#these two mes are waring in my head like an anime battle

[peaches2217]

Me: “Alright! We’ll cut back on original posts for a bit!”

Me, but in all black and sunglasses: “Toadsworth caring for and doting on Peach while she’s expecting”

Me: “Dammit not NOW”

[arecomicsevengood]

My Favorite Thing Is Drawings

Got book two of Emil Ferris' My Favorite Thing Is Monsters out from the library yesterday. I read book one courtesy of the library too, and so did not necessarily remember all the finer details of the story, but was able to follow along pretty well. The reader is reminded of the basics up front. Ferris is an incredible artist, especially in color, able to capture painting-like effects of depth and texture through the crosshatching of colored pens, and it's always impressive. The thing that is weird about the book is that the most impressive images have basically nothing to do with the overall narrative: Images are copied from paintings in a museum, or from monster magazine covers. (It is possible the monster magazine covers might actually be Ferris' own designs, but within the context of the story they are copied images.) The main character is an artist, named Karen Reyes, narrating her life and telling her story, as well as the story of her family and other people that live in her apartment building, but there is almost a negative correlation between how important something is to the story and how much gusto she attacks it with. One important piece of backstory, once Karen learns it, is specifically described as being so upsetting that she has to draw it in a cartoon style rather than be overwhelmed by it. The book keeps going, chugging along, remaining compelling in its narrative. But then, the book's climax is not depicted at all, elided in a blackout of in-story head injury, as if setting up the story to be resolved in a third volume.

This last part is particularly bizarre or galling because the book is labeled as the conclusion of the story. Ferris and Fantagraphics were engaged in a legal battle after Book One became such a huge success - She made a shocking amount of money in royalties, but it seems like she was offered large advances for future books, and now has a contract with Pantheon for upcoming work, one of which is apparently a prequel to My Favorite Thing Is Monsters. But all of this is on some level besides the point when discussing the work itself. (Although I do think it's weird that reviews say the book ends on a cliffhanger rather than doesn't end. You get to a certain point in the reading when you realize the amount of pages left before the end is not enough to wrap everything up at the pacing the story has been told so far, and then you end up being basically correct.)

But what I think is interesting is, this book is blurbed by Art Spiegelman, Chris Ware, and Alison Bechdel. I'm not tryinand g to offer a hot take where I say the book isn't good - it's quite clear why people would like it. I think one could make a case that this book is more like illustrated prose than comics, but on a certain level, who cares, why make rules when the work is effective. Still, there is a take, which I guess I associate with Sammy Harkham, although I don't know who would disagree, that the way a comic works is, you draw all the parts equally. You make everything as visually interesting as you can, even the boring parts. I haven't seen anyone make the case that Ferris' book is effective because the drawing is sometimes really impressive and other times perfunctory. People instead note that she can really draw, wow, you immediately realize when looking at the book that she can really draw, and then there's this story that's really compelling that pulls you through.

What I have seen though is plenty of people that like comics just not really care, not really engage with the work, given its level of success and price point, and the sort of maybe-resentment that animates a dismissal of "that doesn't seem like it's for me" when a comic hits with the NPR crowd. These people are perhaps not wrong: The book is based around a very specific set of formal specifications that make it unclear what Ferris could do if she didn't have Reyes as her narrating main character to excuse her indulgences and the things she gives short shift to. There is this sort of disjunct of values that emerges between the comics that are like by people who read maybe one comic a decade and one comic a day where maybe the latter would never peruse the comic the former had so enthusiastically recommended to them. My Favorite Thing Is Monsters doesn't need to be good comics in order to be a good book. But you can see in how it doesn't conclude that it still benefits from the expectations people come to comics with, that for all the novelistic structure employed in its nesting stories it is still deferring its conclusion like the soap opera of a classic comic strip or a superhero serial. Part of me loves that, that comics are so much about you living with them and the jokes and energy a drawing conveys that add up to a worldview that they don't need to cohere into a form that carries a conclusive third act. But I'm not seeing anyone make that case for Ferris specifically, the same way I'm not seeing argue that her approach to having the best drawings be narratively extraneous is what engages the reader. I'm just seeing enthusiastic critical hosannas, which the book itself can't quite deliver on, at least in terms of eliciting from me.

[kintsug1kitsune]

battle in the low market

The lower-city market was dark even given the world's eternal night.

Concrete pavement meshed with cobblestone and brick, messy walkways twisting through the depths of the city, which towered all overhead, bridges and highways and towers and skyscrapers, all netted together in a neon-lit, hologram-strewn tangle.

Down here, only simple streetlights lit-up the darkness, but still many crowded about, all walks of life come to this gray place to find uncommon and illicit wares. Neverborn beside dolls beside hollows, reapers and Daughters and wildborn, those with wolf heads and animal parts.

I came to this bazaar for a particular type of ether, distilled shatter, a liquid emanation useful in my Mistress's more destructive spells. I hardly dressed-up, a lacy combat thread crop-top and shorts, dangling with knives and sewn with intricate lunar designs. My six arms were free to fiddle with each other as I perused various stalls, searching for my quarry--

And finding a different objective altogether.

My tail whipped the air twice, long and porcelain-plated and sharp-edged, and my five eyes locked with another combat doll's set of two. My rubies to its sapphires. But that was negligible--what actually stood-out was the musical notes printed across its cheek, the symbol of the Witch of Winds. The two of us recognized each other, me from its mark and it from the etchings and paint of cherry blossoms and flowers across my right side and arm.

We chattered in combat-dollspeak, a sharp and cutting dialect that nonetheless rhymed and twisted and chittered beautifully in our language.

"Target found," I said, stalking towards the other.

"Received. Target found," it said, lumbering towards me. It was taller than me, 215 centimeters to my 190, and built thick, strong, tree-like arms and legs made of fine ceramith, ablative porcelain like me. Mine alabaster-white, its own a bluish color, covered by a long white combat dress.

I looked up to it, about a half-meter away, and we eyed each other, taking one another's measure. "Identify," I asked.

"This one is the Wallbreaker," it responded; a title, something storied combat dolls kept among themselves, earned from high deeds. "Identify."

"This one is the Ashveil," I answered. "Confirm threat."

"Confirmed."

We began circling one another, my tail caressing the air, its built-in organ pipes whistling as it flexed its heavy fingers. The market crowd began clearing out a circle for us, everyone looking in on the combat dolls squaring-up, muttering amongst each other, taking bets; it was a gritty enough part of town that no shops closed-up, but instead their keepers watched on.

"That one's Witch is enemy to this one's," I hissed to my opponent, raising my hands into a lax combat stance, top two arms on defense, lower sets open with their voidkrystal claws extended, glowing magenta softly. "This one will prove Her superiority."

"Received," Wallbreaker answered, and smirked, jaw splitting along its cheeks to show a gaping maw of ritesteel fangs. "That one will fail."

In a split second it dashed at me, throwing its arm at my face, a column of battle-ready ceramith--I batted it aside and followed-up, punching at its chest with all three of my right-side hands.

In a core-tick it rose its leg and clenched its other arm down, forming a wall that my fists bounced off of, porcelain clattering against porcelain--then Wallbreaker swung around its ramming arm to try to catch me from behind, reaching around my back.

My eyes caught it, and I felt all my gears click perfectly into place, pistons sliding within me as I ducked the blow--then my enemy's knee came to strike my face; I crossed all of my arms and blocked the hit, sliding back across the pavement but keeping firm.

But Wallbreaker pressed, charging at me again to ram me with its whole body--I leaped to the side, dancing around it, and we ended up a few meters apart, staring each other down again.

"Form 01," I commented, "Classic style." And without warning, I jumped--my legs hissed through the air and battered Wallbreaker with a flurry of flying kicks, all blocked; I fell to the ground, pivoted, and jumped straight up with my leg extended, slipping under its guard and smashing it in the chin, sending the other combat doll reeling back.

In the same motion, I spread my wings and took to the sky, sharp and silvery feathers around spell circles--without stopping, I drove an assault into the enemy with my legs, whirling through the air and kicking, slashing at it with my sharp high-heels.

As I rebounded off it, Wallbreaker stared up at me and hissed. "Killing Rapture? That one has trained with angels."

"Received. False," I hissed back, "It has killed enough angels to learn the style."

No more talk--the other doll crouched and flung itself up, boosters in its feet propelling it into the air to try and piledrive me out of it; I easily flitted back and dodged, but as Wallbreaker fell, it wheeled around and out of its wrist shot a bundle of taut metal cables--they wrapped my legs and yanked, hard.

The wind whistled in my horns as I crashed to the ground, leaving a web of cracks in the pavement and none in me. Across, Wallbreaker landed, hitting the stone with a thud--I was still tangled. Thinking fast, I channeled witchfire from my core and melted out of the cables, instantly springing to my feet.

Just in time--my opponent was howling, jaw split and gaping wide to devour me as it charged; it tried to hammer down on my head, I weaved aside, and it grabbed my top-right arm.

I grabbed its own right arm with my top-left and let loose the claws on my two lower-right sets--and drove them into Wallbreaker's side, tearing apart blued ceramith with voidkrystal sharper than diamond.

It shrieked briefly and rose its leg--stomped it down, trying to break my foot. I slid out of the way, still holding its right wrist, and went to dig my lower-left sets of claws into its other side.

But Wallbreaker had none of it and suddenly slammed its head into mine, getting a wild scream from the crowd watching--I was undeterred. My jaw split, three-way, and I bit at my enemy--it bit back, a gnashing of metal fangs as our heads wove around each other, bodies tangled together, grappling close.

Abruptly, I whipped my head and slammed my horns into Wallbreaker's head, sending it reeling--this was my chance! I threw myself forwards, gears shrieking, and shoved all six of my fists into its frame--chained the move into a roundhouse-kick, and spun, slashing across it with my tail, throwing it to the ground and leaving a massive gash across its porcelain.

I looked down at my defeated foe. "Breaking Demon Hand," I explained. "This one learned it from neverborn pirates."

Wallbreaker lay on stony ground, organ pipes hissing weakly. "…This one learned it from its siblings. This one yields to retreat. Disengaging."

"Disengaging," I answered, giving a chitter. "Good fight."

The crowd rattled amongst itself, bets cashed-in, as I walked off into it, folding my wings back into my body. Now, where could I find some shatter…?

[felix-lupin]

Decided I should finally write a pinned post so have this.

Call me Felix! anu soweli Lupen ★ They/them, but he/him is ok too. ill use it for myself sometimes.

Partnering Aro ★ Asexual ★ Transmasc🏳️‍⚧️ ★ Masc + Neutral Nouns

My Ao3 is FelixLupin. I write when I feel like it and have time.

Art (& writing ig?) requests n stuff are open but I reserve the right to Take Forever or just Not.

If triggers are tagged they will be tagged with just the trigger and/or trigger tw when I remember (this is not very reliable though). So, e.g., #flashing or #flashing tw. mentions/discussions of things, if tagged, will just be tagged as the thing (so, "sex" rather than "sex mention")

Other stuff under the read more. Tags, fandoms, my banner id, other stuff

Status: 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

(Status last edited: June 1st, 2024, 1:45 PM)

Last Edited (besides 'status'): October 21st, 2024 (fandoms + tags)

[banner ID: six drawings of Susie from Deltarune. (From left to right and top to bottom). The first is a full body drawing of her in her Darkworld form holding an axe over her shoulder. The second is a drawing of her head in her Lightworld form, with wide eyes and angrily proclaiming in all caps "I don't have a tail!!! Stop asking!". An arrow points towards her that says in all caps "Lying." The third is a head drawing of her in her Darkworld form, looking at the camera with a grin and a neutral pleased/knowing expression on her face. The fourth is a head drawing of her in her Darkworld form, face shaded and only one glowing eye showing while she angrily grins, appearing to snarl. The fifth is a full body drawing of her in her Darkworld form, doing the defense battle pose where she crosses two arms over her chest in an X shape. The sixth is a full body drawing of her in her Lightworld form, hands in her pockets and smiling neutrally. End ID.]

My Tags:

#animal arsenal = Animals!!! I will also usually tag it with whatever animal it is (the plural of the animal; so if it is a picture of a dog i will tag it #animal arsenal #dogs, and if it is a video of a crow I will tag it #animal arsenal #birds #crows) as well as the toki pona classification (soweli, waso, kijetesantakalu, akesi, etc.)

#art arsenal = Other peoples' (usually, but not always, specifically non-fandom) art. This includes writing. I will usually try to tag it with whatever kind of art it is as well (drawing, painting, writing, poetry).

#ask game! :3 = ask games

#ccccposting = my cccc posts tag bc i dont want to maintag it all the time

#classics = Pretty self-explanatory. Things I consider to be "tumblr classics"

#cotlposting = my cult of the lamb posts tag bc i dont want to maintag it all the time

#do queue think even the worst person can change…? = queue tag. i do not tag this reliably because i only really use it when xkit autotags it for me<2

#skyrimposting = my Skyrim tag

#felix artwolf = My art/drawing tag

#felixlupin.txt = Original posts

#tumblr games <2 = Answers for ask games, tag games, picrews, etc

#hello people in my phone = My ask tag

#tmagposting = my the magnus archives tag

#🌫️the one alone🌫️ = my tag for The Lonely (Magnus Archives fear)

#mi awen e ni = Toki Pona for "I am saving this." Saved stuff / stuff that i am saving for later

#mi moku e ni = Toki Pona for "I'm eating this." Stuff that's very good and I like it a lot. Started saying this in reference to that "[watching/reading/listening to] x isn't good enough i need to eat it" meme. So, stuff that reading/seeing it isn't good enough i need to eat it.

#ni li ante e toki mi = Toki Pona for "this changed my speech." Posts that changed my vocabulary. Posts that I reference in my daily life in my speech and think about often.

#soweli Lupen li toki = toki pona post tag. like if im using toki pona, or if I'm talking about toki pona.

#writing lupin = My writing tag

#writing wares = Others' posts relating to writing, such as writing advice, memes, etc. Forgot I had this tag tbh I'm gonna try to start using it again

Fandom Stuff

I am in a lot of different fandoms tbh. what im mostly focusing on will be different based on my mood. RN it's mostly Chonny Jash.

Fandoms I'm in:

The Magnus Archives <- my hyperfixation rn <2 I go insane over Tim, I miss Sasha, I am Staring at Jon, and Martin is literally me fr /silly.

Chonny Jash/CCCC (Chonny's Charming Chaos Compendium). <- I have a lot of Mind thoughts. I have thoughts about all of them tbh, but Mind thoughts specifically.

Camp Here & There <- SYDNEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY<2222222. thats all i have to say. ALSO ROWAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNN<2222222

Undertale & Deltarune. <- Always at least a little mentally ill about both of them, esp Undertale. I would kill and die for Chara, Flowey, and Susie btw

Helluva Boss <- Most active for a day or two whenever a new episode/thing comes out.

Hazbin Hotel <- A reblog here and there. It was okay

Good Omens <- I like Crowley a lot. Put that guy (gender neutral) in Situations

Avatar: The Last Airbender <- Love all of the characters from ATLA tbh. Great show 10/10 no notes

Five Night's at Freddy's <- This was my first fandom! So it has a lot of nostalgia for me. I liked the movie, it was fun. Favorite animatronics are Foxy and Mangle bc I'm basic like that.

Gravity Falls <- Haven't re-watched it in a while but I still hold a lot of fondness and love for it. sitelen tawa ni li pona mute tawa mi (this show is very good from my perspective)

Cult of the Lamb <- I like this game a lot! I think it is very fun and I like the fanart that people make for it. I replay it alot bc ona li musi tawa mi (it is fun to me). #1 Shamura lover btw I would kill and die for them. if I was a character in the game I would be one of Shamura's disciples, just so we're clear

The Owl House <- When the Owl House was coming out Hunter got a chokehold on me and forced me into a hyperfixation on the show face-first.

Other Stuff

I am physically incapable of shutting up sorry (i am not sorry). Unless I get locked in gay tumblr baby jail (hit the post limit), then i shut up.

As you could probably tell from the other sections, I know a little Toki Pona. My Toki Pona is not very good so please forgive me if I say something incorrectly. I may sometimes throw some of it in tags n such to practice.

I reserve the right to call things kijetesantakalu that are not technically kijetesantakalu based solely on vibes. foxes and seals are kijetesantakalu tawa mi

Banners <2

[IDs in alt text]

[chickinscratch]

HCS8 Scar + 🏵️

Snippet from a non-existant fic

Excerpt from “Before The Fall” - 8 times Scar charms the Void. #3.

–

It’s colder this time, Scar acknowledges numbly. He’s gotten used to it, by this point, the panic catching in his chest as gravity guides his plummeting form long since having fallen out somewhere along the way. Maybe it landed with the animals littered above the chasm. Did they ever worry about falling in? No one ever talked about their feelings. Maybe they were scared.

He should probably be more scared.

He considers his inventory, briefly - whatever he could recall he had on him. His elytra, some armor; that’d suck to replace. Grian would probably give it to him anyways. His hat had drifted away somewhere above him. (An image flickered in his mind of the hat landing gracefully onto the head of their CEO’s statue. It’d probably suit him.) Everything else was negligible. 

Was it taking longer than usual? He could swear it was taking longer. Or maybe he was just feeling particularly sluggish this descent. He didn’t remember the Boatem Hole being this deep. He had only just passed the first deepslate. It was getting colder. It wasn’t usually this cold.

Finally, the bedrock sweeps by him, shifting into a slate sky above and growing smaller and smaller as the Void prickles at his back. The heat seeps from his body in an instant as darkness envelops him. Fear rears in his mind, far overdue, finally prompting him to gape at the lack of air. Sudden weight presses against him from all sides, and the first tick of damage wracks his body. A thousand words catapult through his head all at once, battling to be pushed out with his breath.

Wait, they say, Please! Stop! Hold on! Not again! Ouch! It’s cold! It’s dark!

Instead what falls out of his mouth is “Your pants!”

Very articulate, Scar. 

But for a moment the cold ebbs (or maybe that’s the sudden onset of hypothermia. He doesn’t know how this works). The pressure eases. Despite himself, he continues.

“Give me your pants,” he demands Nothing, surprising himself with his own even tone. There is reprieve. A bubble of Void around him, ever brief, like even the fabric of the Universe itself is baffled by his nonsense.

The second damage tick takes longer than it should, but eventually the weight and darkness crashes over him again. He presses on.

“I mean it!” A third damage tick, but it’s weaker. Much weaker than it should be. “Do you even have pants?” How is he even still speaking? There’s no air, but somehow he feels as though the blanket of darkness is waiting, morbidly curious for him to continue. To watch him dance. He’s always been one to put on a show.

“I give you all my items- so many items, do you know how hard those are to get? And my XP! Probably hundreds of levels worth!” His voice tilts towards giddy. He straightens his jabot. “Do you know how we respawn up there? Butt naked! Scared in our underwear - if even! And you’re down here, keeping all our things.” He veers tones - what does it matter; he’s not sure his audience can answer. “What do you do with it, anyways?”

