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ceruleanmusings · 5 years ago

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eat, snark, love (not necessarily in that order)

pairing: draco malfoy/theodore nott (because what else do I write?) word count: 1762 tags: post-hogwarts, roommates, established relationship, fluff, domestic fluff, POV draco malfoy, Tagging: @ladylilymalfoy904034 @lareiism

ao3

——

Draco leaned his weary, rain-soaked, mud-covered, exhausted body against the doorway and watched. Well, admired would be the right word. He couldn’t look at Theo, not anymore. Not since…well, right about third year in fact. Something about the way Theo directed a cocky smile at him from across the room when he succeeded in the difficult potion they were learning on the first try grabbed him, shook him up, upended him, and set him back on his feet living in a new world. A world in which, somehow, Theo shifted towards the center.

And it gave him a lot of time to admire his old friend over the years. To take in the curve of his lips, a swath so pink he didn’t doubt that kissing them would taste as sweet as he imagined.

To sink into the depths of his murky eyes, not exactly green but not entirely brown either; a combination so unique even the shifting colors of the potions they spent months slaving over over the years touched upon that color.

To follow the curl of his deft fingers as they wrapped around his wand with certainty, barely giving his actions a second thought; almost as if it were an extra extension not just from his arm but from his mind, the spells and jinxes and charms cast with barely an utter from his lips.

To now, where he sat on the countertop—despite Draco asking him a thousand times not to, for Merlin’s sake—book held in front of his face, lithe fingers curled around the cover, long legs crossed at the ankles. (His lounge pants hiked up a few inches above his ankles. Draco made a mental note to take Theo shopping and then another mental note to find a way to bribe him into going).

But it was the jumper that really caught his eye; the slate gray, cable-knit jumper that seemed to hang off of Theo’s lanky frame in a way that, to others, would appear he was swimming in it but to Draco made him look comfortable, safe, and inviting. Like a teddy bear. Not that Draco would ever call him that. (To his face at least.)

And…shit, he had to go and do it. Draco’s teeth scraped against his lower lip as his eyes scanned the length of Theo’s forearms. His bare forearms, the sleeves pushed back up to his elbows, bunching and bundling only to emphasize the expanse from the elbow up to his bony wrists.

Fuck, that’s what he missed the most while being away.

Yes, he enjoyed playing Quidditch again. He was shocked when he was accepted into the traveling intramural league and half expected some sort of ambush to take place when he showed up on the first day. They’d only been a few years removed from the fall of V…the Dark Lord and he was ready with his wand tucked up his arm and plethora of non-verbal spells and jinxes at his disposal. Just in case. But he was brought in with a clap on his back and a broom shoved into his hands. They took off into the sky, to test their skills and…Draco was free. His stomach swooped, wind rustled in his hair, tugged at his clothes, lifted him upwards and away from his worries, his name, his past. He missed it, he loved it, he didn’t even mind when he crash laded onto the waterlogged pitch and smeared mud into his workout gear.

But he missed this more. Coming home, having a place to come home to, having someone wait for him, and…he stood up straight, eyebrows lifting. He shook his head, certainly his eyes were deceiving him but no. A quick pinch to his inner arm told him he was indeed awake. His pupils blew wide, gray shifting over to black when the fuzziness around Theo smoothed out and revealed a steaming pot, a spoon spinning in lazy circles around the rim as if an invisible hand stirred it. Another pot on the stovetop, covered by a lid dotted with condensation. He didn’t need to look to know what it was. The hearty scents wafted past his nose and fed the hungry beast in his stomach and perfectly meshed with the scent of him.

He’d been away far too long.

His leather bag fell off his shoulder and landed on the hardwood floors with a thump. Behind the book Theo’s head lifted and then tilted to the side. Dropping one hand to his lap, he closed the book with a snap and lowered it from his face with such agonizing slowness that Draco had to keep from launching himself across the kitchen to yank it out of his hand

Theo’s green eyes took a slow journey from his face, down his neck, down his chest, dropping to his shoes, and traveled back up again. Draco felt his gaze; white hot against him. Goosebumps erupted over his skin and static sparked and crackled in his ears, in the air around him, the electricity thrumming with every breath that came out of him.

Theo lifted his chin and Draco saw it, a whisp of a smile at the corner of his mouth before he let out such a world-weary sigh that only Theodore Nott could muster and perfect.

“You always find a way to ruin my surprises,” he stated.

His legs, once numb, finally started up again. With each step he kept his gaze—steady and sure—on Theo until he was within arms reach. Their knees touching. Together. Finally. Still…“I think the fact that you want to surprise me is a surprise on it’s own.” Draco’s lips curled upwards and a challenging sparkle settled in his eyes. Upclose the spicy aroma of the stew and the colliding scent of Theo’s minty bodywash crashed into him, dizzying him.

“You’ve been gone for six days,” Theo said, following a snort. He reached out and brushed a few strands of white-blond hair out of Draco’s face.

Draco touched his knee. “Miss me, Nott?”

Theo’s eyes jumped up to the ceiling and he turned away from Draco, peering into the pot as the spoon continued to stir the brown liquid. Potatoes, carrots, beef, and onions bobbed among the surface. “You weren’t supposed to be back yet,” he said towards the surface.

Draco leaned forward, squeezing Theo’s knee as he pressed, “Did you miss me?”

Theo hummed; the sound reverberated in Draco’s skull and lit him up like a firework. “You’re very pushy for someone who’s tracking mud along my flat.”

“You missed me.” His smile—beaming of smug satisfaction—took up half his face at his conclusion. A man of little words, Draco could read Theo like a well-loved, frequently sought-after book. His fingertips read every pulse and twitch of Theo’s muscles as they trailed up his thighs.

“I haven’t said such a thing,” Theo said, voice deepening.

“Right. Because it’s normal for you to wear my jumper.”

Theo’s eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head. “This one’s mine.”

“No it’s not. My grandmum knitted me this one.” Draco tugged the hem, catching a glimpse of skin beneath; the trail of hair heading North and South simultaneously. He licked his lips. “Yours is white.”

Theo stilled and Draco took that as an opportunity to duck his head and press a kiss to his boyfriend’s throat. Theo’s adam’s apple bobbed and a hiss quickly followed when Draco reached beneath his jumper, running his hands on the expanse of Theo’s stomach. “Your hands are cold.”

Pushing a breath out his nose, it was Draco’s turn to roll his eyes. “Leave it to you to ruin a moment, Nott.”

“Don’t be a git, Malfoy. Alls I’m sayin’ is you’re getting me wet and muddy.”

“Right. Forgot you were a bit particular about your cleanliness.”

Theo gave him a pointed look. “Takes one to know one. You keep that up I won’t ask you to join me in the washroom.” As he spoke he reached around and grabbed at Draco’s arse, lifting him up onto his toes. Draco scratched at Theo’s stomach for good measure as Theo leaned forward and murmured into his ear, “Need to warm you up somehow.”

Backing away, Draco forced himself not to focus on the lack of warmth that grew in the space between them as he motioned towards the food on the stove. Let Nott squirm. Serves him right. “Mmm. I suppose the stew wasn’t to take care of that.”

Theo crossed his arms. “I still need to eat even when you’re not here.”

Lifting the spoon out of the pot, Draco sipped at the steaming stew. The burn on his tongue was worth the tension in Theo’s shoulders and the twist to his mouth. “I would have taken that at face value if you didn’t already say it was to surprise me.” In his peripheral he spotted that tiny tell-tale twitch at the corner of Theo’s eye.

There was a shortlist of things that Draco savored: a good spot of tea, Belgian chocolates, his grandmum’s desserts, his mum’s only attempt at cooking dinner (he knew Theo got the stew recipe from somewhere). But seeing Theodore Nott stumbling, thrown off his game?

That, well, that was priceless.

“You missed me,” he stated again, lifting his chin.

Theo leaned forward until his forehead pressed against the side of Draco’s head. “I always do,” he said. And before Draco could speak he added, “It’s dreadfully boring without having someone around to ignore.”

“Git.” He grabbed the collar of Theo’s—his—jumper and yanked him forward, lips colliding in a clumsy, hungry kiss that quickly melted into another and another and another where one barely ended when the next begun, heavy breaths filling the air and the humid heat trapped around the collar of Draco’s shirt rivaled the steam coming from the stove.

“Are you hungry?” Theo asked, the question embedded against Draco’s throat.

Draco’s eyes fluttered shut. “Not really.”

“Good.” Theo’s smirk caressing Draco’s throat made him groan, his body humming in appreciation. “I’ll build your appetite.”

“Kinda hoping you would.”

As Theo hopped down from the counter and dragged Draco out of the kitchen towards their bedroom with laced fingers, his eyes bounced from his abandoned Quidditch bag to the pictures lining the walls of their flat. And like with the sport, Draco reminded himself, as the famillair swooping tumbled his stomach, that he was allowed to be this happy. That he was allowed to move on. That he deserved this.

He did.

He does.

#draco malfoy #theodore nott #theo nott #draco x theo #dreo #harry potter #harry potter ficlet #harry potter slash #rarepair #rarepair hell #my writings

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divagonzo · 6 years ago

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Would you ever consider writing some demi or grey-ace Ron headcanons? I can easily imagine Ron being so confused about it, there he is, kissing Lavender, a beautiful and kind girl, and just not /feeling/ it. He knows everything is in working order, he knows he likes girls, he doesn't mind kissing her, but whenever her hands start to wander it just doesn't feel right.

Oh honey... I let my mind wander while I was out wandering in the 0*C for six hours. Hang onto your britches because I went overboard on this one:

Ace-Spectrum!Ron HC... (please bear in mind that they were thought up to solidify how I see/write/portray Ron in my writing, since I do see him as Hermione focused for the most part. (And this will be a Lavender-appreciation zone, too.)

Ron, being ickle, overhears how Big Brother Bill is talking about someone he's dating (he didn't quite catch a name) and all he can think is, "Ewww, that's icky."

Brother Charlie is the one he trusts more than Bill because Charlie "never talks about girls that way and rather talk about Chess, and Quidditch, and Dragons." Charlie never talks about icky things, like girls.

Even when he sees his parents being more affectionate, beyond a hug (They do have 7 kids, so you know that it's not just Molly being over-bearing) he turns his head.

Quoting The Princess Bride, "Is this a book where there's a lot of kissing? Can we skip those parts?"

When he's older and finally attending Hogwarts as a firstie, he stumbles across his brother Percy snogging Penelope in a broom closet, mistaking it for a loo. They don't see him (they are rather preoccupied) and he stares for a moment and then quietly leaves, wondering what all the fuss is.

Ron accidentally stumbles into the loo at home and finds Percy *in an awkward moment* (cough) and backs out of the loo, wondering what all of the fuss is.

He goes to bed that evening, hearing the ghoul banging on the pipes in the attic, and decides to see what all of the fuss is. Suffice to say, it does absolutely nothing for him.

On the train ride the first time, and meeting Harry, he feels something. It's a first, really - someone who makes his heart flutter just a bit more. He's glad to share space and time with Harry and is absolutely delighted when Harry tells Malfoy off. (Whom he knows from listening to his father regail things from work over games of chess in the evening at home.)

Harry gets sorted into Gryffindor and he does too and he's so incredibly appreciative to have a friend that isn't a hand-me-down. It's something *only he* has - his friendship with Harry.

*The troll incident on Halloween* Harry and Ron make it back to their dorm after having been given cover by Hermione who they think can be their friend now since they saved her and talk late into the night, including how Ron made that club the troll was carrying levitate so easily when he had trouble in class. Ron sleeps well into the next morning, a peaceful night's sleep.

*Spending time with Harry is the brightness that keeps the negative thoughts at bay, most of the time. It's like the voices berating him constantly, a drumbeat of things he made messed up and the mistakes he made were a little more quiet, a little less harmful.

*In PoA, after Buckbeak's judgment, they are all under the Invisibility cloak. Ron, being the tallest, catches a whiff of Hermione's hair and he has a fleeting thought of "wow, Hermione's hair smells nice."

Hermione’s tenacity and determination, along with force of will, is something he appreciates.

*In GoF, when Ron is stuck wearing grotty manky robes, he sees Hermione (while he’s standing next to a very pretty Padma) and feels, for the first time, his stomach get a butterfly.*

*In OotP, he finds himself spending plenty of time with Hermione (since the twins are being gits and Ginny is hanging out with them mostly) while cleaning. The fumes from the cleaning solutions do nothing to keep the mad rush of 4 butterflies flying around like bludgers in his stomach settling down*

*When Hermione gives him a kiss on the cheek, for good luck, the 4 butterflies multiply to 16. But eventually, like joke galleons, they dissipated back to 4*

He never forgets the feeling of those 16 butterflies bouncing around like rogue bludgers

*HBP happens and the problems grow exponentially. When he finds out that Hermione kissed Viktor first, he gets irate. He's not so much irate that she did that but it's that everyone but him knew and didn't tell him. The pangs of hurt run so deep. The betrayal of not being told hurts the worst.

