#what is this strange pact that you and the distance between objects have made

[rubiatinctorum]

sometimes i get really really pissed off that there's this thing called good binocular depth perception that soooo many people have and yet when i ask them what the fuck they mean by that they're just like ":) oh well it means i can see in 3D!" WHAT does that mean what does that mean what does it actually FEEL like how is it different from knowing things are 3D from lighting/size cues besides that you aren't falling down the stairs all the time and having really awkward conversations with people who don't see why you insist on using the elevator

[zooophagous]

The last in a series of vignettes in Wayward Souls that describe the history of Luther Strauss and how he managed to survive his first years as a fledgling vampire. We will return to the continuing plot after this. Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy these asides as much as I had fun writing them.

Account of an examination of a newly fledged vampire in Trier, Germany, May 17th 1790. By a Doctor Oskar Schiller. Translated from its original German by Sylvain Pietra with additional corrections via The Van Helsing Institute of St. Joseph vocational department:

 

17, May, 1798

This journal is late. It is eight years late, to the day. I should have done better to record my observations earlier when they were fresh, but the distance between now and then has given me the ability to examine the findings more objectively, now that the emotional component has had time to subside. I believe that this journal would be worth more, now, when my mind is clear than it would have been then, when I would be writing from a state of panic.

The following account details an office visit with my most peculiar patient. I have not met another like him before, and I have not met another like him since. I am of the belief that patients of his nature prefer to avoid treatment; or are otherwise very rare; and perhaps the truth is a combination of both.

I will not reveal the name of the patient here, for his safety. Should my journal fall into less kind hands the details of his identity would place him in mortal peril; it sounds strange to say as much, for by all accounts he is already dead. I will refer to him by the initials L.S.

I will start my observations from as early as possible, before he became a patient, L.S. was a peer. We both maintained similar practices in medicine, and we have called one another friends, though never close. L.S. was difficult to be close to even before his unfortunate regressions; but he was educated and polite and lived a normal life with a decent practice. Of course, I must insist my own practice was superior, but L.S. was a good doctor and by all accounts a good man. I know of no complaint against his character and I have none of my own to add.

He suffered, however, from a terrible and incurable sickness known as grief. It began with a terrible fever- not in L.S. but in his young daughter, a fever that would regrettably prove fatal to her.

Many ailments of the mind are born of grief. Some medicate their ailment with drink or absynthe or laudanum. L.S. was not given to the use of heavy substance. He was of a very clinical mind, being a physician, like myself; and was driven absolutely to solve his problems at their core.

Therein was the problem. At the core of the issue was death, and there was no cure for death. The study of human health improves with every year, but the realm of life and death is solely up to God.

I told him as much, when he found himself in my office. He did not want to hear it. I perscribed aids for the pain, aids for sleep, perscribed travel and exercise to ease the pain of loss. I even once perscribed a trip to the brothel, for all the good it would do him.

The only temporary stop-gap for pain was the delusion that he could repair his problems, and the bastard hurt so deeply, I indulged him. When he asked for books on medicine, I gave to him every book in my library. When I ran out of these, I helped him find more. His tastes began to stray into the unscientific and the esoteric, into desperate searches of half-true tales of men who made pacts with devils to get what they wanted.

God had seemingly ignored the prayers of L.S. and so he began to pray to something else.

I could no longer help him, by this point. As a man of God myself I am quite unable to bring myself to that peculiar realm of study, and his appetite for these materials made him a better hunter for it than I was anyway. It was all I could do to deal with his physical ailments.

He was not addicted to substance, despite his mania. The problem actually seemed to be not imbibing enough, of anything. He ate very litte, he slept even less, and his work became nonexistent except in pursuit of his goal.

His unattainable goal. I regret deeply that I was unable to help him. It should have been that he moved on with his life, and perhaps raising up a new family would have prevented him succumbing to the loss of the old. I resigned to keeping my old friend on palliative care, doing what I could to keep him comfortable until the end came for him and he rejoined his lost child. He grew more and more gaunt and haggard every day, and it seemed the end would come sooner rather than later.

It was with no small degree of consternation, then, that I received a letter one evening from L.S. that read only "I've found it."

I tried to respond quickly, but he was already unreachable. His windows were darkened and no one could say where the mad doctor had gone. I feared the worst, and unfortunately I am seldom wrong.

I was called in for an examination the following night, for a man discovered dead in the streets. He was apparently the victim of some violence and had been robbed of any valuables and stabbed repeatedly.

What an awful surprise, to lift back the sheet that covered the poor wretch and see that familiar face. I wish I could say he looked to be at peace. It was clear he had died fighting, his arms were covered in wounds- no doubt L.S. had tried to raise his hands to block an attack, or perhaps to plea for mercy, while the blows rained down on him. The killing blow was made to his neck.

His throat had been cut badly. No skilled butchery went into this- it was flayed open and the flaps of skin lay like the petals of a grotesque rose. His entire body was both stiff and pale. He had lost so much blood, in fact, that livor mortis was unable to set in where the body had touched the ground. There was not enough in him to color him.

A sad life, with a sad end. All the pity in the world could not help him now. I saw to it he was buried with his name and his title, near the little daughter he had missed so terribly. No doubt someone had promised him some great rare relic to lure him and dispose of him. But, his apartment was so terribly full of hideous arcane accoutrements that finding out who had promised him what and when was nigh impossible.

I had to bury him and wash my hands of it. I had done my Christian duty to him for long enough, I should have been allowed to be done with it then, at its logical end point. But God works in mysterious ways, and he was not done testing my faith.

Some two or three days had gone by since the burial of L.S. It was late spring, blooming into summer. I remember that it was a beautiful sunlit day. I remember that, because it is not the sort of day or hour one expects a specter.

A stranger wandered into my practice. It is not uncommon for a drunkard or a day laborer to come in off the street complaining of hangover pains or work related aches. This one staggered as he walked, no doubt another drunkard. He looked disheveled and his clothing was wet and dirty.

I did not recognize him at first. Not until he looked at me with his too familiar eyes and finally spoke my name.

"Doctor Schiller. What happened to me?"

My legs nearly fell out from under me. The breath stuck in my chest like a dart and I gripped the wall to stabilize myself. There before me stood L.S. in his grave clothes. Dirty, tattered, but awake.

I say awake, and not alive. For he was NOT alive. There was a moment of panic, of course. That perhaps a mistake had been made, perhaps I had allowed despair to cloud my judgement and allowed a man to be buried alive. But last I had seen him, his trachea and jugular had been ripped in half. Now he was speaking, not but two days after the fact. It was impossible he had been alive and I was only more sure of it now. He was dead when he had been buried. He was still dead in my office.

He was so drained of blood he appeared grey, even now, standing in front of me. He had been mortally wounded several times, though now the wounds appeared absent. His neck was repaired as if by a tailor. Pink scars crossed like a spiderweb over the skin where it had knit itself together. His skin clung to his empty skeleton like a wet cloth, and the stink of the grave still covered him, as did the dirt, and this reanimate demon that defied all reason now stood before a reasonable man, and asked what had happened?

"What happened?" I repeated, finding my breath and strength. "You found it. That is what happened."

"I did?" He asked stupidly. I was incredulous. L.S. had discovered his secret, his cure for death, and it had worked, though he did not seem to understand the miracle he had become a part of.

I stood backed against the wall, trying to remember where I had left my pistol. L.S. stepped towards me with his confused, pleading eyes. He spoke again, with a grating voice like a coffin lid.

"Can you help me?"

"Help you!" I laughed, despite it all, I laughed. "You have cured death! You are the superior physician. Heal thyself!"

He spread his arms out wide. "Please. It hurts."

He was closer now, and I finally brought myself to look at him. What I thought was the dirty remains of a shredded graveshirt I saw now was actually skin. Dead strips of skin hung from his arms in tatters, and boils and blisters ran up and down the length of his hands and exposed forearms. Horrid yellow fluid moved beneath the transluscent skin, and what color there was in his cheeks was from injury.

This instilled a sense of pity- I have been a physician for many years, and I know well the terrible pain inflicted from such severe burns. I dropped my guard.

"How did this happen?"

"I don't know." He replied weakly, still holding his limbs out as if it pained him to move them. "I believe it is sun-burn."

Sun burn like that, I have only seen once before, on a sailor on the open ocean lost for many days on a raft with no relief from the tropical sun. And even then, it wasn't half so severe.

I sat L.S. down and began to remove the dead skin judiciously. He was silent. He offered no explanation for his death and sudden reappearance but watched me work like a cat watches a lark. He had changed drastically, and had he not walked or talked, one might easily assume he were dead. He was cool to the touch and firm, and though I tried several times to find one I could decipher no pulse.

I offered him something for pain, and some water, which he drank greedily. He paused and turned his head and spit out a tooth. I bent to pick it up, and he only shrugged.

"That is the last of my teeth." He said flatly. "The others have been pushed out, by new ones."

New ones. As if deciduous teeth are expected in a man almost sixty years old. He drew back his lips in a tight grimace and I saw that he was right, however. Few teeth remained, save for a jagged set of sharp white teeth that were newly sprouting from the gum.

I asked if he was hungry, and he did not reply. I insisted he eat something. He asked for bread and broth. It was provided, and I watched him try to eat. He did drink the broth, as he had the water. The bread however, caught in his throat. He choked, he gagged, and I feared he might vomit- the fear was hot and bright in my heart, at the thought of what might appear from a dead man's gullet. He spat the bread out in despair.

He groaned deeply and complained bitterly that he was so, so hungry. So awfully hungry, but could not eat.

I had once helped this poor soul amass a library of the occult. God forgive me, I had read some of the books in his collection. He was avoiding the obvious yet unasked questions that hung above our heads like an executioner's axe. It was up to me to try something, and so I did.

He had been emptied of his life's blood. I fetched my blood letting tools, and drew some of my own. I do not know what I meant to do with it. Many of the books in his... academic pursuits placed great importance on life's blood. I had a sense, an intuition that perhaps he knew what to do with it.

I offered it to him in a cup. He did not question my methods or even pause before putting it to his lips and consuming the entire contents. It was now my turn to stave off vomiting. He dropped the cup and took one or two fast steps towards me, but stopped short of touching me. He blinked down at the cup as if incredulous at his own hunger.

He finally looked at me.

"Doctor Schiller. I am afraid that I am dead."

"Yes." It was all I could think to say to him. "Yes, I believe you are."

"What do I do?"

How does one answer such a question?

"I believe the dead should stay in their graves." I told him. "I believe the dead should go to God."

"I do not believe God will have me."

It was now I began to grow angry. "You have ignored my advice for decades, and now you ask me what to do now that you have ruined yourself? You expect me to fix what you have done? I do not know what to say to you. You are dead, you should return to your grave, the best I can do is to put you there myself!"

I raised my voice and my pistol at him. I am not pleased with it, I do not make it a habit to act so unkindly to my friends or to my patients. But I was afraid of him. Afraid of whatever it was he had done to himself. I felt in that moment, that we had ceased to be peers. He had become something else, and whatever it was, I was now prey. I hated him.