The pressure eases again, now rumbling gently against him, curious. There’s no answer, but the fourth tick of damage doesn’t even take half a heart. He’s regenerating health, now. The Void doesn’t seem to care. He rotates in the dead space (he doesn’t even question how, simply wills it. It’s the logical thing to do, after all; face his customer like a businessman should.) and leans on his cane.

“Tell ya what, since you’re already taking the literal clothes off my back- the elytra, armor, tools, XP, you can keep. Might as well make it a whole set, right? Wouldn’t want you to be all mismatched; gotta keep fashionable these days! But I get your pants and keep the copper, hm?”

The void shifts. Another tick. Hesitant.

“Okay, okay - you drive a hard bargain, but you didn’t let me finish! I’ve got about three stacks here,” He thumbs through them, exhibiting his wares to the lack of audience. “I keep two, maybe two and a half? I’ll make you somethin’ nice with it, pay you back later - it’s an investment! I get pants now, you get more of other people’s pants in the future, plus my pants as a down payment.”

The Void considers him again, and for a moment the nothingness beneath his feet is solid enough to support his weight. For a moment the darkness around him sparkles brightly. For a moment, he is suddenly warm.

Goodtimewithscar fell out of the world.

“Scar?” Grian pokes his head through the bedroom door. Scar blinks at him, offering a weary smile as he slides out of his bed.

“Do you need a Perhaps You Perished Par-” Grian’s voice catches, falls. His brows furrow as he cocks his head. 

“...Did you get new pants?”

[lune-hime]

Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Once Upon an Attack on Titan

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

This is a little one shot within the au of my fic inspired by Grimm’s fairy tales.

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

“Jean, I’m leaving now!” You sang out the window that overlooked the garden of your quaint cottage. You slipped your boots on with a leather pop and pulled up the scarlet hood of your cloak. As you padded out the door you grabbed the wicker basket from the table that smelled of wine and warm tartes.

The late afternoon sun was at its strongest, basking your modest abode in an aura of warmth. And within the pumpkin patch that bloomed bronze in the sunlight was a sight to behold indeed.

“ Move asshole.” Jean groaned as he put all of his strength into attempting to push your cow. She was unaffected and continued to happily graze on the dandelions you had forgotten to weed out near the edge of the garden. She flicked her tail in annoyance as if Jean was an incessant fly when he smacked her on the rear.

“Whose being the asshole? How would you like it if you were eating and someone slapped you?” You chided playfully. Jean deadpanned in exhaustion and gave you the middle finger. His irritation rose with every non-existent step your bovine took.

“Yeah well, it’s almost noon. That means the auction starts in one hour.” His statement turned into a groan as he gave another big ineffective push. “If we don’t sell her that means-”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re broke.” You finished his sentence and made a swiping motion across your neck. Selling your beloved cow was the last resort and a stark reminder of how desperately you both needed money. Not only did you siblings have each other to support, but your aging grandmother as well.

“ Exactly . So get over here and help me push her!” Jean pleaded. You sighed and placed the handle of your basket in the crook of your elbow. You knelt down in the plush autumn grass and cradled her large head in between your hands. She immediately stopped eating and regarded you doe eyed. Parting with the sweet creature made you want to cry, but you knew you really had no other option at this point.

“Come on, Milky-White. I promise you will get to eat your fair share of hay at the auction house.” You cooed at her and she gave a sloppy lick to the side of your palm. Jean scoffed when you took the lead to the rope around her neck and she walked compliantly behind you.  

“Are you ready to go?” You asked your brother with a smug grin. He rolled his eyes and nodded, brushing the dirt from his vest. When he fell in step with you, you handed him the rope and adjusted your basket to rest on your forearm.

“I’ll walk with you part of the way. The auction is on the way to Oma’s.” You said and rested your free hand on Milky-White’s back comfortably as you strolled down the cobblestone path.

Once you had gotten a fair ways down into the sparse village, the crunching of foreign feet against pine needles alerted you. A decrepit woman emerged out of the thicket a few paces ahead. Her graying brunette locks were pulled back into a ponytail that made the most prominent feature of her face her bold nose. From behind her dirtied glasses she wore a smile that bordered insanity as she waddled closer to the siblings. You immediately halted and put a protective hand on Jean’s arm.

“Well hello pretties. A fine day to take your cow for a walk, isn’t it?” The woman remarked shrilly.

“Yes it is.” Your response was curt as you stood your ground. The old woman let out a chuckle that sounded as if she were squeezing air out of a dusty bellow.

“Would either of you like some candy?” She offered. You assumed she intended to sound inviting but the rising pitch of her voice made it feel like you were listening to someone drag their nails across an endless chalkboard. The woman reached into her beige cloak and pulled out a large lollipop. You squinted at the fine print on the translucent wrapping.

~Confectionaries by HZ~  

“We’ll pass, thanks.” Jean replied coldly. The haggard woman began looking him up and down and licking her encrusted lips.

“Are you sure? I’m a candy maker by trade and can assure you that you will never taste anything more-” She began, waddling closer to you. She bypassed your side and began circling you.

“Exquisite.” She finished as she rounded her path behind you. You were now thoroughly repulsed.

“I could give you a tour of my kitchen. I have a grand oven where I bake my treats, unlike the likes of any other. I bet it’s big enough to even fit you in it, my tall boy.” She bubbled and grabbed Jean’s arm. She gave it a good squeeze, feeling around the lean muscle.

“Lady, we don’t want your food!” Jean bristled, his voice cracking nervously. Her jerked his elbow out of her grasp but spooked Milky-White in the process. She took a few clumsy steps backwards and caused Jean to stumble. You moved to calm her, all the while not taking an eye off of the woman. Once Jean had regained himself you stepped in front of your family.

“Ma’am, thank you for the offer, but we really need to get going. We have an appointment we cannot miss.” You declared with a grin as sugary as her candy. She spat in frustration when you lifted the edge of your crimson cloak to reveal a concealed dagger strapped to your belt.

“The feisty ones always taste the spiciest.” You heard her mumble as she creeped away in the direction from whence you came.

Once she was out of sight, you turned to Jean and your precious cow. They both were breathing heavily. You gave them comforting pats and began walking again.

“We need to move out of this village.” Jean whined and urged Milky-White to follow.

Several scarecrows and window sills holding freshly baked pies later, you arrived at the crossroads to the auction.

“Goodbye sweet girl. I hope that your new owners are as loving as me and nothing like my brother.” You said. You gave Milky-White one final smooch and scratched behind her ears. Soon Jean had to pry your pets and coos away from the animal. You backed off with a pout.

"Make sure you sell her for at least 200 dollars or something valuable we can sell. And stay away from that weird wizard, he's for sure a scam artist." You instructed Jean.

“Aw but I like Mike. He's got these beans that make you feel like you're floa-" You cut Jean's ramblings off with the sharpness of your glare.

"Fine fine. Alright, I’m off. Remember to stay on the path and make sure you keep your hand on your knife at all times. And most importantly, be back before nightfall.” Jean instructed and gave you a look that tried to be stern but fell slightly short.

“Yes, yes. Don’t worry, I’m always careful.” You replied to his nagging.

“Yeah but you can’t afford to just be careful. Anyway, tell Oma hello from her favorite grandchild.” He called as he turned down the right fork in the path. You snorted and pushed forward, trodding over the stones that took you deeper into the woods.

For a while it was just you and the conifers until an alluring song was carried by the light breeze to your ears. Delving deeper into the brush, you came upon a familiar face.

“Hi Mikasa. Hello Armin, Eren.” You grinned happily as you passed the group. The war maiden was sitting on a large tree stump along the edge of the path. Her ornate shield rested in her lap as she lazily polished it with one hand and bit into a crisp apple with the other.

She was a mercenary that had recently come to work in your village. As an apprentice at Master Connie’s blacksmith shop, you had interacted with the knight many times when she came in to sharpen her sword or shop for some wares. The two of you had grown quite fond of one another’s company and were on friendly terms.

Her dwarven companions sat on either side of her; Eren’s intensely green glare watched you like a hawk while Armin peacefully beamed up at you. Mikasa wiped the sweat off of her forehead with the back of her palm.  Her hand brushed against the bright red headband that held her shortly chopped locks in place.

“Hello Y/N. Lovely to see you.” She greeted, her voice rough with battle experience but as honeyed as the candy the weird woman had tried to tempt you with earlier.

“You too.” You answered, feeling the flames of her firey gaze flushing your cheeks.

“I must say that this gorgeous afternoon is much more beautiful now that you are here.” She sang and flashed you a charmingly captivating smile. As Mikasa spoke, sparrows flitted down from the canopy above to perch along her polished iron shoulder guards. They chirped at the melodic cadence of her voice but soon squawked when she shook them off in annoyance.

The sun was making you borderline sweaty. Yeah, it was definitely the sun.

You nodded in agreement, feeling speechless, and inhaled the fresh pine scent.

“Where are you off to?” Armin piped up while Eren still gave you the stink eye.

“I’m off to my grandmother’s to deliver her some wine and homemade tartes.” You said and patted the top of the basket.

“Would you like me to escort you the rest of the way? It will be dark soon and who knows what wolves or other creatures are lurking in the shadows.” Mikasa offered and stood from the stump. The waning daylight bounced off of her armor and made her look as if she had crafted it out of pure sun rays.

“No, it’s alright. I don’t have that much further to go.” You replied, flattered by her sweet gesture but unwilling to waste her time. Plus you were sure Eren would try to nip at your heels as you walked.

“If you insist. But you’ll have to invite me over soon, okay? I would be honored to taste your cooking.” She said and delicately reached for your hand. She brought it up to her lips and placed a plush kiss to your skin. The fire that was once burning on your face was now rushing through every limb.

“Yes of course!” You stammered bashfully, attempting to portray yourself as unaffected as possible. She chuckled at your reaction and regarded you gracefully.

“Be careful, Y/N. Oh, and tell your stalker of a brother to stop following me into the forest. He’s not the one I want to spend time with.” Mikasa bid you a farewell that left you feeling as if you had drank half of the wine bottle you carried.

“Yeah, or he’s gonna get a knife to the Achilles tendon.” Eren spat aggressively and brandished a cheese knife. You grimaced and turned on your heel to resume your journey.

The remainder of your walk was delightfully uneventful, however, the mistress of time was not favoring you. When dusk began to nestle into the sky you quickened your pace in hopes to beat the celestial blanket to your destination. As you were beginning to trouble yourself with what you could cook that would impress the shield maiden, you arrived at the familiar picketed gates to Oma’s cottage. The calmness of the night almost lulled you into a false sense of security that you rarely felt at this hour.

But it was unusually quiet. Even for nightfall.

Nightfall.

You had broken your and Jean’s golden rule. But you were here now, so it should be okay...right?

None of the usual crickets were singing, none of the usual squirrels were scampering through the freshly fallen leaves, and none of Oma’s usual lights were on.

With your hand placed securely over your dagger, you cautiously approached the residence. You tried to convince yourself that she had gone to bed early, that she was indulging in her pipe on her back porch, or that she had stepped out for a bit to get some last minute ingredients for dinner.

The apprehension in your gut grew as you turned the door knob, only to be met with the door already open. Narrowing your eyes, you proceeded inside. The house was too devoid of light to see if anything was out of the ordinary.

“Oma-” You called tentatively. The only reply was the shrill groaning of her weathered timber under your boots as you shuffled around to find some matches. Your hand sporadically patted down the top of the cabinet she kept in her foyer until your fingers brushed against the match box. You gripped the fire starters and lit the nearest candle. Picking it up by the brass handle, you padded into the living room.

Immediately the viscous stench of iron assaulted your nostrils and caused you to audibly gag. You brought the hand with which you held the candle to your nose instinctively. The illumination this motion created uncovered a pale, delicate hand resting along one of Oma’s armchairs. You gasped in fright, inhaling even more of the putrid smell as you stumbled backwards. The wine bottle wiggled dangerously as you placed your hand on the fireplace shelving to steady yourself.

“WHO’S THERE?” You yelled into the void. Your voice creaked like the floorboards under invisible footfalls that grew closer to your shaking form. In one fluid motion your dagger was unsheathed and held defensively in front of you.

A deep chuckle that was as rich as your wine cut through the shadows.

“Easy with the silver. I’m a friend.” It’s welcome was warm but the voice could not have sounded more frigid.

“Oma doesn’t have any friends.” You declared through ragged breaths. Your head twisted and turned to pinpoint the source of the voice.

“Hm. So the woman who lives here is your oma?” The voice asked ominously.

You swallowed hard and tested the air; cutting through the space in front of you and meeting nothing but emptiness.

“How did you know a woman lives here?” Your inquiry was ended with a sharp inhale as you felt a feather light touch to your shoulder. You were giving yourself whiplash as the voice seemed to be existing within the walls of the house itself.

Was Oma still here? Hiding from this stranger? Or worse���

“A simple guess by the décor.” The voice answered smoothly.

The presence in the room intensified and now you felt palpable forms whirling on all sides of you.

“Where is she?” You demanded, hastily pointing your knife wherever you heard a nefarious laugh or a murmur.

“That is something I would like to know as well. I took time to come all the way out here.” Your mysterious company said.

“It’s awfully late for someone to be traveling alone this far into the woods, don’t you think my dear?” The voice whispered incredibly close to the back of your ear. You startled and turned around, now facing the fireplace and leaving your back tantalizingly exposed.

“Especially for one so-” It continued. Suddenly the pale hand gripped your wrist with such a force that it crippled your palm in pain and made your fingers grow numb. The dagger instantly dropped from your grasp and clattered to the floor.

“Supple.” It cooed. The seductively sinister words slithered under your skin and seeped the oxygen from your lungs. Puffs of icy breath caressed the pulse point of your neck while a nimble hand traveled up your arm that held the candle and raised it to your eye level. You were whipped around and were met with a face accentuated by the soft glow of the candle light.

Your antagonizer took corporeal form in the shape of a man who looked as if he was carved from exquisite marble. His skin was ashen as the stone itself and as flawless as a sculpture. His eyes shown with an argent luster that put your dagger to shame and regarded you with the molten intensity of a forge fire. He drew his face closer to yours ever so slowly.

“Supple indeed.” He praised darkly. His tongue darted languishly along his smirk as if he was already tasting your every feature.

“What did you do to her?” You got out despite the building dread of prey bubbling inside of you. The porcelain man clicked his tongue.

“Absolutely nothing. That’s my problem. That there’s a lack of something to be done.” He explained and continued to smile at you devilishly. He stopped inching towards you once he heard your back hit the fireplace. With nowhere for you to go, he was now able to press his body flush against yours. His leg came to prod at your inner thighs while his hands pinned yours upwards by your wrists. His sharp nails dug into the already tender flesh and threatened to puncture your veins. You let out a cry at the stinging sensation and your mind screamed at you to knee him in the balls.

But you couldn’t move. From the moment his eyes connected with yours, your body fell unresponsive. You couldn’t think a single thought without those silver bullets boring into your brain. Your rapids breaths were constricted against his broad chest as you teetered on the edge of death.

“But I must confess I am quite happy with this outcome.” He said with a satin glee. The last thing you saw before he instantly blew out your candle were the brilliant pearlescent fangs that elongated from his idyllic grin.

You heard a squelching as the flesh below your ear was torn open. It felt as though a flower with scorching petals was placed in the now gaping hole of your neck. Your limbs flailed like one of the chickens Oma placed on the chopping block. The stranger let out a velvety moan that only intensified the burning by sending shockwaves of vibrations across your torso. The longer he drank from your sweet nectar, the paler the flame ran until the pain became as white hot as his complexion.

The man had just begun clenching his jaw to delve in deeper when a gunshot pierced the window in the foyer. Your captor ceased his drinking and listened. He turned his head towards the ruckus with his teeth still embedded with you. Suddenly, a silver arrow flew through the broken glass.

“Come out, vampire. Or I will smoke you out.” A husky voice boomed from the yard. The man retracted his fangs and detached himself from your bleeding neck. The beast chuckled with the crispness of a newborn spring morning. He maneuvered your body so you could walk in front of him with your hands held securely behind your back. You weren’t sure if you even had the strength to use your legs. Walls, did you even still have legs?

“Don’t struggle.” He ordered with a maniacal sing-song to his tone. You barely registered his command. The draining sensation of your bodily fluids freshly leaving you left you feeling like an overused blood bag. Your eyes widened as he began shuffling you to the doorway.

“No-I can’t go-” Your voice cracked as you mediocrely attempted to grab at his arms. You stumbled into his chest as your legs struggled to work properly. He showed no signs of stopping as he continued to walk to the entryway.

“Please…” You pleaded weakly as the rising moonlight peeked through the crevasses of the front door.

The vampire kicked down the door with one fluid motion. The hunter was stationed in the main walkway of your grandmother’s front yard, crossbow loaded and aimed directly at the two of you. His leather tailcoat flapped along the gentle breeze and the bullet casings that rested along his chest reflected the cool gray of the stars.

“We finally are reunited.” The hunter spat. His weapon tracked the vampire’s every movement with the precision of a seasoned expert as he dragged you out further into the yard.

“Smith.” The stranger greeted the hunter like an old friend. He smiled, revealing teeth coated in your thick blood that dribbled down his chin like tumbling rubies.

“Ackerman.” The hunter replied in a hardened tone. “It’s a shame that you resorted to your old delicacies.”

Ackerman hummed and licked the front of his teeth, sighing in satisfaction as he reveled in your metallic palate.

“Squirrels just didn't satisfy me.” He snickered and walked his pointed fingers up your shoulder. A single digit entered your gaping wound and swirled in your juices. You shuddered at the needle-like pressure.  Smith’s prominent brow furrowed in disgust when Ackerman brought his finger to his mouth and sucked.

“Drop the girl, she’s almost dead anyway.” Smith said, his stance unwavering.

“Want my leftovers, eh?” Ackerman laughed. “I guess I only ever see you by the light of the moon so I wouldn’t be surprised if you were one of us.”

In your delirium you had begun disconnecting yourself from reality. But the vampire’s last phrase kept the final, unspooling thread from snapping. You heaved your neck sideways with the remaining strength you harbored to gaze up at Ackerman. His lips were as red as a summer cherry and his skin looked even more iridescent next to the moon. He looked like he could have fallen from the celestial body itself.

The moon.

The instant your eyes gazed upon its circumferential radiance your pupils dilated as the lunar rays rocketed into your eye sockets.

The full moon.

Be back before nightfall.

You can’t afford to just be careful.

Your brother's words echoed in your mind as the moon began bathing you in luminous ivory pain.

