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princesslocket · 4 years ago

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Future Card Buddyfight x Angels of Death AU

Hi hi! It's once again AU time! This AU turned out to be WAY longer than I had anticipated it to be and if I'm being honest, it's kind of a mess. I rushed some parts in an attempt to keep the central ideas small but in the end it still turned out to be this really long blog.

Because I'm not keen on writing about major gore/blood scenes I kept everything as light as I possibly could. I'll put some warnings in the tags to let you know what to look out for so with that being said, I hope you enjoy this AU and thank you in advance for reading!

The AU starts with Kanata waking up in a strange room one day. He has no memories of how he could've possibly ended up there but what he does know is that he's not supposed to be there. He gets up and leaves the room through the only door available to him which just so happens to be an elevator lift.

When the elevator doors open up again Kanata steps into a room that looks similar to "The Disaster" aka a destroyed wasteland in the mountains. While journeying around the wasteland Kanata befriends a boy named Tasuku Ryuenji. Tasuku, much like him, has no idea how he ended up in the room (area?) So the two of them venture around the wasteland in hopes of finding some kind of clues to get out of there because would you look at that! The elevator had seemingly vanished... After about a day of searching the wasteland Tasuku & Kanata come across a cave where a change of clothes, name cards, and flash lights are conveniently placed for them. - They find another elevator hidden further into the cave.

The next floor leads them straight into a laboratory where they encounter Kakeru Futaboshi, a young scientist in training. He leads the two of them a table, offering them food, snacks, and the promise to help them recover their memories. The two of them gratefully take the food (both of them practically starving) before they pass out. Kanata wakes up to the sound of Tasuku screaming. Apparently while they were unconscious Dr. Gara (Kakeru) had started to run some rather harmful tests on them. A strange surge of energy helps Kanata to not only break out of the restraints he'd been tied to but also knock Dr. Gara several feet away from Tasuku. With Dr. Gara out of the way, Kanata frees Tasuku and they make a run for it. They run into several dead ends and dodge various traps before they find another elevator but as soon as the doors open, they're quiet literally jump inside. With the doors closing shut behind them they each get to witness how a very angry Dr. Gara had been running after them with some rather sharp looking tools.

The next room the doors open up to resembles a black galaxy vortex(?) They cautiously step into it meeting a boy named Gaito almost immediately after. While conversing with Gaito he explains how he he'd been trapped in the room for several months with no way out. Though a little reluctant, Tasuku and Kanata ask Gaito to join them on. Gaito agrees, of course, and winds up spending a lot of time with Kanata. Each time Kanata asks him why he doesn't want to interact with Tasuku, Gaito claims how Kanata is part of "his destiny" while Tasuku isn't. After saying this Gaito starts acting strange. It starts off slowly with Gaito comparing the two of them as they all working together to crack some puzzles here and there. But as they venture deeper into the room Gaito starts to passive aggressively hurt Tasuku in numerous ways. He only stops when they need Tasuku to focus all his attention on a puzzle that unlocks the elevator door they find. During this time Gaito takes it upon himself to sneak away with Kanata to have a private conversation. He asks Kanata if it'd be okay to get rid of Tasuku so that they can continue to travel together, to which Kanata responds with boiling anger before leaving Gaito to check up on Tasuku. And right as he's approaching Tasuku an axe comes flying out of nowhere, just barely missing Tasuku in the process. Both Tasuku and Kanata turn to Gaito, expecting to see him with more weapons but to their surprise they find Dr. Gara standing several feet away from them instead. In that moment Dr. Gara start rejoices in finding them but gets interrupted by Gaito who very angrily shoves him. The two of them get into a fight, each accusing the other of ruining their plans (both wanting to k*** off Tasuku & Kanata on their own) - With the two of them seemingly distracted, Tasuku & Kanata rush into the now open elevator. As the doors close they hear the sound of metal hitting metal followed by deranged telling.

While the two of them sit quietly in the elevator they get to talking. Since they've come to terms that everyone they're going to meet is most likely out to k*** them they form a plan to stick as close together as possible & to avoid talking to anyone they come across. Unfortunately things don't go as planned because as soon as they set foot on the floor, they're both warped to separate parts of the room. For this floor they each have to face various trials to conquer fears & scars from their past. Kanata is able to complete each trial within the span of what feels to be a day while Tasuku takes up what feels like two-three days. When they rejoin each other, almost all the light from Tasuku's eyes have been drained. And when Kanata tries to talk to him, Tasuku responds with vague answers in a distant sounding manner. Since he thinks leaving the floor would help, Kanata leads Tasuku to the elevator he found the day before Tasuku rejoined him. - As he's guiding Tasuku threw the door, an arm shoves him forward. Kanata falls forward but finds Tasuku no longer by his side. He looks back to see a strange man with Tasuku standing at his side. He jumps back up to grab for Tasuku but is pushed back down by Tasuku, who tells him to leave and not come back. The doors shut quickly afterwards.

When the doors open again Kanata refuses to get out. He's too busy pounding away at the elevator walls, trying to force his way up & out, to even notice the person walking up behind him. It's only when he hears a knock on the doors that he stops to look at the stranger. They start off by introducing themselves as J Genesis before asking Katana why he's trying to force his way back up. Since he's not quiet in the right head space, Kanata tells him about Tasuku and the mysterious stranger on the floor above, to which J Genesis offers him some help. - J Genesis (almost magically) reprograms the elevator to head back up. He stays on his own floor but gives Kanata a pen before parting ways. Thinking nothing of it, Kanata puts the pen away & waits for the elevator doors to reopen. Once they do he's out and running to find Tasuku. And he does find Tasuku, only what he finds is the Purgatory Knight armor with Tasuku inside. It's then that the stranger from this floor (Kyoya) comes out from behind Tasuku to happily show off his new "weapon." Upon hearing this Kanata charges at Kyoya but gets caught by the Purgatory Knight, which then causes a huge fight to break out between the two. Kanata is pretty much running around the whole time, dodging sword swing after word swing until he's able to some how manage snap Tasuku back to normal. With the two of them being on good terms again (and having Tasuku back to normal) Kyoya releases several other knights to attack the two of them. While Tasuku & Kanata are running, the pen J Genesis had lent him drops from his pocket, clicking on the floor and exploding just seconds after - The two of them limp back towards the elevator where they both pass out against the other.

When Kanata wakes up again he's sitting in front of a table with food. Tasuku, who's sitting besides him, is making quick work of devouring the food in front of them. So, he eats. After they finish they leave the table in search of J Genesis (Kanata had filled Tasuku in on the little details he knew about J Genesis while they ate). As they look for the man they come across a giant room shaped into a cemetery filled with dozens of tomb stones. Instead of looking at each of them, they continue to walk but Kanata doesn't miss how the names on last ones they pass. Kakeru, Gaito, J Genesis, and Kanata. They enter a clean looking office room where J Genesis is sitting. He greets them with a smile and congratulating Kanata on rescuing his friend. Neither of them reply and J Genesis takes a moment to ask them how they've liked the building so far. When neither of them answer he simply sighs and asks why they were being so ungrateful? After all they had been the ones to have asked to come here in the first place. J Genesis then goes on to explain how they had each signed up to participate in an unknown experiment for "gifted teens" online months ago. Upon sign up they had been notified that they're memories would be erased to ensure they wouldn't use their "gifts" to harm any of the other participants. And if they somehow managed to unlock they're gifts during their time in the experiment then they would be awarded 108,765,500 yen. Of course, they're memories would be wiped after the experiment BUT they'd still receive the money afterwards. As for participants who didn't survived the experiments, they would be laid to rest within the vicinity and their electronic devices would delete any trace of having been on the sign up website. Tasuku & Kanata turn to each other when J Genesis finishes talking. Both of them both refusing to believe the mans words but also at same time failing to understand why either of them would sign up for something so bizarre in the first place. With neither of them speaking, J Genesis choose that moment to hit a button on his desk. A door opens up to reveal Dr. Gara. A wicked smile creeps up onto his face as he speaks "The boss forgot to mention the part that we've never had a survivor escape my floor." - Dr. Gara chases them around the floor for what feels like hours. During their time running and hiding Tasuku & Kanata try to conjure up any kind of powers they might have had before their memories where erased. With each failure they grow closer and closer to death (Mainly because Dr. Gara would find little ways to harm them when their defenses were down). At some point both of them give up on trying to unlock their powers and start looking for an elevator and to their luck, they find it! The only problem is that the elevator requires the use of one of their powers....

While Kanata panics behind him, something inside Tasuku clicks. Earlier when he had been working to unlock the puzzle on Gaito's floor a strange sort of energy had flowed through him, which allowed him to unlock the puzzle without lifting a finger. He quickly tries to re-channel that strange energy again, unlocking the elevator seconds later. But before either of them can run into the elevator, Dr. Gara and J Genesis jump out of it, tackling the two of them to the ground. Dr. Gara laughs, expressing his delight by stamping a foot hard onto Tasuku's chest, saying how he "can't wait to dissect a new magic user." Meanwhile J Genesis simply holds Kanata down, keeping a close eye on Dr. Gara. When Dr. Gara pulls out some medical utensils that's when J Genesis strikes. He summons forth a crystal blade that penetrates Dr. Gara ending him in just a matter of seconds. Even with Dr. Gara no longer holding him down, Tasuku can't bring himself to move away. He & Kanata were stunned. J Genesis uses the moment to drain away Tasuku's powers in his stunned state before moving onto Kanata. But as he goes to do so a series of explosions sounds from overhead followed by the sound of the buildings speakers turning on. Kyoya's voice fills the room; "Congratulations Gen... You've just won a free ticket it the after life. Butt don't worry, you won't be the only one to go down, we all will. Dr. Gara and I may have never seen eye to eye but if there was one thing we could agree on it was that you aren't allowed to win. If one of us were to go down then we'd vowed to take the building with us as our final request. I hope you're satisfied with yourself. All of your hard work is going to be destroyed now- Feel free to come and find me, but I doubt you'll be able to catch up with me and save your work at the same time." As soon as the speakers turned off the another series of explosions sounded overhead. J Genesis quickly jumps off of Kanata, rushing into the elevator & taking riding it to a floor upstairs. With the elevator no longer there all Tasuku and Kanata can do is stare helplessly at each other. This was it, they really were going to go down with the building...

The ceiling gives way several feet away from them, crashing into the floor and creating a giant hole in the ground for them to climb into. Tasuku leads the way through the collapsing building as they run. They manage to avoid broken furniture and various other fallen debris for the most part and at some point, Tasuku seemingly starts going faster than Kanata. Kanata desperately tries to catch up but finds his body growing heavier by the second until a strange surge of energy washes over him, making him suddenly feel lighter on his toes, within seconds he starts running faster, catching up to Tasuku. As they near what looks to be the exit of the building a giant chunk of the ceiling begins to fall, Tasuku shouts something over his shoulder but Kanata can't hear it. The sound of a bell chimes in his ears and in that moment he forces his legs to go even faster, shoving Tasuku forward with all his might just as the ceiling comes crashing down from above. Tasuku gets thrown out the door from both the push and the ceiling falling behind him and lands outside the building just in time to watch it collapse in on itself.... Tasuku attempts to get up, to go back in and save Kanata but finds his body screaming in protest. His eyes draw to a close as red and blue blurs start to dance in the distance.

Tasuku wakes up several weeks later in the hospital with bandages wrapped around his body. His right arm and left leg are in a cast and his head pounds under the light in his room. The nurse, who just so happens to be in his room at the time, rushes out to go inform some doctors of his condition.

A couple of months go by before Tasuku is up and walking again. The events surrounding the building he had woken up in are still being covered on the news. Sometimes he'd get questioned by random passersby's on the streets of what it was like in there (The media had released pictures of what had been founded in the destroyed building) But Tasuku never answered the questions. He honestly couldn't remember why he had even been in the building.

A year later and his life is back to normal. Every now and then he thinks about the building but his mind always brushes it off right before he can force it to remember any details about it. One day while he's out walking he crosses paths with a man wearing a trench coat. He thinks nothing of the man when they pass each other by when he hears him whisper "Go check the cemetery." He stops to look at the man, the same man who has disappeared.

So, Tasuku goes to visit the nearest cemetery. He walks around for about an hour, looking for something he can't bother to find before he decides to leave. As he's walking out an exit in the back he glances a look to a single gravestone located under the shade of a tree. He stops. Tears well up in his eyes, falling down his cheeks moments later as his mind reads the name repeatedly over in his head. Kanata Ozora

#future card buddyfight #kanata ozora #tasuku ryuenji #angels of death #au #Kakeru Futaboshi #Dr. Gara #Gaito Kurouzu #kyoya gaen #J Genesis #kicking #pushing #possesive behavior #explosions #lots of running #cemetary visit

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tigerkirby215 · 4 years ago

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5e Olaf, the Beserker build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Phroilan Gardner. Made for Riot Games.)

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Olaf sounds like ProZD’s Archibald voice. Especially Olaf’s voice lines for using his Q it sounds exactly like ProZD’s “Huah! I think that enemy got the point!” Like I’m not crazy right? Please tell me I’m not the only one who hears this.

Anyways Olaf has been on my To Do List ever since I realized that I haven’t made a single champion whose name starts with the letter O. My desire to make Olaf was only further accentuated by the Sentinels of Light event, even if his inclusion in that event could best be summed up with...

But I won’t ignore Olaf just because the Sentinels of Light event was a flop. He’s still a compelling character that I have actually gotten some requests to make. After all: the dual-axe wielding Barbarian is an iconic image!

I mean, Olaf is probably just going to be 20 levels in Beserker Barbarian so I don’t know why you need me to make a build for that.

GOALS

C'mon, I won't hurt you - We’ll need ways to heal when we harm in the middle of combat.

Death by steel! - Swing axe, throw axe; unga bunga me play Olaf.

The might of Lokfar approaches - I didn’t manage to do so with Mundo but Olaf is going to need to have CC immunity.

RACE

Olaf is a human; feel free to pick a different race like Goliath or even Custom Lineage to justify him being Iceborn but Variant Human is still the best option. Increase your Strength by 1 as well as your Constitution, grab any skill proficiency of your choice as it honestly doesn’t matter much for Olaf (maybe you should’ve been Custom Lineage for Darkvision after all?), and the Primordial language because I’m sure you picked up on the language of the wild.

For your feat you have a choice: Dual Wielder will let you wield two d8 Battleaxes (instead of d6 Handaxes) and also increase your AC by 1 while dual-wielding, but the Fighting Initiate feat will let you grab Two-Weapon Fighting which will let you add your Strength modifier to your second axe’s swing. I persually opted for Dual Wielder as it gives you more benefits overall, and we’ll be getting ways to throw axes without having to hold onto them first.

ABILITY SCORES

15; STRENGTH - I mean, you’re a shirtless Barbarian running around with two axes. You thought this would be a DEX build?

14; CONSTITUTION - The reason you can’t die is because you’re so hardy. Sucks!

13; CHARISMA - Despite Riot’s great attempts at writing you as poorly as possible you do still have some sort of Charisma. Remember that Charisma is force of personality, not necessarily good looks or personal hygiene. Charisma is needed for Intimidation as well as multiclassing.

12; DEXTERITY - You need to be quick on your feet to run at your enemies with reckless abandon.

10; WISDOM - If you were wise you wouldn’t be trying to kill yourself.

8; INTELLIGENCE - You stopped caring about education the moment you were born. Battle is the only thing in your blood!

This build is also quite viable with Point Buy, going for a stat array like 15 / 12 / 14 / 8 / 8 / 14 if you want lower mental stats but higher combat stats.

BACKGROUND

The Uthgardt Tribe Member background from the Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide is basically the Outlander background but you actually belonged to Freljordian society once. Regardless you do get proficiency in Athletics as well as Survival (”Survival” as in finding food to eat, not as in keeping safe on the battlefield!), a musical instrument or artisan’s tool of your choice (choose whatever you fancy and make your own Olaf, as long as it’s something a warrior would do! I personally opted for Smith’s Tools to sharpen your axes), and a language of your choice (pick whatever language they spoke back in the villages.)

Your background Uthgardt Heritage is the Outlander’s Wanderer feature with extra steps: along with being able to find food and water you are also treated well by nomads and wanderers who have heard of your glorious battles!

(Artwork by Marie Magny and West Studios. Made for Riot Games.)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - BARBARIAN 1

Starting off as a Barbarian because what else would we be? You get proficiency in two skills from the Barbarian list: Intimidation is an obvious must and Perception will help you find good fights to take!

As a Barbarian you get Unarmored Defense equal to your Dexterity plus your Constitution, which is currently a 13... Well Medium Armor is an option if you want to finally put on a shirt. And of course as a Barbarian you can Rage to deal more damage and resist incoming damage! You can’t cast spells while Raging, but that won’t matter, right? It’s not like I’m about to give you caster levels.

LEVEL 2 - FIGHTER 1

Quickly hopping over to Fighter to further your martial skills. You can grab a Fighting Style like Thrown Weapon Fighting to draw weapons in the same action you make to throw them, and also do +2 damage with thrown weapon attacks. See? Told you we’d be able to throw axes easily!

You also get Second Wind for some not-quite-Lifesteal to keep you in the fight to claim even more glory! Certainly not to stay alive.

LEVEL 3 - FIGHTER 2

Well another Fighter level for Action Surge is certainly worth it, as you can push yourself to destroy your foes!

LEVEL 4 - FIGHTER 3

But we need one more Fighter level to be able to get our axes back after we throw them. Eldritch Knights get Weapon Bond, allowing them to always keep two weapons on hand and never lose them. While bonded with a weapon you can’t be disarmed of them, and you can use a Bonus Action to recall a weapon if it’s not in your hands. My suggestion would be to bond to a Battleaxe and a Handaxe, so you can’t be disarmed of at least one of your main weapons and can also call your thrown axe back to throw it again!

You also get Spellcasting as an Eldritch Knight: You learn two cantrips from the Wizard list, and three spells as well. You may be thinking “wait; didn’t you dump Intelligence?” That is correct, but you don’t need Intelligence to cast Light to see with your dumb human eyes (I mean technically you need Intelligence if you want to cast Light on someone else but it’s probably easier just to light up your axe and throw it at them) or Prestidigitation, which is a better spell for creating bonfires than the actual Create Bonfire spell.

Your leveled spells have to be from either the Evocation or Abjuration schools, but thankfully Absorb Elements and Shield are both from the Abjuration school and also don’t need Intelligence. Protect yourself from damage to have a truly glorious death! Because it’s not like blocking attacks will keep you alive.

You can also learn one spell from any school and uhhhh... Pick your poison between Jump and Longstrider, to make it easier to chase your foes. Are there probably better spells? Yeah, but do they fit Olaf?

(Artwork by Xiao Guang Sun and West Studios. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 5 - PALADIN 1

Jumping over to Paladin for a few abilities, such as Divine Sense to find some things that will put up a good fight like Fiends, Undead, or... Celestials? I’m sure they hit hard! You can also find a good desecrated (or consecrated) battleground with this ability, as I’m sure there will be good enemies there! You only know of an enemy’s type however, not their name. And if they’re hiding from you this ability won’t make it any easier to find them.

