#will treaty's beard is scary

[anarchist-aquarius]

been refusing to read the royal ranger for fucking years because im scared of wills beard but the need for new halt content overruled it and i read the first two books and am waiting on the third for like 3ish pages of halt content and its portraying him as old so im frantically rereading the the early years for my silly lil gay to be killing people and hanging out with his ginger husband

[questionsonislam]

Taliban made a statement. They cited Sons of Qurayza as evidence. They showed the Atiyya Qurazi hadith, in which it is narrated that adolescents who had pubic hair were killed.

Accordingly, is it permissible to kill enemy children who have just reached the age of puberty?

Even if they have reached puberty, what is the crime of a 13 or 15-year-old child?

Why were they held responsible for what their tribesmen did?

In the case of Qurayza, did they decide based on the mustache and beard or the pubic hair of a young man

The irregular armed forces called TALIBAN or ISIS/DEASH, which have occupied our agenda in recent days, regard Muslims who do not belong to them, as well as people of different religious beliefs or racial or ethnic origin, as enemies, in violation of international law and the moral values of Islam.

The acts of terrorism, killing, wounding, kidnapping carried out by those organizations are all acts of terrorism and those who do them are terrorists.

In Islam, there is also the law of war. First of all, it is necessary to have a state in order to declare war. Only states can declare war.

On the other hand, our religion does not allow the killing of women, children and unarmed people, even in war. According to our religion, such a deed means killing people unjustly, which is one of the greatest sins.

As for the incident of Qurayza, there was never any killing of children in it. On the contrary, it was done in order to find out whether they were among the warriors or not, and to save children from death.

It was done according to the law of war, according to the decision of the arbitrator chosen by the Jews themselves; the judgment was made according to the rule of the law of war of the Torah, in which they believed. The separation of the children was a just and fair practice.

Two narrations regarding the issue are as follows:

According to what was narrated from Kathir b. Saib, he said:

“The children of the tribe of Qurayza told me the following: After the Battle of Qurayza, the boys of Qurayza were presented to the Messenger of Allah (pbuh). Those of them who had reached the age of puberty and had pubic hair and armpit hair were killed. Those who had not reached the age of puberty and did not have pubic hair and armpit hair, beard and moustache were spared from death.” (Ibn Majah, Hudud: 4; Abu Dawud, Hudud: 17)

According to what was narrated from Atiyya al-Qurazi, he said:

“I was a child on the day when Sa’d b. Muadh made the judgment at the end of the battle of Sons of Qurayza as to who were to be killed and who were to be left alive. They hesitated as to whether I was a child or reached the age of puberty but they saw that I had no pubic hair, which is one of the signs of puberty, and they let me go. I have been with you since that day.” (Nasai, Talaq 20; Ibn Majah, Hudud 4; Abu Dawud, Hudud 17)

When the Messenger of Allah (pbuh) arrived in Madinah, there were Jewish tribes in addition to the tribes of Aws and Khazraj. One of those tribes was Sons of Qurayza. The Messenger of Allah (pbuh) made an agreement with them. According to the agreement, the parties would not be hostile to each other and would resist any attack on Madinah together.

Among the Jewish tribes in Madinah, Sons of Nadir had already been expelled from Madinah for breaking the treaty they signed.

The tribe of Sons of Qurayza also broke the treaty during the Battle of Khandaq. They betrayed the Messenger of Allah and sided with the polytheists. It put the Muslims of Madinah in great distress and caused them to experience scary moments.

Qurayshis, whose attacks against the Muslims were not successful and who suffered great casualties, retreated and returned to Makkah when their camps were shattered by the storm and their livestock perished.

Thereupon, the Messenger of Allah (pbuh) wanted to punish Sons of Qurayza, who had broken the agreement and committed high treason. He immediately sent his companions against Sons of Qurayza. Instead of apologizing to the Prophet (pbuh) and asking for peace, Sons of Qurayza took refuge in their castle and chose war. In addition, they uttered bad words about the Messenger of Allah.

The Muslims laid siege to the castle where the Jews had taken refuge. The siege lasted twenty-five days. Finally, they were tired of the siege; they began to fight and were defeated. They were willing to be expelled from Madinah like the tribe of Sons of Nadir. However, the Messenger of Allah did not accept their request and asked them to choose an arbitrator to make a judgement about them. They nominated Sa’d b. Muadh, their ally, as an arbitrator. Sa’d b. Muadh made the following judgment about them:

Those who fought among the Jews are to be killed, children and women are to be captivated, and their property is to be considered as booty.

At first glance, this judgment seems to be a bit harsh. However, this judgment on the Jews is in full accordance with the judgment in their holy book, the Torah.

The following is stated in the Torah:

“When you march up to attack a city, make its people an offer of peace. If they accept and open their gates, all the people in it shall be subject to forced labor and shall work for you. If they refuse to make peace and they engage you in battle, lay siege to that city. When the Lord your God delivers it into your hand, put to the sword all the men in it. 14 As for the women, the children, the livestock and everything else in the city, you may take these as plunder for yourselves...” (Old Testament, Deuteronomy 20/10-15)

In accordance with that decree, four hundred men of Qurayza were killed. The beard, mustache and pubic hair of those who were suspected of being children or youths were checked. Those who had pubic hair were considered to have fought and were killed; and those who did not were captivated.

It took place at a time when the young men were killed and the children were separated. Therefore, if they had been asked about age or puberty, the non-Muslims might not have told the truth because it was a matter of life and death. Even if the person in question had reached the age of puberty, he would have hidden it and claimed to be a child in order to save his life. Although the growth of pubic hair, mustache and beard is not a definite sign of puberty, it is a measure. Therefore, the pubic hair, mustache and beard of the Jews were checked.

Upon the order of the Prophet (pbuh), all the warriors who had been sentenced to death were given food and drink before the execution and were allowed to read the Torah.

Four warriors who converted to Islam during the siege were saved from execution.

The narrator of the second hadith, Atiyya al-Qurazi was not killed but left as a prisoner because he was a child at that time. He later converted to Islam.

[reginaldqueribundus]

ok but I am gonna revisit this post bcuz @whitefangthefightingwolf pointed out the klingons and the klingon angle is still pretty funny

pov: you are the klingon empire, waiting on some important intel about these Suliban guys who are messing with your shit. your courier ends up on some planet you've never heard of, whose name translates as “dirt”, full of these weird apes called “humans”. they blow a hole in your guy, then patch him up and leave him on your doorstep with an apology. the guy says they fought the Suliban to save him, at great risk to themselves. it's weird, and kind of pisses you off, but you let it slide because you got bigger fish to fry.

but this one human ship keeps popping up – the same one that dropped off your courier. they rescue one of your ships. they steal some of your subjects, which their captain insists on protecting for some reason. you send him to prison and he immediately escapes. you track him down and he escapes again. you send three warships after him but he flies into the space bermuda triangle, and the one ship that follows him in never comes back.

a year later a group of human super-soldiers steal one of your ships and almost wipe out a colony. the humans blow them up and tell you it was an illegal subrace of super-humans and the humans fought a whole war about it a hundred years ago blah blah blah. none of it makes any sense. what are they gaining from all this? why are humans so weird? so you start looking at the DNA from the wreckage. and what you find is scary. these “augments” are stronger, tougher and faster than any klingon warrior. the ones who stole your ship and killed its entire crew were just kids. if the humans have more of these, the empire is screwed. you start messing with it, trying to make super-klingons… and instead get a virus that kills thousands of your people and turns millions more into humans. what the fuck. and ofc then you watch them beat the hell out of the Romulans.

then you get busy with your Game of Thrones shit for barely a century and suddenly the humans are in your backyard. and the Andorians and Vulcans are apparently working for them now. they have their own empire, but they call it a Federation, and it's vacuumed up everything between you and Planet Dirt, but by making friends instead of kicking ass. it's weird and you're scared they'll try to make friends with you next, so you attack them as hard as you can. and you're kicking their asses! but they invent a ship that can basically teleport, stick a bomb up your planet's ass, hand you the detonator and tell you to leave them alone. and you do, for awhile. and your new leader is fucking a human, and it's weird. but you keep running into this Federation everywhere you go, getting in your way, so you attack them again and this time they have actual gods protecting them. some bearded guy appears in the middle of your high council and says you're not allowed to fight the humans, and they're not allowed to fight you. and all your guns stop working, so you sign the damn peace treaty and play Settlers of Catan against them instead.

