#he has feathers but cannot fly only jump from branch to branch | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xxcxelum · 8 months ago

Text

MOURN NOT FOR ICARUS~

ABOUT: very long, 8562 words

STORY: retelling of the greek myth with an addition to the end

WARNINGS: i mean i guess he dies lol

A/N: i wrote this almost a year ago but i've mentioned it a few times and people said i should post it so im posting it on my writing blog instead of my main.

There was a bird out the window. Icarus could not identify it, for he had never received formal education. However it was small. Each feather on its wings varied in different shades of brown, and it had a black face. Icarus watched as it flapped its beautiful wings, so gracefully flying across the view outside, and delicately landed atop a tall mountainside tree. The small bird did not have a nest in the tree. It only landed on a shaky branch and looked out at the scene below.

Icarus understood why the gentle creature simply perched itself there. He himself was perched at the windowsill, staring out at the ocean below. He found the rhythm of the waves mesmerizing. But more interesting than the movements of the water was what laid below. The tower in which Icarus and his father were trapped in was, though an unfortunate circumstance, built at the edge of a mountain. He could see the sea lapping onto the bottom of the cliff. It was hard not to appreciate the natural beauty of the sight.

Ahead, at the horizon, were more rocks and mountains, more islands. King Minos has imprisoned both Icarus and Daedalus on the island of Crete. After what his father had done, Icarus didn’t see the punishment fit, especially as he had nothing to do with it. Yet there he was, sitting in the tower, admiring the cities from behind a window that would mean certain death if he leaned only a little closer.

“Icarus,” his father’s voice spoke from behind him. The young boy turned around quickly at the call of his name. He was met with the sight of Daedalus working with a collection of feathers and wax, an already agreed upon method to get themselves out of there. “Help me with these wings.”

He was quick to do as he was told, glancing back at the view and the bird only once more before retreating from the windowsill. “Yes, father.” Icarus took those few steps closer to the center of the room, though it wasn’t far since the room was small.

The surrounding walls were old and adorned with nothing but dust and the slight growing of moss between the stones. Even the floor was empty, for there was no reason for King Minos to provide the prisoners with anything other than what was needed to fulfill basic needs, which he classified as food and water. Even those were given sparingly.

Daedalus sat on the ground leaning over the incomplete wings. The frame was already completed, made of materials that Icarus couldn’t quite recognize. He had never been much of an inventor like his father, but although he never took interest in it, he always found it fascinating to watch. His eyes followed his Daedalus’ weathered hands as they bent the wire frame, preparing the wax and feathers. There were leather straps on either side, presumably for their arms when they wore the wings.

Icarus stepped closer and kneeled next to his father. Daedalus said nothing at first, holding the frame out in front of him and assessing his work. Then, with a nod of self-confirmation, he turned to Icarus. “No,” he told the boy when he tried to touch the wire. “Stand up, son. And put your arms out. I must add the feathers, but I cannot do so with the wings on the floor.”

That statement made Icarus’ eyes brighten. He was already excited to fly; he’d been looking forward to it since his father first introduced the idea of it to him months ago. He knew that was the day that it was finally going to happen, the day they were finally going to free themselves from their prison, but now it was becoming more real. Once he had his wings on, all Daedalus had to do was put on his own and they would be able to jump from the window without falling to their deaths.

So, doing as he was told, Icarus stood up and opened his arms. He watched in awe as Daedalus carefully slid the straps of the wings over his arms, the leather cool and smooth against his skin. Icarus hadn’t noticed another strap that was placed upon his torso, attaching the frame to his back.

He could not tell Daedalus’ emotions as he did this, for his face was expressionless, focused solely on not breaking the wings. However once he finished, Daedalus stepped a few steps back as if to admire his creation.

Icarus turned his neck to look at either arm, which were weighed down only slightly by the metal frame attached to them. Though the feathers weren’t done being added, he still smiled. He was only getting closer to the moment of inevitable freedom.

The boy smiled at the thought, and at the wings themselves. Even if they were not finished, and even if he was not one to build such things, he did admire them almost as much as his father did. They were carefully constructed, delicate but strong so that it would be able to support his weight. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, one of genuine joy and excitement.

“I look like a bird, father,” Icarus laughed. It was a small observation, a comparison that made him smile wider. Daedalus’ face had been more critical as he had been examining the wings and how they looked on his son, trying to figure out the best way to attach the feathers, but his gaze softened at the childlike curiosity that came from Icarus. Daedalus’ eyes moved from the frame on the boy’s small body and met Icarus’ eyes, a small smile of his own growing on his face.

“Yes, I suppose you do.” With a nod of approval, Daedalus then decided to begin with the feathers. Icarus continued to admire the wings on his back, waving his arms up and down until his father told him to stop before they broke. Then, Daedalus started working.

He had planned this for a while, but had to be careful as he worked to make sure that everything was done exactly and precisely as it should. He developed a technique of dipping the feathers into wax and carefully placing them on the wired frame of the wings. It took much patience and standing still, which was not easy for a young Icarus. Icarus had been standing there with his arms out for too long, and he was getting restless. Daedalus noticed this and decided to talk to his son in order to distract him from moving too much.

“Do you remember what I’ve told you about flying?” Daedalus asked softly as he worked. He was standing behind him, so Icarus stared out the window as he answered. Icarus noticed the bird was still there.

“Yes, you said that we must be careful,” Icarus replied. “You said that the wings are strong, but not perfect.” Daedalus nodded as he placed another feather on the wings. He was getting closer to finishing.

“And what must we do to be careful?” He pushed, wanting to ensure that Icarus knew what was needed to be safe while flying. Icarus sighed, as he had been warned many times of what to do, even before that day. Daedalus had the idea for so long that he had been explaining the dangers to Icarus far before the wings were close to being constructed.

“Do not fly too high or too low,” the boy spoke, echoing what he’d heard time and time before.

“That’s right. Because too high and the sun will melt the wax, and too low and the water from the sea will dampen the feathers. We do not wish for the wings to break.”

Icarus knew this. He’d been told this plenty of times. Daedalus also understood that the repetition of these rules were most likely an annoyance to Icarus, but he still felt the need to reiterate them. Icarus had always had a sense of curiosity, a look of awe at everything his eyes perceived. He was inquisitive. Sure, Daedalus admired that; he was glad that his son had at least inherited something from him, if not his interest in inventing. But he knew how Icarus could be, and knew that no matter how many times he reminded him, a small part of Icarus would still want to explore the sky. Daedalus had to do his best to emphasize the danger to his son.

However the boy only found it irritating. Icarus knew what to do and knew that if he went too high or too low then the wings would break. It was obvious to him that he wouldn’t be so reckless as to put himself in danger like that, so he didn’t appreciate Daedalus saying the same thing over and over. Yet deep down, Icarus knew that his father only cared for him and wanted him to be safe. So he tried not to let it bother him too much, and to appreciate the love from his father.

Daedalus continued for what was a little under half an hour until he finally finished the wings. When he told him that he was completed, Icarus practically jumped up, though he was already standing. Icarus’ smile only grew wider as he spread his arms out and looked at the wings.

He didn’t know where Daedalus had gotten the feathers, he only knew that he had been collecting them for a while. So Icarus didn’t know which bird they belonged to, however they were a light tan color, almost an off white. Though they weren’t the right shade of brown, he couldn’t help but compare the wings to those of the bird out the window. It was a bird that he had been seeing a lot, though he wasn’t sure if it was the same one each time or simply the same species. Either way, his mind kept returning to the bird as he thought himself to be similar.

Icarus’ excitement was palpable. He laughed as he lifted his arms up and down, mimicking a flapping motion. They were a bit heavier now, though not by much. The feathers were beautiful when they were all pressed together by wax, and he couldn’t even see the frame anymore.

Daedalus looked pleased, not only to see the wings completed, but also to see his son so eager to fly. But of course before they could fly, he had to get his wings on and make them. Daedalus had started a bit on his own before, just to see if it was possible to do while someone wasn’t wearing them, but decided it might be best if someone else were to do it. However he couldn’t let Icarus put them on as he attached the feathers because Icarus was already wearing his pair. So Daedalus had to ever so carefully use the wax, like before, to put the feathers on his own wings.

But that wouldn’t work forever. Eventually, he got to a point where the wings wouldn’t balance somewhere on their own, so he had to put them on and asked Icarus to help him with the last few feathers.

Of course Icarus was more than willing to help. He wanted to be able to feel important, to feel like he was actually doing something useful and aiding their escape rather than just standing there and waiting impatiently for his father to have his wings ready to fly.

Icarus quickly went to stand behind his father, who had already put the almost-done wings on his back, and did as he was directed to finish them. He tried to imitate the movements of Daedalus in the way that he had been using wax to attach the feathers to the wings’ frame. As he spoke he worked, rambling mostly out of anticipation.

“You know, father, when we escape, the first thing I want to do is eat a proper meal. It’s been far too long since we’ve had that opportunity. Actually, maybe I will drink cleaner water first. That is a smarter decision.” Daedalus only listened with an amused smile on his face as his son spoke. “Perhaps the first thing I will eat is an olive.”

That made his father chuckle. “An olive? Is that so?”

Icarus nodded, placing another wax-dipped feather on the wings. “Yes, an olive. I like olives. I haven’t had one since we’ve been imprisoned.”

“Yes, well, the olive tree is the sacred plant of goddess Athena,” he explained, wording things carefully so as to not upset the deity. “And I will tell you, humbly of course, that my genius for inventing and such was a blessing from the goddess of wisdom herself.” That made Icarus’ eyes widen. He hadn’t known that. “So, as my son, perhaps she will favor you and give you the best olive.”

The young boy grinned. It was new information to him that his father was blessed by a goddess, let alone one as powerful as Athena. And the idea that she would favor him as well was exhilarating, even if it only resulted in a single, well-tasting olive.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime to the impatient Icarus, but couldn’t have been more than an hour, they were finished. Icarus placed the last feather on his father’s wings, and Daedalus checked his own and his son’s to make sure they were intact and in the right condition to fly. Icarus, though not saying anything about it, was proud of himself for managing to finish Daedalus’ wings for him, even if the job had been relatively small. Just as he wanted, he felt important, he felt useful.

And now the time had finally come for the wings themselves to be useful.

The moment he decided they were finished, Daedalus got straight to the point. “We must be quick, Icarus,” he told his son. “I do not know how much time we have.” They both knew that he didn’t mean time left in the day; the sun, shining in all its glory, was still directly above them in the sky. However it was King Minos, their captor, who they feared. He did not enter their prison often, almost no one did, but those who were meant to feed them or check on them would come at arbitrary intervals. At any second could someone enter and discover their plan for escape. If that happened, there would certainly be punishments- punishments that Daedalus did not want Icarus to have to live through.

Icarus only nodded, understanding what his father was thinking. He waited for further instruction, but already knew that their next move was going to be: fly.

Daedalus stepped closer to the window starting by simply looking out and assessing the view, noting the height at which they were at and how if the wings were to break or malfunction, they would not be able to survive the fall. Especially not if they landed in the water. He took a deep breath and turned back to Icarus, who had also been looking out the window eagerly.

“I know I have told you countless times before,” Daedalus began once more, wanting to stress as much as possible the dangers to his son. “But you will stay by me. When we jump out this window, give yourself a couple of seconds for the wings to begin gliding; do not panic if you feel you are to fall because you will not fall.” Icarus let out a sigh of irritation, but Daedalus continued. “And you will stay behind me as we fly. As I’ve said, do not go too high, as the sun will melt the wax, and do not go too low, as the water will dampen the feathers. Do you understand?”

Daedalus knew that Icarus understood. He knew how much the boy cared about himself. He knew that he would never do something so reckless as to risk his life, he knew that. Icarus had so much to look forward to in his life; he was young and had much potential. Even if he wasn’t aware of it himself, Daedalus knew that the young boy had so much of his life ahead of him. He would never do something to lose that.

“Yes, father.”

For a few moments, their eyes were met. They both were aware of the risk they were about to take, of how much danger they were putting themselves in. Even if Icarus did as he was told, and even if Daedalus was so sure of his wings, there was always a chance that things would go wrong. Not just the possibility of a flaw in the making of the wings, but also the looming possibility that the gods themselves would interfere.

Zeus was the god of the sky. If he wasn’t happy with them in his domain, he could easily strike them down before they even made it to the next island. Daedalus knew this. That was a risk he was willing to take.

He nodded, and then broke eye contact with his son.

One last time, Icarus looked around the small room that had been their unwelcome home for too long. The cold stone walls and floor. The furnishings, or lack thereof. The damp scent. He was relieved to be leaving, to have the smell of moss overgrowth replaced by that of the ocean. Not only relieved but, of course, excited. He took a deep breath and turned back to the window. The bird was still there, sitting out on the tree. But when it suddenly got up and flew away, Icarus no longer watched it in jealousy, for he knew that at last he would get to do the same.

Daedalus took the final moment before their escape to say a prayer. He prayed to Zeus, wishing for the king of the gods to grant them safe passing over his skies. They were not out of Zeus’ favor, the father and son, but not necessarily within it, either. And since the gods didn’t simply reply to favors like that so quickly, there was nothing more they could do in that moment than pray and hope he was in a good mood that day.

Then, that was it. There was nothing else. No more wings to finish, no more rules to reiterate, no more prayers to be said. They had done everything part of their plan but one. There was only one thing for them to do, and it was jump out that window and finally, finally, be free.

No words were exchanged between the two of them, only another small nod of acknowledgment, as Daedalus took the initiative to step up to the windowsill first. If the wings wouldn’t work, he told himself, he wanted to be the one to find out. Not Icarus.

Icarus watched, his impatience only growing, as his father carefully climbed into the small window. He had to be careful in how he fit himself in it, so that the wings would fit as well and not be squished in the cramped space. Icarus let himself take a few steps closer, too. Because the moment Daedalus took off, it was only a matter of seconds until he would have to follow.

The man did not look back to see Icarus’ reaction. He didn’t want the boy to realize the fear in his eyes. He didn’t want him to notice the shaking in his hands as he got so close to the edge, closer than he ever would, because normally that close would mean death. But this was not normal. They had wings, and they would fly.

“Go.”

That was the only warning Icarus had that his father had jumped. It took him longer than it should have for him to actually process what he’d just watched: his father jumping out of a window. Yes, there were wings, but for a few seconds, it simply appeared that he had fallen. He was now alone in the tower. There really was no turning back.

When he snapped back to the present, Icarus rushed over to the window and tried not to focus on how high up he was, how he couldn’t find Daedalus in the sky at first glance, how small everything was below. He forced himself to take a deep breath, climbed into the windowsill, and closed his eyes, holding his breath as he jumped.

Icarus was falling.

That was the first and only thing he could register. He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t grant himself the horror of seeing how fast he was falling towards the ground. He knew the wings would work, Daedalus had warned him that it would take a few seconds before they actually began to glide. But those few seconds were terrifying.

Icarus could hear his heartbeat in his ears, almost drowned out by the wind rushing past him. He could also feel that wind, through his hair, through his entire body. He felt the disorientation of tumbling, his stomach turning, heart pounding, breath taken from the shock of the moment. Panic settled in- why wasn’t he flying? He was supposed to fly. The wings clung to him, feeling more like dead weight than anything else. They weren’t working, he thought. They weren’t working, they weren’t working, they weren’t-

As he fell, Icarus suddenly felt a change. A subtle resistance to the pull of gravity. The wind slowly stopped rushing past him, and as it slowed down he reminded himself to spread his arms out even more. His eyes were still squeezed shut, but he forced himself to open them once the falling had slowed.

Icarus was flying.

He was flying like the bird he’d been watching enviously for far too long. He could no longer feel the wind rushing past him, but as the breeze picked up, he felt he was part of the wind. With his eyes open now, Icarus allowed himself to look down with no fear. He was not scared anymore. He was thrilled.

The view below was even better from the sky itself than from the window. He could actually see the rest of the town to his right, which he hadn’t been able to see from the tower. There were homes, buildings, the little ants below he realized were people, and trees- olive trees. He smiled at that. Not only at that but the fact that he was flying. He was doing it, he was finally doing it! This was the most amazing moment of his life.

Directly below him was the sea. It was a beautiful combination of green and blue and even white with the foam from the waves. Above him was the sky, the clear sky. There were no clouds, only the bright, brilliant sun against the blue above.

But, of course, he could never get too close to either of them.

Icarus shifted his focus. He had to find his father and follow him, as he’d been instructed. He lifted his head from admiring the sights to looking about the sky around him, letting out a breathless sigh of relief when he saw Daedalus several feet ahead of him. The man was facing him, too, as if they’d been searching for each other.

It was a strange sight, seeing Daedalus flying. The wings on his back looked so gentle, and he knew how delicate they were. They were strong, however, clearly enough to carry the large man. They looked like they didn’t quite belong on Daedalus. In a way, they almost made him look like an angel.

Icarus chuckled to himself at that thought, though it was probably a bit more animated than usual since he was already experiencing so much joy. He wondered if he, too, looked like an angel.

The father and son were far apart, but the moment their eyes met there was an unspoken understanding. Even if they couldn’t quite make out the other’s expression, even if there was no way they’d be able to hear the other if they actually spoke, they could tell how the other felt. Daedalus let himself smile at the complete, genuine joy his son was exuding. Then, making sure that Icarus was still going the right direction with him, he turned away and focused himself on flying towards the nearest island that was not the one they’d just escaped from. He could see it in the distance, not much further. They’d just have to keep going on the straight path, and they’d be there soon enough.

Icarus knew that this was the goal, to get to another island and be free. Drink fresh water, eat an olive, whatever they wanted to do. And seeing the island, so close yet so far, was only making it more exciting.

For a long while, they simply flew. It only took Icarus a couple minutes to get the reins of the wings and figure them out. He quickly taught himself how to turn either direction, how to angle himself upwards or downwards. But he didn’t use that, of course, other than where he had to in order to direct himself in the right direction after Daedalus. He stayed close behind his father as they flew together, feeling the wind beneath his arms and breathing in the air, salty from the ocean below.

It was then, in experimenting with the mechanics and controls of the wings, that Icarus made his mistake.

He began carefully, still heeding the warnings that Daedalus had given him. Icarus let himself glide lower, closer and closer to the water’s surface. It was gradual and considerate, not to put himself in danger. He knew the risks of getting too close, he knew that he should just stay directly behind his father. But he could still see Daedalus from where he was, a little below him now, and Daedalus was not looking back anymore. So as long as he continued to be careful, he could test the limits of the wings without them breaking. Or so he thought.

Icarus slowly descended lower. It was almost that same feeling of free falling before, but this time much more controlled. There was not a single ounce of panic in him as he got closer to the water. The wind was rushing past him again, making it all the more exhilarating. Icarus was careful to spread the wings out as much as he could and use them the right way as to not lose control.

When he got close enough, he could feel the water on himself. He was just low enough so that he wasn’t touching the ocean, but he could see it right there, right in front of him. The greens, the blues, the whites, the shining reflection of the sun. He could feel the cool droplets of water against his bare arms, too caught up in the pure delight of the moment to realize that the wings were being wet by the water, too.

Icarus was laughing. He was smiling. He was happier in that moment than he had ever been in his whole life. After so long being imprisoned, he felt free. This moment, being by the water, was more freedom than he could have ever imagined. He didn’t want it to end; he wanted that moment to last forever. He wished he could be suspended in time, always feeling such liberation and elation.

Since that wish was impossible, he decided to take it a step further.

