#army of thieves. while half paying attention

[wizardnuke]

i spent 45 entire minutes watching a movie my mom had put on about some sort of rivalry between a mean lady who owned a fashion business and her secretary who went to increasingly ridiculous means of undermining her. there was a very failed heist to get a necklace. and a fun clothes storekeeper who kinda dressed like david bowie. lots of silly clothes. the secretary was living a double life as a rogue fashionista who kept getting more attention than her boss. her boss had dalmations. it was fun. campy. secretary girl called herself cruella and i forgot that that name is copyrighted probably.and thought it was camp. no it was disneys cruella

[mommymooze]

Can You See What is Growing Before Your Eyes?

seteth & Flayn, Reader & Flayn, Seteth X Reader

Sitting on the fishing dock as the sunset blazes across the skies, it is quiet and peaceful in the monastery. You can almost imagine there is not a war going on, that the Imperial army isn’t marching towards your location to attack you and your friends who have arrived for the Millennium festival. Your thoughts are peaceful as you observe the rose and orange colored skies reflected in the pond Your bobber floats motionless on the calm waters.

“Are the fish biting?” Flayn calls from the far side of the water.

Just as she speaks your bobber begins to twitch. You hold up a finger with one hand as you grasp your pole more firmly in the other. Watching, waiting, suddenly the red and white float goes under, you jerk the line, hooking the fish. It is a short battle, the bullhead gives up quickly.

“It’s about average.” You answer as you look over your basket. “I have 15 fish, so after a few more I will bring them to the kitchens.”

“How are you able to catch such an abundant amount? My brother and I would be here for half a day or more and still not catch that quantity.” Flayn chides, her hands on her hips.

“If I had any fishing secrets, I would not hesitate to share them with you and Seteth.” You smile.

“Perhaps I shall watch you and learn of your mysterious technique.” Flayn decides, sitting on an empty crate nearby.

Retrieving and rebaiting your hook, you toss it back into the water, causing ripples to spread across the pond. You sit, still as a statue. Out of the corner of your eye you watch Flayn switch the position of her legs, then look around, fix her hair, and otherwise appear bored. You have not moved, except to shoo a bug from getting close to your eye. Even that movement was performed slowly and silently.

The bobber twitches in the water, moves left, stops briefly and heads right. It becomes halfway submerged, only to pop back up again immediately. You do not move. It begins moving away from your position. Just as it submerges you yank the line and are fighting the hooked fish. The fish jumps, trying to get away, however you keep steady with your pull on the line, hauling it closer to the dock.

“A golden fish!” Flayn excitedly laughs.

Hauling your catch close to the dock, you grab the fish by its jaw, remove the hook and secure it in your bucket.

“That one will pay for the accompaniments to an excellent fish stew!” You announce, beginning to pack up your fishing equipment.

“I did not see anything special about your technique. You used a worm and I saw no special powder or magic cast upon it. Strange.” Flayne ponders.

“First, you must learn to be one with the water. If it is still, you must be still. If it moves, you can move. The fish will be disturbed by your wiggling, especially on the dock.” You share your wisdom with the lovely young lady.

“I will have to tell my brother of this discovery, and that we will be having a fine fish stew this evening. Thank you!”

Selling your fish in the market, you take the rest to the kitchens. The cooks are thrilled to be able to provide a hearty and protein filled meal to the masses, there will be enough to go around. More and more people are arriving at the monastery to assist with the war efforts.

After returning your belongings to your quarters you head to the Cathedral to give prayers of thanks. Thanks for the food today, for so many willing to help defend the church, for the return of so many students and for the return of Professor Byleth. Now that they are back, hopefully they can lead the church and Blue Lions to victory. Your mind falters at that, observing the wounded and broken man that Dimitri has become. You watch as the Professor approaches him, trying to speak to him, trying to get him to eat. The conversation is one sided. Dimitri says nothing. Your eyes go wide as he leaps at the Professor and throws them against a stone column, then returns to his place at the crumbled goddess statue.

Without thinking you run to Byleth’s side. You are well within Dimitri’s range, but your focus is Byleth. Their head is bleeding, and they are moaning. Quickly you heal the head wound. It is not deep, however there is a lot of blood. You struggle to drag them further from Dimitri to a safer part of the Cathedral.

“Professor, can you hear me? Please?” You whisper to them, your voice shaking. They’ve just returned from being gone for five years, it would be horrible to lose them again so soon.

The professor shakes their head. “I am okay. He caught me off guard.” They answer as you help them to their feet.

“Can I take you to the infirmary? Do you have pain elsewhere?” You anxiously ask as they lean on you slightly while you hold their arm, walking to the pews.

“I am alright.” They nod. “My head was hit. I may have a bruise or two, nothing that will not be fine by tomorrow.”

“If you are sure. There is no need to suffer with pain if we can help.” You smile.

Professor Byleth heads back to the bridge leaving the Cathedral, refusing your offer to accompany them. You remain, offering further prayers for Byleth’s health and healing for Dimitri.

You return to the infirmary, your home away from home. Manuela is no longer here, she sided with the Empire. Being thrust into the position of one of the main healers, you remain out of battle, dealing with the injured soldiers. Before the war you worked your shifts in the infirmary, Manuela handled the serious cases.

When the war started, everyone fled the monastery. You packed more books on healing and treatments than you did clothes. Seteth encouraged you to lead the healers for the Knights of Seiros. Every place you travel, you consult with other healers in the area, trying to increase your knowledge as well as theirs. You hope you are adequately filling the shoes he sets forth.

At the infirmary desk you pull out the file for Byleth and make a note regarding todays treatment. When the Knights of Seiros returned to the monastery, you were happy to find many of the medical notes still here. Thieves must not have a use for them. All potions, salves, bandages, and lotions were gone. You have been working with several other clerics building up your inventory.

A sudden knocking brings your attention to the door of the infirmary.

“Greetings. I see you have no patients today, I hope everything is well.“ Seteth bows.

You look up at the handsome man in the doorway. “Good afternoon, Seteth. Byleth was injured by Dimitri earlier. If you see them, make certain they are not hiding any injuries I was unable to find.”

Seteth nods, “I understand your concerns. There are many that take care and have themselves treated properly. Then there are others, I understand your concerns.” He smiles, “Flayn said you were fishing earlier.”

“Yes. I am not a hunter, however I do want to do my part to keep the food stores filled. An army marches on its stomach.” You answer as you file papers in the cabinet.

“Flayn advises you are considerably successful at fishing. Perhaps I can join you and observe your techniques.” Seteth smiles, it makes him even more handsome.

“I am no master fisherman. Flayn simply is not patient, she can’t hold still.” You laugh. “I have seen you fishing with Alois. You would be more successful if he was not there, he is rather boisterous.”

“True. I suppose I like to fish because it is relaxing. These are stressful times. I do hope you are taking care of yourself too.” Seteth answers, a bit of authority creeping back into his voice.

“Noted, sir.” You nod, then begin to unpack dressings and filling the cabinets.

“I am asking you to take care of yourself as a friend. We have worked together for these many years. I’ve seen you exhaust yourself taking care of the knights.”

“War is not conducive to sleep. I will sleep when the war is over.” You chuckle. “Besides, when I finally do leave to find rest, I notice there is still candlelight coming through the windows of your office. Perhaps you should lead by example, my friend.”

“Touche!” He chortles. “I will put in further effort.” Seteth nods, returning to his office.

You treat minor cuts and bruises the remainder of the afternoon. Flayn stops by and asks you to join her for dinner. After all, you were the one that provided the ingredients for this evening’s meal. You promise to meet her after restocking the supplies.

In the dining hall you take your bowl of fish soup and look for Flayn. She is sitting next to her brother and waving for you to join them. You take a seat opposite them. She is easily excited.

“I am so happy that you are able to join us.” Flayn smiles.

“It is important to keep your body healthy and nourished.” You nod and smile softly at Seteth. You are happy to see him in the dining hall. He has had too many meals in his office, overworking himself.

“Yes. An army runs on its stomach, and it is important for everyone to eat properly, especially those that support the army.” Seteth tells Flayn, encouraging her to eat.

“Does that mean I can have seconds, brother?” She asks, sucking in her cheeks a bit to appear more undernourished.

“Only after everyone else has had a portion.” He waves his spoon around the room at the other diners.

Flayn pouts.

Observing her sad face, you have an idea. “If you would like, we can fish tomorrow early in the morning and hopefully catch more for a fine fish dinner.” You pat her hand that is resting on the table.

Flayn’s face now wears a huge smile. “Really? I am excited! You can teach me more fishing techniques. Oh brother! Maybe you can join us?” Both of you look at him, a hopeful smile on your faces.

Seteth’s brow furrows. “I will have to check my schedule. I will see if I can make the time.”

The next morning you get up at dawn to head to the woods, digging up earthworms and grubs for bait. The ground is still moist from the rains and the worms are close to the surface. You have plenty for everyone, including Byleth, who you share bait with frequently. They buy bait from the merchants when they are out, and every coin is needed for the war.

The day is slightly windy, causing the water to dance on the pond. The sunlight sparkles on the surface as the sun rises higher in the sky. Flayn joins you. Instructing her on proper baiting of the hook you remind her to sit as still as possible. You sit far enough apart to softly talk, yet not interfere with each other’s quest for fish.

Flayn has been listening attentively, her basket of fish is proof of her improvement. She brings a fish to you that has swallowed the hook and you show her how to use a tool you’ve made that will help loosen it. Instructing how to slide her hand down the fish so she will not be pricked by the fins, then use the tool to release the hook. Suddenly a shadow is blocking the sunlight over your shoulder.

“Good morning, brother. We are having a marvelous time fishing!” Flayne giggles.

“I can see that. You both have a surprisingly large catch. Perhaps there are many secrets you can pass along to us.” He smiles at you. That is a very handsome look on his face.

“I would be happy to help.” You smile as Flayn puts her fish in her basket and baits her hook for the next catch. “I have a nice collection of worms today, help yourself.” You point to the can.

“Hmm.” Seteth frowns. “Would you mind giving me pointers on how to set the bait? My wife usually baited the hooks. I can manage with some things, but worms are tricky.”

“I understand. My father would set my bait when I was little. I was afraid of the wiggly bugs and worms. Though he is gone, I will pass along his techniques. It is a good way of remembering him.” You take a worm and quietly show him how to set the worm on the hook, leaving the end close to the barb of the hook to wiggle.

“I always make sure the barb is just through the end there, touching it but not piercing your finger. There. You’re ready to go.” You smile as you let loose the hook and it dangles and spins in the air.

“Appreciated.” Seteth smiles. The relaxed look on his face is a sight to behold.

You cast your line into the water and wait. Flayn is to your right trying very hard to be still. Seteth is to your left, taking a seat on a crate after casting his line in the water. Flayn’s bobber starts to wiggle. You hear her stifle a noise, trying to remain quiet. Suddenly her bobber goes under, she pulls her pole back.

“I have one. Oh, it feels heavy!” Flayn excitedly giggles as she works to haul the fish to land.

You lean to the edge of the pond, grabbing the fish as soon as she has it out of the water. “That certainly is a large fish. I think that fills your basket this morning!” You laugh.

She puts her fish away and gives you a huge hug. “You have taught me so well. I’m going to take these to the kitchen right away. I feel like a successful fisherwoman!” she grins.

“You are an excellent student. What an amazing haul!” You laugh, watching her struggle with her heavy container of fish.

Seteth now gasps as he hooks a fish. You grab the fish by the side of the mouth when he gets it to shore.

“Oh my, it’s swallowed your hook. That’s the fourth time today. They must be really hungry to gobble them down so quickly.” You mutter, heading to your tackle box to grab your tool to remove the hook.

“You can retrieve the hook? I usually have to cut the line and tie on a new one.” Seteth is happily surprised.

You call him closer as you follow the line into the fish’s mouth. You hand him the tool and instruct him as he uses it to free the hook. He stands much closer to you than he normally does. He smells like myrrh, cinnamon, and ginger.

“That was certainly educational today.” Seteth smiles. “Thank you for your instruction.”

“Any time.” You smile softly. “The company was very enjoyable.”

A week later Seteth invites you for tea in his office. Checking the calendar, you note that next week everyone will leave for battle, so he must want to review final plans. You arrive at his door at the exact appointed time, holding several folders of paperwork that he may find useful to allay his concerns.

Seteth invites you inside and gestures to the table by the windows that is set for tea.

His desk is piled high with folders, stacks of letters to be sealed, parchment and inkwells randomly scattered amongst his work. Mounds of opened letters fill the box on one corner of the desk while multiple completed replies occupy a box on the other side.

“Is that paperwork for me?” He appears to be surprised at the bundle in your hands.

“I thought you may want to discuss the inventories and preparations being made for our upcoming march.” You respond shyly. The last thing you want to do is provide more work for him.

Seteth takes the folders from you and places them on a nearby table. “Actually, I have the greatest trust in you and would only speak to you about it if you need my guidance. Please, take a seat and join me for tea.” He gestures to the table and chairs by the window.

Taking your seat, you pull the cloth napkin to your lap. You feel a bit nervous. He has only asked you to his office to discuss matters of the church or war. This is your first purely social visit.

Seteth pours the tea, handing you tongs to take a sweet treat from the basket.

“Apologies, I do not know your favorite tea. I hope you do not mind Four Spice Blend.” He smiles softly as he takes his seat, making certain his chair is at a proper gentlemanly distance from you.

“I drink Four Spice in the cooler weather, the flavor seems to warm me from within.” You return the smile. This must be the excitement the students feel when Professor Byleth invites them to tea.

“I am glad you enjoy it.” Seteth hums. “I have been having conversations with Felix lately about the importance of friends in our lives. I then realized that I have been negligent myself in not taking time to visit with my friends.”

“I am delighted to call you my friend, of course. We have worked together for these many years, but we have not made proper time to simply chat.”

“I am making an effort to correct that mistake, starting today.” Seteth nods and takes a sip of tea. “Do tell me about yourself, what books you like to read, what are your hobbies?”

You chat back and forth until the tea has grown exceedingly cold, exchanging tidbits of knowledge into who each of you are as a person. You speak of the books you’ve read recently and share impressions you have on your allies.

“This has been simply fascinating. A fantastic break from work. I feel very refreshed,” Seteth smiles. “I have learned quite a bit about you and your many talents.”

“I feel the same! I have learned so much about you as well. Thank you for inviting me to a very lovely tea.” You stand and reach for your paperwork.

“Perhaps we can make it a weekly occurrence, to make certain we have the time to check on each other,” He offers.

“Fantastic. I would enjoy it immensely.” You are beaming with happiness as you head out the door. Your heart skips a beat as you head down the hallway. You don’t mind that there are a few patients impatiently waiting inside the infirmary.

It is a few weeks before you can have another quiet tea together. Travel and battle do not allow for much time to socialize. Your hands are full setting up the infirmary tents, organizing the clerics, making certain the army has well stocked bandages and potions for the fighters.

Flayn is going to be on the field for the battle and you worry over her as she finishes attaching the last pieces of her armor. She comes to speak with you frequently, discussing a few adult matters that she is not confident with confiding in her brother.

“Watch out for arrows, if you are hurt, fly straight to the infirmary. Your brother would never forgive me if I cannot get you back into perfect health as soon as possible.” You kiss her on the forehead and send her off to her wyvern. You have become quite close friends and say a silent prayer for her safety. She reminds you of your younger siblings that you raised when your mother passed away.

Now you are standing at the edge of camp, watching what little you can see of the battle. Seteth and Flayn are flying close together on their wyverns, protecting each other. You send a quick prayer for their safety as you head back into the infirmary tent, injured fighters are already arriving.

Wrapping a bandage to a soldiers arm you’ve completed stitching and healing, you hear a wyvern’s roar outside the tent. Running to the front of the tent, Flayn is guiding her brother’s wyvern to the ground next to hers. Seteth is nearly unconscious as you hurry to lift him from the saddle. You have no idea where your strength comes from as you carry him into the infirmary and place him on an examination table. You’ve carried unconscious soldiers before, but Seteth is very solidly built.

Flayn dashes in behind you, filling you in on what happened. “He was hit by a lightning bolt. His wyvern was hit as well, but it dealt with the hit better than he did. I think it was because of the arrows he had taken prior that had weakened him.”

“Help me get his robes off.” You quickly instruct her.

She helps remove his robes and armor as you strip him to his undershirt and trousers. His pants are ruined by two arrows, you cut them off just above the arrow in his thigh and around the other in his calf. Neither of the projectiles are close to arteries, however the one in his thigh is very deep into the muscle. It seems to take forever to remove the arrowhead from leg. You had to cut tissue and pull his flesh out of the way. Finally, you work faith magic deep into the torn tissues, encouraging the flesh to bind back together.

Flayn works on his shoulder where the burns from the lightning strike entered his body. Luckily it traveled down his arm and exited close to his hand. You heal what you can of the burns for now, they will need further attention later.

Two strong soldiers help lift Seteth onto a stretcher, moving him to his tent. Gently you guide him on to his bed with Flayn’s assistance and she stays to watch over him. Before you leave, you examine her for any injuries, healing even the smaller cuts, knowing her brother would not be pleased to waken and see she was not treated.

Returning to the infirmary you triage the incoming soldiers. The new casualties begin to dwindle and those that are well enough leave for dinner. You make certain those that can eat do so. You then proceed to check on Seteth.

Standing at the entrance on the tent you announce yourself. Flayn beckons you to come in. Flayn is sitting in a chair, knitting a sock as she quietly sits by his side.

“I am so happy that you taught me how to knit. It is keeping my hands and mind busy so I do not hover over him so much. He has been sleeping peacefully since he was brought here.” Flayn updates you.

Leaning over the cot that Seteth is silently sleeping on, you check his vitals then his wounds to make certain he has not bled through the bandages. You’ve noticed his and Flayn’s heartrate are not the same as others. There are a few things you have seen over the years that sets them apart from the others. You keep these things to yourself, honoring their privacy.

Looking over at Flayn you smile reassuringly. “Would you like to go visit with your friends a bit? Promise me you will stay right in the middle of camp. No going off anywhere or your brother will have my head. I’m sure you want to check on them as well. When the sound the night bell, be back here very quickly. “

She gasps with excitement, “Yes! Thank you so much.” She hurriedly packs away her knitting and runs from the tent.

Remaining by Seteth’s side, you heal the electrical burns to his shoulder and hand. Exhausted, you doze lightly in the chair with a blanket over your legs and your hand resting on his chest. If he makes the slightest movement your eyes are wide open and you observe him for any discomfort.

Flayn returns a few hours later, tired and happy that she could visit with everyone. She kisses Seteth on the head and tells you good night just as he wakens.

Opening his eyes, his first sight is her. “Flayn!” He gasps. “You are alright.” His eyes close and he visibly relaxes for a moment.

“She is fine. A few minor scratches. Absolutely nothing compared to your injuries.” You pat your hand on his chest.

Seteth moves, attempting to sit up. He shifts his legs then grimaces with pain. With you pushing him back into his cot, he finally settles back into a prone position.

“You were hit by two arrows and then lightning. How you managed to keep perched on your wyvern is a miracle. Flayn brought you back. The battle is long over, you need to rest.” You answer his questions before he can ask them.

“I am happy to see you are recovering. Good night, brother.” Flayn calls as she heads out into the night air to her tent.

“Please tell me if you have any pain. I will help you sit up to have something to drink after I heal you further. I can get you anything you need, food, water, just name it.”

“I feel extremely fatigued, like every muscle in my body has been worked to exhaustion,” he quietly answers. “I only felt pain when I tried to move my leg. You have done a wonderful job, thank you.”

“You are a good patient. Let me change the bandages on your leg and then sit you up to have a drink. You should sleep and let the healing take full hold.” Taking your basket of fresh bandages and healing salves you move to the other side of his cot and begin unwrapping his wounds. Cleansing and applying further deep healing to his leg, you wrap it with fresh, clean dressings.

Taking a waterskin in hand, you help him sit up enough to drink nearly two cups of water. You take a handkerchief to dab his lips.

“There was a significant amount of blood loss. Drinking plenty of fluids will help you replenish them. I’ll make sure you eat a high amount of protein tomorrow for breakfast.”

“Thank you,” Seteth whispers as he lies back and closes his eyes. You pat his chest and he takes your hand in his. You are relieved that he is too tired to notice a slight blush on your cheeks.

Seteth awakens in the morning to the smell of bacon and eggs. You carefully help him to sit up.

“Flayn is in the infirmary tent, helping with those she can.” You begin. “They are tearing down camp and we will be headed back to the monastery soon. Do you need me to help you get a change of clothes? You will need new pants, I had to cut the others to get to your injuries. I can send someone to assist you if you prefer.”

“Let me see if I can stand, perhaps I can manage on my own.” Seteth slowly sits himself up and swings his legs off the cot. You reach outside the tent, then turn around and hand him a training lance.

“This should help you keep steady on your feet for now.“ You say while hovering over him as he takes a few cautious steps to the chair next to the table. Once he is seated you make certain he has fresh water to go with his food.

Back at the monastery you currently have four patients in the infirmary. Riding in the back of a wagon did not help their conditions much and it takes considerable time to heal and stabilize them until you feel that they are settled and without pain.

Flayn appears in front of your desk as you document the charts. “Are you finished with the patients?” She asks sweetly.

“For now. I will have someone monitoring them throughout the night and wake me if their conditions worsen.” You answer as you finish making an entry.

“Good!” Flayn takes you by the arm and pulls you down the hallway to Seteth’s office. Pulling you inside, you see the table set for three. The smell of the delicious dinner is heavenly, you’ve not eaten for many hours. Seteth is already seated at the table

“Please excuse me for not standing.” Seteth blushes slightly

You laugh. “I would be angry if you did. You’re keeping the leg propped up. Excellent.” You see that his color is good, he is healing well. You give a huge sigh of relief.

Flayn guides you to the seat next to him and she sits across from her brother. While the meal progresses, Flayn tells her point of view of the battle and how the Professor led them all to victory.

“This is quite a happy surprise. An excellent dinner and amazing company. I could not ask for more. Thank you both for having me.” You look greatly pleased.

“It is the least we could do to thank you for your excellent care,” Seteth assures. “You have been working nonstop since the battle. When you are finished, Flayn will escort you to your room and you will sleep. The healers here have been under your watchful eye and will take good care of the wounded. We need you to take time to care for yourself.”

“Yes. I will sleep and you should as well. I’m sending Flayn back to check on you. If she finds you working at the desk, I’ll run up here and bring a stick with me to chase you out.” You laugh.

Seteth chuckles. “I do not wish to incur your wrath. I promise to head straight for bed after dinner.”

“Should I change your bandages while I am here?” You ask.

“I did not invite you here to work. Flayn will aid me.” He nods to her.

Flayn suddenly interrupts. “I really should get the dishes back to the kitchens, you know how they can be. Perhaps it would be best that she escorts you to your room and check you this evening. This will probably take me a few trips.” Flayn says as she hurriedly stacks the plates, cups, and cutlery together and heads out the door.

“Do you have salves and bandages in your room? Should I pop by the infirmary for some?” You inquire.

“You had best get them. I know Flayn has some in her room, however I am not certain that I have any myself. I will meet you at the stairs, we can go up together.” He answers as he reaches for a cane to keep himself steady.

You observe Seteth as you follow him up the stairs, he is being especially careful and favoring his leg. He unlocks the door to his room on the third floor. You try not to let the curiosity get the best of you. Briefly glancing about, his quarters are pristine. Comfortable and heavy furniture come into view as he lights a candelabra.

“Would you prefer to change your bandages on the couch or your bed.” You ask.

“The bed I suppose,” he sighs as he leads you to his bedroom.

“Do you have a spare towel in the bathroom? I want to make certain nothing gets onto your bedclothes.”

“Of course, there is a basket by the door.” He gestures to the open door.

Retrieving a towel, you return to his side. Seteth is seated on his bed, his back propped by his pillows. His pants are removed from the wounded leg, the other covered by his blanket.

Raising his leg, you carefully place the towel underneath. You observe his grimace out of the corner of your eye.

“Which wound hurts more, the one in your calf or the one in your thigh?”

“The thigh. That one was quite deep,” Seteth answers, slightly gritting his teeth.

Unwrapping both injuries they appear to be healing well, the scarring is pink, not red at the edges, no signs of infection or bleeding. You slightly lift his lower leg, asking him to move his foot different directions. Turning your attention to the healing injury on his thigh you begin pouring faith magic into the muscles, knitting the torn tissue further together bit by bit. Massaging the muscles around the wound you flex his knee. The healing is progressing quite well.

Briefly you glance to his face, his eyes are closed, he appears relaxed. You are blushing again. His muscles are perfect, his thighs well-toned. Taking a deep breath, you pull your brain back into your professional mindset.

“Any other pain? Any lingering tingling from the lightning in your arm?” You softly ask. “You have walked on that leg too much today. Limping around on a cane will cause pain in your hand and arm as well as throwing off your gait and leading to lower back pain. I’ve done what I can today. I would like to treat your thigh injury one more time tomorrow.” You turn away to gather the soiled bandages and cool the steamy thoughts in your head.

“You are worrying too much. I will be fine.” Seteth answers. He sounds sleepy, which is relieving. You make certain he has a glass of water on his nightstand before you leave.

You make your way back downstairs. Flayn is taking the last of the dishes back to the kitchens. You wish her a good night and tell her to fetch you if you are needed. Once she is out of sight you head to the infirmary to check on the patients. The night cleric is relieved to see you, a soldier woke up and fell trying to get out of bed, undoing quite a bit of the work everyone had put into him. A few hours later you leave the heavily sedated patient, hoping they will retain the use of their arm.

The next day you find yourself being scolded by Flayn when she finds your bowl of oatmeal is still half full on your desk and it is already lunchtime. You are too busy working on the soldier’s reinjured shoulder to eat.

“Stop this at once!” Flayn stamps her foot for good measure. I am hereby relieving you of your duty and sentencing you to complete bedrest until tomorrow.

You turn around to argue with her, however two knights are gently taking you by the arms and leading you from the infirmary to your room. As you close your door behind you, you can hear Flayn giving them orders to stand guard and not let you leave until tomorrow morning.

Your head is pounding as you reach for a glass of water. Being told to take your own medicine is quite the bitter pill to swallow. It is reassuring that the soldier should be fine and rest is the best thing for you now.

The next day Flayn apologizes for her mutiny. Instead of being angry with her, you give her a huge hug and thank her for her bravery. You invite her to bake cookies together later, perhaps some ginger snaps, since her brother may like the flavor.

Meeting Flayn in the kitchens she confesses, “Everyone says I am a bad cook. Before the war I cooked a dish so bad only Dimitri and Raphael would eat it.” She pouts.

“It is not that you are bad at cooking. You simply do not understand the why and because of it all.” You explain as you gather and measure the ingredients for the cookies.

“Butter for example.” You begin, “We’re not using it in this recipe, but many times softened butter is an ingredient in cookies. You can’t use cold butter, it won’t mix well with the sugar. If you melt the butter, it will mix with the sugar, however the consistency will be wrong. If you melt the butter too long, it will brown the butter, giving it a completely different taste. Leaving the butter in a slightly warm place for about 30 minutes should soften the butter enough to mix with the sugar and make a fluffy creamy mixture, perfect for many baked goods.”

“So cooking requires the ingredients to be in the correct state as well as quantity.” Flayn nods in understanding.

“Exactly! And you cannot always substitute items in a recipe. If you want to use a plum instead of a peach, that will not cause problems. However, if you use baking soda instead of baking powder, that may make your cookies or cake refuse to rise.”

“But they both are for baking and making it rise.” Flayn frowns.

“Would you substitute mandrake root for arrow root in a potion?” You ask.

“Goodness no! One has healing properties, the other is a poison!” Flayn shudders.

“Both are roots, both are powdered and about the same color. Always use the correct ingredient.” You nod encouragingly. “It is like brewing potions. The right ingredients in the right quantity will make someone sleep peacefully. Too much and they will be in a coma.”

“I am beginning to understand your instruction. One cannot substitute ingredients willy-nilly. You must have knowledge as to how they work together to understand the effects of changing the composition of the baked item.” Flayn smiles widely.

“Once you get the basics, with experience you will be able to change things in the recipe. Let’s go by the recipe today and experiment another time. So did you measure one cup of sugar or one cup of salt here?” You place the bowl in front of her.

“Um. I am uncertain.” Flayn blushes.

“Taste it.” You push the bowl closer to her.

Flayn takes a pinch between her fingers and puts it on her tongue. “Ew! That would have been horrible!” she gasps as she heads to the larder to obtain a cup of sugar, abandoning the cup of salt on the counter.

Later in the afternoon you join Seteth in his office for Angelica tea. You surprise him with a box of the ginger cookies baked earlier.

“Ginger cookies! I have not had one in quite some time.” Seteth eagerly grasps a couple with the tongs, putting them on his plate.

“Flayn made them this morning.” You smile.

Seteth’s smile falls from his face as his eyebrows furrow slightly. He looks back to see that his door is indeed closed. “You do know what her cooking is like, don’t you?” He whispers.

You laugh. “Really Seteth, I was with her the entire time. We had a very productive cooking session. You may be surprised. Go on, take a bite.”

Seteth brings the cookie to his lips as if he has been requested to bite the head off a viper. He stares down at the cookie for a second and sniffs it. It does not smell as if it is burnt. It smells of ginger and sweetness, which is unusual for a cookie baked by Flayn.

Finally, he opens his mouth and takes a bite, silently praying that his teeth do not break off by doing this. Instead, his teeth sink into the slightly soft, slightly chewy, perfectly baked cookie. The ginger mixed with the molasses and other spices meld together in his mouth in the most delightful and rewarding flavors. His eyes open wide as his lips pull into the sweetest smile.

“You are absolutely certain that Flayn made these? They are delicious!” Seteth gasps.

You nod. You are so proud of her right now. You wish she could see the look on Seteth’s face right now. It’s precious.

“I must thank her later. You are a miracle worker.” He reaches forward and takes your hand in his.

Your face feels as if it is on fire as it heats up with a blush. Taking your teacup you try to hide behind it as you watch Seteth reach for another cookie.

The infirmary tent is outside of Fort Merceus. You can hear the battle raging on the fortress above the wall. You’ve just finished treating the wounds of an armored Knight, closing the lance wound to his shoulder. Suddenly things are quiet. You then hear a strange whistling noise followed by an explosion. Rocks rain down from the skies, causing the large tent to collapse around you. Pain overwhelms you as the world suddenly becomes dark.

You jolt into consciousness. Sitting upright you grab your head as it throbs fiercely between your hands. Your fingers feel wet, they are covered with blood.

“Brother! She is awake!” you hear Flayn’s voice next to you. Bleary eyed you look over to her, it is difficult to focus through the pain.

Seteth kneels at the side of the cot, wrapping his arms gently around you. “I thought that we might lose you.”

You manage to reach your right arm toward, your left arm refuses to cooperate. Taking a few deep breaths, you calm yourself. Your head pounds mercilessly.

“What happened?” Your voice trembling, remembering the last things you saw.

“The Fortress is gone. It is nothing but rubble. Pillars of light came from the skies and caused explosions everywhere. An entire wall crumbled and crushed part of the infirmary. The battle is over, for now.” Seteth’s voice exudes sadness.

You sob uncontrollably into his shoulder. The loss of life must have been great. Slowly the flow of tears subsides.