20 years later you're not technically at war with them, but you're also not not at war, and then you find out they built a bomb that turns planets into colonies. and there were more of those damn augments involved too. you think, for sure this is it: the humans are going to send their armies of super-soldiers to turn your cities into dog parks. you send a guy (Kruge) to learn more about this “”“genesis”“” thing but he fucks it all up and dies, and then you hear the planet bomb supposedly doesn't work anyway. you don't believe any of this but then you accidentally Chernobyl yourself with an exploding moon. you're in serious trouble now. so you think maybe you'll talk to the Federation and agree to stop pointing guns at them every time they drive by. and they want to help you clean up the mess. it's infuriating. but despite an assassination or two you finally hash it out with them and agree to leave each other the hell alone. and 50 years after that, the Romulans attack one of your planets and no one comes to help except a ship full of humans, who all get killed protecting you. and you start to think hey… maybe these guys aren't so bad…

(and if the timey wimey stuff in Enterprise is to be believed, eventually you join the friendship club too)

the Federation itself as a concept is so funny because the founding members are

the Vulcans, who have been friends with humanity for years but don't seem to actually like them all that much, instead regarding them with a sort of perverse fascination usually reserved for virology labs

the Andorians, who were fighting the Vulcans for like a hundred years

the Tellarites, who don't like any of these people and whose cultural trait is arguing, and

humans, whom nobody knew existed until last century when they shot themselves into space on a heavily modified nuke, invented world peace and won a fight with the nearest imperial superpower

like imagine you're the Romulan Empire and these weird monkeys who've barely figured out interstellar travel show up on your doorstep in the equivalent of a shipping container with missiles strapped to it, kick your ass in front of everybody, and then start a friendship club with 3 of your neighbours who all hated each others' guts until like a year ago. now I understand why every Romulan on the show is so angry

[kootenaygoon]

So,

Before changing ownership a decade previous, Tony’s Taphouse had been a biker bar called the Civic. Notorious for its rough clientele and routine bouts of violence, and for harbouring regulars who acted like nocturnal animals, most locals knew it as the Zoo. It had been the preferred haunt for the Hell’s Angels, who had long since been banned from the premises. 

“It took us a long time to turn things around,” my boss told me one night, while I manned the door for a Val Kilmer and the New Coke concert. A crowd of twenty-somethings were smoking all around us.

“Whenever we tried to get people to behave they’d say ‘don’t you know this is the Zoo?’ And I would say ‘yes, and I’m the new zookeeper’.”

My boss reminded me of a small child in an enormous body, slightly immature and with a propensity for breaking stuff. He had a reputation for overdoing things, to the point that the Nelson Police Department had nailed him for multiple assault charges. The other bouncers told me he was well known for choke-slamming unruly patrons into unconsciousness, which was the reason he was no longer allowed to assist us when we ejected the city’s shitheads and drunks. The guy was easily 300 pounds, and scary as hell when provoked. The rest of the time he was an amiable teddy bear, quick to laugh and always game to sing “Chocolate Salty Balls” from South Park at karaoke, much to the chagrin of his embarrassed wife. 

Most of my shifts were spent alongside a fellow ginger beard named Luke who liked playing bad cop to my good cop. During the day he worked at a pet food store, and he was well-known as a huge softie when it came to animals. While I had a tendency to treat Tony’s like my own personal Cheers, he was monosyllabic and ominous. Late into the night we would hang by the entrance swapping jokes and taking turns shovelling back lettuce wraps and chicken strips, clad in all black.

Eventually I suggested we should update our uniforms. There was a local barber named Chris Brach who bounced at Spiritbar and I admired how he dressed and carried himself like an old-school gentleman. We ultimately settled on matching vests with dress button-down shirts, with each bouncer choosing their favourite colour. I chose a blood red that was almost purple, while Luke went with sky blue. Eventually the whole team adopted this new look, making the whole place that much classier. 

Working at Tony’s gave me a whole new perspective on Nelson. I knew who was doing drugs, who was cheating on their spouse, and who was banned from the premises until they came grovelling back to the owners. The Nelson Leafs were preening and omnipresent as peacocks, and in the early hours of the evening I’d encounter the more wholesome members of society as they engaged in events like paint night. Sometimes people would approach me with the latest issue of the Nelson Star, commenting on stories or complimenting me on the cover photo. The print edition was becoming increasingly irrelevant, but Tony’s was one of the few places I could regularly see people consuming it alongside their beer.

From where we stood during our shifts, we looked out at a sports bar that took up the ground floor of the Adventure Hotel. Because we were open later than any other establishment in Nelson, we would watch as the late night crowd funnelled in our direction. Crowds of drunk twenty-somethings would march diagonally across the intersection, ignoring the cross-walks, and it was our job to interpret whether or not they could come into Tony’s based on their lurching gait. Some would nod solemnly when we denied them access, while others would whip themselves into deranged frenzies. They would scream their threats to the uncaring black sky, or demand to talk to the owners. These people pissed me off.

“You’re a good bouncer and everyone loves you, but the other staff have told me you have a tendency to go from zero to sixty pretty quick,” my other boss told me, during a performance review. She was the owner.

“We don’t think it’s a problem, but it’s something we want you to watch out for. Obviously this job can be stressful at times, so it’s up to you to keep your temper in check. It’s about customer service.”

Though there were plenty of threats of violence at Tony’s, it was rare that we actually had to put our hands on people. Most were cowed into submission by our size, and knew they had to play nice if they wanted continued access to the bar. We tried to kill them with kindness, calling them cabs and reassuring them that they’d be welcomed back once they sobered up. More than once I found myself consoling despondent drunks who were horrified by their own behaviour, going through a break-up, or grieving. Some were so confused and inebriated they didn’t know how to get home. I came to love these idiots, or at least most of them, because I considered them part of the Tony’s family.

The most interesting employee was a behemoth brute named Gordo, a holdover from the days of the Zoo, who looked exactly like a bearded Bobby Baccala. The female staff adored him because of his gentle, benevolent presence. He made people feel safe. He wasn’t a bouncer anymore because, like my boss, he’d gone overboard a few too many times. He lived downstairs and oversaw the daily operations, and was only called to help during emergencies. He was the type of guy you didn’t want to fuck with, ever. He loved Tony’s and everyone on staff intensely, and if violence was needed he was more than capable of dispensing it. I’d never met someone with such a fascinating mix of kindness and malevolence to his personality, and I admired how effectively he funnelled his anger in appropriate directions.

One night, during a slow period, he stood out on the street and regaled me with stories of his bouncing days in Toronto. During those years he’d been stabbed and shot multiple times, a fact he delivered with a shy chuckle.

“This one guy was shaking my hand, right? And with his other hand he stabbed me right here,” Gordo said, pointing to his rib cage.

“So I pulled him close to me and snapped his elbow backwards, just like this.”

Gordo recreated the scene with a smile on his face, demonstrating how the guy’s arm had bent the wrong way while the bones snapped and popped. He’d regained control of the situation while the knife was still plunged hilt-deep into his side. He laughed and wiped his eyes, remembering.