“Oh no.” You whimpered. You squeezed out a wail as the searing ripping of your joints elongating and reconnecting overtook your entire being. The convulsions of your body caused Levi to release you from his grip with a hiss. The vampire hunter and hunted could only watch as you hunched over agony with freshly punctured claws raking through Oma’s neat lawn. Coarse hair soon sprouted out of your exposed skin and your strained cries grew octaves lower. The buttons of your dress flew free with crisp pops and the seams of your poor dress were pulled apart by your bulging muscles. Your jaw unhinged and lengthened until your face resembled the wolves that Milky-White used to chase from your chicken coop.

Your tortuous yelps suddenly mingled with a deafening gun shot from the gate.

“What in the Peter Piper’d fuck is going on at my house?” Oma hollered, rifle pointed at the sky, as you let a howl pierce through the night.

Suddenly you were jolting awake and pawing at the sheets. Your heart was beating erratically as you shakily brought your hands to your lap.

They looked blissfully normal.

You heard shuffling from outside of the bedroom and Levi was soon standing in the doorway with concern mapping his face.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” He asked in minor alarm as he came to sit next to you. He was already in his harnesses and uniform so you gaged it must have been early morning. Levi’s eyes searched your clammy form for any signs of outward distress. You sighed in relief seeing your usual pillows, usual closet, usual bathroom, and most importantly; usual Levi.

It had all felt so real.

“I’m fine, Levi. I just had the strangest dream though.” You exhaled as you came down from the high of your slumbered adventure.

“I think your weird dreams stress you out more than being a squad leader does.” Levi chuckled as he ran a gentle hand along your back. You closed your eyes and revealed in the peaceful feeling of his palm along your night shirt. It was a stark contrast to the gory fantasy you just emerged from.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He added with more seriousness in his voice.

You just stared at him. He stared right back, blinking blankly as you analyzed his features. Your hands reached up and took his jaw between your hands. Your thumbs lightly pushed up the corners of his upper lip to reveal his teeth. Levi made a noise of complaint but didn’t swat you away. You leaned in closer to check his canines for any vampiric qualities. When you were assured they were of normal length, you pulled back satisfied.

“Nope, I’m good.” You smiled and planted a quick peck to his lips before jumping out of bed to get ready for the day. Levi watched you pad into the bathroom as he felt his teeth in confusion.

��↠↞↠↞↠

Eren looked at you nervously as you eyed him from your place behind him in line to get lunch. He looked down at you and gulped.

“Is everything okay, Y/N?” He asked apprehensively. You narrowed your eyes and placed your hand level with the top of your head. You brought it straight out towards Eren, hitting him square in the forehead.

“You’ve always been taller than me, right?” You questioned, looking from your hand down to his feet.

“Uh, yeah.” He confirmed, regarding you suspiciously. He fidgeted with the sides of his plate as you puffed your cheeks in contemplation. Finally you nodded in satisfaction.

“Do you own a cheese knife?”

↞↠↞↠↞↠

“Hange, have you ever thought about owning a candy shop?”

“Y/N. Why would I do that when I barely have time to analyze the retinal samples from Bean’s eye?”

↞↠↞↠↞↠

“You’re dismissed, Y/N.” Erwin’s parting smile betrayed the professionalism of his order. You bowed your head respectfully and walked to the doors to his office. Your fingers dusted over the brass handle but hesitated to grab it. You turned back towards your commander and paused.

When Erwin didn’t hear you leave, he looked up from his desk.

“Is there something else you need, Y/N?” He asked.

You stared at him long enough to lace his brow in slight concern. His coat was the same length, same color, same style as your own.

“I-I like your coat.” You laughed nervously and threw him an awkward grin. Before he had the chance to answer you had bowed your head and hurried out the door.

“Thank...you?”

↞↠↞↠↞↠

Today it seemed like you were playing errand girl more than squad leader. You questioned why you even put on these chafing harnesses as you ferried yet another stack of documents back to your office.

“Hi Y/N, do you want to get dinner together later? I still have some tartes too that I bought when we were in town last.” Mikasa smiled at you as she passed you in the hall. You involuntarily began blushing furiously.

“Definitely, I’ll see you in a couple hours!” You sputtered as you hurried down the hall, slapping your cheeks as you went.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

“Jean.” You called, looking up from the paperwork that littered your desk. The boy who was lazily sprawled out on your office couch hummed into his book.

“We’ve never owned a cow together, right?”

“What the fuck?”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Beside The Dying Fire (part one)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

I got big plans for this AU! Hopefully you all enjoy it!

Featuring @spooner7308‘s Sixtended OC, EB!

Word count: 2722

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

Mud slopped around her ankles as the late afternoon rain pattered off waxed robes and soaked into the churned forest soil. The woods around this area were shrouded in thick mist, too dense to see through, so Katherine scrambled up a nearby tree, moving slowly but carefully, swinging higher until she could see clearly around her. Something about being high up relaxed her, even as she surveyed the land. 

War had ravaged the territory outside her province. Straight ahead, thick, billowing tendrils of dark grey smoke twisted high into the air, evidence of another battle fought. She wondered how many died this time. 

To the right, the distant city, Orkpool. The people there were heavily influenced by the celestial gods, too much so for Katherine’s personal taste. 

And to the left, a wall of dark clouds bearing heavy rainfall. The soft grey sky was already being consumed in its mass. The forest would be replenished with its water.

Katherine paced over the stretch of winding tree branches, watching the surrounding perimeter closely. Her village was much too soft to be on guard duty, as they didn’t really believe in violence, so she decided to step up and make sure no threats were trying to come in. With the war going on, they could never be too safe. Her father didn’t seem to understand that no matter how many times she spelled it out for him.

Sighing, Katherine ran her fingertips over the length of the bow strapped to her back. It was made of soft birch wood and carved with small knobs and pointy bits, perfect for her hands. When she first got it when she was just a teenager, she had fantasized about defending the entire village with just the weapon alone, sending down a barrage of arrows down on the enemies and wiping them out with a single attack. 

But now she’s almost thirty and she doesn’t really feel like much of a hero.

She had spent her entire life cooped up in the forest. And it wasn’t that she didn’t like Ghent, she did, she just wished for more freedom to explore. But after the death of her mother, her father tightened the security of the village. Nobody leaves and nobody comes in without an intense security check. Well, at least they moved past killing anyone on sight- now THAT would have caused a war just by itself.

Rustling came to Katherine’s left and she turned, spotting a squirrel munching away on some berries a few feet away. She crouched down, slipping her bow off of her back. She knocked an arrow and aimed for the animal’s heart, hoping to take it out with one shot. It would make an excellent snack for her friend.

Arms muscles tingling with the strength of drawing back the string, Katherine exhaled a breath and--

  “KATHERINE!!!!”

The arrow flew into the tree trunk, and the squirrel shrieked in fright and took off into the underbrush. Katherine growled in frustration and swung her head down to the young man standing below the tree she was in.

It was Elan, an Wood Elf like her, but several years younger. He had chords of ivy woven in his oak brown hair, and his dumb hazel deer eyes were blinking in confusion.

  “Oh. Were you hunting?” He said obliviously. “Sorry!”

Katherine rolled her eyes and hopped across the branches to retrieve her arrow. When she hopped down from the tree, Elan looked nervous.

  “You shouldn’t jump from that height,” He said, as worried as always. “What if you break your ankles? Or your leg? Then what shall we do?”

  “Not leave me out here to die, I hope,” Katherine said, gliding past him. He jumped and hurried after her, skittering like a baby deer that lagged behind its herd. “And this wouldn’t be such a problem if we set up an actual guard post. Then we can have proper ladders AND security.”

Elan actually wrinkled his nose at that prospect. “I prefer having everyone in the village. It’s safer that way. Especially for you, princess.”

Katherine struggled to suppress a groan. She hated that she was considered a “princess”, when their village couldn’t even rank to a real kingdom. Just because she was the chief’s daughter didn’t mean she was anything special.

  “I told you to not call me that, Elan.” Katherine chided.

Elan fumbled. “I-I know, but--”

  “No buts. Don’t call me princess. It’s just weird.”

Katherine whisked past him quickly, breaking through a threshold of braided willow curtains to enter into her village.

Ghent was a marvelous forest city made of hunts and tents and tree houses. A winding river wove through the territory, burbling several spring deposits near the many shops and apothecaries. Colorful flowers bloomed like starbursts from house to house, making the place seem more like home and less like a prison that you weren’t really allowed to leave. Elves and fauns and satyrs and a few cat-folk mulled around, shopping or eating or selling their wares. A certain faun with speckled brown fur like an axis deer, bounded up to her and happily strummed a lute.

  “There she is!” The faun chirped in a singsong voice. “The princess has returned! The city is saved!”

Katherine shoved the faun playfully. “Oh, shut up, Anne. And don’t call me princess!”

  “Uh oh, princess is getting feisty!” Said another voice from behind.

Katherine whirled around to see a smirking satyr standing there. Her fur was a deep russet brown color, contrasting her lighter brown hair, and her body was held with great strength. This particular satyr always had an abundance of smugness, which she didn’t care to hide. Like right now.

  “There’s my partner in crime!” Anne trotted over to the satyr. 

  “Ran off again?” Maggie asked Katherine. “You disobeyed your father. I like it.” She smirked even wider.

Katherine shook her head. “Someone has to. We need to stay safe.”

  “We are safe,” Anne said. “Don’t worry so much.” And then, to completely contradict her words, “Oh, by the way, that orc lady is back.”

Katherine groaned. Of course.

After just a brief moment of scanning the area, she spotted the half-orc sitting by a small campfire and chewing on some dried deer strips, sticking out like a sore thumb in the village.

EB was a mountain of a woman thanks to her orc blood. She had dull, greyish-green skin, matted dark brown hair, and a terrible under and overbite, with the sharp canines almost overlapping each other. Her upper body was scrawled with inky black tattoos of things Katherine didn’t understand, and her face, neck, and chest were marred with several scars in various stages of healing. The most recent seemed to be a stab wound in her shoulder, dressed in a dirty bandage that looked like it needed to be changed. When Katherine walked over, she stood up, towering over the usually very tall wood elf.

  “Elizabeth,” Katherine said.

  “It’s EB,” The half-orc rumbled, and her voice was deep and biting. Up close, her face looked like it was set in an expression of permanent rage. “I’ve told you that many times before.”

  “My apologies,” Katherine said. “EB. Why have you returned to my village?”

  “I am once again asking your people to join us in our fight,” EB said. She slipped a scroll out of her crumpled satchel and thrust it into Katherine hand’s. The paper was stained by rainwater, mud, and droplets of dried blood that had seeped through the leather of her bag. “Henry will not be asking again.”

  “It’s about time,” Katherine said, nothing bothering to open up the declaration. “I’ve given him the same answer three times now. I’m glad he finally took the hint.” 

She tried to hand the scroll back, but EB didn’t take it. She just glared. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to grab the massive ax on her back and slice Katherine’s head in two.

  “You don’t have a choice.” EB said.

  “This is not our fight.” Katherine deflected. “I’m not putting my village in danger just because of some petty war. And for what? What exactly are you people fighting for?”

EB faltered for a moment, letting her guard down for just a second. She blinked her flashing flash eyes, then gathered herself up again, gruffly saying, “You would know if you joined.”

Katherine barked a laugh. “Nice try.”

Once again, EB’s expression twitched, but this time it actually stayed slightly more fearful. She reached out and grabbed Katherine’s forearm with a huge hand, squeezing it tightly.

  “Listen,” She hissed softly, urgency in her usually-rude voice. “You all seem like good people. I don’t want you to die. You have better chances surviving in the war than defying what Henry wants. Trust me, I’ve seen what he can do. I’ve had to do horrible things. I don’t want the same thing happening to you.” She gripped tighter until Katherine thought her bone may snap in two pieces. “Please, Just agree. Fight with us.”

Katherine looked up at the huge half-orc and said, “No.”

EB was taken aback. She released Katherine’s arm and stepped away, quickly settling her facial features back into rudeness so as to not break the obvious mask she was having to wear. Then, she snorted.

  “You’ve got guts,” The half-orc said. “It’s a shame that they’ll soon be sprawled out all over your village.”

Katherine raised her nose haughtily. “We aren’t as weak as we seem.”

EB eyed her up and down, then said, “I sure hope so.”

Then, she gathered her belongings and stalked out of the village, earning wary looks from civilians as she went. The moment she was out of the willow curtains, Katherine exhaled a shaky breath and rubbed her forehead tiredly. She looked down at the scroll in her hand and worried about what she just got herself into.

  “What was that all about?” Maggie asked as she and Anne trotted over.

  “Another alignment pact,” Katherine said, showing them the rolled up piece of paper. “I didn’t agree, of course. I don’t want anyone fighting in a war.” Then, softly, “I don’t think half of us would even know how to properly fight.”

Anne tilted her head at the scroll. “Oh dear. Well, at least you saved us! No war for Ghent!” She strummed happily on her lute.

Katherine chuckled lightly, hoping to look on the bright side of things like her distant cousin. She turned to go to her tree house, hopefully to rest up before dinner and--

  “OW!!”

That’s right. She had more company. Though, this one she was actually looking forward to seeing.

Katherine walked over to the apothecary hut where the cry originated from and peeked inside. Past the shimmering vials and bubbling cauldrons and various ingredients hanging up, was a straw bed where a young woman laid.

She was an Aasimar of around twenty-three, with glowing golden skin, pupil-less silver eyes, and long, luscious dark brown hair that had glistening yellow feathers growing out from the scalp. She was bold-faced and well-muscled on her arms and neck, and there were patches of golden-white feathers fluffed on her shoulders, where wings would sprout if she commanded them. Despite her nun’s robes, her belly was thick and swollen with pregnancy of around five months. Her frustrated expression brightened when Katherine knelt beside the bed.

  “Kat,” She said in relief. “Finally.”

  “Sorry, I was out scouting,” Katherine said. She watched as the village’s physician, an old Wood Elf named Faedi, ran her hands over the Aasimar’s stomach. “How are you, Catalina?”

  “In hell,” Catalina groaned, slumping her head back on the pillow. “I HATE being pregnant. Faedi says there’s no way to speed this along with ‘hurting the baby.’ What about ME? You know how hard it is to wear armor AND be as fat as a beached whale?”

Katherine chuckled and ran her fingers through Catalina’s hair to soothe her. “You aren’t fat, dear,” She said. “And maybe you shouldn’t wear armor, then?”

Catalina eyed Katherine’s thin frame and rock-hard muscles incredulously. “I am NOT giving up my armor. I already gave up booze. That’s ALL you’re taking from me!”

Katherine laughed, smoothing down some unruly gold feathers on Catalina’s head. “I do hope your baby does not inherit your stubbornness.” She looked at Faedi. “How is the baby?”

  “Healthy, Faedi said. “Very active, too, which is good.”

  “Keeps kicking me in the fuckin’ ribs,” Catalina grumbled. “Why couldn’t I have slept with, like, a mermaid? I rather lay eggs then deal with this.” She lifted her head to yell at her stomach. “Like, hey, bitch! You aren’t even paying rent! The least you can do is not beat me up!”

Katherine couldn’t help but laugh again. Catalina always knew how to cheer her up, even if she did so without really realizing it. Even now, with risking her life every day for having to hide her pregnancy from the church, she still remained fierce, brave, and courageous. 

  “I don’t think laying eggs would be very fun,” Katherine said. “There would be a lot to lay.”

  “At least eggs don’t have legs.” Catalina said, then laughed. “Ha. Eggs. Legs. That rhymes. I am hilarious.”

Katherine remembered the first time Catalina showed up in her current state. They had been friends for years, but never before had she seen the young woman look so worried. She had clutched at her middle and begged for an examination, where Faedi had then announced she was with child. Catalina explained to Katherine that she had slept with a sweet man named Arthur, desperately needing to get her mind off of things, but found that he was gone when she woke up the next morning, leaving only his sperm fertilizing her eggs to remember him by. Since then she’s been hiding her pregnancy from the church she worked at, making excuses for morning sickness and mood swings and cravings. But now she looked too far along to hide the bump under several layers of robes.

  “It may be best for you to stay in the village until you deliver,” Faedi said. “I’m worried about you getting discovered.”

  “I agree,” Katherine said.

  “I don’t want to intrude,” Catalina said, but Katherine shook her head.

  “Please. I insist.”

Catalina smiled. “Thank you, Kat.”

Faedi excused herself from the hut a few minutes later to go check on some other patients, leaving Katherine and Catalina alone. Beside the bed was a shiny silver sword and polished steel shoulder pads, since Catalina insisted on wearing protection and fighting when necessary, even with her pregnancy. She didn’t like being hindered, but Katherine knew she would have to stand down eventually, especially when she got further into her trimester.

  “Oh no,” Catalina said. “Not that look.”

Katherine raised an eyebrow at her. “What look?”

  “The ‘I’m worried over Catalina’s pregnancy’ look,” Catalina stated. “You always get it when you look at my sword.”

  “I just want you and the baby to be safe,” Katherine said, earning her a loud groan that made her smile.

  “I AM safe, though. Now that I’m here, I don’t have to worry about being discovered and crucified.” Catalina said. “I’m safe.” And then she yelped loudly. “Ow! You spineless, pig-fucking bastard! Stop kicking me!” Katherine laughed and set a hand on Catalina’s belly, rubbing soothing circles around it. She felt light kicks underneath her palm, but Catalina didn’t cry out at those.

  “I think they like you,” Catalina said. “Thank god for that. Now I know to come to you when they won’t let me sleep!”

  “Oh, so then I won’t get sleep?” Katherine said.

  “Yup!” Catalina beamed, and Katherine laughed.

The good mood was abruptly cut short, however, but shouting from outside the hut. Katherine shot to her feet instantly, with Catalina right behind her, but she ushered the young woman back down.

  “But--” Catalina tried to argue.

  “No buts. Stay here.” Katherine ordered, then ran out, taking her bow from its straps. Was EB back? Was Henry really going to attack the village for not siding with him?

A crowd was gathered by one of the ponds. Katherine could see Maggie pointing a flint-tipped wooden spear at something as she rushed over. She knocked an arrow as she pushed through the group and--

--and aimed for a tiny Tiefling child with pure white skin.

[two-unbeatable-beaters]

Scars Chapter 1: A Good Day

Summary: It had been over 10 years since you had last laid eyes on the Witcher known as Geralt of Rivia, and if you had it your way, you never would again. Too bad you never seem to get your way.

Words: 1395

Warnings: None

A/N: Okay, so this is my first attempt at writing fanfiction because I’m pretty sure what I did in Middle School wouldn’t be classified as ‘writing’. So, if you guys could bear with me, it would be greatly appreciated. That being said, on to the story!

You had been having such a good day.

You had slept well the night before, waking up feeling refreshed. You had sold all of your wares on the market, and had earned enough money to buy supplies for the next couple of weeks, as well as a treat for yourself; a bar of your favorite orange scented soap. Upon returning to your home at the edge of the forest, you had set to organizing your supplies and preparing your evening meal before having a relaxing bath and heading to bed.