*Everything is going wrong with Hermione, even if he's mostly forgiven her for doing that but not for not telling him. They are best friends, aren't they? She kept secrets from him. The break in trust hurts worse. So it's quite obvious that she doesn't feel the same way he does.*

"Maybe if I go snog the first person who shows me some interest it'll be better*

*But it actually isn't. He wanted it as a once off but Lavender was amenable and appreciative and feelings of validation are there. She's nice, she's attentive, she's a bright ray of sunshine but that level of trust just isn't there. He finds that he just can’t talk with her on the level he needs - and doesn’t have that emotional intimacy built on trust. It's fun but the things he grew up believing, that you only should be that close to someone you intend to marry hampers anything else that happens.

(Thanks to @vivithefolle for me seeing him as a Prude/Ace for that!)

They fool around some and he discovers that the things that the twins told him about that happen when guys are into girls just doesn't happen with him.

But he knows he’s not gay. That’s for the other buggers in the dorm room, Seamus and Dean.

He sends a letter off to Charlie one afternoon when Harry is off with Dumbledore and Lavender and Parvati are in Divination, asking his brother questions about such feelings.*

He gets a letter back in a fortnight, explaining so many things, including how it's OK if you don't feel something for a girl snogging you. But you do right by her and break it off with her because using someone isn't right.*

Charlie also mentions that if he feels a certain way for Harry that those feelings are valid too. "But the thing is, little brother, is that you can love someone so much without having the desire to shag them 'til their body explodes."

Charlie talks about Tonks and Ron appreciates that story.

"And before anyone tells you anything else, yes, you can feel that way towards more than one person in your life. No one says that you can't love more than one person at a time. Only Mum’s trashy novels she claims to never read tells her that.”

He realizes that it's not Lavender he loves, even if he does appreciate what he's gotten from her.

Poor Ron has no clue how to do that without hurting her. Things continue, including how mean and petty and spiteful Hermione is towards him

He gets poisoned and is in the Hospital wing for days on end. Hermione shows up one afternoon, when he's kind of awake, but out of it, and he hears her voice. The butterflies return. He hears her talking, the occasional sniff, and warmth, like he took a pepper-up potion, works through his system. It's a feeling he's never quite had with Lavender, as sweet as she is. But he still has no clue how to break it off with her.

Lavender handles it instead and he’s quietly relieved, even if he knows he was a cold sod for it.

When Harry is yelling at him to go, and they are rowing, the ache inside his soul hurts so.damn.much.

Those weeks without both of them were the absolute worst of his entire life - even when he’s white-haired and bent over with age. Nothing else came remotely close.

After the locked tormented him one last time, and Ron is completely broken, Harry is still there. He tells him that He's not interested in Hermione. They’re friends. They are practically siblings.

"But I thought - "

"Look, mate, we both need you. Can’t you tell?”

Ron considers that he can love both of his best friends, even if it's possible in different ways. That realization is an enormous firework going off in his soul.

That first snog was like the expansive fireworks going off. It's better than Firewhiskey, better than treacle tart, or even chocolate cake. It’s like he’s finally found the home he craved and wanted.

But there's Harry, whom he has shared everything and then more. He would love to continue to share everything with him since he's pretty much half of his heart.

And Hermione is half of it.

Ron comes to realize that the two of them are the portions of his heart but he's the entire muscle pumping away, keeping them working, safe, feeling needed and wanted.

Because his heart is his two best friends, whom he loves equally and just as passionately. He loves them the same but in different ways.

They all have a sit-down at some point and hash things out for good.

There are some parts that Hermione just doesn't get, understand, or appreciate. There are some parts that Harry just doesn't get, understand, or appreciate. Both know how Ron feels towards both of them and agree on how they share him.

Ron, finally, sleeps well that night, having both of them on each side of him, sleeping comfortably, for the first night in years.

Because his best friends love him, even if they are absolutely pants at telling him that. But damn if they don't show him in their own ways.

And that is how I see Ron and Harry and Hermione - because the love is there along with the deep emotional intimacy required to love both of those headstrong and absolutely stubborn best friends of his.

#Anonymous

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starfaring-princelotor · 6 years ago

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No Time Like The Present

Summary: Lotor receives a gift and finds it means more to him than he realizes.

Pairings: Lotor x F!Reader

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I kindly ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. Thank you. ★

Warnings: N/a.

Future Sight___Historic Significance___No Time Like The Present___Thinking Ahead ___Best Friends

Lotor knew he was staring.

He knew he was unconsciously drifting his gaze from the professor to where you were sitting, directly across the hall from him. More than once he had to snap out if it by internally slapping himself, even if you didn’t once recognize the indecent gaze of his eyes lingering on your body. Your mouth. Your neck. Your shoulders. All of you. From the way your quill moved with every flick of your wrist to how those lips would mutter silently to yourself in reminder.

Lotor wondered what else your hands could do. What else that mouth could do. What else hid behind those lustrous orbs of yours. He couldn’t decide between wanting to steal a kiss from you or wanting you to take his breath away with a press of your delicate, pillowy lips upon him. His thoughts were rampant with little care for the rules he labeled as self-respect. And, damn it all, he had to control himself better.

You are not in love. You are heavily infatuated, you fool. You know the difference, now gather your wits and pay attention to the lesson at hand.

Hand. Lotor’s mind flashed an image of your hands, helplessly clinging to his back in wild lust. Were your nails long? Would you be digging them in his hot flesh while his hips grind against your body underneath him? Oh, how he wanted to feel your palm touching his chest, anywhere your curious mind desired. Are you the kind to let your fingertips explore or -

Damn. What was he? A foolish hormone-driven prepubescent again?

“Asked her out to the Yule Ball yet?”

Lotor kept his gaze glued on you and, without missing a beat, answered, “No. I do not think I will.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Shiro was watching his friend, that half-lust, half-adoration look in his eyes, “I heard Throk was going to.”

“You sure hear a lot of gossip nowadays, hm, Shiro?”

“Not my fault Allura’s mice like to hang out with me.”

He would have to hand it to Lotor, though. The man didn’t even flinch when he mentioned Throk. Was he that enthralled with you? Were his rose-colored goggles too tight on his face? Did he even notice you staring straight back at him with a small smile on your lips? No, he thinks not. He was on cloud nine and riding high in his horny thoughts.

“She will not agree to go with him.”

“Never get rid of that confidence, friend. It suits you,” Shiro grinned, containing his chuckle to not draw attention, “Since when could you tell the future?”

“I can not,” he grinned, “But chances are slim for Throk when she, no doubt, has lines of eager suitors just waiting to ask for her hand.”

Shiro was tempted to roll his eyes. What a hopeless romantic, this guy. When his grey orbs caught the black rose sticking out of his friend’s satchel, the Gryffindor prefect shook his head in mirthful amusement.

Hopeless? Maybe not. Romantic? Definitely.

Another crumpled ball folded itself into a snake, the magic from your wand bringing inanimate objects to life. Temporarily, anyways.

If anyone were to come into your room, they would see a zoo littered all over the floor. Paper animals from bears to giraffes tramped over the rug, some hiding under your bed while others sought to rip the smaller one to pieces. Ah, yes, the circle of paper life. It mattered not how noisy they were being. It could not distract you from hovering the tip of the quill over another blank parchment.

And hover it stayed.

The words were not coming to you and that was beyond frustrating. Your penmanship was fine, beautiful even, but the prose? The poetic soul? The letters meant to represent those lingering thoughts in your head were not working with you tonight. Or any previous night, for that matter. All you were doing was wasting ink and time. And yet, you kept trying, struggling to make this letter as perfect as possible for a certain white haired Slytherin.

Sighing heavily, you straighten your back and stretched your arms above you, letting your mind wander.

If there was one thing you appreciated with being Lotor’s friend, then it is that you didn’t need to be perfect. Everyone had flaws, but he showed you twice already that fixing them is what makes you a better person. Change is a good thing. Painful, but good. It was difficult keeping your eyes astray from that mirror shard. Easily one of the hardest hurdles you have ever had to do. You wanted so badly to see your mother, your father, all of you, smiling happily like before they…

“Dear Lotor,”

Dear Lotor? Was that proper for your friend? Hopefully, yes.

“Words can not express how thankful I am to have you by my side.”

You thought back to potions class, the time in the forest, even when he was guiding you to your house’s wing. A small, fond smile spread on your lips.

“Whereas I have been recklessly selfish, you have dutifully”

Dutifully? Ugh. That was not the right word! You know he wasn’t helping you out of duty. Well, not completely anyways. You hastily scratched over “dutifully” then continued writing, figuring this was a good 56th draft.

“You have kindly grounded me to see things more logically, something I have failed to do for someone sorted into the Ravenclaw house.”

Yes, yes. Keep it somewhat light with a self-burn joke. No doubt he would agree with you anyways. Probably chuckle to himself if he reads it. When he reads it. You bit your bottom lip, hesitating on the next words itching to transfer from your mind to ink. This part was always the hardest. The blank yellow tint of the paper mocked you, teased you for the cowardly trepidation gripping your chest. All this time, locked in your room, you came to one conclusion: you liked Lotor. You would consider the both of you as friends, right?

Right.

“If it is all the same to you”

Scratch that. It was too non-chalant.

“I hereby request that”

Scribbles. Too formal.

“Would it be terribly selfish if I were to ask you to attend the Yule ball with me?”

As...friends? Best friends. You felt your face warming up at those two words. Best. Friends. You really liked that.

Prince Lotor was nervous.

A rare occurrence for him, but it did happen. While he brushed off invisible lint from his shoulder, other hand folded neatly behind his back, he kept his posture straight and regal in waiting like a true gentleman. The bottom of the stairs have never felt so intimidating before. His collar suddenly felt too tight and, goodness, was that a scuff on his boots? Who dared step on his shoe without his knowing? He kept sneaking glances to his cuffed wrists, just to make sure he was presentable for the public. No, not just the public. But for you, too. Of course he was fine, handsome even, and yet…he was stiff as if he was going to face a basilisk with only his bare hands for weapons.

Green was still a horrendous color, but he will admit it complemented the black suit wonderfully.

“Prince Lotor.”

Your voice calling his name, with his proper title, drew his nebulous eyes up each carved marble step. That smile on your face suited you well and, in all honesty, was better than the elegant dress draping past your ankles. That beauty radiating from your eyes put the soft sapphire linen to shame. Little did he know, you were thinking the same when you stared in awe at the silver braid crowning his head. Did he even realize he was grinning like a fool with a soft fondness glazing over his sharp face?

“You look beautiful, my dear,” he held his hand out, which you gladly surrendered your own on top of his, “Surely, this flower will not even hold a candle to you.”

You scoffed, he chuckled, “C’mon, Casanova, give yourself some credit here. I’d say try not to attract too much attention at the hall, but that’s nearly impossible for you.”

“Oh? Go on,” Lotor tied the white silk band around your wrist delicately, ensuring the blooming corsage was centered properly, “Think women will drop to my feet and beg for a dance?”

“Ha!” you barked a laugh, “That’ll be the day. But no, it’s more like...you’re just hard to miss.”

With his height, his skin, his hair, yes, Lotor was indeed hard to miss. No doubt people would stare and, although you had no problem with speeches and crowds in a classroom, this was a different setting all together. A social gathering, not something you were accustomed to yet, especially besides someone whose mere presence demanded attention. Lotor curbed the playful banter then held his elbow out for you to take, already sensing your creeping uneasiness while his own nervousness disappeared in thin air.

“I do not suppose you have any more of that invisible ink you used in your letter, hm?” there was a hint of pride at your ingenious trick, one he almost wasn’t able to solve, “We could douse ourselves in it and run off. All those in our year will be there, I doubt they would notice two people missing.”

Besides, it’s not like this is the first time Lotor would bend the rules for you.

“And land you in trouble with the Headmaster Bob? I think not, Mr. Prince Slytherin Prefect.”

“Please,” he said with some exasperation hidden in his grin, “Just call me Lotor for tonight.”

The doors were already open and, from above, you could see the enchanted ceiling sprinkling snowflakes of all sizes. They disappeared before touching anyone’s head, but what truly caught your sight was the bright moon and the powdered tall trees displaying a winter wonderland before your very eyes. Magic was truly a special phenomenon you will never quite get used to.

“Damn, looks like we missed the ballroom dance,” you sure did not sound too heartbroken about it, “Seems like my accursed knack for being late strikes once again. Terrible.”

Lotor arched a brow and grinned down at you, “Nonsense. We will still get our dance yet, darling, though this music is not exactly suitable for it. Nor is...all this wild hopping and flailing.”

While all the students were inside, going crazy to the rock of ages blasting in the hall, Lotor led the two of you out into an isolated garden patio, complete with cement benches, neatly trimmed bushes still shimmering with green leaves, and even a soothing fountain filling the chilly air. Strange, but the cold did not seep into your bones as fast as you thought. In fact, you felt rather warm besides your friend.

A puff of fog left your mouth as you spoke, “It was getting stuffy in there. But, aah, the fresh air is nice.”

You took a deep breath just to emphasize your approval, but when you tried to release your hold from him, Lotor’s bigger hands refused to let you go. He wasn’t clasping tightly at all, more loose to let you go if you truly wanted to. Your questioning gaze and tilt of head made the Prince falter for a second, before he offered you an enchanting smile. Enchanting or mischievous, you wondered?

“I was serious about the dance,” he liked the surprised look on your face, “But if you are not of mind, it is no tragedy, my dear.”

“You know, I failed that lesson. Spectacularly, might I add.”

“Good thing I am not a teacher then, hm?”

