#Bronze Wraith

[comicartarchive]

Marvel Team-Up 49 pg1 by Sal Buscema

[misterdtour]

Rom #17, “Hybrid!”

A look back at some classic Rom stories featuring the x-men #Rom #RomSpaceKnight #Marvel #SpaceKnights #ParkerBrothers #romnibus #xmen #rogue

Rom has returned! In case you missed the news, the classic Rom comics (as well as Micronauts) published by Marvel back in the 80s are finally being packaged in reprint editions, scheduled for release beginning early next year, 2024. Continue reading Untitled

[fantajoseph]

I would love more stroies about martian manhunter and his time with justice experience since they can be lots of stories about them like sometimes he see the justice league as his family what his thoughts on this team , his complicated relationship with chase. The guilt of failing to save something he cares about again, sorry these are just some ideas on top of my head

I think my problem, is that they don't interact with the canonical end of the Golden Age at all, despite being so close to when it happened. Canonically, the Golden Age of Superheroes was ended because the House of Unamerican Activities cracked down on them. This is a parallel to what ended the Golden Age of comics in the real world, mass panic and book burnings, because of the same culture of fear that sprouted from McCarthyism. The Red Scare, (and, I would argue, the Pink Scare even more so put a pin in that), ended superheroing for a while.

There are two directions you could take, to ask what superheroing picking itself up in the aftermath of that was like, paralleling the two successful methods used in that time to get comics back and running: creating some sort of authority that legitimizes superheroes, paralleling the Comics Code Authority, this is what I pitched as th Powers Agency a while ago, or they go underground, stop caring about the public's opinion and focus on the opinion of like-minded people and staying out of the public eye.

The latter is where we come back to the pin in the Pink Scare. Superheroes in DC are portrayed as like. A community. Some people are on the distant end of that community to you, but ultimately everyone ends up so many degrees of Kevin Bacon removed from each other. People become superheroes by desperately searching out people who understand them, and then they grow into the community and take its labels and history to decide who they are. The idea of the House of Unamerican Activities cracking down on this community of self creation has intensely queer subtext, and the idea that the result is underground superhero clubs leans into that in an amazing way. Famously, Dick Grayson is a better person for Bruce finding him, for finding people who understood him. But there is another truth this reveals: Bruce's trauma isn't just that he saw his parents die, it is that that made him a superhero, and there was no one to train him in that, and not because he was the first, but because his predecessors were hunted down and criminalized. Again, that is an intensely queer narrative.

But wait, there's one last twist I want to put in: both of these reactions existing in the same universe. The people who survive by compromising without hiding, and the ones who survive by hiding but not compromising. Martian Manhunter can shapeshift. Martian Manhunter lives a TRIPLE life. John Jones, human detective, Manhunter, golden boy operating in the Power Agency, and Bronze Wraith, his identity in the underground (which is probably where I'd put most of the Justice Experience).

[scryingworkshop]

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp prompt #13: Hell to Pay

They say there are only two things certain in life: death and taxes. That’s why even the Joker doesn’t fuck with the IRS.

However, unfortunately for the Joker the other certainty is death and he has yet to pay his dues. Just like how he could only get away with tax evasion for so long, there are only so many times the Joker can dodge death.

Death is coming to collect, with interest.

And the Joker will have hell to pay.

~ A dark green cloud swirls over the city. From it, emerge three oppressive figures:

The one on the far left with flowing hair like white-hot fire. His vambraces made of (what appeared to be) molten glass stopped under his fingers, which then extend into into claws that seemed to drip lava. He had spiked obsidian pauldrons on his shoulders, fastening a luminous, stark-white cape to his shoulders. He wore a coronet of lightning and wielded a flail that appeared to be made of coal chains and a shrunken Red Giant star.

The second on the far right had a helm of dark iron wreathed in a plume of purple flame. His gauntlets and sword flamed with green hellfire. A pure black sheath seemingly made of void and a silver hunting horn were tied to his waist. He wore an armor forged of shadows and proofed with fear. He rode atop a mighty stead. An inky dark stallion with a curved horn and bat-like wings. His form was constantly slightly shifting depending on the angle which you viewed him making him appear larger and more slippery than he was, enhancing his disquieting nature.

The third stood in the middle, smaller but no less terrifying than her companions. Her hair was wild with movement, only just visible because it appeared as if someone had bound the winds to her head. She wore a tiara made of storm clouds and pearls. She carried with her a spear, the shaft crafted of amazonite and the tip of a clear quartz, almost reminiscent of sea salt. At her hip lay a whip made of a restrained gale and a sea glass knife. She wore armor that appeared to be Greco-Roman in origin: a chest plate made of some sort of coral-like material and a battle skirt decorated with metallic bronze feathers.

They slowly descent on the city, bringing down a sense of power and dread. They paused at the top of Wayne Tower, where the city's vigilantes had all gathered in an attempt to create and feasible plan of action to discern what these beings want. The young woman in the middle speaks and the wind carries her voice. She is not loud but it the whole of Gotham hears her words.

"Greetings, Heroes of Gotham. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Spirit, Princess and Head Diplomat of the Infinite Realms. This is Samhain, the Fright Knight, loyal knight to the king,” she gestured to her right before switching to her left “and this is Prince Wraith, current General in Chief of the Realms. We come to you as the King’s Guard and entourage. We have official business in your city and wish to civilly notify you of our presence. The King will be arriving shortly and your cooperation would be great fully received.”

Batman moved forward to shake her hand and address the situation.

“I’m afraid that we prefer not to have unknowns operating within the city. Would you be able to tell us what business you have here? Perhaps we could reach an agreement?” Batman tried to negotiate as politely as he could. He did not want to risk offending the evidently powerful beings.

Princess Spirit’s smile sharpened as she thrummed her finger against her knife. She spoke again with an unnervingly pleasant tone.

“It appears you do not understand. We are not asking for your permission.” Her grip around his hand tightened. “ We are informing you.” She finished releasing his hand.

Batman withdrew his aching hand and regarded her with the beginnings of a protest on his lips. She didn’t allow him to speak.

“ This is out of your jurisdiction Batman. This is a matter of the Realms and the Afterlife. Whatever worldly rules or morals you wish to impose on those who enter this city do not apply to us. We will do our best to work within them, so as to appease you and to attempt to maintain a friendly relationship but in the macrocosm of the multiverse and afterlives you have no official power over us. Additionally, we have direct permission to operate here however we see fit from the City Spirit herself, Lady Gotham.”

Batman’s shadow seemed to fluctuated. His and his team's shadows moved from beneath them, closer to the Princess. Lady Gotham, though not manifesting, was making her presence and approval known. Batman could not deny what he was seeing. His team shifted uncomfortably behind him. He appealed to her once more.