You also get Lay on Hands, which is like lifesteal you can give to allies! You have a pool of hit points equal to your Paladin level times 5, and you can use it to either heal (at a rate of 1 point per hitpoint) or neutralize a poison or disease affecting a target. (5 Lay on Hands health to neutralize one poison or disease.) Dying to natural causes isn’t a glorious death, brother!

LEVEL 6 - PALADIN 2

We’ll also need second level in Paladin to get a Fighting Style, but since Wizards of the Coast hates fun you can’t can’t take Two-Weapon Fighting, and since we’re running around in our birthday suit Defense also isn’t an option. The best official Fighting Style you can take is Blind Fighting (Blessed Warrior is okay too if you want Guidance I guess) but talk to your DM about potentially letting you take Two-Weapon Fighting? It’s not like it’s OP or anything (in all honesty it’s kinda shit.)

Paladins also get... more Spellcasting?! Disgusting! Well this spellcasting is based on your Charisma modifier instead of your Intelligence, which might be why we have it at a 14. But even so you can’t prepare that many spells: Divine Favor will let you empower all your attacks with more damage for some Vicious Strikes, Cure Wounds will again be acting as life-not-quite-steal, and Shield of Faith will let you or an ally absorb more blows, not that you want to live or anything. Also remember to check the Player’s Handbook to see how many spell slots you’d have after mixing two casters together.

But I still think the best course of action for your spell slots is to use them for Divine Smite! Throw caution and magic to the wind to make a Reckless Swing that does extra Radiant damage (depending on the level of the spell slot used.) The Smite deals 2d8 of damage for a first level slot, and an additional d8 of damage for every slot above first. (The simple way to remember this is that you roll a number of d8s equal to the spell slot used plus one.) If the enemy is a Fiend or Undead the damage increases by a d8! The maximum level spell slot you can use for this is a 4th level slot (for 5d8 damage, or 6d8 against a Fiend or Undead), but I doubt we’ll get spell slots that big.

LEVEL 7 - PALADIN 3

We may as well take a third level in Paladin for a Sacred Oath, and you swore an Oath of Glory in battle! Along with Guiding Bolt and Heroism being added to your spell list (as if you can cast spells lmao) you get two Channel Divinity options: Peerless Athlete turns you into... well, a Peerless Athlete with advantage on Athletics and Acrobatics checks. You can also carry, push, drag, and lift twice as much weight as normal, and to top it off the distance of your long and high jumps increases by 10 feet. This boost lasts for 10 minutes which should be more than enough to give it your all in battle!

Alternatively for some more not-quite-lifesteal Inspiring Smite can be activated after you Smite to give yourself or nearby allies within 30 feet temporary hitpoints. The total number of temporary hit points gained by this ability equals 2d8 + your Paladin level, and you can distribute them amongst yourself and your allies however you wish. Technically the most gameplay-accurate way to split the Temp HP would be to take it all yourself but being helpful has its benefits. A battle is truly glorious if fought alongside an army of companions!

You also get Divine Health, because Glory doesn’t die on sick days!

LEVEL 8 - PALADIN 4

It’s about time to take that 4th Paladin level to finally get an Ability Score Improvement: +2 to Strength for stronger axe swings is an obvious choice!

You can also prepare another spell like Bless, which will make it easier for you and your allies to smite your foes and survive their blows! Wait, what was that about surviving?

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 9 - PALADIN 5

Since it’s so close we may as well take the 5th level of Paladin so you can finally make an Extra Attack. That means you have two attacks normally and a third attack with your Bonus Action thanks to Two-Weapon Fighting!

You can also prepare second level Paladin spells now, and the Oath of Glory gives you Enhance Ability and Magic Weapon as spells you can cast. Believe it or not these are actually useful, even with your low spellcasting modifier!

LEVEL 10 - PALADIN 6

The 6th level of Paladin is honestly too good to pass up: even though Aura of Protection is only adding +2 to all your saving throws (since your Charisma is kinda uhhh... not good?) that’s still +2 to all your saves, as well as the saves of your allies within 10 feet. That’s like, two whole Rings of Protection!

Speaking of rings: Warding Bond was added to the Paladin spell list thanks to Tasha’s and it’ll let you take damage for your allies to die in their place! As long as you don’t mind wearing some platnium rings in your beard, at least.

LEVEL 11 - PALADIN 7

What we’re really here for is the 7th level of Glory Paladin. Aura of Alacrity will increase the speed of you and your allies within 5 feet (not 10, because Wizards of the Coast are weird) by 10 feet, so you can charge at your foes with the might of Ragnarok!

LEVEL 12 - PALADIN 8

But we may as well take the 8th level of Paladin for another Ability Score Improvement: cap off your Strength for the deadliest strikes possible.

You can also prepare another spell but it would be wise to wait for...

(Artwork by JoJo So. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 13 - PALADIN 9

9th level Paladins can prepare third level spells like Crusader’s Mantle to give all your nearby allies the Divine Favor buff to rush into battle with you! But the main reason we’re dipping this deep into Paladin is for the two spells from the Oath of Glory: Protection from Energy perhaps isn’t all that fitting, but Haste is insanely useful and powerful. More attacks, more speed, more... armor? Well, it’s no matter. More glorious battle!

LEVEL 14 - PALADIN 10

10th level Paladins won’t be swayed by magic swaying their hearts! Aura of Courage will let you (and your allies within 10 feet) laugh in the face of death as you gain immunity to the Frightened condition!

You can also prepare another spell like Aura of Vitality: you can use it to heal yourself but healing your allies will lead to a far more glorious story to tell of your death.

LEVEL 15 - PALADIN 11

I promise that we’ll go back to Barbarian levels soon but 11th level Paladins get a huge boost to their damage output thanks to Improved Divine Smite. This ability affects all your attacks (not just your Smites despite the name) to give them an extra d8 of Radiant damage. This has obvious synergy with your choice to swing two axes since your Two-Weapon Fighting attack will also get that extra d8 of damage!

LEVEL 16 - PALADIN 12

Okay but let’s quickly grab the 12th level of Paladin first. You can either increase your Constitution for more health and AC, or your Charisma for better saving throws and spellcasting. I personally opted for Charisma but if you value health and AC then Constitution is good too!

Oh and yeah you can prepare more spells, but there aren’t really that many other third level spells I want.

(Artwork by Alvin Lee. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 17 - PALADIN 13

That’s because 13th level Paladins finally get 4th spells which most importantly means Freedom of Movement! There you go you finally have Ragnarok’s CC immunity! You also get Compulsion which sure would be a good spell if you had any Charisma to actually cast it.

But you can also prepare more spells like Aura of Purity so you and your allies can shrug off whatever your foes might throw at you to stop you from reaching them, or Death Ward which you ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT USE ON YOURSELF.

LEVEL 18 - PALADIN 14

Okay but the 14th level of Paladin gives you Cleansing Touch, letting you cleanse spells without spell slots to cast Freedom of Movement. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier and regain all expended uses at the end of a Long Rest.

You could also perhaps prepare another spell like... Aid? I don’t know really by this point the magic is secondary. We’ll be going back to Barbarian soon anyways.

LEVEL 19 - PALADIN 15

But 15th level Glory Paladins get Glorious Defense, and we can’t pass that up! When you or another creature you can see (technically an enemy if you so desire!) within 10 feet of you is hit by an attack roll, you can use your reaction to grant a bonus to the target’s AC against that attack equal to your Charisma modifier. If the attack misses you can make one weapon attack against the attacker as part of this reaction, provided the attacker is within your weapon’s range. You can do this a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier, and regain all uses at the end of a Long Rest.

LEVEL 20 - PALADIN 16

But since it’s so close one final level in Paladin would be good for one final ASI: again more Constitution means more health and AC, but more Charisma will boost all your Paladin abilities!

Speaking of Paladin abilities you can prepare one more spell before we start taking more Barbarian levels... honestly you can pick your poison as it won’t matter much when your Raging!

...Wait.

WHY NO BARBARIAN LEVELS?

There’s a lot of things that I can’t do as a Barbarian. The most notable option that would be restricted if I went pure Barbarian would be Freedom of Movement, and while crowd control is somewhat rare in D&D being able to ignore it is far more important to Olaf as a character.

There’s also no Barbarian that has lifesteal besides Path of the Beast, and the only Barbarian that can throw its axe easily is Path of Wild Magic. Obviously neither of these fit Olaf.

Ultimately Paladin gave us more of Olaf’s abilities. The only ability that Barbarians have which fit Olaf other than Unarmored Defense and I guess Unarmored Movement would be Feral Instinct. But even the Barbarian subclasses don’t fit Olaf with the only ones which make any sense being maybe Totem Warrior? (Despite Olaf’s title Berserker wouldn’t fit him well, mostly because Berserker is a bad subclass.) But we miss out on so many of Olaf’s actual abilities by making him a Barbarian.

tl;dr Barbarians can’t do magic and Olaf has a ton of abilities that can only be recreated in D&D with magic

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Urge to kill rising... - Two-Weapon Fighting really doesn’t get the respect it deserves by the D&D community. You wouldn’t be able to get three attacks as a level 11 Paladin in any other way, meaning that you can truly capitalize on Improved Divine Smite. Not to mention the general increased DPS of 3 attacks and 3 chances to Smite!

Faster to battle! - It was not my intention but Glory Paladins are surprisingly good team players with a variety of spells and abilities that can keep your team alive and increase their strength in battle.

Obliteration! - You’re fairly hard to kill... oops. But between decently high health, spells to defend yourself, and damn high saving throws no matter how you increase your Charisma you’ll be quite a challenge to eventually take down! Sure your AC might suck... we should probably talk about that.

CONS

The worth of a man can be measured by the length of his beard, and the girth of his belt buckle - Hey remember that one Barbarian level I took pretty much entirely so you could have Unarmored Defense? Yeah honestly it’s gimping you hard, to the point that even Mage Armor would give you more AC. Honestly playing this build as Fighter 4 / Paladin 16 would be far better as you’d get one more ASI at the cost of actually having to wear armor. Hell going full Paladin 20 would give you the Living Legend capstone which is crazy strong, and while the loss of Action Surge would hurt you can grab the Thrown Weapon Fighting Style with a feat. (Or just take Two-Weapon Fighting style with your Variant Human Feat and run around with Hand Axes.)

If you’re really dead-set on going unarmored beg your DM for a Barrier Tattoo: either a Rare one (you’ll still need 14 DEX for something something legally-not-Medium Armor) or a Very Rare one (so you don’t even have to worry about Dexterity.) You can even go the Tahm Kench route and grab Eldritch Adept for Disguise Self to look unarmored if it’s really that important to you.

Well that was a pretty long con to say “Barbarian Olaf bad.” What else is there?

Chop chop! - Who would’ve guessed that dumping both mental stats would make you a dummy? While Aura of Protection saves you to some extent the party won’t be turning to you for any History checks.

Finally, some fun! - You have a rather silly amount of spells relative to your spell slots, and a good number of them are Concentration as well. Throwing all your slots to the wind to Divine Smite with reckless abandon sounds fun but managing both your Concentration and your spell slots will take some effort.

But your choice to go in without armor is just a self-handicap after all: you really want to die, and prove yourself in death! Fight the toughest fights and take down the strongest foes until you finally prove your prophecy wrong and fall before the blade of the mightiest foe! But perhaps you should instead sit down and have a muffin, and think about why you truly want to die die die.

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

#dnd #dnd 5e #dnd build #dnd guide #dnd barbarian #definitely a Barbarian #not any other class #dnd paladin #League of Legends #League of Legends Olaf #Sentinels of Light #was bad #As if on cue Olaf releases gas from every bodily orifice #Youtube

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xxdearlybeloved · 4 years ago

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The Spoils of War

Hvitserk x Female Reader

Also on AO3.

Summary: The vikings attack a castle and take the princess hostage. But, wait... is that guilt we see from Hvitserk? What would Ivar say...

Warnings for smut, violence, major character death. It’s a bit dark honestly, but if you’ve seen the show or Game of Thrones you should be fine.

A/N: Full disclosure I have not really seen the newer seasons so is this remotely close to canon? Absolutely not but that’s not the point okay, let’s go with it :)

Your feet dance across the soft grass as you try to evade your pursuer. You know your mission is futile, you can hear him gaining on you. Were you letting him win? That’s what you would tell him when he caught up with you, but of course he would never believe it. His hands wrap around you as he finally catches you, your squeals piercing the air as you both fall to the ground.

“You’re getting slower,” he says, kissing your neck as you laugh and push him away.

“I wanted you to catch me,” you return playfully, smiling down at Olin as you brush your hand through his curls. You bite your lip, leaning back down to kiss your love before he flips you over and sends you into another fit of laughter.

Olin kisses you again, more slowly as both of your heart rates slow down. The sun is warm on your body and the heat seems to warm even the coldest parts of you. You can’t imagine that heaven could get better.

As if reading your mind, Olin whispers in your ear. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” you smile into his neck, placing kisses there and on his ear before holding his head against your chest. He was yours and no matter what your parents sad he would always be yours.

“We just have to figure out how to tell my father,” you say, beginning your tired inside joke. Your father had long ago told you that your marriage was a duty, and even though Olin was your oldest and dearest friend he was not the match your family needed from you.

“He’ll come around,” Olin replied, smiling at you like the angel he was. He sat up, pulling you up with him to head back to the village. The sun was beginning to set and you knew you would be late for dinner. Olin hadn’t let you of your hand, gently squeezing it and pulling you in for another kiss. Maybe dinner could wait.

He seemed to read your mind, pulling you closer and running his hands down your body in a way that made you shiver. He slows, turning his head back to the village as he listens for something. Then you hear it, too.

Screaming.

Your heart races as you both freeze, the worst crossing your mind as your feet begin to carry you back to your home.

“We should stay,” he holds your arm. You see the fear in his eyes and know what he’s thinking. If there’s trouble, your father always told you to stay out of sight. But you had to know, you couldn’t just stay behind. You shake your head, breaking free of his grasp as you run back. You hear the fighting over the winds rushing through your hair.

As you near the castle, you see the chaos that has ensued. The market is empty, goods thrown and discarded, tents completely knocked down. The smell of blood reaches your nose and you look down, seeing fallen men around you. You picked up a sword from one of your guards, trying not to hear your father’s voice chiding you for not bringing anything with you to protect yourself when you left the castle.

You hear Olin calling you but you don’t stop. You have to find your parents. You have to know they are okay. The fight hasn’t yet overwhelmed the castle. You see the giants who have invaded you fighting inside, but all does not seem lost. You join the fight in a rage to defend your home, sending the sword down with all of your strength.

The curses are foreign but you don’t care as you continue swinging, slicing anything that stands in your way, gratefully catching many of them off guard.

That is, until, one of them catches you off guard. You feel the white hot pain of something cut your calf and you collapse, fear rushing through you as you try and remember your training.

The man who had cut you was one you had taken down, but refused to give up the fight. He was on you, calling you something in his language before Olin pulled his hair and cut his throat, ever the knight.

He smiled at you, reaching to help you up when a spear went right through him. Both of you stared in shock, silence suddenly falling over you as his hands grasped his middle, holding it in place. He fell to his knees, looking at you in disbelief. You scrambled to help him, but were too late as another viking delivered the final blow, taking the love of your life from this earth.

You were screaming. You didn’t realize you were until the same viking striked you in the mouth, obviously trying to quiet you. You fought as you were dragged into the castle, where you noticed the fighting had stopped. The quiet unnerved you, as did the glances of the Vikings as they took you to the throne room.

A dark haired viking sat on your father’s throne, an evil smirk on his face. You were pulled by your hair and deposited before him, rage filling your body as you lunged. You were grabbed again and kneed in the stomach, sending all of the breath from your body.

“No! She’s the princess, please do her no harm,” you heard your father say. “Please, don’t hurt my little girl.”

It hurt you to hear your father’s voice breaking. You hated what it meant, and you wanted to hold him and tell him it would all be okay.

“So this is her,” the viking on the throne said, his voice sending chills down your spine. He came down the throne, using his arms as he came face to face with you. “Even covered in blood, she’s just as beautiful as I’ve heard”

You spit in his face and feel hands pull you to your feet by your hair. Your father yells and you wonder where your mother is. Hopefully she’s safe. She may have made it out in time.

“This is my kingdom now,” the viking says, wiping the spit off of his face. “We don’t need this king anymore, but we may need a queen,” he says, looking up at you.

You watch in horror as they take your father. You are unaware of the men holding you back until another puts a knife at your throat. “Stop fighting or you’ll end up just like your poor mother,” he says, eyes darting down as yours follow.

Like a weight, it hits you and you are on your knees. The men let you go and you make your way to her, wrapping your arms around her, wishing your tears could bring her back to life. You hear the axe swing outside, and the foreign cheers, and you know you’re now an orphan.

YOU DON’T KNOW how long you’d been there, your eyes closed as you taste the blood in your mouth, feeling the ache begin to set in your bones. You try not to think about the morning that now seems so long ago, joking with your parents before going to find the love of your life. How could they all be gone?

Your head is pulled back and you are staring into the same terrifying blue eyes that are smiling at you in a way that doesn’t bring you comfort. “How is she still alive?” He asks, tracing your cheek before looking to the other men.

“She is the princess, my king. We thought she would be –“

“A spoil of war?” he says, smiling at you. “Did you think you would share her? Take turns and brag about lying with royalty?”

“No, we thought she would have useful information. Keep the remaining people from rebelling.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” another man said, walking into the room. He addressed the one with the terrifying blue eyes. “Remember the plan. If we kill her, this will all be for nothing”

“I think there would be something to gain,” he said, pulling back your hair and tracing a finger down your throat.

“Ivar,” the other viking said. Ivar turned to him, letting you go.

“Fine, Hvitserk,” he spat the man’s name. “I just hope you know what you’re doing”

OLIN WHISPERED YOUR name, startling you awake. He had come for you. He was smiling, brightening the room as he reached for you. Your Olin. His arms wrapped around you and you breathed into his chest, his scent calming you, letting you know that despite everything you were going to be okay. As long as you were with him.

And then, like lighting, everything was too bright before it went dark and your hands were wet. When you pulled them away, they were covered with blood, Olin’s blood. You were losing him again. You were screaming, incessantly screaming before you heard another voice call your name.

It was the viking Hvitserk, the one with the kind eyes. “You’re alright,” he said, and you could have laughed at the statement. You were starving, your wounds were screaming in pain, and you smelled awful having not been bathed in days. You looked down at your hands expecting to see blood again but instead you saw that you had wet yourself.

You didn’t think you could cry anymore, but the tears continued to come. Hvitserk couldn’t console you. You wouldn’t let him touch you and he didn’t know what to say. He had told Ivar that you’d needed food at the very least, but he wouldn’t hear it. It was now that his brother had gone back to the beaches that he decided to try and get you some food.

Then he heard you screaming and now he knew he couldn’t leave you like this. Ivar be damned.