A laugh left your mouth before you could stop it, funny bone simply tickled at the light banter. Yes, it is a good thing he was no teacher. You returned to his arms, much to his delight, and placed your free hand on his broad shoulder. Lotor tangled his fingers with yours before setting his palm properly to grip your waist. He was half tempted to squeeze, maybe try to see if you were ticklish at all, but it was your hum of thought that distracted him.

“Just don’t laugh when I step on your toes.”

“I will most certainly laugh. You know this.”

Teasing bastard, but you grinned in amusement anyways. Lotor nearly puffed up his chest, ready to lead you into the dance, but first he started...purring? No, ridiculous. He was humming a soft tune, one completely different than that leaking from the dance hall. Slowly, with the utmost care as if he was holding an ethereal moon goddess in his very arms, the Prince guided you along with his firm, lithe body.

Chest against chest, pelvis flushed together, the surrounding garden and night slowly faded away as the only thing both of you could feel was each other’s sublime presence. He was good at this and, really, now you kind of wish you paid more attention in class. Lotor expertly avoided your missteps, making it seem like you were flawlessly following his guide even though he was doing 95% of the work.

You were acutely aware that he had a smile on his face, one you have never seen him wear since you first met him crossing the threshold into Hogwarts castle.

“You are staring.”

“Can’t help it. Your freckles are distracting.”

“I get that quite often,” he flashed you an honest, handsome grin, canine glinting under the dim moon, then found his throat constricting suddenly, “You may touch them, if you wish.”

As the dance came to a slow end, you decided to take him up on that offer. His hands smoothed down to hold your waist, a way to keep you close to him in this chilly, chilly night. Couldn’t risk you getting a cold or becoming sick, right? Lotor kept still when gentle fingertips trailed up to his chin, barely skimming over his jawline, then gave the barest of flinches as you touched him. His cheeks were freezing, but your warm thumbs caressing over his freckles felt absolutely blissful.

You don’t know why, but you half expected those speckles to glow.

“Hm,” you squinted, eyes narrowed at him and, well, it put him on alert. Was it something he did? Said? Perhaps he was holding you too tight -

“...55...56…”

“...Are you,” he started, realization dawning on him, “Are you counting my freckles?”

A pinch on his cheeks, “Yes! You made me lose count. Stay still.”

But he didn’t. Lotor bellowed out a laugh, head tossing back at the ruined moment. No, not ruined. This was perfect. Not exactly what he expected, but you always did have a funny way to diffuse domestic scenarios. Leave it to you to make him swerve off his intended path. A good thing, no doubt. Always expect the unexpected. His chest was shaking while you tsk’d at him for interrupting your very important assignment.

“Come, darling,” he let out a relieved sigh, the laugh doing wonders on his hardened, infatuated soul, “Sit with me. I have something for you.”

Lotor brushed off the layer of snow from the cement bench then motioned you to take it. He did the same for his own spot before glancing up at the night sky. Beautiful. Always has been, but tonight, those star seem to be glimmering even brighter than before. Your eyes were stuck on the moon and it was in this rare, pleasant silence where the both of you came to understand how...nice it was being with each other.

“Christmas was never something I gave a second thought to because it was too...how do you say? Too sentimental, ” his hand reached into his coat, pulling out an immaculately wrapped square present, “It was not a holiday for me. Celebrating with family over a warm dinner and thoughtful, spoiled presents. Hugs and togetherness spreading cheer and good will to each other. Sickening, really.”

You would have believed him if you didn’t catch that growing smile on his lips.

“But I realize that is wrong. What it means to me does not mean the same for others. Not to you,” his thumb brushed over the shiny bow on the present before he turned and offered it to you, “There are people who had a happy family and...ahem, pardon me.”

Lotor was at a loss for words. This talk was making his heart jump in his chest, crashing into his vocal chords and messing with his brain only because it felt awkward sharing personal thoughts so...openly.

“I simply hope this gift exchange, as you say, is enough to bring back those joyful memories for you, my dear.”

My best friend. Lotor was no dunce. He could piece two and two together, especially after you shared with him the history of your broken family. He didn’t need to hear it all and, judging by how much it affected you, you weren’t going to indulge him. The only thing that mattered was that you were happy. You had a happy family and, damn it, just because his own parents were cruel and heartless doesn’t mean you should follow his chosen path of being the seasonal despondent.

You had good memories of your family, but this? Lotor’s gift? You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the surge of feelings making your lower lip quiver. You threw your arms around him in a crushing embrace, causing the Prince to stutter at such straightforward displays of affection. And yet, his arms wrapped around your midsection as he returned the sudden hug. This...this felt nice, especially knowing you accepted his gift.

“Thank you,” you swayed him slightly before backing off him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Lotor. This is...it’s not the same, but…”

Lotor’s smile faltered a bit.

“But it’s much better. Way better.”

Now, he felt ridiculously proud of himself.

“I love it - “

“You did not even open it yet.”

“I know! I’m just taking in the moment! It’s important! It feels good!”

Lotor raised a silver brow and, finally, you pulled the bow and strings off the present. The wrapping came off next. The Prince found himself unconsciously holding his breath in dreadful anticipation. The book with no title laid bare for your very eyes, but you went deathly silent. Intricate etchings in the green leather dye suddenly seemed mediocre for someone like you. The symbolic tree with jade minerals carved into leaves were too dull. He knew he should have gone with emeralds. Much prettier, much shinier, much more suited for -

“Wow…” your voice was low, but full of dazed awe, “You...you made this?”

“Oh, no. I bought the journal,” he watched your fingertips gently skim over the leaves, “But those, I put in myself. I even...ah…”

The timber of his voice trailed off and you turned to look at him to see his gaze fixated on the white floor, “Yes? You even…?”

“So pushy, you are,” he chuckled, running a hand over his hair and trying to steel himself with being so open, “I have enchanted it. Do write in it tonight and see what happens.”

“You aren’t going to tell me?”

“No.”

“See, that’s just mean,” you bumped your shoulder against him lightly, playfully, “Now I can’t wait until the dance is over.”

Would you think differently of him if he said he didn’t want it to end?

“Okay, fine, keep your secrets,” you reached into your bag, “Now, before I give this to you, you have to close your eyes.”

“Oh, really now?”

“Yes, really.”

“Very well, I will humor you.”

You almost wanted to pinch that catty grin off his face, but he did obey when his lids slid close. Taking a few seconds to make sure he wouldn’t peek, you gently grabbed his hand and placed the paper wrapped orb in his palm. At least, you should have, until you noticed a certain pale scar cutting across his skin. The scar from the mirror, an unwelcome reminder of your foolish actions.

Taking a deep breath, you plopped the gift and pushed his fingers up to curl around it.

“Alright, there.”

When he opened his celestial eyes, the first thing Lotor saw was that your smile, as true as it was, had a quick flutter of sadness creeping at the edges. It disappeared before he could question you and he ultimately decided, well, perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was that fleeting memory of your family invading your mind again. In any case, he let it go for now, then deftly peeled apart the wrapping covering your gift.

Your leg was bouncing in anxiousness. Every crinkle of the paper was a mocking tune to the gift in his hand. This wasn’t as practical as his gift. Did he like gifts that were more useful than sentimental? Oh, stars, what if this was just going to be sitting in a storage box, hidden away for years because all it ever does is show one’s emotions and -

Lotor’s brows shot up in genuine surprise, “Is...is this blue sandstone?”

“Uh huh,” your hand came up to rub your neck nervously, “Shined it, too, until it was good and ready. Do you...like it?”

Why did you even ask that? It only made your throat tighten more in trepidation, both wanting and afraid to hear his answer.

He could not take his eyes off the orb, inner stars slowly changing to green grass and blooming flowers and sunshine all around. It was warm, so warm that he had to bring both of his hands in to cradle it lovingly. This small gem was...precious. Beautiful. He knows about these, he knows about these intimately, but he never sought to own one himself. Lotor liked to believe he is a man who knows himself both inside and out, emotions included.

But this soothing visual of spring time told him otherwise.

“I do,” he whispered, “I do like it. This is...This is truly an extraordinary gift, my dear. I will cherish it forever.”

Lotor may be a Prince, but right now he felt like a King.

You sighed in relief. Lotor took entirely too long to answer, but when he did, his words made you feel big. Wholesome. Accomplished, even. Then...then you realized what exactly this was you were feeling. You felt accepted. You didn’t feel so alone now. It was quiet, both students simply touching and admiring the gifts given by the other while the stars protected you two from above.

“Do you...want to go inside? Grab a drink?”

Lotor slowly dragged his eyes to lock with yours, a certain tenderness radiating from them in the night. It was a good look on him, one you thought, well, you wouldn’t mind seeing it more often.

“Not yet, my dear. I am...taking in the moment.”

Neither of you wanted the night to end, but alas, even youngsters had their limits. Lotor’s tie was loose, jacket hanging off the side of his chair, and top two buttons of his shirt undone. Still, he wasn’t tired, he didn’t want to sleep, not when the blue sandstone orb was still in his possession. This would easily be a treasured gift he will not share with others. Solely for him and him only. Not even Kova would have the luxury of touching this.

The navy-dyed journal on his desk began glowing a faint, soft hue. Lotor couldn't stop the surge of...joy? Happiness? Eagerness? Something. The surge of something fluttering to his face and planting a smile on his lips. He flipped it open to the first blank page and waited in suspense. He never told you what the secret was because he wasn’t quite sure if his enchantment worked in the first place.

Then, words started appearing on the parchment, words written in your handwriting.

“Dear diary,

Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

Lotor grabbed his quill, uncapped his ink bottle, then dipped it before writing right under your sentence.

“Me, too.”

#lotor x reader #congratulations!#the wizarding world now discovered #text messaging #get it #because its in a book #a text book #spacestories #also early post because duty calls tomorrow #and it will most likely be all day

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wonduhhwoman · 6 years ago

Text

Backbone - 3 - valley of barbarians

Read on Ao3

“Aw,” Ochako whined, gently patting her face in the mirror that was hung up in a tiny village shop just outside of Fyre, “I forgot what a bitch the sun is!” Her skin was red and giving off heat. It didn’t hurt too badly now, but she knew that she’d really be feeling it tomorrow if she didn’t find someone who had a magical remedy for it. She pouted at herself in the mirror, silently scolding herself for not using the salve that Todoroki had given her.

She lived in a place where the shadows of the trees and brush protected her skin from the sunlight—once she and Tsuki had exited the thick of the trees and began their decent into the Valley of Barbarians, it had slipped her mind that she should even worry about the sun.

Glancing to her right, she saw an entire shelf of the exact potion she needed. She grinned excitedly.

“Excuse me!” She called over to the little lady at the front of the shop who was whittling away at a hunk of wood with a knife.

The lady turned to her with a scowl, raising a brow through long strands of white hair. She huffed impatiently when Ochako didn’t immediately continue.

“How much for the sun-potion?” Ochako inquired, pointing at the specific potion amid the variety adorning the shelves.

“Fifty onti of gold,” she barked, and then jabbed her thumb towards the outside of the tent where Tsuki was wagging his tail in excitement at the hustle and bustle of the little village, “And its twenty onti of gold to park your wolf there."

Ochako’s eye widened before her brows drew down in outrage.

“Twenty onti just to leave my wolf outside!?” She squawked, putting both her hands on her hips, “That’s ridiculous!” She wasn’t going to even think about buying the sun-potion now. She only had one-hundred onti of gold total on her—which she had wagered would have been a reasonable amount to carry around on a journey like hers!

“Every minute is another five,” The lady shrugged, turning back to her whittling and discreetly gesturing to her blow dart hanging up behind her that Ochako didn’t want to find out whether or not was laced with tranquilizer magic. Not that it really mattered—Ochako was confident in her abilities in stopping this grumpy lady from hitting her with the crude weapon. And Tsuki could take care of himself if the shopkeeper decided to aim the weapon the wolf’s way.

Ochako’s eye twitched as she unfortunately remembered that she was supposed to be gaining the favor of these stingy people. She dug through her bag for her money and counted out twenty onti of gold and slammed it on her wooden table, making sure the old lady knew how unhappy Ochako was with this entire situation. She left the shop without another word, potionless, sunburnt still and with a much lighter wallet.

She huffed as she climbed onto Tsuki’s back.

“What a hag,” Ochako complained to the wolf, tugging on his fur until he started down the road lined with all sorts of overpriced shops. Both her and Tsuki’s ears twitched as they meandered down the street and the throng of people got thicker and harder to maneuver through. There was some sort of commotion up ahead—despite the rude demeanor of literally every citizen she’d run into so far, these people at least knew how to have a good time.

Two dancers—one an exotic looking girl with pink hair and pink skin and dark eyes, and the other was a plain looking man whose quirk was apparently to eject some sort of sticky cloth from his elbows. He was using his quirk to spin the girl around gracefully—when Ochako looked closer she noticed a slimy substance that was oozing from the girls bare feet. It slicked up her path, making it easier for her to spin so rapidly and gracefully like she was actually skating around on ice and not solid stone.

It was an impressive show, despite the crowd not bothering to offer any of their money. There was nothing but a few senines in their wooden box obviously meant for tips. Ochako wondered why they even bothered to perform.

That is, until she saw a floating sack making its way through the crowd and somehow pulling out ontis of gold and silver from people’s pockets. Ochako watched with amusement as the sack slowly filled itself up. Perhaps this was the work of someone with an invisibility quirk?