“ I see that we can’t stop you. We don’t want to get in your way either. Could you at least tell us why you are here?”

She smiled as if telling a joke, “All will be revealed in time”

Suddenly, there was a loud noise that sounded like tearing fabric. The green clouds mixed with purples and blues and began to churn faster. The cyclone emitted a flashes of bright light. In unison all three of the King’s Guard lifted up from the roof and took place underneath the eye of the wind storm.

Spirit holds her spear aloft. With one swift, commanding move she slams the butt of her spear down, creating a platform out of solidified air.

Wraith bellows out smoke and ash onto the platform to discolor it. With ferocious and precise movements his claws to carve in a sigil, leaving a soft orange glow against the black and gray.

Samhain sheathes his sword and pulls his horn from his waist. He wills his dark stead to rear up as he blows the horn, letting out one loud prolonged cry.

The three warriors stand at attention and Princess Spirit calls the winds to project her voice once more.

“ Now introducing the Ruler of the Infinite Realms, High King of the In-Between, The Great One, The Benevolent King, The Peace Maker, The Guardian of Souls, The One with the Cloak of Stars and the Crown of Frozen Light, The Perfect Balance, Ancient of Space and Reality, The Infinite King: Phantom!”

With a flash of white light a figure appear in the center of the platform. Simultaneously, the three knights bow in reverence.

The King has arrived.

As the Heroes of Gotham regain clear vision they are met with a striking figure.

There stood a toned young man appearing both boyishly young, yet wisened and weathered. He had side swept hair the creeped to the bottom of his neck. His skin was pale with an icy blue tint. He opened his eyes to reveal they shone an electric green. Upon his head rest a crown made of a crystalline material, reminiscent of an aurora. He wore a navy blue cloak that had a rich purple hood lined with stark white fur. The underside displayed a shifting galaxy pattern. His under suit was the same midnight black as Samhain’s. He donned golden arm bands and a gold chest plate in style quite similar to Spirit’s. His hand were covered in snow white gauntlets that matched Wraith’s vambraces.

They all stood in awe, beholden to the almost divine figure.

The king sent them a gentle smile. It was warm and comforting yet sent a chill down their shoulders.

King Phantom began to fly down toward the center of the city, his entourage fell into step behind him. He hovered several hundred feet over Wayne tower and looked down at the city. He then spoke in a booming voice, his tone kind but commanding.

“ I humbly greet the Lady Gotham, her champions, and her citizens,” the shadows curled toward him appreciatively. “ I am grateful for your cooperation in our effort to rectify a great injustice. As High King of the Infinite Realms it is one of my duties to preside over the afterlife. To bring guidance, peace, and justice to the souls under my jurisdiction. Recently, it has been brought to my attention that there is a soul among you who has not only dodged death, but caused great strife to a vast number of souls who call for justice.”

On the roof of Wayne Enterprises Jason and Damian both stiffen, but remain firm in their gaze toward the king. The king looks out at the city and sparing them the quickest of glances. He continues onward.

“ The man formerly know as Jack Napier, now called The Joker. He has avoided death on many an occasion but his life should have ended moment he fell into a vat of chemicals. Since then he has sent hundreds more to the afterlife. He has long yet to pay his dues. That is why on the behalf of justice, restoring balance, and of my subjects I officially condemn Jack Napier.”

“Jack Napier, you have been allowed 24 hours turn yourself into our custody in order to be put on trial for your crimes in the Infinite Realms. Should you fail to turn youself in, we shall take that as an admission of guilt and acceptance to be punished for your actions. After the 24 hours are up, Samhain shall use his horn to summon The Hunt and we shall track you down.”

His gaze passed specifically over Red Hood, one of the Oracle’s drones, Nightwing, Signal, Red Robin, and Batman before he spoke his next words.

“All those souls who have been wronged by the Joker, both living and deceased, who wish to have a hand in their justice have been invited to join The Hunt if they so choose.”

The king lifted his hand, calling the swirling green clouds to his gather in his palm. The clouds swiftly rearranged themselves into a smokey timer hanging in the sky.

An impish smirk graced King Phantom’s face as he let out a malicious laugh and gave his final decree.

“ Your time begins now!”

[dreamlandreader]

Hounds of Love

Part One

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Eris Vanserra storms through the woods in a rage, the last thing he expects to come across is a beautiful fae who is heading right into the path of his father. Eris knows he can’t just stand by and watch this oncoming storm, but in helping this gentle soul, he may have to sacrifice more than he bargained for.

Content Warning - Parental abuse, parental illness, off screen injury caused by a dog (very briefly mentioned).

A/N: Here it is - the piece that landed me with major writers block for weeks and weeks on end and then got stalled because life got in the way! Inspired by the song Hounds of Love by Kate Bush and Feyre’s encounter with the water wraith in ACOMAF✨

Part two will be out soon 💖 Hope you enjoy 💖

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The hounds of love are hunting, I’ve always been a coward, and I don’t know what’s good for me … 

In the limited light of the quickly setting sun a furious male and his hounds stalked through the trees. 

The bronze leaves shivered in the wake of the Autumn Court heir, who bustled past in a burning rage. Embers of fire flickered at his fingertips as he watched his hounds run wild and free with a glint of jealousy burning in his warm eyes. 

Eris Vanserra was sick. Sick of his court which became more and more suffocating by the century. Sick of his title which kept him tethered to this land. Sick of his father, at whose hands he now bled. 

It had become a regular routine over the years, the way his father would manipulate and berate and twist the knife until Eris could bear it no longer and his calm exterior would shatter. Beron, unimpressed by his son’s outburst, would then beat him back into submission, and Eris would take it until his father got bored. Then he would slip out into the woods with his hounds, using the space to breathe, and to prevent himself from burning the whole damn court to the ground. 

As Eris stormed, the yowls of his hounds swirled around him, twigs snapping beneath their heavy paws as they ran and ran. Eris was all consumed plotting his father’s demise. He knew it was only a matter of time before one of them destroyed the other, and he would be damned if he gave up without a fight.

Lost in his own thoughts it took a few seconds for Eris to notice the sudden silence. The excitement of his hounds tapered off, and the only noise left was the ringing anger reverberating through his skull. A knot formed in his stomach, as he began to run in the direction of his dogs. Eris had spent centuries training his hounds, and they had a rhythm. They never once went silent unless he ordered them to. Not unless something terrible had happened to them. 