“I was a lot bigger back then, if you can imagine that. So the knife didn’t end up doing much damage. It didn’t hit anything significant. Meanwhile this guy’s a puddle on the ground in front of me, whimpering like a little girl.”

When I wasn’t on the door, I would work my way slowly through the lounge area and out to the back patio where people were allowed to smoke. There was a row of comfortable couches and a long counter where people could pull up stools and drink under the gaze of Elephant Mountain. At times I couldn’t believe I was being paid to socialize, and the dance floor playlist introduced me to a new favourite artist: a young Swedish woman named Tove Lo. If we’re talking body, she sang, You got a perfect one so put it on me. If you do me right, we’ll fuck for life, on and on and on. 

Paisley had finally moved home to be with her parents, and her absence had proven to be a boon to my mental health. I still missed my dogs desperately but I was finally free to move on without her constant surveillance and gossip. I decided early on that I wouldn’t date anyone on staff, but there was no shortage of young women who would find excuses to linger by the door or stand outside smoking, sizing me up. Most nights I was still ending up at Natalya’s, where I would crawl into her bed and cap the night off with an early morning fuck in the dark. She’d leave her front door unlocked and we’d pant through our routine without speaking a word. She’d resigned herself to the fact I wasn’t interested in anything beyond that, and she never bothered me with small talk. We had what we had, and that was it.

The sleep deprivation involved with working at Tony’s ended up meaning that I spent most of my weekends asleep, recovering in Brendan’s basement and only leaving the house for necessities. Sunday was my only day off, and I needed that down time to get in the right headspace for the Star. I had a couple of ambitious series going on, including one about the Columbia River Treaty, and I needed my mental faculties operating properly to adequately approach these subjects. I could sense that Ed was growing tired of my rock star attitude and reluctance to put in a full 40-hour work week. I kept finding myself asking why I was still there, but I didn’t have another option available. Both jobs and housing were scarce in Nelson, and I was barely holding on.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” I told my friend Tia one night. She worked at the Hume Hotel but had started her own business called Wurst Dog. We’d been discussing whether I could find some sort of entrepreneurial gig to transition to once I was finished with journalism.

“You just have to take a chance and jump, kid,” she said. “Then see where you land. I’m sure there’s all kinds of people in this town who would give you a job doing social media or something.”

“Or maybe I could be a full-time bouncer and write on the side? Finally finish my manuscript? I dunno.”

Tia smiled and mussed my hair.

“I believe in you,” she said. “You’ve got this.”

The Kootenay Goon

[invisibletoallbutfaeries]

Prayer

Family Focus: The O'Malley’s

Word Count: 2,220

Page count: Just over 7 pages

Brief: Now that the plague crisis is over, Hern is still adjusting to life on Gaia with knowledge of the magical. His family has gone with the village herbalist to buy a dog on Earth, leaving Hern to watch over Kyra’s dogs and wonder about how he will handle having a new dog of his own. 

    Hern went about his daily routine: feed the Yale, ensure that Hanon the stag is doing well and check the does to see if Hanon had been getting up to anything the night before. Clean what farm he had, eat breakfast, clean the house, chores from around the village, repeat. Usually he’d ask his children to help, but they’d been gone for about five days with their mother and the village herbalist to look for a pet dog. Domestic dogs hadn’t been found on Gaia yet, so they needed to go to Earth to see if there was an adoptable one from the few number there.

They’d been living on this planet for so long Hern himself had forgotten how things were back on Earth. He hoped well, things moved so fast there from what he remembered though. Time slowed here on Gaia. It was usually peaceful enough that he wouldn’t worry about having a dog or not. Especially in the last year or so.

Then his wife Brighid reminded him that they’d gone 20 years under a curse after their son ate the wrong berries. Recently more magical shenanigans had began appearing around the house due to faeries of all sorts deciding the farm was their playground. The pixies were the worst. Once they discovered that Yale could produce milk when they were happy and cared for rather than just for young they became insistent that they should have some as well. They’d even harassed the yale about it and broken into Hern’s store rooms to leave spilled milk everywhere in their quest for a thimble of it. Due to treaties he couldn’t hurt the Fae on his farm unless they attempted to physically harm him first, so he’d been going through a lot of salt in an attempt to passive aggressively dissuade them from messing with the farm as much.

After some time he couldn’t argue with his wife’s insistence to get a dog. If anything the biggest arguments for him were that it would help keep the children to be safe, and Bran out of trouble, and he could have help when taking care of the Yale herd or even hunting with Arkas and his nephew.

He still felt tired just thinking of trying to raise a 13 year old, a 10 year old, and a dog at the same time though. Especially when 10 year old Bran had a habit for mischief. He may look like he was in his 30s, but Hern was chronologically in his 60s. He felt he should be allowed to claim being too old for some things….if Brighid would ever let him. His bonnie wife was older than him, she probably wouldn’t. It was the 31st century though, maybe he could manage to convince her that tiredness of the soul trumped the youth of the body. She had a younger soul, that’d be his excuse.

    At the sound of yipping Hern looked up from washing his dishes. The herbalist, Kyra, had left him with her two dogs so he’d get used to having canines and so she didn’t need to look for a dog sitter. He spotted the little one, a small ball of fluff with fairly impressive eyebrows around his little black eyes. He was tiny, but still a puppy. Kyra said there was a good chance he was already at his full size though, making his eyebrows and the hint of a beard all the more impressive as he looked like a small wise man. He was pretty sure she’d said his name was “Marcus Alexander”.

The small dog began to bark when he realized Hern was looking at him, running up to him and trying to climb his leg in an effort to be picked up. He didn't make it very far after he’d climbed the man’s foot. Hern chuckled and dried his hands before picking up the black and white fluff ball, the puppy barely fitting in one hand. Which it began to incessantly lick. It was an excitable thing.

“Stop tha’ please,” Hern sighed, petting the top of it's head and gently trying to pull it's face away from his wrist from the pressure of the patting. Marcus seemed to get the idea and stopped, now just talking to him in small “awooo-oo-oo”s and wagging his curly tail. Hern laughed as the pup talked continuously.

“You’d be no good for huntin’, little guy. Too noisy. A Fae’d find ya right quick and scoop ya up, let alone a bunny or deer catching wind of ya before we spot it.” The fluff with eyebrows responded with a yip. Hern chuckled and decided to bring the pup with him for his other chores. He could probably watch him while he cleaned out Brighid’s smithy. He wasn’t sure where Sweets, Kyra’s giant hound, was. Nor did he know how the hound could disappear like he did, though he did make for a better guard dog than Marcus.

    After searching the house for Sweets, Hern figured the big dog could handle itself and instead carried Marcus outside to help him with cleaning the smithy. The little pup proved more useful than expected, as he was happy to carry any dirty rags to the buckets and make a big pile or to jump into beginning cobwebs, though Hern wasn’t sure if he did that on purpose or simply didn’t see the webs before trotting through them. Hern couldn’t help but laugh as he cleaned up his wife’s tools and working space, wondering how she could handle all the soot and dust. Then again he dealt with animals and their dung, so perhaps he shouldn’t question her grime of choice.

What if the dog they chose slobbered though? He would draw the line at slobbering. What if it was as much of a licker as Marcus? He watched the pup jump into a dust pile, yipping excitedly the whole while. What if the new dog was big but had the same energy as Marcus? Could he handle a teenage girl, an 10-year old boy, and an excitable bulldozer of a dog at the same time? What if it was a brand new puppy with no training whatsoever? Could he train a dog? Brighid would help him, maybe Kyra too, but how would he adjust to training a dog? How much could his children train it? How much would they have to adjust?

