt they would reach the city by the night and start their own siege woks. 

Red banners fluttered amongst the enemy army, which by a guesstimate lined somewhere near ten thousand soldiers.

^Shoving a few soldiers aside, Smiley comes up to the stone barrier and peers over. The scowl leaves his face, taking in the sight with a professional's eye.^ So much for those gilded assholes.

\\He surveyed the count, taking in a rough estimate before releasing a low, long whistle. By the Horned One, this was not a welcoming sight.\\

They are going to be.... properly fucked. \\Nods slowly.\\

If I had to hazard a fucking guess, the Dar will be intent on starving us out too. Set up a siege camp, cut off the city's last supply lines, and hasten our internal struggling. ^And then the city would tear itself apart from the base up.^

^Looks behind him, towards the faint outline of the western horizon before speaking again.^  Still keen on getting the hell out of here?

\\He chews on a thought for a time.\\

Are you? \\More absent than intent, this question. Gazing out over the distance.\\

I go where the Legion goes. We've gotten out of worse scraps before. ^Or so he was told, many times, by the Legion's annalist.^

^Then he looks up to Mazarin.^ Don't know how you feel about mercenaries, but the Legion takes all kinds. Even those who just want to tag along until something better comes by. Can hole up with us and die amongst strangers than guess whatever the fucking Dar'll do.

\\Whatever thought had been rolling through his brain like molasses came to some kind of conclusion by the way his expression cleared. Turning a grin down on Smiley before clapping his large hand down on the Sergeant's shoulder. A feeling like a block of stone coming down, as if the Panyar didn't know his own strength but still had tried to be gentle.\\ Providence.... it seems.

We will... keep each other, alive.

Do that fancy trick of yours on our wounded and I'm sure they'll be lining up to suck you off in gratitude and in hope. ^Giving a final sweep of the horizon, Smiley starts down the stairs and through the city.^

\\His ear flutters.\\

\\He then follows Smiley back down again.\\ That seems... not good for resting. And getting well again.

Seems like we're gonna have a talk about the virtues of fucking as medicine itself. ^Cruel topics, easy jokes to pass the time with. Smiley's got many more to give, making it seem like there wasn't a second full fledged army of troops on the horizon.^

Though both of them would have plenty of time to ponder on that thought. Going through the eastern side of the city and coming to the last bridge that connected the two halves of the city. Probably one of the last few times that bridge would be open before a siege within a siege occurs.

\\Mazarin seemed to find it amusing, if the easy grin on his face was anything to say by it. But then again, it always seemed to be there in perpetuity except for the brief instance of a scowl when he'd learned the truth.\\ Always interested... in medicine. 

\\They come up to the bridge, considering the implications of the spot with gravity. He trusted his Gods, but it felt like a test and one that might prove fatal.\\

Passing through the eastern bridge fort filled with the city guard, the pair of them would cross the long, old bridge that was once three of Charm's arteries connected. The other two had been destroyed, left with their standing pillars in the riverbed by order of the Masters of Charm. 

The mercenary companies trusted with defending those forts had all but crushed in the first engagements of the siege. The last holdouts had their bridge fort marked with standards, and in a few places, pikes with the severed heads of enemies between those standards. 

Soldiers patrolled the bridge fort's smaller walkways too, though a few sharp whistles from Smiley and the western bridge doors were opening. Yielding the way for Smiley to rejoin his fellows in the Legion, and for the Panyar Mercy to begin a long road of daring trials and tribulations.

[mattnarrative]

My Item Descriptions 

I have written a unique description for each of the items in my game; they don’t go into any detail about history or deep lore because that would take too much time to write and wouldn’t be important for the MVP. So instead they talk more about the item itself, like what it’s made from, what it feels like or what it even is. This is to the items themselves have some depth. Below is are the item descriptions: 

Javelin Head: Broken from the shaft of a javelin, made from steel and still sharp as the day it was made. 

Magic Shield: A shield enchanted to absorb damage from would be attackers. It glows with a faint blue hue. 

Bloodshot Eye: Its is wet to the touch and pulsates in your hand.. it gazes ominously at you in your hand. 

Demonic Dagger: Requires a blood sacrifice from its user. Hot to the touch and shines with a dim glow. 

Gunpowder Barrel: A common sight on pirate ships. I could use this to bombard the enemy... I wish it wasn't to heavy.

Rabbit's Foot: Said to grant whoever owns it luck... apparently the rabbit is an exception. 

Golden Arrow: Always hits its target, relentlessly chasing its target down... at least that’s what this flier says.

Slimeball: A ball of slime ....eww its wiggling.

Necklace Of Speed: Gives its wearer a tremendous amount of speed. Its powered by an enchanted topaz gem in its center. 

Jester Hat: A hat enchanted with a tricksters charm. A faint mad cackling can be heard when worn. 

Meteor Ring: A ring typically worn by astral wizards. They are particularly fond of summoning meteors to solve their problems. 

Holy Lance: A pure lance made of blessed gold. This holy weapon pierces the enemies of the light.

Four Leafed Clover: Supposedly rare and can grant its owner luck. Not sure what to do when its start to wilt...

Archery Kit: Everything a growing ranger needs to get out there and start shooting the apples off heads.

Hero's Cape: The most generic item I've ever seen but it’s enchantment should be useful.

Wizard Hat: You can't be a real wizard without one of these.

Ring Of Hellfire: Rings worn by archdemons... what is it doing here?

Ironweave Robe: Wovern from ironthread; a magical material that is has hard as iron but as light as wool.

Shoe Springs: These shoes come with a warranty, the enchantment requires its owner to sign a waiver before it works.  

Green Thing: A thing that should not exist. 

Slingshot: Careful to not lose an eye.

Auto Wand: Cogs and gears have been haphazardly bolted to the side of this wand... it has 'Spray and Prey' etched on the other side. 

Flame Of Power: A small blue flame that burns on its own, it resonates with power.

Eagle Totem: A small wooden carving of an eagle. Its as if you can see through an eagle's eyes when held. 

A Carrot: A staple reagent used by Alchemists for potions to improve eyesight. This may just be a red herring.. or was that the reagent?

Forked Staff: A staff with multiple heads, that can split spells into two. 

Bouncy Ball: Its spherical and made from mysterious substance. Upon being dropped it returns back at speed. 

Tome Of Destruction: A heavy, old, dusty tome. The image of a skull with a nasty looking grin is on its cover. 

Split Shroom: Its a mushroom! It's split into two. This species can only be found underground. 

Coffee Potion: Another highly sought after concoction from the Alchemists Guild. It's a bit bitter... maybe needs some sugar or milk?

Steak: Did the Tavernkeeper throw this out? Still perfectly edible somehow.

Shaman's Herbs: A leather pouch full of healing herbs, used by shamans in their rituals.

Golden Horseshoe: Whoever owned this horse must have been rich. I feel lucky to have found this. 

[helpisgotten]

I get that I'm probably not the best on here but here's my longest prologue. I'm just going to share it here because why not? Also I apologize beforehand if my writing sucks.

     The gentle swish of her dresses end; the click of her heeled shoes on the flooring of her castle. Braided hair up into a dazzling bun. Long flowing sleeves, hair done to look amazingly. Oh how the shine bounced from her wavy brown hair, no wonder boys go after her. Rings from the family fitting onto her fingers perfectly, the heirloom pendant necklace she got from her mother. The dress she wore being a pale pink. Sleeves going down to her wrists, kind of puffy from the crook of her elbow down. This beautiful lace starting around her neck, going down her dress some. Shaped like flowers the lace is, pale pink in color the lace is. It went down her front, back, and sides, skirt of the dress being made from tulle, if that is even the right word for it.

     Her brown eyes scanned over other royalty, Queens, Kings, Princes, Princesses, Dukes, Duchesses. Eyes scanned her; her walk, the way she set her hand on the rail. How her curtsey seemed too perfect. Gaxes caught onto her hair, not a single strand being out of place. Her entire appearance made it out for other people to believe the fact, the fact that she does not belong.

     They take into account her wall, her actions, her talk, the way she moves, her hair's "perfectness". Kingdom's and Empires, all gathered under one roof for a night of fun. Drinking, feasting, eating, chatting, sleeping with someone from another Kingdom or Empire. Oh yes, that happens a lot. Some heirs to their parents crowns should inherit two kingdoms or empires, or, a kingdom and empire. No one says a word about it though. It would destroy many treaties and relationships if word got out.

     Grand columns of marble held the roof up. A second story of places to stand and look over the ball room she has entered. Wine flowing freely, slipping in to hands of some; responsible ones knowing their limit. Some... not knowing their own limit. The times of guards escorting royals out the door is astoundingly large. Even they like to let go of all sanity, whatever sanity they have left that is.

     "Princess, may I have this dance?" A male voice called out to the princess already in a bow, his hand extended for her to take.

     Who would be asking her of all people for a dance? Three glasses of wine in, she will surely step on his shoes, scuff them, ruin them someway. There will always be a way for her to embarrass herself infront of this man. Surely, all of what she believes cannot be true about herself, right? Right. She just needs to forget about her usual, clumsiness and tomfoolery for one dance, one dance with a, complete stranger. Yes, a complete stranger will surely make her forget about her usual antics.

     Once she was done contemplating her choices, her brown eyes glanced over, only to meet a well shaped chest. Knowing better to be in someone's chest like that infront of many others, she took her gaze farther up. Meeting a pair of grass green eyes. So light in color, looking to be full of life. Pale brown hair, tanned skin from being in the sun. A jawline that guys envy. This man, whoever he may be, can capture a women's heart this easily, could he capture a man's as well? As to not dwell on his sexuality any longer than she had already, she spoke.

     "Ah, I sincerely apologize for not speaking earlier. I may have been distracted by the chandelier above us." How much of a lie she has used this moment.

     "There is no chandelier above us." He chuckled, catching her in her lie. "You have not answered my question..."

     "Oh, ah, yes." She corrected herself quickly when it came up. "I accept your offer, what is your name?"

     "Bennet, Drew Bennet."

     "Get the archers ready Arthur!" Hogan bellowed to the other men, staring at the large beast infront of them all. "On my words!"

     Men rushed around, getting weapons ready; sharpening swords and arrows. Lighting arrows on fire, shooting them out at the danger. Weapons stuck in the meat and flesh of the enemy. Fire tickling up the sides of the building, they cannot escape this fire. The large brick gate they stood on stood has not a single chance against their enemy.

     Men were doing many things, writing short letters to their loved ones, taking their own life at the gate. Stripping themself of an piece of clothing, leaving it for someone to find with the hope of remembrance for the dead, for the ones who could not make it out alive. Some were eating their last meal before death. Some were saying good bye to their friends before death.

     "The beast is winning! The beast is winning!" One man cried out, shooting another flaming arrow at the beast. "We cannot win! I retreat!"

     "What are you doing! We need all of the men we have to defeat this-" The first man to speak turned his head around wildly, left, right, up, down; all of his soldiers, all of his men are fleeing. No one else is going to try to defend the gate, the town, the people, their families. Some have given their life to protect their kingdom! But no, most end up fleeing the fight. They are right. All of these men are cowards.

