#Frost you giant armored dragon do not return | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thunderblessedhero · 10 months

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[Attached: A live video feed. Or… snippets of one? The footage will fizzle out at random intervals, but during the stream’s rolling you manage to catch a few key moments.

In the first scene, you see August, carefully navigating their way down a dark corridor. Sheets of frost crawl up the sides of the cave walls around them, and you can see the young trainer shivering rather violently the further they press on, rubbing the sides of their arms to keep warm…

“Have… to keep moving…” They mutter to themself, voice wavering, right before the screen goes black.

•

A few minutes pass before the feed returns. Gizmo is pointing the camera over August’s shoulder, who now appears to be standing in the middle of a giant, frozen cavern. Spikes and pillars of ice are scattered throughout the room around them, and you notice their breaths coming out in white puffs. But the most eye-catching thing are the pair of imposing figures standing before them…

There’s an elderly man, with lank, pale green hair that sticks up in an unusual way, and a red lens over his right eye. He wears a long black cloak with a large collar concealing the bottom half of his face, the flowing fabric decorated with strange eye-like patterns. In his right hand, he wields a cane, with the logo of Team Plasma displayed on it.

Behind him stands… a Pokémon? A dragon type, you immediately assume. Its size and anatomy bring to mind the two legendary dragons of Unova, but whatever this creature is, it certainly isn’t either of them. Jagged armor of ice coat its scaly gray hide, and its two pale yellow eyes shine ominously like torchlight through the darkness. You can hear the beast’s rumbling inhales and exhales, flakes of snow dispersing from its nostrils whenever it breathes out.

The man, who you immediately jump to assume is its trainer, smirks towards August. He takes a relaxed step forward, cane clicking against the ground as his eyes to be analyzing the person before him.

“So, you decided to follow me after all?” he muses, raising a brow. “Well, allow me to formally welcome you to the Giant Chasm, young trainer- or should I say ex-trainer?”

August visibly tenses at that, but doesn’t say a thing as the man continues to monologue. “This sacred place is where Kyurem once fell to after the separation of the Original Dragon- and where its power resonates strongest. Here, it will easily be able to turn your precious Unova into a frozen wasteland!”

With a tap of his cane to the stone ground, the dragon- Kyurem, he called it- bellows in response, its shrill roar causing the cave floor to tremble violently below August’s feet. They gasp as they stumble a little, but hold their ground and balance themselves before shooting the cloaked man a steely glare.

“Why are you doing this, Ghetsis?” They cry out furiously. “You want Unova all to yourself, you want everyone to bend to your will- but why? Why go to such drastic lengths? This won’t give you the power to fix anything!”

Ghetsis simply scoffs at the child’s attempt at a retort, waving his hand dismissively. “Young one, you don’t seem to understand- the power part is all I care about. You think I still hold the ideals of the old Team Plasma; separating humans and Pokémon for the sake of a better world? I thought you would’ve understood by now that it was all just a ruse to sway the people over to my side,” His expression hardens, as he firmly slams the bottom of his cane back down. “Pokémon mean nothing to me, people mean nothing to me- if corrupting their hearts and using their sense of morality against them won’t work, then I will simply make them bow to me using brute force!”

August just growls under their breath, feeling their composure slipping as they reach for a Pokéball from their belt. Seeing this, the corners of Ghetsis’ mouth curl into a twisted grin.

“I have a memory that continues to haunt me,” he goes on calmly, ignoring August’s threatening stance. “Just one.”

He strolls over to the other side of Kyurem, tapping his finger pensively against the top of his cane as he casts a melancholy gaze towards the cave wall, brows furrowing as he appears to reminisce upon something. “That unpleasant look in your eyes reminds me of it,” he acknowledges August with an irritated side glare. “Burning with as much fiery conviction as that little nuisance from two years ago.”

“But,” his voice switches to a mockingly pleasant tone, as he turns and spreads his arms out to the sides. “All that aside, allow me to bestow upon a gift, to show my respect for making it this far. You’ve proved to be quite the thorn in Team Plasma’s side- even besting the Shadow Triad and Colress.”

His expression then morphs into a cold, unforgiving scowl. “I shall freeze you solid right here and now, so you may watch my glorious ascent! And then, you will suffer a fate far worse than the one I orchestrated for that pathetic excuse of a hero!”

With a snap of his fingers, he barks the command. “Kyurem! Glaciate!”

Before August can have a chance to react, the dragon obeys, inhaling in a sharp breath and standing to its full height. A pale white glow emits from its armor of frost, as what can only be described as a blizzard begins to swirl around the room in a ring of frigid winds. Slowly, levitating spears of ice begin to take shape, whirring around rapidly and circling in on August from all sides, preventing them from running. Once they reach full size, the blades begin to withdraw back, thrumming with Kyurem’s raw power as they prepare to land the finishing blow…

In a heartbeat, the icy spears spring forwards and hone in on August- and all they can do is crouch to the ground, throw their arms up over their head, and pray for a miracle.

“FUSION BOLT!”

You barely register the familiar voice that cries out from somewhere offscreen, before Kyurem’s attack is abruptly intercepted by a crackling, electric blue light. Gizmo gets knocked back by the blast, and yet again, the footage cuts to static.

•

The feed returns after a bit of a longer period of silence this time. The camera wobbles as Gizmo weakly lifts itself back up, but as it rises from the ground and steadies you can see something past the grains of dust covering the camera.

August was knocked onto their back, but seems relatively unharmed. In front of them… there’s a familiar figure. Green hair swaying behind him, you watch as N stands before his friend’s attacker. At his side… is none other than his old companion, the legendary dragon of ideals- Zekrom.

The awe-inspiring sight of the divine creature in the flesh is almost enough to distract you from the sound of N’s voice ringing out through the cavern. “I understand now why Zekrom had been acting strange, vanishing for a whole month,” he states. “She knew Kyurem was suffering- at your hands, no less.”

“Suffering?” Ghetsis chuckles condescendingly, completely unfazed. “For the freak who’s supposed to understand the hearts of Pokémon, you’ve clearly had a misread on Kyurem’s.” He gestures dramatically to the frozen beast at his side. “I have given Kyurem purpose! Forgotten for centuries, left to rot beneath the ice by its other halves- if anything, you should be thanking me! Now it shall have the honor of assisting me in paving a way to a glorious new world!”

Zekrom snarls at that, to which Kyurem retorts with an indignant snuff. From the way the dragons glare at each other, you can see a long festering bitterness behind each of their eyes, telling an unspoken tale of history between them. You can only imagine what it is…

N looks between the two dragons, biting his lip as he turns to face the man before him once more. “So you’ve twisted its heart and its pain to make it do your own bidding…” he growls. “…Just as you did with me. And countless others. Here I had hoped you had changed, but unfortunately I can’t say I’m very surprised.”

He sucks in a deep breath, before stepping forward. “I will not allow selfish humans to make Pokémon suffer,” he declares. “Unova- it isn’t perfect, but I like it here. It’s the place that taught me to live as a human…” His hand slides up to grip the black and white stone hanging from his necklace, as he casts a momentary glance back at August. “…and made me notice the harmony of people and Pokémon living alongside one another. And I will do everything in my power to protect that harmony- especially from the likes of you.”

Ghetsis falls silent, watching N with this unreadable frown plastered upon his face. But then, it cracks into a grin, before a dark chuckle escapes Ghetsis as he claps his hands together.

“Good, good,” he says. “That was a moving expression of your determination! It seems the education I provided you in order to make you king wasn’t a complete waste!”

“But I still haven’t forgotten that even after everything I had done for you, all the kindness I extended you-” Ghetsis glowers, slamming his staff again. “Took you in, raised you, cared for you, taught you everything you know- you still had the gall to selfishly turn on Team Plasma and thwart my plans! I was supposed to use your abilities to rule Unova!”

Then, he closes his eyes, relaxes himself, and straightens up. “But, I will forgive you for all of that as well- for you have bestowed upon me the final piece needed in order to carry out my mission-”

“Zekrom, which you were kind enough to bring me,” he gestures to the giant black dragon at N’s side. “Is the key to unlocking Kyurem’s true potential! You’ve saved me quite the trouble. I was originally counting on the arrival of her counterpart, but the goddess of Ideals will work just as well.”

He then raises a hand from his cloak, tapping his chin. “Well, actually, that’s not entirely true- you were a bit of a plan B. I had a feeling you’d come after us after we fired those ice missiles into Opelucid City- and of course, displayed to everyone the demise of that little hero of Truth you hold oh so dearly…”

N grits his teeth, and Ghetsis smiles, knowing he’s struck a nerve. “You will not get away for what you did to them,” the young man seethes. “Your plan- it will never work. It’s an ugly formula.”

Brushing off his threat, Ghetsis simply continues. “Oh, but I assure you, it will!” He switches his cane to his other hand so he can reach for something inside the pocket of his cloak. From it, he pulls out a triangular device- it resembles a syringe, of sorts, with a color pallet resembling Kyurem’s. “With the help of these- the DNA Splicers! Watch and learn!”

He turns to Kyurem, and promptly stabs the device into the beast’s shoulder. Kyurem hisses and recoils in pain- its eyes and the yellow horn jutting out between its ice helmet beginning to thrum with energy.

Cracks dance across the ice trapping its wing-like appendages, before they completely shatter- allowing pink, sharp-ended tendrils to burst forth from the dragons’ body. They loom menacingly in the air above Kyurem for a beat longer, before suddenly lunging themselves at Zekrom like whips.

Realizing they were coming for his partner, N whirls and cries out to the Legendary. “ZEKROM!”

With a shriek of terror, Zekrom launches into the skies, twirling around wildly to narrowly avoid the tendrils as they grab for her. She moves with incredible speed, managing to outlast them for a good while, but the pursuit is cut short sooner than you had hoped- Kyurem is faster, and the tendrils expand out to entangle Zekrom within their grasp. As they tighten their hold on her, she roars helplessly as they begin to pull against her and drag her back to the ground.

The tendrils almost seem to drain her energy like a leech, leaving her no choice but to let herself plummet from the air. In her descent, her body is encased in a blue light- and in seconds, she’s retreated into the form of a round, black stone that soon clatters pitifully to the floor.

N stiffens in shock at the sight of his mighty companion being brought to defeat, just like that. “Z-Zekrom…”

“Kyurem!” Ghetsis shouts another order, pointing his staff in the direction of Zekrom’s slumbering form. “Absorb the Dark Stone, now!”

Stomping forwards, Kyurem extends out its clawed wings and seems to draw the stone towards it with a stream of swirling pink light, like some sort of magnetic pulse. The orb hovers over Kyurem’s head, and the creature almost appears to take in an inhale of relief, like it had been awaiting this moment.

The Dark Stone begins to shrink in size, its power getting vacuumed through the swirls of energy attaching it to Kyurem. The icy beast closes its eyes, as a white crackles of electricity begin to shoot up from the ground around it…

•

The feed flickers out again, but not for as long this time.

When it cuts back in, you can see Kyurem- or… Zekrom…? It looks like Kyurem, but it’s gained many of the electric deity’s traits. The strange and somewhat terrifying amalgamation of the two dragons stands tall and menacingly beside Ghetsis, breathing in and out heavily, puffs of steam swirling out from its nostrils. Veins of blue energy stretch out from its ice-plated shoulders, connecting to several slots along its bulky, unnaturally twisted tail.

N is stunned speechless. He stands there, hand trembling as he beholds the monstrosity his legendary companion had been absorbed into. August hesitantly rises to their feet behind him, eyes bulged with shock.

Amused by their reactions, Ghetsis snickers darkly. “Do you understand now, N?” he says patronizingly. “If you had simply become king, none of this would have had to happen. No one would’ve had to die. Unova would’ve remained beautiful…”

It’s clear that the man’s words have their intended effect- N’s eyes trail to the ground, as he clenches his fist and grits his teeth. You can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes, trying to think of anything he can do, anything he can say back- but nothing comes out.

“And now, I shall rule over with an iron fist,” Ghetsis continues, that ever present twisted grin still on his face as he rises his cane up triumphantly. “-all because you were too weak hearted to rise up into the role I wasted decades preparing you for.”

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

The shout that echoes throughout the chasm causes N to look up, his mouth falling open when he raises his head to see none other than August- standing firmly between him and the merged Kyurem, a Pokéball clutched in hand.

“You don’t get to talk to him like that,” August hisses, and you can’t help but notice something about them has changed… Their voice almost sounded deeper, carrying an ethereal echo to it, exuding power and determination. There was an unnatural, crystal blue glow illuminating their dark brown eyes, swirling in wisps of light like the flow of water.

“Oh?” Ghetsis cocks a brow at them, not very amused by their attempt at intimidation. “So it would seem there’s more to you than just an impudent, nosy child from some nowhere town. Well then…” He clasps his hands together, a challenging smirk appearing on his features. “I was just planning on freezing you two solid where you stood, but now my interest is piqued. If you’re so bold as to continue standing against a force as unstoppable as my Kyurem, then I’ll give you a fighting chance- face down Kyurem, alone!”

N takes in a sharp breath, tensing up in fear, before turning to August and quickly shaking his head. “August, don’t.” he pleaded. “This isn’t your fight-”

“Yes, it is,” August replied firmly, without even looking back at him. They grip the Pokéball in their hand tighter, their stance unwavering as they address Ghetsis once more. “I accept your challenge, Ghetsis.”

Kyurem’s trainer is silent for a moment, eyes calm and calculating as he stares August down, as if he’s trying to read them for any hidden fear beneath their steely gaze. Then, his sinister grin returns, and he takes a step back- making a sweeping gesture with his arm towards the open space that would act as their battlefield. “Very well,” he snickers. “Be my guest. I for one can’t wait to see all that fighting spirit dwindle from your eyes as Kyurem mercilessly crushes each of your pathetic Pokémon!”

August didn’t bother to give a retort back- they just remained silent as they stepped forwards, unshaken in the shadow of their glowering, godly opponent. Out came their first Pokémon- A Samurott, the jagged point on its armored head glistening in the dim light pouring in through the cavern. August threw out the first command- and just like that, the battle began.

“RAZOR SHELL!”

Samurott lunges forward with one of it sword-shaped shells drawn, slashing at Kyurem’s neck. The tip of the blade drags across the dragon’s black and gray scales, but to the Water-type starter’s shock- barely even leave a scratch.

In response, Kyurem simply swatted the otter Pokémon away with its heavy, ice-covered arm, and August grit their teeth as they watched their starter tumble across the ground. Thankfully, Samurott landed on its feet- but not long before Kyurem let loose a blast of raw, draconic energy that it’d have to scramble away to avoid.

This battle with seemingly impossible odds raged on for what felt like well over an hour- with August switching out frequently between Pokémon every two turns or so to try and avoid any knockouts. That strategy wouldn’t be effective forever, though- it only lead to Kyurem getting more annoyed; and more viscous with its retaliations.

One by one, each of August’s team began to succumb to exhaustion. “SHIVER!” They cried out as their Beartic was brought to his knees with a pained grunt, having just endured a brutal Slash attack, before keeling over onto his side in defeat.

Growling under their breath, August recalled him to his Pokéball- clicking it back onto their belt before sending in their trusty Samurott once more. They took a moment to examine Kyurem’s condition- it was growing tired, and even suffering from a burn their Darmanitan had inflicted earlier on in the fight, but it looked capable of holding out a bit longer. Much longer than their Samurott- who looked like he was standing on his last leg, even using one of his swords to support his weight.

The outcome of this match wasn’t likely going to end in August’s favor- that much was certain. Seeing this, N ran forwards, grabbing the teen’s shoulder to try and urge them to back down now while they still could.

“August, it’s not worth it,” he begged. “That thing is too powerful! We have to run- NOW!”

“No!” August almost screamed back, yanking their arm away. To N’s surprise, he was greeted by the sight of tears beginning to pour down from their eyes when they whirled around to face him. “I was useless back in Opelucid City- I’m not letting the same thing happen again now! We might not even get another chance to stop him!”

“Listen to the freak, child,” Ghetsis taunted from across the battlefield. “Victory is already within my grasp! Turn back now, and maybe you’ll live long enough to see me rise to the top!”

