#But to be fair I have mostly stuck to the Hinterlands

[mariana-oconnor]

Really love how sometimes in Dragon Age: Inquisition you go to the quest marker and there's nothing there, so you wander around looking for things and nothing happens, and you explore the whole area and nothing happens and still there's a quest marker and you know there must be something you need to do or find but there's nothing.

Also how that Special Shipments quest exclamation mark pops up every time I go to Haven and then if I go and click on the box nothing happens except the exclamation mark disappears. Also the exclamation mark near the Astrarium south in the Hinterlands where there is nothing there to start the quest that I can see. Am I blind? Am I stupid? Is this really obvious to everyone else? Starting to play more video games has taught me that I am a completionist. That exclamation mark nags at me like a hang nail. WHAT IS THE QUEST? WHY CAN I NOT GET IT? There's a giant statue thing nearby, but I can't interact with it. There's the Astrarium, but I've done that. LET ME GET THE QUEST!

[commie-eschatology]

Return to Redcliffe

particularly proud of this Solas + Trevelyan scene from “Return to Redcliffe” so gonna do some shameless self-promotion. Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33444538

When all her companions are asleep, Trevelyan leaves the Inquisition camp. She isn’t sure if she’ll come back. Someone is clearly following her, but she ignores that for now. The road back to Redcliffe stretches in front of her, but she hesitates. This is an extraordinary bad idea, she tells herself, but when has that ever stopped her? Lydia used to complain about her tendency to just act on desire alone. But Lydia is dead, she tells herself, you broke her head open with your staff until her brains spilled all over the floor. You killed the woman who raised you, only for the rebellion to sell themselves into slavery. ` In the woods, she stumbles upon a templar caravan. Very fortunate for her, very unfortunate for them. Their screams echo through the Ferelden forest; she imagines getting incinerated from inferno magic would hurt quite a bit, but it’s certainly not her problem. Trevelyan leaps onto the, now empty, wagon, and finds a crate of apples. She takes a few bites of one and monologues, “I rebel, therefore I am,” to the half eaten piece of fruit.

There’s groaning from underneath the wheels, and a jumble of words that vaguely sound like “what the fuck?” so she asks, “Sorry, are you still alive down there?” There’s no response, so in the interest of being thorough, she throws a fireball at the voice. The smell of burnt flesh follows, so she assumes it got the job done, but then again, Ferelden usually smells like that. Really not a terrible scent, she considers. Or perhaps she’s just gone mad.

Trevelyan looks at the Mark on her hand- staying with the Inquisition is the clever choice, she tells herself. Only she can close the rifts, after all. The rebels have been utterly defeated, the movement badly needs allies if it’s to survive. Still, her logic feels cold and hollow. The Venatori ships are already in Redcliffe harbor. She asks herself, how many will be shipped up to the Imperium in chains, in just the time it takes to travel between the Hinterlands and Haven?

Fire burns underneath the wagon. It’s always been fire for Trevelyan- burning the family manor during a childhood nightmare, cremating Lydia’s mangled corpse with her own spells, and, most recently, incinerating more templars than she can count. It’s the same fire that she could use to burn those Tevinter slave ships tonight- despite Fiona and Linnea’s betrayal, she has no doubt that at least a few of her people would join her.  

“Do you want to keep staring at me from the woods then?” she asks the person shadowing her. Solas steps out from the shadows, clearly surprised at being discovered, but he tries not to let it show. He’s usually far more subtle, she doesn't doubt she could be more stealthy if he wanted, but he clearly believes everyone around him is an utter idiot. Fair enough, she supposes. He gives a slight smile, the kind that might say “well done.”

As with everyone, Solas projects emotions into the Fade- but his are more tightly moderated than any other mage she’s ever seen. Now though, Trevelyan sees a wave of complex feelings she can barely sort through, radiating from him: rage at the Tevinters, intense all-consuming fear of something she can’t sense, great sadness for something lost, but all controlled, and directed by conscious purpose.

“These woods are dangerous,” he says, characteristically naming the obvious, “and you have the only means of closing the rifts.” He regards her for a moment. “I apologize if I intruded. You have proven yourself a capable fighter, but I have found it is far too easy to make rash mistakes when one is alone.” His actual meaning is not lost on her: don’t be an idiot and run, is what he wants to say.

He adds, “And in my defense, you did just eviscerate an entire troop of men.” She expects him to ask her why, but he doesn’t; apparently needing no explanation for her small act of rebellion.

“They were templars,” she explains anyways, “most are awful. The others just look away when the Circle rapes happen. Honestly, I’ve always preferred the former.”

“I can’t disagree with you,” Solas says, “my few interactions with templars have been... unpleasant. Either they are accustomed to following the worst orders, as you have said, or they just enjoy inflicting pain, especially upon those without recourse.” There is clear contempt and disgust in his voice, it’s as if he’s speaking from experience.

“That’s why we rebelled,” she says, taking another bite of the apple, “also,  I was hungry. Inquisition rations weren’t doing it.” Solas actually laughs. Trevelyan idly wonders when murder became so casual for her. Kill the woman who raised you, and everyone else becomes easy, she supposes.

There’s a short, but not awkward, silence between them. She knows exactly why he is here, to prevent her from defecting back to the rebels, but his presence is, surprisingly, not unwelcome. They haven’t had much time to talk like this; the conversations they’ve had have so far been in either the shadow of Haven’s Chantry, or on the road with Cassandra.

She motions to the adjacent seat on the wagon. To her surprise, he nods, and walks, or more accurately, struts over, butt wiggle and all. Like most mages, he usually makes himself seem as small as possible, scuttling rather than walking, but unlike the rest, it’s almost as if he has to consciously remind himself to do so.

Solas likes questions, she reminds herself, so ask one. He jumps up on the wagon, and she says, “do you like apples?”

Solas doesn’t even blink. “Apples were first domesticated in this part of the world.” How the fuck does he even know that, she wonders. “I saw a memory once, of a horde of human barbarians, desperately defending a part of these woods they held sacred, from the legions of the Imperium. When the barbarians were slain, the Tevinters marched forward, only to find a simple apple orchard, one which hundreds gave their lives to protect.” He takes one out of the crate, and takes a bite. “However, if you were asking about the taste- no, I detest apples.” He takes another bite. “This one in particular tastes sort of like burnt human flesh.”

“Dying for a lost cause. You really never miss an opportunity to make a point, do you?” she says, “also, how do you even know what burnt human flesh tastes like?”

Solas smiles mischievously. “I don’t like to waste words,” he says. The other point he is suspiciously quiet on. I don’t judge, Trevelyan thinks, you go eat as much flesh as you like, Solas.

His words are somewhat slurred, and she smells something in the air, besides the burning templars of course. She recognizes it as the unmistakable stench of peach whiskey, suspiciously similar to the bottle she had nicked from Dennet yesterday. Solas seems to notice and says, “Master Dennet had many such bottles wasting away on the shelf. He will not miss one, or two, I suppose.” He shrugs.

On the topic, she notices a small bottle of ale in one of the templar crates; the cork is stuck when she pulls on it, so she simply uses a bit of force magic to smash the top of the bottle off. It smells absolutely wretched, and tastes even worse, but she drinks it anyway. Solas watches her, possibly judging her, but he’s always hard to read. “Been a shit day,” she explains. Linnea said, go back to your templars. Fuck her. Tevinter apologist. Shockingly flat ass. Terrible kisser.

“Was today your first time in Redcliffe?” she asks. Solas chuckles softly to himself, apparently a joke only he understands.

“A long time ago, before your rebellion,” he says, “it’s changed since, of course. But I assume you’re asking my opinion on the rebel mages, rather than the settlement itself.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Despair sticks to most of the mages like gnats.” He’s right, during the retreat from the Free Marches, every morning some mages wouldn’t wake up, taken by Despair demons in their sleep. And the war has only gotten worse. She can’t even imagine. “Still, they endure. Their fight against oppression is admirable, and utterly hopeless.” , “Hopeless?” Trevelyan raises an eyebrow. She should be angry, but more than anything she feels exhausted. “You seem rather certain.”