Burning orange trees blurred in Eris’s peripheral vision as he ran into a dusty clearing, the fire at his fingertips warmed his hands as he prepared for a fight, but he faltered when he saw the largest hound of the pack lay flat on his back with his soft stomach bared to the skies, a slender hand scratching away at his furry tummy. Glancing up in shock, Eris was greeted with gentle laughter as a joyful fae female watched his two youngest hounds prance around her, play fighting for her undivided attention. Eyes gazing back down once more Eris tutted as he watched the usually stoic leader of the pack bury her large head into the female’s lap, snuffling into her skirts and drawing another delightful giggle from her. 

“What well trained dogs I seem to have bred,” Eris spoke sharply, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. 

His hounds stiffened and stood to attention immediately upon hearing their masters sarcastic growl. You jumped to your feet in surprise, wiping your dusty hands on your dress, meeting Eris’s hard stare with a sheepish smile, crimson flooding your cheeks.  

“Oh, hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise they were out here with anyone. Your dogs are beautiful,” 

“My lady, you are lucky you still have your hands. My hounds do not usually take so kindly to strangers,” It was the truth, a few months ago a wandering merchant lost three fingers when he reached out to stroke the dogs without their permission. The fact that you stood before Eris not only whole but covered in fur from their loving affection was baffling to the Autumn Court heir. 

“These dogs?” You ask skeptically, holding back a laugh, reminding Eris of the position in which he had found them. 

“It appears they must have taken a liking to you my lady, a rare thing indeed,”

“I am not a lady,” you state gingerly. He should have noticed the lack of jewels, the plain dress, the absence of guards - but something about your sheer presence was so captivating that all of that had faded into the background. 

“I do apologise, you will have to pardon my ignorance,” It was Eris’s turn to blush then. He prided himself on his intuition. His innate ability to size up his opponents had served him well over the centuries, allowing him to swiftly understand a person and their motives in order to stay five steps ahead of them at all times. In your enchanting presence however, Eris’s usual instincts evaded him completely. 

“What may I call you then?”

“Oh right, my name is Y/N,” you reply, bashful as Eris takes your delicate hand and places a kiss upon it. 

“Whilst it truly is a pleasure to meet you Y/N, I am curious to what you are doing alone in the forest so close to nightfall. You are aware of what lurks within the trees once the sun goes down, no?” 

“I’m here to see the High Lord,” 

Eris stiffened, so many questions flying around his mind as something thick and painful settled itself deep in his chest. Why would such a seemingly gentle being want to be anywhere near his beast of a father? 

“Th-the High Lord?” was all Eris could stutter out.

“My family, we have a farm to the south, just above the border. Only for the past few years my father has been sick, and the crops have suffered greatly due to the droughts we’ve been experiencing,” 

Eris’s heart cracked for you, for the pain that swam in your eyes. There was no reason he should care, he had met you a matter of moments ago, and yet a part of him ached to fix your situation.  

“I would like to ask our High Lord for a reprieve on our tithe - just for six months. By then I hope and pray to the Mother to have our little farm back to the flourishing haven it once was,”  

You were dead. If you got to his father and begged him for anything then you might as well sign your own death warrant. Eris had witnessed too many times the tithes that ended in bloodshed. Beron was too clever to kill anyone in a public forum, he knew it would lead to rebellion, but his spies would soon catch up with anyone who was lacking in funds and they would all mysteriously vanish. He had to do something, he couldn’t let you wander innocently to your death. 

Oblivious to Eris’s internal struggle, you suddenly perked up, eyes widening, 

“Oh how rude of me, here I am prattling on and I haven’t even asked how I should address you? You are dressed so finely you must be a Lord, please forgive me,” you stated, sinking into yourself as you took in his perfect appearance.

The Lord’s pristine shoes alone likely cost more than your family could scrape together in a whole year. Embarrassment tainted your good mood as you pulled your cloak tighter around your body to hide your shabby clothing. 

Eris could sense the shame dripping off you, and unable to stop himself he placed a finger under your chin, and made sure your eyes met his.

“My name is Eris, but you needn’t concern yourself about formalities’ he told you “I am of little importance”. 

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Whilst his position in the Autumn Court provided him with the finest luxuries money could buy and any outsider could easily assume the heir had unlimited power and freedom, behind closed doors, under Beron’s harsh regime, Eris was nobody. He was liked by few and truly understood by none. 

 “Eris,” you say dreamily, tilting your head to truly take in the beautiful male before you. 

Under your gentle gaze Eris feels a glittering warmth spread across his body, a primal rush to protect you, and then a life altering snap.

“You’re-,” he stumbles, unable to finish his sentence before you begin your own.

“Anyway I best be going,” you rush out, realising the passing time and lifting your skirts to turn. “It was terribly nice to meet you, but I really must be on my way,”

“Please don’t!” Eris blurts, gently grabbing your hand, sending a shiver down your spine. You turn to him, confusion taking over your face as he explains softly.

“The highlord, he isn’t a good male. He won’t hesitate to hurt you. If you approach him with any vulnerability he will do anything he can to manipulate you into making a deal you can’t keep, and if that doesn’t work he will just kill you,” he said, stroking a surprisingly calloused thumb down the back of your hand.

“But, maybe if I can just explain my situation to him then-”

 “He won’t care, Y/N. You will die,” Eris’s eyes go dark and you know in your very soul he is telling the truth. “I just- I need you to believe me,”

“I do, it’s just-,” You faulter, breathing deeply before you continue.

“I can’t go home without this six months reprieve. We have nothing more to give. Surely if I turn up to the tithe next week empty handed he’ll just kill me anyway?”

Eris looks down at the wealth that drips from his body, and suddenly recalled the scandal that Tamlin’s ex-human had caused at the last Spring tithe. Rumours swirled far and wide of the Cursebreaker’s controversial gift to a poor wraith, and without a second thought Eris followed suit, pulling off the gold rings which covered his fingers.

“Here,” he says, shoving the pieces into your hands before he began to unclasp his cuff links.

“What, no! Eris, I can’t take this,”

“Yes, you can,” Eris insisted, moving on to his many earrings. “I will not let that beast touch you. I’m not in a position to offer you safety, but please let me give you some help,”

You nodded, frozen in shock, and watched as Eris filled your hands with rubies, opals and orange sapphires all set in the finest metals money could buy. Finally he takes out a fine leather pouch filled with gold coins and helps you to gently stuff the rest of his riches inside. Once the pouch is fit for bursting he removes his fur lined cloak and tells you to swap it for your own threadbare one.

Looking you once over, Eris swallowed down his instinct to press his lips against yours, knowing his relentless father would never allow for his eldest child, his heir, to be mated to a peasant.

Collecting himself, Eris let out a sharp whistle, making you jump as the leader of his pack came to his heel.

“I want you to take Hallie,” he said, his throat thick with emotion as he took your shaking hand into his own.