Clenching their fist, August turned back to Ghetsis and Kyurem defiantly. Just as they were to about to dish out another order to their Samurott, however, they stopped upon noticing the blue tubes protruding from the legendary dragon’s back start to pulsate with light once more. Rearing its head back, Kyurem let out a bellowing screech as it took a deep inhale of frosty air, slowly building up a giant chunk of glowing ice between its maw. At the same time, sparks began crackling in the back of its throat, imbuing the icicle with electrical energy.

It was- without a doubt- building up to be a devastating strike. One that might just cause the whole room to collapse. Without hesitation, N firmly grabbed August’s arm and yanked them away, ignoring their protests while reaching for the camera and snatching Gizmo out of the air. Everything becomes an unintelligible blur, and all you can hear are footsteps pounding against stone and N’s frantic panting as he makes a run for it.

There’s a rumble, and you catch a flash of red heat whoosh past in all the chaos… Everything begins to shake violently as an explosion goes off in the background, and you hear N and August yelp as they tumble forwards. Gizmo lets out a series of distressed beeps as he rolls across the ground, cracks spreading across his screen. For a moment, your heart drops, thinking they weren’t able to escape the blow…

…But then, Gizmo looks up. N is crumpled on the ground, having thrown himself over August to protect them. With a groan, he manages to sit up, and beholds the figure waiting behind him…

His jaw drops open at the sight of brilliant, flowing white feathers, aglow with wispy, orange flames. The radiant being who’d come to his rescue rises to its full height, craning its long neck back as it lets out an ethereal scream towards the heavens…

You hear N whisper its name under his breath. “Reshiram…”

And on its back, you catch a glimpse of a figure with pink hair.]

———

#interlude arc #(( ic interactions allowed! ))#pkmn rp #pokeblog rp #pokeblogging #pokemon rp #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #pokemon #high stakes pokeblogging

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agentrouka-blog · 3 years

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Why in ADWD Jon dreams of killing Robb and ygritte? He also once beat one NW brother in rage when he remember the memory of Robb saying he won't get lord of WF as he is bastard. Do you think his guilt made him dream of these nightmares and future foreshadowing for kingslaying? Like ygritte represent his violent lover and Robb represent his kin. Or it means something else?

Hi anon!

I think in this dream and how it is echoed in other parts of the books, we see Jon’s inner struggle with his role as Lord Commander immediately before his biggest political act ever: inviting the enemy to cross over into safety.

And it is the enemy. And Jon is struggling. In the violence of the dream, and in how it contrasts with Dany, and in the decision they both make in its aftermath, we see their true selves revealed and get a glimpse of what this means for them as enemies eventually.

Jon’s nightmare opens ADWD Jon XII, right before he wakes up to The Big Day, the most massive breach of protocol by a Lord Commander in living memory. He’s letting thousands of wildlings past the Wall. The very thing he had fought a vicious battle to prevent, because he knew it comes with massive risks.

Lots of quotes ahead:

That night he dreamt of wildlings howling from the woods, advancing to the moan of warhorns and the roll of drums. Boom DOOM boom DOOM boom DOOM came the sound, a thousand hearts with a single beat. Some had spears and some had bows and some had axes. Others rode on chariots made of bones, drawn by teams of dogs as big as ponies. Giants lumbered amongst them, forty feet tall, with mauls the size of oak trees.

The boom DOOM boom DOOM theme is present in the Red Wedding in Catelyn VII and with Theon in A Ghost in Winterfell, moments of intense transformation. Catelyn turns into a wrathful weirdwood image and murders and innocent in her failed attempt to sway Walder Frey to spare Robb. A dark promise kept, and then she dies in despair, only to rise again as Lady Stoneheart three days later. But that will not be the end of her story.

Theon has become Reek, and longs for the sweet deliverance of death in the face of Stannis’ siege. He “gave the girl away, he played his part”, he may have earned death as a reward now. But he is drawn to the godswood, where Bran’s voice calls his true name. And there he is found by Rowan, who insists on one last service. It it the act that will lead him back to himself. To Theon.

Jon's dream places him back in the battle at the Wall, holding it against Mance’s assault. But unlike then, he is alone, his battle is as lonely as it is intense.

“Stand fast,” Jon Snow called. “Throw them back.” He stood atop the Wall, alone. “Flame,” he cried, “feed them flame,” but there was no one to pay heed.

They are all gone. They have abandoned me.

Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. Scarecrow brothers tumbled down, black cloaks ablaze. “Snow,” an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall he sent them down to die again. He slew a greybeard and a beardless boy, a giant, a gaunt man with filed teeth, a girl with thick red hair. Too late he recognized Ygritte. She was gone as quick as she’d appeared.

This part of the dream mirrors Dany’s nightmare before her own fateful decision to “free” the unsullied with dragonfire.

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened. (ASOS, Daenerys III)

Waking the dragon, indeed. Unlike Jon, Dany’s experience of the dream is an experience of satisfaction and empowerment for her. Her enemies are slain by distance weapon, they have no faces, the melt away by the power of dragonfire. It appears these two may be facing off - the tongues of fire attacking the black ice.

Unlike Dany, Jon uses his sword, and he sees every face, names those he knows. He had considered killing Ygritte in battle, and he does it here, in battle between wildlings and Night’s Watch.

The world dissolved into a red mist. Jon stabbed and slashed and cut. He hacked down Donal Noye and gutted Deaf Dick Follard. Qhorin Halfhand stumbled to his knees, trying in vain to staunch the flow of blood from his neck.

Same with these men, Qhorin in the Frost Fangs, the other two during the same attack that saw Ygritte die. But these are his brothers in arms now. The fight turns to them. A red mist. Then it is his true brother facing him.

“I am the Lord of Winterfell,” Jon screamed. It was Robb before him now, his hair wet with melting snow. Longclaw took his head off. Then a gnarled hand seized Jon roughly by the shoulder. He whirled …

Just like Jon couldn’t kill Ygritte in life and rejected Stannis’ offer, he is doing the opposite here, his darkest emotions bubbling up in a red wrath - but unlike Dany, it’s clear the experience is not euphoric. He is wrestling alone, with his enemies, his brothers, his entire self.

He has been trying to save lives, but it isolates him, he is battling alone, unable to trust anyone, sending his friends away, hacking away at his own soul by not being able to help Arya. Betraying everyone, the wildlings (Ygritte), the Night’s Watch (his black brothers), his family and the North (Robb), and it is chaotic and endless. A red mist, a carnage.

But he is interrupted.

… and woke with a raven pecking at his chest. “Snow,” the bird cried. Jon swatted at it. The raven shrieked its displeasure and flapped up to a bedpost to glare down balefully at him through the predawn gloom.

Snow, the magic word that made the decision for him the last time, does it again. Unlike Dany embracing the dragon, Jon has an exit route: Snow. His true self is not inside the dream. Just like Theon’s true self is not in serving the Boltons, just like the tree calls to Theon, the raven calls to Jon. Snow. During the hour of the wolf, for both. He wakes and the nightmare fades. His path is before him. It is not battle. It is far more complex. Dangerous but life-giving.

The hard decision he has come to make, the transformation, is very different from Dany’s decision. She makes a false trade and burns her enemies, has them slaughtered in the streets, including children age 12 and up. Jon is about to embrace his enemies because they have a common foe. Peace after war.

The day had come. It was the hour of the wolf. Soon enough the sun would rise, and four thousand wildlings would come pouring through the Wall. Madness. Jon Snow ran his burned hand through his hair and wondered once again what he was doing. Once the gate was opened there would be no turning back. It should have been the Old Bear to treat with Tormund. It should have been Jaremy Rykker or Qhorin Halfhand or Denys Mallister or some other seasoned man. It should have been my uncle. It was too late for such misgivings, though. Every choice had its risks, every choice its consequences. He would play the game to its conclusion.

This decision is massive and Jon is trembling before it. “Madness.” He is making a trade that is fragile but honest. With the people he had battled. His enemies. But the time for war between them is done. If Jon doesn’t want to see the world end in ice, if he wants to protect the North and all that he loves, he has to break with tradition - and have faith.

“All is in readiness,” Bowen Marsh assured him. “If the wildlings uphold the terms of the bargain, all will go as you’ve commanded.”

And if not, it may turn to blood and carnage. “Remember,” Jon said, “Tormund’s people are hungry, cold, and fearful. Some of them hate us as much as some of you hate them. We are dancing on rotten ice here, them and us. One crack, and we all drown. If blood should be shed today, it had best not be one of us who strikes the first blow, or I swear by the old gods and the new that I will have the head of the man who strikes it.”

Jon’s gamble will end up costing his life at the very hands of Bowen Marsh, but it remains the right decision. It will cost him, it will not make him more powerful in the short term. But it will pay off in the long term. It reveals who he is.

Dany emerged from betrayal transformed into a dragon. Jon’s transformation is still coming up. He will be a wolf for a while, but his path is not Dany’s path.

We see their true selves in this. For Jon, the battle is a nightmare he can wake from because he is not ice nor fire nor fully a wolf. He is Snow. His own person. Someone is calling his name. Like Bran calls Theon and helps him return to himself. Like Arya will call Catelyn by her true name: mother.

For Dany, the battle is her true self, and there will be no turning back. Who is calling Dany? Quaithe. Dragon dragon dragon.

When they face off, this will be crucial. It will be carnage. But one of them will emerge, and the other will not.

#asoiaf #jon snow #wildlings #anti daenerys targaryen #black ice #dragonfire #nightmares #foreshadowing #parallels

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gambithq · 3 years

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FAHYRST

Along the northeastern coast of Haelion, just beyond the permafrost that occupies the continent’s northern tip, lies the small city of Fahyrst. Though for most of the year Fahyrst is too cold to attract many visitors, its summers are temperate and comfortable, and it is commonly thought to be the farthest south travelers can go in order to see one of Haelion’s finest sights: the Night of the Endless Day. On the days surrounding the summer solstice, the sun in the north of Haelion does not set for five full days—and in Fahyrst, infamous for the carnival it holds in honor of the solstice, the celebration begins when the sun first touches the horizon on the first day and does not end until it sets completely five days later.

Fahyrst, it is said, spends most of the year preparing its humble habitats for the hospitality of the Carnival. As its greatest attraction, there is a massive increase of traffic to the small city for the festival. This means an influx of trade, of tal, and of intrigue: they say those who venture to Fahyrst for the Endless Night never get bored.

The city itself holds several possible sites of interest: an open-air marble temple to the city’s patron god Laimyre, god of winter winds, the healing of old wounds, and the melting frost; a tall tower from which people claim to be able to see the edge of the continent, though the veracity of this claim is disputed; and the wide fields of frost-flowers, a rare potions ingredient with healing powers, grown only in the permafrost and cultivated only in Fahyrst.

CARNIVAL OF THE ENDLESS DAY

The Carnival of the Endless Day is an elaborate celebration that has grown out of what was once a much humble festival. The sun provides unusual warmth for so far north in the continent and so close to the tundra, which means absolutely no one wants to be inside for as long as the sun is out and the weather is warm. The streets and plazas of the city are flooded with bustling excitement and joyous celebration.

Among these celebrations, you can expect to find:

COSTUMES: bright, colorful silk costumes are the traditional garb of the festival, light for the warm weather and elaborately decorated. merchants eagerly sell fine costumes in every imaginable hue, each brighter than the next, and anyone not in costume can be expected to be stopped frequently by those selling their wares as they navigate through the festival.

COCKTAILS: the city’s taverns throw open their doors and pour into the streets for the duration of the festival, with plentiful outdoor seating set up. to attract business, tavern keepers craft elaborate and colorful cocktails in floral flavors to serve to anyone passing by, some swearing magical properties to the drinks, others with elaborate showmanship—drinks set on fire, drinks with flowers growing inside the glass, drinks that exude puffs of pink smoke, each more over the top than the next.

BLESSED BEADS: some say that the Carnival of the Endless Day was not always a festival centered around the idea of luck—there used to be a winter solstice festival famous for such, long ago. and yet, luck is what many people make their way to the Carnival for these days, those looking for a little extra fortune purchasing strings of blessed beads—colorful glass beads with small flakes of metal inside them, crafted by the priestesses of Laimyre in the temple, a skill unknown to anyone outside the temple walls.

DANCING CONTEST: a two-day long dancing contest occupies the central city square, free for anyone to join. tradition states that the longer you can dance without falling, the longer your luck will sustain you for the year to come.

SOLSTICE LOTTERY: for the low price of a small donation to the temple of Laimyre, you are granted the chance to blindly draw a glass bead from a large jar just outside the temple, with each color representing a fortune for the new year. red beads mean conflict, friction, growth; white mean neutral fortune, a steady and reliable year; silver means good fortune, a little extra tal in your pocket and perhaps a fortuitous encounter or two; and gold signifies great fortune, the kind often reserved for kings.

PERFORMANCES, PARADES, AND OTHER SPECTACLES: great outdoor stages are erected around the city for musicians and other performers to entertain upon, and often the crowds from these performances spill back into the streets and move through town. from almost anywhere, you can catch a glimpse of a crowd of people in costumes, dancing and singing. not to mention, of course, the elaborate fireworks show the moment the sun finally sets at the end of the carnival.

TRAVELING MERCHANTS AND ARTISANS

In addition, the carnival is filled with performances, parades, and various other spectacles, as well as a wide array of merchants and traveling artisans setting up stalls on the outskirts of town to sell their wares.

OUT OF CHARACTER

After several weeks of traveling eastward from a stop near Lodorwind, the Gambit will reach Fahyrst on the day before the Carnival begins, and stay through its duration before heading south along the coast, hoping for a chance to have some fun and make some tal doing odd jobs around the festival. A shop inventory of items available for purchase in the city and at the festival can be found below the cut – please message the main if you would like to purchase anything while in town.

Missions in and around Fahyrst can also be found below the cut. To claim a mission, please post the title of the mission and the two characters claiming the mission in the #mission-claims channel on discord. Fahyrst missions should, to the best of your ability, wrap up around the 16th of May.

