#Eroded dragon skull

[lairofdragonagelore]

Hinterlands: Tyrdda Bright-Axe Path

Tyrdda Bright-Axe was a legendary Alamarri chieftain attributed with founding the Avvar.

I personally thought that following the stanza [complete saga here] would point me out to Avvar sculptures. But I had strange results.  Also, the way these stanzas are written are quite difficult for me to understand, so any misinterpretation or mistake pointed out would be appreciated.

Updated December 2022

First stanza is given by the wolf/horse statue. It makes sense because it’s an Avvar/Alamarri statue, in the open, surrounded by avvar/alamarri arcs. The first stanza mostly says that Tyrdda was gifted in diplomacy and wisdom, and had a spirit as a lover who had the shape of an elf and it was considered The Lady of the Skies. Here is where the presence of elves among the Avvar shows.

Second stanza… things begin to look very strange. It’s triggered inside the Calenhad’s foothold, which is a recent construction, but we can assume that Tyrdda lived in the zone [close to the Calenhad Lake, after all]. Inside, there are many Ferelden paintings on the walls, and in a corner, we find the statue that triggers this stanza: the one usually considered elven, representing Dirthamen [Or Falon’Din, read the post Exalted Plains: Northern Ramparts and Citadelle du Corbeau for more details on this statue]

This stanza speaks about one of Tyrdda’s suitors: Thelm Gold-Handed, who apparently was a strong warrior; took weak clans, fed them and turned them into his army giving them weapons and armour. Apparently a demon [whispers in his dreams] encouraged him to reach a Golden City in the north. Even though it sounds similar to the Chant of Light, we also have Arlathan which was considered a “golden city in the north” by humans [We know in the Shattered Library that it was blue and more like a sky], so this stanza may mean Arlathan as well as the Golden City for all what we know. 

The third one is the mysterious Faceless figure holding a crown. It’s this same statue which allows you to rise an undead, which tomb shows Elvhen funerary lids. Is this statue Elven related? If the executors are an odd elvhen faction, and if that statue is an executor [simply because we can’t see their skin or face], maybe this situation could make a little more sense. So far, to me, makes no sense at all. 

Updated December 2022: I finally managed to understand and justify the statue Faceless figure holding a crown. It's andrastian and represents the Maker. The stained glass of Andraste's life represents him as a figure without face with a crown that looks very similar to this one. As The Maker, it makes a lot of more sense for it to appear in the places it does.

The third stanza basically says that Thelm wanted to marry Tyrdda to have her men as part of his army to reach the Golden City. She was tempted, since her tribe was starving due to the hard winter and the promises of food in the Golden city made her hesitate. She looked for the counsel of her elven lover, who saw the lies in Thelm. So that Tyrdda rejected him.

The fourth one is nicely marked on a hill through a path guided by the little guys of long arms and moustache [that I’m fond to consider the avvar representation of Dwarves with long limbs]. On its top, we find this eroded statue that looks like a dragon head [See the post Hinterlands: Statues, paintings, and structures found in the open]

The fourth stanza explains how Thelm did not take the rejection of Tyrdda well and fought her, wearing armour. He damaged her leg, but she killed him by burning him inside his armour, using the staff of her elven lover. 

The fifth staza is triggered by a screaming head, one of the Keepers of Fear.

The stanza tells that Tyrdda took her tribe and left the Calenhad lake heading to the Frostback Mountains. They took shelter in a cave where a dragon was found.  She asked for help to her elven lover, shouting her: "You I chose above a crown!" and the dragon was struck from the skies, saving the tribe.

The sixth stanza confirms my supposition that this statue is the avvar representation of a dwarf: it tells how after the battle, strong and shaped by the struggles, she went deeper into the cave reaching the Deep Roads, meeting the dwarves for the first time: Hendir’s men. The encounter was tense, ready to attack each other, until Tyrdda’s lover whispered her information to understand these men. She explained her that they were honourable, so Tyrdda chose to trade with them instead of making war.  

The seventh stanza is found in the central massive sculpture  of crossroads [Hinterlands] that must represent Tyrdda herself. It explains that after spending a night with her elven lover, the elf left her, whispering in her dreams that she needed to have a child in order to continue with the tribe. She had a baby with the dwarf prince Hendir, following the advice of her lover, who told her that one of her line, Morrighan'nan, “will shine in strength”.

The last stanza is found in this place where we can see one of these small sculptures with a dove that I thought were Andrastian.  It says that once Tyrdda saw her tribe stable, strong and safe with the alliance with the dwarves, she put her child as chieftain of the tribe and left to the skies to reunite with her elven lover in the afterlife [sky burial].

[Index page of Dragon Age Lore ]

[deicidis]

Flesh and Sky

Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen

status: completed one-shot

wordcount: 2k

summary: Days when Alicent agonises over Rhaenyra after their quarrel at Driftmark and finally reuniting with her after six years.

—

   O god, 

what do i do with all my hungry?

my empty?

—

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?”

Why did you betray me? Why did you leave? 

The words came different from her mouth. When she slashes Rhaenyra’s arm with the steel of her ancestors Alicent feels the blade cut her own flesh. When Rhaenyra’s fingers twitch, Alicent fingers drop the blade in response. The horror and euphoria settling in. She hides herself in her chambers and tears herself open.

“It’s trampled under your pretty foot again.”

Why didn’t you share my fate? share my burdens?

There’s a drop of blood on her finger. Her hand trembles. Alicent wonders if her hair would turn pale if she consumes it—If Targaryen blood is as magical as the myth said. Perhaps Rhaenyra wouldn’t have left her if she was simply the blood of the dragon. Chase Alicent around like a fucking dog as she did to her uncle. God knows the Targaryens have queer costums.

Alicent licks the blood clean. 

What little sleep she could have on that night, she dream her hair is as silver as the moon. 

—

Alicent knows the specks of silvers on the parapet. The niece and the uncle watching her set sail. Taunting her. Tempting her. Alicent feels the cells of Rhaenyra’s blood coiling inside, Refusing to conjoin with her own. 

The blood of the Dragon only seeks their own. 

Alicent doesn’t gorge on her cuticles for years. But she claws the handrail of the ship. She finds relief at the wooden splinters piercing the flesh under her nails. Sends waves of shivers over her skin. 

 —

There is a raven that Rhaenyra had wed Daemon. 

Alicent can’t recognise her own feelings upon it. Of course they’re still infatuated with each other.

But she didn’t expect how heavy her heart is. Her dress constricts a little too tightly, labours her breathing just a brush. Unable to focus on any words at the council, she wonders whether they fuck before or after the wedding. 

Laenor’s body haven’t even eroded by the water and they don’t even have the decency to wait. 

But he is dead and he wouldn’t care, the dead does not think. She lives still. She wishes she was the one in that stone coffin at the bottom of the sea. 

A tempest of unbearable hunger envelopes her like an old friend. Alicent eats until she vomits on her bedside that night.

—

At the day of her children’s wedding, Alicent finds Helaena had fashioned her hair in elaborate braids piled on top of another around the crown of her head, accented delicately with pebbles of rubies, a single plait dangles at the base of her skull. The first sight of it almost collapsed Alicent’s lungs. 

“Who did this?!” Alicent shrieks as her fingers dig into her daughter’s arms. She never screamed at her beloved Helaena before. But her child doesn’t look like her child. The silver serpents atop her head catapult her to her early days under the Weirwood. She looks like the phantom scar on her arm. The drop of blood restlessly scraping her insides. The razor claws of the dragon. 

Helaena doesn’t even flinch. Only gives her mother a joyous, bride-like smile. When her child’s eyes look upon hers, it did not managed to touch the present. Probing into the distant past instead.

“Do you like it, mother? That day she wanted to ask if you liked it. But you were late.”

Helaena brushes away the tears dripping down her mother’s chin, then circles her arm around Alicent’s waist.

 —

The queen regrets betrothing Helaena to Aegon. Standing at the sept under the watchful eyes of the seven, there is a shadow inside her firstborn son, threatening to spill all over the dais. She had birthed that shadow inside him. Nurtured that very shadow. Alicent is afraid it will smother his new bride.

She should have accepted her betrothal to Jacaerys.

—

The princess is coming and Alicent struggles to decide what to wear. 6 years passed since their last encounter and she cares about what the Heir thinks of her still. She feels her heart beating in her throat. Her toes curls restlessly at court awaiting the arrival of the princess. The drop of blood is agitated. 

But she makes the princess wait. Afraid of be seen too eager.

Alicent’s eyes caught the pale keloid across Rhaenyra’s arm like a centipede. The first thing she notes when she enters the room. A reminder of her regret, her affection. A phantom scar on Alicent’s arms feels stiff as if it were ruched. 

Then to her face. How radiant she looked, her eyes almost watered by her unchanged, imposing beauty. 

“Princess Rhaenyra.” she called to her with a pursed smile, and to her would be king consort. Him was more of an afterthought. Then Bitter pleasantries exchanged, deceptive formalities after.

Alicent tries so hard to not latch her eyes on her swan—like neck. Rhaenyra’s beautiful, delicate, skin. Alicent can still feel her chin pressed against that skin on the day Rhaenyra was named heir. That very same skin would make her bend the knee if she was the lord of Hightower. 

She wouldn’t know any other way to live. 

“Of course, it is they who keep him…” Rhaenyra paces towards her. Alicent’s mask of indifference slipping by inches. She digs her nail into her thumb. 

“Addled on milk of the poppy while the Hightowers warms his throne.” Rhaenyra continues. She slipped daggers into her words, flays Alicent’s skin open. Alicent secretly welcomes her bitter accusations over nothing.  

—

Alicent dreads to have to dine with her. What words Rhaenyra gave to her on their first meeting since the last six years, Alicent is nervous there would be more on this night. She wishes for Rhaenyra to not be as unfavourable when they dine. The king would be there, her children would be there. Alicent hopes that would suspend her temper and dampens it whole. 

—

The king takes a long time in his feeble state to come to the dining room. For the moment the Queen and the Princess sit side by side wordlessly. Rhaenyra wafts an air of bitter coldness, the ice of her silver hair. She feels like the ocean between King’s Landing and Dragonstone.

Alicent can’t help but steal glances. And so does Rhaenyra. There is small little thrill inside her stomach at the knowledge.

The coming of the king interrupts Rhaenyra’s glance. Viserys sits between them with a wheezing, wet sigh. After Alicent insist on a prayer, the king Insists on a speech.

The king wants for them to get along. There is a lingering question in the air, tasted by all who sit on the table, how do you mend years and years of silent contempt and treachery. Acrid hostility everyone had nurtured so thoroughly.  

But her dear, dying husband begs so pitifully, even unfastened his mask to show what gruelling, torturing six years had passed for him. What little tenderness Alicent has for her husband, she will grant him for this one night. She can see it in Rhaenyra’s eyes too. 

In a swift move after her father’s speech, Rhaenyra raises her glass. 

“I wish to raise my cup for her grace the Queen.” Rhaenyra’s eyes found Alicent, the princess gaze’s soft unhardened. Alicent’s heart beats a little faster as her hands work to clasp the king’s mask. 

“I love my father. But i must admit that no one has stood… more loyally by his side than his good wife.” Alicent feels the heaviness lodged in Rhaenyra’s throat. Her own throat is burdened by that weight. 

“She has tended to him with- unfailing devotion. Love, and honour. And for that she has my gratitude. And my apology.” Alicent swallows her words. Sweet like dornish wine she drank moments ago. Alicent dare not blink for she fears that it was merely a dream. As if Rhaenyra would turn into ashes on that very table. It was all she ever wanted, for Rhaenyra to acknowledge all she had done, all she had give, all of her being. What unspoken words left on Rhaenyra’s tongue, Alicent can feel it in Rhaenyra’s sincere gaze. 

“Your graciousness moves me deeply princess.” she almost trips over her own words. Her voice almost trembles. 

“We are both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” Alicent rise from her seat. 

“I raise my cup to you, and to your house.” she raises her glass to the princess. Lost in her face for a moment. 

“You will make a fine queen.” she feels her father’s gaze burning her back. But in that moment, Alicent believe no truer words than that sentence. Her heart stutters when she finds Rhaenyra hiding a small smile in the tuck of her chin.  

Alicent watches her husband’s content smile, his inquisitive gaze drinking all that he can. She watches Aegon’s taunts that prompts Jacaerys to ask her daughter for a dance, a vision of what could have been. She watches Rhaenyra’s giggles with Daemon, even the sight is surprisingly sweet to her stomach. She watches her own father, uncharacteristically festive, clapping along to Helaena’s dancing footsteps. She watches Aemond’s silent countenance. Baela’s sweet smile as she lovingly watches the dance. Rhaena’s secretive giggles with her betrothed. Lucerys plump cheeks filled with carrots and potatoes. 

Alicent wants to watch the night away so she could engrave this moment inside her skin. Echo this rare sweetness on her deathbed. She is committed to not miss a single thing, she wants this night to last forever. For the first time since her marriage, everyone on that table feels like a true family, even when they only pretend that all the contempt and lies and betrayal never existed. If they could pretend for one night, what stops them from pretending for the rest of their lives?

Alicent wants to pretend. For her family’s sake. Her husband. Rhaenyra.

But rarely her wishes are aligned with what her family wants. Chaos would always follow.

Aemond’s self control might be superior than his older brother, but his pride is not. 

For once she is grateful for Daemon. His control over his children prevents the night turning even more sour as Rhaenyra pushes the boys into their respective chambers. Even her own son shows restraint to their uncle—brother in law. Aemond choose to follow Aegon out of the room, Then Daemon left.

There is only her, bathed in yellow candle light. Her silver hair gleaming enticingly. Alicent forgets that her father is still in the room. Her head lost to the heir in her sight.

“Rhaenyra.” she reach for her. Her feet moving on its own. 

“It’s best i think if we go back to Dragonstone.” Rhaenyra’s voice is low, her hand caressing her swollen belly. 

Don’t go. 

“You’ve only just arrived.” again, the words came different from her mouth. But Alicent’s body betrays her when her hands reach for the Centipede. Rhaenyra’s flesh warm and tender on Alicent’s palm. Both of them drawn to where their hands meet for the first time in years. Rhaenyra’s fingers graze her wrists, making circles on her lifeline. Familiar. Almost loving, so delicately Alicent could cry on those hands. 

“Let me see the children home. I’ll um…” Rhaenyra swallows.

“Return on dragonback.” There is longing in Rhaenyra’s gaze, like a silent call for Alicent to return with her on that dragonback. Her soft, bright eyes are the blue skies above the Weirwood tree, where she declared she wants to take Alicent across the narrow sea and eat only cake. 

Alicent smiles, her chest caves in heavy on herself. 

“The king and i would both like that.”

I would love nothing more.

Alicent knows deep within her she would do it if Rhaenyra only asks. All the duties she has done plenty. All the sacrifices she had made until there is nothing left for herself. Her children are grown, her husband is dying. She would go wherever she would take her. 

But Alicent is satisfied by the unspoken words. Possibilities. She wants so desperately for them to become what was. Those little girls under the Weirwood tree, purposefully naive whenever they are together, for there are no place to be than when they’re with each other. 