He was getting tired again.

As the sun reached the western sky, leaving everything in a soft orange glow of afternoon, he heard a loud, deep bark echo throughout the smithy. From the trills of the yale he figured they heard the menacing sound as well. Behind him Sweets had appeared, the black hound blending in with the shadows and staring at Hern with amber eyes that near reflected red in the afternoon sun. It stood, turning it's wolf like face towards the road leading to town, where a small group could be seen approaching.

    Hern grabbed a cloth and wiped his hands as he walked up to stand next to Sweets, barely registering how the dog began to lick soot off of Marcus when the pup followed. The group up ahead had several red-headed individuals and a brunette who he recognized as Sweet and Marcus’ owner. Next to her was a 10 year old boy who stood a head shorter than her, a slightly taller young girl, and a strong, beautiful, heavy set woman who he knew could not keep her smithy clean to save her life. His family. How he missed them. His wife was even singing in her bonnie voice.

Lead her to a place,

Guide her with your grace,

To a place where she’ll be safe

In five days he’d almost forgotten how often she sang that song. He really wished she’d learn a different one. There was only so many times one could hear “A Mother’s Prayer” throughout the day. Brigid was even trying to mimic the ancient singer Celin Dion, despite her heavy Irish accent getting in her way and not lending well to mimicking a Canadian one. He was already tired.

Walking between the group was a pale golden....dog? Small fluffy deer? It was tall as far as Hern could see, almost as tall as Sweets, who’s shoulder almost matched with Hern’s elbow. Hern was 5’9”, it wasn’t a small feat for the huge dog. It even had a similar barrel-body look, despite the long thin legs. It's head was small and almost looked like a crows skull, but with a big black dog nose at the end. The hound looked as tired as Hern felt though, he already felt a kinship with it.

He and the two dogs that were with him began walking to meet the group at the front door, Kyra greeting her dogs with pets and kisses as Marcus practically lept from Hern’s side into her arms and Sweets simply silently trotted up to her and licked her hand in kind. Bran and Branwen ran up to him, both excitedly telling him all about what they’d seen back on Earth, how Branwen was so happy she didn’t have visions, all the dogs they’d seen, etc. Neither could seem to agree on a subject to stay on, either with each other or themselves. Brighid began laughing, staying by their new dog and petting it's head as it sat down to rest.

“I’m so glad you’re all home! It sounds like ya all had an adventure, but you might wanna slow down before you gobble up your own words there.” At his teasing and laughter both children stopped. Before they could begin again he quickly asked “can ya introduce me to our new family member here?” He gestured to the dog, who looked up at him with big brown eyes. It's floppy ears lifted up a bit at being acknowledged and it's breathing sped up, it's big chest heaving up and down. Hern spotted a long fluffy tail wagging behind it as well. A straight one, unlike the dogs he’d been watching for the past five days. Brighid got her word in before their children could go into, what was undoubtedly, long winded stories of how they found her and probably long tales. Knowing Bran it probably included ninjas and pirates somewhere, and knowing Branwen an amazon or a Conan the Barbarian look-alike might appear in her story.

“She’s apparently from Borzoi and Afghan lines, started breeding them together to make them more healthy. They’re hunting and sighthound breeds though, so she’ll do well on the farm and watching the kids both.” The breed sounded fancy, but then again any dog on Earth was fancy now. Even Sweets, who was technically a mutt with a scary wolf face but silly curly tail. Once his children let go of him Hern approached the dog, getting a closer look at the tall little lady. She looked young, or at least like she wasn’t particularly old, but she looked to be full grown and intelligent enough. When he knelt in front of her she even stood up, her front paws pacing slightly a few times before she stood still and pretty, her big brown eyes trained on him. He could tell that behind her tiredness was an excitement that would probably have the tall girl running if she could. She was a pretty thing, athletic looking too. When her breathing got heavier he heard Kyra laugh to the side.

“I think she’s still getting used to the oxygen levels here. Should be ok, but I’d let her get some rest for a few days until she’s used to the easier breathing.” He looked over to see her standing now, one hand on Sweets while the other was smoothing the fur between his dog’s ears. The dog calmed a bit, but she was still staring at Hern in anticipation, blinking every so often.

“She sounds like a good girl,” the golden dog barked happily, leaning over and licking his face. He’d have to train her outta that. “She got a name yet?”

“I’ve named her Prayer,” Brighid proudly proclaimed. When he shot her a look she began laughing almost maniacally. “I’m going to go make her a water and food bowel! I’ll go to town and get help making a collar and leash tomorrow!” before Hern could protest, having JUST cleaned her smithy, she was already gone and bouncing excitedly off to work. She was even loudly singing “A Mother’s Prayer” the whole way, not quite keeping in key which meant she was purposely messing with him, despite having actually named the dog after the song.

Hern sighed, sitting fully on the ground and wondering how things could go from quiet to boisterous so quickly. Prayer walked up and layed next to him, putting her long slender head in his lap. He couldn’t help but smile down at her and pet her, causing her to wag her tail again, it hitting his back like a whip. The small upturn of her lips and the excited panting she did made it hard to get upset with the hound though, and instead he simply kept petting her. It was only moments before his children were sitting on the other side of the dog, Branwen hugging her neck and Bran petting her back. Both were excitedly talking about all the trips they’d go on with the dog, dismissing their father when he warned them from breaking rules. Kyra was laughing and excused herself to head home with her dogs, leaving the small family to sit on their front lawn, petting their new dog, and discussing the children’s trip to Earth.

By the time it got dark Brighid called them in for dinner. The children ran in but Hern slowly led Prayer in, letting her relax and get used to her surroundings first, even getting her one of their nicer bowels to eat in for the night since Brighid hadn’t finished Prayer’s personal bowls. When his wife mentioned she might have bloating troubles, Hern kept an extra eye on the hound to make sure she was drinking and eating nice and slowly. He didn’t want her to hurt herself. Brighid teased him about treating the dog like a baby. By bedtime Prayer joined the kids for a bit, though eventually she found her way to Brigid and Hern’s bed, curling herself between them at the foot. Hern was beginning to see that keeping Prayer around might be less of a change than he thought, and found himself enjoying his excited hound more and more every morning.

[nerdqueenkat]

At Last

Wattpad version here. Prologue here.

Ch. 1

It was quiet here. He liked that. Gabriel had practically sworn off larger cities by now, staying to lower population towns. This meant that it could take longer for his search to find his soulmate, but after all, he had time to spare. Most of the beings that lived in the shadows fully integrated themselves into society.  Keeping to rules of their own kind. Treaties were formed and now most of the world had well hidden, civil monsters. It was a laughable thought. Who knew that when Mark became famous that there would be so many different versions of his inner mind? 

Stepping out into the night, the sun had just set and he thought of how long he had searched for his soulmate. Years and years. There was no set age or amount of time passed to determine when soulmates would meet. There were just too many variables. The only definite thing being that the person was out there. Somewhere. Something in him was ignited when he set foot in this small northern town,  and he was bound and determined to find out why. First things first, Gabriel smiled as he set off down the street, he needed to find something to drink.

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

"Hold on to your beard Micheal, I'll be up there in a minute." Ciara McLaughlin laughed at the large, bearded drummer for the band that played nightly. The man shook his head and went back to properly aligning the speaker system, the rest of the band tuning and fiddling with their instruments. The small Irish girl moved quickly from behind the bar, tray bigger than most dared to carry on her shoulder. She smiled politely at the table of guys as she handed out several draft beers. The bar, Gryphon's, was a small family run Irish pub in the center of town. She had applied as a bartender/ waitress there one of the first days she moved into town. Peter Donovan, or Papa Bear, as he liked to be called, was adamant on hiring her right away. She needed the money and was grateful to have a friendly enough job, though one of the requirements as of late did nothing for her nerves.