Your life was simple. You hunted in the forest, killing animals and monsters alike. You would then use what you could and sell what you couldn’t or didn’t need. Living alone, you didn’t need much and rarely splurged coin on luxurious items. Having fended for yourself for the last decade, you learned what you truly needed and what you could live without.

The last rays of light were just leaving the sky when you sat down on the stool in front of the fire to eat your dinner; a simple stew with a hunk of bread. When you first came to the village, your cooking, while passable, still left much to be desired. You had been extremely thankful to the woman who had not only taken you in for your first year in town, but had taught you the basics of keeping a home. Things like cooking, mending clothes, and even how to perform some minor repairs around the house. Growing up as the daughter of a well-off merchant had meant such things were deemed unnecessary for you to learn due to you always having maids and other servants to perform tasks for you. If only you had known where life would take you.

Your mind drifted back to the man who had caused your life to change so drastically all those years ago.

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

14 years earlier

His white hair and amber eyes would have made him stand out, even if he hadn’t been half a head taller than almost every other man in town. He had been summoned by the mayor to help rid the village of the beast that had been terrorizing the people of this town for nearly half a year. Every full moon, people would hide in their homes, lock their doors, and seal their windows in hopes of avoiding the wolf-man that would inevitably appear, leaving bloodshed in its wake.

Twelve people had been killed by the beast so far. The mayor, a portly, middle-aged man named Gaius Garber, had ignored the deaths for as long as he could, dismissing them as drunks who had wandered into the forest and gotten lost or as hunters killed by bears. Finally, when the son of one of the most well-off families in town had been found with his throat slashed and his bowels splayed out in front of him, Garber had no choice but to call for help from the only person who would be able to kill the beast; a Witcher.

Of course, this was not just any Witcher who arrived. This was Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf, the most feared Witcher in existence. You doubted there was a person alive on the continent that hadn’t heard the song retelling his battle against the elf-king. A song, whose writer appeared to still be traveling with the man. The lute and lively attitude made it easy to recognize the bard, Jaskier, who worked hard to spread the tales of his imposing companion.

“Quite the brute, isn’t he?”

You turned to see the hazel eyes of Matias Baxter, son of the mayor’s sister, cunt extraordinaire, and your betrothed.

“Yes, I suppose he does look rather intimidating. Though I’m sure killing monsters for a living tends to do that to a person,” you responded, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at him. You turned back to try and catch another glimpse of the mysterious monster hunter before he disappeared into the mayor’s house, but find that you are too late. The only thing you saw was the back of the bard’s head just before the door shut.

You sighed, moving to return home, only to be stopped by Matias’ hand on your shoulder. “Wait a moment,” he pulled you back to him, “I figured we could take a stroll together. I assumed you would want to spend as much time together as we could before our wedding.” He had that stupid, smug look on his face, the one he always had when he knew he was going to get his way. It was hard to deny Matias anything, as he had never been told ‘no’ a day in his life by either his parents or his uncle.

You put on your best smile and told him “Of course, I’d love to spend more time with you Matias, but as it’s already the evening, and tonight is the full moon, I know that my parents will want me home early. Perhaps tomorrow, my dearest heart?” You silently begged whatever higher power there was in the world that he would believe you, sparing you the torture of listening to him brag about his various ‘accomplishments’ and how lucky you were to have been chosen by him out of all the girls in town.

“Right, the full moon,” he gave you a tight-lipped smile. “I nearly forgot. Of course, my darling. You should head home. Perhaps tomorrow then?” He released your shoulder only to grab your hand in a firm grip and placed a kiss on your knuckles. “Who knows, maybe by this time tomorrow, the Butcher will have already disposed of the creature and we will finally be able to set a date for our wedding?”

You batted your eyelashes at him, “Nothing would please me more, my love.” This seemed to appease him, for his smile loosened, as did his grip. “I will count the moments until we see each other again,” you pulled away from him and blew him a kiss before you turned and hurried toward your family’s home.

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

You sighed and stood up to return the rest of your stew to the pot, having lost your appetite reminiscing about your old life.

You had just reached the counter of your small kitchen when, out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement between the trees through your little kitchen window. The sun had fully set by now, meaning most people would stay far away from the forest due to its reputation of being ‘haunted’. Only a few brave souls, such as yourself, who had experience hunting monsters would dare venture into the woods during the night. This had made it an ideal spot for you to live, as you preferred to be alone. However, it also meant that when someone was sneaking around the forests’ edge at night, they usually meant trouble.  Squinting, you moved closer to the window to try and make out what was out there when a frantic knock sounded at your door.

Bracing yourself for danger, you grabbed one of your daggers from the table you had set it on, and approached the door.

You held the dagger behind your back as you reached for the handle, calling out “Who’s there?”

“Please!” a young voice called back. “My father and I are looking for shelter for the night. This is the first house we’ve come upon in days. All we want is a roof over our heads for the night before continuing on our journey tomorrow.”

Still suspicious, you slowly opened the door.

On the doorstep stood a young girl, maybe 14, with long ash-blonde hair and large green eyes that pleaded with you to help her. Her clothes were soiled and torn in places and she obviously hadn’t had a proper bath in quite some time. The only bag she carried with her was a tattered satchel that looked to be one harsh tug away from completely falling apart.

You quickly glanced around, not sensing any danger from the girl, but stayed on your guard. You looked back to her with a furrowed brow and asked “Where is your father, girl?”

As she opened her mouth to speak, a harsh voice called out from the forest’s edge “Ciri!”

Both of your heads whipped around to the source of the call, as the hulking form of Geralt of Rivia emerged from the woods.

The moment your eyes met for the first time in nearly ten years, you both let out an exasperated “Fuck”.

So much for your good day.

-----

There it is! The first chapter in my first story! I hope at least some people will enjoy it and I plan to have the second chapter out in a couple days. Let me know if you see any grammar problems or anything else that needs to be fixed.

- Two

[agoodgoddamnshot]

To Build a Home - Geralt/Jaskier & Ciri

[Gif isn’t mine]

Originally posted on my AO3 account

Whatever forces control the world – be it spirits or gods or something else entirely – they seem keen on making sure that the girl is delivered into his care. Two Law of Surprises enacted, years separating them, both concerning that Geralt be given the same person. If that isn’t destiny, he thinks to himself, then he isn’t sure what is.

Zola places a bowl of stew in front of him. The house is modest, sheltered by a forest on all sides, but seems to be far enough away from the falling city. No one makes to move away. Zola continues to pour food out for those gathered around the wooden table, while Yurga fetches more firewood from the shed towards the back of the house.

Geralt eats, content to let the silence sitting over them sit for a moment longer. It’s broken every so often by a soft sigh from Zola, or the whining of the family dog from the hearth. Geralt regards the animal. A mangy-looking thing, it keeps looking to the main door to the house. It probably senses the explosions in the forest. Every whine is a reminder that there are other people interested in the girl.

The girl watches him out of the corner of her eye, in between picking at pieces of bread. She hasn’t eaten much of the food that was placed in front of her almost ten minutes ago. But Geralt looks back. She looks thin, too thin for a girl of her age. But in the time she has spent running from her home, through woodlands and out of the reach of Nilfgaard soldiers, he supposes her appetite has been left behind.

You’ll need to eat, he wants to say to her. I don’t know where I’ll take you, but you’ll need your strength.

He knows that Zola knows – that Yurga enacted the Law of Surprise on Geralt’s behalf. The child is his now. She’ll have to let her go. If that’s why she hasn’t said more than five words to him since sitting himself down at her table, then he understands. Then again, he’s grown used to people not talking to him over lesser reasons.

There’s a boy, too. Geralt ignores the inquisitive stares being bore into him from the lad, seated opposite Ciri. Eventually, the boy’s gaze moves from him, and to his two sheathed swords resting against the table’s edge.

The boy’s mouth opens, but anything that was going to come out of it is halted entirely when Yurga steps back into the house. His arms are laden with heavy blocks of wood. “Right,” Yurga huffs, setting the blocks down by the hearth. “That should do us for the night.”

He dusts his hands on his tunic, surveying the room.

“The main road is a five-minute ride west of here,” he says, regarding Ciri for a second. “If you keep following it north, it should take you to the nearest town.”

Geralt grunts. “I think we’ll avoid the main roads for the time being.” Even though the air sits still now, the Nilfgaardian armies may not have wandered far.

And then there’s the question that’s been stalking around in his mind.

Where the fuck am I going to take you?

When their bellies are full and Geralt's leg has been seen to, he heads outside. Roach knickers softly as Geralt approaches her. He still walks with a limp. The muscles in his leg shake and throb as the last of the necrophage’s bite heals. As he approaches the mare, she bows her head, sniffing at the cloth tie around his thigh. Geralt huffs, patting Roach’s neck. “I’ve gotten out of worse.”

The mare snorts.

“I have,” Geralt argues, picking some dirt out of her mane. “I’m not going to let a nercophage of all things be the last of me.”

His ears twitch at the sound of footsteps. Looking over his shoulder, Geralt relaxes at the sight of Ciri. Her fingers fidget by her side. Zola had given her clothes to wear, warming things made out of wool and cotton to stave off the cold. But she still wears the cobalt blue cape. Geralt sets his jaw. It would be easier for them if she remained anonymous. A cape that well made stands out in this part of the continent. But he understands its importance to her. And she’s carried it all this way so far.

Who is Yennefer? It’s one of a myriad of questions that continue to stalk around his mind. They’ll haunt him like shadows for the next couple of days. As soon as he seems to understand one thing, something else comes along to beat the wind out of him.

Ciri glances over to Roach. A small, barely-there smile tugs at the corner of her lip when the mare paws at the ground.

Geralt brushes Roach’s muzzle gently with the back of his knuckles. “Be nice,” he mumbles to the mare. Looking over to Ciri, he inclines his head. “Do you want to pet her?”

She regards the horse for a minute, before stepping forward. Roach, to her credit, and Geralt’s relief, doesn’t move a muscle. When Ciri’s hand comes to rest on Roach’s muzzle, the mare snorts softly, before pushing it into Ciri’s palm.

The air is so still now. Not an hour ago, an attack was taking place a couple of miles from here. Now, all that’s left is a gaunt quiet.

Both Yurga and Zola join them by the entrance of the stable. Yurga directs him on where to go; the main road would get them far away quicker, but soldiers may be marching on it. And while he’s sure he can fight off Nilfgaardian boys who have never so much as held a sword, then swung it in battle, Geralt has to think of Ciri now. Something greater than himself is tying him to the girl. And he made a promise to her grandmother.

Zola hands him a pack. Bread, cheese, some cured meats, all wrapped in a linen cloth. Enough food to carry them for at least three days. Geralt nods a thank you before tying it to Roach’s saddle. Ciri still stands by the mare’s head, trailing her fingers lightly over the mare’s jaw.

The woman wanders over to Ciri, bowing slightly to her height. Geralt tries not to watch. There’s something in Zola’s eyes that reminds him too much of pain. “Stay safe, girl,” she says tightly, tucking a stray strand of Ciri’s hair behind her ear. “I hope we get to meet again someday.”

All other roads from the south are too damaged to use. Geralt barely contains a curse once he learns that, despite the cold, churning feeling in his stomach, he’ll have to take the main road. He has Roach’s reins gathered up, and his heels rest against her side: ready to launch into a gallop if needs be. He tries not to tense: if he’s on edge, then so is she. And so is the girl sitting in front of him.

Ciri fiddles with the hair on Roach’s withers, braiding the shorter strands together and making them lie flat against her neck. Geralt looks down every so often, wondering how in Melitele’s name Roach is allowing it. If anything, the mare seems to be enjoying it; occasionally puffing air and snorting.

As long as the sun is perched in the sky, they keep following the main road. There is a northerly bite to the air. Winter winds are starting to travel down from the mountains. The sun can barely fight through the thicket of clouds that slump over the hills. Geralt shrugs his shoulders. “Are you cold?”

Ciri doesn’t stop weaving strands of Roach’s mane together. “No,” she eventually replies. Her voice is soft, barely carrying itself into the air. If it were anyone else, they may not have heard her at all. But Geralt does. He hums, and goes back to looking at the road ahead. It stretches on for what could be leagues. Other dirt roads eventually join it, as do other travellers. He watches them out of the corner of his eye. Solo riders trot by – hunters, mostly, with bows slung over their shoulders and snares tied to the saddle of their mounts. Occasionally, a caravan will join them. Merchants and their wares trudge by. Sometimes, it’s a cart laden with a field’s harvest. If winter is going to settle in this early, Geralt supposes it would be wise for the farmers to haul their produce in now.

Ciri shuffles slightly, setting her back against Geralt’s chest. The movement barely disturbs Roach.

The road’s surface fades from pressed and worn-down dirt into cobblestones within a league. With the change come more people on the road. Geralt bristles slightly at the sight of what seems to be refugees; their belongings either bundled in their arms or on their backs, or stuffed on to an ox-drawn cart.

Ciri must see them too. Her head bows slightly. Geralt makes a noise in the back of his throat. “You’re alright,” he says quietly. Even the elderly couple hobbling next to Roach don’t pick up on his words. “Nothing is going to harm you. I’ll keep you safe.”

The town they eventually wander into isn’t meant for many people. Those who they walked with keep going, following the main road straight through the town and on to the next. Those who stay tether their horses to hitches out front. A couple of inns open their doors, beckoning people in for food and rest.

They should keep going. But Geralt looks up at the sky. The sun is gone now, smothered behind grey, heavy clouds. Geralt blinks. Rain seems on the way.

He brings them to one of the last taverns in the town. A maid is outside, directing a caravan to the next town. Geralt pulls Roach up. “Any room left?”

The woman regards him for a second. He knows the look. The look that goes from the crown of his head to the tip of his toes. But something catches the woman’s eyes. Softens them. The girl sitting in front of him. He can only imagine what they look like: what she imagines that they look like.

“Were you caught up in the attack?” the maid asks, setting her arms crossed over her chest.

Geralt nods.

A long, tired-sounding sigh leaves the woman. “I’m sure we can fit you somewhere,” she says, gesturing to a small alley separating the tavern from a neighbouring building. “Stables ‘round the back. My brother can take your horse there.”

Geralt quickly learns that none of the taverns has been taking coin for the people rushing into them. Bastards burned straight through my fields, he hears a farmer hiss from one side of the tavern. The land is ruined.

Ciri curls in on herself. The bowl of stew that the maid set in front of her has been touched. Geralt tears off some grain bread that the maid left them. “Eat something,” he says, nodding to the bowl. She eventually does, moving chunks of potato and carrot and stewed meat around in her bowl. Geralt watches her. It takes almost half an hour for her to eat, but she does.

The tavern isn’t as loud as it should be. Normally, with warm food and good ale sitting on tables, people are talkative. But there’s only a hum of conversation in the tavern. Everyone who can’t find it in themselves to speak keep their heads down, picking at their own food. Geralt sighs. When the door opens, letting in more travellers, he catches a glimpse of the sky. It’s starting to darken.

“You didn’t answer me,” Ciri suddenly says. It occurs to Geralt that this is the most words he’s heard come out of her. When he looks back at the girl, a slight frown furrows her brow. “In the forest. You didn’t answer me when I asked who Yennefer is.”

He grunts into his tankard. After a measured sip of ale, he drums the fingers of his free hand against the table. “A sorceress.” And he leaves it at that.

Ciri doesn’t. “Do you know where she is?”

The bow of Geralt’s lip threatens to lift into a snarl. She’s a child, he has to remind himself. She doesn’t know any better. “No,” he mutters, finishing the last of his drink.

The more towns they put behind them, the more of Nilfgaard’s shadow they leave behind. The Emperor – or whoever the fuck it is in charge these days – seems content with just securing the south of the continent for now. Until he intends on setting his sights somewhere else, Geralt keeps them moving northwards.

Nights spent in forest clearings are few and far between now. It was something he had grown used to, when it had been just him and Roach. The mare would contently graze nearby, always a sharp whistle away, while Geralt slept. When he travelled with others, they didn't mind. Bed rolls and tents sheltered by canopies, or else out in meadows and clearings. There was never any complaint. Well, Geralt can think of some who complained.

He catches himself every so often. When he thinks of people he’s met, or more accurately, those who have stayed with him for longer than a week, he starts to feel them. Like afterimages, their likenesses will flash before him. Out of the corner of his eye, he’ll see what seems to be the soft blue of Jaskier’s doublet, or the dark train of Yennefer’s dress. And he’ll turn, only to find nothing.

But with the child, he tries his best to cover as much ground as he can during the day, in order to have a roof over their head. They’ve stayed in the upstairs rooms of taverns, inns, even the barn of a shepherd who took pity on them. Well, took pity on Ciri.

After a night spent at a farrier’s home, Ciri adjusts the girth of Roach’s saddle. The mare’s tail swishes, probably aiming for the girl’s face. “Stop it,” she huffs with a small smile, patting the mare’s neck. “Just making sure that we don’t fall off.” Really, she should have her own mount. But Geralt’s keen to keep an eye on her, make sure she’s safe. And if that means Roach has to bear the weight of her master and Ciri, then so be it.

The farrier’s home sits among fallowed fields that stretch out towards the horizon. Each of their harvests has been brought in before the winter, and the oncoming war, can settle in. Ciri finishes securing the last of their packs on to Roach’s saddle. Bread and cured meats will keep them going for a couple of days, until they can reach the next town.

When Geralt joins them, it’s a couple of minutes later. Roach snorts in greeting, tugging softly at where she’s tied to the stable door. Geralt looks her over. “Everything secured?”

Ciri nods.

“Next town should be a day’s ride that way,” the farrier gestures down a dirt road. Geralt nods, gathers Roach’s reins, and leads them out of the barn. They aren’t the first people to stay here. The farrier and his wife told them of others who came in the days before: all fleeing the south and heading as far north as they can.

He hoists Ciri up on to Roach’s back first. The mare cranes her neck around, and noses at the toe of Ciri’s boot. The girl nudges her away with a soft smile. Geralt follows up, adjusting them both, making sure that Roach can bare the two of them for the walk ahead.

The farrier folds his arms. “Are ya sure ya don’t want another horse for the wee’un?”

Geralt regards the man for a second before shaking his head. “We can manage.”

“Thank you,” Ciri says after a time. Peering up at Geralt, she lifts her brow at the look he gives her.

He’s pretty sure he’s been all over the continent at least once. That’s bound to happen when your age starts hitting triple digits. He visits some places more than others: towns that are more hospitable to his kind, and don’t mind him eating their food and sleeping in their beds. He knows that the road they’re on no goes to one of those towns. It’s a small thing, but too big to be called a village. In the days they’ve spent travelling, Ciri’s tongue has loosened. They make idly conversation as Roach plods along the road. She asks him questions, mostly. When she learned that he wouldn’t release any more information on Yennefer, she started asking him about other things. What exactly is a Witcher? Are there any more of them? What is the biggest monster he’s killed?