“Here, you must drink something.” Seteth offers a waterskin.

You drink your fill. Your eyes are more focused now and you notice you are in Seteth’s tent. You open your mouth to speak, his finger covers your lips.

“You need to rest.” Seteth softly says as he holds a potion bottle for you to drink. You smell the bitterness of the sedative. Nodding your head, you drink the contents. He then lays you back on his cot.

You awaken to the sounds of birds chirping and soldiers walking through the camp. This time you are not nearly in as much pain as you were previously. Sitting up, you assess your injuries. Based on the wrappings and pain your left shoulder has been broken. You have multiple contusions on your arms and legs. Feeling your head, your hair has been washed and there are a few spots where cuts are healed.

You watch the tent flap open and Flayn brings two plates of breakfast to set on the table.

“I am glad you are awake. My brother is in the war council meeting. Let me help you walk over here and get something to eat.” Flayn’s smile is soft and encouraging.

As you both eat, she updates you on the status of the camp. The battle was won, then the Fort was attacked. They did lose two clerics and several soldiers when the tent was hit by debris. They repaired the infirmary tent and treatment of the wounded is ongoing. The soldiers are reorganizing, preparing for the march to Enbarr.

“I feel bad for stealing your brother’s bed.” You frown. You are unaccustomed to inconveniencing others, especially your wonderful friends.

“He slept on the floor next to you to make certain you did not wake up and head back to the infirmary.” Flayn giggles.

“He knows me well.” You nod.

“He hovered over you like a mother hen. He was very worried.” Flayn looks at you, her eyes seem to bore into you. “Do you like him?”

“Well, yes, I do. We have been friends for many years.” You answer, deciding that the eggs on your plate are very interesting so you stare at them. They stare back.

“You would make a great couple.” She giggles.

You almost choke on the food you are chewing. Grabbing a drink of water, you take a few gasps of air. “What makes you think that?” Your face is bright red, you can’t look her in the eye.

“I am getting pretty good at noticing these things. When things are difficult, you tend to find someone that you can lean on and support you. Dimitri and Marianne, Felix and Sylvain, Mercedes and Dedue. It is only natural. You and my brother watch out for each other, keep the other from overworking, make sure they eat properly. I think it is inevitable.” She grins and looks quite satisfied with herself.

Your brain goes into overdrive. “I spend a lot of time with you as well. Knitting, cooking, fishing.”

“Yes. However, you do not act romantically toward me, your attitude is more…hmmm,” Flayn puts a finger to her chin. “Motherly.”

“It is true that I am that way toward you. My mother passed not long after giving birth to my youngest brother. Father relied on me to help raise my siblings as I was the oldest. I see so much of my siblings in you. Your naivety, looking at the world through innocent eyes. I feel very protective of you and understand your brother’s concern. I also recognize his attitude of overprotectiveness. You are all he has left.” You pat her hand.

“True. I thank you for your support. He needs to learn and understand that I am no longer a little girl.” Flayn pouts, slightly ruining her ‘I am an adult’ speech.

“Perhaps you should speak with him. Have a heart to heart conversation.” You feel relieved the conversation has shifted to her feelings about her restrictive sibling.

The remainder of your breakfast is quiet. Flayn returns the dishes to the cooks as you slowly make your way to the infirmary tent. Late in the evening you are lying and resting in an empty cot when you hear Seteth’s voice. You sit up as he approaches.

“There is no need to get up.” He apologizes. “I was simply checking on your wellbeing.”

Feeling brave, you reach up to take his hand. “Thank you for helping me. I have been pacing myself and taking frequent breaks. I am very grateful for everything you have done. I am sure you would like to enjoy your privacy and sleep more comfortably.”

Seteth squeezes your hand. “You are not a burden. My door is always open for you. Sleep well.” He smiles as he leaves.

You lie there, overthinking the short exchange. Are you special or simply a good friend? You want to curse Flayn for lighting aflame these thoughts in your head. You eventually drift off to sleep.

Several weeks later you march with the troops back to Garreg Mach. The war is over. Enbarr and the Emperor are defeated. Rhea is rescued and officially appoints Byleth as the new Archbishop. The Knights are busy taking out rogue bands of Imperial troops and bandits, returning to the monastery to be healed and rest up for the next battle.

Seteth is constantly overworking himself along with Byleth as they create the new doctrine for the church. They also communicate with Dimitri by letter, regarding plans for the continent. You find yourself constantly interrupting their meetings, forcing them to break for food or to take a walk to get fresh air.

“I thought we had just stopped for lunch. Is it time for dinner already?” Seteth looks up from the table filled with scattered parchment and books. Byleth doesn’t look up from his writing.

“Yes. Flayn and I have caught some fish and we are having it for dinner. No excuses.” You glare at them sternly. “Join us in the dining hall.” You do not say now, however it is implied and they stop their work quickly.

While eating, Seteth and Byleth attempt to continue their conversation regarding a particular section of doctrine.

“I order both of you to rest. Talk of something not business,” You plead. “I have heard that Dimitri will only work six days a week, taking one day for his mental wellbeing and health. I completely stand behind that mindset. True, there are always some issues that have to be dealt with, however the focus of the day off is to give yourself a break.”

Byleth looks at you as if you have two heads.

“Vessel of the goddess, yeah, yeah.” You frown at them. “You still need to eat, to sleep, and to rest. Keep this up and you’re headed straight for another five year nap. How much work are you going to finish then?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, looking at them smugly.

“She seems quite serious and peremptory. I don’t think we have much of a choice in this.” Seteth acquiesces. “Saucy little woman.” He whispers to his soup.

“What was that?” You snip.

“I said you make a fine spokeswoman.” He quickly shovels more fish into his mouth.

A week later they announce that Sunday shall be a day of rest except for what must absolutely be accomplished. The first week goes quite well. Byleth and Seteth spend much of the day resting in the afternoon sun as they fish in the pond.

They even admit to a renewed spirit as they return to their work the next day, having clearer minds and feeling rested. Things go well until the fourth week.

You are in the infirmary long enough to heal and bandage a burn on Annette’s arm when you cannot help but hear Seteth and Flayn’s very loud and angry voices emitting from his office. Quickly you dismiss Annette, telling her not to utter a single word.

As you approach Seteth’s door, Flayn runs out crying and fleeing to her room upstairs.

Seteth is sitting at his desk, his head in his hands.

“I do not know what has gotten into that child. She simply does not understand that I am trying to protect her.” He groans.

You knock on the door frame. Seteth waves you in and you close the door behind you.

“Apologies. I am sorry you were a witness to our outburst.” He sounds exasperated.

“She has grown to become quite the independent woman.” You disclose. “She has emotionally developed from a child into an adult since I met her all those years ago.”

Seteth groans. “The world is a dangerous place. I only want to keep her safe. Just a few years ago she was kidnapped right under my nose. I cannot let any harm befall her.”

“It hurts. It hurts to let them go. Watching them flee the safe and warm nest you have prepared.” You begin. “Your relationship is like a hand full of sand. Held loosely, with an open hand, the sand remains where it is. The minute you close your hand and squeeze it tightly to hold on, the sand trickles through your fingers. You can hold on to some of it, but most of it spills. A relationship should be like sand held loosely, with respect and freedom for the other person, it will remain intact. But hold too tightly, too possessively and the relationship slips away and is gone forever.”

“I cannot lose her.” The tears flow from his eyes.

You come around to his side of the desk and hold him to your chest. “There are two times when parenting is most difficult. When the baby first arrives and when the adult first leaves home.”

“You are not fully aware…” He chokes on his words.

“That you are her father? She has slipped too many times in her speech. I know you love her more than anything. You have raised her as your child, regardless. The thought of her leaving breaks your heart. I know.” You assure him. You had felt like you died a little every time one of your brothers and sisters left the nest.

“I want to take her and flee. Hide deep in the mountains where I can protect her.” He gasps through his tears.

“Have you asked her if that is what she wants? If you take her and run, she may escape, putting herself out alone in the wild and into even greater danger. If you let her remain, surround herself with friends who love and protect her, just as you have, could she be safe? If you part from her angry, will she ever come back? These are things you need to ask yourself.”

“If I did that, I would truly lose her.” He looks at you knowingly.

You nod and hold him as he shudders, his sobs filling the room. You pat his back and shoulders reassuringly. After a few minutes he takes a few cleansing breaths.

“My deepest apologies, I did not mean to bring you in to this.” Seteth obtains a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his tears.

“I am here to help you. To help Flayn too. Both of you can be quite stubborn when you want to be.” You rub circles on his back, continuing to bolster him.

“What should I do now. Where do we go from here?” Seteth looks completely overwhelmed.

“Start with a nice tea together, in a neutral territory. Perhaps on the star terrace? I will check with Byleth and see if that is acceptable. Let her know this is the first of several conversations you will have. It is like any negotiation, discuss the good and the bad. Let her know more details of what you are worrying about. If either of you begin to get upset, step away from the table and calm your mind.”

You pause to let him think for a moment. “Remind her that no matter what, you love her, wanting only the best for her. You want her to understand your concerns. You need to understand her concerns, her dreams, her priorities. Keep communicating. Talk and talk some more.” You hug him tightly then head for the door.

“I cannot thank you enough.” Seteth nods as you smile at him before leaving.

Standing guard at the foot of the stairs to the third floor you sip your tea for a bit then return to knitting. They have been up there talking over tea for over two hours. No doors slamming. No yelling. This is a good sign.

Seteth calls from the top of the stairs, asking you to join them.

Flayn is carrying the tea set into Rhea’s former bedroom. She places it on and end table, then rushes over to give you a hug.

“Thank you.” She quickly whispers before heading down the hall to her chambers.

You walk outside to stand next to Seteth at the balcony. The stars twinkle brightly in the cloudless sky. You look up to him as he stares into the heavens. The air is still and cool now that night has fallen. Patiently you wait for him to gather his thoughts.

“We had a productive conversation.” Seteth begins softly.

You hum in agreement, not wanting to interrupt.

“We spoke of many things. Some good, some bad. All of it necessary. You are correct, she has grown up before my eyes and I could not see it. She is a beautiful young woman.” He speaks slowly, each word tearing apart his heart.

You want to take him in your arms and reassure him, you can see the sadness in his eyes. His precious Flayn must be allowed to be free, and he feels like it is killing him. You settle with leaning against his shoulder with yours.

“She said she worries for me just as much as I for her. She fears that when she leaves, I will shut myself off from the world. I have told her many times that she is my world, that all I do, I do for her. She knows the sacrifices I have made for her sake. She is grateful. But she wants to do things on her own. How to fend for herself. I just—” his voice falters.

Seteth hangs his head low, gripping the balustrade tightly for support. “I am terrified.”

“Let her know you will always be there for her. That you are a place of safety for her, a refuge.” You rub his shoulder as you remain looking skyward.

“Of course, I will take her back, in a heartbeat. There is no doubt. I would bring her where I am without question.” He says with conviction. “The hardest part is to let her go in the first place.”

“She is still here, you have time to mend your hearts. You will always worry for her, she knows this. You have earned that right.” You softly pat his opposite shoulder your arm around his back..

“Thank you for being here.” Seteth turns and hugs you to his chest. You hug him back and stand with him in the cool air, sharing warmth with each other.

Flayn and Seteth have several teatime conversations, adult to adult. One day they decided to take a short holiday together, packing belongings on their wyverns and return several days later.

Seteth works twice as hard to make up for the lost time in his office. You spend time with Flayn as she tells you of her plans. Ignatz and Raphael are going to work as knights for Lorenz who has taken over Gloucester lands from his father. Lorenz is fully employing Ignatz to be ‘a knight that paints’. She will join them in a month’s time. She is in love with Ignatz, however does not want to jump into things too quickly. With her other friends there, she will see how the budding romance goes.

You giggle along with her about her exciting plans, what she wants to do for herself and things she will see. She is quite excited about visiting Derdriu. She’s always loved the ocean and the other coast is just north of the territory.

“What will you be doing now that things are settling down? Do you want to travel or start something new?” Flayn looks at you curiously.

“I’m still recovering from going through the war. I’ve always enjoyed working here. Because Byleth is staying here, friends will come to visit frequently. I am not much of a wanderer, so traveling is out. I don’t want to go north, the snow we have here is plenty.” You think for a moment. “Teaching sounds interesting if they decide to reopen the academy or a regular school. I would like to research some additional healing spells. There are many things to do. Deciding is the hard part.”

“You should think about finding someone special to settle down with.” Flayn smirks.

You nearly spit tea all over yourself. “I..um.” You cough into your napkin and gather your wits. “Unlike some people I know, I do not rush into things.”

“I have watched you pine over him for years.” She laughs.

Looking away from her you wiggle nervously in your chair. “I have no idea what you’re alluding to.”

“You both are so hopeless.” Flayn huffs.

A few days later, Flayn leaves a box outside your door labeled ‘Educational Materials’. You take them in your room then head to the infirmary for work. She has left a box there labeled ‘Medical Supplies’. You open the box and restock the shelves with the gauze and bandages. At the end of the day you return to your room deciding to open the box she has left for you. It is filled with romance novels. How strange. Educational? You think as you open one of the books to peruse through.

Flayn has finished packing her belongings. She distributed a few things around the monastery, leaving enough of her belongings in her room so that she will not have to pack anything when she comes to visit Seteth. The wagon from Gloucester territory has arrived and she watches them load her belongings onto the back. Flayn stands outside the carriage saying her goodbyes.

“Byleth, thank you for accepting me in your class. It began my journey to the independence that I celebrate today.” She gives him a hug and kiss on the cheek.

“I must thank you for everything you have done for me. You have taught me how to cook, amazing fishing techniques and patience. Thank you for everything.” She takes your hands in hers as she gazes your face with a sincere smile. She kisses you on both cheeks, like the adult women of the court say goodbye.

Flayn jumps up and gives Seteth a tight hug. She buries her face in his chest so she cannot see his face.

“I will miss you most of all, brother. I promise to write. I will be safe, you’ll see.” She pauses so that he can kiss her on the forehead, then she turns and quickly enters into the carriage before anyone can see a tear fall from her eyes. The carriage pulls away and she waves out the window with her hand.

Byleth stares as the carriage leaves. “Do you think she will cry?”

“She is bawling her eyes out right now.” You manage to chuckle, trying to hold back your own tears. A sniffle still escapes.

Seteth has moved inside the building, most likely to hide his own tears. You stand next to Byleth, not sure what to do with yourself. Byleth eventually looks over to you.

“I’ll go to the wyvern rookery to make sure he doesn’t try to follow her. You should go talk to him.” Byleth announces as they head out.

Heading up the stairs to the second floor of the faculty building, the trip seems much longer than usual. You have no idea what to say to him. You pause outside his door, praying the goddess gives you the proper words.

“Seteth. May I come in?” Announcing your presence as you knock.

“This is not a good time for conversation.” He answers, not opening the door.

“We don’t have to speak.” You answer. “Please?”

The silence from the other side of the door is deafening. You wait, not moving.

“Enter.”

You enter, seeing him seated at his desk, looking toward the wall. You silently close the door. Approaching Seteth like you would a terrified animal, extending your hand toward him slowly and gently, you touch his shoulder.

He hangs his head and weeps into his chest. You place your head on his shoulder and arms around his back, letting him mourn his loss. His muscles are all tight as he pulls into himself, his body shakes with emotion.

When he has run out of tears, he pulls himself from your embrace. He tries to hide his face, swollen from crying. You reach for a pitcher and pour water onto a cloth, chill it with magic and place it on his forehead and eyes. You tilt his head back to rest it on the back of his chair. Moving behind him you massage his temples and apply healing magic to relieve the headache from crying.

He looks as if he is resting, or at least trying to relax after having tensed his entire body for so long.

“I am always here for you.” You say softly before leaving his office.

You arrange for dinner to be brought to his door. Disappointment crosses your face when you see the food is untouched hours later.

The next morning your rise early to fish, but the fish have no interest. You glance at the windows of Seteth’s office and there is no light. Heading to the infirmary you walk past it and stand outside of his office door. You knock, there is no answer. You attempt to open the door, it is locked.

While treating a cut on a soldier’s arm, Byleth enters the infirmary.

“Have you seen Seteth? He is late for our meeting this morning.” Byleth says, looking concerned.

“No. Perhaps you should check on him?” You offer. “I believe he skipped dinner last night and the cooks said he was not there for breakfast. He did not touch his food at dinner last night as well.”

Byleth frowns and heads for Seteth’s office door. You hear his knocking from inside the infirmary. Soon the hallway is quiet. A few minutes later you hear the tapping of Byleth’s boots walking down the hallway and going up to the third floor.

Putting away the bandages and salves, you jump when Byleth bursts into the infirmary.

“Come quick!” He orders.

Dashing up the stairs you head to Seteth’s room. Byleth is with him in the bedroom, having placed Seteth on his bed. He had found him lying on the floor of the front room.

You quickly assess Seteth’s condition. He has exhausted himself. His eyes are dark and sunken, black lines hang below his eyes. He has probably not been sleeping and certainly has not been eating. You knew he had not been sleeping well, he looked tired yesterday however, today is much worse.

“I can take over from here. Let the infirmary know I am indisposed for a day or so.” You announce as Byleth helps you pull a comfy chair from the parlor next to the bed. You also set a pitcher and two glasses on the nightstand.

“I’ll send dinner up.” Byleth says as he leaves the room.

You check Seteth frequently. He is sleeping soundly. You eat, leaving the dishes outside. He still has not moved. Grabbing a throw blanket, you curl up in the chair, settling in for the night. You leave your hand on top of his, you need to wake if he stirs.

The moonlight shining through the windows gives a bluish glow to the room, the sun has not yet risen, however it will in an hour or so. Seteth begins to stir. He yawns and instinctively reaches to cover his mouth. Just as he moves, you bolt upright in the chair and look at him. He notices you there, bolting upright as he realizes you are in his room.

“What are you doing here.” Seteth huffs.

“I am watching over my patient. Apparently, someone cannot be trusted to take care of themselves properly.” You fold your arms on your chest and give him a glare that could frighten a demonic beast.

Seteth attempts to hide his shame behind his hand, using it to cover his face. “My deepest apologies. My mind has not been in a good place. I have been overwhelmed with grief since before Flayn had even left. I know she is alive and well, but that does not lessen my concern for her.”

“I should write to her and tell her exactly what you have done to yourself as soon as she left.” You scold. “She put me in charge of you, no matter how many times I assured her that you are a grown man and capable of taking care of yourself. I have misjudged you. I am certain she will not be pleased to know she was right.”

You get up and hand him a glass of water. He takes a few sips, placing it on the nightstand. You hand it back to him again pointing to the center of the glass. He drinks half of the contents and looks at you. You nod and he puts the glass down. A few moments pass as you stare at each other.

“Are you hungry? I can run to get you something. Do you have any pain?” Your face softens.

“I will be fine. I think I will lie here and rest for a little while longer.” Seteth takes your hand in his. “You should get some rest as well. You don’t need to stay here and watch an old man sleep.”

“Apparently, I do.” You softly laugh, squeezing his hand and moving over to sit on the bed next to him. “You do not look like an old man. Sometimes you act like one, however when I saw you fighting during the war you were on the front lines along with those young men and you were running circles around them. I’ve seen you wield your lance, you are a force to be reckoned with.” You smile warmly at him.

“Oh? So you have been watching me?” He raises his eyebrows a bit.

“Yes. Watching you fight and fly on your wyvern is breathtaking.” You pause, “You are breathtaking.”

“I…I don’t know what to say. Thank you?” Seteth blushes.

Giving him a smile, you whisper, “We have much to discuss. But right now, we are both exhausted. Scoot over, I am not sleeping in that chair one more minute.”

“That is not proper. We shou-“ he gasps.

You lay next to him. “Shhh. Scoot. We are consenting adults who need sleep. I am fully clothed. You are under the covers, I am over them. No different than last night, except I will be comfortable and won’t wake with a pain in my neck.” You snuggle next to him, laying your head on his shoulder and arm across his waist. “Good night.”

Seteth lies there stiffly for a while. Then he heaves a sigh and lays his cheek on the top of your head, drifting off to slee

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter IV]

Word count: 4,113

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x reader

AO3 link 

Author’s note:  Listen... I wrote this chapter this past week and I must say I'm not happy with it. My brain is mush due to work so that's all I could come up with. I wish I could've done better but I know if I delayed posting it I would never do it. Feedback would be greatly appreciated on this one (good or bad).

  “Oh my fucking God.”

My day had started out fine. I had woken up in a surprisingly good mood considering it was Monday and then I ruined it. 

With the exception of Count Dracula’s visit to my house, my weekend was pretty uneventful. Sunday was spent grocery shopping with Diana and reviewing cases to prepare myself for court sessions during the following week. Occupying myself with work was not only necessary but also served as a good distraction from the deal I had struck with the Count. 

Being arrogant had its advantages in my line of work but after proposing a deal to a vampire, I was starting to think how quickly that arrogance could turn into vanity and plain stupidity. A deal from which I had yet to glimpse a way out of? Could I outsmart a centuries old vampire and wiggle out of that deal? On Saturday night I was pretty sure I could. Now… Not so much.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered, receiving ugly looks from people on the tube. 

My hand covered my mouth so I would stop cursing and to stop it from falling open.

Reconnaissance was part of any good lawyer’s job and that was what I had decided to do as my first course of action against Count Dracula. As soon as I had found a good spot to sit in the tube, I googled him by his title. All of the pages included the interesting moniker Vlad the Impaler followed by his actual name Vlad Dracula. That in itself was enough for a chill to run down my spine but each line I read managed to make it worse. 

He was born in the Middle Ages, more precisely in 1431, which put him somewhere over five hundred years old. So, I had made a deal with someone overly experienced in the matters of life, which wasn’t ideal but could be remedied. But then I was met with medieval drawings depicting him dining amongst a field of impaled people. One particular page had supposed accounts from Ottomans and Saxons describing the atrocities committed by him. Boiling people alive, nailing hats to people’s skulls so they wouldn’t take it off, setting beggars and thieves on fire to “cleanse” Wallachia were just some of his various lovely bedtime stories. Those tales had elicited my first string of curses, which yes evoked the name of God in a blasphemous way but at that point I didn’t care if I offended a higher power or not.

Not only was he abhorrently vile, he was smart. Smart enough to send people infected with the plague to infiltrate enemy camps, using them as biological warfare and weakening enemy numbers. Not many people would have thought of such a tactic in the Middle Ages. Apparently the sight of the impaled people put on display around the city Targoviste was so repulsive that the Ottoman Empire simply retreated. And albeit having half or sometimes a quarter of the army of his opponents, he still managed to win several battles because of his cunning. 

That was the part that made me curse several times as some sort of mantra. A ruthless and smart ruler that had been a monster long before he became a vampire, that was who I was up against. And he had five hundred years of practice under his belt. How nice for me. 

My body took control as my mind raced and I got off at Canary Wharf station, making my way to the overly modern glass plated building where I worked.

The Middle Ages were a long time ago and it was a notoriously dark and violent time. Desperate times call for desperate measures, one could say. It should serve as a logical explanation to make myself feel better but the cold sweat on the palms of my hands was an obvious sign that it wasn’t working. I resorted to my earbuds and played one of my favourite songs to try calm myself but I was barely paying any attention to it. The noise inside my head was far louder.

I willed my brain to catch up with my body once the elevator doors opened to the 17th floor. Work, now , I told myself. I could think about how to escape the Count’s grip later.  

Greeting my colleagues, I made my way to my desk at the far left of the office. We occupied half of the 17th floor while the other half was made up of a café and a small finance firm. Smelling croissants and fresh coffee, I placed my purse and briefcase on my chair and was already making a b-line for the café when Renfield peeked his head out of a meeting room and waved for me to join him. 

I threw my earbuds over my shoulders so the string could hang from around my neck and stuck my phone on my trousers' back pocket. Renfield promptly closed the door as soon as I stepped inside. He splayed his arms over the doorway, blocking it. Eyes with dilated pupils watched me from behind thick glasses. Frowning, I looked out through the blurred glass walls that outlined the meeting room we were standing on. If he was about to reprehend me for something I’d done then at least I wouldn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of the whole office witnessing it. 

Renfield had always been composed and taken great pride in his work and looks. For the past few days that stopped being true. Not only was he acting in a disturbing manner, he also appeared unwashed. His hair was greasy and a few strands stuck to his forehead. His suit had a stain on a lapel and he didn’t have a colourful handkerchief peeking out of his front pocket as he usually did. Overworked, I guessed, but never in all the years I knew him had I seen him this way. When I joined the firm as his intern, he let me write most of his opening and closing statements so I could learn and he would rehearse them on his office as I watched and explain why certain phrases should be changed to provide the necessary punch in court. He taught me the basics and all the clever little tricks one could use to dribble a prosecution. He was in the audience when I worked my first case alone in front of a judge. He was there when I won my first case and he took me out for a beer. And he was there when I lost for the first time and he took me out for whiskey. We still went out to celebrate whenever one of us won a case.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he rasped, barely sounding like himself. “Are the Mast-- the Count’s documents in your possession?”

The Master’s, that’s what he almost said. A little too late I remembered that Renfield was Dracula’s servant and automatically took a step back to put distance between us. The Count had arrived at London a week ago, which could explain my boss’ disheveled appearance. 

“They’re at my desk.”

He nodded and licked his lips in a way that made me think of a lizard. 

“And what did you think of him? Of Count Dracula?”

The lunatic gleam in Renfield’s eyes made my decision before I could think through it very much.

“He’s polite and handsome,” I said in the most neutral tone I could manage. “I’ll get the documents and bring them to you. Excuse me.”

I closed the distance between us with more confidence than I felt. Nudging Renfield’s shoulder to the side so he would make way, I tried to grab the doorknob and then he was on me. He pinned me against a glass wall before I had a chance to push him back and his hand yanked my shirt’s collar down, exposing my neck. 

“Ah! Ah!” he exclaimed loudly. “I knew it!”

I tried to fight him off, terrified of the crazed look on his bulging eyes, but he slammed me back on the glass. It trembled under my weight. 

“ Why … you ?” Spittle landed on my face as he spoke and I cringed. “Why would he bestow such a gift on you?!”

Understanding dawned on me and for a second I stopped trying to escape. He was infuriated because Count Dracula had bitten me and not him, like some sort of drug addict that had his vice taken away. 

“Let me go,” I said, summoning a calm semblance. “Ask him about it. It’s not like I offered him a drink.”

“No, not a drink. If he wanted just a drink he would have killed you. He’ll make you his bride. But I-- I have worked so hard, so so hard. I deserve it, I do, I do,” he was whimpering now and shaking his head to the sides like a child. 

“I know, I know,” I cooed but I had tears on my eyes. 

His hands wrapped around my neck and squeezed. My eyes instantly bugged out of my head and the tears flowed freely down my cheeks as I struggled. My hands found his face, trying to slap him or scratch him, anything that would get him off of me. I hit the glass wall with the back of my heel repeatedly to try to get someone’s attention outside. Air couldn’t reach my lungs anymore and my windpipe would probably collapse if he pressed harder. The pressure on my head was enormous. I could barely see and my face felt like it would explode at any second.

Several figures burst in the room. Two of them tried to pry Renfield off of me and the other three screamed for him to let me go. The crushing force on my neck ceased all of a sudden and I went down like a sack of potatoes, falling on my side as I gasped for air. 

“Master! Master!” Renfield howled, struggling against his captors. “I was good, I was good! MASTER!”

A hacking cough seized me as I tried to will air into my lungs but failed to do so in the speed I needed. Slowly my vision returned and I saw Henry and Mallory kneeling next to me, trying to get me to sit up. Renfield’s deafening screams filled my ears. 

“What happened?!” Mallory asked as Matthew, another colleague of mine, and a security guard tried to pin Renfield to the ground as he continued shouting.

“Not h-his fault,” I croaked, covering my neck with my hand. I would have a new bruise to match my bite now. 

Mallory and Henry started talking about what they should do while I found myself trapped in Renfield’s demented eyes. He wasn’t in there, not anymore. 

“A psychotic episode,” I whispered to Mallory. It hurt to talk. “Call medics, not the police. It’s not his fault.” Mallory and Henry exchanged a look and nodded.  

More people filed into the room to gawk at the scene. Several more people gathered around me, trying to be helpful to the point where they started to resemble vultures and not good samaritans. I allowed myself to be coddled by these people while my mind ran amok. 

My chest tightened as if the sorrow I felt hurt physically as well. The man I had looked up to as an outstanding lawyer, the man I inherited the poise and the commanding voice… was gone. Reduced to the likes of a mewling baby and a deranged man.

I hardly paid attention when paramedics arrived and took Renfield away but when a paramedic wanted to check my neck, I was pulled back to reality by the bond I had to Count Dracula. 

“No,” I told him, one hand securing my shirt’s collar to my neck so it was covered. “I’m fine, really.”

“Miss, please. By what your colleagues described he nearly choked you to death.” His hands hovered on the air around me as a second silent request to let him look at the bruise.

I shook my head vehemently but tears were welling in my eyes again. 

I wanted desperately to tell someone just then. To explain about Renfield and the bite on my neck that marked me as his . But I couldn’t. My voice wouldn’t leave my throat because that too had become his . Even if I was able to tell someone, I knew it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Bitten by a vampire? Surely I would be thrown in the psychiatric ward as Renfield would.

“I can’t,” I said weakly before pushing him out of my way and running to the restroom. 

    London’s night lights kept me company as I worked overtime on the firm. After spending the rest of my day warding off preoccupied people, I decided that I would need to add extra hours of work. At home I would succumb to my bed’s embrace and wouldn’t get any work done. 

My desk lamp was the only source of light coming from inside the office and it illuminated the papers spread haphazardly in front of me. I had attended court earlier that day only to request an adjournment to Judge Llewellyn, who scowled and immediately demanded I explain myself. Matthew, my colleague, accompanied me to speak on my behalf since my voice box wasn’t strong enough yet to project my words to a courtroom. When Matthew explained the ordeal to Llewellyn I had the satisfaction of seeing the judge’s face dismantle in embarrassment for questioning me so harshly. It didn’t matter how much satisfaction it brought me because at the end of the day my case was delayed which impacted the life of a very dedicated mother who was disputing custody of her children with her ex. Catching up on cases and preparing future statements was my way of rectifying it.

I scribbled on a post-it and stuck it to a page before putting that pile to the side. I still had three more cases to review, draw up a plea bargain and think of a way to escape Count Dracula. I was procrastinating the latter.

The elevator opened with a ding on the other side of the floor and I raised my head to see who could it be at this time of night. A silhouette stepped out, standing in the darkness for only a moment before the hall’s motion activated lights came on. At once I sunk in my chair.

“Renfield... Where are you?” Count Dracula pitched his velvet voice in a mock song as he strolled in the office. 

My heartbeat shot up in response and I shrunk further, trusting the darkness to conceal me. He swiveled his head directly at me as if my fear had drawn him. The lights from the buildings outside only illuminated half of his face.

“Y/N,” he said. My name on his lips sent a shiver through my body. “Working in the dark, are we?” When no answer came from me, he clicked his tongue. “I can’t seem to get ahold of Renfield but I suppose you’ll do. My assets were supposed to have been released today. The bank said I need-” He had been strolling my way as he talked but he stopped abruptly, whiffing the air. “You’re scared. Of me?”

He resumed his pace slowly, almost dragging his steps. Just then, I truly understood the feeling of being stalked by a predator.