Every Wednesday night, Papa Bear put her up on the small corner stage to sing. He heard her one night as they were closing and ever since he was sure to put her up. While it did bring more customers, it made her uneasy to be watched. It never boded well in the past and it was sure that her bad luck would catch up to her. As she set the last drink down, the man at the table eyed her up and down. He smelled of alcohol and she recognized that look.  It made her stomach turn. She had seen this man before in the pub and knew that he watched her often. She was quick to retreat behind the bar and into the back room to take off her apron and fix her make-up so that she could get on stage.

Ciara stopped at the mirror over the sink, hand ghosting over the left side of her black turtleneck sweater. Where her soul words were. The idea wasn't enticing like most girls thought it was. To her, it was a scary idea of her not amounting to expectations. She knew that she wasn't much to look at. Brown eyes that were too large and too dark, Messy brown hair that she barely managed to tame into a long french braid down her back, black-rimmed glasses that seemed to both distract from and accent the smattering of freckles across her pale face.

What would her soulmate see when he saw her? She hated that she wasn't tall, or blonde, or exotic looking. She was short, some would say tiny, and a bit on the curvy side. Ciara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 'Stop this.' She thought as she opened her eyes to look back at her reflection. Reapplying her dark lipgloss and a small bit of eyeliner, she fixed her necklace and turned to head back out to the bar. Tonight she would sing and hopefully ignore the eyes that made her feel like disappearing. Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad.

Ciara took the stage with a hefty applause from the people that filled the small bar. She gave a shy smile and looked to nod at Darren, the guitarist, to start. The beginning notes of The Pretty Reckless's song Heaven knows fired up and she closed her eyes for a moment to get into the headspace to sing. As she tapped her foot and began to sing, the crowd clapped to the beat of the song and she let herself fall into the music.

She couldn't see the faces of the people behind the lights pointed at the stage, but she felt eyes on her as she swayed and belted out the song that taken her all of only one day to learn.  She put it to the back of her brain, thinking it was only her usual paranoia. Ciara didn't know of the intoxicated man in the booth watching her every move with vile thoughts in his head. She didn't see him, or the other slightly taller man in the back of the bar that had already singled out the drunken man for his dinner that night.

[crystallinecrimsonmoth]

Future Serial Killer [ongoing]

Chapter 21

‘Darling…’

‘No.’

‘He won’t leave until you talk to him, you know that.’

‘Then shoot him until he goes away.’ Carl grumbled into the crook of Negan’s neck, still lying comfortably on his chest.

It was the morning after Rick had shown up at the door and shot at the older man, ending up with a bullet in his own arm and a broken nose for his troubles, and Carl had been dragging his feet on seeing him all night and through the morning, reaching ten o’clock without leaving the bedroom.

Negan had woken early at eight to find hands wrapped around his throat and the angry little shit riding him like his life depended on it, taking out his frustration with sex once again. He wasn’t complaining per se, because the kid did have a nice little ass that fit his dick perfectly, but regardless of how much stamina he had, Carl would be lucky to get three erections out of his man on an average day.

This fact didn’t seem to have much impact on Carl’s desperation though, as he still used Negan as a method of letting out his anger whenever he was pissed off, erection or not. It would be flattering if it weren’t also scary, the dark look in his young lover’s eyes giving him a new kind of fear that he hadn’t experienced before.

Carl was dangerous, likely more dangerous than himself, and that made Negan both terrified and so fucking in love all at once.

He ran a hand through the kid’s hair, tugging out the knots gently as the teen’s nose pressed up against the pulse point of his neck, letting out deep breaths of warm air onto his skin.

He knew Rick was a danger to the Sanctuary, always had been, and that he’d killed more than sixty of his people – but he was still Carl’s dad, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of letting the kid kill his own father, no matter how bad he was.

‘We’re not shooting anybody, Carl. You have to talk to him, it’s the only way the alliance will work.’ He insisted, petting his cheek to keep the boy calm, but

Carl slapped him away, sitting up and getting off the bed so he couldn’t pull him back into his arms.

‘I don’t want an alliance, I don’t want a treaty, I don’t want him fucking here!’ The teen snapped as he pulled on the denim shorts he’d picked out from the new clothing haul, tugging Negan’s old green hoodie over his head viciously.

‘Carl, calm down-’

‘-no! He’ll ruin it, Negan! I have peace here, I don’t have to sleep half-awake because the security’s shit or it’s an open camp, I’m not in danger five floors above ground in a warm bed! But I will be if you let him in-’

‘-Killer, he isn’t going to ruin that. I won’t let him.’ Negan reassured but it did nothing to quell the tears starting to well in the teen’s eye.

‘He won’t let me stay with you.’ Was all Carl said, his usually grumpy exterior breaking down at the thought of losing his life with the man.

Negan watched him lose his cool with a heavy heart, sitting up and going over to the boy. He lifted him up into his arms, legs around his waist, and stroked his beloved’s cheek as he stared back at him with his one watery blue eye.

‘I wouldn’t let anyone, no matter who the fuck they think they are, take you away from me. You’re mine, and you belong here. You are old enough to make your own decisions.’

That made Carl go quiet for a moment. Negan watched him think about his words before his soft fingers were rubbing on his beard, running through the fine grey and black hairs. The teen looked so focused on stroking his face and beard that it made him chuckle, and he moved his arm further up on Carl’s back to keep him steady.

‘I appreciate the beard massage, little lamb. Are you okay now?’ He purred, running his hand across one of the smooth thighs wrapped around him.

The young man’s face flushed red when he touched his thigh, and he nodded barely, the movement imperceptible to anyone further away than a foot. Negan kept stroking back and forth on his thigh as he replied.

‘I’m okay. I’ll talk to him, but you can’t come because I want to know what he really thinks without being threatened. Then I’ll know whether I can trust him.’

Negan nodded with a sigh.

‘Okay, darling. But you’ll take Lucille to keep you safe.’ He told him in a firm tone of voice, narrowing his eyes at the teen until he pressed a kiss to his cheek, dainty hands cupping his jaw.

‘Okay, daddy.’ He murmured, licking Negan’s upper lip to elicit a groan from him.

‘You know just how to tease me, don’t you, little lamb?’

Carl nodded, his cheeks blotched with the red blush because of his damaged skin, and he kissed Negan again, this time on the lips.

‘I know. Can I wear your jacket? To show my allegiance to your cause…’ The teen replied in a breathy whisper, lulling the older man into a sense of security while he nodded, entranced by his gaze until he was being kissed rough and needy, his lamb’s thighs clenching tighter around his hips.

They kissed like that for at least thirty seconds before the younger pulled away, pecking his cheek.

‘I’m going to see my dad now.’

‘No, just kiss me again, leave him down there to rot. Don’t ever stop kissing me…’ Negan held him tighter, leaning forward to kiss him again and groaning when his lips moved further away.

Carl just grinned at him, jumping down from his waist, and changing into a shirt and the jacket. Then he tossed a sultry glare over his shoulder, eyeing Negan up.

‘I think you should give me another bruise, Neeg, the one on my throat is fading.’ He murmured, letting out a giggle when the man moved faster than the speed of sound to attach his lips to his neck.

His already marked thighs shook at the sound of his slurping wet tongue on his skin, the scratch of his beard making Carl weak at the knees. Once the hickey was dark enough, Negan let him go, kissing his forehead.

‘Your dad’s in the prison, I had him moved before he woke up.’

‘Okay…’ Carl purred softly, pecking his cheek once more before picking up Lucille.

‘Bye, daddy!’