Ochako smirked, clapping along with the crowd as the performing couple got to the grand finale all the while keeping an eye on the floating sack as it made its way towards her.

Tsuki snapped at thin air as the sack got close—Ochako’s ears twitched when she heard the shrill sound of a girl’s ‘eep’. The sack of money nearly fell to the ground, but it looked like the invisible girl managed to catch it at the last second. Ochako hopped off Tsuki quickly, grabbing blindly for the girl and managing to grasp her wrist before she could get away.

“Not so fast,” Ochako whispered to her, being wary of not drawing attention to the two of them now that the crowd was dispersing, “You working with those dancers?”

“Uh huh,” The invisible girl affirmed, squirming in Ochako’s hold.

“You working with anyone else?” Ochako pressed, holding more tightly to the girl’s wrist.

“What do you want?” The invisible girl deflected, never giving up on her attempts to escape.

Ochako grinned, “Some damned sun-potion.”

-----------

Ochako kept her grip tight on the invisible girl as she was lead through the alleyways of Ashton Village—she did not trust her enough to let go. Tsuki trailed behind them, comically taking up a large amount of space in the narrow passage and acting as Ochako’s shadow (and perhaps making sure that the mage wasn’t getting herself into trouble).

“You’re not going to snitch on us, right?” The invisible girl asked.

“To these pompous assholes?” Ochako shot back, “As if.”

“Then why should we help you?”

Ochako grinned, knowing full well that she could con a merchant out of a sun-potion herself—this was just more fun, not to mention that these con artists seemed to be the most tolerable citizens in town. “Think of it more as me helping you,” She said cryptically.

“Boss isn’t gonna be happy that you’re travelling with a Dragon wolf,” She said. Despite her words, she continued to guide Ochako through the alleys until they exited the narrow passages into a side street that was shrouded in shadows due to a large tree taking up the middle of the street. The tree pulled at her senses, causing her mouth to gape stupidly—but she couldn’t be blamed really, because she’s never read a magical aura from a tree before.

“It springs healing magic,” The invisible girl explained as Ochako continued to gape, “Not much, but it’s still pretty cool for a tree, huh? It would take a while to heal just your sunburn—you’d probably have to sleep at its roots all night long for it to get the job done—but the people who grew up in this part of town that are old as hell now probably won’t be dying anytime soon.”

Tsuki barked happily at the tree with a wagging tail, likely getting the same magical readings from it that Ochako was.

“Whoa,” Ochako marveled, shaking her head so that she could take in some of the other surroundings, and immediately taking note that the streets were empty save themselves and a few stray cats. She bit her lip, confused. “If that’s the case, then why isn’t this place full to the brim with people?”

The girl snorted.

“Those barbarians aren’t scared of death.”

“Ha,” Ochako chortled, unconsciously letting go of the girl’s wrist as she settled into the comfort of conversation, “Guess ya got a point. Hey. Does that mean you’re not from around here? What’s your name anyways?”

Ochako blinked, realizing her mistake. But the girl didn’t drop the sack of money and run.

“Hagakure,” The girl giggled, pulling a pair of gloves from the sack and waving at Ochako to follow her towards some of the shops adorning the cobblestone sidewalks.

Hagakure made a beeline to a shop advertising a variety of spellbooks and potion recipes. There was a display of different crystals in the window, and at the center of the display was a clear orbuculum set up on an ornate base of gold. It was a shop based off of magical lore widely established as being outlandish and unrealistic, although Ochako knew better, even found herself drooling at a few of the crystal shards hanging from what looked like finely crafted threading.

It looked like the kind of shady place that promised adventure, and at the least promised the pleasure of interacting with interesting people. Hagakure pushed the door open, leaving it ajar for Ochako to follow behind.

“Stay out here, Tsuki,” Ochako murmured to the wolf, rubbing behind his ears affectionately. Tsuki licked her face, before turning around and laying his bones down at the base of the tree. She smiled at the wolf before following Hagakure into the shop.

The smell of honeysuckle encased her like a cloud, and Ochako’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the incense burning from the shop’s counter. Hagakure stomped up to that counter and dropped the sack of gold and silver onto it before pulling back the curtain of beads to the right of the counter and disappearing through it.

Ochako hummed, stepping toward a display of animal figurines carved from stone. The selection of animals ranged from cats and dogs to elephants and bison. They were carved rather crudely, but that only made them all the more endearing to her. She picked up one of the bear figurines and smiled at the little tuft of hair carved at the base of its rear end.

“Spirit guides,” A deep voice announced from behind her, startling her, “Two bronze senines.”

Ochako jumped, the bear slipping out of her fingertips and her hip ramming into the table holding the display and jostling the whole thing. Thankfully nothing was jostled too much to break anything, but Ochako still found herself rubbing the back of her head sheepishly.

She peeked open an eye at the man and found that she had to crane her neck quite a bit in order to make eye contact with him. He looked to be about her age but had deep bags underneath his eyes that reflected either an ailment or an insufficient amount of sleep. His purple hair sat on his head with chaotic order. His magic aura wasn’t weak by any means, but it certainly wasn’t all that strong. And yet something about the man had the hairs on her arms erect.

“Want one?” He inquired, reaching around her and picking up the bear figurine that she had dropped.

“I’m good, thanks,” She replied, stepping away from him.

“Hmm,” He hummed, his eyes flicking out the window, “I thought not.” He glanced back to her, eyes calculating, “You’ve already got a guide it seems—how’d a foreigner like you manage to bond with a Dragon wolf anyways?”

“With my wits,” Ochako offered, raising an eyebrow.

Her response didn’t elicit any sign of amusement from the purple haired man. Ochako wondered if she was losing her touch.

“Well,” He said, walking away from her to sit at the chair behind the counter, “You’ve got a lot of nerve parading that thing around.”

Ochako frowned in confusion.

“Why?”

He snorted, kicking his feet up on the counter lazily, “This country prides itself in a lot of things, if you haven’t noticed. They’re a bunch of entitled assholes and they claim that the Dragon wolves chose their land because of their ancestor’s fortitude—which might even be true.” He glanced up at her from behind the plumes of smoke rising from the burning incense, “They don’t take well to foreigners naming their wolves—especially since a Dragon wolf hasn’t bonded with any natives within the past thirty years.”

Ochako frowned further, “But I ran into an asshole that looked plenty bonded with a Dragon wolf earlier.”

The man raised an eyebrow, “Did you?”

Ochako nodded.

“He was the one that told me to name Tsuki in the first place!”

“Did he?” The man looked thoughtful, but after a moment he shrugged it off, “No matter the case, you’re better off hiding out in the forest or seeking out the King for clearance in his country. Hagakure told me what you wanted. If you’re looking for trouble, you’re gonna find a lot more than what you bargained for s’long as that wolf is with you.”

Ochako pouted, not liking how logical his logic was, “You wouldn’t happen to have any sun-potion, would you?”

The man shook his head.

Ochako cursed, but dug through her bag anyways for some gold.

“How much for the crystals?” She inquired, nodding towards the necklaces hung up nicely near the window.

His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.

“Seventy onti of gold.”

“What!?”

“I’m just kidding,” He said, really grinning now, “Twenty bronze senines.”

-----------

Ochako bought two crystals, one turquoise and one obsidian, from the man—she learned that his name was Shinsou—and left his shop pouting. Her skin was really starting to sting, although the salve that Todoroki had given her helped a little.

She walked with Tsuki back through the alleyways on higher alert too, jumping at every little thing and expecting to get arrested just for breathing and not paying the proper fine for it. Now that she thought about it, that lady from earlier probably came up with that stupid fine just in the event that if she couldn’t pay she could get Ochako arrested.

She growled in frustration.

“Stingy barbarians,” She grumbled to Tsuki, “What kind of brutes adhere themselves to an economical system like this anyways? Doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.”

Tsuki gods honest shrugged.

Ochako meandered back to the marketplace, pouting and planning on getting out of this shitty village immediately.

“You wouldn’t happen to know the fastest way to the palace?” She inquired of Tsuki. The wolf’s ears pricked up and his tail started wagging. Ochako grinned, “Then let’s get out of here.”

“Foreigner!” A nasally voice called out to her, just as she was getting ready to climb on top of Tsuki’s back. Ochako groaned, turning to the owner of the voice and snarling.

“What?” She snapped.

“Is your wolf licensed?” The blonde man asked, a sneer on his face.

Ochako placed a hand on her hip, absolutely fed up with this kingdom, “The hell you think?”

“I think that you’ve come into this country to try and make a mockery of us!” He exclaimed, “You’ve clearly ignored the proper rituals in challenging a Dragon wolf. Did you come to this land to look down on us?”

Ochako whistled, “You people sure have a lot of ego, dontcha?”

“We’re proud of our heritage!”

“Uh huh,” Ochako nodded, glancing behind the man and noticing that the village guards were beginning to close in on them no doubt because this or some other asshole snitched on her for something she didn’t even do, “Is that why you strung your last king’s head up on the highest mountain for the entire realm to see?”

The man narrowed his eyes, “Our previous king was a great conqueror so mind your tongue, foreigner!”

Ochako quirked her head at him in confusion. Izuku and Iida had made it sound like it was the country’s collective decision to execute their king and hold a tournament to determine the new one. Did they not have the whole story?

Whatever the case was, she had to scoot. The guards were only a few paces away from them.

She huffed, tapping the man’s face and making him float. While the guards were distracted with that, she climbed onto Tsuki’s back and pulled on his fur and never bothered to release the pompous blonde from her quirk. The wolf bounded forward, his sights set on the palace. Ochako laughed as they made a mess of the marketplace, reaching her hand out to one booth in particular as they passed by and snatched a sun-potion off its display and immediately downed it.

“Blegh,” Ochako coughed, tossing the empty vial over her shoulder and conveniently smacking a guard in the face with it, “That’s disgusting.”

They bounded forward towards the village’s gate—Ochako groaned, still coughing, as she saw the barricade they were barreling towards. Tsuki skidded to a stop, putting all his weight on his hind legs before spring forward down another direction. Ochako’s mind reeled as he insides rejected whatever the hell she had just ingested.

“Shit,” She groaned as more guards rounded the corner. Tsuki jumped over their heads, and it took everything Ochako had not to throw up then and there. God, what the hell was in that sun-potion? And why did it make her sick so goddamned quickly?

“M’not feeling good, Tsuki,” She muttered to the wolf, his running motions jostling her in such a way that was not helping matters, “Ugh. Stop runnin’.”

Tsuki came to a stop, guards surrounding them in seconds just as Ochako slid down her wolf’s fur and threw up all over the ground. Once the contents of her stomach were lying comfortably on the cobblestone path, she wiped the back of her mouth and smiled shakily at the guards.

“Hey boys,” She laughed nervously, “I don’t suppose we could talk this through?”

Her answer was two of them grabbing her roughly by the elbows and forcing her into chains. Which was honestly whatever. What pissed her off more than that was the way that they forced a muzzle over Tsuki’s snout and dragged his head down roughly. Even as they forced her to her knees, she was snarling in the wolf’s behalf more than her own.

She growled at the guards as they forced her face into the dirt.

-----------

They threw her and Tsuki into the back of a cargo carriage unsupervised—which made her roll her eyes. If these people are so possessive of their damned Dragon wolves then they ought to know how that it’s not exactly easy to bond with one. Not only is Tsuki capable of escaping, more capable than her that was for damned sure, but they also didn’t even know what her quirk was. At least they had the sense to confiscate her bag.

She wiggled her hands until she got all five of her fingers on the chain of her shackles. From there all she had to do was pull at her magic and use it to expand the material until it shattered around her and then do the same to the other shackle. She rubbed her wrists, glowering.

She turned to Tsuki to free him from his bonds as well.

“Well,” She said as she shattered the last of his bonds, “At least these bastards are giving us a free ride to the palace.” She slapped her face to clear the last of her nausea and groaned as it stung, “What even was that piece of ass potion? Tasted like shit and it didn’t even heal my sunburn.” Not entirely true—it actually tasted like an entire flower: petal, stem, dirt and all. But still didn’t even heal her sunburn.

Tsuki only stared at her.

Ochako giggled, reaching over and rubbing Tsuki behind the ears like the giant dog he was. He leaned into the touch, pawing at her playfully until Ochako saddled up next to him. She laughed when he butted his head against her shoulder and she leaned her weight against him in return.

“A nap wouldn’t hurt right about now, right?” She mumbled into Tsuki’s dark fur before she dozed off.

-----------

Kirishima collapsed on the ground, panting. He waved his hand at Bakugou as the King was lowering his weight into another fighting stance.

“Please,” He got out between breaths, “No more! I’m exhausted. We’ve been training for hours!”

Bakugou huffed, straightening up before falling down next to him with a roll of his eyes.

“We’ve done nothing you can’t handle,” He argued, “Aren’t you supposed to be the General of my troops, Shitty Hair?” He thrust a skin of water into the redhead’s hands and leaned back on his elbows, “Must be doing a shit job if you can’t keep up with me.”

Kirishima huffed, “That’s mean, Bakugou. You know just as well as I do how tenacious these people are.”

Bakugou raised an eyebrow, “They can’t be more tenacious than me.”