“Why… are you... scared?” 

He quickened his pace suddenly and covered over half the distance between us in seconds. I jumped from my seat and backed up as I searched frantically for a way out. The back of my knees hit a desk and I had to reach my hands back to stop me from toppling over it. I let out a squeak as I tried to regain my footing but it was too late. Dracula towered over me, so close I could smell his cologne. My face was turned away from him so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. I had a feeling that if I did he would devour me whole. 

“Tell me why,” a whisper. His breath smelled like copper. “I will not have you of all people cowering from me.”

“Renfield was committed to a psychiatric ward this morning,” I blurted. 

“Your voice,” he said.

Another squeak escaped my mouth as he grabbed my face and forced me to look at him. I expected to be met with a monstrous face but it was just him. Familiar dark eyes and lush lips. His stare fell from mine to my neck and he furrowed his eyebrows. His bite was well concealed under my shirt but the ligature mark was just beneath my jaw and in plain sight.

“He attacked me,” I provided in my frail voice. “Because you bit me.”

He pulled his lips down. Anger or disapproval, I wasn’t sure. 

“I see,” he muttered.

“Is that what will become of me?” I asked.

“I told you-- I would never make you a servant.”

“No. Will I become a monster like you? Will I be uncaring? Will I enslave people? Kill them, torture them?”

He squished my cheeks between his fingers with every word I spoke. Perhaps provoking him wasn't a smart choice but I wouldn't simply lower my head and accept my fate.

“Only if you wish," he replied.

“You won’t even try denying it?”

“If I did I would be a hypocrite. And you think you are without blame.”

“Me?! How am I to blame for anything?"

He loosened his grip on my face until he finally allowed his hand to rest on the side of my neck. 

“Yes, you. You the lawyer that defends robbers, murderers and rapists. And you know what’s interesting? I haven’t found much guilt about it in your blood. And now you accuse me of such things with disgust in your face? That, my dear, is a hypocrite.”

I swallowed his vitriol and it burned on the way down. Suddenly I didn’t like being provoked as much as I liked doing so. 

“You ruined Frank!” I blinked at using Renfield’s first name. “He went mental today! Never in his life--”

“He’s weak , always has been but you never saw it. One look. One look was what it took for him to practically kneel before me. You shouldn’t hold people like him in such high standards.”

“Doesn’t bloody matter, he’s my friend!" The threat of tears made my voice tremble and I caught hold of myself before they spilled. “I don’t suppose you understand what that means.”

The snarl on his face made me think he would kill me right there. 

“I should kill Renfield for what he did,” he murmured, stare searing into me. “But you wouldn’t like that.”

“Why does it matter what I like, Impaler?”

His brows softened as comprehension crossed his face and his lips parted in a grin.

“That is why you’re afraid, isn’t it? My darling, that was my human life, you have no need to worry.”

“And you’ve been an angel since then?”

“Oh never.”

I shifted uncomfortably. I was still supporting myself with my hands on the table behind me, slightly tipping backwards so the Count didn’t crawl on top of me. 

Did I see a monster when I looked at him? Quite honestly no, yet I knew I should. He had done horrible things and I only knew about the things history had kept record of. I had learnt over the years that people are complicated. I had never met one person that was fully good or bad. If I had to classify myself, I wouldn’t know. My entire job was one big gray area. I swiveled around the lines of good and bad, never fully committing to any of them because I was paid for it. That wasn’t to say I didn’t have my own moral compass outside of the law. Count Dracula however… I had yet to find out if he had any moral compass at all. 

“Will Renfield get better?” I questioned.

“He might. It’s difficult to predict how my power can affect some individuals, but he will remain my servant, that much I know. And he won’t attack you again, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Let him go.”

“I will not. He's quite good at being a servant.”

Renfield’s shouting replayed on my head.

“Let him go and I’ll let you feed from me whenever you want,” I said, shocking myself with my words. “But know this, I will never be yours.”

“Another deal? Tempting.” He licked his lips and my stomach coiled. “So very tempting.”

He reached to my waist, digging his fingers in my skin and I held back a gasp. 

“Take the deal,” I urged. 

Excitement grew within me. I preferred to believe that that was due to the possibility of tricking the Count into another deal but the tingling scar on my neck told a different story. I closed my eyes trying to concentrate and take full control of my body but it wasn’t responsive to rational thought. If he took the deal then it meant freedom for Renfield. That’s where my mind should be, not the rush of pleasure I had felt three nights ago when Count Dracula had bitten me. But by God, that’s what I wanted. I wanted to feel it again, feel his teeth sinking into my flesh and the dreamlike daze that followed. 

Dracula’s arm circled me and smashed my body to his in a single motion, causing the gasp I had been holding to escape my lips. His thumb caressed my jawline while his fingers teased the back of my neck. In the little light between us I saw his black eyes swimming in carmine red. My heartbeat quickened lower in me when his tongue snaked out once again to lick his lips. Suddenly his fingers found my scar and massaged it lightly, evoking a moan from me. I rose my hands to hold his shoulders as an attempt to balance myself.

I felt more than heard his laughter. 

“Look at you," he said. As he spoke I caught a flash of long and jagged teeth before it was gone. “‘I’ll never be yours .’ Liar, liar.”

I collected myself and pushed him away when I realised he was mocking me. He didn't move at fist but when I pushed him again he stepped back of his own volition, still laughing. 

“Are you taking the fucking deal or not?”

“No,” he enunciated the word slowly. “I like this game we’re playing and I don’t want it to be over just yet. As powerful as you think you are, you don’t have the power to control me with your blood. I’ve granted you enough as it is.”

“I wasn’t trying-”

“Don’t lie.”

I closed my hands in fists. 

“Fine. Can you at least say you’re sorry?”

“For what?” He raised his eyebrows.

“For Renfield,” I snapped, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Do you want me to lie to make you feel better?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“I wish Renfield hadn’t attacked you,” he said, sticking his hands on his pockets.

“That wasn’t the apology I was looking for.”

“I know.”

Why did I even want an apology? Was I desperate to find some semblance of regret on him? Desperate to find anything remotely good in him to justify my desire for him? I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep the tears away, hating myself for letting him affect me like that. My whole body desired him while I knew I should hate him for what he did to Renfield, for what he was doing to me. It made me feel like his plaything. 

“Can you please leave? I have work to do.” 

He nodded.

“I assume you’ll take over as my lawyer to assort my affairs.”

“Not like I have an option, is it?”

“Quite. I’ll leave you to it. See you Wednesday!" 

He had already turned away, walking back to the elevator when I fully registered what he said.

“What happens on Wednesday?” I rose my voice to get his attention.

"I take you on a date," he answered over his shoulder.

I marched after him and stopped when I realised what I was doing. What could I possibly do or say to threaten a creature like him? I probably bothered him as much as soft wind did.

"I'm not going on a date with you after what happened today."

He slowly turned to face me again, a big grin on his face. A victorious grin. If he was winning, then I was on the losing side - of what, though?

“Oh but you are. Your deal clearly stated that I am to convince you that immortality is worth it. You didn’t express how I should do it. Therefore that end of the deal is mine to fulfill however I wish. ”

I groaned. Had I removed my brain at some point when I made that deal? I was used to being the winner inside courtrooms, and I had stupidly condemned myself by binding a contract between Count Dracula and I. As much as I would like to withdraw it, I didn't think he would be open to the idea. He had made it clear that he would make me a vampire whether I liked it or not. I had no choice but to abide by my own rules until I came up with a way out.

“I’d rather meet you," I said at last. "Where are we going?”

He smiled widely as he walked backwards, facing me.

“I’ll text you on Wednesday. Goodnight, darling.”

“Night, Dracula.”

   .

.

.

Taglist: @festering-queen​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang​ @thorin-smokin-shield​ @hoefordarkness​ @dreamer2381​ @girlonfireice

[marvelhead17]

The Tale of Eossimar (Original Female Character x Bofur Fic)

Prologue

Word Count: 5k

Warnings to cover the whole fic: Fake relationships, half-blood children, mild violence, fight scenes, male/male relationships, Dwarf gender concepts, battle of five armies fix-it, pre-battle of five armies, near death incidents, talking to dead people, mentions of paradise/heaven.

The eldest of the boys perched his little sister onto his lap, the thick woollen blanket draping over his shoulders and providing an extra layer of warmth from the brisk winter just outside closed doors, his younger brother was pressed close to his side, and sharing the blanket by curling the remains over his brother’s smaller frame. The girl tightly gripped the blanket to her chest as she stared in awe at their aunt sitting on a chair before them, and they hung onto every word she uttered, despite having heard the tale a hundred times over, the way it was told never ceased to stop their enjoyment of it.

Her hands gestured in the air as she leaned forward to recount the legend of Erebor, the silver flecks that adorned her short brunette hair shimmering in the firelight; it was the Erebor she knew of before the great destruction that had fallen upon The Lonely Mountain.

“It was a great land ruled by Thrór, the King of the Dwarves, nearly a century ago, and their riches came from the mountain in which they dwelled– glistening streams of gold travelled down the walls inside of the great mountain, and the deeper the dwarf miners travelled within it, the more valuable and precious the gems and jewels were to be found. And as more gold was mined over the years, the dwarves continued their path further down, into the very heart of the mountain, where only the most dedicated, fearless and strongest miners would dare to search-” she paused to see if the children were paying attention.

The young girl rested her chin on her palms as she hung onto the words, enthralled by the tale although knowing it by heart already, the boys were listening intently and nodding ever so slightly as to encourage their aunt to carry on.

“Until, one day… a large precious stone that blazed a pure white light was discovered by a dreadfully worn-out dwarf, and Thrór had eagerly claimed it as a sign of his right to rule over Erebor, the Arkenstone as all know it to be called in this age, the very heart of the mountain.” She let the information sink in,

“And soon after that, is when the dragon-sickness began to stir from inside the King; he soon began to grow suspicious of those who worked the chambers containing the vast wealth, believing that he had thieves amongst him. He became wary, and constantly appeared to be watching over his shoulders for a traitor; it transformed the King into someone the Dwarven people no longer recognised…”

She lowered her voice to that no louder than a harsh whispering, ensuring that the children leaned forward to hear her words clearly; “Not long after, word travelled across Middle-Earth of the countless treasures inside Erebor, to the ears of one of the Great Dragons of the North, Smaug the Terrible, as he was so aptly named. And that fiend laid waste to the City of Dale, the bustling trade centre inhabited by Men, before he continued his onslaught onto Erebor just north of the city.

“And the beast’s only desire was to claim the gold that lay inside the mountain, he blew enormous flames that singed everything in their path, engulfing delicate silks and turning them into worthless ash, the tall stone buildings that had stood for over two centuries crumbled and crashed from the unbearable heat-” Standing from her seat, she spoke quicker and louder, “The people of Dale grabbed only the essentials as they fled their homes lived in by the generations before them, mothers clutched to their children, while fathers and sons guided them to the docks so that they could make a safe escape, the city was in panic – save for one man.” She kneeled down to them, raising one digit on her hand to emphasise the significance of one being facing a great dragon, the youngest boy sucked in a deep breath in anticipation.

She sprung to her feet, “His name was Girion, the Lord of Dale… and he’d found purchase on one of the watchtowers of the city, he planted himself firmly as he readied the mounted Dwarven wind-lance. And then, he loaded a specially made black arrow into place, forged strong enough to pierce the tough hides of dragon-kind, and those few arrows that the Lord possessed were the very last of their kind, as their makers had long since passed, their method of forging taken with them to their graves.”

“And what did Lord Girion do next?” the younger boy asked and she smiled.

“Lord Girion fired the first arrow right at the beast and it flicked off of the dragon’s scaly skin like a smooth rock over calm water… unable to leave a mark on Smaug- the second followed suit and successfully hit the monster under his left wing, exposing a tiny patch of soft flesh for a final blow that would surely have taken him down-

“However, before the third and final arrow was even lifted by the brave Lord, the dragon had taken his chance to strike his enormous tale and destroy the building from underneath Girion’s feet swiftly. Leaving no hope for the City, only ruins,” she seated herself back into the chair with a shake of her head, her disappointment evident.

“And what of the Dwarves, Auntie?” the little girl turned to her with wide eyes, “Were they injured?”

She nodded solemnly and patted her lap gently, the girl clambered from her elder brother’s lap and moved to sit on her aunt’s, her arms wrapping around the girl carefully.

“Aye, many of the Dwarves were injured lass, mostly during the panic that the attack had caused; and plenty had barely escaped with their lives; my father, yer grandfather, being among the few to escape with his life,” she told her, the girl nodded, staring down at her hands and twining them together in discomfort.

“And what of the King, Thrór, what came of him?” asked the boy.

“We know exactly what happened to the King, we’ve but heard the tale a hundred times over,” the eldest elbowed his brother in his side and rolled his eyes to meet the ceiling, “Thrór had to be dragged out by his grandson, Thorin, with much effort, and the next in line Thráin, Thrór’s son, followed them closely behind as they watched their birth home being taken from them and their people.”

“That’s right Lumlin,” she nodded, “And can ye tell us what happened after, Maethríen?” she turned her head to the girl and smiled.

“Yes, Auntie!” she leaped off of her aunt’s lap and mimicked the stance she had seen her aunt do earlier, “Debris rained down from the heavens around the Dwarves, all the while they tried to reach safety in the expanse of empty lands that lay ahead,” she proudly announced as she perched herself back onto her older brother’s lap.

“That’s right,” she nodded, “And Lorin?”

“Fire consumed the lands that once thrived in people and wealth, happier days. That’s what ugmil ‘adad used to say, according to amal,” the younger boy added, eager to be a part of the story telling.

“Aye, and he of all Dwarves would know, as that was where he was born,” the children bowed their heads for a silent moment, never having met their grandfather but having grown fond of him through memories shared by their aunt.

“Auntie, can I tell the rest of the tale, please?” Lorin begged, she nodded and waited for him to continue speaking. “With their home now lost to them, the Dwarves set out into the wilderness to return to the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria, but the cunning orcs had beaten them to it!” he jumped up from his seated position and raised a fist in the air, shaking it about, “And the worst of the lot was there, Azog the Defiler, he swore that he would end the line of Durin-”

“Ooh- I do not care for this part,” Maethríen squirmed in her brother’s lap, burying her face into his chest as protective arms encircled her and stroked her back tenderly.

“Mae, please,” Lorin whined at his sister, he cleared his throat and shuffled his shoulders, continuing, “The foul thing started his reign of terror by killing Thrór, beheading him and raising his head as a claim to victory; and instead of running away in horror, Thorin mustered all of his courage and his might and wielded his weapon to face the Orc leader,” he took a quick breath, “Azog was powerful yes; however, Thorin was resourceful and quick on his feet, when disarmed of his shield he grabbed for an oak branch he’d found on the ground, and fought with great heart, earning him his name… Oakenshield,”

Lumlin at this point had gently nudged his sister from his lap and set her aside, she pouted but watched as her elder brother stood to his feet, “Thorin Oakenshield swung his sword and cut Azog the Defiler’s left arm clean in half, he was blindsided and dragged away by his army of orcs… presumed to have died from his fatal wounds,”

“Aye lads, and since that fateful day Thorin Oakenshield had the grave task of becoming King to the surviving dwarves, as his father Thráin had become mad from grief and disappeared without a trace,” they remained in silent awe, “Thorin became a great king at a terribly young age, and for the next few months he led his people across Middle Earth, finding and making do with places for them to live, eventually settling in Ered Luin for temporary dwelling, at least that is what they had thought. And so, for the next sixty years Thorin strived to work hard for his people and sought work from Men,”

The children settled down in their original positions on the floor and waited patiently for their aunt to finish recalling the endeavours that Thorin went on to do for his people, and how he would never forget the day that Smaug had changed their lives for the worst. Never forgiven and never forgotten.

“Auntie, is there more news of the travelling Company?” Lumlin asked, shifting to sit more upright in full attention.

“Aye dear,” she nodded, delighted to hear that he wants to know more.

“I told you Lorin,” Lumlin pushed the shoulder of his brother playfully, whose response was merely sticking out of his tongue and crossing his arms. “You owe me five gold coins,” he held out his hand expectantly.

“Alright Lumlin, I’ll give you your five coins tomorrow, I haven’t got anything on me just yet-”

“Brothers, please! We came here to listen to Auntie tell us more stories and you’re spoiling it!” Maethríen threw her hands in the air with a huff of annoyance; they stared at her in surprise before bowing their heads down guiltily.

“Sorry Auntie,” they apologised in unison.

“Thank ye laddies,” she nodded appreciatively.

“So tell us Auntie, what is the latest word?” Lorin asked, resting his head on his palms, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked up to his aunt.

“Let me see… I did tell ye of the first whisperings that told of dwarves entering the Shire, the dwellings belonging to Hobbits, specifically to a home in Bag End?” she asked, though already knowing the answer.

“Yes, that’s correct Auntie,” Lorin nodded.

“And I did tell ye about Thorin Oakenshield, along with his company of twelve dwarves, also accompanied by an unexpected fourteenth member, a Hobbit from the very same Bag End?”

“Yes, Auntie,” Maethríen piped up, nodding her head.

“What about the trolls who attempted to roast the dwarves for a feast?”

“Yes Auntie,” Lumlin nodded.

“And, I did tell ye about the rumours of the Dwarven Company, and Hobbit, dining among the Elves in Rivendell, and causing a little ruckus?”

“Yes Auntie,” they said together in an annoyed tone.

“Auntie, can you please continue the story?” Lumlin sighed as he stared at her.

“Alright, alright Lumlin, just ensuring the details were clear to yer minds still, yer Auntie is getting old ye see?” she winked and laughed, earning a giggle from her niece. “Now, have I told ye about what happens after Rivendell?”

“No Auntie!” Lorin sat up, leaning forward to now listen more carefully.

“I see, then that is where I shall continue,” she smiled, “Well, the word is that the dwarves continued onward from the lushness and safety amongst the Elves in Rivendell, to continue their perilous journey along the Misty Mountains, where they faced rough storms, and where they nearly fell to their deaths as Stone-Giants fought to win territories,”

“Stone-Giants? But Auntie, those are just myths told to scare dwarflings from straying whilst walking mountain passes,” Lumlin shook his head in disbelief.

“Aye, that’s what I thought to be true as well dear, but Middle-Earth has ears and eyes everywhere, so there is nothing untruthful with the words that I am sharing with ye on this night,”

“Remarkable,” Lorin whispered in awe.

“There is more,” she waited as they edged closer once again, “They managed to find safety within the caves of the mountain, and as they rested they did not know that they were soon going to be facing hideous Goblins, like moths to a flame, an alluring idea to sleep without watching over their shoulders during the night, and it had clouded their better judgement,”

“Did the Goblins capture them?” Maethríen gasped.

“Aye, and they too nearly took the lives of the dwarves,” they stared at her with widened eyes, “Thankfully Gandalf the Grey, the wizard who had been the one to arrange the company for the journey to begin with, came to their aid and saved them from the awful Goblin King,”

“But then, are the Orcs with their pack of Wargs still hunting down Thorin and the company during this time?” Lumlin asked worriedly.

“Aye, they are,” she nodded, “Both exhausted and terrified, the dwarves had reached the outside of the caves to a slowly setting sun, and the Goblins dared not follow lest they wished to die from the sunlight touching their skin,” her face became serious as she spoke her next words.

“However, their peace did not last very long, as the Wargs had caught on to their scent and led the Orcs straight to them, the dwarves and poor Hobbit so far away from home clung to dangling trees on a cliff’s edge, fearing that this is where their journey, and their lives were to end…”

“They cannot have met their ends!” Lorin practically yelled, his excitement becoming hard to contain, “Not Thorin Oakenshield, he is a fighter, a warrior, a King amongst Dwarves,” he insisted with wide eyes, his jaw slacking slightly.

“Yer absolutely right Lorin, and the King indeed fought hard against Azog once more, and he almost perished, had it not been for the wit and bravery of one Bilbo Baggins…”

“But Auntie, aren’t Hobbits much smaller than Dwarves?” Lorin asked

“Aye dear, as I said, he is a very brave hobbit to take on an orc,” Lorin nodded in amazement, “He wasn’t strong, but he distracted the Orcs long enough for The Company to escape, and I do absolutely believe that Gandalf had something to do with that, as they were rescued by The Giant Eagles of Legend,”

“They rode with The Giant Eagles?”

“Aye, they were carried to safety further away; Thorin was on the brink of death by the time they had reached the flat peak,”

“But surely Gandalf wouldn’t let the King die, right Auntie?” Lumlin asked in concern.

“Certainly not,” she assured them, “He used a touch of his magic to bring Thorin’s soul back from the heavens to Middle-Earth…”

“And then what happened Auntie?” Maethríen asked.

“And then-” she jumped up unexpectedly, making them all startle in their seats, “The lot of ye had to go to bed!”

“Ah, no!” Lorin groaned.

“Aye, ye young ones need yer rest if ye ever want to be strong warriors someday,” she nodded sternly.

“So that’s all?” Lumlin asked, “They made it to a mountain top, where are they now? Surely there must be more!”

“That’s all I know laddie, now off to bed, the lot of ye.” She chased them out and laughed, standing at the doorway to her small home as she watched them run off to their home just across the way from hers.

A familiar face stood just outside the entrance with a shaking head, and she looked to them with a raised brow, “What?”

“You know I don’t appreciate you exciting them before their bedtime,” the woman crossed her arms and sighed. “And when are you going to give up this silly dream of yours?”

“I’ll hold onto it till I take my very last breath if I must,” she said very seriously. “And if it matters at all to ye, it was also our father’s dream,”

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t put ideas in their heads, they’ve been unruly these past months. Besides, Father is long gone, you need to wake up and realise that he’s never coming back.”

She narrowed her eyes, “It’s not my fault that they crave adventure Lúthrien, I too grow tired of seeing these walls that protect us, and they’re still young; ye can’t blame their curiosities on me,”

“Alright, alright you’ve made your point.” The woman sighed, shifting in her stance, “Can I still ask for you to watch them tomorrow? That is, unless you wish to do your duties yourself, they are yours after all-”

“I’ll watch over them, don’t ye fret,”

Lúthrien nodded and spoke in her preferred tongue, Elvish, “{Thank you, goodnight sister},”

“{Goodnight, sister},” she nodded and closed her door quietly; she sighed to herself as she entered her bedroom.

Perhaps I should visit Lake-Town soon, I’m sure they miss me there. She thought to herself as she changed swiftly into her sleepwear and climbed into bed.

She stared at the stars that twinkled in the blackness, wondering if any news of the company would come soon. After minutes or hours she did not know, but sleep overcame her followed by a dreamless night.

Dawn broke through the window and alerted the start of the new day; she rolled from her bed and changed from her sleepwear, before washing her face hurriedly with some cold water to waken her for the day ahead.

As she exited her room she was assaulted by a pair of arms circling around her waist, she laughed and grabbed around the figure to lift her niece into her arms, and placed her against her hip with ease.

“What’s this, a Goblin attacking me from below?” she nuzzled her head against her niece’s. “Ye caught me off guard lass,”

“Auntie you’re so strong,” the girl giggled in surprise.

“Of course, ye have to be when ye’re a warrior,” she grinned and scanned the room briefly, “Where are those pesky brothers of yers?”

“Hey- we’re not pesky!” Lorin whined from just behind her front door, he stuck his head out and revealed his hiding spot, crossing his arms with a wooden practice sword in hand and pouting slightly.

“Well that’s one of ye,” Nari nodded. “Where’s yer brother?” she asked and the boy shrugged. “Don’t play with me now, I know ye know,” she rolled her eyes as he denied yet again, and ambled towards the front door with Maethríen still on her hip.

“Aha!” Lumlin jumped from the left where she couldn’t see, he startled Nari momentarily, but she still managed to grab a hold of his wooden sword with her free hand. “Ugh no, Auntie!” he tried to tug it back but she had a firm grip on it. “Lorin this is all your fault! You were supposed to distract her- not get caught out immediately!”

Nari let go of the mock weapon and he stumbled backwards and regained his footing, neatening his clothing as he glared at his younger brother, she lowered her niece to the ground once again.

“Now, now lads, ye can only blame yerselves for what happened,” she chided, “But ye also seem to forget that yer Auntie is unstoppable,” she brushed Lorin’s hair wildly and he swatted her hand away.

“Auntie will always beat you, silly boys,” Maethríen stuck her tongue out at her brothers, as she rested her hands on her hips, impersonating her mother.

“As soon as Mother allows us to train with Auntie, then we’ll get better,” Lorin said determinedly.

“You mean if Mother allows us to train with Auntie,” Lumlin sighed, “We should be grateful that she thinks these are just toys and not for practice,” he gestured to his battered wooden sword.

Nari felt her stomach grumble and she looked at them, “Have ye all eaten breakfast then?” they all nodded, “Well maybe I can get ye something else while we’re there, I’m starving,”

“We’re going to the market?” Maethríen asked, Nari nodded, “Oh maybe we can say hello to atarwhile we’re there! He’s always busy,”

“That’s because he’s working Mae,” Lumlin shook his head, “How else will he feed us?”

“Come on, it’s a beautiful day and we can’t be standing about doing nothing about it,” Nari gathered them and walked behind them as they quickened their pace.

A few of the stall owners that had noticed them gave their usual greetings, while others busied themselves marketing off their products with other villagers, and Nari found herself drawn to a stand selling freshly baked breads. The smell nearly made her mouth water, and she happily purchased her favourite bread, the stall owner smiled and then stiffened as his eyes caught something behind her.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“It’s that lad of yers again,” he told her, “’suppose he didn’t expect to see ye here,

“Thank ye, keep well,” she closed his hands around the money and looked around the marketplace in search of the children, and spotted them standing at their father’s stall.

She walked on, barely glimpsing at the dwarf that seemed to be staring holes into her head, and tore some of the fresh bread off to eat. By the time she reached the stall she had finished it and wiped her hands together, before briefly brushing away any rogue crumbs from her clothing.

“Morning Nikolas,”

“Ah there you are Nari,” he smiled, “I thought these rascals were with you today,” he bent over and kissed his daughter on her head, making her giggle, “Are you keeping well?” he asked, looking up at Nari.

“Aye, thank ye, and yerself?”

“Yes,” he stood up, catching sight of the dwarf from earlier, “I suppose you haven’t spoken to him today?”

“Not yet, I’ll get round to it once I’m done with yer little menaces,” she said and he nodded.

He leaned forward, “Lúthrien said she’s helping yer mother today, and they’ll be indoors all day. Make of that what you will,” he winked and she smirked.

“Thank ye, come on children,” they walked on, after waving their goodbyes, and she looked down at her niece, “So what do ye want to do, mm?” she brushed the girl’s hair.

“What if we want to do something Auntie?” Lorin asked.

“We’re always doing what you want,” Maethríen pouted and then perked up, “I want to go see the animals!”

“Of all things, you have to choose the smelliest?” Lumlin wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“If that’s what Mae wants that’s what we’re doing lads, I don’t want to hear any complaints,” Nari scolded, “Besides, I heard that the sow has given birth just a few days ago,”

Maethríen gasped, “So they’ve got little piglets? They’re so cute, and pink!” she squealed.

“You’re a piglet,” Lorin rolled his eyes, “You even squeal like one,”

“Hey,” Nari tugged his ear quickly.

“Ow!” he wriggled and she let go.

“That’s not how ye talk to yer sister, apologise,”

“Sorry for calling you a piglet, Mae,” he spoke quietly, barely making any eye contact as his foot brushed across the floor.

“Now, is that how we apologise?” she asked, crossing her arms and looking down at him.

“No Auntie,” he cleared his throat and spoke louder, “I’m sorry for calling you a piglet Mae,” he gazed down at his sister and she grinned at him.

“I forgive you Lorin,”

“See? Look how easy that was. Now…” she paused, a grin spreading on her own face, “I’ll race ye to the farm, last one there is a rotten troll!” she ran on as she finished her sentence, and the children yelled out in surprise, immediately giving chase to try and catch up with their Auntie. She beat them and they stood panting for a few minutes to catch their breath.

“That wasn’t fair Auntie,” Lumlin said, “You didn’t give us any chance to prepare for that,”

“You’re only upset because you’re the troll now,” Lorin teased, a cheeky grin spreading across his face as his older brother glowered at him.

“Well next time we’ll make a more formal race, how about that?” Nari asked and he agreed, “Good, then I’ll have witnesses to prove that I’m faster than the lot of ye,”

“Ooh- I can hear the piglets!” Maethríen shrieked, “Just over there!” she climbed onto the first beam of the wooden fence, pointing in the direction of excited squeals inside the barn. “Auntie, can I go see them? Please?”

“If Haga says it’s alright,” the girl ran around to enter the main barn, “Just try not to get your dress dirty!” she called as the girl disappeared from sight, and she resigned, looking to her nephews.

“So who’s telling her that we get our breakfast sausages from the pigs?” Lorin asked, hanging on the fence.

“Nobody,” Nari said sternly, “Ye know very well that that would upset her, that’s cruel Lorin,”

He rolled his eyes, “She’ll get over it, I had to,” he leaned over the fence to pet the calf that had wandered over to them. “It’s a wonder that animals can be cute, but also tasty,”

“It’s when you start talking that way, that makes me wonder if you’re really my brother sometimes,” Lumlin shook his head at his brother, scratching the calf’s chin gently, it closed its eyes and leaned forward. “Besides, it’s not a lump of meat; it’s a living, breathing creature, just like you or me,”

“I’m glad one of ye is taking to heart what I say,” Nari sighed and looked down at the calf, its big brown eyes stared blankly at her and it gave a little moo, she gave it a soft pat on the snout and it licked her hand. “Ye are quite cute, ye know,”

“There ye are!” a familiar voice spoke and she smiled as she turned to see her brother.

“Callon,” she greeted.

“I heard ye have the children for the day, and wanted to join ye,” Callon smiled as the boys acknowledged him, and surveyed the area, “Where’s Mae?”

“Torturing the piglets,” Lorin answered, “I do hope she doesn’t try to bring one of them home,”

“We’ve already got a family pig,” Lumlin shoved his brotherly lightly on the shoulder.

“I am not a pig!” he shoved his brother back harder.

“Hey, don’t push me!” he jumped off the fence and used both hands to push his brother off as well, and soon enough they were having a shoving match with each other, that was getting more aggressive as it progressed.

“Boys,” Callon shook his head and they stopped bickering.

“He started it,” Lorin muttered.

“I don’t care, I’m finishing it,” he glanced to the sky in silent prayer, before looking between the two clearly bored and irritated boys. “Tell ye what, why don’t we go see if old Haga has his little gallery set up then?”

“Now that sounds like an idea,” Nari agreed.

“I bet you can’t even hit down one can,” Lumlin looked at his brother as they ran off to the barn.

She was about to follow when Callon stopped her with a gentle hand on the shoulder, “I saw Cáleb lurking around, has he bothered ye today?” he asked quietly.

“Not yet, but I’ll speak to him when the day is over,”

He moved his hand away, “I think that’s fair enough,”

“Ye’d think after this many years he’d learnt his lesson,” she started to walk on when a shadow flew over her head, she instinctively stretched out her arm and the owl landed gently on it. “I didn’t expect to see ye for a few more days at least,” she gently rubbed its head and it nuzzled against her.

“Maybe they’re closer than we expected?” he asked as she frowned at the owl.