MISSIONS

1. THE LAIR OF THE BEAST. Several travelers to Fahyrst have reported being attacked by a massive, shaggy, snow-covered, unidentifiable beast on the road into town. Worried that the beast will disrupt travel into the city for the Carnival, Fahyrst’s captain of the guard Ellora Kel is commissioning any brave enough to find the beast, slay it, and return to the city with proof before the outset of the festival. ( REWARD: 50 tal ) GWYN & VASHKA

2. SECURITY DETAIL. The Mayor of Fahyrst, Darwen Oaswell, fears that his estate at the center of town may be broken into or vandalized during the course of the festival. A recently elected and rather unpopular man, he believes members of his opposition will use the festival as cover for robbing him or otherwise embarrassing him, and to avoid this, has offered to hire you to guard the mansion for a portion of the festival. ( REWARD: 60 tal ) OPEN TO MULTIPLE PAIRS

3. A MISSING CHILD. A young girl named Misty Ridenour has gone missing, and her mother Sera believes she ventured into the fields of shimmering purple frost-flowers just outside of town and got trapped or hurt somewhere inside. The frost-flowers, which grow on stalks of up to eight feet tall, are prickly and difficult to maneuver through, but Sera is willing to provide a reward to anyone willing to venture into them to locate the missing girl. ( REWARD: 25 tal or 3 oz. of frost-flower petals ) ADRIK & TATSUO

4. MAKE YOUR OWN LUCK. A student magician from Lodorwind, Razia Morn has traveled to the Carnival because he desperately needs luck this year, as he embarks upon his final year at the Academy. His best friend Kolra, tired of Razia’s superstitions, wants your help to fix the lottery draw to ensure that Razia gets a golden bead and stops wasting their money on foolish endeavors. ( REWARD: 35 tal ) GAVRIL & OVID

5. THIEF IN THE NIGHT. While the priestesses have been distracted by the Carnival, someone snuck into the temple undetected and stole an important relic—the jaw bone of the blessed frost-dragon. It is imperative that someone track down the thief, recover the relic, and return it to the temple before they have a chance to escape. ( REWARD: 75 tal ) GAVRIL & VASHKA

6. A SURREPTITIOUS MESSAGE. A mysterious cloaked figure with a raspy voice approaches from behind your left shoulder and slips a piece of paper and several coins into your hand. On the paper, instructions to find an elf named Solaire somewhere in the crowd of dancers and tell them the red will run when the hawk calls thrice. The instructions promise more coin if and when the task is completed. Seems easy enough, right? ( REWARD: 35 tal ) OPEN

7. THE SHOW MUST GO ON. World-renowned lutist and singer Clarion Call has been commissioned to perform on the third day of the Carnival, but mere hours before they are meant to perform, their manager Markia finds them dreadfully hungover at one of Fahyrst’s many outdoor taverns, unable to perform. She’s willing to pay heftily for anyone capable of impersonating Clarion and performing in their stead, so as not to ruin their reputation. ( REWARD: 85 tal ) CALLIOPE & OVID

8. THE PERFECT DRINK. Adarius Contravere, one of the Carnival’s two most impressive drinkmakers, has invented what he swears will be the perfect drink. The only problem is: he’s missing an ingredient, and a rare one at that. Desperate to one-up his competition, Ravenswing Ebonaria, Contravere has offered quite the fee to adventurers willing to venture northwards into the permafrost to bring back the necessary ingredient—a small piece of crystal known as giant’s tear, which instantly freezes anything it touches. ( REWARD: 60 tal ) GWYN & TATSUO

9. AN IMPOSSIBLE SIGHT. From high in Fahyrst’s tallest tower, a teenage girl named Varthé has claimed to see the silver wings of the legendary frost-dragon. While most who hear her think she must be making it up—after all, frost-dragons have been extinct, even this far north, for well over three hundred years—if she’s right, dragons are said to drop scales and teeth that make some of the strongest armor in the Fade, which might be worth hunting down. ( REWARD: rare materials ) GAVRIL & GWYN

10. HEALING TOUCH. A short way outside of the city you encounter an injured traveller on the side of the road, alone and in desperate need of healing. Though you watch several other travelers pass by her without making any stop to help, you decide to see what you can do for her. She turns her head up to you and says, “you have shown that you are true of heart. if you are true of strength as well, you will be rewarded.” ( REWARD: a spell of choice ) CASSIAN & VASHKA

11. THE CURSED ORB. Arlo Higgenbothom, a traveling wizard and showman who is in town to sell charmed trinkets at the Carnival, has approached you with a dire problem in need of solving: he misplaced a small and terrible cursed orb roughly the same size and shape as the glass beads used in the temple’s lottery drawing, and he fears it may have ended up in with the other beads, or in someone else’s hands. ( REWARD: 55 tal ) TATSUO & ZHENYA

12. THE OVEREAGER VANDAL. A young upstart political revolutionary wants to plaster the temple, the tower, and the mayor’s home with pamphlets advocating for the People’s Movement of Fahyrst. The only problem is: he’s banned from every major building in the city thanks to his last attempts to sabotage the mayor’s campaign by vandalizing public buildings, and every guard in Fahyrst knows his face. To get his pamphlets in place, he either needs a very good disguise, or he needs someone else to do it for him without also getting caught by the guards. ( REWARD: 45 tal ) OPEN

13. A PROLONGED ENGAGEMENT. A young halfling man named Basil has asked for help locating his fiance, Cedar. The two are from different towns, and met three years ago at the Carnival, and though they have written letters, they have only been able to see one another here each year, and thus had planned to wed before the end of this year’s Carnival. However, having been unable to locate Cedar, Basil is worried either that Cedar thought better of it, or that something has happened to prevent him from reaching the city. ( REWARD: 65 tal ) GAVRIL & ZHENYA

14. MIRROR OF SHADOWS. Among the wares of a traveling merchant, you find a mirror that—rather than showing your reflection when you look into it—shows instead a swirling void of shadows, with something you can very nearly make out within. When you touch the mirror, it whispers to you that it must be taken to the top of the tallest tower, where it will reveal its secret. Unfortunately, the salesman refuses to part with it for less than 1600 tal. ( REWARD: the location of a much-desired object, person, or goal ) LUCKY & OVID

15. ESCAPE ROUTE. A young woman in a hooded cloak stops you, offering all the tal she has to help her to escape the city undetected. When asked why, she is hesitant to provide further details, only insisting that her life is in danger if she has not safely left town by the time the sun goes down. ( REWARD: 75 tal ) OPEN

SHOP INVENTORY

if you would like to purchase any gear or supplies from the shops in Fahyrst, message the main. the following items are available (estimated prices listed):

a show-stopping cocktail ( 3 tal )

a blessing from the temple of Laimyre ( 5 tal )

a bag of crushed frost-flower petals ( 10 tal per oz. )

a fine healing potion ( 60 tal )

lucky Carnival beads ( 10 tal )

a fine colorful costume ( 15 tal )

basic spell or potion components ( 10-30 tal )

an enchanted sapphire ring with freezing powers ( 75 tal )

a cloak of disguise ( 80 tal )

a hand-sized harp that never goes out of tune ( 35 tal )

#fantasy rp #new rp #skeleton rp #fantasy rpg #literate rp #fahyrst #loc

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talvanis-the-snow-elf · 3 years

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11th of Sun’s Dusk - part 3

I have never seen anything like it, nor imagined anything like it.

Lucien told me what he had read while we traveled to Alftand, but he was not really sure it actually existed, and any accounts he had read failed to live up to the beauty and vastness of the place.

A cavern stretching under half of Skyrim, ceiling so high it almost has a sky of its own. Everywhere, lit up by giant glowing mushrooms, and strange crystal formations, which Lucien was very curious about.

The first thing we saw in front of us was a small Dwemer building with a sphere automaton in front of it. Within a minute, a heavily armored Jorane arrived, and the two fought. The Jorane won, and returned from where he came.

We entered the small building, which contained the skeleton of an elf, an Altmer, who had come here about two hundred years ago, and set up a kind of laboratory. Despite the dead body accompanying us, we had to sleep, and this was the safest place to do so.

In the morning, we made it down, sneaking, to a small river running through the whole of Blackreach. There were many Jorane, but they were spread out, so we could avoid them most of the time, and we managed to avoid killing any of them - in the open at least.

What we did kill however, were their Chaurus pets, both in their normal and flying forms.

We did find another Wispmother down here, their elven ears and pale skin making me uncomfortable as to their potential origins.

In abundance were what seemed like glowing ore veins, but which were in fact soul gem veins. I mined dozens of them.

As we got further down the river, it turned into massive waterfalls falling into a small lake. Everywhere were Dwemer towers, roads and stairs, and everywhere, these strange, tube-like crystal formations grew.

In the middle of Blackreach, was a massive structure with towers and walkways, patrolled by the Jorane. Above it was a sunlike orb, clearly Dwemer in origin, and it lit up a good part of the surrounding area.

As we entered part of the building, to our horror and confusion, there were people in there - not Jorane, but humans, speaking Tamrielic, and seeming to be walking around freely.

They wore rags and lived around the Jorane, perhaps as their serfs, but who would do that? Have the Jorane put spells on them, or what could possibly make a human wish to go underground and live, serving the Jorane? Very strange indeed.

Some of them attacked us, and we were forced to kill them.

When we exited the building, we were cornered by four Jorane archers and several of their serfs. We killed all but three of the Jorane, who I put Illusion spells on. As we got to another, higher part of the massive building, we were separated, and I ended up alone on a high platform, together with one massively armored warrior Jorane.

He must have been as tall as me, or nearly, and very well-trained.

It was the one Jorane kill so far I can say I did not feel sorry about. Not because he was 'evil' or that he needed to die, but because it felt like a battle between... equals, in a very strange way. No one else was there, we had the platform all to ourselves, suspended above the Dwemer sun. We fought with axe and shield, for many minutes, before I gained the upper hand and slew him.

I am astonished by how they manouver around without eyesight, but it would seem their ears have become their eyes. Their sense of hearing is exceptional, as evident by the fact that they can shoot you from across a field just by listening to your footsteps.

I do not know if their lack of noses actually help with a sense of smell, or what they do with it, but their ears are clearly far larger than those of my direct kin.

After the duel, I found Lucien, Brelyna and Serana again, and we headed further into Blackreach. In a distant corner, we found a small building near what looked like an old farm. We slept there for the night, then, on the morning of the 11th of Sun's Dusk, proceeded to the nearby tower, what had to be the tower of Mzark. (Lucien had deciphered enough of Septimus' babbling to know where we needed to go.)

Inside, we found another massive Dwemer construct of the same type as we found in Mzulft, the one projecting the map of magical artifacts. This one was supposed to contain an Elder Scroll. I got the hang of it much quicker this time, and opened it within minutes.

Lucien asked to see it, saying he knew about all the risks, but when he "read" it, he seemed... disappointed?

He did not speak of it further, and I have no idea what it was about.

Thankfully, the tower of Mzark had a direct exit to the surface, which placed us far, far south from where we had initially entered, which meant... our horses were not there. Except for Lucien's Daedroth horse Clive, that is. So Lucien had to ride back to Alftand and pick up Frost for me. Frost is a superb horse, but he is mortal, and cannot just magically find me wherever I turn up.

Soon after, we were met with a dragon, and Brelyna got her first taste of a dragon battle. After that, we crossed the Whiterun tundra to find this Master vampire Gunmar had ordered us to kill. In the end, we all got back to Winter Cove intact.

#Blackreach #Falmer

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nitewrighter · 4 years

Text

Gency Week Day 5: Aurora

Me, making yet another Baihu/Valkyrie AU that has absolutely nothing to do with that smut I wrote 2 years ago: I just think they’re neat.

Skyrim-ish Fantasy AU where Mercy and Genji might as well be airbrushed on the side of a van.

With special guest appearances by Rime Sigma and Rime Sombra.

----

The Valkyrie held her heavy-bladed staff aloft, its blades spiraling around a small sphere of yellowish light illuminating her path through the ice caves. Only the most fearless of adventurers made it this far into the mountains of Thornspire, and only the madmen ventured this far into their caves. Her eyes flicked around warily at the flickering lights against the icy walls of the tunnels. It was deathly cold, and she had her large wheat-and-ivory colored wings folded about herself as a feathery cloak for warmth. She heard some pebbles scatter around a corner of the ice tunnel and her breath caught in her throat. She dimmed the light on the end of her staff with a whisper and did her best to make her footsteps as silent as possible. Distorted by a pane of thick ice, she made out a dark quadrupedal shape. Her body tensed, but she edged forward, rolling her grip on her staff. she saw the dark shape round the corner and she moved to raise her staff defensively, but glowing ice blue eyes caught her in their sharp sights and the great creature pounced with a rumbling snarl in its throat. It apparently caught sight of her weapon as its great paw pads made contact against the handle of her staff, shoving it against herself as she tumbled backward with its great weight and momentum. Mercy grunted as her back hit the ground, and her eyes opened to see a silver and black striped face and great white fangs inches from her nose. A tiger, far larger than any natural tiger had any right to be, rumbled over her, its massive paws pinning her to the floor of the tunnel.

Her breath fogged out of her with alarm before she furrowed her brow at the tiger.

“Don’t scare me like that!” she scolded and the tiger pulled its paws off of her staff, rearing back onto its haunches at her voice, “I thought you were an owlbear!”

“I thought you were a draugr,” said the tiger as whorls of icy blue light spiraled around it, coiling tight and shrinking its form until they disappeared in a flurry of blue-white sparkles, revealing a scarred man in fur-lined silver armor straddling her.

“A draugr!?” Mercy said, insulted, as she sat up, “You’re a tiger! You can see in the dark!”

“Your wings were folded in! It was instinct! And for the record, splitting up at that last fork in the tunnel was your idea,” said Genji, folding his arms. Mercy cleared her throat and Genji realized he was still straddling her. “Oh--um,” he stood up and held a hand up to her, helping her to her feet.

“Well, at least we know the fork just rejoins,” she said, looking down the tunnel.

He looked at her, “I don’t like the smell of this place,” he said quietly, “Are you sure the amulet of auroras is in here?”

“The strix said it would be in the deepest cave on the highest peak. I’m pretty sure this is the right cave,” said Mercy, flicking a magelight back onto the end of her staff, “What do you smell?”

Genji sniffed the air suspiciously, his pupils slitted with shrewdness. “I... I don’t know,” he said quietly, “But I don’t like it.”

“Maybe you’ve been here before!” said Mercy, shouldering her illuminated staff and continuing down the tunnel.

“Maybe...” said Genji, walking after her with one hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Are you all right?” she glanced back at him.

“I’m fine,” he said a bit stiffly.

“Genji,” her shoulders slumped with concern.

“It’s just--we’ve been adventuring for a few months, right? We work good together, right?”

“A skilled swordsman who also happens to be a giant tiger is pretty handy to have on your side in a fight,” said Mercy with a slight smile.

“I like who I am with you--I mean, who I am now! Is it that necessary to find out who I was before that?” said Genji.

“You were nearly dead when I found you. For all we know you could still be in danger from whatever put you in that state,” said Mercy, “And it could be a whole new adventure! What if you have family worrying about you right now?”

“You want to meet my family?” said Genji, tilting his head. Mercy reddened and her shoulders bunched up slightly as she pivoted on her heel to face him.

“You should want to meet your family,” said Mercy, playfully poking two fingers against the visor of his helmet.

“Tigers are solitary,” said Genji, putting his other hand on his hip.

“Right, you just keep me around because you want to eat me,” said Mercy with a smirk, continuing down the tunnel.

“Don’t tempt me,” said Genji, walking after her with a grin and a slight rumble in his throat.

“You’ll have a lot of plucking to do,” said Mercy, readjusting her wings on her shoulders.

“And you’re probably gamey anyways,” said Genji, strolling up next to her, she snorted and elbowed him but her snickers quickly faded away as the tunnel opened up from a narrow pathway of ice into a massive stone corridor with buttresses intricately carved into the likenesses of dragons, tigers, eagles, and wolves.

“...looks like we’re in the right cave...” said Mercy, brightening the magelight on her staff to get a better look at the corridor. There were empty sconces on the buttresses and a great empty brazier midway through the grand hall, but Mercy seemed more interested in the frescoes on the wall, leaning her magelight closer and squinting at them. There were lines of ancient writing long forgotten hewn into the stone, but being unable to read them, Mercy just squinted at the carvings, depicting four figures.

“Eagle, Wolf, Dragon, Tiger,” said Mercy, she looked back at Genji, “Tiger!” she said, pointing to the tiger carving while grinning at him.

Genji looked at her a little helplessly.

“This doesn’t... make you remember anything?” said Mercy, still pointing at the carving, “Nothing at all?”

Genji shook his head.

Mercy sighed, “I suppose it’s probably just coincidence, then...” she murmured.

“It’s probably more like what you said when we met. I’m just a druid,” said Genji, “Lots of druids probably take the shape of tigers. They’re strong. It’s practical.”

“None of the druids I know,” said Mercy, walking on.

“...oh,” said Genji. He squinted at the tiger carving in the light fading with Mercy’s distance. “You know, this might not even be a tiger. There are wildcats everywhere, it’s not necessarily--” He absentmindedly touched the tiger carving and flinched back as it took on the same ice-blue glow as his eyes, “Um... Valkyrie?”

Mercy turned around and gasped as the entire frescoe set itself ablaze in a blue glow.

“I thought you said you couldn’t remember any spells!” said Mercy as the blue light flared along all of the frescoes’ outlines.

“I don’t!” said Genji as the light bounced from the wall to one of the sconces on the buttresses, then sprang like a fish from sconce to sconce, lighting up the entire corridor in a ghostly blue light.

“Genji, you’ve definitely been in this place before,” said Mercy.

“We don’t know that for sure!” said Genji on reflex.

The little blue blaze bounced from the last sconce in a high arc and hit the brazier at the center of the room, blazing into a great blue fire. The great fire in the brazier spiraled and curved like those same silvery lights around Genji when he shifted from tiger to man.

“Get behind me,” Genji spoke on reflex, stepping in front of mercy.