There is hope and Alicent clings to it. Finds it in Rhaenyra’s eyes, her silent yearning. The drop of blood inside her stomach melts into her cells. 

[thepaintedsable]

Depositional Time Traveler (Art + Writing)

————————————————————————

【 Warning 】 »Mentions of Death, »Magical Mishap, »Illustrated BONES!!!!! (Fossils)

Reader/Viewer digression is advised.

————————————————————————

Wind slipped off of the cliff with the force of a torrent; the long, spindled blades of grass creating the effect of a soft river just on the verge of spilling over. It was unfathomably lucky that shrubbery grew unheeded a few steps away, not only for it blocking the ferocious wind, but the roots likely being the only feeble support keeping a rockslide at bay. Even with grass underfoot, it grew so sparse that one could tell the hardened clay was corse and dry. So grainy that even a gentle gust might cause it to erode and crumble.

With the howling tune of the gale, any creature with eyes could tell such events had already taken a toll on this land. Where once must have lain a mighty hillside was now a deep crevice, wind blasting away at the sides to reveal deep cave-holes and ancient secrets. One could wager that there had been a mighty cave that had simply collapsed in on itself, though it would be hard to guess what sort of mighty force would be able to do such damage to a natural structure. Even more puzzling, none of the revealed caves on the opposite cliff seemed to be logical, and if they were still underground, most would simply be pockets of stale air and old dust.

The deepest harbored great waterfalls, coming from some forgotten spring and falling may feet down into the creek that lay below. Foliage and plants, clearly thriving considering their massive size, overtook most of the other holes. Life making its best attempt to reclaim soil that must have not been touched for the last millennium.

Yet… that couldn’t be true.

Within the soil, tarnished in colorful layers that unintentionally noted their age, lay great beasts. All old, all large, and all having succumbed to the pressure of time. One of the current era might be hard pressed to even recognize these as ancestors of the current world, the bones disarticulated and their forms foreign to the current day. Most blended in with the earth, a deep brown one might even mistake for a common rock — save for the clear points of where eyes, teeth, or horns once kept.

Yet one stood out among the rest.

A beast of beasts, the creature must have made even the largest of raptors feel small. The birds that rested on its skull looked like ants, and it should be noted that no small bird could fair the airs that forced along the gap between the shrubbed cliff and the layered wall. This creature was no raptor nor dragon, holding no recent form. It’s spines were broken in areas where no support could be found, though that seemed to be the only fallacy in the pristine preservation of this animal.

Only one side of its mandible was opened in a perpetual scream, where the other was tightly jointed to the skull. Few bones were out of place, with those that were only being but paces off of where they should have been. It was almost as if someone had taken the skeleton and carefully placed it right in that spot, for the plants and birds to make use out of it as rootholds and roosts.

What made this fossil particularly strange, though, was its placement through several depositional layers. It could be believed that a fossil might be lighter than others for one reason or another, but these bones reached straight through eight of the carefully lain blankets of soil. One could likely fathom a few bones to be displaced in such a way due to the earth shifting, water flowing, or outside circumstances such as a burial, yet these bones were together, articulated, and upright. As if the creature were standing, but was suddenly engulfed by the rock.

Teasel had seen many cliff faces and many old bones, but none as unsettling as this.

The large raptor was an explorer of sorts, a trader and curious soul. It was simply his nature to find things he could possibly take, mend, or sell only to fund his travels. Although this location had nothing he could sell, it certainly held a story, and therefore held the greatest value of all — to him, at the least. — it was unlikely that this sight would stand for much longer, considering the water and winds gorging on the history, with the lookout not fairing so well either. It’s a wonder the hefty fossil hadn’t fallen yet, nor having been taken out by the initial collapse considering its precarious standing.

He could only imagine what had happened to the creature. Lending it the benefit of personally and knowledge in his mind, he could only believe that this was a sign that magic was much older than he had first believed. Of course he knew it was ancient, but he’d thought it had… evolved. He could barely imagine what the poor creature must have been thinking when it attempted to travel into the future, only to be greeted by the unforgiving, ever shifting sands of time.

This is very much copy-pasted from a post I made on the Official Mochi Raptors Amino (I moderate over there), of one of my Raptors: Teasel! This was one of my bigger pieces, just to produce a little something fun for the community. :) Which normally means a more story-driven artwork with a little writing on the side.

I do love my fair share of magical mishap, which prompted the artwork. I was actually trying to draw the Minecraft Farlands originally, though, but I think my 5-year-old brain took over and said “b-but dinosaurs” so… yeah, fossils haha.

This is kinda set up so I can play with Tumblr’s layout and settings a bit more. So I apologize if this is a bit… messy? Either way, I hope you enjoyed!

[stocky2016]

“Inhospitable”

Landscape of lengthening shadows,

extremes of heat and cold

bleached bones, petrified skulls but

a place neither suited to the needs of young or old.

“Parched”, an obvious understatement,

its wind-blown and spectacularly wind-carved

gallery of eroded art-forms.

Sundown flattered, exaggerated and beautified

the hostility of this infertile terrain.

Typical of enhanced wild MGM’s settings

for ambushed and beleaguered stage-coaches

opportunistic scalp-hunters, and a land

of the spaghetti western, and both men and

horses with no name.

My mind hovers panoramically

above this godforsaken and deserted land,

a stark example of climate warnings globally

The dust around mountainous wilderness swirls

gathering into clouds that both grimace and mock

desperate rainfall sparcity

now taking stock.

Only dragon-like creatures, scaled snakes

and other predators for company

no slutty saloon-maids, no whisky-stained bar

little shade from sporadic giant cacti

Yellowstone Desert held on to its secrets

with most of the cowboys long since gone now,

Lounging instead, in Holiday-Inn bars.

Winds of change erodes longevity

attrition only grazes upon these rocky outcrops

shaping them into expansive valleys.

When the sun descends in the sky

it still scorches with incandescent rage

but as the sun rises once again,

it sprinkles rays of hope from the planetary sage.

A testimony to “climate change”

Its stoney cemetery tells its own tragic tale,

a desert by an other name

a thirsty, sweaty dehydrating graveyard

for any body or thing that’s naively, unprepared.

For the majority “Inhospitable”, a fitting adjective

a place for possibly running-scared,

G.P.S. 12th June 2022

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=na47wMFfQCo&vidve=5727&autoplay=1

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Dimension Immortals AU:

There are four immortals; Overworld, Nether, End, and Void. They are technically quasi-immortal, because while they don’t age once they reach an adult form, they can die from other means. They have increased strength and stamina, an ability to shapeshift, as well as a sixth sense that allows them to focus and sense who is in their dimension, if they’re in the dimension as well. They also have the ability to channel the energy of their dimension in times of stress or need, which for all intents and purposes is like their god.

Phil is the End immortal, and he’s been around for as long as the universe has been. He’s the son of the Ender Dragon, who used to be a sentient being and a very kind one at that. He existed even before the Ancients (the race I imagine existed in Minecraft before any player, they’re the ones who built the strongholds and abandoned mineshafts and such), and was there when they first arrived in the dimension. They were the ones who brought the crystals to the End, and built the obsidian pillars on the main island to test their power. Unfortunately, the dragon was lured in by their power, and her mind was slowly corrupted and eroded away until she couldn’t even recognize her own son anymore. Phil spent centuries away from the main island, as his mother killed any Ancients who would come through their portal, and eventually they stopped coming at all. Occasionally he would sense people coming through, but they never lasted more than a few minutes against the dragon.

That is, until one day Phil senses someone come through the portal, and the energy surrounding their soul is... different, than all the rest. He waits a few minutes, but this time the soul isn’t obliterated. Curious, he starts flying back to the main island, and perches on a pillar next to a crystal to get a good view. There’s a figure clad in green flitting in between the pillars, dodging the dragon’s purple fire breath. All of a sudden, one of the crystals explodes, and Phil wisely decides that he should get away from them. He flies under the island to listen to the fight play out - there’s more explosions, and then a loud, angry roar from the dragon in pain. Phil listens to her dying screech while staring at his hands, unsure of whether he should be relieved or cry. He heads out to the portal that has opened up in the center of the island, and meets the green clad figure (but we’ll get back to that.)

He ventures into the Overworld for the first time, and spends another good couple centuries learning everything he can about this new dimension. And he never runs out of things to learn, and eventually he learns how to create a portal to another dimension called the Nether. On one of his trips out, he’s exploring a fortress when he hears sounds of fighting, and he runs over to find a small piglin child surrounded by mobs. Before he can help, however, the child swings his sword and decapitates the skeletons attacking him, before dispatching the blazes as well. The child turns around and sees Phil, and both their eyes flare brightly for a moment. They know then, that they are the same.

Techno is the Nether immortal. He’s the latest in a long line of Nether immortals, given that they’re born in the most deadly dimension, and usually they don’t last super long. He was raised by a Piglin tribe for the first few years of his life, before he started truly growing into his powers and figures that the tribe is growing scared of him, so he leaves before they chase him away. The voices in his head chant for blood, so he kills any mob he comes across without mercy. He’s hunting wither skeleton skulls and blaze rods in a fortress when he suddenly sees another person, dressed in a dark color he’s never seen before and he can feel power surge through him for just a moment as the stranger’s eyes flash that same color but lighter, and he knows. They are the same.

Techno leaves the Nether with Phil soon after that, and he too is overwhelmed by the sheer amount of life in the Overworld. Not many Nether immortals manage to see this sight, and the voices in his head shout with joy. He realizes soon after that the voices are the previous souls of Nether immortals, watching the world through his eyes and coaxing him to follow their paths. But he lives with Phil, a partner in crime relationship more than familial, despite their vast difference in age, and Techno decides that he’s going to live longer than any other Nether immortal ever has. That’s quickly threatened as the voices call for blood, and he gets involved in a conflict started by the boy Phil got adopted by years ago, but hey, the idea was there.

Karl is the Overworld Immortal. There haven’t been a lot of them, as the Overworld is much easier to survive in than the Nether, but the previous immortal died a few years ago and Karl incarnated. He’s not fully matured yet, and very naive according to Phil. He has voices as well, although they don’t manifest in the same way as Techno’s. Instead, the souls of the old Overworld immortals show him visions at night, visions of pasts, presents, and futures of his own world as well as others. For a long time he didn’t act on the visions, because he had no way to tell what timeline they took place in, or what action would for sure change the future he saw. That is, until he saw an unmistakable future that showed him exactly what time he was in, and Karl saw an opportunity to unmistakably change that future.

Dream is the Void immortal. It’s unknown whether or not there was another Void immortal before him, but Phil knows that he’s at least a few centuries old, as he was the one who came to the End and slayed the dragon, thus allowing Phil into the Overworld. Upon Phil’s request that nobody be allowed to go into the End, Dream warns anyone who expresses their desire to enter the dimension that it would not be wise to do so. It’s also unknown where the Void immortal exactly pulls their power from, since as far as the others know, the Void is just the linking energy that connects all three dimensions together. Of course, Dream knows that the Void is a dimension of its own, but it’s not possible for the living to reach it. As of right now, there are only two occupants of the Void.

I have so much backstory and how it ties in to my Runaway AU, but this is so long already, so I’ll sign off for now- 🐉

Oooh. This is super interesting. This is incredibly interesting. I am interested in the lore and how it ties into your other au. Oh man, this is great.

[donttelljim]

On Guard

Dragon Age Origins Cullen Rutherford x Female Surana Warden Ser Cullen is attempting to guard the library in Kinloch Hold, and determinedly ignoring the Grey Warden attempting to speak to him. Especially after what happened here not long before....Especially when it's HER.

He doesn't know how to handle seeing HER again.

Warden Surana & gang have had to return to the Circle Tower on a quest, and she takes the time to try to get some sense through to her old friend and first love, but he isn't listening. She isn't even sure who he is any more. Set a short time after the events of Broken Circle Written for @chaos-company’s Angstpril 2022, Day 22, Caught Off Guard (On AO3 here) ===================================================

Damp had a way of encroaching upon the senses. It could slip undetected beneath one's perceptions, an infiltrator sullying everything around it: it became the nausea growing at the back of one's throat, cloying at the flesh like an infection; the suspicion that one's armour was chafing due to some fundamental disintegration within its straps and padding; the creeping conviction that the air entering one's lungs was doing some ill amongst the good. A simple detail, and one that was endemic to places like this, yet near-impossible to remove, and its effects still insidious even if one manages that. And then, that was assuming that it does not return - which, of course, it does.

The templar shifted his stance a minimal degree, relieving the pressure and resulting pins and needles in one leg and easing his weight onto the other. With a minor false move, barely a mistake made, but a mistake made nonetheless, pain shot suddenly and violently through one whole side of him, jarring his nerve-endings from the buckling cramp in his calf up to the underside of his skull. He suppressed a grunt of discomfort in the echoing chamber. Around him, the Kinloch library remained unchanged. Even the dust in the air hung heavy with age, here; every softened shelf and sagging book was as immovable as it was corroding, the room permanent yet ill-fated as a tomb. Nothing changed, and yet all would deplete. It would erode, in time - every piece of it. Not soon enough.

Pain speared through the templar’s skull once more, this time behind his eyes. It had been doing that all morning, increasingly so. He shut them, waiting in the dark for a returned control, then forced them upon once more before that control came. An assassin drawing from its sleeve, the dull light greeted him with knives, unexpected yet no blunter for that. Suppressing another grunt, the soldier made war with himself, fixing his eyes once more on the archways of the double-doors ahead. Below his gaze, a circular table took up much of the chamber, all else in the room angles around its circumference, but peripherally, flanking the doorway, all he perceived were the shelves, the dust.

Ser Cullen flexed his jaw, experimenting as he shifted the pressure within his temples this way and that, rolling it around in his head as one tests a broken bone or rolls a fretted coin over one’s fingers. His armour had been poorly affixed this morning - one pauldron was sitting slightly higher than the other. Not enough to see, he would wager, but he made a study of the discrepancy against his shoulder blades.

Responding to a source of movement that did not appear to be ceasing, the templar’s eyes lowered at length, passively observing the figure ahead of him. Elven, female: she was on the far side of the table, its notable breadth between them, its surface bearing tommes and notes of her colleagues. Her white hair was falling long and loose - an array that he was unused to seeing on her, at least in reality. She appeared to be in some form of distress: her cheeks were wet, eyes red, mouth moving with emphatic words. The knight watched as her hand made impact with the table: it bore more rings than it used to. Enchantments, no doubt.

"....Apologies, Warden Surana. Was there something further you required?" He watched the mage start, eyes widened, mouth agape. “What? Cullen. Please. Have you even been listening to me?” “If the Wardens have everything they need from our library, I can escort you back to the main gates.” The templar moved his attention on, or, he went to, but then the mage did something that demanded unwilling focus: it moved. Stepping forwards, it began to come around the table, approaching him. The templar’s legs jerked backwards, launching him a step backwards without his consent. His skull responded, as did the deadened pain in his calf.