“Perhaps,” she retrieved a few pellets from her pouch and fed it to the owl, “That’s for being such a clever girl,” the owl made a content clicking and walking onto her shoulder, nuzzling under her ear and settling down, “Do ye have any word for me girl?”

As the owl squeaked and clicked into Nari’s ear, her eyes widened as she looked at her brother, then it cosied up comfortably against her head.

“What is it, bad news?” Callon asked.

“They’ve just made their way into Mirkwood,”

“On their own… Isn’t the forest growing ill there?”

“It is,” she thought for a moment and her eyes lit up.

“Nari, I know that look in yer eyes, what are ye thinking?”

“I have to go after them,”

“Nari-”

“Callon, there’s a fair chance that they’ll get lost there, besides, what if the Elves capture them? Then our chances of returning home will be gone, King Thranduil will not take lightly to them being there,”

“Alright,” he sighed, “Do what ye must, but for Durin’s sake be careful,” he pulled her in for a hug, forcing the owl to move away with a surprised chirp, and fly above them. “I’ll keep an eye on the three of them,”

“Thank ye,” they let go of each other before pressing their foreheads together, “I’ll be back soon, promise,”

“Stay safe,” he said as she walked away, he watched as her owl flew just above her, before she started running and disappeared out of sight.

The few moments of silence were disturbed, “Uncle? Where’s Auntie?” Maethríen asked from behind him, he looked down at her and smiled, kneeling down.

“Auntie will be back soon,” He looked at the path she had vanished along, “She’s just gone on an adventure.”

___________________________________________________________

>> Chapter Index << >> Next Chapter (1) <<

[ustryaocs]

CHARACTER: Drizella Tremaine OTHER NAMES: AGE: 16 CURRENT RESIDENCE: Unknown OCCUPATION: Princess  

From the time she was a child, Drizella’s head was full of ideas of romance and love. It was no easy thing for a girl like her to grow up in a love-starved place like the West. She was a fountain, always overflowing and running out into nothing. That didn’t stop her. Her parents were distant and cold, but that didn’t stop her from imagining the grand love story that they must have once had, or hanging on their every word for any ounce of affection. As for her older sister, Anastasia, there were no words to describe Drizella’s love for her. She followed her sister wherever she went, save for those strange times when Anastasia had a habit of disappearing.

Apart from family, Drizella was forced to find inventive ways to entertain herself, while still remaining the picture of nobility she was expected to be. Every interaction she had, with anyone, lasted just a little longer than it should have as she sought out the affection that was so lacking in her life, seeking approval around every corner. She was always eager to please, always devastated should she fail. Then came the first disaster of her life. Her father passed. Drizella was left heartbroken and mourning, while her sister and mother hardly seemed to notice the loss. And still, all too soon they were up and moving again, dragging Drizella away from those that she knew into a new life. Away from the West that had been her home, and into Rethar. Her mother had remarried, and while Drizella had protested the speed of it, it didn’t take her long to find the romance in all of it. It didn’t hurt that her mother had remarried a king, making her a princess. That part, at least, was a dream come true. On top of that, the man she quickly assumed as her new father was easy for her to please. He always told her that she was exactly the kind of daughter he had always wanted. Deep down, Drizella really knew that it wasn’t really fair to his own daughter. But Ella was hard to get along with. Even Drizella, full of unconditional love, struggled at times. It always felt like Ella didn’t want to be happy. She couldn’t say that she really made it any better, still following Anastasia’s example and copying rude comments or nicknames. Anastasia hated her, for reasons Drizella was always too afraid to ask. It was easier, sometimes, to pretend not to notice. She wasn’t always as dumb as she acted. There was a war, of course. It was something that Drizella never paid much attention to, as it had nothing to do with her. Only the country she was living in and another country. She didn’t pay attention to it until Kit. He was another name in a long list of boys she had fallen far before having her heart broken (by the soft age of sixteen) and he was altogether charming. He was also betrothed to Ella and the crown prince of the country Rethar was at war with. It was a treaty meant to bring peace about and so on, and all Drizella knew was that it should have been her. She would have been much happier about a marriage than Ella was, and she wouldn’t have thrown such a fit about it, and Kit was wonderful. But it was Ella that married him, as the ‘eldest’. From there, things got a bit confusing for her. Ella was gone off to the other country for a while, then brought back, along with Kit, who was locked up in the dungeons. Then they escaped and the King, Percival, was dead. Everyone went on shouting about how Ella had killed him and the war was begun again and there was talk of sending her and Anastasia back to the West. Here was what Drizella knew. She knew that, despite Ella’s temper, her step-sister wanted only the best for her country. She knew that, as much as she had loved Percival, he had been a difficult man to please and he had done some terrible things to his daughter. She knew that war meant people dying and that wasn’t a good thing. So when she was approached by a servant (bastard son of the king, half-brother of Ella) asking her to help, she did. For once in her life, Drizella was more than a pretty face and she took a wagon (first time attempting to direct horses) and rode all the way to the enemy camp to find Ella and tell her that the armies of Rethar would fight for her, and not for the king, or for Drizella’s mother who had taken charge. It was, as it turned out, what changed the tides of the war. It was Ella who rode in victoriously, leading the troops herself and claiming Rethar as her own. It seemed as though there was a happily ever after to be found, ignoring all the loss and pain that had happened along the way. Drizella was sent on back to the West to stay with family, along with Anastasia. The most difficult part of it was leaving their mother behind to answer for the things she had done while acting as queen of Rethar (something Drizella was not so happy with Ella for). They traveled with a large, trusted caravan with soldiers to watch them, and safety was not a question. At least, not safety from bandits or thieves. Nobody had ever expected danger from a member of the party. Anastasia turned. The truth came spilling out, the same truth that Drizella had always felt, but never been willing to put words to, the truth that she had always feared. It all happened to fast, an explosion of anger and yelling before Drizella herself became the target. It was Anastasia, as it turned out, who had coordinated the entire mess, and now blamed Drizella for helping Ella. And it was Anastasia, Drizella’s closest friend and confidant, to leave her cursed in a remote tower till kingdom come.

[onthewingsofwords]

Flash Fiction #1: Impulse Buy and Galactic Warfare

We’re walking through the aisles of a Walgreens when I see it: a Kylo Ren Funko Pop.

“I’m getting it,” I say, grabbing it off the shelf and hugging it to my chest.

“But why?” Maya says. She gives me the look, the one that’s like I’m your best friend for, what, now? “You don’t even like Kylo Ren.”

“But, he’s like, still kind of cool. Right? And then I’ll be that much closer to completing a collection.”

Maya sighs. “You’re so stupid.” But she keeps walking anyway, with no more protest.

“Kylo Ren, huh?” The guy at the register asks, briefly looking up at me before continuing to scan our pile of junk food.

Maya gives me a significant look.

“Um, yeah, I guess. He’s cool.” This has to be the least eloquent I’ve ever been in my life. I’ve used “cool” to describe the same character twice in as many minutes.

The register guy just chuckles to himself.

As we walk out the door, alarms start blaring. Like, the security ones that usually mean that someone just stole something.

But no one ever pays attention to those, right?

“Yeah, probably not us,” is all Maya says when I give her a startled look.

And then what was supposed to be a relatively quick trip to Walgreens descends into madness.

“Freeze!”

“Okay, what the crap?” I mutter to Maya.

We glance behind us, almost simultaneously. And there, marching towards us, are these space soldiers. Almost like Storm Troops or some Star Wars stuff like that, but not quite.

They wore silver bodysuits, with medieval age-esque knight helmets, and held some kind of space assault rifles, complete with shining bayonets. It was almost like an army of knights from 15th century England had been kidnapped by aliens, got their gear upgraded, and were sent back to Earth hundreds of years later.

“There they are! Seize them!” A soldier in the front lines yelled.

“Okay, am I on drugs?” I asked Maya. “Are you on drugs?”

“Olivia, just run!”

We practically tripped over each other trying to get away.

“And you told me we should lock up our bikes,” Maya said as we frantically swung our legs over and started pedaling.

“Oh my bad, I was worried about thieves, not knock off Storm Troopers!”

I’d never been on drugs before, and I didn’t know if this is what it would feel like, but nothing this trippy could ever happen while I was sober— right?

“Are they still following us?”

We glanced back to see the outlines of the space army fading away.

“Did they just… give up?” I asked as we slowed down.

Maya scoffed. “That’s stupid. They make such a big deal of chasing us, and give up after what, five minutes?”

We biked home in a lingering feeling of confusion. It had been over, just like that. But as soon as we got to my doorstep, but mom was out on the porch, hugging us like we would slip away if she didn’t.

“Oh my gosh,” she said into both of our necks. “Oh my gosh, have either of you checked your phones?”

I shook my head as Maya pulled her phone out.

“Just get in the house,” my mom said, pulling us both in.

The TV was on, with some national news broadcast.

ALIEN LIFE DECLARES WAR ON EARTH, the ticker read.