He called to the guards to put some warm water in his room. When you had calmed down, he had reached out to you, promising not to hurt you. He approached slowly, his hands outstretched with his palms showing.

“I just want to help,” he said, earnestly. He didn’t blame you for not believing him immediately. He waited patiently while you sat in the corner, eyeing him suspiciously. You thought about the things he could be plotting against you. Was he trying to clean you up so he could use you? Was he going to take you to the evil brother?

But his eyes were patient and you reasoned that nothing he could do would be worse than you’d already survived. If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it already. At least you would be clean. If you were honest, you were too hungry and delirious to consider your decisions rationally.

You tried to stand but your legs gave out and you were too tired to try. You didn’t protest when he approached you cautiously and lifted you in his arms. He said something to you but you didn’t hear him.

The light was too bright, and you spent most of the time with your eyes closed. He carried you up the stairs, towards the guest rooms on the lower level. You heard the gasps as you neared the room he had taken for his own. Familiar faces, just as bruised as yours, taking in your appearance.

Many had believed you dead, but as your body was not displayed with your parents’ they’d had hope that you had escaped. It was a relief to see you alive, but as they saw you they wondered the cost.

“Princess,” you heard a familiar voice say. It was one of your mother’s ladies, Luella. She had tears in her eyes as she took in your state. “You monsters,” she said to Hvitserk. “You heathens!” She screamed. The viking nearest her reached to strike her, but Hvitserk shook his head.

“Please,” he said, “help me with her.” She looked confused at first, but then her face softened.

“She needs a bath. And food.” Lady Luella said, coming closer and brushing the hair from your face. “I will bathe her. You find her some clothes and food. When was the last time she ate?”

He sat you down in his room, looking apologetically to Lady Luella as she began to undress you. He was sent away to also find bandages, as she feared your wound was infected. She stripped the clothes off of you, cursing as she took in your bruises and filth. “Oh my dear, my little girl, I am so sorry,” she began to cry.

“Please,” you said to her. “It is just so nice to see a familiar face.” You both shared a sad smile before she helped you to the bath and began bathing you, carefully cleaning your entire body and singing a song as she did. You wanted to ask her how long it’d been, why she was even alive, but the words never came.

There was a knock at the door and she went to get your clothes and food. “I need more water to clean her hair,” she said to whoever was at the door.

She helped you out of the bath and into the clothes. The smell of the food was overwhelming and finally she let you eat. When you were finished, she washed your hair. Hvitserk returned as she was brushing it and he was relieved by the sight. You looked much better than the screaming girl he’d carried hours earlier.

“She can have my bed,” he told Lady Luella, taking a blanket from the pile. “I will sleep on the floor, to make sure no one touches her.”

“I would prefer, lord, if I could stay with her.” Her gaze was stern and unyielding. She still did not trust the viking prince.

“If you wish, you may share the bed.”

THE NEXT MORNING, you awakened to a new wave of pain. Days of sleeping on the floor had taken their toll and you were too stiff to move. Lady Luella left to fetch you some breakfast and Hvitserk watched as you tried to stretch the stiffness away.

“I can help,” he said, standing from the floor and stretching himself. “I get stiff sometimes from days on the boats.” He rose and you shrunk into the bed, not sure what he intended to do. “I promise not to hurt you.”

His eyes held yours, silently communicating that he wouldn’t come any closer without your consent. None of it made sense, but you slowly nodded. He came closer, asking you to lay down on your stomach. You did what he said and he slowly, gently worked his hands over your body. He started with your shoulders and worked around your wounds, easing when he felt you wince underneath him. It did hurt, but when he finished it felt better and you were able to move a little better.

Lady Luella had come in silently, confused by the scene in front of her. It was clear to her that Hvitserk did care for your wellbeing, but she still was not sure as to why. He left you to your breakfast and Lady Luella set about styling your hair. She had to get you away from here.

THE DAYS PASSED and you grew stronger. The days seemed almost normal sometimes, but your heart still ached with the bouts of crippling grief. The nightmares persisted and your eyes stung from crying, but you did not return back to the cell they’d held you in. The days actually got better, and you felt guilty each time the sun rose for you while the bodies of so many people you loved were apparently still outside.

Hvitserk’s kindness was also disarming. He always made sure you had every meal, bathed regularly, and were as comfortable as possible. He would take you on walks. Most times, they were silent because the halls and gardens held memories of your parents, Olin, and your life before these strange men destroyed it. You would cry silently and he would watch you, not saying anything but marveling at your strength to carry on despite everything. Other times, you would listen as he told you stories of the places they’d been and the place they’d call home.

His voice was deep but soft and low. You liked to listen to his strange accent. You noticed how he kept you away from the other viking men when possible, not letting a single one into his room that you now unofficially shared with him. He rarely left you alone, making sure Lady Luella was there when he wasn’t. He didn’t trust his brother and he didn’t know how much more you could take.

It was in those moments that you found it hard to reconcile the images in your nightmares with the man walking beside you, the scent of your favorite flowers filling the air. You noticed he had a nice smile that went along with those kind eyes, and it felt a bit easier to laugh with him. The world was a little brighter.

IVAR HAD RETURNED. They had decided to send some boats back to get reinforcements, having heard rumors that the kingdom might be avenged by the king’s brother who held land to the south. He didn’t want to worry, but he wanted to be prepared. He did not come this far to lose.

Hvitserk had been right in keeping the princess hostage. You would be an amazing bargaining chip if worse came to worse. Ivar was sure your uncle would do anything for your life. Maybe even his kingdom.

He made his way to the throne room, casually asking one of the guards to fetch you for him. Ivar intended to question you on your uncle and his army. They could begin preparations with what they had. He looked up as Hvitserk entered, his demeanor tense.

“Hvitserk, to what do I owe the please?”

“I see you’ve returned,” Hvitserk replied.

“Nothing gets past you, does it brother?” Hvitserk ignored his comment.

“I heard you were looking for the princess.”

“I was, is she dead? I wasn’t sure, she has been in the dungeon quite awhile.”

“Not anymore,” Hvitserk said, approaching his brother so he could stand over him.

“What are you saying? Is she dead?”

“She’s in my room, I’ve been feeding her. Keeping her safe.”

“So you’ve fucked her?” Ivar asked, a smirk in his eye.

Hvitserk felt his anger rise. “It’s not like that.”

“Pity,” Ivar continued, “I would love some time alone with her. The things I would do… just to her mouth.” Hvitserk couldn’t stop himself from punching Ivar as hard as he could. He was angered even more when Ivar responded with laughter.

“So you have fucked her,” he said. “You could have said, we don’t have to share.”

Hvitserk picked Ivar up by the shoulder, his face angry. “She’s lost everything, Ivar. What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?” he spat at Hvitserk. They stared at each other angrily before Hvitserk let him drop back into the throne.

“You don’t hear her nightmares, her screams,” he said, shaking his head and walking away from Ivar.

“Have you gone soft, brother?” he asked, his voice low and menacing. “Don’t forget why we came here.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Hvitserk returned, his voice equally low.

“Well then, here’s what we have against us.” Ivar explained about the uncle and his plan to keep their hold on the castle. It would be a fight, but they were viking. They were ready.

ONE DAY, LADY Luella was not there when you woke up. Neither was Hvitserk. Instead, the first eyes you saw were the menacing deep blue ones of the brother Ivar.

“You thought you could outsmart me.” He said, looking out of the window. “You and that old lady, you thought we wouldn’t find out.”

Your heart began to race as you clutched the blankets tighter around you. You struggled to find your voice. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He turned to face you again, his smile far from kind. “No one is coming to save you. We have won and you have lost. This land is ours and it is time you accepted it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come and see for yourself.” He turned back to the window and you rose slowly, taking the blanket with you as thin shield. You eyed him warily as you looked out the window. There, in your favorite garden, was Lady Luella. She was in her nightgown, but her arms were splayed unnaturally and you knew the red that you saw was blood.

You wailed. Had he not taken enough from you? You fought him, your arms punching and slapping every inch you could get until you felt arms dragging you backwards. You screamed, increasing your volume as you realized there truly would be no one left to help you. You were alone.

“My brother has gotten soft, but I have taken care of him, too.”

You had no words. You never knew evil could exist, but here it was in front of you, smiling.

Ivar sent you back to the dungeon. You didn’t even scream or struggle for what was the point? Ivar had won, and you had truly lost.

HVITSERK CAME TO you in the middle of the night. His face was bruised but he just wanted to make sure you were okay. He closed the door silently behind him, coming to you and brushing your arm.

You turned to face him, afraid that this was another nightmare. Another angel visiting you in the dungeon. He knelt beside you, brushing your hair out of your face as he tried to think of what to say. In the end, there was only one thing he could think of.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes searching yours for absolution. You believed him.

You didn’t know what it was that made your lips find his. Maybe it really was a dream, you figured. He was hesitant at first, but he couldn’t deny himself. He returned your kiss, holding you tenderly in his arms, afraid that doing too much too soon would cause a reaction he wasn’t prepared for.

You wanted to hate him for being a part of the destruction of your life, for kissing the lips that had belonged to Olin, for being here when so many you loved were not. But you couldn’t. You had opened yourself and if he did not hold you, you were sure that you would fall apart. You pulled him closer. Your lips left his and moved to his jaw, his neck. Your hands sought his skin, frantically moving under his clothes.

You needed him closer, you needed to feel him. His iron hands clamped yours down, holding them together to give both of you a chance to think about what you were doing, what you were about to do. His eyes searched yours and you found yourself begging him with body and voice.

“Please,” you whispered, trying to free your hands. “Please,” you moved closer to him, closing the distance he had put between you. Your lips found his again and he resisted, not wanting to take anything else away from you. But you didn’t stop, your kisses going back to his jaw, your tongue tracing to his ear.

He let your hands go, moving his own to hold you as he returned your kiss, letting his tongue dance with yours. You moaned into his mouth, relief flooding your body as he held you tighter, pressing his body against yours. He pulled you into his lap and you wrapped your legs around him, letting his kisses pepper along your neck as he’d done in his dreams all these weeks.

His hands ran up and down your body, leading you to pull off the simple shift dress you wore. You shivered from the cold, but also from the way he admired your body. His rough hands were back on your soft skin, wishing he had more time to learn which spots were your favorite but far too caught up in the moment.

You sighed against him, feeling alive for the first time in weeks. His warm eyes locked onto yours as you reached for him, unsurprised to find him ready for you. You raised yourself to position him under you before slowly lowering yourself onto him.

He watched your face as you took him in, your eyes closed as you made yourself feel every inch. You opened your eyes once he was fully sheathed, locking yours with his. He brought his hands to your hips as you rested your arms around his shoulders. You kept eye contact as you rode him, slowly, not wanting this feeling to end.

You pushed away the guilt as you focused on how it felt to be in his arms. The man who saved you, who kept you alive in more ways than one. You couldn’t tell if he was more of a prisoner than you were, but you were here with him.

Your breath began to catch as the waves started to catch up with you. He watched you begin to slow, marveling at how beautiful you looked in the moonlight. He had tried his hardest to keep still, letting you control this because this, like everything he had done the past few weeks, was for you.

Your eyes closed, and you let the feeling wash over you. You felt Hvitserk bring his lips to your neck, his hands slowly exploring your body, his hips begin to roll under you, and that was enough to send you over the edge.

He groaned as you spasmed over him, holding you tight as you cried our in his ear. He whispered praises to you as he continued to move his hips under you, searching for his own release. You gasped as he moved his body against yours, shifting you so that he went impossibly deeper. He didn’t slow when you whimpered his name, when you begged.

You clung to him, unable to close your legs as they were spread around him. The sounds you made only egged him on, and he did his best to maintain control but he felt himself slowly lose it as he slammed into you. He heard you curse as you came again and he was right behind you, spilling inside you before collapsing backwards and bringing you with him.

You lay in his arms, heart racing as you take in the weight of what you’d done. Would your father forgive you? Your mother? Olin? You were sure you didn’t have long to find out. It wouldn’t be long before you joined them at this rate.

Hvitserk stroked your back in silence as both of your heart rates returned to normal and he softened inside you. You whimpered when he pulled out, but he didn’t let you go as he reached for your dress to put it back on you. You wished he’s brought a blanket and you couldn’t help laughing to yourself at the idea.

You slept in his arms, feeling safe for the first time in since the day that brought him to you. That night, you didn’t dream.

YOU WOKE TO the door banging open, men who were not viking swarmed in around you and Hvitserk, pulling you away from him and pulling him to his feet.

“Kill the heathen,” the man in charge said, taking off his jacker to put over you.

“Please don’t kill him,” you pleaded, fear in your voice. The men looked at you confused. “He helped me,” you tried to explain. “I need him, please -” another man had picked you up and carried you quickly out of the dungeon. You began to protest as you heard fighting behind you, but the man put his hand over your mouth.

“Please princess, we have to get you out of here before the siege,” the man said in an elevated whisper. You saw the men around you and understood.

“Don’t hurt him, please,” was all you could say before he had his hand over your mouth again, following the signals as he carried you outside.

YOU HEARD ABOUT the battle from your Uncle’s men. The night attack had caught them completely off guard, and it did not take them long to flee as your uncle’s rage allowed no prisoners. You’d heard that the viking king and his brother had made it out alive, and you couldn’t explain the tears that fell from your eyes.

You were betrothed to the prince of a neighboring kingdom to ensure protection should the Vikings return again. Your union united the kingdoms, the people more than pleased to have such a beautiful and strong future queen to lead them.

Your husband was a kind man, and you felt blessed thrice over. It was a small reward for the price you had to pay, but the days brought you reasons to smile again. You fell in love as time passed and you had children. Your life seemed to go on.

Often, you found yourself quietly watching the horizon, not sure exactly what you were waiting for. On walks, you would think back to the ones you took in the last days at your old castle. You were visited by all the people you lost in your dreams, until their faces became distant memories and only your heart felt the ache.

Time could heal many wounds, but the scars of war never faded completely.

#vikings fan fiction #vikings imagine #vikings smut #vikings #hvitserk #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk imagine #hvitserk smut #i will stop posting things at 2am one day #but not yet

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haru-sen · 4 years ago

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IAL: Mandalorians 2

Thanks, 3-D Render Anon, with your adorable voodoo dolls. That was the serotonin I needed.

I should be working, but I’m posting this. The Mando’a phrases and cultural dishes are from Wookieepedia. I’ll post the actual translations in the fic, but I don’t have time right now.

You woke up in a tent, your entire body aching. You were tucked under some blankets, a bedroll under your head. Your sabers were still on your belt.

“Query: are you done yet?” HK-53 asked, from overhead. “Also, are you sure I can’t kill these Mandalorians?”

“I am going to track down that pacifist module and shove it right up your accessory port,” you muttered. “Just you wait-”

“Shock: Master, how could you threaten your loyal droid this way? When did Master get so cruel? I am very proud of you!”

Laughing, you held your head for a moment. “What happened?”

“Recollection: You collapsed. The blue-armored meatbag injected you with kolto, and carried you here. The black-armored meatbag kept his gun on me, and I made sure neither of them did strange things to your person while you were inconveniently indisposed. It has been a little over a standardized hour since you lost consciousness.”

You sat up slowly. The sun was still up. “Where are we?”

“The witch is alive.”

You blinked, the black-armored Mandalorian standing in front of you. He was not wearing his helmet. Tall, with dark skin and clawmark scars across his cheeks, he loomed over you. He was well-groomed, his beard neatly trimmed, his black hair was immaculately styled. How did he not have helmet hair?

Blue scrambled over, also with his helmet off, also younger than you expected. He was blonde, hair gelled and styled. What the hell? Did Mandalorians discover the secret to preventing helmet hair? He smiled at you, with eyes as blue as his armor, his cheeks flushed. “You’re recovering much faster than I expected. How are you feeling?”

“Like I drank Delta Squad under the table again…” You said, rubbing your forehead. You had overdone it back there. Between the terentatek corruption, the Ataru form, and the subsequent wounds, you had pushed yourself too hard too quickly.

“Jedi drink?” Blue raised a brow.

“No, we just absorb dew through our pores,” you scowled.

“This Jedi witch is about to get dunked in a lake if she keeps giving me that attitude,” Skull said coolly.

“Well, I am thirsty,” you said.

To your surprise, Blue offered his canteen, looked thoughtful for a moment, took a drink, and then offered it again. “It’s not poisoned.”

“Disgust: Not poisoned, but definitely contaminated,” HK-53 said.

You hesitantly accepted the canteen, drinking down some of the metallic-tasting water. “Thanks.” You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “What do I call you?”

“Reaper,” Skull said. “76.” He pointed at Blue. “You?”

“Strike,” you said, climbing to your feet. The world wobbled, but did not tilt too far on its axis. You looked around. This encampment was small, but there was a cold firepit and vehicle tracks. They had not set this up in a couple hours. They had been in this area for awhile.

“Strike,” Reaper said, expression grim. “I think we need to talk.”

“No, I need to get to Nar Shaddaa,” you said.

The men looked at each other. “So do we.”

“That’s what we need to talk about,” 76 said, crossing his arms.

You stood there for a moment, a little intuitive nudge already sending your thoughts into overdrive. This was about to get even more complicated. “Because you really like casinos? Right?” You asked, with a sigh.

“Because we need to get one of those kids back,” Reaper said.

“...Of course, you do,” you said, staring up at the sky. You were glad someone had survived to hire mercs to rescue their kid. And you didn’t really care if the child chose to avoid training on Tython. But you did not need battle-happy Mandalorians ruining your operation. “Which one?”

“Xenya Itera, human female.” Reaper held out a holo of a little girl with a tiny spherical droid floating over her outstretched hands. She was dark skinned, her hair in several long tiny braids. She was smiling. “You can rescue the others, but we are obligated to retrieve her.”

“And if she doesn’t want to go with you?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“Then she doesn’t have to,” Reaper said with a shrug, surprisingly unbothered by the question.

“Your bounty?”

“Not your problem,” Reaper said coolly. “We just need to get the kid away from the Cartels. Simple enough. Easier too if we go after them together.”

...Two sensible, non-volatile suggestions from Mandalorian mercs in one day? Was the world coming to an end? ...Or was it a trap? There was a long history of bad blood between Jedi and the Mandalorian clans.

“What clan?” You asked suddenly.

“Excuse me?” Reaper said.

“What clan are you?”

The men looked at you for a moment, like they hadn’t expected that question. “Clan Ordo.”

You nodded. You didn’t have any standing grudges with Clan Ordo. Hell, you hadn’t really ever dealt with them. But they weren’t Clan Lok, Rook, Varad, or Viszla, so you were probably good for the moment. “I can work with that.”

“You should be fine with Ordo,” Rogun said, over the comm-link. “They were one of the clans that backed the Crusader’s Schism, several years back – wanted to side with the Republic instead of the Empire. Whole thing got crushed by Mandalore the Vindicated, and Ordo was eventually welcomed back into the fold, with honor. So they likely don’t have the grudge that Lok and Viszla do. I can’t speak for the individuals though.”

“Good to know,” you said, sitting cross legged in the tent. “And Talon?”