“Tiger of the West Wind! Light-footed Dancer! The hunter in the snow! Our brother has finally returned!” a mischievous voice bounced off the walls of the corridor before the flames in the brazier spun themselves into the shape of a blue-skinned white haired woman donning clothes spiked like icicles, her arms thrown up into the air with grandeur. She opened her eyes and gave an unimpressed look to Mercy, “...and his guest, I guess,” she said with a shrug and an obligatory gesture at Mercy.

“...Brother?” said Genji, helplessly.

Mercy gave him a ��Are you kidding me’ look and Genji immediately regretted saying ‘We don’t know that for sure.’

“Man, the Eastern wind really did a number on you, didn’t he?” said the blue-skinned woman, hopping down from the brazier, “I guess that’s the only way one of us would be caught dead hanging around with an einherjar groupie, huh?”

“An einherjar what?!” Mercy’s feathers fluffed out with fury.

“The Valkyrie is my companion,” said Genji, “She rescued me. I would ask that she be treated with the same respect you’re showing me.”

“We’re winds, we don’t show respect. We blow on kings and paupers alike,” said the blue-skinned woman with a shrug.

“’We?’” Genji repeated, “I’m a wind?”

“I just said you’re the West Wind! What kind of brother are you!?” said the blue-skinned woman. She studied Genji’s face. Genji looked blankly back at her. “You don’t remember me? At all?! Dragon of the South Wind? Bringer of the Autumn frost? Tree shaker? Ship-breaker?!”

“I--Um... You seem very memorable?” said Genji.

“Ugh,” the South Wind slumped her shoulders with exasperation, “Maybe the North Wind will know what to do with you,” she said before snapping her fingers.

“Wait--” Genji and Mercy started at the same time but suddenly they were caught up in a great spiraling flurry of silvery snowflakes until they found themselves in a vast and bleak icy throne room. Seated upon a throne of glassy black ice was a broad-shouldered man with shoulder-length white hair, pale blue-gray skin, a hawkish nose, and those same ice-blue eyes as Genji. Around his neck, a bright amulet glowed in green and blue and pink.

“...the amulet,” Mercy whispered to Genji, and Genji could only dumbly nod.

“North Wind!” the South Wind threw up her arms, “Bone-chiller! Swift-flier! Our brother has returned!”

“Brother,” said the man on the throne, “It’s been too long.” He gave a cold glance at Mercy standing next to him. “And who is this?”

“I am the Valkyrie Mercy,” said Mercy stepping forward, “Genji and I have been trav--”

“Genji?” said the North Wind, looking around, “Who is Genji?”

“...I’m Genji,” said Genji, “Well, that’s what I call myself.”

“A name?” the South Wind snorted and burst out laughing, “You gave yourself a name!?”

“Am I... not supposed to have one?” said Genji.

”Winds have no need of such things,” said the North Wind, with a scoff, “Then again, you always were difficult. Even now you seek to bring your paramours into halls forbidden to them. ”

“Para--” Genji started and then gave a glance back to Mercy.

“Oh--we’re not---” Mercy started, reddening.

“Could be worse,” said the South Wind, who had apparently made her way behind Mercy and was now unfolding one of her wings, “Could be a garden-variety mortal.”

Mercy yanked her wing out of the South Wind’s grip and the South Wind put her hands up in a playful ‘I didn’t do anything’ gesture before nimbly bounding to the side of the North Wind’s throne.

“I meant no offense,” said Genji, “As we were saying the Valkyrie rescued me when I was severely injured and near death, but... when she healed me I had no memory of who I was before. Legend says the Amulet of Auroras could restore people and things to states once lost. We came here in the hopes that it might restore my memory.”

The South Wind snorted incredulously. “The amulet can only work its magic once every thousand years! You think we’d use that kind of magic just because you and East had another little squabble? You fight all the time!”

“So it was the East Wind that did this to me,” said Genji, looking down.

“Where is the East Wind?” said Mercy, looking around.

“You will teach your guest to hold her tongue--” The North Wind started.

“She is my companion,” said Genji, “And I would ask that myself. Where is the East Wind?”

“Out,” said the South Wind with a shrug.

“Out... where?” said Genji.

“Where he pleases,” said the North Wind, examining his claws that glittered with that same black ice as his throne, “As is his nature.”

“Well, perhaps he can be called here?” said Mercy.

“No one summons the winds,” said the North Wind.

“Did you not seek me out when he returned and I did not?” said Genji.

“No,” said the North Wind.

“Did the East Wind face any punishment for the harm he inflicted?” said Mercy.

“Why punish what is well within our nature?” said the South Wind.

“Your fights are your business,” said the North Wind, apparently bored.

“...you didn’t know where I was, you were in possession of something that could help me, but you didn’t look for me?” said Genji.

“You’re a Wind,” said the North Wind with a toss of his hand, “You didn’t need my help. You found your way back.”

“I was scared and lost and lonely for months!” said Genji.

“Because you were among mortals,” said the North Wind, “You contracted their mannerisms like a disease. Fear, loss, loneliness,” he gave a derisive glance to Mercy, “Attachment. Even now your line of questions is inane.”

“You didn’t understand how above them you were,” said the South Wind with a shrug, “How above them we are.”

“How are you above them?!” said Mercy.

“We’re the winds,” said the South Wind with a laugh, as if Mercy was speaking nonsense, “We have power they can only dream of.”

“Power does not speak to worthiness,” said Mercy, her grip tightening on her staff.

“You will not speak with such insolence as long as you are a guest in these halls,” said the North Wind.

“Valkyries,” said the South Wind pityingly, “Always getting so worked up and weepy over mortals. ‘Worthiness’ is a term those same mortals invented to cope with their own weakness.”

“You know nothing of worthiness! Mortals are good and kind to each other because they have so little power! Because it’s all they can do in their power to try and make things easier for each other! That is not weakness!”

“Silence your guest,” said the North Wind, looking to Genji.

“She speaks the truth,” said Genji, “Besides, I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

Mercy huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Then apparently East’s lesson didn’t sink in,” said the South Wind, needle-like fangs growing in her mouth.

“Genji--” Mercy said his name in warning.

“Winds don’t have names!” said the South Wind, silver-blue light spiraling around her and concealing her form.

She’s transforming, Mercy realized, Like Genji.

The mass of spiraling light suddenly lunged at them and Mercy stepped in front of Genji and caught the newly-transformed Wyvern’s teeth on the handle of her staff before the South Wind could bite into her.

“Genji, just get the amulet!” said Mercy, smacking the Wyvern’s head a side with a hard swing of her staff.

Genji gave her a single nod and drew his sword, charging toward the throne, only to be knocked back by a massive chunk of ice, his sword clattering to the side of him.

“Well you may have forgotten us, but you haven’t forgotten your impertinence,” said the North Wind, pushing up off of his throne.

Genji pushed up from the floor and took the form of a tiger, charging the North Wind again, this time nimbly dodging the hunks of ice being thrown at him and springing with fangs bared. The North Wind caught his teeth on his black vambraces and furrowed his brow at him, before casting Genji off and taking the form of an eagle, sweeping up and out of his reach.

“Valkyrie!” he called to Mercy. Mercy was parrying the fangs of the South Wind with her staff, but she managed to look at him, “Switch?!”

Mercy’s eyes flicked up to the eagle flying overhead and she gave Genji a nod before Genji sprang onto the South Wind’s back, slashing at her wings as she struck at him like a snake with her long neck.

Mercy’s wings kicked a puff of diamond dust up off the floor as she sprang up into flight towards the great white-plumed eagle with glowing ice-blue eyes. The eagle screeched and dove for her, talons outstretched, but she narrowly dipped out of the way. She blocked his talons and razor sharp beak with short motions of her sword. She looked at the glowing amulet around the eagle’s neck, and her brow furrowed. She fastened her staff at her back and drew her sword. He dove for her and clawed for her but she swept out of his grasp every time. She was honestly a little surprised at how easy it was for her to anticipate his moves.

Winds can’t be summoned or commanded, she realized as she swept in close to the eagle and a fierce little grin lit up her lips as she darted up past him, But anyone whose spent their whole life flying knows how to change with them.

She turned sharply in mid-air and slashed hard at the eagle’s back with her sword. The North Wind let out an earsplitting screech that had the high howl of the wind across the sea and twisted in mid air. Mercy seized the amulet with her free hand and cut it loose with her sword. The Eagle screeched again with a fury and beat her hard with its wings before clawing its talons across her forearm as she dealt a retaliating slash across its breast feathers. The wound did not bleed but glowed with that same icy blue as Mercy tore herself away from the Eagle. The North Wind screeched a final time before it lowered itself to the ground, silver light spiraling around him as he retook the form of a man, slumped over on one knee, panting hard.

“Genji!” Mercy called and Genji glanced up from the South Wind to see Mercy holding the amulet over her head.

The Tiger and Wyvern were twisted around each other, both covered in bites and claw marks from each other, but finally the tiger had her pinned to the ground, his claws at her long neck, and from the floor, the South Wind saw the North Wind brought to his knees. “Yield,” snarled Genji.

“All right, all right, I yield,” said the South Wind, putting her hands up, “Not even the amulet’s worth getting knocked in the head and ending up as dumb as you.”

“Genji, catch,” said Mercy, tossing the amulet over to him. He caught it and turned it over in his hand. It seemed so large and glittering around the North Wind’s neck, but in his own hand it seemed hardly bigger than a large coin, but Genji could see the greens and pinks rippling through the dark, round stone. He worked to re-tie the cord Mercy had cut.

The Valkyrie held a hand out to the North Wind, moving to help him to his feet. “I apologize,” she said, “But... perhaps once he has his memories, we can all better understand each other.’’

“I will say we have underestimated you, Valkyrie,” said the North Wind, tracing a hand over the slash wound at his front and sealing it with a line of ice, “But no boon is taken from the wind without cost.”

“What?” Mercy started but she looked at the hand she had extended to the north wind. Her fingers were turning blue from the tips as white frost feathered out from her arm. She stood up and found with a horror that she couldn’t bend her arm. “No--” she looked at the three slash marks the North Wind had made on her forearm and saw the red of her blood was black and glittering as blue spread out from the injury. Instinctively she brought her hand up to try and feel at the now completely numbed wound, but she saw with horror that blue was spreading from the fingertips of her other hand. She staggered back, feeling the cold freeze her shoulder solid, the frost spiraling over the steel of her breastplate, her legs numbed in place and her feet now frozen in place to the floor.

“Valkyrie!” Genji looked up from the amulet and rushed over to her.

“Genj--” she started, but the ice swept over her neck and her voice froze in her throat. Her lips were parted as they turned blue. Genji put his hands on her shoulders as her hair turned white and stiff, frozen solid. Her eyes were frozen open, staring back at him in fear and confusion. Her wings were curving around her protectively, each feather perfectly cast in ice.

“No...” Genji’s voice was hushed as he moved to touch her face but flinched back as a loose strand of hair broke away brittlely at his touch.

“In fairness,” said the South Wind, strolling up next to him, “I did mention the North Wind was also called ‘Bone-Chiller.’”

“Change her back,” said Genji, looking over to the North Wind.

“I cannot,” said the North Wind.

“Asking the North Wind to un-freeze something?” said the South Wind, “Man, you really don’t remember anything, do you? Ah well,” she swung an arm around Genji, “On the bright side, you probably won’t even care about all this once you put the amulet on.”

Genji suddenly perked up. “It restores lost states...” he said quietly. He quickly tied off the cord of the amulet.

“Yep! Gotta say, I’m looking forward to you not being all... ‘Oh Valkyrie’ this and ‘Human lives have worth’ that,” said the South Wind, “And once you see the East Wind again--”

Genji looped the chord of the amulet over Mercy’s head.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?” The South Wind blurted out.

Genji gave a somewhat confused look at the South Wind, then he realized that it simply didn’t occur to her that he might use the amulet for anyone other than himself.

“...I’d rather have her in my life than end up like you,” said Genji, looking between the North and South winds. Both the North Wind and the South Wind looked at him with complete perplexity. Pink and green lights bloomed out from the amulet and Genji took a step back as the lights rippled and flickered around Mercy, her braid thawing out and rippling as if she was underwater. The color returned to her cheeks and nose and lips, and her eyes rolled back in her head and her lids closed heavily as she swayed and sank to the floor. He caught her before she could collapse completely.

“Valkyrie...” he spoke to her gently.

“Mm,” she grunted sleepily and he exhaled with some relief.

He looped the amulet back over her head and tossed it across the floor to the North Wind. “It should be good in a thousand years.” He looked up from Mercy to the North and South Wind, “It’s... probably best if we leave.”

“You have no concept of what you’ve wasted,” said the North Wind, “Of what you’re giving up.”

“And I probably never will,” said Genji, hauling Mercy up from the floor and slinging her over his shoulder, “Farewell.”

----

Mercy awoke with her face half-buried in fur and the stars overhead. She grunted a little and felt something press against her cheek rhythmically. She lifted her head slightly and found she was draped across Genji’s back as he padded, in tiger form, through the snows of Thornspire.

She flinched to alertness. “Genji?” she spoke his name. His fur felt warm on the side of her face

“We’re safe,” Genji spoke to her gently, “About as safe as we can be out here.”

“What happened?” said Mercy, “Everything got cold...” she suddenly pushed up, “The amulet! Did you--?”

“I restored what was lost to me,” said Genji.

“So... you remember...?” Mercy’s brow crinkled.

“Absolutely nothing. And I’m fine with that,” said Genji.

Mercy’s eyes trailed out over the mountain peaks. . “So you’re not a druid,” she said quietly, “You’re the Western Wind.”

“What I am is an adventurer, like you,” said Genji. She could feel his voice rumbling up through his back. She trailed a finger down one of the stripes on his side.

Mercy pushed herself up to an upright position straddling his back like a horse. She swayed slightly with lightheadedness. “So you’re not staying with them.”

“I think I’ve found better company,” said Genji.

Mercy gave a slight chuckle before her eyes trailed up to the sky. Crowning the mountains were great ribbons of green and pink light amid a river of stars. She dug her fingers into the thick fur behind Genji’s ear and gave him a hard-knuckled scratch. A pleased chuff rumbled in Genji’s throat and she snickered a little. “So,” she said, looking up at the sky, “Where to next?”

#gency #gencyweek

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livayl · 5 years

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The warmth of comfort that kindled a desire (Par 1)

I actually needed two weeks of building courage to post this because part 2 did slip into the 18+ category. But in this part you´ll only have Marya and Amaziah both exhausted and coming down ill, comforting each other. At least as far as that goes with those two. ;) A little warning for a general description of war in the first paragraph, just skip that one if you want to. And don´t worry, the story is not violent or sad.

And as always, please only re-blog it to other kink blogs, thank you. :)

The silence was one often heard after a long fought battle. Once the seemingly eternal clash of weapons, the song of blood and steel, had ended. When no more magic split the atmosphere with thunderous lightning bolts and all consuming flames. As soon as the last gigantic foe fell, the earth trembling one last time in fear as the ground is crushed by it´s dead weight. Once all crying had stilled, the last breath was choked and even the bravest heartbeat deceased, this was when the silence became more deafening than the loudest roar.

And so their army marched, shrouded in screaming stillness. Ice cracked sharply underneath heavy set steps. A victorious return that still seemed to be too much of a loss.

Dawning had tinted the snow deep lilac and painted the horizon a blazing orange-red. A fiercely smoldering sun rose from its slumber to awaken the coming day still wrapped in haze. The few trees and abandoned houses they passed where still no more than black silhouettes in front of the glowing skyline that shadowed their surroundings with twisted black shades. It was an eery yet appealing atmosphere that Amaziah would have enjoyed if not for the pungent stench of war and ashes that lingered even after leaving the battlefield long behind. Hugging her whole body tightly like an old lover resistant to be left unattended. Her magic; as destructive as it was: The only love she once thought of being exhilarating in all its clashing emotions had now turned to drain her deeply. Carving a big hollow space where it once could almost be described as all pervading. The turns her mind took made her snort derisively and silently chide herself. She really must be tired to indulge in such foggy nonsense instead of keeping watch properly.

"Are you unwell?" A whispered voice asked as a small, gloved hand gently came to rest on her armor clad lower arm. Amaziah swore that she could feel good intentions melting into her like a pleasant warmth radiating through the icy metal trapping her skin. May it be the moments own kind of magic or her wishful imagination.