He did not retaliate, but he shrunk. He was often too quiet in life, and was now too meek in death. Too meek to do anything but raise his hands to placate me.

"Doctor Schiller, please, do not harm me!"

I did not know if my pistol could have harmed him. How does one kill a dead man? His corpse however was not incorruptible, and the burns along his arms had told me he could still feel pain. It was that fear of pain that would keep him in check.

But, the Devil knows a man's heart well, and will exploit it, even the kind parts of it. Especially the kind parts. When he raised his hands to me, to beg for his own unholy existence, the pink scars of his death throws were revealed in the palms of his hands.

He had perished struggling and pleading once already; and even now, in this state, he did not seem capable of violence on his own behalf. Perhaps his many years of self denial- verging on self punishment, had atrophied his ability to fight for himself. I admit, I faltered. I could not do it. I could not put him through it twice.

I did, however, insist he must return to his grave. I gave him a new shirt and we waited till nightfall and I returned him to his rightful resting place. I tucked him into his vault like I was sending a child to bed. I warned him that he was not to return. He was dead, and he would keep to the realms of the dead, and if I saw him outside of his place, I would remove him with extreme prejudice.

I did not sleep that evening or the next or the next. When I finally gave in to exhaustion, after rising again I wondered if it wasn't a terrible nightmare. Maybe my own mind had invented some form of madness in the fallout of the heartache of burying a colleague and a friend. I began to think perhaps, that this was the more likely truth. I had experienced a delusion. Maybe the brain sickness of L.S. was contagious.

Such an elaborate and detailed delusion is cause for its own concern. Before long, I began to panic. I had to know the truth, so I developed a contrivance, a lie to get into the vault of L.S. to prove to myself that he was rotting in his crypt and that reality was still as it should be.

It was under the excuse that I was looking for signs of plague. It was a stupid excuse, as it was well known at the time that L.S. had died of an obvious murder, and not from illness. But I insisted, and I am respected enough that I was eventually able to get my way.

It was weeks post mortem and the workers cursed me for my idiocy. We braced for a rush of rot, an eruption of putrefaction from the breaking of the seal- but none came. There in the bottom of the vault lay L.S.

He looked exactly as I had left him. Even the globes of his eyes were still round and intact beneath the lids. He was still wearing my shirt.

We put him back quietly and exited the yard. I still send a stipend to the grounds keeper of the yard, for the care of L.S. If a patient needs bloodletting, not a drop of it is spilled. Even now I send this token, eight years later, and never has the groundskeeper asked me to stop. If anything, he will ask me to send more.

I will retire this year and will no longer be able to provide for L.S. I hope charity finds him, I fear what will happen if he is forced to fend for himself.  I do not know if I have done the right thing, by feeding his madness for years or for feeding his hunger now. Perhaps I have done the world a great disservice, and if that is the case I hope the Lord can forgive me. I hope the Lord can forgive L.S. and take him to his daughter. Perhaps the separation from her is the punishment he has earned for overstepping the natural boundaries of life and death over us all.

[belpheroo]

Title: Pangs Pairing: Lucifer x F!MC Rating: 🍋 Summary: MC returns to Devildom for her second year. Following an “interesting” mishap with some fire newt syrup, MC checks in on the eldest brother who seemed unaffected by it. Notes: Basically just an… expanding of that scene. IT IS SOFT, EVERYTHING IS SOFT. Spoilers for lesson 21-22.

Her absence in the House of Lamentation had burned a hole of loss into each brother’s heart, but they were able to more freely express their sadness and their longing for her presence. As the eldest, Lucifer had to maintain decorum… he had to be stalwart and steady, unaffected and cool to soothe their hearts. Despite their bickering and their quips, Lucifer knew that when such pain came upon his younger brothers, they looked to him instinctively for comfort.

Lucifer would remind them of their D.D.D., of visits, of how she would one day come back, surely. He even resorted to teasing or dismissiveness to spike them on into annoyance with him or laughter. If even for a moment, it made them forget their loss.

Alone though? Alone, Lucifer would find himself staring in a daze, unable to focus upon his work in the late hours of the evening. His eyes would settle upon the edge of his desk, where a mug of hot coffee or soothing tea would have once appeared at some point in the night. He missed waking up to find a blanket had been settled over his shoulders, a snack or even once a morning tray with breakfast laid out on his desk...he missed waking up to her hand soothing through his hair, pretending to still be asleep even as his pulse sped up and his heart stuttered with a sharp pang.

In those quiet moments, when the witching hour was high and the House was filled with the silence of early morning, he remembered the sound of their voices together as they spoke of nothing, soft and low. They had always whispered, though they had no fear of waking anyone. It had been so natural, that intimacy… and Lucifer felt heartsick at the loss of it.

Diavolo had even become more troublesome, his palpable sympathy making Lucifer’s pride sting. He didn’t want sympathy, he wanted her back. But these were things he would never say, which was why only a few short months later when she fell through the air back into their lives with Solomon close behind, he felt the world go back into focus.

But of course, now there was that damned syrup.

---

It was easy enough for Lucifer to mask the effects of the soup, centuries of control and experience having perfected his outer defenses until the walls around his heart and his feelings were easily raised. She had made her way diligently around the House, relieving the brothers of their affliction with a simple order and now was set upon finding him.

Unlike the others, Lucifer could easily navigate their pact bond, feeling her intent and her searching and a vague notion of himself as the object of her search inside her emotions. Even from a distance he need only focus and seek out the invisible tether of their bond, the pact mark on his left wrist glowing faintly as he did so.

The only issue was, there was no privacy in this act. As soon as the mark on his own wrist glowed faintly red, hers would too, letting her know he was calling for her. He sent a “message” of his own along, letting his own intent that she should come to his office fall through the bond and feeling her emotions excite and change.

It wasn’t long before she showed up at his door, the very sight of her aggravating his condition and making heat threaten to flush across his face. Had she always been so enticing? She wore a lovely white dress, red and pink flowers adorning it. The only thing keeping the fabric in place was where the straps tied in a bow at the nape of her neck… one small pull and it would be so easily gone. Lucifer checked himself before his mind began to fully wander around the idea of what, if anything, she was wearing beneath it.

“The crisis is contained.” she declared with a grin, sauntering into the room with ease and familiarity. She closed the door behind her, the sudden privacy making his stomach flutter just slightly.

Lucifer got up from where he lounged in one of the plush red chairs, setting aside a book he hadn’t been even reading as he met her halfway. She clasped her hands behind her back, inclining her head expectantly. Lucifer knew what she was silently asking, but instead he smiled slyly.

“Now that you are here, we should complete your student processing… I’ll need to check you for dangerous items.”

She sputtered a laugh, looking down at her attire with a look that said loudly what she then vocalized, “Where would I hide them?”

“From what I recall, humans can be very crafty.”

“Then by all means.” she said, lifting her arms up, smiling and smiling. A foolish girl as always, taunting and tempting a man such as him. Lucifer had to steady himself before he reached out, starting at her wrists as he let his gloved fingertips slide down the length of her arms… tracing down from her shoulders to the top of her ribs before flattening his palms against her body to run down. The deep ache within him only grew more intense, but within his chest a dark creature rumbled with pleasure. Lucifer made sure none of this showed through his face, keeping his expression neutral and business like, even when he ran his hands down over the sides of her thighs and her arms faltered just slightly.

“You’re acting strangely, Lucifer.”

He hummed, his only reply as he pressed against the small of her back just briefly, nearly running down over her backside, but stopping just short before he let his hands fall to his side. She leaned forward just slightly, as if following the touch.

“Everything seems in order.” he said, “I just need you to sign these registration forms.”

She followed him obediently to his desk, which she leaned over, clearly not oblivious to how it revealed her neckline and the smooth round tops of her breasts as she pushed her arms together slightly and up.

“You got a pen?”

He produced one and absentmindedly she reached out, missing the pen and instead finding the one bare trace of skin above his glove but below his shirt sleeve. In a moment, all that control, all that restraint, snapped like a dry branch. Lucifer felt his body surge with heat, a groan escaping his throat as he jerked away from her touch.

“Be more careful… “

And just like that he could see the devious cogs of her brain starting to move as that bright smile turned into a smirk.

“So you are affected by the syrup.”

Lucifer sighed, “Of course, but I’m not as easily swayed as my brothers. I can resist the… the--”

“Urges?” she finished, turning away from the desk and stepping into his space, so close his overly sensitive skin could feel the heat of her radiating out towards him. Lucifer wasn’t sure when he let out a breath, only that it fell from his lips in a soft puff of air as he found himself unable to look away from her eyes, turned up to him, bright and adoring. She pursed her lips, soft and plush and pink… he wondered how many of his brothers had kissed those lips today, had embraced her or held her hand? 

Unbidden, he cupped her cheek, thumb drawing down over her bottom lip gently. She ran her tongue out, licking him through his glove. Lucifer moved his hand to hold her by the neck, firm but gentle as he tipped her chin up.

“... give me an order… master.” he spoke lowly, voice a pitched growl.

“Kiss me, please, just ki—”

Her words were silenced in a gasp as Lucifer bit her lip, sucking gently before settling his own mouth, hot and needy over her own. All that waiting, the loneliness and the aching longing to see her again vanished in the kisses. His mouth trailed from hers, pressing open and hot to her jaw as he whispered, “... ever since you left the Devildom…”

Lucifer set his teeth on her neck, sucking hard until she let out a ragged moan.

“...not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you.” he said in-between his touches, laying his tongue flat over the red-purple mark he’d left behind. She clung to him, arms around his neck. There was a clatter of books, the wisp sounds of paper falling off the desk as Lucifer cleared the contents and set her upon it.

“I even considered going to the human world…” Lucifer murmured over her collarbone, kissing the tops of her breasts. She had pushed his jacket off his shoulders, fingers fumbling over buttons until she impatiently ripped them free, popping them off with a self-satisfied grin as her hands ran up and over his bare chest. Lucifer made a sound low in his throat, shoving the hem of her dress up around her waist and suddenly jerking her forward to the edge of the desk until he could feel the core of her against him.

“...to find you…” he groaned as she rolled against him, feeling the hardness of him straining in his pants. Her fingers sought out his belt as he spoke, “...to bring you back here.”

“Lucifer.” she moaned, pulling him free and holding him, hot and heavy in her hand. She barely managed a few strokes before he was batting her hand away, taking himself in his own hand and his other steading on her hip as he pressed up against her center, not yet taking but so close. So unbearably close.

“But never once did I imagine… you’d come back to me on your own.”

And with that Lucifer let himself sink into her, drawn in by her and held in welcome inviting heat. She kissed him this time, taking control as her legs locked around his waist and she thrusted her hips forward with a slow roll. Lucifer still didn’t move, locking his arms around her to keep her still, to let him enjoy the overwhelming closeness. He was vaguely aware that their bond marks were glowing, skin thrumming and humming with deep contentment… his and hers.

“... I love you. Truly and deeply.”

This was a time where she would make some joke, some light-hearted quip at his expense to earn his ire and spur him on… but she was so uncharacteristically quiet. Lucifer drew back slightly, enough to see her face and trace a loose strand of hair back over her ear. Her eyes were half-lidded, expression soft and dazed until she finally smiled… that sweet, precious smile just for him.