And for the most part, Geralt answers them. To be honest, his answers come as grunts or just a couple of words, but he answers.

She asks him about magic. Can he do it? What does it feel like?

But she can do magic too. He hasn’t seen it, but he feels it. Something settles and sits over her like an aura.

“It’s different,” she says, looking up at him. “What I can do...isn’t good.”

At that, Geralt arches an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

She fidgets with the fabric of her cloak, tightening it around her when a particularly bitter wind rushes up through the road. “I...I don’t know what happened, but when I was running from Cintra, I, I was attacked by some boys I knew.”

Geralt’s grip on the reins tightens. If it weren’t for his gloves, she’d be able to see how white his knuckles turn.

“Nothing happened,” she rushes, maybe feeling how still he is. “I remember that I, I screamed and...everything around me was destroyed.”

Geralt frowns. Chaos.

She can’t control her chaos.

She looks up at him. Bright, wide blue eyes blinking up at him. “What I can do, it isn’t good. It doesn’t help anyone. It just kills.”

Geralt sets his jaw. “You’ll learn how to control it,” he says simply. It must be enough for her to hear, at least for now, because Ciri turns back to look out on to the road.

Geralt swallows a sigh.

He’ll need Yennefer.

She’ll need Yennefer.

[space-blue]

Carnonos

Seventh competition win! This follows a Carnute woman. Carnutes were a people of Gaul that lived between the Loire and Seine, west of Paris. The Parisii are the Gauls who lived in nowadays Paris. Think Asterix and Obelix era.

You want to know how the Romans were sent packing? How I helped tip the scales of Fate? Well, I supposed it started with ill luck, no matter who you ask. Romans can tell one tree from another, but that's to better fell them. They don't respect the sanctity of sacred groves. I believe it all began in a battle pushed too far and a stroke given to the wrong man, but for me it was with the skinning of a doe.

The spring had been dragging, never truly leaving the embrace of winter, and the poor thing was lean and without a fawn. I was quartering her when a messenger appeared, bedraggled and hard-pressed. He'd run from the small grove south of Cenabum, where a gathering of druids and Mothers had sent for me by name. There was a fuss, he told me, with a druid of the Parisii come so far south, and already a white cow had been sacrificed. What a Parisii druid wanted of me, I didn't know, but I didn't question it. Druids all seem to know everything, after a while one stops wondering.

I made my way North, slinking past the Roman patrolled roads, stopping only to ask shelter in an isolated farmstead, and before two days had gone, I entered the grove where I was expected. I recognised several of the Mothers, and two of the druids, but the messenger hadn't lied, this was a large and busy gathering.

My bow and knives were taken from me, and I was led to kneel at the feet of the great Oak tree at the heart of the grove, its ancient branches rustling with the bones of cranes and holly tied in wheels. The Parisii druid sat on a thick root, his cloak lined with wolf fur and pinned by a Taranis wheel. The torc around his neck looked a lot like mine, but slimmer, and made of gold. I bowed and waited.

"Eskenga Kouadrounia, you are an initiated Daughter."

"Yes," I said, raising my head to meet the eyes of the Parisii man. His name was Martialis, and he had ridden from Lutecia.

"The war is not going well, Eskenga."

Like I wouldn't know.

My village chief had gone with every able warriors, most never to return, and my father – once crippled in a raid, but still a respected hunter – had resigned himself and taught me the craft, to use bow and arrow as my mother had taught me to card and spin, to dye and weave stripes and herringbone. Then the fighting had turned so bitter that even my one-armed father had gone to die at the tip of a Roman spear, and I'd been left not just the only initiate Daughter for leagues, but also one of the last hunters who could spear boar and buck. For two springs I'd been given youths to teach. I showed them how to walk in the forest, how to craft sigils of silence out of yew and hazel, how to ensnare small game and ward off wolves. I was reluctant to teach them more. It was not done – not among the Carnutes and nor, I knew, among the Parisii – for a young man to learn the spear at the knee of a maiden.

"It is rare for a Daughter to be well versed in the ways of the forest." The druid smiled, as if reading my mind. "I think this is why you were chosen."

"Chosen?"

"You have felt something, at the turn of the moon?"

"Yes, I reported this," I said, nodding to the Mothers standing among the trees around us, "like a kick in the very fabric of spring."

All the druids nodded, some with a tremor in their beard.

"It was the All-Father," Martialis explained. There had been a large battle, up North, that had trespassed on sacred grounds. Every holy man had felt that kick, and known it to mean the death of The Woodman, All-Father, who brought spring with him. I gaped. The Parisii accent made the name sound like Cernunos, but there was no mistaking his claim that the namesake God of my people had been slain.

"Isn't Carnonos immortal? Isn't he the God of Life and Death?"

"He is. But his earthly body is as subject to death as ours."

"Why tell me this?" I asked, bemused.

"Because of what you told the Mothers of your circle."

"How I felt anger?" How I'd been fidgety ever since, fighting an urge to abandon my clan and go North?

"It is the God speaking to you. You must go, listen to him, do his will, you are his favoured child, Eskenga."

They trimmed my hair, gave me a charm-sewn cloak, a checkered blouse loose enough to hide my figure, and a pack ready for the march ahead. Martialis explained where to go, what to do, and how someone would wait for me West of Lutecia.

So I went. There is nothing to say of my travels, except that I soon tied cloth around my neck to hide the heavy silver torc there, and took to carrying game at my belt. It was better, I learnt, to approach Roman soldiers waving my "wares" expectantly, than to wait for them to notice me.

When I reached my destination, there was no mistaking it. There were many bodies still spread on the thawing forest floor, though mostly Carnutes. I didn't need to look at all the brave fallen, the pulse in my throat seemed to guide my every step, till I fell by the body of Carnonos. He was untouched by decay, a youth too perfect to be on any battlefield, with the first hints of a golden beard that would never grow around a beautiful mouth parted by the surprise of death. The cut was in his neck, an angry wedge that had bled into the soil in a small, wine-dark puddle.

'All-Father,' I moaned, 'don't abandon us!'

I dug with my bare hands, each cold handful of bloodstained earth tucked in a bag druid Martialis had provided. Carnonos had bled to the centre of the world, it seemed, but the bag was full, so I pulled its leather strings, kissed the young man's icy brow, and left.

The walk to Lutecia now, that was another story. The bag of earth smelled in turn of the rot of Autumn and the heart-blood of a dying stag, of a hot knife through a comb of honey and the tang of fir sap. Animals started to follow me through the woods, and people abandoned the tasks in their fields to look in my direction, no matter how well hidden I was in the shadows of the brush. Never was I more scared than when a whole host of Roman soldiers passed me by, and as I lay frozen under a bush, I watched all of its branches slowly come into bloom. But the men marched on, and so did I, harried but undetected, until I reached the valley West of Lutecia. There, an old man leaning against a way stone waved at me. Before I could speak, he'd turned around and started down a deer trail, leading me to a clearing. In its centre was a young oak tree, and tied to it a naked man. Broad-shouldered and tan, he had the build of a soldier in his prime. A buck had been bled over his bare legs, its antlered head laid to rest against his groin.

"What–"

"A Roman soldier", the old man said, clearly making an effort not to spit at the words.

The soldier's eyes were rolling white like a spooked horse, and I felt sorry for him, and a little for myself: I'd never killed a man.

"Me paenitet," I whispered, as I knelt in the deer's blood, "te adiuvare non possum."

The soldier begged and cursed, but didn't shirk from the kiss of my blade. His blood flowed, dark and oily, an endless tide over my fingers fumbling on the strings of the purse. Two handfuls of dirt I pressed in his mouth before death cramped it shut, and the rest to fill the cut in his throat.

“Carnonos,” I cried, “come back to us!”

The old man, having cut the soldier’s bonds, prostrated himself next to me, joining in my pleas.

The gapping flesh knitted itself shut, and the eyes of the dead man opened, now green and flecked with gold. Hair flowed from his scalp, white as moon-glow and parting over budding antlers that grew and ramified, forming a living crown veined with gold. Carnonos breathed in sickly Spring and exhaled promises of Summer. His thumb brushed my cheek where dirt blended with tears and blood.

“I will fight with you, my Children,” he said, and kissed my brow.

That, is how we won the war. With Carnonos leading us in battle, bleeding in the same earth we did.

May 2019 – Theme : Earth

[rocksandrobots]

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 6 - The Beach

Saturday had come and Varian and the rest of his new friends were all crowded in Wasabi's car. Wasabi had precisely enough room to fit six people, though perhaps a bit uncomfortably. He and Varian rode in the front seat, with Varian carrying Ruddiger in his carrying cage, while Hiro, Gogo, Honey Lemon, and Fred were squished together in the back seat. The robot, Baymax, was folded up inside his battery pack and tucked away in the trunk to make room. 

Apparently today was a holiday and they were all heading to the beach. Well in truth the actual holiday was on Monday, but Americans spent the whole weekend in celebration. Said holiday was Memorial Day and was meant to honor warriors who fell in battle. However, despite this somber origin, most considered the weekend to be the official start of summer and would mark the occasion with picnics, parties, and public swimming. 

For Varian and his friends though, this was the end of spring break. Starting on Tuesday, the university they now all attended would open back up and the summer semester would begin. The thought of which sent Varian's stomach churning with butterflies. He'd never been to school before and didn't know what to expect. He was filled with anxious excitement and to calm his nerves he looked out the car window to admire the scenery.

He'd been in this strange new world for a week now but he'd had little chance to admire it. For the past five days he'd been busy studying for his entrance exams for college. Passing the 'graduation' test in particular was important for gaining admittance into the school and Varian had to do some serious cramming to prepare for it. Squeezing twelve years worth of educational knowledge into his brain in less than a week.  

Fortunately Varian was very good at memorizing facts and all his new friends were on hand to help him. On Monday, Hiro had helped him gather up the study materials he'd needed and told him what to expect. Wasabi gave him practice tests throughout the week and helped him pinpoint the areas he was weakest in. He was pretty good with math and grasped most of the science quickly, with Wasabi being on hand to fill in the gaps, but he needed help in other less familiar subjects. 

Gogo had swung by on Tuesday and spent the whole day giving Varian a crash course in Social Studies, which was a combination of history, geography, and civics. 

Varian took a special interest in America's founding and it's chosen form of government, which was unlike anything he had heard of before. They had no king nor royalty of any kind. In fact the country was founded by people who committed treason and fought a war to overthrow their ruler, and who then put into place a democracy made up of elected representatives instead. It most closely resembled the government of ancient Rome, before Julius Caesar had taken over, but was expanded upon to encompass a vast kingdom, larger than even most empires. 

Varian had already thought San Fansokyo was an impressively large city, but was completely flabbergasted to know that not only was it not the largest city in the country, it wasn't even the biggest within its own providence; and there were fifty of these states that stretched across the continent from coast to coast with similarly massive metropolises in each. 

It was mind boggling and it took him sometime to wrap his brain around the concept. And that was just the tip of the iceberg, he also had to catch up with some four hundred odd years worth of world events on top of that. But Gogo was a patient teacher and she carefully broke down everything into manageable chunks, giving him timelines, charts, and maps for him to refer back to. By the end of the day he had perhaps learned more in those eight hours spent with her than he had in his whole sixteen years. 

On Wednesday, Fred had showed up to help Varian practice for the writing portion of the tests. He would have to complete two essays on any given subject for each of the two exams. Fred himself had actually completed one of the same tests, the S.A.T, just a few months ago and knew what the graders were looking for when it came to such essays. 

Mainly, they just wanted to know if Varian could follow the basic guidelines of writing; paragraphs and sentence structure, grammar, spelling, and his overall ability to form an argument on paper. All things Varian felt pretty comfortable with, but it was nevertheless a good refresher of those basics. Essay writing and thesis statements were apparently expected of any student attending higher education and he would have to write many during the course of his studies. 

Thursday, Honey Lemon stopped by to help Varian with Language Arts. Both tests would cover reading comprehension and even more grammar. Once again Varian was pretty comfortable with those two subjects, especially given the writing practice from the day before, and so they finished pretty quickly. Even with Honey Lemon adding in extra information about various important books and plays that had been written in the past four centuries, just in case any of them made it into the reading part of the exam. Though Shakespeare was still deemed the most influential even in this modern age. A fact which disappointed Varian; he personally thought Marlowe to be superior to the bard. 

"You don't even like Romeo and Juliet?" Honey Lemon asked aghast, "But it's sooo romantic." 

"But it's sooo stupid," Varian mockingly admonished with a laugh. Which in turn made Honey Lemon give him a not-so-serious pout. 

"Look, what was stopping them from just leaving together in the first place?" Varian explained his point. 

Honey Lemon opened her mouth to retort back but just as soon closed it again; she had never considered that question before. She screwed up her mouth in thought as she searched for a better answer. 

"Weeelll, sometimes it's hard to leave the only home you've ever known. Isn't that why you want to get back to your world?" She asked him.

Varian just stared at her for a moment, thinking of an answer to give that didn't allow him to explain his past in detail. Finally he said, "I wanna get back because my dad is there. I couldn’t care less about Corona itself." 

"You don't care at all?"

"It's just a bunch of buildings." He mumbled with a shrug, then he added, more assuredly, "What matters is the people in your life." 

"I guess," She replied, "all I know is that I had a hard enough time just leaving Sacramento. Even though it's only an hour and a half away and I can still see my family whenever. I can't imagine what it's like to be lost in a whole other world." 

Varian ignored her attempts to sympathize, not because he didn't appreciate the effort, but because he was ready to move on from the conversation. Instead he shut his eyes tightly and tilted his head back, trying to recall some of the new information he had recently learned. "Sacramento; that's the capital of California, right?" 

"Yeah. But don't worry, no one actually memorizes all fifty states and their capitals. I only know like twenty or so." She admitted.

"Oh, good." Varian breathed in relief. Soon both he and Honey Lemon were just giggling, happy to relieve the tension in the room.

"Oooh, you know what? I brought my make-up bag with me!" Honey Lemon suddenly exclaimed, and just like that all previous talk about literature and writing gave away to other subjects, mostly chemistry.

Honey Lemon made her own cosmetics. It was a passion of hers to find new, safe, and 'biodegradable' chemical compounds to replace some of the more toxic stuff on the market. 

"And absolutely no animal testing." She added in all seriousness. 

She even sold her wares over the internet, shipping them to customers as they ordered them, as a means of making money on the side. 

She poured out the contents of a rather large tote bag onto the floor and walked Varian through each item, what it was for, and how she had made it. Varian listened intently and even tried some of the stuff himself. 

He found he didn’t care much for lipstick nor cakey foundation, the texture was off putting to him. He also didn’t like anything with a heavy perfume. However, he did like the eyeliner and the black fingernail polish he had previously bought. He was still fascinated by the concept of synthesized polymers. 

They were both sitting on the floor, makeup strewn everywhere, laughing over nothing in particular, when Wasabi came home from his part-time job. Honey Lemon was in the middle of applying mascara to Varian’s eyes and he was trying his best not to blink but failing at it, which only sent both of them into more fits of giggles. Meanwhile, unnoticed by them both, Ruddgier had gotten into the powered blush and was making a mess in another corner of the room.

“I thought you two were studying.” Wasabi said with a hint of annoyance to his voice. He was tired from work and none too happy to find makeup scattered about his dorm room. 

“Sorry,” Honey Lemon tried to say through her laughter, “but we finished early and I’d promise to teach Varian how to paint his nails.” Varian held up his hand to show Wasabi his newly painted nails as a way of response. 

“That’s nice.” Wasabi replied back in a sarcastic tone. “Did you also teach the raccoon how to put on foundation?” 

That’s when they both finally noticed Ruddiger. Varian got onto his pet and went to clean up the mess, effectively ending the study/make-up session. 

The next day, Wasabi gave him two final practice tests and then it was time for him to take the real thing. He met Professor Granville at the school and, alongside a few other hopeful students, took the two tests. 

The first test, the S.A.T., went smoothly, but he wouldn’t know his actual scores until his answer sheet and essay were sent off to be graded. The graduation test however was taken over the computer and it took several hours to complete with a few breaks between parts. He felt he could have finished sooner had he had the chance to take the test using a pencil and paper instead, as he found the mouse and keyboard awkward. But the positive thing about using the new technology was that he got his scores back sooner. He managed to pass all the parts, even with him just barely scraping by on the Social Studies section. His official certification would come in the mail, the professor told him, but for all intents and purposes he now had a high school diploma. 

Which was apparently a big deal in this world. Earning a diploma was considered to be something of a rite of passage. Obtaining one meant you were ready to start entering the adult world and with it you could gain full time employment or seek higher education, like college. According to his friends, he should’ve been extra proud of this accomplishment since gaining a high school diploma at his age, while not unheard of, was unusual, and he had done it in less than a week when most took years to achieve it. 

To signify just how important this was, all his new friends threw him a party at the Lucky Cat. Even Aunt Cass had pitched in and made him a special dinner. It was something called ‘sushi’ and she typically prepared it for celebrations like this one; having cooked similar dinners for both Tadashi and Hiro when they had graduated high school as well.       

Varian was appreciative of her efforts, though he didn’t quite know what to make of the food itself. The ‘sushi’ consisted mostly of rice topped with raw fish wrapped in seaweed. The taste wasn’t bad but the texture of the uncooked seafood was weird to Varian. Fortunately, not everything was raw. There were different kinds to be had and Varian was able to pick out some that he did enjoy; ones stuffed with crab, egg, or just veggies. He especially liked the ‘dessert sushi’ made with tropical fruit.

He’d just finished recalling last night, when Wasabi loudly proclaimed, “We're here!” 

There were whoops and joyous yells in response from the various passengers and Varian looked out the front windshield to see the familiar blue streak that was the ocean just up ahead. Wasabi parked the car in the designated parking lot and then they all piled out of said vehicle and made their way down to the beachfront. 

The sandy beach was tucked in between two rocky cliffs and you had to walk down a wooden stairway to get to it. As he made his way down the stairwell, Varian could look out and see the expanse of dark blue ocean and lighter blue sky go on forever. It didn't look much different from Corona's coast. What did look different were the inhabitants. Corona's coastline was usually deserted save for the ports and the occasional fishing boat off in the distance, but here the beach was a mass of half naked bodies and swarms of vacationers enjoying the summer sun. Spread out along the sandy tolls were towels, blankets, folding chairs, and umbrellas of all sizes with scantily clad people lounging upon or underneath. 

Varian tried to remember Gogo's words from a week ago, about how this was deemed normal and not to bring himself to attention by starring. But everywhere Varian looked he was met with the sight of a lovely lady's long legs or a handsome lad's toned chest. Not looking was very much like asking a small child in a pastry shop to hold their nose and ignore the sweet smells of pies and cakes surrounding them. Fortunately, he was able to keep his composure long enough for them to reach the shore and find a spot to set up camp for the day; managing not to hold his gaze for too long on any one person or thing. 