“Of course I am.” he says, matter of fact. Trevelyan picked up some dalish during the rebellion; she’s not ignorant as to the meaning of his name. “In my journeys through the Fade, I have seen countless rebellions rise up, confident in the just nature of their cause, only to be crushed mercilessly. Righteousness, unfortunately, is no match against steel.” Good poetry. She’ll give him that.

“And, yet, Recliffe is still standing,” she says, “for the first time in a thousand years, in this part of the world, mages govern ourselves. No templars. No Chantry. We built that. Isn’t that freedom worth defending?” Trevelyan spent most of her life in the Circle. No price can be too great, she thinks.

“You forget you aren’t speaking to Cassandra or Varric. We do not disagree on the necessity of rebellion,” he smiles, just a bit, mostly to himself, “but, in order for a rebellion to win its immediate demands, as well has change what it is possible in the long term, something you once told me that you seek to do, they must do one thing.” He pauses for dramatic effect, and honestly it works. “They must win.”  

“Even failed revolutions can teach lessons,” she says, the only dogma she’s ever needed to believe in, “no matter what Varric says, the mage rebellion didn’t manifest spontaneously.” She thinks of the thousand year struggle for freedom, and what feels like generations of the dead on her shoulders. In the distance, Trevelyan can just make out the flag of the Venatori, waving from the ramparts of Redcliffe. The ships are not far behind.

“No,” Solas says, suddenly melancholy, “or if they do, it is always the wrong lessons.” He’s silent for a long moment, staring into the ground. “I saw a memory once in the Fade. A man who sought to overthrow a tyrant. Then, a half-hearted assassination attempt, tailored for drama, instead of results. It of course failed. The man himself was burned alive, defiant at first, but when the flames reached his body, when his skin began to melt off, he screamed for mercy that never came.”

Trevelyan takes a long drink. Solas adds, eerily calm, “In the end, martyrdom is just melted flesh upon a wooden stake, and a name utterly forgotten.”  She drains the rest of the bottle.

“I killed my mother,” she says, suddenly, without really meaning to, “when the Circle was annulled, I tried to give her the courtesy of a quick spell, but the tower wards blocked magic so…” she makes a motion with her staff “I, well, had improvise.”

“Your first murder?” he asks. She shakes her head. Definitely not. “If you want absolution, I’m not the person to give it.”

“Oh fuck no, I’m not Andrastian,” Trevelyan scoffs, and Solas chuckles softly. The Andrastians think they can solve all the world’s evils, all their many personal failings, through a song. It’s childish. Besides, Trevelyan would rather hold onto her sins for now- keep them close like a badge of honor. She looks down at the dead templars, corpses bathed in green light from her Mark.

“I don’t regret it,” she says, and she thinks she means it, “not if it served a purpose.” Trevelyan looks again towards Redcliffe, and thinks, everything I am, I owe to them. “In just the time it takes to travel back to Haven, how many will already be on the ships?”

“Likely a few dozen,” Solas answers, “there will be far more, thousands, if these Venatori are not defeated, which is a battle only the Inquisition has the resources to win. It is fortunate, then, that you have a position where you can speak on behalf of the rebel mages.”

The sun begins to rise, bathing the forest in dim orange light. “We should get back then ,” she forces herself to say, though every word is like a block of lead. Solas exhales in relief.

“One final thing,” she says as Solas moves to get up. She looks at her counterpart, studying him best she can, sensing his projections into the Fade. He’s unlike any other apostate she’s ever met, and there’s something about him she can’t quite put her finger on, much less vocalize. “You know quite a bit about rebellions,” she says.

“I have seen much in my travels,” he says, pausing as he considers his next words, “and you could say I had a dramatic youth.”

“One I’d be interested in hearing about,” she says, genuinely. “Especially if it involves more surprisingly melancholy stories about apple domestication.” Solas seems taken aback for a moment, but recovers quickly, chucking politely at her joke. He then smiles quietly to himself.

The two apostates return to the Inquisition camp, though Trevelyan keeps Redcliffe in her sight for as long as she can.

Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33444538

[ofgoodmenarchive]

The second in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian.

Spring Thaw

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself.

No- he was definitely getting ahead of himself.

At the very least, Dorian shouldn't have discarded the Venatori's equipment so impulsively. It was possible- even likely- the Herald would be immune to his charms. If no attraction existed between them to start with, then he'd forsaken his current, sole employment for nothing.

Introducing himself was also a complex matter. His subject of fixation was more often than not swarmed by Chantry puppets- Inquisition puppets, whatever.

Either way, they'd be wary of something like him.

  Which would be perfectly sensible, if we're being honest...

For days he stalked them through the Hinterlands, camping out of sight- preferably at high vantage points. On this occasion he'd discovered a homely cave dug into a cliff, with an ideal view of the Inquisition camp. They'd organised around a half-crumbled tower, wrangling full command of the King's Road at this end.

It took time to accomplish- Dorian had spectated most of the work. The Templar-Mage conflict was their main concern- by now almost completely eliminated. Still there was plenty of trouble to be had, Dorian knew.

  Are they even aware of the Venatori yet?

Indeed for now they mostly focused on the resident lyrium-smugglers. To be fair, they were a nuisance- and had not enough sense to leave the Inquisition unmolested.

In his shadowing he concluded a few things, at least.

For one, the Herald was a mage with an affinity for ice. Admittedly Dorian felt stupid for not realising on their first encounter. That sword of light channelled the man's will, swaying him towards close combat. Odd for a mage- so Dorian didn't berate himself much for failing to notice.

Secondly, the man was Spirit-bound. To what sort of spirit and for what purpose, Dorian couldn't guess. He'd only concluded this due to a chance look at his weapon- a summoning circle was inscribed into the hilt. An insanely reckless thing to attempt- unless your will and the spirit's could work in perfect unison.

  We have something in common, at least!

Though Dorian was positive none regarded him as an Abomination.

Lastly, the Herald was unaccustomed to such close work with humans. Dorian rarely overheard conversation but frequently witnessed him seeming lost, needing elaboration on what appeared self-evident.

Overall he was somewhat peculiar, even for an elf.

  “You know...” Dorian mused while building a small fire for the night. “I'm already feeling chipper. It's probably a trick of the mind, since there's potential for a meal...but wouldn't it be funny if my desire was feeding into itself?”

An unamused grumble responded and he frowned at his shadow- slumped morosely against the cave entrance, like a wrung out towel.

  “Yes, yes, I know that's not how it works.” Dorian rebuffed, scowling. “I'm just saying I don't mind all this creeping around! Or I don't mind it yet...give it a while, I suppose...”

  The Herald of Andraste...

  …probably also does not speak to himself.

  “Well I'm not speaking to myself, am I?!” He countered, huffing. “I'm speaking to you!- And you're being especially bratty today!”

Desire slouched down the cliff-wall until it was almost flat.

Dorian spluttered with laughter.

  “You're like a cat, you know!? An ominous, perverted cat.”

The creature bubbled sadly, giving no answer.

Rolling his eyes, Dorian would have returned to working on the fire- except Desire's head emerged from it's puddle, leering down the slope.

  “Hrm...?” He followed it's gaze, squinting. “Something happening down there...?”

A tall figure wandering from camp, accompanied by a much shorter one- the Herald and his dwarf ally.

  “Where are they wandering off to on their own...?” He frowned at his shadow. “Should they really be doing that?”

Desire shrugged, shoulders casting ripples along it's spooled form.

  “For some reason...” Dorian swiped his staff from nearby. “I don't like it. Let's make sure nothing bothers them, yes?”

Maker forbid the elf get himself killed- it would be a waste of his whole week!

The pair strode upon the King's Road, moonlight leading their path and their path leading Dorian- always close behind but not too close. Eventually they paused at a road-marker, muttered between themselves and appeared to wait.

  Are they missing one of their people, or something..?

Regardless of the situation, whatever was meant to occur, didn't. Exchanging anxious stares, the duo walked further along, ignorant to Dorian's presence as he slunk from shadow to shadow.

Within minutes all heard the same thuggish shouting- accented in Ferelden, somewhere amidst an outcrop of limestone. Sprinting forward, the Herald and his companion hunched behind cover, in frantic discussion.

Wanting a full perspective, Dorian climbed ledges as stealthily as possible. Once he had an ideal view, he sat and assessed.