     He stared up, into the bright orange eyes of the enemy. His heart pounding against his chest, blood rushing to his ears. Legs beginning to quiver, mouth dropping to the ground. Weapons rendered useless, so he dropped them. The banging of his bow and arrow on the bricks below him did not bring to his ears. His fear took over him, legs quaking as if an earthquake was two bones surrounded in flesh and meat. Trying to stumble back from his fate, he shouted out something random. He was flamed down like the rest of them.

     The flames of the unknown beast took down the man. Killed remaining survivors of the village, painting an orange hue over it all. Hay lit on fire, animals died, babies died, everything and everyone is dying.

     The dragon smiled, huffs of smoke coming from her nose. Wings beating against the air, claws as long as oak trees dragging on the bricks. Tis not a human that broke through their defenses, tis a dragon.

     Running is fairly easy when they have been training for it, years of training. That, or he has been chased by bullies and shop owners too many times to count.

     "Get back here you little ruffian!" He called out, mocking the men behind him. So slow, can't even keep up with a Sixteen year old thief. "Never!"

     "I think never has come young boy." He stumbled backwards, landing on his behind. The bread he stole falling from his pocket. "Young thief."

     "I didn't want the bread for myself, I got it for my brother. And I'm not a thief, I simply borrowed it. Borrowed it forever, maybe." He glanced around for a second, before springing up, running for the opening of the alleyway. He was grabbed on the upper arm.

     "You are so infuriating." One man snapped at the younger guy, stepping closer to his skinnier enemy.

     He was waiting, awaiting for his face to be bashed in by a barrage of fists and feet. By his ribs breaking, his entire body screaming in pain. It's going to happen; bruises, cuts, scrapes, stab wound, slash of a sword or guillotine. His life is over, his entire life is over. He is going to die.

     "What are you doing to him?" A female voice could be heard, her eyebrow perfectly raised at the four of them.

     "Princess!" A gasp came from another man, two of them hoping she would not kill them all. "We were-"

     "About to harm a commoner boy? For stealing a chunk of bread; you are so corny, childish, ugly, rude, prudish, nasty..." She listed off insult after insult mouth quicker than a revolver. "Let him go. Right this instant or my father will have your head on the ground, detached from your body."

     The men took in what she said, and scattered. Rushing past her, leaving him against the wall. He still cannot believe she is infront of him, standing up to the three guys who could have killed him in moments. Glancing to the princess, who changed his fate, can't believe that this is even real. It feels so fake, imaginary.

     "Thank you?" Not knowing what else to say, it just came out, came out like a question.

     "Don't act like a question is your answer." She flicked her hand outwards, signaling for him to follow after her. "Are you ignoring me?"

     "Oh, never!" He got by her side in seconds. No one is going to ignore someone who has this much power is not to be ignored.

     "Now, follow me. We need to have a discussion."

     

     The scent of bread flowing through the bakery, going out the open door to draw in more people. Every person knows of this bakery, they know of the best bread in town coming from here. All of the sweets royalty eat come from this very building, made by her and her fathers hands. Rolled out, put in their containers, carted off to their desired destinations. Hands of the unknown touching the bread, passing it off to the next person. Feeding many, many mouths with their goods. They know of the name that this bakery goes by; no one can pronounce the name though, so complicated to do.

     Having not a single care in the world for her own safety, Annalise slipped her fingers in and out of the rich pockets. Looting, taking, no oone will notice their grandfather's watch be missing. Long nimble fingers moving quickly to get out of the area quicker. Guards are already on her tail for the last stunt she pulled; Annalise does not need to meet the royal guards three times in a week. It won't make her have a good reputation with others.

     She managed to grab three items, going over forty thousand coins easily, more than enough to get her by for some time. She does not need much food to survive on her own. Eating lightly for so long gets Annalise used to not having much food. Her poorer background may have a thing to do with it as well, but she will not share that information with anyone. Her background is for herself to know; for herself only.

     "Annalise!" Sarah skipped over to her best friend, metal jingling about in her satchel. The fruits of her labor can be heard clearly with every step she took. "What did you get? I got a few things over here. I got a necklace, a ring, a fan, a-"

     "Sarah. If you raise your voice anymore than you already have we will surely be caught. Your antics are what got us the surprise visit from the royal guard the day before?" Annalise calmed her friend down, showing her the three items she snagged. "Fourty thousand, in only three items."

     Her doe brown eyes widened at the sight of the three things Annalise held. "You got a ducheses coin purse, two diamond earrings, and a matching necklace? Annalise how did you manage to get the necklace, you would of been so close to a woman to snag this? You could have gotten caught when doing this."

     "We could have been caught easily every single day we went on the town to collect our prizes. Doing this for so long Sarah, you begin to simply not care for your own safety anymore. If we die we die. If we live we live then. No one other than fate himself can decide what happens to us. It's just unpredictable. Come on now, we need to walk otherwise..." Annalise moved closer to whisper, but didn't. Sarah got the hint Annalise gave her instantly. She nodded quickly, linking her arm with Annalise's. They began to walk down the street.

     Looking at them from a different point of view, no one could have guessed they stole from people and businesses to live, to eat, to keep their home afloat. Yes, Annalise and Sarah are poor. Very poor. The clothes they have are from their apprenticeship at the Taylor's shoppe. If they did not have the internships they have now; rags or being naked would be their two options of clothing. And they are not going to be naked.

     They kept the usual chatter and banter up as time passed. Feet moving in the same direction; at the same moments, in perfect sync. It is very questionable for how they can move like this. The two do not question it however.

     "Annalise, can we get a new loaf of bread? I am becoming a tad bit hungry now."

     "Sure, Sarah. We'll go get a loaf of bread."

     Fenway dodged the apple core thrown at his head, the constant laughter of the bullies infront of him loud and annoying. He took a step backwards, then turned tail to escape their wrath. Feet hitting the ground harshly as he ran to his cottage, his home, where father will surely make them leave him alone. Fairy tails are what he dreamed. There is no escaping them. 

     Swiftly navigating through the tall flowers, Fenway could see the top of his home in the distance. His feet were weak, legs shaking a little bit. No, he will not give out, he will not be weak.

     He gave out, he's weak.

     "Can't even run the entire way home Fenway. You are so weak in your bones it makes me laugh." Henry spat down to the side, finally catching up with him. Brown eyes stared down to the green ones filled with tears.

     Fenway kept his mouth shut, knowing better than to anger kids bigger than him; they will kill him if they wish to do so. Ruthless that twelve year olds can be.

     "You're still on the ground, huh? Still on the ground face first in the grass like the coward you are. Do you think you can fight back? Do you think you can? No one can beat me, no one can beat me! I am the greatest, the greatest person alive here. I am the king, the one that rules over everyone here! Everyone will kiss my feet, including you Fenway. You will be, my servant." His choice of words are always going to be demeaning, to have the tone or hint that he's better than everyone. It's his turn to be the bully.

     "You are a bully Henry, I apologize that your Dad left for war and never came back but that has no reason to make you angry with me." Fenway got from the ground, albeit he should not have after he spoke. "You need to talk about this to your Mum. Not take out your frustrations on me."

     Silence wiped their feet off on the welcome mat by the front door. Putting their fedora on the hat hook in the mudroom, Silence then began to take their shoes off. Shoes put in the right place, socks pulled off and chilling in the small hamper in the corner. Large winter coats hanging off wooden hooks built into the wall. Rain boots sitting on a mat under the winter coats. House slippers sat unused in their cube shaped storage units. Lights were off in the home, until now.

     Silence walked out of the mudroom, turning on all of the lights in the house. It began to make itself at home, popping a bag of popcorn in the microwave as they looked in the fridge for a soda. When they found a coke zero, they frowned, but shrugged. Silence can deal with a coke zero as a drink. The sound to get the popcorn out as soon as possible came; Silence put their drink on the counter to pull the bag out. Once the bad sat next to the soda, Silence looked through all of the cupboards, finding a round bowl to pour the popcorn into. One is set on the counter. Ah, the food is amazing.

     Aside from Silence taking it's time to settle in, the argument got worse between the two boys. Henry is getting more aggressive, shoving Fenway while the yelling occured. Fenway kept pushing against Henry's shove, which is why he has not fell to the ground. Fenway hoped that he would not loose the sudden confidence he gained in this moment. His confidence leaves quickly in different situations.

     "That isn't your concern!" Henry snapped. "My parents are none of your concern!"

     "Then why are you defensive?" Fenway raised an eyebrow to Henry. "You are so childish Henry."

     That made the first punch be thrown. Fenway's jaw began to bruise when Henry's fist connected. He used his left leg to kick at Henry's knee. He dodge the pity kick, tackling Fenway to the ground as the wrestling began. Flipping from Henry being on top to Fenway under him, then the other way around; grass being trampled by the constant rolling. Seeing this as a opportunity to run back home, Fenway pushed off of Henry to sprint again. Henry ran after Fenway, slamming him to the ground ten feet from his home.

     He yelled out in pain, a rib or two being bruised in the process. Fenway kicked his legs, frantically reaching backwards to feel for Henry's hair. If he yanked on it hard enough then he will leave him alone? Henry smirked to himself as he grabbed a fistful of Fenway's hair, preparing to hit his face against the ground multiple times. At that exact moment though, he was screwed over. A small blue dragon came shooting from the sky, wailing itss war cry of a thousand kittens in the attempt to scare Henry off. Due to their younger ages, it did not take long for Henry to be scared.

     Fenway took massive breaths of relief at Henry's form getting further and further away from him. The calmness finally came, but he doesn't think it will last for long. His savior came at last, in the form of a baby dragon still growing.

     "Thank you, George. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You just saved my life." George growled out, smiling while his tongue lolled out of his scaly muzzle. He does like compliments, George does indeed.

     The small blue dragon could barely be considered blue. Pale blue scaes that could pass as white if just giving a glance to it. Claws a white color stained with blood from hunting mice and other small animals it could. Teeth small but sharp enough to get close to the bone. Wings that are probably the length of Fenway's arms, flapping up and down to keep him afloat. George's tail swishes back and forth as he's flying to balance himself out. Little patches of ice spotted on his scales, cold air puffing out of his nostrils. Ocean blue eyes being the darkest blue on George. Holding so many mysteries, calming, like the waves before the storm; knowing the calm fury that comes with water.

     "Come on now George, we need to get home." Fenway breathed out at last, signaling for George to follow him with a flick of his wrist. "Mum will have to clean us up."

     George flew a few feet above Fenway as the short journey to his home came to an end. He entered the front door of his home, George walking in after him. Barely being able to fit through the door; George is going to grow so, so much more in the near future.

     "Fenway! Did that Henry boy bother you again?" Ginny, his mother, came from their small kitchen area upon hearing her son enter home again. His roughed up form could only show hoe pained he truly felt. "You have so many bruises!"