“In an absolutely startling turn of— well, world events— aliens have arrived on Earth and have started to make demands of humanity. Some are threatening, and some are strange. I’m Linda Lapsberg, and this is breaking news.”

~~~~~

“They want what?” This is not what any of the world leaders had planned on when they stepped up to their positions.

“A Kylo Ren Funko Pop, Mister President.”

“What, if you’ll excuse me, is a Funko Pop?” the President of France asked.

The Prime Minister of Canada leaned over to her, a phone in his hand.

“Ah,” the President of France said. “I understand.”

“We received this, ah, hologram, about half an hour ago,” one of the room assistants said, setting it down on the table.

“Well, play it.” the American president gestured towards the small silver box. The room assistant leaned forward again and pressed the top of the box. Instantly, a projection sprung from the box. Like something from a sci-fi movie, a tall figure stood in the projected light.

“Greetings, inhabitants of this planet,” the silver-clad figure began. “Our high level intelligence networks have informed us that your population is in possession of our world’s greatest idol.”

The leaders, seated around a large conference table, exchanged concerned expressions. No doubt, many of them were thinking something similar to what Maya and Olivia had been just hours before: Are we on drugs?

“Turn the idol over to us without resistance, and we will leave your planet in peace. However, if you continue to hide it from us, we will be forced to declare war on this planet.”

“Are they posing any major threat to the people?” The English prime minister asked.

“From what we can tell, no,” the American president said. “They’ve only been in New Mexico. Mostly, um, Roswell.”

“We have resources,” the hologram continued. “War against us will be more than just against us. You will face the wrath of the many other allied planets at our disposal. You have forty-eight—”

“Okay,” the German president said, standing. “Someone just track down the freaking thing.”

“It’s not like you have that far to look,” the Argentinian president pointed out.

“New Mexico, you said,” the French president said with a pointed look at the American president.

“Call the FBI,” the American president said. “Let the country know that we need to find a Kylo Ren Funko Pop in two days.”

[lionheartedlucy-blog]

LUCY WEASLEY

Age: 22

Birthday: Jan. 3, 2005

Face Claim: Adeline Rudolph

Preferred Pronouns: she/her

Parents: Percy and Audrey Weasley

Blood Status: Squib

Sexuality: Bisexual

Personality: Studious, attentive, clever. Stubborn, petty, overprotective.  

Location: 1 bedroom flat in London (in Canary Wharf).

Occupation: Employee at Flourish & Blotts.

Magical Strengths: N/A

Magical Weaknesses: N/A

BIO

Early Years: Lucy Weasley grew up in a house of magical giants. Potters and Weasleys, known to nearly every living wizard and witch of the time. It was only natural to imagine that she would receive her letter when the time came as well. She was always a tomboy-- running around in the dirt, falling out of trees, skinned knees. She had an army of cousins and aunts and uncles who watched out for each other. She and her cousins would stay up late when they should be sleeping, talking about what Hogwarts would be like and what House they would go in and if they would join the Quidditch team or become Head Boy or Girl.

Lucy watched her cousins leave for Hogwarts, one by one. Anxiously waiting her turn. But it never came. Lucy was convinced it was lost in the mail. It was talked about to place her into a muggle boarding school - just until her letter came in. But her parents waited. They home-schooled her. Giving her the magical foundation that she would need, but without the magical ability. But by the time she was thirteen, her parents knew. She wasn’t a late-bloomer. It just wasn’t meant to be. And that devastated Lucy. She cursed the world. She isolated herself away from her family, as much as they tried to reach out. But Lucy refused to let them in. She was almost grateful that she was sent to a boarding school (Burgess Hill Girls) and did not have to deal with piteous glances or worried tones from her family and friends.  

School Years: While Lucy was in school, she began to accept her status. Her realization of her value and worth, despite having no magical ability, caused her to shine. Herbology became a subject that was a passion to her. However, Lucy knew she wouldn’t stop at just muggle herbology. She started swiping her sister’s and cousin’s books. Taking in everything that she could. Pleading her way into being taken to sites with magical plants. And she learns. She learns about every nightshade, how to pot and re-pot mandrakes. She can differentiate every non-poisonous from poisonous mushroom with a single look.

But Lucy was no fool. She knew how many of those in the magical community viewed squibs. She saw the side-eyes. Of course it became known to the world that the daughter of Percy Weasley was a squib. She faced backlash. She faced bullying. She received howlers from strangers, was yelled at in the street for being ‘defective.’

And this fueled her need to prove them wrong. To aggressively shove into their faces that she had every right to be a part of the magical community as they did. To throw it back into their faces that ‘different’ didn’t mean ‘broken.’ As a teenager, she took part in squib rights movements. Marches. Protests. Loudly and vocally and proudly. She knew she was going to get a job as a herbalist in the wizarding world. She knew she could do it, without having a magical ability. And she wasn’t going to let anyone get in her way.  

Present Day:  Lucy stopped going to Burgess when she was eighteen. She began going to Lincoln College to study herbal medicine. Even if she couldn’t get a job in the wizarding world right away, she would at least prepare for one in the muggle world so she could pay her bills. She is currently two years in her five year degree plan.

While Lucy goes to school, she is an employee at Flourish and Blotts. When it is attacked at the grand reopening, she gets a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that her working there contributed to the attack. But she continued to work there, cautiously awaiting any sign of danger. Of a threat. Lucy learned self-defense, finding new ways to defend herself against a magic she didn’t possess.

Lucy found herself fiercely protective of the ones who the magical world tries to push aside. The squibs, the muggle-borns. She has always been protective of her family. Sometimes a little too protective. But Lucy doesn’t consider that something to be ashamed of.

When the epidemic struck, Lucy recognized the disease and shouted from the rooftops about ways to cure it. Of course, barely anyone listened to her. Her youth and blood status prevented anyone from taking her seriously. Lucy at least was able to explain it to her family. She was amazed at how little the magical world knew about common muggle things and she started to wonder if she should teach a muggle studies course instead. But no -- she was already mostly into her degree and didn’t intend on changing it.

Maybe something she could do on the side. Because Lucy is realizing even still that she doesn’t need to be magical to be powerful. Power shouldn’t be something that is born in your bones, power is something that you make.

CONNECTIONS

Former Burgess classmate: the reason they’re at Burgess instead of a wizarding school is UTP. But perhaps another girl who was a squib. Who was a muggle born and her parents did not allow her to grow up in a wizarding world. Someone who rejected it altogether or after the battle of Hogwarts, someone who’s parents had lost faith in the wizarding community. These two stuck together like glue and still remain close to this day. Personality and fc is utp, but age preference would be 19-21.

Flirtationship: A wizard or witch who has been flirting on the lines of something more with Lucy. Perhaps it is a secret that they have to keep from their family for various reasons. Perhaps they are afraid to enter into a relationship with all the tensions rising lately. Whatever it is, they have not crossed that line into a relationship and it is driving Lucy crazy.

Molly ii: Lucy’s older sister. Her confidante, her protector, her partner in crime. Always together and rarely apart, they have always been incredibly close with one another. The only time Lucy pushed Molly away was when she was first discovered to have no magical ability. Other than that, they are thick as thieves. Fc choice: anyone half-Korean. (Clara Lee, Kiko Mizuhara/Audrie Kiko Daniel) If needed, Lucy can have been born to a different mother.

[bardicfoxes]

[D&D] Sastasha Levelileur Demanx - Rogue

Sastasha is one of my favourite characters I’ve ever written up. My first attempt at playing a rogue after years of being infatuated by dashing highwaymen, Assassins creeping through the shadows, and thieves pulling off the impossible heists. Unlike many of my characters, Sasha’s life events were rolled for using the character generation tables in the Dungeon Masters Guide which is why her story is particularly long. Sasha is still with me (If temporarily unavailable due to a deck of many things accident...void card...) and her story has only grown in time, stories I would like to write up at some point. Anyway enjoy my wonderful Rogue girl!

War has been nature for living beings since the dawn of time, sometimes loud, brash, and overt, others silent, subtle, carried out in the shadows. Deep in the forests, hidden from the eyes of mere men, the Elvish waywatchers of Athel Loren battled the bestial tribes that inhabited the forest they called home. Many beast tribes were crushed beneath the martial prowess of the Elves. Dryad, Satyr, Gorgan, all were felled. However one tribe proved too cunning, too quick, and too sly to be destroyed quite so easily. For over a hundred years, the Kitsune ran rings around the Elves, able to melt into the forest, whisper into the ears of generals, and strike from anywhere, they proved themselves more than a match for the Elves.

As in any war, each side had its key players, many a battle had been won with the sheer prowess, accuracy, and skill displayed by Kerillian Aidenish, lieutenant of a squad of elite Elvish archers, and trackers, conversely the Kitsunes had dealt near crippling blows to Elvish supply lines, and reinforcements with the cunning, guile, and daring antics of Takeda Yoshiro, roguish thief turned saboteur. Both Kerillian, and Takeda always seemed to find themselves two sides of the same coin, Kerillian would diligently follow the trail of Takeda, who in turn would loop, and twist in order to strike behind her lines. The pair crossed blades many on many occasions, their battles being recounted in stories time, after time, sometimes Kerillian would loose an arrow into Takeda, sometimes Takeda would catch Kerillian in an explosion, neither seeming to ever truly defeat the other.

The seasons rolled on, Spring into Summer, Summer to Autumn, and Autumn cascading into Winter. One Winter was particularly colder than others, blizzards pinning down entire armies, and burying the forest in a suffocating blanket of snow, and chilling sheets of ice. Colder than any Winter before it, Elf, and Kitsune fell to the cold, those strong enough to resist being driven into caves, sheltering from the elements. For the first time in over two centuries, the shadow war for the forest stopped…

In a strange turn of circumstance, both Kerillian, and Takeda found themselves separated from their allies, and trapped within the same cave network. The pair hunted one another, sparring all throughout the day, and night, clashing to an exhausted standstill. Without food, water, and warmth, they would both perish, and so an uneasy alliance between the pair formed. With her natural Elvish atunement to nature, and it’s magics, Kerillian fashioned them warmth, and shelter within the cave, and with the trademark penchant for luck, and perception Takeda possessed, he provided food, and water, through gathering, and hunting even despite the conditions. At first the pair was silent, weapons remained drawn and the taught thickness of mistrust hung over the makeshift home, however as the days stretched into weeks, which stretched further into months, even these vicious enemies began to talk, both longing for even the most base social contact. The hate they once held for each other became an uneasy relationship of sorts, which in the darkest, coldest night, when food ran scarce, and ice clawed at even the deepest parts of the cave, became an odd sort of Love. By the light of their flickering campfire, Kerillian Aidenish, and Takeda Yoshiro consummated their relationship.

As the blizzard finally rolled past, and Spring sunshine pierced the permafrost coating every tree, both Elf, and Kitsune began to feel the pull of war once more, with supplies lower than they’d ever been both factions were determined to become the dominant residents of this vast forest. Within their cave, even Kerillian, and Takeda began to grow weary of each other's presence, their love turning toxic as their dependence on each other waned, one morning Kerillian awoke to find Takeda gone, he had vanished into the night, Kerillian while thankful her throat had not been slit, cursed his name and their hunt began again. This time however, Kerillian felt a tug against her talents, like something was holding her back, concerned her unit coerced her into seeing a healer, who gave news that Kerillian would rather have never received, she was with child, two in fact, Kerillian was holding twins… No one dared question who the father was for fear of invoking the her wrath, but as no man came forward, rumors began to spread. Removed from the front lines for the safety of her children, Kerillian found herself taking care of menial tasks, her responsibilities dwindling as she became more heavily pregnant with each day. When the children were due, Kerillian chose to give birth in secret, with only a handful of her most trusted handmaidens by her side.

In the middle of the night, Kerillian gave birth, the children's names leaving her lips before she even set eyes upon them “Calcifer, Sastasha” she whispered to a Handmaiden as she shut her eyes, she couldn’t bare to look upon her children, Elves were pure in nature, untainted by lesser beings, lying with a human was one thing, but lying with a beast man of the forest, was one of the greatest dishonours she could have brought upon herself. Finally she opened her eyes and gazed upon her children. She noted dark hair, nothing like her own, a soft rounded face, reminding her not of her own sharp features, and to her disappointment, and the horror of the Handmaidens around her a pair of dark midnight ears, and a sleek black tails… Too much of a fox to be raised amongst Elves, and far too much of an Elf to be raised amongst Kitsune, Kerillian, and her Handmaidens pledged to keep the children a secret, the infant Calcifer, and Sastasha would be smuggled out of the forest, and disposed of, while everyone else would be told the infants had perished during birth.

And so, the same night, Kerillian’s most trusted Handmaiden Arryn Demanx, took the child under her cloak, and journeyed for three nights, in order to reach the edge of the forest, however as she stood, dagger in hand, she could not bring herself to execute an innocent child, she rationalised that neither Calcifer, nor Sastasha had chosen the controversy of their births, why should they receive punishment for it. Instead, Arryn took pity on them, if the beings of the forest couldn’t raise her, then perhaps the beings of the towns, and cities could. Arryn traveled further not to the first closest settlement, not to the second, but to the third, a city. The chances of the children ever finding their way back to the hidden Elvish city was minute. Sastasha was left in a basket alone, swaddled in cloth at the foot of the stone steps to a temple, men of God seemed to attract an abundance of unwanted children after all. Arryn left a note on the basket, weighed down with an Elvish Kukri which read Abandoned out of circumstance, we have left Sastasha Leveileur Demanx in your care, may you care for her more than we could...

-A But of course Sastasha, knew none of this.

---

Sastasha grew up under the tutelage of the temples various preachers, and clergymen, she learnt how to read, and write, and for the most part, kept herself busy with chores, after chores, after chores. What little time she did get for herself was spent kicking her heels in her room, or playing by herself. The people of the city of Anordal were a varied people, vast spires from the free mages college stretched into the sky, overseeing the rich markets, and magical item workshops. Despite this, Half-Kitsune such as Sastasha were rare, and as of such, she found the children around her would exclude her, to them she was weird, and foreign. With no friends to play with, Sastasha found herself wandering the halls of the temple, she would climb the belfry, or sit behind the altar listening to the organ. In fact it was during one of her sit ins to the music that the Organist called her over “Skulking in shadows” he asked as he played, Sastasha paused warily, people normally only spoke to her with cutting jibes, or to tell her she hadn’t been paying attention in her studies, however the organist seemed different “Just listening” she replied inquisitively truth be told she’d never really considered the organist existed, he rarely seemed to do anything other than play “Listening and skulking” he smiled, his teeth crooked “Good skills” he said with an added mutter “Malik Uredi” he introduced himself, never ceasing his playing, Sastasha frowned “Sastasha Leveilleur Demanx” before noting Malik’s own frown, her name was a bit of a mouthful “Sasha works though” she added before pausing for a beat “People don’t normally talk to me” she mentioned, her inquisitive nature showing. Malik mused for a second “Hm, and why do you think that is” he asked with a small smile, Sastasha frowned again “Well you know, because of how I look” she mentioned, her hand trailing through her hair, and touching the two soft ears that sat atop her head, she had taken to covering them with a hood, and tucking her brushy tail under her clothes, and around her waist. For the first time since their conversation began Malik stopped and chuckled “Sasha was it” he asked as he turned to her “Your appearance is of little consideration to me” he chuckled throatily as he gazed upon her, his eyes a sickly, milky white, he was blind.

Sastasha found herself making firm friends with Malik, helped by the fact he was the only person who would engage her socially, however on days when Malik was busy, or not there, Sastasha would wander the district in her free time, getting to know every street, every stall, and every secret alleyway. For a growing girl, with precious little to do, sometimes fun came from the most unusual places. The first time Sastasha picked a pocket was on a particularly sunny day, her lessons had been cancelled, and Malik was away, and most importantly, she was bored. Sastasha had an affinity with all things shiny, she coveted the glint of gold, or the shine of silver, and on this day, the sun caught the metallic shine of a golden pocket watch just right. Sastasha was filled with want as she watched it hang from the side of the large bestial man, it looked so delicate, and the clasp was so small, surely it wouldn’t be hard to. There was a dull click as Sastasha pulled her fingers over the clasp, and lifted the watch gently out of the man's pocket, her movements disguised by the jostling crowd, and her identity concealed by her cloaked androgynous appearance, once the watch was stowed safely in her pouch, she melted away into the crowd, and scurried off to the nearest alleyway, heart pounding against her chest. Sastasha clutched the pocket watch in her hands, it was beautiful, ornate, and meticulously polished, but most importantly, it was now hers. Sastasha took to her new hobby with gusto, her quick fingers, and delicate form making the art of pick pocketing as easy as anything, she started small, coins, loose buttons, jewelry, before moving bigger, entire money purses, pouches, jewelry, even taking things from market stalls, and on occasion slipping through open windows, and into peoples homes.

One morning, Sastasha was chatting with Malik, when he mentioned his birthday had been a week ago, Sastasha scolded him “If I’d known I would have got you something, she grumbled. Malik chuckled darkly “Oh my dear, I covet no material possessions” he rambled as he played “Although” he paused “I’ve always had a fondness for wine” he added guiltily. Sastasha sulked “I could have gotten you wine” she remarked, Malik sighed “Not the stuff you can buy in the market, I prefer something far more eclectic” he shuffled in his seat slightly, licking his lips as he remembered his choice wine “Fion Scathithe” he smiled softly “Elvish in nature, very old, very sweet, and very expensive” the thin man chuckled “You’d never be able to get your hands on any”. Sastasha frowned, something in her pulled, she was used to people telling her she couldn’t do something but this? This felt different “What makes you say that” she retorted indignantly, ignoring the explanation that Malik attempted to give “I’ll sort you something out” she smirked, before spinning on her heel, and leaving the building.

Sastasha scoured the city for the name ‘Fion Scathithe’ merchants, traders, and even smugglers turned nothing up, however there was one place she hadn’t yet checked. In the centre of Anordal lay the airship dock, where vast airships from Heavantis, bellies full of tradeable cargo from across the continent would dock, and sell their wares. Sastasha took a small collection of her favourite pieces of loot, and ventured into the bazaars within the docking tower. While Sastasha was unable to find the Wine she was hunting for, she did find information on an owner, a Wizard who lived in the Whitestone district for a touch more payment, she found his address, and set off. She had never intended to purchase the Wine from him, if it truly was as rare, and as delicious as Malic had said, there was no way a Wizard would part with it. Instead, Sastasha put her new found talents to use, crawling up a drainpipe, and slipping through a skylight, had she not been trying to keep quiet, she would of remarked how little security this Wizard seemed to have.

Sastasha dropped into a vast library, it seemed to stretch further than the building itself...Wizards were an odd folk. She scoured the vast halls, and multiple rooms until she stumbled through an office of sorts, and into a Wine cellar, there she found a beautiful elegant crystalline bottle, with a ruby red liquid inside, it was the wine she had sought out. With gloved hands she delicately removed the bottle from it’s shelf, curiously behind it there was a blue sigil, which as she pulled the bottle free, turned an angry red “Uh oh” Sastasha whispered before the air around her filled with horns of alarm, this place was better secured than she had thought. Dashing back into the office she panicked as she heard voices from outside, Wizards could be an unruly lot, and she was not looking to be on the receiving end of their scorn. On the desk next to her, were a pile of arcane scrolls, her head cocked as she looked at them before tucking the bottle securely into a pouch. She picked up a scroll, running her fingers over the dry paper, as she tried to unfurl it she found herself unable to undo the bindings, she cursed and pocketed it, before snatching up another, which thankfully was more compliant. She gazed over the foreign inscriptions, biting her lip as she heard footsteps outside, the markings made no sense to her at all, except. She paused as words came to her “Aperta...Ianua” she said, almost tentatively. There was a dull pop in front of her.

When the honoured Wizard Garrat finally mounted the courage to burst into his office, flanked by his own personal retinue of students, and serfs he found no intruder, rather instead he found a gaping passageway where his wall had been only this morning, whoever had been in his office, had clearly vanished… Sastasha sprinted through the streets, desperate to return before anyone could threaten her spoils, she practically fell through the doors to the Temple, remembering herself and straightening up, before nonchalantly wandering up to Malik “Hm Sasha” he greeted “Out of breath, have you gotten in trouble” the old man asked with a sly smirk. Sastasha growled, her triumphantly casual entrance ruined “Happy Birthday old man” she grinned regaining her composure as she produced the elegant bottle. Malik stopped playing as his hands ran over the bottle “Oh” he said simply, the interest in his voice palpable “Now this is interesting” he murmured “Who was it taken from” Malik said directly, his voice a little more colder than usual. Sastasha spluttered “What do you mean who was it taken-” Malik cut her off “Sasha” he said, turning his milky gaze to her “I’m blind, not stupid” he said gesturing to her thieves pouch “You think I don’t hear the collections you’ve been bringing home Hm” he asked “Or understand that a single bottle of Fion Scathithe can cost more than I could ever hope to earn, let alone a half spawn such as yourself” his words were almost scathing, but not out of hate, almost annoyance, as if he was disappointed Sastasha had even tried to lie to him. The Vulpine ears atop her head sank underneath her hood, Malik smirked “Do not despair Sasha, your secret is safe with me” he cut in before she could leave “In fact, I’m rather impressed with your work, I feel that maybe we could form a” he licked his lips as he held the wine bottle “partnership of sorts”. Sastasha cocked her head, Malik may have been blind, but his intuition, and perception was incredible “Now run along little Sasha” he smirked “I’ll be in touch” he added as he waved Sastasha away, who returned to her room in contemplation, who really was Malik Uredi….

--

Malik Uredi called Sastasha to his side the next evening, “Follow me” he said simply, as he tapped a cane on the floor, holding an arm out to Sastasha “We’re going on a walk” the aging man mentioned. Almost out of bewilderment, Sastasha looped her arm around his, allowing him to take her through streets, and back alleys, and though Sastasha would never admit it, through areas that even she didn’t know. After an hours walk in relative silence save for the chattering crowds, and tapping of Maliks cane, they arrived in a large graveyard. Malik strode forward, his cane no longer tapping the floor, as if he knew this place from memory, approaching a large stone casket shaped memorial he tapped his cane three times on a central ornament, then another twice, then finally three more times. Nothing happened, Sastasha looked up at him “What are we doi-” a heavy grinding noise sounded, as the caskets lid slid back, revealing a set of dark stairs “Patience my child, patience” Malik chuckled darkly as he lead her down the staircase.

The staircase went down to a tunnel, which was as black as pitch, Sastasha’s eyesight could just make out the walls, and how they twisted, and turned into the depths of the city. Presently, she found the light levels raising, as they entered a large antichamber. Torches burnt brightly in brackets on the walls, and crates, chairs, tables, and benches were placed around giving the place a surprisingly homely touch. A basic bar had been set up, and clustered around it were a group of different figures. Sastasha looked to Malik, who picked up on her confusion “The Jackdaws of Anordal” Malik nodded with a wry smile “A group of like minded men, and women” he mentioned as he pulled her forward “Thieves, pickpockets, burgarlers, and well” he smirked “Criminals”. Sastasha looked upon the diverse group of men, and women who turned to her “Until now, you’ve been nothing but a meer child, dancing through the crowds, swiping scraps, and being nothing more than a minor nuisance” Malik said derisively “But” he added quickly “Under the tutelage of the Jackdaws, I feel we could really make something of you”. Sastasha cocked her head in confusion “Wait, I don’t understa-” Malik sighed, interrupting her “It’s a thievery syndicate” he said testily “One that I believe might be of great benefit to you”. Sastasha nodded slowly, it couldn’t hurt to receive some advice…

Displaying her natural prowess, and potential, Sastasha was a fast learner, devouring any, and all lessons given to her. While her pick pocketing was good, there was always room for improvement Alexi,a red skinned Teifling taught her the finer arts of concealment, and how to slip through crowds undetected. Barouq, a wiry Kenku corrected her stances, and strikes, teaching her how to take care of herself in combat. The minor inconsistencies displayed in her pickpocketing were highlighted by Chenni a particularly deft, and mischievous Halfling. And finally a proficiency in lock breaking, utilising the thieves tools, and secretive thieves cant were taught to her by none other than the blind Malik, who despite his disability, was able to pick locks with the greatest of ease.

Despite balancing chores, her temple duties, and keeping Maugh unaware, Sastasha learnt what would take any ordinary thief years, in just a matter of months, and while Malik was apprehensive to offer her the position as a fully fledged member of the Jackdaws, she was considered an honorary ally, able to use their knowledge, and facilities whenever she saw fit. With these new facilities she had the means to expand her work, no prize too daring for her, the Jackdaws applauding her work. One evening, Sastasha crouched above the city, balancing on a narrow beam, a dark hood, and mask obscuring her features. Tonight wasn’t about her, Malik had made a special request. Housed in a glass cabinet proudly displayed above the dining table of the honourable magistrate Hadvir Angast, was a beautiful sculpture known as the ‘Frozen Flower’ a delicate rose crafted from enchanted ice, that could never melt. Malik wanted to feel the cold ridges, and smooth petals for himself, Sasha wanted a challenge. It was a win, win situation.

With an increased range of skills, and experience, Sastasha slipped into the magistrates house, picking the lock to his cellar. From there she made her way past his scant guardsmen, and into his luxurious dining chamber. Though she longed to take the glinting silverware, or gleaming crystalline glasses, she suppressed her desire, where she rounded the corner, and locked eyes on the glass cabinet, and a young man eagerly reaching inside. Sastasha waited patiently for him to pick up the frozen flower, he was unmasked, and seemed to have no tools on his person, he looked like an amateur. As he turned he saw Sastasha, his face was soft, and if Sastasha had to admit it, he was a rather attractive human. He smiled, almost melting Sastasha’s heart “Ah, how awkward” he said softly, his accent clipped, and clean “I assume you’re looking for this too” he asked, almost politely, as he held out the ornate flower, made out of the cleanest ice Sastasha had ever seen. Unwilling to reveal her voice, she simply nodded, stepped forward, and held out her palm flat, she would give him the choice of handing it over. The blonde retreated “Ah, I do apologise, but it seems I got here first” he continued, the words pouring out in a softly spoken symphony “Maybe next time you might be a little quicker perhaps” he mentioned “If you don’t mind my advice” he added with a half smile as he backed away. This wasn’t the place for games, Sastasha strode forward, stopping suddenly as she felt a crunch under her feet as she trod on a circle of glass that had been cut out of the case. When she looked up, the young man had delicately placed the icy flower between his lips, as he untucked the front of his shirt, loosened his tie, and ruffled his hair into an untidy mess. Sastasha cocked her head, placing a hand on her dagger “I do apologise my dear” he said as he retrieved the rose, wrapping it in a white handkerchief, and placing it in his pocket “But a patsy is exactly what I need” and with that, the young man yelled for the guards, he cried a warning out, which was almost instantly answered by the thudding of heavy boots from the guards at the end of the floor “Farewell” he said with a smirk, as Sastasha spun on her heels, and bolted for the nearby window.

After an hour of running, climbing, dodging, and leaping, Sastasha finally lost her pursuers, she was hot, tired, thirsty, and more ticked off than she’d ever been before. Nobody beat her to the prize like that, and she never came home empty handed. She seethed for another hour before returning to Malik, who seemed rather non fussed with the whole situation. For Sastasha this was the beginning of a long series of run ins with the handsome blonde thief, art seemed to be his particular love, and he forever seemed to be a step ahead of Sastasha. Despite his larceny he never obscured his face, nor did he ever seem to really hide, it was as if he had a natural trustworthiness about him. Every time he beat Sastasha to a prize, or called the guards on her she would seethe, and fume for hours, sometimes days afterwards. On occasion, her escapes were aided by the king of the beggars, who agreed to hide her, always stating she would pay him back in time. On a particularly sunny day, Sastasha found herself in a library in the Whitestone District, picking up a series of books for a deacon who was staying at the Temple. While there, she heard a familiar boyish chuckle. There, at the other end of the library, was the thief that had plagued her every attempt at art theft, but if she could find out who he was, she could find his home, and steal what he had stolen, it would be perfect.

Even with her hood up, people had commented on Sastasha’s soft features, dark silken hair, and fair nature, it would help she was a near natural flirt, and an even better manipulator. She took her time, casually making her way around the library, until she found herself next to the devilishly handsome thief, where she coyly let a book slide off her pile and onto the ground in front of him. As she had predicted, he practically dove on the book in a display of chivalry, and passed it up to her “Be careful my lady, the Wizards here don’t tend to allow rough treatments of the tomes, even by somebody as pretty as yourself” he smiled charmingly. Though Sastasha had expected this, she couldn’t help but be momentarily taken aback by his warming smile, she stammered, and almost forgot her plan “A-ah thank you s-sir” she stuttered as she collected herself “I feel maybe I didn’t have the grip I first thought” she continued, playing the part of a sweet, and innocent maiden “Sorry I didn’t catch your name” she asked with a soft smile. The young man chuckled “That’s alright” he replied “I didn’t tell it to you” he responded slyly before gesturing at the sigil of Selune on her broach “From the Temple on the other side of the Whitestone district” he asked with a raised eyebrow “I suspect you’ll have a carriage waiting outside correct” he added astutely. Sastasha blinked, unwilling to let the act go “Oh, yes” she answered, keeping her cool, despite the anger boiling underneath “Excellent, so how about we check these books out for you, and I’ll help you to your carriage”, he was undeniably sickly sweet…

After checking the books out, and letting the young man guide her to her carriage, he bowed as she climbed in “Charmed to meet you….again” he said with a small smirk “I must say, you are rather pretty without the mask” he purred. Sastasha growled in response as she tightened her hands into fists “Oh come on” he smirked “I could recognise those eyes anywhere” as he took a step back. The carriage began to roll off “Nathaniel” he grinned as he faded into the crowd. Sastasha fumed extra hard that night. The Vulpine girl would not see Nathaniel for some time, her forays didn’t take her back to the art world for a short while, instead she busied herself with her own endeavours. After a few months, Chenni, the halfling girl from the Jackdaws recommended Sasha a job for one of her clients. A Heavantis shipment of finery was due to reach Anordal within the week, and a certain client of Chenni desired an opulent oil canvas aboard the shipment. Eager to impress the Jackdaws, Sastasha snapped up the job. She poured every skill she had at her disposal, casing the airship dock, snatching shipping manifests, and running through a perfect plan of action in her head.

It was late when Sastasha slipped out of the temple, and skulked through the streets to the airship dock, keeping her hooded figure obscured by the crowds, and bustling merchants, until she could find her way up to the dock itself, where she positioned herself in the shadows of the wooden rafters and waited for the ship to arrive. As if by clockwork the Heavantis airship ‘Noctis Opulentos’ drifted silently into its moorings. Sastasha’s movements would need to be precise, and disciplined, very few had managed to successfully steal from one of these ships. She leapt from the rafters onto the ships rigging, and slid down a rope, darting past dock workers, deck hands, and merchants as if she were blinking from shadow, to shadow. Despite the sheer amount of people between her, and her destination, she managed to find her way into the holds of the ship, tracking her progress through the map she had memorised, it had been rather expensive to bribe for that particular piece of information. Before long, she arrived at the cargo compartment she was searching for, there were less people down here at this moment, most of them were further up the ship, unloading the more perishable cargo. With a small struggle, Sastasha picked the lock into the compartment, and began scouring the finery for her prize, she longed to fill her pockets with the shining diamonds, and clear cut emeralds, or the ornate wooden carvings, and brass statues that shined so invitingly, she resisted and stayed on target, a girl such as her could lose her mind with greed in here, and maybe she would have, if Chenni’s client had not promised such a hefty reward. She picked the lock on a large wooden chest, her eyes scanning the ornate frames inside, it was exactly what she was looking for. Getting this painting off the ship was a challenge already, doing it contained in the huge ornamental frame would be nigh impossible, she begrudgingly levered the top panel off the frame, flinching as it splintered away, she could almost hear some distant artisan screaming as she did so. With the cation that one would exhibit while handling a glass butterfly, Sastasha gently slipped the canvas out, it was a gorgeous picture depicting a icy night, and a blood red aurora splitting the sky, it was a rather chilling sight that spread a sense of unease through Sasha, when she had been but a child, she had gazed out her window at the same cosmic pattern, it had become a sort of omen to her. She shook off the notion, and rolled the parchment up, slipping it into a protective tube which was slung over her back.

There was a prick of cold steel against the back of her neck “My, my” an infuriatingly sweet voice crooned “You must be improving, you beat me to this one” Sastasha raised her palms, gritting her teeth as she did so “I must say, I’m impressed, did you really manage to slip down here unnoticed” her rival asked, she should have known such an artistic catch would have attracted him. Sastasha took a breath as she felt his dagger point against the nape of her neck “It took some planning” she admitted “And a fair amount of groundwork, and coin” the raven haired girl added “But I’m good enough to pull it off” Sastasha added with a touch of confidence “And yourself” she asked “You don’t strike me as one to hide in the shadows”. Her rival chuckled “Yes, you’ve got me there” he admitted as he took a step back “Turn to face me, nice and slow” he ordered “Keep your hands where I can see them”. Sastasha complied, locking eyes with his, he was a devilishly handsome young man, and in other circumstances she might find herself quite infatuated with him, unlike her dark, functional clothes, he wore a lavish blue, and gold attire, a long coat with a smart white ruffled neck piece “You’re right” he smiled “I don’t take to the shadows as you do, I prefer a far more direct approach” he lectured, touching the point of the knife to his gloved finger “Nathaniel Kadgar Cradagast” he said, bowing his head softly, never taking his eyes off Sastasha “My father is Eobus Cradagast of the council of free mages, it allows me certain allowances when talking my way into places” he continued “It’s also a perfect shield, not one soul would believe that the son of the great Cradagast would stoop to such debauchery” the blonde chuckled “But, I digress, time is still of the essence” Nathaniel sighed as he stepped forward, pulling Sastasha’s face mask down exposing her fair features “I’d hate to have to hurt you” he whispered “So how about you just hand over the canvas, and I’ll” he paused as he flirtatiously tugged her hood down “O-oh” he breathed, as his eyes gazed at her soft black ears, his stare tracing the frosted white tips. He was distracted for only a split second, but his theatrics had given Sasha the opportunity she needed.

With a sharp thrust, she jabbed her palm upwards into his nose, before bringing the edge of her open palm down on his wrist, knocking the knife from his grip, she spun her body, rolling around him, and bolted for the door, she wasn’t losing her prize to him, not again. Before she could leave the hold however, she felt the air behind her crystallise, and chill. Sastasha threw herself to the side not a moment too soon, as a beam of blue white light shot past her, spidering into frost on the wall ahead of her. Behind her, Nathaniel heald his palm outstretched, a deep blue sigil traced in the air ahead of him, contrasting the crimson trickle of blood from his nose “That was impolite” he smirked “We can of course do this the hard way, it’s been a while since I’ve stretched my magics” He darted forward, Sasha’s hand going for her dagger when he caught her wrist. Her wrist was encompassed by another dark blue sigil, and suddenly began to feel painfully cold, she tugged at her dagger, but it refused to draw, Nathaniel smirked “Frost can make the blade stick” Sastasha pulled back, tearing Nathaniel's hand from her wrist, without a weapon, she couldn’t fight him, so instead, she pulled back and retreated, dancing past another ray of frost as it hurtled towards her. Stealth was no longer an option, she would have to rely on her speed, and agility, she tugged her hood up over her ears, and mask over her face, and sprinted through the holds, spinning around those who got in her way, and dodging past anyone who tried to stop her.

She burst out onto the deck of the airship, there was a single beat of silence as she felt the eyes of every member of the crew upon her, before someone yelled, and all hell broke loose. Dodging just out of the grasp of those around her she ran for the edge of the ship, making a leap of faith through the air, she became very aware of the distance that stretched out below her, and for a second, thought she had made a terrible mistake, before her fingers wrapped around one of the thick mooring ropes that bound ships to the side of the dock. With only seconds to formulate a plan, she gripped with her boots, and gloved hands, this was not going to be an easy escape. Gently loosening her grip, she allowed herself to slide down the rope, picking up speed as she followed the long cable down, and down the outside of the tower, the yells above her being drowned out by the whining of her leathers against the rope, and her nose picked up the smell of burning, and a touch of smoke. Looking over her shoulder, she judged her distance, and tightened her grip with all the strength she could muster. She slowed, the acrid burning smell from her gloves swelling as she ground to a stop several meters off the ground. She dropped from the rope onto a small awning, and rolled off into a crouch on the ground. With legs trembling from the adrenaline, and hands itching from the heat of her gloves she looked up at the docked ship, she had just pulled off the ultimate job.