“Cullen…” The mage’s brows furrowed in a mimicry of emotion. “This is me. Why are you…?” It extended a hand towards the templar; Cullen flinched and stiffened, jaw tensing as he forced himself under control, his skull responding to the movement with what felt like shards of shattered bone. It continued. “What happened…I - I can’t even imagine. We need to be able to talk about this... You’re not alright. Let me help...” Cullen’s eyes were fixed upon the hand, hovering half-extended towards him. At his back, his skin was thinly slicing itself away from his spine, curling and gathering in retreat. A possessive force attempted to steer him to smack the limb away: he resisted, tendons flexing in his head and neck. It - she - was still speaking. It became easier to ignore, bar the ongoing sensation of his skin’s retreat, until, with a dull impact, the unthinkable was done. The mage’s hands smacked against his breastplate. The temptation of impulse was sudden and brutal, less a seductress’ whisper than an abrupt, unwelcome seize from an uninvited hand. It would take three movements: pin that arm behind her, her face to the ground, a sword through her neck. Freedom, bliss, holy retribution blowing the roof off of this tower and finally letting in air. For a moment, the migraine left him, just at the thought. It pressed back in. “Warden. We are not in Weisshaupt. Step back. I will not ask again.” Finally, after hesitation, the invasion ceased. The issue retreated, removing itself once more. Meanwhile, the pain in Cullen’s temple pulsed, drilling down deeper. This would not leave, even with her exit. Not without help.

[eveeot7]

Bound in Ash

-ongoing 6/8 (79.1k)

-Taegi

-Heavy Angst, light fluff and smutt

-Dark Fantasy and Dystopian Royalty OT7 AU

-Side JiHopeKook & Namjin

-heavy magic and familiars themes

Chapter Six I “Twin Flames” I Excerpt

He did not know how long they had been standing there, lost in the sensations of consuming one another slowly, time had no effect on his mind anymore. Between their mouths, and their hands, they took their time intertwining themselves with the other. He was breathless. He was burning. He was Tae’s.

“Tae-ah,” He breathed, running the bridge of his nose across his jaw line, “I want to fly, let’s fly again..”

He felt the smile that formed against his brow, shadow and ash already rippling through the air around them.

“Anything for you, my love.”

He left him with a soft kiss to his temple before taking several strides back from him, hoping like a cat to stand on the bannister, Tae’s whole face lit up in a wicked smile. Yoongi couldn’t help but to smile back at him, as he stood swaying in place and readjusting his robes from where Tae’s hands had disheveled them.

He’d already seen it several times already, but he still found himself utterly enamored by Tae’s transformation. Clouded arms of shadow blacker than black, speckled like the night sky with little specks of embers and ash, emanating from him and swirling like torrents around him.

Then he was gone, tilted his body ever so slightly and fell from the balcony. Yoongi stepped forward to peer over, his hand landing on the bannister the same time the dragon's black talons wrapped daintily around it. It’s black wings stretched out grandly on either side of him, all the lines across them catching silver in the moonlight. It’s great horned head snaking its way down to peer one amber eye into Yoongi’s as he stood admiring him on the terrace.

Yoongi closed the distance between them, laying his hands flat against the scales of his necks. He ran them slowly across them, taking in every curve, and every divot. They glistened like volcanic glass in the moonlight and they were more beautiful than any gem Yoongi had ever beheld in his life. He kept moving, running his hands up the length of his neck, smiling as a deep rumble started to radiate from his chest, like a pur almost. He came to the edges of his jaw, and he took his time exploring the spikes and horns that twisted like black daggers from him.

The dragon tilted his face, bringing it closer to Yoongi’s wandering hands. He turned, running them across the smaller smoother scales of his large chiseled cheekbone, his eyes staring into his swirling amber one the entire time. He reached up to run his hands up the small spikes that lined his brow, another rumble rolling through the beast below his finger tips.

“Are you going to ride me? Or just pet me all night?”

Tae’s true breathy voice poured sweetly into his mind, and he loved the sensation of it.

“I can do both if you ask nicely enough.”

He found it very amusing to hear a dragon sigh, Tae’s large fire filled eye rolling slowly closed next to his palms that lingered on his cheek. A smile stretched itself widely across his face, amused with his own wit and the reaction that rippled through the dragon before him.

He giggled to himself, reaching for the horns he had clung to before, easily pulling himself upwards to straddle the wide neck of his black as night dragon. He hooked his heels tightly around the spikes that lined the corner of his jaw, pressing himself tightly to the back of Tae’s skull as he gently shifted from the terrace. Clearly trying not to do any damage to Jimin’s birthplace as he dismounted the castle and sent them both into the night.

Upward, they were going upward, the clouds kissing Yoongi’s face once more. He closed his eyes, lavishing in every sensation, every moment they were together like this. Tae spread his great black wings in opposite directions from one another, making them spiral slowly as they ascended. Yoongi giggled, holding on to his horns tighter.

Yoongi felt joy radiating from Tae. Sheer, unadulterated joy. It was so much more intense than any happiness that Yoongi had ever experienced with him so far, and it was intoxicating. They paused, hanging momentarily still in the air, Yoongi spread his arms from his body, as the dragon’s great form arched backwards. They plummeted head over tail downwards, Yoongi adjusted quickly, his body pressed tight to the dragon below him, his hands gripping the spikes that seemed made for him to hold.  He opened his eyes, not caring about the wind that stung them, and continued to smile widely as he watched the earth come careening back towards them.

'Faster.'  He grinned to himself, and Tae rumbled, tucking his wings so tightly to his body they seemingly melted into him. Their speed increased exponentially, they moved like a falling star recklessly fast towards the mountain earth below them. Yoongi could barely hold open his eyes now, he pressed even further still into Tae, his chin resting on the black skull he leaned against. Here he found refuge against the wind behind the spikes that broke it up some before it could burn past his face.

Tae’s black wings expanded away from him quickly, catching the air like beautiful kites, the back draft from their halted momentum making the ancient pines below them bow deeply. He loved it when he did that, he couldn’t help throwing his head back and laughing as they lingered there hovering.

‘It’s amazing, it’s so amazing!” he chanted, holding his hands outwards and twisting them in the spring night air as Tae flapped his wings to hover and rumbled back at him. He leaned forward, running as much of his upper body as he could over Tae’s forehead and brow, “You are amazing, my dragon. My beautiful dragon.” The beast closed its eyes, the rumble growing to vibrate across all of his scales, and all the way through Yoongi’s body. He had to close his own, the sensation washing over him and catching his breath in his throat. He leaned his face downwards, resting it on Tae as he tilted forward and beat his great wings to propel them southwards over the pine.

He couldn’t help himself, the vibration that ran through his body had spiked admiration and arousal to new heights as it ran hot through his blood. He continued to run his hands across him, more slowly this time, more intentional. Tae was both beast and man, and both sides of him were breathtakingly stunning to behold, both sides of him were everything that Yoongi did not realize he was missing all of his life. He tilted his face, running his open lips across him now, a rumble building and washing over both of them as they flew. Goddess, his skin was so very hot now, a fire began to crawl over every inch of him and he wanted nothing more than to be consumed by it.

The ever green and teal pines began to slow around them, Tae’s pace transitioning to a glide through the canopy. They were rising in elevation now, and Yoongi sat up to peer ahead of them.

“I want to show you something.”

Yoongi squinted, the form of an ancient castle cresting a long since eroded and rounded mountain summit. It glowed with white edges under the moonlight, it’s architecture familiar and yet not. Yoongi had never seen this place before, not even depicted in books like Jimin’s palace had been.

“Where are we?” he mumbled.

“Home.”

Read the full story on AO3 here: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33069613

Find me on twitter here:

https://twitter.com/EveeOT7

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Genji Heavy Industries (Part 9) Majesty

Chisei simps come and get your FOOD Come and get your FOOD.

The female Deadpool is panting. Her tongue flops over her extended mandible like a dead thing. She lies on the floor unable to lift her head. Her hair lies around her face like a dark shaggy curtain. But still she reaches out and swats a red dot. She’d pursued this red thing through the hall, jealousy preventing her from letting any other curious ones from claiming her prize. And yet she still didn’t have it.

Her claw lands on the red dot and it appears on top of her hand. She tries again, still failing to capture the red dot.

But before she could let out a hiss of frustration, a gentle touch fell on her head. She didn’t notice the human walking up to her as she was focused on the red dot. Her muscles twitch but before she can turn around and strike at the attacker, the touch turns into a massage on her scalp.

MC, you remember how it felt to be gently and lovingly caressed like this. The Female Deadpool made a significant dent in the numbers of beasts in the room and you felt she deserved a small reward. Like you, she was born to be a killer and had no affection shown to her in life. So you figured affection would be a nice thing to feel in her last moments. She makes a little noise, almost like a whimper and her jaw drops as she stares, vision focusing beyond the red dot now.

You press the muzzle of the mercury core pistol against the back of her head and pull the trigger. For the deadpool, it was a flash of light and oblivion. The beast falls flat, the pattern of her black blood making a fountain shape that extends out from her head.

Your laughter fades back into a cold sort of boredom. “That was fun, while it lasted.” 

You step over her body and shoot down at her hand, neatly severing the nearly foot long serrated sickle shaped claw. You pick it up.

Caesar strafed as he advanced, closing in on the  shaded wall in the center of the hall, with Deadpool gathering on all sides. In their eyes, he and Zihang were like two dishes that were ascending to the table on their own. .A Deadpool approached Caesar from the side while Caesar's fire was focusing on the front. Caesar did not even turn his gaze. Chu Zihang dashed up with a bayonet and stabbed it. The Deadpool closed its hands to block. The gun went through its palm bone. Not only did not have a painful reaction but fiercely closed his hands to hold the gun’s muzzle. Chu Zihang leaned down and charged, forcing Deadpool back with his gun, when Caesar pulled out the Colt pistol that was etched with the words "Western Watch" from his waist. 

Western Watch fired like a thunderstorm, large-caliber bullets landing accurately into the abdomen of the deadpool, and then they exploded. The splash of mercury inside the bullets was heated by gunpowder, and the air filled with mercury vapor. The scales of the monsters who were splashed by the mercury became pale and then fell off, and a greenish-white mercury scar appeared on their skin. 

"Wow! The Japanese weaponry looks more useful than the Academy's mercury core bomb!" Caesar was quite surprised. 

Chu Zihang nailed the Deadpool to a column with the enhanced crossbow through the hole Caesar punched through its abdomen. The mercury was eroding its body at high speed. The bayonet penetrated its chest, but it still hissed and lunged at Chu Zihang, letting the whole gun barrel pass through its chest until the barrel was covered with thick black blood. Chu Zihang pulled the bag on his shoulder, and a bundle of swords fell at his feet. He grabbed a hilt in his hand and stabbed straight through the chest to cut off the spine of the monster. The nervous system is the weak point. After the destruction of the spine, it was finally powerless and could only hang there. Chu Zihang sheathed the blade waist, then drew a shotgun and returned to stand back to back with Caesar.

He turns to you. “MC! Come closer!”

Although you felt fine on your own, military discipline was too ingrained for you not to immediately obey your Senior Brother.

As soon as you turn to hurry, you’re cut off by a tall man-shaped serpent. His coil surrounds you, a foot and a half high of pure muscle, intending to keep you from running away and corral you into his strike zone. But this stupid creature didn’t understand that you weren’t a rabbit to run away from a serpent.

In the story of Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, Rudyard Kipling explains, “If you read the old books of natural history you will find that they say that when the mongoose fights the snake and happens to get bitten, he runs off and eats some herb that cures him. That is not true. The victory is only a matter of the quickness of eye and quickness of foot, - the snake's blow against the mongoose's jump, - and, as no eye can follow the motion of a snake's head when it strikes, that makes things more amazing than any magic herb.”

The golden snake-like beast lunges at you and you jump to the side, landing on its massive coil while raising your gun. The strike brought the snake man’s head in line with the barrel just as you fired. But this all seemed to happen in an instant of time. 

To observers, the snake lunged and you jumped at the same time as you shot. And then you kept shooting in quick succession. You couldn’t kill the beast with your puny pistol, but the power was enough to act like a punch or a kick and you used it that way, using bullets as a fist slamming into its jaw. It recovered, shaking the ringing from its head, but you weren’t in front of it.

Snk-snk-snk.

The claw of the dead female deadpool was sharp enough and hard enough not to need the assistance of mercury. With it, you severed the beast's cervical, thoracic and lumbar spine. The creature sat back on its coil but it could no longer move at all.

You hurry to Ceasar and Chu Zihang and they stand in front of you.

Caesar emptied the six mercury bursts in the Western Watch. The smoke of refined mercury filled the hall. The fire driven wind intensified the speed of the spread of smoke. The Deadpool instinctively feared this smoke, and, for a time, did not dare to approach you. Caesar took the opportunity to do suppression fire with submachine guns.

You approached the center of the hall step by step, hundreds of deadpool around you. Their baby-like cries echoed in all directions. Countless pale human faces emerged in the firelight. Some are old and some are young. Some faces have been distorted and deformed. Some faces can still remind people you may have met in the street passing by. There are shy teenagers and mature women, but when their skulls open to reveal thorny sharp teeth, they all turn into evil spirits. 

"We're like rats breaking into a snake breeding ball with leather slingshots in our hands." Caesar discarded the Sten submachine gun in his hand and also drew his Winchester shotgun. 

You glance up at him and smile. You hadn’t smiled this much since you met. You want to tell him to speak for himself. Caesar was trying to use strength and force to kill these beasts, but his strength and his force were barely enough. The best way to fight these creatures was with speed and with wits.

But military discipline in battle requires absolute reverence for authority. “Yes but you are the pretty blond rat, and Chu Zihang is the scary black rat and I’m the cute one.” You feel a slight pain in your chest. “I miss Lu Mingfei… He would have been a funny rat.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. Let’s just focus on getting out of here.” Caesar shakes his head in amazement at your response.  Chu Zihang shoves one of the submachine guns in your hand and you scarcely resist pouting. You didn’t want it.

In the center of the hall, the strongest Deadpool is devouring the dead. It is more than twice the size of the other Deadpool. Since the beginning, It has not joined the attack on you. It is single-mindedly dealing with the meal in front of it, first vomiting out slime to lubricate the corpse, and then slowly devouring it with large audible gulps like a snake. It seems that the group has a hierarchy like a herd of animals. The strongest deadpool are like the head wolf dominating the freshest bloody food. Others dare not share food with it. Otherwise they might end up swallowed with their companions. It was closest to Caesar and looked like a middle-aged balding man. He may have been a middle-aged balding man in life, but no one could have imagined that he could have such a large body after dragonization. His bloated belly wriggled against the ground. His swollen head and neck jiggled as it moved.

It turned its head to the three of you with what appeared to be a smiling expression, saliva dripping down. This was not the first time  a Deadpool had shown an expression that approximated a smile, and it looked like it was expressing joy at the sight of food. The group of Deadpool had driven you to the center of the hall to let the strongest Deadpool feed first. 

This is why Chu Zihang had given you the machine gun. There was no way the claw you were using as a dagger could penetrate this boss-monster’s fatty layer. You tuck it into your belt.

Caesar’s Winchester shotgun spewed out a dense stream of sparks, and the middle-aged balding man version of Deadpool was blasted in the face. Its upper body tilted back as if broken. Its bloated belly is still sitting on the floor. 

"Baldness and bloating like this is also something I do not like!" Caesar yelled. 