     "Mum, George saved me though! Henry would have done much worse if he wasn't there to stop him. Aren't you glad I have someone like George Mum? Aren't you?"

     Ginny smiled, shaking her head at her young son and his odd friend. It's still unknown whether George will have fire or ice, possibly a completely different power or element. Maybe, perhaps, George would have both. Perchance it would be blue fire that George has. Who cares? They will all know eventually what his little power is.

     "George can't stay in home forever Fenway. He'll have to start sleeping outside your window now if he grows too big." Ginny ruffed his hair, then gently rubbing George as she grabbed a wicker basket. "Sorry to leave all of a sudden Fen, out to gather more corn and berries."

     Fenway nodded as his mother left out the door for that corn and berries. Now being home alone, he could finally go to his room and pull out his sketchbook to finish a previous sketch of George. He found his room rather quickly, rummaging about in his chest to find the sketchbook he worked so hard to get from the city. His hands grasped his leather cover; at last, his therapy. How he escapes the world without going to the forest with George. Fenway just, loves, this sketchbook of his. He really loves it with his entire life. If he had to be honest, Fenway loves this sketchbook as much as he loves George. Which already means, he loves this sketchbook and George beyond everything.

     His left hand held the pen he used to draw and shade with. Most people guessed he was right handed because, well, most people are right handed. Fenway has never met another left handed person in his life- besides his father. Father is left handed, but Fenway has no idea who his father is. It seems that Mum knows who Dad is, but she won't tell a single soul who he is. Fenway will find that out eventually, he will know who his Dad is before he dies, passes away, ceases to live, any alternative to saying before he croaks and just falls over, unable to wake up from it.

     "George, can you move right there so I can see your claws better? And can you put your foot on my leg? Thank you George." The small dragon moved over, setting a foot on his leg. The claws are super close up now, amazing.

     Dipping the pen in and out of ink as the page became filled with the shape, shades, and scales of his small friend. His round eyes, blue, his favorite color. Another reason why he loves George. Just so amazing in his eyes. Also, one handsome dragon to draw.

*

*

*

     Fenway rolled to his left in his sleep, nearly falling off his bed. George picked his head up, seeing this, and going to push him back onto his bed. The dragon baby stood on his legs, nudging Fenway onto the bed. He huffed in a satisfied way when Fenway stayed still, sleeping leacefully once again. His best friend at last is comfortable, asleep. Safe from Henry, safe from the world. If only he could hope that to be a reality.

     Someone heard of Fenway's little dragon buddy George. Having a dragon familiar is unheard of, and leads to death for the person and their dragon familiar; because of a dragon's typical murderous tendencies. George is one of the most energetic and childish dragons Fenway has ever met. George is the only dragon familiar he has ever met, the only dragon he has ever met in his entire life. He's pretty sure that dragons are mainly extinct because of the mass killing of dragons decades ago. Because one tree catches on fire from an abused dragon all dragons deserve to die.

     With the location of Fenway and George being confirmed by Henry himself, they are no longer safe. People are on their way to kill George and Fenway. Holding massive pitchforks, fire arrows, swords, knives; what is coming for them is not the Royal Guard, tis an angry mob of people wishing death upon the two. No one wishes to see a dragon. Never again; they want dragons to die.

     Years ago, the first dragon familiar came to be. Breaking out from an egg and growing into a large black death bringer, it came out to be the most dangerous familiar ever known. Once that familiar hatched, more dragon familiars popped up everywhere. Elderly were getting dragon familiars, babies were getting dragon familiars, teenagers, people of all ages got these dragon familiars. Some dragon familiars grew to be the size of parrots, some growing to be the size of a small kingdom. Some being the size of a horse, some fitting in the palm of their hands. All sizes, all colors, all shapes of dragons came out, were documented, were seen, amazing. A rainbow of dragons. Lovely.

     His calm did not last forever. It is never going to be calm in his life, never going to be calm when there is a dragon in the house however.

     "Fenway!" Ginny threw his door open, charging towards his bed as the blanket was yanked off of her son. "Fenway get up this instant! Fenway!"

     Fenway did not listen to his mother, rolling onto his other side now to hopefully, "get rid of the dreadful noise" that wishes to disrupt his amazing slumber. She began to frantically shake them as the surrounding area lit up with yells. That finally seemed to wake him up; the yelling.

     "Mum what's going on, why is everyone yelling?" Fenway sat up, stretching and groaning as be blinked to get eyesight back. "Mum, what is happening?"

     "You need to get up. They're coming for you. You need to run and take George with you." Ginny threw some of his clothes into a sack that held food rations, tying the sack together as she opened the window in his room. "Fenway you need to leave and never turn back."

     "Mum why do I need to leave?" Fenway's worrying only grew as the sack hit him square on the chest. "Mum why do I need to leave? Please answer me!"

     "They figured out you have a dragon familiar. Dragon familiars are prohibited from living here Fenway. Having a dragon familiar will lead to your death if you do not do as I say and leave with George out your window this instant!" Ginny turned her glare to fix upon her son. "Leave Fenway. Whatever you do, do not come back here. Ever."

     "Mum I don't want to-"

     "Leave, now Fenway!"

[owl-quill]

Hey, anybody remember the mirror AU/dark thing I started for last year’s Strange Magic week? I finally edited the second chapter. Starting at the beginning might be advisable.

The whole story has an umbrella warning of “Graphic Depictions Of Violence“. The fairies are nasty here.

Chapter 2 - Celebration

The fairy hunting party had gathered in a sand pit not far from the forest’s edge. Not as close as the goblins would have liked, but close enough. Bog left the others behind in hiding in the washed out bank of a now almost dry rill, going to scout out the situation himself, because his wings gave him the best chance of getting away if discovered. The fairies had covered most of the pit with carpets and blankets. Apart from the path they had come by, grass and some other plants stood tall, which might give the place a secluded air, if you were not used to the nooks and shadows of the forest.

Bog moved slowly, using the tufts of grass for cover and observed.

The only one who tried to be on guard was a male in obnoxiously shiny, green armour, however he was being distracted by two women.

When Bog got close enough to make out their words, the older one addressed the armoured guard. “Such a shame you couldn’t take part in the hunt. I’m sure you would have brought home an impressive trophy.” “Too kind, my lady. But someone needs to watch out for stray goblins. We wouldn’t want anyone who did not volunteer a risk to get hurt.”

A high giggle from the younger woman stung Bog’s ears. “Don’t be so modest, Roland, I see your sparring quite often.” The girl attached herself to the knight’s arm. He patted her hand and looked at the grass briefly before giving her his attention.

The other other fairies were mostly standing or lounging or sitting on the higher side of the pit. They did not spare much attention for the dead.

The bodies were laid out to one side of the pit, sorted by species and size, all turned so they lay on their left sides. Sprigs of lavender blossoms lay close by, nearly covering the stink of death.

Bog kept breathing and wrenched his attention away from them. They would not move on their own; he had to observe their enemies, who would.

Closest to the callous display was a pair of female fairies, one with a blonde head gesticulating, flapping her orange wings, miming blows. Probably recounting her involvement in the slaughter. The other had darker hair, purple wings folded like a cape behind her, and brighter clothes — still green and brown, but more brilliant shades — and smiled at the other. There was a faint smear of blood across her chest, mirroring a dark splatter on the blonde’s shirt.

Bog could feel anger heating his guts, but kept breathing steadily, maintaining detachment. He carefully circled around the perimeter, away from the dead bodies and the half-grown girl celebrating being a murderer.

He counted four servants, their clothes in pale fog colours marking them among the hunters and guests in brown and green. There were a dozen hunters in duller shades and irregular cuts that would actually work for camouflage in the woods, and again as many guests, their clothes also brown and green, but in more brilliant hues, and in some cases decorated with gold edging or designs.

Hiding behind a thistle, Bog crouched and settled to watch, to gauge if an attack was worth the risk. They would be outnumbered, and couldn’t assume only the hunters would fight back if attacked.

On the other hand, the fairies seemed anything but on guard. Standing or sitting or lounging in small groups, talking and laughing, eating… They were having an actual picnic. Bog would have a better view of things higher up, but he couldn’t risk being discovered by the buzz of his wings, so he did the best he could following the attention of those not focused on whoever was opposite them. It was erratic and slow, but there was an over-all direction to it. And at its centre, the leader of this hunting party, was a fairy with grey hair and deep red wings. When he turned his head to one of his fellows, Bog caught a decent look of his profile and smile.

His breath caught, suddenly every muscle in his body tense. That face, just with a shorter, brown beard, but the same proud smile. That same profile Bog had seen when King Dagda had put the last goblin king’s head on a spear and carried it off. Bog crouched down lower, resting one palm on the dry, crumbling soil, not drawing back when a few thistle spines scratched the skin on the inside of his other arm. Deep breaths. Stay here and now. The whiff of blood wanted to hook his memory and draw it back all the way, but as luck had it, the fairies had not lit a fire. That day, the forest had burned, and the clean smell of soil and green plants now was enough of a contrast.

“Daddy!” The blonde fairy shot across the pit, making Bog flinch a little deeper into the shadows. King Dagda caught her in a hug. “When do we decide which skull I can have for my wall?” Dagda laughed. “Let’s see which looks best when they’re cleaned, eh?”

Before hearing any more and maybe losing his temper, Bog retreated. He forced himself to not think ahead too much. Getting distracted and discovered on the way back to his team did not bear imagining.

There would be a fight today. On their terms, for once. And if everybody else wanted to turn around, Bog would let them. But he could not let a chance at taking out the fairies’ royal family pass, slim as it might be.

[clickbliss]

Devil Engine is a merciless shooter channelling the spirit of the arcade

by Amr (@siegarettes)

Devil Engine

Developer: Protoculture Games

Publisher: Dangen Entertainment

Switch, PC

From mechanics, aesthetics, down to the extra modes and gameplay options, Devil Engine is saturated with homage to arcade shooters, new and old. It’d be easy to catalog them, and breakdown every influence it takes from its arcade family. But in the heat of the action, Devil Engine gave me an almost racer like vibe. Momentum is deeply important, and losing it feels a lot like running yourself off the road. Knowing how to control my speed and where to attack the stage’s corners and enemy formations is key. Explaining exactly why is complicated, so let’s break it down.

Devil Engine revolves around its multiplier and burst system. Quickly destroying waves of enemies builds a multiplier, which increases you score, which determines when you get your next bomb, when you earn another life and how large the defensive burst you create is. Using a burst clears bullets in the immediate area but it’ll decrease your multiplier. Canceling a large group of bullets earns it back. Spamming it leads to weaker bursts that leave you vulnerable, so you’re encouraged to use it only to defend against large groups of bullets, both to keep it effective and to keep the multiplier active.

Devil Engine’s enemy and bullet patterns are aggressive, so to keep that multiplier up you’ll need to be aggressive in turn. Playing defensively and hanging back is a good way to let the screen be filled with overwhelming firepower, leading to a lot more deaths and a starved arsenal. Especially on the default, “Very Hard” difficulty, bullet speed edges on impossible to react to, and boss safe zones tend to force you closer to them.