Lyrium-smugglers again, of course. Carta, perhaps? No one Dorian had ties with, whoever they were. More than a dozen- with enough heavies in their ranks to pose serious threat to a miniscule party.

A party of two, for example, would likely be obliterated.

Dorian could see why there was discourse between the Herald and his friend. An Inquisition scout knelt among the group, bleeding and mid-interrogation.

  So they did lose someone...

Now the Herald wished to attempt rescue and his companion reasonably disagreed. Even out of earshot, Dorian could tell who was winning- through pure stubbornness alone.

Glancing behind, he spotted that looming, bratty shadow of his.

  “I hope you're ready to actually work for your meal.”

Not a second passed after his speech before all erupted into chaos. The Herald careened through the group, carried along paves of ice. Flailing and visibly irritated, the dwarf scrambled onto a high-point, where he could launch arrows from some elaborate crossbow.

Skidding from his perch, Dorian leapt into the fray.

Blood had already touched ground- that didn't bode well for anything near him. The grinning skull of his staff raised high, he willed every drop of lost life into himself. It swirled around him in crimson ribbons- he hadn't even channelled a form before people screamed.

  “MALEFICAR!”

Earning a wild, blood-crazed laugh from him as he barrelled forth, slicing enemies with their own pain- weaponised. Anyone struck deep enough and lacking proper resistance became crazed, attacking all in their proximity.

It had been a while since he'd stretched his abilities for combat- quite invigorating, really! Not to mention all the blood- a fair snack, though not his usual preference. Licking some from his fingers, Dorian launched into another attack and found himself brushing passed blizzard.

Swivelling to face it, he bore his teeth in a personable manner.

Winter-touched eyes regarded him quizzically, then vanished into battle.

Moments later and it was done- together with the scout, their enemy was reduced to a pile of corpses.

Inhaling, Dorian glimpsed the dwarf and recruit in breathless conversation. Elsewhere stood the Herald- sheathing his weapon, sighing with relief.

  Talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk.

  Maker, stop it! Yes, I see.

This was the closest opportunity he was chance to get.

Awkwardly, uncharacteristically- Dorian hesitated.

  TALK-TALK-TALK-T

  I SAID STOP THAT! I'M GOING!

Mustering composure, he sauntered that direction, beaming.

  “Greetings, friend!”

The Herald blinked from wiping stained hands, eyes widening a second later.

  “...Who are you?” He mumbled, automatically hunching to Dorian's level- as he'd witnessed many times.

  “Me?”  He laughed airily- had to restrain more when the elf flinched. “My name is Dorian Pavus...and you would be the Herald of Andraste, no?”

Much hesitation from this so-called Herald- the poor man's eyes darted as if seeking attendance, white complexion reddening. Effortless traits for human eyes to see- and then there were aspects only Dorian would see. A quickened pulse, hitched breath, heightened temperature...

  Well, that answers that question...

  But...I really didn't intend to give the poor fool a heart-attack.

He hadn't even exercised his will in any fashion- just introduced himself! The Herald's clan must have been terribly isolationist, if that's all it took to fluster him.

  “That...is what they say...” He managed after a long pause, brow furrowing. “...Have you been following me, Dorian Pavus?”

  Oh, I like that.

  So formal.

  “Only for your own protection, my darling Herald!” He chuckled warmly, gestured to their fallen opponents. “As you can so clearly see.”

Another drawn out silence, pale features struggling to stay that way and failing- pink had spread to his neck.

  “You are from Tevinter.” He observed clumsily.

Dorian's head tilted.

  “Nothing gets passed you, does it?”

The Herald didn't seem to know how to respond, grasping air dumbly and again searching around for aid. Deciding to provide such aid, Dorian inquired;

  “Since I gave you my name- may I have yours?”

Though fidgeting, he offered;

  “Lavellan.”

  “That would be a last name, no?”

  “I do not tend to give my first.”

  “You don't 'tend to'...” He smiled, shamelessly familiar. “So you might make an exception?”

Something about this caught the elf off guard- absolutely flushed. He merely stared as though Dorian proposed he strip to his undergarments.

  “Uhh...hey, there.” The dwarf ambled to them before Lavellan could recover.

  “Ah, hello!” Determined to make a good impression, Dorian stuck out his hand. “Dorian Pavus! Pleased to make your acquaintance!”

The Dwarf relented to a light shake, inspecting him doubtfully.

  “Varric Tethras- pleased to make yours..” He knit his brow, glanced between the two men. “...I guess.”

All the while Lavellan was statuesque, face crimson and attention flying everywhere.

  “...You okay, Lord Heraldness?”

  “I...am fine- I am fine.” He practically squeaked. “I think...Cassandra will wish us back at camp...right now...im...immediately.”

Incapable of restraining himself, Dorian roared with mirth and hoped it didn't sound unkind.

  “We'll talk soon, my dear Herald.” He bid farewell with more obvious warmth. Lavellan swiftly fled- half-marching, half-scurrying, Varric at his heels.

-–

Dirt and blood raced beneath his feet. Evallan Lavellan fought to correct the hue of his face.

  “...Are you okay?” Varric- barely audible above the sound of his heartbeat.

  “I am fine!”  He snapped, shrill. “I just...was not prepared for...for that.”

Varric's expression scrunched inwards, perplexed.

  “Prepared for what?”

Speech died on Evallan's tongue, frowning helplessly at his companion. He barely had the words in his own language, how could he explain with the vocabulary they both shared?

All the human mages he'd encountered- they were so reserved, tame.

He couldn't imagine any human to carry themselves so shamelessly- draped in blood and bone, cackling and grinning through danger. Formidable yet exercising flawless control- so at ease in his nature.

And Mythal have mercy- Those eyes- deadly flares of red and gold.

  Absolutely wild.

  He must be mad.

  “...Oh, Maker's breath, Herald...” Evallan became aware he'd been glaring into space. “Don't worry- I won't tell anyone you took one look at the weirdo-'Vint-blood-mage and turned into a tomato.”

He flushed every shade of red imaginable, snapping-

  “I said I was not prepared!”

  “I wasn't prepared either!” Varric chortled. “And I do not look like you do right now!”

Groaning, Evallan sped his pace, wishing for nothing more than to hide in his tent and scream until humiliation subsided.

[khadorek]

WENT DOWN IN HISTORY-

(at long last I am posting this! This is my first major piece in a while, so it might be a little flimsy at parts haha. This was also asked by @safrona-shadowsun, enjoy!)

The Hinterlands, ~37years after the current date

“C’mon grandma, I want to Uncle Og!” The little boy, who wasbarely older than eight exclaimed as the grey-haired woman in question hurryingalong behind holding the hand of a much smaller girl who staggered along inthat curious way toddlers do.

“Slow down, Michael, Angela and I can only go so fast.”Katherena laughed softly, though deep down she couldn’t shake the feeling ofmelancholy that was always with her when she came to this place; so manymemories in this quiet little tavern for that was what the Blue Raven mostlyserved as these days. Though the Brotherhood had not disbanded by any means, inthe days following the final battles against the shadow, and the beginning ofan age of peace between nearly ever faction of Azeroth and beyond, the demandfor mercenaries had fallen dramatically. As such, the Brotherhood of Valor hadmostly become a gathering hall for veterans and their families the world over,and General Ogrimskar, or ‘Uncle Oggy’ as a small army of children had taken tocalling him, spent much of his time regaling these children with stories of thegreat battles of the Brotherhood, much to their continued delight, andoccasional chagrin of their elders, as for better or for worse, Og rarelyskimped on the details and personal opinions. Kath had bore witness to her fairshare of these stories as they happened, so they didn’t have much appeal toher, but she promised the young ones that she’d take them out to the Raven forthe first time today; she couldn’t bear to let them down, despite her ownpersonal reservations. Still, as they passed along the Walk of Valor, the stonewalkway that lead up to the front doors of the inn, her feelings only grew moreintense in the shadows of the heroes of the Brotherhood, many of which had castoff their mortal bonds in the long years of conflict prior, now foreverimmortalized in the stone and metal figureheads that now towered above themalong the walkway. She felt small under their unflinching gaze, and she washesitant to meet it or read the names at their bases, though by now she knewthem well; Cyrus Bain, Dare Cogspanner, Field Medic Arexzia, Kurt…

“Hey who’s this guy?” Michael calls out, and Kath turned tothe direction of his voice, and her heart sank; of all the statues of allthe heroes, he had to notice the one that was closest to her heart. Wrought ingleaming metal and ageless stone, this statue stood head and shoulders overmany of the other human statues on the walk, blade extended on an angle towardsthe sky, helmet held in his shield hand letting his sharp features and longhair be exposed for all to see. Kath shuddered softly as she approached,reading the dais at the base of the statue to herself as she did so.