"Forgive me, just lost in thought. But you seem cold and exhausted, Love." She answered upon looking down, gently tightening the grip around the small figure seated in front of her. Maryas head titled back just enough to shift her hood and release a curled, lustrous mass of hair into the open. The ever present wind entangled those silky wisps even more, making them dance and waft around a shockingly haggard looking face. The still dim light made it hard to tell but Maryas usually bright blue eyes seemed veiled and unfocused with eyelids at half-mast and lashes breathed on by frost. They also were unusual shiny, almost feverish and deeply embedded into the lilac shadows surrounding them. Her face appeared to have lost its color completely, hovering in between flowy coppery waves like a pallid ghost dappled in freckles. Full, paled lips slightly parted under a rosy-tinted, very sniffly nose. Her body slightly swayed, if to balance out the wyverns fast pace or out of exhaustion was hard to tell.

"I do? You should look into a mirror yourself more often." Marya said, her normal melodious speech all rough around the edges. Her body unconsciously pressed closer to the Archmages front, longing for comfort. "Oh I would for sure but there is always this angry, terrifying face that keeps staring back. It is haunting me." That made Marya laugh despite the circumstances which rapidly turned into a rattling coughing fit. "Ugh. Now that was scary too..." She breathed, still panting, and shivery huddled deeper into her coat. "Here, let me try something..." Amaziahs strong yet delicate, already bare fingers gently plucked the fingertips of Maryas fine leather gloves to slowly undress her trembling hands. She could not help but to shudder a little more as her once sun kissed skin was exposed to a sharp frostbite inch by inch. Compared to the exquisitely soft, always warm dragonskin Amaziahs own seemed rough and cold when she entwined their hands with each other. Yet, how cold could a woman be that had defied the searing blaze of a dragon just to defend others. And to give out wonderfully warm clothes, too apparently.

Marya startled a little as a prickling sensation started to spread from her hands up to her arms. It was not unpleasant and seemed vaguely familiar. She concentrated hard enough to recognize her veins resonating with the well known, almost erratic, seething pulse which infused the battle mages body. One that could be as feeble as a freshly ignited candles flame dancing in a breeze, only to grow to a burning, all consuming blaze within a heartbeat should the winds turn. For a second it felt like an overwhelming wave erupting through a bursting volcanoes crater. It flooded her with almost unbearable heat that took her breath away only to lessen to a slowly flowing stream of constant warmth not unlike magma- albeit less deadly. The Archmage; a hardly controlled force of nature. Not that this was something unusual.

"Forgive me, that did not go entirely as planned." "Oh so you did not want to ignite me?" "Mhmm not today at least, no. Does it feel fine now?" Maryas focus went inward once again. The steady flow of magic had now unfurled throughout her whole body. It felt like floating in silky hot healing water with one of those bubbling bath soaps. Of course no one ever would add one of those to a healing basin. Though it should have been something worth consideration. They were perfumed nicely and felt so fizzy and- really really tingly? Tickling her almost too much to enjoy- "apTSCHIh!-ISSCHuh!- hah-ITSCHiiuh! Ihhh-s it supposed to tickle my nnnh-nose?" The sensation had peaked too fast for her to unwind her hands from Amaziahs grip and had left her no choice but to sneeze openly down her lap. "That tickle seemed to be rooted somewhere else." Amaziah replied, still reluctant to loosen her grip despite Maryas increasingly desperate efforts to squirm out of it. "Whah-hah-TSCHih!- hdt~TSCHIU! -apTSCHIEW! What a shame. I thought- hii-IIISCHHiuuh! you found a new battle strategy. SNNFFFff please let go of my hands." "But then you´ll be cold again." "Spitting all over the place is not much better!" Amaziah unwillingly agreed to free one, but not without a ridiculed glance down her still blood stained armor. She wrinkled her brow at that thickly clotted mass of charcoal frost-giant-leftover still coating her whole right side. "I've been splattered with worse today." She paused while Marya cleaned her nose with a gurgling blow that ended with a pair of raspy coughs. "You could try to sleep a little. We will reach the outpost before mid morning and as much as I already despise it, I´m sure there will be plenty more in need of your services."

There had been more indeed. Not enough to be numbered as plenty but a sufficient amount to reduce her still battle deprived mental and physical resources to a shaking, almost nonexistent core. Marya could almost feel Amaziahs worried gaze burning through her back as she had finally been dismissed to retreat to their shared tent. Her mind was drifting in and out of a fevery blur, only vaguely aware of the outstretched arm behind her. She was carried on heavy legs that felt numb with exhaustion, one wavering step after the other. Suddenly, her complete range of vision seemed to loose fight against an ever present, approaching darkness that had patiently lurked in the corners. Focus blackening and eyelids barely lifting anymore, everything so heavy as if smeared with glue, she realized: I´m about to pass out.

When she regained consciousness it was mainly through the slightly irregular rise and fall of her pillow. But pillows did not move or breath. Right? Nor should they feel that solid. She blearily rubbed her face deeper into the thing she recognized as a shoulder connected to a small yet soft curve she knew all to well. Her hand was placed above a slightly hollow, firm belly that contorted in rhythm of every hitch. And there, under a mutually used cozy blanket, was that protective grip on the small of her back she had come to appreciate.

Marya also realized that faint, but oh so familiar smell of bergamot paired with a deep underlining of sandalwood that finally teased her out of that fuzzy warm place her mind must have hidden in. That she was able to discern it also confirmed that she felt much better. Less the stuffy, achy and overall exhausted mess she had been just a blink of an eye ago. Eyes still closed she was still wondering how she had managed to retreat to their shared bed when the former light, yet recurring hitch suddenly accumulated to an urgent gasp. Which then accumulated in a single, violent and full-bodied attempt to stifle what hardly could be contained. The action, while relatively quiet, shook her as well and made her rip open her eyes as she needed to steady herself.

"Woah. Gesundheit!" She exclaimed as the surprise had chased away any afterthought of drifting back to sleep again. Amaziah, who obviously still struggled to compose herself, just looked at her. All teary eyed, disheveled and maybe more than a bit embarrassed. "Apologies." "No worries." Marya giggled as she draped first herself and then the blanket back over the Archmages body. "How do you feel? Did the potion work?" Amaziah asked. "Much better actually. Was I unconscious for long?" "No, a minute or two at best. But you've slept for a few hours, which I am really glad for." "Were you able to sleep, too?" Marya then asked, growing increasingly worried at the heat radiating off the Archmages usually cool body. Now, upon close inspection, there were also lots of tiny, gleaming beads of sweat glistening on her feverishly hued skin. "Mhmm... I did not feel tired." Amaziah replied elusively. "Also, I had to resume my likewise infinite war with the oh so dreaded paperwork" She added, chin nodding to her side where different scrolls and books littered the otherwise unoccupied half of the bed. "Did you at least have a potion? I could brew you one." Marya offered. She was readying herself to get up again but was swiftly and very decisively hindered with a smooth pull and an even softer kiss. "No. Potions are for those who are in need of them. And you still have to rest." "But you are ill, too!" "Hardly." "Of course. As much as I enjoy cuddling with you, your clothes are about to be drenched in sweat. And you almost threw me out of the bed with that sneeze a minute ago!" "I did not sneeze." "Oh? Then that suppressed monstrosity was a seizure. Which is even more worrying. And- ooh look, it is about to happen again!" To that the Archmage almost frantically shook her head, whether in denial or to ward of the inevitable did not seem too clear. Her flaring nostrils, increasingly deepening inhales and knitted browline did speak a much more obvious language though. As did the suddenly handkerchief-clad hands that flew up to cover a harsh sounding: "Huh-EESCCCH-AH..." quickly followed by a rushed, hastily muffled and messy "HEHIIZSSSCH-ue!" that rattled both of them. Amaziah could not help but to cough and blow productively in the aftermath. When she was finished the effort left her nose red rimmed and still vaguely shiny with fluid. "Ugh- I am disgusting, forgive me." The Archmage mumbled, nose already crinkled and twitchy with a newly rising discomfort that made her sit up and turn away. "No, you are ill." Marya soothed and hugged her Love from behind. "With me that-..." Amaziah stopped and raised a vaguely trembling hand towards her lower facial regions. There it came to rest securely caged around her mouth with a thumb and forefinger already hovering around each widened nostril. She felt each slight expansion tremble against her fingertips as the next inhale reached a sudden crescendo. Her grip tightened in a fruitless attempt to squelch her stubborn nose into submission that ended with a painfully held back, entirely unsatisfying release. Quickly followed by an almost agonized groan. "Excuse me...With me that amounts to the same thing, I´m afraid."

#my fic #my oc #elves #Marya #Amaziah #snzfic #sneeze #cold #female

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paladin-andric · 5 years

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Jotober, Day 2: Mindless

For today, we get a rather interesting tale. Set at the dawn of Geralthin as a kingdom, while dragons still fought for control and Godfrey still reigned, humanity runs into its first case of a feral dragon! Extremely rare to be born, they’re not something mankind has ever seen before, and not something they’ll see very often afterwards...

“You called, Vendric?”

A man in fine clothes, carrying sheets of parchment stepped through a pair of oaken doors, eyes darting over to the man by the other exit.

A bearded man in a suit of armor stood with his arms crossed. “Yeah, about time you showed up. You’re gonna want to see this. Follow me.”

The commander turned and left the room, the finely-dressed man following after him.

“Tell me something Joseph,” Vendric spoke while walking, “How extensive are your dealing with dragons?”

“Very,” the other man answered. His tone was one of noticeable resentment. That drew a laugh from the commander.

“Yeah, I know, I know. I don’t envy your position, but I hear you really like getting to examine em’ when there’s no danger involved.”

“Spare corpses, there’s ALWAYS danger involved,” the researcher said dryly. The other man turned and gave him a big grin.

“Not this time.”

Joseph felt a pit in his stomach at that remark.

“Vendric...what did you do?”

“You’ve seen captive dragons before, haven’t ya?”

The researcher stopped in his tracks, voice loud. “No, nuh-uh! You are NOT telling me I’ve gotta deal with some lunatic in chains!”

“Joseph-”

“No, I’m not doing this again! I nearly died last time!”

“I know you’ve dealt with captives before, you fool!” Vendric shouted, “I wouldn’t have called you here if that was the case!”

The pale man sighed and put a hand on his head. “Then why did you ask that question? It only leads to one conclusion.”

“This is a very special case. I told you it was something you had to see for yourself.”

The researcher frowned. “I’ve dealt with liars too, Vendric. It ISN’T your friend, and it DOESN’T want to meet me.”

“It’s not a liar,” the officer said confidently, “It’s, well...I don’t even know WHAT it is.” The confidence had all but faded in a moment. “I was hoping you could work out what it was.”

Now Joseph was curious. Never before had he heard someone speak of a dragon in such a way. Sure, they were a mystery, but everyone knew what they were; giant, magical beasts of legend that destroyed an empire and nearly annihilated the human race, driven by greed and arrogance...except for Gira, of course. That much was common knowledge.

“...you have my attention.”

“Very good. It’s just this way. And don’t worry, like I said, I know this situation is...unique.”

The pair walked through a winding hall of wood and stone, sparse with decoration. This fortress was a strange place for Vendric to call the magical researcher to, but with the knowledge that something involving dragons was being held here, it was starting to make sense.

Soldiers occasionally passed by the pair, patrolling the area and keeping watch. A few threw them some frown and puzzled looks. Something was going on around here.

At last they reached a heavy stone door at a dead end, guarded by two soldiers. The two men silently pulled the heavy doors open outwards, allowing the pair to enter.

Joseph followed the commander inside, eyeing the two soldiers as they watched him go. With only a line of torches to light the way, the researcher groaned as he caught a gleaming reflection of scales in the distance.

“Vendric, I thought you said-”

“Shh...look.”

As Vendric stepped forward, the darkness gave way to a most unusual sight.

Within a cage of metal bars sat...a dragon. Just what Joseph was hoping wouldn’t be there.

The chief factor throwing him for a loop however, was the way it reacted to him.

The creature was quite small, only a little larger than either of the humans. Likely a child. The beast had red scales and golden eyes that seemed...empty. Not in the literal sense, it could see just fine. It was just that it seemed...glassy. Unfocused. It could see the men, but it didn’t seem to understand who they were.

The dragon growled and bared its teeth menacingly.

“What, no threats?” Joseph asked, “No boasting?”

“That’s just the thing, professor,” Vendric said, striding up to the cage and leaning against it, being sure to knock a fist against it for effect. “This thing doesn’t talk. At all.”

As the cage rattled from the hard knock, the dragon turned and hissed at the commander, jumping forward and biting down onto the iron bars. The beast let out further growls as it feebly bit and nibbled on the iron in an attempt to break it. Mature dragons could do so with little effort, but this child had a lot of growing to do…

“What the hell’s wrong with it?” Joseph asked, “It’s acting like...a dog, or a cat, or something!”

“I was hoping to ask you the same question,” the commander retorted, “Everyone knows these things are smart, a little TOO smart for everyone’s good, I’d say. We found this bugger snooping around in the forest, seemed completely aimless wanderin’ through the trees. It was shocking enough that was caught it, cause we sure as hell knew this wasn’t something anyone had seen before. Called you up right away.”

Joseph crouched down and got a better look at the dragon. The eyes...they were all wrong. Like the wild and erratic gaze of a newt or other lowly lizard. Not something with the intelligence he knew they were supposed to have behind them.

It thrashed against the cage, growling and snarling as it tried to break free but to no avail. It seemed unable to learn that its attempts weren’t working, and never tried anything new.

It was like an alligator with wings.

Vendric gave the other man a puzzled look. “Well?”

“Thing’s… completely mindless!” Joseph concluded. The creature didn’t seem to react to or understand his words at all, either, still scratching and biting the iron bars.

“Right?! That’s what I said! I don’t understand it, not at all. You think this is a new breed or something?” Joseph’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at the wild beast. “Mmm...its physiology is a perfect match. I don’t know, I think...there’s still so much we don’t understand about them. Perhaps if I could run some tests, I might be able to discern...something.”

“Be my guest. I’m eager to find out myself. Now, you’ll be good for Mr. Joseph here, won’t you, ya little runt?!”

A punch to the cage seemed too much for the creature. It roared out in fury and spat out molten flames, barely missing the officer.

“Mother of-”

Vendric tripped and stumbled backwards as he retreated from the ravenous dragon, falling to the ground.

Joseph sprung into action. His hands began to glow as his stance shifted. When the dragon turned to breathe flames his way, it was instead buffeted with a fierce, biting blast of frost. From his hands to the dragon’s face, a ray of pure cold stopped the rampaging thing in its tracks.

What the dragon did next was unexpected.

It reeled and backed away with a sharp yelp, eyes widening in fear. It huddled into the corner furthest from the researcher, whining and cowering as it shook violently.

The reaction made Joseph stop and stare in disbelief. This dragon, a wise and mighty creature of legend...it was acting like a dog that had just been struck by its trainer.

Vendric rose to his feet, dusting off his armor and grumbling angrily. “Stupid, stupid…”

“My God,” Joseph uttered quietly, “It...it IS acting like an animal.”

“Told you,” Vendric returned, “Damn thing...so, what does this mean?”

Joseph inched closer to the cage, which caused the dragon to press itself harder against the corner. The man slowly reached his hand through the bars and toward the dragon it looked frightened, so he spoke with a soft voice, like he did with animals.

“Easy,” he whispered, “Easy. It’s okay.”

The dragon looked at the hand with some apprehension, not moving for the moment.

“It’s okay,” Joseph continued, “Take it easy. You’re safe.”

The dragon paused for a moment before craning its neck forward, and, to everyone’s surprise...it sniffed at him cautiously.

“See? Everything’s okay. Just take it easy, alright?”

He pulled his hand back, and the dragon slowly moved off of the wall and into the center of the cramped cell. It was no longer terrified, but still looked scared and unsure of what to do.

Joseph sighed and shook his head. “Well, commander...it means I have a long week ahead of me, that’s for sure.”