This is where course knowledge becomes key. I found intercepting enemy waves to cut off attacks before they appeared and allowed me more space to maneuver. In turn, my multiplier increased, building my stock of bombs quicker, allowing me to use them more aggressively to take down groups that took more time for my standard weapons to dispose of.

Corresponding to the three available shot types, bombs are more extensions of the regular functions than the screen clearing lasers or explosions you’d expect. They’re honestly a bit underwhelming, never feeling like the momentum shifting tools that they are elsewhere in the genre.

Knowing each weapon and bomb type, and where to deploy them, is essential course knowledge, however. Spread shot covers large groups well, lasers cut through larger targets and are the go to for bosses, and homing is suited to small, weak enemies waves or for trying to curve around angles that are otherwise blocked by the stage. Each shot type is obtained by getting the appropriate pickup, and has three levels of strength, though anything above the first level is usually adequate.

The arsenal is small enough that Devil Engine might have benefited from a system that kept each type on hand, a la Harmful Park or later Thunder Force entries, but powerups are frequent enough, and shot types can be cycled by hitting powerups with a burst, so getting the right weapon is rarely a problem.

More problematic is the way Devil Engine plays into the macho attitudes of “hardcore” gaming mentalities. The easier difficulty is initially locked off, but after it’s quickly unlocked it greets you with description texts like “ FOR COWARDS” or “WHY DON’T YOU CHALLENGE YOURSELF FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE?”, making it clear that it’s not the intended experience. A few of the more cheeky lines such as “Bullet Tranqulity” or “the wind will surely carry me along” strike a bit better balance, but alongside details like how it plasters EASY MODE on the corner of your screen Devil Engine often shames you for not going all in from the go.

Despite being put off by this attitude, I did give Devil Engine’s Very Hard difficulty a good effort, but I quickly found it to be a poor way to get acquainted with the stages. The overwhelming speed of enemy attacks makes it near impossible to navigate bullet patterns the first time through. Devil Engine hits you with nasty surprises periodically to keep you dialed in, but this has the side effect of destroying your momentum, which leads to agonizing death spirals if you’re unprepared. To return to the racing metaphor, jumping immediately into hard mode is the same as trying to drive 120 MPH down a track you’ve never raced on before, hoping you somehow don’t total your vehicle at the first set of corners.

I found it more productive to get acquainted with the stages in easy mode first, learning the general enemy patterns and stage flow, then try my hand at hard mode after a few runs, to slowly get used to the additional dangers there. This still gave me a serious challenge, even on Very Easy (which is anything but), and allowed me to understand the nuances of the weapon and combo system, as well as map out which of the three movement speed settings to switch to during each part of the stage. No matter how you play it, Devil Engine is going to be merciless, and demand that you work hard to earn the course knowledge to survive, easy mode just makes less frustrating to do so.

Even then, there are still some hurdles to get through, thanks to some unfortunate issues. Devil Engine has a suite of extra modes, filters, and gameplay options, allowing you to adjust the HUD, bullet colors, background vibrancy, and hitbox visibility--all of which help tremendously with readability. These are unlocked automatically as you play, with your lifetime point total being the primary factor. As far as I can tell, however, there is not proper practice mode to allow you to play later stages by themselves, leaving me with a lot of practice for the first two levels, but often unprepared for the rest.

More painful are the bugs, which came up just enough to spoil several runs. My first major pain was a bug that caused to game to crash after unpausing the game. I’m not sure what caused it, so I couldn’t avoid it without avoiding pausing entirely. Which is pretty bad, considering that’s a basic function.

Less game breaking is the continue glitch, which occurs when using the quick restart function to start a new run without backing out to the menu. You earn several extra continues as you continue to play the game, which are essential to being able to practice later stages. Using quick restart breaks the count, resetting to the default of 2 continues, instead of the 8 or so I’d accumulated up to that point. So I had to go back to the menu to start a fresh run if I wanted to keep them. Kind of defeats the point of a quick restart, huh?

I might seem down on Devil Engine, but these problems mostly stand out because of the care taken everywhere else in the game. Devil Engine is worth experiencing on aesthetics alone. A lot of comparisons have been made to Saturn-era shooters, but Devil Engine benefits from modern production. Landscapes are rendered in high density pixel art, with lavishly detailed environments and several layers of parallax scrolling to give it visual depth. Diverse, multi-sprite flames scatter out of each explosion. There aren’t any modern shortcuts here--these are all individually animated, not made from a particle generator.

The same meticulous approach benefits elsewhere. Devil Engine opts to avoid using effects like alpha transparency, using dithering and stippling techniques to apply shading to objects and emulate colored layers. While using dithering for transparency could sometimes look cheap or cause artifacting on older systems, seeing it applied in high resolution creates a much finer “grain” which gives the game strong visual texture without drawing as much attention to itself. 

The color palettes and music imbue Devil Engine with serious verve. Red hues appropriately saturate vehicles and environments, often complemented by the dark green hues of enemies and their bases. The muted tones, paired with earthy brown and grey complements, keep the palette from becoming overwhelming or distracting. Rounded shapes and exposed tubes give Devil Engine’s machines a suggestion of the bio-organic, as if they swole and grew out from a machine seed. It’s distinct, carrying a bit of that gorgeous grotesque that I love.

Just as stylish is the soundtrack, composed of an eclectic mix of synths, guitar riffs and jazz that provides a good mix of energetic vibes. Composers Joseph :Qwesta” Bailey, Mason Lieberman, and  Hyakutaro Tsukumo really kill it here. Particularly noteworthy is the stage 2 theme, which features an incredible arrangement of horns, lending it a powerful neo-noir feel.

Devil Engine is easily one of the most impressive recent entries in the shooter genre. Its marvelous aesthetics carry it through, and the aggressive approach to shooting forced me to commit myself to learning its spaces in a satisfying way. My frustrations with its attitudes toward difficulty and impossible to ignore technical problems definitely soured my time with it, but not enough to damage its core appeal. Otherwise, it’s a worthwhile entry into the genre, albeit one that might only speak to those already bought into it.

[thegoddamnowl]

i want me overlord 3 :(

So yeah, Overlord pretty much cimented how the series should go about, and with the somewhat troubled development of the subsequent games, a third installment on the main line should take a look at its older siblings in order to become fully realized.

Both Overlord and Overlord 2 presented additions that work well in their respective games, though on the second one there could have been a benefit if the devs had implemented the upgrade as they wanted. Even on the spin-of games there are some rather good features that shouldn't be overlooked too.

Bring back the custom forging and the forge stones

The forge stones where incredibly convenient and actually I did welcome their inclusion, maybe because I actually stopped for a while to farm even before knowing they even existed and thus got nice uniques by the time I had them avaliable, but I digress.

Make it so that the forge stones not only give you unique recipes but also so they give you like a special type of ore recipe to forge and imbue armour and weapons just like the first game, using mineral and materia to create it and maybe upgrade it with like some alloy or stuff. I say this because when you get a better smelter on Overlord, the other one(s) become basically pointless (which is likely the reason for the change from smelters to forge stones). Having an upgradable forging material helps getting rid of that problem. Or make it so you can recycle armour and stuff you don't use anymore, be it because you got a better object or just because it was a human mistake.

Bring the variety and customization from Dark Legend to the main line

Dark Legend is commendable within the franchise in that the Overlord here has access to quite a number of weapon tiers, types and even armour options to customize as pleased. For example, I love that you can hue your armour with at least 3 different options.

Put it like being an option on the forge similar to the tower upgrades

Make the tower upgrades be more substantial

I really dig having a Dark Tower that suits my evilness and stuff, though I'd like it to also be seen by everybody and see what they think about it. The Tower upgrades should make like, affect a respect/fear gauge similar to the Tyranny rating. I know in Overlord 2 people were actually very trusting with the Overlad after conquering the regions, to the point of making audience for stupid silly requests, and in Overlord because of the main story my subjugates both welcomed me and feared me and somewhat seemed rather paradoxical

So yeah, the Tower upgrades should be more useful aside of eye candy, with every upgrade having an affinity towards either respect or fear.

Make a respect/fear gauge, but keep the corruption and tyranny as well

In Overlord we had Corruption level. In Overlord 2 we had Tyranny rating. And though both affect the Overlord in their own particular way, as well as having their own benefits, it somewhat ends up feeling not fully realized. For example, I liked how by being more evil I got a new small quest where I could "persuade" people and take them as servants for the Tower, or made people fear me when I destroy towns. Or how my final spells became more evil and savage. I liked how I got from simply "Witch-Boy" to "Demon Lord of Nordberg" as well as having a differet outcome from missions depending on what I favoured most. However, this can be expanded further.

A respect/fear gauge would affect how people react to your presence, making your enemies like, approaching you more carefully or outright somewhat nasty if they were able to hear about you, the more fear they have the more desperate their tactics become, as well as making your subjects or subjugates like give you some hints or useful stuff or small side missions through chitchatter or audiences. Keeping both the corruption and tyranny also helps to measure just how much out of the line you want to go and also what kind of help would you receive from your people.

Make the effects of corruption and tyranny more noticeable

Corruption and tyranny are actually pretty good concepts. The more corrupt you are the more people fear you, you also get a slight power bonus as well as slightly different final spells. Tyranny makes your abilities work differently depending of your alignment with slight bonuses to certain traits. The problem is precisely that: slightly.

Just make the bonuses slightly more noticeable.

Bring town management

One of the aspects I liked a lot on Overlord 2 was that of really going on and subdue everyone to my evil presence (overjoke haha). When I first downed the governor of Nordberg, seeing a Town Hall interface popping up made me feel actually good because I thought I could have a more hands-on management of my conquered lands. Sadly, this is not the case. Continuing with my first point, subduing everybody has the benefit that they'll work tirelessly to give me resources like weapons and armor for my Minions, and gold. Though I didn't like I had to get the gold from chests and run about every single time I wanted to gear up. And seeing how the lore establishes the Overlad being a more hands-on kind of Overlord with its conquered lands, I think it justifies the inclusion of such mechanic.

So, expanding on that solitary hall menu, make it a central management hub for the towns, allow for upgrades to gather more resources or to keep everything centralized, like the money made by the slaves over time so one can go and just take it no problem. I know Overlord is not a management simulator, but since the management aspect is actually there with the Minions and we even got an item that helps us get more and more of them faster, it should be logic to bring at the very least basic town management into the table. It could also receive a small bonus from the strongest aspect of the Tyranny rating (Domination or Destruction).

Add a reticle for the war contraptions

Or at least something to know where I'm aiming at. I approve of the side-weaponry like catapults and crossbows in Overlord 2, however they are very difficult to use without a proper reticle. Well, maybe just the catapult since I can actually aim with the crossbow somewhat. I learned how to aim and shoot the catapult by counting the clicks on the weapon as well as looking at the joint height when I charged the throw. A reticle is a more than welcomed addition.