Her words were quiet, elevating the intimacy of the moment somehow in a way that made Lucifer feel his heart might simply stop, overwhelmed with such violent, intoxicating emotion.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him briefly and letting out a small gasp as Lucifer moved in a few small shallow thrusts, “I love you.” she breathed and then desperately, pleadingly panted out the words, “D-don’t stop.”

“As you wish, master.” Lucifer said, intent upon making this reunion one she’d never forget. They fit so easily together, like falling into an old memory. She helped slide the rest of his shirt off and Lucifer finally indulged that urge to tug free the tie around her neck and peel that dress down beneath her breasts. 

“Lovely... every inch of you.” he said, words coming so easily between a rough groan as she ran her nails across his back. She giggled into his kiss, smiling against his lips. Each movement was so slow, so indulgent, except for when he’d sharply thrust forward, earning a string of pleased sounds from her with the sudden harshness.  Lucifer could feel her tightening, coiling up ever closer, but even as she whimpered and squirmed and tried to force his pace faster, he kept the same steady rhythm. It was so much more pleasing to watch her rise toward her release, the skin of her neck and chest flushed pink as her arms tired and she lay back unto the cool surface of his desk, her fingertips finding her center.

Lucifer took the opportunity to rip off one of his gloves with his teeth, sliding his bare palm over her stomach and up her chest until he pressed it flat against her breastbone, holding her in place. She brought her other hand over his, holding tight as he braced her down and gave into her, wholly and completely.

She came apart so easily between her own touch and his, grasping unto his forearm for some steady port as waves of heat shuddered from her core and down her spine. Lucifer could feel the force of it clutching around him, pulling him and holding him in until he could only just barely ride out his own orgasm, feeling all at once the sort of heavenly lightness that brought him perhaps as close to the celestial realm as he’d ever been.

She was an endless well fo tenderness once she had composed herself, sitting up and eagerly touching and caressing every inch of skin she could reach, kisses peppered over his face and his lips as she made a point of keeping him from pulling out.

“Stay, it feels nice.” she said, wiggling her hips enough to make him jolt slightly from overstimulation. Lucifer clucked his tongue chidingly, but did not stop her.

“... you ruined my shirt.” he said, an observation more than a complaint as he noted a discarded button upon the desk.

“Mmmhm and you can punish me all night long.”

“That sounds more like a reward than a punishment.”

“Depends on how loud you make me scream.” she cooed, nuzzling against his neck with a self-satisfied smile. Lucifer could only chuckle to himself, at a loss as usual for how to win against such a creature. But for now, she was here and here to stay... there would be plenty of time to think on it.

[zach-the-fox]

Frostfur Episode 6: Grim Forecast

We’ve put a lot distance between us and the ghost city of Winterhome. Thanks to Emmy, these new sleds make it easier for us to schlep supplies. Of course, I’m not too excited to be pulling it, given the weight of the cargo is heavy, along with the warthog, for most of the journey. Carly has to suffer, too, but she’s carrying less than I’ve got. Just shows how gender really plays a role in an apocalyptic ice age. I just keep pressing onwards with my friends, and not a moment do I ever stop to look back at the city of the dead. We’re bound for New London, now, and we shall not stop. The terrain becomes harder to climb, as the sled of supplies make it difficult to ascend this new slope.

Carly struggles to tug the sleigh, letting out a grunt. “Ugh! This thing is so heavy!”

“Don’t be such a child,” I comment. “Look at me, and all of the stuff I’m hauling. I’ve got more things than you. You’re only carrying half the amount of supplies. You want to carry the rest of this up the mountain?”

“You’re quite the cheeky one. I think I shall suffer with my “half-load” instead.”

“Come on, guys,” Emmy spurts. “Let’s not argue until we’ve made it to our destination.” I pivot my head toward her and ask her how long it would be to reach the city. “We’ve got a while’s journey till we head to New London. We need to be prepared to stop and camp.” A while’s journey? Seems it’ll take longer than I had previously suspected. Then again, where else do we have to go? Our homes are probably buried under mounds of snow, so there’s no going back there, and Winterhome is a lost cause. Does this mean New London will be next?

I turn my head back to the front, only to see a strange silhouette piercing through the fog created by the roaring winds and snow. All my thoughts have shifted from the journey to this new shadow, causing me to stop in the snow.

The cat halts beside me, noticing my mood. “What is it, Zach?” My mind is too fixated on this particular object to give an answer, yet she and Emmy look beyond the misty atmosphere and know what has me at surprise. As the winds slow for a bit, we start to make out the features of this strange shadow; a tall building with some peculiar devices on the roof. It’s most likely a weather station set up by the scientists from Winterhome. “What is that?”

“It looks to be a weather station,” Emmy answers. “A team of scientists have set up here to keep tabs on the weather. Maybe we should check it out.”

“What?!” spurts Carly. “What in God’s name could possibly be in there that we’d stop and delay our arrival in New London?”

“Perhaps some of the contraptions survived, and could help us on our journey,” the warthog explains.

Those devices could actually prove to be useful. Another thought crosses my mind. “There may be some food there, too. It could take us longer to reach New London.”

“I don’t know,” Carly responds. “It doesn’t seem too safe up there.”

“You have nothing to worry about, Lass,” I assure her. “You have a trained soldier at your disposal by your side. I won’t let anything bad happen to you or Emmy, I promise.” The cat lets out a sigh, feeling defeated as her vote has been outnumbered by her two friends. She accepts our encouragement, and the two of us proceed to the weather station.

It’s quite a struggle with the prevailing winds and bombardment of snow pellets, as well as the mountain’s slope with the heavy supplies weighing us back. Yet, all these factors, despite slowing us in every way, do not prevent us from reaching the flat plateau. It takes us probably about a minute and a half to battle the elements and an additional couple of seconds to reach the door, then a few more seconds to knock it with the butt of my rifle and walk inside, after tying our sleds to some support beams outside. Holding my torch up, we begin to comb the entire shelter, seeing anything that could be of use. Up on the roof of the station, we can see the silent city of Winterhome, still standing in the distance as we’re far away from it. As the three of us continue wander around, we check everything and everywhere, searching the area for any signs of life as well, yet we see none. There’s nobody here, but everything seems to be operational. What were these scientists working on?

On the desk nearest to my right, I notice several notebooks, opened and filled with scrawled writings. These must be the notes the scientists were working on. Looking through the already-opened pages, they predict that the great cold is going to get much worse. What’s more troubling is that the observations ended abruptly months ago. They were tracking the weather and knew that it was coming… I wonder what else they recorded. Flipping through the entire book, I scan every written entry and record of knowledge, piecing together what was gathered and how it all happened. Emmy and Carly join my side as we all learn how the eternal cold had started:

The great mountains of Krakatoa and Mount Tambora have been very active, spewing ash up into the skies, creating thick smog. The blackened clouds hovered into the atmosphere, covering about seventy percent of our world’s atmosphere. The large “blanket” was responsible for dimming the sun, causing the temperatures to drop and bring in an early winter. As the writings go on, the scientists have reported hearing news of massive crop failures and the deaths of millions. Many had flocked to churches and places of worship to ask God for forgiveness of their sins in an effort to reverse the catastrophic events, but it was too late. Anarchy and unrest spread among the world, eventually bringing an end to many of the nations. The British Empire and the United States, however, created a pact to develop several installations, known as the “generators”, to act as heating city centers in the north. Their locations were thought out because of the rich coal deposits discovered in the icy artic. This was both nations’ last attempts of saving their populations and rebuilding society.

“This is not a happy story,” comments Carly. “Not one I’d want to read before bed.”

“That’s because it’s not meant to be,” explains a feminine voice from behind. We quickly turn around to see a purple rabbit standing before us, dressed warmly in an attire much similar to Emmy’s, suggesting she’s one of the scientists who was working here. Her wide, emerald eyes and long, smiley mouth with two teeth showing give us an eerie feeling. My arm wraps around to grasp my rifle, which rests firmly on my back. “How interesting for a couple of souls, such as you three, to enter a now-abandoned place.” Emmy and Carly inch closer to me, nearly hiding behind my back, making it more difficult for when I pull my gun out. “Did I frighten you? I did not mean to, for I get that quite frequently. I won’t hurt you, do not fret. My name’s Brook, and I am pretty friendly.”

“Where are the scientists who ran this place?” asks Emmy.

“They’re all gone,” the rabbit says. “Left this place behind as soon as the frost came in, taking everything but the equipment. There’s not a can of spam or even a crumb of bread left. So, if you are looking for food, you will find none. I was part of the research team, but I came back here to salvage anything that could be of benefit to my survival. Who are you three, might I ask?” We formally introduce ourselves to her. “Zach, Emmy, and Carly. Pleasure to meet you three. Any reason you have come here? Perhaps for shelter?”

“Somewhat,” I answer. “We’ve stopped here to see if we could find anything useful to help us with our journey to New London.”

“New London?” Brook repeats. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that name before. Is this a new settlement being developed?”

“Yes,” Emmy answers, taking a step away from my leg. “It is the location for London’s citizens to evacuate to. You see, we’ve just come from Winterhome, and we’re-”

“Winterhome?!” she interrupts. “You three manage to escape like the others?” Others?! What does she mean by that? There are other survivors? “I’ve heard what had happened there. Everything fell faster than the snow.”

“Actually,” Carly begins. “We weren’t in Winterhome when the chaos happened… We were supposed to be there, but we found everyone was dead.”

“Not everyone,” Brook tells us. “Many have fled the city after the explosion. Some did not survive in the frostland, though. It’s hard to adapt to the change in what nature had switched to.”

My paw relaxes from my rifle and returns to my side. I feel bad for this poor woman, being alone and out to fend for herself. The next thing I say will cause my friends to balk at me. “Hey, why don’t you come with us to New London?” Both the warthog and cat quickly dart their eyes at me. They must think I’m mental, which I was right.

“Accompany you lot?” she asks. “What is there in New London? A chance to survive?”

“A chance to live,” I respond.

“Zach,” Emmy whispers. I lean my head closer to her. “Are you sure you can trust this rabbit? I don’t feel too secure with her.”

“As with I,” adds Carly. “I know she’s out here by herself and I feel bad as well, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Where is your compassion?” I question them both. “The world has plunged into a never-ending winter and many are still struggling to survive. There doesn’t seem to be any hope left in people. When I joined the army, I pledged to my country and the people that I’d help those in need and strengthen their will to fight on. For the Lord’s sake, come with us, Brook, please.”

“You have much heart,” Brook replies. “I shall come with you, then. Lead the way.”

I then turn to Emmy and Carly. “Shall we continue to New London, then?” They nod. We leave the comfort of shelter and ready our sleds. With our new companion, her help is much appreciated, aiding us in pulling the supplies with us as we venture to our destination. I just hope New London is set up and in well-working order, because that city is our last chance any of us have to surviving our new reality.

[seeds-of-the-garden]

AU prompt, One of Lance's exes decides to summon a succubus to seduce him and drain him of his life energy. The ex however messes up the ritual and instead summons a young she demon named Pidge. While Pidge looks and acts nothing like a succubus she's committed to carrying out the plan of draining Lance's life force, just as soon as Lance stops distracting her with video games and peanut butter.