He was already taking a major risk by allowing himself to get so close to the sea. He’d been told exactly not to do that. Icarus respected his father, loved his father, and would never intentionally go against him. But the lure of it all was too big. The feeling he got from it all was indescribable. He felt invincible. So far, Zeus had accepted their prayer for mercy in his realm and was allowing them safe passage. Maybe, Icarus dared to hope, Zeus was allowing him this moment. Maybe he was letting him risk the dangers because he understood.

The king of Olympus was not an understanding god. But Icarus didn’t know that.

Icarus allowed himself another deep breath, breathing in the salt from the ocean, taking in the reality of the moment, before swooping back up to meet the same level as his father in the sky. Daedalus seemed not to have noticed that Icarus had done such an unsafe thing, and was continuing to fly.

Once he was back where he was supposed to have been all along, Icarus only flew straight ahead for a minute or so until he just couldn’t resist the temptation of something different this time- not the sea, but the sun.

Icarus looked up. If he had already gone too low without the wings being ruined, he could go a bit higher, right? Perhaps Daedalus had just been underestimating the strength of his wings. If he really had been blessed by Athena, surely they would be able to withstand a little heat from the sun. They’d survived the water, so he was certain that they’d survive the sun, too.

So he took that risk and flew up. By this point, he had so much control over the wings, had figured out the small details with such perfection in such little time, that he knew how to raise himself higher and higher, steadily moving himself up into the sky.

Daedalus still did not notice. He had made the mistake of trusting that his son would never be so reckless, would never be so ignorant to his own warnings. He did not look back and see that Icarus was no longer behind him. He did not know that Icarus was in fact getting so distracted and off-path that he could not even see Daedalus in the sky anymore. He did not realize that Icarus had been blinded in the most literal sense by his desires. If he had noticed, maybe he would have been able to do something to save him from himself.

Icarus, on the other hand, was relieved that his father did not realize. He knew that it would only anger him. So he could not say why he was doing it, why he was getting higher, why he was allowing himself the pleasure of attempting to reach the sun itself. It was not that he wanted to disobey his father. He did not want to go against his orders. He only wanted to have fun, and fun did he have.

He was carried away by the moment, not realizing what he was really doing. Icarus just kept getting higher and higher, closer and closer to the sun, farther and farther from Daedalus, who remained oblivious. Icarus’ laughing had restarted again, the smiling on his face growing impossibly wider. He thought he had felt good close to the water; this was even better. The bigger the clouds and sun looked above him, the smaller everything else looked below him. He was soon able to actually feel the heat of the sun on his skin, more than one did on the ground. He could feel it on his face, like that of the flame of a candle. Warm and inviting, friendly, egging him on to get closer, convincing him that no harm could be done. He was having too much fun, being too foolish that he actually believed it.

It stayed that way, all fun and entertaining. The pull of the sun was so incicing. The thrill of the flying itself was too great. The feeling of it all was the best thing he had ever experienced, the best high--to the most exact meaning--that he knew could ever be achieved. Icarus was, in that moment, the closest any mortal had ever been to the sun, the highest anyone had ever been in the sky.

Icarus was the closest any mortal had been to the gods.

And he felt like a god. He felt invincible, infallible, strong, powerful, he felt unstoppable. He felt like he had become that bird that he had admired. He felt like he could fly anywhere, do anything, touch the sky. That was exactly what his mind was set on doing.

Things didn’t change when Icarus began to smell something off. It wasn’t the smell of the ocean- no, that was long gone. He’d gone far too high for that. It was a smell that was accompanied by the sensation of something hot against his skin. Something other than the heat of the sun itself. He was so intoxicated by the pure feeling of euphoria that it took him longer than it should have for him to realize that the feeling of heat and the scent that he couldn’t put his finger on was actually coming from the wings.

The sun was melting the wax, just as Daedalus had warned.

Icarus didn’t stop when he felt this. He was still consumed by that sense of power and god-likeness. He didn’t want to stop, regardless of the wings melting.

Perhaps he realized that it was too late for him by then. Perhaps he realized that he was too far from the island to make it, he was flying over the middle of the ocean, not close enough to any to manage to glide himself to safety. Perhaps he realized that once the wings had begun to melt, there was nothing he could do about it. Perhaps he realized that he was going to die.

So there Icarus was, flying like a bird for the first and last time. He didn’t let himself come to terms with the fact that he was not going to get that one olive, the fact that he was not going to have any of the hopeful future that had been promised to him. He did not want to be overwhelmed by the reality that he was not going to get to apologize to Daedalus for disobeying. He only wanted to continue feeling the hot sun, not the hot wax. To feel that freedom one last time.

In what he realized to be his final moments, he let himself close his eyes. He once again did not want to see how quick he may have been falling to the ground once the wax completely melted from the wings.

Icarus imagined himself to be the stick of a candle, the wings to be the wick, and the sun to be the flame. For a small time, the wick would burn. The candle would be alight, shining brilliantly, lighting up the space for as long as the wick could last. Until inevitably, the wick reached its end, the candle burning out. Until the wick finally died, reaching the stick of the candle and engulfing that, too, in flames.

His laughter was the only sound echoing through the skies as he fell, the only thing alerting Daedalus that his son had flown too close to the sun and paid the price.

***

His mind was still swimming. He could barely remember what happened, and didn't know where he was. He sat up but kept his eyes closed. But wait, he thought, that was wrong. He shouldn’t have been able to sit up. He was supposed to be dead. He shouldn’t even have a body anymore, he shouldn’t be anywhere other than the Underworld. But light was seeping through his closed eyelids, and he knew with absolute certainty that he was not in the dark depths of the Underworld.

But then again, he’d also been certain that the wings would not melt under the sun.

Icarus reached a hand up to his forehead to try to stop it from pounding, almost losing his balance in the process. He took a deep breath, surprised that he had the capability to breathe. This was all wrong; he had died. He remembered the wings breaking entirely and sending him crashing into the ocean below. He remembered death; he remembered the moments before it, too, when he’d accepted his fate. Where was he now, and why did he feel alive again? “Icarus.” The voice that spoke his name was one of power. It was deep, serious, demanding respect. It made his name no longer just a name, but a command. He forced himself to look up and open his eyes, squinting them at the figure before him.

It was a man, a man who somehow carried youthful features yet an expression weighed down by years upon years. A man who was completely ageless, both extremely old and extremely young. The man had blonde hair and wore a perfectly white toga that managed to still look bright white against his pale skin. He was muscular and had a strong jawline. Everything about the man was… perfect. It took Icarus a few moments to realize that the man was watching him emotionlessly with glowing golden eyes. Then he realized that all of him was glowing, he was shining like the sun.

Icarus realized that the man before him was no man at all. He was a god.

When the realization set in, Icarus forced himself to stand up, ignoring the dizziness. Maybe it was a bad decision of him to try to stand up in front of someone so powerful, he should probably have kneeled, but being sprawled across the ground half sat up was probably not very respectful, either. When Icarus stood, he let himself look around and noticed that their surroundings were essentially all white. They must have been in the sky somewhere, in the clouds.

Icarus was so overwhelmed by the situation, not comprehending it all. He didn’t really think when he pointed his finger at the god--something he immediately regretted--and blurted the obvious:

“You’re Apollo.”

Then he quickly realized his error and tried to correct it with a sloppy bow. No one had ever taught the young Icarus how to act in front of a god. Thankfully, Apollo was not upset or insulted by the boy’s actions, though his expression remained blank. Icarus could not tell what he was thinking, and for some reason it made him anxious.

Apollo only nodded. “Indeed I am.” He watched as Icarus straightened up from his bow. Icarus felt like he was being scrutinized under the god’s divine eyes, and didn’t know whether to meet them or to look away. He was completely unprepared for this moment. “Take off those wings.”

Icarus hadn’t realized that the wings were still attached to him. They’d somehow stayed to his form into the afterlife- or at least he assumed this was the afterlife. He had no idea what was happening. Though now, the wings were mutilated. The wax had melted not entirely, but enough so they could not fly any longer. An entire part of the back was waxless, and everywhere else was either half-melted or had feathers missing. The sad remnants were clinging desperately to the now weakened frame. He obeyed Apollo’s order immediately and began fumbling to slide the leather straps off of him.

The wings fell soundlessly to the floor, which Icarus still didn’t know what that floor was. He then looked back up at Apollo, who still only stared at him. Icarus stood there uncomfortably for a few seconds, and then took the silent stare as his cue to step away. Once he did, Apollo stepped forward, leaned down, and picked up the wings, examining them with a certain detached interest.

“Fine craftsmanship,” the god noted, looking at the slightly-terrified Icarus again. “I assume your father made them?” The boy nodded quickly.

“Yes, he did. And I helped. Well, not with this pair but with his.” He then decided he should have left the answer at yes and not given unnecessary explanation.

He really was a mess.

Apollo nodded. He seemed to still not have been offended by Icarus’ unrehearsed nature. He simply spoke to him as if he were any other man, rather than a child who was both in awe and fear of the powerful being before him. Apollo turned his attention back to the wings, plucking a single feather off of them before dropping them back to the ground. Icarus cringed as he dropped them so carelessly but was afraid to say anything about it.

“Do you know why you are here, Icarus?” The speaking of his name once again made him nervous, as Icarus felt so minor and insignificant in the presence of a god. His name didn’t deserve to be said by Apollo’s mouth; he didn’t deserve to be speaking with him.

Icarus hesitated before answering. “Because… I died. But, forgive me if I am wrong, but this is not the Underworld.” Apollo waved his hand dismissively.

“No, no, of course not. I would never go down there. It’s quite the opposite of my realm.”

His realm. It took Icarus a few moments to think about that. Apollo was the god of many things, he knew that. Medicine, prophecy, music, archery, the sun-

Oh.

Icarus suddenly knew why he was there. His heart dropped to his stomach. He had been trying to do the impossible, to touch the sun. Daedalus had only been considering the god of the sky when deciding to pray for safe passage while flying. They hadn’t thought about the other gods who ruled the above, too. Had he upset Apollo with his recklessness?

“No, Icarus, you are not in the Underworld,” Apollo continued. “I stopped you on your path to Hades; I wanted to speak with you. Mortals die every minute, you see, but it’s not everyday I find one like you.”

Icarus swallowed hard. The way Apollo spoke, he still couldn’t tell what he was thinking about this whole situation. He couldn’t tell if he really had offended him or not, and it was nerve-wracking.

“I- I apologize if I insulted you, Lord Apollo,” he began carefully, the title sounding too formal for his young mouth. “I had no intention to.” Apollo shook his head.

“Do not apologize. To me, at least. I am not insulted. If anything I am flattered, really. Most mortals fear the sun; they fear me. You, however, seem to have no such opinion. It was quite entertaining to watch, I will admit. Such courage you have for such a young boy. I must ask, Icarus, why do you not fear me?”

Icarus was taken aback by that statement. He had flattered the god? By being an idiot. It didn’t make any sense. Apollo should have been offended, he should have wanted to torture or hurt Icarus in his afterlife after he attempted to go beyond the mortal realm. But… he didn’t. Icarus didn’t know how to react.

And the mention of his father, the reminder that he had gone directly against what Daedalus had instructed, hit Icarus like a punch to the gut. A reminder that he had disobeyed and gotten himself killed for it. He didn’t want to think about Daedalus just then; he wanted to figure out why and how he’d managed to flatter the god of the sun. Icarus took a deep breath.

“I do fear you,” he admitted plainly. He didn’t know what more to say.

Apollo was responding so casually that it made Icarus uncomfortable. He chuckled at his response, which didn’t make him feel any better- though Icarus had to admit that the sound of godly laughter was beautiful. “As you should, I suppose. But if you fear me, and I assume you must also fear death, why would you make such a rash decision and attempt to reach my sun?”

Icarus still was struggling to find the right words. He didn’t know how to explain his curiosity, it really had been an indescribable experience. The joy he’d felt in that moment was too much to ignore, he’d simply wanted to continue to go higher and higher. The skies had felt so limitless, the sun had felt so close. The consequences were unimportant as he flew, but now he was faced directly with them.

“Because I wished to feel free.” That was the only explanation that Icarus could manage. Apollo raised an eyebrow.

“Free? You would have had more freedom if you hadn’t died, would you not? You gave up the rest of your life for a small taste of freedom?”

Icarus only nodded. He was still at a loss for words, still trying to comprehend the entire interaction with someone so powerful. Apollo sighed, looking down at the small feather in his hand that he had taken from the wings.

“Mortals are interesting creatures,” he explained. “They are born, live for so little, then die. But they find so much more to their lives. They’re born nobody, yet believe that they can become something great. It’s almost saddening to watch this endless cycle of life and death. To see the excitement in their eyes as they embark on a journey that will inevitably lead to their end. I don’t understand how you do it, how you keep yourselves so optimistic when you know that in half a century, more or less, you will be nothing more than a memory to the rest of the world.

“Mortals value their lives, no matter how insignificant. So that is why you interest me. You want to live long, you want to be important, yet you let yourself come to an early end for the sake of something as small and temporary as a fleeting feeling.”

The god took a deep breath, running a finger down the soft feather, and looked back up at Icarus. The boy was only watching him, listening to an immortal’s perspective of mortality. If Icarus hadn’t been able to find the right words before, he was completely lost then.

Icarus met Apollo’s gaze. The immortal was looking at him with something in his golden eyes that was noticeable now: a look of sympathy. Compassion. Perhaps even pity.

He didn’t think a god to be capable of such human emotions.

“I mean… I just…” Icarus tried to provide the god some explanation to his unexplainable actions. Apollo was watching him with interest as he spoke, the emotion in his expression barely there yet still noticeable. Icarus spoke slowly, his mind still turning as he explained. “I didn’t want to die. I wasn’t thinking. I had been trapped for so long… I got carried away by it all. I- I felt free, like I wanted, and I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to make that feeling last forever.”

Apollo studied the boy before him. He took note of his imperfections, his mortality. Even in death, Icarus’ hair had been ruffled from flight. His arms were red, presumably as a result of the wax melting off the wings and onto his skin. His clothes were tattered. The look on his face was one of fear and vulnerability. Apollo was used to mortals looking at him with that sense of terror, but this was somehow different. Something about Icarus’ youth and innocence. Apollo still didn’t understand how humans worked, how they managed to make such careless decisions, how they grappled with their inescapable death. But watching this young man try to explain himself, he thought that maybe once he could at least understand.

“You are a fascinating mortal, Icarus. That is a compliment coming from me.”

Icarus swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

This entire conversation was unnerving, but he sensed a slight change in the god’s demeanor, perhaps a tinge of compassion. And he’d just been complimented by Apollo himself. He never thought that flying too close to the sun and doing exactly the opposite of what his father told him to do would lead to a compliment from one of the most powerful beings in the universe. But of the many things he was still unsure of in that moment, there was one question that came to mind:

“What will happen to me now?” He was almost afraid to ask.

“Well,” Apollo began. “You will go to the Underworld and be judged, as all mortals are. That will determine where you spend the rest of eternity. You are not receiving any special treatment in your afterlife; I simply wanted to speak with you. And spoken with you I have.” Icarus was silent for a few moments, but then nodded slowly. But before he could give a verbal response, Apollo spoke. “Your father will mourn you greatly.”

Icarus was once again taken aback by that. He couldn’t quite tell if that was simply the god stating the obvious, or if it was some sort of order or curse, and he was too afraid to ask. “Yes, I am aware.” But Apollo’s next words surprised him yet again.

“Do you wish for him to?”

Icarus froze. He didn’t want Daedalus to be saddened by his death, but of course he would be. His son had died, after all. It only made sense for him to mourn the loss of his own blood, the boy he had so carefully raised and loved. The child who’d become his closest partner in life. He didn’t want his father to be in grief.

“I wish for my father to be happy.”

Apollo nodded thoughtfully. “Happiness. That is what you felt when you fell, correct? Daedalus will know that. He will know that you were happy.”

Icarus’ eyes lit up. “You can do that?” He didn’t know if he would end up happy in the afterlife, or if he would receive punishment for being reckless. But at least in that moment, that small moment with Apollo, he was happy again. And Icarus knew that if Daedalus knew that, it would make him happy, too. Happiness was something neither of them had felt in so long. It was another feeling that had made the flight so intoxicating for Icarus.

“Yes,” Apollo said. “I can do many things.”

Then, before Icarus could express his gratitude, before he could say or do anything more, the entire moment shattered. Apollo disappeared, everything around them was gone.

His conversation with the god was done. He was no longer in the in-between of life and death. Icarus was dead and would have to face the consequences of his actions. He would have to be judged, his eternal fate decided once and for all.

But he would do all this with the knowledge that his father would know how he felt in those final moments. He would go to the Underworld knowing that he was happy then and now. He would enter the beginning of his afterlife knowing that eventually, Daedalus would get over the loss of his son.

Icarus didn’t know what Apollo gained from that conversation. He didn’t understand why the god had taken such interest in him. But he did know one thing for certain:

He had died, yes, but he had felt freedom. He had found that feeling of happiness that had been missing for so long. Perhaps he had a small sense of remorse for his actions. If he hadn’t died, he would have been free with Daedalus, and they could have lived long lives together out of the tower that had confined them for so long. But in the end, he accepted his fate. He really was happy.

Because even if it killed him, he had touched the sun.

#divider by steddiecameraroll-graphics #greek mythology #ancient greece #greek myth #greek myth aesthetic #the fall of icarus #lament for icarus #icarus #writing #idk what else to tag this as #i'll reblog to my main so its fine #original writing

38 notes · View notes

xaphrin · 5 years ago

Text

“You’re way cuter than I expected.”

Raven jerked at the sound of a voice that was not Damian’s, and she stumbled backward into the water. Her eyes widened as she saw someone - no, something - perched on top of an old, sturdy tree father back away from the shore. Panic filled her as she met eyes as blue as the lagoon and a smile brighter than the sun. It looked… menacing.

There was a rustling of branches and Raven watched as a person jumped down from the tree, his movements impossibly quiet and smooth. He was tall, oddly pale given the white-hot heat of the sun, and his chest was speckled with scars. He wore a pair of perfectly tailored khakis, slung around trim hips, and bare feet, but not much else. Raven watched as he approached her, his smile widening as he took in her entire form before landing on the intricate necklace laying against her breastbone.

“Dami has good taste.” He snorted and leaned back on his heels. “Although, I see he went a little bit overboard with his proposal offerings. I don’t even think half of those shells are from this side of the world.” He looked smug, and gave a halfhearted shrug. “Well, his motto is pretty much if it’s worth doing, it’s worth overdoing.”

Raven stayed quiet, still watching him as he mind raced through a hundred different scenarios all at once. She hadn’t explored the entirety of the island yet, there were still dark parts of the jungle that frightened her and kept her too far from Damian, but she was almost certain she was the only person here. She had to be, otherwise she would have seen evidence of someone else.. wouldn’t she?

“Ah!” The man snapped his fingers as if he’d forgotten something. “But, where are my manners? I’m Richard. You can call me Dick.” He gave a ridiculous, dramatic bow and bent forward far enough for Raven to see two huge scars along his back, just under his shoulder blades. She took another step back, splashing into the waves. The stranger stood back up with a grin. “I’m Dami’s brother.”

Brother? Damian had… a brother?

“Adoptive.”

Raven turned to see Damian behind her, pulling himself into the shallow water with a soft curse. He curled his tail close to Raven’s leg, as if it were a sign of possession. She looked down at him, stuttering. “Brother?”

“Adoptive.” Damian repeated, sounding more annoyed than anything else. His tail flicked against her leg, annoyed. “Richard is my adoptive brother.”

Raven looked back at the stranger and felt the words fall from her mouth before she could stop them. “He’s not a… merman.”

Oh. Maybe it was rude to point that out.