Tag list: @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad, @lady-redshield-writes, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @sheralynnramsey, @tawnywrites, @writer-on-time, @oceanwriter, @zwergis-spilledink, @fluffpiggy, @elliewritesfantasy, @homesteadchronicles, @laurenwastestimewriting, @elaynab-writing, @the-ichor-of-ruination, @candy687, @fierywords, @shewrites-sometimes, @nerds-and-nebulae, @purpleshadows1989

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mathiaskillmaster · 5 years

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Rebirth of the Dragon (After GOT / Daenerys Targaryen) Part 10

Westeros, King's Landing In the capital of the six kingdoms, an atmosphere and an increasingly palpable tension had been felt over the weeks in the red keep. Tyrion had learned, through the mouths of the other members of the small council, that King Bran had recently been completely isolated himself, no longer speaking to anyone, and remaining permanently confined to his quarters. The servants said they were constantly finding his meals in front of his door, without him touching it, and that he had even locked his door from the inside. Davos, Samwell and Brienne had each attempted to knock on his door to get an answer, but the only one they got was a Bran order to leave him alone. Not liking it at all, Tyrion volunteered to try to talk to the king and understand what was going on, but Bronn, as the new master of coins, offered himself in his place, which Tyrion accepted. Bronn had arrived at the door of the king's personal quarters, and once again saw near the door the meal still intact and cold on a silver tray. Bronn knocked softly at the door, waited a few moments, but as he expected, no answer came. Sighing, the master of coins looked briefly at the fact that no one was in sight, and using the tip of his dagger, began to try to unlock the lock. Although it was not used to break into a king's apartment, Bronn was not one to wait and wanted answers now, admitting that he too did not like that taking. After long minutes, he finally managed to open the lock and pushed the door very slowly, noticing that the room was plunged into semi-darkness. _"Majesty?" asked Bronn, without an answer. Although summer was here, he noticed an abnormal freshness in the room, seeing almost steam coming out of his mouth with each breath. As he stepped, a small creak was heard under his boot, and Bronn was surprised to see a very thin layer of frost that had formed on the marble slabs. But before he could wonder how and why, he finally saw Bran, sitting in his armchair, standing with his back to him and standing still, contemplating towards the large window of the room whose curtain had been pulled out completely, preventing the daylight to enter. _"Majesty?" Still no response, or the slightest reaction from Bran except a very slight movement of the head. _ "Your majesty, what are you doing? What are you playing here? Everyone on the small council is worried about you ..... With respect, with all due respect, I will not leave before you tell me clearly what does that mean." Annoyed by the continued freshness and darkness of the room, and Bran's unresponsiveness to his words, Bronn sighed heavily and heading for the window, wanted to open the curtain to let in the sun and the day again. But as he passed, Bronn felt Bran's strong, icy grip grasp his wrist, stopping him and even tearing a grimace of pain. Bronn barely had time to turn around as the cold blade of a dagger pierced his heart, freezing him in the spot. Feeling his blood flowing over his tunic, Bronn could not express a cry of pain, while before him, Bran continued to stare at him, impassive. Bronn's expression, however, shifted into a sense of surprise and fear at the sight of the young king's face, who watched his master of coins stifle before him on the ground, in a pool of blood. Alerted by the noise, Tyrion ran as fast as he could, and reached the door of the king's quarters, which he found wide open. "Bronn? Majest ... ..." began to say the dwarf, but the horror of what he saw interrupted him immediately. Bronn lay, lifeless, on the marble floor, his floor flowing over the slabs, while Bran, very slowly and still standing from behind, rose from his chair. Tyrion was speechless. The fear increased even more when the young king turned to him, the bloody dagger still in his hand. In the dim light of the room, Bran's eyes glowed in a terrifying, icy blue, while the skin of his face and hands had gradually become covered with frozen venules, and his skin had become as pale than a dead person. Essos, Dothraki Sea 2 months later .... The huts in flames .... the bodies of men lying dozens on the ground .... women and children captured and enslaved ..... crying, moans, tears and the smell of blood ..... that's all there was left of a small fishing village in the south of the Dothrak Sea. The feared dothrakis, on their powerful horses were euphoric of such a massacre, was now heading for their new destination towards the East, taking with them their numerous prisoners in the middle of the great grassy plains dancing with the wind and under the overwhelming heat of the midday sun. The former khalasar of Daenerys Targaryen was now led by a new khal, Onro, the latter having self-proclaimed new leader after the death of the dragon queen and have eliminated a rival who also wanted to take power. Other dothrakis challenged this choice and after multiple conflicts that led to many deaths, the khalasar had dispersed into several, each headed by a new leader. Onro now led a khalasar of just over 3,000 riders, having managed to subdue other smaller khalasars after killing their khals in duels. He had survived the battle of Winterfell against the army of the dead, had followed Daenerys during her reconquest of the throne. But secretly, Onro had always been an ambitious warrior who dreamed of taking power and becoming the khal of the khals to rule Essos as a whole. Thus, after returning to the Dothraki Sea with his warriors, Onro had embarked on the project of extending the territory of the dothrakis, while continuing to attack the cities and villages that appeared to him. Advancing proudly at the head of his khalasar, Onro noticed something in the distance that caught his attention, and signaled his bloodriders to stop. He pointed to what he was seeing. In the distance, walking among the hills strewn with tall grass, was moving a human figure, alone and carrying on its shoulders a stick of wood. The lonely traveler hummed merrily, though he noticed the dothraki horde coming towards him, but remained astonishingly calm and smiling. Intrigued by this man advancing alone in the middle of the plains, Onro unsheathed his Arakh, brandishing it with force and ordering his best warriors to follow him. Shen-zoan stopped, without showing the least hint of anxiety, and saw these Dothrakis warriors come to him. But as they approached their new target, Onro and his blood-riders suddenly stopped their advance, seeing coming from the hills behind the traveler, a large troop of men dressed in armor and black helmets, and armed with spears and shields. Grey Worm arrived, followed by the remaining 4000 remaining unsullied he had managed to return to the Queen after announcing the return of the latter to life. With them were Yara, wearing her ironborn queen's armor, and accompanied by her troops who had come with her to Essos, brandishing the proud banner of the Greyjoys. Lady Kinvara also stood at their side, escorted by her warriors from the Fiery Hand. Shen-zoan looked over his shoulder at his friends, then smiled at the dothrakis facing him, making them understand that it was in their interest not to seek the conflict. A very important detail struck the khal Onro. The banners floating in the wind held by some of the unsullied had a coat of arms that Onro knew very well: a red dragon with three heads, on a black background. The bloodriders also noticed this detail and cast a wary eye on each other. Onro clenched his teeth, a bad feeling invading him. A colossal and powerful roar was heard piercing the heavens and thrilling the hearts of all. Looking up at the sky, Onro and his khalasar remained petrified with stupor and fear at the sight of a giant shadow appearing in the sky and covering them with its dark tablecloth, masking the sun. The villagers enslaved by the dothrakis also stared at the same terrified faces. Drogon, like a divine apparition, emerged from the clouds, and slowly but surely, landed on the moor, about ten meters from Onro and his bloodriders and facing them. Onro and his warriors had to keep their horses frightened by the arrival of the huge flying reptile. The stupefaction of Onro and the dothrakis grew all the more at the sight of the young woman who was sitting on the back of the dragon, wearing an elegant ebony dress with dark red hues, her silver hair combed in a tall braid falling on her shoulder, and on her shoulders, two baby dragons, emitting small, shrill roars. Around her waist was now a brown leather belt, and a sheath in which was the sword she had acquired in the fire by the will of the master of light, according to Lady Kinvara. Onro could not believe it with his eyes. Daenerys Targaryen was there, alive and riding her mighty black dragon. At the sight of their khaleesi that all thought dead, the dothrakis remained speechless. Drogon stepped forward, grunting ferociously, while Daenerys, her face closed, turned her gaze to Onro. She knew Onro and had already seen him fighting for her. He was a rather special dothraki, knowing his attraction for strength and power, and his desire to one day dominate others. It seemed that his opportunist side had finally revealed itself, judging by the khalasar he was now leading. Daenerys also glanced at the convoy of villagers who were prisoners, tied up, and forcibly taken away by the dothrakis. This view of prisoners was not to the liking of the Queen of Dragons, who did not hesitate to show her discontent, addressed the Khal Onro in the Dothraki language. _ "Onro .... I admit to being half surprised to find you at the head of my khalasar .... you have always wanted the place of leader." The khal tensed with anger and with his arahk, almost threatening young Queen Targaryen. _ "You should not be here, silver woman ..... your power and your reign are dead ..... it's me now who's ordering! Submit to your new khal, or I'll kill your friends to the last and would force you to look, before raping until your bleeding to death!" Daenerys had listened and sketched a half smile of irony. Was Onro so blind to utter threats in front of a woman riding an adult dragon? He had never been the most clever of the dothrakis, and she still had the evidence today. _ "As you can see ..." Daenerys replied in dothraki "... my reign is not dead, since I stand here in front of you. I came back to claim my place as a legitimate khaleesi of this khalasar!" Onro spat on the ground unrestrained by Queen Targaryen's injunction, and threatened her again. _ "Never again would I obey a whore like you .... I'm the new great khal!" Daenerys remained calm, but gave Onro a gloomy look. _ "I only knew one great khal in my life ..." she proclaimed in front of all the warriors who listened "... and his name was Khal Drogo!" At the mention of her first and late love and husband, Daenerys could notice, in the eyes of some of the bloodriders, that she also knew, a brief moment of hesitation to want the confronted, but the threatening look of Onro in their regard, made them change their minds. They were dothrakis, and would follow the strength of their leader, as their custom. _ "They will never follow you again ..... queen of nothing at all!" Onro spat again, without hesitation. Yara was fuming, feeling the urge to silence him with her ax, just like Grey Worm with his spear. For Daenerys, this time, Onro exceeded the limits and she decided to stop it, once and for all. _ "Dracarys ...." she said very calmly without flinching. Drogon reacted immediately and poured a torrent of roaring flames on Onro and his horse, who did not even have time to react and were both engulfed in the infernal whirlwind. The bloodriders just behind retreated very quickly with their horses, panicked. Onro's howls sounded among the crackling fire, and his horse, on fire, fled the wall of fire, before collapsing dead a few meters away, completely charred and smoking. Onro also appeared screaming and wriggling in all directions, his face and skin disappearing under the flames that licked and blackened his flesh and bones, disintegrating his long hair and melting his arakh like wax. In this vision, Daenerys saw for a brief moment all those whom she had watched burning in the flames of her dragons .... she shuddered with disgust. She had sworn not to do it again to the innocents, but Onro was not one. He had uttered serious but stupid threats against her, her friends, threatening to rape her to the blood while forcing her to watch her allies die, and insulted Drogo's memory, and that Daenerys could not tolerate it. Onro finally collapsed to the ground, the fire continuing to gnaw his body calcined and inert. In front of this, the bloodriders as well as the rest of the khalasar did not attempt anything, while Daenerys, on the back of her dragon, advanced towards them to speak to them. _ "You were my khalasar and have always stayed in. You have followed me beyond the poisoned water to the lands of the iron men and their stone houses! You risked your lives for me against the armies of the dead, and many have never returned! But I assure you, that I, Daenerys stormborn, swear on my honor as well as in front of the mother of mountains herself, that never again will you suffer by my fault! Help me free the peoples of Essos from the tyranny of those who claim to be masters of this world and your lives as they would be the masters of a beaten dog! Come with me, and together, may we built a more just and free world!" Daenerys proclaimed loudly and forcefully, unsheathing her silver blade sword out of her scabbard and brandishing it, shining in the sunlight above her, while Drogon stood on his hind legs, wings spread and uttered a triumphal roar coming to tear the air. Around the queen and her dragon, Grey Worm and the unsullied, struck their spears against their shields in unison, while Yara and the ironborns lifted their arms and howled loudly for their dragon queen. Kinvara and Shen watched with some pride. The khalasar had before him an army, certainly small, but already borrowed from a great force. Their old khal now being reduced to a pile of coal on the ground, the bloodriders, already well acquainted with the young Targaryen woman, gave her new allegiance, brandishing their arakhs and cheering the dragon queen, which then did everything else khalasar. ********* The first thing Daenerys ordered her Dothrakis warriors finally found was to release the many villagers they had captured during the previous looting, and allow them to return home, or to remain as men and women free under the protection of the queen. Daenerys had personally walked to the prisoners and removed the chains from the first of them, showing the others what she was doing for them. Yara, Shen and the unsullied had helped remove the remaining chains. Seeing the faces of these women and children freed from their chains, the spark of hope reborn in their irises and their thanks for taking them under his protection, brought back to Daenerys' heart an ounce of strength, a force she thought never to find again, and the satisfaction of knowing that the woman she had been before was not dead. After reconquering her khalasar, Daenerys was brought to the camp of these, located a little further north in the middle of a large clearing surrounded by hills. Onro's tent, larger and larger than the others, immediately became the new tent of Daenerys that settled there, and immediately released the slave woman she found chained inside upon arrival, and that Onron kept for several weeks as a sex slave. The poor 14-year-old woman from a farming village was abused and beaten. This reinforced Daenerys' conviction that at no time did she regret having put an end to Onro's actions. Lady Kinvara had reassured the former prisoners, telling them who was Daenerys of house Targaryen, and what she would do to make this world a better place, free from slavery. Grey Worm, Yara Greyjoy and Shen-zoan had organized the troops and guards around the camp, particularly reinforcing the number of guards near the Queen's tent. No other assassination attempt was made against her since two months, but caution was warranted. Having gathered the unsullied, the dothrakis and the ironborns in her one and only army, Daenerys had retired a few moments in her new tent, taking care of her two new children. The two baby dragons were standing on a large carved wooden perch, looking around curiously and sometimes making small, shrill grunts. Sitting on the khal's bed, made of comfortable fur and animal skins, Daenerys watched tenderly as the two little dragons discovered their new surroundings. In already two months, they had grown up, being now a little bigger than small dogs. The blue-steel scaled, yellow-eyed baby dragon was a female, with a rather mild temperament, but could sometimes be fierce towards her younger brother. Daenerys had named her Mirrandes, in memory of her deceased and loyal servant and friend, Missandei. Mirrandes was also distinguished by her sleeker and slimmer pace than her brother, but also by longer, curved horns, almost like those of a goat. As for the second baby dragon, with scales in a mixture of beige and light brown, and orange-eyed, had shown a strong character, but above all a faithful fidelity to his mother and sister. This loyalty reminded Daenerys of one particular person who had remained in her heart. She named him Joreas, in memory of the Andal knight Jorah. Joreas had also a little bone horn on his nose. These two new dragons, born also of the stone changed by the fire, and which by the price of the life of two friends and allies close to the queen, could come to life. In a new sense, Daenerys thought that the sacrifices of Missandei and Jorah had not been in vain, although she would obviously wished to have never lose them. Magic, no matter which one, always demanded a terrible price, and that, Dany knew only too well for her greater suffering. These two new children in Daenerys' life, however, was a joy she never thought she would ever live again, and she would relive it again with the arrival of the child who continued to grow in her womb. Drogon had very well accepted his new brother and new sister, although a little jealous of Daenerys' attention to them. Drogon was like that, but still remained faithful and protective of those he considers his family, Daenerys had the proof more than once. Seeing that his two new children seemed to be hungry, Daenerys got up to go and get a small piece of raw horse meat in a small bowl, made available to feed the baby dragons at any time. Seeing the little piece of meat in their mother's hand, the two babies came down from their perch, coming eagerly to her and starting to argue for food by trying to give small bites to each other. _ "No, no, no fight, ok? You will have your turn each." Daenerys said like a mother to her children. Mirrandes and Joreas listened attentively and calmed down a little. Smiling, Daenerys placed the little piece of meat on the floor, and with a simple look, made Mirrandes understand what she was waiting from her. The female baby dragon came forward, sniffing the meat with appetite, but dared not eat it raw. Daenerys knew what she had to do, as she once did with Drogon when he was a baby. _ "Dracarys," Daenerys said softly. Mirrandes had heard, staring at her mother with curiosity, but also with a certain glimmer of understanding. Joreas listened too. _ "Dracarys ...." repeated the young woman, encouraging her "daughter" to do so. After a few moments of hesitation, Mirrandes took a little breath, and at the end of several efforts, managed to spit a thin blazing breath, which began to lightly cook the meat. Daenerys cheers softly, congratulating her. Mirrandes could grab the little piece of steaming meat between her jaws and swallow it greedily. It was Joreas' turn, Daenerys getting up to get another piece. But suddenly, Joreas raised her head, taking by a bad feeling, and turned his head towards the back of the tent, growling slightly. The young dragon roared and jumped in front of Daenerys, who gasped with surprise and fear, saw Joreas leap just in front of her, before collapsing heavily at her feet, a dart in his neck. Mirrandes roared at seeing her brother as well. Daenerys, shocked, looked up and then saw a human shadow, hooded, running away behind the tent and disappearing in the distance. She also noticed the little hole that had been pierced in the fabric of the tent, as well as the wooden blowgun, left on the floor. Daenerys understood, her heart beating. Joreas had sensed the danger and interposed in the trajectory of the dart, thus saving his mother from certain death. Daenerys quickly returned to Joreas, whose breathing had become very weak. Mirrandes rubbed her head against her brother, moaning with concern for him. _ "HELP ME! GUARDS!!" Daenerys shouted desperately, helplessly beside her dying son. Without further ado, Yara, Kinvara, Shen-Zoan, Grey Worm and some guards rustled in the tent to see the facts. _ "Shit! What happened?" Yara asked, coming to the dragon queen and making sure she had nothing. _ "The .... the faceless men .... but Joreas .... he interposed to save me and ...." Daenerys stammered in her explanations, and Yara had to calm her down a bit so that she can breathe and think. At the mention of the faceless men, Grey Worm and Shen-zoan did not lose a moment. _ "Search the camp! Search everywhere! Find the killer!" ordered Grey Worm to his unsullied, who obeyed on the spot. Shen-zoan went with them to help them. Alerted by the cries of distress from his mother and the feeling of danger, Drogon arrived in front of the tent, and bending his head, could see Joreas on the ground, and Daenerys and Mirrandes in distress. Drogon groaned in worry, but also in deep anger, searching around him who was responsible for it. Yara wanted to remove the dart from the young dragon's neck, but Kinvara held her back immediately. _ "Do not touch ....." warned the red priestess, who volunteered and removed the tip, examining it carefully and coming to feel its surface. A slight grimace of Kinvara confirmed the worst. _ "Poison ..... venom of manticore ....." Daenerys was destroyed on hearing this, the tears streaming down hiercheeks. She leaned over her dying young dragon, who moaned faintly and struggled to keep his eyes open. Dany's hand gently stroked his muzzle. _ "Joreas ....." she sighed.