(Mood music, enjoy the feels)

Knight CaptainKhadorek Perceval Blackbyrne, the Unyielding, Champion of the Valarjar and ofthe Brotherhood. Disappeared in the Battle of Blackheart’s Rift.

“That” Kath began, trying to keep her words steady, “is Khadorek,he was a knight, like one pulled straight from the story books.”

“A knight? Was he strong? Where did he get that fancy sword?Was it magic? What happened to him?” Michael asked, excited to hear about thisnew figure.

“One of the strongest,” Kath replies, placing a hand at thebase of the statue, “and yet… also one of the gentlest; he was brave and kind,and utterly loyal to those he cared for…” She went on, starting to get a littlechoked up. “I’m not sure you want me to tell you that, ‘Uncle Og’ can likely doit better.” She suggests half-heartedly, and Michael, his excitement preventinghim from entirely noticing his grandmother’sinternal strife, nods eagerly. Kath looked down to the little girl, letting goof her hand. “Go on ahead with your brother, Angela, I’ll catch up with yousoon.” She tells the little girl, who nods and moves to follow him.

“Ok!” Michael exclaims as he runs down the path, Angeladoing her best to keep up, and soon Kath was alone with the statues. She smilessadly, running her hand along the base.

“Oh Khadorek…” She whispers, a single tear rolling down hercheek as she looked up to the statue’s face, a face she remembered so painfullywell. It was so full of life back then, and now this was all that remained; a coldimitation of the proud, grinning visage he wore in life, as grey as the hairthat fell from her scalp. She closed her eyes, thinking back to those halcyondays. “If only you could see what you’ve become.” She remembers it like it wasyesterday, their last night together before that final battle; he went off tospearhead the charge, while she elected to stay behind to aid the wounded, ofwhich there were many. By the end, they had won, but at great cost, and she hadto say goodbye to many friends as the reports and remains flowed in. She nevereven considered that he would be among their number, though none could becertain of his final fate, he seemed to have just vanished, and all that couldbe recovered was his spear, found planted in the neck of a massive aberration.Those who saw him before he vanished said he fought with courage worthy ofThoradin himself, saving the lives of many others through his actions; someeven say he saved the life of the King himself, though the questionable sourcesmake this heavily disputed. Either way, his deeds drew much attention to himand his life, and people desired to know more about the life and history ofthis largely unknown man. The following weeks were a blur, as someone who wasvery close to him, she had to put up with people asking many questions aboutthe fallen hero, and while the accompanying deals she had gotten to write abouthim and the other lesser known heroes she knew from those days made her apretty penny, it made grieving somewhat of a challenge in the days leading upto the collective memorial ceremony. She remembered little of the ceremonyitself, as she had some rather shocking news revealed to her just prior to theproceedings; though she did know that it took place in Dalaran, and was fundedby all the major powers as a sign of international goodwill before peace talkscould properly begin. Something that stuck with her, however, was the strangewoman who stood in the shadows off to the side, staying away from the maincrowd, as if ashamed to approach in public. ‘Serves her right…’ she’d thoughtto herself in a moment of uncharacteristic coldness, assuming she was who shethought she was. After that, things had quieted down considerably, leaving herto her grief, and to her thoughts about what she was to do alone now,especially with…

“Ahaha, hullo there, ye two!” Kath’s eyes popped open as shewas snapped out of her reflections by the jovial greeting of the familiardwarf. She looked over to see Angela moving as fast as her tiny legs can carryher, burbling happily all the way, while Michael full on runs to meet him. “By meancestors, you’re both getting big, aren’t ye?” He remarks with a chuckle, andKatharena can’t help but smile at the sight of her old friend. Ever since themiracle of psychosurgery that allowed Death Knights to shed their sadistic conditioning,many Death Knights had succumbed to the melancholy and ennui that spawned fromthe accompanying loss of drive that came as an unexpected result, though thegood General was not one of them, in large part due to the hordes of youths whowant to hear all stories of war and glory they assumed he’s accumulated over hislong life. Ogrimskar had more than enough to share, and having such a largegroup not just listening to what he had to say, but actively seeking him out tohear more, awoke something in him like a sign from the gods. He’d found a newcalling in this humble role as storyteller, and the fact that many of the childrenwere born of the people who he so struggled to impart his hard-earned wisdom uponmade it all that much sweeter. He felt happiness like he hadn’t felt for years,and seeing these children show up to listen to him, and leave wiser, and a bit moredwarf-like in mannerism never ceased to make him smile.

“Hello Uncle Og! I’m so happy to see you!” Michael cheers ashe jumps up to hug the former general. Ogrimskar laughs again, giving him a paton the back, allowing him to hop down so he can pick up his little sister withpracticed care.

“It’s good to see ya both too, lad.” Og replies. “You gothere just in time, I was just about to start me tale; I was thinking aboutstarting with tha one about Lyanelle and Kurt. That was always yer favourite,wasn’t it?” He goes on, even now chuckling at the thought of Kurt. Katharenajust shakes her head with a soft giggle.

“Same old Og…” she muses, about to go join them, but notbefore looking up to the statue one last time. Her mind dwells on him again,and the news she received so long ago. “They don’t know…” She thought. “Theirparents would have let me if they told them the truth; Hell, he would have told me, he’d have been soexcited.” She assured herself this was all a coincidence. She never had achance to remarry after her first husband, and had kept the Graeson nameever since, so they never would have had the chance to find out about who theirgrandfather was. She wanted to be the one who told them, but to this day, shejust hadn’t found the heart to talk about it. They would have to find outsooner or later, it was inevitable. She took a deep breath. “Soon…” She toldherself. “I’ll tell them everything as soon as…” Her reverie was cut short by achild’s voice from near the door.

“I want to hear about him!” Michael calls out, and Katharena’shead snaps over to see little Michael doing exactly what she was afraid she wasgoing to do. Ogrimskar follows the way he was pointing, and seeing the statuethat he was pointing at, gives him a confused look.

“’im?” He asks, prompting a vigorous nod from Michael. “Yamean yer Gran ain’t talked your ear off about him already?”

“Nope, just noticed him for the first time today! Did GrandmaKath know him or something?” Michael asks. Og looks over at Katharena, who waslooking at them wide-eyed, giving him the universal expression for ‘please no,’and just grins, gives a half-hearted shrug as if to say ‘sorry, but now I haveto’ and looks back to Michael, turning to take them both the children in tojoin the group.

“Ohoho, laddy… ye and ye sister are in for a treat!” Ogrimskar declares, trying tocontain his excitement at what was about to come. Katharena was about to speakup, but stops herself, remembering that she brought this on herself withoutthinking.

“I suppose this might be for the best…” She thinks, lettingout a gentle sigh as she looks back to the statue. She smiles sadly, and wipesaway her errant tear before putting on a braver face. “He deserves to know,they both do,” she says aloud to the statue, “Angela will probably not rememberthis, but Michael… he has your fire, I just know it; if he learns his legacynow, it’ll encourage him to put it towards great things, like you did…” shereaches out to touch the dais once more, her smile growing broader and morehappy at the thought, closing her eyes as she embraces this rare moment ofsilence. “I know you’re out there somewhere, Khadorek, watching over us likeyou always did for me; I just hope you know how happy you’ve made me, and howproud I am of all you’ve given me. I hope you are proud too, dear, because youshould be; your actions made the world a better place, just like you wanted towhen you were young.” She steps away, opening her eyes to gaze upon his face. “Farewell,my love, until we meet again.” She whispers, before turning to fully face theinn and walking towards the door. Og might be telling the story before shewanted it told, but that wasn’t going to stop her from making sure he told it right.