This one has been a long time coming, I really like how it turned out. A.K.A. Pidge comforts Lance

~~~~~

“Welcome home, Lance,” Pidge said automatically as the door to the apartment slammed closed. There was no one else it could be, so she doesn’t bother looking away from her game. The Depths of the Demonsphere was absolutely nothing like what the demonic realms were like, but quiznak it was entertaining. 

He doesn’t speak right away. Unusual, but not strange, so she continued. “I got a bunch of mana potions, so what do you say about taking a crack at the final boss tonight?”

“... Sure, Pidge. Whatever you want.”

Since arriving in this mortal realm, Pidge had never heard her quarry so lethargic and downtrodden. She finally removed her attention from the game to see Lance slumped at the dining room table, face the picture of defeat. 

It was exactly the kind of mood Pidge should take advantage of - had taken advantage of in many mortals. In these moments when their guard was down she could take their quintessence, their life force. 

But seeing Lance like this made her sad. She doesn’t want to see him like this.

“Did… something happen?” she asked tentatively.

He sucked in a deep breath, clearly trying not to cry. “I lost my job. Hotel is closing up.”

Pidge licked her lips. It was a tragedy, she knew how much he enjoyed planning events for others and… it was the last connection he had to his long since passed family.

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” she said. The words felt so strange to her tongue. Only since staying with Lance, the longest she’d ever had to stalk a mortal, had she really started to feel an attachment. 

He laughs humorlessly. “Thanks, Pidge. Here I thought you’d be thrilled to see me so unhappy. Good chance to steal my soul.”

“Your quintessence,” Pidge corrected and rolled her eyes. “Although I suppose it doesn’t matter.” She frowned, and in a surprisingly concerned voice asked, “What are you going to do now?”

Lance shrugged, though the bags under his eyes betray the fact that he really was worried. “I don’t know, probably look for a new job.” 

“I think you should tell stories,” Pidge said before she could think. “It’s too bad this realm doesn’t have magic, you have a talent for it.”

His jaw dropped, shocked enough that the lost job no longer seemed to be on his mind. “Magic?” He pointed to himself. “Me?”

Her heart raced, oh had she opened up a can of worms… but… perhaps she could use this to finally fulfill her objective. 

She was going to really miss peanut butter though.

Pidge stands, walking the distance between the two, and took his hands in hers. “Yes, you,” she began. “There is nothing for you in this realm. I can take you to where I’m from. Once there, you can form a pact with me to enhance your ability. You can travel the land to your heart’s content, even entertain at events yourself if you want. ”

She smiled, her heart fluttering about the more she talked. “I’ll technically have your quintessence, and we’ll be together until your death parts us.” Pidge pauses, a realization coming to her. “Unless you fix that through magic at some point.

“So, what do you say, Lance? Want to be a warlock?”

[a-lame-follower]

Prompt: Double-Date Pairings: Glimmadora, Entrapdak WARNING: Bad writing. (Hey, at least I'm honest)

If they lived through this, Glimmer mused to herself as she shifted the basket from one arm to the other, she was going to seriously consider outlawing puppy dog eyes. To some that might seem drastic, but She had proven far too susceptible to its influence in the past. This situation was just one layer of icing on a multi-tiered cake made with bad decisions and baked in regret.

"I don't know how she convinced me this was a good idea." She said, more to herself than to her companion. "It's not like Hordak ever shown any inclination or desire to connect with others before...right?"

She let her words trail off into a question. For all the negative influence the man had previously had over her life, she couldn't say that she actually knew him personally, not really. Before the planetary bioweapon snafu, the catastrophic mess that was Horde Prime, and before whatever it was that was going on between him and Entrapta, it had been simple. All she'd needed to know was that he'd murdered her father and was a threat to the peace of Eternia. Now, with her father suddenly back from the grave and Hordak relinquishing his title as number one big scary warlord, she didn't know what to think anymore. Well, she thought she'd like to go back to the good old days where things made sense. Back then, all she’d had to do was attack people who attacked her. Inconveniently, that option was no longer available for her. For whatever reason, the fates had decided she had to be "mature" now. Fate could go throw itself off a cliff.

"No, you're right," Adora said, holding a basket of her own. Her voice was a little too cheerful to be genuine. "Hordak has all the charming sociability of a rock."

"Are you sure that's not unfair to the rock?" Glimmer said, smiling and reaching out her free hand to let her partner know she valued her company. Adora seemed grateful for the gesture and clasped the young Queen's hand in her own.

"I stand corrected. " the blonde said after that momentary pause. "I guess I owe the rocks an apology.'

"You could. " she agreed, "But then you'd spend the rest of your life apologizing." She sighed dramatically. "We'd probably never have the time to be alone together again. "

"I can do both!" The taller of that two women objected, before smiling to show she knew she was merely being teased. "But, I guess that is a lot of rocks." She acknowledged sheepishly, those sweet blue eyes meeting hers. "Promise not to tell on me?"

"It'll be our little secret." Glimmer assured before filling the distance between them, standing up on her too toes to capture Adora's lips. Smiling fondly down at the young Queen’s actions, Adora leaned in closer, silently encouraging her partner to seal their pact with a kiss. She felt those gentle lips gently press against her own when-

"They apologize to rocks." A voice growled, practically dripping with condescending disbelief. "How is it that my soldiers have not defeated you?"

-They were rudely interrupted by the arrival of the two people they had been waiting for in the first place. Adora grew rigid, dropping her basket and raising the sword she had used since she'd shattered her old one. Releasing Glimmer’s hand, her body settled into fighting stance, partially sheilding Glimmer from the man’s sight. She might have attacked if Glimmer hadn’t taken that moment to gently stroke her warrior’s arm to settle her. It would help no one if they acted rashly. The princess frowned, clearly uncomfortable in the former warlord's presence.

"Hello, Hordak." Glimmer said with a peace so artificial she knew it fooled no one. She could control the wince that twisted her face as those unnaturally bright red eyes settled on her. She was acutely aware that Adora still hadn't lowered her weapon.

"No, no!" A nasal voice chirped cheerfully. "Obviously, they don't make a habit out of apologizing to just any naturally occurring solid mass or aggregate of minerals or mineraloid matter!" She moved closer to them, using her long purple pigtails to give her additional height."Otherwise, Adora would have already known the sheer magnitude of the assignment she was setting for herself and wouldn't have needed Glimmer to convince her it was a fool's errand." She hummed after a second of stillness, her gaze turning thoughtful. "Though I'm sure you both would have an excellent time spelunking in the caves beneath Bright Moon together." She clapped her hands enthusiastically. "I know I've enjoyed allmost all of my visits to Dryl's mines!"

"It's great to see you, Entrapta." Glimmer said, biting her lip. "I'll keep your idea in mind, but I'm pretty sure my dad would disapprove if I went spelunking on sacred ground with my girlfriend."

"That hardly seems fair." Entrants frowned at her. "Speleology and the geosciences are fascinating; " she waved her arms in palpable enthusiasm. "For all we know, your father could be hindering some marvel of scientific progress!"

Wary of saying something that might result in further association with the fright zone's former despot(like almost volunteering to go on a trip with Entrapta to visit said mines), Glimmer paused. Unsure where she she should take the conversation she looked to Adora for assistance. Instead, she found her lady locked in a staredown with the smirking pointy eared-eared goblin man himself. Apparently Hordak had no intention of making this easier on anyone else so it would be up to them to be obliging in addition to well-mannered.  She sighed deeply through her nose. Then she reached out to touch her protector's arm, tentatively advancing on her as one might approach an injured stable cat.

Sensing her movement, those stunning blue eyes sought her gaze and, after an instant's hesitancy, permitted the touch. Adora was stiff, but she'd expected that from her. This was harder on Adora than it was on her, after all.

He might not have been directly involved in the appalling treatment Adora had suffered during her time in the Horde. However, Hordak had been the Horde's leader on Eternia. As such, he still represented some of the worst it had to offer. What that might entail she was still learn at. Most were quiet things she could only guess at from cryptic words and dark hints left like breadcrumbs leading to a witch's cottage. Still, Adora had voluntarily offered to tag along when Glimmer had told her that Entrapta had somehow managed to wrangle the young Queen into going on an evening picnic with Hordak. She hadn't been required to accompany her, but she'd done it anyway. Her selflessness was just another reason among many to love her.

However, she thought as she brought her hand out to touch the sword, if they were going to be playing nice with Hordak, it was a little counterproductive to have their weaponry drawn and ready for the slaughtering.

It took a second or two, but upon getting the intended message from the smaller woman’s weighted stare, a pout formed on the other girl's adorable little face. It took every inch of Glimmer’s free will not to giggle at the presence of She Ra's greatest weapon.

Fortuitously, Adora understood the value of civility in potentially explosive situations such as this and sheathed the sword before Glimmer's free will could shatter like fine china in the face of her onslaught. Still, it was a very near thing. She couldn't even muster up the composure left to resist the urge to reach up and tousle Adora's fluffy hair. She received a dirty look under thoroughly rumpled bangs as a reward for her wicked act of treachery. Regrettably, she found it endearing rather than chastising, so she let out a mischievous little chuckle that earned a small forgiving smile from her girlfriend and questioning glances from their audience.

"Do you think they've forgotten we're here?" Entrapta asked the man standing beside her in a stage whisper. "I wouldn't normally question it, but they've been silent for several minutes and keep making strange faces at each other."

"They are still quite young," Hordak answered, voice drier than the crimson wastes at high noon. "I wouldn't be surprised in the least to discover they still struggle with object permanence."

" 'They' are very aware of your presence and would prefer you not speak to them like they are children," Adora grumbled, pointedly ignoring the scoff her statement received.

"As you say."

"Anyway." Glimmer said clapping her hands together with a pointed cough. "You wanted us to join you, Entrapta?" She hoped it wasn’t obvious to anyone else how hard she was struggling to regain control of the situation before one of the more volatile members of their party said something that set the other off. If they broke ties with one another she wanted it to be for a good reason. Bombing out of polite conversation 101 was not the droids she was looking for.

"Yes!" said a grinning Entrapta. Minutes before, the older woman had been growing visibly anxious at the heightening tensions she'd inadvertently played a part in inciting. At her name, her face had broadened with her good cheer, making no attempts to disguise her delight for the possible distraction. "Well, I was talking to Hordak the other day while we were recalibrating the base's underwater thermometers after feeding the fish when I learned that he's never been on a picnic before, and-"

"Wait, so he just suddenly decided he wanted to go on one?" Adora asked, confused. “I’ve had picnics described to me before and they always sounded way less enjoyable than they actually are.”