#daenerys targaryen #queen daenerys #daenerys deserved better #game of thrones #drogon #kinvara #yara greyjoy #shen-zoan #grey worm #r'hllor #resurrection #A Song of Ice and Fire

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killthebxy · 5 years

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a heap of headcanons, pt. 2:

the defenses of Winterfell + strategy for the battle

let it be known that i am writing these for a simple reason: i am greatly unsatisfied with how the battle was planned for episode 3. my portrayal is always book-based, even in show-only plots and threads, and book!Jon is a brilliant strategist --- he and Robb learned it all from Ned and, while it is true that Jon lacks real war experience when compared to Robb, it is no less true that this boy: 1) helped defend Castle Black from Styr’s attack, even if it meant risking to be the one to kill Ygritte, 2) was charged with the defense of the Wall, at age 16, by Donal Noye who believed him fully capable of such, 3) was named acting commander by maester Aemon, the sagest of men, and 4) held the Wall against Mance Rayder, 100,000 wildlings, mammoths, giants --- not because he had the numbers, but because of his exceptionally intelligent planning of their defenses. add to this the fact that Jaime Lannister, lord commander of the Kingsguard, a man able to battle Ned Stark eye on eye, is at Winterfell, and definitely there is no way i will ever accept how badly this battle was planned. i am no battle specialist myself, but i will try my best to make sense out of this. and also: i headcanon that these strategies were placed together by Jon and Jaime, with Tyrion’s supervision together with Jorah, Grey Worm, Dany’s bloodriders, Sandor, Beric, Tormund, Davos, Theon, and Brienne (i.e., characters with training and experience in battle strategy) --- and then shared, discussed, debated, and fixed as necessary together with everyone else in the castle. no one was left out, no matter their role.

first and foremost, while i do not personally agree with the suicidal plan of “let’s lure in the Night King and use Bran as bait”, i will accept it because otherwise i would have to change literally the entire episode and everyone’s own muses’ actions and this is obviously not my intention. the strategy is what will differ.

the Unsullied are the main line of defense and their purpose is to shield the castle --- if a single wight enters the castle, everything is lost. the Dothraki riders, on the other hand, are purely offensive and they need a vast field to perform their attacks. HOWEVER. whilst they are still the van, they are not pitched head-on towards the wights nor are they tossed carelessly like meat to be slaughtered. they will be placed on the sides of the field, so to speak, so that they can charge into the wights as the wights come forth. so, let’s envision it like this: there is Winterfell, right in front Winterfell the Unsullied legions are placed as a shield. the wights will charge right into this shield, as they are vicious and rely on ruthlessness only, therefore they attack in a block. this will allow, therefore, for the Dothraki to charge into them from the sides, supporting the shield this way and minimizing their deaths as much as possible.

regarding the dragons: this will build on my plotting with @zcldrizes and @perzyr. i write Jon as having no Targaryen blood (except for very few threads plotted otherwise), and he is able to ride Rhaegal only because of a bond they have built ever since Jon arrived at Dragonstone --- Rhaegal chooses Jon for his rider not because of blood, but because of the person Jon is. still, Jon is a much less experienced rider than Dany, and his initial plan is not to go fight in the air. for the initial part of the battle, Jon stays on the ground and supervises and commands from atop Winterfell’s walls, together with Arya and Sansa and Davos. Ghost is with him, because Jon knows his direwolf won’t make a difference in this sort of battlefield --- there is 99% chance Ghost will be butchered, and he will be much more useful within the castle walls, to help shielding from the inside out.

regarding the dragons, pt.2: again based on my plotting with Artie and Daisy --- while Jon stays on the ground for now, Dany flies off with Drogon and Rhaegal. considering everything i state above, too --- they begin burning the waves of wights, again as a way to keep casualties to a minimum, which allows the Dothraki riders to only charge in when it is safe --- and then retreat again, rinse and repeat. eventually, Dany spots the Others by the edge of the wolfswood and steers Drogon that way to go fight. Rhaegal stays behind and continues supporting the forces on the ground because 1) he refuses to fight Viserion (this is @perzyr‘s beautiful headcanon, with a lot more detail and depth to it than i am exploring here), and 2) he refuses to abandon Jon. after some moments of airborne fighting, Dany realizes she will be unable to bring down Viserion on her own and this is when she returns for Jon --- in this moment, Jon and Rhaegal together decide to go fight as well, and this is when everything else happens like we see unfolding in the episode.

on the other hand, this when the odds start becoming very tilted against everyone fighting on the ground. with the dragons gone off to fight Viserion, the armies do not have that protection anymore --- and they are greatly outnumbered by the wights. this is when the retreat begins.

unlike what we see in the episode, the walls are very well prepared to deal with wights trying to climb up --- this is literally what Jon had to face when defending the Wall, and he’ll put all this knowledge and experience to good use. atop the walls, there are boulders and scorpions and barrels filled with stone and ice and more barrels of oil and torches. everyone there is armed with longbow or crossbow, and fire arrows.

in the meanwhile, however, something else happens that definitely ruins all these preparations --- the moment when the Night King, after being knocked off Viserion and now face to face with Jon, rises all the dead soldiers. because this means there is now wights within the castle walls, no matter what.

regarding the crypts: i had a thought of headcanoning that, rather than the crypts, Jon would have everyone gathered at the great keep --- because he is not stupid, and he knows the crypts are an accident waiting to happen, as soon as the Night King brings up his arms. however i ultimately chose not to because 1) again, it is not my intention to change half the episode for everyone, and 2) in theory, the crypts ARE the safest place. not when the dead rise, yes, but at this point the entire castle is overrun and it will make little difference where you are. no place is safe anymore --- when the crypts fall, every other place is already gone before.

one final note regarding Ghost: as i said, he is NOT sent off to fight, as in my personal opinion this makes little sense. he stands by Jon for as long as Jon is on the ground. once Jon leaves with Rhaegal, he instructs Ghost to retreat to the crypts and guard everyone there --- exactly because he knows there is a real risk matters will go downhill. for this battle, Jon had a layer of armor made for Ghost, that covers his torso. around his neck, he wears a collar with spikes made of dragonglass, to both help him defend and attack against the wights. if anyone who writes the Staklings wants to join me in on this, i am more than glad to headcanon that Shaggy, Summer, and Nymeria (and Frost, ft. @clevrest) are also wearing similar armor.

tl;dr: if you look at the outcome, it is pretty much the same as what happens in the episode. a similar number of persons died. HOWEVER. they died because the odds were severely against them and because it was impossible to have done much more --- not because anyone in Winterfell was too stupid to properly plan this battle.

#GOT spoilers #long post #「ᵐᵉᵗᵃ ᵗᵃᵍ」ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʳᵒʷ ᶤˢ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵃᵛᵉᶰ'ˢ ᵖᵒᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵘˢᶤᶰ #「ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃᶰᵒᶰ」ᶰᵒ ˢᵗᵃʳᵏ; ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵈᶤᵉ ˡᶤᵏᵉ ᵒᶰᵉ

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qethnehzul · 6 years

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Forget Me Not

[Conversations, presumably, are in dovahzul. Words: >4k

Snippets from various conversations across time between Krosis and his patron dragon, Gruthrathlir.

Characters: Nonvul [Krosis], Gruthrathlir

Warnings: None]

The cold winds that covered the temple grounds that signed their esteemed patron’s arrival didn’t feel nearly as frigid as they usually did. Nonvul had been pacing back and forth on the open plaza where his patron was offered sacrifices when the great beast decided to pay him a visit.

Nonvul watched as the magnificent dragon descended down onto his perch, landing with a gentle gust of powder snow that rattled the gold decorations on his robes. He bowed deeply to the beast, awaiting the rattle of Gruthrathlir’s scales to tell him he could rise.

“Nonvul,” Gruthrathlir rumbled, tucking his wings in to his sides.

“Lord Gruthrathlir. Welcome, as always,” Nonvul replied, straightening his back out.

Formalities aside, the dragon lowered his head down to Nonvul’s level. “You pace. Does something plague you?” the dragon questioned, a hint of concern in his booming voice.

Nonvul felt his face flush under the mask, and rapidly he shook his head. “No, no, not at all milord. Nothing plagues me,” he assured the dragon.

His voice told otherwise. Gruthrathlir rumbled, stretching out a wing to climb down onto the ground. He pushed his giant head forward, snout pressing against the metal of Nonvul’s robes. “Lies. What ails you?”

Nonvul swayed with the force of the dragon’s gentle push, taking a step back to right himself. He took a deep breath, reaching up to gently cup the dragon’s lower jaw in his hands. His mind searched for the words in dovahzul while Gruthrathlir waited patiently, frigid air from his nostrils causing the fur on his robes to frost over with each breath. “Oh, i’m a fool Lord Gruthrathlir,” he whispered, hanging his head.

Gruthrathlir lifted his snout up, pushing at Nonvul’s mask for him to remove it. Nonvul obeyed, pulling the slab of bronze off before looking up at the dragon with worried eyes. The dragon pulled back, observing the man in the dim light of the moons. His head tilted to the side, settling down against the stone. “Has my priest made a mistake?”

Nonvul exhaled, lowering his head. He watched as Gruthrathlir’s tail curled around, enclosing him in the dragon’s grip. “I do not know. I know that I have, but I do not feel as though it is a mistake,” he said softly.

It was a mistake. He knew that. He was a priest, a high priest, a priest with a mask - it was forbidden for him to entertain relationships, let alone with another priest, another high priest, another masked priest. Their relationship was punishable by death and worse. If anyone were to find out… Nonvul’s heart twisted. Things would not end well, and he could not bare the thought of bringing such a blow to Miraak.

But in the same breath, the thought of the other priest… it made his heart quiver. The way Miraak, the glorious, wonderful, great Miraak, had looked at him… Nonvul felt his cheeks fluster. His mind had been fully unable to stop remembering how he’d felt a few days prior, when he’d been pinned over the edge of the hot springs under his beloved mentor and what had been exchanged between them.

“It is not like my priest to hide his thoughts,” Gruthrathlir mused. “It is not like my priest to make mistakes. Is one to worry about such?” He questioned.

Nonvul pursed his lips, before shaking his head again. “No, no,” he said again quickly, reaching up his free hand to the dragon. “No, it… It is nothing to worry about. I promise you. I would do nothing to worry you, milord, or to cause you dishonor or harm.” His voice cracked a bit, and he cursed himself for being unable to lie about it. Gruthrathlir sorted out cold air, and Nonvul shamefully looked to the ground. He knew he shared a close bond with his patron, but he feared what the dragon might do to find he was breaking the rules. He knew what the likely outcome could be, and it scared him. “I beg you for your forgiveness, for I have been weak milord,” Nonvul spoke, dropping to his knees before the dragon.

Gruthrathlir’s spines raised up in curiosity, dipping his head down to follow his priest. “Forgiveness cannot be given if one does not know what injury you seek forgiveness for.”

Nonvul felt the dragon’s cold breath ruffle his hair. “I know not if you have words for it, but I am… I long for another. I know I am forbidden from doing so, but I cannot help it. I am weak.”

The dragon paused, before letting out a low chuckle. “Mm, you are… as your kind call it, in ‘love’?”

Nonvul tensed. Yes. He was. He was absolutely, head over heels in love. His stupid little harbored crush he never, ever dreamed of being truly a possibility had come true, and his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest to even think about his new lover. Slowly, Nonvul nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly, biting the inside of his cheek as he braced himself for the worst. He was in love, but he would not lie to his patron. “Will you punish me for such?”

Gruthrathlir’s cool gaze lingered on Nonvul for a long moment, before his large head came to settle against Nonvul’s chest. “And make sorrow of my priest? No,” he rumbled. “Tell me, my priest, the one that catches your eye such. They make your heart tremble and they make you pace - surely, they must be great to have my priest’s attention,” Gruthrathlir chuckled, the end of his tail twitching like a cat’s.

Nonvul exhaled in relief, setting his mask down on the ground. He reached out, slowly embracing the dragon’s face as he pressed his forehead against the beast’s scaley snout. “Truely, you are just, Lord Gruthrathlir. I am eternally blessed by your patronage,” he sighed, closing his eyes tightly as he felt the dragon press back into his hold. “It… it is Miraak, milord. I have caught his eye as he has caught mine, and he returns my affections.”

Gruthrathlir’s body rumbled under Nonvul’s hold. “Miraak…? The dragonborn?” The dragon questioned, seeming surprised.

Nonvul nodded again. “Yes, milord. I pray that does not displease you.”

The dragon pulled his snout away, before he carefully nipped at Nonvul’s shoulder. The priest winced, but the dragon’s sharp teeth only lightly grazed him through his thick clothing and armor. “My priest seeks only the greatest of partners, as he should. This dragon would be disappointed if he sought any less,” Gruthrathlir spoke, pulling his head back. “So as long as you do not forget your place here, I have no reason to bring punishment upon you. Other dragons may dislike such, but I care not.”

Nonvul exhaled in relief, looking up at his patron. “Thank you, milord. My place will always be at your feet first. Nothing will ever be more important than you,” he said, bowing deeply again. “And your approval means everything to me.” He felt himself relax a bit as he rightened himself out to gaze up at the dragon again.