“Yeah, well,” Kirishima grumbled, just as Bakugou’s attention was taken elsewhere, “No one’s more tenacious than you.”

Bakugou said nothing in response, but Eijirou took note that his friend had tensed up and that his ears were twitching. His eyes were shut in concentration and Kirishima could see the hairs on Bakugou’s arms standing at attention.

“What’s up, bro?” He inquired, curious.

Bakugou grunted, “That damned girl. She sure made it here quick.”

“Does she really have that strong of an aura that you can tell where she is in the kingdom?” Kirishima pondered.

Bakugou rolled his eyes again, ignoring his friend’s question because the answer was blindingly obvious, “Come on, Shitty Hair.”

-----------

Ochako hadn’t even been asleep for thirty minutes when their carriage was brought to a halt and the curtains at the back were thrust open, waking her up. She squinted into the onslaught of light and her head hit the bottom of the carriage with a thud when Tsuki abruptly stood on all four legs to growl at the guards who were prepared to haul their asses into a cellar or some other shit.

“The hell?” She grumbled, eyeing up their tranquilizer blow darts warily, “Shouldn’t you have used those before you threw us in here?”

Two of the guards exchanged a glance. One elbowed the other, muttering a peeved, “I told you so.” The other guard elbowed back petulantly, saying, “Don’t listen to the captive!”

Ochako lifted her hips from the floor of the carriage as they were distracted, making a bridge of her body and using her abdomen and arm strength to rock back and then spring forward. Her body careened through the small space between the two guards’ heads and she smacked the blow darts out of their grasp just as they were registering what exactly was happening. Tsuki followed her loyally, tackling one guard to the ground as he went.

Ochako landed behind them, bending at her hips to ease the impact on her legs and throwing an arm forward to keep her balance. She only had a second to take in her surroundings—this place looked more like a war garrison than it did a palace, only with better landscaping—before she was pivoting out of the way of a striking sword.

Something sunk into the back of her leg, and she hissed as she reached down to pull a tranq dart from her calve. Her fingers glowed as she activated her magic to pull out the effected blood before it could spread to the rest of her. She’d be amazed if she managed to get it all, but it at least dulled the numbness.

She stabbed the offending dart into the neck of an attacking soldier, satisfaction rolling off her in waves as he blacked out and hit the ground. Tsuki promptly took down the soldier who had managed to hit Ochako with the dart in the first place.

“Shit,” Ochako murmured, staggering forward as she really began to feel the magic from the dart take its toll on her, “I can’t catch a break, huh? Gods, what is with this country?”

Tsuki whined at her. Thinking that the wolf was offering her an arm of support, Ochako placed her hand at the top of his head.

There weren’t many soldiers left in the courtyard, but Ochako could sense that more were on their way. And those were just the ones with a magical aura that were strong enough for her to read—who knew how many there actually were?

She groaned as she was able to pinpoint that one particularly large magical force was also closing in, albeit a little father along. Her hand shifted on Tsuki’s head as she readjusted her weight, and all at once she could feel the Dragon wolf’s magic flowing through her again—overwhelming her. And as if an invisible barrier were being thrust out of their very beings, the guards and even the damned carriage were tossed away from them. Ochako saw the pulsing of magic through groggy eyes. It was as if Tsuki’s possessive gaze was physically warding off their enemies.

Ochako removed her hand from Tsuki, and the pulsating magic dissipated.

“She doesn’t know how to wield the beast!” A soldier shouted, his ornate armor indicating to her that he was probably the asshole in charge here.

She couldn’t hold back her snort at his statement—it felt a lot more like the beast had just been wielding her and certainly not the other way around.

“She makes a mockery of our ancestors!” He continued, raising his spear to the sky. The other soldiers bellowed out their affirmation, sneers decorated their faces like war paint. “Break their bond!” The man declared resolutely, only to be followed up with war cries from his fellow soldiers.

Ochako, who didn’t really want to find out what breaking their bond would entail, had already been reaching out with her magic to summon her bag from where it was hidden away in the front of the ruined carriage and grabbed the damned thing as it zipped back to her. She pulled out a potion blindly, praying to every god she knew of that it was one of her force fields. She crushed it in her hands and breathed out a sigh of relief when the translucent hexagons began to wrap around her and Tsuki—barricading them away from these assholes just as more of them arrived.

The ringleader smirked at her as he squatted down and reached for the earth. Her eyes widened as she realized too late that she had no idea what his quirk was—but if he was looking at her that confidently like he was about to feed her to wolves, then it couldn’t spell out good things for her.

“Enough.”

The command rang through the courtyard, causing the soldiers circled around her to stop in their tracks. Even the ringleader stopped—although Ochako could see that he was gritting his teeth like it took everything he had to listen to this voice. His arm was still outstretched to the earth, even as he glanced over his shoulder to eye up this newcomer. Ochako eyes never strayed from that outstretched hand, not trusting this man to hold back despite someone of apparent authority ordering him to do so.

“What’s the meaning of this, Captain?” The new man said, striding over to the ringleader with confident steps.

The Captain’s effervescent glare turned back to her, and she couldn’t quite comprehend where the authentic hate that was shining in his eyes was stemming from. What had happened to this people to make them like this?

“My King,” The Captain grit out, begrudgingly standing to his full height before bending at the waist in respect.

Ochako’s eyes boggled. Her gaze ripped away from the Captain to land on the King.

“Aw, shit,” She groaned, cursing her luck.

It was the asshole from earlier—from the forest. That had been Bakugou Katsuki, King of the Barbarians. God—she had told him to piss off.

And he was still shirtless.

Based on the smirk that was adorning his face, even as he kept his eyes on the Captain, Ochako could tell that he was reveling in her plight. She resisted the urge to throw up her middle finger at the man; it would fulfill a prideful desire, sure, but it probably wouldn’t help her much in her quest in gaining his trust.

“Well?” Bakugou prodded when he received no answer from the Captain.

“This woman has made a charade of our customs,” He ground out, pointing at Ochako accusingly, “She is bonded to one of our protectors and has obviously ignored the proper rituals required to—”

“Tell me, Shindou,” Bakugou interrupted, stepping around the man so that he could fix his red eyes on Ochako’s brown ones, “You’ve gone through the proper rituals to face a Dragon wolf…how many times?”

The man—Shindou—looked like he wanted nothing more than to stab Bakugou while the blonde’s back was turned to him.

“…Four.”

“Four times,” Bakugou humored, his voice drenched in sickly sweet sarcasm, “And…how many times has a Dragon wolf challenged you?” He turned back to Shindou with a raised eyebrow, clearly unafraid of the Captain’s rage boiling over. “Well?” Bakugou pressed, kicking the man in the shins to get his attention, “Answer the question, dipshit.”

“Zero, you asshole.”

Bakugou’s responding grin was manic.

“Is that anyway to speak to your King?” He questioned, cocky. The muscles sitting on top of his scapulae rolled underneath his skin as he clenched his hands into tight fists, “Should I remind you that I whooped your ass in the tournament for that title?” He opened one fist so that his palm was cupped upward and Ochako could only barely see the way it was lit up like it was threatening to explode.

It looked like Shindou was quite literally biting his tongue.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, lowering his hands and shooing him away with the wave of his hand.

“Leave us,” He ordered to the room, “I’m handling this.”

Ochako watched the courtyard empty itself of soldiers, and the grogginess induced from the blow dart that she had somehow ignored until this point began to catch up with her. She slid to the ground and leant against Tsuki with a groan.

“What’s your name, mage?” Bakugou inquired, stepping towards her enchanted barrier and regarding it with interest.

“Uraraka Ochako,” She rumbled, glaring up at him.

He hummed, “You guard the land east of Brasko?”

She perked up, eyebrows pulling together in confusion, “Have you heard of me?”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, “Obviously.”

Ochako couldn’t help but preen a little.

“Wipe that smile off your face,” Bakugou barked, “You look like shit—and how did you manage to get captured by my soldiers, anyway?” Ochako’s smile only widened—she could hear the underlying compliment disguised as an insult. He was surprised to find her cornered after having seen her display of strength.

She groaned dramatically, slapping a hand to her face as if to remind herself that she was still sunburnt, “All I’ve wanted since stepping foot into this valley is a damned sun-potion.”

“No shit,” He remarked, eyeing up her burnt skin.

“Well that was the biggest error in my life,” She continued, her fingers slipping into Tsuki’s soft black fur.

“Don’t tell me you drank it.” His tone was incredulous—like he respected her before but now he just thought she was a flaming idiot.

“Uh,” She coughed, “No? Ha, that would be…stupid of me!”

“You drank it.” Bakugou determined, crossing his arms over his stupid bare chest, "Then these bastards got you while you were down." He stared at her for a moment, probably debating whether or not he should kick her out of his country for her stupidity. Then, to her shock, he snorted. “Kirishima!” He barked, seemingly to no one. Not even a moment later, a red head was rounding the corner and marching towards them.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” He teased.

“Fuckin’,” Bakugou growled, “Quit it with the stupid titles.” He jabbed his thumb towards Ochako, “Get this idiot to the baths to deal with her shitty sunburn.”

“N’please get this meanie a shirt,” Ochako slurred, the numbing magic finally making it to her head.

Kirishima laughed, “Yes, ma’am!” The redhead’s arms hardened like a rock before he swung a fist at her force field and shattered it around her.

“N’ don’t take me ta’tha baths ‘til I wake up,” She grumbled as the man lifted her into his arms, “Fuckin’ pervs.”

#kacchako #kacchako fic #my writing #bnha fic #bnha #bakugou katsuki #uraraka ochako #mha #mha fic

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fableweaver · 7 years ago

Text

Arc of the Bastard Mage

The crowd was shouting for blood, especially since they were already five minutes in and not one drop had been drawn yet. Xavier wasn’t willing to oblige them, yet his opponent certainly was. Hákon the Bear was already foaming at the mouth in frustration, he hadn’t landed a single blow yet. Even though he was armed with a great battle ax and Xavier only had a measly staff, blood had yet to be drawn.

The Nyrgardic man stood a head taller than Xavier and weighed twice as much all of which was muscle. He had at least ten sigils for strength, five for speed, and six for stamina. He could break stone with that much strength and the stamina would keep him going at it for days. Xavier had a more moderate amount of enhancing sigils, two for strength, one each for speed and stamina. Of course he was part Aldan, the enhancements made him nearly superhuman.

Xavier dodged another swing of the Hákon’s ax, feeling the air swoop by his head. It was taking longer than he liked to gather the power he needed for the sigil he had drawn on his right palm, but he had to do it discreetly or the mages watching would see what he was doing. High Magic always left the taste of ashes in his mouth, and he had to resist the temptation to spit to get rid of it. The crowd watched on from the gallery above, the arena an empty gallery that must have once been a ballroom. The doors were now bricked up, the only way out was by a ladder, or a body bag.

Xavier’s back hit the wall and Hákon grinned devilishly. Xavier felt one last touch of High Magic and his sigil was full. Just as Hákon raised his ax to cleave him in two, Xavier stepped forward into Hákon’s guard. His fist came up on Hákon’s chin, the power in the sigil releasing into the blow. Hákon’s head snapped back and his neck made and audible crack as it broke.

The Nyrgardic man stood a moment his ax still raised, before he fell back dead as a post. The crowd stopped howling, a stunned silence of confusion echoing louder than words. Xavier took the time to quickly wipe his hand clean of the ink he had used to draw the sigil. The judge hurried over and checked Hákon.

“The winner, Xavier the White Beast!” the judge shouted and the crowd roared again. Bets were handed over; Xavier was used to being the long shot. The ladder was lowered and Xavier climbed out of the arena to face his master. Lord Ramon was a mage like all pure blooded Dridians, his hair and skin bleached white from constant use of the High Magic. His eyes burned red with power like blood rubies. Like many mages he seemed ageless, his face unlined but thin.

“Well done,” he said in the common language, his Dridian accent light. “Harris certainly lost a good slave.”

“Yes master,” Xavier answered.

“A very good fight,” another mage agreed as he walked up.

“Lord Vors,” Ramon said dryly. Both mages were dressed in typical mage robes, silver coins hanging from every hem and silver jewelry with moons decorated their persons. Many men thought mages worshiped Lun, but it was not the moon goddess mages worshiped. Silver helped them gather the High Magic easier, the moons simply a decoration. The only gods the mages believed in was themselves.

“You lucked out Lord Ramon,” Vors said, his thin face grim.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Ramon answered. “The true value of Xavier is that he was a long shot, I earned a goodly amount on bets just now.”

“A long shot indeed,” Vors answered. “He is an Aldan.”

“Half Aldan,” Ramon answered. “No pure blood Aldan would be a slave.”

Xavier looked like a pure blooded Aldan, his skin fair, hair platinum gray, and ears long and pointed. He was tall and muscular; he was also faster and stronger than any ordinary man even without enhancing sigils. The Aldan were inherently stronger than average humans; still faced against a Nygarder armed with an ax while all he had was a staff were odds that made a betting man roll in his grave.

“Very well a half blood then,” Vors said. “Where did you get him?”

“I won him in a bet from that oaf Harris,” Ramon said. “In a game of War.”

“Harris must have been on his last copper to bet a slave like him,” Vors said. “Did he tell you where he had gotten him?”

“No, I doubt there is anyone breeding Aldan slaves Vors,” Ramon answered dryly.