“I was thinking more of the disgusting vomit and macrophagy but… sure yeah… Ew, a fatty.” You mutter.

The vast majority of people would have fainted in fear in the face of the Deadpool's slight smile, but it was facing the thugs out of Cassell College. Chu Zihang drew his Sten submachine gun and expressionlessly sent  the dense bullets to punch a bloody hole in that Deadpool's snake belly. You frown at yourself. There was no point in mindlessly firing at such a bullet sponge.

The bloated death servitor slowly sat up, like a sleeping human bending down to get up. Its bloated belly squirmed and boiled inside, and its body grew taller. It was only a man tall when it moved with its belly against the ground, but now it had reared up and transformed into a three-meter-tall giant, not counting the tail coiled on the ground. The tiny human body on the magnificent snake looked so incongruous, like a pregnant mother mantis. 

Chu Zihang takes two swords and slowly stretches his arms forward. There is no road ahead. This is your last battlefield. All the deadpool follow their chief and also "stand". Strong tails support the sturdy upper bodies as they rear up like cobras, their height ranging from two to three meters. All around you, these trembling snake bodies are like a fleshy forest.

“Whale.” You say to yourself. Only a long harpoon could penetrate all that flesh to get to the tender parts inside but you didn’t have anything like that and the way back to the weaponry room was completely cut off.

A black shadow descended like a diving eagle and landed along the back of the chief of the deadpool with the light of a clear blue blade! Chisei Gen brought his full force down onto his twinblades, Onimaru and Dojigiri, sank them in completely, almost to the hilt, and cut the chief of the beasts from the back of the neck along its spine in a long bloody line. He violently twisted his hands and a piece of vertebrae cracked. The monster deadpool’s entire spine collapsed section by section to the floor. Chisei landed in a crouch, then he spun, Onimaru in his right hand, slicing in a flat rotating swing parallel to the ground that cut off the deadpool’s tail. The huge body completely lost support, tilted and fell forward toward Chisei. Chisei dodged sideways, still cutting at the massive beast with twin swords.

Chisei Gen had your speed and wit, but he also had strength that you didn’t have. You stared, face blank. Your eyes following this gorgeous and effortless blade dance. You sigh, eyes wide. “Woah.”

The leader of the deadpool was dead before he hit the ground. It was breathtakingly beautiful to you and you shoved your machine gun back into Caesar’s carry bag without saying a word or even looking at him. You drew your knife and ran forward leaving the two men who had been your companions for weeks. It was as if you had suddenly switched sides in the middle of the fight!

Chisei was still wearing the clothes from the document room, though his trench coat was gone. His upright and muscular body is wrapped in a bloody torn dress shirt, black slacks and leather shoes. He turns that body as you approach and you see his face in profile. It was delicate and feminine, with skin that was not quite pale, just like Z’s. A dark drop of black blood makes a tear like trail down his face. His mouth is moving, teeth flashing slightly behind pale lips, speaking a chilling series of forbidden words. The winds change and stir his dark hair as his eyes slowly blaze gold. You stop and freeze in place. Chu Zihang and Caesar are still firing their guns but Chisei is no longer moving.

The field of the wind expanded slowly, seemingly gently, with a faint violet fluorescence at the borders. The Deadpool in the field prostrated themselves on the ground with fear and trembling. Their hands pressed spasmodically to the ground, black tears of blood flowing from their eyes. 

Chu Zihang and Caesar were shocked. They couldn't feel any difference, but the group of deadpool seemed to be sensitized.  They knelt down to Chisei, like a defeated general facing a victorious king. The field eventually covered the whole mural hall. Chisei walked into the group of monsters with the Dojigiri and Onimaru, waving his sword along the way to cut off the head of one deadpool after another, advancing like a lawn mower. Black fountains of blood burst from their necks. The effect of Gen Chisei’s Yanling is surprisingly to make the enemy willingly accept the killing. 

He glanced back at you briefly and you find your wits again. It was if he were leading you. You bounced after him like a young wolf, joining in the bloodshed with your knife, stacking up bodies in his wake, like a young chick following the example of a mighty eagle parent.

"Shit! Is this mind control?" Caesar muttered. 

"No, it's not mind control, look underneath the bodies of those monsters!" Chu Zihang said. 

The marble floor is slowly cracking, which means there is an amazing weight pressing on the ground. What kind of weight can crack the marble floor? A few tons or a dozen tons? What does it feel like for bones to bear this super-gravity? 

You understood that these beasts were not willingly allowing you to slit their throats, but they could not resist. Their weight increased dozens of times in an instant, so heavy that it was difficult to even lift their arms. If they didn’t lie down, their vertebrae would be crushed. 

Speech Spirit - Majesty, serial number 91, belongs to that category of speech spirits that have surpassed the scope of human understanding.

It was a Speech Spirit much like your own. 

[rifter-pride]

some plague dragons, cos it’s Riot of Rot so why not

lore stuff under the cut

top:

Coachwhip is one of the oldest and most reliable of the coach drivers working the Wound Road. He is officially “unaffiliated,” though most of his contracts come through the Cachinno Company, ferrying mysterious goods and people who can’t come in or out of the County by the more obvious means. He is known for his stern, slightly acerbic nature and profound reluctance for talk, small or otherwise.

Kheshig is a member of the Wandering Eyes, the neighbourhood watch of the Flat township proper. They are also a hotch, a colonial organism which is not one single creature but rather a whole mess of ‘em working together towards a common goal. Kheshig is a devout Wounder, and it seems their religious conviction is what inspires them to behave so protectively of the Flat at large.

mid:

Amos is a boy born under mysterious circumstances, the child of a vigilante witch and her undead hmm, partner. He was born split-sighted as an apparent side-effect of his multi-gaze condition, able to see in both the visible light spectrum and in thaumaturgic radiation. Perhaps as a further side-effect of his abilities and the circumstances of his birth, Amos seems never to fall on the wrong side of any roll of the die -- whatever good thing can happen to him in a given situation usually does.

Odell is a road agent and powerful thaumaturge, who, in a moment of great need, chose to bind herself to the Wasteland than face true death. She enjoys a peculiar sort of protection from the Wasteland which most others see as a tremendous amount of dumb luck and skill on her part. She is head of the Wirerile Shepherds, a mercenary group acting as an auxiliary arm of the Cachinno Company in Biskbrill.

bottom:

Gurutz playfully refers to herself as an allergaturge, a portmanteau of allergen and thaumaturge. She is capable of manipulating atopical responses in other living things, most commonly other dragons. She’s an adept seamstress, with a reputation in certain circles for her uniquely potent “itchy wool” clothing for the enemies of anyone willing to pay the production costs upfront.

Deloncre is an errand-runner for the Cachinno Company. She shares little of the Company’s philosophical values; she just likes making money to fund her expensive tastes, and the Company rewards her discretion and reliability with a steady source of income. She has a mysterious condition which has slowly eroded her face, leaving her with two eyes and an endless void where her skull ought to be. Ever the fashion-forward, Deloncre has simply commissioned a new face out of burnished gold and inlaid sard, and that seems to have solved the most immediate no-face-having issue for the time being.

[jackdawyt]

Again, midnight snow, pine forest, lanterns, etc. It’s the same ambiance.  When Mark Darrah showed this 2019 tease, he shared an article questioning if snow can appear on the equator, the article proved that areas that are on the equator can have snow. We can successfully say that our clowning wasn’t all for nothing! We honked and brigaded the circus of Dragon Age clowns together, and BioWare graced us with exactly 12 seconds of Dragon Age 4 in-engine shots. Which at the bear minimum is something that we feral clowns can sink our teeth into.  

With that said, first and foremost, we can confirm this footage was Dragon Age related. Not only that, but it’s actually next gen work-in-progress, as John Epler confirmed.  

With Dragon Age 4 being built for next gen, we can see the beauty of the Frostbite Engine’s graphical fidelity:

Lighting, ray-tracing, blooms, shadows, depth of field, upscaled texture quality, etc. The evolution of the Frostbite engine is apparent, the game looks stunning already! And there’s an overall tone of dark fantasy, the world is saturated in this gothic aesthetic, and I love it!  

The midnight snow, spooky atmosphere, eroding corruption and terrifying amounts of red lyrium and fungus.  

As far as initial impressions go, Dragon Age 4 looks dark, like Tevinter Nights dark!  That’s something I know for a fact we all want to see, so we’re excited for that.

Let’s talk about the three shots we got, and what they tell us about the next Dragon Age game, at least what we could make out.  

Location

Upon impact, this first shot reminded me of Mark Darrah’s 2019 in-game screenshot tease:

Again, midnight snow, pine forest, lanterns, etc. It’s the same ambiance.  

When Mark Darrah showed this 2019 tease, he shared an article questioning if snow can appear on the equator, the article proved that areas that are on the equator can have snow.

For the uninitiated, Tevinter is in the Southern Hemisphere, whereas Ferelden and Orlais are in the Northern Hemisphere.  

When Mark Darrah shared this article, it explained that his 360p tease was revealing a location that’s on the equator given the snow, we all assumed it was Tevinter, but maybe not.  

Both Mark’s screenshot and this new in-game shot look like they’re in the same area. So, where could this moonlit, gloomy area be?  

Well, it could be Tevinter, probably southern Tevinter closer to the equator, or it could be Northern Ferelden because we can see plenty of tidbits relating to Ferelden culture.  

For instance, we can see recognisable Ferelden totems and elven urns resembling their burial rites. This at least speaks on the location’s purpose, or at least the inhabitants of the area, either present or past.  

The Tree

Upon inspection, the tree seemingly has red lyrium roots sprawling from the base. While the top is leafless and devoid of life. Perhaps red lyrium from the ground has begun eroding even more life, as red lyrium carries the blight onto anything that is living. We can only expect more corrosion and corruption of natural life throughout Thedas.  

Trees; in particular, have a lot of representation and meaning in Dragon Age, especially ones as wicked and old as this tree we see in the tease.  

One of the biggest predictions at the moment is that this tree is a vhenadahl. A generational tree of the elven people, that means ‘home tree’, essentially it represents arlathlan and the elven people. Although there is plenty of merit and meaning behind that, I don’t think this tree is a vhenadahl.  

Vhenadahl’s are generally displayed in elven alienages providing comfort to the city elves. This is certainly not that given the surrounding area. Even the burial urns prove that this tree acted as something else. But what? Perhaps it was a flourishing funeral garden, once a safe place for those to mourn, now corrupted with blight?  

Mythal has also been represented as a tree because of her vallaslin. Which resembles leafless branches, and has the same depiction of that tree on Flemeth’s True Grimoire.  

If we look beneath the tree, the urns with skulls are shown a lot in elvhen ruins and near elvhen artifacts. Perhaps this tree resembled something from Ancient Arlathan and could've been an old oak that became lifeless due to the blight, much of what is suspected about the death of Mythal...

There’s a codex on “The Oak” that relates to the constellation ‘Fervanis’, it’s represented by a towering tree with leafless branches that harkens back to the earliest of human tribes. They followed animistic beliefs, that nature and humans were one, and both equal. This was the main belief before the rise of the Old God’s worship and creation of the Tevinter Imperium.

However, others believe that the constellation ‘Fervanis’ is of the elven people – specifically, the depiction of Andruil herself, the goddess of the hunt. Another connection to the ancient elves...  

With that, this tree could resemble many things going forward, there’s symbolism in everything when it comes to Dragon Age as far as I’m concerned. There was even a tree in The Dread Wolf Rises trailer... so both trees could share the same connotation.  

As a final note on this shot, we see crow-like-bird's flutter from the tree... Jackdaw’s confirmed for Dragon Age 4? CAW! Moving on to the next shot.  

Structure

The chapel (as we are calling it) and the fortress in the background are very Ferelden in design. The fortress is identical to Redcliffe Castle, whereas the chapel resembles Skyhold’s main hall to some degree.  

Tevinter architecture follows more spiky, oriental designs using precious stones and metals. None of those attributes appear in these structures, they’re most certainly Ferelden.  

Location

There’s a small trail of snow linking that this is a continuation of the previous shot. With the tree to the left, and the fort behind, it seems both shots share the same moon.

Speaking of the sky, we can see the healed Breach just yonder, perhaps hinting that this location is relatively close to the Frostback Mountains? Is this fortress settled in the highest points of Ferelden considering the Inquisitor sealed the Breach there?  

This fortress has been ransacked, as we can see it’s flooded, falling apart and has abomination/ darkspawn flesh bags.... Perhaps the blight has spread throughout the area with the red lyrium’s growth? 

Just like the tree, red lyrium has grown into this fort, perverting everything it touches. The corruption of Red lyrium is a common theme throughout this tease.  

If it’s not Ferelden, then where? Estwatch is an island just off the coast of the Free Marches, located directly on the Equator. Built originally by the Imperium, it’s ‘World of Thedas’ depiction looks very close to this stronghold. However, the chances of this being Estwatch is likely uncommon, but in Dragon Age, everything is in the realm of possibility.

But who knows, it could very well be the Frostbacks? Maybe we’ll revisit Skyhold/Temple of Sacred Ashes once more to see what Pride had Wrought...

Connection

The fortress behind emits an ooze of red lyrium, is this fortress connected to the following red lyrium shot shown? Personally, we believe each of these locations are connected. And so, that’s where this red lyrium shot takes place?

As we can see this location is trickling with red lyrium and corruption, it’s chaotic to say the least. No wonder you can see the glowing from miles away. 

Red Lyrium Organism

This organism (as we’re calling it) in the middle has been the talk of the entire carnival. There’s a lot to dissect given the centre part of this shot.

 At first, this organism looked like a decaying, yet familiar Red Lyrium Idol. It carries the shape and figure of the idol, however bloated beyond belief. Perhaps the red lyrium from the idol has grown into a tumultuous form, spreading throughout the area and that has caused the mass spread of the blight throughout the landscape.  

Or it could be a Titan vein/heart/aspect of a Titan, however, not just any Titan, a blighted Titan. And that’s why so much red lyrium has spread throughout each of the shots, as it’s grown in increasing values, corrupting everything living in the vicinity.  

One must ask, what is the purpose behind all of this red lyrium? It comes down to good ol’ Chuckes of course!  

As we know red lyrium weakens the Veil. Solas can use the substance to constantly weaken the Veil, until it is destroyed. This blighted Titan heart could be the beginning of this plan.  

Since red lyrium is the blood of the Titans and it carries the blight, perhaps this heart is the origin of the next blight.  

Perhaps if this organism isn’t a Titan heart, nor the Red Lyrium Idol, it could be a grotesque, vile monster that awaits us. Thriving on the red lyrium and mushrooms, enveloped in a cocoon... waiting for its next meal.  

The area surrounding the organism has gruesome bodies and twisted figures that are reminiscent of the Fade. Yet we can see the sky and trees in the background. So, we’re clearly not in the Fade, right? Unless we’re already doomed and the waking world and the Fade are one...

The mushrooms share a resemblance with standard deep mushrooms, could red lyrium have infected them with the blight, corrupting them? Are we facing against terrifying fungi’s in the next game? Can we eat them?  