“Eris, I’m not taking your dog!” You argued, giving him an incredulous look.

“These woods are unsafe at the best of times, if you walk them with gold lining your pockets it is asking for trouble. She is a good hound. She will keep your safe,”

“I- I have no way to repay you for your kindness,” you breathed, silver lining your eyes, unable to fully comprehend the events of the last half hour.

“Stay safe, my lady, that’s all I ask,” he said, before kissing your hand one final time, petting his beloved Hallie on the head and then bidding you both goodbye as he disappeared between the trees, the sad howling of his remaining hounds in tow.

The walk back to the manor passed quickly in a mess of emotions, and even as Eris dragged himself to bed, accompanied by a glass of strong whisky, he tossed and turned all night, unable to forget the beautiful fae he left in the woods and the piece of his soul she had taken with her.

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Hope you enjoyed reading!

✨Let me know if you would like to be added to my general taglist ✨

[erotic-grope-fest]

Has this ever happened to you?

You’re moping around your wannabe punk aunt’s shambolic Chelsea flat, James Blake blaring, when you begin to feel a little peckish. You’re blessedly alone and go in search of a snack in the depths of the sofa.

You’ve just caught yourself a nice, juicy rat, but before you can make that first swipe of your knife into the soft, warm, blood-filled neck, your imagination is flooded with delectable visions of blue eyes and bronze curls…

...and you find yourself haunted, not by the wraiths of your ancestral Victorian manor house, but by a thirst you can’t ever seem to quench.

Never again!

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[eldritcmor]

Hear me out! Hear me out!

Demigods x monster! 141 au

Because it would be funny. I love the fics of demigods being a bit more monster than initially lead on but it doesn’t really manifest til they either get to camp (a safe place) or hit puberty. Think about it! Zeus children who smell like ozone and seem permanently caught in a storm, eagle feathers growing in. Children of Athena with too big eyes and the ability to swivel their heads like an owl, owl down growing in. Children of Hephaestus who run incredibly hot, oil in their veins and metal for skin in some places. Their hearts ticks and their fingers whir. Children of Apollo who are hard to look at, who literally glow from the sun in their blood. Who sing like birds, and predict plagues. Children of Aphrodite whose appearance changes daily. Whose eyes never settle on a color and well maintained claws. Whose honeyed words can bind or break someone.

Now add in monster! 141. A one winged dragon, a harpy, a werewolf, and a wraith. Who see these children or adults presenting monster like features but humans look at them in confusion when it comes up in conversation.

A team who gets surprised when a bronze knife is pressed into their ribs a teenager because “I swear that’s a harpy.”

A task force who goes to investigate when manhattan goes completely dark. Only to find monster children in ancient battle armor dead, dying, or fighting for their lives against creatures not seen in centuries.

A task force that gets dragged into the fight with each demigod war. Who try to help the little monster children when the weight of the world is too much. Who reach out to allies and contacts because these are children who react like soldiers when faced with a threat.

Tags: @diejager @skylordgrey @isthatafuckinggayangel @josieguts

[sculptorofcrimson]

My Angel

@kit-williams I take FULL responsibility. Behold, more scary golden boys!

~~~~~

“Je prie les anges et les anges m'ont pris”

Translation from French: I prayed to the angels, and the angels took me. 

~~~~

It's not a pretty feeling, is it, when you are denied even the right to die?

The Aquilan Shields. The desire of any, the saviors of countless. The gilded heroes in gold and crimson, thundering from the skies. 

But they are not heroes.

They are not saviors. They are not angels, they are seraphims bathed in fire and brimstone and choking smoke. They do not chase off death, but rather prolong it, until you can die by their command. 

It is a tradition, they say, a practice that carried over from the First Custodian and into their Order. The First to seal what belonged to him in gold and crimson, the first lifebringer who preserved life in a dead man walking. The outcast dead, preserved beyond an end, beyond life, beyond even adoration itself, until love curdled into obsession.

He was the First of the Custodes, the First to adore so vehemently it was beyond even death itself. 

It is a tradition for them not to love, but to protect, to adore and nurture, to keep. It should be an honor. It should be adoration. Many want to be loved. No one wants to know. Many yearn for that pretty delusion, the warmth of the fire without fearing its heat. You cannot love a heartless man. 

It was hard to imagine Leinth had once wished for the stress of their regard. 

“You seem melancholy today.” He observed. His voice filters through perfect vox lines, yet she could detect no waver beneath it, no human imperfection. It was as if he had been mastered as a machine, without deviation, and without error. 

Leinth offered a wan smile, the girl kicking her thin shins out over the rooftop’s edge. He had found her with ease, as he always had, regardless if she was in the Palace’s grand gardens or had paid a civilian to carry her to the outskirts of Terra. He would always find her, after all. 

Sekhmet Andas of the Aquilan Shield made no noise as he shifted to a resting position besides her, making eerily little sound for one as large as he. For a moment they were silent, watching the setting sun bathe the slums of Terra to red, then crimson.

“I had thought Terra would be beautiful.” she spoke, after a long while. Sekhmet inclined his head. 

“What makes you think it is not?” 

“These.” Leinth gestures with one hand. Her fingers, still unused to the exercises she had been subject to, awkwardly form crude signs in thoughtmark. + These. The ones you never show. + Her voice had yet to be taken away from her in her ascension to a full Sister, but her freedom to roam certainly was. 

“You cannot drape wraiths in raiments and call them beautiful, Leinth. You cannot show the shadow of the sun.” Sekhmet, with surprising tenderness, gently nudges her index finger to the proper form. "Longer, Ley. Thoughtmark is not an unelegant language."

"But are they too not loved?" she bats his hand away. "These wraiths." Leinth couldn’t help but feel irate at the simple use of her endearment. It had once belonged to her brother once. 

"I cannot speak for them." he replied. "Only that they were not graced by His light."

"Like I wasn't?" Leinth chuckles softly, bitterly. "Like I wasn't blessed, for the first decade and half of my life? Worthless, until my gift was seen?" 

“No. You were…exceptional.” Sekhmet’s tone was as level as always, even in the face of Leinth’s capricious wrath. The thin girl was shivering, but seemed unnoticing of the setting sun’s cold. Sekhmet reached out, and wrapped his cloak around her shoulders. Leinth never looked up. 

“Oh, you.” Leinth’s giggle sounded far too jaded, far too cruel for a girl of her age, all of twenty-three and as bitter as a veteran. “You’ve spent so long in the gold, you’ve forgotten how to speak of the bronze.”

Sekhmet did not respond to that. He simply wrapped the cloak around her, and tried to fasten the clasp. Once more, Leinth shakes his hand away. Sekhmet contends with draping the fabric around her. 