“No! I am not!” Dick grinned and crossed his arms over this chest, and before Raven could blink, she watched as two pitch-black wings spouted from his back. His face contorted into something long and dark, with shadowed eyes and sharp, pointed teeth. He let go of a terrifying cry that rattled Raven’s bones, before he pulled the wings back in and smiled that charming, lopsided smile again.

Damian snorted. “Harpy.”

“Harpy?” Raven looked over at Damian, who only rolled his eyes. “How-? What-?” She struggled to find the right words. “Your brother is a harpy?”

“Adoptive brother. And yes, he is a harpy - an annoying one.” Damian sighed and lifted himself up a little higher on his hands. “What are you doing here? I was told that you were supposed to be off in eastern Europe for the next… forever?”

“I heard I was going to have a sister-in-law soon! I needed to come meet her. Cute, by the way.” Dick gave a thumbs up and stepped towards them. “I never thought you’d actually find someone. Especially someone as cute as her! And a human to boot.” He took a few steps closer to her and took a deep breath, as if tasting her scent. “Oh! Not human! Part-fae! Woah.” He snapped his fingers again, placing his hands on Raven’s shoulders. “I bet Kori would love her. I should bring her by and they should make a day of-”

“No.” Damian glared and offered a delicate curse. “And, stop smelling my bride, you cad.”

Dick stepped back and rolled his eyes. His eyes went down to the shells at Raven’s neck before looking back at Damian, his expression sly. “Anyway… I assume you’ll be making this all official next week?”

“Official?” Raven blinked and looked back at Damian, her heart . “I… I thought we were official.”

Damian sighed and glanced up at her, searching her eyes as if he was trying to gather courage to tell her the truth. “We are… engaged.” He let go of a deep sigh and shifted in the water, his tail still brushing against her leg. “But, without the ceremony to seal our matrimony, we are not official, as Richard so eloquently puts it. The shells only announce that you are taken - not how you are taken. Whether by betrothal or marriage.”

Raven blinked, her heart turning over in her chest. She was his betrothed, but somehow she thought she was more than that, and learning that she was not yet his wife set something on edge inside her. She shifted, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. “Did you… not want to-”

“My love.” Damian’s words were sharp, almost harsh. “I will tell you everything you want to know, and explain every question you have.” He turned back to Dick, who was laughing into his hand. “But not with him hovering over us like a pest we cannot kill.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dick grinned and took another step back, his wings sprouting from his back in a flash of shadows and feathers. “I can take the hint.” He lifted off into the sky, hovering above Damian and Raven. “I’m sure I’ll get to welcome you as my sister officially next week. Until then… take good care of her, Dami.”

Raven stood there and watched him fly off, feeling Damian’s tail twitch next to her. He huffed out another curse and flicked his hair out of his eyes. A long silence stretched over them, and Raven sat down in the water next to him, watching as his eyes turned dark. He glanced away from her, as if he was trying to gather both his courage and his thoughts. Raven waited patiently, listening to the waves as they crashed against the sand.

Finally Damian spoke. “I have… a lot to explain.”

Raven snorted. Yes. He did.

#damirae #damirae week 2020 #demonbirds #meet the family and maybe kinda marriage #I hated my soulmate au so I had to scrap it #but I hope this is okay #merman au

197 notes · View notes

whitherliliesbloom · 4 years ago

Text

birds of a feather

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #16 - crane ]

[ illya & friends ] ★ [ 1,847 words ] ★ [ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ] features ancientechos’ laurelis and two of my other ocs.

crane: a tall, long-legged, long-necked bird, typically with white or grey plumage

though their species varies as much as the colors of their plumages, birds of a feather flock the warrior of light together

“So...” Sigfred’s puzzled expression is framed by the furrowing of his eyebrows as he looks down at the young woman as she tries and fails to protectively shield her newest little companion away from his view. “You decided your aviary isn’t quite populated enough, did you?”

He says little, but the creature stood a good two feet taller than the comparably tiny lalafellin in front of it, the red tuff that crowned its head not helping it stay out of sight and unnoticeable either.

Of course, even if the peculiar thing hadn’t been almost the size of a small hyuran child or had striking plumage, it wouldn’t distract anybody from the fact that the lanky, majestic creature Illya had herded back home was yet another bird - a wild crane hailing from the far east.

“It wasn’t my decision to make.” Illya frowns, shaking her head while she idly raises her hand to rest upon the crane’s head, stroking it gently. “She just followed me back.”

“All the way from Yanxia?” The disbelief in his voice is his understandable, as is the skeptical crossing of his arms. He has trouble believing that a wild animal would doggedly tail Illya thousands of miles away from it’s natural habitat. Though his cynicism quickly fades when his scarlet eyes meet starlit ones, and he is reminded of the supernatural affinity the girl has with feathered creatures when a pigeon casually flutters over and lands on top of her head.

He cannot tell if the lack of the wild animal’s natural fear of people when it came to Illya was more absurd, or the fact that she seemed completely nonchalant about the way a bird was nesting atop her hair.

“Yes.” She answers, voice dipping slightly in pitch to convey her seriousness. “Hien had quite a struggle to chase her off the boat.”

Evidently, the Prince of Doma had failed spectacularly... and as if self-aware, the crane puffs it’s chest out and tilts her head high into the sky.

Next to Sigfred, the bard’s shoulder shakes in mirth, his loud guffaw echoing through the shroud of trees and causing the pigeon that had been peacefully resting on Illya’s head to flee, much to her unspoken chagrin.

“Gods, I’m not even surprised anymore.” Wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eyes, E’lija finally speaks in between choked laughter. “Illya brings home a new bird like every other day.”

Heat spreads across the young lady’s face, though as if sensing her embarrassment, the cockatiel that had been sitting quietly upon the branch of Illya’s wisteria tree flys over before landing on her shoulder, now nudging it’s head against her cheek.

“I-I... I don’t choose to, most of the time at least... Plus, if I take good care of them, there shouldn’t be a problem. Isn’t that right, Orion?”

The cockatiel bobs its head up and down, much to the utter shock of E’lija who throws his arms up.

“W-wha- It can understand her??”

Orion doesn’t spare even a second to pause before turning it’s head to lock his beady, round eyes upon the miqo’te before his beak parts to voice his detest towards the man who would embarrass his master.

“Piss off.”

“IT CAN TALK?!?!” E’lija so very nearly falls off his fold up chair, threatening to take the cups of coffee and biscuits onto the floor with him. “WHERE- Where did it learn that from???”

“.....Estinien.” Illya frowns, lifting her index finger to poke at the cockatiel’s forehead in disapproval. “He got into a fight... well... argument with Orion. It wasn’t pretty.”

She really should find a way to tactfully ask the man to cut his expletives down... or at least not feel the raging urge to get into a debate with a mere bird, lest she have a harder and harder time convincing people that she was not in fact the one responsible for teaching her pet cockatiel how to yell ‘Thal’s balls’ in a guest’s ear.

Sigfred merely hums, his hands stroking his chin as he narrows his eyes at the crane.

“What kind of crane is it, anyway? We didn’t see a lot of it’s kind back in Doma.”

“It’s a Manchurian crane - one of the rarest species of cranes in the world, I believe. It’s particularly highly revered in the far east... which was why I had to hide her below deck while we were sailing by Kugane.”

His interest piqued, the redhead straightens himself and adjusts his hat before leaning back into his seat.

“Why’s that?”

“Um... well, if I remember right, it symbolizes good fortune, longevity and immortality.”

E’lija has to stop his jaw from dropping so low that it’d collide with the table. Archons, and this apparently rare crane from the far east that represented god given virtues has now taken a liking to Illya so much it’d leave Doma to stalk her all the way back to Eorzea?

Internally, he wonders what sort of karma he must have to obtain such divine blessings.

With a clear of his throat, Sigfred steers the conversation back on track.

“So what now? What do you plan on doing next with it?”

“I-I.... I don’t... I don’t know? She’s stubborn... wouldn’t budge for anyone. I had thought maybe letting her see just how different the shroud is from Yanxia, she’d want to go home but...”

A hearty, more pleasant giggle rings out next to her, and Illya turns to look at a pink-haired miqo’te who she had assumed would be too pre-occupied with cuddling her baby dodo to have paid attention to her conversation with her other party mates.

Laurelis still is, to an extent... her arms wrapped tightly around the plump, round creature as it lets out an occasional squawk. But as usual, when it came to the topic of animal adoption and welfare, she was ever the first to jump to contribute to the topic.

“Why don’t you just adopt her then? You already know how to take care of other birds so... just one more won’t make much of a change, would it?”

That was the exact mindset that would lead Laurelis to have an ever growing household of cats and dogs that she’d find on her travels... but Illya thinks pointing out the irony to that would only get lost to her dear friend.

“Well... I... I have my reservations.”

Illya turns behind to look back at the crane as it stares intently back at her. Whatever that was going through it’s head, it certainly had no intention of returning where it came from... But that in itself was a bit of a problem.

“Manchurians cranes are an endangered species... I’m not sure I’m qualified enough to take care of one, let alone adopt and keep one for the rest of it’s life, when it should rightfully be wild.”

There was a drip of hypocrisy in her statement, certainly. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s had to shelter a wild animal only to be forced into a position of adopting it - and it didn’t just apply to birds either.

But caring and raising a species at danger of going extinct was an entirely different issue that she rightfully felt she had no place dabbling in - not without professional training, at least... and the twelve knows when she’d find an expert in the matter willing to teach her.

Ethical concerns aside, Illya also struggled to find a concrete reason for why she absolutely had to keep this beautiful creature in her home.

For most of the other animals she’d adopted, they had been rescued in some form or the other. Hazel for example, the brown sparrow that she had found with broken wings near Bentbranch Meadows a few summers ago. Though Illya had full intentions to release her as soon as she healed from her injuries, the little sparrow grew attached and has rarely ever left her side since.

She’d struggled to find an adopter who would be willing to take in her mobirdly obese chocobo chick Lawrence, due perhaps to their reservations in regards to providing for his demanding diet. And likewise, the hunting hawk that she’d met upon a pirate ship had been abandoned after losing it’s eye... and his protectiveness over not just herself, but anyone he knew to be someone Illya cared for, made it difficult to even find ways to put adverts for his adoption.

Illya had thought the reason why birds seemed to flock to and very often stay by her side had been for the simple fact that she’d saved them... and that their attachment to the one who saved them made it impossible for them to part from her.

The Manchurian crane however, would perhaps be the clearest proof that her affinity with birds was... unnatural, to say the least.

Not that she minded, of course... Because for as much as she would bring doubt to her own abilities to care for the animals under her care, she did secretly have a soft spot for birds that perhaps made it hard for her to give her feathered friends as much as it would be for them to find a new home.

“Maybe I could foster it for a while before bring it back to Doma.” Illya hums, but hears Laurelis whine pitifully in response.

“But she’s clearly attached to you! I’m sure she’ll be happiest by your side. At the end of the day, her happiness and wellbeing is the most important, right? I’m sure you’ll do just fine, Illya!”

The miqo’te points out, gesturing to the yard full of birds who roosted quietly - from Lawrence who was now rolling about in his little playpen full of sand, to Captain Blackbeak who sat vigilantly atop the purple mailbox decorated with golden leaves and stars that sat right outside her yard.

Illya hears hazel singing from where she sat on the roof of the pagoda, and the nudging of the crane’s beak against her face, as if both voicing their agreement for Laurelis’ words... and Illya lets out a heaving sigh that was copied comically by the cockatiel on her shoulder.

“I-I’ll think about it.” Though there’s still a hint of hesitation, the fact Illya was willing to even consider was enough to cause Laurelis to break out into a grin, lifting her hands up to clap in delight.

“Oh goodie! Now think of a name for her!”

“N-now??” With widened eyes of gleaming lavender stars, Illya parts her mouth and shakes her head frantically. “W-when I’m put on the spot like that I can’t--... I can’t think of anything-”

“Oh!” Evidently more than happy to suggest some ideas, E’lija blurts out. “I have some ideas! How about... Queen crane! Or... Immortal Nancy! Or-”

“Shut up stupid! Shut up stupid!”

Bouncing up and down, Orion squeals out, causing the bard to finally collapse off of his chair and spill his milk coffee, which Illya is certain that Lawrence would be more than happy to hop over and drink off the floor.

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #illya skawi #laurelis #sigfred #e'lija #fanfic #mine #THIS WAS VERY VERY RUSHED AND I WANTED TO INCLUDE MORE DIALOGUE AND SCENES BUT #IM PRESSED FOR TIME I JUST CAME HOME FROM WORK AAAAA #i originally wanted to write about modern au involving an arcade with the crane game but lulun already did that ;w;#btw go read her fic its SO GOOD

2 notes · View notes

theshapeshifter100 · 4 years ago

Text

Wolf and Raven Chapter 10

First

Masterlist

The rune led the two of them to the very top of the fortress. The snow whirled around them as they burst up the stairs, hair and cloaks whipping around them.

From up here the boughs of the Heart Tree could be seen. The very tips at the top still a verdant evergreen, but the branches were blackening.

In the centre of the black tower, Nevar was waiting. His horned grinning mask mocked the pair of them, and he spread his arms, opening his cloak. In one hand he held his own Staff of Power, topped with the skull of a raven. In the other he held a paler staff, topped with a snarling wolf’s head.

Fingers of fear clawed their way up Wolf’s back, marred with the burning of fierce longing.

Raven clapped her free hand to Wolf’s shoulder, and Wolf returned the gesture with her free hand. The two did not need to look at each other.

“Nevar!” Raven challenged, moving to one side. “Will you run from us like a coward?! Or will you stand and fight?!”

Nevar lowered his head ever so slightly and he opened his arms in challenge. His shoulders began to shake, and booming laughter echoed around the parapet.

“This is not just inside my head, is it?” Wolf asked Raven.

“I hear his laughter as well,” Raven assured.

Dark energy crackled around Nevar, and Wolf flung the first of her runestones. It burst into a ring of green sparking energy, surrounding Nevar.

His black energy scattered, and the laughter was replaced with a roar that rattled the inside of Wolf and Raven’s skulls.

Raven struck, flinging lightning at Nevar, who deflected with his cloak, sending the lightning shooting across the canopy.

Wolf threw another stone, sending a burst of flame across his back. She ducked and rolled as Nevar lashed out, sending dark energy crackling towards her. In his other hand he still held her staff, but it was on Raven’s side.

Trapped within the green ring of runic energy, Nevar was forced to stay roughly where he was. He flung spells at the two shifters, and the two flung magic right back.

Lightning crackled and feathers flew as Raven jumped and shifted. Wolf ducked and rolled, flinging rune stones. Fire burst, vines grew, ice froze, the blackened stones themselves rose to trap him. It never held him for more than a few seconds, but it was few seconds more that Raven had to attack.

Nevar’s form flickered, and so did the green energy trapping him.

Wolf fumbled for her stones, trying to find another trap stone. No that was fire, that was ice, that was rock…

“Wolf!” Raven yelled, and Wolf looked up just in time to see Nevar swinging with his staff crackling with dark energy.

A battering ram of pain collided with her shoulder and she spun into the wall, shrieking. Laughter echoed in her mind and the image of a broken staff tumbled.

Humming buzzed in the back of her head and she clutched it, screaming as dark energy danced over her. Fire flared in her ribs and in shoulder, the worst and most current injuries, and she couldn’t take a breath deep enough.

The energy stopped as Nevar bellowed, purple lightning striking through him. He turned to face Raven, her face set as she sent another blast of lightning.

Wolf staggered to standing, the humming nearly drowning out everything else. The green line of energy flickered again and she rifled through her stones.

“Eyes!” was the only warning Wolf could give before she flung down a stone that let out a flash of bright light. Immediately after came down her second, and last, trap stone.

Nevar’s roar made her ears ring and once the blinding white faded Wolf staggered back. Nevar’s mask loomed mere inches from her face.

Her lips curled into a fearful snarl and she took a few steps back. Her snarl then faded as her eyes grew wide.

Nevar’s staff was planted into the stone, and he held Wolf’s staff horizontally in both his hands. About to break it over his knee.

Icy fear flooded, and time slowed. No. No he wouldn’t.

He would.

Her body tensed as fear was quickly replaced by flames of anger. No more. No. More.

She was finished with this.

With a loud snarl Wolf launched herself at Nevar, grabbing at her staff with both hands. Her amber eyes glared into burning yellow and red. Her eyes then widened as Nevar lifted the staff into the air, taking her with it, legs pedalling below.

“Let go! Wolf let go!” Raven yelled, holding up her staff, “I cannot strike with you so close!”

Wolf bared her teeth, feeling her staff’s power under her fingertips. It longed to be in her hands again. They had been apart far too long.

Blue light crackled along the shaft. Wolf swung a kick at Nevar, one hand letting go of the staff to press a runestone against the mask.

Fire burst across Nevar’s face and he screamed, dropping Wolf’s staff. She stumbled and backed away, clutching her staff.

Once Wolf was out of the way Raven struck, sending blast after blast of lightning at Nevar.

Ice spread from Wolf’s feet, her staff waking from it’s long slumber. She thrust it out and sent a rush of blue ice right at Nevar, blasting him back.

Wolf laughed, feeling the power rush back through her. The pain in her bones began to ease and she stood straight, her cloak snapping in the wind. While the runes had been a useful crutch, she now had part of her returned.

Raven and Wolf attacked simultaneously, striking Nevar with lightning and ice respectively. Nevar roared, his form flickering.

Raven glanced to the tree, and saw that a glowing green light was filtering up through its leaves. She shot her head to Wolf.

“Pull back!” she cried. “On three!”

Wolf looked at her and saw the green glow. She nodded.

“One! Two! Three!”

The two of them pulled their staffs back, and Nevar had just enough time to see the Heart Tree flare into life, and a green glow rushed like a tidal wave coming for him.

The wave caught him and flung him away, carrying him until he flickered out of this realm.

Raven and Wolf looked at each other, but before they could celebrate the floor beneath them cracked. The scaffolding began to collapse, and the highest stones began to tumble from their perch.

“His fortress! The forest will not stand its presence!” Wolf realised. “We must go!”

Raven nodded and shifted, flying towards the tree. Wolf took a flying leap, summoning the snow from air around her to make a safe path for her.

She slid down the path of ice and snow, the black stone fortress crumbling behind her.

The grove opened for her to pass, revealing the central glade.

Above them towered an impossibly tall rowan tree, inexplicably evergreen even in the depths of winter. Its yellow/brown trunk would take ten Wolf’s holding hands to surround it.

Bursting out the snow and the gentle green glow was a wide variety of plant life. Snowdrops burst free, bluebells mingled with daffodils, moss crawled up the sides of the grove trees and daisies gathered in clumps among the Heart’s roots.

Only two Warriors remained, much to Wolf’s dismay. Nevar had dragged the plan out of her mind screaming, so it was unsurprising that he had been ready. Still, she had hoped more would have been able to make it.

Raven landed and shifted at around the same time as Wolf stepped off the path of ice.

“Warriors,” Raven spoke, “on this day you have saved the Lands of the North, outwitted and outmanoeuvred Nevar and his demons, and pushed him back to his desolate realm. You have performed admirably.”

“You have my gratitude,” Wolf added. “We are forever in your debt, and the Giants shall speak your names for ages to come,” she inclined her head, performing a half bow, half curtsey. “I may never be able to repay you, but I wish to show you something, come.”

The Warriors followed Wolf to the trunk of the tree, and with a tilt of the head, Raven followed as well.

“Place your hands against the trunk, like so,” Wolf placed her hand against it, and watched as the Warriors copied, apprehensive but curious. A look at Raven made her place her hand against the trunk as well.