(Mentions: @quipsbykath @ogrimskar and soft mentions to @lofaspack)

[bluraaven]

Smoke and Mirrors

El Abuelo is the most notorious of crime bosses, and it falls to Special Agent Reynauld Maurouard to take him down.  His only lead: Dismas, an ex-bandit whose outfit was in the mobster's hire. Things go downhill from there.

Chapter 1

Special Agent Reynauld Maurouard couldn't say that filling out forms was his favourite occupation, but paperwork was a necessary evil when you worked in law enforcement.  When a shadow fell over him, blocking out the light, he put down his pen and straightened.  Reynauld could have sworn that he could hear as well as feel some disks in his back pop into place.  Or out of it.  Something to worry about later.

"How's it going?" the man leaning on his desk asked, a faint smile playing around his mouth as he surveyed the battlefield that was Reynauld's workspace.

"How'd you think?" Reynauld grunted, rubbing his hands over his face until he saw stars.  For the past hour the letters had been running together, but he needed to finish this before tomorrow or he'd have his superiors breathing down his neck.  "I'm elbows deep in reports."

"Ain't we all?" Guyot asked.  In the clinically cold light of the neon lamps the dark circles around his eyes were all the more prominent, and his freckles were a stark contrast to his pale skin.  He looked just as exhausted as Reynauld felt.

As if he had read his thoughts, Guyot lifted a silver can, giving it an inviting swirl, and instantly the rich aroma of roasted beans permeated the stale office air.  "Coffee?"

When he saw Reynauld hesitating, he was quick to add, "It's good, I tested it.  On Marci."  Guyot looked around, guilt written all over his face, but in the end he just shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

Reynauld chuckled.  When some higher ups had thought it a great idea to put the PD and forensics in the same building – talk about corruption – and some of the doctors were evidently as mentally unstable as the criminals they pursued, caution saved you from getting yourself into a lot of trouble.  "Is she still among the living?"

"Aye, the living and the conscious," Guyot replied easily.  

"Then yes, please."  Reynauld had to shift some folders to find his mug buried underneath them and held it out for Guyot to fill.

Which he did, right up to the brim, eying some of the papers strewn all over the desk in the process.  "What'cha got here?  Montgomery case?"

"M-hmm," Reynauld hummed and took a sip of scalding hot fermented–bean–juice.  He  closed his eyes for a moment to savour it.

"What a shitshow," Guyot observed.  "Don't get me wrong,  I'm glad we got him.  Just because the man was in politics and old money, don't mean he's above justice."  He stopped; they'd talked more than their fair share about it.  The case had been all over the news for weeks, and by now everybody who had worked on it was fed up with it.  It was time to wrap it up and to move on.

"Anyway, the guys wanna know if you're coming to the track run.  We're up against the boys from Eastside distinct."

Track run.  That rang a bell.  Reynauld frowned; he had quite forgotten about the charity event.  "When's it?"

"Next weekend."

"I can't," Reynauld replied and didn't have to fake the regret.  Those competition between departments were usually a lot of fun and a good way to get to know new people, make some contacts.  "Thio's over, and I promised him we'll go camping."

"Aw, damn.  We're losing our best man."  But Guyot said it with a smile.  He knew how much those weekends meant to Reynauld.  "How is the big man?"

"Growing bigger every day."  The thought of his son never failed to put a smile on Reynauld's face.  "I can't believe he's about to turn eight.  Eve wanted to have a party.  You're invited of course, provided you can stand a horde of children high on sugar.

"You know I'd never miss out, and Lucy's been wanting to visit anyway.  We'll pop in, say hi, and evac if it gets too bad."  Guyot laughed and Reynauld had to join in.  Fair was fair.   They had served in the army together, and when they had quit the force it had been his friend's contacts that had given Reynauld a job here in the city.

"Chin up, soldier.  One more week and it's over," Guyot said.  "Maybe the chief's even gonna give you a promotion!"

Reynauld snorted at the thought, which should be answer enough.  If you couldn't find pride in the police work but wanted praise, you had to join the K-9 units.  As a dog.  On most days, Reynauld did enjoy it; doing something good, something useful.  He thanked Guyot for the offering of artificial energy that would get him through the evening and waved when the other man took his leave.

Just a few more hours, and he'd be able to go home.  Put a lid on the whole thing and give himself a pat on the shoulder.  From a framed picture, one of the few private possessions he kept at work, Reynauld's family was smiling at him.

He sighed and picked up his pen again.  

Reynauld wished a person could refuel on good mood like a vehicle could on gasoline, because Monday came cloaked in chaos, like a true harbinger of a bad week.

Over the weekend, he had taken Thio out of the city and to a natural preserve that had a nice lake and easy trails.  Maybe when his son was older, Reynauld would be able to take him hiking in the Hinterlands, but that would be in a couple of years at the earliest.

Now, he was running late for work since his alarm had given up on life sometime in the middle of the night.  Thanks to years of military service and an affinity for the early morning hours, he still managed to wake almost on time.  Maintenance works on the train rails forced him to take his car however, and he promptly found himself stuck in an unmoving column of other unfortunate souls braving the morning traffic.

When he had finally made it to the intersection, he almost had an accident when some idiot on a motorbike ran a red light and cut him off, disappearing between a delivery van and a taxi before Reynauld had a chance to catch his plate number.

The rest of the drive passed without incident, thankfully.  The RPD, the Riverside Police Department, was located some two miles outside of the city center, and just about ten walking minutes from the Riverside train station.  The building had a long history, beginning with it originally being built as a summer residence for Emperor Harauld.  Since then it had served as university, a hospital, and finally the casern it was to this day.

There was nothing inherently inviting about the grey and cheerless stonework, but it was far from the worst place to work.  In the large courtyard, Barristan had some sweaty-looking recruits in training clothes lined up.  Reynauld returned the wave the one-eyed drill sergeant greeted him with, and hurried on.

As soon as he pulled open the door, he was struck by the lack of usual activity.  The quiet of the waiting room was disturbed only by the hum of the ceiling fan, its blades rotating lazily.  The air was thick with the smells of stale coffee and smoke, even though smoking inside had been prohibited by law several years ago.  Underlying those was a faint odour of office: a less-than enticing mix of sweat, paper, and cleaning agents.

There was nobody seated behind the two front desks, and that was unusual enough to make Reynauld double-check his mobile and pager, nervous about maybe having overlooked a message.  Special Weapons And Tactics carried those to call them to operations too dangerous for regular police officers to handle.  Riot control wasn't much of an issue these days anymore, so they mostly handled search warrants and cases that involved organized crime, which in turn were usually linked to weapon or narcotics dealership, or illegal betting.  They had special training; and were authorized to carry military equipment, but the rest of the time, they were law enforcement agents like any other.  Reynauld did   his fair share of patrols, reports and other sorts of office work.

Both the pager and his phone's screens were blank, so he had not missed some emergency.  He decided to go to his office first; maybe Guyot would be able to tell him what was going on.  He never got that far though, because Reynauld almost collided with Marci when he jogged up the stairs.

"Where is everyone?"

"Mallory's office," the young police officer replied, sounding out of breath.  "Linesi's taken out two teams – there has been another robbery."

Another one.  Reynauld's heart sank.  "Where?"

"Central," Maci replied, biting her lip.

Reynauld nodded, and hurried past her.  Mallory saw him and waved from the door to her office.  She was a tall, no-nonsense kind of person who wore her black hair short and whom he had never seen out of a suit.  She had worked her way up to deputy director and it was generally assumed she would one day replace the Chief when he retired.

She was holding a meeting, and a grapevine of people was clustered in the room which seemed too small all of a sudden.  Gatherings like this didn't usually happen unless it was someone's birthday or something bad had occurred.   Reynauld didn't need Marci to tell him which one this was, he could have guessed by the absence of cake and smiles upon the faces of those around him.

Reynauld took up position in the back of the group.   He had to stand on his toes to be able to look over all their heads and see what held their attention.  The flatscreen was a video playing footage from what could only be a security camera.  Reynauld had missed most of it, but he arrived just in time to see a black-masked burglar breathe steam on the camera's lens.  The quality of the recording was not good enough to tell whether it was a man or a woman before fog was all they could see.  And then a heart appeared where the condensation was wiped away with the tip of one finger.  Seconds later, the tv flickered to black, and that was it.