When she next spoke, her words were laden with vitriol. “I had a brother once. Down here. We were together.” There was an old rancor here, an ancient ache. Her eyes had become unfocused, her legs swinging out into the void as she gazed upon Terra’s slums from the shelter of the rooftop. 

She sounded almost wistful. 

“We were together when Father died. You wouldn’t know. Of course you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t care how Liaser fed me, clothed me, fought off a gang and ended up losing a third of his index finger from a knifethrust that was meant for me. You never saw the bodies left in the streets to rot, the trashheaps we buried ourselves in to hide from the gangs, how he took in a pariah at the age of twelve and refused to abandon her. You never knew what it felt like to starve, not knowing if you’d live long enough to scavenge from the streets. But he refused. Not even when my gift suffocated him, not even if he hated my soul, but loved me enough even when I drew “visitors”. When my aura drew…others here. Visitors that beat him. Visitors that tortured him. Visitors that hated me, hated my mind. Visitors wanted me.” her eyes had become unfocused, bitterly embroiled in the past. Sekhmet placed a titanic hand on her shoulder. He could feel the Pariah’s pulse from here, beating fast and hard like a dying rabbit’s, her shaven head bobbing from side to side with seemingly no consciousness. She was shaking. His other hand, still clad in gold auramite, rubbed soothing circles next to her spine. 

She regained her voice after a few moments, still trembling. “One of them tried to skin him alive unless I showed myself, were you there to protect me from then?” 

“Ley, you know that-”

“Were you there?” She half screamed. “Were you there when they broke three of his ribs and I robbed a clinic with my gift, when I walked in and the doctor called me a soulless monster and ran? When I left that dingy, rundown place with credits in my bag, knowing they feared me, knowing they looked at me and saw nothing but loathing? Knowing how it felt like not to be unnoticed, but to be utterly hated?”

“The golden do not know hate, dear Ley.” His hand wrapped around her, tightening and dragging her close when she tried to move away. Leinth snorted in derision and annoyance. He continued on. “And they will never step foot nor hide, so long as you’re beneath my gaze, little Sister. Where love is made impossible for you, Pariah, then contend yourself with fear.” With more tenderness than thought possible for a creature so cold, he reached out and gently turned her head towards him, tilting her face up until they were eye to eye. Leinth saw nothing, not even the cold spark of life, behind those eyes. It was like gazing into the eyes of a corpse, a corpse that would hold her, love her, suffocate her, for eternity.

“Contend yourself with fear, little Pariah. Where they cannot love you, they will learn to fear.” 

Leinth pulled away from his grasp. “But I do not want to be feared.” 

She did not ask to become a Sister, she did not want to be plucked from her brother’s arms and paraded like a trophy before golden eyes. She did not ask to be in that alleyway when they came, her thin arms over her head as the blows rained down one by one, still hearing her brother screaming at her to run. Sobbing for her life, pleading to be spared, praying for the angels to come and save her. And she prayed, and the angels came to save her. 

“I do not want to be feared.” she repeated. 

“But you will be.” His grip was like iron. He did not allow her to turn away. Instead, he dragged her close, cold auramite upon her shoulders and her neck. “You will be feared, not loved. Because, after all, who else would love you except for I, little Pariah?”

Who else would love you, when the world itself has turned away in fear and horror? Who else could love her, when even the Emperor’s light could not warm her?

Who else would love her if not for him? 

Leinth tried to move away, but his auramite grip was unbreakable. He dragged her against him, and this time she didn’t even struggle. Unshed tears had dripped steadily from her lashes, her sobs too proud to be spoken yet too painful to be restrained. Her small frame was shaking, but her voice was bitter, and filled with more vehemence than either of them had known. 

“I prayed that night you saved me, you know. I prayed for you, Sekhmet. I prayed that you would find him and bring him back. But you never even tried, did you?”

The silence was his answer. 

“You never even tried to find him. You left him there. And you took me.”

[animatorweirdo]

Imagine returning the one ring to Sauron

(I might have made this more angstier than anticipated, but I hope it’s still enjoyable. This is like an alternative ending for Imagine being the first one to wield a ring from Sauron. )

Requested by anonymous

Warnings: mentions of mind control, death, violence, injuries, immortality, angst, helping Sauron to retrieve his ring, slight description of depression, guilt, happy ending for him, but not a happy ending for you. 

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

- You can hear him. He was calling out to you, his shadow. He was pleading you to find and return his precious ring before it was too late. 

- The Nazguls had failed to regain the one ring, and you knew how important that golden ring was to him since he was now pleading for your help. He needed you – so like a devoted eternal servant: you heeded his call. 

- Your horse roared as you rode out from the darkness of Mordor, setting out to find the one ring. 

-You heard the ringbearer was a halfling who left the fellowship with a friend and traveled without the protection of the wizard and the other fellowship members. As a ranger of old, you tracked down the halflings. 

-You followed your master's orders. You had nothing but thoughts to keep your mind elsewhere as you rode across the lands to find the ringbearer. Your body locked on fulfilling Sauron's pleas. It was not following your orders. 

-As a result of serving the elf who ensnared your mind and body in his service, you felt hollow in your mind and heart. It had been hundreds of years. You should not even be alive, yet your bond with the dark lord extended your life. The bronze-colored band on your finger was proof of it. 

-You knew what you were doing was wrong. You knew you should refuse the order and prevent yourself from returning the very thing that can help Sauron return and continue his quest for power. You knew he was evil, yet you could not muster the will or strength to resist him. 

-You simply didn't care enough. 

-You didn't even know if you wanted to refuse him. 

-You had been with him since the beginning. You were there when he tricked the elves into creating the rings for him, and you were there when he destroyed Numenor from within and even gained the attention of Eru, who sunk the island and everyone in it. You were lucky not to be on that island when it happened. 

-Unlike with the Nazguls, you didn't become an undead wraith over time – even when you crossed the age of a hundred. You were bound to him since your ring was designed simply to make you a mindless puppet. 

-The ring stripping away your mortality was just a surprising feat. 

-You wished you could resist – refuse and be free of everything, but Annatar– or Sauron had his claws too deep on you. Even though: you have been living as a puppet and witnessed terrible things. He kept his promise and kept the pain and cold away. 

-He never forced you to do things against your will and honor. When he got his armies and the Nazguls, you had peacefully lingered in the shadows, thus the name of Sauron's shadow. 

-The first ring bearer and his black rider, the most feared of his servants. 

-Many feared you because no one knew the story of your falling. You were not one of the Nazguls, but your appearance means death. 

-You tracked down the halflings to a group of the Dunedain, who yelled and screamed in fright when they saw you. 