Carl wandered down the basement hallway with light footsteps, walking made easier and more comfortable with the lighter shoes Negan had gotten him. He kept Lucille on his shoulder, glad she was with him in case his dad did something psychotic and tried to hurt him, and kept a firm grip on her handle.

‘You’re not supposed to be down here, princess.’

He glared at the man leaning against the wall to his right, observing him standing there with a glower on his disgusting face. The teen still hated all of his boyfriend’s men. All of them were rough and greasy, with no manners and a tendency to sneer at him whenever he passed by. Now one of them had the bravery to use one of Negan’s personal nicknames for him. He didn’t fucking like that.

‘Excuse me? Call me that again and I’ll cut your nut-sack off.’ Carl snarled at him, baring his teeth and tucking his hair back away from his socket to look more threatening.

The guy just smirked at him, leaning forward off the wall and approaching him.

‘Yeah? You’re a feisty little thing. I’ve heard you’re a real whore for the boss’s cock. Maybe you’re desperate enough to take mine too.’ The teen gulped as he was pinned up against the edge of the nearest cell, blinking at the man and trying to figure out where he could cut him deep enough to kill him.

He tilted his head before giving the fucker a little smirk, running his finger down his cheek, and grimacing at the way he didn’t have facial hair like Negan’s to scrape through.

‘I don’t think you could handle me, sir.’ He murmured, slipping the knife in his belt into his stomach and slicing across his torso as Negan had once done to Spencer, spitting onto his face.

‘I fucking despise people like you.’ Carl hissed, dropping his body to the ground, and letting him bleed out as he wandered up the hallway to find his dad’s cell, smirking at the sound of wolf whistles from the other prisoners.

It took him a few minutes, lost in the number of cells there were in the basement, until he finally found Rick’s cell, seeing the man sitting up and awake, staring at the wall across from his cell.

‘Hey, dad.’

‘Carl… oh hell no.’ Rick shook his head, looking away from him when he saw what he was wearing.

Carl frowned.

‘What?’

Rick let out a laugh that made Carl’s shoulders sag.

‘You look like Negan’s little bitch. It’s disgusting. After what he did to Glenn and Abraham? And you carry around the bat he used to do it?’

Carl’s heart hurt from that comment, but he disregarded it in favour of fighting about the insult. He didn’t see the point in dwelling on past mistakes.

‘I’m not his fucking bitch. He loves me, he protects me, I’m safe here.’

‘You were safe with me!’

‘You were going to let him kill me! He told you he was going to kill me, and you didn’t do anything, you didn’t even acknowledge it-’

‘-I was trying to act like a leader!’

‘While failing as a fucking father!’ Carl snapped back, his fist shaking by his side as he gripped Lucille tighter in his other hand.

Crystal tears were dripping from his lashes, staining the concrete floor under his feet as he tried to hold back his upset. He listened to his father’s breath stutter and stepped back when he heard footsteps approach him.

‘Carl.’

‘No. He protects me, he cares about me, I don’t feel unsafe around him. I feel good for the first time in my life and I’m happy.’ The teen insisted, still shaking and gripping Lucille tighter for some support.

‘So, you’re a whore for a paedophile?’

Carl saw red when those words left Rick’s lips and used the prison keys at the guard desk to open the cell, hitting him square in the face.

‘He’s not a paedophile!’ He hissed, wrestling his dad to the ground, and hitting him harder with every punch.

‘I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!’ He cried as he just kept hitting him, tears streaming down his face.

He beat his face until he couldn’t breathe anymore, his vision so blurred from tears that he couldn’t tell if the man was still alive. He just had to get out of there, to get away from his dad’s bleeding face, and he stumbled as he stood, escaping the cell.

Carl ran in what he thought was the direction of his bedroom until he found himself back at the door, his heart racing. He walked into the room, covered in blood from punching Rick and heard a faint version of Negan’s voice speaking to him.

‘What have you done, little lamb?’

The teen hesitated, his grazed hands twitching before he replied in a quiet voice.

‘I think I killed him.’

[naomyart]

Chapter 1: Both Kingdoms

I was still too young to understand, my father always told me that underworld people were mean, and all they wanted was our lands because life down there was too miserable for them. And that they wouldn’t hesitate to take away our kingdom from us, however…

The look in that man was totally different from what my father told my sister and me. He arrived one day, escorted by a few soldiers, he was tall with long gray hair and a beard which barely kept the blond color once it had, he wasn’t scary, instead, he portrayed a tender look along with a gentle smile, after him two more people arrived, a gorgeous woman with white hair, her smile was as tender as his or even more, I didn´t know why it reminded me of my own mother, I felt a twinge in my heart and I believe that Chara remembered her too, since I could feel how she held my hand with a hard grip.

I looked down for a moment and found a little boy stuck hidden behind the woman’s dress, I’m pretty sure it was his son since they shared the same color of hair, he was about the same age as my sister was, he looked at us and I couldn’t help smiling at him, he looked so cute, he hid back again behind his mother’s dress peeking out while walking towards the throne’s hall instead of where my father was waiting.

-        Who are they? My sister asked our babysitter who was taking care of us at that moment.

-        They are the underworld’s royal family, they came to sign a peace treaty with the king- she replied as strict as always, she used to be kind with us but also severe enough to raise two 10 year old girls. – meaning… they don’t want to fight us? – I asked, doubtful, they are supposed to be mean, right?

-        I’m not sure, that will depend upon the agreement they make with the King, let’s go to the garden in the meantime- she held our hands and took us far away from the castle entrance, I couldn’t see the royal family from the distance anymore and I was wondering what will happen with them, I’m sure my father will hear them, he is too kind with us, even after our mom passed away he took care of us and played with us on his free time, he was a good father and an understandable king.

Chara and me played in the garden, we used to do crown flowers while our baby sitter read us a book, at that moment, Chara stared at the garden’s door, I turned around and saw that kid again looking at us peeping behind the door. – How long has he been there? – Hey! Do you want to play with us? – Chara looked at me annoyed, not so happy with my idea, but she kept quiet. The kid approached us in a shy way – Can I really play with you?.

-Absolutely! My name is Frisk and my sister’s name is Chara, What is your name? – I gave him the yellow flower crown I was holding in my hands, and he smiled looking at the flowers – My name is Asriel! –

 Present

That was the first time I met Asriel,               it didn’t take too long for us to be friends, they stayed for a few days in the castle, time enough for my sister and me to like them, and her mother Toriel,  she was an excellent cake cook and as tender as my mom. That man with kind look over there is King Asgor, he used to love our garden full of yellow flowers, all three of them were great people, however, I haven’t seen them again, a while after that, my lovely father became cold and distant, he kicked out Asriel’s family and declared war once again to people from the underworld, it’s been years since the war ended, completely momentarily, underworld people locked themselves behind a magical barrier locking passage to my father’s army, ending with the fighting at last.

-although… Was that what really happened?

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

:D  https://sansxfrisk-fanfiction-corner.tumblr.com

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

HOWDY!

Many people asked me to translate Ragnartale into English, but I do not know English! So a friend helped me translate the chapters and I'm translating it with google T_T, but I hope you like the story to continue translating more chapters!

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 32 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical threat and violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Worries

"Well, for a Warden who's been at this for almost twenty-five years, you're in remarkable health, Warden Blackwall."

The bearded man frowned at her as he re-laced his gambeson. "What do you mean by that, mistress?" he asked warily. "Why, for a Warden?"

Rory raised her brow innocently. Don't you look nervous, Thom Rainier? "Most Wardens are touched by the Blight in some way," she explained, relying on her position as a healer to explain away the fact that she knew this. "You must have astonishing resistance. Have you heard the Calling yet?"