Expand on vehicle use

It was interesting to see the change from going on foot around the tundra, to sailing across the jungle. Upgrading my ship by stealing the one from the elves was also a rather entertaining challenge too. It'd be nice that we get to see more transport options, like Minion-leg powered chariots, perhaps a rudimentary tank with Red firepower, maybe a mount for the Overlord at some point?

Implement the concept of Elite Minions

From Minions, we got to know that there are certain Minions able to work without direct influence from the Overlord for the most part. The Elite Minions are Minions that are extensively trained and can perform rather difficult missions that a normal Minion couldn't.

In Overlord 2, troopers had a Centurion that actually made an impact on their combat behavior, and overall made the opposition more resilient to the Overlord advances. Minions can also level up as well in both main games. With all of this in mind, you could implement a way to train one or two Elite Minions per tribe that aside of being more resilient and maybe have an special attack of their own, can also help giving a bonus to Minions that are within a Marker with it, as well as making their behavior adopt a more aggresive approach. Though you can do that with the Minion branch spells and the Minion Domination spell, the former affect all and also makes you unable to put them on Markers or direct them unless the spell runs out or you cancel it, and the latter affects just one that you target. This would make the Elite Minion a compromise between the two, making the Minions slightly stronger and aggresive but only if they are on a Marker. Of course, knowing when and how to use this considering the enemy behaviors based on type and your respect/fear ratio should be a tactic to consider as Minions tend to be go lil bit out of control when they are blood-thirsty which can go so right or so wrong for the Overlord's evil scheming.

Give more chances to use the mounts

I loved the mounts on Overlord 2. Shame one doesn't get to use them as often as one would want. I could have added Blue Mounts, but then again they are too meeky for having one. Perhaps there can be an implementation of dolphins like on development, but honestly I can see why it was scrapped.

Tweaking the Minion control

Or rather, just fix it. Its tweaked already but is a bit twitchy on Overlord 2, especially on sweep mode.

Implement the Mincyclopedia from Dark Legend

I just like to have some lore to read about and maybe find something to help me on my conquest. It could be on the menu for looking at enemy references and also could be accessed on a new library for the tower just if the Overlord feels like staying at home with a nice read.

Fusing the Dark Legend and O2 maps

Dark legend had the regions divided into zones, Overlord 2 had relatively comprehensive markers as well as the objectives for the regions. Fuse the two and you get a nice view of any part of the world and what needs to be done where.

Charged physical attack (third attack command)

A charged attack aside of the three-hit swing and the spin attack. A charged attack would be a high-risk high-reward sort of thing. Because its always nice to have options :v

Teleporting Greens, Overlord-healing Blues, RC-Kamikaze Reds

The one good thing from Fellowship of Evil aside of the writting (which is very Overlord if you ask me) are these new Minion abilities. Enough said. You could put these as the Elites special abilities in order to not break the game.

Bring back the costumes

This serves no purpose in particular besides of pure comedic entertainment. Except for the fact that you could make your Minions pass up as one of the enemies and give them a nice backstabing to their frontlines before they even realize they suddenly had a few extra men. Or even make them wear leather pelts and the like so they can avoid some animals or monsters attacking them on sight. Case in point being that costumes should trigger different responses from others. It doesn't have to be very extensive, just enough to influence how to approach things.

Bring back the higher enemy variety

I know most magical creatures went extinct or into hiding on Overlord 2, but the plague of Golden from Fellowship of Evil should have had at least something to do to bring them back. But yeah, more enemy variety is something that shouldn’t be ignored.

I have some story suggestions as well to tie up everything and maybe opening a [good DLC] opportunity too but that’d be entering into spoiler territory :V

that above :T

ALL OF THAT can be achieved relatively easy with the current hardware and some time and investment. It could have happened on Overlord 2 but now is late for that. At least the third installment should be an improvement over everything, I think.

[gentlepyro]

(( A short story for fun. I’m a shit writer so i apologize already. ))

it was just a few hours. That’s all.

The sun held high over Highmountain, beaming a oddly calm and warming light over the usually frost touched land. To Loukua, it felt… weird. The legion’s claws still dug deep into Azeroth. But this land, it felt calm, almost too calm.

The half-orc had been asked by an old friend for a friendly chat and reunion. The tauren, known simply as “Winterhoof”, was an old friend and previous ally. A calm shaman of the waters, Winterhoof herself had started a small camp, giving the Rivermane tauren a new, much needed home.

Loukua didn’t really know why Winterhoof called a “small” camp. The area hadn’t been cleared of trees, but instead used as part of the structures that had been built in the land. Easily twenty tents sat just from what she could see. She didn’t know tauren that well, but she knew this was no “small” camp.

It didn’t take long for her to find Winterhoof, the woman stood shorter than most of the highmountain, but her white fur stuck out like a sore thumb.

As Loukua approached, the tauren rose and pulled the slightly-taller half-orc into a hug.

“ Loukua! My friend. I am glad to finally see you.” Winterhoof’s voice was tired, but cheerful.

“ Same here. Now, where is everyone?” Loukua asked, her hands moved to grip her helm, as if to take it off, but she stopped herself and let her hands fall to her sides.

“They will come soon, I wanted to have a chat about our old band, Yunza is planning...” Winterhoof spoke with a hushed tone as she glanced around.

“ Yunza? No. I cannot be of help.” Loukua responded with a shake of her head. “ Who else? Daiyu and Zhoyi? Kulrga? You know we all don’t exactly...”

Winterhoof simply shook her head. “ No.. no.. I retouched with Daiyu, but she is with child, woman married a orc… I’m surprised. “

Loukua’s head shook. “ Then who? I mean, I don’t know exactly much of us left alive, do you even know who’s coming? I can’t be of help this time, especially now.”

“ I thought so. It’s not like you to have well…”” Winterhoof’s hands guestered at Loukua’s armor, which for once seemed clean and wellkept. “ Not to be soaked in dirt and blood, you know.”

“ I-I have..” The halfbreed sighed, walking into the tent behind her with Winterhoof following.

“ So you have joined a new group, hmm?” The tauren asked.

Loukua paused, thinking over her words as she sat down on the mat a few feet away from Winterhoof. “ Yes. Horde military.” She spoke quickly. “ Turns out the Kor’kron name is not completely soiled.”

“ Kor’kron? Loukua, are you mad!” Winterhoof sputtered, moving to rest a pale hand on her muzzle. “ I understand where you thoughts laid, Loukua. But I would think after the siege you would have came to you se-”

“ Winterhoof. This is not Garrosh’s Kor’kron.” The halfbreed spoke finally, her voice seemed tired, as if she repeated herself many times. “ My warlord is a tauren! I.. I wanted a place of honor, for once in my life I think I did something right.”

Winterhoof let out a long sigh, tapping a hoof. “ You are a crazy halfbreed. “

Loukua scoffed. “ I guess. Now, I’m curious if anyone will show up.”

The conversation ended at the sounds of screaming and what sounded like thunder. Both of them instantly stood.

Loukua had reached for her axe, only to find no weapon. She had left it. She was in the Broken Isles, and she had left her weapon. The halfbreed let out an angry growl, only to be tossed a large blades staff by Winterhoof, the tauren had since grabbed a thick wood shield and her own axe, which never left her hip.

The warrior had walked deeper into the camp, the sight of the feltotem made the halfbreed’s hatred for the fel grew stronger.

The once bloodtotem tauren were deeply corrupted, their fur was black and matted, horns and fingers pointed and fel-corrupted, even their eyes seemed to be engulfed by felfire. It was a sight you’d see in a bedtime story. Except this wasn’t a story.

But the beasts stood in front of her. Loukua’s grip tightened around the spear in her hands, she thrusted the weapon forward, charging into the back of the nearest tauren she saw. Which this time happened to be a warmonger.

He let out a almost feral cry, falling to his knees and sweeping a clawed hand back at Loukua. She let the hand make impact, searing her armor but not hitting her skin underneath. She pulled the staff from the feltotem’s body, only to slam it down in it’s neck as he attempted to claw at her again.

It took a few tugs before it pulled from the tauren’s hide, by the time she had turned, she could see the whole camp was burning. It was no use defending. The trees! The trees. What was meant to provide comfort had doomed this tauren “city” to become nothing but ash.  

Loukua shook her head, hopping over the corpse, she made for the nearest opening in the tents and trees. She no longer saw Winterhoof, or many of the other Highmountain that were smart enough to flee. She came to an opening in the brush.

The halfbreed’s head turned back, debating throwing herself back to see if she could pull anyone out, the thought left her head as she heard a snap.

Another Feltotem stood, drenched in a mix of fire and blood, likely a mix of his own and those he had brutally slain. Loukua raised her weapon, going to charge at the feltotem, but he knew.

It was only moments before Loukua saw nothing but felfire. Whatever had been casted her way easily engulfed her torso. She could feel her blood boil and her skin and armor burn and char away. She fell with a slam to the ground, the pieces that had been hit of her armor cracked off her flesh, the shoulderpad being kept in place had broken off.

Loukua rolled onto her stomach, grabbing the staff again and standing up. She charged the tauren, using the bladed end to stop his next cast. The fel-tauren lifted a hoof, pushing Loukua to the ground. He was larger than her, and she knew she was now at a hard disadvantage.

The feltotem’s hands engulfed in a sickly green flame as he moved to slam his hoof on Loukua’s chest. She twisted her torso to roll out of the way, only for the arm holding the spear to be slammed down on. The halfbreed let out a painful cry, the feltotem smirked as he tossed the fire in her hands down, hitting Loukua in her exposed arm and chest.

To her it felt as if she could feel her flesh die. She screamed again, kicking her leg up as she pulled her arm from under the feltotem’s hoof. She rolled away, grabbing the spear with her injured, but still intact arm, jumping back to her feet with a few painful gasps.

The feltotem seemed to have developed a confidence, he was winning. She was loosing, and she knew if she lost, this was death. So it was simple, she had to kill him.

The halfbreed charged again, slamming the staff into his neck. She knew from the sound of the painful gurgle the tauren could no longer speak, he could no longer cast.

The feltotem raised its hands, one gripping her arm, squeezing hard enough to nearly break the other’s claws sinking in between the plates of the armor around her waist, digging deeply into the half-orc’s flesh.

Loukua pulled back, causing the tauren to loose his grip, before she pulled back the spear and shoved it firmly in between the beast’s eyes.

Her whole body felt on fire. Both of her arms were aching, she felt weak. The fel. The bloody fel. Loukua had hatred for only one thing more than this. She called out, someone had to be around, even if they were worse off then her.

But, nothing.

She heard Nothing.

The forest had gone quiet, Loukua had to snap off the staff, digging the dull end into the ground to keep herself from falling. Her whole body seemed to give out at once. Whatever that feltotem had done, it had taken more out then she could handle.

For hours, the only thing Loukua could hear was the sound of burning before consciousness left her.

It was nearly ten hours since the attack before she was found. But, had she been able to see, one of the halfbreed’s most hated enemies. The Alliance.