“...I guess you’re right, Strike. There are no coincidences. He’s been spotted on Nar Shaddaa, near the slave markets with an entourage.” An entourage? Did that mean…? Rogun gave a rough laugh. “The Force moves in mysterious ways.”

“No, the Force is a mean bitch with an axe to grind, usually in my face,” you scowled.

Rogun guffawed, the lethorns on the side of his head shaking. “You’re never going to make Master with that kind of talk.”

You rolled your eyes upward, like that was the only thing keeping you from obtaining the rank of Master. Ha! “Just so you know, I got quizzed by the Council on our association.”

“I’m sure you said nice things about me,” he said, his grin mean.

“I said, your sandwiches suck.”

Rogun scowled back at you. “It was the best I could do during an active bombardment!”

You knew adult Chagrians often lost their sense of taste due to environmental factors, and maybe that was the reason the food had been awful, but it was rude to point that part out. “Yeah, well, I talked you up a little too. Made sure they knew that despite your questionable occupation, you’re a friend of the Republic.”

“Great, so when they come knocking at my door for favors or charitable handouts, I know who to blame.”

“Just give them one of those sandwiches, that’ll send them on their way.”

Rogun squinted at you. “It’s a good thing you’re useful, Strike.”

You laughed. “Thanks, Rogun. Keep me updated on Lord Talon’s movements. I’ll make you a delicious sandwich in gratitude.”

“Go kiss a sarlaac,” he scowled, and hung up.

“You certainly have a way with people,” Reaper said, hovering by the entrance.

You had not noticed his approach. How much had he heard? “That’s me, making friends wherever I go,” you said with a shrug.

Reaper gave a low chuckle. “You and that mouthy droid.”

You glanced around, realizing HK-53 had not been over your shoulder for your conversation with Rogun. You got up, a little concerned.

“Relax, he’s shooting bogstalkers with 76. They were attacking the comms equipment. I’ve already updated my people. I’m going to finish breaking down the camp, and then we can go.”

You started to disassemble the tent, watching as HK and 76 sniped at the leathery reptilians that fluttered in the sky.

“What are you flying?” Reaper asked, packing several weapons into crates.

“The usual – Rendili Defender-class light corvette. It’ll get us where we need to go.”

“And you think your credentials will be enough to get us through Olaris?” He asked, because the Republic-held city wasn’t too friendly toward Mandalorians.

“I can, but it might be easier if you leave off the helmets. I know that’s culturally insensitive, but we’ll move faster if I don’t have to pull rank on a bunch of terrified soldiers and customs agents,” You shrugged, bundling the tent tightly.

“Sensible,” was all Reaper said.

“So what’s it like, traveling with a Jedi Knight?” 76 asked, lowering his rifle.

“Declaration: That is a broad question, meatbag. Be more specific,” HK-53 said, rifle aimed at a ferrazid hound, the mutated creature already tearing apart a broke receiver.

76 laughed. “Do you get in a lot of fights?”

“Bragging: We get in so many fights. The number of people who want to kill Master is very high. And it doesn’t seem to get lower, despite how many people we do kill. If I wasn’t so busy killing her enemies, I would want to fight her one day.” HK-53 paused, its head twitching.

76 frowned. “Why does she attract such enmity? Just who are you killing?”

“Aggravation: Master has killed many things, usually enemies of the Republic, but she has also made many rules about what I am not allowed to kill. It is unnecessarily complicated. For example, Master generally prefers to let the enemy make the first move of aggression, to ensure that it is adhering to her archaic rules of “moral” combat. Sometimes she even talks people out of fighting her. Can you believe it? She knows they’re her enemies and she lets them walk away! She should just kill them ahead of time, not spare them. What is she thinking?” HK-53 gunned down the mutated hound-beast. “But Master is a Jedi, and Jedi have to follow silly rules,” the droid muttered petulantly.

“How did a...violent murder-happy droid like yourself end up with a Jedi then?” 76 asked.

HK-53 tilted its head, giving 76 a very skeptical look. “Suspicion: Such flattery. Why are you asking so many questions, meatbag?”

“I’m just curious about the people I’m traveling with,” 76 said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not every day I meet a Jedi Knight or such an...enthusiastic battle droid. It leaves an impression. There’s a story there.”

HK-53 stared at him, those eyes glowing. “Satisfaction: We are impressive. You don’t need to know more.” Turning back to the swamps, HK-53 surveyed the area. “Observation: Oh, it looks like Master and the other meatbag want us to return.”

76 just laughed awkwardly.

“Concern: Master, that meatbag was asking a lot of questions about us.” HK-53 was secured to speeder on the seat behind you. The Mandalorians were on the other. You were technically using their equipment, but you didn’t exactly trust a bunch of battle-happy maniacs in the driver’s seat. That included your droid.

You zoomed over marshlands and fields, the Mandalorians riding parallel to you.

“What kind of questions?”

To your surprise, HK-53 just replayed the recording of the conversation. Normally, he was all too happy to summarize an interaction, and intersperse his own commentary, but he let it play out without interruption.

“Query: There is subtext that I do not understand, Master. Is he probing for weakness? What angle is he coming from? What does he hope to learn?”

You sighed. “It could be socially-motivated, but I’m sure he’s also trying to gather intel. People often let a lot of things slip in friendly conversation.”

“Query: What did he let slip?”

“Not a lot,” you said, thoughtfully. “But he’s trying to be diplomatic, and he seems to have a personal interest in Jedi.”

“Query: How can you tell?”

“The enthusiasm,” you said. “He’s not just asking for intelligence purposes. He’s interested in the topic, and he wants to make a good impression on you. I’m not exactly sure why – Mandalorian mercs aren’t really known for their diplomatic skills, but I think if we talk to him more, we’ll figure it out.”

“Statement: These Mandalorians are not what I expected. Normally, we just fight them, and it’s a little difficult, but it’s done. This change in behavior is...disconcerting.”

“Yeah, I know. Nothing about this mission is what we expected,” you muttered.

“Clean, sturdy, and fast,” Reaper said, looking over your ship. “Not bad.”

“Spacious,” 76 said, with a nod.

Given the fact that it was just you and HK-53, the ship was almost too big. “You guys can make yourselves comfortable in the crew quarters,” you said, gesturing to the rooms. “Let me know if you need anything. I’m going to make some calls before we reach Nar Shaddaa.”

But first you needed to change into an intact top, and check your wounds. Your robe was ruined, and there were three parallel gashes across your low back. They nearly spanned the entire width of your back, and were each a couple inches wide, and thankfully not too deep. But they would take a while to heal. 76 was right, you would scar. Your healing skills just weren’t up good enough. Still.

The auto-navigation was engaged, cockpit locked. You wouldn’t have to take the helm till you reached Nar Shaddaa. You didn’t exactly trust the Mandalorians on your ship, but you could feel them settling down, sharing one of the two sleeping rooms - there were multiple berths on your ship, but they holed up in one together. And they were behaving. To your surprise, when you reached Olaris, the Mandalorians had tucked their helmets into their bags, and quietly followed you through the spaceport. HK-53 attracted more attention with his running commentary, but boarding had gone smoothly.

You put HK-53 outside the comm room and shut the door.

You first called Master Amari, to give her the update for the Council. Yes, you were going to Nar Shaddaa. Also, Orgo the Hutt had a terentatek and had tried to feed you to it. You did not have time to finish the beast – but you would return to take care of it, after you rescued the children. You had picked up some Mandalorians – they were also tracking one of the children and on their best behavior.

Master Amari had been interested to learn they were Clan Ordo, but seemed satisfied with your progress. You did not mention Lord Talon.

The next call was less staid.

“A terentatek, Theron,” you snarled. “How did you manage to leave out that detail?”

“I don’t keep an inventory of every crime lord’s dungeon!”

“It’s a goddamn terentatek, not a monkey lizard! How did he even get one?”

“Did you try asking him?” The spy asked snidely. He lounged on the comm unit, looking nothing like the sickly boy you’d met on Haashimut. “I was too busy trying not to die!”

“Sounds like a “you problem,” he shrugged. “And stop whining, you didn’t die.” He grinned at you.

“No, thanks to you!”

“You didn’t invite me. You could still invite me,” he said, leaning forward, his eyes bright and too eager.

“Pfft, since when did you care about a dozen potential padawans?” You asked, even though you knew the answer, just like you knew why you had not invited Theron along. It would get too complicated for a variety of reasons. “This is barely even Jedi business. It’s a criminal venture that happens to have Imperial ties – not really relevant to the SIS or your career.”

“...I heard you saw the Grandmaster,” he said, suddenly subdued.

And that was exactly why you had not invited him. Theron was a shady son of a bitch on the best of days. That said “bitch” happened to be Grandmaster Satele Shan was just another level of complicated. There were so many reasons the situation was screwed: she had given him up immediately, his father was “unknown,” and he didn’t have enough force sensitivity to blow out a candle. His solution? He’d gotten some kind of high end cybernetic implant and gone off to play spymaster for the Republic, instead of working through his feelings.

But there was always an underlying layer of bitter regrets that accompanied his dealings with the Jedi Order.

“Yes, she looks healthy,” you said, playing it off like it was not a big deal. “It was going to be a disciplinary hearing, but that changed, because I’m just a pawn in some greater philosophical argument. Or maybe because they needed me to do a job,” you scowled. “I still annoy her, don’t worry.”

“Wanna wager which one of us is the greater disappointment?” Theron asked, his smile deceptively cheerful. You knew better than to answer that question. “Just kidding, Strike. It’s obviously you.” He made finger guns. “She hasn’t given me a second thought.”

You shrugged, pretending like you didn’t hear the open wound in that statement. “I doubt it’s anything so important. I just get a lot of lectures from the Council. You can probably guess what they think about strong emotion and any activity that isn’t meditating in front of a fountain.” You paused. “Look, do you want to be there when I report back to them? Like as an SIS adjutant or something?”

Theron let out a harsh laugh. “Are you trying to get kicked out, Strike? You show up to a High Council meeting with the Grandmaster’s bastard offspring in tow? How’s that going to look?”

“...You’re the one asking to come along,” you scowled. “Make up your own mind, Theron. I don’t offer to drag you into stupid Order business, you complain. I do offer to bring you into stupid Order business, after you ask, and you decline and point out why it’s a dumb idea. This is why you don’t have friends.”

“You’re one to talk, unable to make real connections because the Order stunted you for the first half of your life. Now here you are, running around with that psychotic defective HK unit, like it will replace what you lost on Corellia, chasing after Lord Talon like he’s the one you’re mad at, instead of-”

The world narrowed to a single point. Red light flashed across your field of vision.

“You need to stop talking,” you said, your voice going cold.

Theron blinked, his eyes widening. “...Druk. Strike, I didn’t mean-”

You cut the connection, the room blurring around you for a moment. It took a couple seconds for your vision to adjust. To realize how angry you were. Sure, Theron was an asshole, but he’d only peeled back the scab on a still-festering wound. You tilted your head back.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Hold. Repeat till the darkness recedes.

Gradually, your control steadied. But you sat with that cloud of anger, not letting it go, nor letting it take ascendance. It was there, a pulsing reminder of your humanity.

You were going to kill Lord Talon and maybe his apprentice. Not because you hated him, though you did. Not because it was the right thing to do, though it was. You were going to kill him for personal reasons, and unlike the rest of the Order, you were not going to lie to yourself about it. And if that brought you down, if that decision made you fall, well, you were prepared. You had taken the appropriate precautions. There would be no Sith Lord Strike.

There was a ping as you received an incoming message. It was from Theron. It was only five words.

I’m an ass. I’m sorry.

You shook your head, not ready to respond just yet, and left the comm room.

“Is that the best you can do?” 76 laughed, and then there was whumpf, before you heard a body hit the floor.

You peeked into the bunks, to see the Mandalorians stripped down to their shorts, wrestling on the ground. Both men were muscular, with noticeable scars from blasters, vibroblades, and even some teeth and clawmarks. But the tattoos were interesting… Reaper had a full left sleeve, and 76 had some very colorful creatures etched on his back. Was that a varactyl?

“See something you like?” 76 asked, glancing over at you.

Reaper looked up at you, narrowing his eyes. “Or are we being too loud?”

“I wasn’t sure what was going on, just making sure it wasn’t a murder,” you said. “Carry on then.” You abruptly turned around, shoulders taut. You would not stare. And you certainly would not get caught staring.

“Hey, you seem kind of stressed. Do you want to spar or something?” 76 asked.

“That’s not a good idea right now,” you said, tensing.

“Why, because you’re still weak from getting your ass handed to you by a Sithspawn freak?” Reaper asked, casually. “Don’t worry, witch. I’ll go easy on you, if you ask me nicely.” His grin was savage.

You turned back to face him, feeling the anger pour off you in waves. “...Mandalorian, do you need someone to humble you that badly?” You asked, your voice low and harsh.

Reaper laughed. “You don’t scare me, witch. Choose your weapons. And if you need to hide behind your fancy light swords-”

“Practice blades will do,” you said. “Come on then.”

Reaper squinted at you.

“You don’t think I’m going to tear up this room, do you? The sparring mats are on the lower decks,” you said, already heading down.

You picked up two blades off the rack, choosing a full blade and a half-length blade. The cargo hold was equipped for exercise, as you did not normally transport a lot of goods. You stretched, ignoring the whispered conversation between the Mandalorians.

“Oh good, the medbay is across the hall-” 76 said.

“Whose side are you on?” Reaper growled.

“You’re out of armor, cyar’ika,” 76 murmured. “She’s a Jedi. The outcome is obvious.”

“Hut’uun,” Reaper spat. “Verd ori'shya beskar'gam.”

“Don’t be salty because I’m telling the truth, mir’osik.” 76 laughed.

Maybe you should have called HK down here. He could have translated the Mando’a for you. Except he’d be calling for real bloodsport instead of just sparring. And you didn’t need that temptation right now.

You took a few practice swings, reviewing your forms. Niman would be the most sensible. This was just a sparring match. It was an all-around style, and Reaper had a lot more muscle mass than you did. You did not need to go all out. You swung the longer blade, feeling the air part in front of you.

Reaper glowered at 76, then stalked over to the weapon rack.

“Don’t worry, Mandalorian,” you said, your mouth curving in a mockery of a smile. “I won’t use my witchcraft to beat you. I’ll do it with my own two hands.”

“You don’t sound much like a Jedi right now,” Reaper said as he stepped on the mat, holding a single vibrosword.

“What do I sound like then?” You asked, as you began to circle each other.

“A real soldier,” Reaper said. “Which is impossible, because everyone knows that the Jedi like to hide in their fancy temples praying for peace, while their soldiers die.”

You just smiled, the insult gliding right by your ear. You had made that argument too many times to be offended by it. Especially when it was from a Mandalorian braggart trying to get under your skin. But it said everything that this was how an outsider viewed your order.

You spun your swords, the heavier one in your dominant hand, feeling just right. The anger boiling under your skin seemed to evaporate. It was just energy now, ready to power you through another fight. Your mind slid back into its seat of balance.

Reaper charged you, lunging forward, the blade cutting through the air in a horizontal arc. You sidestepped, ninety degrees to the right, just out of his reach. And while his blade was extended, you slipped around his guard, and dragged your short sword across his back, a thin line of blood appearing seconds later.

He whirled, swinging the sword at you. You parried with your left hand, and glided forward, under his guard, so close you couldn’t swing your other blade. Instead, you grinned up at him, and rammed the hilt into his stomach.

Coughing, Reaper doubled over, glared at you, and then his leg snapped up. You slid backward, but a half-second to slow. He kicked you in the chest, and you had to catch yourself in a spin. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

He charged you again, blade raised overhead.

You instinctively raised your swords to parry, catching his blade between both of yours. You twisted, and the vibrosword flew out of his hands, and landed on the floor of the cargohold with a clatter.

“Do you yield?” You asked, spinning your swords. “Or would you like a moment to go retrieve your weapon, Mandalorian? That’s fine. I’ll wait.” You grinned. “Because I can do this all night long.”

Reaper stared at you, eyes dark, nostrils flared. He was bleeding, breathing hard, and sweat glistened on his velvety skin, but he didn’t look like he was done.

“Maybe you’d like to try both of us then?” 76 asked, his eyes narrowed. He picked up Reaper’s sword and then a stave for himself. He placed the sword in Reaper’s outstretched hand, and took up a stance beside his comrade. “Tion'ad hukaat'kama?”

You tilted your head back, moving your head from side to side. 76 held the staff like he knew how to use it. You closed your eyes, feeling the currents of the force flow through you, a picture of the field forming in your head. They stood side by side, but they would attempt to box you in. They both had excellent range, but 76 would have the advantage of reach. You could see the range and motion of their attacks before they made them, and while it would be difficult, you were good at this. “What are you waiting for? An invitation?”

76 lunged first, sweeping the staff at knee-height.

You leapt over the attack, even as Reaper slid to your right swung the vibrosword in a downward arc. Elbow bent, wrist pressed to your head, you blocked the strike.

76 struck again, thrusting the staff like a polearm.

You jumped backward out of his range, disengaging from Reaper’s sword lock. You spun around toward Reaper, blades outstretched.

76 swung the staff around, blocking the area across Reaper’s torso.

You struck the staff with a clang, and had to swing your right blade to block Reaper’s counterattack. You disengaged again, dancing to the side, putting Reaper between you and 76. He tried to swing his sword, but you parried the blow again, and whipped your other blade across his cheek with a little flourish.

The skin split and instead of countering, he stared at you, with an intensity that made you hesitate.

From behind Reaper, 76 thrust again, striking you in the side with the staff. You hissed, and kicked Reaper backward into 76. The blonde man steadied his friend, and together they stayed on their feet.

You touched your side, knowing that the area would need extra healing later. But it wasn’t enough to bring you down now. Breathing hard, you took a deep breath and whirled toward them, blades spinning in your hands.

Still leaning on 76, Reaper didn’t have a chance to take a strong defensive stance. You caught his vibrosword between yours, and scissored them, sending his weapon flying once more. You couldn’t quite kick him aside, so you circled around to 76. You got close, too close for him to use the staff properly. He could block your blows, but he didn’t have the space to maneuver. Your blades slid off the staff, but still scraped against his chest, slicing a long gash through the pink skin, the tip of the short sword catching on a gold ring.

“Haar'chak!” He yowled.

“Ke'pare!” Reaper shouted. “Wait!”

You froze, having not noticed the little gold rings on his nipples. “Disengaging,” you said, dropping your vibrosword, and very carefully freeing the short blade from the piercing. “Why the hell would you leave those in for a sparring match?” You asked, backing up.

Wincing, 76 held a hand over the right nipple ring. “I...forgot,” he mumbled.

“Showoff,” Reaper said, shaking his head.

“I’ll get the kolto,” you sighed, setting the blades back in the rack, before you went across the hall to the medbay. You grabbed the first aid kit and headed back.

76 sat in the middle of the mats, rubbing his chest sheepishly. Reaper sat next to him, shaking his head.