They had brought a variety of towels and folding chairs of their own, along with a large parasol and ice chest full of food and drink for the day. Varian and Wasabi had spent that morning making sandwiches for everyone; tuna fish salad, sliced cucumbers with butter, jam mixed with a spread made from ground nuts, and some sort of mystery meat called 'baloney' paired with cheese. Varian couldn't figure out if said baloney was made from ham or chicken, as it didn't really taste like either, though it also didn't taste bad per-say. They also stored small bags of crispy fried potatoes, individually wrapped miniature cakes, and bottles of some sort of fizzy drink called 'soda' in the chest as well. Varian found the carbonated sugary drink to be odd but surprisingly tasty. 

While everyone was setting up Hiro unpacked Baymax from his portable charger, the robot inflated to full size again before stepping out, and Varian released Ruddiger from his carrier. The raccoon was grateful to be let out of the small cage at last and promptly snuggled up on one of the folding chairs under the sun to catnap. Varian didn't think the leash necessary as there really wasn't any place for his pet to run off to. 

Once done with setting up, the gang then proceeded to unpack the various toys and games they had brought along as well. There was a game you played with a net, like tennis, only you used your hands to pass a 'volleyball' over said net instead of a racket and you didn't want the larger ball to touch the ground at any point. They also brought a flat discus called a 'frisbee' which you threw from person to person. Gogo had with her a flat wooden board used to ride the waves that broke along the shore. Which she let Varian and her other friends try out for themselves. 

Varian however was not very good at any of these new sports. While he was fairly athletic, capable of running, climbing, and whatnot, he had never been the best at coordination. More often than not he'd simply trip and fall in his efforts to keep up with the ball or maintain his balance on the surfboard. 

Instead Varian found himself wandering off occasionally to try and strike up conversations with new people. He'd hadn't had a lot of social interaction while growing up, especially with others his age, and he wanted some practice before he started school in a few days. Hopefully to ease the awkwardness of being dumped in a world that he knew next to nothing about. 

However every time he'd smile at a pretty girl or make eye contact with a cute boy his age, his efforts to make small talk were sabotaged by some mishap or other. Either his own clumsiness would get in the way or he'd put his foot in mouth, as the saying goes. One particularly unfortunate incident involved him getting beaned in the back of the head from a misthrown volleyball while trying to chat up a couple of vacationing teens. Fortunately, his embarrassing failures at flirting would be followed by one of his new friends trying to engage him with some other activity so he was never left alone with his awkwardness for long. 

Swimming, sand castle building, more games; like 'chicken', where you tried to push one person off another person's shoulders into the water, or 'Marco Polo' where one person had to find the others with their eyes closed, using the ancient explorer's name as a call and response, digging for seashells, and other similar actives were to be had to pass the time away. 

Finally, the sun started to hang low in the sky and they all headed back to the car. They were wet, tired and covered in sand. They tried to knock the irritating substance off their shoes and things before all squeezing back into the ill fitting vehicle in order to head back home. They all sat on towels so as not to get the seats wet and their bathing suits and cover up clothes all clung to them dripping with sea water. 

Varian sat again in the front seat, only this time Honey Lemon had asked to hold Ruddiger on the ride back. She, Gogo, Fred, and Hiro were all fast asleep in the backseat with Baymax once again tucked away in his battery case. Wasabi had the radio on in order to keep himself awake as he drove (and to drown out Honey Lemon's snoring if he was being honest). The music that filtered out of the speakers was called 'classical' music, which just meant it was mostly orchestral music from ages past. To Varian it sounded very modern and sophisticated to his ears, like chamber music played for royal courts, not the more rustic folk music he grew up on. 

Right now a gentle suite with piano and strings was playing and it along with the steady motion of the car moving was beginning to lull Varian to sleep as well. He looked out again at the houses and scenery that passed by and thought of the day's events and the fun he had had as his eyes grew heavy. This world was so much more inviting and nicer than his own, it was a shame he'd have to leave it soon, but his Dad needed him and that was that. And with that final resolve Varian drifted off to dreamland. 

[sworn-unbeliever]

23 - Shuffle

((Whew! Once again, a big huge thank you to @abeat for RPing as Jeremy since he’s her character in a way. Also, as a cartomancy fan, I jumped on the opportunity to write about such a thing. Although I didn’t write out the entire spread, I did do a proper reading. The spread in question is the Romany spread and is one of my favourites. The deck the nephew used is the Tarot of the Divine and I used the descriptions from the little white book there. Abeat and I will continue this storyline. If not on Sunday then probably after FFXIVWrite. Anyway!))

wc: 2,982

A gentle chime tingled in Teremy’s ears. Immediately, the miqo’te looked up from his bored daze. “Welcome to Fortunes & Fancies. Let me know if you need help with anything—”

Teremy cut his spiel short when he saw who entered the room.

A miqo’te seeker with Teremy’s exact same face.

“Jer?!” Teremy arched an eyebrow.

The aforementioned Jeremy waved. “Hi aniki!” he smiled cheerfully and looked around the store. A few seconds later, he did a double take. “W-wait, aniki?!”

Teremy switched from Common to his native Hingan. “Yes, little brother. What are you doing here of all places?”

Jeremy also switched back to Hingan. “I could ask you the same thing! I thought you were always busy exploring dungeons and hunting monsters and bad guys, but here you are working in a store...what happened? Are you in debt? Did you get caught up with bad people!? Did you murder someone and you’re on the run?”

Teremy closed his eyes and snorted, smiling. “A lot happened. No, yes-but-no, and yes, in that particular order, and I’m fine. Just taking up someone on their gracious offer to take things easy is all. Anyway, are you looking for anything in particular?”

Jeremy looked around. “This is what you call taking it easy? Isn’t this a furniture shop?”

“Trinkets, stuffed animals, a guildmate’s leatherworker merchandise over there,” Teremy gestured to the large leather backs on top of a couple of cute display carts, “or whatever commission you desire. Gears, accessories, primal weapons, you can afford it, we make it.”

Jeremy ran up to the counter. “Wait. Are you… Are you… crafting stuff?!”

Teremy shrugged. “More or less.”

“Crafting stuff… working behind a counter… helping customers…” Jeremy slammed his hands on the counter and growled. “Who are you?! What have you done with my brother?!”

“Ever the laughs-a-minute.” Teremy smirked and poked his brother on the forehead. “If you’re not gonna buy anything, get out.”

Jeremy pouted. “Awww, don’t be like that. Of course I’ll buy something at my aniki’s shop!”

“It’s not really my shop. I just happen to work here.”

Regardless if Jeremy had heard his brother or not, the younger twin’s tail swished playfully as he looked around the store. Normally to miqo’te such an action denounced irritation; however, Jeremy acted more canine than feline at times, and when Jeremy swished his tail like that, he showed his excitement and interest. Jeremy placed one hand on his hip, the other on his chin. “What do you recommend?”

“You’d know better than me what you’d need. Besides a life.”

Jeremy whirled around, his hands still on his hip and chin respectively, and grinned. “Now is that any way to speak to a potential customer? You should be polite and point out your most popular wares.”

Teremy exhaled. Jeremy was right. This was why Jeremy was better at dealing with customers back in the fish market days. “Well, this week only, the store is having a special on grimoires. Buy two, get one free. You can even get a left-handed book and fountain pen commissioned if you desire.”

The younger brother came back to the counter as Teremy pulled out a large portfolio-style album. Both miqo’te looked down at the assortment of cover images featuring various grimoires, codexes, and other such books.

“You don’t even need to be an arcanist to order these. We can make them just as a notebook itself for notebook’s sake.” Teremy added.

“Hmm.” Jeremy tilted his head back and forth as he leafed through the catalogue. “I could start keeping a journal. Sure, sign me up for the book and fountain pen. This one, this one, and that one. Although I was hoping to ask about… other services?”

Teremy paused and looked at Jeremy in the eyes. “Are you looking to the stars for guidance?”

“Maybe I am. I could use a little starry guidance right around now. If such services are available of course.”

Jeremy’s tail resumed wagging again. No doubt that he had heard of said services from an outside source and came all this way just to heckle his brother about it. Ignoring such a fact, Teremy pulled out a well-worn appointment book from underneath the counter and flipped to today’s page.

“How soon do you require such services?” Teremy asked.

“Preferably same day if possible,” said Jeremy.

Teremy skimmed through the planner book. Conveniently, the entire day had been booked up for Reonora, Rosemary, and Joey, like Nyemia herself had spun her own divine intervention. “Tell you what. Come back to the store after hours, which is—” Teremy looked at the nearby carbuncle chronometer, “18:00, and you’ll find someone that can help you.”

Jeremy grinned. “All right. Thanks, aniki! Exemplary customer service. I’ll come back later. Can I pay for the commission at the same time as the other service?”

“Of course. Thank you for your patronage.” Teremy performed an eastern bow to his brother.

* * *

After hours. Jeremy was nowhere to be seen.

Teremy leaned on the wall beside the currently locked door. Arms folded, he stared off into the horizon and gazed into the sunset. Since he started working at Fortunes & Fancies, he had many quiet moments like this—moments with no customers and nothing to do but listen to the carbuncle chronometer tick. Yet, those dull moments made him enjoy these poignant ones much more. He smiled softly as he gazed into the horizon, admiring the sunset. With Jeremy nowhere in sight, just for now, Teremy inhaled the evening breeze and let in the pleasure of tranquil silence.

“Hey aniki! Where’s this person that’s going to assist me?” blared his voice with the sound amplified times ten.

Teremy jumped, startled. His eyes widened and his tail shot up and frayed. He looked to the side to see Jeremy grinning, one hand on his hip and ears wiggling, completely pleased with himself. Of course. Some things never changed since childhood. Teremy took a long, deep breath to regain his composure. “You’re looking at him.”

Now it was Jeremy’s turn to recoil in shock. “What? You consult with the stars too?”

Teremy nodded. “The store owner has been showing me how to just in case I have to. I admit, this kind of thing isn’t really…” He didn’t continue the sentence lest he insult the deck in his satchel. “I’m still new to this, so be gentle.” Unlocking the door, Teremy held the door open for his brother.

“Man, is there anything you can’t actually do, aniki?” Jeremy asked as he walked inside the store.

“Hey, don’t sing my praises until we’re actually done. Then you can change your mind.”

Teremy entered behind his brother and locked the door behind him. He walked ahead of Jeremy, made a beckoning gesture, and hopped over the counter. Jeremy followed in suit and the two headed downstairs.

“I feel like we’re going into some super shady store dealings, like selling illegally poached hides or something.”

Teremy snorted. “You wish. Unfortunately, all that’s in here are a lot of lights and bohemian.” Teremy slid the oriental partition open and went inside, expecting Jeremy to follow.

And he did. The younger twin looked around at the variety of lamps, bookshelves, rugs and other objects. In the middle of the room laid two ronkan rocking chairs and a banquet style table with a square board in the middle. “Lots of… moogles. Very mystical looking.”

Teremy took a seat at the far end and gestured for Jer to sit across from him. Once Jeremy did so, Teremy pulled out his deck.

A tarot deck.

As he opened the box and tugged the ribbon to make the cards come out, Reonora’s words echoed in his mind.

“Cartomancy has many different systems. Perhaps you are familiar with the Sharlayan system? The method which attunes you to the stars and allows you to draw upon cards in battle? It stands to reason that cards also allow one to divinate as well. The future, secrets, and most commonly, advice. The method my mother had taught me is called Lenormand—a system that relies on creating phrases to decipher meaning. I have given Rosemary and Joey oracle decks, which rely on perhaps a single card or its own individual system. To you, I bequeath this deck. It is a system called Tarot. For this deck, simply put, each card has its own meaning. This is an old system where one can gain much insight. Perhaps I am speaking frankly, but in my opinion you seem like an old soul who thinks deeply. This may be the system for you.”

Teremy had no idea how true these words were. All he could do was shuffle the cards and have faith. As he shuffled, he felt vibrations in his hands as though the cards themselves emitted their own energies. Spirits? He thought to just focus on the task at hand. “What’s on your mind?”

Jeremy tilted his head from side to side. “I guess… What should I do now? Finding you was what drove auntie and I for so long. Now we’ve found you safe and sound, so I’m just wondering what to do with myself now I guess.”

“Like you have no purpose right now?”

“Yeah, that’s what it feels like.” Jeremy leaned his head on his hand. “Like I’m just ambling from one thing to the next now with no direction in mind.”

“Hmm.” Teremy shuffled the cards. ‘Jer’s lost his purpose in life. Can you give him some advice?’

He felt a tingling sensation in his hands—a sensation different than his usual qi. Like spiritual guidance. He felt as though the cards agreed to his request. As he continued to shuffle, Teremy looked up. “For what it’s worth, I’m grateful. I had no idea. Useless Tia said you and Auntie had left on a grand adventure without me. I didn’t know what to think. I feel stupid to have believed him. But what’s done is done. It… made me happy to know you guys were looking for me.” Teremy put the deck in the middle. “Here. You shuffle them and then hand the deck back to me after you’re done.”

“Yeah, typical of Useless Tia, failing to bring up the crucial details as to what our grand adventure was about.” Jeremy took the deck and shuffled in the same manner as his brother. Once finished, he placed the deck back in the middle. “I appreciate this, aniki. I’m really glad we found you safe and sound. I just want to find my own purpose just like you found yours.”

Teremy cut the cards into three separate stacks, then combined them again. With the deck thoroughly shuffled, Teremy now laid the cards in the spread that Reonora taught him.

Twenty one cards.

Three rows.

Seven columns.

The first row signified the past. The second spoke of the present. And the third laid out plans that had yet to happen.

Teremy glanced at the spread as a whole, then scanned the top line.

Wheel of Fortune. Three of Wands. The Magician. The Star. Four of Pentacles. Page of Pentacles. Five of Cups.

‘So far the reading has told him what Jer and I know already, but…’

His instincts couldn’t help but become bothered at one card in particular: the Four of Pentacles.

Hoarding. Possession.

“Hey, Jer, have you been… keeping something to yourself? A possession of some sort?”

Jeremy pressed his lips together. “Well...there is something, actually. I guess you really can read the stars.” He reached into his inventory and pulled out a gunblade, putting it on the table. “I found this awhile ago during my adventures with auntie. We were more focused on finding you so I never did anything with it, but I never told her I found it either. Some thugs we dealt with dropped it and I just hung onto it. I was debating trying to find out more about it but I didn’t want to turn my back on everything auntie’s taught me.”

“Thus in the past, while you were looking for me, you found this,” said Teremy. “And while you set your sights on your practical goals, you felt torn about this discovery. It was like this is a calling to you, yet you didn’t want to pursue, and you felt bad about it.”

Jeremy nodded. “Yeah. I mean I’m sure you or auntie could probably teach me about it if I asked, but I just never got around to asking. I mean I know it’s a gunblade and all but...I dunno.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure what to do. Explore my curiosity? Let it go and sell the thing to a merchant?”

‘Weird. Why would Jeremy want to suddenly sell something he’s been hoarding? Unless he needs the money for something.’ Teremy continued. “The present line doesn’t say anything you haven’t told me already. You put aside your feelings and donned your patience and, well, we’re together. But after that you lost your motivation…”

Teremy’s eyes locked onto the last card at the end of the second row.

The Five of Swords.

Surrender. Violence. Crime.

“Is there something you’re not telling me? Did you get involved with someone?” Teremy asked.

Jeremy folded his arms and closed his eyes. He may as well have just said yes. On the other hand, Jeremy didn’t exactly say any details, either. No wonder Jeremy’s words since he entered sounded so oddly specific.

Teremy scanned the bottom row—the line that read the future. “Did you get involved with bad people? Are you the one who owes money to someone?”

Jeremy looked to the side. He said nothing for a few moments. Then finally, he spoke. “Yeah. I do. I was buying information trying to find you. Eorzea is a huge place, I knew it’d take us forever to find you on our own. So I was basically buying information from a syndicate in Ul’Dah. The prices kept getting higher and higher and I ended up just making interest payments, but I actually owe a lot of money. I’ve still been paying interest, but now that we’ve found you, I guess I’m trying to think of a way to make a lot of money quickly to pay it off entirely. I never told auntie of course. I didn’t want her to know what I was doing.”

Teremy scanned the rest of the reading, but he didn’t have to say much more. His mind already started formulating ideas. Thinking. He did hear Rosemary say something along the lines of that a tarot deck may not answer a question directly, but could show the actual underlying problem. And right now, Teremy saw that example put to action.

“How much money do you owe them?”

“Eh… heh… Um…” Jeremy scratched the back of his head and muttered.

Nevermind. Teremy had heard enough. The elder brother slammed his hands on the table underneath the reading and rose to his full height. “You know what? Nevermind. Forget this. Let’s deal with them once and for all. Even the cards are backing me up on this.”

“W-w-w-whoa, aniki! You’re suggesting we take on a crime syndicate in Ul’Dah?” Jeremy stepped back, his eyes wide in shock. “Not even the Sultana wants to do that! It’s bad enough I owe them money, let’s not start a war with them! I mean it’s five million gil but it’s not impossible, and they haven’t done anything to auntie or I since I’ve been paying the interest on time—”

“I just see my brother in a bind and I can’t just sit here and do nothing. Tell me where they are. I’ll deal with them. And if you don’t tell me, I’ll find out.” In the blink of an eye, Teremy put away his star globe and pulled out a weapon he knew he could count on: his gunblade.

Jeremy stood frozen in his same shocked position. As much as he wanted to talk Teremy out of it, he knew there was no point arguing with his big brother when Teremy had his battle face on. Sighing, Jeremy stood straight and hung his head. “All right. All right. I know that face. The face that says ‘I’m doing this and no one is stopping me.’

“You know me like I know you. Tell me what happened.”

“I basically found people in Ul’Dah who were good at ‘finding’ people. So we started talking and I said I was looking for you, and essentially I asked them to put a bounty on your head. Of course I told them that I wanted you alive and unharmed! But I figured having a fleet of bounty hunters helping out would make things a bit faster.”

Teremy propped his gunblade on his back and looked down, holding a hand to his chin. ‘How did they not find me before? My Grand Company is even in Ul’dah. Invisibility really is a hidden privilege.’ He looked at Jeremy. “Finding your purpose can wait. We’ll deal with this first. I have a plan. It’s a reckless one, but here’s what we’ll do.”

The spread remained untouched on the table as Teremy deliberated his plan.

The fifth column of secret destiny: Four of Pentacles. Justice. Seven of Pentacles. Your days of scraping for money will be brought to justice and you’ll be rewarded for your investment—Justice being your selfsame brother.

The sixth column of immediate future: Page of Pentacles. The World. Page of Wands. Your goal will be brought to completion by enthusiastic rogue energy. Your brother’s plan is reckless but will give you that push you need to put an end to all this.

The seventh column of the far future about to come: Five of Cups. Five of Swords. Nine of Pentacles. Your stagnation and regret in life due to your involvement with the syndicate, you will soon gain your freedom and prosper.