-You took out your sword, and a violent battle began as you set your eyes upon the ringbearer. You could almost hear it -- the whispering of the one ring. 

-The gondorian rangers tried to stop you, shooting arrows and trying to pry your attention away from the halflings. 

-They were troublesome, so you had to give your attention to every ranger who tried to get in your way. You did keep your ears and focus on the one ring. 

-You had hundreds of years of experience, so the rangers were, unfortunately, no match to your skill and strength. They fought honorably, even if it turned into desperation to keep you away from the one ring. 

-Your ears almost bled when you heard the one ring scream out to you. The halflings were getting away. 

-As the time was running out, you turned your attention upon the halflings again and took chase before they could run away. You could almost hear the one ring talking to you, telling you to bring it back to its rightful owner. 

-You didn't care about the rangers anymore. You took the arrows as you forced your steed to chase after the ring bearer and his friend. 

-The arrows made you bleed and caused immeasurable pain, but you continued since your master’s life depended on your success regaining the one ring. You needed to retrieve it no matter what. 

-The halflings tried to escape by going through the mountains, making you unable to follow them on a horse. You silently hoped you could leave it there and let them run through the cliffs, but since the one ring was demanding you to follow them. You unmounted your horse and continued the chase on foot. 

-The hobbits were frightened when you managed to catch up to them. You blocked their way– standing over them and making them unable to escape any other way. 

-A faint glow appeared around your ring as it resonated with the ring hidden under the ringbearer's shirt.

-The ringbearer’s friend tried to protect him from you, unsheathing his sword to fight you. 

-You respected his courage even though he was no match for you.

-You would never harm someone smaller and weaker than you, so you only slammed your hand against his face to push him away. He instantly fell to the ground, a bruise forming on the spot you hit him. 

-You silently apologized to him as you turned your attention to his friend, the ringbearer. 

-Your honor as a former ranger would have never allowed you to kill innocent beings, especially someone like him, who got forced to bear the burden of carrying something so evil like the one ring. It would have been better if the ring never came to him. 

-You never received an order to kill him, so you only forcefully took the one ring from around his neck and left. 

-The gondorians tried to stop you when they learned you managed to take the one ring.

-They shot their arrows and chased after you upon their horses, but since your horse was a special kind – you managed to outrun them and avoid fighting them. 

-The rangers and the halflings could only cry in despair as you successfully escaped with the one ring. 

-You silently pleaded for their forgiveness since you knew you had doomed them all. 

-You would have stopped and returned the one ring, but since Sauron had taken control of your mind for hundreds of years. You couldn't bring yourself to disobey since it was like a rule never to defy his wishes. 

-You would always curse at the day when he pushed the accursed ring upon your finger like a proposal of a terrible marriage. 

-You eventually found yourself riding through the black gates, ignoring the orcs and those frightened by your sudden appearance. 

-You ignored the courtesies and rode inside the tower, allowing your horse to climb the stairs in a terrible urge as your wounds were taking their effect on you. 

-You were slowly dying. You silently hoped you would die after returning the one ring. Unlike the Nazguls, you can die from mortal wounds, and you hoped it would finally release you from the shackles of life. 

-When you arrived at the doors to the throne room, you jumped down from your horse and pushed yourself through the doors. 

-You yelled out to your master and fell onto your knees as you showed the golden ring upon your palm. 

-Your master appeared in his broken spirit form, and when he saw the one ring, he quickly grabbed it from your hand and put it on. 

-There was a bright flash, and Baradur crumbled, frightening its habitat as your master finally reunited with his ring. 

-As the light faded and the tower stopped shaking, Sauron, your master, stood before you.

-He stood there with a physical body – the golden ring glowing around his armored finger as he was finally whole again. 

-At that moment, you momentarily felt happy and relieved in succeeding in your mission and slightly disappointed with yourself as you have brought back your master, the dark lord of Mordor and the enemy of the free people of Middle-Earth. 

-Your wounds and the blood loss finally made you collapse on the floor. You had no more strength to keep yourself up, so you simply lay there before your master’s feet. 

-Your ring could no longer preserve your life force, so you hoped it was finally your end. 

-Your master kneeled before you, thanking you and telling how you had faithfully served him.

-He then took off his helmet and showed you his face, which you haven’t seen in centuries since Numenor. That dreadful face of a deceiver with those golden eyes. 

-He smiled at you, telling you you have earned your rest. He then touched your ring, which caused a rush of power to run through your veins, keeping the pain away and keeping you alive. It made you terrified as he picked you up into his arms. 

-He carried you out of the throne room, making his way toward the halls of the healers to get your wounds treated. The orcs and servants quivered at the sight of him as he carried you. 

-You silently prayed to be free as you did not want to continue any longer, and to your dread, he sensed your thoughts. 

-He spoke softly to you, telling you not to think badly of your loyalty. You have earned and deserved everything this world can still offer you. 

-He then offered to lull your troubling thoughts away like all those years ago. You wanted to say no as you knew what would happen, but he did it anyway since you remained silent. 

-His voice was soft and deep. Your mind was enchanted once again by its softness and warmth. The guilt you felt and the wish to finally die vanished as you could not think of anything else but the voice that kept you away from the pain and the cold of the world. 

-Sauron chuckled as you made yourself comfortable, and your thoughts fell silent. He couldn't let go of you just yet. He promised you would rule by his side as he will finally conquer Middle earth with his return.

[dreamersinthedaylightinspo]

Eunomia slept like a rock. The healer worked over her while she rested and she woke, eventually, to peals of laughter and golden sunlight streaming into the birthing room. Nahida pronounced her able, and she found that she was able to stand and walk without help. A servant came to bring her pastries and fresh flower-scented tea with a wedge of lemon. Her body still tingled with the effects of the magic; though her body moved when she willed it and she wasn't in pain, she felt strange and tender and empty.

And, again, mostly, she missed her mother.

At first, she'd cried helplessly at the idea of bringing a child into the world without her family's support. Even after months, the pangs of anxiety she felt never lessened. But she found, when she stepped into the hall and was greeted with elated cheers and congratulations from half the living creatures in Rosehall, that she needn't have worried in the slightest.

The birth of a faerie child - of a High Lord's child - had caused celebratory commotion like Nomi had never seen. It was comparable to the breaking of Amarantha’s curse in Rhodes. After she managed to fight her way through the well-wishers, Tamlin informed her that they were expecting guests - representatives from the nearby villages were coming to Rosehall to pay tribute to Spring's new princess.

In response to her expression, Tamlin shrugged.

"If anything, this is your fault, my dear. Everyone likes you; they didn't care nearly so much when I was born."