All right, perhaps it was a little mean of her to be saying this, but Rory thought the man deserved a chance to be honest with someone early on. She hadn't intended to be quite so blunt about it, but she'd overheard him commenting that morning to Harritt that a woman fighting on the front lines in war only made it uglier. She was feeling bristly on behalf of every female Inquisitor she had ever made, and Blackwall was getting short shrift because of it.

He was certainly looking a little cornered - apparently he really did know next to nothing about what truly made a Grey Warden. The Blight was scary enough in itself, but she could see him trying to work out what she meant by the Calling. The thoughts were obvious in his mind - had she recognized him somehow, or was she truly asking? Was she trying to trick him into revealing himself? All this passed through his expression in a flash, his decision made as he opened his mouth to answer.

"That's not something we talk about outside the Order, mistress," he told her mysteriously, holding onto his lie. He was daring her to denounce him as a liar, she could tell. She didn't dare; he had to unmask himself, or he would never throw off his disguise in response to Kaaras' hopefully good influence on him.

"I understand, Warden Blackwall," she assured him. Missed your chance to come clean on your own, dude. "However ..."

He stilled in the act of rising, dark eyes turning to her face in alarm. "Aye?"

Rory leaned forward, meeting his gaze as she lowered her voice. "I've heard you've brought the Grey Warden treaties to the Inquisition," she said with quiet sternness. "I don't think they should risk using them, do you? Since you are not a Grey Warden."

Blackwall's expression shut down entirely as he sat heavily on the stool once again. "And what makes you say that?" he asked in a dangerous tone, his hand twitching toward the sword at his side.

 Here's your moment, Rory. Don't let him know you know he's Thom Rainier. That's guaranteed to end badly - probably with you bleeding out right here.

"There's no trace of the Blight in your body," she told him, still quiet, as nonthreatening as she could be. "Every Warden is touched by the Blight. A Warden who has served as long as you ostensibly have should be showing signs of the advanced stages. There is a reason why Grey Wardens rarely serve more than thirty or so years, ser. Either you have only just joined their ranks, or you are no Warden at all. In both cases, you have no authority to use those treaties."

She watched him take this in; watched the panic recede as she made no mention of his assumed name or a past he was still hiding from. After all, she was a healer. If he could assure her that no harm would come from his deception, she wouldn't tell anyone that he wasn't who he said he was.

"I ... was intended for the Wardens," he told her, picking his words with care. "The man who recruited me - Blackwall - he was killed by darkspawn. None of the other Wardens knew he'd recruited me, and ... well, I was a wanted man. Many Wardens are before they join. I ... I took his name. Thought I could honor his sacrifice and stay safe at the same time. I never ... I won't let them use the treaties, mistress. You're right - if the truth came out ..."

"It could destroy the Inquisition's reputation," she agreed with a firm nod, glad he saw the danger he'd brought with his eagerness to please. She eyed his trapped expression, and sighed. "Look, it's none of my business who you were or what you're running from. My only concern is the well-being of the Inquisition. If you can promise me that no harm will come to the Inquisition from your past or present, I see no reason to reveal what I know."

Blackwall visibly relaxed as she offered him a get-out clause. "I'll set myself to keeping the treaties from being used," he promised her. "If you'll keep my secret, I'll make sure no harm comes from them."

Rory considered him for a moment. It wasn't ideal - yet another lie to keep - but it was better than the mess in-game those treaties caused. People were on edge enough without accidentally abusing Grey Warden privileges.

"You have my word," she said finally, hoping this wouldn't affect the dynamic of the inner circle.

But the misuse of the Grey Warden treaties had never sat well with her. The use and fall-out might be only shown on the war table, but having played The Warden in Origins, she was deeply protective of the Order, for all its faults. Despite his deception, though, Blackwall/Rainier meant no real harm. He was at least trying to be a better man, even under someone else's name.

"Thank you, mistress," he breathed, his relief palpable. "If ever I can do you a service, you will have my sword."

"Just give the Inquisition your loyalty, and we're even," she told him, relieved herself that this had gone so well. "But yes, aside from that sprain in your elbow, you're fighting fit. Try to rest your arm for a couple of days - take elfroot for the pain."

"I will." He nodded gratefully, rising from his seat once more. He gave her one last worried look, and turned on his heel to escape the clinic and her knowing gaze.

Here's hoping that doesn't have any catastrophic effects on the story. Rory sighed as she signed off on her report. It was odd - she'd never really had any strong feelings about Blackwall when she'd played the game, but face to face, she'd found herself very uneasy in his presence. Perhaps it was the sheer magnitude of the lie he was living under, or the knowledge that he had sanctioned the murder of children for money before leaving his men to suffer for his mistake. Everyone here was a killer, it was true, but Blackwall really felt like one. But then again, it was all subjective.

She glanced up as the door opened again, smiling at the sight of Luis balancing a tray which was loaded with plates and bowls - lunch for himself and Netta, and for their bed-bound patients.

"Need a hand?" she offered, rising to open the inner door for him.

"We've got this," he assured her as he edged past. "You should go and get your own. You know how the Herald gets when you miss meals."

"I thought the Herald was in conference with the council," she commented in confusion.

Luis shook his head, handing the tray to Netta. "Came out about an hour ago," he told her. "Prepping to head out in the morning; scuttlebutt says to Redcliffe. Someone saw that Tevinter in the Chantry before he headed off."

Rory frowned curiously. That must be Dorian, she thought, forcing herself not to smile in excitement. So Kaaras was going to the mages, after all. It was a relief to know that the Venatori were not going to get hold of a big army of magic users, but she couldn't help feeling a pang for the templars in Therinfal Redoubt being slowly corrupted by an Envy demon, helpless to fight the red lyrium in their philters. But it seemed that, even when the world was real, there was no room for compromise. Cullen must be doing his nut, she realized. At most, he had a month to prepare for the arrival of a large number of mages in the shadow of the Breach.

"Did you see the commander out there?" she asked Luis in concern.

He paused in the act of helping Netta prepare the patients to eat. "Uh, no, I don't think I did," he admitted thoughtfully. "He might still be in the Chantry."

I just bet he is, stoking his own paranoia. The prospect of abominations would definitely be playing on Cullen's mind, and with good reason. He'd lived through the worst that could possibly happen, after all. She couldn't blame him for his over-reaction to the imminent danger.

"All right," she said finally, rubbing her forehead. "I'll be back in about an hour - most likely in the Chantry if you need me."

"Right you are, mistress."

Leaving the two nurses to their work and their own lunch, Rory stepped out into the growing cold of Haven. It was strange to think that it must have been summer when she was dropped into this cold world - the seasons were turning, bringing even colder weather and more frequent snowstorms to the mountain village. Their greatest concern was keeping the pilgrims' camp sheltered from those winds; though more recruits arrived almost daily, the majority of the soldiers, agents, and horses were deployed across southern Thedas by now. Haven was diminished by their absence, and finally Rory could see around her a base of operations that was truly vulnerable to attack. She'd done all the preparation she could without rousing anyone's suspicion - four emergency packs now sat against the wall inside the clinic; she was making a habit of wearing a dress over her shirt and pants; she had a specific supply of triple distilled poppy juice on her person at all times. She sincerely hoped she wasn't going to have to use it, but if the clinic had patients unable to move when Corypheus attacked ...

These dark thoughts in mind, she joined the line for the kitchens, letting her eyes pass over the groups already eating, automatically seeking out familiar faces. Sera was sitting on top of the forge, dropping the vegetables she didn't want down to the sturdy Ferelden Forder in the pen below; Kaaras was sitting with Iron Bull, both deep in conversation with Krem. Cassandra seemed to have eaten already, beating a line of dummies into submission with a blunted practice sword; a pair of dark heads bent together between the tents behind her suggested that Rylen and Evy were either smooching or planning something. The other faces she considered to be closer friends were nowhere in sight, likely in the tavern or at work again. She did, however, offer Helene a sympathetic grimace when it came her turn to collect her lunch.