All three pairs of eyes widened, as underneath the bark a gentle pulse thrummed.

“We do not call it the Heart for no reason,” Wolf smiled softly. “This tree is said to be older than the Giants themselves.”

The Warriors pulled their hands back one after the other, looking at each other in wonder. Raven took a moment longer before pulling her hand back.

There was a gentle rumble, and from the rowan’s roots two staffs grew. They were deep brown rowan heartwood, with runes carved into the side. One was topped with a red rowan berry and the other a green seed.

“It seems the Heart Tree is grateful to you also, and has imparted these gifts to you,” Wolf gestured for the Warriors to take them. “Use them wisely.”

The Warriors grinned at each other and took a staff. They were shorter than Wolf’s and Raven’s, but the Warriors themselves were smaller. Younger. They would grow with them.

Wolf inclined her head once more once the staffs were collected. “I will now return you to the shore, and you may leave as soon as you are able.”

Wolf briefly looked at Raven, who nodded ever so slightly. Wolf raised her staff, feeling it’s power humming beneath her fingertips. She thrust it out and a shimmering portal appeared, showing the shoreline on the other side. Wolf gestured the Warriors to go first, taking a step back to allow them through.

The Warriors wasted no time, but Raven paused.

“Will you be following us my friend?”

“I will be, do not fear,” Wolf assured, and with a nod Raven stepped through.

Wolf paused, looking around the grove. The gentle pulse of the Heart tree seemed to be shared by all the guardian trees. Also rowans, but smaller, although most likely as ancient.

She took a deep breath through her nose, slowly exhaling, before stepping through the portal after Raven and the remaining Warriors.

---

Team Rocket’s blasting off aaagggaaaaaaiiiin!

#Wolf and Raven #Raven #New Raven #Raven of Old #Nevar #demons #Warriors #Raven fanfiction #Raven: The Island #Raven: The Secret Temple #Raven: The Dragon's Eye #OC #TheShapeshifter100 writes

1 note · View note

te-dedico-um-livro · 5 years ago

Text

TOPIC EAGLE ---------------------- *Seven Principles Of A Good Christian Directed On An Eagles* _____________________________________________________________ *PRINCIPLE 1* Eagles fly alone at high altitude and not with sparrows or other small birds. No other bird can got to the height of the eagle. Stay away from sparrows and ravens. Eagles fly with Eagles. _Isa:40:31: "But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint._ *PRINCIPLE 2* Eagles have strong vision. They have the ability to focus on something up to five kilometers away. When an eagle sights his prey, he narrows his focus on it and set out to get it. No matter the obstacles, the eagle will not move his focus from the prey until he grabs it. Have a vision and remain focused no matter what the obstacle and you will succeed. _Proverb:29:18: "Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth the law, happy is he._ *PRINCIPLE 3* Eagles do not eat dead things. They feed only on fresh prey. Vultures eat dead animals, but eagles will not. Be careful with what you feed your eyes and ears with, especially in movies and on TV. Steer clear of outdated and old information. Always do your research well. _Mark:4:24: "And he said unto them, Take heed what ye hear:_ *PRINCIPLE 4* Eagles love the storm. When clouds gather, the eagles get excited. The eagle uses the storm’s wind to lift himself higher. Once it finds the wind of the storm, the eagles uses the raging storm to lift himself above the clouds. This gives the eagle an opportunity to glide and rest its wings. In the meantime, all the other birds hide in the leaves and branches of the trees. We can use the storms of life to rise to greater heights. Achievers relish challenges and use them profitably. James 1:2-4 [2]Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. [3]For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. [4]So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing. *PRINCIPLE 5* The Eagle tests before it trusts. When a female eagle meets a male and they want to mate, she flies down to earth with the male pursuing her and she picks a twig. She flies back into the air with the male pursuing her. Once she has reached a height high enough for her, she lets the twig fall to the ground and watches it as it falls. The male chases after the twig. The faster it falls, the faster he chases it. He has to catch it before it falls to the ground. He then brings it back to the female eagle. The female eagle grabs the twig and flies to a higher altitude and then drops the twig for the male to chase. This goes on for hours, with the height increasing until the female eagle is assured that the male eagle has mastered the art of catching the twig which shows commitment. Then and only then, will she allow him to mate with her. Whether in private life or in business, one should test commitment of people intended for partnership and also ourselves should stay committed to Jesus as we follow his rules and needs in our lives as we wait for his blessings and the second coming as we trust in His Words and promises. _Psalms:37:5: "Commit thy way unto the LORD; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass._" *PRINCIPLE 6* When ready to lay eggs, the female and male eagle identify a place very high on a cliff where no predators can reach. The male flies to earth and picks thorns and lays them on the crevice of the cliff, then flies to earth again to collect twigs which he lays in the intended nest. He flies back to earth and picks thorns laying them on top of the twigs. He flies back to earth and picks soft grass to cover the thorns. When this first layering is complete the male eagle runs back to earth and picks more thorns, lays them on the nest; runs back to get grass it on top of the thorns, then plucks his feathers to complete the nest. The thorns on the outside of the nest protect it from possible intruders. Both male and female eagles participate in raising the eagle family. She lays the eggs and protects them; he builds the nest and hunts. During the time of training the young ones to fly, the mother eagle throws the eaglets out of the nest. Because they are scared, they jump into the nest again. Next, she throws them out and then takes off the soft layers of the nest, leaving the thorns bare. When the scared eaglets again jump into the nest, they are pricked by thorns. Shrieking and bleeding they jump out again this time wondering why the mother and father who love them so much are torturing them. Next, mother eagle pushes them off the cliff into the air. As they shriek in fear, father eagle flies out and catches them up on his back before they fall and brings them back to the cliff. This goes on for sometimes until they start flapping their wings. They get excited at this newfound knowledge that they can fly. The preparation of the nest teaches us to prepare for changes; The preparation for the family teaches us that active participation of both partners leads to success; The being pricked by the thorns tells us that sometimes being too comfortable where we are may result into our not experiencing life, not progressing and not learning at all. The thorns of life come to teach us that we need to grow, get out of the nest and live on. We may not know it but the seemingly comfortable and safe haven may have thorns. The people who love us do not let us languish in sloth but push us hard to grow and prosper. Even in their seemingly bad actions they have good intentions for us. *PRINCIPLE 7* When an Eagle grows old, his feathers become weak and cannot take him as fast as he should. When he feels weak and about to die, he retires to a place far away in the rocks. While there, he plucks out every feather on his body until he is completely bare. He stays in this hiding place until he has grown new feathers, then he can come out. We occasionally need to shed off old habits and items that burden us without adding to our lives. _*Eph:4:22:* That ye put off concerning the former conversation the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts; 23: And be renewed in the spirit of your mind; 24: And that ye put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness._

6 notes · View notes

birdy-rps · 6 years ago

Text

The camera shifts slightly ad her face comes into view. Checking the settings one more time she smiles and waves to the camera,

"Hi! Today we are going to go through the various creatures I own and how I got them! Now, while I own an aviary, many of the birds just visit momentarily and then return home either to their owner or they are relocated to a proper habitat after rehabilitation. I own around 9 different birds, 2 different reptiles, one amphibian, one arachnid and 5 mammals."

She turns the camera around, showing her walking to a door. The door opens to reveal what appears to be a animal paradise, different glass domes showcasing brilliant fauna from different ecosystems. The first dome she walks into appears to be a north American forest, and the camera shows her sliding a thick leather glove onto her hand.

"First up, let's meet Arthur. Arthur is a Male great horned owl, who used to be a pet until his owners got tired of him. Instead of bringing him straight to a place like mine, they just let him out into the wild, leaving him defenseless and vulnerable to predators. He had no idea how to hunt for himself and hardly flew around unless he wanted to perch."

She makes a whistle noise and theres a barely there sound of flapping as a large owl swoops from the trees and lands on her gloved hand. The owl settles himself and preens lightly under the view of the camera.

"He was given to me by someone who found him practically starving to death out in the woods. I taught him how to fly and how to hunt by using treats whenever he did it well, but since he had been a pet most his life he refuses to leave and thus cannot be rehabilitated. He's very friendly and behaves well around all age groups so he is one of my best models for photographs when I go to teach kids about animals"

Raising her hand and making another whistle noise, Arthur flies off into the trees. Moving to another patch of trees, She reaches into a bag at her side and pulls out a small piece of raw cubed beef, clutching it between her thumb and index within the large glove. She makes a high pitched scree noise and a more noticable flapping noise is heard from directly in front. A gyrfalcon swoops down and lands on her hand, quickly gobbling down the beef.

"This is Fawkes, my gyrfalcon. Hes about 8 years old, and came to me about a year and a half ago, suffering from an injured foot. He was given to me by a retired falconer and very quickly got used to being pampered because of his injury and prefers to stay in the aviary where he can stretch his wings whenever he pleases but still get attention."

Raising her hand like she did with Arthur, Fawkes flies off into the trees. Taking the large glove off, she flips the camera to face her again,

"Those were my north American birds, now on to my tropical species"

There's a jump cut and now Sarah is shown standing in an area of lush fauna, two different species of macaws on her shoulders. The one on her left shoulder is a scarlet macaw, the one on the right is a hyacinth macaw. Adjusting the microphone on the small headset, she introduces the pair,

"This is Bow, the scarlet macaw, and Beck, the hyacinth macaw. Both are around the same age, about 4 years old, and I got both from a rescue program after their habitats were destroyed due to logging companies. Both are very friendly and will attempt to take any buttons you happen to have on you, hence why I'm wearing a regular T shirt without buttons on it. They hang out here in the tropical dome with each other and anyone who happens to stop by, so they're never lonely"

The camera now shows her sitting on a low branch next to a toco toucan, the bird walking back and forth along the branch.

"This is Tulio, the toco toucan. He has been with me ever since he was a hatchling, his species being a very popular pet. He was the runt and was gifted to me by a very reliable avian breeder. He's very friendly and loves to eat fruit, and I often let those who pose with Tulio feed him a berry or two as a treat for good behavior."

Another jump cut and now she is standing holding a greater bird of paradise, the bird preening his feathers as he perched on her arm.

"This is Tico, the greater bird of paradise. He is about 3 years old, and loves being in the spotlight. I got him after he was injured in his habitat by some logging crew after he refused to leave. Since being brought to me, he has recovered fully but now thinks I am his mate and consistently performs a display to hopefully get me to accept his proposal."

She visibly sweatdrops as she mentions this before the scene changes to her opening the door to another dome, this one lacking very many trees and instead having tall Savannah grass. As soon as she closes the door, a pair of wings can be heard getting closer, and the moment she turns around, a large African crowned crane is standing in front of her.

"Oh! Hello Majesty, heheh. This is Majesty, my African crowned crane. She was gifted to me by a local zoo after she got involved in a pretty bad spat between her and another of their female cranes. She enjoys attention and pretty much demands the focus be on her at all times, and there has been one or two incidents of her pecking at someone who didnt give her the attention she wanted. Because of this, I rarely have her pose for photos, although she loves having her picture taken."

The scene cuts and now she has the camera pointed to a secretary bird, standing tall with his head feathers moving in the slight breeze. He steps toward the camera and pecks at it before Sarah moves the camera away, laughing softly,

"This is Jaques, my Male secretary bird. He has a habit of pecking at anything he can get his beak on, Haha. Despite that though, hes much more behaved than Majesty and thus I have more pictures of him. He tends to stand on people's shoulders if I have them crouch next to him. He was also given to me by a zoo as they needed more space for different animals they had received and had no where to put him. He enjoys being scratched under the beak and that's usually what he's asking for if he shoves his head in your hand."

The camera cuts again to show Sarah holding a large bearded vulture on her arm. He has bright orange pigment in his feathers.

"This is Steve, my bearded vulture, or lammergeier. Their diet is primarily bones, and they put pigment in their feathers to make them more intimidating. Steve prefers to be left alone and thus keeps to himself when I'm not around. I've had him for about 3 years now, after being injured by a trap someone had set. These fierce birds are captured and poisoned in acts of illegal persecution, and seldom make it out before the person who trapped them comes back to check their traps. And that's all of my personal avians!"

The view changes to being inside a fairly spacious room with terrariums lining the walls. She walks over to the closest one, opening it to show an African fat tailed gecko, carefully reaching her hand inside for the small reptile to crawl into her hand.

"This is Kiwi, my African fat tailed gecko. She's very friendly and her favorite place to sit is on people shoulders or head so she can get a good look around. Kiwi is an oreo morph, one of the rarer ones as this morph type is recessive. She likes to lick things and it feels very ticklish when she does, heheh. I've had her for about 2 years, and I got her for my birthday."

Placing Kiwi back into her tank, she moved down to another one, opening it and carefully removing a piebald python. The snake immediately slithered itself up to rest around her neck, causing Sarah to flip the camera view.

"This is Cookie, my piebald ball python, shes about 3 years old and was probably the best Christmas present I ever received! She enjoys curling around people's necks and she's extremely photogenic, she poses in just about every picture I've ever taken of her. And given how comfortable she is around my neck right now, I think itd be best if she stays there for the rest of the video."

There's a cut and the camera focuses on a black salamander with yellow spots, leisurely resting in a small pool of water.

"This is Mino, my black and yellow spotted salamander. I got him from my college professor who told me she couldnt take care of him anymore because of her new apartment having a strict no pets policy. He prefers to stay in his tank and it's best to not handle him because the oils from human hands could hurt him very badly. So most of the photos I have of him are of him in his tank."

The scene changes to show a large tarantula crawling on her hand. Sarah whispers softly into the microphone to avoid startling the arachnid,

"This is Luna, my rose haired tarantula. She is one of my oldest pets, being 13 years old. I've had her since I was in highschool and she's been with me through pretty much everything. She's very docile and is very okay with being handled but since she's so special to me I only let her take pictures with those I know personally."

Coming up to the last few minutes of the video, the camera shows two ferrets, a cat, and two dogs, playing next to a couch. Of the two ferrets, one is a dark eyed solid white and the other has a standard sable coat, and they seem to be playfully fighting over a toilet paper tube. The cat is a ragdoll and is leisurely resting in a patch of sun coming from the window. The smallest of. the two dogs is a pomsky, the larger being a albernese mountain dog.

"To end my video, I'm going to introduce you all to my five mammalian pets, Jinx and Greg the ferrets, Maria the ragdoll, Skye the pomsky and Kiba the albernese mountain dog. Out of the five, Maria is the oldest at 10 years old, Kiba coming in second at 5 years old. Jinx and Greg came from the same litter, both being 3 years old, Greg being the runt. And Skye is the youngest at 2 years old! I got all of them from reliable breeders and I cherish all of them dearly. And that concludes all my personal pets! Thank you for tuning in, see you next time!"

The video ends with a slideshow of various pictures of the animals with various people.

#animals #introduction to the crew #this is really long oof

2 notes · View notes

crazypercheron · 7 years ago

Text

Sinja Zine Writer’s contest

Their footsteps echoed through the hallway as Sinbad and Ja’far made their way towards the Black Libra Tower.

“I wonder what kind of project it is that has Yamuraiha locking herself up in her study. I’m actually getting a bit worried.” Ja’far told Sinbad as they reached the doors.

“One way to find out. Either way it has to stop.” Sinbad sighed and knocked on the door. “Yamuraiha, are you in there?”

“Just a minute, Your Majesty. I’m at a very delicate par-” A shriek came through the walls soon followed by glass being shattered. Smoke started pouring through the gaps of the wooden doorframe and Sinbad and Ja’far shared one look before storming into the room.

Quickly Ja’far and SInbad had breached the door to Yamurahai’s study, arming themselves incase they needed to fight with Ja’far clutching tightly to his dart daggers and Sinbad grasping the handle of his sword. They scanned the room that was still filled with heavy black smoke, unable to make any shapes out at all.

“Yamuraiha!” Sinbad called out to the choking cloud, “Are you hurt?”

Squinting his eyes, Ja’far was able to barely make out a shape close to the ground. Surely it was Yamuraiha as he could hear her coughing from the mass. “Sin! There she is.” Thanks to the windows having been smashed out by the explosion’s shockwaves, the smoke had begun to start clearing out as the king and advisor rushed over to the young magician, assuming that she had been hurt since she still failed to rise to her feet.

“Yamuraiha! Are you-,” Sinbad stopped as he placed a hand on her shoulder. Instead of feeling her smooth fabric and draping hair, he felt a rough, scaly texture under his fingertips and pulled back. Ja’far couldn’t restrain his gasp opf shock as well.

“Yamuraiha... You’re... You’re...”

She wheezed for air in between her coughs, “I’m -cough- I’m what Ja’far? T-tell me please!”

“Herm... Yamuraiha,” Sinbad started, “Before we let you see, I just want to start off with by saying that you’re still the most lovely general that I had the honor with-erm- I mean, you’re the best general of all of Sindria-”

Ja’far scowled at him. “Sin, you’re not helping!”

Now she was panicking. “What is the king talking about?! I-is something on my face?!”

“N-no-no... It’s not that- it’s -uh..” While Sinbad had tried to come up with a way to admit the truth to her, Yamuraiha had already made her way to the nearest mirror with most of the shattered glass intact.

And let out a loud scream.

“My face! My body! I’m- I’m a hideous TURTLE!” she wailed.

“Er, tortoise actually, but you are a beautiful-aack!” Ja’far elbowed Sinbad in his ribcage hard.

“Yamuraiha, what was it that you were trying to create anyways?” he asked, trying his best to ignore Sinbad’s childish pout and calm Yamuraiha down.

“Ja’far, this is terrible. I was following a recipe I found that supposedly is the potion of long life and eternal youth. I thought I could create it and we could sell it for a profit,” she craned her wrinkled neck side to side to examine herself and pawed her face with the huge tortoise foot. “ I can’t be seen around the palace like this! And Sharrkan! I can’t have him see me like this! It’s enough that he calls me an old hag all the time, I’m never going to hear the end of this when he finds out I have turned into an old turtle too!”

“You know, if it’s any conciliation to you, at least you succeeded in that ‘long life’ part of the potion, after all, tortoises live for a very long time!”

“Sin!” his advisor barked, turning quickly back to Yamuraiha, “Yamuraiha, is there anything we can do to help you fix this?”

“Y-Yeah, there is a simple cure for this, and I had it but it fell into the mixture by accident and caused... this.”

“Well, do you have access to this cure then still?” Ja’far inquired, glancing over at her table. the explosion evidently occurred on the table since phials were shattered, plant material was scorched, and liquid spilled on the floor.

The sun was still hovering high over the blue sky as Ja’far and Sinbad made their way into the forest next to their palace, having not only been unable to coax Yamuraiha out of her room, admittedly they wouldn’t have been able to carry her out to the forest unless they got Masrur involved. They ventured through the tall trees, keeping their eyes up high on the tree branches for any sign of the bright blue flower that Yamuraiha needs.

“Ja’far, you sure we cannot use the ones that are on the floor already?” Sinbad frowned, looking at the wilted petals that laid strewn about the forest grounds.

The young man shook his head.”She said specifically it had to be freshly picked and the full potency lasts for only 3 hours after that, so she will need it as soon as she can so she could just chew on the petals and turn back to normal.”

Ja’far continued to look up at the tree branches and sighed,”But the PauPau flowering season has ended so that’s why it’s hard to find any flowers right now. While I admire her for thinking about Sindria’s economy, she should have held that experiment off until the beginning of the flower season so she could have no problems with finding a remedy so quickly.” Suddenly Ja’far frowned as he realized something, “Unless she meant to use it on herself and wasn’t really keeping Sindria in mind,” he added bitterly.