Indeed - by lunchtime, the hall was swarming with faeries of all sorts. Stout dwarven-kin, nimble goblins, pixies and sprites, even tiny wil-o-the-wisps no bigger than the nails on her littlest finger. Wraiths and nymphs peeled themselves out of trees and ponds and sat themselves down for lunch in the gardens. The sentries and stabelhands joined the kitchen staff to help prepare meals for the travelers but many seemed to have brought their own food.

And with that, the gifts. Nomi accepted cuttings from gardens, little dresses and shoes and hats, music boxes, dolls and pillows and blankets, and all manner of more impractical things - a necklace of freshwater pearls, a loadstone, the branch of a cherry tree with a single, eternal pink blossom affixed to the end.

The other High Lord's, too, were prompt in their tributes. Helion sent a basket of fruits - pomegranates and oranges, adorned with rosemary, and other symbols of prosperity and longevity - and a handwoven blanket with the solar motif of the Day Court. This was Nomi’s favorite present. Thesan sent the most practical gift: a clever pair of looking glasses that were meant to be placed, one at the cradle and one on the parent's nightstand, enchanted so that they would know if the baby became fussy at night. Naturally, this was Tamlin's favorite.

Tarquin sent a set of seaglass windchimes to hang above Semele's cradle. Kalias sent her a practical winter coat - deep purple and lined with white fox fur, a few sizes large so that she could grow into it - and a matching hat, mittens, and boots. Eris sent a circlet of bronze and gold apple blossoms, which was very pretty though both Nomi and Tamlin agreed that they couldn't really picture Semele wearing such a thing.

The Night Court sent a note affixed to a bottle of wine. It read, "Good luck, you'll need it."

"Its not even a good vintage," Lucien complained when he saw this. He popped the cork and took a swig, swallowing bitterly. "Cheap bastard."

"No cursing in front of the baby," Elain scolded. Her smile was fixed to her face, though, and she promptly returned to cooing at Semele, who slept through all of this, somehow, and to Nomi's immense relief.

"You know," said Elain, leaning over to give Nomi one more peck on her cheek. "I don't recall nearly so much fanfare when Nyx was born."

"Typical of the Night Court," said a passing sentry, dispassionate. "Hide the lady's pregnancy til the last moment, then pretend it's business as usual."

"Its different here," Nomi agreed, shifting Semele slightly in her arms. She was heavy, and yet weightless, and soft. "What do humans do, when a child is born?"

Elain shrugged. "Oh, not much. It'd be bad luck to celebrate anything until they're about five or so - too old for faeries to want to eat them and such."

"No talk of cannibalism in front of the baby," said Lucien.

Luckily for all of them, Tamlin was utterly obssessed with his daughter and was cataloging her every expression or new experience, and told these stories with enormous pride to anyone who happened to stand in his presence.

///TO BE CONTINUED

[sam-glade]

Find the words tag

Tagged by @k-v-briarwood here and @talesofsorrowandofruin here. Thank you💜

I'll gently tag: @squarebracket-trick @kaiusvnoir @scribe-of-stories @tabswrites. Your words are: young, old, new, used.

Still looking in Gifts of Fate, seeing as I couldn't find half of these words in my current WIP.

From @k-v-briarwood: red, flat, and open

RED (CW: intrusive thoughts)

Lissan’s heart clenched as he drank the sight of her. The face reddened by the evening chill. The orange skirt with brown hem. The brown bodice with green and red embroidery — she’d made it last winter, and he remembered how much she’d enjoyed stitching the patterns by the feeble light of an oil lamp. The string of large wooden beads, dyed bright red. The colour’s wrong, the demon hissed in his mind. He reacted with confusion, and berated himself for it. The being explained smugly: Blood’s darker than that. Slit her throat and you’ll see.

FLAT

The second striga was on him in a flurry of wings and claws, eager to latch onto him and sink its teeth into his flesh. He spun, raising the Sword horizontally across his chest to put a barrier between them. The creature hit the blade with brute force. He put his left hand on the flat side of the blade to steady it. He figured a cut on his hand was preferred over whatever the teeth could do. He shoved the striga away with enough force to throw it into the remains of a cabinet by the wall, and held the Sword up, with both hands on the grip and with its point level with his eyes. The striga pounced. He lowered the blade and used the striga’s momentum to impale it through the chest. The spirit pushed itself further down, taking the most direct route towards its prey.

OPEN

“You sure you want to be involved?��� Gullin asked again, watching Ianim with the most tender expression Lissan had ever seen on him. “Yes. I can still help.” “All right, how?” Gullin brightened up. Ianim looked from him to Lissan, and finally smiled his usual crooked smile. “I’m open to suggestions.”

~*~

From @talesofsorrowandofruin: muddled, tangled, confused and puzzled.

MUDDLED

[404 not found]

TANGLED

The air was hazy from the heat. Lissan wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and squinted. A thin whirlwind was forming towards the edge of the field, halfway between him and the workers who’d paused for a break. He sped up. The whirlwind coalesced into a gaunt feminine figure in his path. The frayed white dress and tangled hair were whipped by the wind. Her eyes were hollow, her cheeks concave, and in her hand was a bronze sickle, mostly hidden behind the tatters of her clothes. Lissan grimaced, berating the people for taunting Fate. They had now noticed the noonwraith as well, and watched it, alert. The spirit turned to Lissan and opened her mouth. He beheaded her before a sound came out.

CONFUSED

The door opened with a deafening wail of rusty hinges. It was answered by some frantic movement under the roof — most likely birds, nothing dangerous. The officers got square lanterns out of their packs and opened one side of each to let out a steady beam of light — Gullin’s looked blueish-green, while Master Varré’s had a warmer tint to it. They swept the empty hall, turning the shadows of broken benches and a rotting banister on the stairs into truly monstrous forms. Lissan jumped when he confused the face of a standing clock for a wraith. It prompted some less creative insults from the demon, but in a tense situation like this, when his full attention was on his surroundings, they were trivial to ignore.

PUZZLED

“Marta has a Crystal now,” was how Ianim chose to break the news. Yes, it was a surprise — a shock, even. Yes, Lissan’s first reaction was to protest, to deny this possibility. But then, she was only three years younger than him, she wasn’t so little anymore. He might still see her as his baby sister, but it would be denying her how much she’d grown up. So instead of blurting out disorderly questions, he smiled. “I’m glad.” Ianim gaped at him, and Lissan’s smile grew. “It’s a Gift of Fate, well-deserved,” he said with a shrug. Ianim still looked puzzled. “What?” “You don’t seem very surprised.” Lissan closed his eyes, remembering her face, her fierce look, her decisiveness. Yes, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. “I always knew she was special. Of course I’d think that — she’s my little sister. I guess I needed proof that she can stand on her own two feet, be her own person. You know what I mean, right?” Ianim frowned in confusion, and Lissan remembered then: “Oh, right, you’re the younger one. Then I suppose your sister would know.” Something in the way Ianim averted his eyes told him that he disagreed.