“Um...well, I can’t speak for what you’ve heard as I wasn’t there to witness it.”  Entrapta said, eyebrows furrowing as she stared at her hands rather than make eye-contact. “ But I can say there are numerous benefits to going on a picnic.” She smiled at Adora. “If you’d like I can show you the power point presentation I made for him later.”

Glimmer stared at the former tyrant incredulously, trying and failing to think of how that might come up in conversation between the two. Or how she’d managed to sit someone like Hordak down to a lecture. Or what kind of fish lived in the fright zone. That led to wondering what fish they kept and what they might feed them, before she stopped her mind from wandering in what was very likely a dangerous area. For however long they were to be temporary allies, some things she just didn’t want to know.

"She is very persuasive." He admitted, giving his partner a side-eye, which was met with an encouragingly grin that was nearly blinding in its warmth. Part of Glimer wondered if she was only imagining what appeared to be a subtle flush of heat settling around his ears. Hordak’s eyes glanced quickly from Entrapta to Glimmer then back again. His face grew more determined, as if daring the Queen to laugh.

"I can be that, yeah." she said softly before perking up. “Especially when the data speaks for itself!”

His thin lips upturned, cautiously returning the look she had sent his way. It was a small action, but still, Glimmer had to avert her eyes to avoid letting them witness her second-hand embarrassment. Was this how kids felt when their siblings flirted with people in public? She glanced at Adora and was thankful to know she wasn't the only one feeling discomfited by this. She was not looking forward to when Frosta began considering the possibility of making potential romantic connections.

'Anyway! " Entrapta continued, oblivious to their distress. "I couldn't let that stand when the solution was so readily available." She gave them a meaningful look.

"So you...thought of us? " Adora asked, her confusion obvious.

"Well, not you specifically," Entrapta corrected with a shrug, then grimaced when her friend visibly deflated. "But I am very glad to see you here Adora!"

"That's... That's good to know Entrapta."

"I thought Bow and Glimmer would be the best people to ask since they have prior experience with acquainting and Horde soldiers with everyday civilian activities. " She turned her head to the side, briefly concealing her face with her mask and turning her body away from them. "Well, I tried to ask Bow, but er, his parents got to the line first, and... let's just say they don't approve of Bow talking to Hordak. "

Entrapta drooped further, almost seeming to shrink before their eyes, neither girl knew how to respond to the usually cheerful scientist's change of demeanor. Glimmer doubted they had said anything against Entrapta; they were both caring, empathetic men the universe was better off having. Still, she wouldn't be surprised if they had tried to warn her to stay away from Hordak. Maybe it was a little hypocritical considering where she was and whom she was meeting but She knew she would certainly have banned any child of hers from associating with people who were friends with war criminals. Those two were kinder than she was by far and any hurt feelings were doubtlessly done on accident. But that still meant there were hurts in need of mending. After everything those two had been through, emotions ran deep. She made a mental note to ask Bow about what had happened later.

Talking about what had happened had seemed to take the wind out of Entrapta's figurative sails, and it wasn't until Hordak had marched forward and almost tenderly pushed her against his chest that Entrapta seemed to pull herself together. Glimmer might have been inclined to call what he was doing a hug, had the red eyes not promised death to everything she held dear if she so much as whispered that he might be capable of sentimental feeling.

One day she going to discover his secret to making common actions seem threatening and use that dark talent for something constructive.

"Anyway, with Bow out of the picture that left Glimmer." The Queen wondered if she should be offended that she was the second choice but reasoned that out of the two of them, Entrapta had probably connected with Bow better than herself.

"Thankfully, her dad was out when I called, so I didn't have to worry about protective parenting instincts making things all needlessly confusing." She smiled at Glimmer, unspoken gratitude shining in her eyes. She took a moment to lament the fact that she was being made to feel guilty for second-guessing this trip when the person doing it had no idea she was even doing.

"I'd have taken him by myself, but, well," She could no longer meet their gazes, and seemed content instead to make herself a permanent fixture to Hordak's tunic. "I haven't been on a picnic with people who aren't... y'know... a robot in years, and I wanted to make sure his first time was his best time, so to speak."

"I didn't know who else to turn to, and I acknowledge this request is a lot to ask of you, but..." Her voice was so low, they had to strain their ears to hear her. "I hope it's okay that I asked you to come?"

Silence reigned on both sides as she finished talking. Hordak was glaring at them, commanding them without words to consent to whatever Entrapta asked. Glimmer rolled her eyes at the clone to let him know that his intimidations, impressive as his figure might be, neither frightened her not influenced her decision-making in the slightest. A grunt of what could have been either irritation or amusement was her only response.

Having attempted to assert herself, she decided to put the man out of her mind for now. She was here for Entrapta, not him. Despite their complicated history, they shared a bond.

But... She wasn't the only one who mattered. She stretched out her arm to get Adora's attention. Her partner sent a questioning glance towards Glimmer then went back to watching the scientist with no small amount of concern.

"Are you sure about being here?" Glimmer asked, speaking quietly to ensure they weren't overheard. "She doesn't need both of us. "

"Where you go, so do I," Adora swore, face inscrutable as she grabbed the hand she'd released upon the arrival of the second half of their group.

"I can choose not to do this then." Glimmer said, lowering her eyes to their now connected hands. This was a terrible judgment to make, but she knew that if she was forced to choose, she'd pick Adora over Entrapta. She was her partner. Awful as it might make her feel, her companion's trauma came first. "I don't want you doing anything that will hurt you, Adora."

"You forget something," Adora said in a voice so low she nearly missed it. "Entrapta's my friend too."

Glimmer froze then raised her head to meet Adora's challenging stare. The blonde narrowed her eyes in the face of her companion's reluctance and nodded. The young Queen smiled at the further confirmation of the woman's courage. They might have more than a few reservations about associating with Hordak in any fashion, but they wanted to be there to support their friend where they could.

"We'd be honored to share this meal with you. "

Entrapta's shriek of happiness could have shattered glass.

She wasn't entirely sure, but as their friend began eagerly showing them a neatly catagorized list of all the food she'd had her servants prepare for the evening's events, she thought she might have caught a glimpse of what may have even been gratitude on Hordak's face. Whatever it had been was expertly hidden behind a deliberately neutral mask when she turned around to check.

[kuzhukdotharl]

Strength

~Many years ago...~

The boy stood there in front of The Burned House. The black figure stood like an obelisk of shadow, the flickering flames illuminating his stern and grizzled features as he looked at the entrance to the tent. The cool night time winds of the Azim Steppe whispered sweet nothings into his ear as he waited patiently to be summoned before the High Council, he would be the last to undergo the Rite of Naming and become a Man in the eyes of the tribe.

For sixteen summers, he had toiled and grown both in skill and power, much to the chagrin of his tribemates. He had waited for this moment, for the time when he would finally receive his true name and ride with the warband against the enemies of the Dotharl. He had dreamed about this night since he was a youngling, running through the green fields with Khorgany. All those memories and past summers felt like a distant age though as he now waited in anticipation, the tales of his father howling in his mind. Tonight, he took his first real steps to finding the Dusk Mother.

“Enter, O youth of the plains. Stand before your tribe” an old yet firm voice called from within the tent. His heart racing, Kuzhuk stepped forwards and entered The Burned House.

A barrage of incense and smoke met the boy as he came into the sacred meeting place of tribe members past and present. The dark tent was lit only by the large bonfire that raged in its center, a pillar of smoke rising directly upwards and exiting through a hole in the roof. The heat of the roaring flame could not compare though to the burning gazes that Kuzhuk felt pierce into his very soul as he stepped up to the flames to be judged. The various heads of the tribe were present, all adorned in the traditional garments of their station, each wearing the mask of their next life. Sitting in the back, the boy swore he could see the figure of his father, who wore the mask of the red hawk. Kuzhuk dared not look to his teacher and father though, to do so would be weakness, and in this time of judgment, that was something that he could not afford to be shown.

Opposite form he, on the other side of the bonfire, stood a singular figure who wore a mask engraved with the markings of an owl. Her statuesq state and steady gaze was unnerving. This was Nüürsnii Nüd, Coal Eyes, the Elder Seer of his kin. The Xaela woman held her bone staff tightly, leaning on it to alleviate her lame leg, the flames casting a ballet of dancing shadows across her contours. “Who stands before us? We who bring salvation to the meek” Coal Eyes said, her voice filling the silent chamber, the crackle of the bonfire her only competition for dominance.

“It is I, Kuzhuk, son of Khüchirkheg, child of the green sea, first of my name borne unto the Dotharl” the boy said loudly, returning the dominant voice with one of his own as he stood tall. His 7’8 form cut a truly intimidating figure, and apparently, he was still growing - though this did not seem to faze Coal Eyes in the least. Instead, the woman continued the Rite as was common. “O youth of the green sea, you stand before the spirits of our brood who have seen you grow. The time has come for them to reveal to you your true soul, one free of this mortal coil. Will you stand and be judged?” the woman asked, earning a swift, “I shall���. With a small grin that caused a small flurry of surprise, Coal Eyes gave a nod, “Then let the spirits guide us towards the immortal truth”

The seer hissed as she threw what looked like dust of some sort into the bonfire, causing it to bellow with new life and begin to slowly change colors. Blue, green, black, and more filled the spacious tent as all eyes seemed to focus in on the flame, waiting for what revelation the seer would provide for them. “I see… Rage, power, unlimited potential, the trappings of the most revered of our kin” Coal Eyes said as she stared into the flame, seeing what the spirits decreed and saw within the boy. These words filled him with a sense of pride, a feeling of heat that the fire could ill hope to match. “In you lies more than just a warrior, I see both an unstoppable force and an immovable object melding into one. The salt sea crashing against the mighty crags of the coast, neither yielding in their immortal conflict” Coal Eyes decreed. The years of immeasurable training and warring felt like distant memories as the boy let a confident yet small smile creep up onto his face.

“-and yet, for all the light of these flames, I see a terrible darkness clinging to you, vapors of unbelief that distance you from communing with our kin and the spirits” Coal Eyes said, her voice firm and steadfast as she peered into the flame of many colors. The smile on Kuzhuk’s face disappeared, a feeling of dread coming forth as his mind raced with a million questions. What did the seer mean by darkness? How could she see unbelief in him when he was a zealot amongst their kin? How was he blind to his kin and their eternal spirits? A cold sweat broke out from the man’s brow as he tried to reconcile these accusations in his mind, a ripple of murmuring flowed across the room. He was here to be judged, his tribe his jurors, he could not show weakness here.