“I don’t see anything wrong with being a tortoise for a year, besides the name-calling from Sharrkan, I think it’s a great vacation.”

Ja’far stared at his king. “Then who’s going to power our protective barrier over Sindria, Sin?”

“Point taken,” the king laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head before looking up again. Then his golden eyes went wide as he stopped. “Look! There’s one right there! But it’s so high up.”

He was right, this flower was growing on the highest branch of the tree, nearly blending in with the sky. The small advisor studied the tree branches, determining which ones he could safely leap on. “It’s OK Sin, I think I can reach it.”

“Oh, are you sure Ja’far-kun?” He leaped up to the closest tree branch before Sin could finish asking Ja’far. As Ja’far leapt up swiftly from branch to branch, Sinbad couldn’t help but watch in awe, it was as if he was almost flying up the tree the king thought to himself. Then finally, Ja’far landed on the last tree limb he knew could hold his weight, glancing up at the flower.

It was so close, but yet the petals swayed gently in the sea breeze just way out of his reach. Not a problem, he thought to himself, holding a dagger in his hand and with a flick of his wrist and precise aim, threw it at the stem of the flower. With a successful swipe, the flower was slashed from the tree.

However, Ja’far failed to notice the large papagoras bird that just happened to be perched behind the flower. The brightly coloured bird let out a loud squawk as the dagger flew by it and nicked some feathers off its chest as it flapped its wings wildly to get away. Then it turned it sight on the former assassin.

“Ja’far!” Sinbad shouted out to him, watching as the advisor quickly tried to descend from the tree branch, diving down from one tree branch to another as the angry papagoras bird chased him. Ja’far tried to swat the bird away as it flapped its wings into his face and ducked to avoid the pecks with that powerful broad beak it had. Losing balance, Ja’far tumbled down to the next limb and wheezed as his body hit the branch hard enough to knocked the air out of him, yet he still managed to scramble up to his feet and regain footing on the branch. Taking the advantage of the tree’s smaller branches blocking the squawking bird above him, he peered down to see how far from the forest ground he already was. It was tempting, he admitted, to leap down to the ground in one jump, but even he knew he was far too high up in the tree to fall without taking some damage to his feet.

“Ja’far! Look out!”

Ja’far side-stepped quickly just as the bird dove at him, smashing into the trunk of the tree with his powerful beak. In his panic, Ja’far realized he stepped off the tree and begun to fall towards the ground back first. He could see the bird turn around and make another attempt to dive at him again, however, a bright blue flash of lightning cracked dangerously close past Ja’far. He felt the raw, pure energy from the lightning as the electricity made all of the hair on his head and arms stand on their ends from the sheer power it had. The sound deafen his ears so while he could not hear the papagoras shriek out its final cry, he could see the offending bird become fried by his magic attack. Ja’far snapped out of his trance at seeing the bird to realize he was still falling and closed his eyes tightly in hopes that the impact to the ground wouldn’t hurt so much when suddenly.

Whump!- he landed in a pair of strong, scaly arms and he knew that Sinbad had taken on his Baal equip. “So much for being an assassin Ja’far-kun,” he teased as he floated down to the forest floor, “I think you’re losing your touch.”

Ja’far allowed his king to set him down on his feet before he puffed up his cheeks and crossed his arms. “My line of work didn’t include being chased by a bird that could smash boulders with its beak you know!” he argued.

Just as Sinbad changed back to his normal self, he reached up and plucked the flower that was still drifting down from tree and held it up to Ja’far’s face, smiling. This wasn’t his normal suave grin though, Ja’far noticed. Rather it was.. much more softer, warm like the Sindria sun and very sincere he noted. “I was worried when I saw you fell you know, would this flower suffice as an apology for not getting to you sooner, Ja’far-kun?”

He gazed into his eyes a little longer, but realizing how foolish he must looked, Ja’far looked away. “I’m afraid I can’t accept Yamuraiha’s cure, Sin. After all, if you forgot already, she needs it more than I do.”

“Oh,” Sinbad rubbed his head again, clearly he had indeed forgot about the whole reason why they were in the forest. “That’s right. Well,” he lifted up the leg of the roasted papagoras bird and called after the young assassin that had begun to walk away back to the palace, “Then how about dinner? We have a nice roast Papagoras bird for you to enjoy.”

“If you finished your work, my King,” Ja’far said as he stopped and looked back at Sinbad, “Then perhaps I’ll consider it.”

Sinbad pouted. “You’re no fun Ja’far-kun.”

Ja’far stopped once again, then looked back at Sinbad. He tried to hold his steely glare at him, but he could tell that was being sincere this time as noted by how he wanted to gift him the last PauPau flower of the entire forest, so he smiled faintly. “Alright Sin, just for tonight I guess we can put off your work again. Now come on, Yamuraiha is probably furious we’re taking this long to bring her back her cure-.” He was slightly caught off guard as Sinbad grasped his hand and held it tightly.

“Thank you Ja’far-kun! Our first date! i’m so excited.”

“Yeah,” Ja’far smiled, holding his hand back as they both made their way to the palace, “Our first date with a bird that tried to kill me.”

“Well, I mean,” Sinbad stammered, but Ja’far laughed.

“I was joking Sin, I can’t wait.”

#Sinja Zine Writer Contest #Sinja Zine #Sinbad #Jafar #Yamuraha #long post

19 notes · View notes

luminoustico · 8 years ago

Photo

Warriors

For @politicalmamaduck

A/N: This following AU has its premise shamelessly stolen from Disney’s Mulan, and much of the dialogue for the porgs is stolen from Mushu tbh, but I have no intention of whitewashing the movie itself. This canonverse story is primarily about Rey, punk ass daughter of a Jedi, wanting so much to punch a First Order officer in the face, she’ll disguise herself as a man to do it.

Synopsis: The First Order has risen from the ashes of the Empire. The Resistance has been formed by General Organa, with her son, Ben Organa-Solo as Commander and her right-hand man while her husband Han Solo fights on the frontline. To avoid the mistakes of the Galactic Civil War, Leia Organa has called for troops to only be admitted over the age of 20. Having been turned away from a pilot position for being only 19, Rey, the daughter of a Jedi and eager to carry on her mother’s legacy and bring down evil in the galaxy, disguises herself as a male and lies about her age in order to gain a position in the training ranks of foot soldiers on Crait, the Resistance’s latest base of operations. She doesn’t count on her training commander being Ben Organa-Solo himself.

“Okay.” Feeling the ground underneath her feet, Rey held her mother’s lightsaber in both hands. She thumbed it on. The green blade hummed, the hilt vibrating underneath her touch as if knowing her emotions, her confusion. Rey swallowed it down, drawing the Force inward then exploding it outwards over her skin, a mask of calm. The hilt of the lightsaber vibrated still.

Rey cricked her neck, shifting her weight. “We’ve got this-- I can do this---”

“H-yah! Yah! Yah!” She jabbed left and right, as she’d watched her mother do in the mountain gardens, away from everything but the Force. She twisted on her heels, thrusting her mother’s saber forward, “ahhh!”

She stumbled forward, the blade sinking into the thick tree trunk, splitting it in half. With a gasp, thinking quick, Rey dropped into a roll, hearing the rush of leaves, the cracking of the trunk as it fell, landing with a dull thud. Above, birds fluttered from the branches. In the thick water, creatures growled. Her heart hammering, blinking, Rey sat back on her elbows, watching as splinters drifting towards the swampy underground.

Her mother’s lightsaber hummed in her palm.

Remembering herself, she switched it off, clambering to her feet.

Behind her, she heard the amused beep of her mother’s astromech droid, KE-88.

“I’m working on it,” Rey snapped, heading towards the speeder bike, throwing open one of the saddlebags and sliding the lightsaber inside. She retrieved a muja fruit, biting roughly at the skin, not caring about the juice dribbling down her chin. “I’m not asking for a miracle, to be suddenly able to wield a lightsaber.”

“Did I hear someone ask for a miracle?”

An explosion of fire appeared at her left, and Rey stumbled back, swearing in Huttese at the apparition before her. A long, thin shadow tangled within the hot orange flames of a campfire, part way up the hill before her. The shadow’s arms, vine-like in their length, weaved upwards and out in an arc.

“Let me hear you!” called the apparition, its voice high and eager.

Rey blinked, once, twice.

“What the kriff?” she whispered, stepping closer to the apparition.

“It’s okay, we’ll skip that. Rey, get ready, for your salvation is at hand! For your ancestors, all as strong in the Force as you, have sent me to help you through your masquerade!”

Rey glanced to Kayee, who, staring at the flames turned their head towards her and beeped.

“Exactly,” Rey murmured, raising her voice and her eyebrows when she looked back at the dying campfire. “Um, who are you?”

“Me? I am a guardian of lost souls, Rey-- I’m the powerful-- the pleasurable, the indestructible---” A part of Rey’s heart lifted as the long shadow moved, the flames dying, waiting to see what lay beyond it, and sank when from behind the rock, a strange little bird waddled out. Its wings were flat and narrow, flapping against a rounded body, grey with a burst of orange at its chest. Rising up, it flew over her head, round and round in three little circles, before settling on Kayee’s head. “Jado.”

Affronted, Kayee rolled over the swampy ground towards the water, lurching their body forward. The creature, thrown forwards, squawked its squawk, more of a squeak, and landed in the water with a splash.

Rey hurried towards the lake’s edge, peering, but the creature resurfaced, lake water running in drips down its feathers. It shook itself free of the water and landed once again on top of Kayee. Kayee beeped indignantly, threatening the creature with another dip, but the creature merely ruffled its feathers, staring up at Rey.

Rey dropped to a crouch before the creature. It reminded her somehow of a purra-bird, preening and waiting for praise with its wide, wide black-brown eyes.

“My ancestors sent a little purra-bird to help me?”

“Porg, not purra,” the creature spat, ruffling feathers, offended at such a suggestion. “I don’t do that squawk thing.”

“Uh… right.” Rey stood, which only made the height difference worse. “You’re--- you’re really not what I would expect. You’re tiny, for one thing.”

“Oh sure, but if I were my real size, your droid would short-circuit out of sheer fear, that’s for sure. A porg’s powers,” the porg continued, “are beyond any human’s imagination. We do more than fly, you know. If I wanted to, I could shrink down to an atom and hide right inside your tunic.”

She couldn’t exactly say why, but at such a comment, she instantly smacked the porg, which sent it flying back right into a puddle of mud. The porg in response, flipped up onto its feet, waddling quickly towards her, roaring in a tiny squawk.

“Dishonour!” it screamed, slapping her shins with its wings, “Dishonour on you, dishonour on your bucket---”

Rey scooped up with the porg with both hands, her voice tumbling over her tongue to deliver an apology.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it---” Kayee beeped, annoyed still, and Rey frowned down at them. “Ssh! He’s adorable.”

“Don’t call me adorable!”

Rey cringed. “Sorry.”

“Just about the worst thing you could call a porg. Anyway, you’re young, I’ll forgive you. C’mon, hop on your speeder,” urged the porg, gesturing towards the bike.

Rey frowned. “What?”

“Didn’t you listen to what I said up there?” asked the porg, impatient. He gestured back to the boulder and the wisps of smoke. “I am a guardian. I’m here to help you with your masquerade. For a start, you’re gonna wanna clean up.”

“Clean up?” Rey wrinkled her nose, staring down at her tunic, marked with mud and earth, her boots caked in leaves.

“You look like you slept in Bantha fodder then were dragged backwards through an entire jungle, trust me. Now c’mon.” The porg jumped out of her palms, clambering with feet and wings up her arm, frowning at Rey’s giggles as he set himself on her shoulder. He reached out, flicking a smear of grease from her chin. “There’s a clean water lake just up that hill, a few klicks from base camp.”

---

“The latest strike by The First Order has severely depleted our numbers,” Leia explained, as foot soldiers, admirals and pilots alike gathered around the holo-table for the latest briefing. Her eyes slid towards Ben, who stood beside her. She smiled proudly, but still carried the air of a general, whatever she did. Leia Organa never allowed anything to undermine her authority, and it made the Resistance look to her like a homing beacon. “Intel has led us to understand that a strike on our eastern trenches on Crait will take place. We cannot afford to lose this holding. General Solo is already leading a platoon to defend, while Commander Organa-Solo will train the new onset of troops. Admiral Ackbar, you will lead the air support for General Solo. Understood?”

Every member of the Resistance nodded, murmurs of conversation springing up as they fanned outwards. Ben stayed by his mother’s side, a glower etched into his face, even as she turned away from the holo-table and glanced through a datapad.

Her eyes did not look up from the data pad when she spoke.

“My father commands a platoon, while I, a commander, stay behind to train soldiers and--- what, shuffle papers?”

“And in time, when support is needed, you shall be summoned. I’ve made that clear enough, Ben. Until then, you do your part for the Resistance and the war.” Leia pressed the datapad into his hands, leaving no room for an answer from her son, firmly pressing a door closed on any potential argument. As the years went on, he looked like his father, so his uncle said, and behaved like her. “These will be your soldiers.”

“They hardly look promising,” Ben grumbled, his thumb flicking through file after file, drawing up blue-tinged images of eager faces, sons of pilots and foot soldiers who had all fought before.

“All of them are the descendants of the Jedi.”

Ben went still. His grip tightened on the datapad.

“Wouldn’t Uncle Luke be more suited to training them?”

“They don’t wish to be Jedi, they want to fight. But they still need to be taught how to use a lightsaber,” Leia added, turning to face her son, her eyes falling on her father’s lightsaber, strapped to her son’s hip.

“I’m not surprised. Their ancestors weren’t very good at keeping their vows, were they?” Ben muttered. His mother chuckled.

“Biology is biology, Ben. You’ll meet your recruits after lunch, which is now.”

On cue, a distant crash sounded from the canteen, located to the left, down a wide corridor. Ben hurried down the corridor, pressing his palm against the entrance panel, his mother just behind. His mouth went dry from fury as the doors slid open. Pashi noodles and fists were slung from man to man, Huttese curses yelled and insults were thrown. His mother ducked, avoiding an approaching missile of noodle.

“Day one,” she said. She patted Ben on the high of his back, turning away. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Ben clenched his datapad as he stormed forward.

“Soldiers!”

His commanding yell echoed around the high ceiling of the canteen.

Each fight paused. Black eyes already formed stared back at him. Some sons, aware of where exactly they were, and who exactly was before them, nervously adjusted their ripped sleeves and tried to wipe away noodle stains from their uniforms with their fingertips.

In the centre of the crowd, a soldier, with a lightsaber strapped to their hip, their skin and uniform scrubbed clean, lay on the ground, curled in upon himself.

Ben stopped before the soldier, glaring, with his hands on his hips.

“Get up.”

The soldier slowly lifted his head, peering through the gaps of his fingers at his commander.

His uniform, now Ben could take a closer look at it, was odd. It was not the official uniform of the Resistance, that the other soldiers had failed to look after in their various fights, all started over Pashi it seemed, but called back to the time of the Empire, and the Alliance that wiped it from history, promising a new start.

The soldier, who looked too young to be over 21-year cycles (as so many did, they seemed younger and younger as he endured another year of the war), rapidly brushed noodle from the leather of his jacket and the cotton of his trousers. He bowed his head. His deep brown hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck and he stood straight with his shoulders flung back, his feet an equidistance apart.

A smirk twitched at the corner of Ben’s mouth.

“I assume you are the reason for this mess.”

“Uh…”

Ben returned his attention towards the datapad. “What’s your name?”

“Uh… I...”

He quirked his head up, narrowing his eyes. “Answer it, soldier.”

“I don’t---” The soldier cleared his throat, his voice descending two or three registers. He frowned, his eyes flickering towards a dark-skinned soldier standing among the crowd, sporting only a scuff on his cheek from the mass fight. “His name is Finn.”

“His name wasn’t the one I asked for,” Ben snapped, crowding the soldier before him, looming over his short stature. “I want to know your name.”

“Um, -- no, Jado!”

“Jado?”

“No! Pinn!”

For a moment, Ben thought he’d misheard the soldier. He flicked through the blue images, glancing between them and the soldier.

“I can’t find you on the database.”

“I’m a late conscription,” the soldier replied. Ben’s chest tightened, his hackles raised.

“You can confirm that? Pinn?” he asked, into a dangerous silence. He swallowed a smirk as the soldier frowned. Naivety was sketched into the soldier’s face, but The First Order was cunning; naivety could easily mask intelligence, and leaks could spread faster than contained. It was a paranoid way of thinking, but one he’d adopted long ago.

An astromech droid rolled forward from the back of the crowd, bumping through the bodies of other soldiers to approach Ben. He knew basic Droid, and just about followed the droid’s beeps. Apparently, the droid belonged to the Pinn boy. He recognised a name and raised his eyebrows.

“Your mother?” he asked, tilting his head towards Pinn. “Wasn’t aware she had a son.”

“Well, uh, I’m younger than you. Obviously.”

Ben narrowed his eyes. “Obviously.” He tapped out a note onto the datapad. “Your droid will be analysed by our resident protocol droid for identity confirmation. Until your identity can be confirmed, you’ll be confined to quarters. Dismissed.”

The soldier fell in then, drawing his feet together and clasping his hands behind his back, bowing shortly. Ben gazed past him at the rest of the soldiers.

“Clean yourselves up, and get back here. I want every single Phasi noodle picked up before the end of the day. Understood?” Immediate protestations blew up.

“But sir---”

“It was him!”

“He started it!”

“Pinn---”

“My command is final, soldiers,” Ben spat, voice rising above them. “Pinn, you will be among them. Apart from that, confined to quarters. Understood?”

The answer came in unison.

“Yes, sir!”

Ben exited the canteen, ignoring the jibes thrown the way of the young Pinn by the troops. If he were a double agent for The First Order, he would have more than disgruntled soldiers to look out for, that was for sure.

#reylo #kylo x rey #rey x kylo ren #star wars #swedit #eleanorwrites #au #politicalmamaduck

45 notes · View notes

supernatural-schism · 9 years ago

Text

Prologue

It was a year ago that Castiel lost his humans.

(Click here for content warnings.)

In the cool air of a Michigan night, a streetlamp flickered. It buzzed, spat a handful of yellow sparks into the darkness, and went black. Under the streetlamp, there stood a man.

He loomed motionless on the sidewalk outside a cozy suburban house. The windows of the house were bright, and they threw golden splashes across the neatly trimmed lawn, but the light fell short of the man’s feet. Soft clatters of cutlery and murmurs of voices filtered through the window. Inside, a small family was having dinner, surrounded by light.

But outside, there was no more light in the man’s eyes than there was in the dead streetlamp above him.

----

It was a year ago that Castiel lost his humans.

Only one of Castiel’s humans physically left him, but he still lost them both. Sam Winchester was lost in the deepest pits of Hell, but Dean Winchester was lost in his grief. Castiel wasn’t sure who would be harder to save.

Perhaps it was a sense of responsibility that turned Castiel’s wings towards Heaven again. He suspected influence by a quiet, guilty craving to have his freshly-won freedom replaced with structure, even though he knew he would find none there.

Heaven would be in chaos. Michael had been the keystone of the angelic hierarchy, the second best thing to God himself. Everyone knew who to take orders from when Michael had been in charge. But Michael was gone now, fallen into the deepest, blackest pit in God’s creation and sealed there for eternity. And without its keystone, the castle was crumbling.

Tall grass brushed Castiel’s shoes as he walked through a lush green field on the outskirts of Heaven’s gardens. The trees were aglow, frozen in peak autumn colors, beautiful splashes of crimson and gold and maroon against the clear blue sky. The colors swirled and danced when a breeze washed through them, shaking loose bright leaves to send them spiraling through the air. Castiel knew better than to trust the serenity of it. He was still out of breath from fleeing the last angel he’d encountered.