Not eager to hang around she dropped her mask, and headed in the direction of the Jackdaws hideout, only when she reached sanctuary would she feel that the task had been completed. It was late, the streets were empty, and Heavantis would never admit something had been taken from them, and yet something felt off? A noise emanated from behind her, she only caught it because of the astute hearing of her ears, it sounded like metal being drawn from a sheath, she spun around, too late as a there was a sharp rending pain in her side that drove the breath from her lungs. She struggled against her attacker, pulling away with the blade still jutting from her, out of the corner of her eye she saw her assailant, a bizarley well dressed Tabaxi, with a delicate white mask over his eyes. Sastasha turned and ran, each step forcing more breath from her lungs, in her hobbled state, she was unable to move too fast. She was very aware of her assailant, he wasn’t pressing the attack any further, rather he was following, keeping pace a few meters behind her as she ran. She kept her pace for fifteen minutes, before a combination of shock, tiredness, and blood loss brought her to the floor in a dusty alleyway. Try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to her feet, nor could she even begin to drag herself away, she was at her attackers mercy. Her attacker crouched next to her, a long, jagged dagger in his left hand “Forfeit your stolen property” he said emotionlessly as he held an outstretched palm towards Sastasha, she didn’t respond, rather she clutched the tube tightly in her hands as she bled freely onto the floor, the thick crimson liquid filling the cracks in the stone around her. Her attacker sighed “Now” he growled as he forcefully pulled the tube away from Sastasha. Until now, she hadn’t realised her strength leaving her, but as her well dressed assailant took the tube away from her with no resistance, the severity of her situation began to dawn on her.

A voice rang out from behind her assailant “What’s going on here”, both Sastasha, and the agent of Heavantis turned to the source of the voice, it was Nathaniel, the agent stowed his blade “By order of the merchant republic of Heaveantis, stolen goods were reclaimed” he said confidently “Find this citizen a doctor, my business is done with them”. Nathaniel smiled warmley “Of course sir, I congratulate your ability to dispense justice” the blonde continued charismatically as he shook the agents hand. There was a soft glow of rosy pink light from his hand, as a sigil enveloped his glove, traveling up the agents arm “Would you like me to hold that while you clean your blade” he asked warmly. The agent nodded with an odd familiarity, and handed over the tube willingly before setting to work cleaning Sastasha’s blood of his jagged dagger. Sasha looked up at Nathaniel as he looped the strap of the tube over his shoulder, he mouthed a soft apology to Sasha, before turning on his heal and calmly walking away. A span of five minutes passed before the agent looked up, he paused for a second before cursing in a foreign language, and bolting in the direction of Nathaniel, Sastasha was alone...

She tried to pull herself to her feet, but she was far too weak to do so, collapsing she felt her eyes close, she was dying here, in some alley way, she couldn’t help but think of Maugh, he would never know what happened to her… As she lay shivering on the floor, she became aware of a being nearby, she was too weak to look up, or resist when the figure lay a hand on her, checking her over, and pulling her hood down, she felt him pause before drawing her close, she tried to pull away, but there was something about him, his smell was almost familiar, safe, instead of pulling away, she huddled closer to him, letting him pick her up and move her. She was only dimly aware of the events that followed, she knew she was taken somewhere, she could feel someone patch up her wound, and was aware she was being taken care of. She finally got the strength to open her eyes and look around one morning, she was in a humble room, the bed was comfortable, and several candles kept the room warm, and light. She winced as she pulled herself to her feet, she wasn’t wearing her clothes, instead she was wearing a pair of surprisingly soft pajamas. Sastasha instantly became paranoid, she had no idea where she was, and whoever she was with had clearly undressed her which meant! She turned to a long mirror on the wall and looked at herself, her ears were on display atop her head, and to her horror her vulpine tail was hanging from behind her, whoever’s home she was staying in, knew about her more bestial aspects…

Sastasha paused and considered escaping via a window, but her belongings were missing, her leathers, equipment, and her dagger, and there was no way she was leaving without it. She tried the door, locked. Sasha returned to the bed and sat down trying to plan her next move. A short while later, she heard a key turn in the door, she stood and prepared for anything, however, she never could have truly prepared for what came through the door.

Standing in front of her, was a young male, a similar in height to her, his features were sharp, and he had a single small scar across his left cheek. However the most striking feature about him lay atop his head, he too was adorned with a pair of silken vulpine ears of midnight black, frosted with white. Sasha was taken aback, she paced around him taking in every detail, from the tip of his ears to the base of his, yes, he too had a dark tail “W-who are you” she muttered quietly, his scent was the same as the scent of the man who had saved her. The two stared at each other, each nearly as taken aback as the other, Sasha noticed his weapon, a dark hilted Kukri, it’s sheath inscribed with a similar set of markings as hers. The male nodded “Calcifer” he replied simply as now he paced around her “I feel like I know you” he added “Your name” the raven haired boy asked. “Sastasha” she responded “I feel I know you too, you’re familiar, but I’ve never met anyone like me” she responded, gesturing to the ears atop her head. Sasha paused “Where am I” she asked “And how long have I been here”, Calcifer paused for a second “You’re in the ‘Whitestone Ash’ Tavern, and you’ve been here” he mulled the answer over “Two days, you heal quickly” he remarked with a smile. Sastasha nodded “And my things” she accused, Calcifer held his hands up “Okrid took them, he said they needed a wash, and that we probably shouldn’t leave you with a weapon when you woke up” Sastasha cocked her head “Oh er, Okrid is my dad” he explained “Adopted, not by birth, he’s nice” the young man added with a smile. Sastasha nodded, relaxing a little, Calcifer seemed trustworthy after all.

Sasha’s gear was returned to her by a large half orc, she was told she was welcome any time. Neither Okrid, nor his Tiefling wife Astrid questioned her on the events leading up to her injury, they were just glad she was safe. When she arrived back at the abbey, she told Maugh about who she had met, casually leaving out her injury, theft, and near death experience. Initially she was unwilling to pry any further, it was in fact Maugh who pushed her to visit Calcifer once more. Over the course of the next few days Sastasha spent a lot of time at the Whitestone Ash, talking to Calcifer, and his adopted parents, it was only a matter of hours however that she made her biggest discovery. Calcifer was left in the Whitestone Ash, much as Sastasha had been left at the temple of Selune, and to make matters even more interesting, as well as a matching dagger, he was also left with a near identical note to her. Sastasha compared the note to hers “Calcifer Leveileur Demanx” she whispered, Calcifer’s cheeks glowed red “Ah yeah, I’ve always hated that surname” he admitted. Sastasha nodded, smiling as she suppressed the urge to cry “Yeah me too” for the first time since she and Maugh had shared the sight of the moon rising in their room together, she had found family.

Sastasha, and Calcifer became almost as firm friends as Sasha, and Maugh. Sastasha would explore the city with her brother whenever Maugh was otherwise indisposed with the various duties a paladin in training was tasked with. When Maugh was available, the three misfits would wander the streets, and markets, or simply relax at the Whitestone Ash, where they got to know Okrid, and Astrid. Both Sasha, and Maugh had never felt so popular. Sastasha even shared her more criminal secrets with Calcifer, spinning him long tales of intrigue, daring escapes, and fine thefts. Calcifer lay hooked on every word. Like Sastasha, Calcifer also found comfort in a less than legal profession. While he wouldn’t share much with his sister, it seemed he had found his calling as a state appointed Assassin. Sasha knew they had existed, but never truly believed they were active. Like finger, and thumb, the two grew closer, and closer, more than making up for lost time. Soon they began to include one another in their respective professions. When Calcifer needed a particularly difficult lock cracked, or someone to help him slip past watchful eyes, he would call upon Sastasha. Likewise, if Sasha simply needed somebody to watch her back, or to give her aid with a tough series of guards, she wouldn’t hesitate to enlist Calcifer in her activities. The pair swept across the city, no lock too tight, no patrol too tough. They felt invincible.

It was after one of these successful team ups, that both Calcifer, and Sastasha sat on a balcony, legs dangling above the city, that the pair found themselves talking about a future. Sastasha didn’t want to spend her life living amongst the thinly labeled prejudices of the temple of Selune, and Calcifer, as much as he loved Okrid, and Astrid, didn’t want to constantly live under their feet. So they talked. What if they...acquired, the funds to purchase their own place, where they could make the rules, Sastasha even suggested opening the idea to Maugh, three oddities who could live under the same roof, in a place they could all call home, Calcifer himself admitted interest in opening a tavern of his own. Over the course of the night, what started as a distant fantasy, began to seem more, and more a reality as they talked about it, all they would need, was money, and if there were two people in the city that could obtain a vast quantity of money, in a short time. It was them.

As well as being a hub for mages, Anordal boasted a hefty population of merchants, hundreds of stalls, and shops littered the markets, and all of those needed places to keep their money. The Vidulum was a large compound of storage rooms, and safes designed for that purpose. The plan was simple, break in, steal the money they needed, and escape via the sewer tunnels. It wouldn’t be the hardest job they had pulled, but it would require complete synergy on their part.

So, on a moonlit night, the two fox children skipped across rooftops, and slid down drain pipes, until they made their way to the Vidulum. Slipping in through the shadows they set to work, Sasha picking the locks, and Calcifer watching her back, as well as holding the gold. They were smart, taking only a skimming from each vault, as opposed to a large take from one, this way, each Merchant would only record a loss of a few gold pieces, enough to be written off as an accounting mistake. The pair went undiscovered until closing the final vault, when a Merchant, and his retinue made an unexpected visit to the Vidulum. Both parties stared at each other for a second, before chaos erupted. Arrows flew, and shouts of alarm were sounded, Calcifer grabbed his sister and pulled her towards their escape route. They climbed over the wall of the Vidulum, and dropped into the streets, the eyes of the night markets all on them. There was no time to lose, they darted forward, and dropped through a hole into the sewer tunnels, feet pounding, echoing against the stone walls as they ran through the maze of tunnels, they couldn’t help but laugh as they ran, they were almost home free. The end of the tunnel opened up to a five meter drop into a deep canal, Sastasha leapt, barley breaking her stride as she crossed the waters, and landed on the other side with a smart roll. That was when she heard a large splash behind her. She spun on one heel, only ripples decorated the water's surface. In the early dawns light, everything was silent.

The next month dragged for Sastasha, and she was only dimly aware of the proceedings. She had sat by the waters edge, shivering for quite some time, before Maugh tracked her down, she knew Maugh had entered the water, and recovered the still form of Calcifer, wrapping him in a cloak. It was funny, he almost looked as if he was just sleeping… Sasha was taken home by Martin, a squire of Maughs, while Maugh broke the news to Okrid, and Astrid. To this day they refuse to blame Sastasha for what happened, but the guilt gnawing at Sasha refuses to die. Maugh also returned the gold to the Vidulum, stating he’d simply found it, and heard the news it had been stolen. The only thing Sasha was left with, was the dark kukri dagger, now the soul owner she had lost the only blood family she ever knew, Sasha lived in a haze, it would be quite some time before she picked herself out of it.

A year later, Sastasha was almost back to her old self, besides private moments in the corners of her own mind, where guilt, and sadness still bit at her thoughts, she was once again smiling, joking, and socialising with Maugh, on the odd occasions they found themselves at the Whitestone Ash she would take some coaxing to come out of her shell, but Okrid, and Astrid were still as welcoming as ever. During one of her excursions with Maugh, to preach the word of Selune at the main entrance to the city, Sastasha met a most peculiar fellow. He wasn’t dressed like the others who milled through the gates, rather he wore a strange attire, that while seeming functional, and protective, had the appearance of something formal. He stopped to listen to Maugh for a short while. This wasn’t the first time Maugh had been sent to speak the word of their Goddess, and it wasn’t the first time Maugh had drawn a small crowd, if only for those in the crowd to stare at his unique form. As Maugh preached, Sastasha carried out various rituals, and blessings, spreading salt, handing out moon lilies, and the like. When she reached the well dressed stranger, he gently took a lilly from her basket, and smiled in thanks. His smile near melted Sastasha, smiles from handsome men had long been her weakness, and this new figure was unknowingly exploiting that.

After Maugh’s sermon had finished, the stranger waited behind until the crowd of gawking onlookers had dispersed, Sasha saw him approach and mutter some words to Maugh, it always put her on edge watching people approach the giant Lizard man, but both seemed happy, The stranger even shook Maugh’s hand before leaving. Sastasha was captivated, nobody had ever reacted so, well, kindly to Maugh before. As the man walked past she bumped into him, he turned to face her “My apologies” he said in a foreign accent, Sastasha bowed her head “No sir, my apologies, I must have let my mind wander” the man smiled again and Sastasha had to hold herself up, before excusing himself and turning to leave. Sasha stood next to Maugh “Hey big guy” she mentioned, staring after the man “Who was he” the raven haired girl asked. Maugh shrugged “Just a member of the crowd, wanted to thank me for the Sermon” he hissed. Sasha nodded “Hm” she muttered, casually opening her hand and dropping a silver pocket watch onto the floor subtly “Hey” she asked bending down, making a show of picking it up “Did he leave this behind” she asked. Maugh raised a scaly eyebrow at her, they’d known each other a long time, and it was hard to pull a fast one on him, Sasha smirked “I guess I’ll go return it….see you back at the Temple” she chirped before slipping off into the crowd after the mysterious man.

She dashed past merchants, and between families of travellers before finding the man, and falling into line a few meters behind him, she followed with inquisitive steps as he turned off the main road, and into a side street. Without such a crowd around him she might actually get a chance to talk to him “Hey” she called out as she jogged up to him, the man turned around, a thick head of red hair atop his head, the fringe falling over his eyes “Oh, from the entrance right” he asked as she came to a stop “Yeah” Sastasha replied “You dropped this” she said proudly holding the pocket watch out to him. The man paused for a second, taking it from her hand “Curious” he muttered “I dropped it you say” the red head added, a touch of disbelief to his voice, Sasha nodded “yeah, I thought I’d get it back to yo-” the man cut in “It was clasped quite firmly to my inner pocket you see” he said simply “Are you sure it didn’t find its way into your possession when you bumped into me” he asked knowingly. Sasha’s breath caught in her throat, she was sure she’d been more careful than that, her deft fingers had never got her caught before. The man continued “Though it’s strange, if you took it from me, why would you rush to return it, were you planning on me offering a reward” he asked “The watch itself would sell for a high price as it is” the man folded his arms “No, you’re smarter than that I feel” he rationalised as he looked her over “Which means you knew what you were doing, but just didn’t expect me to realise” he frowned “Though I must say your end is rather obscure to me, what was your goal here”. Sastasha blinked, almost letting the warmth of a blush spill onto her cheeks “well you know” she stammered, excuses flying through her mind “You were just very nice to Maugh, and I wanted to” she paused letting the words form in her head “Thank you for it” she finished. The man chuckled “So you stole my watch” he asked with disbelief “That seems rather backwards”, Sastasha coughed “Look clearly it didn’t work out the way I thought it would so, I guess I’ll take my leave”. The man shook his head “No come on, you’ve got this far, Maugh” he mentioned, rolling the name around his tongue as if sampling a fine wine “Interesting, so that would make you Sastasha then right” he asked. Sastasha took a step back “You’ve heard of me” she asked a with a small touch of accusation to her voice. The man shook his head and smiled “No, no, should I have” he asked with a raised eyebrow “It’s your necklace” he said, pointing at the flint stone just poking out of her top “It has your name on it right” he asked, gently taking the flint pendent in his hand. Sastasha smiled softly “You can read it” she asked, her interest growing with each word, “So you know my name, what do I call you” she asked. The man responded in kind “Sahelanthropus of Kynesgrove” Sastasha blinked twice, the name near flying completely over her head “Sa-ha-lan” she frowned, messing up the name. Sahelanthropus gave a boyish chuckle “Maybe I could teach you the pronunciation over dinner” he asked casually “It would give you a chance to apologise for taking my watch” he added slipping the silver watch into his pocket “How about I meet you at the Temple early evening” he asked. Sastasha stammered a yes as Sahelanthropus turned on his heel “Excellent, I’ll see you then” he called over his shoulder, as he strode off down the street.

Sastasha had been on dates before, she’d even had a couple of short relationships before, it was amazing how quickly people forget their prejudices around a pretty girl. As a daughter of the temple, she wasn’t strictly supposed to behave in such a way, but they way she saw it, if Salune had a problem with it, she was bound to let her know...right? She bid farewell to Maugh, who had playfully teased her about her upcoming date all evening, as she had thought earlier, it was hard to keep things from him. Sahelanthropus awaited Sastasha across the street from the Temple, wearing a fine long coat, boots, and smart scarf, he was dressed far more finely than Sastasha, who was in what she considered her ‘best’ clothes, a White set of clothing with gold buckles, and a red trim, officially it was supposed to be her temple duties attire, for use during the sermons, and rituals inside the Temple, and it’s grounds. However a previous fling had remarked how good it looked on her, and sealed it’s fate as her go to date wear. To say her and Sahelanthropus hit it off would be an understatement, she hung off his every word, and story, enamored by the tapestries of adventure he spun with his words, he was well travelled to say the least, and Sasha found herself asking questions on every city, and every land he talked of, he explained the thin air of Heavantis, and the strange warmth of Catedrala with such detail, the vulpine girl could almost feel herself walking the streets of these strange places. She had been afraid her own stories couldn’t possible match up, but Sahelanthropus was more than interested enough in her Temple duties, her relationship with Maugh, and what she busied herself with in her day, to day life, even though Sastasha kept the more illegal activities she partook in secret, she still found the red head enamoured by every word.

When their dinner had finished, Sahelanthropus refused to let Sasha pay, despite the fact it was supposed to be an apology for the light theft of earlier “So” Sasha said, rocking back, and forth on her heels as they stood in the chilly night air “Will I see you again” she asked with a playful smirk. The red head mulled it over, rubbing his dark chin “Well” he paused “I suppose you managed to keep your fingers to yourself this time” he muttered with a teasing tone “And you enjoyed yourself” Sasha pointed out, almost impatiently. The finely dressed man chuckled “And I did enjoy myself” he repeated “Alright, I’ll meet with you again” he said “Well Sastasha Leveilleur Demanx” he said with perfect diction, causing a small shudder of disgust from Sastasha “I’ll be seeing you soon” he said with a more than perfect smile.

Sastasha, and Sahelanthropus met several more times after that, relishing each others company, it was a near seamless transition into a deeper relationship, and though it wasn’t the first romance Sastasha had experienced, it was the best. Sastasha introduced Sahelanthropus to Maugh, and in turn to Okrid, and Astrid when the three of them visited the Whitestone Ash, Maugh, Okrid, and Astrid all teased Sastasha in a playful family kind of way, Maugh never letting the jokes grow old. Both Sastasha, and Sahelanthropus were seemingly made for each other, and even when Sahelanthropus took his frequent excursions out of the town for what he called ‘business trips’, when they reunited they would more than make up for lost time.

The pair had been together for three months now, and on occasion Sahelanthropus would take Sastasha on short excursions, be it a night in an Inn in another town, or just a wander through the plains, and forests. While Sastasha had always been warned not to stray too far from the city walls for fear of beasts of the wilds, she had previously accompanied Maugh on some of his jobs in the nearby towns, regardless however, Sahelanthropus promised himself a capable fighter, and vowed to protect Sastasha should she need it, and despite the fact Sasha was positive she’d never seen Sahelanthropus draw the ornate rapier on his hip, she was more than willing to let him offer to be her proverbial knight in shining armour. On a particularly mild day, Sasha found herself wandering through one of the many forests around Anordal with Sahelanthropus, it had started like any other walk, although Sastasha felt them going deeper into the forest then they had before “Should we go this deep” she asked, doubt in her voice, Sahelanthropus paused, almost conflicted “You know” he said quietly “You’re right, how foolish of me, come let’s return to th-” Sastasha cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips “Shh” she hushed sharply, her ears twitching freely, after all Sahelanthropus had seen more than just her head, it seemed silly to keep things obscured from him. As her ears honed in on a noise emanating around them, her eyes widened “Duck” she yelped as she pulled Sahelanthropus down on top of her, as she did a man sized serpent struck out, it’s jaws closing around the space where Sahelanthropus had been not two moments ago. Like a bolt of lightning Sahelanthropus drew the fine silver blade from its sheath and stabbed upwards, piercing the serpent through its mouth, the reptile recoiled, dragging the sword, and redhead with it, deeper into the forest.

Sastasha leapt to her feet and took off after him, she had never heard of Serpent’s in these forests, the northern lands were supposed to be too cold, it was a miracle that Maugh was so comfortable up here. She drew her twin blades and slashed through the dense trees, her ears swiveling atop her head as she chased the noise of combat ahead of her. She burst into a clearing in time to see a second serpent wrap itself around Sahelanthropus, she plunged her daggers into the back of it’s head without hesitation, twisting, and tearing them out as she felt it’s body shiver, and twist beneath her. Sahelanthropus rolled out from beneath its body “You should leave” he growled defensively as he slashed out at a third Serpent, it’s body a sickly gray blue “Run the way we came in, I’ll hold them off”, Sastasha huffed as she pulled him backwards, out of the way of a fourth Serpent, they seemed hell bent on targeting him “No way” she protested, “I just cut you out from under one of those things” the raven haired girl growled as she twisted around him, covering his offhand side with her daggers “I’m not leaving you here to become snake food”. Sasha heard a chuckle leave Salhelanthropus’s lips “I knew there was a reason I kept you around” he muttered.

The pair fought hard against the Serpents as they coiled, and twisted maliciously, at first they strangely seemed to focus Sahelanthropus, practically ignoring her to snap, and lash out at him, however once she felled another Serpent, they began to attack at her too, trying to drive themselves between the pair, and separate them. After what felt like an eternity the tide of serpents stopped, their sickly bodies fizzling into the ground as if someone had doused them in acid. Sasha panted heavily “Now, let’s get away from he-” Sahelanthropus held a hand up, he was almost unnervingly collected, had Sasha not seen it herself, she never would have believed he had fought as hard as ten men only moments ago, his gaze was fixed on a shadowed patch of trees not far from them, maybe fifty meters in front, she slowly turned, and followed his gaze, her darkvision kicking in, what she saw caused a shaky exclamation of fear to leave her throat. Waiting, no, watching, only two meters behind the shadow of the trees, was the head of an enormous Serpent, vicious red in colour, with eyes like daggers, Sasha could feel them upon her, hungrily staring, it slowly began to move forward, slithering it’s massive girth through the tree’s. Sastasha turned to run, but Sahelanthropus caught her wrist “Don’t” he snapped “If you run I can’t protect you from her”. Sasha looked up at his, eyes wide with fear “H-her” she stammered. Sahelanthropus nodded “I’ve not been strictly truthful with you Sastasha” he said with a look of determination “You asked why I came to Anordal so long ago”, Sasha pulled against him as the titanic beast crested the treeline and glared angrily at them, a tongue bigger than her tasting the air, tasting her fear “Truth be told” Sahelanthropus said, his cold voice calming her, she loved the sound of his voice “I was hunting her” he nodded towards the beast as it coiled itself, why wouldn’t it attack? It seemed almost apprehensive “Andskoti” he growled at the Serpent in a foreign tongue. The serpent hissed something in return. Sahelanthropus turned to Sastasha, and took her face gently in his hands “Listen to me” he said sweetly “No matter what you see, I’m still me, I’ll explain everything to you in time, but for now I need you not to run, no matter what, I cannot protect you if you leave me” he said hurriedly “Wh-whu” Sasha tried to question, but her worries were cut off when Sahelanthropus leaned into her, and kissed her on the lips, a long, lingering kiss that seemed to stretch for eternity “I’ve got you” he whispered as he pulled away.

Sahelanthropus turned, a silver glow to his body, he yelled something in an odd language, sounding similar to both a hiss, and the noise one makes when one clears their throat. It was familiar, in fact Sasha was sure she had heard Maugh speak such words. However before she could rationalise the language longer, Sahelanthropus began to change in front of her eyes, his very form changing as silvery clouds steamed from his body, frosting the ground beneath him, his size more than tripled, a long thick tail began to stretch out behind him, vast wings sprouting from his back, he tipped his head back and yelled, but the roar of thunderous clouds echoed from his mouth, as his head shifted into a predatory jaw full of knife length teeth. Sahelanthropus was no mere man anymore, what stood in front of Sastasha, on four muscular legs, was a Dragon of brilliant shining silver.

Dragon and Serpent roared and clashed against each other, their blows shaking the ground beneath Sasha’s feet, she was so awestruck with the sight, she couldn’t have ran if she wanted to. The two titanic creatures tore trees from their roots, and dealt rending blows to each other. Sastasha’s breath caught in her throat as the serpent wrapped itself around the dragon, tighter, and tighter as it tried to crush the beast between it’s coils. Suddenly, the dragons freed its front claws, and drove them deep into the serpents eyes. There was a screech of pain, before the dragon pulled the beasts mouth wide open with a sickening crunch, leaning down it roared a roar of pure icy cold down the serpents gullet. The serpent thrashed, before finally settling, exhuming its last breath, before clashing to the floor, and melting away into nothing…

Sasha sat in shock as the mighty dragon stared down at her, after an eternity she swallowed and looked up at it “Y-y-your Sal” she asked timidly. The dragon nodded before speaking with surprising softness, it’s voice was different to Salhelanthropus’s, and yet so similar “yes” the Dragon said “It’s still me”. Sasha nodded and gently reached out to touch him, his scales were smooth, and shiny, like pearls in a jewelry box “are you afraid” the Dragon asked, Sasha nodded “Yeah” she chuckled in shock “You’re terrifying” she muttered with uncertainty as she looked across the injuries that marked the silver scales, years, upon years of scars, each no doubt telling a story of battle, and triumph, including one particularly large scar noting a heavy puncture wound of old in the side of his neck “Are you hurt” she asked, the Dragon shook it’s huge head “Of course not, My strength is unwavering” Sasha knew he was lying out of pride “I-I didn’t think so” she recovered “Can you” she paused “Change back” the vulpine girl asked looking up at him. With the reverse of before, his body began to change back, his wings folding up, and becoming the long tails of his coat, and his claws shifting into the silvered blade of his dagger.

Despite this rather grand secret, Sastasha, and Sahelanthropus stayed together, it definitely took some adjusting, but the pair were open with each other. With this openness came honesty. Sahelanthropus confessed that while he would never tell Sasha what to do, he had never been comfortable with her thieving nature. In the next few months, Sahelanthropus began to take more frequent, and longer business trips, instead of days, he would be gone weeks, often with little notice to Sastasha. On one occasion in particular, he missed a dinner the two had planned for some time, when he returned, he had seemingly forgot all about it. The relationship began to strain, and it was Sastasha who broke first, she had noticed Sahelanthropus growing more, and more distant from her, and confronted him. Sahelanthropus, infuriatingly didn’t see the issue, as far as he was concerned, his duties to justice, and peace came before anything, and like many Dragons, he was never going to stay rooted to one place. Sastasha argued with him, souring the night they had planned somewhat, until he interrupted her. “Sastasha” he said firmly “I’m a Silver Dragon, my priority will always be my duty” the red head frowned “And those duties will take me away from this city” he continued “I can’t promise to be here every night, or ready to drop everything for you” there was a touch of wisened understanding to his voice. As he went to explain further Sastasha held up a hand “I” she paused, gathering the words “I won’t be an anchor to you” she murmured as she began to see the bigger picture. She was a young thief of indeterminate species, he was a Silver Dragon, defender of peace, justice, and law, more than twenty times older than her. It was never going to be a permanent relationship.

Sastasha heald a lot of unfair resentment towards Sahelanthropus for some time, despite their surprisingly mature, and good natured breakup. They had promised each other to remain firm friends, and if they were ever in the same place, at the same time? Who knows. In a short time, Sastasha forgot her resentment, and once again remembered Sahelanthropus as fondly as she had when she first met him. For now however, she lives in the present, the only things on her mind are Maugh, and her own well being, the thrill of the next theft, and whatever handsome smile catches her eye.

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

The Way I Do: Chapter 3

Summary: Your training pays off; you’re nearly invisible in a Roman crowd. You blend in perfectly. However, the city doesn’t treat you well. Warnings: None as of yet Word Count: ~2,453 A/N: For @killmongerdreams‘ song roulette writing challenge.

From now on, default language will be Latin. Other languages will be in “quotes and italics.”

Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

The courier seemed to find some of his courage, although he still looked distinctly terrified. “Emperor Pierce requests your presence in the palace immediately, sir.”

Bucky frowned. “There’s been trouble.”

The courier shifted nervously. “I don’t know, sir. They didn’t tell me.”

Bucky sighed and nodded. “Understood. Tell our master I’ll be over shortly.”

The courier nodded and looked relieved that he was able to make it away with his head. It nearly made Bucky smile.

“Yes sir, Centurion Barnes.”

Your training with Natalia was brutal. She beat you to a pulp with sparring training in the morning, bored you half to death in the afternoon with military tactics, then droned through dinner about social customs of Byzantium and other large Roman cities.

By the time you crawled into bed, you didn’t want to hear a single word more from Natalia. Her voice played on repeat in your head, driving you nearly insane until blissful sleep finally claimed you.

It continued on like this for a small eternity, but by the time Natalia was finished with you, you could speak fluent unaccented Latin. You knew the ins and outs of living in the capital. You knew how to hide yourself from danger as well as how to be seen by the right people.

Your task was complex in its simplicity: infiltrate command of the Roman army. You weren’t sure you- a woman- were best suited to infiltrate the goddamned army, but Natalia assured you that this would only ensure they didn’t see you as a threat. You decided to take her word for it, though you still reserved your doubts.

Almost before you knew it you were on a horse headed for the capital. As you said goodbye to all of your friends and adopted siblings, you could see the tightness in their smiles. They weren’t sure if they were ever going to see you again. They’d declare open war on the Roman Empire soon. If it was discovered you were spying for them, you assuredly wouldn’t survive.

With one final wave over your shoulder you were off, bags slung over your back and saddle. You took a deep breath, determination lining your features.

Step one: Make it to the capital in one piece.

The closer you moved to the capital, the better off the people were. Villages like Steve’s struggled, but once you got into the wealthier provinces, it quickly became clear that Byzantium’s resources were given first to privileged cives, leaving anyone with money to fight over their scraps. More than once you saw band of slavers, their quarries chained together or stuffed into too-small cages. You forced yourself to look unaffected by the sight, but it was no small feat. If you never saw a person in chains again, it would be too soon.

Byzantium finally rolled into view on the fourth day and, try as you might, you couldn’t help but be impressed once again by its size and opulence. Such was the curse of a simple chief’s daughter such as yourself, you supposed.

The main gates towered over you, closed as usual. You tensed for a split second when the guards turned their attention towards you. Most of them turned their attention back towards the dice game they were playing on the dusty cobblestone road, but one sighed and walked over to you.

“What’s your business in the city, citizen?” he asked, obviously wanting to get back to his game.

“I just finished trading with those savages from up north. They were quite eager to trade away their valuables for any and all food I had,” you said with a smirk, earning a short bark of laughter from the guard.

“Good, teach those damned outsiders who the real Romans are. They had the gall to take our land then demand food. Serves the lazy bastards right,” he said with a cruel smile.

You wanted to punch him in the face, but smiled. “I’m eager to earn some coin in the markets off their idiocy. If you’ll let me in that is, sir,” you said casually, nodding your head towards the gate.

“Of course, of course. Anything for a faithful citizen of the Empire,” he said with a smile and sppreciative tilt of his head. He turned and made his way back towards the gate, signaling the men on top of the wall to raise the gate.

You gave him a grateful nod as you passed, not missing the hushed conversation between him and his fellow guards who’d finally looked up from their game to watch you pass.

“She traveling alone?” the ugly one asked, eyeing you with a predatory eye.

“Oh shut it, Felix. Keep it in your tunic,” the first guard snapped.

“I’m with Felix on this one, Septimus. Why’d you let her pass before we could have some fun with her?” the stupid one asked. The implications of their conversation sent a shiver down your spine and you urged your horse to walk a little faster, trying hard to keep your eyes forward.

“You’ve already gotten the whip twice for messing with female citizens, Otho. Consider it me saving you from yourself,” Septimus spat.

You got far enough away that the rest of their conversation was carried off by the breeze and you breathed a sigh of relief when you made it through the other end of the wall.

The city was just as you remembered it; busy, cramped, gorgeous, and huge. The first thing you did was make your way to the stables. You didn’t have the money to stable your horse during your stay so you were hoping to get a fair price for the middle-aged mare. With luck, you’d get enough money to tide you over until you could figure out your next step.

You walked away from the stable, laden with your heavy bags. You’d thought about perhaps visiting the inn first, but didn’t trust the people enough to leave everything you own unattended for an undetermined amount of time.

As luck would have it, though, the inn was only a short walk away. The innkeeper was more than happy to give you a room; apparently famine was bad for business. Who knew? You asked for a private room and the man looked a little dubious until you hinted that it was for “lady issues.” He nodded quickly, stuttering out an apology, and gave you a key to the last door on the left.

The room was sparse, not that you were expecting anything different. A rickety cot in the corner, a set of low shelves shoved against the wall near the cot, small desk near the window, a pot to relieve yourself in, and a thin copper basin for washing up tilted against the wall by the door.

You sighed and shrugged your bags off one by one, throwing them onto the cot before unloading your things on the desk and shelves. A short while later you collapsed onto the bed, completely exhausted from your journey. It wasn’t that late yet, but you were so tired that the thought of doing anything but sleeping was downright repulsive.

You were asleep nearly the instant your head hit the pillow.

You weren’t sure what woke you up at first. You woke up slowly, senses taking their sweet time to return from dreamland. 

But then you heard something shuffling in your room and suddenly you were wide awake.

You never found yourself wishing for rats until that exact moment.

You opened your eyes slowly, hardly daring to breathe. Your heart skipped a beat when your gaze fell on what was unmistakably a large human silhouette rifling through your things. Silently, without so much as letting the blankets whisper against your skin, you slid from your bed. It was pure luck the man’s back was to you.

And pure misfortune that he turned around as you pulled out your dagger.

You couldn’t see anything except his eyes beneath the cloth he had draped across his face. However, it was more than enough to see the shock plastered across his visage. Apparently this thief or spy- whichever it happened to be- wasn’t used to getting caught. His dark brown eyes narrowed instantly and before you could close the distance between you he leapt through the open window and into the night.

You had half a mind to shout for help but if the authorities looked too deeply into your background you could end up blowing your cover.

But you sure as hell weren’t going to let some random stranger take your things. Your people had worked hard to get everything for you.

You jumped out of the window only a moment or two after him, feet slapping against the cold cobblestone. There wasn’t anyone out at this hour except maybe the occasional city guard and it was no wonder as to why. Thieves, muggers, and murderers were the only company one could find at this dreary hour.

You spotted your thief immediately and sprinted after him, jaw set in determination. Apparently he hadn’t expected you to come after him because he slowed to a walk as soon as he turned the corner, crying out in surprise when you tackled him to the ground.

“Ha! I’ve got you, you-” you spun him around and froze when you saw his face. This wasn’t your thief.

This was-

“Visigothi,” James hissed, staring at you with as much surprise as distaste.

Your mind raced at a mile a minute. Of all the people to run into in this city, it just had to be the one man you knew on a first-name basis. If you didn’t act immediately you’d be caught before you were in the city for one whole day.

You scrambled off of him, apologies spilling forth from your lips in droves. “I’m so sorry, sir. I was after a thief. He stole my mother’s necklace and I was following him and he turned this corner but he must have given me the slip because I thought you were him and so I acted without checking if it was really him first which is why-”

James held a hand up, brows knit together in confusion, and you stemmed the tide of your explanation immediately. “What are you doing here, Visigothi? Do you not know your people have been causing problems in the West?”

You pretended to bristle, glaring daggers at him. “Visigothi? You think me to be from that tribe of barbarians? What gives you the right to insult me so?”

If he looked unsure before he looked absolutely unsteady now, eyeing you warily. “I would not forget the face of an outsider. You are she,” he said, sounding less and less like he believed himself by the second.

You glared down your nose at him as you stood. “I’ve heard enough, plebeian. That’s quite enough insults for one night. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a thief to catch.” You turned on your heel and ran off the other alley, pretending to search high and low, hoping he wouldn’t pursue you. You turned back before you turned the corner, surprised to see him still sitting there, staring at the ground in confusion. He didn’t look up even though you stared for at least a minute, so you let out a relieved sigh and made your way back to your room in the inn. There was no hope of catching the thief at this point; he could be on the other side of town by now. You clambered back in your window and double-checked the latch before shoving your desk up against the window.

You flopped back down onto the cot which groaned in protest. You wouldn’t stay here another night, not after a fiasco like that. There was also the chance that James had followed you back... and you half hoped he would come bursting through the door right then. Seeing him again... you’d dreamt about it for months. You knew seeing him would have to be avoided at all costs, but that only made you want to see him more. His blue eyes haunted your sleeping and waking hours alike. His voice called to you in the twilight hours when your mind was in between consciousness and oblivion. His touch lingered on your skin like a ghost. He was even more handsome than you’d remembered; your conscious mind couldn’t do him justice.

With a groan you rolled around restlessly on your cot. Sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight, not after the events of the last twenty minutes. Still, you held out hope that sleep would take you once more.

Bucky’s POV