“Well no but I was under the impression that Aldans took care of their own, even the half breeds,” Vors said.

“Ask him then where he is from,” Ramon answered and turned to Xavier.

“Well, where are you from slave?” Vors said sounding a little peeved that he had to talk to Xavier. Xavier felt the slave sigil around his throat tightened as he considered not answering, any disobedience would strangle him.

“South,” he answered and Ramon grinned at Vors.

“Where exactly?” Vors asked through clenched teeth.

“South of here,” Xavier answered and Ramon laughed.

“Very well keep your secrets Ramon,” Vors said crossly.

“The next fight is starting Vors,” Ramon said. “Isn’t your slave fighting?”

Vors made a sour face as he turned to the gallery. Xavier looked as well, leaning on the railing and looking down at the two figures there. This time it was two women, one Lirian and the other a Regarian. The Lirian woman was dressed in a tight silk dress slit down the sides so her bare legs were showing. She held a Lirian styled sword, curved and long. She was gorgeous, Xavier guessing she had once been a whore. Her golden eyes were dull though, she was drugged.

The Regarian was probably a half blood like him, probably some lord’s bastard. She was dressed in a long gown popular in the Regarian court now, her golden curls done up in a beehive bun. She held a rapier, her blue eyes also dull with drugs. Hákon had been dressed in a bear skin and Nyrgardic armor.

Xavier was glad to have escaped that costume foolery; he wore a plain green tunic, soft soled boots, and baggy pants. His hair was cropped short as well against Aldan fashion which was to wear it long. Ramon had yet to buy him an Aldan costume; he had wanted to test Xavier first before he spent money on him.

Xavier wasn’t surprised to see two sigils floating over the women. The sigils would be invisible to anyone but mages; Xavier could see them clearly and read what they were for. They were puppet sigils; the two women were being controlled. That explained why both were drugged, people tended to fight something else controlling their bodies.

The judge rang a bell and the women raised their blades. The Lirian moved like water, while the Regarian moved like a dancer. Both bore enhancing sigils, Xavier guessed for beauty as well as strength. The mages controlling the women were good, and they both exchanged blows with fierce accuracy. Blood began to splatter the white marble floors, both seeming unaware of pain or death.

Then the Regarian lunged forward past the Lirian’s guard. Her rapier pierced the other woman’s throat, blood drenching both women. The Lirian fell and the match was over.

“Well done,” Ramon said and Xavier turned to look at Vors. He was sweating and Xavier realized the mage had been controlling the Regarian. Vors gathered himself, obviously trying not to show weakness.

“I think so too,” Vors said mildly. “You know I could go for a bit of smoke, would you like to come along?”

“Of course,” Ramon said mildly. “A bit of entertainment would be nice though.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Your slave against mine,” Ramon said and Vors frowned.

“I’m not up for another match,” Vors said mildly.

“Not that kind of match Vors,” Ramon said blandly. Vors looked at him and grinned then. His slave came up to them, still splattered with the other woman’s blood. Xavier looked at her more closely now. She was beautiful, her form shapely and skin fair. She looked to be sixteen or so, barely even an adult. She definitely had a sigil for beauty, she drew the eye too easily.

“Drew,” Vors said mildly and an Elmerian servant appeared and bowed. “Go make sure these two get cleaned up and deliver them to my parlor.”

“At once sir,” the man said with a quick bow. He turned on his heel and led them off into the narrow halls of the servants and slaves. The Lovely Dancer was a fun house catering to the pleasures of the mages, and the torment of slaves. Xavier heard sounds from various doors they passed, moans, screams, and even laughter. The slave fights were the least of what went on in this house.

Thought they were passing through the servant halls Xavier knew this house was more like a palace, every luxury attended to. The servant, a free man Xavier could tell by the lack of a slave sigil around his throat, opened a door and motioned Xavier in. He entered to find it was a bathing room. The door closed behind him and Xavier stripped off his clothes.

The room was equipped with a shower, the running water an invention of a mage. Xavier could see the sigil that pumped the water in and even heated it. He bathed quickly and grabbed a towel, drying himself off. His clothes had been replaced with clean ones of the same variety. He wasn’t surprised; he was wearing the average slave’s garb before.

He left the bathing room to find the servant waiting for him. The man didn’t say a word as he led Xavier off again into the maze of servant halls. They could only go so far though before they had to pass through some of the common halls. They passed through several grand halls, decorated with Xinian rugs, Markian tapestries, and Aldan paintings. The mages imported mostly, they could afford it after all.

They stopped at a door and the servant let Xavier into the room. The parlor was lavish with serval couches and padded arm chairs about the room. A low table had a hookah which Ramon and Vors were busy smoking. They were smoking flavored tobacco; mages never did any inebriating drugs as it interfered with their powers. There were however a few others in the room sipping on opium potions or drinking whisky. They were Lirian or Markian lords, probably friends or business partners of Ramon and Vors.

The servant left and Xavier was left in the company of vipers.

“Well young man take a sip of this,” one of the inebriated lords said holding out a tiny glass of opium.

“I don’t think so,” Xavier said. The sigil on his neck of course didn’t react. He had to obey direct commands, but he found that ordinary people didn’t activate it.

“Don’t mind him Lord Lewis,” Ramon said mildly as he exhaled a smoke ring. “The Aldan, even a half Aldan like him, can’t partake in drinking or drugs.”

“Can’t?” Vors said intrigued.

“I can take them,” Xavier answered. “It just takes a lot more to have any effect and I often don’t have the ill effects of it afterwards.”

“And I don’t feel like paying for all those drugs to get him inebriated,” Ramon said mildly. “It’s a waste of good opium.”

“That would be why true Aldan wine is so strong then,” Vors said.

“And why we water it down,” Ramon answered. Indeed they were both drinking watered down wine, but Xavier knew they would never drink enough to get drunk. Mages were not graced with the Aldan’s disposition.

Just then the servant returned with the Regarian woman in tow. She was now dressed in a thin shift, her shapely form suggestive. Her eyes were more alert however, telling that her drugs were wearing off. She looked younger with her eyes wide and fearful.

“I don’t think you need to be told what to do now,” Ramon said hungrily, his eyes lingering over the girl. Xavier growled angrily, sure the girl was attractive but he didn’t really like having sex with a half drugged girl. “Would you prefer someone else? A young boy perhaps?”

Xavier glared at him then, only the constricting sigil on his neck preventing him from killing his master. Ramon’s tone was mocking; it was an easily deduced fact given Xavier had been a slave all his life so to speak. Of course Ramon didn’t know the whole of the story, but he was right in his deduction that Xavier had once been in the boy’s position.

“No master,” Xavier growled past the pressure on his throat. He pulled off his tunic and tossed it aside, and purposefully turned his back on Ramon and Vors.

“What is that sigil Ramon?” Vors asked surprised. Tattooed on Xavier’s back was a very large and detailed sigil, one that he had had since he was a child.

“I don’t know,” Ramon said mildly. “You can examine it later Vors, I want to see this first.”

“Alright,” Vors said and Xavier sighed. It seemed his attempt at distracting them failed. He turned to the girl who looked at him with fearful doe like eyes. He picked up a glass of the opium and held it out to her.

“Courage,” he whispered and she smiled sadly at him. She took the glass and downed the contents, but Xavier knew there would be a little time before it took effect. He pulled her against him and kissed her deeply, tasting the opium on her tongue.

“You have done this before?” she whispered as he began to kiss her neck.

“Many times,” he answered. She shuddered as his hands moved down her back to her butt, feeling the soft flesh through the thin silk of her shift. “Is this your first time?” He asked, nose to nose with her. The dark look in her eyes told him that it was not her first time, and that her experience had been less than pleasant. “I will be gentle.”

“They will not be,” she answered glancing at the men watching them. He had no answer to that so instead he kissed her again.

The preceding hours were something she would only remember as a drug hazed dream he was sure, he wished he had been so lucky. She danced naked and the men commanded all sorts of lewd things of them. Xavier had the endurance for it; the drugs others took for such things wouldn’t have any effect on him. It helped that the girl was attractive, but it he realized he didn’t even know her name. Names though meant nothing, and she would hardly remember any of this anyways.

Occasionally one of the lords would join in, but never Ramon or Vors. The mages were notorious for an aversion of coupling with any but a mage. Xavier knew the reason lay deeper than their simple arrogance; it went back to the beginning of the Dridian’s history. Before they had arrived in the Kingdoms, the Dridians had lived on an isle beyond the northern sea. The mages had lived in isolation mostly, but there were occasional raids by sea pirates. A woman of theirs was raped by the sea pirates and subsequently gave birth to a half breed mage.

This mage was called Atlas; his mother died giving birth to him. At first the mages thought he was impotent, that he had no command of the High Magic, and they were right. However Atlas proved to have another power that the mages had never seen before and never put a name to since they feared it so much. He went mad with this power and started to decimate the isle and mages, not just killing but corrupting and mutilating the mages and turning them into demonic like creatures. The mages were forced to flee their isle and the heinous creatures. One mages stayed behind. Martell, Atlas’ sister, stayed behind to battle her brother, never to be heard of again. The mages say that their isle sank in the sea so great was the power of the two siblings, and their homeland was lost forever.

The Dridians feared half mages since then, only their dwindling numbers forced them to consider coupling again with those of a non-magical race. Of course someone devised a sigil that would test a child for that tainted magic that Atlas somehow mastered. Any child that tested positive would be killed on sight before they could grow to maturity; or so it was supposed to go.

Xavier knelt in front of Vors and Ramon as two of the lords took their pleasure on the girl. She was now in a drug induced lethargy, laying like a dead thing as the men grunted and sweated over her. His back was to the two mages, Ramon keeping one eye on the show while Vors examined the sigil tattooed on Xavier’s back.

“I’ve never seen a sigil like this before,” Vors said. Xavier felt his finger trace the lines of the sigil and he suppressed a shiver. “You didn’t make it did you?”

“Of course not,” Ramon said absently. “He came with it, along with that slave sigil and enhancements, this is none of those.”

“Harris didn’t make this,” Vors said with distain. The enhancing sigils were the smallest Xavier bore, four tattooed in a line on his right bicep. Shaped more like runes the enhancing sigils called on his latent abilities of body and strengthened them. He still remembered the pain of having them applied, his Aldan blood fought against the High Magic.

“That peon couldn’t draw a light sigil,” Ramon said with equal disgust. “He failed to mention who the slave’s previous owners were.”

“Well slave who were they?” Vors asked, tapping Xavier on the shoulder.

“Carnion and Meraria of the house Grenell,” Xavier answered his slave band quiet as he answered unresisting. Meraria had taken him as a lover for some time. When Carnion learned of the affair he entered Xavier into the slave fights in hopes of killing him. Sadly Xavier had a persistent need to live, and eventually Carnion sold him to Harris.

“Carnion might have the skill for this,” Vors said. “Look at that arc there, fascinating.”

“Yes but he wouldn’t have the power for a sigil that layered or big,” Ramon answered, his attention drawing away from the gasping threesome on the ottoman. “Look you can see how the mage put two more sigils under the one that is in ink.”

Xavier had to take his word for that as he had never seen the sigil on his back. He had looked at it in a mirror, but mirrors didn’t reflect the sigils drawn only with power. Those drawn only with power were the more advanced ones, and required more power to draw them.

“Oh yes I see,” Vors said amazed. “As far as I can tell these are all seals.”

“Seals of what though?” Ramon said puzzled. “Their letters are rather obscure on that point and I’ve never seen that one.”

Xavier was relieved that neither of them had asked him what the sigil meant. His slave sigil would force him to answer, and he knew it would mean his death should they learn what the sigil did. Of course neither of them even considered that he knew what the sigil was; he shouldn’t know what it was.

“You know what we need?” Vors asked. “A codex.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Ramon answered enthused. The Regarian girl moaned loudly then and Ramon looked at the display with a bored glance. “Will your slave be alright here?”

“She’ll be fine,” Vors said absently. “Drew make sure nothing gets out of hand and see that the girl sees a healer after this. She has another fight tomorrow and it is hard to control a slave in pain.”

“Yes master,” the servant said with a smooth bow.

“Best bring the Aldan along,” Vors said. “We may need to reference the sigil again.”

“Of course,” Ramon said and Xavier grabbed his clothes. He dressed and followed the two mages out of the smoke filled room.

Mages kept strange hours but it was no wonder, with their power they had a constant source of light in light sigils. When they left the pleasure house it was late at night, maybe close to eleven. The streets were well lit with golden mage lights in street lamps, and there were many people still out on the streets. Mages could function on little sleep, and luckily so could the Aldan otherwise Xavier would be exhausted.

Myr, the City of Glass, was not the largest of the nine cities, but it was the most advanced. The city was bright and colorful, every street paved and clean. The buildings were all mage constructed, so they were large with pillars and decorative moldings. There was no building without glass windows, an expensive thing outside of Dridia. They passed through several parks with trees and bronze statues depicting mages that either built them or paid for them.

On the tops of the buildings perched gargoyles, great ugly creatures carved out of stone. Xavier could see the sigils moving under their stone skins that animated them, but most sat quiescent. Gargoyles were guards and they only attacked when someone broke into the houses they were guarding.