Castiel’s brothers and sisters were lost in the wake of their aborted apocalypse. Angels did not do well without structure. Most of them knew that Castiel had played a part in unraveling the end of days, and none were grateful for it. The angels that Castiel had encountered had greeted him with steel.

A crumbling castle indeed. If Castiel didn’t watch his head, he was bound to get hit by the falling stones.

The wind gusted again, sending a flurry of red and orange leaves flying from the trees. They scattered across the greenness of the grass, never accumulating enough to cover it, the boughs never growing bare. Castiel wandered over to a tree, leaning against the smooth bark and staring up at the shifting flecks of blue sky that showed through the branches. He’d have to wander back into the densely populated parts of Heaven again, once he caught his breath. He had to find Raphael. With Michael gone, the only archangel remaining was Raphael, and if he was trying to restore order then he would surely be in the thick of things, not enjoying the peace of this little woodland.

“Castiel.”

Castiel stiffened. He turned slowly, his back tingling in two crisp lines where his ethereal wings were ready to burst forth, carry him off to another part of Heaven if need be.

An angel was standing between the trees, her dark hair tossed by the wind.

“Ambriel,” Castiel replied.

The form Ambriel manifested was androgynous, as she tended to prefer. The face had a strong jaw but elegant brows, the shadow of a shaved beard but long, flowing hair. Her form was slim, fey, but the aura of her grace radiated power. And irritation.

“They say you were involved, Castiel.” Ambriel’s almond eyes narrowed. “They say you stopped Michael from fighting Lucifer. That you’re the reason he’s gone.”

Castiel’s wings itched. “I couldn’t stand by while millions of humans died unnecessarily.”

“You were ordered to.” Ambriel’s words were getting sharper. “I do not understand how this became complicated. Since when were orders difficult for you, Castiel?”

Castiel took a step back. There was an angel blade in his trench coat, but he had no desire to use it against his sister. “I’m looking for Raphael,” he explained cautiously. “Could you please tell me where I might -- ”

Ambriel’s wings snapped out in rage, striped feathers brushing the trees around her. “What use do you suppose he has for you?” she snarled. “What use can Heaven have for an angel for whom orders are so unpleasant?”

Castiel’s own dark wings had flung out when he saw Ambriel’s. The wind tugged at them as if urging him into flight, and the blade felt heavy in his coat. “Ambriel, please -- ”

��Enough.”

The voice boomed. Ambriel’s wings wilted, lowering until her banded feathers touched the fallen leaves. Castiel couldn’t do the same, not when he might have to flee again.

Raphael strode through the clearing towards them. Castiel didn’t know when the sky had gotten so dark, but it was clogged with rumbling clouds as the archangel approached them.

“Ambriel.” Raphael’s voice crackled and boomed in the clear wide space of Heaven, unhindered by the restraints of the mortal plane. “Return to your duties. I will attend to Castiel myself.”

Castiel could sense Ambriel’s frazzled grace relaxing in the presence of the archangel. “Of course.”

There was a flutter -- nothing compared to the storm that her wings had been ready to unleash -- and Ambriel was gone.

The calm that Raphael had brought with him was palpable. It must be a relief to the lost angels, Castiel thought, having an authority to follow in the chaos, and Raphael radiated authority like the sun radiates heat. Castiel himself wasn’t immune to the comfort of it.

He felt significantly less comforted when Raphael’s piercing focus turned to him.

“Castiel.” Raphael’s voice put the thunder overhead to shame. “I must admit, I did not anticipate your return.”

Castiel’s dark wings retracted respectfully, no longer flared out in preparation for combat or flight. “I know Heaven is in turmoil,” he began, taking a step closer. “Please, I wish to help fix things.”

Raphael sighed, a great weary gust. “ ... Castiel, I know you mean well, but surely you are aware that the current state of Heaven is largely your doing.”

Castiel couldn’t find the words to disagree.

“I am the highest ranking angel left in Heaven,” Raphael continued. “Thus, I am the one who should lead. But there is no protocol for this, and angels require protocol. Our people are lost, frightened, and there are many who would disagree with me allowing you back into Heaven right now. I must secure their loyalty.”

“Surely you are not frightened of dissent,” Castiel blurted.

Raphael regarded him silently as the wind blew and the trees rustled. Then he let out a soft rumble of laughter. “Oh, Castiel. The humans really have changed you.” The chuckle died, and Raphael’s voice grew sharp. “I cannot rule angels through fear. I will not. They must know I am right, and obey with unshakable faith. I cannot afford doubt in the ranks now, and that is something your presence would surely cause.” He gestured with one dark hand to the sky. “As Ambriel has demonstrated, you are not well loved in Heaven.”

Castiel shrunk under the words. He could sense Raphael’s grace softening.

“This is not banishment, Castiel,” he rumbled. “Later, I will find a place for you, once I am sure that our brothers and sisters will trust my decision. But you must be absent for now.”

Castiel was silent under Raphael’s gaze. The tension went out of him, and a pulse of acceptance washed through his grace.

“I will give you one gift before you leave,” Raphael promised. “An order.”

The word was bittersweet. Castiel braced himself. “What order would you have me follow, Raphael?” What use can Heaven have for an angel for whom orders are so unpleasant?

“Your humans,” the Archangel rumbled. He turned to leave, the thunder receding as he did. “You have tended to them well in your time on Earth. Go back to Earth, and tend to them again.”

Castiel couldn’t remember the last time an order had felt so easy to follow.

----

The abandoned pier creaked under Castiel’s feet as he shifted his weight. He squinted in the bright sunlight, watching the gulls circle overhead. Their shrill cries cut through the low rumble of the crashing waves below. Transitioning from Heaven to Earth was always a shock, and Castiel found it easier to bear if he spent some time in a place like this. The pier was lonely, peaceful, beautiful. The sun-bleached wooden planks were worn smooth from countless footsteps, the pillars crusted with barnacles where they touched the cold, salty spray. Pale sand spread out behind him, and behind that, tall dunes crested with bobbing grass. The ocean lay before him, almost blinding in the sunlight, blue and clear and enormous, stretched to the horizon. Such a view could almost belong in Heaven.

Though in Heaven, the gulls probably wouldn’t try to shit on him.

When Castiel heard another set of footsteps creaking across the ancient, salt-whitened wood, his eyes jumped to find the source.

Crowley’s face was crinkled with unhappiness in the sunlight, his jacket tugged by the wind. “I just want you to know,” he rasped, “that the only reason I’m here is because I can’t help but notice how un-ended the world is, and I hear you had something to do with that.”

Castiel took a step towards the demon, each footstep creaking. “Thank you for coming. I have two favors to ask.”

Crowley lifted his eyebrows. “Favors? Ah, no, I don’t do favors, mate. I’m more the exchanging type, really. Tit for tat.”

“I expected this.” Castiel reached into his trench coat, his fingers wrapping around the smooth wooden handle of the Colt. The Winchesters wouldn’t approve of this, but the Winchesters weren’t here. He pulled the Colt out into the sun, and light flashed off the barrel.

Crowley scowled, straightening his back. “Ah, so this is a blackmail situation. A poor choice of enemies, Castiel -- ”

“What?” Castiel wrinkled his nose. “No, this is my bargaining chip.” He held it out, handle-first.

Wind gusted across the pier, and Crowley blinked. His shoulders slumped. “ ... Ah. I see. Very well, what do you want in exchange for your infinite death stick?”

“Bobby’s soul.” Castiel lowered the gun. “You promised you would give it back. I mean to hold you to that.”

Crowley shrugged. “Done. And what else?”

“I want the soul of Sam Winchester.”

Crowley spluttered, nearly falling off the pier. “Th-that is not a favor!” he spat, stabbing one rough, accusing finger in Castiel’s direction. “That is either a joke in extremely bad taste, or else rumors of your head being re-assembled after your little explosion have been vastly exaggerated!”

“It is not a joke,” Castiel bit out. “In exchange for the Colt -- which is one of the few weapons on this planet that could end your pitiful existence -- I will require Sam’s soul.”

Crowley gestured in violent exasperation. “I can’t just waltz into the Cage and pluck Sam’s pure little heart from Lucifer’s claws! Don’t you remember how much of a pain in the arse it was getting Mr. Little Red Horns back in there? The place doesn’t have a rotating door!”

Castiel crossed his arms, letting the Colt dangle from one hand. He gave Crowley an assessing look. “ ... And here I thought you were ruling Hell, Crowley. Are you telling me you don’t have control of your own domain?”

“Hell, I control.” Crowley’s face hardened. “The Cage is God’s domain.”

“Everything is God’s domain,” Castiel corrected.

“Yes, well, there’s bits that He won’t let the rest of us touch, and that abyssal pit is one of them.” Crowley held his hands out in defeat. “I can’t give you Sam’s soul because it’s not mine to give.”

Castiel pursed his lips. A gull cried overhead, louder than the others, and the wind gusted. “ ... Then give me what you can,” Castiel began slowly. “Give me safe passage through Hell, up to the gates of the Cage.”

“Gates,” Crowley repeated scornfully, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’d be lucky to find a hairline fissure.”

“But I could find one,” Castiel pressed.

“Bollocks, the strings I’d have to pull -- ”

“Can you make it happen, Crowley?” Castiel pressed. “Can you get me in?”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “ ... I could make it happen, you suicidal little pigeon,” he relented at length. “But that leaves us with a issue.” He gestured at the Colt dangling from Castiel’s hand. “One bargaining chip from you, two from me. And one of them quite a tall order.”

Castiel blew out a breath. “I have little else to give. What do you want?”

Crowley’s smile curled slowly across his face as the ocean crashed and rumbled below.

“ ... A favor.”

----

Castiel had been to Hell before, but he’d never gone this deep.

He recalled the rough iron gates, crude and jagged, with the bodies of Hell’s victims split open and skewered on the cruel spikes. He recalled the festering stench of it, the way the recently-impaled were sometimes still whining in pain. He recalled, too, the fiends that guarded the gates, and how easily they fled before the boiling white light of an angel army. The gates were always crusted with old blood, and sticky with the new, but the blood and the victims alike had all burnt to a merciful crisp when the angels rammed it open.

This time, Castiel didn’t need an army at his back to scare the guards away, for they willingly slunk off when Crowley flicked his hand at them.

“If only I’d had you around when we were rescuing Dean Winchester,” Castiel muttered as they stepped through the towering, creaking gates.

Crowley scoffed, and with a snap of his fingers, the gates screeched shut behind them.

The hard, baked red plains of Hell stretched out before them, blotted with lumps of volcanic stone. This was the Hell Castiel was used to, a mottled landscape of melted stone forms and steaming, sulfurous pits. As they walked through the smog and the dust, and Castiel looked down his nose into the putrid, bubbling depths of a noxious pool. He’d been shoved into a pit just like this during the battle for Dean Winchester’s soul, and held under by laughing demons. The demons didn’t laugh for long. Castiel pulled his eyes away from the lumpy, mineral rim of the pool and followed Crowley through the smoke.

A few demons noticed Castiel as he passed, and jeered at him. They silenced quickly when Castiel’s eyes turned to them and they saw the fire of Heaven inside. Castiel would have preferred to blaze across the dead plains of Hell in his true form and bypass this nonsense, but this was a burglary, not a frontal assault, and it wouldn’t do to draw attention.

“How soon do we arrive?”

“Settle down,” Crowley griped. He too was manifesting a form that strode as humans did across the sick dead sand, but Castiel could see his demonic form leaking through the cracks. An aura of raised spines, scraping claws, and hot smoke followed him with each step through Hell.

Their path led ever down through the rings. Crowley took Castiel through a layer of Hell that was all twisting corridors of stone, leading always to another torture rack, another hellhound kennel, another chamber that shook with sourceless screams. They passed out of the dungeon and into a fleshy field, where the ground pulsed and great tendrils writhed on the ground like parasitic worms, and slobbering maws opened up beneath your feet to swallow you up.

They passed through a landscape of glass-sharp stone. They passed through a dark, damp woodland, barren of leaves, howling with wind. And they passed through an abyss filled only with bloody chains that ripped like wet paper when Castiel’s wings beat through them.

Crowley had opted to hover serenely, safely out of Castiel’s wingspan, as they descended.

“You look stupid,” Castiel grunted.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “This coming from the being whose wings are made of fluff? Oh yes, very menacing, very graceful.” He scoffed and turned away, regarding the chains around him as though seeking agreement. “No decent wing is made of feathers.”

The abyss went down, even after the last dangling chains ended in ripped links. It got quiet. Castiel’s muffled wingbeats were the only noise, painfully loud in the emptiness. They descended until all trace of the landscape above had long faded in the darkness, leaving only black. For a few, terrifying minutes, Castiel could see nothing either above or below, and could barely even tell that he was moving downwards. Crowley’s face was shadowed, cut out of the blackness in stark blue light from Castiel’s eyes. It was impossible to tell whether or not he was smirking with the shadows dancing over his face.

Through the dark and the quiet, they descended.

Castiel was close to breaking the choking silence when he saw the dull catch of light on the ground far below. It was distant, but it was there -- the bottom of Hell. Relieved, Castiel tucked his wings and dropped, opening them just in time to catch himself. A great cloud of blue-black dust billowed out, settling again as if loathe to be in motion. Castiel’s shoes settled on the ancient floor with barely a noise. The ground was cold and hard, painfully bare, save for the blanket of dust and the occasional splinter of bone that must have fallen from far, far above.

“Have we arrived?” Castiel asked as Crowley floated down next to him. His voice felt wrong in the dead, ancient silence, too loud. Castiel hushed his next words. “Where is the way in?”

Crowley held out his hand, a flicker of orange flame rising from the palm to light their way. More barren ground was revealed by the light, as well as an eroded jawbone, cracked with age, and... a jagged black edge, beyond which there was nothing. A ravine on the floor of Hell.

“Down,” Crowley answered.

----

Castiel didn’t know Hell went this deep.

The hot red plains so far above seemed like another world. A louder one, and less chilling. The canyon of Hell yawned wide as Castiel took flight off the edge and began to descend, Crowley at his side. But bit by bit, grain by ancient stone grain, the walls closed in. The chasm that started off impossibly vast slowly closed around Castiel like planet-sized jaws as he sunk lower into the cold and the dark. He cringed when they became too narrow for him to beat his wings without brushing against unforgiving stone.

Castiel wanted to ask Crowley how much further it was. But he was scared of the answer.

They went lower, deeper, and the ravine narrowed. Castiel had to turn sideways to keep his wings from beating against the rough stone walls. Crowley hovered slowly, silent, watching him. Finally there was no room even for that, and Castiel had to banish his wings and drop until the closing slopes of the ravine caught him, gravity dragging his body to a scraping halt between the rough walls. Castiel steadied his breathing there, his back pressed against one side of the ravine, his feet braced against the other. Crowley hovered down next to him, his eyebrows raised. Castiel looked up, panting, and saw only the cold black walls vanishing up into the darkness. Perhaps the whole ravine had narrowed as he descended, and was only a few feet wide on the surface now. Perhaps the ravine was simply closing around him, and would soon seal up, leaving nothing but dust and old bones above, crushing him into a molecule-thin film between cold, ancient stone, never to be found again, save perhaps by God himself.

Castiel banished the dark thoughts. No, Crowley was here with him. Crowley wouldn’t walk into a death trap, and Crowley wouldn’t break a deal.

“Having trouble there, sweet pea?” Crowley inquired gently. His hushed voice rang painfully loud in the cramped space.

Castiel bit his lip and started scooting further down in the ravine.

It narrowed. Castiel’s knees bent as he scooted lower. Then he had to use his arms to brace against the opposite wall. By now Crowley was joining him, shimmying down the narrow crack in the earth, mountains of weight on either side of them crushing closer and closer. It got colder as they went, until Castiel’s breath was steaming in the blue light from his eyes. His skin prickled, his fingers turning red where he grabbed at the icy walls. He could see frost on the black stone of the ravine that had swallowed up his perception of the world. Still the crack went lower.

When the ravine was nearly too thin for Castiel to squeeze through, his foot slipped on the icy stone and met only air beneath. He didn’t have time to grunt in alarm before he lost his grip on the harsh rock and fell, down into the rib-crushing narrowness of the ravine --

Which wasn’t there. Castiel dropped a couple feet and landed with a curse on a smooth, fiercely cold floor. Rubbing his head, he looked up, just in time to see Crowley wriggle through the crack above and fall through next to him.

“There we are,” Crowley panted, wrenching himself to his feet and adjusting his suit. He gestured at the little bubble of a cave they found themselves in. “I hope you appreciate how many backs I had to scratch to get us access to this place.”

Castiel looked around, standing up. The chamber was round, piercingly cold, and barely high enough for him to stand without stooping. He reached up and dipped his hand into the narrow crack that he and Crowley had slipped through, brushing his fingers against the icy stone.

“This is a dead end,” he stated, dropping his hand again. He rotated slowly to make sure, eyeing every smooth, cold wall of the chamber, his breath steaming. “Where is the way into the Cage?”

Crowley chuckled. For a moment the cold stone was lit up in orange, and Castiel heard a bang and a splash behind him. When he spun back around, the ground had cracked open, and a thick chunk of it was sloshing wetly in black water. Ice. The floor of the room wasn’t stone, it was thick, solid ice. And underneath...

Crowley extended a hand towards the frozen black waters. “Perhaps you are not comprehending what is meant by the deepest pit of Hell.”

Castiel stepped up to the crack in the ice cautiously, peering into it. It was easily big enough for him to fall into. The ripples were fading, the surface settling into a steely mirror that reflected his own concerned face. He couldn’t see anything in the blackness below, but new ice crystals were already beginning to form around the edge.

Crowley slipped his hands into his suit pockets. “This is where we part ways, feathers. I promised I’d take you to the edge of the Cage, but there’s not a bargain you could strike that would make me jump into that little swimming hole with you.”

Cold rose off the pit like steam, sending needles under Castiel’s skin.

“I’ll be back,” he managed. “Will I be able to use this door to leave?”

Crowley shrugged. “Certainly, if you blast your way through the ice. I sure won’t be propping the door for you.”

Castiel nodded in understanding, not taking his eyes off those still, black waters. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and jumped in.

----

A year later, a man stood under a street lamp as it sputtered out.

The spring night was warm, and a gentle wind ruffled the man’s hair. It was the only movement in his body. In the distance, thunder grumbled through the clouds. The storm was far off, but it drifted closer on the soft wind of the night as the family in the house ate their dinner and the man outside watched.

The man under the street lamp didn’t react when a hand descended on his shoulder.

“Sam,” Castiel urged softly. “We need to go.”

Sam sluggishly pulled his eyes away from the warm light of the window. His expression didn’t change as his gaze shifted from the dining family in the house to the angel by his side.

Castiel squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “ ... That’s Dean,” he ventured, tilting his head towards the house. “You remember Dean, right?”

Sam blinked. “ ... I remember Dean.”

“We will... We will see Dean later. All right?”

Sam looked up vacantly at the sky, then back at Castiel. “All right.”

He didn’t resist as Castiel led him away, and made no acknowledgement of the grief in the angel’s eyes.