Deep mushroom harvesting is usually a dangerous task because it can lead to darkspawn. Apparently almost all the deep mushrooms tend to carry the darkspawn's corruption, however are not contagious. So no, I wouldn’t suggest eating them...

The torn down fortress once more follows a (you guessed it) Ferelden structure. This entire shot reminds me of the Temple of Sacred Ashes after Corypheus destroyed the landscape during his fight.

We can see the tip of the mountains in this shot, and they look like the Frostbacks. So, it’s most likely not in Tevinter, if we compare the Ferelden and Tevinter mountains: 

Fereldan’s are like the Rocky mountains:

Tevinter’s are like the San Juan mountains:

Both very distinct from each other.  

This shot as a whole is rather ambiguous... it feels like something we haven’t seen before... almost alien. I feel like each scene is taking place in Fereldan, however, I’m very sceptical considering Tevinter is the main location of the game given Trespasser’s ending, Tevinter Nights and Joplin’s setting.  

Honestly, I can’t wait to just explore more, this tease has given me a glimpse at what we can come to expect!  Regardless, it’s been super fun to don the tinfoil on actual Dragon Age 4 related-content!  

Although this tease was small, we may have something soon, depending on when soon is. According to EA/BioWare’s community manager, they said: “Soon BioWare fans, soon.” followed up with “I mean... my soon always comes with a ™. So, who really knows.”

Perhaps the next official tease will be a title reveal? That’s what I’m thinking at least. In any regard, I’ll be covering this and more recent tweets in my next news video!   Let us know if we missed anything that you guys caught, and tell us your thoughts down below regarding this tiny tease and Dragon Age 4

[lairofdragonagelore]

Flemeth’s Fade – Part 1

Quest:The Final Piece

When heading to the room with the eluvian near the Skyhold garden, we meet Leliana who tells us that Morrigan has entered the mirror in pursuit of her son. As the Inquisitor enters the Eluvian, they realise that it leads to the Fade instead of the Crossroad. A part of the Fade that seems to reflect part of the "personal" story of Flemeth.

[This is part of the series “Playing DA like an archaeologist”]

[Index page of Dragon Age Lore]

Once we return from the Temple of Mythal, we find Leliana telling the Inquisitor that Morrigan chased Kieran into the Eluvian. This scene is completely skipped and we never have access to this Fade if Kieran does not exist. For Lore reasons, I think having Kieran is the richest option

We enter the eluvian, and what we realise immediately is that we are not in the Crossroads that Morrigan showed us before. Instead, we are in a part of the Fade. This shows that powerful mages can force Eluvians to go to the Fade and the final destination of an Eluvian is not precisely determined with its construction. This is telling us that technically, any eluvian can allow us to reach the Fade if you are powerful enough. 

This Fade is more guided that the one in Adamant Fortress. In the moment we enter, we find these mabari-brazier that are so typical of Ferelden, and a statue of a The Guide.

Same as in the previous Fade, there are a lot of Keepers of Fears merger in the landscape. I find this strange, because this space belongs to Flemeth, it’s not a space of a demon of Nightmare or terror. Someone could argue that, since Flemeth may have some relationship with the Chasind, her relationship is being reflected in these statues since Alamarri and Avvar [and likely Chasind too] may share the tradition of the Keepers of Fear. We see several screaming faces, Keepers of Fear, Eroded dragon skull, and a Dwarf with long limbs. The first thing giving us a welcome is a big hand and a table.

This same table has been found in the previous Fade, in the beginning of that space too, like an invitation. Over the table, there are hanged generic dead bodies and two enormous hands: one keeping the strings of the hanged dead, and another from which a pile of keepers of fear emerges. These hands seem to work like the hands we see in the Crossroads of Trespasser, which give support to eluvians or circular tree.

Aside of this configuration, a bit hidden on the ground, Andraste statue’s head.

As we approach the second opening, we see a pair of Keepers of Fear, with heads being burnt, flanking a Sacrificial altar. The figure of a man is towering over them, and in front of these elements, there is a statue of Beheaded ram-man. The whole configuration seems to relate again the concept of sacrifice and fear.

These are the rarest version of the Keepers of Fear. In this case, we see them working: their heads are burning, maybe as a representation of the fear screams being consumed before an Alamarri goes to fight against their fate. The base of these Keepers of Fear have a drawing on it that looks like another creature, screaming.

The Sacrificial altar can be studied with great detail in this part of the Fade. We can see that it has a small platform with decorated patterns and carvings in the metal.

We have seen this human sculpture among Orlesian collections or in Free Marches-themes statues. 

The Beheaded ram-man is erected on a head of a Keepers of Fear. [Fore more detail about this statue, read The Raw Fade:  Part 1 ]

As we keep walking, we find Morrigan beside an enormous Claw of Dumat on one side, and a statue of the Free Marches in front of her. There are many keepers of fears around and above too.

Here, Morrigan explains that to direct the eluvian to the Fade requires immense power, which is absolutely reasonable since Kieran keeps the soul of an archdemon inside him.

Ahead, we find a very curious corridor that got my attention since I saw it. I believe the game is explicitly telling us to relate the andraste’s head with the Ferelden Wyvern through the spike. We know there is a tale in Ferelden Folklore [landmark Fereldan Wyvern Statues] where they connect both in a story that the Chantry does not acknowledges as official. I don’t know what’s the real deal with this Wyvern, but the connections with dragon-like creatures [reptiles] seems to be a pattern in the game. This Wyvern in particular is standing on two Tevinter urns. How this creature relates to Tevinter is also a mystery, but this statue has been seen in ancient Tevinter buildings as well, predating Andraste and Blights.

We step into another Guide under which a small table and chair can be found.

Behind the guide there is a skull with two metallic columns that seems to be Claws of Dumat prototypes. We saw these artefacts in Western Approach: Coracavus;  Records Room, gathered around desks:

Maybe it is an artefact used to study elements, such as heads, or to record information. Still it is hard to guess its function.

When we reach to the next clearing, we find one of these Tevinter devices of several claws, diapason-like, clipped with an “injector”. This device, or at least this combination of clipping is similar to what we saw in Suledin Keep, when we met Imshael. Like in that place, at the base of the device there is red lyrium. Same as in Suledin, the area seems to be related to Horned warrior holding a sword. This is the first time that this element appears in the Fade. It’s placed at the left of the device, on a piece of rock: One on front of the rock, and a smaller version behind it.

A bit above of the device, we find a Tevinter urn merged in the stone and more versions of Keepers of Fear, one who is swallowing or regurgitating Red Lyrium, and another screaming.

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

Cathal McKinney  *Supporting character.

Voice Claim:(Aidan Turner) https://youtu.be/l5sY-WWVnZM?t=18s (Right click on links and open in new tab)

Partner(s): None. Parents: Dubhlainn ‘Lane/Laney’ McKinney, Sorcha McKinney Kids: None Age: Several centuries at the very least. Height: 192cm Body type: Muscular, but on the slim side. Eye color: Medium blue. Classification: (Immortal) Demon Known powers: Possession, Teleportation (The ability to move instantaneously from one location to another without physically occupying the space in between) Object Animation (The ability to bring any sort of object to life, such as statues, game stations, rugs, bottles, etc.) Reanimation (The ability to reanimate dead beings, possibly restoring their consciousness.) Intangibility (The ability to pass through physical matter.) Shapeshifting (The power to transform and reshape the form of one’s body.) Elemental Wing Manifestation (The ability to form wings out of elemental forces.) Elemental Manipulation (The ability to manipulate the elements.) Elemental Generation (The power to generate various elements.) Energy Perception (Possess the ability to see the energies that flow through the universe.)  Healing. Soul Energy Absorption (The power to absorb soul energy and utilize it in some way.)

About: Experimental, Outspoken, Unpredictable, Stubborn, Spontaneous, Social, Resourceful, Flirty, Playful, Passionate, Imaginative, Dramatic, Creative, Challenging, Adventurous and Protective. ~ Sexuality Pansexual. ~ Has several piercings, including stretched earlobes. ~ Always wears black nail polish. ~ Has dark red tips in his hair. ~ Irish/Scottish. ~ His name means ‘great warrior’ ~ Talks with a mild Irish accent. ~ Always smells of warm Bergamot, Licorice and Frankincense ~ Dabbles a bit in dark arts. ~ Smoker. ~ Absolutely horrible cook. ~ Pretty good at playing guitar and mouth harmonica. ~ Is quite skilled with a sword. ~ Obsessed with licorice and eats it all the time. ~ Loves rain and thunder, cats, alcohol, blonde girls, horseback riding, horses, dragon lore, fire, sex, partying and hanging out with his friends (pictured here) ~ Hates the smell of sheep wool. ~ Is pretty down to earth about most things. ~ Isn’t very fond of his mother (she’s a bitch to say it nice) ~ Can’t grow a beard. ~ Has a great sense of humor although he rarely shows it. ~ Style: Pop-Rock-ish. Cathal’s tag Cathal’s house/home Cathal’s moodboard Handwriting/ask answer pic:

One gif to describe him:

Gaël Mckinney  *Supporting character.

Voice Claim:(Peter Capaldi) https://youtu.be/iiY6_ttvNmc?t=12s (Right click on links and open in new tab)

Partner(s): None Parents: Morag McKinney (mom, born Morag Còmhan)  Griorgair McKinney (dad) Kids: Probably? Age: At least 2500+ years. Height: 180cm Body type: Slim, on the skinny side, but muscular. Eye color: Completely black. Classification: (Immortal) Demon Known powers: Possession, Invisibility, Intangibility (The ability to pass through physical matter.) Curse Inducement (The ability to place a curse on anyone or anything.) Teleportation (The ability to move instantaneously from one location to another without physically occupying the space in between.) Force-Field Generation (The ability to project powerful fields of manipulated energy.) Dark Element Manipulation (The power to manipulate the dark/destructive aspects of the elements.) Nether Manipulation (The power to generate, conjure, and manipulate Nether, the essence that flows through the realms of the Living and the Dead.) Corruption Inducement (the power to erode a person’s morality to the point of being evil) insanity inducement.

About: Flirty, Charismatic, Charming, Seductive, Strong-willed, Secretive, Mysterious, Provocative, Perverse, can be a bit Neurotic, Morbid, can lack manners, Impulsive, can be pretty Disturbing at times, Disrespectful at times, Chaotic, can be rather brutal at times, Creepy Aesthetics, Reckless, Blunt,  can be Arrogant at times, Amoral at times, Crazy, Sarcastic and Cocky. ~ Sexuality Pansexual, Zoophilia, and pretty much any other Parahilia out there! ~ Is from the Scottish side of the McKinney clan.   ~ Has several tattoos including several facial tattoos, most known is his freak tattoo above his eyebrow, but his pride and joy is his Satanic Goat just above his dick, allowing his pubic hair to be the goats beard.  ~ Into dark arts/magic, and is very good at it. ~ Smoker. ~ Pretty outgoing, but doesn’t mind alone time. ~ Has a hard time accepting no for an answer when it comes to sex. ~ Typically smells of Saffron, Benzoin, Myrrh or Cardamom. ~ Has a slight Scottish accent. ~ Dislikes being told no. ~ Can’t cook! He burns EVERYTHING! ~ Is quite artistic, loves to paint and draw. ~ Loves food - would eat all the time if he could, teenage boys, taxidermy,  Horror movies - although it’s mostly because he finds them hilarious, alcohol, getting drunk, getting high, does a lot of drugs, getting into fights, freshly baked bread, chaos, hardcore sex, pizza and olives. ~ Hates people sticking their nose in his business, and wont hold back from punishing them, ~ Barely grows body hair, took him a century to grow pubic hairs. So now he treasures them. ~ Dislikes babies. ~ Style: Black kilt and black boots. Never more than that.

Gael’s tag Gael’s house/home Gael’s moodboard Handwriting/ask answer pic:

One gif to describe him:

Tristan Mckinney *Supporting character.

Voice Claim:(Colin O'Donoghue ) https://youtu.be/itEh-ZYJ4tQ?t=19s (Right click on links and open in new tab)

Partner(s): None Parents: Saoirse McKinney (mom, born Ceallaigh)  Anlon McKinney (dad) Kids: None Age: He doesn’t really keep count, but at least 700+ years Height: 189cm Body type: Muscular, slim waist, thick/muscular thighs, big butt and big boobs. Eye color: Dark brown Classification: (Immortal) Demon Known powers: Possession, Pheromone Manipulation (The power to manipulate the pheromones of oneself or others) Lust Manipulation, Kiss of Death (The ability to kill someone with a kiss) Tantric Metabolization (The power to feed off sexuality/sexual energy.) Enhanced Dexterity (The power to control limbs, muscles, and body extremely well. ) Dream Walking (The ability to enter the dreams of another person) Enslavement Kiss (The ability to enslave and control any being with a kiss.)

About: Charismatic, Confident, Open-minded, Fun-loving, Optimistic, Friendly, Outgoing, Flirtatious, Spontaneous, Perverse, Charming, Proud, Flamboyant, Sarcastic, Daring, Colorful, Adventurous, Convincing, Cheeky, Cocky and Sensual. ~ Sexuality Pansexual, Zoophilia, and pretty much any other Parahilia out there! ~ Irish. ~ Intersex (born with any of several variations in sex characteristics including chromosomes, gonads, sex hormones, or genitals that, according to the UN Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, “do not fit the typical definitions for male or female bodies”) ~ Identifies as Genderfluid, but with mainly male pronouns. ~ Has multiple tattoos spread over his body, most noticeable are his demon skull tattoo on his chest.between his boobs and his favorite ‘Game On’ tattoo next to his dick (on his upper thighs) To view right click this link, and open in new tab: ~ Speaks with moderate Irish accent. ~ His name means ‘Tumult’. ~ Has beard stubbles. ~ Typically smells of Amber. But sometimes smells of Thyme. ~ Is always up for some fun! ~ Loves any sort of music with good dance rhythm, doesn’t care of genre, as long as it’s upbeat in some way. ~ Smoker. ~ Is always into going clubbing. ~ Dislikes judgemental people. ~ Loves cats and ducks, dancing, sex, flirting, partying, going clubbing, drugs, any form of celebration, alcohol, getting drunk, lemon, loud music, neon lights, anything digital, social media, getting inked, raves and sexual fetishes. ~ Hates close-minded people. ~ Knits. ~ Knows how to build a car from scratch, and loves the smell of motor oil. ~ His style is ‘Tumblr Chic’ - as he calls it. Tristan’s tag Tristan’s house/home Tristan’s moodboard Handwriting/ask answer pic:

One gif to describe him:

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (121/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

[22 May, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

"Personal log, Dr. Topsas recording. Now then, where to begin...? I am still aboard the Emerald Eye in Federation territory. Luffa is long overdue to return for medical attention. What began as a supposedly 'quick' excursion to the Fedender System mutated into a tour across multiple planets that put my patient on the other end of Federation space. Luffa being Luffa, she has taken it upon herself to fight every battle on every planet along her way back to us. I have received some reports from hospitals in the field, and I am bracing myself for the worst.