“Hold still,” you said, crouching down in front of him to examine the cuts on his chest. You cleaned the wounds with a sanitizing wipe and then applied a layer of kolto over the cuts. You glanced at the nipple. It was pink and a lot more swollen than the other one, but still intact. You hadn’t torn the piercing or cut anything off. It wasn't even bleeding. Squeezing a little more kolto onto your thumb, you rubbed it lightly against his nipple.

76 stiffened, inhaling sharply as you put the healing gel on him. He was breathing hard now, chest and face flushed from the exertion. He watched you with hooded eyes, teeth clenched. “Do you patch up all your conquests?”

“No, normally there isn’t enough left to fix,” you said, meeting his gaze.

He studied your face for a moment. You could feel the heat pouring off him. He leaned closer. “So I’m one of the lucky ones?”

“Very, you almost lost that piercing and more.” You said, your mouth suddenly dry.

“It’s still sore, maybe you could put some more kolto on it,” he purred, a very knowing smile on his face.

“No, I think you deserve to suffer a little for your stupidity,” you said, backing up. You glanced at Reaper. “Do you need kolto?”

“Go on then,” Reaper said coolly, sitting up straight.

You crouched back down in front of Reaper, keeping him partially between you and 76. You worked quickly, your fingers lightly tracing the scar on his face. He watched you sullenly, as you quickly applied the gel. And then he turned around, silently giving you his back. His skin was hot under your fingertips, and you tried to seal the wound quickly, very conscious of 76’s hungry gaze. You slapped a bandage on it, and he turned back around, plucking the kolto out of your hands.

“Let’s see those ribs,” Reaper told you calmly. “76 hit you pretty hard.”

“I can take care of it myself,” you said.

“No one’s going to pounce on you,” Reaper said. “And even if they did, you could handle them.” He did not look at 76. “Now don’t be stubborn and try going up that ladder with your ribs cracked. That’s just foolish.” There wasn’t any of the previous malice in his voice, just a gentle chiding that reminded you a little of Master Amari.

Sighing, you unfastened your sash, and peeled back your robes, wincing as you touched your left side.

His head tilted to the side, Reaper applied the healing gel to your bare skin, his warm hands gently massaging it into your left side. You bit your lip, placing a hand near there as you tried to convince the bones to knit back together correctly.

Between the kolto and the little bit of force healing you could manage, the pain began to subside.

“Better?” Reaper asked, his palm still pressed to your side, close to your hand.

“Yes,” you said, swallowing roughly. “I should be good.”

Reaper bowed his head. “You won, Jedi. I am...humbled by your prowess.” He nodded to you, giving you a slight smile. “But I would like to try against you again later. Perhaps barehanded next time.”

You remembered seeing them rolling around on the ground, wrestling. Your breath caught. “You’re welcome to use the sparring mats,” you said, pulling away, closing your robes and tying off your sash. “But I need to go meditate.”

“Will you join us later?” Reaper asked.

“...We’ll see,” you said, glancing at 76, who lounged on his side, one hand cupping his sore pectoral.

76 winked at you. “Feel better?”

You blinked, having already forgotten why you’d agreed to spar in the first place. “Yes, thank you, but I really need to go meditate.”

“I can think of some other things that would help you out,” 76 said, looking you up and down with a smile.

“I really should go,” you said, already halfway out the door.

“I need to go meditate?” Really? That was your best excuse? It worked, but still…

Grumbling you, shut yourself in your quarters, limping to the fresher for a shower. It was quick, and you changed into another clean robe – today had been hard on clothes – and then settled on your floor cushion, still feeling the force run through you.

You did not contemplate the temple fountains, nor the forests of Tython, nor any Jedi object. You stared out the window, into the void of space, the stars twinkling in the distance. You fully expected flashes of red light, or even that dark haze that settled over your mind when you really got to thinking about the past.

But the force continued to move through you in strong currents. It was like sitting up to your shoulders in a warm ocean. The world took on a soft gray glow, and you let yourself drift.

It was the most peaceful you had felt since Corellia.

“Knight Strike, are you occupied?” 76 asked over the intercom.

You opened one eye, focus settling back into your body. “Do you need something?”

“We took the liberty of making a meal, and thought you might be hungry,” he said.

You blinked. “Oh, I’ll be down in a minute.” The offer took you by surprise. HK-53 had said nothing about them moving around the ship. You rose, tightening your robe, and left your quarters.

A warm savory scent hit you as you opened the door. The entire deck smelled of rich spices and sauteed aromatics. It was coming from the conference room – the one you used as a makeshift dining room back when… Back when there had been more people on your ship.

The Mandalorians were inside and had set up hotplates and a kettle on the table. Reaper was back in his polished black armor, sans helmet, stirring a pot. He did not look up when you came in. He just lifted a battered spoon to his lips and tasted the stew or maybe it was a casserole? If so, it was heavily sauced.

76 stood over his own battered iron skillet, an amber colored cake within. He cautiously poured some syrup over the cake. Then he cracked open a bottle and poured an even more generous amount of dark liquor over it. “It’s almost done!”

“If you want to cook, I have a small kitchen setup in my quarters-” You paused, realizing that maybe you did not want them traipsing in and out of your bedroom.

“Oh? Really? I would like to see that,” Reaper said, looking up and smiling at you, heat in his gaze. He lifted the spoon from the pot, offering you a taste of the bright orange stew. It had chunks of mystery meat, vegetables, and what looked like beans. It smelled like fire, smoke, and peppers, clearing whatever spacedust might have been clogging your sinuses. You hesitantly took a bite. It was savory and hot. The layers of earthy and smoky spices blended well together and even though you were still chewing, you wanted another bite almost immediately.

Even if you had never tasted this dish before, there was something immediately comforting about it. The meat was smoked. The vegetables had likely been dried and reconstituted in the sauce. The “beans” were actually some kind of grains, soft and fluffy with just the right amount of chewiness. “That’s very good,” you said. “What is it?”

“Tiingilar,” Reaper said, watching your face. “It doesn’t burn too much, I hope.”

“The seasoning is excellent. I’m very fond of peppers,” you said, raising a brow. Was he hoping that it was too much for you? That seemed a possibility. You had beaten him in combat, so he was going to compete with you in other ways. Still, if it meant that he cooked a nice dinner, you wouldn’t take too much offense.

Reaper just smiled at you. “You are full of surprises. The last non-Mandalorian I fed this to accused me of poisoning her. It was...too hot for her delicate mouth.”

“She wasn’t as well-traveled as Knight Strike,” 76 said, flipping his skillet and dumping the cake onto a battered metal plate. “Uj'alayi. It’s a traditional dessert,” he told you, pulling out a combat knife and slicing it into six pieces. “It can be made in our helmets. Reaper insisted that I use a pan this time.” He winked. “But I think the helmet adds to the flavor.”

“Interesting,” you said, glancing at Reaper, who just chuckled. “Should I get-”

“No need! We have tiingilar, uj’alayi, and behot tea. Plenty of food to go around,” 76 said proudly. He paused, gesturing to the table.

“And I have a few extra bottles of kri’gee and narcolethe, if you’re interested,” Reaper said, a little too innocently. “Now I think he is trying to poison me,” you said, because you weren’t an idiot. Those liquors were very potent.

“I have some extra ne’tra gal,” 76 said, gesturing to the bottle he had. “It’s a much nicer ale.”

“It would go well with the uj’alayi,” Reaper said, setting a bowl of his spicy stew in front of you. He poured you a mug of tea. Then he began doling out portions for himself and 76.

76 put a slice of cake in front of you, along with the open bottle of ne’tra gal.

You took a sip of the sticky sweet ale. It was more potent than you were expecting, but it was Mandalorian alcohol. You then took a small bite of the dense cake. It was rich and sticky, filled with dried fruit, nuts, and some kind of sweet syrup. The syrup had carmelized a little on the outside of the cake, but the inside was almost too sweet, except for the ale that soaked in. You washed it down with more of the ale.

76 watched you eagerly. “What do you think?”

“It’s rich,” you said. “But the ne’tra gal does go well with it.”

“It was originally army rations – lots of calories for a march,” Reaper said. “We thought you might enjoy some traditional Mandalorian food.”

“That was very kind,” you said. “It’s delicious.”

“Do Jedi have tasty traditional food?” 76 asked.

You sat with that for a moment. “...It’s actually kind of bland,” you sighed. “Nutritious, but not fancy. They don’t want us to be “distracted” by such things.” Back in the day, Theron had smuggled you candies, snack foods, and even alcohol. You felt a twinge of annoyance. Back in the day, Theron hadn’t been such an asshole. “I like trying new things though. I had to sneak around in Coruscant – make it look like I was only stopping because I needed “sustenance.” Not because the food stall smelled delicious.”

“We are not encouraged to be easily distracted by food,” Reaper said with a frown. “But there is no harm in enjoying it.”

“...Jedi aren’t supposed to “enjoy” things,” you muttered. “Well, they can, just not…too much.”

“What counts as “too much?” 76 asked, taking a big bite of cake.

You shrugged. “That’s a philosopher’s debate. But we’re meant to focus on denying most temptations. Want and attachment lead to other negative emotions, which lead to hate, which leads to the Dark Side. Let me summarize it for you: everything fun leads to the Dark Side.” You rolled your eyes and took another swig of ale. “Depending on who catches you, that lecture can go on for hours.”

“Enjoying cake leads to becoming a Sith Lord?” 76 chuckled. “I want to eat more. Will that get me my own lightsaber?”

You laughed.

“Your Order has a real fear of this Dark Side,” Reaper said, sipping his tea. “It seems a little convenient, like a method of control.”

“The fear is legitimate, but the safeguards are controversial.” You took another bite of his spicy stew. “It’s complicated.”

“So what happens when a Jedi goes to the Dark Side, becomes dar’jetii? Why is this so dreaded? I have met the dar’jetii of the Empire. Some are reasonable. Many are not. But they are not Jedi, and they are not so much more fearsome.” Reaper’s brows furrowed.

“We’ve fought dar’jetii,” 76 said, chest puffed out. “And we’ve won. Didn’t get to keep the lightsaber though. Captain got it.” He gave you a rueful smile.

“I assume dar’jetii means “Sith.” And that’s part of the problem.” You took another sip of tea, staring at the wall. “There are two different understandings of the terms. The political difference is that Jedi are force-sensitives who work for the Republic. Sith work for the Empire. It is an overly-simple explanation.” You held the mug between your hands, its warmth comforting.

“That is how we understand it,” Reaper said.

“Then you have the philosophical definitions. There are two sides to the Force, Light and Dark. The choices you make in life determine your alignment. There are Imperial Sith, who are fair-minded and compassionate. Even if they may not follow the Jedi Code, they are of the Light, though it would be unwise of them to advertise that.”

“And there are Jedi who are cruel and bloodthirsty, and they are of the Dark?” Reaper asked. “Your Order allows this?”

“No, they do not. In fact, they are dismissed from the Order, and sometimes they are imprisoned. Sometimes it is...worse.” You did not look at them.

“That seems like a tactical disadvantage,” 76 said.

“...It’s more than that.” You switched back to the ne’tra gal. “Sometimes singular choices can swing a Light-side Jedi to the opposite end of the spectrum. They go from honorable, kind, and patient to violent, cruel, and despotic in seconds. Falling is a sudden kind of madness. Often they turn on their friends and allies, killing the people they swore to protect. Sometimes they recover who they were and regret what was done. Sometimes they just become monsters.”

“What causes it? I haven’t heard of Sith having such experiences often.” Reaper asked. “Do they fear an inverse effect?”

You laughed, imagining that for a moment. “No, I guess I haven’t heard of a Sith suddenly being filled with an uncontrollable sense of altruism. At least, not to the same degree. They may switch sides or work to seek redemption, but these are conscious choices.”

“So what makes Jedi so much easier to influence?” 76 asked.

“Well, the Sith Code does encourage a certain amount of violence and backstabbing, but that’s the question, isn’t it? The Jedi Order thinks if we, as individuals, keep our distance from the world, do not get attached to others, and live like ascetics, we can avoid falling. If we just follow their rules, and live in our cloisters, we will be safe.” The bitterness of your words surprised you.

“Is there no middle ground?”

You took another bite of the stew. “That’s also complicated. Allegedly, there is.” You thought of the Gray Jedi. “But it is not an explanation accepted within our Order. I have witnessed people falling. It is...horrible to see someone you have known your entire life changing into the antithesis of themselves.”

“So if...attachment makes them fall, what brings them back? Do you appeal to their honor?” 76 asked.

“Maybe,” you said, because you would give a lot to find the answer to that question. “I think...reminding them what they found to be so important can help.” You thought of Nomen Karr. “But sometimes they are just in denial. They think they are infallible, they think that excuses whatever actions they take, and that accumulation of corruption combined with their own hubris destroys them.” You sighed.

“What causes this madness? The revelation of their own hypocrisies?” Reaper pressed.

“Force users are...vessels. The Force runs through us, it is like a constant stream of energy. That energy can manifest in different ways. Light Side users have certain powers, Dark Side users have others. And then there are some abilities that are so rare, it’s hard to say where they come from. Those are the extremely talented few: I have a friend who can heal broken minds. But I have no idea how to do such things. I am just a better-than-average fighter.” You smiled wryly. “But one of my teachers has a theory. Jedi spend so long keeping out the Dark, that sometimes, if we lower our guards, if we make an emotional choice toward the Dark, suddenly we have opened ourselves up to an outpouring from it. Some of us do not know how to cope and that system shock is too much too quickly, and then we swing to the opposite side.”

“So maybe you should do a few bad things, to keep your mind safe,” Reaper said with a shrug. “Easy enough.”

You laughed. “...maybe. Or maybe that slow acceptance of corruption just makes it easier to fall. That’s a high-risk theory for me to try to prove.”

“So what is an example of how a Jedi falls?” Reaper asked.

You sat there, knowing it wasn’t any of his business, and that you were drinking too much. But it was not a secret. And he wasn’t actually asking about your past. “Say you go into battle, and you really hate the person you are fighting. You have thought long and hard about how they need to die. You know that it is against everything that your Order has taught you, and you don’t care. They might want him as a useful prisoner, but even if he surrenders, you are going to kill him. Or perhaps, you are going to disobey orders – you will pursue him off the battlefield, even if it means leaving your comrades or charges behind. There are many ways. But I think it comes down to, you will look at your choices, you will know that what you choose is wrong, and you will do it anyway.”

Reaper snorted. “That doesn’t sound evil: foolish and undisciplined maybe. But killing certain enemies is sensible.”

“But if it throws off your sense of self…” 76 rubbed his chin.

“That is a problem we do not have to deal with,” Reaper said, brow furrowed. “Perhaps the cost of sorcery is too high. Or perhaps Jedi are weak-minded. Their strictures are too rigid; the conditions they set are unreasonable.”

“This fear of attachment and strong emotion,” 76 mused. “How are they as parents?”

“...Jedi are good caretakers, but not good parents. Because Jedi are not supposed to marry or have kids, so we usually recruit externally,” you said, trying not to think of Theron.

Both men blinked. “What?!”

“We’re warrior monks,” you muttered. “Or supposed to be. There are exceptions, but in general, marriage and other romantic attachments are not encouraged.”

76 and Reaper exchanged meaningful glances.

You could feel the judgment. You finished your ale, suddenly wishing for more.

“So no sex?” 76 asked, his eyes wide.

“...We’re not supposed to,” you said, looking at the table, suddenly embarrassed.

There was a long moment of silence.

“But you don’t always do what you’re supposed to, do you?” Reaper asked, his voice warm and amused.

You bit your lip. “That’s really not your business.”

Reaper gave a low laugh. “I didn’t think so.” He tilted his head to the side, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “There’s no shame in indulging or abstaining. But something tells me that you’re not the type to shrink away from a challenge.”

You crossed your arms, staring hard at him. Did he need another lesson in humility? “What are you trying to say, Reaper?”

“I’m saying, if you choose to indulge, we’re both interested,” he said plainly, and took another bite of his tiingilar. “And if you don’t, we respect that too.”

You nearly choked on air.

“But we’re a package deal,” 76 said, his expression uncharacteristically somber.

“...Wait, are you married?” You asked, because it was easier than processing what Reaper had just offered.

“Promised,” Reaper said, giving 76 an appreciative smile. “But this one has fought at my side for years, and that matters more than any words spoken.”

76’s cheeks burned pink. He gave Reaper a warm look. “Traditionally, we can just say the vows whenever: in person, over comlink, through letters, and it’s done. But our clan wants to be there to witness it and throw a big party, which isn’t exactly traditional – they usually can wait till afterward.”

“But certain clan-members are insisting that they should attend,” Reaper said.

“And if we didn’t make the allowance our sisters and the Captain would never forgive us,” 76 said with a sigh. “You don’t cross the Captain.”

“And our sisters are unreasonable and very good with their flamethrowers,” Reaper said.

“Oh,” you said, like it all made perfect sense. They were about to be married, but they wanted to invite you to their beds? How did that make any sense? You groped for words. “That’s lovely.”

“You could come too,” 76 said. “There will be plenty of food.”

“...Uh…” You blinked, not sure how to process the proposition, the wedding invitation, and the entire situation.

“76 and I take pride in performing well, be it fighting, cooking, or other recreational activities,” Reaper said smoothly. “If you’re concerned, we’d be happy to give a demonstration.” He leaned over, one arm around 76’s shoulder.

76 nodded happily. “You can think of it as exercise or stress relief.”

“Or you can just watch, if you like, we don’t mind,” Reaper purred, stroking 76’s hair. Those thick metal gauntlets tightened into a fist, pulling 76 closer. Reaper leaned over, pressing a hard kiss to 76’s neck.

The blonde man moaned.

But Reaper was watching you, those dark eyes glittering.

“...I should go meditate,” you said, abruptly standing up and retreating from the room.

#SWTOR #IAL #Crackfic #Reader-Insert #overwatch fanfiction #In Alio Loco AU #In Alio Loco

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faimrpg · 4 years ago

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Maccius arrives as it always does: with very little flair. Spring has fully settled now, and across Val Faim, trees blossom with pink and white flowers, nearly every merchant sets out grand bouquets in front of their displays to draw possible patrons in, and sailors return home from long excursions at sea to the arms of their loved ones—it is at this time of year that the Celestinian ocean is most peaceful. When Summer arrives, it will be so soft and lulling that the only way to move product to trade is by means of magic, and when winter comes, the waves will tower so tall any man who thinks to sail them will be dubbed out of his mind.

TRIGGER WARNING: Death, explosions, implied violence

Now, however, peace reigns. People settle back into their usual daily routines, and while the death of Hippolyte had been tragic, most are content to forget the event entirely. His blood was cleaned from the marble of the Summer Palace that same night—why should they carry his bones with them? It doesn’t take so much as a week before Hippolyte’s duty is replaced by someone else, who will tend the docks and its workers and ensure Val Faim gets what it needs. GHISLAIN in particular has taken much interest in this replacement, hoping to wring out of this execution whatever dor it will provide. A job on the top of the Azure Quarter, overseeing not only trade but also every writ of passage through the capital, is an incommensurate advantage. Maybe it’s crude to make a move so soon after a man’s demise, but Calandre’s word is holy: he was a traitor, and he got his due. Besides, the hunger for power consumes all else. Ghislain’s efforts come to the dismay of RÉGIS, who’d been hoping to wrangle a similar deal for themself, and become the new helmsman of the docks on behalf of Alain Gauthier.