In matters of the spirit, the Seer had made her divination, now, it was to the various heads of the clan to whom matters of secular insight came from. Kuzhuk could only watch as his father, Shonkor Orgil, Falcon’s Peak, rose and approached the bonfire. It was he who now would reconcile for the seer his observations, and it was he who Kuzhuk hoped would alleviate this strange turn of events. Yet, as the colorful flames illuminated the old warrior’s grizzled and scarred body, his red mask seemed more predatory and hostile as it gazed at the boy, disapproving almost of the prey who couldn’t manage to even scamper away back to the shadows. “Here me now, my brothers and sisters, for I, Falcon’s Peak, will bridge the dissonance between spirit and son, and attempt to explain the discordance that fills this troubled youth’s soul” the intimidating man said, his voice booming around the tent, his silver eyes looking into an identical pair with utter contempt.

For once in a very long time, Kuzhuk felt a chilled hand of fear grip at his very soul. His heart raced as his felt his father look into his eyes with such utter disgust, it was enough to make the normally dominant boy look away and into the flame. He still struggled to understand what was going on. In a blur though, his father had crossed the distance between them and grabbed onto his arm like a vise, holding it out to the flame to see and illuminate his open palm. It was only in this movement that the boy realized what it was his father now made evident to the clan. “Behold! The mark of a blood oath, a scarred and permanent pact between two spirits that lasts far beyond the confines of this meager life!” Faclon’s Peak shouted, an uproar of disapproval erupted within the tent. Blood oaths weren’t only taboo, they were binding in the eyes of the Dusk Mother, never something to take lightly.

“Do you deny it?” Falcon’s Peak asked the boy, his silver eyes full of anger. “No, I do not” Kuzhuk stated through grit teeth. As a child who craved power, he now felt completely powerless. “It was a childish action, one made long ago and with the conscious and cluelessness that only a child could posess” the boy stated, this earned a sharp scoff from his father who publicly reprimanded him, “The Dusk Mother cares not for age. Life is eternal, our chapters but one of many in a never-ending book of reincarnation. You have sealed your existence towards your partner until the ends of time!” the man yelled. Kuzhuk shook in his sandals as he felt the raw and unadulterated wrath of Falcon’s Peak be unleashed upon him in a torrent of hate. “What’s worse is that this girl is not one of our own! A tribe-less curr who is little more than a beast clothed in rags!” this last part particularly enraged those in attendance. Such breaking of tradition was an outrage, a clamour of anger now erupted as the elders of the Dotharl stood to their feet and began shouting. Some called for the boy to be killed, others demanded he complete a rite to absolve his black deed, and even others simply called for him to be tortured as an example. However, it was finally Coal Eyes who restored order.

“SILENCE!” she yelled, the colorful flames bellowing out in a surge that alarmed the elders into submission. The seer stood tall and in control as she looked at the father and son who were now locked in silent conflict. The young man felt his blood run cold, his silver gaze meeting the only matching pair that this world knew. As calm was restored within the yurt, Coal Eyes looked through the wisps of the hearth to Kuzhuk. ”I am udgan, and I shall speak the will of those undying who are present in spirit instead of body” she hissed, verbally castrating the men as they were cowed back to their seats. Shoncor Orgil returned to his own post as well, watching, as always through his thinly layered mask of contempt.

Coal eyes spoke with her usual old and coarse voice, “Oh youth of the grass. You have lost your path. Your body is strong, but your heart remains weak and docile. This does not need to be, poor child, we, your tribe, will make you whole again” she promised, hobbling around the fire slowly, her shadow dancing brilliantly against the sides of the yurt. Kuzhuk forced his gaze to remain looking forwards, even as the creeping voice of the udgan drifted closer and closer to his horn. “Close your eyes, my child. Speak now what strength means to you” she commanded, to which he complied. “It is unstoppable power: to crush our enemies, and to hear the lamentation of the women. We undying revel in the glory of war, it is the natural order” he stated, earning a few nods of approval from some of the younger members of the council who had earned their names. This reply seemed to earn a small chuckle from the wise woman, “So they say” she clicked with a prompt swish of her tail.

“You would say that your undying fire is one purely physical, you neglect one half of your essence” she instructed, moving around him slowly as it inspecting him for the smallest chink in his skin which she could pry open and expose his fragility to all. “Strength is not a goal to strive for, it is a dogma, a scripture that your heart must follow in its entirety. We kill, we raid, we do these not because we like to, but because we must. The weak must be given mercy, it would be a crime against all nature to allow them to live a miserable life, what we do to them, we do out of kindness. To cull the inferior tribes, to wipe them away with the palm of our hands, to burn all impurities- such things leave only the strong. They are worthless, they should not be allowed to live such a pathetic life, to live and to die as sheep.” Coal Eyes explained, revolving around Kuzhuk as he stood there firmly, only her words and the warmth of the fire seemingly reaching his fermenting mind.

“To give mercy is to leave the weak alive only to die and suffer a meaningless existence. They bring no glory, no purpose. What we do, as the strong, as the undying, is to prove to Nhamma and to the spirits that we are not sheep. We prove to them with our hearts and our bodies that we are eternal, within us is a fire that will consume all, such is our duty, our purpose- our strength” she finished, at last coming to a halt behind the large ebony form of Kuzhuk. He had remained unnervingly still, like an obelisk caught between the flames of the familiar and the whispers of something far deeper that he only now tried to confront. The summers of adventures with Khorgany, with his childhood friend, they all felt like distant vapors slipping with his mind, like lies, like wasted time. It was only now, standing here in this yurt, facing the immortal flame before him, that he slowly felt a new sensation course through his very being: revelation.

“I see it. It hides in my heart, holding me back from what you speak” he replied slowly. He did not need to see the udgan’s face to feel the smile that was silently etched into his flesh. “You need only speak that malformation that corrupts you. Together, as a tribe, you shall be made pure by the flame, and only then, will you become a man” Coal eyes promised with a small grin as she looked to the bonfire in the center of the yurt. The words came slowly to his lips, like an eternity passing for each syllable as he spoke them, “Khorgany Novsh” he grunted. Those within the yurt repeated his proclamation in a chant, “Khorgany Novsh”. He could feel the heat of the flame warm him suddenly, more so than before, like he was only feeling it now for the first time since entering the yurt.

“KhorganyNovsh” he repeated, his voice grunting and speaking the name all at once, as if doing so would exercise her corrupting memories from his mind once and for all. Again, the tribe repeated, blurring the words even more, “Khoganovsh” they said. Kuzhuk could feel his heart beating more rapidly as the heat of the fire increased, seemingly ignoring all barriers of flesh and touch to instead scorch his heart. He could feel them, the licks of flame burning him from the inside out. Coal Eyes nodded in approval as she saw the small twitches and spasm’s on the boy’s face. “Khorgovsh” he rushed out, his fists tightening until his knuckles turned white from rage. “Khorvosh” the tribe repeated in unison. This cycle continued, his voice, his memories of her name and of their days devolving into an incoherent mess. It was like the flame was melting a part of him away, and with each utterance of her name, the heat reduced his mind into less of what it once was, breaking it down. “Khorsh”, turned into “’Osh”, which in turn became only unspeakable babble until, at last…

All was lost, and silence then reigned.

Coal Eyes presided once again from her perch on the other side of the fire, “Youth of the grass, the spirits see you now, they recognize you amongst the eternals. Your name amongst us, and all others shall be your true name: Burged Altan, The Eagle of the Crimson Dawn!” the udgan proclaimed. The yurt hollered and yelled in approval, the boy had proven himself, he was one of them, he was a man. Kuzhuk heard her judgement and could only reply with a small nod, his gaze locked onto the smoldering embers of the hearth.

At last, he had found purpose. He had found peace.

[vorthosjay]

Let’s Talk About Sabotage

Sabotage is out.

Ordinarily I would talk a whole lot about stupid minutia.

TODAY IS GIF PARTY INSTEAD.

YOU WILL UNDERSTAND WHY.

Induced Amnesia by Chris Rallis 

AROUND 1,300 YEARS AGO

His name was Ugin, and his purpose was, and always had been, singular.

"What of him?" asked Azor. He looked around nervously. "Is this world in danger?"

I lol’d because this reminded me of Ugin in Sorin’s Restoration.

He turned his head toward Sorin. There was a strange twist to his neck—it was bent, almost cowed. "Tell me—is Bolas—gone from here?"

The destroyer had arrived suddenly on one of Azor's patron worlds, wiped away Azor's work, and built a new empire for his own cryptic purposes.

That’s interesting. Note: We don’t know what plane this is. We only know of Bolas’s involvement on Alara and Amonkhet, both of which happened only about sixty years ago.

The plan they hatched required success on two fronts: they would need a means and opportunity to pull their enemy into their prison, and a lock to contain and neutralize him there. As they conversed, Azor excitedly outlined the hieromancy necessary to create an object that would enhance his own law magic—giving him the ability to summon the golden dragon from any location in the Multiverse. It would require the sacrifice of his own spark, but with Ugin's assistance, that could be reclaimed after Nicol Bolas was destroyed.

Azor would no longer be a Planeswalker, but the Immortal Sun would amplify his hieromancy with all the power of his severed spark, allowing him to work magic a mortal sphinx could never hope to create. Unaided, their foe would be summoned to the cage no matter what plane he was on. The device would also serve as a lock to their prison, ensuring their planeswalking enemy would have no means of escape. Ugin assured Azor that, thanks to centuries of planning, he had secreted away a means to remove Nicol Bolas from existence for good. They needed only capture the golden dragon, and their task would be complete.

Note that the plan specifically calls for Nicol Bolas’ destruction. Meaning they were planning on killing him, somehow. Ugin thought he knew how to kill Bolas.

Ugin, naturally, had thought all of this through, for he was as cunning as he was conniving. "I will lure him to Tarkir."

As Nicol Bolas used the severed appendage to slap the man repeatedly

To think that I worshipped him as a savior when his solutions only broke a world that did not need fixing.

Oldwalkers in a nutshell.

He spoke across worlds, for this was a time when Planeswalkers possessed the strength of gods.

“We were gods, once”

"Your idiot cat is too fond of statues of himself," Nicol Bolas mused. "I might not even have been listening to your charming long-distance talks if he hadn't left so many little clues here and there."

Everybody is dragging Azor.

He gifted the Immortal Sun to a monastery that would later give rise to the Legion of Dusk, but they were inept, so Azor took the Immortal Sun back before it could be used by Torrezon's would-be conquerors.

He gifted it to the Sun Empire, and for a while their kingdoms prospered, but their leaders grew paranoid, launching preemptive attacks on their neighbors. So Azor took his masterpiece back again, this time sealing himself within the walls of Orazca and charging the River Heralds—the only wise people on Ixalan—to make certain no one could find him or awaken the power within.

Jace's face went pale. Vraska could see the whites of his eyes. He shut them and groaned. "They aren't just corpses anymore. They were treated with lazotep; it's this mineral that affixed to the Eternals' organic matter—"

"—To make them objects that could survive interplanar travel." Vraska shook her head. "He made an army he could transport across the Multiverse. And the Immortal Sun will make sure no one could leave once they've arrived. Jace, is there anything that might tell us what his endgame is?"