Days of Dusk taglist because I really like these snippets (please message me to +/-): @acertainmoshke @another-white-hole @cee-grice @cljordan-imperium @elshells @poetinprose

[weirdsatellites]

Transmission #20606 from FalconSAT-8 (L CLEARANCE) 1. Mysterious Ninjas 2. Bronze Grave Zone 3. Moat of Lifeless Wraithes

[the-antiapocalyptic-man]

Jeanne Jones-Swanwick-Faraday, better known around the Central Bureau of Intelligence office as "Ms. Science Fiction" for her uncanny "psychic" abilities and obsession with stories about aliens, particularly martians.

She often brings Chocos to her husband, King, as an excuse to visit him, but usually ends up eating a full box herself while Faraday's on his latest lark about ultraterrestials or the Bronze Wraith or his fledgling comics career.

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

~Child Of The Storm~

Nikolai Lantsov x OC

Image by - @brokendreamtale2

Plot Summary-

Anaya Nasrazeen was the daughter of a well respected Grisha. Her parents had hoped for her to become a soldier in the second army and serve her country and she too, wished for the same. But soon all her hopes and dreams are crushed, when her family dies in a tragic shipwreck when she's twelve. She is found by a group of slave traders in Ketterdamn who sell her off to a wealthy councilman, who made her do all his dirtywork. She then meets Kaz Brekker, a member of a gang of theives called the dregs and joins them.

      She gets used to the harsh life of the barrel and enjoys being in the company of her friends. But her life takes a drastic turn, yet again. She is taken to the little palace when her Grisha abilities are seen by the dark general, when she tries to break in and steal some documents from his ship. Now, she has to live the life she had dreamt of as a child, but began to dread as she grew up. She has to learn to gain control of the very element she had began to fear, and overcome the haunting memories of her past.

QOTD- What's the pov that you like to read the most? For me, I feel more comfortable in writing in third person. I feel like I can show different aspects of the same story in third person.

Warnings- Bits of violence, ptsd, traumatic flashbacks throughout the chapters

...................................................................................................................

Ch-1 ~New waves bring new beginnings~

Anaya Nasrazeen had been called many things throughout her life in the city of Ketterdam, a theif, a murderer, a treacherous scum, a raven. It had all began when she had left the service of Councilman Henrik and had a gang of thieves called the dregs, pay off her indenture. To the eyes of the people, the councilman had provided her with everything a grisha slave could have asked for. Good food, a place to live, an identity and even a job at the Tidemaker tower. But what they didn't see was, how the councilman had made her go through countless methods of torture and pain so as to not feel it anymore. How he had made her take the lives of everyone who didn't abide by him. How he had made her into nothing but a mere puppet whose strings he controlled. So when a young criminal prodigy and a member of the dregs, Kaz Brekker, had seen her fight and kill, he had offered her a job and asked her to join them, and promised to have his boss pay off her indenture in return.

"Be careful" Anaya nearly stumbled upon the rocky gravel path as she heard the voice behind. She had been aware of the person's presence near her but hadn't expected her to say anything. A bronze little girl revealed herself infront of her. Her name was Inej Ghafa, but was commonly known in the barrel as the Wraith. She was no older than fifteen but had mastered the skill of creeping in the shadows and making herself disappear whenever she had wished. To say that Anaya trusted the girl would have been a far stretch, but she had been closer with her than she was, with anyone else in all of Ketterdam.

"Yeah, I will. What are you doing here though?" Anaya raised her eyebrows

"Making sure you don't abandon the job and go stealing from a bookstore...again"

Anaya felt wave of embarrassment wash over her face. She'd actually done that once, and had to listen to Kaz's taunting for a week. "Okay but in my defense, they were from my favorite author" she waved her arms aimlessly

"I would have came along but you're the only one who has the necessary knowledge on those grisha documents"

She'd been assigned to steal confidential documents from a ship of some second army soldiers and their general. What exactly they were doing at Ketterdam was still unknown to them but they aware of the importance that those documents held.

They bid farewells to each other and Anaya watched Inej disappear once more into the shadows.

                                       .............................................................................................................................

She walked for a few more minutes until the first harbor came into her sight, along with the ship she had been searching for. The Ravkan ship had been as huge as she had thought. It looked large enough to fit three buildings of the barrel.  She gave a tight squeeze to her blade, it provided her with a sense of comfort in a place like the barrel. She sneaked past the guards, and went inside the ship from a narrow window present at the back and landed on the floor with nothing more than a soft thud. She went down the large pathways and checked every chamber she was capable of.  She finally came across one that had a different look than the rest of the chambers. It didn't seem to have any windows near it and was locked. Surely has things inside that need protection, she thought.

She quickly took out a small pin from underneath her sleeve and pushed it gently inside the lock. A few turns and she heard a soft click. She moved inside and her suspicions were confirmed when she saw giant tables inside, loaded with documents and walls covered with different kinds of maps. She began looking around to find the documents she had came for. It took her a much less amount of time to find the documents, than she'd expected. She folded them up and hastened out of the chamber. Well that was easy, she thought to herself with a slight grin spread on her lips. But soon her happiness came to an end when she saw several second army soldiers standing infront of her on the deck, as if they were waiting for her.

Two squallers, one inferni and a tidemaker, she counted in her head. A squaller waved her hands and sent a wave of strong wind at her. It made her topple over but she quickly regained her balance and threw a small blade at her, but the squaller was quick to dodge it. Anaya took out her blade and charged at them. She plunged towards the other squaller, and slashed it towards him. The squaller dodged her attack and raised his arms to summon, but Anaya threw a hard punch at his chest and then brought out her knee to his left leg, making him fall back.

The tidemaker brought a giant wave of sea water at her, making her lose the hardened grip on her blade. Anaya thought of no other way and brought her hands up. She glide them around and brought a threw a massive wave back towards the tidemaker. The squaller went up against her once again and she sent a giant wave towards her with a greater effort. She spun around and moved her hand near her waist and threw a wave at he squaller once again but the inferni burned it down. Damned infernis, she cursed under her breath. Before she could act again, she felt an intense thump in her heart. It felt like her heart was trying very hard to burst out of her chest, then she felt her whole body go numb. She lost all her balance and fell down. She then watched the world around her go dark.

[grishaversewomenpolls]

GRISHAVERSE WOMEN TOURNAMENT FINAL

The final showdown

The wraith herself

Lady of mourning in the flesh

Also let’s give a farewell to the bronze medal 🥉