In the silence that followed one would have been able to hear a pin drop.  And that was saying something since the office was carpeted.

"When did this happen?" Reynauld finally asked when he realized nobody else was going to.

"We received the tape this morning," Mallory answered, and turned off the television with an annoyed flick of her wrist.  "This was recorded on Sunday evening."

"I thought the cemetery had a security firm doing surveillance, and we'll get notified as soon as something happens?" someone to Reynauld's right called out.

A muscle in Mallory's jaw twitched, but her tone did not betray her frustration.  "They disabled the security system," she informed them.

"Shit!" somebody else cursed, which earned them a glower from Mallory, but by then the room had burst into chaos; everybody was calling out ideas and talking one over the other.

"Rey."  Mallory's hand landed on his shoulder a moment later, and her voice lowered, despite the chance of being overheard being close to zero.  "The Chief wants a word."

Reynauld nodded at her and left the room, leaving her to bring back order to the meeting.  His boss was not the most patient of men, and there was no reason to antagonize him, especially since he very much did not want to draw attention to his tardiness.

The Chief's office was at the end of the second story corridor.  A golden plate was screwed to the door, but Reynauld did not even glance at it.  His knuckles had barely made contact with the wood when he was told to enter, and he stepped into Chief Vvulf's domain.

The room was just like he remembered it.  Most of it was taken up by a large desk, and the walls were lined with shelves that were slowly beginning to bend under their load.  At some point an effort had been made to make the office look more homely, but the plants had not lasted long.  The Chief had kept but one, and the fact that it was a cactus really spoke for itself.

He was in his middle years, with short grey hair and the figure of a powerful man who was slowly getting out of shape.  "What did she tell you?" the Chief began without so much as a word of greeting.  He was seated in a big leather armchair behind his desk.

Guessing that he must have meant Mallory, Reynauld answered, "The central cemetery was hit by a masked felon nicknamed the Graverobber."

The Chief nodded, then made a hand gesture for Reynauld to close the door and take a seat.   "This ain't for anybody's ears," he grunted.

"Sir?"

Vvulf laced his fingers together on his stomach, fixing his unblinking gaze on Reynauld.  "There's no point tiptoeing around it.  I don't shout it from the rooftops, but my family's history goes back a long way.  The mausoleum that was hit yesterday wasn't just anyone.  These attacks are have become a personal matter now.  We, the police, are being targeted, and the situation has gotten out of control."

Reynauld had not known that the Chief was related to any of the old nobility, but then perhaps the knowledge should not surprise him; one did not rise to the rank of Chief without some good connections.  There was very little Reynauld actually knew about the man who was his boss, despite having worked for him for years.  Vvulf was someone who valued his privacy and didn't get too friendly with his subordinates.

"So we take down the ones responsible," Reynauld deducted, still unsure why he was here. Certainly it was not so that his boss could make that little confession?

"You're a smart man, Maurouard," Vvulf pointed out, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"You don't think they're acting out of their own agenda," Reynauld deduced, remembering the video Mallory had shown them.  The Graverobber's actions had struck him as being... provocative, almost.  They certainly had wanted to be seen, maybe to send some kind of message.

"No.  I do not," the Chief confirmed with a pleased nod.  "Whether we like it or not, the old families are the foundation which this city is built upon."

Reynauld noticed he spoke as if he did not belong to one of them, despite his earlier admission.  

"And there are those who would benefit from weakening it, from sowing discord, uncertainty and fear.  From making us look weak and incompetent.  If the people do not feel safe," the Chief said and leaned forward on his elbows as if he was to share a great secret, "Whom will they turn to for protection?"

"So these attacks are not a coincidence," Reynauld summed up.  Everybody had presumed as much, but they still lacked solid proof.  "And you suspect one of the northern cartels?"

Vvulf was shaking his head before Reynauld had even finished speaking.  "Not just any one of them."   Reynauld wanted to ask if he really thought he could be behind all this, but the Chief continued.  "El Abuelo has plenty of reason to target us," Vvulf pointed out.  "We may not know what his final goal is, but men like him feed off chaos.  They always look for weaknesses, for a way to expand their power.  We need to stop him – ," the Chief broke off abruptly, and Reynauld imagined he could hear the ghost of an at all costs.

He did not comment.  El Abuelo was one of the, if not the most notorious of crime bosses.  Reynauld was still trying to come to terms with everything he had learned, when Vvulf said,

"I want you to be the Special Agent in Charge on this case."

"Me?"

"Do you see anyone else in this room?" Vvulf demanded to know.  "Yes, you."

"Why?" Reynauld blurted out, which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the smartest thing to say.  He was still reeling from all the information – a moment ago he had not even known there was a case; now he had been told he was to lead a major investigation that involved one of the most dangerous men in the North.  And was not the most experienced man the Chief had, and huge cases like this were usually given to the senior officers.

Vvulf's lips pursed in thought.  "You did some good work," he finally said, but even guff praise from the Chief was quite something.  "I like that you are efficient and discreet and I trust you to handle delicate matters without causing a scandal.  This is your chance, Maurouard.  Prove me I'm right, and who knows, this seat might one day belong to you," he added and laughed at his own joke, a rare sign he had a sense of humour, buried somewhere deep inside.

The corner of Reynauld's mouth tugged upwards.  "Thinking about retiring, Sir?"  It would be hard to imagine the PD without Vvulf there to lead them, he was such a huge personality.  A tough boss with high expectations, but a fair one.

"There's one of them Southern beaches that has my name on it," Vvulf said, but his eyes were already narrowing.  "You look like there's something on your mind.  Spit it out, what is it?"

"I was actually hoping to take some time off," Reynauld confessed.  He was tired from merely thinking about the upcoming work load.  He deserved a vacation, and he still had three weeks good from last year that he was going to lose soon – as his boss knew very well.

Vvulf leaned back, making his leather armchair creak.  "Tell you what," he decided.  "If time wasn't of the essence, I'd let you go right now.  I will let you keep your three weeks, and if we get El Abuelo, I'll top it off with a month of paid leave extra, so you can spend some time with your boy – family's everything, after all.  How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a deal, Sir."  Reynauld could barely believe the offer he'd been made; it was quite unheard of.  But he trusted his boss not to pull him over.  And if they got El Abuelo, Vvulf would be basking in the attention of the media.  He might even be hailed a city hero.

"Excellent," the Chief said, sounding pleased.  "You'll be happy to know we already have a lead."

That certainly was news.  "We do?" Reynauld asked, cocking his brow.

"The Graverobber is not operating on his or her own," Vvulf replied.  "There is no way they could disable the security system and rob the mausoleum in time before we were alerted of the shutdown.  They have an accomplice."  The Chief turned and got up, reaching to take a folder off the shelf behind him.  He dropped it on the table and flipped it towards Reynauld who opened it.

The first page was taken up by a close-up of a man's face.  For reasons unknown the photograph was black and white, but Reynauld did not need colour to recognize him.

"Dismas," he said, remembering the name because it was actually that of the penitent thief from the Verse of Light.  An alias then.

Reynauld wasn't sure if the rogue was ballsy, or merely an arsehole.

"Aye," Vvulf confirmed, his greying brows drawing together.  "One right bloody fucker.  He's guilty of more than some harmless misconduct too.  The man's an ex-bandit, and former member of the Wolves."

Reynauld flipped the first page.  There was a list of information they had managed to collect on the man.  The first line read:

Real name:  Valance Paixdecouer.

"Paixdecouer," Reynauld said slowly, thinking.  "Is the name given to orphans raised by the Order."

Vvulf nodded.  "I see I chose the right man for the job.  Pick your team, Maurouard, and get started straight away.  This has top priority from now on until I tell you otherwise. "

Reynauld closed the folder with a snap and picked it up, resting it against the crook of his elbow.  "What about the Montgomery case, Sir?"

"Just hand it over to someone else," Vvulf said.  "Mallory will handle it, if no one else will.  You can report to her, if I'm not here."

Reynauld nodded, "You said Dismas  ran with the Wolves?"  He had heard a lot about the gang, but it had fallen apart and its members had scattered when their leader had disappeared.  Apparently there had been some sort of falling out between who they only knew as the Wolf, and El Abuelo.