"You're still on kitchen duty?" she asked her friend as she held out her plate.

"The commander's not subtle when he's pissed at you," Helene intimated, shrugging diffidently.

"Two months is too much," Rory asserted. Helene really didn't deserve to still be paying for that mishap in Val Royeaux. "I'll talk to him. Has he eaten?"

Helene shook her head. "No sign of him," she told the healer in a resigned voice. "You want to take his, too?"

"I might as well," Rory agreed, watching as he friend laid another couple of skewers of roasted meat and vegetables on her plate. "See you later?"

Helene nodded. "One of these days, I'm going to get you sparring without dropping the sword and hiding behind your shield," she predicted, albeit with a teasing smile.

"I wish you the best of luck with that." Rory laughed, stepping away to retrace her steps into the village and up to the Chantry.

No one intercepted her on her way, for which she was grateful. Leliana and Josephine were talking in the spymaster's tent, the hopeful tension on their faces confirming the gossip Luis had relayed to her - Kaaras was going to Redcliffe. No wonder Cullen had failed to appear from the war room yet. Sleep was going to be even more of a struggle for a while, she guessed, inwardly bracing herself for more nightmares in the very near future. But that wasn't her immediate concern. No, her immediate concern was a harried-looking commander bent over the map table, who didn't even glance up as she entered.

"Take this to Knight-Captain Brycen," he ordered, thrusting a piece of parchment in her direction.

"Eat your lunch, and I'll think about it," Rory responded mildly, smiling as he raised his eyes from the table in surprise.

"Rory, I ... forgive me, I thought you were Jim," Cullen stammered apologetically, putting the parchment down.

"Because we're so alike," she teased, deliberately light. She set the plate down on the table. "If you ask me very nicely, I'll take it with me when you've eaten."

"Now is not the time for levity, Rory," he told her with a stern frown. "I have work to do."

"And at least four weeks to prepare for the mages," she countered. The alarm on his face prompted her to add, "Haven gossips worse than a tavern full of drunk dwarves, you know that. Kaaras is going back to Redcliffe; that means you've decided to ally with the mages. Eat your lunch."

"Circumstances took the decision away from us," he said wearily, reaching up to rub at his neck. She heard the vertebrae pop under his hand. Bath and massage tonight, then. "If we don't deal with the mages, we'll be leaving Ferelden with a foreign power holding territory within her borders."

"The decision was made for you," she answered calmly. "You have time to prepare, so there's no need to be skipping meals."

"There's too much to do," he tried to argue, but she wasn't having it.

"Cullen, if you don't eat, I am going to have to feed you," Rory told him, her turn to be stern. "And we both know that won't end well."

To her relief, that prompted a rueful smile. "I'd like to see you try," he commented, but obediently picked up a skewer and began to eat.

"Not today," she chuckled, moving to lean at his side as she, too, tackled a skewer. "So talk to me. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Aside from laying in supplies against an outbreak of violent skirmishes, I don't think so," he advised, his tone laden with dread. "Truth be told, there's not much I can do. There will be abominations. All I can really do is try to put safeguards in place to minimize the risk to us all, the mages included."

"What do you mean?" she asked, genuinely interested, around a mouthful of what tasted like nug. Should I be worried that my taste-buds now recognize it as nug, and not dusty rabbit? "Like glyphs and wards?"

"Among other things," he agreed in a thoughtful tone. "We'll have to find some way to securely accommodate them. Too many quartered together would be a beacon for the demons we know are only too ready to escape the Fade on the other side of the Breach."

"What about the templars?" Rory queried, indulging her curiosity. "There are a few still here."

"Too few for my peace of mind." Cullen sighed, setting the empty skewer aside and absentmindedly laying his hand at her hip. "We have ten templars here with the temperament for teaching. If each of them teaches ten recruits how to counter magic, we'll have just over a hundred who are capable of it. But I am loath to order anyone to learn - they would have to take lyrium to be truly effective.

She frowned with him, understanding his concern. But she knew, as he didn't, that the Venatori were going to be a challenge, and that potential one-hundred could be vital further down the line. "So don't order them," she suggested. "Ask for volunteers and make sure they know what they're signing up for. Don't let anyone go into it blind."

"You may be right," he said reluctantly. "But it doesn't sit well with me."

"I know, love." She laid her hand against the cool metal of his cuirass. "But sometimes we have to choose the lesser of two evils, when the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few." Thank you, Mr. Spock.

His gloved hand covered hers as he nodded slowly. "We all have to do things we don't agree with," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her brow. "But I would do far worse to keep you safe."

"Oh, you hopeless romantic," she teased gently, giggling as he dipped his head to press his smile to hers tenderly.

The door opened behind her, but to her surprise, Cullen didn't immediately pull away. He seemed to need this moment of loving contact more than he desired to keep his private life private, taking his time in softening, then ending, that kiss.

"Ah," she heard Cassandra say uncomfortably. "I had thought you were alone, but I see I was mistaken."

Rory's smile only deepened when Cullen drew back from her, no part of his countenance betraying that he'd been caught kissing her. He wasn't even blushing as he met Cassandra's eyes. Wow ... is he getting more confident, or am I losing my touch?

"How can I be of service, Lady Cassandra?"

Cassandra looked as though she wanted to strangle herself for interrupting such an intimate moment, despite the fact that no one really expecting to find the commander smooching in the war room. "I had hoped to go over the plan in better detail," she offered awkwardly.

"I'll leave you to it, then," Rory said through her broad smile, snagging another skewer as she pushed out of her lean. She pointed to what was left on the plate, eyeing Cullen sternly. "Eat."

"I will make sure he does," Cassandra promised when Cullen's only response was to roll his eyes at the healer.

"Thank you."

Rory winked at the Seeker as she left, pausing to blow the commander a kiss from the door and watch as his ears turned pink in answer. Now the Seeker and the commander's faces matched, she left them to it, confident that Cassandra would make sure Cullen finished his lunch. Now there was a woman who was more than capable of force-feeding Cullen Rutherford. With Cassandra on the case, he definitely wouldn't go hungry today.

[starlitreading]

Third Session - Part 1

After leaving Lia things started to get weird pretty quickly. The party decided to journey to the small town of Spero’s Rest, named after a fallen D&D character from another campaign, so that they could pick up a letter from Kit. On the way there they started to notice that there was more magic in the world, and with that came the Fae who harassed everyone but Shivra. Because she is scary and probably cranky after not having drunk blood for a few days.

Anyways when they were about a day away from the town they met this caravan called Madame Eva’s Carnival run by an elderly dwarf man with a dyed pink beard, forgot that they were wanted for breaking the peace treaties with Alba, and promptly told them their real names. They intimidated the caravan into leaving them alone by promising to break them if they tried anything. And then they continued onwards. 

Soon they started to find dead bodies of animals everywhere, practically coating the ground. Each of them had a mysterious symbol etched into them that the players had never seen before. After checking each other for the symbol and not finding it they decided to continue onwards. Soon a random person rolled down a hill into. That’s how Lee joined the party. Now with four party members they came upon Madame Ive’s Carnival, run by an elderly dwarf man with a dyed blue beard. They stopped and talked for a few minutes, determined that they were a different group and continue onwards. They also became aware that a thick fog was beginning to raise in the forest surrounding the road. 

And then animals wandered out of the fog, stumbling listlessly after the players. All of them had the same archaic mark inscribed upon them. As did Lee. They started to run as the fog grew thicker around them. Lee suggested running into the fog and out of desperation and the realization that they should have been in Spero’s rest hours ago the other players agreed.