He didn’t know how long he sat on the ground. The woman flashed in his mind again and again, his thoughts at war with one another. Pierce had been very clear; the Visigothi were making lots of noise about revolution and fighting, though they hadn’t made any moves yet. He was to begin readying his troops in the event they stopped barking and started acting and to keep an eye out for any spies in the meantime. They weren’t to be trusted.

He knew the spies of the Visigothi and Ostrogothi well. A flash of red hair and bright emerald eyes in his mind’s eye had him clenching his fists in anger, but a deep breath in and out soothed the worst of the passing rage.

What were the chances she was a citizen and not a spy? Her speech was flawless, a far cry from what it was when he met her all those months ago. She held herself like a citizen, even acted like a noble. If she knew who he was she wouldn’t have acted to brave, but few knew what he looked like without his armor and helmet. Was it possible... she had a lookalike among the populace? Byzantium was large and he avoided going out when the city was at its busiest, so it was possible he just had never seen her before.

But the same draw was there. Just as before, he wanted to hold her close and kiss all her problems away, only to remember the last time he opened his heart and home to a gothi, and pushed all those thoughts away. He stood with a curse, wincing as his cold, sore muscles stretched themselves out.

By all rights, his duty as a Centurion to the Roman Empire compelled him to find her and uncover the truth... but he wasn’t sure he could handle it.

In the end, he resolved to keep an eye out for her, though he wouldn’t call in any other agents of the Empire to help. This was his task, and his alone.

Next Chapter

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[gaiatheorist]

Guns.

Hello, I’m mentally unstable, and I have access to a gun. Don’t hit the panic button, my ‘condition’, whatever it is, is broadly manageable, and I’m in the UK, we don’t have assault rifles. (I have fired an assault rifle, it was an SA-80, on a school trip to Strensall army barracks.) I genuinely don’t know the make or model of ‘my’ air rifle, I haven’t touched it in years, I doubt I’d be able to load it now, with the hand-thing, and the eyes-thing. I’d consider selling it, to buy more beans, but I don’t really know the legalities of selling-on an air rifle. It was bought second-hand, I think the ex paid about £100 for it, from some bloke who knew some other bloke on the allotments. Always the status-things with him, one birthday, he bought me night-sights for it “So we can stay on the allotment later, you won’t have to pack up when it gets dark.” Who says romance is dead, when the man in your life buys you a gadget so you can stand for even longer in a freezing cold mud-bath, shooting rats? The sights/scope/whatever never came out of the box, my fingers aren’t particularly obedient at the best of times, fiddling tiny metal pellets into the slide-thingy of the rifle in the cold, and the dark was never going to happen. We’ll file that one under ‘I married a gibbon.’

It’s the ‘status’ thing that’s really messing with my head. The gibbon started off with someone else’s old air rifle, then upgraded to a ludicrously expensive one, and added all the gadgets, so he could pretend to be GI Joe. Watching someone else shoot rats isn’t really much of a hobby, and the kid and I would be repeatedly ‘shushed’, and told to keep still. It’s genuinely a miracle that he never shot the dog, because the dog didn’t keep quiet or still, the dog chased rats, and barked at fence-posts. The dog is an idiot, but he did kill a lot of rats. Eventually realising that the kid and I were bored senseless standing still, and being quiet, GI Gibbon, complete with his red headlight (rats can’t see red light, apparently, I don’t know whether that’s true?) decided we should ALL shoot rats. (Poison was iffy, with the idiot-dog, and free-ranging hens, ducks, and geese, we did set traps, but one trap only kills one rat, and it’s pretty grim emptying the trap the following day, when the other rats have eaten the trapped rat, leaving a weird rat-suit in the trap.)

Splendid, a ‘family hobby’, except it wasn’t, it was pest control, we were spending upwards of £20 a week on bird-food, and, even with enclosed feeders, the rats were still swarming in for the spillage. Some nights there was a veritable carpet-of-rats, it’s a good thing I’m not squeamish. (I’m actually less squeamish than the gibbon, I’d batter a rat to death with anything that came to hand, he preferred the clean-distance of the rifles.) Every single evening, for a fair few years. In from work, check whether the kid has any homework, buzz around the house tidying up and making dinner, eat dinner, clean up after dinner while the gibbon ‘relaxes’ on the sofa, and then out to the mud-bath to collect eggs, and shoot rats. That’s why we had guns. (I did once earn massive kudos from a gang of ne’er-do-wells on the next allotment, I’d rolled and lit a cigarette, nonchalantly shot a rat clean through the eye-socket, flicked the dead rat over the fence with some old barbecue tongs, paused for a drag on the cigarette, and then re-loaded. NOBODY is used to women-like-me.) 

Shooting rats is boring, you’d manage to pick off a couple, and then the rest would smell the fear-blood, and bugger off to raid an allotment where people weren’t shooting at them. The gibbon actually wanted to build a gun-tower, and do overnight rat-shooting. No, thank you, see previous point, once the rats can smell the death, it doesn’t matter how much food is spilled, or how many fancy gadgets you have on your rifle, they’re not going to come back until the blood of their former comrade cools down, and stops smelling of “Oh, shit, I’m dead.” (Once it cools, they think it’s food, they’re opportunistic scavengers.) I was an OK shot, I hit more than I missed, and I ALWAYS hit the head, there’s nothing quite like a squealing gut-shot rat dragging entrails all over the place, while you try to stop your idiot-dog making it into an intestines-and-fur jigsaw. 

(Oh dear, I’ve just remembered ‘pancake rat.’ The kid had shot a rat, in the head, as I’d taught him, and, when he approached the mostly-dead rodent, I assumed he was going to throw it over the fence. The allotment backed onto a farmer’s field, and the ditch between the allotment fences and the field was our only ‘security’ against the regular break-ins. We had 8ft chicken-wire fences, with barbed wire on top on all sides, realistically, all the smack-heads would have needed was wire-cutters, and a bit of patience, but smack-heads don’t think straight, on more than one occasion they’d spent time breaking through the heavily fortified gate, when the chicken-wire at the side of it would have gone through with a couple of good kicks. The open field was a weak-point security-wise, even before the reprobates managed to get themselves trapped in a fenced-in area with three geese. It appeared to be accepted practice on the allotments to throw ‘stuff’ in the metre-gap between the back fences and the ditch, to act as obstacles for thieves. ‘Stuff’ included broken glass, rusty barbed wire, anything broken, bagged-up dog-shit, and dead rats. The kid didn’t pick up the rat and throw it over the fence, he re-loaded, and shot it again. I assumed he’d aimed badly the first time, and was finishing off the job. Then he re-loaded, and shot it again. He was literally on top of the rat, he couldn’t miss from that range, so I approached, to see what he was up to.

“Have you killed it?”

“Yes, but I didn’t think it had quite enough holes in its face, so I added some more, for ventilation.”

“Right, you know we pay for the pellets, don’t you?”

“Yes. Do you think it’s dead enough now?”

I crushed the rat’s skull under the heel of my boot.

“It is, it’s flat.”

The gibbon couldn’t stand to feel left out of anything, and came over, to see what we were doing.

“Have you killed one, son? Well done!”

“Yes, I shot it, and then I decided it wasn’t holey enough, then Mum made a pancake-rat.”

I wonder how many years he’ll spend in therapy for that?)

So, we had a rifle each, for vermin control. The crossbows weren’t vermin control, they were part of the ex’s ‘Apocalypse prep’ paranoia, and I wanted nothing to do with them. I suppose he’ll be sorted if we do end up with a ‘Mad Max’ Brexit, they’re no good to me, I can’t load them. I don’t know what sort of ID he had to provide to buy crossbows, that’s really quite worrying, because he doesn’t really HAVE any ID, he bought the big crossbow before photo driving licences, and I think he ordered the ‘compact’ one online. That’s more than ‘quite worrying’, it’s terrifying, he’s generally inept, but not ‘really’ dangerous, and he could just stroll into a sporting-goods shop somewhere, and come out with a crossbow.

What I’m waffling around the edges of here is that once he had ‘a gun’, he wanted a ‘better’ gun, and when he had the ‘better’ gun, he spent an awful lot of time researching the various ways to have that gun made more powerful. He wanted me to have my rifle ‘tuned’ or ‘gassed’, or whatever it was, to make it more powerful, I refused, because all I needed the rifle to be able to do was penetrate rat-skull quickly and cleanly. There aren’t that many guns knocking about in the UK, and, as far as I am aware, there is stringent licencing and regulation around ‘real’ guns, as opposed to piffly air-rifles like mine. I remember the ex, and the old next-door neighbour chatting shit about paying half each to buy a ‘Rhino Hunter’ crossbow. I’m not going to look up the draw-weight or any other statistics for it, I’m probably on enough lists as it is. ‘Rhino Hunter.’, we don’t have wild rhinoceros in the UK, aren’t they endangered, anyway? My delusional ex, and the next door neighbour, who was under the care of various psychiatric teams were planning to buy a ludicrously high-powered crossbow. They didn’t, in the end.

There is no reason for a person living in Yorkshire to have a crossbow that may or may not be capable of taking down a rhino. To my mind, there’s no reason for citizens of the USA to own machine guns. Contentious? I don’t think so, I can’t think of any real-life situation where an automatic, or semi-automatic weapon is ‘needed.’  A teenage girl caught the world’s attention,  Emma Gonzales, pointing out links between the president, and the National Rifle Association, then the ‘official’ response being “Let’s not be too hasty!”, before blaming ‘the mental’, not the fact that anyone over the age of 18 can go out and buy a machine gun. (There may be caveats to that, I don’t know much about US gun-law.) 

The issue for me, about the particular kind of mentally disturbed individual who would choose to open fire in a school is that most of them don’t walk around with a big placard stating “I am mentally disturbed, and I’m going to murder people.” With this one, there were notes of concern, that weren’t investigated thoroughly, but, for every potential murderer with ‘flags’, there will be many more undetected. The ones that ‘just snapped’, the ones that took great pains to conceal their intent and plans, the ones that the neighbours say ‘seemed so normal.’ The issue isn’t all about the mental illness, there are millions of people, all around the world, with varying degrees of different kinds of mental illness, the distinction between US gun-mentality and the rest of the world is the issue, not the individual’s mental state. (Side-line, but I read a news article this morning about a UK Member of Parliament being the victim of a street robbery. The weapon? A carton of milk. I’m sure it was distressing and painful to be attacked with a carton of milk, but it’s not a gun, is it?) “The guns are not the problem!” “It is our right to bear arms!” “Prise it from my cold, dead fingers!” etc. The guns, in my opinion, are the problem.

The UK is very different to the USA on many levels. We don’t keep guns in our bedside tables or handbags ‘just in case’. That would be against the law, several laws, actually. We don’t carry anything that could be construed as an offensive weapon. (Pretty much anything can be an offensive weapon, depending on intent, and manner of use, the kid and I used to play ‘How would you kill a zombie with that?’, there is very little in this room that I couldn’t use to disable/disarm an assailant, but I’m not likely to be attacked, both of my doors are locked, it’s 5am, pretty much everybody would be too tired to make a very good job of attacking me.) In 1996, the Dunblane primary school shooting led rapidly to an almost-complete ban on the personal ownership of handguns in the mainland UK, we just don’t ‘have’ guns, in general. (Yes, OK, some people DO have guns, but for specific purposes, and stored securely, as well as fewer ‘rampage killings’, we also have fewer toddlers accidentally shooting family members.) 

I don’t agree with the US government’s suggestion that arming teachers, or school staff is the solution. I cannot accept the argument of “The only thing that will stop a bad guy with a gun, is a good guy with a gun.”, if the ‘bad guy’ didn’t have the gun in the first place, there would be no cause to arm the ‘good guy’. (It’s a good thing we don’t ‘have’ guns, UK schools are struggling to afford textbooks and pens, there’s nothing left in the kitty for guns.) How many guns? One in each classroom, because if they’re centrally held somewhere, you’re factoring in a delay? If that scheme went ahead, surely the ‘bad guy’ would kill the teacher/adult first, potentially leaving a gun on the classroom floor? The fact that ‘some’ Americans are comfortable with firearms doesn’t mean that ‘all’ would be, I saw a tweet the other day, where a teacher had said they wouldn’t trust some colleagues to hold their favourite mug, never mind a gun. I’ve worked with people in schools where I’d have to think twice about letting them use one of my better pens, they’re educators, not the SAS/Marines. Putting guns into schools is not a workable solution. The logistics alone would be a nightmare, especially factoring-in that this gunman was a disgruntled former student, I’ve seen my fair share of disgruntled students, they’re bad enough when they’re throwing chairs, I don’t want to think of the potential consequences of them gaining access to a firearm. 

I wasn’t ‘at’ work if or when any ‘incident response’ drills were done, so I didn’t have to deal with traumatised children imagining-the-worst. On ‘my’ school site, I can’t think of a single classroom that didn’t have floor-to-ceiling glass on the corridor-side, and almost all of the classrooms only had one door. Fish in a barrel, it’s a good thing we don’t have guns. It has been heartbreaking to read testimonies from teachers and education support staff all around the world, about ‘drilling’ children, in some cases very young children, on the expected response to an armed intruder. That shouldn’t be ‘expected’, children shouldn’t have to process that, what the USA is doing, in pandering to ‘the right to bear arms’ is normalising in children all around the world that they ‘could’ be shot in their classrooms. That’s profoundly unhealthy, and deeply unbalanced. Nobody, in civilian life, needs an automatic, or semi-automatic weapon, for anything, the vast majority of people don’t need any kind of gun at all. 

In amongst the adults-explaining, and the adults-deflecting-and-denying, we have the nearly-adults. Some of those adolescents have just buried their friends, and they’re still making more sense than a lot of the adults calling them ‘reactive’ or ‘hysterical.’ If the USA doesn’t address the fact that ‘anyone’ can buy and even upgrade an assault-rifle, all they’re likely to see is more blood, more lives needlessly cut short, as more people will decide to ‘fight fire with fire’.  If the government doesn’t step in, and legislate, some people will decide to arm themselves, there will be more accidental shootings, more suicides, and, potentially more ‘rampages’. These bright, brave children are right, the old men in suits are wrong, the world can see that.   

[lnicol1990]

Defining Moments - Chapter 11

I’m getting to the end of what I’ve already written for Defining Moments. There’s just one more chapter left before this blog is caught up, so next week’s upload will probably be the last for a while. When I do finish any more chapters, I’ll continue the Tuesday schedule.

But for now, enjoy.

Bennath, Year 169, Fifth Age

Thom – aged 22

It took two attempts to safely lay the vial of holy water on the plinth bearing Safalaan’s statue, and Thom was pleased that he’d caught the vial before it fell to the floor. He didn’t want to ask Aleks or Ayla for another vial, wherever they’d gotten the first one from.

He was still adjusting to his injuries, and no matter how many times he was told that he was making a quick recovery, it never felt quick enough. In a month’s time, the healers in Varrock said they would take the wad of bandages off his head and examine how his wounds were doing. It was a pity there was nothing they could do to fix the real damage.

It had been a miracle to survive, everyone said. To take on Lord Drakan and come out alive was an achievement. Realistically, he should have been mauled to the point of infirmity, unable to do more than advise King Roald and be pushed around in one of those wheelchairs. By all accounts, losing his left eye was a fairly minor price to pay for surviving.

If, of course, you didn’t include the Myreque getting reduced to just three members, himself included in the number.

He looked over to the two empty plinths, for Veliaf and Ivan’s statues, and took a measured breath. With luck, those statues wouldn’t be needed for several years, but they were going to be built. With Vanescula preparing to cross the Salve, as much as Thom didn’t want to admit it, those plinths were probably going to get filled sooner rather than later.

Amidst the shuffling of the nearby ghouls, the sound of measured, deliberate steps tapping on the stone sundial made Thom turn. He was expecting to see Veliaf, appraising his handiwork on Safalaan’s statue, but was surprised to see the young priest.

“Ivan?”

“Well met, Thom,” the young man smiled. His smile fell slightly as he looked upon the statues, but it returned, smaller and sadder than before but genuine all the same. “They look just like them. You’ve got a talent for sculpting.”

“Thanks Ivan,” Thom nodded. He glanced around, a worried frown creasing his one visible eyebrow. “You’re taking an awfully big risk coming out here, you know. You should stay with Drezel in the mausoleum.”

“I was looking for you, actually,” Ivan brightened considerably as he remembered why he had ventured into Morytania. “I was getting some fresh air by the temple steps when I saw movement from the mountain pass. A scouting party from Varrock has arrived! I thought you’d want to know and meet with them.”

“I suppose it’s lucky it only took him a month to put a group together,” Thom muttered to himself. He then smiled to the priest and nodded. “Thanks for letting me know, Ivan. Let’s get you get back to Drezel, and I’ll see who the king has so graciously sent to help.”

After escorting the young man back over the Salve and into mausoleum, Thom made his way up to Paterdomus. He found the preliminary group in the south courtyard, and consisted of King Roald’s advisor, Aeonisig Raispher; a priest clearly serving as his aide; and four members of the Varrock Guard for a party of six in total.

Thom wasn’t impressed.

“Ah, you must be the adventurer that alerted the king to the vampyre threat!” one of the guards yelled as they spotted him, and began approaching him with another in tow. Both guards saluted him as he joined them. “Captain Rovin of the Palace Guard, I believe we met briefly when the zombies invaded Varrock. This is Sergeant MacSeumas of the City division.”

The city guard was a lot older than Thom was expecting him to be. He could see grey streaking through the man’s beard and the lines on his face were clear. But his movements did not betray anything but a man in the back end of his prime and there was a keenness in the man’s eyes, which twinkled slightly as he watched Thom appraise him. The sergeant smirked in amusement.

“Don’t ye be underestimating me, laddie,” the man’s accent was thick and northern to Thom’s ears. “I was dealing with thugs, thieves and bandits before you were out of swaddling, and none of them have gotten the best of me, not in almost thirty years. To be frank, lad, I’m more worried about you and Twitchy over there.”

MacSeumas motioned his head to the priest next to Aeonisig, who was exceptionally fidgety, now that it had been mentioned. Thankfully, the man was not in the usual priest garb, but in armour. Granted, it was emblazoned with Saradomin symbols and all but painted a target on the man, but at least it was armour.

“I’ll have you know that I’ve spent a great many years fighting the demon scourge in the name of our great Lord Saradomin,” the priest retorted hotly, puffing up his chest. He glared at Thom and MacSeumas, daring either of them to belittle his accomplishments. “And the name is Fletcher; Alistair Fletcher.”

“We’re not fighting demons here, Master Fletcher, nor are they undead like the zombies you’ve dealt with, Captain Rovin,” Thom chided both groups. As he looked at them, he felt himself getting angrier.

Four guardsmen, in bronze chainmail, wielding silver-edged iron weapons, which probably weren’t even blessed, and a single priest in demon slaying armour. That’s what was meant to protect Misthalin from an army of half-starved vyres. And they all thought they were at all capable of coming out of this fight alive?

He could see the confidence in their eyes, and that they thought they knew what they were dealing with. It reminded him of the Myreque, how underestimating Lord Drakan had cost them all their lives. Every death flashed in his mind’s eye as each threw caution to the wind, leaving nothing but a bloody mist in the air.

He would rid them of their delusion. He had to.

“Vyres are flesh and blood, just like you and I,” he explained, looking at each man before him. Aeonisig, Captain Rovin and the two guards behind him were looking at him in confusion, but MacSeumas and Fletcher were regarding him with close attention. Thom drew in a breath. “They’re stronger than us, tougher than us, and to them: we’re nothing but food. They’re not here to fight us, they’re hunting! And, they’re invulnerable to all but a half dozen weapons!”

He saw the guard’s faces drop in horror, staring at the weapons they realised were useless to them. The two grunts were starting to look pale, and even Rovin was far less confident than he had been a minute ago. Aeonisig looked like he was about to faint. There were only two in the group that had taken the information in stride, MacSeumas and Fletcher, who were looking at their arms and armour with quiet consideration.

Those two would survive, Thom realised with relief, even if no one else did.

“Is holy water effective against them?” Fletcher asked quietly, raising up a bottle of the stuff.

“I don’t know, never tried it,” Thom answered honestly. He frowned slightly as a thought came to mind before cocking his head to a side. “It works against bloodvelds, though, and they’ll have those.”

“I can work with that,” the priest smiled, nodding his head to Thom. “For as long as Saradomin smiles upon me, I shall rid this world of all Zammorakian filth.”

“And if our weapons and armour aren’t good enough, lad, we’ll need something else,” MacSeumas noted, sheathing his two handed broadsword. He faced Thom squarely, looking straight into the adventurer’s good eye. “What works against these bastards?”

“Vampyres!” Aeonisig yelled, pointing past the group and towards Morytania.

It was a small scouting party, only three low ranking members of the vyrewatch, flying past the River Salve and over the fence. With Thom, five fighters and Aeonisig wailing in a corner, the fight should have been an easy one, but he was the only one truly equipped for it.

Rushing into fray, Thom sliced at the first vrye with a sickle, cutting from hip to collarbone. A slash from the one in his right hand tore out the creature’s throat and it fell limply to the floor. A growl from his left made him spin to the sound, his stomach dropping at the too-close noise. He raised his arm in vain hope of protecting himself, only to find the vyre straining against a silver-edged broadsword. Wasting no time, he slashed at his opponent, catching it in the face and sending it reeling back, howling in pain. An uppercut from his left sickle put it out of its misery.

He turned to the final vyre and saw MacSeumas and Fletcher teaming up against it, reading each other’s moves instinctively as if they had done so for years. After a well-aimed bottle of holy water was smashed into the vyre’s face, the aged guard brought his broadsword down on the creature’s head. Vyres may be the ultimate hunters, but even they weren’t immune to a man determined to cleave their head open.

When MacSeumas was done bludgeoning the vyre to death, he turned to Thom. Sheathing his blade, he walked slowly up to the adventurer. He looked at the sickle in Thom’s left hand and then back up at his face.

“Ye almost skewered me with that, laddie,” he said calmly. “Yer flailing on ye left, and not seeing danger ‘til it’s on ye. Ye should use ye right hand more, swap out your left sickle for a shield.”

“I’m left handed,” Thom stated.

The guard paused at the admission, mouth open slightly in surprise. His eyes darted from side to side, trying to deal with the information quickly and coming to a solution.

“Ah,” he said finally, crossing his arms and leaning on his back foot. “Well, if ye were anyone else, I’d say hang it all up and retire, but I can’t see ye doing that. So, I think I’ll keep an eye on yer left for ye, try not to skewer me.”

“I’ll come along too!” Fletcher announced, standing beside MacSeumas.

“I don’t need both of you to babysit me,” Thom snapped.

“With Saradomin as my witness, I will not stand idly by while evil looms above us,” Fletcher declared in a boisterous, passionate tone. He then quietened and glanced cautiously towards the king’s advisor before leaning in towards Thom. “Don’t leave me here with Aeonisig. I will do no good latched to that idiot’s side. Please.”

Thom stared at the priest in surprise. He’d always thought little of Aeonisig Raispher, but had politely kept his opinion to himself. Knowing that this priest shared a similar opinion was unexpected, and more than a little funny. It made him crack a smile for the first time since Saradomin knew how long.

“Alright,” Thom nodded, caving to the priest’s request. “I guess you might be able to help Ivan and Drezel strengthen the wards around the Salve.”

“Saradomin bless you,” the priest recited gratefully, making the mark of the star before Thom.

As Thom walked over to said advisor, who was in the process of a complete meltdown, he couldn’t help but feel safer with those two at his back.

[darkhymns-fic]

An Old Friend of Noishe

“You must know, don’t you? To live this long…it can’t mean much anymore.”

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Noishe, Mithos Yggdrasill, Lloyd Irving Rating: G Mirror Links: AO3, FF.net Notes: Based off this skit.

When Noishe had feathers instead of fur, and perched on Kratos’ shoulder instead of curling up by his side, he would watch how Martel and Mithos slept. Their group could never find proper lodgings – comprised of three half-elves, a disgraced Tethe’allan knight, and a strange bird that stole portions of Kratos’ meals whenever possible. So like most nights, they found a place underneath the stars, building a crude campfire, relying on its warmth, for they had lost most of their packs to rabid wolves earlier that day.

Even back then, Kratos had insisted on taking first watch, one that Yuan would always counter against. Noishe had not been Yuan’s most favorite animal, his talons making shreds of a section of the half-elf’s cape. Or leaving little surprises in his hair whenever he hitched a ride on Yuan’s own shoulders. “I hate birds,” Yuan had grumbled, fumbling with his hair knot as Martel laughed. Kratos had never punished Noishe for it. Mithos himself seem pleased with the bird.

That boy was resting now, shivering still, with Martel’s arm over him as his head laid in her lap. She sat up against a rock formation, body half-curved over her younger brother. The fire cast moving shadows over both their faces, underneath their eyes. They looked so tired.

Yuan was marching around the perimeter, trying to make up for what he had announced as Kratos’ lazy way of doing his duties. He didn’t see how the man’s eyes scanned the area, or how his right hand always rested near the hilt of his sword. Beneath Noishe’s feet, he could feel Kratos’ muscles remain tense. Even back then, the ex-knight rarely slept.

Shaking out his feathers, Noishe then started to preen his wing. His colors were varying shades of green and white, the firelight making them more spectral than most. Kratos nudged him slightly with a finger.

“Not now. The brightness will be too much.”

Noishe slowly complied, huddling back into a ball, head down. The campfire was already quite a risk. On more than one occasion, the sunlight would reflect off his wings into the enemy’s eyes. He was always high up into the sky, so it wasn’t like they could get him… unless they had arrows.

He stayed quiet, continuing to watch the siblings sleep. Yuan’s eyes were to the horizon, and Kratos’ to the grasses and trees nearby. At the very least, Noishe could keep his own eyes on these poor, tired children.

It was just a few weeks before Martel’s death that Noishe transformed. Kratos had been the only one to witness it. He had thought the bird to be sick at first, with the way Noishe had shook and clung to his arm. More than a few hours later, Noishe had stretched out his legs – all four of them – and could wag his tail. Kratos had not said anything, except pat the new creature’s furry head.

Out of everyone, Mithos had been the most excited for Noishe’s new look.

“So no more birdseed for you, huh?” Mithos scratched behind the creature’s large ears, nearly as large as his head. Noishe panted with joy, then stood up on hind legs to place his front paws over Mithos’ chest. “Ha! Good doggy!”

Yuan frowned. “He’s not like any dog I’ve ever seen.”

Martel had looked down upon them both, holding her staff upright, the sunlight making her hair shimmer. “Then we can name him as a new breed.”

Yuan had nothing to say to that besides a half-hearted grumble.

But Noishe had been paying the most attention to Mithos, recalling how the boy hadn’t smiled so wide in a long while. After that, the boy fed him extra food from their stash, scratched his belly, and ran with him as they journeyed. At night time, he would curl beside the animal, grateful for the fur and its warmth. As Noishe got used to his new body, he even gave Mithos a ride once in a while.

“You’re a real good boy, aren’t ya?” Mithos patted his back, careful to not let the heels of his shoes hit Noishe’s sides. “And smart, too!”

Kratos had also looked pleased. They had just returned from a training session, one that Noishe could tell that Mithos was improving at. “I fear that we may be spoiling you,” he said in jest.

It was perhaps a good thing that Noishe had transformed when he did. Yuan kept seeking Martel’s attention, and she was already returning it in kind. It was ample time for Mithos to hang out with both Noishe and Kratos, his sword arm getting better with reflexes, and Noishe’s own scratching techniques getting better with each day.

“Wanna know a secret, Noishe?” Mithos had told him once, away from the others as they went for a walk. Noishe was proud to be a protector, his large size and sharp fangs keeping away many thieves. “I hope my sister will be happy.”

Noishe had barked at him, tongue lolling as his feet left paw prints in the dust of the road.

“And I’ll be happy, too. Don’t worry.” Mithos grinned. Blonde hair framed his oval face, as perfect as a portrait. He patted him again. “Once everything’s done, then hopefully, we all can be.”

When Martel died, Mithos had talked with him again.

“Kratos said you’ve lived for a long time.”

The boy had sat next to him, eyes now dry, but his hands still shaking. Noishe could see the remnants of blood beneath the fingernails. Further ahead, into the trees, both Kratos and Yuan dealt with the shell they were left with. Kratos, in his experience with battle, knew what to do in the aftermath, and had gathered the items necessary to arrange a dead body. Yuan wouldn’t let him do that alone, as he rarely let him do much of anything else. They were gone, and Noishe was here with Mithos. Someone needed to look after the child.

“And that you’ll continue to keep living. For years and years and years.”

Mithos’ tone was as even as polished slate. His eyes were forward, out into the roads. Night had fallen, and the blood patch on the ground was near invisible now.

“Do you even understand how much time that is?” Mithos patted Noishe’s head, fingers digging into the fur. Noishe could smell them still – of burnished iron. “Do you know how much you could do with all that?”

The fingers gripped. Noishe’s claws dug into the ground.

“…You must. You’ve lived longer than me.” Mithos turned to him. “And in all that time, you’ve never found out how to solve a problem like this.”

Disappointment. Mithos let him go, then stood up.

Noishe looked to him. What will you do now?

Sometimes people could understand him. Sometimes not. Kratos had only started to understand his chirps and warbles before next needing to differentiate between whines. But elves sometimes could, with their blood humming with mana. Even half-elves.

Mithos’ smile was hollow. The moonlight cast shadows over his face, underneath his eyes. He looked so tired.

“To save my sister,” he said. Then he walked back into the tree’s enclosure.

The night was cold, so Noishe huddled beside a familiar sleeping body. Lloyd was barely in his sleeping pack, and his snores could alert an army for miles. But Colette had said no such things were near them, and that the area was safe.

Regal took first watch, and was one of the few to be away from the campfire’s ring of light. Noishe, just as awake, watched the two nearest to the fire. Genis was shivering, even with Raine’s arm over him, his head resting in her lap. His sister laid against a rock formation, body half-curved over her younger brother. The fire cast moving shadows over both their faces, underneath their eyes. They looked so tired.

Near Noishe, someone else was watching as well.

“Are you angry with me?”

The creature suppressed a growl, instead settling for his fur to stand up. Mithos, he had thought, had slept as well. Or would pretend to. The boy, in his recent joining with the group, moved like a ghost on nights like this. His clothes burned bright in the dark, and the smile he would form over his face in the day would vanish when the shadows covered them.

Mithos sat next to Noishe, and ran a hand through his fur. Fingers crept in, scratching behind the ears. Noishe’s tail wagged slightly, but he did not move.

“You know I won’t hurt them, right?” He continued to scratch. “I like them. They’re nice.”

Noishe released his tension and, for old time’s sake, pushed his head against Mithos’ hand.

“You’re a good boy, Noishe,” Mithos told him, and for a moment, he sounded like himself. “You’re a smart boy, too, aren’t ya?”

The fingers continued to scratch, but then they scratched hard. The hand trembled.

“Wanna know a secret?” Mithos leaned in. His whisper traveled through Noishe’s ears like poison. “I’m tired of living. I’m tired of it all.”

Noishe turned to look at him. The firelight cast shadows over his face, underneath his eyes. He looked so very tired.

Noishe whined. He stood up slightly, hoping Mithos would let go of his fur. He did not.

“That’s not something people should say?” Mithos laughed, slightly, empty. “But you know what else? I think what I’m doing may be wrong.”

That is what we have all been trying to tell you.

Mithos shook his head. “What a smart boy… But now, that I’ve started to think these things, I can’t help but feel there’s no meaning in all this. In anything.”

The hand gripped tighter. Noishe’s claws dug into the ground.

“There’s no meaning to life when there’s no end to it.”

Noishe’s whine was low, barely enough to be heard. The boy’s eyes had wandered back to the others.

“Even when everyone here has accepted me as a friend. Genis, Raine, Lloyd… in the end, it still doesn’t mean much. Not when I’m so tired.”

Then Mithos smiled. Hollow, like before.

“You must know, don’t you? To live this long…it can’t mean much anymore. I can change forms, too…. But that’s all it is. Different body, same me.”

His hand curled, balling up Noishe’s fur in a tight squeeze. Noishe felt the skin on the back of his neck stretch.

“You must get tired, too. Right? It doesn’t matter then. To continue like this. People die and they’re replaced by those who are the same. Haven’t you noticed that? It doesn’t change, no matter how long you live. In the end, people are still the same.”

Mithos placed his other hand over Noishe’s head, turning him around to face him fully.

“…Except her, of course. And I can’t think I’m wrong. I can’t stop now. But I’m tired, so tired. You’re tired, too, aren’t you? It’s better to not live for so long. That’s one thing I know for sure. It’s better to not live for long at all.”

Mithos’ other hand gripped his fur tight. Noishe gave a sharp whine, nearly a screech.

Lloyd flinched, sitting up quickly to find his dog shivering next to him, hunched over. No one else was in sight. “Agh! Noishe! Why’d you have to be dumb like that? There’s no monsters around!”

Noishe shook out his fur, then quickly padded over to Lloyd. He rested his head in the other’s lap. Whines couldn’t stop leaving his throat. He heard the clinking of Regal’s chains, but nothing more.

“…Hey. What’s got you spooked so bad?” Lloyd’s voice softened, and his hands went to pet Noishe’s head. Fingers brushed through his fur, hitting behind ears and under jowls. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Off to a corner of the camp, he saw another bundle, near Raine and Genis. Mithos’ hair reflected the firelight as he slept, his body moving slightly as he breathed.

Noishe whined further and buried his head in Lloyd’s blankets.

“Wh- hey!” Lloyd shifted, but didn’t force the so-called dog from his spot. “Okay, alright, just be a good boy and don’t start kicking me in your sleep again..”

Noishe curled beside Lloyd, who in turn kept an arm over him as he went back to sleep. Just like they used to when Lloyd was small, clinging to him tight when the nights were cold.

“People die and they’re replaced by those who are the same. Haven’t you noticed that?”

Noishe gave one last look to Mithos, all still, no longer wanting to keep up the pretense. He then placed his head back on Lloyd’s chest, who was already snoring again.

You don’t need to live long to know how wrong that is.

He kept alert throughout the night. He wasn’t tired at all.

[evolvingdoor-blog]

Now That I’m Dead

The Student Quarters in Greenland is the first apartment that I ever felt like home in. I had my own little reading nook by a window where I spent most of my time writing stories. This is the first story I ever wrote in college and it was because of that cozy reading nook in Greenland.

 Baker Street was not my usual street. Construction on 7th Street caused me to take Baker instead. The wind was strong and icy. I could feel the cold seep through my worn knitted gloves and I wished I still had my coffee. At least I had on my red wool scarf. Along with the cold, taking this route was longer and I passed by a funeral home that was usually empty. I knew nothing of its history, only that it gave me chills and made me feel a bit lonely. Loneliness in death? Yes, I could see it. Actually, I could feel it. It rolled over me, slow like a fog. The splintered door was propped open with a large gray rock. Looking in, I could see that it was no longer empty. For the first time, I noticed, this place contained people. The living ones. There weren’t many but I could see about ten people scattered throughout this tight makeshift chapel. The congregation was littered into pairs and small groups, all facing the dull stained glass window above the altar. Whoever died must not have been all that popular. Poor guy.

 His funeral was today. I never thought I’d be attending his funeral. I knew he was an older man, but that’s about it, other than his grass that grew, untamed and that his mail was only checked every now and then. He wasn’t crippled; he just didn’t do much. I could count the number of times I had seen him on one hand. If I ever caught his eye while I was out getting my own mail, I would wave politely and he would respond with a half-hearted gesture back. That was the extent of our little neighborly relationship. My wife wasn’t too sure about him; she could never quite put her finger on it. “Something’s wrong with people who don’t care about appearances,” she would tell me. She never trusted anyone that didn’t keep their grass cut. We heard about his death from the folks across the road who happened to know his daughter. This tidbit of information peaked my nosey wife’s interest. With pity on my part and an incessant need to gossip on my wife’s part, we ended up at his funeral. We didn’t even know his full name.

I remember seeing him in Harvey’s one day. I wasn’t usually the one doing the grocery shopping, but that day I had to pick up some corn on my way home.

I was standing in front of the wall of canned vegetables. Why were there twenty different kinds of the same thing? My wife is picky. I knew I would have picked the wrong one and I wouldn’t here the end of it for a week. I pulled out my phone and dialed home.

“Honey, what was the brand that you wanted?” I asked my wife.

“What do you mean, what brand?” She replied.

“The corn. There’s like six hundred brands.” I said back and looked around at the cans in front of me.

“I don’t want canned corn. I want fresh corn.” She said.

I let out a sigh of frustration and put the can I had in my hand back on the shelf.

           “Well why didn’t you tell me that?” I said and turned the cart.

           “I did. You just don’t listen to me.” She huffed back at me.

I was about to leave the aisle when I saw our old neighbor. I didn’t think it was him at first, he never really left his house.

           “Hey. Honey guess who is here. You’ll never guess.” I whispered into the phone.

           “Who?” She replied.

           “The neighbor!” I said

The old man was shuffling along, using the cart to keep himself steady. He stopped and looked up at the wall of cans, not seeming to know what he was looking for. I understood the feeling.

           “The old man? What is he doing there?” She asked.

           “I assume he’s buying groceries, obviously.” I said.

           “Yeah but he never does that. The assistant people bring him food every day, why is he there? He doesn’t cook.” She said.

The man picked up a can and brought it close to his face. He squinted a little, trying to read the can. It was a can of asparagus.

           “How would you know?” I replied.

The man shook his head and he put the can back on the shelf, only to pick up another can.

           “Just hurry up and get home, dinner is almost ready and I still need that corn. Quit gossiping.” She said.

           “But it’s so sad, he’s just looking around. He has no idea what he’s doing. I don’t even think he can read the labels. And you’re one to talk, you know everything about everyone in this town, don’t deny it.” I said back to her and made my way to the produce section.

           “Just get the corn.” She said and hung up the phone.

           “Love you too,” I said to no one.

I gave the man one last look. He had two cans in his hand and he shrugged his shoulders and dropped them into the cart. He waddled a little further down the aisle and I left to get the other kind of corn.

           That day in the grocery store wasn’t really that long ago. It’s crazy to think about seeing someone right before they die. Looking back on it and knowing that they were about it die-it’s pretty freaky, actually.

                                                           ______

He was quite the dashing young man in the year I met him, 1958. Girls flocked to him; I never thought I had a chance. He had emeralds for eyes and I fell right into them just like all the other girls on our street. He had wavy brown hair that he never tamed down. I remember he wore a leather jacket almost every day. It was like a symbol of his popularity and heart-breaker status around the school. His friends would tease him about the love notes he would receive in his locker during school. He tried to act like he didn’t know why they put the notes in his locker. He blushed a little every time he got another one. As humble as he was, I think he knew he was good looking.