Ravnica was Nicol Bolas's goal.

"He wants to unleash an army. On our home. With my help."

Vraska's head was in her hands. She was rambling, trying to work out the plan verbally. "Nicol Bolas intends to trap Planeswalkers and, what, eliminate the rest of the Ravnica? Muffle it so he can trap the enemies he's worried about and destroy somewhere else? Both of those seem pointless—if he wanted to kill Planeswalkers, he would just do it. I don't understand his intent."

Damn. I was hoping for a better glimpse of Bolas’s endgame, but knowing that it involves Ravnica helps. There are some varying ideas out there right now, and I’m sure we’ll piece it together as we get closer.

"I need you to temporarily take my memories of you."

Jace recoiled in disgust. "I won't do that."

This is a huge step for Jace, right here.

"You would not be hurting me, you would be protecting us," she said emphatically. "You take my memories of you from my mind and hold onto them. Keep them safe, keep them away from the dragon's view, so when he sees me he thinks the mission went off without a hitch. And then, on Ravnica, at the right moment, you give the memories back."

What did I tell you when everyone freaked out about the memories?

A splash of criminal talent had remained with him in the years since the manablade after all.

Remember: Jace was an interplanar mobster for a couple years.

Vraska was beginning to feel hopeful. "Who on Ravnica could help come up with a sabotage plan?"

Jace thought for a moment and nodded. "Niv-Mizzet. He could challenge Nicol Bolas both physically and mentally, plus he'll be furious to know there's a dragon smarter than he is."

Bolas might have that covered, though.

Vraska spoke with confidence. "You have my word as captain of the Belligerent that I will do whatever it takes to sabotage Nicol Bolas upon the return of my memories. I swear to commit my conscious self to his destruction."

Vraska squeezed Jace's hand, and they let go. The pact was made.

Is this an Oath of Vraska?

"I won't stay on Dominaria after I find them, though." He went strangely quiet. A little crease was cut between his eyebrows. "The Guildpact belongs on Ravnica. I don't want to be like Azor."

Good for you, Jace.

Vraska smiled. "It's a date."

Aaaand a the wind suddenly hit the sails of a thousand ships.

It was complicated, requiring intense focus and more energy than she expected. The spell shot out and away from her like a bolt of lightning.

Vraska waited for a full minute. She wondered if it had worked, and jumped in surprise when a violet circle opened up directly beneath the Immortal Sun.

So with someone casting a spell to help him aim, Tezzeret doesn’t need to physically be there to gate something through. He can just pick it up.

Listen, final confirmation that Ugin was the partner was hugely gratifying. This story was meaty enough, and clearly there is a Bolas endgame in the works, which I imagine will be the fall set on Ravnica unless Dominaria ends up being more than one set.

[zer0pm]

Photo taken and edited by me~ (Dammit, he’s too handsome) 

Tropes Pt. 2 for my upcoming project.  Alas, the con at the end of this month is taking much of my time, however, I am making strides with making the fancomic mainly in writing that focuses on the interactions of Ardyn and his crew.  So without further ado, here ya go!  Fair warning, long read ahead.

Feel free to leave insight, commentary, heck even stuff that you would like to see come to life between the Ardynights~  For those who are just learning about this project for the first time, you can refer to the link below of the crew I have created for Trash Jesus during his time as a mortal man and hero to his people 2000 years ago:

Ardyn and his crew

Ardyn & The Lancer

If It’s You, It’s Okay – The Lancer lets Ardyn get away with a lot of things, granted he’ll more or less talk his ear off for it

Seeker: “Why do you let him do what he does if you are so vocal in your dislike for his choices?”

Lancer: “Once you’re in his company long enough, you’ll understand.”

Shield: “Ardyn is just…Ardyn.”

Ardyn: “Did someone call my name?”

Straight Man and Wise Guy – The Lancer as the Straight Man and Ardyn as the Wise Guy respectively

Ardyn and his team travel to what would later be known as Altissia to make a pact with Leviathan, the goddess of the seas who is known to treat those who so much as annoy her with an unbridled wrath.

Ardyn: “We board ship, commune with the Hyrdraean, and move that much closer to defeating the ultimate evil.  Sound like a plan?”

Lancer: “The Hydraean is not known for her kindness, Ardyn.  We must proceed with caution.  The wrath of the sea would surely be upon us if we so much as look at her the wrong way.”

Ardyn: “Come now.  I am the Astrals’ Chosen.  What could possibly go wrong?”

(scene cuts to Ardyn and his crew holding onto the collapsing mast of the ship struggling against the goddess’ seastorm)

Lancer: “ARDYN, YOU POMPOUS TWIT!”

Ardyn: “I KNOW, I’M WORKING ON IT!”

Ardyn & The Shield

Get a Hold of Yourself, Man! – The Shield does this to Ardyn as he loses confidence in himself as Chosen.  They brawl it out with the Shield seemingly having the upper hand despite Ardyn possessing superior abilities which further damages Ardyn’s ego, but at the right moment the latter sets his pride aside and overcomes his friend who smiles and proudly accepts his defeat.

Shield: “If you cannot defeat me, then you cannot defeat the daemons.  You cannot defeat the Starscourge.  So allow me to do us all a favor and end your life now since you have already surrendered to your failures.” (moves to attack Ardyn)

Ardyn: (dodges) “Shield!  Have you gone mad?!”

---

Ardyn: “I know what you’re trying to do.” (sword pointing at the Shield)

Shield: (ended in a kneeling position and was unarmed by Ardyn’s last strike, he bows his head respectfully) “Is the king now ready to take his crown?”

I Owe You My Life – Ardyn saved The Shield when they were children, the former was too young to remember as he himself was in the mindset of playing the game of Hero.  The Shield on the other hand remembers everything and dedicates his life to protecting Ardyn even after the fall of Solheim.

Ardyn: “What made you chase after the profession of soldier?”

Shield: “A little boy.  He saved me from a fire when I was a young lad myself.”

Ardyn: “You of all people required saving?”

Shield: (nods) “Since then, I wanted to become stronger.  To have the same resolve and courage as he did…does.”

Ardyn: “Ah, so you think he’s still alive?  That’s good!  It would be a great honor to meet him, my friend.”

Shield: (smiles)

(flashback – Ardyn single-handedly drags The Shield from the burning and collapsing building.  Both boys coughing as they gasp for clean air)

Young Ardyn: (after he regains his breath) “…Are you alright?”

Young Shield: “I…I think so.”

Young Ardyn: (looks at him and smiles gleefully) “That was a most excellent time!  I can’t wait to tell, Lancer!  Let’s play again, yes?” (scurries off)

Young Shield: “……” (looks at the retreating boy with slight awe)

(flashback ends)

Lancer: “So that was you.  And after all this time, I thought it was a story he made up.”

Ardyn & The Seeker

Only Friend – The Seeker has made many ties whilst wandering Eos in her personal quest, these people including the Oracle; however, she outright states that she never allows herself or anyone to get close emotionally.  Over time, however…

Seeker: “It…has been a long time since I can openly admit to trusting someone.”

Ardyn: (shrugs) “You trust us enough to travel with us in our perilous journey.  Three men, I imagine, is not ideal company for a lady.”

Seeker: “That is different.  Saving Eos forces one to place reliance onto others because that is what is demanded.  But trust…that’s a sentiment, a gift.  Something I scarce allow…”

Ardyn: (smiles) “Is this the part where you confess your love to me?  At long last?”

Seeker: “No.”

Ardyn: (fakes being emotionally hurt by her rejection)

Seeker: (she smiles slightly in response) “You are strange, Chosen.” (moves to prepare for their next objective)

Ardyn: “Seeker.”

Seeker: (turns to him) “?”

Ardyn: “I trust you too.”

Ship Tease - for the most part, this relationship seems very one-sided as Ardyn is a persistent flirt while the Seeker does not appear to be one for romance.  Still, they have a interesting enough dynamic for this trope to properly be referenced to and one of many banters to match.

(Seeker treating Ardyn’s wounds)

Seeker: “Hold still.”

Ardyn: “It’s not that ba-hss!” (winces)

Seeker: “True.  Lucky for you, you will not have scars.”

Ardyn: “Ahh, but the female masses fancy scars. Look at the Shield.”

Shield: (a short distance away, surrounded by fawning/fussing women though he nary gives them attention in return)

Ardyn: “See what I mean?”

Seeker: “I’m sure you can find safer ways to appeal to them.”

Ardyn: “I will try everything, risks and all.”

Seeker: “Sounds like a lot of effort to attract attention. You do plenty of that without even trying.”

Ardyn: “Whatever it takes to keep your eyes on mine.  If scars are to mar my person on a regular basis to ensure the promise of your hands and attention tending to me…then the pain is worth it.  I seek only to appeal to you.”

Seeker: (finishes dressing his wounds and dismisses him) “Enough of that.  Go tend to the others, Chosen.”

Ardyn: “As you wish, my temptress.”

Seeker: (sighs)

You Are Better Than You Think You Are - they give each other lectures of this in the fluffiest of ways, here are my favorite moments.

(The Seeker telling this to Ardyn)

Seeker: “Ardyn, that is not true. The ring and the Crystal does not define who you are. It does not tell you that you are less.”

Ardyn: “Then who am I? What more could I be?”

Seeker: “A good man…that has taken the burdens none could carry to save the lives of all. One who evidently believes himself to be… a man of no consequence.” (A/N: I squealed when I wrote this tbh)

Ardyn: (chuckles)

Seeker: (smiles) “Ah, there is that man.”

---

(Ardyn telling this to the Seeker)

Ardyn: “Seeker…”

Seeker: “If this is another one of your advances to make light of the situation then hurry up and get it over with.”

Ardyn: “I just wanted to say…that you are worth more than you make yourself out to be, that despite your words and your actions, you are a good soul and the bravest person I know.  It is your side that I will proudly stand by until the end itself.” (after a long-filled silence, he moves to leave her to her thoughts, but is stopped when she grips his sleeve, preventing him from going.  He looks back at her questioningly and is taken aback when she further initiates physical contact by embracing him.  No words were shared and he embraces her wholly, offering the comfort she wanted)

The Lancer & The Shield

Cultured Warrior – when not under the threat of daemons or battle, The Lancer passes the time with fine spirits and engages in deep political discussions, mostly pertaining to the recovery of Solheim should they succeed in their mission to purge the Starscourge.  The Shield prefers discussing literature, but will not turn down a drink when offered.

Lancer: “Shield, whilst they are handling this task, I have a spotted a promising tavern nearby.  We should discuss recovery efforts of the lands.”

Shield: “You just want to drink.”

Lancer: (sighs) “Very well.  Pass me enough spirits and you can share your thoughts on your latest read.”

Worthy Opponent – The Lancer considers The Shield this.

Ardyn: “Back at home, Lancer and Shield would be sparring on the training grounds constantly.”

Seeker: “I’m guessing The Shield rose victorious after each session?”

Lancer: “Admittedly that is the case.”

Shield: “You came close, Lancer.”

Lancer: “Closer each time.”

Shield: (nods) “Then I look forward to the next.”

The Lancer & The Seeker

Deadpan Snarker – They can have a battle and we’ll never know who will win.  This one is mixed with If You Ever Do Anything to Hurt Him...

Lancer: “Ardyn has told me that I should apologize for my words about your home earlier.”

Seeker: “And yet by your approach, the gesture will not be made.”

Lancer: “How very keen.”

Seeker: “So then what is it that you wish to say?”

Lancer: “My brother is easily ensnared by the…fairer sex.  He will trust you without reason.  He has a warn heart.” (steps closer to her) “If broken at any time, the next moment will be my spear through yours.”

Seeker: “….” (glares at him, but then looks down)

Lancer: (follows her gaze to see a dagger pressed against his lower abdomen)

Seeker: (carefully puts the dagger away) “Sorry, reflex.” (with one last glare, she walks away)