"During Luffa's absence, I have stocked her star-yacht with medical-stasis fluid, and a healthy supply of regenerative medications. In the worst-case scenario, I will only have to keep her in stasis for two weeks, but I am constantly reminded of the old saying: "If you wish to make God laugh, tell Him your plans." No doubt, His Nine Eyes watch with great amusement as I prepare for Luffa's arrival, as I boldly tell myself that I have everything I need. Though, at the moment, I suspect there are a great many generals and warriors with haughty plans of their own, each producing their own fair share of divine laughter.

"Now that is a dark thought, that a benevolent God should find war to be humorous. I should really find something happier to dwell on in times likes these. Then again, it is my personal log, and I suppose I shouldn't run from a chance to express these kinds of feelings. Very well then. Let us talk about the war.

"I am hardly a military strategist, but it is my opinion that it goes poorly for the Federation. I would not consider any war to go well, but moral objections aside, this conflict seems specially designed to erode the morale of both sides.

"I know little of the so-called 'Jindan cult.' I have been told that Luffa's arch-nemesis, the Saiyan King Rehval III, founded the cult as a way to strengthen his hold over the Saiyan people. Using his arcane skills as an alchemist, along with the pseudonym "Trismegistus", he created a secret method to make Saiyans even stronger than they already are. This worked wonders for his cause, as Saiyans who would never serve a king were all too eager to trade their freedom for power. Now, he sends his followers into Federation space, launching senseless attacks on otherwise peaceful planets. His motives are unclear, though it certainly seems to be a continuation of his grudge against Luffa. As a Super Saiyan, she poses the greatest threat to his dominion over their species.

"What I have heard of these cultists is truly horrifying. Many are cynical warriors who only serve the cult for their own ends. Even so, they fear their master as though he holds their lives in his hands. I suppose that he truly does hold their lives in his hands, for Rehval has the power to withdraw the added strength he gives to his followers. At the slightest sign of defiance, he can drain their power, leaving then weaker than they were to begin with. In some cases, this process can be fatal, as Luffa discovered when Jolok was 'excommunicated' on Planet Quadzityz. Jolok perished, and a sizable piece of the planet very nearly shared his fate.

"The cultists who remain in Rehval's favor do so in a state of constant terror. Some have learned to mask their despair with religious zeal, while others rely on denial. All of them are experienced enough in the ways of war to know their true role in this conflict. They are not holy crusaders serving a higher purpose, as many of them claim. They are merely cannon fodder, a light brigade being sent to die as a mere diversion. Theirs is a simple choice: Die in service to their master, or die in defiance of him.

"I call them a light brigade because every battle fought in this war has resulted in a complete annihilation of Jindan forces. A one hundred percent casualty rate is unthinkable. Even the maddest of tyrants would blanche at such a statistic. It clearly is not sustainable, and yet Rehval continues to send his warriors, confident that he is safe from counterattack in his secret base.

"On the Federation side, a string of impressive victories carries little hope, for each battle leaves considerable death and destruction in its wake. Luffa and the Federation's other defenders have managed to halt the invaders at every turn, but they still manage to kill thousands, destroy important cities and military outposts, and cause ecological damage with their attacks. I think what frustrates the Federation in this hour is that they have no way to take the initiative in this war. They must simply wait for Rehval's forces to reveal themselves, and then absorb whatever losses they must until they can deploy their forces to fight off the invaders. Luffa's health is simply one facet of the bigger picture.

"Perhaps things will change if Luffa can find Rehval himself, but I have little confidence in this. She has already been searching in vain since-- eh?"

"Doctor! Come quickly!"

"What is it? I-- Ninth Eye!"

"Everything happened so fast that we didn't have a chance to fill you in."

"I should imagine. The rendezvous with the transport wasn't supposed to be for another twenty minutes."

"They got a distress call. Luffa convinced them to put her in an escape pod and drop her off so they could answer it. When I got the message, I pushed the engines as hard as they could go."

"Hey, I'm fine... really."

"Shut up, Luffa, and get on the bed."

"Okay, okay. Pushy lady. I guess that's why I married you. Hey, Doc. Sorry I keep... keep missing appointments."

"Please lie still. Would you hold that for me, Ms. Zatte? Please do calm down."

"I just... there's so much blood..."

"Yes, reopening old wounds, no doubt. I thought you were going to stay out of trouble, little mammal."

"So did I, Doc, but there was... was... an attack on Zerkus III and my transport was the only ship in the area."

"Zerkus III? Luffa, I'm so sorry, I, well, I had no idea--!"

"Relax, Dotz. They weren't Jindan cultists, so you probably... ow!... probably couldn't have predicted this. You were looking for Saiyan invasions, and this was a band of Zoons, trying to take advantage of the chaos. Thought they could pick on a planet further away from the fighting, but I made them regret it. Hah! You should have seen the looks on their stupid faces. Doc won't be putting them back together, that's for sure."

"I... I should have been able to predict that... even if they were Zoons, I should have..."

"Doctor, please, is she going to be all right?"

"That is precisely what I want to find out. I will get her stabilized and begin a complete examination. I think it would be prudent to take the ship somewhere safe, before any other enemies happen along."

"I can't just leave her like this--"

"Ms. Zatte, if there were someone else aboard who could handle it, I would not be asking you. With respect to Ms. Dotz's proficiency with the ship's helm controls, I do not believe she has the tactical knowledge to keep the ship out of danger in case of an attack."

"We don't need to run. I don't care how banged up I am. I'm still the Super Saiyan. No one would dare come after... ah... huh... and even if they did, I'd.... I'd...."

"Come on. You can't help her right now. The best thing we can do for her is to get back to the bridge."

"Dotz...? Okay. I know. You're right."

"Hey.... hey, where are they going...?"

"Not far, I assure you. Now, please. Lie still."

"Hey, Doc?"

"Yes?"

"I've gotta... gotta get back out there.... soon..."

"Yes well... I will see what I can do."

*******

[23 May, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

There was a small desk in the back of the star-yacht's sickbay, and Topsas positioned himself behind it while he spoke to them. As he lacked the necessary anatomy for it, he gave Zatte the chair, and she sat next to the nearest bed, with Luffa in it. Despite Luffa's objections, Zatte held her hand while he gave them an update on Luffa's condition.

He had repaired the most serious injuries, and she was in no immediate danger. One of her lungs had been punctured, and there had been a hairline fracture on her skull, and a few other life-threatening issues. That still left a lot of smaller ones that could worsen if they weren't treated properly. The young women looked at him eagerly, hoping for some quick answer that would allow them to get on with their lives. Being an arachnoid life form, he wasn't completely familiar with humanoid body language, but he had seen their faces on thousands of patients over the years, all silently pleading for him to tell them how long it would take to return their lives to normal. At times, he felt like a judge sentencing a convicted criminal.

"Two months of stasis," he began. "That is my first and most robust recommendation. You will be sedated and kept in a bio-regenerative chamber to promote proper healing. I would take you out of the chamber for an examination, and if all goes as expected, we could begin localized therapies on the damaged tendons."

"Two months?" Luffa gasped.

"In stasis?" Zatte said.

"Let me be clear,that would be a total of sixty days of unconsciousness," Topsas said. "That time need not be consecutive. Many patients do this for a few days at a time, coming out of the chamber to attend to personal affairs, be with their families, and so forth. But since your personal affairs always seem to involve extreme violence, I believe it would be best to keep you under until the treatment is complete. Better sixty days in a row than a hundred or more in and out of the chamber."

"Doc, the whole war could change in sixty days," Luffa said. "If you take me out of circulation that long, it could--"

"Ah-ah! Let me finish that sentence for you. If I were to take you out of 'circulation' for that long, it could prevent your enemies from taking you out of the war permanently. Where would your Federation be then?"

"He's right, Luffa," Zatte said. "If you keep throwing yourself into these battles, you're just going to get worse. You'd be playing right into their hands. You knew it from the beginning."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know," Luffa said. "Look, I'm sorry. To both of you. I said I'd try to pace myself, and I really did try. But these attacks keep on coming, and every time I try to let someone else handle it, people get killed. I can't just stand back and watch... I mean, I know I have to, but..."

She screwed her eyes tightly, as though fighting back tears. When she opened them again, it was clear that she had failed. "I can still do more," she said. "I feel like crap, but I still have so much power that I can tap into. More than enough to make a difference out there. How can I stand by while people out there need that kind of help?"

"Luffa, some would say you have done more than enough already," Topsas said. "No one is asking you to resign from the war altogether. You mustn't feel obligated to risk your own health and safety like this. Not for persons you don't even know."

"Why not? It's what you would do," Luffa said.

"I?" Topsas thought she was joking. "You must have me mistaken with some eight-legged war hero. Perhaps a fantasy creature from one of the tales of your ancestors."

"Your modesty is sickening sometimes, you know that?" she said with a frown. "You remember the Tikosi planet, don't you? Because I sure as hell can't forget it."

"I don't see what that unpleasantness has to do with--"

"You rescued me... you barely knew anything about me, but Keda went to you for help and..."

"Merely keeping tabs on a patient," Topsas said. "I had used a considerable amount of webbing to stitch you back together, and I could hardly let that go to waste--"

As he said this, the gentle tone that represented Luffa's pulse began to speed up. Other readouts of her vital signs began to fluctuate. She began to breathe harder. Zatte tried to calm her down, and Luffa pulled her hand away from hers. And just when Topsas was about to move to check on her, she spoke again.

"I know... we don't talk about that day very much around here," Luffa finally said. "And that's mostly because of me. I was weak, and I have to live with the consequences of that weakness. But when it was all over, I turned into that thing for the first time, and I didn't know if I could turn it off, and you reached out to me, offering to help. I think that might be the bravest thing I've ever seen, and I refuse to listen to you brush it off like it doesn't matter. It matters to me. It matters a lot."

He didn't know how to answer that, and it was clear that she had nothing else to say. At last, it was Zatte who spoke. "Luffa, you've got to listen to Dr. Topsas. You can't go on like this. And if he had a better way, don't you think he would tell us?"

She looked at Zatte, then back at Topsas, and then turned her head away. "How soon can we start?" she grumbled.

"Today, if you wish," Topsas said. "I had the necessary equipment loaded on the ship while you were away."

"Hold on," Zatte said. "If we're doing this, we need to figure out where to take the ship while Luffa's under. We'll be vulnerable in the meantime, and if we set down on an inhabited world, we'll risk getting caught in an invasion."

This was not unexpected from her. Zatte came from a survivalist culture, and her she saw nearly everything as an arrangement of threats and safeguards. She was somewhat extreme in her thinking, but in this case her beliefs all converged on the most sensible course of action. She was certain that Luffa was destine to do good for the universe, which meant that Luffa had to be protected until she was healthy enough to resume that work. "Very well. I suggest you and Ms. Dotz devise up with an itinerary," he said. "I can sedate Luffa as soon as you feel it's safe."

"There's an asteroid field in the Pillimede System," Zatte said to Luffa. "We'll start there, and if Dotz doesn't foresee anyone following us, we can do a silent running for a few weeks." She stood up to leave. "I'll come see you before you go under, okay?"

"All right," Luffa said. "Just... all right. Let's get this over with." As soon as Zatte left sickbay, Luffa leaned back in her bed and let out a despondent sigh.

"I know this is difficult for you," Topsas said.

"It doesn't matter," Luffa said. "It's the only way, right? Sorry I blew up at you. If you don't want to brag about what you've done for me, that's none of my business. I just wish you saw yourself the way I see you."

"Ah, and that is my burden, little mammal," he said. Ambling over the desk, he crossed over to her bedside and began tucking her in. "With eight eyes, I have more than enough to see my flaws, as well as my strengths."

"Huh. Maybe you can see better than me, but the rest of my senses are pretty sharp. Maybe it's a matter of smell."

Eventually she drifted off to sleep, leaving Topsas to consider everything they had discussed. Later, he checked an experiment he was running on some tissue samples, and spent the rest of the afternoon monitoring Luffa's vital signs, while he wondered if he was doing the right thing.

********

[26 May, 233 Before Age. Pillimede Asteroid Belt.]

Zatte was true to her word, and when she was satisfied that the ship would be safely removed from combat, she returned to Luffa's side as Dr. Topsas placed her in the eight-foot-long chamber which would be used for the procedure. The equipment was somewhat bulky, but since there were only four of them on board, Topsas wasn't concerned about the space it took up in sickbay. He simply moved the beds away from one wall and placed the chamber on the deck. Once Luffa was inside, he filled with with a blue liquid commonly referred to as "stasis fluid". This was designed to not only surround the patient with the regenerative drugs he planned to use, but it would also sustain Luffa's metabolism while she lay in the chamber. Once she was sedated, the fluid was allowed to fill her lungs, as it contained oxygen-saturated perfluorocarbons. Topsas then went to the desk, where he began reviewing biofeedback data relayed from the chamber's sensors. Zatte knelt down beside the chamber for the next hour or so, before she finally stood up to leave.

"Sixty days of this," she said aloud.

"I do not wish to give you false hope," Topsas said, "but it is possible that she may fully recover sooner than expected. I will keep you informed, of course."

Zatte looked down at the chamber. "It shouldn't be like this," she said. "She should be out there, fulfilling her destiny. And I should be helping her, not just sitting around waiting for her to come out of this box."

"You are helping her," Topsas said. "It may not be glamorous, or even satisfying, but it is absolutely necessary."

"I'm sorry," Zatte said. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, it's just that... it's not enough. It's not fair."

"I thought your species was averse to risk," he said. "Keda always spoke so highly of being careful."

"I'm not like other Dorluns, Doctor," Zatte said. "And Keda wasn't being careful when she died. She saved my life."

"Of course."

"She never really saw Luffa the way I do, as a xan-nil'Dor, but I like to think that maybe Keda realized it at the very end. Either way, I think Luffa inspired her more than she wanted to admit. Well, Luffa can't do much inspiring from here, I guess."

She excused herself to check on the ship's systems, and Topsas thought he would welcome the silence. He did not. The gentle chirps of the biofeedback readouts only reminded him of the responsibility he now shouldered. And sooner or later, she would return, and the dilemma would follow. He had no consolation he could offer. Part of him wanted to tell her about the test results, but what good would that do? There were far too many unknowns to consider. He thought that Zatte of all people would appreciate that, but no. It seemed Luffa's wife would welcome a bit of risk if it meant getting her back on her feet.

Later, he checked his messages, and found that one of his children had attempted to contact him a few days ago. The terminal on his desk allowed him access to the subspace radio, and Zatte's encryption codes allowed him to send a message with little chance of it being intercepted or traced. Within minutes, he was looking at one of his own kind, though younger, and with a browner coloration.

"Dad," he said.

"Turner. This is something of a surprise," Topsas said. How are you, son?"

"I'll feel a lot better once you're out of Federation Space," Turner said. "There's a war on, or hadn't you noticed?"

"Now that you mention it, I had begun to suspect as much."

"I'm sending a ship to Woshad. I had to pull some strings to get it across the border, but I know some people, and the captain owes me a favor. They'll arrive next week. That should give you time to get to Woshad and get on board."

"Whatever for, son?"

Turner regarded him through the viewscreen and tensed his pedipalps in exasperation. "I'm trying to get you out of there, dad. Please, just get on the ship. Or if you've got some other travel arrangements, we can set up a rendezvous somewhere else. Just tell me when and where and we'll work it out."