Not all are content to return to the way things were—in fact, some find the idea abhorrent, and Alain has taken to tracking down those who speak with dissent about Calandre to a new level entirely. He has enlisted GISELE to pick out newfound dissidents, with a particular emphasis on ETIENNE. “Having someone as skilled as Etienne”, Alain explains, “certainly wouldn’t harm us, especially if they were already in our pocket.” As soon as Gisele is sent away with their goal, he calls for BEAU and explains in no uncertain words what he needs them to do, with a little bump in their pay to incentivize it.

Talk in the Underworld says that Hippolyte had some sort of allegiance to Widrowem, and that his plan was not to kill Calandre, but to warn her about Alain in order to earn Widrowem a foothold in Celestine’s court. Gauthier doesn't know how far back this scheme goes, or whether it has something to do with Widrowem’s insistence for Calandre to receive their ambassadors and listen to their offer.

Alain, as is ingrained in his nature, fears the worst. The Widrowish envoy has long whispered of the need to unite their two kingdoms in marriage, and Calandre sharply rebuked each of these attempts. It could very well be that Widrowem tired of waiting, and found another way to ingratiate themselves upon the throne. If BEAU could dig through Hippolyte’s abandoned townhouse in Hightown, there’s a chance they might find something of worth linking him back to the foreign southern kingdom. “Anything works,” Alain says, pressing a small purse of dor into Beau’s hands. “Journals, letters, ledgers, books—whatever you can find, take it. And one more thing: find PATRICE, ask for their help. They might be a noble scorned, but they’re noble regardless, and if you need to take your time looking, having someone from a high-standing house with you might save your neck. Tell them I sent you.” Whether BEAU needs to split their new wealth with PATRICE goes unsaid, because Alain is gone before anyone can think to ask him.

Across the city, LIANE listens intently as Calandre explains her next task for her esteemed spymaster, with CELESTE close behind: she, too, wants them to go rooting around in Hippolyte’s grand old house. Not to find any links to Widrowem, but to find what they can on Alain Gauthier, who the Empress thinks was pulling the strings behind Hippolyte’s poorly coordinated assassination attempt and untimely demise. She might have given the signal for the axe, but it was Gauthier who hung it overhead.

Standing on the balcony overlooking the gardens, with the air cool, the weather fair, and Calandre’s tone mild, it is difficult to recall that a month ago she had stood here and watched one of her detractor’s bodies burn on the Pyre.

It is the virtue of the Summer Palace’s unique positioning that gives all three of them a perfect view when a flash of light and fury shakes Val Faim. The very ground rumbles. In a heartbeat, bursts of flame and thick grey smoke rise up into the air, somewhere close to the Prophet’s Tomb—the Tomb is thankfully unharmed, alongside Odeline’s tall-towering figure. The city immediately drops into complete stillness. They are left to do nothing but watch as the smoke grows and grows and grows, and while the shaking hadn’t lasted longer than a few seconds, it seems to reverberate through their bodies, like the very foundation of the Palace had been shaken and reaped them along with it. Before the rubble even settles, Calandre is swept away by HECTOR and VICTOIRE, each of them hemming the Empress like wings of iron and steel. In their ruler’s wake, CELESTE and LIANE are left to simply stare at the coiling plumes on the horizon and tremble. They watch the ruins with their arms interlocked, as the smog carries over a bitter taste of omens and defeat. Even in this state, the two spies are already planning their next move. It is the life they’ve chosen.

SAINTE and AGRIPPINE bear the brunt of the shock. They are nearly taken off their feet when the explosion occurs, as they were just on the outskirts of the tomb. They help one another to their feet and rush to investigate. The city guards who join the scene are met with a perturbing sight. Rubble lies everywhere, windows of neighboring buildings blown out, and in the epicentre of the destruction stands a mage, shaken and trembling, arms wrapped around herself and desperately attempting to cover the body of her friend, both their faces streaked with soot.

“He didn’t mean to do it,” the mage cries, unwilling to let go of her compatriot as she is pulled away, even as his body goes limp among the stones. “Henri didn’t mean for any of this to happen!” The street is soon blocked off entirely, and stunned passersby are urged to visit the Tomb or the Lion’s Mane for a drink to soothe their spirits, much to the chagrin of DEGARÉ, who has more clientele on their hands than anyone could be reasonably prepared for in such a short window of time. Yet the deluge of customers entails lesser known advantages for the club’s proprietor—especially in times of despair, when purse strings are loose and tongues even looser.

MICHEL and CECILE are commanded to take point on the clean-up of the building. Michel is tasked with coordinating the guardsmen clearing away rubble. Cecile’s role is to smooth over the ruffled feathers of angered noblemen and politicians who come calling to ask why the pesky issue of a desolated building and a dead man in its grip have yet to be resolved by the Empress. It’s tricky work, with even trickier tempers to handle, but they see it done, and within three days of the incident, it is like it never happened. Where the building sat before, now there are only ruins, a barren foundation to be covered up and built upon again by someone with grander designs.

SIDONIE is called upon immediately by Calandre, once the Empress is informed of what happened, along with HELENE. They are to interrogate the surviving mage, and find out what was their purpose in the heart of her empire—and what they hoped to gain from splitting it open. Was the dead mage a madman, or a fool? Were they foreign assassins, an honorless path already trodden by so many of her enemies? Were they zealots of a hidden coven, whose aims to control magic got the better of them? On these questions their fate, and that of so many others, rests unevenly. When the two go to meet her, the woman, named Amelie, is shaken into stupor, entirely unwilling to speak. Not even Calandre’s favored advisors can get anything out of her. Calandre listens intently when she is informed of the matter, and dismisses the two with a simple wave of her hand. “If she won’t tell us directly, there will have to be another way to find out what happened.” It is as much an admonishment as it is an admittance of a dead end.

She does not tell them she has other resources to call upon, and call upon them she does. They come to Val Faim in the shape of ROTH, ADRASTE, and MEDRAUT: two Chevaliers, and one Chevalier-in-training, recalled back from the border of Widrowem to investigate the truth of what happened with the explosion, and whether Alain Gauthier had anything to do with it. MATTHIEU is sent to greet them, as the present superior of the knight order—yet he is quickly rebuffed by his own compatriots, who are apparently more loyal to each other than to their Empress.

The wound of the incident heals relatively quickly, as unspoken horrors do. The death of the man who was supposedly to blame is quick to soothe any worried souls, and Amelie, once she has come to her senses and understood the risk she was in, confirms it to SIDONIE when the other mage visits her in her cell. When she speaks, the girl’s eyes are wild: “Not all is what it seems. My friend only wanted to stop something awful before it began, and it cost him his life.”

That very same night, a faceless assassin attempts to kill SAVATIER in the deepest recesses of the library—only for ISEULT to spear them down from behind a shadowed pillar before they have a chance to draw blood. By morning, Amelie has mysteriously disappeared. Investigations into her vanishing bear no fruit, save for a farewell letter the mage left for her family, now fallen into the hands of VIOLAINE. Amelie was from a noble house: if VIOLAINE wanted to, they could reach out on her behalf and deliver the letter, or they could keep it for later blackmail.

In the midst of all this chaos, Calandre finds herself desperate for a distraction, and can see that her court may very well feel the same. She writes to one of Celestine’s most famed artists, and by the end of the week, SYLVIANE has returned from their expedition into the Obsidienne, alongside their bodyguard, VASKA. Calandre orders them to enliven the palace grounds and paints a series of murals depicting her reigns’ latest achievements—as well as a new portrait to replace the one she had commissioned when she first seized the throne. It is a clever reminder that sometimes a gilded foil hides real triumph beneath. Yet SYLVIANE & VASKA have not come empty-handed, nor are they tongue-tied before Calandre’s command. They are determined to inform the Empress about the concerning sights they’ve witnessed in the Obsidienne. Yet all these attempts are brushed away, first as baubles of passing interest, then as outright fantasies spurned by the solitude of the scorched desert. The shapes of dead bodies awakened to walk, or rifts in the very fabric of the air that shimmer and wrinkle like human skin, and lead to nowhere should a soul step through, are torn from a different cloth than Calandre’s designs for her progressive reign. These old wives tales might be of interest to others: courtiers and commoners alike, such as SIDONIE, SAINTE & AGRIPPINE flock to listen to the painter’s tales. All Calandre does when she is remembered of these discoveries is flatten her mouth into a tight, disapproving line. Some overlook how the Empress’s moods are darkening by the hour.

Not everyone can turn a blind eye to her displeasure, especially those closest to her retinue. CYRIL is witness to Calandre’s frayed nerves firsthand, when ZHENYA pressures the Empress that the North will need more incentive if they are to maintain their trade deal with Val Faim. They are quickly dismissed from her side, and they run into the imperial tailor on the fringe of the hallways. Neither of them can help but eavesdrop on the sobbing fit Calandre falls prey to when she thinks she is alone for the first time. Something is breaking, but neither of them know what, and the decision about whom to ask for help lands in muddied waters. MELODIE, her closest confidante, seems the most obvious choice to be called at her side for comfort, but will Calandre thank them, or resent them for having her weakness noticed and exposed?

In Emperor Tristan’s days, talk spread as fast as a wildfire bracketed by dry grass. While Calandre’s reign has seen some of that blood-hungering cease, the sharks remain desperate for whatever falls into the water, and that hunger has not vanished entirely. It does not take long for many others to discover that Calandre might not be faring as well as she presents herself, in spite of the grand dinners and parties she has hosted in the Summer Palace to try and distract herself.

ROSALIND is one of the first outside of ZHENYA and CYRIL to find out, a not-so-well-kept secret falling right into the palms of their hands. The information goes from them to Alain—who is pleased to be informed. In an effort to secure their loyalty, he gives ROSALIND a task. “See if you engage YVON in a little tête-à-tête, and find out where their true loyalties lie. Lure them on our side, but only promise them enough to prove a guiding light. They are still young and mercurial enough that they must believe the choice is their own. Do this, and I’ll see if I can coordinate a certain royal jeweler’s fall from grace by the time Aude is through.” He leaves them there in the bustling Silver Quarter to make the choice on how to proceed on their own.

Secrets are unearthed, vows and oaths amassed—old debts are summoned up like the souls of the dead, and new scores are forged from thin air. For a while, it seems that Val Faim is pitching to a critical point, a colossus capsizing on its own weight. The threads roped around its people tangle and thrum. And then the skein seems to unsnarl. It lies very still, too much distance between its knots to ever properly destabilize it. The tapestry of faith and power has weathered more tempestuous times than this. The wind smooths over the dust, the storm slackens, and even the spring becomes spring once more. It’s on this day that the tides turn for good.

A Widrowem ship is spotted on the quiet sea, its sails as white as bones. Two ambassadors, themselves of noble lineage in those intricate Widrowish ways, where Gods are ancestors and night is day, step on the shore. CASSIAN and ROWAN have been sent to Val Faim on a mission that feels almost sacred. Yet their Thane’s anger, the chosen ruler of their realm, has nothing holy in it. Their homeland was promised a treaty and a throne years ago. So far, not a single audience has been granted, and this strange Empress balks at marriage as if it were carnage. To add the salt of insult to an open injury, their most trusted man in court was murdered without the right to trial. Hippolyte was gutted for spectacle, a debacle that echoed the barbarians of centuries ago.

It’s Widrowem’s duty to put an end to tyrants. And that is what they came to do.

On that bone-sailed, hollowed-out ship rides another: KARINE, Alain Gauthier's closest compatriot in bloodshed. They, too, have been summoned from Widrowem with a similar purpose. With a hungry smile that cuts their jaw wider, they shake hands with Gauthier on the dock as he pulls them aside. They have business, and if there is anything KARINE thrives at, it is anything to do with death. Imagine their surprise, then, when they are tasked with a more simple duty. Not to kill, but to hunt. Amelie remains unfound, in a city packed to the brim with people, and no one trusts Alain enough yet in the Underworld to give him information of any worth. So he sets his favored assassin on the trail, and tells them not to return until they have what he needs in their grasp.

The stage is set, the spotlight positioned perfectly, the doors to the theater wide open to allow a spring breeze to flow through. Underneath that sweet scent is an undeniable trace of rot. With Widrowem Ambassadors on the scene, their expectations low and ambitions high, and warnings and whispers working their way through the Court—the show has truly begun. Hippolyte's death at Calandre’s command was a mere prelude. What happens now may very well change the fate of all those in Val Faim, forever.

Welcome to our second event! We realize this one is even lengthier than the first, so below, you’ll find a simplified summary and a timestamp breaking down important dates for the month. Like the first event, feel free to thread out flashbacks, continue your threads from the Anniversary timestamp at your leisure, and explore what your character might be up to throughout the month outside of where they’re mentioned in the event. It’s definitely a busy one!

SUMMARY: It’s Maccius, and springtime has officially arrived in Val Faim. What would be a relatively peaceful start to the season otherwise kicks off with catastrophe when a building explodes extremely close to the Prophet’s Tomb. Only one person dies, a man named Henri, who’d apparently been the cause of the explosion, but the details are murky. The only other individual who could provide any information explaining what happened, Amelie, is brought in to be spoken with but gives up nothing before eventually disappearing into thin air. All the while, Alain Gauthier is scheming in the background, trying to take advantage of both Hippolyte’s execution and the chaos caused by the explosion to get a step ahead.

He calls for one of his allies, KARINE, and asks them to help put the pieces together. Alongside KARINE come two Ambassadors from the not-so-far-away Widrowem, ROWAN and CASSIAN are here to negotiate a marriage contract between Widrowem’s Thane and Calandre… or to see if war might be the next best option, as Calandre’s stubbornness over the years has not improved. Calandre, wanting to lighten the mood in the Summer Palace and distract both herself and courtiers from these gloomy events, summons SYLVIANE to come to Val Faim and paint a beautiful new mural as a tribute to Celestine’s strength. With SYLVIANE is their bodyguard, VASKA. Less famous are the three Chevaliers Calandre brings back from the border of Widrowem to investigate the explosion and members of her court. ROTH, ADRASTE, and MEDRAUT might all be a little on the prickly side, but they’re here to see the rough work done. There is a general air of tension to the city. It feels like most people are waiting for the other shoe to drop.

TIMESTAMPS:

The Second of Maccius: The explosion occurs. Henri is dead, and Amelie is brought in to help figure out what happened.

The Sixth of Maccius: The rubble from the explosion is officially cleared away. Sylviane and Vaska arrive to paint Calandre’s mural.

The Twelfth of Maccius: Roth, Adraste, and Medraut make it to Val Faim and are set to the task of figuring out why Henri set the explosion off, how he did it, and where Amelie went. Calandre has given them full reign of the city and those they speak to for details.

The Nineteenth of Maccius: Karine, Cassian, and Rowan arrive in Val Faim. Karine is here on business for Alain Gauthier, but Cassian and Rowan’s goals are much more political.

If you have any questions pertaining to the event, please drop them in the Discord channel! If you need any help plotting, or getting things started, please reach out and we’ll see what I can do to help. The new characters (Roth, Adraste, Medraut, Karine, Cassian, Rowan, Sylviane, and Vaska) are all open for applications. Their skeletons will be posted throughout the day. Thank you again, to all of you, and happy one month of being open!

#faimevent

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cloudaura93 · 4 years ago

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Fall for You Pt.2 - Cindy/Alice Fanfiction (FEAR STREET)

Synopsis: SPOILER WARNING. Please don’t read if you haven’t watched the whole series. The second part of this story. Picks up at the end of the first part and covers the ending of the 1978 massacre flashback. I have an idea for a smaller final story to wrap everything up. Cindy and Ziggy are trying to reunite Sarah Fier’s hand with her body to stop the curse meanwhile Alice is helping in her own way as best she can given the circumstances. AU with alternating POVs between Alice and Cindy.

Alice’s POV:

I hear Cindy and Ziggy flee the cabin as I struggle to subdue Tommy, my former friend and current possessed killer. He throws me off, recovers, and lifts me up by my neck slowly squeezing my windpipe, and then decides to toss me through the front doors of the cabin instead of strangulation. I land hard with a thud on my back while also smacking my head on the ground.

“Ouch.” I say under my breath as I slowly sit up and start scrambling to my feet. I see Tommy slowly approaching with the axe in hand, and I realize I either need to run away or find a weapon. A weapon. Of course. I reach down and remove the knife from the sheath Cindy used as part of the splint to support my fucked up leg.

“Here goes nothing.” I whisper as I launch myself toward him. When I’m a couple feet away, I throw the knife toward his face where it hits its mark squarely in his left eye as I dodge to the right, narrowly avoiding the impact from the axe swing. It momentarily stuns him as I start hobbling away to hide. I hope I bought Cindy and Ziggy enough time. I hope they are still alive because I’ll be damned if I let some stupid ass curse ruin my life further especially after I just got my girl back. We deserve happiness too.

I expect Tommy to continue pursuing me, but instead I turn around and realize that he is heading in the opposite direction.

“Oh shit!” I exclaim as it hits me that I was only a distraction, and the main target is Ziggy who is at the Hanging Tree with her sister trying to reunite Sarah Fier’s hand to her body. I instantly swivel around and limp behind killer Tommy moving as fast as I can. I try to keep up to hopefully have a chance to warn the girls as they try to stop this carnage once and for all.

We are approaching our mutual destination a few minutes later, and I notice out of my peripheral vision that I’m too late to help. I watch my beautiful snitch getting brutalized by her ex-boyfriend’s axe at the same time Ziggy is being repeatedly stabbed by the Milkman. It’s like some horrible plaguing nightmare, all playing out in slow motion while I’m about thirty seconds away, but hopeless to do anything to help.

“NOOOO!” I scream out in agony as I collapse to the ground on my knees ignoring the piercing pain in my leg.

As I’m crying for a few seconds, it suddenly goes quiet and I glance up to see all the Shadyside killers have disappeared. I instinctively crawl on my knees toward the girls’ bodies hoping to say goodbye. I’m almost to Cindy when I hear the rustling of footsteps next to me.

“Alice?!” He says, and I recognize the voice. Nick Goode. Of course he’s here. Fucking Sunnyvale’s prodigal son. The savior. The knight in shining armor trying to rescue the poor surviving Shadyside campers.

“Save her Nick! Save Ziggy!” I shout through choked back sobs willing him to understand my meaning as I sadly reach my girlfriend, and grasp her hand letting the tears flow down my cheeks. I couldn’t save Cindy, but I can at least attempt to keep her sister alive.

“I will. I promise. And Alice? I’m sorry.” Before I can even react, I feel a stinging sensation in my back and as my vision fades to black, I realize that this is how I’m going to die. With a whimper, not a bang. Alone and betrayed by Nick fucking Goode. A literal backstabber. You unimaginable bastard. We were so close. Not that it matters anymore. No one will remember us, and our sacrifice. This will just be another unfortunate and bloody tale of the cursed town of Shadyside. The infamous Camp Nightwing massacre of 1978.