Xavier could see sigils everywhere, both physically carved or painted and those of invisible power. The High Magic practically hummed in the air, like the droning of bees. Only mages could hear and feel it on their skin, and Xavier wondered how they could live with it. Sigils often rotated as well, their movement dependent upon the movement of the planets and sun. The sigils weren’t just on the buildings, but also the people.

Slaves bore multiple sigils, mages often used their slaves for experiments. They bore sigils of enhancement mostly, those to make them strong or fast. Enhancing sigils could be used to enhance a person’s speed, strength, stamina, grace, healing, beauty, or senses. Some bore too many and Xavier knew they would not live long with so many sigils draining their lives.

There were also golems walking the streets, constructs made of stone or clay held together and animated with High Magic. Most took the forms of men, a few even dressed in clothes like people. They were featureless and sometimes genderless, little detail or embellishment added to them. The golems were servants or porters, doing all the heavy lifting for the mages. They had a limited intelligence and so were only given simple tasks.

Occasionally a flying carpet went by overhead, bearing a few mages or cargo. The carpets were common here, but rare anywhere else. They were not great transportation for long travel, better for getting around the city. They didn’t travel very fast either nor could they go very high. Yet only mages of fair standing could afford not only the monetary cost of a carpet but the magical cost; hence why they were walking.

The wind shifted and Xavier could almost taste the salt smell of the bay. They climbed up the hill going along a wide avenue of marble. He was surprised Ramon and Vors didn’t hire a carriage, but they weren’t far from the capitol hill in the first place. They reached the top of the hill and looked out over the city center. A round courtyard was encircled by the wings of the palace of the Myrddins.

The royal house of the mages had been their kings since the Dridians landed in the kingdoms. Many denied it but Xavier had heard, from his grandfather; that Atlas and Martell had been Myrddins.

The palace was made entirely of white marble, sparkling white under the mage lights. Grand pillars and elegant arches decorated the palace, the marble carved with gargoyles and other more flattering figures. Across the plaza stood the tallest tower in the kingdoms, the Tower of Balal was built by magic. It too was made entirely of white marble, and its top disappeared into the rolling clouds of the sky. Xavier almost laughed then, he could see water sigils in the air; the cloud was artificial to make the tower seem taller.

Still it was an impressive structure; it wouldn’t have been possible without the High Magic. Practically every stone crawled with sigils, giving the tower an ambient glow that even non-mages could see. They walked down into the plaza and towards the tower. The entrance was a wide arch carved with gargoyles. They walked under the arch and into the grand entrance hall. The entrance hall was marvelous with a soaring ceiling painted with images of the sky. Mage lights lit the room better than day light ever could.

The floor was inscribed with a star map, and in the center of the room a model of the planets and sun. It was clockwork, keeping time with the real movement of the planets. To the mages their powers were affected by the movement of the universe, so often they needed to know the position of the planets.

From the entrance hall they walked into the library itself. The center of the tower was the library itself, the core of the tower hollowed out. The library was round, each floor containing thousands of aisles of books. The center of the wide open space was occupied by a live tree, the last living tree from the old isle of the mages’ home land. It was a white aspen, but the size of an ancient oak. Magic kept it alive, Xavier able to see the enchantments that lived under its bark.

They walked towards the stairs and soon Vors and Ramon was elbow deep in tombs of sigils, looking for something similar to the sigil on Xavier’s back. He knew what his sigil did, but he didn’t know the sigils that were used in it. His grandfather had given him a fair education on the use of High Magic, but it took decades of study to fully learn all the ins and outs of the power. Xavier had only his childhood to rely on, most of which he forced himself to forget except a few useful sigils.

Neither mage noticed when he wandered away, his fingers tingling with curiosity. He walked carefully though, despite the hour there were still many mages in the library. Not to mention the gargoyles that rested in the high ceilings and little corners. He probably couldn’t take down any of the books of sigils and the High Magic, so instead he wandered to safer sections of the library. The library held books from every culture, from the scrolls of Lir, to the clay tablets of Daun. Of course it may not hold everything from each, Hyria often kept their secrets. Hyrian books were flattened reeds of bamboo bound into a flat sheet and folded, the words written out horizontal on the reed. It was an odd way to make a book, but reeds and bamboo were in ready supply in the river lands.

The library was a little more than a place full of books; it was more like a museum as well. There was art, musical instruments, historical objects, taxidermy animals, and much else preserved in glass cases. He went deeper in to the darker corners of the library, going down the steps below ground level. The higher one went the more the books were related to magic and the more dangerous the library was for an errant slave.

The lower levels however were for more mundane knowledge it seemed. The mages loved collecting knowledge, but doing nothing with it. The lower levels held books mainly from Hyria, Alda, Daun, Xin, and Lir, the peoples that had been of this land before outsiders came. Most of the mages considered this section fiction because most of the books here mentioned the Phay. The mages had only heard stories of the Phay as they hadn’t been here when the mages arrived. Only hearing stories they thought the Phay were nothing but myth.

Here the aisles of books were dark; there weren’t many lights in this section. He wandered idly, his fingers trailing through the dust on the shelves. He pulled down one book at random, it was an Aldan tomb. It was old, but had to be a copy of an older book; there was no way parchment could survive the years since the legends of the Phay.

It was before the Kingdoms had even been formed, well over a thousand years ago. The current year was 682 in the Era of the Kingdoms, the age before was known as the Cursed Age. Absalom of the Deep Woods had been the one to unite the Nine Kingdoms by calling a moot of all the Kings. It had taken him ten years to sort out the laws, trade agreements, and treaties that made the Kingdoms. He had the longest reign of any of the High Kings of seventy-seven years, his long Aldan lifespan prolonging his reign. His reign only ended because he suddenly just left one day, never to be seen again.

He opened the book and flipped through it idly, it was a journal it seemed. The illustrations were wonderful, a copy of the original using a sigil so they were entirely accurate. The Sect would probably like most of these books burned, if the mages weren’t so powerful they probably would be. Xavier stopped on one page, reading the ancient Aldan with the aid of the sigil inscribed in the book to translate the old text.

It read: “Long we have mourned the departure of our kin. Much of our ancient lands have been lost to the outlanders, but we hold the woods firm. My brother Rena fears that the outlanders will steal the song. Long we have guarded the treasure of our family, passed onto us by our ancestor a true blooded Phay. Eileen charged us with the protection of the song, and Rena worries much over the safety of our treasure.

“He has decided to take it to the last of the Phay still here in Miread. He has set off to the northern mountains where our distant kin They Who Delve Deep reside. I pray for his safe return and hope he is safe. I worry for my brother but it is more than that. The Phay cannot march without the song; if it is lost our kin will be lost to us as well.”

Xavier flipped through the journal, but there was no mention of the woman’s brother returning. He looked at the name of the author, Rane She that Breathes Deep. The name meant little to him, until he read a footnote by the transcriber. It read: Rane could be Absalom’s grandmother, but the histories of the time are vague and the Aldan were not deep in recording the familial lines of their houses. The Aldan did not use house names until after the founding of the kingdom. However guessing by her full name it is suggested that there is relation with the word ‘Deep’ a rare word in the Aldan tongue.

So the author could have been an ancestor of the old Aldan Kings. One of his ancestors.

He really should read more, but his mind kept wandering over that passage and mention of a song. He had a dream a few nights ago that he couldn’t remember, but he knew there had been a song in it. He had shaken it off, but now… He shook his head and returned the book to the shelf. He wandered down the aisle more, deeper into the dark of the library.

Past the texts of the Cursed Age were the texts of the Dynasty of the Phay. Xavier stopped at one shelf and pulled down a dusty tomb. He blew the dust off and saw a single name inscribed on the cover, Lailoken. Xavier knew that name well, most of his tales were still told today as little children’s rhymes and stories.

Lailoken the Sage of the Clear Sky, a seer and story teller, but little was actually known about him, his origins, and even what time he lived other than living around the Dynasty of the Phay. He was a blind prophet, wandering the land and telling stories that many claimed were prophecies of the future. There were many stories attributed to him, but it was never clear if any of those were prophetic or not. His stories were always popular though, and many were told today, or many were based on his tales.

Xavier put the book back, not in the mood for fiction. He had read many of Lailoken’s tales as a child, but didn’t care much for them. He gave one last look at the dusty shelves and decided he had enough browsing for one day. He walked back to where Vors and Ramon were; knowing they would be missing him soon.

He found the two mages just standing up, looking weary.

“Ah, wandered off have we?” Ramon said mildly.

“Just looking for some reading,” Xavier answered.

“You can read?” Vors said as he laughed.

“Only a little, it’s the pictures that are nicer,” Xavier answered, realizing how close he just came to revealing his true colors. Both mages seemed to shake this off, more preoccupied with their research than Xavier as a person.

“I think I’m calling it a night,” Ramon said mildly. “Time to get some sleep.”

“Shall we meet here in the morning and continue?” Vors asked.

“You may,” Ramon said mildly. “I have plans.”

Vors glared at them as Ramon left without a farewell. Xavier knew enough about mages to know Ramon had just snuffed Vors. Why however made him wonder. Either he had lost interest in Xavier’s sigil, or he had found something and didn’t want Vors in on it. Xavier doubted it was the former, he knew mages too well. He walked behind Vors through the night streets, feeling like he was following a lion.

They walked along the top of the hill that led into the mage’s district. The cliff stood over the bay, crested by the houses of the mage lords. Every major lord had a house in the city, but only those who could afford it. From what Xavier knew of Ramon, he was not one of those mages. The house they came to was certainly luxurious, but it was the start of the court season. Some mages were here in Myr for the Court of Wonders, others were away in Cair Leone for the Court of Miracles.

They entered a side gate of one of the huge houses, Xavier noting the name on the gate was Deluce. When he had been bought papers had been signed, and he had read Ramon’s full name and rank. He was the cousin of the Count Deluce, Ramon had a few meaningless titles. He guessed that his cousin was letting Ramon stay here. Telling by the dark windows, a few servant quarters were lit, Ramon was probably house-sitting for his cousin. Deluce was probably off in Cair Leone or Shin-Ra, rubbing elbows with foreign nobles.

They entered through the parlor and Ramon dropped his coat by the door. Xavier noticed a small golem, little bigger than a toddler, hurry and pick up the garment. It had been a while since he had been in a powerful mage’s house, amazed again by all the luxuries that peppered their lives. There were many conveniences, to motion activated mage lights, to heated rooms and halls.

Ramon must have activated a summoning sigil because a servant hurried over to them as they entered the parlor.

“Show Xavier to his rooms and see that a bath and dinner are prepared for me,” Ramon said before walking off into the house.

“This way,” the servant was once again a free Elmerian, his nose a little too big for his face. Xavier followed him to the servant and slave quarters. As such things went the servants’ quarters were homely and simple; none of the luxury but all of the convenience. Xavier was given a room of his own with a small bathing room off to one side. He had a bed, dresser, and a few comfortable chairs.

“Feel free to raid the pantry,” the servant said with a wry grin. “I expect Lord Ramon will have leftovers.”

“Thanks,” Xavier said. It had been a while since he last ate, but he wasn’t that hungry. Instead he lay on the bed while the servant stepped out to leave him alone. He fell asleep, and once again he dreamed.

He walked through a fog of color, the mist seeming to reflect hidden tones that he could not see. He kept walking, not knowing why or where he was going. Light drew his eye and he followed it towards a burning cedar tree. One half of the tree was on fire, but the other half still seemed green and alive. He walked on past the tree towards the shadows he could see in the mist.

Shapes started to emerge out of the mist, trees telling by the tall singular shapes before him. Only these trees were huge, he soon realized. He was in a forest of giant trees, too large to be real. Green now dominated the colors around him, Xavier surprised to smell the earthy moist smell of a forest.

He even heard the laughter of water, and followed it to a stream. He followed the stream to a cliff side, and looked out at the world before him in utter disbelief. The sky, or the void beyond him, was full of stars, suns, and moons, so many planetary bodies he couldn’t imagine how something so full could seem so vast. Closer floated islands of rocks still covered in forest, bound together with the roots of the trees.

Before Xavier could even deny the world before him a sound, a shout drew him out of his dream. Xavier woke disoriented, wondering where he was before he remembered. He hurried out of bed; he could hear shouts and even screams outside his door. He was already dressed, an old habit from living in the mines.

Once outside his door he followed the shouts and screams into the entry hall where he saw a scene of carnage and disaster he had not expected. Several bodies of servants or slaves lay like broken toys on the marble floor, their bodies horribly twisted. Several maids were screaming in a far corner as the five men of the household surrounded a large golem. They had ropes about it, obviously trying to hold it in place, but Xavier knew they were doing little for such a task.

Xavier didn’t need the shouts of them men to warn him the golem had gone mad, he could see it. The sigils that gave it a mind were in tatters, revolving around its head like a broken wheel. It was a common enough thing for a golem to go mad, usually because it had been poorly made. Unfortunately it was usually the servants that died when they did.

“My lord!” one of the servants shouted as Ramon came striding into the room.

“Have you sent for anyone?” Ramon asked and Xavier knew why. He could tell Ramon was not strong enough to handle a broken golem, his cousin could have but he couldn’t.

“No milord!” the man answered shocked.

“Send for someone now!” Ramon shouted. The golem suddenly grabbed one of the men, catching him by surprise. The man shouted as the golem threw him with bone breaking force at the wall. He slid down in a heap of broken bones, Xavier shivering at the sound he had made.