"I'm afraid I can't leave at this time," he said. "I have a patient who needs me."

"Luffa," he groaned.

"You know I'm not at liberty to discuss--"

"Oh, come on, dad," Turner said. "It's the Federation, the one she founded, and you haven't stopped talking about that mammal since you gave up your practice on Plutark VII. And you know, for a while I was grateful to her for pulling you away from the Deathmatches, but now you've followed her into something a thousand times worse."

"It is hardly like that at all--"

"Then tell me what it is," Turner insisted. "Tell me why the almighty Federation needs Dr. Topsas to play medic in their warzone."

"She is badly hurt," Topsas explained. "The fighting has been very fierce, and if I do not mend her injuries from time to time, it could jeopardize countless lives."

"And they need you for that? You're telling me that you're the only qualified doctor in the entire Federation who can work on her?"

"I am the best qualified," Topsas countered. "Honestly, very few doctors are familiar at all with Saiyan medicine. And Luffa is a unique specimen among a unique species."

"And that justifies you running around in the middle of a war? Where are you right now?"

"I'd prefer not to answer that at this time," Topsas said. "It's not that I don't trust you, son, but if the enemy were to intercept and decode this message, they might find out--"

"Wonderful. Wonderful," Turner groaned. "So it's a matter of national security, is it? Should I contact the Federation Embassy, then?"

"I doubt they even know of my involvement," Topsas replied. "My presence here is somewhat unofficial. I've been told that my modesty is rather 'sickening'. Perhaps I should have requested a field promotion..."

"Enough! Dad, I've had all I can stand! Listen to me, you're not even a Federation citizen. This isn't your war!"

"She is my patient," Topsas argued.

"So what, then? You'll follow her until she dies?! Until you die?! Do you even care what that means?"

"Turner, please calm down," Topsas pleaded. "I appreciate that you are upset, but--"

"I'm upset because you care more about that Saiyan than your own family! Chelik and Lister called me, you know. They never call, but they heard about this war and no one had heard from you in weeks, and sure enough the last letter you sent was from Federation coordinates, just like before!"

"I assure you, son, I am quite safe here. If you like, I can contact Chelik, Lister, and the others to make certain they understand."

"Oh, they understand just fine, dad," Turner said. "That's why they called me. Because that's how this family works. Someone does something reckless or stupid, and then it's time to call in Turner to fix it. And why not? I've got Turner Polymer Industries, and all the resources that go with it. I can just hire a ship to go into a war zone and fetch you, no trouble at all. It's not like I have any problems of my own to worry about!"

"Son, if you need my help..."

"What I need is my father to stop running off on these ridiculous adventures!" Turner thundered. "I need you to listen to me, just once. Just once, and do the sensible thing." He held up one finger on one of his forelimbs as he said this. Topsas could see the desperation in his eyes very clearly.

"I promise you that I won't take any undue risks, Turner," he said. "I have friends here who are very careful about this sort of thing. But I must ask you to understand. I cannot leave just yet. There is simply too much at stake."

"This is about Nwitt, isn't it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Turner drew a short breath before continuing. "I know it was hard for you. It was hard for all of us. Ninth Eye, she was my sister! I miss her every day. We all do. But ever since she died, you've been getting mixed up with these lost causes, trying to save people that just aren't worth it! And maybe I should admire that. I've tried to, believe me. But I can't. If it's selfish of me, then I'm selfish, but I just want my father to come home and stay alive."

The words bothered him more than he liked to admit. "Son, I cannot just abandon others in their time of need. I swore an oath, and besides, we have a higher duty to people like Luffa. We have too many eyes to look away, and too many hands not to--"

"I know all that!" Turner said, very nearly shouting. "I read the Scriptures too, you know! I know Nwitt's in the heavenly web, and that one day we'll all be there to join her, and that we have to help where we can, but not this, dammit! If she were here, do you really think she'd want you to throw your life away like this?"

"I'll be all right, son," Topsas said. This was the most he had spoken with him in some time. Turner was normally so reserved, so quiet, ever the picture of the successful entrepreneur. And Turner had been angry with him before, but never quite like this. He regretted that he had caused his son such anguish, though he didn't fully understand how. He wished he knew some way to convince him.

"Yeah. Yeah, you'll be fine, probably," Turner muttered. "But what about next time, and the next? One of these days you'll go somewhere that even I can't get you out of. All for some 'Super Saiyan' I've never even met. And when the law of averages finally catches up to you? Well, I guess I'm just supposed to suck it up and pretend it doesn't bother me."

"I'm sorry," was all Topsas knew to say. It didn't seem to be enough. Turner had been an adult for a very long time. All of his children had grown up ages ago. Suddenly, Turner looked very much to him the way he did as a child, inconsolable over something that most would call trivial, but Topsas always knew meant the world to him.

"I don't want you to be sorry," Turner said, his voice now low and weary. "I just want you to get on that transport next week. Just come home, dad. Please. I don't want Luffa to suffer, or anyone else but... please. Just get on the transport."

"Turner, I--"

Turner looked somewhat embarrassed now, either by his outburst, or his pleas, or the emotions that had motivated them. "I have to go," he said. "I... Well, I've already said what I have to say. Just... I have to go."

And with that, he closed the transmission, leaving Dr. Topsas looking at his own reflection in the viewscreen.

*******

[28 May, 233 Before Age. Pillimede Asteroid Belt.]

"Am I doing the right thing?" Dr. Topsas asked. It was a loaded question, kept purposely vague, but he asked it over breakfast, as casually as one might ask for another glass of juice.

Dotz looked at him, and her eyes widened with anxiety. "Er, um... yes? I don't... well..."

She was a humanoid, middle-aged, with brown hair that was well on its way to grey. She claimed to have an ancestor of the Kanassan species, though Topsas had found no physiological evidence to support this, aside from her clairvoyant abilities, which could have been entirely coincidental. Taller and heavier than Luffa and Zatte, Dotz was far meeker, and it seemed that she was always pulling her arms close to herself and stooping her head, as though she was worried about taking up too much space. Her loose muave garments seemed designed to conceal herself further, and she was always adjusting her shawl like it was showing too much of the sides of her face.

"I'm speaking of the treatment I prescribed for Luffa," he explained. "I can't help but wonder if this is the right course of action."

"Well, I'm no doctor," Dotz said. "I'm sure whatever you've decided is the best. I know you've taken very good care of me since I got here."

"No, that's not..." Topsas paused and collected himself before continuing. "You've made some very accurate predictions, from what I understand. About the war."

"Oh, well... I didn't catch those Zoons attacking Zerkus III," Dotz said regretfully. "Luffa said it was okay, but I can't help but feel responsible for what she's going through right now."

"Yes, but the battles you have forseen have all come to pass," Topsas reminded her. "Luffa has spoken very highly of your talents, though I am at a loss to explain them. What I'm wondering is whether you've seen any major combat in the next two months. Something that only Luffa would be able to handle."

"Well, uh, you should really talk to Zatte about that," Dotz said. "There are battles going on all over the Federation border. She's been keeping track of them all, so we'll know where Luffa will be needed when she's ready."

"Yes but--!" Topsas steadied himself. It wasn't Dotz' fault that she wasn't understanding what he needed. She was only trying to be helpful in her own, unassuming way. "I don't wish to trouble Ms. Zatte," he explained. "I have just been having... second thoughts. I was hoping that you might be able to predict whether my decisions will turn out for good or ill."

"Oh, you want a reading," Dotz said. "I'll need to look at your palm for that."

"Fortunately, I am well-supplied in that regard," Topsas said as he extended one of his forward limbs across the table for Dotz to examine. It was supposed to be a joke to lighten the mood. He thought humanoids were easily amused by the notion that he had so many hands and eyes, but Dotz didn't seem to notice what he had said. She simply took his hand and cradled it in her own, staring at it like a jeweler inspecting a diamond. While he waited, Topsas resumed eating with his other hands.

"You'll be going on a journey soon," Dotz said.

"That is rather self-evident," Topsas replied. "As I am on board a starship, and travel is inevitable."

"Mm-hmm. Family trouble. They're upset, but they aren't angry with you, just worried. And you'll be fine. One day they'll see that."

"Yes, well, that was hardly what I needed to--"

"In the end... oh, it looks like your wishes will come true. I wonder what that could mean. It sounds like a very happy way to die."

"Yes, but I have more immediate concerns," Topsas said. "The war. How long will it take for Luffa to recover? How many will die during that time? How many deaths could be prevented. You can see this, can't you?"

Dotz looked up at his face and shook her head. "I can't forsee Luffa's fate at all. I think that's why I missed the Zoon attack, because I was, uh, looking for visions of Saiyans in general. I should have been checking for Federation planets, but there's so many of them that it's hard to follow all of them."

"Are you saying that you can predict certain battles, but not whether Luffa will participate in them personally?"

"Uh, well, yes, that's right. And I can't always get the details right. Luffa's told me that sometimes there's more enemies on a planet than I predicted. Sometimes less. I can usually get the date right, but not always the exact hour. But she likes it that way. It makes things 'interesting', is the way she put it."

"Then you have no idea how long it will take her to recover," Topsas groaned. "Or whether I end up using some other treatment."

"Of course I know that, Doctor," Dotz said innocently. "You said it would take about sixty days, didn't you? And what other treatment could there be?"

"What indeed?" Topsas said. He began scraping sauce from the bottom of his bowl, determined not to look her in the eye.

"Something about meeting Luffa increased my psychic abilities," Dotz said, "but they still have, um, limitations. I learned a long time ago that there's a lot you can predict just by paying attention to the present. And I know you're a good doctor, and that you put your patients' welfare first. I don't need to look into the future to know that you'll do the right thing."

She stood up and started gathering their dishes. "Here, let me get those for you. You probably want to go back to sickbay to check on Luffa. Tell her I said hi. Not that... I mean, she probably wouldn't hear you, right? Unless she can hear people while she's asleep? I don't know all her powers."

Topsas handed off his bowl and steepled some of his fingers. He had just run out of people to talk to.

NEXT: Second Opinion

[thatonebirbnerd]

The Hound

Word count: 1422

Trigger warnings: Body horror, nonhuman gore, torture, mind control, severe eye trauma, and amputation are all shown and described in detail.

The tale of a sylvari forced into her true form.

This is a rewrite of my first short story, Undoing. Includes some new pics.

AO3 link

I’m finally here.

It’s been a long road into the jungle. A long road home. Our Master took me here. I obeyed its Call, but my body refused to give in and become better. Become superior. I’m taller now, and stronger. But my bark can’t bring itself to grow into the armor that will make me complete. Be in my presence, Mordremoth promises, and be reborn.

A woman walks in as I enter the blighting chamber. Twisted, fiendishly tall… Isn’t she beautiful? Diarmid, the blademaster. She and her fellow champions of the dragon are the epitome of all we are meant to be. Her features have been erased, no longer necessary, but for a single yellow eye and a rotted grimace. The other two aren’t here, but I have seen them - or perhaps, one of each, for all three were replicated in blighting pods like the one I now stand near. Hareth, the hulking axemaster, is bloated and covered in boils - yet he carries the strength of an army. Adryn, tangled in scarwood and blinded by the hands that pushed their way from the nape of his neck, grew a new eye as unblinking as Diarmid’s. His staff can ward off a legion.

Diarmid unsheathes - a sword? Two? The tools of your transformation. This will be agony. I don’t know what kind. But it is necessary. Mordremoth says so, and I will not argue.

A vinetender, Mordremoth’s own troll-like creation, raises a bench from the floor and motions me to lie down. Restraints curl around my arms and ankles as I obey. I can only obey.

“Let us begin.” Diarmid’s voice resonates within her twisted body. 

I try not to resist - you cannot resist, the dragon echoes - but I scream anyway, before she can even touch me. Diarmid bellows: “Oh, shut up.” 

Then it all begins and… I never thought I’d be… flayed alive. Everything bleeds… it all hurts… You will not struggle. It is my will. And then my bark is armor, thickening into a rotting coat that fuses to me, numb and wrong. There are teeth on it, pushing their way from the sap-stained edges. 

Two more cuts circle my flanks and swell into putrid vines that tighten like snakes, taking my breath away and forcing me to feel every gash. I tense up, try to think of something else through the pain - You cannot run. You cannot hide.

There. I am protected now. Is it over? No… no. There’s more. Whips, this time, lashing across my legs. The welts they leave toughen into woody plating. This will make you stronger. I don’t feel stronger. My vision is… fading… No. You stay.

Is it done? Gods. No. Diarmid grabs each shoulder and each wrist, and pierces it with one saber. Then the corruption takes hold, and growths of branches and lumps force their way through the wounds, taking over the bark around. I yell, again and again as the wounds erupt over and over. You protest, but this is what is right.

My forearms… they’re bubbling, covered in pustules and sprouting with thick vines that push into my restraints. I realize I can’t feel my hands, but I can feel everything else as Diarmid gouges into the pustules, opening… eyes… eyes?... where eyes should not be. Two, three, four? Now I can see everything around me. It doesn’t help. You are becoming one with me.

“Great,” groans Diarmid. “The cuffs choked off your hands. Time to solve that problem.”

Solve? And how does Diarmid expect a handless Mordrem Guard to fi- Wait and see.

The pain's… enough to make me convulse. Each arm tears through the vine binding it, sending a searing sensation even further than the shock of the blades against my hands. My throat burns, from screaming, and from the acid rising inside it. The stumps are - no, they're not bleeding. What is -

That… wasn’t what I… gods. There are… new hands. Spindly, twitching, wrong. I think I might… no, there’s nothing that can come out. Thanks to our master… I haven’t eaten in weeks. The jungle provides. A rather amusing saying, but true.

“Is there-” My voice is weak, and I feel like the sap’s been drained from me. It… really has.

“Yes, Morwenna. There’s more. You’re like a human child, asking if we’re there yet.”

A husk turns me face-down. What is Diarmid doing? I can’t see this. I only know when the swords plunge into each side of my spine - by every divinity in Tyria it hurts - and something… slithers out of each growth socket. I’m buckling, thrashing… stretching. Growing again, too quickly. Then I am still, and I feel the thing on my shin. Even as it forces my shoulders upward, it’s longer than the coat of my own flesh. A tail…? 

I can’t see it but… I can feel it… the corruption is bending my sap into a crimson web, rising from innumerable wounds to meet whatever just wriggled out from inside me. Why? Why? As a stalker, you are my hunter, my hound. So shall you have a hound’s tail.

“And now,” Diarmid jeers, “it’s time to muzzle this dog.”

She can make me into my true self all she wants, but adding insult to injury breaks the crushing silence in my mind. “What did you just -”

Then the husk grabs me, I’m on my back again, and Diarmid’s sword is over my face - what will she…

No, she’s backing away, and summoning something in her hand, and all I can do is beg for my life - no, I didn’t mean it, no, no, no, AAAGH - MMMMF- mmmm- get it off me!- 

And rather than daring to defy me, - Diarmid’s voice joins the dragon’s, and it’s too much to bear - a true stalker must be silent.

---

There’s something on my face. I don’t know what it is. I can’t get it off.

Why?

Why do this, when the torment is over?

Maybe it’s only to make it last longer.