“ We found a live ‘ne.” A female dwarf spoke, poking Loukua’s limp body awkwardly with a foot. The dwarf had long gold hair, tied firmly into two braids that fell down her back. Only for a young human man to approach, his body covered in thick chainmail and plates indicative of the unseen path, even moreso with the bow strapped to his back.

“ Leave it, it’s just an orc. “

“ You found an orc?” A voice spoke up behind them, the human and dwarfed turned to see a petite Draenei woman, who still despite her frame towered over the pair.

“Yah. Got a nasty set of wounds.” The dwarf spoke, turning back to Loukua. She reached down, pulling once on the halfbreed’s helm, tossing it to the side. “ Oohh, this ain’t no orc.”

With that, the draenei pushed between the pair, reaching down to roll Loukua from her stomach onto her back. It was a sight to marvel for all three. The crest, the small tusks and the unusual purple hue to her hair and skin.

“ A half draenei… A half draenei with no fel..” The draenei spoke with a baffled face, only to kneel down and lean forward.

“ Ah’ though the kingslayer was the only one.” The human spoke, his face seemed slightly disgusted.

The draenei shook off what the human said, gripping Loukua by the neck of her armor. “ We’re taking her back to camp. Grab the helm.”

And with that, the three of them left with Loukua.

The argument of what to do with the halfbreed was hitting a dead end, until the Draenei woman had finally given into the demands of tying up the aggressive half-orc.

Well, they all assumed that Loukua would be aggressive. Which, was both right and rather smart of them.

The draenei had make sure that her wounds were at least someone tended. The lingering corruption had been purged and whatever was hanging off had been removed.

“ Nuvaya, how’s the halfie?” The human asked as he entered the tent that Loukua and the Draenei, whose name seemed to be Nuvaya sat in.

The draenei’s eyes rolled, standing from the small makeshift stump seat. “ Alive. I’m rather excited, I have a feeling… She will be vital, once she wakes of course.”

This earned a scoff from the young human, who sat himself down on a old wooden stool, only for his head to turn. Loukua’s armor sat in a steaming pile, along with any belonging that she had on her. This included a small “Wind totem” and a small hunting knife.

“ She’s no better then the orcs, Nuvaya. I know this shit.” He huffed, shifting back in the chair.

Nuvaya’s head shook.

“I’m giving her a chance, keep watch, I’ll grab Goldie.” With that the draenei stood, taking a few steps before leaving the small tent.

So the human sat, and stared, for about ten minutes before getting awfully bored. He resorted to pacing the room for a solid moment. He stopped in his tracks as he heard sounds from behind him.

Loukua had woke with a start, but her body remained still for a moment. She could feel the bindings on her arms and knees, she was captured, but by who? Her eyes turned behind her, and she was a human. A human!

Her eye twitched. She had been captured by the alliance. Or at least, that what she thought. The ties around her knees weren’t a problem, at least in her mind. She stood with a small crack of her back, using the binds her arms were tied, she jumped forward as fast as she could, snapping her arms over the young human’s head and pulled back.

He almost expected it, snapping both of his hands for a moment to grab the rope now pulling at his neck.

“ S-SHE’S UP!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, only to cough and sputter as the binds tightened, feeling his face being pulled back into the female halfbreed’s chest.

His leg kicked back in reaction, sweeping hard enough that both the human and Loukua were sent with a painful clatter and thump to the ground. He pulled from underneath her attempt to strangle, twisting around as she lifted her arms over her head, going to strike him in his head.

The human had remembered his own knife, he pulled it from his belt and moved to retaliate, dodging the strike to his head, he swiped forward, hitting Loukua in the face, causing the half-orc to take a few steps back.

They both seemed to huff and stare for a few seconds, enough time for the Nuvaya and “Goldie” to run into the tent, tackling Loukua to the ground.

“ Gul’rok ragath’a zaga zug ag gi!” Loukua screamed in her native tongue, which none of the alliance seemed to understand.

It took a solid thirty seconds before the trio had pinned Loukua to the ground. She had ripped open any mending done on her wounds, along with the new slash on her cheek. She had been re-tied, binding both her knees and feet to each other, along with her wrists no longer having a single bit of rope hanging between them, she still seemed to be struggling, but she felt weak.

Nuvaya let out a long sigh. “ Light be damned… I did not expect her to be this..”

“Horrible?” Piped up Goldie.

“ Vicious?” The human spoke with a smirk, his hand rubbing at the large welts on his neck

“ You know. Maybe insulting her is a bad idea.” The draenei gave them both a glare. “ I was going to say scared.”

“ That beast is not scared!” The human piped up, giving Loukua a point.

“ She’s not a beast, Byian!” Nuvaya nearly screamed, giving him an angry stare.

Loukua had finally stopped, only giving a wide-eyed stare at Nuvaya. She couldn’t understand a lick of what they were saying, Common was not a language Loukua needed to learn. The room was silent for a few moments, before a sound coming from no one in the room sparked to life.

“ Loukua, kag ogg kazreth tov’osh no’ku ka maz ko?” The voice seemed to be deep and male, with a familiar grumble that could only come from a orc. Everyone’s head turned to pile of armor and the halfbreed’s belonging. The windtotem was the source of the voice.

“ Gesh ag Makogg! Grom zaga magan ko mog raght’a!” Loukua had tried to respond,  rolling onto her stomach. She knew she had no way to activate the totem, but she could try.

Byian turned his body to the pile, he rose and walked over, lifting a foot and slamming down on the windtotem.

“ Byian! The fel are you doing?” Goldie yelled, taking a few steps over to pull the lanky male away.

“ We’re not getting fucking sieged because of Nuvaya’s little side project!” He yelled, turning to give the Draenei a stare, who simply stood there with her arms at her sides.

“ He’s not wrong.” She simply responded with a long sigh, her head turned to Loukua, the half-orc seemed to have an almost shattered expression.

“ Roth ‘zug g-golar il ur-uk ogg Lok’har..?” The draenei spoke in rusty orcish.

It didn’t seem to offer any comfort to Loukua, whose face was now hidden behind her black hair. The human male let out a sigh as he lifted his foot, the windtotem had been snapped in three pieces. He huffed and pushed the dwarf out of the way and left.

“ Ha nogu gesh, Loukua?” The draenei asked, causing Loukua to turn back and stare, it was a yes, even if she didn’t give a true response.

“ Is’ dat ‘er name?” The dwarf asked, resting a hand on her belt.

“ Loukua. I believe so.”

It took another few hours of re-tending to Loukua’s wounds. The half-orc had been in and out of consciousness nearly the whole time. Both Nuvaya and Goldie knew how much pain she must have been in. Even more so with the fact Goldie needed to hold Loukua down in order to get her still enough to not injure her further.

Nuvaya knew something had to be up. She had met a few horde in her life outside of needing to murder each other, they had never been this.. Angry, hostile, terrified.  She couldn’t call “Loukua” wrong, it’s not often you get captured by the alliance. Much less so.. Like this. But she needed to know.

Nuvaya had a plan, she had remembered what the burning legion had done, what they will do. Even now, the horde, the alliance, uniting under a friendly banner was more important than ever! She hoped that befriending this halfbreed was a step in the right direction.

If befriending Loukua was even possible, and it was getting very, very clear, it was going to be more of a challenge.

It started with her plainly refusing food, refusing to talk, refusing everything. Nuvaya was trying.. Oh she was trying. She had spent the past hour, sitting in front of Loukua, a few pieces of bread on her lap. Both of them knew that removing the half-orc’s binds spelted another tussle of combat. But she refused to take anything.

Did she think the food was poisoned? Nuvaya ripped off a piece and tossed it into her mouth. There

. She offered the piece only for Loukua’s head to turn away. No progress. Nuvaya didn’t have a problem remaining calm. Loukua was acting like a child, and the draenei liked to think she knew how to handle children.

A few more hours of poking and prodding passed, Nuvaya gave up for a bit, having Goldie watch the halfbreed while she greeted and check on the rest of their traveling party. The group was still small, missing the other Draenei and her daugther. But Nuvaya didn’t question it.

However, the time spent away left Loukua in a silent, bittering solitude. The half-orc was poorly attempting to plan an escape. She could see her broken communication totem and her hunting knife.. If she could get to that damn knife she could..

The tent opened quickly, snapping Loukua from her thoughts. It was Nuvaya again, holding some sort of package as she sat down to the weaved mat the halfbreed rested on. Nuvaya moved to open the package, which was wrapped in a thick brown paper and tied with blue rope.

Loukua watched with curiosity, but clearly weary of what could it be. As the draenei pulled out what looked to be a small set of purple crystals that were attached by a glowing purple chain. Loukua’s whole body leaned away to the point she felt directly on her side, squishing her burned arm underneath her torso.

The pain caused Loukua to let out a painful cry, Nuvaya gasped and dropped the crystals back into the cushioned box, grabbing Loukua by her unburned arm, pulling the half-orc back up. Nuvaya sighed and moved to grab the crystals, draping them over Loukua’s head till it rested on her neck.

“ There. Now we can actually.. Talk.” Nuvaya said with a sigh. She lacked any “accent”, which startled Loukua. The halfbreed stared for a few long moments.

“ Why can I understand you.” She spoke, her voice lacked any accent herself, which startled the shit out of Loukua as she moved to wipe at the crystals around her neck.

“ T-the fuck did you do to me!” Loukua cried out as she leaned back. Her bound hands slammed back at her neck as she poorly attempted to swipe the crystals away.

Nuvaya let out a tired sigh. “ The crystals won’t hurt you. They let you and me understand eachother.” She motioned to the necklace around her own neck.

“ Understand alliance scum?!” Loukua yelped with gritted teeth. “ I have no interest in speaking to any of you, especially you! Y-you.. You..” Loukua seemed unsure on what insult she could use.

The draenei sighed and rested a hand on her face. “ Loukua? I’m calling you Loukua. I’m not your enemy here..”

“ My name is Loukua.”

“Great.”

The Draenei and the half-orc seemed to share worried glances. Nuvaya let out a tired sigh.

“ I’m sorry about your communication device.” She spoke, turning her head up to watch Loukua, who didn’t respond.

“ Please understand you’re here for a reason… The horde, the alliance. We don’t need to fight. Even now. You carry my blood as much as the orc’s, maybe yo-”

“I am NOT one of you!” Loukua interrupted, screaming at the top of her lungs. Leaning in on the Draenei to make a point.

“ I have never, ever, ever, been one of you.” Loukua hissed. “ I was raised by orcs, I never in my life had any connection to your people. I am not a Draenei, no matter my father’s blood.”

“Father’s?” Nuvaya questioned. “ Your mother was an orc? How are you alive?”

“ Fuck if I know.” Loukua responded with a sneer, turning her head away. “ No one ever told m- Why am I telling y-you of this! “ She turned her head back. “ Let me go! “ She cried, giving Nuvaya angry stare with bared teeth.

“ Because you know I’m not your enemy.”Nuvaya said with a blank expression.

“ You are my enemy.” Loukua growled.

“ The burning legion is our enemy.” Nuvaya responded with a simple nod. The draenei folded the cloth back up. “ I wish to use you as a tipping point. I ask, are you a member of the military?”