#episode

75 notes · View notes

monkandmaster-blog · 7 years ago

Text

2.The Planes

The Eye Rollers wake, still face down outside the great hall in Tregath, door wide open. The party ready themselves for battle, but inside the hall is noone, only a dark swirling portal. After testing the portal by putting an arm in first, the party enter into a marsh land. The party notice a small camp on fishmen, Fishbanes, who fish these rivers. Kelion diligently takes down all of their names. The party learns of Elves passing through here some days ago, heading north, and so the party follow. They travel around the large lake and see another rival group of Fishbanes who ride the waves and trall for food. The party purchase some some wave riding boards and learn of a human living in a small cabin on the island in the lake. The party go to investigate, they knock on the door and learn that the human living inside,Trevor Bowhampton, escaped a slave uprising inspired by a party of adventurers that murdered his family in Blennon Port. As the party leave Kelion cast grease on the ground just outside Trevor’s door, Grulaag throws some mud and Bobby rolls his eyes.

The party continue north and come to a river crossing there path and a broken bridge with more Fishbane attempting to fix it, the Eye Rollers stop to help. As they reach into the water but Bobby becomes entangled in weeds as they cut vines to bind the bridge he is saves by Kelion. Grulaag uses is fighting prowess to attack the vines and collects the most.

With the bridge fixed the party continue north and notice bubbles floating out from the dark sea lapping at the shore to their west. Bobby runs around popping them with his rapier. Grulaag jumps on one and becomes stuck inside so Bobby runs over and stabs it, catching Grulaag in the process. Kelion noticed a woman figure bubble up from the dark sea and almost dies from a death stare. Grulaag teleported away, Bobby became frightened. Grulaag then appeared and used his maul to attack the sea hag and kelion cast sickness and killed it.

After the battle they turn to notice a large walled structure behind them. On the way they find a cave. Kelion cast light on a crab and Bobby rapelles down held by the strength of Kelion and Grulaag. As he reaches the bottom he notices the ground undulates as a swarm of snakes move over each other. Bobby tries to shoot one with his crossbow but misses and swifty tucks the rope to be pulled back up and suggests leaving this cave alone.

The Eye Rollers head to the walled area, they knock on the large wooden doors and enter. Fishbane are excited to see them and begin dragging them to a shrine. As the party take in their surroundings they notice none of the buildings have roofs, as Fishbane do not require them, they prefer to live in the damp.

Once they reach the shrine they notice that it is a shrine to outsiders. Auburon and his men are depicted here along with a few others. One being a wizard who visited here many years ago and fell in the well that he now haunts.

After realising they are not the first travellers to have come here they ask where the others went. They are told that all travellers head towards the north tower. The tower stand tall and is shaped like a large wave and at the crest of the wave is a glowing light.

With the north tower in sight the travellers head onwards past pools of standing water. Out of one of these pools a water weird trashes out at them, the party try and attack while they weave past the puddles of water. Bobby uses vicious mockery and calls the water weird “a wetty wet drip”. The water weird does not understand but feels hurt, like it has been insulted.

As they continue Grulaag perceives some glistening cubes of transparent jelly. He tried to warn Bobby but he does not see it and is sucked into the cube. Grulaag tries to pull him free but takes some acid damage to his arm. Kelion uses his staff to pull Bobby free.

Now the only thing between them and the tower is a swamp full of reeds and lilypads. The party decide to use the boards they picked up from the Fishbane fishermen earlier and paddle across, Grulaag followed by Kelion then Bobby. As they reach the edge of the swamp a creature, known as a Flumph, glides up to them propelled by jets of air from its tendrils and tells them to check their pockets. Unbeknownst to the party, Bobby has had his disguise kit taken and a large Bullywug, A toad-like creature, is using it to decorate himself. Grulaag teleports to the Bullywug and threatens him and gets Bobby’s disguise kit back. They thank Jason, the Flumph and ask him to join them, Jason accepts.

At the base of the tower is a swirling tornado of water and two dead bodies and one still alive, they are elves from Auburons army.

The man that is still alive tells you his name is Luna Lineari and he does not agree with what Auburon has planned.

The party immediately trust him and bring luna along as a new member of The Eye Rollers.

The party head through the water tornado, taking some bludgeoning damage, and make it into the tower. Inside the spiral staircase leads up the dark, damp tower. They come to a large chamber and see a water elemental with a glowing runestone in his chest. The battle ensues and eventually Grulaag hits the stone and it flies into the hands of their new friend Luna. Luna keeps it in his pocket for safe keeping. At the back of this chamber appears to be another portal.

The Eye Rollers head through this time entering a dense wooded area. They decide to climb up the nearest hill, but find hostile Ant-like people, known as Thri-kreen and a hill giant camp. The party decide to attack the hill giant and take some toes and meat. While high up the party can see in the distance another tower, similar to that of the water plane. Bobby notices what looks like a naked female sat on the ground below. He goes over to investigate and is swallowed by this alluring plant. The rest of the party head over and manage to free him. Now back in the wood Luna and Kelion decide to travel through the trees while Grulaag, Bobby and Jason travel on the ground below. Seeing a small hut Bobby goes over to open it, getting his hand stuck to the knob. The shed opens its eyes and mouth, it’s not a shed at all but a mimic and is swifty defeated by the party leaving behind a bag of beans and boots of speed. Luna takes the bag of beans and Grulaag the boots.

Up in the trees Kelion and Luna are sprayed by spores that make life very uncomfortable for a while. A Spirit flies down from the trees and asks them to stop walking about in their trees. Kelion and Luna get down and the party continue. Kelion notices a brown substance oozing from the trees and goes over to investigate, but the ooze turns hostile and attempts to lash out. Kelion is startled and decides to leave it alone and continue with the party.

The party come to the base of the tower, this tower resembling branches of a tree with an orb shining at the top. Bright warm lights appear, drifting out of the trees. One travels through Grulaag, then Luna giving a small electrifying feeling. One then moves through Jason and kills him instantly. A burial is made for Jason at the foot of the tower.

Inside Kelion defeats a wood elemental by plunging his fist deep into the chest of the beast and pulling out the runestone. Kelion keeps this one in his pocket.

Just like before, there is yet another portal. This time the party arrive inside a cave of tunnels, dark and glistening with minerals. The party decide to head down the left tunnel and then straight on finding a weapon room, containing nothing special. They then come to a staircase guarded on either side by gargoles. They head down the staircase and find three Deep Gnomes guarding the entrance to their homes. Deciding not to waste time the party do not explore the Deep Gnome’s cave dwelling but continue on in search of Auburon.

The next large opening is searched but only creepy bug creatures are found. Before leaving Grulaag cannot resist searching the darkest place. Throwing a stone with light case on it into the hole causes a shadow demon to fly out and over the heads of the adventurers. Not letting it go, in hope of gaining more power, the party attack it as it retreats and kill it easily. Onward a trap is detected; but Kelion, being at the back, does not see the pressure pad and is hit by a collapsing ceiling. Outside of the tunnels is yet another tower this time in the shape of a mountain with twin peaks and a glowing orb between them.

Inside the tower the party find an unusually difficult foe, the stone elemental. With the party close to death Luna uses his bag of beans and from them grows a mummy’s tomb inside a pyramid 60ft squared. The Eye Roller tumble from the tower along with the stone elemental, all taking falling damage. Kelion uses feather fall to ease his landing. The fight continues and Bobby and Grulaag lose their lives; In that moment a miracle happens. The Raven Queen, a powerful God, presents herself to Kelion in light of all their hard work she offers to bring the fellow Eye Rollers back to life and kill the elemental, however Kelion must follow her and spread the word as a cleric of the Raven Queen, Mishakal. Kelion agrees and his friends are brought back alive and well, Grulaag takes the stone rune and keeps it safe.

The Adventurers are now staring up at the tower with a large pyramid balanced on top. There is a small opening into the pyramid, climbing gear is used to get Kelion up there with the transport stone. He then pops back and takes the rest of the party up with him. They enter and head up an incline leading to a room with a stone sarcophagus in the centre and three more lined up on the wall. Three ghasts emerge from the standing sarcophagi and are quickly battled. The party try to use their combined strength to open the sarcophagus in the centre, however they are feeling weak and do not managed to move it. They do find a hidden door on the far side that leads to a tunnel. Through here they avoid a hidden spike pit and continue up again. Coming to another room with a single sarcophagus at the end. More ghasts appear and again are killed. They find 20 gold pieces and share it among themselves, but see no other way out of the room other than the way they had just come.

They come back into the first chamber and try to move the stone sarcophagus again. This time, after several attempts and near misses, they find more strength and manage to get the lid off revealing a stairway down. At the bottom of the stairs is chamber with a large obsidian statue that reads ‘Ttatoani’ . On the two walls either side are four more sarcophagi and one directly in front of the statue. Wraiths appear out of the sarcophagi to protect their king on last time. The are adorned in gold jewelery, which the party collect when they are done attacking. There is an adjoining chamber that leads behind this one.. The walls are covered in hieroglyphs and murals that depict battles and worship. Seeing a new doorway, Bobby triggers a pressure pad on the ground and is hit by a dart from one of the walls. The party takes care as they make their way down another stairway. The adventurers come to a small chamber, on the walls are vessels that hold what is left of Ttatoani’s organs. A large, beautifully painted sarcophagus is on display at the end of the room. Two dark ghouls appear and begin to attack. Suddenly Ttatoani himself rises to attack the people who disturb him. The Eye Rollers prevail and search the room, finding gold, silver, spices, copper, wine and an eagle and dog carved of obsidian that can be summoned to life. Bobby takes the eagle and names him Big Shack. Grulaag takes the dog and calls him Yum-Yum. In the very corner they can make out another portal and swiftly all head in.

The adventurers come to a sticky, muddy land where grass is attempting to grow. The air has a distinct sulphur smell and the sky is thick with clouds.

As the party stand still, looking around the mud beneath their feet begins to slide and form into a mud creature, known as a Lemure. The party battle this muddy fiend and journey north. Squelching their way through the mud they begin to hear incoherent voices, like a whisper in the air. A creature, covered on mouths is mumbling and whispering. The party are very freaked out and attack the Gibbering Mouther even though they find it very gross.

As the party journey on the ground becomes more like clay. They feel the ground beneath their feet begin to tremble and notice a purple hide with teeth-like spines ripping through the top layer of earth. Grulaag becomes very excited to attack and tries to encourage the others. Luna, Bobby and Kelion agree they do not want to tackle a large monstrosity like that and continue on with their quest.

Eventually the party comes to a black crust of lava, cooled against the mud. In the distance is a large volcano with rivers of lava flowing down and a glowing orb above it. Where the cooled lava meets the mud are small holes leading to tunnels beyond. Four tunnels on the left and four on the right; They Eye Rollers head right and take the first tunnel they come to. They meet Dolmir, Grey Dwarf and he leads them to the main hall. Here, Torrus son of Borrus and now chief of this clan of Grey Dwarves, greets The eye Rollers and asks them of their business. The Eye Rollers explain as much as they know and Torrus agrees to help them get some of the way up the volcano through their tunnels.

A new tunnel is dug and brings the party out half way up the volcanoes steep side. As the party climb past the molten lava rivers that flow down past them they hear a loud BOOM as the volcano unleashes a violent eruption. The party dodge falling rocks and continue to climb. As they pass close to the lava they notice a large fire salamander rise out and hiss something in a language they don’t understand. The party defeat the salamander and climb the rest of the way to the summit. The party feel the warmth from the lava below. There are a set of steps carved into the inside edge of the volcano’s crater leading to an opening lower down. Inside the opening there is a spiral staircase that leads down further into the volcano. As they enter and head down the party comes to a door that is partially open. They can hear voices coming from inside. Luna recognises the voice of Auburon. The group agree to send Luna in first to distract him. Luna enters and greets Auburon by calling him cousin and tells him that there is a group of people waiting to fight him through the doorway. Kelion went in alone to take out Luna and the rest of the army, even with his spell of shield he still struggled to take them all on. Grulaag and Bobby stayed in the doorway pulling enemies in and taking them on, two on one. With Bobby and Kelion near death; Grulaag uses his teleport stone to go back to the Grey Dwarves and bring some of their strongest fighters with him.

Returning to the Battle with a strong Dwarven army they manage to kill the Elven army. Luna tells Auburon to run for the portal and escape. Auburon is shot and killed before he can reach it. Luna is then killed by Kelion.

Bobby, Grulaag and Kelion are all very shaken from their encounter. They take a rune stone from Luna’s body and another from Auburon and take a moment to rest before heading through the next portal.

#d&d

0 notes

arcanakrp-blog · 8 years ago

Photo

YU DAEKWAN – JUSTICE. AGENT 11.

[ FILE TYPE: CLASSIFIED ]

//: LOADING PROFILE: YU DAEKWAN ...

international age: 22 birthplace: jeju, south korea arcana: justice team number: eleven

//: LOADING MUTATION: WING MANIFESTATION ...

application one: enhanced endurance — the best way daekwan knows to describe is that it’s like he operates in a low power setting. if a regular person needs a solid eight hours of rest daekwan is awake and alert after only five. he also needs far less food and water than the average person as he is able to sustain himself on a low amount of each. but the aspect of this that is in general most useful to him is that pain and stress also don’t affect him as much as the average person.

application two: regenerative healing factor — he can rapidly regenerate/recreate lost or damaged tissues or organs. this allows him to recover faster from damage that would take a normal person out for months or even from damage that could permanently affect the average human. it’s also the mechanism that allows him to call upon his wings and not permanently injure himself in doing so.

application three: flight — his wings aren’t just for looks they are actually capable of lifting him (as well as another person) and carrying him for long distances. this in combination with his other abilities allows him to fly as long as there is enough atmosphere for him to maintain his lift. due to him spending a lot of training he’s also able to fly for long distances and at high speeds making this the most useful method of traveling for daekwan.

overall strengths and weaknesses: — the need for things such as water, food and sleep are only reduced for daekwan not eliminated entirely. it takes longer for such things to catch up with him but when they do he suffers the same consequences that anyone else would. similarly he is not immune to pain or stress he only has a heightened tolerance for it. meaning if he were to be wounded in some manner it would still hurt, however, daekwan can tolerate a larger quantity of injuries as well as more serious injuries before it begins to really affect him. when it comes to his healing factor daekwan is not completely immune to damage. in fact he’s still wounded the same as any other person would be. and while he’s never exactly tested it a deadly injury such as a bullet through his brain would kill him the same as any other person. similarly if he sustains so many injuries in a short amount of time that his healing factor can’t “keep up” so to speak he will also be in mortal danger. and as of yet he also cannot recover lost limbs or organs. although daekwan can fly as high as any bird in order to not suffocate he has to stay low enough that there is still enough oxygen for him to breath and enough air for him to maintain lift. meaning he cannot fly beyond the earth’s atmosphere. and his wings when present are as much a part of his body as his fingers or his arm is meaning they sustain just as much damage as any other body part would. on the bright side this also means that he can strengthen the muscles in his wings in the same way he could build muscle in his legs and arms. another downside of his wings is that when present they are quite large (this of course because they need to full support him while he flies) meaning there are some places he simply can’t fit when he has his wings. this also means he needs to be mindful of where he is when he’s manifesting his wings because if the space is not large enough he’s liable to injure both himself and others.

//: LOADING HISTORY ..

PRE-MUTATION

I. his mother called him her little miracle. to her, a woman who struggled to concieve for years his life was a gift from the god she loved so much. and daekwan is her treasure. she loves him more than her husband, more than the god she claims gave her to him in the first place. and her love is suffocating in its intensity. he cannot seem to seperate himself from his mother, cannot seem to take one single step away from her to simply breathe.

II. his father disappears when daekwan is still young. ‘i’m going out to pick up dinner.’ he said. and his car pulled out of the driveway and never returned. his mother eventually cooks dinner for daekwan and sends him to bed, but he gets up in the middle of the night and goes to the front window, pressing his pudgy face and hands against the glass waiting for his father to return. he asks questions for days, weeks even. where’s daddy? when is daddy coming home? his mother never answers him, she simply tells him to stop asking questions.

III. there are girls who notice him now. they coo and titter at daekwan’s cold responses. they pretend he’s only playing hard to get, that one day he will turn around and sweep one of them off their feet. and daekwan? daekwan doesn’t dream of soft curves and pouty pink lips covered in gloss. daekwan doesn’t care for small hands and slight bodies. he’ll never admit to it but he wants something no girl can give him.

IV. he kisses a boy and regrets it. the boy is his friend (or was his friend), someone who daekwan though he might be able to trust. he gets punched for his daring. and it doesn’t take long for the whole school to find out that daekwan is gay. it doesn’t take long for the girls who had previously been so head over heels “in love” with him to start talking behind his back. it doesn’t take long for his schoolmates to turn their backs on him.

V. ‘tell me it’s not true, daekwan.’ she says. and once again daekwan feels suffocated. she’s asking him to deny who he is, no, she is begging him to deny it. demanding it of him. and daekwan, daekwan can only bend to her will. ‘it’s not true, mama.’ he says, ever the obedient son. she pulls him close and tells him she knew it wasn’t true, she tells him she knew her miracle (her treasure, her gift from god, hers) could never be something so disgusting and sinful. daekwan tries to swallow the bile he feels rising in his throat when she calls him her miracle. he tries so hard to be what his mother wants him to be after that. they don’t talk about the incident after that, she simply transfers him to a different school and daekwan finishes his last year in high school without much fanfare.

VI. he starts university right on time studying medicine because it’s what his mother wanted. and then he develops feelings for his roommate. at first daekwan tries to ignore it but then it becomes obvious that the feelings are mutual and daekwan only wants to be happy so he starts a relationship.

POST-MUTATION

VII. he hasn’t heard anything about the meteor shower. he is simply on the roof of his apartment building trying not to cry. he was tired of being what his mother wanted him to be and he told her as much. the slap he had gotten for his trouble throbs in the cool night air. and for a moment, a tenth of a second really, he considers jumping off the roof. the next thing he knows he can see meteors falling, twinkling as they do and then there is a brief but blinding flash of light.

VIII. the dream he has later in the week is almost painfully vivid. the deep and varied greens of the forest nearly burning to look at. if he reaches out to touch a branch he can actually feel the bark of the tree against the palm of his hand. he wakes up to the same cold reality that he left when he closed his eyes. his back itches.

IX. he’s on the roof of his apartment building again. and this time the thought is not fleeting. he has everything squared away, a note tucked into his pocket for the police to find, his apartment cleaned and organized for whoever takes over his estate. it’s all ready for this. daekwan jumps and there is blinding pain. not from hitting the ground, but rather it starts near his shoulder blades and spreads across his entire back like liquid fire. and before he knows it he is flying, it’s a clunky and awkward kind of flight but it’s enough to get him to the roof of a building farther down the street. when he lands and inspects the wings that have so suddenly sprouted from his back daekwan only has the strength to laugh when he sees the feathers are a deep, inky black color.

X. it isn’t surprise when they came for him. what is a surprise is that they come not ready to subdue him and torture him, but with pretty words and kind promises. they want to help him they say. daekwan agrees to their proposition but only because he has no where else left to go.

XI. he trains. and trains. and trains. they came offering promises to help him and they follow through on their promises. sometimes daekwan wonders if there’s more to this than they let on, but he completes the missions they give him all the same. and yet still in the back of his mind he knows that things don’t simply come for free.

#arc.app #arc.justice #fc.im jaebum

0 notes

bandofdreamersstories · 8 years ago

Text

Known

Jordana is my oldest sister and she will be the last to get married. She’ll be the last to get married because she has a terrible time getting close enough for people to fall in love with her. This isn’t to say that Jordana is cold hearted, in fact, just the opposite. Of all the five Kepsi sisters, Jordana feels the most, and that’s kind of the problem.

Jordana isn’t consciously aware of all if this just yet, but she will be later in life, when she has to make the tough decision to fight or let the love of her life go.

This is just one of the tens of thousands of things I know about my family that I’ll never be able to say because of the Kepsi Curse.