Whatever this is, it’s… burrowing into me by the hour. I feel it eroding me away. I just want to breathe. To talk. To live. Why can’t that be? Silence, hound.

Can’t… wail for help. But… have to try. It has… my tongue. Been three days. It’s at my throat, tunneling, squeezing. Something ripping inside. It grips tighter… voice breaking… now all that comes out is air. No one here to free me...

I’ll just… stay here. Wait to die. I didn’t want this. I wanted power. Not pain. You will have both.

The… thing is a jaw now. Can breathe, sort of. It doesn’t move. Doesn’t open for weeks. I try looking into a pool of rainwater when it finally does. Half my skull… gone. Not making that mistake again. Will it let me talk someday? I don’t want to know. You will bark again when you are ready.

---

Been too long. I’m finally ready to hunt. Kill one puny Pact officer, Mordremoth orders, and I will reward you. I’m still aching. Scars are still fresh. Weight on my mind… too strong.

My breath whistles through the mask. I’m about to strike from stealth -

Stealth that fizzles. Something is wrong. That’s - an alarm. “Mordrem! Be on alert!”

We panic and scatter. We lose too many. I have to leap into the trees to escape. My scarred legs well with sap from the effort. 

Fail, and your punishment will be whatever the Blademaster wishes.

Back in the blighting chamber. Can’t make a sound anymore. Need to resist. Somehow. You can’t do that. Diarmid towers over me once again. What can she do to me now, after making my entire body her plaything? There will always be more.

The swords are - above my eyes? - no, she can’t -

No, no, NO - 

They sink into the sockets, 

and she laughs - 

as my world goes dark.

You are a disappointment. But I still have use for you yet.

---

I’m… alive. I’m still in the cha- I can see - no… my eyes are gone. Only air there now. Sick air. How can I…

Oh… my wrists see.

Something in my mouth. Something in my throat. Moves. Is it - 

Hello…?

No. Not mine. Raspy, scary. Made of vines. No eyes but… I can still cry…? That would make you weak.

All I have… Can’t lose… Can’t fail… 

There is no time for fear. You will not fail, or you will suffer even more. Yet no matter the price you pay, I will see through you. Speak through you. 

Forever.

[sciencespies]

'Ammonite' Is Historical Fanfiction About the World's First Great Fossil Hunter

https://sciencespies.com/nature/ammonite-is-historical-fanfiction-about-the-worlds-first-great-fossil-hunter/

'Ammonite' Is Historical Fanfiction About the World's First Great Fossil Hunter

Paleontology wouldn’t be the same without Mary Anning. She scoured the dreary coast of southern England for secrets not seen since the Jurassic, fueling the nascent 19th-century field of fossil studies with evidence of strange sea dragons, flying reptiles and other fascinating fragments of life long past. And now, over 170 years after her death, she’s got her own movie.

Ammonite will open at the Toronto Film Festival but isn’t set to premiere in theaters or in homes until later this year, but the historical drama is already stirring the waters like an excitable Plesiosaurus. The first trailer for the film hit the web yesterday. The tale, directed by British filmmaker Francis Lee, follows Anning (Kate Winslet) as she reluctantly brings a young woman named Charlotte Murchison (Saoirse Ronan) along on some fossil-hunting trips in the hope that the vigorous activity will help her new apprentice’s illness. But the two find more than fossils. In Lee’s telling, Anning and Murchison begin an intense affair that seems to have no room to breathe under the cultural strictures of Victorian England.

In other words, this is paleo fanfic.

The real Anning was an expert fossil collector and paleontologist who combed the beaches of Lyme Regis and the surrounding area for fossils that eroded from the Jurassic rock. You can retrace her steps on the same beaches, as I did during my own visit to England a few years ago, and maybe even find a little golden spiral along the tideline—ancient, shelled relatives of squid called ammonites.

Anning wasn’t alone in her exploits. Fossil hunting was a family business, and Anning’s father, Richard, took Mary and her brother Joseph on excursions to collect ammonites and other pieces they then sold as tourist curios. When Richard died, the rest of the family took over the business. And they were good at it. In 1811, Joseph found the gorgeous skull of an Ichthyosaurus; Mary later collected more bones from the same animal. Of course, that’s to say nothing of the Philpot sisters. Elizabeth, Louise and Margaret Philpot collected fossils in the Lyme Regis area when Anning was still a child, and Elizabeth became a mentor who encouraged her student to understand both the science and the market value of what she found. Even Anning’s dog Tray, a black and white terrier, went along on fossil trips and would stay at specific spots to mark a fossil’s location while the pooch waited for Mary’s return.

Thanks to her discoveries, sketches and notes, Anning eventually became a rock star in her own right. It’s at this point, when she had established her own fossil shop, that Ammonite finds Anning. But while Murchison really was one of Anning’s friends, no evidence suggests that the two had any kind of romantic ties. In fact, no evidence of the paleontologist’s love life—beyond her drive to keep digging into the Blue Lias strata that produced so many bones—exists at all.

Turning Anning’s remarkable story into a torrid romance has already incensed some would-be viewers. Reactions have run the gamut from objections to historical inaccuracy and homophobia, with little resolution given that we’re far too late to ask Anning herself.

In defending his choice, Lee snapped back against the anti-queer underpinnings of the outrage and said he sees Ammonite as another part of his efforts to “continually explore the themes of class, gender, sexuality within my work, treating my truthful characters with utter respect.” Focusing on Anning’s romantic life, even if entirely invented, is a way to see her as a whole person, not just the woman who sells seashells down by the seashore.

I have to wonder what Anning would say to this. As she wrote in a letter, “The world has used me so unkindly, I fear it has made me suspicious of everyone.” In the sexist, male-dominated world of 19th-century science, Anning’s finds were celebrated while she herself was barred from joining academic societies or even finding a path to gain equal footing with the likes of William Buckland, Gideon Mantell and other traditional heroes of paleontology who parasitized her labor. Now, in having her life’s story made a fiction, is the world using Anning again?

In all the hubbub over Ammonite’s portrayal of Anning, commenters have continually missed a critical point. Anning never married, and we don’t know if she had romantic or sexual relationships with anyone. Lee, and some others, have taken this as a hint that Anning may have been a lesbian and hid the fact to avoid controversy. But it’s equally possible that Anning was asexual or uninterested in romance. Perhaps, then, Ammonite is an exercise in erasure wrapped in progressive packaging, ignoring what we know of Anning in an attempt to read between the lines. The truth died when Anning did.

How audiences will experience Ammonite will largely depend on what they bring to it. If they’re expecting a historically accurate biopic, they may sit back on their couch fuming. Ammonite is to paleontology what The Untouchables is to Prohibition or Raiders of the Lost Ark is to archaeology. If viewers are looking for a queer romance set against a wave-battered backdrop, they may feel a little warmer to the treatment.

The sheer pressure put on Ammonite to fulfill our fossiliferous expectations says something about our current moment in science. The accomplishments and importance of women in paleontology are far more prominent than they were in Anning’s time, yet the standard image of a paleontologist remains an Indiana Jones wannabe focused on trophy hunting dinosaurs. And when it comes to diversity within the field across positions—from volunteer and student all the way up to professors—there remains a diversity gap that even cisgendered, straight, white women are fighting against, to say nothing of better support and representation for everyone else who falls outside those narrow categories.

And so we keep turning to Anning as a singular hero, a woman who made amazing and lasting contributions against the odds. She, and the women whose careers were intertwined with hers, deserves to be honored just like the men who fill the introduction sections of paleontology textbooks. At the same time, perhaps we are asking Anning to carry too much—to be the sole representative of an entirely different view of paleontology. If representation for women in the field were better, perhaps it would not feel as if so much is at stake. As it stands, we are so starved for stories other than the Great White Fossil Hunter that it’s almost impossible for any tale to satisfy everyone.

If we’re fortunate, some future paleontologist will be able to point to Ammonite and say it’s the first time they got to see themselves represented. I hope so. For the time being, though, I’m looking forward to the evening when my girlfriend and I can curl up on the couch and watch a romance about warm hearts and cold stone, even if we know Mary Anning’s truth requires a bit more digging to find.

#Nature

[thecreaturecodex]

Daemonic Harbinger, Caracalla

“Horsewoman of Famine” © Simon Dubuc, accessed at his ArtStation here

[ When the Lamb opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, “Come!” I looked, and there before me was a black horse! Its rider was holding a pair of scales in his hand.Then I heard what sounded like a voice among the four living creatures, saying, “Two pounds of wheat for a day’s wages, and six pounds of barley for a day’s wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!” Revelation 6:5-6

The fact that PFRPG’s Horseman of Famine represents cancer has always rubbed me the wrong way, as it strikes me as redundant with the Horseman of Pestilence. Interpreting famine as poverty is not only more Bible accurate, it gives that Horseman a different flavor. I present here a challenger to the throne, not a replacement. The historical Caracalla was a Roman emperor known for his crippling and unfair taxation.]

Daemonic Harbinger, Caracalla CR 25 NE Outsider This gaunt figure resembles an enormous female statue with clawed hands, hoofed legs and a head like an antelope’s skull. Her neck is bent under an immense yoke, a blazing pan hanging from each end.

Caracalla The Balanced Scale, The Bean Counter Concerns economics, inequality, poverty Domains Artifice, Darkness, Evil, Travel Subdomains Daemon, Loss, Toil, Trade Worshipers capitalists, misers, slavers Minions astradaemons, evil dragons, yagnodaemons Unholy Symbol a set of scales, weighing wheat on one pan and a skull on the other Favored Weapon light flail Devotion Take money from someone poorer than yourself. This can be through any legal or illegal means. Spend one hour justifying to yourself why you deserve the money more than they do. Gain a +4 profane bonus on saves against emotion effects. Boons 1: feast of ashes 2/day; 2: rusting grasp 2/day; 3: geas/quest 2/day

Caracalla the Balanced Scale is the harbinger of poverty and inequality. She believes that the rich have the imperative to do whatever it takes to secure and expand their fortune, and that the poor are such due to their own failings and unworthiness. Her worshipers and minions do what they can to erode social safety nets and spread the gospel of unfettered prosperity for the chosen few and crushing destitution for the rest of civilization. Caracalla is intensely ambitious, and her ultimate goal is to take the place of the Horseman of Famine in Abaddon’s hierarchy. She knows that winning this battle will not be easy, and is in the process of using her incredible fortune to buy the services of enough allies to turn the tide.

Caracalla appears as a antelope-headed statue of black and gold metal, although she may change her hue to a solid gold if she sees fit. The corrupting power of wealth is her specialty, and she grants her worshipers the means to elevate themselves at the expense of others. Those who use their money for the betterment of their fellows are Caracalla’s worst enemies, and she targets them above all other foes, first with mind-influencing magic to harden their hearts, and then with destruction if they resist her.

In combat, Caracalla is a nightmare, supplementing crushing physical blows with her potent spells to weaken enemies and turn them against each other. Her natural weapons suppress healing magic and abilities, and she delights in trampling foes beneath her hooves. Perhaps her most feared ability is what she terms her “exaction”—one touch of the scales that hang from her yoke can cause an opponent’s weapons, armor and other worn equipment to grow damaged and cracked, and a second touch can destroy them completely.

Caracalla stands twelve feet tall and weighs ten tons.

Caracalla              CR 25 XP 1,636,400 NE Large outsider (daemon, evil, extraplanar) Init +13; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +44, true seeing Aura frightful presence (120 ft., DC 34), unholy aura (DC 27) Defense AC 43, touch 22, flat-footed 34 (-1 size, +9 Dex, +4 deflection, +22 natural) hp 555 (30d10+390) Fort +34, Ref +23, Will +32 DR 20/good; Immune acid, charm and compulsion, death effects, disease, poison; Resist cold 30, electricity 30, fire 30; SR 36 Defensive Abilities fortification (75%) Offense Speed 40 ft., fly 80 ft. (average) Melee gore +41 (4d8+12), 2 claws +41 (2d6+12 plus bleed), 2 slams +41 (2d8+12 /19-20 plus exaction) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Special Attacks bleed (2d6), festering wounds, powerful charge (gore, 8d8+24), trample (2d8+18, DC 37) Spell-like Abilities CL 25th, concentration +34 Constant—true seeing, unholy aura (self only, DC 27) At will—charm monster (DC 23), disintegrate (DC 25), feast of ashes (DC 21), greater dispel magic, greater teleport (self plus 50 lbs objects only), rusting grasp, telekinesis (DC 24), unholy smite (DC 23) 3/day—enervation, geas/quest, empowered mass inflict critical wounds (DC 28), quickened waves of fatigue 1/day—dominate monster (DC 29), energy drain, summon (9th level, any CR 20 or lower daemon, 100%) weird (DC 29) Statistics Str 34, Dex 28, Con 37, Int 30, Wis 33, Cha 29 Base Atk +30; CMB +43 (+47 disarm or sundering); CMD 62 (64 vs. disarm or sunder) Feats Combat Expertise, Combat Reflexes, Critical Focus, Empower SLA (mass inflict critical wounds), Exhausting Critical, Greater Disarm, Greater Sunder, Improved Critical (slam), Improved Disarm, Improved Initiative, Improved Sunder, Power Attack, Quicken SLA (waves of fatigue), Tiring Critical, Stand Still Skills Bluff +42, Diplomacy +42, Fly +40, Intimidate +42, Knowledge (arcana, history, nature, nobility) +40, Knowledge (planes) +43, Perception +44, Profession (merchant) +44, Ride +39, Sense Motive +44, Spellcraft +40, Stealth +38, Use Magic Device +39 Languages Abyssal, Celestial, Common, Infernal, telepathy 300 ft. SQ daemonic harbinger traits, item creation Ecology Environment any land or underground (Abaddon) Organization unique Treasure triple standard Special Abilities Daemonic Harbinger Traits (Ex/Su) Caracalla is a daemonic harbinger, a powerful unique fiend. This grants her the following traits:

Immunity to acid, charm and compulsion effects, death effects, disease and poison

Resistance to cold, electricity and fire 30

Telepathy 300 ft.

Caracalla’s natural weapons, as well as any weapons she wields, count as evil and epic weapons for the purposes of overcoming damage reduction

Caracalla can grant spells to her worshipers.

Exaction (Su) A creature struck by Caracalla’s slam attack must succeed a DC 34 Will save or all of its equipment gains the broken condition. A creature that fails its save a second time has all of its equipment destroyed. The save DC is Charisma based. Festering Wounds (Su) A creature that takes damage from any of Caracalla’s natural weapons must succeed a DC 34 Fortitude save or heal only half damage from any form of magical or mundane healing. In addition, any healing spell cast on this creature must overcome Caracalla’s spell resistance (SR 36) to have any effect. This ability can be removed by a break enchantment, remove curse or similar magic against Caracalla’s caster level. A creature that succeeds on its save against Caracalla’s festering wounds is immune to this ability for the next 24 hours. This is a curse effect and the save DC is Charisma based. Flight (Su) Caracalla’s fly speed is a supernatural ability. Item Creation (Su) Once per week as a full-round action, Caracalla can create up to 100,000 gp worth of mundane items, coins or gems in any combination. These created items are permanent and appear adjacent to her.