"The Wolf was El Abuelo's hireling," the Chief said after a brief pause.  "Therefore, if we find him," Vvulf said, tapping one fat finger against picture-Dismas' temple, "Maybe we can retrace his connection right back to the source."

"Do we know his whereabouts then?" Reynauld wanted to know.  Despite himself, he couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement.  The Wolf had disappeared a little bit over a decade ago – either laying low, or killed by El Abuelo himself.  Even if he was alive, he had had enough time to cover his tracks.  It was unlikely they would find him – unlikely, but not impossible.

"Unfortunately, we do not," Vvulf confirmed Reynauld's suspicion.  "Every time we were tipped off and the team's gotten close, he has slipped through our nets.  Man doesn't hang out in one place for very long.  The good thing is: We got somebody who was close to him."

"How do you know-"

Vvulf waved his hand in a dismissing gesture and Reynauld dropped that thread to ask a far more important question.

"Has he told us anything?"

"Not yet," the Chief said in a tone that made it crystal clear he would, sooner rather than later – even if he had to wring the answers out of the prisoner himself.  "But he will.  And when he does, I want you and your team to be ready.  This could be the biggest strike against organized crime in fifty years!"

"Yes, Sir!" Reynauld saluted the Chief with the folder and turned on his heel.  Guyot was the first one on his team.  They had an uncatchable criminal to capture.  Reynauld had always liked a challenge.

AN: You can also find the story here, on AO3!

[csproolz]

Gold Coast:- Tues 02.07.19 - Fri 19.07.19

Wow I really should’ve written this sooner 😳 basically we got to the Gold Coast on the Tuesday and sat on the beach for a bit, found the flat and that’s when the goon madness started, so the details are a little fuzzy 🤭

The flat was really nice, had everything we needed including a full kitchen and a washing machine: we’d never used a top loading machine before so that took two tries and ate two of my bras 😵 That Weds we met up with my friend Fionn from Riego and her boyfriend Ste (obviously in an Irish bar), played some pool and managed to come second in a pub quiz at Steampunk, then went to a place where I had (shockingly) my first ever margarita. Thursday was my birthday, I had a really nice long phone call with Kriss back home, then cooked an indoor bbq for the four of us cos the weather was a bit rubbish, before going out and getting very drunk, playing pokies and presumably being carried home by Matt cos the end of the night is a bit of a blur - just as all birthdays should go. The next day we lazed about recovering and relishing our last day without loads of other backpackers.

The next day we got to the Down Under by the Beach hostel we’d end up staying at for nearly two weeks. I really liked this place: it was literally 30 seconds from the beach, and had a bottle shop and convenience store over the road, plus ten mins walk from everything in town :) Everyone was so nice, they had stuff going on every day that they’d go around asking everyone to join in with, and one of the guys working there even lent me his own laptop to do my CV when I asked reception about finding a computer. I applied for a RA job in Brisbane (that I still haven’t heard back from), received our TFNs (thanks Holly), and that’s as far as productivity really went in Surfer’s 😂

Mon 8th we went for dinner with Matt’s second cousin Terry and his wife Cathy at a surfers club on Main Beach, who were absolutely lovely and invited us to stay at their house in the hinterland that weekend. Terry came and picked us up that Saturday afternoon and took us to their huge beautiful house in Witheren, were we had an amazing evening with homemade pizza, beers and s’mores by the bonfire. I’ve never liked marshmallows, but have decided Americans have found an excellent way to turn fluffy plastic sugar into a food of the gods. Unfortunately there was a full moon that night so we couldn’t see the Milky Way, but I still managed to geek out a bit over all the stars you could see.

The next day, we had a bit of a lie in (probably because it was the first proper bed we’d been treated to in a while), saw a few wallabies hopping about their ~garden (if you can call 4 acres of bush a garden), and went off to O’Reilly’s Canungra Valley Vineyards. Cathy took me in her MX-5 so that was already my day made, then they treated us to an amazing picnic spread complete with bottle of pink bubbles down down by the creek. If anyone ever gets the chance to go there then I’d definitely encourage it, the whole place is absolutely beautiful, and there are even turtles in the brook sometimes! Alas we couldn’t see any when we were here, but I did see my first eel, so that’s something; and afterwards Terry dropped us back in Surfer’s. They really are both the nicest people, and allowed us to go out and see some proper countryside, so I’m really hoping we can meet up again once they’ve moved and settled into their new flat in Gold Coast in a few months :)

During that week, on Weds 10th we also finally managed to go whale watching, something we’d tried to book for my birthday but couldn’t due to strong swells. We hurried (hungover) to get the marina in time, and hopped on this fancy-ass yacht to take us out to sea. To get there you have to go through the broadwater, and before that I didn’t really understand just how much water and coastline there is in Gold Coast. Basically, the city is full of waterways and islands and little beaches - including Budd’s Beach, which we never got to visit but will have to go next time we’re there for obvious reasons. Anyway, so we went out on this awesome cruise, and a surprisingly short distance from shore (about 3 miles?) we saw the first signs of humpback whales with the clouds of vapour coming from their blowholes. There are rules about how close the boats are allowed to get, so we didn’t get to see as much as I’d have liked, but we did see a few pods together doing their fin slaps on the surface, and once one even swam right under the back of the boat, so you could see the mottled skin and blowhole just underneath the water. I’ve always wanted to see whales so that was pretty cool, and that with the sea air and the sun cleared up the hangover nicely 😊

The rest of our time in Surfer’s was pretty relaxed, we went down to the beach a fair few times, saw some beautiful skies and went in the sea a few times. Those waves look really pretty crashing on the beach but I promise are a bit more powerful when you’re in them! I’m not a strong swimmer (and had contacts in with no goggles on) so didn’t go out quite as far or as often as Matt, but it was kinda amazing to be stood waist deep in water, have a wave crash over your head, then have the water go out so far you’re stood on dry(ish) sand again 😳 At one point Matt made me the bacon and potato flowers I’d tagged him in hinting at a birthday present, to interesting but surprisingly tasty results; and one day we played three rounds at King Tutt’s Putt Putt, one of which I actually managed to win for once! We also met a couple of people at the hostel (mostly called Matt) and started to be more social. One night we were out with a few people by the pool and Matt ended up going for an unwanted swim that he wasn’t stoked about, so obviously afterwards he pushed me in too and took himself back in at the same time for revenge. In my defence, I did make sure he didn’t have anything important in his pockets first 🤷🏼‍♀️

I was quite sad to leave the hostel, but we figured our little few-day trip to Gold Coast stretching to 2.5 weeks was probably enough, so I placed my first Dylan sticker in view of the sea and we headed back to the city. It wasn’t until we’d literally just arrived at our new hostel in Brisbane that I realised I’d lost my passport, because one night we’d been out with Fionn and Ste I’d been ~sensible enough to put it in her bag, and forgot all about it when I left 🙄 crisis adverted, and the beaut that she is, Fionn’s stuck it in the post so I’ll have that back soon 👍🏼 It was really awesome to hang out with her again on the other side of the world, and to meet Ste who’s super lovely, so I’m hoping to get to see them again before they head off again in a few months!

We’ve been back in Bris just over a week now, but it’s already taken me over an hour to write this and it makes sense to keep things together by place, so I’ll post more again soon!

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I absolutely LOVE Byron Bay, the place I was lucky to call home for 2 years. In fact, it’s probably my favourite place in the entire world and that’s saying something given that I’ve been lucky enough to travel to 37 countries so far! But I won’t bang on about why it’s so amazing as you can read about that here in my other post ‘Why Byron Bay is my favourite place in the World.’ Instead, I want to tell you what the best things to do in Byron Bay are and how to make the most of your visit. Be warned, the list is long so you might want to allow longer than a weekend to visit Byron Bay if you want to get a real feel for the place!

Before I crack on and tell you about the must-see Byron Bay attractions, have you considered your accommodation in Byron Bay? Only I found an amazing luxury tree house which I talk about in my post ‘5 of the best treehouses on AirBnB‘ that you should most definitely check out!

Just imagine waking up here?!!

Ok so for the best things to do in Byron Bay, here we go..!