Headbutting Heroes - when they first meet, Lancer was extremely distrustful of her, being a stranger that can hold her own in a fight and all of mysterious origins, and the Shield is not too keen on sharing personal information let alone her intentions either

Lancer: “Abstaining to share only makes us suspicious of your character.”

Seeker: “Look, if I wished for your demise, I would have left you all for the daemons to ravenously pick at back at the surface.”

Revenge Before Reason – They hate the daemons more than anyone considering their Dark and Troubled Past

(recounting why he wants vengeance)

Lancer: “I trust…you will not tell Ardyn what you saw.  If he knew…”

Seeker: “I won’t.  And I understand.”

Lancer: “….Thank you.”

Seeker: “They will pay.”

Lancer: (nods) “Every last one of them.”

---

(when the Seeker pursues her own vengeance)

Ardyn: “Lancer…did you know of this?”

Lancer: “Some fury cannot be quenched by love and comfort alone.”

Ardyn: “She will die!  And you let her go?!”

Lancer: “When there is a wrath that burns that ferociously, the only price is blood.”

The Shield & The Seeker

Birds of a Feather - they both have made oaths to protect

Shield: “We share the same oath.”

Seeker: “Yours pertains to one ward, mine extends to all.”

Shield: “My ward has all resting on his shoulders.”

Hidden Depths – all have shades of this. The Shield is an avid reader and actually collects books during the journey.

Seeker: “Sir Shield.”

Shield: “Lady Seeker.”

Seeker: “I have taken notice of your souvenirs and could not help but recognize one of them.”

Shield: “Which one?”

Seeker: “The Indigo Character.  We had the copies of the same story back in Memento.”

Shield: “A good read?”

Seeker: “You will not be able to put the book down.”

Shield: (smiles slightly, almost enthused) “That is what I hope for.”

---

Shield: “Here.” (hands the Seeker a book)

Seeker: “What is this?”

Shield: “A journal.  The previous owner was a researcher that studied flora all across Eos.”

Seeker: “I am not one for flowers, truthfully.”

Shield: “Give it a look.” (this even would lead to the Seeker learning something from her homeland)

[wildmanesestate]

Hi!

“Welcome to the Wildmane Estate” Says a young looking man, appearing to be in his mid-to-late twenties, as you approach. “My name, if you must know, is Zachary Wildmane. Also Nicholas Flamel, or Zachary of the Hunt, if you’d prefer either of those.” The man seemed amused for some reason “Although if you call me Nicholas Flamel, I may find a reason for you to go... ah, shall we say on a long trip, one which you probably won’t come back from.” The man chuckled to himself at his little joke, before noticing your more than likely unammused expression. “I kid, I kid.”

//For those of you who are unaware, this is how I, and I’m sure I’m not the only one, writes in OOC, or out of character, text.//

//Text written as such, bolded and italicized, is in character actions, unless within quotations and in direct conjunction to in character speech, in which case the bold is used for emphasis.//

//”Text written, not just in italics, but with quotation marks around it is USUALLY going to be in character speech, unless written within character actions for emphasis. i.e. “Zachary Wildmane, at your service.” Zachary said to the “man” in front of him. It was obvious this thing wasn’t a Man, but then again, neither was he at this point.//

//This is to be a page devoted to OC roleplay within a fantasy setting. I will also be posting my own creative writing about interactions between my characters (because I have more than one).//

//The MAIN characters I will be roleplaying with here are as follows, and it’s a relatively extensive list, so please try to bear with me, I will list all abilities and descriptions thereof listed at the end..//

//Zachary Wildmane, AKA Nicholas Flamel, is a strong mage, one whose strength is unknown in it’s entirety. Zachary uses an adaptation of the Will and the Word, something that only a handful of other individuals have been even remotely capable of considering using, much less actually using. The Will and the Word is also called Reality Warping, although in actuality, it is much more akin to Nigh-Absolute Creation, Nigh-Absolute Destruction, Reality Negation, and Reality Warping Negation bundled into one ability than it is Reality Warping. The User can only do as much as they can visualize and imagine within their reality. Zachary Wildmane is also Raven Atkinson’s //

//Marcoh Fuller belongs to a class of Demi-Angels known as Ascended. These are Angels who fell or who were cast from heaven and regained more than their original strength and power with means other than redemption. An adaptation of Marcoh’s full bio and abilities will be posted below.//

//Raven Atkinson was a bastard-born child under a cursed star. She was given the Pact of the Seven Sins, the only person to have received this Pact in 3000 years. The pact caused Raven to be tormented by people for being different, and then when the pact lashed back for her, she was terrified of herself and has since tried to distance herself from people as best she can. Raven’s abilities and an adaptation of her bio will be available below.//

//Marcoh’s Bio://

//Marcoh wandered this world for many months and years with a broken and fragmented memory. What he was able to piece together from these fragmented shards was that he was the Archangel of Fates. He saw every potential future for every living being that had ever and would ever exist. Eventually this made him irritable, snapping occasionally at his fellow angels. Eventually, he was driven insane and, taken over by this madness, transformed into a large beast. Marcoh killed many angels and even a few minor gods before he was cast out from heaven. When he awoke, it was in the bed of a stranger. His mother, or, the woman claiming to be his mother, was not the woman who raised him. He was cold and broken and alone. Eventually, he was able to figure out what happened, via his poor fragmented memories. On his "16th" birthday, Marcoh, for that was the name of the stranger whose bed he slept in, received a large hammer as a gift from the artisan blacksmith who called herself his mother, with the warning "This hammer may take you to great places, dear, but you mustn't ever forget your home here..." And on to great places Marcoh went. He left his small hometown and journeyed the world. Marcoh found love eventually, in spite of his blackened wings, and with the strength of that love was able to eventually cast off his curse. The love of his life was kidnapped by an old enemy of Marcoh's, whom he didn't remember clearly. Marcoh tormented himself with that knowledge, that he wasn't powerful enough to protect the woman he loved. He let it torment him... and eventually, he reverted to that primal form... That beast, which he despised so much. The beast, mindless as it was, tried to hunt for the enemy, but instead ended up attacking Marcoh's fiance. Through amazing force of willpower, or perhaps an act of some God somewhere, Marcoh was able to see through the haze of red that clouded his vision and recognize the strange creature he was attacking. He fled, and Polaris chased him. Marcoh eventually looked back and saw that Polaris had fallen and injured herself. Overcome with grief, the beast that was Marcoh felt the haze clearing. Marcoh was in control... for the moment. The animal approached Polaris and licked the wound for a few moments, only able to make his bestial features say three words. "Polaris... Marcoh sorry..." Not a very good sentence, I'll grant you, but given the circumstances, one would be surprised to see that much. Marcoh's apology was accepted without thought or hesitation, and with a love pure enough to completely break the curse. Marcoh curled into a ball and a dark purple light enshrouded him. Then... Marcoh burst forth in a blast of white light, his features serene, his eyes a piercing sky blue as opposed to their usual thundercloud grey, his wings pure, untainted white, and his memory completely returned. Marcoh was Ascended. Finally, Marcoh's memory had returned, and he could feel more astral and arcane energy pouring through him than he ever had. He was stronger than any Angel, Archangel, or God there ever was or would ever be... He was Ascended.//

//Marcoh’s abilities://

//[[Destiny's Shackles]] Marcoh has the ability to chain the soul of a person onto a physical object. The nature of this chain is similar to that of a Lich's Phylactery, or soul box, to the extent of the soul dying with the object's destruction. However, prior to the object's destruction, the shackled soul is able to construct a new body even after the old one is destroyed. Marcoh can also unshackle a soul at will. [[Immortality]] Marcoh cannot die of old age. [[Primordial Light Manipulation]] Marcoh can manipulate the Primordial Light of Creation, which represents the lighter, warmer side of creation. Opposite to Primordial Darkness Manipulation. Marcoh can use this ability for many things, from creation of constructs, to attacking, to defending in combat situations. The Primordial Light of Creation, as a Primordial Entity, is beyond concepts of Good, Evil, or Neutrality. [[Flame of the Inner God]] Marcoh has the physical strength, stamina, magical strength, enhanced speed and durability of a God. This does not mean Marcoh is unkillable, however. Marcoh is also given the ability to transform into a Primordial Flame Elemental. This ability also gives him access to a number of new powers, Primordial Fire Manipulation, Fire Manipulation, Hellfire Manipulation, Holy Fire Manipulation, and a Fire Immunity. However, Marcoh is weaker to water in this state, holy, unholy, or otherwise. Marcoh also loses an attatchment to alignments of Good, Evil, Chaos, Lawfulness or Neutrality, and no aura is detectable around him. [[Archangel of Destiny Reborn]] Marcoh was the Archangel of Destiny before he was cast out of Heaven. He has retained some of his abilities from his time as an Archangel of Destiny, including an immunity to time manipulation magic, space manipulation magic, and the ability to manipulate time and space to an extent. He also has minor probability control, coin flips, dice rolls etc. etc. Marcoh can also move between timelines, or out of all timelines altogether. [[Divine Territory]] Marcoh can create an area protected by divine power which damages and repels anything of evil that attempts to enters its range of influence. This ability is a powerful defensive skill which allows Marcoh to hold off even the most powerful of dark entities to formulate a counterattack.//

//Raven’s abilities://

//[[Pact of the Seven Sins, Greed]] The Sin of Greed causes a demon to appear and fight alongside Raven. The demon is a large creature made of stones, a long lost power holding them together loosely. [[Pact of the Seven Sins, Lust]] The Sin of Lust causes a maelstrom to circle around Raven, causing anyone who comes too close to be buffeted by wind and hurt by anything caught in said wind. If the person gets within an arms length of her, the person is at risk of being blown off of their feet. [[Pact of the Seven Sins, Gluttony]] The Sin of Gluttony causes the minds of her opponents to fade temporarily, going to a place spoken of only in nightmares and at the edge of the abyss. The place where everyone fears: The dark. Not just the dark of say, your bedroom at night, but pure darkness, nothing permeates it, not the glow of a thousand stars, not even the strongest of fire magics. The physical body isn't consumed, only the mind, so this ability causes no physical damage, but occasionally causes psychological damage in the weak willed. [[Pact of the Seven Sins, Wrath]] Raven grows claws and sprouts horns of dark blue flames. She also enters a state in which all she craves is the heat of battle. This is her least favorite ability, as her memory afterwards is occasionally hazy. [[Pact of the Seven Sins, Envy]] The Sin of Envy causes a single target to suddenly burst into flames, and then a bolt of flames bursts out in the cardinal directions and latch on to the first thing they touch. [[Pact of the Seven Sins, Sloth]] The Sin of Sloth causes a space roughly a cubic foot to implode, leaving a temporary space of nothingness, until matter rushes back in causing a concussive blast. Anyone too close will get the full impact and be sucked towards the sudden emptiness in an attempt to fill the gap and then blasted out. [[Pact of the Seven Sins, Pride]] The Sin of Pride causes the ground to become frozen around Raven. Whoever sets foot on the frozen ground will begin to freeze, with ice physically forming around them and eventually encapsulating them completely.//

//If you’re still here, I appreciate you taking the time to read all of this. I’m sure all of my characters do too. If you ever want to roleplay with me, feel free to inbox me. I’d love to have my inbox blown up with people wanting to roleplay.//