“... Yes. I am… Kinda.” Loukua sighed and leaned her head forward.  “ I am a member of the Kor’kron Legion.”

“ The kor’kron is long dead, what is your real occupation.”

Loukua’s eye seemed to twitch. “ I’m so sick of being called a fucking liar.” She sneered. “ I work for a new Kor’kron.”

The draenei leaned back as Loukua clearly got more pissed. “ I-I see… Maybe you can push more waves then I know.”

“ Not me.” Loukua spat. “ I will be no help to you, Draenei.”

“ You don’t need to be afraid.” Nuvaya responded, moving to pull out a small book and a pencil.

“ I am not afraid!” Loukua screamed again, causing the Draenei to jump. The half-orc’s face turned to a smirk only for it to quickly fade.

Nuvaya stared for a few moments. “ You’re forcing yourself to hold back, you’re far to injured to kill me. What are you doing?”

Loukua remained silent, before shifting herself forward and laying down.

It’s clear the conversation was over. Nuvaya sighed and placed down the package, standing up and brushing herself off.

Loukua ended up drifting off into a long sleep, the halfbreed had hopped it would be dreamless, she was wrong.

She felt nothing, but the painting in front of her looked so familiar. It was nagrand, as she remembered from her childhood. Painted in greens, browns and the bright blue sky. She turned her head to pan back, only to see.. Herself? Well, not herself now.

This dream Loukua didn’t look a day older than thirteen. She wore a thick leather hide around her top, which was partially ripped, a ripped looking pelt around her waist. She lacked any shoes. Her hair had been cut short, pulled into a short top-knot. She still had horns, the small tendrils hanged from behind her ears, barely peaking out from behind said ears, which dropped awkwardly and looked far too big for her head.

The child seemed to just be standing and watching the scene before her, taking a few tiny steps forward before shifting into the brush and in the shade, kneeling down and wrapping her thin arms around her knees.

Loukua had the urge to walk forward, setting herself down next to the child. She looked down at herself, only to see nothing.

“ You know you need to let go.” The younger version of herself spoke, her voice seeming even softer and sweeter. If Loukua ever even sounded sweet.

“ Everyone is trying to tell you to let go. Even I am. And I’m you.” The younger version turned, pointing a small hand.

Loukua’s eyes stared down at herself but before she could go to speak, the scene in front of her seemed to painfully warp and blur, only for the younger version  of herself to quickly get farther and farther away.

Loukua screamed, only to hear nothing as she moved to rise and run forward. No matter how quickly the wind and scene rushed past her she could not get closer. Eventually the space around her was now just black. She could hear the dripping of water and nothing else.

She looked down to see herself, injured still, wrapped in bandages and in the clothes she fell asleep in. When she looked up, she saw something she could have never imagined.

It was her, but it wasn’t.

The woman looked elderly, wrinkles covering her face and hair a stark white. This version of her lacked any facial tendrils, but she had a set of short horns poking from her hair. Her armor looked different, clearly of blackrock make, a large wolf skull on one pauldron and a rylak’s skull on the other. The elder version of her wore a tabard that she couldn’t make out, deep red and orange in colour.

Her face was wearing a soft smile, only for it to twist and pull at unnatural angles.

Loukua’s head twisted away, looking from herself, she turned back to see nothing but the armor laid out on the ground. It looked burned and battered, a large sword was stuck in the armor, hitting the heart of the tabard.

She stepped forward, looking at the tabard. It was one of the horde army, the large gold-painted emblem showed it was made to wear with honor.  She reached her good hand to grip the sword and pull back.

The land she stood on seemed to give out as she tugged on the sword, sending her falling underneath what she thought was solid, but it seemed to be water. She couldn’t swim, no matter kicking her arms and legs she sank, and sank, till everything was bubbling and black once again.

And with that, she woke. Still in this damn tent, but she could feel her face was wet. The half-orc rose with a crack of her back. She had no idea how long she was asleep, but Loukua knew she had been crying.

The tent opened with a swish, sure enough the Draenei had walked in, holding a small wooden plate. The woman turned to see Loukua, almost dropping the plate. “ Are you alright?” She asked quickly as she walked over and kneeled down.

Loukua sat there for a few moments. “ I.. I think so.” Her voice had no anger, only exhaustion.

“ You’ve been out for almost sixteen hours, are you alright?” Nuvaya asked, moving to place the plate down, which had a small amount of roasted vegetables.

“ Sixteen hours.. Oh ancestors..” Loukua’s head leaned forward.

“ What did you want to talk to me about, Draenei.” Loukua looked at Nuvaya, the draenei seemed flabbergasted.

Nuvaya watched for a few moments. “ I.. What..” She stared and shook her head.

“ I need.. I need you to take something for me.” Nuvaya stood and walked over to a small bag, pulling out a few objects and tossing them behind her. The half-orc watched for a few moments, turning her head to the plate, she could feel her stomach growl.

Nuvaya turned back and held a small wrapped object and a letter. “ I need you to take this to your superior, anyone. I want us all to help each other.” The draenei said and held out the package.

Loukua’s head turned back to stare. “..Alright. I can do that…”

“ My name is Nuvaya, by the way.”

“ Nuvaya.. That’s..” Loukua’s head shook. “ I’m sorry, I’m very tired and hungry..” Loukua mumbled under her breath. “ I need to get back.”

“ Get back to the village we found you at?”

“No no.. Home. I need to go back to Orgimmar. How long have I been here?”

“ Two days? You keep passing out, I don’t think you’re able to move around properly.”

“ I don’t care, I need to go home.” Loukua snarled, coming back to her personality, which made the draenei lean back in fear.

And so, Loukua ate what she could, using her bound hands. The draenei had uncomfortably agreed to shove what she could into the bag Loukua wore.

Both of them clearly didn’t trust each other. But for a sudden change of thought from the halfbreed, Nuvaya was afraid and excited. It wasn’t until everything was settled that the binds on Loukua’s legs had been cut, which caused the half-orc to stretch and wince in pain. Clearly something was a bit messed up. But she’d live.

It took another few hours of the Draenei running in and out, debating what to do, and getting everyone to sleep before Loukua could be “safely” released. The necklace itself had been packed away. The language barrier between Loukua and Nuvaya was once again alive.

The draenei winced as she had taken a knife to the binds around Loukua’s wrists, finally slicing them off as the burned arm fell limply to her side.

“ Many thank…” Loukua’s common was poor, and that’s all she could think to say as she stood.

She was only five or so inches taller than the Draenei, whose head turned away as the half-orc stood at her full height. Loukua raised a brow only to look down at herself. She still wore the plates and linning of her armor on her legs. But she was topless, completely topless…. Awkward…

The draenei turned away and tossed Loukua a shirt, which didn’t fit the half-draenei that well, but she pulled it on and wore it anyway.

Loukua had been armored and given food for the day’s long trip to the nearest Forsaken foothold. She was no longer in Highmountain but Stormheim. It took her a day and a half of walking and avoiding wildlife to get to the nearest horde camp.

Well, she had one hell of a story.

[queenburd]

the void very rarely does things in the right order

I post this because I love you, Sage. That is the only reason I put this stupid thing on this website.

Teslaverse/UT barely crossover thing

The child smiles, hands folded, eyes closed as though in peace. They stand, in their bright green sweater and khaki shorts, quite at contrast with the space around them—an endless void of white, or perhaps gray. Black? It is unknown—it does not matter.

The child speaks, serenely. Their voice is pleasant, but cool.

“Greetings. I am Chara.”

The smile widens.

“Thank you. Your power awakened me from death. My ‘human soul’… My ‘determination’…”

Chara opens their eyes, arms spreading in offering.

“They were not mine, but y—oh, not you again!”

Quite suddenly, their pleasant tone is gone, empty black eyes wide in impatience at the impertinent human before them. This is not the human they had expected—this human is not even a child. The figure in question sports an obnoxiously large black trench coat, a pair of metal-tipped boots, and a shattered set of goggles set upon his (yes, his) nose. He is also, at this moment, shrugging in intense confusion and disdain at the demon before him.

“What do you mean again?!”

“Gaster!” The demon ignores him, instead snapping at the void around them, stomping its foot on nothing, much like a child. Its hands are curled at its sides tightly. “Why does this idiot keep showing up?! This void is literally too large for us to run into each other again!”

The void, on its part, makes a sound at the child the man cannot quite make heads or tails of—he covers his ears at it, face scrunched in displeasure. Chara snaps back at it in clipped tones.

“Don’t feed me some temporal bullshit! We’re supposed to be fixed to a specific part of the Ethe—don’t you laugh at me! How dare you!”

But it is. The sound makes the man wince. With an irate huff, the child crosses its arms, and glares at him.

“Dib, what the hell are you doing here again.”

Dib curls his hands into tight fists, bringing them down hard in the air. He hates repeating himself.

“What do you mean again?!”

Chara blinks, impatience slipping away in realization. “Ah. This is your first meeting. I see.”

His response to that is to swing his open palms at them, as though gesturing furiously for some explanation. The demon pinches its brow, and mumbles something to itself irritably. He can’t quite make it out, but it sounds suspiciously like “thanks for nothing, doc”. And he’s not touching that subject with a thirty foot pole.

Finally, Chara sighs, and places their hands on their hips.

“The void is a very fickle thing you’ve managed to land in. Time and space hold no definition. For me, this is the third time we have met in this space—for you, it seems, this is the first. And I have no idea how that keeps happening,” they add, sharply, to no one in particular.

And yeah, if he were to stop and think about it, it would make no sense. The void is an infinite. Period. The odds of running into anything are slim, let alone running into something multiple times.

But he’s too busy being quite angry and confused to consider it. Instead, Dib bares his teeth and attempts to grab the child. “Get me the hell out of here,” he says, in the motion—but the physics the demon seems to be working by don’t exist for him, and they easily avoid his reach with a side step. They add insult to the injury by upturning the end of his coat over his head. He squirms, vision blocked.

“Oh, don’t do that. That’s just sad.”

Dib says some very unsavory things, and Chara chuckles.

“You know, we’ve already been over this, but I suppose I’ll say it again. This is kind of your own fault.”

He ignores them in favor of continuing to say quite nasty words that will not be recorded for younger audiences. The demon continues, unperturbed.

“Every time I see you, I always mistake you for the person I am expecting, because your LOVE is just that high. Your goals are the same, are they not? Eradicate the enemy. Become strong. Gain power. Every time a number increases, there’s the feeling in you, isn’t there? A warm satisfaction.”

The man has quickly found the fruitlessness in his endeavor—he’s gone slack. Chara offers a hand to him, to correct his position floating in the area besides where they stand. He ignores it.

“I understand, Dib.”

He scoffs at the child, his single eye narrowed in disinterest and displeasure.

“Perhaps the reason we continue to meet in this void, barring some outside interference—“ they look away from him, blank eyes narrowing in irritation before returning to him “—is because we share common thought processes.”

“You’re a kid. You’re a kid, in the void.”