Fun things to do in Byron Bay, Australia

Beach time

You can’t possibly visit Byron Bay without some beach time! There are several to choose between from small secluded coves to long stretches of perfect white sandy beaches with aquamarine water. Park up your beach towel and chill out with a good book, it’s time to relax!

Shopping

When you’re done relaxing, it’s time to hit the shops. Now Byron isn’t a big place so don’t go expecting any huge shopping malls! But it has small-town charm and you will find some beautiful shops selling unique homeware, interesting gifts, gorgeous beachy clothes and beautiful bookstores. There’s even a hippy shop selling everything tie-dye! If vintage clothes is your thing, you will find an abundance of great treasure troves.

Diving at Julian Rocks 

Just a 10-minute boat ride from Main beach, is Julians Rocks. Warm and cold currents meet here creating an amazing opportunity to see a huge variety of marine life. Between December and May, there is a good chance you’ll get to see leopard sharks. Dive or snorkel, it’s your choice!

credit to Jeremy Bishop

Walk up to the Lighthouse 

An absolute must-do activity in Byron Bay! This walk, which starts from Main beach, will take you through the woods (keep your eyes peeled for wallabies,) up over some cliffs to watch the waves crashing against the rocks, down to some beautiful coves and then back up to the Lighthouse – Australia’s most eastern point! The views are just beautiful in every direction you look! A must-see in Byron Bay! Top tip: If you’re an early riser, head up for sunrise at the lighthouse – it’s spectacular!

Markets

I used to LOVE the markets in Byron Bay. In fact, it was one of my favourite things to do in Byron Bay! They take place once a month on a Sunday so you’ll have to time your trip well but if the market isn’t in Byron, it’ll be in another local town! The markets are always teeming with people. There are so many colourful stalls selling quirky items. You’ll find delicious eateries and lots of live music. It’s a great way to spend the morning.

Live Music 

Byron Bay is host to some awesome live music. Despite being a small town it attracts both local musicians and big names alike. When I lived in Byron, I loved Sunday afternoons at The Beach Hotel where the music starts in the afternoon and carries on late into the evening. All the locals would head straight to the pub, conveniently set right on the beach, straight from the popular markets I mentioned above. It brought the whole community together – young and old. Frequently in the afternoons, the children were encouraged to get up on stage and join in with the bands! I loved this relaxed, local friendly vibe!

For bigger bands and an adult only venue, there’s the Great Northern Hotel which hosted some awesome bands when I was there. For more local music, The Railway Bar (a converted railway station) never disappointed.

Splendour in The Grass Music Festival 

Once a year in the Summer, Byron Bay hosts one of the biggest music festivals in Australia, Splendour in The Grass. Spread over 3 days, it sees huge acts – my favourite I saw there was Lana Del Ray! Other artists who’ve featured recently include Vance Joy, Queens of the Stone Age, Two door cinema club, Stormzy and Royal Blood. Read more about it here.

Byron Bay Bluesfest

TheBluesFest is yet another amazing music festival right in Byron Bay! Set over several stages on Easter weekend, this contemporary blues & roots festival has seen acts such as Bob Dylan, Hozier, Paul Simon and John Legend perform! On the line up for 2018, you’ll find Lionel Richie, Lauryn Hill, Seal and Sheryl Crow!

Sea Kayaking with dolphins 

I absolutely loved this – what an absolute giggle! Mostly because I’m truly terrible at sea kayaking and my friend was even worse! At one point we actually ended up being towed past the waves out to sea by another Kayak. Hey, here’s a top tip: if you see a dolphin, don’t both lean the same way to get a better look… You guessed it, Splash! On the plus side, our giggles as we tried (mostly in vain) to get back into the kayak, actually caught the attention of the dolphins who came over to investigate! Maybe sometime I’ll have to tell you the full story! (By the way, I’m now a lot better in a kayak, thank god for that!!) Check out Go Sea Kayak for more info!

Take a surf lesson 

Ok so I was equally bad at this and for me, it resulted in yet another wild dolphin encounter! Whilst all the others were practising their new found skills, I was still trying to stand up! A curious dolphin made it’s way over – maybe it thought I was in trouble?! But dolphins or no dolphins, you have to try surfing in Byron Bay! It’s actually famous for its great surf!

Whale Watching

As you might have gathered by now, Byron Bay is not short of dolphins! But it also gets its fair share of Humpback whale sightings between June and October. You can take a tour with Whale Watching Byron Bay or if you’re strapped for cash or short of time, just keep your eyes peeled at the Lighthouse – I saw whales breaching and splashing about from there. In some ways, it was better than the whale tour as it was so unexpected!

Credit to Thomas Kelley

Visit one of the many amazing restaurants

Byron Bay’s food scene is amazing. Breakfast, lunch or dinner – Byron will have something to suit everyone! From Thai food to seafood or pizzas on the beach, you can’t fail to have a good meal in Byron! My personal favourites include;

The Treehouse – outdoors and lit up with cute fairy lights in the trees, great acoustic live music and delicious pizza, all a stone’s throw from the beach.

The Balcony – Always a great menu, I remember the seafood paella was particularly good. Wash it down with some lovely wines or cocktails and indulge in some people watching from your prime balcony position!

TopShop – no not the British clothes shop, this is a great cafe with a real local vibe. Take away, sit inside or lounge on the grass outside, anything goes. I highly recommend the chicken pesto on sourdough with a banana smoothie. So addictive – it was not good for my waistline!

Visit Bangalow

Just up the road is a small town called Bangalow which I loved to visit on my days off. Great cafes, vintage clothes shops and a bookshop that I never got bored of browsing! They also have a great farmers market on the weekends.

Visit the Arts Factory

The Arts Factory, primarily a budget backpackers hostel, is also a great place for finding live music, workshops (such as didgeridoo making and African drumming) and the Byron Bay Brewery pub on site is also home to an alternative cinema The Pighouse Flicks where you can chill out on comfy cushions on the floor whilst sipping a glass of wine!

Join in the Drumming Circle

On the 1st Sunday of the month, after the markets, head to where Main beach meets Belongil at sunset for The Drumming Circle! A group of people who love music who join together to jam together. A random mix of drums, guitars, banjos, ukeleles, even saxophones! If you, don’t have an instrument, make one! (I frequently saw people drumming on bins even!) Or dance. Or just find a rock to sit on and enjoy the music and people’s creativity!

Have a Barbeque on Wategos Beach!

One of my favourite things to do in Byron Bay is to enjoy a beach BBQ. Wategos beach, perfectly nestled in the hills and home to several millionaire mansions, is a great place for a chilled out BBQ on the beach! Take a dip in the sea, have a surf or watch the beautiful sunset with a few beers and throw a shrimp on the barbie!

Take a Yoga Class

Byron Bay is a great place for alternative healthy living and has a great colourful hippy vibe. So there is nowhere better to take some holistic classes such as yoga or pilates. You can even do some Yoga on the beach!

Credit to Simon Rae

Take a Massage

If you are not relaxed enough already, there is an absolute abundance of places to get a massage in Byron Bay! Or if you feel like splashing the cash, there are also lots of beautiful retreats in the surrounding areas for the ultimate R&R! My favourite place for a massage was conveniently a 2-minute walk from the beach, the  HollisticMassage Centre.

Visit The Byron Bay Hinterland 

Some people get so caught up in the beautiful beaches, coastal walks and other great things to do in Byron Bay that they forget entirely, to visit the Hinterland which has its own charm. Beautiful rainforest, quirky villages such as Nimbin which appear stuck in the 70’s and impressive waterfalls. Definitely, pay the hinterland a visit when you are in Byron Bay.

Go horse riding on the beach

An alternative way to explore the beaches in the surrounding area is to go by horseback. They cater for all levels of experience and only go out in small groups. What better way to experience the beautiful beaches than on a glorious sunset horse ride?!

Credit to Yudi Susilo

  So there we have it, 20 of the best things to do in Byron Bay, Australia! Do you have any other suggestions? Are you planning a trip to Byron Bay? If so please tell us all about it in the comment section below!

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        20 of the Best things to do in Byron Bay, Australia - from swimming with leopard sharks to sunset beach horse treks I absolutely LOVE Byron Bay, the place I was lucky to call home for 2 years. In fact, it's probably my favourite place in the entire world and that's saying something given that I've been lucky enough to travel to 37 countries so far!