You see, each generation of Kepsi children has one sibling who knows the the answers to the entire family’s problems. Sounds like a sweet deal, right? Wrong. You see, there is always one who knows the answers that is completely incapable of communicating.

I cannot talk, and I cannot write. Well, I guess I should give you more information. I’m also not really a Kepsi sister since I am just a crow that sits outside the Kepsi house, but I am close enough to family. I’ve been reincarnated into different animals that surround the Kepsi house for three generations.

In my last life, I was a rat. I was trying to warn them of a storm when Colin Kespi, the father of the Kespi family killed me with a rather large fallen tree branch. I don’t hold it against him though. I’m sure if Mrs. Kespi hadn’t screamed bloody murder at my presence, he would have left me alone.

I’m not really sure what happened, if they made it back to the house before the storm hit, but I’d like to hope all my work spelling out storm with pebbles didn’t go to waste.

You might be wondering why I don’t just walk away from this family. Believe me, if I could have done that, I would have years ago, back when I was a beautiful doe. But I am tied to the land. If I can successfully communicate to the family, the curse will be broken. Obviously, it’s a lot easier said than done, but I think as a crow, I have a pretty decent shot.

It’s hard to see her clearly through my crow eyes, but I can tell that the youngest, Emma, sits on the porch step. She looks like a big blob bundled in her fluffy winter coat and scarf. Her blonde hair sticks out from under her wool hat in a tangle of curls.

She searches the bare leaf trees and makes eye contact. I open my beak only to shut it. Crows make such awful squawking sounds that I fear I’ll frighten her. To my disbelief, she waves.

My heart is sent into a flurry of hope. Before I have the chance to swoop down, Mrs. Kepsi hurries out the door, shouting at the other children to follow. She helps little Emma up and they make their way to the car.

The other four sisters pour out of the front door, Jordana being the last. She closes, her set of keys jingling too loud. My crow instincts get the best of me and I flap my wings.

That’s the other thing about this curse I should mention-the longer it takes me to break the curse, the further I get from ever being human again.

Emma gives her best caw, bringing me back to myself. I rest my wings and blink at her. She waves and I bounce twice to show I see her. I think she gets it. She points and tells Mrs. Kepsi to look at me, but the woman is too preoccupied digging in her purse for her phone.

As the minivan drives away I begin to devise a plan. I need the entire Kepsi family to believe I am more than a bird- I need them to see my humanity.

I perch myself on the porch railing and stare into the living room where Emma is playing with some colorful, stackable bricks. She plays in that room specifically and it’s putting a damper on my plan.

I’ve been dropping rocks off on Emma’s window for three days and so far, she hasn’t noticed. To make matters worse, Mr. Kespi opens and closes her curtains, so the chance of Emma seeing the rocks is slim to none. I tried tapping on her window once, but she started to scream, “monster!” so I laid off.

I’m so lost in thought it takes me a moment to realize Emma has her nose pressed to the glass and is pointing at me. Her mouth is moving, but all I can hear is muffled nonsense. She waves and I bounce twice for her. I’m so excited she’s interacting with me that I completely forget the task at hand.

She shouts again and Mrs. Kespi comes to the window. Emma points at me and I flap my wings and bounce proudly. Mrs. Kespi’s eyes narrow when she looks at me. She shouts something too that looks a lot like the word “shoo”.

Emma shouts back but I decide to do as Mrs. Kespi says. Mostly because I pity her, know that she’s unhappy with her marriage and has never stopped loving her high school flame. I pity her because I know her high school flame feels the same way, and, worst of all, all she’d have to do to be happy is walk out that oak door with her four girls and never look back.

I extend my wings and take flight. The winter air carries me to my perch in the naked oak tree that overlooks the street.

The street. I remember playing on that road as a little girl, except in my time, the road was dirt.

I avert my gaze to the sea of roofs. The dark color of the shingles frosted white with snow. I used to see the beauty in this view. I used to think I was on the top of the world when I’d climb up into this tree. Now, the sight holds no beauty. Now it’s just a painful reminder of this hell I’ve stuck myself in.

Emma found my stones on her windowsill during the second week of spring. She’s been feeding me seeds ever since. As a thank you, I get her the prettiest rocks I can find on the property. I know she wants to pet me, but my crow instincts kick in and I fly away before she even reaches the window.

My animal instinct are getting stronger with each passing day, but I haven’t given up hope. This is the closest I’ve ever gotten to getting the family to notice me, and today, I take it a step further.

I am determined to fight my instincts. I will writer her a message with the seeds rather than eating them. I’ll write, “hi”. Simple, but to the point. I sit on my perch and watch for the Kespi’s van to pull into the driveway. They should be home any time now. I clean my feathers as best I can and pray that I don’t look too weathered from today’s rain.

As I finish cleaning under my wing I hear the soft rumble of an engine pull up to the front of the house. I cock my head to the side. Four men pour out of a shiny car. They creep up the walkway-their heads darting back and forth down the street.

It’s at that moment that I realize they have every intention of robbing the Kespi house. I squawk loudly making the shortest of the group jump. I swoop down and snatch the beanie hat off of the tallest in the group. He yells something but I can’t hear him over my squawking. I drop the hat onto the roof and go in for another swoop, this time reaching with my talons. I target the only light headed one of the group and swipe at his face.

The Kespi’s should be home soon. I just have to deter these people long enough. The blonde one swipes at me, this time brushing my foot with his sticky fingertips. I continue to swoop, but it’s one against four and eventually, one of them gets to the door. One of the others yells something about horror movies and birds and gets the car ready for a quick getaway.

From my perch I can see the Kespi van turning down the street. I squawk as loud as my little crow body will allow and go in for another attack on the robbers.

The man in the car yells at his terrible companions. I dive under the porch awning and continue on my air attacks.

“Hey!” Mrs. Kespi screams from the driveway. The girls are mere silhouettes in the tinted van windows. I swoop and squawk as the robbers curse and scurry back to their car. I chase them the entire way hoping Mrs. Kespi will notice my valiant efforts. Just as the last one who lost the hat dips into the car he swipes for me. The impact of his hand into my chest knocks me back and out.

Someone is screaming and it sounds a lot like Mrs. Kespi. There are warm, trembling hands under my feathers. An excruciating, stabbing pain sears through my left wing, and suddenly, I am floating. No, being carried. I notice the hands are covered with gloves and I try not to take it personally, but it really sucks to know that my best efforts to clean myself were simply not enough for Emma.

Emma is carrying me into the Kespi house, explaining that I saved their house from being robbed. Mrs. Kespi unfortunately does not seem convinced.

Jordana and Emma’s middle sister Roxann, flank Emma as she makes her way into the living room. Roxann disappears and comes back with a towel in which Emma gingerly sets me down.

I cannot move though. My wing hurts too bad. It’s in that moment that I realize my wing is most certainly broken. My heart is raging against my chest but I try to keep my cool. My bird heart is not as strong as a human’s and I need to keep to a level of stress that won’t kill me if I’m to ever break this stupid, terrible curse.

I study Roxann as she slumps onto the couch next to Jordana. “It really did look like the bird was shooing those robbers.” If I could, I would smile, but all I can muster is a blink at her.

Jordana scoffs. “She probably has a nest somewhere and was protecting it. Why would she protect us?”

Roxann’s cheeks redden. She always wanted to be as cool as she thought Jordana was. What Roxann didn’t realize was that Jordana wasn’t cool, she was indifferent and logic to cover her real feelings. All Roxann would have to do to be truly cool is follow her gut. Roxann wants nothing more than to be in with the popular girls. I know this because that’s how this stupid curse works. All she’d have to do is show people her true colors-excel at her dancing and show people how truly funny she is. She’d have everyone crawling all over her. Instead, she makes herself invisible because she’s afraid of being rejected.

Do you notice a pattern? Resisting fear is the key to unlocking all of our wildest hopes and dreams.

I let out a small cackle when Emma jokes about someone checking on Mrs. Kespi before she faints.

Emma looked at me wide eyed and I knew I’d convinced her I was something more than a crow. She pointed to me and looked at her oldest sister, “did you see that? Tell me you saw that! Sheila laughed at my joke!

Sheila? I guess I’ve been called worse.

Jordana rolls her eyes. “She’s making crow noises because she’s in pain.”

Emma crosses her arms with a huff and turns to her other sister. “You believe me, right Roxie?”

Roxann stands but doesn’t look at her youngest sister. “I’m going to get it some water.”

“It has a name and her name is Sheila!” Emma calls after Roxann.

She takes off the gloves and my crow instincts kick in just before Emma’s fingertips touch my feathers. Suddenly I’m flapping and squawking and slipping into blackness.

My wing will never heal, but by some miracle, Emma has convinced Mrs. Kespi that I will not be a bother to the Kespi household. After I blacked out, they had a vet come and run tests to make sure I wasn’t diseased. Mrs. Kespi was pleased when she found out that I was 100% fine. I got bandaged up and today, I get my bandages off.

Emma thinks she’s taught me to use the toilet, but I know better. I’ve been sending little messages to her by making words out of my seeds. Simple words. When Mrs. Kespi sees them she squints at me, like just maybe all hope isn’t lost. It’s summer now, and my instincts as a crow are grabbing at my little brain.

If I don’t act now, I’ll never break the curse.

I perched myself in the kitchen window to watch Mrs. Kespi bake a pie for her book group. Anna, the fourth Kespi sister sits at the bar turning page after page in her summer reading.

Anna is a special kind of girl. She seems completely uninterested in interacting with any of the Kespi family and that’s because she is depressed. She needs counseling for the amount of bullying she’s been through at school for being a “nerd”. She needs a friend to talk to, and an outlet to release all that pent up energy. If she had that, she could finally get a full night’s sleep.

Mrs. Kespi works away at her pie crust, rolling it out with her marble rolling pin, staring at her daughter. She wants to say something, wants to reach out, and maybe Anna starting with talking to her mom wouldn’t be such a bad thing, but it’s been so long that Mrs. Kespi doesn’t know where to start. I bounce down from my perch and Mrs. Kespi gives me a warning look, shaking her rolling pin at me. “Don’t you dare come near my pie Sheila!”

I let out a cluck-like sound because that’s the closest I can get to rolling my eyes. I make my way to Anna. She makes no effort to acknowledge me. I leap and knock the book clear out of her hands. The book clatters to the floor with a loud slap.

Anna yells.

“Sheila!” Mrs. Kespi cries.

“What the hell! Why do we still have this stupid bird!” Anna hollers, snatching up her book. I look from Anna to Mrs. Kespi and back to Anna.

“Anna, you know Emma would just have a meltdown if we gave that bird away.”

“Why is it always about Emma?” Anna yells, storming out of the room. Mrs. Kespi calls after her daughter but Anna doesn’t come back. Mrs. Kespi stands there for a long while staring at the empty doorway. After a long moment she shakes her head and goes back to rolling out her dough.

I narrow my little eyes and squawk.

Mrs. Kespi slaps the counter. “What?” I can tell by the tired shade she has to her eyes that I’ve almost pushed her to her limit.

I squawk again and tilt my head in the direction of the open doorway.

Mrs. Kespi narrows her eyes at me but doesn’t go back to rolling out her dough. After a long moment of watching me bounce and squawk toward the doorway Mrs. Kespi lets out the world's loudest sigh. “She doesn’t want to talk; she never wants to talk.”

I continue my antics until Mrs. Kespi gives in and makes her way to Anna’s bedroom. She knocks softly on the door. “Anna, sweetie, can I come in?”

When there isn’t an answer she looks at me. I bounce, encouraging her to continue trying.

“Anna, I’m going to open this door because I want to talk to you. I want to talk to you because I love you so much and I want to know what’s really going on. Just you and me, okay? Can I do that?”

The door creaks open. A tear-streaked Anna stands in the doorway. She walks back to her bed and buries her head in her pillow. Mrs. Kespi sits on the side of her bed and rubs her daughters back. There’s a notebook sitting on Anna’s desk. I make my way to it, able to fly just enough to jump. I leap onto the desk, pluck a pencil from the jar and set it on top of the notebook.

When I look, Mrs. Kespi and Anna are looking at me, wide eyed. Mrs. Kespi tilts her head, clearly contemplating something.

“You know, there are going to be times that you’ll go through something, and you won’t want to tell me. I wish you would tell me everything sweetheart, I really do, but if there’s ever a time you really need to get something out, and I’m not around, or you don’t feel like sharing it all with me, writing it down can really help. I know it helped me.”

“It did?” Anna asked, wiping her tears on the back of the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“Yeah, I did it all the time as a kid. Believe it or not, I didn’t always want to tell my mother everything either. Sometimes, I felt like she just didn’t get it.” She shrugs. “Sometimes, I just felt like I wanted to work it out on my own. Writing helped with that.”

Mrs. Kespi stands and walks over to the desk. She gives me two small strokes on the head before plucking the pencil and notepad off the desk. She returns to the bed and hands the notepad and pencil to her daughter. “Give it a try sometime my love. It can be anything. Words, questions. Quotes you really like. Anything at all. It’s just for you, and no one else.”

Anna’s lips lift ever so slightly and so does my heart. She looks over at me and says, “thanks Sheila.”

I bounce and squawk which makes the two barrel over into a fit of laughter. Maybe being a crow isn’t so bad.

Music fills the entire second floor of the Kespi household. It’s a pleasant sort of melody, the kind that makes you want to lay back in the sun and close your eyes. I follow the sound to Roxann’s room. Her bedroom door has a poster of the nutcracker hung on it.

The door was cracked open so I invited myself in. She jumped ever so slightly, not expecting to see me mosey on into her room. “Hey Sheila,” she says over her shoulder before returning to her drawing.

I jump onto her bedside table that sits under her open window. Jordana and her friends are concocting their back to school cheer.

“I’ll never understand prepping for school before it’s necessary.”

It takes me a moment to realize that Roxann is talking to me. I squawk and bounce my way around the surfaces of her room until I reach her desk. She strokes my head with a finger before returning back to her sketch. When I look down, I realize it’s not a sketch at all but rather a happy birthday card for Mr. Kespi’s birthday in two days. Her script is absolutely beautiful. I stare out the open window. I don’t know how school works now-a-days but I remember Jordana complaining at dinner that she’s in charge of the dance committee this year at school. I stare at the card a bit longer; I can feel something on the tip of my beak.

Jordana said something about how hard it is to get an art student to commit to making nice banners for school events. Then, a spark of genius clicks and my crow brain begins to spin its wheels-working through the logistics of a very complicated plan to snatch Roxann’s card, and present it to Jordana and her friends without, of course, falling through the window.

I decide I just need to go for it. As Roxann reaches for her colored pencil set, I snatch the card. Roxann screeches. I bounce as quickly as I can around her room. My stiff wing protesting as I try to take flight before Roxann can reach me. Just in time, I reach the window and toss the card.

Roxann’s eyes are wide in disbelief and rage. “SHEILA, WHAT THE HELL!” She screams racing out of her room and down the stairs. I watch as the card floats out the window and lands at Jordana’s friend’s feet. A slender brunette picks the card up.

“Where did this come from?”

I hear the screen door swing open and Roxann step out. “I’m so sorry, that’s mine, our stupid bird threw it out the window.”

The brunette hands the card back to Roxann.

“Hey,” Jordana’s other friend, a shorter, blonde girl points to the card. “You’re super talented. Are you part of the art program at school?”

Roxann shakes her head. I don’t have to see her to know she’s blushing ear to ear.

“That’s fantastic!” The brunette claps.

Jordana catches on. “I feel like a total idiot. How did I not know you draw? Do you think you could be on the events committee with us this year?”

“You’d totally rock it!” The blonde claps.

“Um, yeah, sure, I could do that.”

“YAY!” Jordana’s friends engulf Roxann in a hug. “You’re a total life saver Roxann!”

“Speaking of life saver, can you watch this routine, it’s missing something?” Jordana asks her sister.

Roxann nods and watches the girl’s routine. Afterwards, she makes some suggestions and shows them what she means. Jordana’s friends squeal again in glee, wrapping Roxann into yet, another hug. This time, Jordana joins in.

“You should try out for cheerleading this year,” the brunette suggests while the blonde nods enthusiastically.

“We have two open spots this year, and you’re definitely a natural!

Roxann nods. “Okay,” there’s an undeniable smile in Roxann’s tone. “Well, I better finish this for the old man’s birthday, but it was really nice to meet you…”

“Amber,” the brunette adds.

“Ali,” the blonde concludes.

“Nice to meet you Amber and Ali.”

When Roxann comes back into her room, she’s beaming brighter than the sunshine outside.

“You stupid, brilliant bird.” She giggles. I squawk and flap my wings timidly. She laughs, but her smile fades into a quizzical expression. “Maybe Emma was right all along. Maybe you’re a little more than just a bird.”

I’m so giddy with enjoyment at making these girls lives what they need to be that I lose my balance and slip out the window.

My whole body hurts. Really. Really. Bad.

I’m in a comfortable bed of towels and Emma is trying to feed me water.

As my vision comes into focus, I notice the entire Kespi family staring down at me. Mr. Kespi has his arms around a teary eyed Mrs. Kespi. I wish I could smile at the sight of them knowing that I helped them implement family dinners again when Mrs. Kespi couldn’t keep me from dropping her cookbooks onto the counter.

As my eyes come into focus, I see a clearer, tear-streaked Emma. Sweet Emma. Her determination is one I know will never fail her. As I take in Roxann and Anna I feel my heart patter weekly against my heavy chest.

“Please don’t go Sheila,” Jordana says stroking my feathers. I realize at that moment that I haven’t helped all of the Kespi family. My Jordana. My sweet Jordana with the guarded heart. I can’t leave yet. I have to help her. Curse or no curse, I want her to be happy, like the rest of my family.

I nuzzle my face inter her fingers and I can see her walls start to crumble, the pieces welling up in her eyes and dripping down her cheeks. She bends down and strokes my head gingerly with her fingers, “you’re the best friend we’ve ever had Sheila. Though I’d never admit it to the rest of them, you’ve made this family whole again, I love you.” She stands and brings Emma into her arms.

“I love you Sheila.” Emma says.

I want to say I love them all too. More than I’ve ever loved anything. I’d spent so much time thinking of ways to get them to see me, when really all I had to do was truly see them. This curse wasn’t a curse. It was the best gift I’ve ever been given. If it weren’t for this curse, I’d have never known this beautiful family-my beautiful family. If it weren’t for this curse, I’d have never know what it was to truly live and love.

“I love you Sheila, you brilliant little lady,” she places a card with the most beautiful drawing of a crow down next to me. “I don’t have to tell you that’s you, but just in case. That’s you.”

The picture stole my hollow breath away. The picture is so incredibly detailed. I didn’t know a crow could look so happy and I give her a silent, sincere thank you for showing me that I look better now than I did even when I was human.

“Thank you Sheila,” Anna said placing a small piece of paper next to Roxann’s card. The paper was a poem named, “Sheila”

Beautiful, brilliant, and light,

As a single feather

Weighed only by the heart

May you rise above,

Always floating, soaring

Binding our family,

Mending pain,

Shaping growth

May you always be

Beautiful, brilliant and light.

I let out a small squawk and the family lets out a collective, heavy, laugh. The Kespi’s think I changed them, but the truth is, they changed me. As I release that truth, I close my eyes, and allow myself to float into the beautiful, brilliant light. This time I float away, with love. This time, for good.

Written by: J.M. Shaffer

Prompt: what if you had a family member who knew all the secrets to your problems but had no way of telling you.

#shortstories #amwriting #jmshafferwrites #jennamonacowrites #writer #prompt #Story by Jenna

0 notes