“Milord can you not stop it?” the servant pleaded and the other servants shouted for Ramon. For a moment Xavier thought the mage would actually try since he did not answer.

“It is beyond my power,” Ramon said past clenched teeth and Xavier realized he had just been struggling to admit it. Another man shouted, actually getting the word ‘help’ out as the golem grabbed him. It tore his arm out of the socket before throwing him at the wall in a bloody mass. Xavier could watch no more of it and he walked towards the golem.

“Stop you fool!” Ramon shouted. “You’re too valuable to just toss away.”

Xavier ignored Ramon and kept walking towards the golem. It still had the poor man’s arm in its oversized fist, standing with its featureless head lolling to one side. Xavier held out his hands as if he were approaching a wounded animal, in a way he was. The thing stood still for a moment and then lashed out with one great fist. Xavier dodged the blow by luck he never knew he had. It was different than fighting a living opponent; he couldn’t read any intention or action from the golem.

He moved as fast as he could to get into the golem’s guard. He needed to touch the thing unfortunately to work its sigils; he wasn’t skilled enough to do it from a distance. He was powerful enough though to do what needed to be done. The golem was a head taller than Xavier but he could easily reach the life sigil drawn on its head. He didn’t have time to be subtle; the golem was already raising a fist over his head.

He sent a lance of his power at the thing’s life sigil. The golem shivered, and issued a noise much like the gasp a child makes just before it’s about to cry. The life sigil broke and the golem shattered into little pieces of dry clay, making a pile at Xavier’s feet. Making a sigil was one thing, but breaking it was another level of insanity. The backlash of the broken sigil echoed through the room like a bomb, knocking Xavier on his back.

His ears ringing, he lay there confused and dazed. Adrenaline made him sit up and crouch, looking around at the devastation he unleashed. A life sigil was one of the most powerful sigils to mages, and breaking one as Xavier had done, unleashed all that power. The entry corridor lay in ruin, walls blown apart, stairs collapsed; even the marble floor had cracked. His ears were ringing, a strange silence echoing around him.

Xavier looked around at the bodies on the floor and realized they were dead; even Ramon was motionless. He could just tell there was a quality of finality to their motionless forms that told him they were dead. The sigil’s power was more than he had thought, and he knew the only reason he had survived was because he had been in the epicenter.

He came to the realization as well that with his current master dead the slave sigil was useless. He had a limited time of freedom, until another mage would take his leash. Worst of all there was evidence here of his powers, he had to leave or else be revealed as a half breed mage.

He stood, swaying on his feet. He may have survived, but he knew he suffered at worst a concussion. He had the strength to run, and run he did. He ran out of the building, hearing gargoyles crying out in alarm. None stopped him; they were spelled to prevent break-ins not break-outs.

Xavier used a servant’s exit rather than the main gate. Putting his hands in his pockets he walked quickly, like a slave sent on an errand. Shouts rang out when he was a few blocks away. It was midmorning he realized, a busy hour for servants and slaves, but many mages would be lounging about right now. He wondered sometimes that a mage’s nocturnal nature was due to their dependence on the stars and planets.

He was out of the mage district in an hour, on foot he covered a few miles through the city. He stopped in an alley to take stock of himself. He only had the clothes on his back, and he realized he should have at least grabbed a few coins when he left. His head was throbbing, but he realized he probably didn’t have a concussion. His body was already healing whatever damage he suffered, his hearing returning to normal.

The exhilaration of being free was tempered by the guilt and regret of killing the servants he had tried to save. Caution was also a weight on his shoulders, he knew no one in the city that could help him a runaway branded slave. He decided to keep moving for now, and avoid places where he would be noticed. That meant going into the meaner parts of the city.

Bright and beautifully modern Myr was only what the mages saw. A majority of the city were the slums of the slaves. These however were not in plain sight, not even along the outskirts of the city. Any squatter that set up their tent in plain sight was quickly rousted by the guards, who were preferable to the heartless gargoyles. No, instead the homeless and destitute were hidden underground, literally.

The mages had chosen to build their city on sea cliffs hollowed by the eons of waves. The hidden caves housed the underworld of the sparkling city. There were entrances all over the city, and it wasn’t hard for Xavier to find one under an old foot bridge. This was a place no mage dared venture, making it only slightly safer for Xavier. Many called it Hole, for many reasons other than the simplicity of it.

He walked the dark tunnels confidently, able to see in the dark thanks to his blood. The smell nearly drove him back; this was where the entire city’s sewage ended up, the putrid waste mixing with the briny waters of the bay. The tunnel was dripping water, hopefully seawater. It narrowed and soon was twisting and turning through the earth. Then Xavier smelled smoke mixed with the general sewer smell.

He came to a fork and followed the smoke smell. He couldn’t avoid people, there would be no way in these tunnels, and he would need food and protection in numbers. He came out of the tunnel into a vast natural cavern and a village of tents. Their occupants all went about their business with one hand on a knife.

They were the derelict, the decrepit, and the diseased. If a foreign slave was brought to port and found too sick they were thrown down here to die; maybe to pass on what they had and clear away some of the rabble. All the broken and unwanted ended up here, from many of the kingdoms. Xavier noted that a majority were Elmerian, probably because that race was the most numerous.

He passed beggars, cut throats, lepers, and the dying or those already passed. Hungry eyes turned on him and he realized some would kill him just for the tunic off his back. Xavier shivered, he had chosen a dark path indeed; stolen freedom always was.

#writing #my writing #fantasy #fiction #please read #fairies #mages #magic

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thegodthronechronicles · 8 years ago

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Session 11 - Village Of The Damned

10th Day of Mirtul

On a quest for the Queen of Tilinyth, our adventurers have journeyed into the realm of Myrkrheim-- an unnatural fusion of the Feywild and Shadowfell where the evil lich, Krathux, the Undying, regains his strength-- to find an artifact that could be the dark lord’s final undoing. After escaping from giant Fomorians and a pack of shadow mastiffs, they have stopped in a small town called D’aalkton.

They woke up the next morning to find Melos Demortis had vanished. The townsfolk knew almost nothing about him, except that he comes and goes; never staying for long. They had also noticed that as the sun rose, not an inch of light touched the town… on further inspection, they realized a dark cloud was covering the town; stopping the sunlight in a perfect circle.

The group decided to split up and explore the town. Lia headed off to a small library to do research on animal anatomy to up her shapeshifting game and a book of local geography to find any place that may hint at the location of the artifact. What she found was a book on avian creatures and a rough map of the new geography due to the fusion of the planes; many of the locations titled as a “Do not go” zone. Brunar went to a blacksmith’s shop with Acacia sitting on his shoulder, finding nothing of interest he went back to Forza who was trying to interview various townsfolk with little to no success.

Frustrated, Forza cast a zone of truth, and asked some of the people what was up with the sky and where they could find a stash of items belonging to a man whose name started with the syllable “Kra” and ended in “Thux.” One of the folk explained that the Elders were responsible for the cloud, and that it was the only way they could walk about in daylight; upon hearing the two syllables that together sounded an awful lot like Krathux, Lord of the Undying, the person grew extremely agitated and ran off.

It was at this moment that a strange man introduced himself to the party, who had just come back together after their exploration. The man was a human, unlike every other resident of the town-- who were either short and rather ugly, or tall and beautiful. He had tan skin and messy white hair with goggles and a lab coat, and he was accompanied by four hooded figures. The man introduced himself as Hatael Valemin, renowned scientist.

Hatael seemed to be bouncing from foot to foot in excitement, looking eagerly at Forza and Brunar. He explained that he would really like to buy their bodies for his work, and that they may keep their brains, but it would cost them for the surgery and that he was the best at what he does because he killed his competitors. Seeing the group confused, Hatael explained that he creates chimeras by resurrecting the stitched together remains of various animals and creatures through the power of sheer science. He asked Brunar and Forza if he could at least have a few parts and that he could replace them; a mermaid’s tail, the arms of an umber hulk, or whatever else he may have in stock. Seeing that Brunar and Forza would not give him any part of the body, he ordered his fellows to attack.

The four figures that followed him threw off their cloaks. The first one appeared to be one of the short ugly villagers, but his arms were replaced with the tentacles of a displacer beast; the second was a three headed kenku, and on closer inspection had a single human eye on one of the heads; the third had the body and head of a sprite, but the wings and stinger of an imp; and the fourth seemed to be a duergar with the claw arms of a meenlock. They all attacked at once as Hatael commanded, adding that they should try to not scar Brunar and Forza’s bodies too much.

Acacia took on the Sprimp, who had both the Sprite’s invisibility and the Imp’s poisonous stinger; as the sprimp used a combination of these tactics, it was discovered that Acacia had gained a resistance to poison damage, and she took it down easily. Lia turned into a bear and began fighting the three-headed kenku; they mauled and bit at each other, rolling around as the rest of the battle went on around them. The Displarkling attacked Brunar with its tentacles, displacing itself so it appeared in three places at once, but Brunar brought his maul down with enough force that he smashed one of its shoulders to bits. The Dueenlock charged down Forza, growing twice it’s size with it’s duergar ability and smashing him it’s claw.

Acacia started attacking the Hatael, just as Brunar finished off the displarkling. Forza was knocked down by the dueenlock, who then went after Brunar as Lia continued to fight the three-headed kenku. Brunar smashed through the dueenlock and helped Forza up as Acacia killed the scientist. Lia finally slayed the three-headed kenku and the battle was over.

As Lia threw the the abomination to the ground, Rock, the Dwayne strolled out of the inn and ran over to the party sad that they killed the monsters without him. Rock walked over to the Dueenlock and tossed the chair leg he was using as a club aside and ripped one of the arms off the creature; he swung it around and seemed satisfied with his new weapon. Acacia searched Hatael Valemin’s body and found a necklace of teeth and a few other random body parts from various creatures in his many pockets; she also found an old book made from a strange leather that told of how Hatael created these creatures and which parts were the best to use to gain which abilities.

Acacia flew over to inspect Hatael’s house as the others went back to rest at the inn. The mad scientist’s house had only a wooden door that lead down to the cellar, rather than the usual front and back doors that most houses had. Inside, Acacia found walls lined with shelves containing body parts of all origins; most were floating in large jars of a greenish liquid. Acacia flew past an operating table which had the tail-end of a mermaid and the torso of a boggle ready to be stitched together, and towards an alchemy station where she began mixing various liquids of fey origin in order to reduce the amount of sleep she would need. The potion blew up, filling the house with a gas that created the opposite of effect. So she cured herself and tried again, this time making a weak version of what she wanted. As she left, she set the house on fire.

Lia, Brunar, Forza, and Rock sat in the Inn where they were talking to one of the residents of the town. The man explained that everyone was grateful of the clouds blocking out the sun and that only the elders knew their origin. When asked if they were all vampires, the man got extremely offended and told them of their ancestor. A seelie fey named Dubh Catha had betrayed the Summer Queen; so great was her wrath that she cursed his entire family line so that none may touch the sunlight without excruciating pain and death. They were known as Darklings ever since, though most were gentle and lovers of the arts.

As Acacia joined the group, a number of the tall, beautiful Darklings entered. They thanked the group for killing Hatael Valemin and apologized for what they were about to do. After them, the cultist with the bird’s skull mask entered with other members of the Cult of Krathux.

Acacia snuck out a window and fired a surprise Guiding Bolt at the masked leader, then the bar-fight began. Lia leapt through the window, shapeshifting into a giant spider and spun some webs to trap everyone inside while Brunar started attacking two of the cultists with his maul. Forza jumped over the bar, chugged an entire bottle of some alcohol, smashed the glass on the counter and stabbed it at the cultist who followed around the side.

One cultist tried to slice through the webs, but was knocked down by Brunar before he made it completely through. Brunar took another swing, attempting to disarm one of the others but was disarmed himself as two cultists came at him at once. The Masked Leader approached Forza and struck out with an Inflict Wounds; her hand fit perfectly over the scar Forza had from the last time a cultist used that spell on him. Another cultist jumped through the same window Lia had, seeing the doorway covered in webs, but was killed by Lia in her spider form.

Acacia shot at the masked leader, causing her to let go of Forza as her mask was knocked off her head. The bird’s skull mask fell to the floor, revealing a face hideously burned and scarred… but recognizable. The very same cult leader that they encountered in Riverpass stood before them again, with a face half melted and decayed from being left dead in the burning, collapsing temple. Acacia shot her again, this time in the face, and the cult leader dropped dead, again.

Brunar was being ganged up on, but Rock, the Dwayne came over and swung the dueenlock arm as a club, slicing a cultist behind the knee. As the cultist fell to the ground, Brunar stomped on his head, killing him, before kicking his maul into the air where he caught it and clubbed the last cultist to death.

Forza dragged the leader of the cultists out into the street and burned her body to ashes so that she would never be able to come back again, he then scooped up some of the ashes for his collection. As the party stood in the street watching the body burn, the elders of the town asked them if they knew what they had just done. The clouds began to break apart and dissipate, allowing sunlight to reach in. Everyone began running in terror as the sun burned them alive; not all made it to cover and they exploded in flashes of light, leaving nothing but piles of ash.

And so ends the eleventh session.

#Dungeons and Dragons #d&d 5e #Adventure #Session 11 #Myrkrheim

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