Being with George was the best year of my life. Before I heard of his death, the last time I heard from George Anderson was thirty years ago when I found out he was home from the war. I married a man named John while George was away. I waited as long as I could. I felt guilty, but the pressure to be married before twenty-five was heavy. I regret my decision now. If only I hadn’t listened to society. I could have married him; I would have married the right one. I’ve loved George all these years. Did George hate me for not waiting on him?

I remember hearing about his return in detail. I was at home one night, my husband already in bed, and the phone rang. It rang during the evening news. They were discussing soldiers being brought home and what the next move would be. I remember the footage of peace rallies, hippies raising their signs and chanting in the background. The person on the phone was my best friend Marsha. She told me he showed up to church that Sunday. No one knew for sure when he was coming home. It was a surprise to everyone. I held in my tears. Regret stung as it leaked from my eyes. I asked if he looked happy. Marsha said he looked different. Not happy or sad or really anything, just different. George was my first true love. I can still smell his aftershave when I hug my husband sometimes.  I smell cinnamon with woodsy hint when I’m supposed to smell cigarettes and peppermint. I love my husband.  I’ve had a good life. I was just never in love with John. My heart belonged somewhere else. Now I’m sitting on the red, scratchy material of the pew at his funeral. An ending has never before seemed so final.

                                                           _________

           I’m glad he had a quiet death. He deserved some peace. My buddy was dead. I guess that’s part of getting old. We’re forced to watch our friends slip away, quietly wondering who will be next. George and I were thick as thieves, even though he was a closed off fellow, never letting people see all of himself. I remember the day we met each other like it was yesterday even though it seemed like so long ago now.

           We had just gotten to the army base. Everything was go-go-go and we didn’t have much time to think, it was all happening so fast. People were yelling at us. We were ushered into our bunks to unpack and I was grateful for the chance to be alone. The guys in the bunks around me were laughing and joking around. Everyone seemed to know each other.

           “Hey squirt-what are you doing here? You’re so fucking small…what did they think you could do?” The guy in the bunk on my left had a loud and boisterous voice. He was talking to the guy on the right side of my bunk.

           “Oh I know now, they’re probably going to strap a bomb to your back and have you crawl over to them. You’re so tiny no one will even see you coming.” The six foot-two jerk laughed and his friends all laughed along with him. Why did they even laugh? That was a lame joke anyway. You mean I have to live with this obnoxious prick? I looked at the poor guy that they were picking on. He wasn’t standing up for himself. He wasn’t paying them any attention. He had his head resting in one of his hands and he was staring off into space. The other guys went back to degrading their girlfriends and I walked up to the boy sitting on the bed.

           “Hey, I’m Buddy,” I stuck my hand out in front of him.

           “I’m George.” He reached his hand out and gave my hand a timid shake.

           “Those guys are pricks. Don’t pay them any attention.” I tried to let him know he had a friend here. We all needed a friend here.

           The day I met George will always be how I remember him, shy and withdrawn, always making you wonder what he was really thinking. We lost touch over the years and now I regret not making that simple two-hour drive to see him more often. Now that he’s gone, I miss him more than ever. I looked up and over to my right at the pews in front of me and I saw his grandson. I think his name was Darren. He was only a baby the last time I saw him. Even then, it was only a picture that his wife, Ruth sent in the mail.                                                                                                                                    ________

I didn’t know him well. He was an abstract figure in my head-a mystery. I knew I had a grandpa. I knew he was my mother’s father and that he lived alone in a two-bedroom house in Orlando, Florida. We didn’t live in Florida when we were growing up and my mother never went to visit. She always said we were going to Florida one day. She even promised us Disney World. But like most things she promised, it never happened. She never said anything bad about our grandpa, only that he was lonely after grandma died. I didn’t know her either. She died before my sister and I were born. My sister didn’t bother coming today. She was never as nice as me. I think she takes after our mother. Hearing the preacher talk about my grandfather, I realized that he knew him better than I did. It’s kind of ironic isn’t it? My grandfather’s funeral is on Baker Street. Too bad Sherlock Holmes isn’t here to solve this mystery. I looked up at mom sitting beside me. She had just popped a piece of gum in her mouth and looked at her watch.

                                                           _________

My son must think I’m a horrible person. I never meant to be. I guess I just turned out a little harder than I would have liked. Dad never played around when I was a kid. His strict, no-nonsense behavior didn’t disappear after he came home from the war. He never talked much before or after the war, but when he came home he was a little meaner.

I remember this one time when I was in high school; it was my freshman year, and this boy, a tall blue-eyed senior, asked me to the prom. Dad told me that under no circumstances was I going to this prom with that boy. I was furious with him. Here I was, the tender age of fifteen, the social status ladder of high school above my head, and I had a senior ask me to prom. I threw a hissy fit for weeks. I protested and all but boycotted my parents. When I started driving, the relationship between my dad and I got rockier. Dad was always fifty years behind everyone else. He was a simple man who stuck to his simple values. He never changed with the times. It was the late eighties, not the fifties; families no longer watched the news together. While my friends went to parties, I stayed home and helped wash the dishes. Instead of going with my friends to the concert, I listened to Bon Jovi in my room with the volume down because didn’t like that music.

I thought back to the Christmas where we used our first artificial Christmas tree. I was still pretty young, probably eight or nine. All of our trees up until that point had been real. Dad had chopped it down himself every year. It was never big, but it was a real tree. It made the whole house smell like pine. The pine needles were sharp and waxy, I remember pricking myself trying to put ornaments on the branches. The fake tree never had the warmth that the real one did.

           The sound of Bing Crosby floated through the house. Mom said Bing Crosby was the best way to go with Christmas music. She said it wasn’t Christmas unless it was a Crosby Christmas. The old record player was set up on the coffee table in the middle of the living room.

“Mom, why haven’t we picked a tree yet?” I asked, sitting on the floor beside the record player.

“Your father is trying something new this year, dear.” She sighed and flipped a page in her magazine.

“What do you mean?” I said.

Before my mother could say anything else, the front door opened and my father came barreling in.

           “Here’s the tree,” He said, plopping a cardboard box on the floor. “Help me put it together.”

           “Put it together? What do you mean?” I asked.

He wrestled with the box a bit and opened the lid. He said the tree was in there but I didn’t smell the pine. It didn’t smell like Christmas.

           “This year,” he said as he pulled the green thing out of the box, “we are going to put up a fake tree.” He kept pulling pieces out of the cardboard.

           “A fake tree? Why aren’t we using a real one? It’s not Christmas without a real tree!” I cried.

           “There’s no mess this way. I won’t have to haul out a dead tree and your mother doesn’t have to vacuum those damned pine needles three times a day.” He pulled the instructions out of the box, squinted at them, and then threw them to the side.

I looked at mom, hoping she would say something, anything to get him to stop putting up this plastic tree instead of a Christmas tree.

           “But…dad we have to have a real tree! It isn’t Christmas unless it’s real,” I whined.

He slammed the next section of the tree down on the ground and I jumped. My mom got up from the couch and inched her way towards my father. She picked up the directions he tossed away and started to look like she was helping.

           “Tough luck. You’re getting this one. I already bought it and it makes a lot more sense than goin’ out there and choppin’ down something that I got to haul out later and burn.” He put the smallest and final section of the tree on top of the rest of it and I knew the discussion was over.

           I heard the preacher finish the prayer and the room joined in with a collective “amen.” Was the service over already? I feel bad that we didn’t do much more for him, but retail doesn’t let you breathe this time of year. I’m not really that sad though. Does that make me a bad person? All I can think is, thank god dad had life insurance.

[steeleholtingon]

This Evil Overlord List is Copyright 1996-1997 by Peter Anspach. If you enjoy it, feel free to pass it along or post it anywhere, provided that (1) it is not altered in any way, and (2) this copyright notice is attached.

(From the User-Friendly Archives)

Attention all Evil Overlord List Aspirants: Contrary to popular belief, taking over the universe is not as easy as it would first appear. Due to the complexity of this task, Peter regrets that he is currently unable to give the list the attention it deserves. The list is therefore going on a temporary hiatus. This is a temporary condition. As soon as he is able to respond in a timely manner -- or until he becomes unquestioned lord and master of all things, whichever comes first -- the list will not be updated and no new suggestions will be considered. He would sincerely apologize for this inconvenience, were it in character for an Evil Overlord to do so.

Being an Evil Overlord seems to be a good career choice. It pays well, there are all sorts of perks and you can set your own hours. However every Evil Overlord I've read about in books or seen in movies invariably gets overthrown and destroyed in the end. I've noticed that no matter whether they are barbarian lords, deranged wizards, mad scientists or alien invaders, they always seem to make the same basic mistakes every single time. With that in mind, allow me to present...

The Top 100 Things I'd Do

If I Ever Became An Evil Overlord

My Legions of Terror will have helmets with clear plexiglass visors, not face-concealing ones.

My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through.

My noble half-brother whose throne I usurped will be killed, not kept anonymously imprisoned in a forgotten cell of my dungeon.

Shooting is not too good for my enemies.

The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragons of Eternity. It will be in my safe-deposit box. The same applies to the object which is my one weakness.

I will not gloat over my enemies' predicament before killing them.

When I've captured my adversary and he says, "Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?" I'll say, "No." and shoot him. No, on second thought I'll shoot him then say "No."

After I kidnap the beautiful princess, we will be married immediately in a quiet civil ceremony, not a lavish spectacle in three weeks' time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out.

I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will not be a large red button labelled "Danger: Do Not Push". The big red button marked "Do Not Push" will instead trigger a spray of bullets on anyone stupid enough to disregard it. Similarly, the ON/OFF switch will not clearly be labelled as such.

I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum -- a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well.

I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat.

One of my advisors will be an average five-year-old child. Any flaws in my plan that he is able to spot will be corrected before implementation.

All slain enemies will be cremated, or at least have several rounds of ammunition emptied into them, not left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. The announcement of their deaths, as well as any accompanying celebration, will be deferred until after the aforementioned disposal.

The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request.

I will never employ any device with a digital countdown. If I find that such a device is absolutely unavoidable, I will set it to activate when the counter reaches 117 and the hero is just putting his plan into operation.

I will never utter the sentence "But before I kill you, there's just one thing I want to know."

When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice.

I will not have a son. Although his laughably under-planned attempt to usurp power would easily fail, it would provide a fatal distraction at a crucial point in time.

I will not have a daughter. She would be as beautiful as she was evil, but one look at the hero's rugged countenance and she'd betray her own father.

Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter. When so occupied, it's too easy to miss unexpected developments that a more attentive individual could adjust to accordingly.

I will hire a talented fashion designer to create original uniforms for my Legions of Terror, as opposed to some cheap knock-offs that make them look like Nazi stormtroopers, Roman footsoldiers, or savage Mongol hordes. All were eventually defeated and I want my troops to have a more positive mind-set.

No matter how tempted I am with the prospect of unlimited power, I will not consume any energy field bigger than my head.

I will keep a special cache of low-tech weapons and train my troops in their use. That way -- even if the heroes manage to neutralize my power generator and/or render the standard-issue energy weapons useless -- my troops will not be overrun by a handful of savages armed with spears and rocks.

I will maintain a realistic assessment of my strengths and weaknesses. Even though this takes some of the fun out of the job, at least I will never utter the line "No, this cannot be! I AM INVINCIBLE!!!" (After that, death is usually instantaneous.)

No matter how well it would perform, I will never construct any sort of machinery which is completely indestructible except for one small and virtually inaccessible vulnerable spot.

No matter how attractive certain members of the rebellion are, there is probably someone just as attractive who is not desperate to kill me. Therefore, I will think twice before ordering a prisoner sent to my bedchamber.

I will never build only one of anything important. All important systems will have redundant control panels and power supplies. For the same reason I will always carry at least two fully loaded weapons at all times.

My pet monster will be kept in a secure cage from which it cannot escape and into which I could not accidentally stumble.

I will dress in bright and cheery colors, and so throw my enemies into confusion.

All bumbling conjurers, clumsy squires, no-talent bards, and cowardly thieves in the land will be preemptively put to death. My foes will surely give up and abandon their quest if they have no source of comic relief.

All naive, busty tavern wenches in my realm will be replaced with surly, world-weary waitresses who will provide no unexpected reinforcement and/or romantic subplot for the hero or his sidekick.

I will not fly into a rage and kill a messenger who brings me bad news just to illustrate how evil I really am. Good messengers are hard to come by.

I won't require high-ranking female members of my organization to wear a stainless-steel bustier. Morale is better with a more casual dress-code. Similarly, outfits made entirely from black leather will be reserved for formal occasions.

I will not turn into a snake. It never helps.

I will not grow a goatee. In the old days they made you look diabolic. Now they just make you look like a disaffected member of Generation X.

I will not imprison members of the same party in the same cell block, let alone the same cell. If they are important prisoners, I will keep the only key to the cell door on my person instead of handing out copies to every bottom-rung guard in the prison.

If my trusted lieutenant tells me my Legions of Terror are losing a battle, I will believe him. After all, he's my trusted lieutenant.

If an enemy I have just killed has a younger sibling or offspring anywhere, I will find them and have them killed immediately, instead of waiting for them to grow up harboring feelings of vengeance towards me in my old age.

If I absolutely must ride into battle, I will certainly not ride at the forefront of my Legions of Terror, nor will I seek out my opposite number among his army.

I will be neither chivalrous nor sporting. If I have an unstoppable superweapon, I will use it as early and as often as possible instead of keeping it in reserve.

Once my power is secure, I will destroy all those pesky time-travel devices.

When I capture the hero, I will make sure I also get his dog, monkey, ferret, or whatever sickeningly cute little animal capable of untying ropes and filching keys happens to follow him around.

I will maintain a healthy amount of skepticism when I capture the beautiful rebel and she claims she is attracted to my power and good looks and will gladly betray her companions if I just let her in on my plans.

I will only employ bounty hunters who work for money. Those who work for the pleasure of the hunt tend to do dumb things like even the odds to give the other guy a sporting chance.

I will make sure I have a clear understanding of who is responsible for what in my organization. For example, if my general screws up I will not draw my weapon, point it at him, say "And here is the price for failure," then suddenly turn and kill some random underling.

If an advisor says to me "My liege, he is but one man. What can one man possibly do?", I will reply "This." and kill the advisor.

If I learn that a callow youth has begun a quest to destroy me, I will slay him while he is still a callow youth instead of waiting for him to mature.

I will treat any beast which I control through magic or technology with respect and kindness. Thus if the control is ever broken, it will not immediately come after me for revenge.

If I learn the whereabouts of the one artifact which can destroy me, I will not send all my troops out to seize it. Instead I will send them out to seize something else and quietly put a Want-Ad in the local paper.

My main computers will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with standard IBM and Macintosh powerbooks.

If one of my dungeon guards begins expressing concern over the conditions in the beautiful princess' cell, I will immediately transfer him to a less people-oriented position.

I will hire a team of board-certified architects and surveyors to examine my castle and inform me of any secret passages and abandoned tunnels that I might not know about.

If the beautiful princess that I capture says "I'll never marry you! Never, do you hear me, NEVER!!!", I will say "Oh well" and kill her.

I will not strike a bargain with a demonic being then attempt to double-cross it simply because I feel like being contrary.

The deformed mutants and odd-ball psychotics will have their place in my Legions of Terror. However before I send them out on important covert missions that require tact and subtlety, I will first see if there is anyone else equally qualified who would attract less attention.

My Legions of Terror will be trained in basic marksmanship. Any who cannot learn to hit a man-sized target at 10 meters will be used for target practice.

Before employing any captured artifacts or machinery, I will carefully read the owner's manual.

If it becomes necessary to escape, I will never stop to pose dramatically and toss off a one-liner.

I will never build a sentient computer smarter than I am.

My five-year-old child advisor will also be asked to decipher any code I am thinking of using. If he breaks the code in under 30 seconds, it will not be used. Note: this also applies to passwords.

If my advisors ask "Why are you risking everything on such a mad scheme?", I will not proceed until I have a response that satisfies them.

I will design fortress hallways with no alcoves or protruding structural supports which intruders could use for cover in a firefight.

Bulk trash will be disposed of in incinerators, not compactors. And they will be kept hot, with none of that nonsense about flames going through accessible tunnels at predictable intervals.

I will see a competent psychiatrist and get cured of all extremely unusual phobias and bizarre compulsive habits which could prove to be a disadvantage.

If I must have computer systems with publically available terminals, the maps they display of my complex will have a room clearly marked as the Main Control Room. That room will be the Execution Chamber. The actual main control room will be marked as Sewage Overflow Containment.

My security keypad will actually be a fingerprint scanner. Anyone who watches someone press a sequence of buttons or dusts the pad for fingerprints then subsequently tries to enter by repeating that sequence will trigger the alarm system.

No matter how many shorts we have in the system, my guards will be instructed to treat every surveillance camera malfunction as a full-scale emergency.

I will spare someone who saved my life sometime in the past. This is only reasonable as it encourages others to do so. However, the offer is good one time only. If they want me to spare them again, they'd better save my life again.

All midwives will be banned from the realm. All babies will be delivered at state-approved hospitals. Orphans will be placed in foster-homes, not abandoned in the woods to be raised by creatures of the wild.

When my guards split up to search for intruders, they will always travel in groups of at least two. They will be trained so that if one of them disappears mysteriously while on patrol, the other will immediately initiate an alert and call for backup, instead of quizzically peering around a corner.

If I decide to test a lieutenant's loyalty and see if he/she should be made a trusted lieutenant, I will have a crack squad of marksmen standing by in case the answer is no.

If all the heroes are standing together around a strange device and begin to taunt me, I will pull out a conventional weapon instead of using my unstoppable superweapon on them.

I will not agree to let the heroes go free if they win a rigged contest, even though my advisors assure me it is impossible for them to win.

When I create a multimedia presentation of my plan designed so that my five-year-old advisor can easily understand the details, I will not label the disk "Project Overlord" and leave it lying on top of my desk.

I will instruct my Legions of Terror to attack the hero en masse, instead of standing around waiting while members break off and attack one or two at a time.

If the hero runs up to my roof, I will not run up after him and struggle with him in an attempt to push him over the edge. I will also not engage him at the edge of a cliff. (In the middle of a rope-bridge over a river of molten lava is not even worth considering.)

If I have a fit of temporary insanity and decide to give the hero the chance to reject a job as my trusted lieutentant, I will retain enough sanity to wait until my current trusted lieutenant is out of earshot before making the offer.

I will not tell my Legions of Terror "And he must be taken alive!" The command will be "And try to take him alive if it is reasonably practical."

If my doomsday device happens to come with a reverse switch, as soon as it has been employed it will be melted down and made into limited-edition commemorative coins.

If my weakest troops fail to eliminate a hero, I will send out my best troops instead of wasting time with progressively stronger ones as he gets closer and closer to my fortress.

If I am fighting with the hero atop a moving platform, have disarmed him, and am about to finish him off and he glances behind me and drops flat, I too will drop flat instead of quizzically turning around to find out what he saw.

I will not shoot at any of my enemies if they are standing in front of the crucial support beam to a heavy, dangerous, unbalanced structure.

If I'm eating dinner with the hero, put poison in his goblet, then have to leave the table for any reason, I will order new drinks for both of us instead of trying to decide whether or not to switch with him.

I will not have captives of one sex guarded by members of the opposite sex.

I will not use any plan in which the final step is horribly complicated, e.g. "Align the 12 Stones of Power on the sacred altar then activate the medallion at the moment of total eclipse." Instead it will be more along the lines of "Push the button."

I will make sure that my doomsday device is up to code and properly grounded.

My vats of hazardous chemicals will be covered when not in use. Also, I will not construct walkways above them.

If a group of henchmen fail miserably at a task, I will not berate them for incompetence then send the same group out to try the task again.

After I captures the hero's superweapon, I will not immediately disband my legions and relax my guard because I believe whoever holds the weapon is unstoppable. After all, the hero held the weapon and I took it from him.

I will not design my Main Control Room so that every workstation is facing away from the door.

I will not ignore the messenger that stumbles in exhausted and obviously agitated until my personal grooming or current entertainment is finished. It might actually be important.

If I ever talk to the hero on the phone, I will not taunt him. Instead I will say this his dogged perseverance has given me new insight on the futility of my evil ways and that if he leaves me alone for a few months of quiet contemplation I will likely return to the path of righteousness. (Heroes are incredibly gullible in this regard.)

If I decide to hold a double execution of the hero and an underling who failed or betrayed me, I will see to it that the hero is scheduled to go first.

When arresting prisoners, my guards will not allow them to stop and grab a useless trinket of purely sentimental value.

My dungeon will have its own qualified medical staff complete with bodyguards. That way if a prisoner becomes sick and his cellmate tells the guard it's an emergency, the guard will fetch a trauma team instead of opening up the cell for a look.

My door mechanisms will be designed so that blasting the control panel on the outside seals the door and blasting the control panel on the inside opens the door, not vice versa.

My dungeon cells will not be furnished with objects that contain reflective surfaces or anything that can be unravelled.

If an attractive young couple enters my realm, I will carefully monitor their activities. If I find they are happy and affectionate, I will ignore them. However if circumstance have forced them together against their will and they spend all their time bickering and criticizing each other except during the intermittent occasions when they are saving each others' lives at which point there are hints of sexual tension, I will immediately order their execution.

Any data file of crucial importance will be padded to 1.45Mb in size.

Finally, to keep my subjects permanently locked in a mindless trance, I will provide each of them with free unlimited Internet access.

[blyanten]

THE DUCK AVENGER PK2: #6 ALPHA WAVES

90 million years ago, on som strange, random planet… yeah, it’s Earth. A bunch of aliens are packing up and getting ready to leave, because their enemies have arrived and are winning that fight. 

Jabba the Hut’s slightly prettier cousins.

Said enemies’ uniforms share a funny resemblance to our hero’s.

Look at those capes.

The enemies land on the planet, happily unaware that the first aliens left a surprise behind.

In the present time, at Duckmall, the nightshift is late, and the people finishing for the day has to call to let people know they’ll be late. Luckily, there’s great coverage at Duckmall, thanks to those antennas that were installed two issues ago.

Donald is still wondering why Anymore Borging would be involved with that. So tonight, the Avenger will be giving those antennas an extra look.

This is going to be hilarious next time.

At Ducklair Manor, it turns out the Everett installed “hostile intent sensors” in every single antenna, just in case someone would try to mess with them. This means that Everett can respond to an eventual threat with his idea of a reasonable response.

In other words, ARMY OF KILLER ROBOTS.

In this case, the overkill is actually what damages the antenna, specifically, the foundation, causing a minor earthquake around Duckmall.

The Avenger leaves before anyone can notice his involvement, but the night shift at Duckmall decides to make sure it’s no danger.

Nooo, better stay back until someone can confirm that that thing won’t collapse, or that the ground won’t. But no, let the mall cop do it.

Rupert goes to check, and takes long enough that the others get worried. But when he comes back, he’s seemingly fine, until you realize he’s just a tiny bit off.

And if you didn’t notice, they’ll make sure to tell you.

At Ducklair Manor next morning, Juniper and Everett have a conversation about how strange everything is. Everett says it took him a long time to figure out how things worked in this place, but it’s not dangerous. Juniper is fascinated, wanting to start familiarizing herself with her new life, and Everett decides they should take a day to do just that.

Meanwhile, the Avenger is still in the middle of moving to Century. Turns out he’s gathered quite a lot of stuff over the years, and it’s taking time to get it all in place. He also notes that Century must have been empty for ages considering the amount of dust and cobwebs around.

Oh, look, it’s irony.

Heading back to gather more boxes, the Avenger is suddenly attacked.

“Q’Zwokk” is basically keyboardsmashing. I realize they’re a one-off, but it’s so lazy to throw lesser used letters together in a word.

The Avenger wraps the attacked in a cage, and lets him drop into the street, where the cops are keeping people away even before the Avenger gets down there. Impressive.

The Avenger decides to ask why the attacker attacked him, because the Avenger didn’t catch him doing anything illegal, and it can’t be revenge, because attacker guy is pretty obviously new in town. Does he just have it in for the Avenger?

Turns out the answer’s yes, as attacker guy blasts his way out of the trap, telling the Avenger to leave the planet. He also keeps calling him by the name of the enemy aliens from the beginning, in case it wasn’t obvious what was going on here.

The fight is also interrupting the Ducklair family outing, but while Everett is content to sit back and bitch about the Avenger, Juniper decides to take a closer look.

Speaking of lazy, let’s talk about how Juniper’s eyes don’t even point in the same direction. Not an uncommon thing in this issue.

This leads to the attacker guy landing right next to her. The Avenger leaps in between them, telling him to back off, but attacker guy is confused, claiming he has no interest in those people. Then the police arrives for real, and he gets even more confused at being treated like the bad guy and takes off.

While the Avenger explains the situation to the police as best he can, Everett arrives and drags Juniper back to the car. Everett tells her to stay away from the Avenger as he’s a complication they really do not need, while Juniper…

Yeah....

At Duckmall, they’re finally fixing the destroyed antenna, starting by filling the chasm they’re only now realizing must be below it, due to the rock splitting like it did. Turns out they need quite a lot of cement do to it too, so the antenna’ll just have to wait until it’s dried.

At Century, the Avenger finds that all his equipment has been strewn around like garbage. The man from earlier, and in fact even earlier as it’s the same one that helped him against the car thieves, appears, telling him that he’s the janitor and somehow he still has a job there. 

At the abandoned factory.

He’s also unimpressed by the Avenger’s sense of humour, thinking that superheroes were better in the past. Then why haven’t we heard of them?

Meet Lyonard D’aq, everyone.

Not quite right, our Lyo.

The Avenger thinks this is a bad start for his new secret hideout and agrees to leave as quickly as possible.

Later that night, Donald is working the nightshift at Duckmall, and Tempest is worried. She’s also cranky, because someone is keeping secrets, and she’s had enough of that in her for now mysterious past. We’ll get to that later.

After a bit of vagueness and half-threats, Tempest explains that she followed Rupert the night the antenna got damaged. He was taking too long, and she was worried. She went out alone, because she thought the others might think she was going soft if she was worried about someone who went out to an earthquake area and a severely damaged structure that might fall down at any moment on its own took too long getting back.

Which is how she’s the only one that saw Rupert climb out of the hole in the ground, carrying a bunch of weird stuff. Some of that stuff were the same weapons the attacker guy from earlier was using against the Avenger.

Donald forgets for a moment that he has a secret identity, but Tempest tells him to chill before he says anything incriminating. She just wants him to talk to his friend, the Avenger, so they can get Rupert out of this mess unharmed.

Donald agrees, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone went enemy on him. Speaking of, there’s only one person around capable of making weapons like that and who can manipulate people like that.

Okay, Everett. It’s on. Donald knows some of Everett’s secrets that he can use.

Unfortunately, Everett is watching, and Donald’s little threat seems to knock him straight into mad scientist mode.

You know, I’ve said the art is lazy, and it is, but it’s also exagerrated to the point of ridiculousness. It makes it an annoying blend of lively and fluid and, well, eyes that don’t match and this sort of thing.

Donlad goes straight from nightshift to Avenger business, and drills his way through the newly dried cement to get to the cave beneath the antenna. 

Tiny drill, giant hole.

He gets pretty far too, before he’s attacked again. This time he uses the shield to… make a bigger shield, but the attacker guy destroys it.

Oh, shield that only existed to prove how dangeorus this new threat is without trashing the real shield, we hardly knew ye.

The fight goes badly, and then Tempest shows up. Attacker guy, who is definitely Rupert recognizes her, hesitating. The Avenger decides to take this chance to dive back underground, causing a minor avalanche to seal the entrance.

Leaving Tempest above with a kinda nuts Rupert. Luckily, he’s focused on the Avenger, still thinking he’s one of the aliens from earlier, but now he can’t get to him anymore. He does make enough noise to wake the neighbors.

Also, if you pay attention to sky over these panels, it goes from morning to night again.

Underground, the Avenger has reached the important part of the cave, which is filled with strange machines.

From Everett’s spycenter, someone comments that the cave is also filled with Alpha waves, and is surprised the Avenger doesn’t notice.

He does notice two seconds later, when the hypnotic anti-intrusion system tries to put him to sleep. The Avenger trashes the place in response, and hits something that makes an old logbook start playing.

At Ducklair Manor, Everett is confused at why his spycenter is on, but it doesn’t matter. He’d have to activate it to find the Avenger anyway.

The Avenger meanwhile, is watching the logbook, where it turns out that the first aliens did in fact sick the dinosaurs on the enemy aliens. They did so by using a neuronal realigner to convert them into aggressive battle machine, and the equipment was left on after the enemy aliens were eaten or chased away. It’s been sitting there, underground for millions of years, until Rupert climbed down and got caught by the effects of it.

That is some amazingly well made stuff.

The Avenger blasts it.

I’m with him though, because this is dumb. Let’s destroy every trace of it.

Aboveground, the situation has changed.

Everett is holding Rupert and Tempest on gunpoint, because a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

Then Juniper appears, informing everyone she’s there to stop her father from... doing whatever to the duck she loves.

“Please, please, don’t be talking about me.”

Everett tries to talk sense into Juniper, lowering the weapon in the process and Rupert immediately tries to take control of the situation using the weapons he’s carrying. Unfortunately, he has no idea how out of his depth he is here, and also he has no idea how to actually use those weapons now that’s he’s been un-brainwashed.

The Avenger saves Juniper, using a protective bubble, and Everett decides this means he owes him. So he points the weapon he was carrying at himself. The Avenger freaks out a bit, because goddamn, but Everett tells them it’s not a weapon.

It’s a memory eraser! Intended to be used on the Avenger, but Everett decides to erase his own memories of the Avenger’s secret identity instead.

Oh, now we’re all friendly again?!

Aw, how nice. I mean, if you ignore the fact that should he ever want to know, he could just read the Avenger mind, no problem, so it’s at best a symbolic gesture.

Everett picks up the uconscious Juniper and leaves after making another “no favors next time “ threat.

Tempest asks if they shouldn’t report Everett to the police or something.

No, I mean, yes, but that’s not how this works, and also that would mean being reminded of this issue more than absolutely necessary. We’ll keep the hints about your backstory, everything else can go.

The Avenger says no, this is a private fight and no one else is invited.

Rupert, on the other hand, seems to have given up on trying to figure out what any of this is about, and decides to focus on other matters. Like, why is he wearing alien armor? Tempest and the Avenger tells him not to worry about it, and wow, that is an infuriating answer, but he agrees to let it go.

The Avenger takes the armor and weapons and leaves, just before the press shows up, courtesy of the neighbors. The press is this case is Mike Morrighan, who tries to blame it all on the Avenger. Tempest tries to protect the Avenger’s reputation, but without evidence, Morrighan keeps going in classic Angus-style.

At Century, Lyo is watching. Apparently familiar with Channel 00’s reporting, he concludes that the Avenger is in fact a hero and should be given a chance.

At least this explains why Lyo doesn’t need a real job.

This is basically one of those issues that are a lot of fun while reading, and then I get the fridge moments of “wait, actually, that’s dumb and now everything about it annoys me”. Until I forget about it, rereads and repeat experience.

Kinda like this.

[characterbios11]

Drizella

From the time she was a child, Drizella's head was full of ideas of romance and love. It was no easy thing for a girl like her to grow up in a love-starved place like the West. She was a fountain, always overflowing and running out into nothing. That didn't stop her. Her parents were distant and cold, but that didn't stop her from imagining the grand love story that they must have once had, or hanging on their every word for any ounce of affection. As for her older sister, Anastasia, there were no words to describe Drizella's love for her. She followed her sister wherever she went, save for those strange times when Anastasia had a habit of disappearing. Apart from family, Drizella was forced to find inventive ways to entertain herself, while still remaining the picture of nobility she was expected to be. Every interaction she had, with anyone, lasted just a little longer than it should have as she sought out the affection that was so lacking in her life, seeking approval around every corner. She was always eager to please, always devastated should she fail. Then came the first disaster of her life. Her father passed. Drizella was left heartbroken and mourning, while her sister and mother hardly seemed to notice the loss. And still, all too soon they were up and moving again, dragging Drizella away from those that she knew into a new life. Away from the West that had been her home, and into Rethar. Her mother had remarried, and while Drizella had protested the speed of it, it didn't take her long to find the romance in all of it. It didn't hurt that her mother had remarried a king, making her a princess. That part, at least, was a dream come true. On top of that, the man she quickly assumed as her new father was easy for her to please. He always told her that she was exactly the kind of daughter he had always wanted. Deep down, Drizella really knew that it wasn't really fair to his own daughter. But Ella was hard to get along with. Even Drizella, full of unconditional love, struggled at times. It always felt like Ella didn't want to be happy. She couldn't say that she really made it any better, still following Anastasia's example and copying rude comments or nicknames. Anastasia hated her, for reasons Drizella was always too afraid to ask. It was easier, sometimes, to pretend not to notice. She wasn't always as dumb as she acted. There was a war, of course. It was something that Drizella never paid much attention to, as it had nothing to do with her. Only the country she was living in and another country. She didn't pay attention to it until Kit. He was another name in a long list of boys she had fallen far before having her heart broken (by the soft age of sixteen) and he was altogether charming. He was also betrothed to Ella and the crown prince of the country Rethar was at war with. It was a treaty meant to bring peace about and so on, and all Drizella knew was that it should have been her. She would have been much happier about a marriage than Ella was, and she wouldn't have thrown such a fit about it, and Kit was wonderful. But it was Ella that married him, as the 'eldest'. From there, things got a bit confusing for her. Ella was gone off to the other country for a while, then brought back, along with Kit, who was locked up in the dungeons. Then they escaped and the King, Percival, was dead. Everyone went on shouting about how Ella had killed him and the war was begun again and there was talk of sending her and Anastasia back to the West. Here was what Drizella knew. She knew that, despite Ella's temper, her step-sister wanted only the best for her country. She knew that, as much as she had loved Percival, he had been a difficult man to please and he had done some terrible things to his daughter. She knew that war meant people dying and that wasn't a good thing. So when she was approached by a servant (bastard son of the king, half-brother of Ella) asking her to help, she did. For once in her life, Drizella was more than a pretty face and she took a wagon (first time attempting to direct horses) and rode all the way to the enemy camp to find Ella and tell her that the armies of Rethar would fight for her, and not for the king, or for Drizella's mother who had taken charge. It was, as it turned out, what changed the tides of the war. It was Ella who rode in victoriously, leading the troops herself and claiming Rethar as her own. It seemed as though there was a happily ever after to be found, ignoring all the loss and pain that had happened along the way. Drizella was sent on back to the West to stay with family, along with Anastasia. The most difficult part of it was leaving their mother behind to answer for the things she had done while acting as queen of Rethar (something Drizella was not so happy with Ella for). They traveled with a large, trusted caravan with soldiers to watch them, and safety was not a question. At least, not safety from bandits or thieves. Nobody had ever expected danger from a member of the party. Anastasia turned. The truth came spilling out, the same truth that Drizella had always felt, but never been willing to put words to, the truth that she had always feared. It all happened to fast, an explosion of anger and yelling before Drizella herself became the target. It was Anastasia, as it turned out, who had coordinated the entire mess, and now blamed Drizella for helping Ella. And it was Anastasia, Drizella's closest friend and confidant, to leave her cursed in a remote tower till kingdom come.