[thewarriorandtheking]

The Warrior Queen - Part II

The Warrior and The King: Book II 

Chapter 8. Market Day

*******************************************

It was market day in Dale. The day the first caravans arrived from the south and the traders from the coast came to bargain for Dwarven steel. There were fewer traders these days, and more guards, but it was still the first festival of summer, merchants setting their wares out in the streets and performers plying their trade. Thorin Oakenshield was walking among the caravans with his daughter. It was a family tradition, he had been bringing his children to market day since they were little. The boys were too old to be interested now, but his daughter still loved to come and see all the exotic animals and watch the street performers.

Thorin always wore his old traveling clothes on this day and kept his hood up, he was recognized by the residents of Dale and some of the merchants he had been dealing with for years, but they would let him pass without ceremony. Today he was one of the people. He always traveled with several guards now, and today they were also dressed as common folk. Traders that did not know him often took Freya to be his wife, which always made her smile and laugh.

They were looking at some silks at one of the caravan stalls, so little of it made it this far north anymore. Freya was trying to convince him to buy some for her while Thorin shared a cup of coffee with the merchant. The man had been coming to Dale for many years, he often teased Thorin that the Silver Fountain must be a fountain of youth, the rest of the world aged while Thorin continued to look the same. Thorin shared a laugh with the man and as he was handing the cup back he saw the merchant stare at something behind him with a look of pure astonishment. Thorin put a hand on his sword and turned, already thinking about his surroundings, how best to protect Freya.

Coming up the crowded street was Kaylea Wolf, leading her horse, a huge grey wolf at her side. The people fell back as she passed, staring. Kaylea was known to some of the older residents of Dale, but mostly by reputation. It was one thing to hear the stories about her, quite another to see her walking down the street, tall and fair as an Elven Lord, clothed all in black, sword and bow across her back, her hair braided in Dwarvish style. She was smiling but obviously trying not to smile too broadly. She stopped in front of Thorin and kneeled down on one knee, bowing her head.

“My king,” she said. Thorin pushed his hood back, his smile wide. He offered her his hands and when she set hers in his, drew her to her feet and into his arms. Thorin always remembered how good it felt to kiss Kaylea, but memory was a pale thing compared to having her in his arms. The taste of her, the feel of her lean body, the smell of her hair. Thorin lifted her off her feet as he kissed her, not trying to contain his joy at seeing her.  

“My love,” Thorin said at length. Kaylea was giving him a startled look, obviously she had been coming to Erebor for many years now and their relationship was hardly a secret. But Thorin had never kissed her in the middle of a public street before. Something had changed. He was smiling at her, his amazing blue eyes twinkling, she could not resist pulling him close and kissing him again.

This time when they parted there was polite applause from the people standing around. Thorin waved at them to indicate the show was over.  

Kaylea looked around then back at Thorin questioningly. He was smiling at her, still holding her close. The onlookers had gone back to inspecting the wares and haggling over the prices.

“My king, what are you doing?”

Thorin sighed, his face suddenly serious. “Things have changed since you were last here, my love,” he said. “My wife died a year after you left the last time. It was an accident, nothing anyone could have done.”

Kaylea was shocked. “I am so sorry, my king. The mother of your children, that must have been a hard blow.”

Thorin shook his head. “It is an old grief now, I have done my mourning for her years ago.” He met Kaylea’s eyes. “And you know what this means.”

Kaylea sighed, she shook her head. “Thorin…” she began, then she heard a giggle and looked over to see Ajax licking Thorin’s daughter in the face.

“Do not let him do that!” Thorin said sharply, Freya looked at him sheepishly. Kaylea put a hand out and the wolf came to stand next to her. She bowed low to Thorin’s daughter. “Your highness,” she said. Freya nodded back to her, smiling but also a bit nervous. Kaylea was so tall and beautiful and strong, she always felt like she was the one who should be bowing. She looked over at the wolf’s yellow eyes, she thought for sure he winked at her.

“Come, let us go home,” Thorin said. He looked around to make sure all the guards were with him and took Freya’s hand.

“Father, can we not stay a little longer? I want to see the play,” she pleaded. “And you still have not bought me those silks.”

Kaylea laid a hand on Thorin’s shoulder, she inclined her head to speak into his ear. “Do not let me interrupt you plans, my king. I have to meet a couple of people yet. I was planning to come to Erebor this evening, I just happened to see you in the street.”

Thorin turned to her with a wry smile. “You are here and were going to wait until the evening to see me, that is a fine welcome!” He was teasing, of course. He slid a hand inside her coat and pulled her close to kiss her again. After a long moment Kaylea took her leave, promising to ride back to Erebor with them.

Freya watched the tall woman walk back down the street. She loved it when Kaylea came to Erebor. It had always caused a bit of tension between her mother and father, but she was fascinated by the warrior and her wolves. And Thorin was such a different person when she was with him, smiling and content instead of brooding and glowering at everyone. When she was a little girl Kaylea had given her a knife with a handle made from the tooth of a dragon, it was still one of her most treasured possessions and she carried it with her always.

Thorin was also watching Kaylea walk away, his face thoughtful. Now that he was a free man again, he hoped this was going to be the last time he had to watch her leave. He turned to smile at Freya. “Now, where were we, my girl?”

 More than seventy years had passed since Thorin first laid eyes on Kaylea. His life had changed in ways he could hardly have envisioned when he was just a prince from the Blue Mountains. The Lonely Mountain prospered, though the loss of Balin and those that had gone with him still pained him. Erebor was now the greatest of the Dwarf kingdoms in Middle Earth, a center of industry and trade as it had been in the days of Thror. He had three children who were the joy of his life, wealth uncounted and, after ageing backwards for a time it seemed, he had not aged at all since the Battle of the Five Armies. The heads of the other kingdoms were already calling him Thorin the Deathless.

Kaylea Wolf had come back to Erebor a half dozen times over the years, the last time he had seen her was eight years ago. Although years passed between her visits, she and Thorin shared such a deep, intimate connection that they always just picked up where they had left off, as though only a day or two had passed. That same connection made them miss each other terribly, but over time it became manageable until they saw each other again. The war Kaylea had long spoken of was fast approaching now. On a clear day the black clouds that covered Mordor could be seen in the south. Few traveled the Brown Lands now, even the caravans stayed north of the River Running. The roads to the south were dangerous until closer to Gondor where the might of that great city kept the servants of the enemy at bay. The people of Erebor had labored long to make the city safe, and Thorin was confident now they could close the gates and live comfortably for many years, just as his people had lived out the Dark Times in the great city of Moria. Though he was always happy to see Kaylea for other reasons, he was curious what news she would bring this time.

 Thorin and Freya were almost halfway back to Erebor when Kaylea caught up to them on her big horse. The sun was already down and the vale between the feet of the mountain was bathed in evening light. Kaylea pulled her horse up to speak with the guards for a few moments before trotting up to ride beside the carriage. Thorin looked over at her with a smile.

“Was your day successful, my love?” He asked. Kaylea nodded.

“And yours?”

Thorin looked ahead thoughtfully. “There are fewers traders every year and they bring less with them,” he said. “Some I talked to today said they are not sure when they can make the trip again.”

Kaylea took a deep breath. “Some of the roads are unsafe now, it matters not how many guards they bring.” She and Thorin looked at each other. They did not speak again until the gates of Erebor. Thorin gave Freya a hand down from the carriage and watched her walk across the hall. He turned to Kaylea.

“I have moved your things to my quarters,” he said.

Kaylea’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that wise?”

“I do not care. I am done with the pretense, there is no need for it anymore,” he moved closer to put an arm around her waist. “I hope you were planning to change for dinner.”

Kaylea smiled. “Is it a formal occasion?”

Thorin shook his head. “Just the family. I feel like celebrating a little.”

“I brought a couple of new tunics with me, just for you,” Kaylea knew the King was not fond of her black uniforms. Over the years she had brought a variety of clothes and left them in her wardrobe in Erebor, it was easier than carrying them back and forth. She did take the jewelry Thorin had given her, knowing he would be offended if she left it, but she never wore it anywhere but Erebor. Except for the ring he had given her the first time, that she wore on a chain around her neck.

Kaylea made sure her horse was settled before heading up to Thorin’s apartments. His rooms were so much grander than the quarters where she usually stayed. A series of rooms, high, carved ceilings, beautiful tapestries, wide fireplaces and Southron rugs on the floors. His walk-in closet always amused Kaylea, he had more clothes than any other man she knew. Thorin was not there yet, she found her clothes in the corner of his closet and hung up one of the new tunics then walked across the bedroom to the bathroom. Ajax was curled up in the middle of the bed. Kaylea smiled at him. “Better not let Thorin find you there,” she said. The wolf blinked at her, feigning innocence.

In fact the huge four-poster bed was big enough for her and Thorin and Ajax with room to spare. She had teased Thorin about it, how big a bed did he need? Did the King Under the Mountain keep a harem of Dwarf women that he needed a bed big enough for seven of them? Thorin’s response had been it was in case the king fell in love with a tall warrior woman. Kaylea washed up and had just put on her tunic when she heard Thorin come in. She was fixing her hair in the mirror as she watched him come up behind her. He slid his arms around her waist, kissing her neck.

“I have missed you so, my love,” he said. Kaylea turned in his arms to kiss him, it was a long moment before Thorin spoke again. “We do not have long to dinner, unfortunately.”

Kaylea smiled at him, reaching for his belt. “Dinner will wait for the King.”  

 Almost an hour later they came down the stairs together. Kaylea wore a soft dark blue tunic with silver designs sewn into the neck and hem. Thorin was wearing black tonight, a soft shirt, embroidered vest and suede breeches. As they walked into the Reception Hall Kaylea’s eyes swept the room. She saw Dis and Fili and Gloin: also there were all three of Thorin’s children: Thror, the oldest, Durin and Freya. Thror came over to greet Kaylea, bowed low and inclined her head. “It is good to see you again, my lady,” he said. “You always seem to brighten these halls.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Kaylea replied. “It is good to be back. What happened to your arm?” She indicated the bandage he was wearing on his wrist.

Thror looked embarrassed. “Oh, nothing. Just a cut from sparring.”

“You will have to show me how that happened, perhaps I can show you a block that could have prevented it,” Kaylea said.

Thror’s face lit up, then he looked nervously at his father. “I would like that,” he said, his face starting to turn red.

Kaylea turned then to Durin and bowed to him. “Good evening, your highness.” He was looking pointedly at the white scar near her collarbone the Ringwraith had given her all those years ago, visible because of her tunics wide heart-shaped neckline.  

“Is it true you almost died from that little thing?” He asked, voice dripping acid. “Seems hard to believe.”

Thorin was scowling at him. “I believe I taught you to be more polite,” he said. Durin looked sideways at him.

“I can be polite when there is a reason, father,” he said.

Thorin looked like he might actually hit him, but Kaylea put a hand on his arm. “It is a soldier’s greatest honor to lay down her life in defense of her King, I would do the same for you without hesitation. Perhaps one day you will understand this.”

Durin turned away without a word, Thorin glowering after him.

“You must excuse my children,” Thorin said through his teeth.

Kaylea just smiled. “They are entitled to their own opinions. You cannot have expected them all to take your side.”

Thorin sighed. “I suppose not,” he said. “But am I supposed to be in mourning the rest of my life?”

“Durin reminds me the most of you,” Kaylea replied. “Would you have ever forgiven what you saw as an insult to your mother?”

Thorin chuckled ruefully. “No, I would not.”

Kaylea thought it was no surprise Thorin and Durin did not get along, they were exactly alike. Durin was the spitting image of his father and seemed to have inherited his father’s temperament as well. Thror had his mother’s eyes, and there was a sort of refinement about him his father lacked. And Freya, she probably broke nine hearts on her way down to breakfast in the morning.

Dis came up with Freya, giving Durin a dark glance. “Do not listen to him, we are always glad to see you,” she said. Kaylea bowed low to her as well, always careful to show proper respect to all of Thorin’s family.

Dis was looking from her to Thorin and back. “So, you two will be getting married now, I expect. When is the day? I will need to start planning.” Freya stared, Was this true?

“Tomorrow works for me,” Thorin replied seriously, looking at Kaylea.

Kaylea was shaking her head. “This is not a good time to be planning a wedding,” she said to Dis. “We have not yet spoken about it.”

Thorin scoffed. “If we talk about it any more I will pull my hair out.” Kaylea glared at him.

Dis laughed. “Well, let us all hope it does not come to that! As soon as you two come to an agreement, let me know.”

Read the adventures of The Warrior and The King on AO3 & FanFiction, author is akdogdriver. All three books now on Wattpad, under dogdriver.  

[knittedkikwi]

I found a solo rpg!

So, Mark Hulmes has been playing Ironsworn on his personal stream because it has the ability to support solo play. I finally took some time to watch a little bit of it and, me being me, jumped right into my own campaign. I had this idea of finding out what happens if you make a character with no past. Could you come up with a coherent story for someone starting with amnesia? Solo play relies a lot on you rolling on random generator tables and then making them fit into the situation. Could this be used to reveal a character’s past or would it just turn out crazy. I’m gonna try it and post it here. I’m writing out the campaign as I go as if I were writing a story (with random inserts of the rolls I’ve made so I can remember what I’ve actually done.). I’ve written up her story so far below the cut if anyone’s interested. Be warned, it’s long and I am not a writer. Let’s see how this experiment goes, shall we?

The first thing Mira noticed as she awoke was the complete lack of light. The second thing was the staleness of the air. It was getting harder to breathe and she was starting to panic. Adrenaline surged through her as she took stock of her surroundings. There was something heavy resting on top of her and her hands were wrapped around it. It seemed to be poking her palm, so she released it and started feeling outward. It was a small space, the walls felt like wood. Mira brought her arms up and braced them against the top panel of this box. Using all the strength she could summon, Mira pushed upwards. After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, the panel moved. Dirt cascaded down on her as she continued to push. Coughing, Mira sat up and looked around. She was in a cheap pine box, whose top was about four inches below ground. Someone had buried her, but she didn’t know who, or why, or even where she was. Come to think of it, she didn’t know who she was either. She knew her name was Mira, but nothing else.

Mira sat there a while longer to get her breathing under control before attempting to stand. When she did, something heavy fell from her lap with a sold thunk. Her glance down revealed a battle axe, the hand worn smooth with use, the blade showing wear but the edge razor sharp. She frowned. A handle that smooth shouldn’t have been poking her hand, so what had she felt earlier. Mira picked up the axe the axe with ease, despite it being quite heavy. There, hidden under the axe’s head, was a piece of paper. It was folded small enough that it could easily have fit in her palm. She picked it up and unfolded it, revealing writing on the inside.

“Mira-

You must flee. You are no longer safe here. I will catch up with you when I can.

-        R”

Odd. The confirmation of her name was reassuring, but she couldn’t remember where she was running from. And who was this R she was supposed to meet? She started rifling through her clothes to see if there were any other notes. Unfortunately, she was only wearing a simple dress that she supposed had been cream colored, before the dirt bath, and a green cloak. The cloak caught her interest. Symbols she did not recognize were embroidered all over it in black thread. What could that mean? Mira supposed the only way to find out was to find a village and start asking questions. Now if only she knew which way the village was…

Mira wandered the woods for hours before she was found by an elf named Dotani Kerihu. They were surprised to see her, but showed her compassion nonetheless. They traveled with her for a month, teaching her how to hunt and navigate the area she now knew was called the Deep Wilds. Dotani showed her how to craft a simple shield, light a fire, set snares, and, eventually, how to befriend animals. Mira seemed to have a special affinity for owls and manage to convince one to travel with them. She named it Gabriel, though she does not know why.

She doesn’t know why she does a lot of things. Her axe, for example. When Dotani was trying to show her how to split wood for a fire, Mira was immediately able to choose the precise point on the log to split it cleanly into two. When her axe stuck into the stump they were using as a base, she was able to wrench it free as if she had done it hundreds of times. Dotani let her borrow the whetstone he used on his daggers one evening. Before he even had a chance to start explaining what it was or how it worked, she was running it along the edge of her axe with the ease of someone well versed in the practice. She found herself going through what she assumed were training stances every night. She wished she knew where she learned them. Dotani seemed impressed with her form, finding very little to correct.

Eventually, Dotani lead her to the edge of the Wilds. They explained that due east was a large village named Grimtree. It was safe and she would likely be able to find work there. Hopefully she would be able to find answers. He gave her a token before they parted, a small wooden circle with a symbol carved on it. They explained that should she ever return to the Wilds and need Dotani’s help, find someone and show them that token. Then Dotani disappeared into the dense forest and Mira headed off on the first leg of what would hopefully be the journey to her past.

Mira stumbled into town, nervous about what she might find. What she ended up finding was Sadia Chandra, the owner of the only inn in town. Mira knew she needed someplace to stay and realized she would not have much luck with the general populace once she saw the distrustful looks from the townsfolk. (Not that she could really blame them. She’d washed her clothes as best she could, but they were still stained from her time underground.) So she headed to the Dragon & Raven Lodge to see if she could make some sort of arrangement. That’s where she met Sadia, barking orders at some long suffering waitress while simultaneously getting people room keys or extra blankets. Sadia was a sever woman with a eyes that always made you feel like you’d done something wrong. She nearly threw Mira out when she asked to pay for a room through work. Mira mentally thank Dotani for everything they had taught her as she played up her skills as a hunter and laborer. She was eventually able to convince Sadia to let her stay in exchange for running odd errands and helping at the inn whenever needed. The room wasn’t much, but it was clean and had hot water. Sadia even gave her a sensible set of work clothes (although this might have been because Sadia couldn’t stand that dress. Mira kept it in hopes that it might mean something later on.).

After a month, Sadia even trusted her to make a purchase from the traveling merchant, Themon Kai. He had been in town when Mira arrived, but she hadn’t paid any attention, being rather focused on find someplace safe to stay. Now, she was seeking him out with a couple of silver pieces to hopefully purchase more cutlery for the inn. Themon was easily found, seeing as he wore more elaborate clothing than most of the folks in town and had the voice to match. He was set up in the square, shouting about his wares and laughing with customers as they talked. He seemed to know everyone in town, including Mira somehow. When she approached, he remembered seeing her pass through and remarked that she looked considerably better than last he saw her. Surprised, Mira found herself having a quite enjoyable conversation with him. Looking over his wares for new forks and spoons, Mira spotted some old armor that intrigued her. Themon caught her eyeing it and explained he’d picked it up from an old shield maiden who retired several years ago and no longer needed it. The price was 5 gold pieces, but he might be willing to lower it if she could tell him a good story.

Mira had no money beyond what Sadia had gave her for errands, but she couldn’t get the armor out of her mind. Mira asked Sadia if she could take extra jobs at the inn to earn some money. Sadia begrudgingly agreed (Mira thinks Sadia’s starting to warm up to her, even if she won’t admit it) and Mira started making money for the first time in her life (as far as she could remember, anyway). It took a couple of months, but Mira saved up the 5 gold for the armor. Themon had been through town a few more times and Mira found she really enjoyed his company.