Disbelief is threaded through Dib’s tone. He shakes his head. The demon folds its hands behind its back.

“And you are a man in the void. I fail to see much difference, save that I understand its behavior only slightly more than you.”

Their voice has become more clipped. Professional. Cold. Dib looks away from it.

“…Despite our situations, and our differences—I feel obligated to suggest.”

“What,” he says cooly, the word oddly heavy on his tongue.

“Should you find a way to return to your world, or even a world. Another path would be better suited.”

His head whips sharply towards the child, hair a hard lightning slash. “What do you know!? You don’t know a thing about me! I was fine—“

“Chosen name: Dib. Defeater of the Irken Empire. Founder of the Dib Institute of ParaScience. Former friend to Faerie Queen Mab.” Here, Chara makes a face akin to as though they have just bitten into an apple and found a worm inside. “Thrown into the void by his younger counterpart after attempting the life of former friend Simon Petrikov.”

He goes stiff, then. His hands curl into his shirt. The fabric gives under the thick rubber gloves.

“I never knew his last name,” he says, quite quietly.

And then—he looks at them again, scowling. “And let me get this straight—you think this gives you the right to judge me? Like I said. You’re a kid. You don’t know anything.”

Chara’s eyes, empty, the color of the void, follow him as they tilt their head. He feels, suddenly, quite small. Like a bug pinned to a study board. It’s the way their eyes aren’t any definite color, and the way they don’t blink when a human should.

“Another path would be better suited,” they repeat. “Although I wonder what color you are. Purple, perhaps.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your soul. I believe it is fueled by perseverance, tinging it a heavy purple hue.”

His response to that, of course, is to wrap his arms tight around his chest. The thing scoffs. “I’m not interested in taking it, if that’s your concern. I can’t make anything out of it—the determination is simply not high enough.”

None of this makes the slightest bit of sense—you’d think he’d be used to it. But he’s not, not at all. It just doesn’t stop being scary and lonely and ever-present. Dib curls his hands into his chest and makes an unpleasant noise.

He wants to go back.

“That’s not going to work.”

He wants to go back to when this never happened.

“Wow, you are very bad at listening. I understand now why you ignored and snapped at me before. You’re really not taking this well.”

“Shut up,” he hisses. “Just shut up!”

The demon sighs, and pats him on the shoulder. “I suppose you made your choice long ago.”

Dib squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them, the child is gone.

[itbeatsbookmarks]

(Via: Hacker News)

March 22, 2017

· technical gaming

Secret colours of the Commodore 64

In 1991 I was fourteen years old. It would be fair to say I was obsessed with computers. I proudly owned a brown 'breadbox' Commodore 64 with an exotic upgrade - an Oceanic 5.25" disk drive:

In May that year, I was reading COMMODORE FORMAT and devouring the C64 game reviews. Suddenly I read a caption that stuck with me for years afterward. Underneath a screenshot of a colourful robotic dragon, it read:

Hold on... You can't get this colour on a 64! Well, you can if you swap pale green and cyan 50 times a second!

This was astonishing to me.

Thanks to the wonder of the internets and the passion of some great magazine archivists, we can excavate the exact page at which I goggled, long ago:

This was freaky. When you owned any 8-bit computer, you became intimately familiar with its colour scheme. This simple photograph blew my mind. That blue colour just wasn't possible.

According to the caption, by presenting two colours to the eye and alternating them quickly enough, a whole new colour emerged. What would this new, secret colour look like on your crappy early-90s CRT television? The screenshot was only a hint. Would it glow? Would it flicker?

Twenty-six years later, I found out the answer.

This article is all about colour switching on the Commodore 64. There are interactive examples to play with below. I haven't found anything else on the topic, so it's possible this is the only resource on the subject.

Let's take a moment to understand why secret colours were such a big deal.

The palette was the computer

Palettes were important.

A typical 8-bit computer could only display sixteen colours. Those colours were fixed in hardware when the computer was designed.

This meant the palette defined fixed boundaries for your computer. It constrained how the visuals looked and felt. It fundamentally differentiated the Commodore 64, from the ZX Spectrum, from the Apple II, from the Amstrad CPC. You could instantly tell which computer was responsible given a screenshot.

As you'd expect, hardware palette design was crucially important. With only sixteen colours to work with, digital artists needed carefully-chosen tones to help them represent the real world.

It didn't always go well. Pity the garish palette wired into the Sinclair ZX Spectrum, which produced visuals like a hot shit aneurysm:

As it happened, the Commodore engineers did a great job. The pic below shows the palette at the top left. The rest of the image explores the pleasing gradients possible with the C64.

Notice that:

It has earthy tones that match real-world objects. Compare with the hue explosion of the Speccy.

It has many shades of grey. This lets you render monochrome images as well as things like metal. Finally the neutral grey shades can be slotted into ramps with other colours to blend them together - you can see these on the right.

So C64 owners were accustomed to screens like this:

The pixellated images above would look much better - more subtly blended - on your typical fuzzy CRT television.

After years of obsessively looking at it, this palette is firmly embedded in my mind. The colours are immediately recognisable. They resonate with the frequency of nostalgia, and make my brain tingle. I actually use these colours as my avatar on Github:

With this in mind, the idea that you could break this boundary and invent new, secret colours on the C64 - and trick the eye into seeing something that didn't exist - that was high wizardry.

Colour switching

If you swap two colours rapidly enough - say at 50 or 60 frames per second - you can fool the eye into seeing something that isn't there. On a machine with sixteen colours, just one or two extra can add a lot to a scene.

Since today we all live in the future and you are reading a fully programmable document on a supercomputer, let's try it.

Simple demo

Here's a square flipping between two colours - red and blue - every second.

Click or tap on the square to alternate the colours at 60fps (or specifically, the maximum refresh rate of your current browser and display. It would be cool to see this on a 144Hz refresh monitor).

Notice how a third colour appears? That shade of purple is not being displayed. Only red and blue are appearing - your eye is fooled into seeing a colour that isn't there. I promise I'm not cheating. That's colour switching in action.

Hit the square again to slow it down and check.

Dragon Breed demo

So way back in 1991, I was intrigued by that review but never actually owned the game. What did Dragon Breed actually look like?

First of all, it turns out that fancy colour switching isn't used in the game at all until you hit the end of STAGE 3, when a robot dragon boss shows up glowing in that weird cyan.

Sidebar: One interesting reference is to check out the original arcade game. Since we live in the future, you can play the Dragon Breed arcade in your browser right now (hit the power button, wait for boot, press 5 to insert coin then 1 to start). That's pretty mind-blowing. Unfortunately to see the dragon we're interested in, you'll have to play to the end of STAGE 3. Good luck with that.

So surely someone's captured this effect on a C64 longplay video? Well after some digging I found our famous robot dragon boss on Youtube (audio warning):

VIDEO

There are two problems with this video. Because it's captured at 30fps,

It looks like shit. The sprites flicker distractingly, and

The colour switching effect is completely lost.

If you were to play the game on an emulator at 50/60fps, the effect is convincing.

Sidebar: A note on frames per second. The European PAL C64 updated at 50fps, whereas the US NTSC systems updated at 60fps (reference). Weird huh? This means the effect would be slightly more convincing on a US machine.

Can we show the Dragon Breed effect on a web page? Well, let's play through to STAGE 3 (using cheats, phew) and screencap the boss in a couple of frames side by side:

Next, with a bit of JavaScript we can alternate the images and see the original effect at 60fps. On a phone, you might need to zoom out a bit first. Again, tap or click to slow down or activate the colour switching:

Look at the three images all together - a totally new colour has emerged!

Also notice the flickery dragon tail: this is a limitation of sprites on the C64. The hardware didn't support enough sprites to give the player six tail segments and render all the enemies; so only three are displayed at a time and alternated every frame, producing the flickery side-effect.

We did it! We recreated Dragon Breed colour switching in the browser. Are we done?

Palette demo

Nope. If those two colours can be combined, what other combinations are possible? Put another way, what is the set of all possible secret colours on a given machine?

Let's find out. Put on your shades for this one! We're going to generate every unique pair of colours possible on the Commodore 64 in one glorious epilepsy-bomb. Again, tap or click to switch modes:

Pretty cool huh? It looks like the tartan for the Scottish clan McPuke.

Bear in mind every flickering square above is a unique pair of colours. I highlighted the combination that's used in Dragon Breed by giving it a border.

Notice that some combinations have a nasty strobe effect and will definitely make you feel ill. But not all of them! Why do some work really well? It all depends on brightness. Two colours of equal brightness will blend perfectly; whereas say black and white will flicker violently.

With switching in fast mode, find a blended colour that you like. Now tap to slow it down and see which two colours are mixing to give you that hue.

The End

And that is the story of how I read about secret C64 colours in 1991, and then twenty-six years later finally got to see them. If you're still interested and have functioning eyes, read on for bonus content.

Contribute to this article

Do you know any other games - for any computer - that use this approach? If so, let me know in the comments.

I'm collecting examples in the appendix below. I'd love to know if the Speccy ever did this...

References

Appendix: Full 1991 article

Before the internet, computer magazines were the only way you found out what was happening in the world of technology. It's difficult to describe how exciting it was to get your issue of ZZAP! 64 or COMMODORE FORMAT and read reviews of all the new games, or check out adverts for the peripherals you'd beg your parents/Santa for.

For maximum nostalgia, here are the full pages of that Dragon Breed review from COMMODORE FORMAT:

Appendix: Colour switching references

This is a list of every reference to 8-bit colour switching I've found on the web.

COMMODORE FORMAT issue 5, Dragon Breed review:

"Extra colours are achieved using colour switching, where pixels are assigned alternate colours every 50th of a second. This gives the impression of a completely new shade!"

COMMODORE FORMAT issue 13, Q&A:

"There's no way to increase the number of colours in the 64's palette, but there are clever software routines to give the impression of more colours. Activision's Dragon Breed uses very rapid colour switching to give an intermediate tone, and PD coders have produced a 'Fli-Pic' facility which enables you to use more than four colours per char block."

COMMODORE FORMAT issue 32, Mayhem in Monsterland developer diary:

"As with our background graphics we wanted more than the C64's 16 colours for sprites. However, we can't use the same method of colour mixing that we're using for the level graphics (see CF28) because we haven't got enough sprite colours. So I added a different colour mixing routine for the sprites. This rapidly flashes between two colours (of equal brightness) to create new shades."

C64.com's interview with the Dragon Breed programmer, Ashley Routledge:

"I especially recall the dragon with that strange shade of blue/cyan."

Appendix: How to flip images at 60fps

In writing the programs for this article I discovered it's pretty awkward to get two images to flip at 60fps without visual artifacts.

GIFs (true GIFs, not GIFV) are too slow for 60fps.

Manipulating a backgroundImage works but flickers like hell.

To make this work you need to create a couple of Image objects, set their src attribute and wait for them to completely load (using an event) before starting your animation loop. Phew! If you need this, view source for this article or check out this gist.

OK that's really it! Thanks for reading. If you've enjoyed this I'd love to hear from you below.