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Cindy’s POV:

As Ziggy and I are digging down to find Sarah Fier’s body, we stumble upon something hard that we hit with the shovels.

“I found something!” Ziggy states excitedly. I hold my breath as I help her unearth whatever was buried underneath the tree. It’s a rock with an engraving on it.

“The witch forever lives.” I shakily gasp out.

“The witch forever lives.” My little sister repeats the statement before following up with “Cindy, what does it mean? Cindy?!” She asks worriedly.

“I don’t know.” I answer softly.

“What...where is she? Where’s the body?”

“I don’t know.” I replied. We share a look first at each other and then at Tommy who is on our tails.

“This way. Come on.” I continue as I grab Ziggy’s arms and drag her up so we can attempt to run away. We turn around and realize that the other Shadyside killers are also here quickly approaching from every direction.

“What do you want, Sarah Fier? You want this?” As I hold up her hand. “You can have it. Just let my sister live. Just let my sister live!” I plead. I drop the hand next to the hole we dug in frustration and grab one of the shovels.

I realize sadly that there is no escape, at least not for me. But I can protect Ziggy as best I can and give her a fighting chance.

“You bled on the bone. They are after you. Get ready to run.” I tell her sadly. I’m so sorry Ziggy. I’m so sorry Alice. I wish we had more time to spend together, to make up for lost time. I tried my best but I failed both of you again. I love you so much. I’ll see you again.

“No Cindy no!” I hear her cry out at the realization of my decision. I hurriedly take hold of her arm again and we start sprinting together. At the last second however, I push her aside and swing the shovel at Tommy where I connect with his head but he immediately retaliates with a smack to my head with the axe’s blunt end.

I fall down onto the ground hard helpless as I glance out of the corner of my eye to hear Ziggy screaming while being attacked by the Milkman at the same time the axe collides with my chest piercing my insides. Tommy strikes me repeatedly and as blood begins gurgling out of my mouth, I turn my head to face my baby sister who I notice is reaching out her hand toward me. I reciprocate the gesture and say one last thing to her knowing this is the end.

“Nothing...will...pull...us...apart…” I gasp my final breath as the world goes dark and my eyes slowly close and I feel myself fading away.

Some time later…

Cindy’s POV:

“Cindy. Wake up. You need to see this...to understand.” A disembodied voice whispers in my ear. I struggle to regain consciousness as I hear the faint sounds of terror around me.

“This is important. Please wake up.” The voice repeats itself. I stir and slowly attempt to stand as I’m feeling wobbly on my feet. Once my balance returns, I instantly realize that I feel different than I did when I was alive not too long ago.

“Where...where am I?” I ask the voice which has a feminine tone to it.

“Not quite sure. All I know is this is where the poor unfortunate souls who have attempted to thwart the Goode family’s treachery end up after they die. It’s sort of like limbo and you are a ghost observing the effects of the curse until one day it can finally end.”

I nod in understanding as I look around and realize that I’m standing at the edge of the clearing where the Hanging Tree is located.

“Sarah Fier.” I reply, finally figuring it out.

“Yes. It’s me. I tried to warn you. I’ve always tried warning everyone who stumbles upon the curse. No one has ever figured it out completely. You were the closest, but alas you ran out of time just like the others.” She answers sadly.

“Will she live? Did I save my sister at least?” I inquire as I stare at Ziggy who is slowly dying.

“No. You did your best, but ultimately failed. Your girlfriend fared slightly better, but will still pay the ultimate price.” Sarah replies as she teleports us closer to the tree. I stare in shock as I notice my dear sweet Alice stumbling toward my body.

“Alice! No! I have to help her!” I cry out desperately wanting to save her from her fate as Nick Goode drives a knife deep into her back where she collapses onto my corpse, the light leaving her eyes as she bleeds out.

“She’s gone, but your sister will live. Nick Goode will see to it. Take solace that she survives. And your dear Alice will join us shortly so you will be reunited. You won’t share this existence alone..” Sarah nonchalantly explains.

As if on command, I hear soft footsteps from behind and spin around to face my badass and brave girlfriend.

“Hey snitch.” She greets with a smirk. I race over and embrace her by wrapping my arms around her neck, tears misting at my eyes. She instinctively wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me closer. We hold each other for a couple minutes until I have to ask her a very important question.

“What took you so long?” I whisper in her ear echoing the last time I said that to her when we were still alive. She pulls back from the hug and grasps both my hands with her own.

“Three guesses. Besides, I couldn’t leave you to face this uncertain future alone. You are stuck with me now princess. For better or worse. Not letting you go this time” She beams.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I smile and close the gap between us to gently kiss her on the lips.

Despite recent events, I still have hope. Alice and I get to spend eternity together even though we are both dead, and Ziggy lives even with survivor’s guilt. It’s not a perfect happy ending, but I’ll take what I can get. It’s better than what most Shadysiders get to experience in their lives.

And since we have been given a second chance to fix our mistakes and help prevent the spilling of more innocent bloodshed, it means we have a chance to help the next generation. To help Sarah stop the Goode family from continuing to enact this curse over Shadyside. Alice and I just need to watch over Ziggy until she’s ready, and then bide our time until the opportunity presents itself to intervene. This time we will be ready, and revenge is a dish best served cold. We are coming for you Nick Goode, one way or another.

The End?

#fear street 1978 #fear street #fear street 1994 #fear street 1666 #horror #fanfiction #cindy/alice #cindy berman #alice fear street #f/f #fanfic #lgbtq #netflix #rl stine

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so-i-dont-forget-again · 5 years ago

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So I Don’t Forget Again: A Breath of The Wild fanfiction

Summary:

Having forgotten his past once, after waking from his hundred year slumber, Link keeps a journal as to not forget again. As he journeys to save Hyrule he's confronted with his past, present, and future. Making new friends only to leave them, grieving his fallen comrades new and old, and dealing with a threat that seems to weigh on him even more than Calamity Gannon; his own fears of isolation and loneliness on this long tiring journey.

A first person perspective of Link's personal journey as he saves the kingdom. Both the good and bad times, the highs and lows.

Entry 1: Great Plateau

My name is Link. I’ve been asleep for a hundred years. I’m a knight, who is tasked with protecting the Princess named Zelda. A great calamity befell the kingdom which Zelda is the princess of. Princess Zelda is keeping the tragedy called “Calamity Gannon” from escaping the castle and from destroying the land. When the Calamity first appeared, I was gravely injured and placed in a device which healed me but took a hundred years to do so. The ghost of the late King of Hyrule requested that I, as the Princess’ acting guardian, defeat Calamity Gannon once and for all and save Princess Zelda from having to continue to fight. That is all I know about myself. I can’t remember anything from my life before I woke from my slumber. I do not know if there is any particular reason for this. Perhaps it’s because I’ve slept for so long, but that’s just speculation. Since I don’t know the reason, I plan on writing about what happens in this blank book, so should I forget again, I can just read through this.

I first awoke in a bed, but it was also a device. According to the Sheikah slate it’s called the “Revitalizing Chamber”. It’s what healed me. The chamber is located at the back of a cave in the Great Plateau. In this cave is where I found some clothing, and the Sheikah slate. A device made by the Sheikah people long before the Calamity attacked a hundred years ago. An eye with a single tear drop symbol is engraved in it and on all other Sheikah technology. When I reached the entrance of the cave, I ran without thinking till I reached a nearby cliff. The view was breath taking. Well everything outside of the cave was amazing, yet... It was beautiful, but many things were destroyed. Near the cave I slept in was a temple. The windows were shattered, a wall and some of the ceiling collapsed.

There were also these giant eerie machines surrounding the building. Though they were clearly not functional, I was... I was hesitant to approach them. According to the ghost of the late King, they’re called guardians, and they were to protect me as I was to fight Calamity Gannon, but that creature took control of them and other devices like them and turned them against us. As I was exploring the temple, I met an older man. He was the ghost of the late king. He didn’t tell me his true identity right away because by my... lack of a reaction to seeing him, he could tell I had no idea who he was, and he thought it best to not overwhelm me with too much information after having just woken up. He taught me many things on the very brief occasions I saw him. He taught me the basics of surviving in the “wild”... I’m still not sure what “wild” means exactly. He taught me how to make fire, cut down trees, how to cook, and a few other things.

One thing though, that he never taught me was fighting. There are many creatures about that are not... not animals, not ghosts, the moment they think I’m nearby they chase me, hunt me. The red ones I can deal with just fine if there’s only a few. I only have sticks and tree branches to use to defend myself. When they first started chasing me, without thinking I grabbed a branch and a large piece of tree bark off the ground and fought back. When I fight I don’t have the time to think, I just react. I used the bark to block their weapons, and the branch to hit them back. Not too long and they disappeared and instantly transformed into purple smoke after hitting them enough. They have wooden weapons, and shields. They’re not much better than what I get from trees, but it does help. I got a bow and a few arrows from one once.

While exploring the plateau I found these shrines and a tall tower. I climbed up it and found a small pedestal attached to it with the same symbol that was engraved into the Sheikah slate. When I placed the slate atop it, parts of the tower began to glow with that blue pulsing light, and a glowing blue drop fell on the slate. On the slate a map of the plateau appeared, and off in the distance I could see similar towers sprout up from the ground. There appears to be a soft orange glow coming from the tops of each of the towers.

Soon after that the little shrines also glowed orange at parts. They too, had the pedestals. When I placed the slate on like last time a door opened. After I entered, I was taken underground and solved puzzles. At the end there was a person encased in a cube of blue light. But like the temple they looked decayed. Only skin and bones. They told me some things that I did not know of the past. Then when they were done, I was at the entrance of the shrine. While I was down there, I unlocked a power of the slate. With these powers I can create bombs, freeze time for objects, create ice pillars on the surface of water, easily move metallic objects, and even help me find other shrines.

Each of the shrines unlocked a power, and a person at the end whom spoke of the past. One of these people told me that these shrines were built to test and prepare me for the battles ahead. One of the shrines was located at a very cold snowy area of the plateau. It was so cold that even after only being there for a few moments I felt my hands freeze. I learned to make Spicy Meat and Seafood Fry. It just needs meat, fish and some spicy peppers. After eating it I felt my whole body heat up. With that I was able to traverse the snow without getting hurt.

After completing the shrines, the ghost of the late king revealed his identity and what had happened a hundred years ago. He told me that I should next go to the Sheikah tribe’s village. Though I only have a map of the plateau, the Sheika slate still shows me it’s general location. The King gave me directions, I’m to follow a road that leads to the “Dueling Peaks”, a mountain range.

The King also gave me a paraglider, a wooden device that allows me to glide through the air and reach the ground safely from the plateau.

Right now, I’m in a small decaying cabin behind the temple. This is where I found this book. The cabin has basic things like chopping axes, and a pot to cook food, but not much else. I plan on gathering more food before heading out. I’ll leave by next sunrise.

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raguna-blade · 4 years ago

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Ok and before I forget and i Likely will and I don’t have the attention span to actually try and take this anywhere right at this precise moment but there’s one musical thing that’s likely as not a just a musical ref cause haha I can do it it’s my soundtrack, my game you can’t stop me but-

There’s this song I ran across ages ago that toby fox did also compose. 74, Sung by Itoki Hana, and I Honestly have to wonder how much of it is also supposed to link in thematically. Like this wouldn’t be the first time Toby’s done this, what with Megalovania being from 1 and then 2 different stories and each pulling a generally similar vibe and intent behind them near as I can tell (there was an essay that explained this way better but I cannot for the life of me tell you where I actually read it save the greater seas of Tumblr so you know, that’s probably lost forever)

And I’m sitting here looking at the lyrics of this song, and Where I at least hear the music parts, it is in Welcome to the City, which is the bit where it’s just Kris, The Soul and Noelle, and given the whole song and all i have to wonder if there’s any intended link.

Cause man, looking at the picture used, and then the lyrics it certainly feels like it.

Now purposes of this here analysis I suggest you go listen to the song. 74, Itoki Hana, Toby Fox should get you where you need to be. If nothing else it’s a good song.

Now probably not, but it does at least put me in the mind to look at it like it does even if it’s only more a thing i vaguely heard that sorta sounds like this sparked an idea and honestly there’s worse places to grow your thoughts.

So, in 74, the song more or less comes from the pov of the Princess in a tower, watching a brave knight ascend to rescue her, through the various traps and trials that are within the tower...That she set and put there. And she is not (or she is in addition to being) actually a princess. She’s a dragon, pretending to be a princess to lure in knights to feel a degree of validation, to feel well...Important. Valuable. Special you know?

And I guess it’s not hard to see some potential parallels going on given that we find that Kris is opening the Fountains. Or is ALSO opening the Fountains. We’ve seen one for sure, and the implication SUGGESTS that they’re the one doing it in general, but we won’t know for sure til the game’s completely out. But for now, let’s assume they’re doing them all.

With that, We have Kris the Hero fighting through a land of trial and tribulation that he made himself to do...Something. Like in the song, the Knight in question looks gallant cool and really shows their stuff, even though in the end they bit it.

So that’s something, but then, we’re still asking why is Kris doing this? It’s shown that basically any Lightner can open a Dark Fountain whenever they want (Berdly got slapped out of it like 3 times in a row, and he seemed to be doing it pretty trivially as far as difficulty was concerned. Now that was in the Dark World, so perhaps it was easier there, but the Queen didn’t even really consider Berdly Strong enough to do it, though part of that likely as not had to do with her concern for Noelle.

But like...I dunno, I go back to the Knight in all this, and that’s a position of special import in the game. It’s very actively called attention to it, and the Knight is positioned as an apocalyptic force that’s...Creating Worlds, giving life and value back to the Darkners, who were cut off from the Lightners, which has seemingly left both sides lesser. The Darkners seeming to be doomed to fade into the dark, while the Lightners are unable to interact with this world that seems to have the ability to massively improve their wellbeing.

Like, Knights are typically heroes in stories with princes and heroes and kings and queens you know? When the story takes place in a kingdom, it’s the loyal knight who, while perhaps not the main hero, is a steadfast compatriot. Well that’s the general idea right?

But the Knight is positioned as a terrible force of ruin and destruction...Except in chapter 2 here, we get the notion that creating the Dark Worlds really can be an improvement life. Indeed, the game doesn’t even seem to suggest that creating more Dark Worlds is inherently a bad thing, but there’s the critical issue of the balance between the two being off and that’s a critical problem that at least as of now doesn’t seem to be able to be addressed.

Still, if this game is keeping on with Parallels to Undertale, The Knight isn’t all bad. Hell even the Spade King wasn’t all bad and he’s pretty objectively the most evil character in the normal route of the game.

And the game really does seem to posit that the interaction between the dark world and the light world is inherently good for both of them. The Town looks Way healthier and lively in Chapter 2 than it did in 1. Susie’s Rude Stat has been dropping since go, and Even Kris, while we don’t get to see their thoughts, seems to be becoming considerably more expressive. Now admittedly pretty much every expression we do get to see from them that isn’t prompted from The Soul seems to be negative and frustrated and angry and all that, but then, I think that’s probably a better place to be than shoving everything down and being completely unresponsive and not acknowledging anything that they’re feeling, which seems to be the case whenever you start to touch on anything remotely intimate.

I mean The Soul seems to be a part of them as well as apart from them, which is confusing at the moment, but they’re capable of scarfing down a whole entire pie, slash their moms tires, and open up portals to parallel realites without it so it doesn’t seem to be something that they particularly NEED to survive or do anything.

Going back to the song though, and i suppose the most basic barebones aspect I wanna look at, is that Someone who’s Apparently In Trouble is actually the Threat, or more generally, that the Appearances Are Opposite to the Actual Reality of the situation I’m wondering.

Because last thing before I cut this off, is that We have the Queen going all in on her plan and being unaware that going through with it would lead to the end of all things, I have to wonder if the Knight is Similarly Ignorant as to what they’re actually doing.

I’m also wondering if Perhaps Asriel is perhaps actually the antagonist. Because while the game’s claim of your choices having no meaning is inherently unquestionably suspect, the game also makes it extremely clear, doubly so as of the point of chapter 2, That there are people you’re simply going to have to fight, and perhaps you’re going to have to fight them with the full intent of killing them, and that that is an option that you genuinely may need to consider. Or at least, that you may well need to destroy that relationship and cut them out of your life. Not everyone should be recruited, so to speak.

Which is advice that shows up, if my memory isn’t failing me this quickly, in the manual that Ralsei provides...And advice that, if taken to extremes as shown in the Corruption route, can cause genuine problems.

Or I suppose I guess to put this in another context, the first words of advice you’re given, that are a full on lie, in Undertale is that this is a world of kill or be killed. Asriel tells us this is a world where you do not have to kill anyone, and while the game has yet to have you actually bring the axe down on anyone in the Normal Route, it’s also extremely explicitly stated that it’s not so simple as spare everyone or fight everyone. There’s shades of grey here and you shouldn’t just ignore them. There are people you can’t just spare, you have to fight it out (and interestingly, those people do not include the secret bosses, who seem to have a greater level of understanding of the world, if also are borderline incoherent in both cases.)

I dunno. There’s more to percolate on here i think, though obviously some of this isn’t gonna be answered until we get the rest of the game.

And as a last note, there’s 7 showing up again as a recurring number so that’s...Interesting.

#Deltarune #Music Stuff #Analysis #spoilers #Rambling

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therovingstar · 4 years ago

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Prompt #3: Falling

For the January 2021 @seaswolchallenge. 786w, Ardbert x WoL (Odzaya Malaguld). Ardbert realizes what this is, as well as what he must do. Takes place at the tail end of 5.0, with vague references to 3.0.

He has never cursed his spectral existence more than when she falls.

He reaches for her without thinking, heedless of the translucency of his armor, his gauntlets, until he is suddenly, painfully not. No, not again, I will not fail someone again, and he forcefully stops himself as Alisaie runs right through him to take his place, frantically catching Odzaya before she hits the marbled ground, Alphinaud and the others a half-breath behind her. Before he can blink and banish the memories of that rainy day in Lakeland, she is surrounded, a small cacophony of voices exclaiming her name and concern in equal measure.

And he stands back, useless hands of his left merely to tighten into fists at his side, a murmur of his own sounding unheard into the shifting aether.

It is Thancred who insists on carrying her down Mount Gulg. He cradles her close enough to his chest that the descent does not jar her an ilm, which means the spasms that periodically wrack her body are hers alone, the light within writhing like an engorged parasite under her skin, turning the rich umber of it into something dull and pale and wrong. When they reach Tomra, Alisaie and Alphinaud sprint ahead to the aetheryte, promising to return with proper transport back to the Crystarium, impressive in their composure for all the panic he can read in their eyes.

Afterwards is a blur. The transport arrives in record time, he suspects, and while Y’Shtola assures the dozens of watchers that the Warrior of Darkness is merely exhausted from her ordeal, Thancred takes her aboard, his coat wrapped around her form in a vain attempt to stop her shivers and hide the way her scales and horns glow with a preternatural light.