This time, though, she had a mission. She wanted that armor and some extra supplies if possible. When Mira marched up to Themon, he seemed to already know what was on her mind.

“You look as if you intend to purchase some armor!” He said with a smile.

“I do, and some other items if you have them. But first, let me tell you about the first thing I remember.” Mira told him as much as she could about waking up in the grave, befriending an elf, and eventually making her way to Grimtree. She left out the note, sharing that felt a little too personal, but tried to dramatize in a way she knew Themon would enjoy.

By the time she finished, Themon appeared simultaneously delighted and concerned. “You most certainly have had an interesting few months. I believe that story was well worth a discount. Let’s say 3 gold for the armor. And….take care, Mira. If what you just told me is true, you must have run afoul of some very dangerous people. Don’t go charging into adventure foolishly, or you may end up in the same place again, but you won’t wake up that time.”

Mira gave him a nod, “I am aware, Themon. Though I may not know why I was there, I intend to not repeat the same mistakes. But I do need to uncover who I am, one way or another.”

“Alright, just so long as you’re careful. If you start traveling, we’ll likely run into each other again. While I stay mostly in the Havens, I have been known to go to more far-flung areas from time to time. Keep me updated and I’ll see what I can do about keeping you supplied.”

“Thank you, Themon. I look forward to it.”

Mira walked back to the inn with her armor, a new knife, some basic provisions, and a plan to start travelling around the Havens in search of her past. The next morning though, bells started ringing as the townsfolk swarmed to center of town. Emelyn Sayer, the Head Woman in town, was standing on the porch of the main hall. She was a cheery woman with a powerful voice and the ability to get her way no matter the resistance. She had lead the town well the past few years and people tended to rely on judgement and level headedness. So Mira was shocked when she saw Emelyn looking frazzled. Emelyn seemed to return to herself after a moment and her voice rang out clearly over the square.

“Townspeople, 140 years ago, when this town was founded, we made an agreement with the Firstborn of the Deep Wilds. We would protect their realm and in exchange we received the Iron Shield to protect us. That shield has hung in the Main Hall ever since to keep us safe from the monsters that roam this land. But now, it has disappeared. Stolen in the night, leaving us exposed. I need a volunteer to find whoever stole the shield and return it to us before the terrors of the land realize we are vulnerable.”

Gasps were heard throughout the crowd as Emelyn spoke. Mira knew of the Iron Shield. It was always hanging behind the Head Woman’s chair. Sadia had told her that it had never rusted and never needed polishing. This was her chance! She could test her skills and her armor now before heading off to find her past.

“I will go!” Mira shouted, “I will find the Iron Shield and bring it back.”

Emelyn looked at her appraisingly and then looked to Sadia. Mira wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn she saw Sadia nod ever so slightly. “Step forth, Mira, and take the Iron Vow.”

Mira worked her way to the front of the crowd, excitement thrumming in her veins. The townsfolk parted for her as she got closer. Those faces that had seemed so distrustful her first day now showed some dawning respect as she pulled her axe from her belt and knelt in front of Emelyn.

“Mira of the Deep Wilds, do you swear to find the Iron Shield and return it to the people of Grimtree?” Emelyn did not state it, but Mira understood what would happen if she failed. The village would be raided and this small community she had started to like would be destroyed.

Gripping the iron of her axe head, Mira made her oath, “I swear to return the shield to its rightful place here in Grimtree, or die in the attempt.”

[destinyquest]

Trouble at the Farm: Part 2

Afternoon, The Farm Three Guardians emerge from the forest and enter the perimeter of The Farm. Ever since operations were established at the Tower, few Guardians visit The Farm. Those who did, found it to be a quiet respite from the constant battle for life and death on other planets. Today, there was a slightly unusual sight: multiple combat frames patrolling the perimeter, and a human wielding a sniper rifle atop the barn. She notices the approaching Guardians, and waves. A falcon lands on her shoulder.

In the middle of the Farm, near the fountain, the locals have established a makeshift market. Civilian humans and awoken are milling about, exchanging their goods and services, and making small talk. Children are playing soccer in the field nearby.

Donnie was overjoyed to see familiar territory, even though it is being guarded by robots. Her joy is quickly turned to awe as she notices something enormous embedded into a distant mountain, spewing turbulent black clouds into the sky.

“What is THAT?”

“That would be a shard of the Traveler. Remember how I said the Traveler saved us? Well, that was part of it’s sacrifice.” explains an exasperated Alexa. Donnie’s Ghost had been trying to catch up her Guardian on everything she’d missed, which was proving difficult.

“We should go talk to Suraya”, said Zulgren. The Warlock points at the woman standing on a scaffolding upon the barn. “She needs us.”

As they climb the stairs towards Suraya’s post, Donnie is relieved to see some familiarity: stables with livestock, farm tools and equipment, humans. She could not understand, however, why the humans did not look at her with familiarity. Most seemed to show faces of awe and fear.

Suraya turns to greet the three, “Hello there! I’m assuming Zavala sent you?”

Nil and Zulgren nod, Donnie asks “Zavala?”

“Oh yeah, she’s... uh... new”, chuckles Nil.

“Hi! I’m Donnie, nice to meet you!”

Suraya is pleasantly surprised by Donnie’s effervescent personality.

“Well hello, its nice to meet you. Name’s Suraya. Suraya Hawthorne. Normally I think we’d make sure you go to the Tower but-”

“I’m sorry, can... uh... I have a question.”

“Yes, Donnie?”

“Do you have any farm animals? I would love to see some sheep, or some goats, or anything like that?”

“Well... um.” Suraya squints her eyes, “I suppose...”

She takes a lengthy, uncertain pause before asking, “Why exactly do you want to see farm animals?”

“Well, I used to be a farmer, and that’s about the only thing that could make me feel more normal in this strange world I’m in now.”

Suraya sighs in relief, “Ok. Yeah, that’s fine. We got some horses and chickens in the barn over there. I wasn’t sure what you needed the farm animals for, sometimes some Guardians can be a little... weird.”

She eyes Zulgren, who has now taken out a small bone from his pocket. He is holding it up to his ear, listening intently. He then whispers into the bone, and puts it back into his pocket.

“Anyways... before you go say hi to the farm animals, I kinda have a life and death situation here...”

Donnie covers her mouth in embarrassment, “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t-”

“No no no, its ok- I supposed I should’ve just led with that,” chuckles Suraya. “The reason why I asked Zavala to dispatch some Guardians here is because we’ve had some increased Fallen presence at the Farm for the past 2 weeks. Like... violent, aggressive, Fallen presence. It is really unexpected and I’m honestly really worried. They’ve left The Farm alone ever since operations were relocated to the Tower. Why would they attack here? It’s just civilians, peaceful civilians just trying to live their lives!”

“Oh yeah, we took care of some Fallen on our way here!” chirps Nil.

“You did? Well, that’s good and bad news. Good that you took care of them, not so good that they’re still on our doorstep. They already destroyed a civilians home on the outskirts. They lost everything- I... I should’ve been here. At least they escaped with their lives, they’re living here now, at the farm.”

“Indeed”, says Zulgren, “we were also unable to recognize the House these Fallen are from.”

Dinklebot, Zulgrens Ghost, emerges from behind him. It begins to project an image of a symbol painted onto the clothing of a dead Vandal. The symbol shows a crescent, with abstract clouds emerging from it.

“I captured this image of their house symbol on a Vandal we dispatched near here.”

“Fascinating. That’s definitely not House of Dusk, or any other House I recognize,” muses Suraya.

The group all stare at the mysterious symbol for a moment, before Suraya interrupts the silence.

“Perhaps Tyra can help. She’s down by the market,” Suraya gestures towards a platform near the market where an elderly Awoken woman is working at a cryptarchs’ station. “I’m open to suggestion on what else can be done here. For now I’m gonna head back to my patrols. I won’t be far in case any of you need me.”

Nil is distracted polishing his hand cannon, while Zulgren is back to whispering at the mysterious bone.

“Well it was nice meeting you!” says Donnie enthusiastically.

“And it was nice meeting YOU! I look forward to seeing you again Donnie.” Suraya smiles and walks off. As she does so, she mutters to her falcon Louis, “I don’t know about those two vanguards, but I like the new one. What do you think? ... Yeah, me too.”

Donnie, Nil and Zulgren walk towards Tyra’s podium, glancing at the market as they pass through. The cryptarch is lost in concentration analyzing an engram. She is momentarily surprised to see three Guardians approaching her. She had gotten used to most Guardians visiting Rahool at the tower, but welcomed the change.

“Greetings Guardians, engrams to decrypt?” asks Tyra.

“Actually, we are here because of the Fallen.” Zulgren informs her of their mission.

“Yes, this makes sense. Hmm. The mystery house, and the sudden attacks. It is a conundrum.”

Alexa peeks out from behind Donnie and offers, “The Fallen were the last race that the Traveler visited, do you think they’re here for the shard?”

“It is possible, indeed. There was a Hunter with that theory... what was his name... Leon! Yes, he was a sharp one. Went to go investigate a nearby Lost Sector, I believe it was called the Whispering Falls?”

“Do you know where this is?” inquires Zulgren

“Hm? Oh, yes. Let me see...” Tyra begins to rummage through the mess of her table and procures a small data bank. “Here, for your ghost.”

Dinklebot scans the data bank. “It is a 2 day journey.” he says, monotonously.

“Ooh! Maybe we can take the horses!” chirps Donnie.

"Do be careful, and see if dear Leon is ok. I haven’t heard from him since he left.”

The three Guardians begin to head towards the stables, but along the way Donnie and Nil are distracted by the market. Donnie finds an armorsmith selling a stylish spinweave armor piece, and approaches the vendor. Billy the armorsmith had never really interacted with Guardians before, and wasn’t sure what to make of the one approaching him now.

“Hi! I really like that armor you’ve got there, what is it?”

“Hey... um, its spinweave. Really high quality.” says Billy, through a forced smile. “Sorry, I just, we don’t have Guardians here that often.”

“Oh, well I’m Donnie! It’s nice to meet you, what’s your name?”

“Billy.” he says, lowering his guard. “You’re a lot nicer than I was expecting. I just don’t really know what to make of people who, you know, come back from the dead.”

“Trust me, neither do I” chuckles Donnie. “I would love to buy this armor, how much of the blue glittery stuff is it?”

“450 Glimmer. This is the only Guardian armor I have in stock, and it’s as high quality as it comes.”

Donnie checks with Alexa on how much Glimmer she has before turning back to bargain a little.

“So, any chance I could trade you my armor for the spinweave?” and, forgetting that she had taken a beating from a Vandal, says, “Its in perfect condition!”

Billy looks at the unsightly laser-riddled and scarred leather armor Donnie is wearing, and decides that she could use better armor more than he needs the extra Glimmer. Besides, she was the kindest, and only, Guardian he’d ever met! He gives her an amicable discount.

Nil finds himself at a weaponsmith’s stand, inspecting the various wares. The weaponsmith steps out from behind the tent to greet the Guardian. “Hello there!” they gesture towards his impressive collection. “If you have any questions about my hand-crafted weaponry, just let me know.”

Nil raises a mechanical eyebrow. “I happen to know a thing or two about gunsmithery myself, I’m Nil. Nillion-7”

The weaponsmith smirks, and decides to play along. “Oh, is that so? Friend of Banshee?”

“Friend? More like BEST friend. Banshee and I go way back.”

The merchant sees straight through Nil’s blatant lie. “Right, well. You see, I happen to know Banshee-44 quite well... and I don’t remember him ever mentioning a Nil.”

Nil realizes his error and meekly offers a correction, “I mean, Banshee doesn’t know that we’re going to be best friends. I see him as a best friend.”

The weaponsmith nods and chuckles. “Whatever you say Guardian. If you chose to buy anything, let me know.”

Nil mutters to himself as he walks off towards the stables. There he finds Donnie wearing a fresh set of spinweave armor. Zulgren is inspecting the horses, stroking his chin very slowly.

“Oh hey Nil! Do you know anything about weaponsmithing?” Donnie asks the Exo.

Nil cheers up, hearing that his skills are needed. ”Well, yeah! What’s up?”

“This pitchfork kinda... sucks. No offense Alexa, but I can’t hit for shit with this thing. Got any ideas on how you could improve it?”

“Hm... I could give it a nice plasteel handle and reinforce the blades on the end there. Gonna cost some Glimmer.”

“Done! Here.” Alexa transfers some Glimmer to Nil’s ghost, who then immediately starts working on improving the pitchfork. Nil and his ghost make quick work of it, considering he is accustomed to tinkering with machinery far more complex than farm tools. By the time he is done, the pitchfork has a plasteel-lined extended grip making it easier for two-handed wielding, and the metal points have been sharpened and reinforced with plasteel as well.

Donnie thanks Nil for his help and they return to Zulgren. The warlock is cautiously approaching one of the horses at the stable.

“Uh... hey Zulgren. Shouldn’t we ask if we can borrow this before we-”

Before Donnie is able to finish her sentence, Zulgren leaps onto the horse’s back. The horse immediately starts to buck and Donnie rushes to calm it down. Through their combined efforts, they are able to ease the creature’s shock from being so suddenly mounted.

“Ok. Maybe lets not steal horses from these nice people? I’m going to find Suraya. Nil, want to come? Nil?”

Donnie looks around, and Nil is nowhere to be seen. Suddenly a robotic face emerges from a haystack in the corner of the stable.

“Oh. Hey. Are we not stealing horses?” asks Nil, still in the haystack.

“Did you just... hide?” responds Donnie.

“Uh, I just thought we were about to steal horses and I figured I should be stealthy.”

Donnie rolls her eyes and walks out of the stables. She immediately spots Suraya walking the perimeter of the Farm, sniper rifle at the ready. Donnie waves at her, and Suraya waves back as she starts walking towards her.

“Hey there, was Tyra able to help you guys figure out more about the Fallen?”

“Yeah! We’re actually about to go on a quick mission into the woods, and I was wondering if we could borrow three of the horses in that stable?”

Suraya purses her lips and frowns. “Ah, yeah. I’m sorry you don’t have Sparrows but I can’t let you borrow the horses. They’re the only horses we have at The Farm and the EDZ can be dangerous. It’s not that I don’t trust you, and I definitely know they’d be for a good cause-”

Donnie cuts her off, “Don’t even worry about it. I totally get it. We’ll be on our way!”

Suraya smiles, “I really like you, thanks for being so understanding!” She nods, and returns to her patrols as Donnie jogs back to the stables.

“Sorry guys but looks like we can’t take the horses,” says Donnie as she enters the stable, “Suraya doesn’t want to risk anything happening to them and- ... WHAT HAPPENED TO THE HORSES?”

Three of the horses are glowing unnaturally.

Zulgren was looking proudly at Donnie, but his expression soured quickly. “Well. I had enhanced them with void energy, but I suppose we will leave them.”

Donnie rushes up to one of them, “Is- are they OK?”

“They are enhanced,” says Zulgren, in the same tone he might use to explain that horses are animals.

Donnie inspects them, and aside from the fact that they are glowing, they seem calm and in good health. Cautiously satisfied, Donnie begins to leave the stables with her two companions.

As they leave the perimeter of The Farm, they pass by Suraya making her rounds. She waves at the fireteam, “Good luck!”

Donnie smiles nervously, “Thanks! Um... You may want to check on the horses-”

“What?! What did you do?”

“They’re alive! Don’t worry!”

“ALIVE?”

Suraya runs off back in the direction of the stables while Donnie, Nil, and Zulgren sheepishly run into the forests of the EDZ. Dinklebot begins to chart their expedition through the woods as the intrepid team watch cautiously for ambush and surprises. The distant never-ending battle between the Light and the Darkness is a murmur deep in the woods, and the turbulent roar of the clouds billowing from the Shard of the Traveler is but a tremble beneath their feet.

[midz13]

Time to get you up to speed on the concept side of things!

Here are pictures in date order of the drawings I've been doing. I've not drawn in a long long time, so please excuse the quality...

For the foreseeable future, I'm running with the 'unwilling participant in the military robot' idea.

The first 3 are around 3 weeks ago, and some of my earliest doodles. I've been battling with the idea of functionality - it's a piece of military hard ware - and artistic expression - I'm using it to tell a story. My knee jerk reaction and inner critic constantly berates anything that can't be explained or used when I draw components or forms. "Why is that there? What does that do? Why would a military robot look like that?"...

But I also want to tell a detailed story in a subtle and interesting way, and ultimately creating a gorgeously frightening machine. The dichotomy of the main character, her humanity, and the machine are the key aspects to explore, and what better way to symbolise that than with the human face remaining. This is my biggest and probably most important decision I'll make on this story; it gives me the opportunity to use organic modeling, possibly animate the face (not sure what would be more impactful).

After many drawings I decided it was important to keep the human face, skin and all, and not just the form of a robotic head housing a brain.

More recent drawings, guided with advice from Lyndsey, explored in increasingly basic silhouettes; my habit to have everything explainable and literal means I draw with no suggestion. Lyndseys suggestion to be more abstract and draw blocked in forms allowed me to speed up my design process, and see the gist of each form and take what I like, and move on. I quickly found a form that immediately jumped out at me as just being 'right'. Lyndsey also helped to hone me in towards thinking more about the female form; another conundrum...

The robot is mechanical, a weapon, functional. It is also a story telling element, and major character. It needs to read as such. I need to tell you it's a female robot, ignoring the face ofcourse. But doing that whole maintaining the essence of utility and believability. I decided working out the use and purpose of the machine may help me:

For now, it's a search and destroy mech. Something to the effect of: A slight frame, incredibly advanced sensors, high speed and maneuverability and firepower make it ideal for locating and destroying key tactical facilities behind enemy lines. I need to double check that, because I'm sure I'm stealing that from a design in the Nuthin' but mech book!

So with that spec in mind, I can exploit things like a small agile frame to mimic the female form, such as long legs, large hips, small waist, etc. This is helpful in allowing me to work with my irritating desire for realism while still working artistically, like I want to... Perhaps this desire will keep the story, and character planted in reality some what, and allow for greater empathy?

The last drawing is a form I quite like. I'll extend the legs more, and narrow the shoulders/silhouette at the top. Of course, the idea is simplified, but will be laden with components and design elements, but for now I need the gist to be there to work on; once I have the shape, I can work on the concept more accurately. If I drew ever single pipe beam and wire, like my brain demands, I'd have 3 designs in a years time... Not 20 in a few weeks, like I would like!!

After this post, I'll upload a quick snap of my Mood board I developed on week one/two - I think - I forgot to let you see it! Its been useful in letting the creative juices flow, but as my idea developed, I'm needing more specific photos, like joints, mechanical fixings, the female body, and so on... So expect another mood board soon...