Urianger both hovers and is strangely distant, clearly distraught but appearing also...guilty? He thinks he might be the only one to notice, so preoccupied as the others are.

It is all ridiculous, a menagerie of worry and anger and helplessness, all orchestrated by that godsdamned Ascian, and through it all, his fists stayed clenched at his sides, lest he forget again and reach for her, or take his axe and follow the monster to his lair.

He stays with her. In this sham of an existence, her side is the closest to a place he belongs.

Her apartment is blessedly silent but for the wheeze of her breath as she lies prone in her bed, the blankets tucked lovingly around her. He left her side only for the sake of privacy as Ryne insisted on changing her out of her clothes; between the efforts of her and Alisaie, she is clean and secure, the soft ropes of her hair braided and wrapped and lain beside her. She looks...peaceful. Almost normal, as if at any moment, she will open those ruby-colored eyes and tell him to find something more interesting to ogle.

She does not. She is not. And it is slowly undoing him.

“C’mon, Warrior Princess,” he whispers, kneeling by her bedside, close enough to touch. “You have this, yeah? Gods know you’ve survived worse.”

Has she? He recalls that glimpse into her past when they first met; she faced off against a giant clad in armor, knights like statues surrounding him in perfect formation. And her, alone and so small in comparison, clad in pastel robes and aided by only the stars she beckoned.

She reduced that giant to a feeble old man. On his knees and gazing up at her in terror, as if he were meeting the eyes of a sneering demon. Or a vengeful goddess.

Is that how they would look at her? The residents of the Crystarium, of Kholusia and Eulmore? In equal parts fear and awe? Would the Night’s Blessed find a pebble to resemble her eyes, and hold a ceremony for her passing, right before she arrived to smite them all?

Gods forbid, but he would follow. Either to the end of the world, or to the private oblivion Emet-Selch promised her. He would be there, as her witness, as her guide, as her shadow.

He gazes down at her. Feels an ache in his fingers and a sting in his eyes that should not be there, that he has not felt since his friends said goodbye. “You have,” he answers, for her and himself, and reaches out. Places one covered finger against her scaled, too-pale cheek, and feels a spark like a heartbeat. “You will, if I have anything left to say about it.”

For the first time in bells, his fist unclenches, and when it does, so too does his heart.

And Ardbert realizes: she is not the only one who has fallen.

#ardbert #odzaya malaguld #ardbert x wol #otp: fool-hearted #welp it's official #i mean it has been for a while #but is it a true Thing til you sit down and hammer out some words about it?#anywho here we are lol #i'm on this ride til i fall off apparently

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nightingaletrash · 4 years ago

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I was working some more on Lieutenant Attaway and then fic happened oops

AO3

A gunshot cracked through the air as Saker limped his way back to his cabin, and it was enough to make him wince from something besides his injuries. The Lieutenant must be back already.

Sure enough, a familiar figure marched up the hillside, shoulders set, rifle strapped to her back, pistol at her hip, and her face decidedly stern but otherwise unreadable. She must be really pissed then, Saker deduced as he dropped to sit on the porch and prepared himself for whatever lecture his Second-in-Command was preparing to deliver.

She came to a halt in front of him.

Her posture had always been that of a soldier’s; a real, well-trained soldier and not some cutthroat who picked up a gun and slapped on a uniform or a half-wit private who’d quickly grown bored of taking orders and cut loose at the first opportunity with their weapon in hand. Straight back, set shoulders, and never a sliver of hesitation in her stride.

Lieutenant Attaway might be a deserter like the rest of them, but she still carried herself with the sort of discipline that made more than a few of the crew scratch their heads, wondering why she wasn’t still with the army.

“Captain. Might I ask why the camp is littered with the bodies of our men?”

As ever her voice was hard, cold, and unwaveringly even. Impossible to read and unyieldingly stern. Throw in the earlier warning shot that Saker had heard, and she was definitely pissed.

“We had a visitor,” he grunted. “Now, are you gonna to help me patch up or scold me to death?”

A beat passed and for a second Saker was certain that she was going to opt for the latter. But then she offered her arm without comment and bore his weight against her as he levered himself up with surprising difficulty.

The girl had hit harder and shot faster than he had expected her to. She’d been a slip of a thing, not even out of her teens by the look of her, and yet she’d gotten her hands on Jimmy’s uniform, waltzed into camp bold as brass and then promptly slaughtered everyone that got in her way. It had been, to be perfectly honest, a terrifying and oddly inspiring sight to behold, and he told Attaway as much as she helped him to hobble his way into the cabin and sit down on the bed.

She offered no comment, just assisted with his wounds, passing bandages and rubbing alcohol as and when they were needed.

“And now not only do we gotta leave the Dwellers be, we’ve gotta help them,” he snorted. “Those were her terms when she let me live. Sharing supplies, disrupting the King’s men on the roads. Gotta wonder where she got the idea that going against Logan was a smart idea-”

“Because she’s the Princess,” Attaway supplied smartly. When she caught sight of the gobsmacked look on Saker’s face, she added, “the King has put out an arrest warrant on Sir Walter Beck and the family butler for her abduction and is offering a significant reward for her safe return to Bowerstone Castle.”

“Then why the hell did she come here?” he said incredulously. “What the bloody hell does she think she’s-”

Oh.

The pieces clicked into place, and suddenly it all made sense.

The Princess was playing rebel against her big brother, and was getting the Dwellers on her side, which was a logical starting point. They despised Logan so weren’t liable to turn her in for the reward he was promising, and they put up a good fight when they weren’t starving to death. The promise of food and safety could see them become a formidable force once more. And having the Deserters couldn’t hurt either, especially now that Saker owed her his life. Their code meant that they were sworn to heed the Princess’ demands, and she was capable enough in battle to change her terms whether Saker liked it or not.

With both groups at her command, not only could she do some real damage to Logan’s operations up in the mountains, she also had the building blocks of an army that - if built the right way with the right pieces - could drag the Tyrant King off of his throne.

And then there was her strength. Her speed. Neither of them seemed proportionate to such a girl, and yet she’d had both in great quantity. The old Queen had been a Hero. The last of her kind, they’d said, when neither her Prince or Princess showed the signs. Maybe they’d been too quick to judge. Maybe Albion still had one Hero left in her.

The warped, burnt flesh of Saker’s hands itched and he resisted the urge to rub them while they were still red and raw. Playing with fire was a dangerous game but it usually kept his opponents off-kilter to see him throwing the stuff around. His hands might never be pretty and one day the flesh might slough from his bones, but what was life without a little risk? To him it was a reminder that he was alive. That he’d been burned by the world time and time again, but he’d risen above it and survived.

Today the fire had bitten back and he’d need a fresh wrap of bandages and a lathering of burn relief as his knuckles bled, but it hadn’t consumed him. He’d drink to that. And to his men.

He thanked Attaway when she handed him the bottle of whiskey and she stepped outside to let him rise tenderly to his feet in private.

It was one of his favourite things about his Lieutenant. Always prompt and to the point, and never needed to be told what to do.

Saker took a swig of whiskey and limped back out of the hut into the dying rays of the setting sun. The survivors of the crew were waiting in a huddle outside, some wrapped in bandages and others propping them up when needed.

A good number of familiar faces were missing now, but there were more than enough survivors to keep the clan together. They were all silent, waiting for him to speak, so he raised the bottle into the air.

“We took a beating today. We all lost friends. Brothers and sisters in arms,” he said gruffly. “But that’s how it is in this life of ours, and now we do our damndest to stand tall and make them proud! We’ve got ourselves a new contract, and one with a Princess no less! A Princess who walked in here and proved herself the strongest!

“Tomorrow we get to work, but tonight we drink and we remember! To ourselves, to those that fell, and to seeing Logan’s head on a spike!”

There was a roar of approval from the crew and it wasn’t long before they broke out the casks. Leave it to Bertie to open them up with axes, but hey, they were mercenaries, bandits and cutthroats. If they weren’t using axes, they’d be doing it wrong. The bonfires roared, warming the cold mountain air enough that they could sit without need for furs and heavy coats, and Saker sat on a log with Attaway at his shoulder as ever.

She didn’t drink. He’d never seen her so much as touch a mug much less take a swig. But she remained nonetheless, hands folded behind her back as she stood at ease. Always the soldier, his Lieutenant. Though any sense of military decorum and fire discipline didn’t stop her from firing a warning shot at the feet of the first person that tried to push a mug into her hands.

“At least make a toast if you’re going to shoot people, Lieutenant,” Saker chuckled.

“I shot at them sir. There’s a difference.”

He shook his head and took another swig of whiskey.

“Just one toast, Attaway. For ol’ Jimmy’s sake. You don’t have to drink it, just-”

“Jimmy isn’t dead, sir.”

Saker blinked.

“I found him at the pub in Brightwall, quite drunk and missing his clothes. He swears up and down that he’d been drinking with Sir Walter Beck himself. I didn’t believe him at first until the barman confirmed his story.” There was a glimmer in her eye and the corner of her mouth twitched ever so slightly upwards. “I still struggled to believe it as I was under the impression that most knights aren’t known for stripping their drinking companions down to their drawers.”

He blinked again. So Jimmy wasn’t dead? He’d just gotten himself pickled, and by a Knight of all people. Well, that was a relief. Of sorts. One less name to add to the list of the dead. But…

Saker slammed his fist down onto the log and it splintered under the impact. The other mercenaries were too busy imbibing in drink to notice or care.

“When I get my hands on that scrawny little shit, I’ll kill ‘im!” he roared indignantly. “What the hell’s he playing at, getting drunk on the job! And getting stripped at that! That no good, light weight, weasley little-”

“I did warn him that he would need a suitable story to explain his absence and lack of clothing, sir,” Attaway interjected coolly, her eyes still glittering in the firelight. “At least permit him to squirm through his lie first, I’m sure he’s worked quite hard on it.”

Saker grumbled and then threw back his head, downing a burning mouthful of whiskey that he barely tasted.

He knew he wouldn’t actually kill Jimmy. Maybe make him run laps of the camp, or assign him to repair work or gate duty, but he wouldn’t kill him. He had his code and his honour.

Not that Jimmy would need to know that when he got back. He'd let Attaway have her fun first.

#nightingale writes #fable 3 #captain saker #lieutenant attaway #i dunno why i've suddenly gravitated to saker but honestly i'm enjoying the dynamic

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apex-academy · 4 years ago

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Chapter 5: Caring Is a Hazard to Your Health (#17)

After a thrilling lecture and practice session, I’m released. Last chance to sweep the refreshments tables before the competition starts. Not sure how much I should trust the drinks at this party, but we’re only allowed to kill two people at a time, so. Wouldn’t be a good play to poison it. And drugging wouldn’t be any smarter. Don’t think anyone here would do that, anyway...

I chug a little lemonade and head back to the folding chairs. Apparently this game lets eight people play at once, so the gap between the seats and the screen is a wild tangle of crossed controller wires.

“All right!! Is everyone ready to go?”

After a few confirmations at various levels of enthusiasm, Aidan starts hitting buttons on his own controller.

“Okay! For the sake of those not used to the game, everyone please choose unique characters so we’ll have less trouble keeping track of who’s who!”

“I call Fox.”

Don’t know who that is, so sure.

By the time he’s brought up the selection screen and I’ve figured out which of eight tiny cursors is mine, someone’s already claimed the guy I practiced with, so I just drag the pointer around for a while. End up picking some knight-looking guy. Why not. As Aidan has so succinctly explained, there are plenty of differences, but I’m not interested in analyzing fifty characters just to play.

We have to wait a bit for Ichiriki to settle on a princess and Aidan to actually manage to select the guy he claimed—who does, in fact look like a fox, shocking—and then there’s some scene selection thing, I don’t know. Aidan takes care of it.

After a brief countdown from a deep voice that barely gives me time to figure out which tiny cluster of pixels is mine, the match begins.

“Wait, I’m an orb?”

Guess I should know how to manage those, but. Not what I thought I was getting. Okay. Well. It’s not like most of the others have any idea what they’re doing. Even Aidan is just spamming one attack.

“Oh, I see now!”

“You claimed this form because it uses a gun, yes?”

Though that was clearly aimed at Aidan, Mahavir drops his controller.

“What did you say?!”

“Hey, hey, hey!! Settle down! We’re just playing a game here!”

“And I did not invite you to this to be rude, Miss Tsunyasha!”

“Were you expecting her not to be?”

“Well.”

“I state my judgment whenever I please, whelp.”

“—!”

“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear, thank you! Please return to the game!”

“Hmph. I do not follow demands, foolish creature.”

“It was clearly a request!!”

“...”

“Very well, I shall humor you just this once.”

“Do not get used to it.”

She settles back down and presses several buttons before realizing the game has been paused. With a final little “hmph,” Aidan hits a button and everything starts moving again.

And I do mean everything. Throwing eight players in with a bunch of different moves in a large area sure is something. We’ve got some pink-haired something beating people up with trees—from the cackling, I’m guessing that one’s Kanagi. The blue guy Mahavir was practicing with earlier is beating the crap out of some blue-haired anime girl, Ichiriki’s princess is throwing... turnips or something?—and apparently I also have bat wings, so. That’s nice, I guess. And then there’s some little pink thing that keeps wandering around and alternating between flinging itself off the edge of the stage and destroying everyone. And then there’s what I assume is the result of Kaichi finding a character in a swimsuit, though instead of fighting Kaichi’s just making him wriggle around and repeatedly say something too accented for me to decipher.

“Would you like to actually play the game, Mister Riseiin?”

“I got a guy and ’m hitting buttons. ‘m playing just fine, brah.”

“That...”

I watch as the blue-haired anime girl descends to start hacking the crap out of Kaichi’s guy. Kaichi just laughs and goes back to the wriggling thing the first chance he gets. His character is summarily thrown off the screen by the spinning pink thing.

You’re a genius radiologist and this is how you live your life. Okay.

I wasn’t paying attention to how many lives we have in this thing, but I’m pretty sure all of us are losing more wandering off the edges than actually fighting. It’s still an experience, I’ll give it that.

I survive to the final three before Kanagi kills my guy with a freaking axe.

“Thanks.”

At least she takes down Ichiriki’s after that. As the announce booms out a “GAME!”, she throws her controller to the floor.

“HECK yeah!”

“Please refrain from casually destroying the equipment.”

“What do I win?!”

��Y’ didn’t ask that first, brah?”

“Listen, dude, there are a lotta flashing lights in here and I got distracted.”

“Fair.”

“Well, first of all, we’re going to have more matches than just this one.”

“Mmm-kay. And then...”

“Oh, oh! Is it dorayaki?!”

Are you serious.

Aidan pauses and looks to Yuki.

“...Is it?”

“Hummmm...? Sure...”

Kanagi fist-pumps.

“I WILL TOTALLY DESTROY ALL OF YOU! KEKEKEKEN!”

Can’t you just ask for dorayaki at this point? Whatever.

“At any rate, good game, everyone! We’ll start the second round...”

“...”

“Aiiidaaaaan? You ‘kay?”

“Er, yes, excuse me.”

“We’ll start the second round shortly. Ah...” He looks to the game screen like he’s lost his place in a book. “You’re free to pick the same characters if you like, or you can switch! Still no doubles of a character, though.”

“And Miss Yuukei will still... be playing...”

“Er, so she could still block out competitors from advancing. The winners of the next three rounds will progress to the semifinals!”

Seems like a lot of playing, but I guess the matches aren’t that long. At least he’s not trying to announce them.

Though I’m not sure he’d be able to right now.

“Hummm... Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Aidan...? Do you need to go to bed early...?”

“I most certainly do not!”

“I, uh, just need a drink, I think.”

“I can bring a lemonade over...”

“If you would?”

He sets up for the next round so we can start picking out characters while that’s being taken care of. I guess I could try to steal Kanagi’s guy? Not feeling that cutthroat today. I’ll just be boring and stick with the... knight... blob. With wings. Yeah. It doesn’t look like most of us are switching, anyway.

Kaichi sure isn’t.

The next round takes place on a different stage that’s only slightly harder to keep walking off the edge of. But then half of it gets swallowed up by some kind of acid or something, so I wouldn’t call it better. I make it to second place but still lose to the pink thing, which is apparently Yuki’s. Next round.

Ichiriki wins that one, and then at the last chance, I somehow manage to make it in.

“Hmph.”

“Well, I hope you mortals are satisfied with your little imaginary battles in imaginary realms.”

“Right back at you.”

“I am, thank you!!”

“...”

Is she jealous? We’ll never know.

“All right! We’ll take a brief break before the next round.”

“I believe there’s plenty of popcorn left, so don’t be stingy with it!”

Chairs creak and controllers thump as we twist ourselves free from our gaming stances. Don’t know that I want more popcorn, but I could go for a drink. Didn’t keep an eye on my cup, so I grab a new one. Just water this time.

As I’m putting the pitcher back down, Yuki approaches.

“Did you want water?”

“Oh, I’m all right... Thank you.”

I step away from the drinks regardless.

“Hummmm... Is now a good time to ask...?”

What is this, an attempt to distract me from the game? She doesn’t seem the type. Also wouldn’t be much point in winning a prize she has to make herself.

“Might as well go ahead.”

“Okay...”

“I just wanted to know... if you still wanted lessons?”

“Less...?”

“...”

“Cooking lessons.”

“Umm-humm...”

“...........”

“I’m sure I could use them, but I don’t think I’d be able to focus.”

“Too busy thinking about the empty space beside me.”

“...........”

The silence doesn’t stretch out as long as it could before I hear slow footsteps.

“If I may?”

I would startle if I felt enough energy, but all I do is turn a little. Guess if I want a private conversation, I should get a little farther away from the punch bowl.

“Ah, Mahavir. Sorry.”

“It’s quite all right.”

“After all, I’m the one who seems to be eavesdropping here...”

“That’s okay...”

“But, ah...”

“If it would help, I may be interested in lessons as well?”

“But your cooking is already good...”

“Thank you? But I’m not used to working with the relatively few spices available here, and I could always stand to learn something.”

“Of course, there’s no need to hold formal lessons on my account. But I would be willing, if that works out well for you.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to private lessons, anyway...”

Are you serious.

“Um, thanks, Mahavir. I think that would really help.”

“Should we, uh, start tomorrow, then?”

Yuki nods.

“That would pose no issue to me.”

“Cool...”

I might not sound properly enthused, but I feel like this needs to stay a multiple-student class. Will Mahavir being there really help? I don’t know. Don’t think I’ll know until we get there. If it doesn’t, I can try to tough it out.

Maybe get someone else to enroll in the meantime.

Before we can make any more plans, a voice rings out over the din.

“Everyone!”

“The tournament will be resuming shortly! Those of us who have been eliminated are free to cheer on our friends or play one of the other games in here.”

“Preferably one that isn’t being used for a table.”

Well, Kanagi’s still in the running, so he probably doesn’t have to specify. Can’t hurt, though.

“I guess we should get back then, hummmm...”

“Yeah.”

“Best of luck.”

I nod and drink what water I can before heading for the game console. Time to keep the party going, I guess.

[BACK] [NEXT]

#apexplot #apex5 #fangan

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