Nonvul had always been a bright-faced man - though many dragons hated it, it was one of the things Gruthrathlir liked about his servant. But ever since he’d come forward about his relationship with the dragonborn, his mood seemed to only be brighter. It pleased the dragon to see his most faithful so envigored - he had always been unwaveringly a loyal, devout servant, but he had only become more upbeat and faithful since Miraak had stepped closer into his life. Allegiance guide for certain, the dragon thought with a chuckle. Gruthrathlir wouldn’t have allowed for the relationship to continue if it had caused the quality of his servant’s work to decline, but he was rather pleased to see it had only improved it. He understood the displeasure other dragons had in allowing their priests to show devotion to others, but perhaps that only showed why his priest was superior to theirs.

“Miraak visited again, I see,” the dragon rumbled in amusement as Nonvul strided out onto the plaza.

The priest seemed a bit taken aback, but the smile returned to his face as quickly as always. “He did. I pray that has not displeased you.”

“I am only displeased that he did not pay me a visit,” the dragon rumbled, scales rattling, but Nonvul knew his patron was not truly upset with it.

“I tried. I’m afraid he is… worried about being here at times,” Nonvul admitted, taking his seat on the altar before the dragon’s perch.

The dragon tilted his head to the side. “The priest worries?”

Nonvul’s gaze dropped a bit. “He does not wish to let anyone see us, anything from us. He is afraid of punishment.”

Gruthrathlir rumbled lowly. “Zokgaaftu does not share my sentiment?”

Nonvul’s brow furrowed. “He does not talk to his patron like you and I do. He fears that if even a servant sees us, we may face punishment. He speaks often of High Priest Konahrik’s enforcement of the rules and tradition.”

Gruthrathlir hummed, his tail swaying slowly. “This displeases you.”

Nonvul nodded, looking at the ground. “I understand it. But I wish it did not have to be so.”

The dragon knew that even if he did not care for his priest’s relationship, other dragons might - especially Zokgaaftu. Even if Nonvul might be safe under his wing, it would not prevent backlash of other sorts.

It was strange when Nonvul’s usual chatter of his secret meetings with his lover began to lose their warmth, when his tone grew flatter, his gaze drifted more to the side, the smile on his face seemed less alive. When his conversations became less and less about his secret love, and more and more when the topic seemed to extinguish the light in Nonvul’s eyes that Gruthrathlir didn’t think would ever dwindle. It made his white scales bristle. His priest slowed down, and though his work never faltered the bright man the dragon had come to know as his beloved priest seemed to be replaced with a husk.

“He has hurt you.”

Nonvul did not look up at the dragon. “I have hurt myself,” he whispered back.

The dragon rumbled angrily, spines flaring along his back. “I will devour him. He has hurt my priest.”

Nonvul closed his eyes tightly. “You cannot,” he dared to say, swallowing dryly. “Nobody… they can’t know. We were never supposed to be together in the first place.”

Gruthrathlir’s claws dug into the stone above, sending ice and rock cascading down in his fury. Nonvul was right. To turn on Miraak would only lead to Nonvul’s punishment as well, if not his own at the claws of Zokgaaftu. The dragon exhaled a stream of frost from his nostrils in frustration. Perhaps he should not have let Nonvul pursue the other priest. Perhaps he now truly understood why other dragons forbid such a thing. If he were to punish Miraak, all others would find out what he’d known about and allowed. The dragon let out a sharp bellow, making the priest below him flinch. “Foolish,” the dragon snarled, pulling his head back. “My priest is plenty. He is a fool for harming you.” His talons shifted back and forth on the rock, anxious that he could do nothing to remedy the situation. “Does the priest pursue another?”

Nonvul grimaced. “I do not know. I see High Priest Zahkriisos with him during meetings, and I have heard that he… spends his days now with her, Master Ahzidal, and High Priest Dukaan. They say he does not leave Solstheim often now.”

Gruthrathlir paced back and forth on his perch. “Zahkriisos? The priest of Mahkofus? He is a fool! You best her in every way,” he insisted, rolling his head in frustration. He didn’t know what he was trying to achieve, but he did not like to see Nonvul wither because of Miraak.

Nonvul shook his head. “It… milord, please… do not fret over this. That is his choice. If that is what pleases him now…” Nonvul felt the words turn sour in his mouth, “then… then may he be happy there. I was not enough.”

Gruthrathlir let out another bellow, shaking snow and ice off of the surrounding rocks. “Not enough?” The dragon roared. His tail lashed around, cutting a chunk out of a rock behind him.

Nonvul raised his hands. “Please, milord. I did not… I did not mean to anger you,” he spoke, trying not to choke on his words. He dared to look up at the dragon, and Gruthrathlir could see the pain in his teary eyes. “Please… I will not speak of him, or it, again. I should never have pursued it in the first place. Please forgive me,” Nonvul begged, sliding off of the bench to sink to his knees in the snow. His back bowed as he threw his hands forward, pressing his forehead into the snow as he deepened his bow.

Gruthrathlir fell still. He could hear the soft sob from the priest as he kneeled there, and slowly the dragon moved to descend from his perch. His wings came to shelter the priest, curling his head down to rest it against the man’s body. “He has hurt my priest, I cannot forgive that. Dimmed a burning fire and reduced it to a ember. I cannot forgive that,” Gruthrathlir spoke, moving to nuzzle his face under Nonvul’s body.

The priest reached out and hugged onto his snout tightly, eyes squeezed tight. “I’m sorry Gruthrathlir. I should do better. I’m sorry I have only grown weak from this.”

The dragon nuzzled into his chest slowly, pushing him back against the altar. “Not weak. Never weak. Only wounded. Wounds heal. My priest is not weak.”

Nonvul took a deep breath, running his hands along the soft scales under Gruthrathlir’s jaw. “No god could be kinder than you to forgive blunders like mine,” he whispered.

“No servant could replace one such as you,” Gruthrathlir replied, unsure of how else to speak his feelings. Nonvul was not like others. Nonvul was his priest, and he could not be replaced. None before him could even come close. And he felt pain to see his priest grieving.

Nonvul snorted weakly. “Surely, any could be better than I at this point. I must be disappointing you deeply.”

The dragon chuckled. “If I was displeased with you, I might have eaten you,” he teased, opening his mouth to gently place his teeth around Nonvul’s shoulder. He did not bite down though, and quickly let go to press his face against the man’s chest again. “This wound is not fatal. You will heal. You will burn bright again,” the dragon assured, before finally pulling his face away.

Nonvul looked up at the dragon, leaning back against the altar. “I pray that I will. If all else fails, I will for you milord.”

The wail that escaped the priest’s throat boiled the rage in the dragon’s chest. Gruthrathlir had hardly landed on the ground before Nonvul’s arms were around his snout, the human’s face pressed against the scales as hot tears cascaded down his face. The man let out another weak cry as the dragon coiled his body around the priest’s.

They had been betrayed. And he had lead the betrayal.

And he was gone now.

Nonvul’s body leaned heavily against Gruthrathlir’s snout as his wings wrapped around him to block out the snow and the sound of the man’s grieving. Gruthrathlir took the silence as a chance to understand himself what had happened.

Miraak had been plotting to betray them. He understood now that, perhaps, that was what had caused him to leave his priest. Nonvul would never have betrayed the dragons, and he was right to have known Nonvul was far more faithful, the dragon bitterly realized. His priest was as righteous and loyal as he had always said, and far more than that so-called allegiance guide. Nonvul remained truthful to his name. Amidst the anger, he felt proud his priest had not succumbed to the traitor’s ranks. But in that, he understood his priest’s pain. Nonvul had believed. Nonvul had so deeply believed in Miraak, in what he was named for, in him. Gruthrathlir begrudgingly admitted to himself that he had too at first.

At least nineteen of his brethren had fallen and been devoured by Miraak at his last stand before he was slain, along with his three treacherous companions. Gruthrathlir could not swallow the loss of so many of his kin. Gone. Dead. Truly gone. It made him tremble with rage. He had not been told of the attack, and he was certain he would have joined if he had known. But as much as he wished to believe he would have been strong enough not to fall to the traitor, he knew full well that may not have been the case. Zokgaaftu had fought against his brethren, enslaved by some power of Miraak’s. Miraak had turned dragons against their own kin. He had severed the land itself.

Nonvul’s grip tightened on Gruthrathlir’s snout.

Nonvul had courted a dangerous beast.

Gruthrathlir did not need to say anything to the man. He simply remained there with his face pressed into the priest’s robes, sheltering him from the storm. What words could encompass either’s pain anyways?

“Krosis.”

This time, it was not an apology. It was not an expression of their pain.

It was his name.

Krosis’s heavy gaze stared at the snow below Gruthrathlir’s perch, before he slowly nodded. “Yes, milord?” His voice was as empty as the winds around them.

Gruthrathlir’s scales bristled. His priest, his beloved priest. Nonvul, the noble, the honorable, with his bronze mask and his brightness, his eager loyalty and servitude.

They had not approached him and asked him, his patron, for permission. They had not asked him to rename his priest. No, they had stripped that from him. They had stripped the dragon of his own honor as they stripped his darling priest of his own, by taking his name and making him an apology.

Gruthrathlir’s anger boiled once more. In the aftermath of their betrayal, while all were still reeling from the pain and loss of brethren and healing from their treachery, the hidden relationship had come to light, and though no punishment would come the dragon and his priest had become laughing stocks of the others.

How could you let your priest mingle with such a traitor? How could you have let him break the rules? Your priest was with the traitors. Perhaps he could be one of them. At least he was foolish enough to be with one. You were foolish enough to allow it.

Accusations. Sneers. Jabs.

Gruthrathlir did not waver. He didn’t care to. The other dragons would be angry at anything they could now. Miraak was dead, and far out of their grasps. Perhaps Gruthrathlir was the closest thing they had left to the snake for them to turn their anger towards. It was misplaced, but Gruthrathlir would weather it.

But his priest…

Gruthrathlir descended to the ground as he always had.

Krosis. The betrayal ripped open a wound that was still healing and tore it deeper. Gruthrathlir wondered if perhaps this time it would be fatal, or if his dear priest would simply bleed out.

He did not press his snout to the priest. He held it at arm’s length, staring down at the man’s mask. Did he blame him for this?

Slowly, Krosis reached a hand out. He did not place it on his patron’s face as he used to, but instead left it to linger just a few inches away. Did his patron hate him?

Gruthrathlir pressed his snout against the man’s hand, pushing it back until his face came to rest against the man again. Slowly, Krosis wrapped his arms around Gruthrathlir, the cold mask pressing against the scales instead of his warm skin.

“I have failed you,” he whispered, voice metallic under the mask.

“You have never failed me,” the dragon replied, his voice much softer than once could imagine from a dragon. “Never.”

Krosis’s heart ached. His patron never gave up on him. Somehow, despite it all, his patron always believed in him. He was never deserving of such a just god. “There is talk of rebellion,” he whispered, tightening his grip on the dragon’s face.

“I know,” Gruthrathlir replied softly. “My brothers laugh of it. They believe no such harm could come of it.”

“Do you believe that?”

“No.”

Wind howled through the stones.

Miraak’s rebellion had sparked something in the hearts of others. Or, perhaps, it had simply shown others their chance. Krosis and Gruthrathlir were not fools. Their time was starting to run short.

“I will remain by your side until the very end, Lord Gruthrathlir,” Krosis ensured, his voice still strained. He was trying to redeem himself. Trying to prove he was not so shameful.

Gruthrathlir did not need it. His priest had never needed redemption. “As I know you will,” the dragon rumbled. “Until the end.”

Through the fighting that broke out in their temple.

Through the long years of marching their people to safety.

Until Krosis’s body fell for the last time in the blood-soaked snow.

Until his beloved priest was taken into the arms of his people to be buried.

Until his sarcophagus had been abandoned at the top of Shearpoint.

Until his beloved priest’s slayers came to slay him as well.

Gruthrathlir promised.

His people were a loss. They had fled at the sight of their pursuers, leaving Krosis’s sarcophagus ajar in the snow where they’d simply dropped it and ran. It had taken the dragon to right it and push the lid back on over his companion before he shoved it to the side of a old word wall.

I will see you again.

Even as the painful jab of a spear broke through his chest and sundered the last breath from him, Gruthrathlir clung to those words. They had lost this fight, but another day…

His white scales glistened with blood in the weak rays of light that pierced through the clouds overhead as he made his last few limps to where the sarcophagus had been hidden under a pile of snow. The great beast collapsed, his head coming to rest a few feet from his companion’s resting place. Men gathered closer towards him, weapons pointed and ready to attack again.

The dragon’s eyes closed. That was fine. He would be there. He had buried his priest under the snow and a layer of ice so that their pursuers might leave it be.

He would see him again. That he was sure of. He would see him again when he awoke again.

The thought brought a smile to the dragon’s lips as he exhaled his last breath.

#tongues verse - drabble #writing #drabble #characters:#gruthrathlir #krosis #warnings:#none

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politicalmamaduck · 6 years

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the winter maid and the dragon queen

The tongues would wag, the singers would sing their songs, but Daenerys Targaryen and Sansa Stark cared nothing for gossip. Let them sing of the Maid of Winter and the Mother of Dragons.

A gift for @lenuca in honor of her donation to @reylotrashcompactor‘s GoFundMe. My deepest gratitude to @lenuca for her generosity, and to @rapturousaurora for her beta help in making this fic the best it could be. Please contact me if you are interested in receiving a gift fic in honor of a donation.

Read it on ao3 here.

The entire world had heard tell of the Dragon Queen, or so it seemed.

Even atop the Giant’s Lance in the Eyrie, Alayne Stone heard about dragons and queer happenings in the east, of a Dothraki horde set to invade and pillage Westeros. The Lords of the Vale thought nothing of having their conversations with Lord Baelish with his beautiful bastard daughter at the back of the room, gracefully refilling their glasses. She nearly spilled the wine when it was mentioned that Tyrion Lannister was said to be among Daenerys Targaryen’s retinue, but thankfully, no one noticed.

It was said she was beautiful, a true Targaryen with silver hair and violet eyes and her fearsome dragons and mounted Dothraki warriors to protect her.

Alayne Stone and her bastard’s armor were long gone, however, lost to the sands of time in the same manner as the naive young maiden who believed in the chivalry and honor of knights. After reclaiming her birthright and leading the Eyrie’s host north, the woman was known once more as Sansa Stark.

Winter had come, and the lords of the North had rallied despite the treachery of the Boltons to defend Ned Stark’s daughters in Winterfell and his bastard at the Wall. The war was now over, the Battle for the Dawn had been won, and there were so few people left to rebuild. The stores were empty, the fields crusted with frozen blood, and women and children thin and pale.

She would go south to King’s Landing to account for Winterfell when the roads were passable again, and treat with the Dragon Queen, beg her for help and supplies. Surely her horde of strong Dothraki riders would be able to use their mounts to plow the fields, to travel widely across the lands that their Queen, or Khaleesi, now claimed as her own.

Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell now, her sister Arya and brothers Bran and Rickon by her side. Jon remained at the Wall, though he knew there would always be a place for him at the high table. They could not lose themselves in the sorrows of the past, though they mourned their parents and their brother Robb. The pack would survive, as would the North. Sansa had learned about the reserves of strength she bore within her under her skin of steel; she now could and would do anything to survive and protect her loved ones, even traveling south to speak for Winterfell before the Mother of Dragons in the keep that still haunted her dreams.

Not much remained of King’s Landing after the ravages of war and greyscale, both courtesy of the mummer’s dragon, but Daenerys Targaryen would honor the true dragons that belonged in her ancestors’ halls nonetheless. She set the Dothraki and the Unsullied to rebuilding, and sent her trusted advisors to treat with the remaining Great Houses.

There was so much to be done, and seemingly never enough time or resources to do it. The treasury was empty, having been drained by the Lannisters and by the mismanagement of one Lord Baelish. The smallfolk had no grain to plant their fields before the winter frost, and what fields were planted were destroyed more often than not. Famine lurked around every corner, as well as unrest from those who did not trust a foreign queen with followers they deemed barbaric.

When her highborn guests finally arrived, during a light thaw, she was ill at ease, for Daenerys had heard tell of the liberties taken at the Usurper’s court, and at the courts of his sons after him. She heard about the abuses suffered by the Lady Stark, and the disgrace of so many noble families. There would be no bloodshed on her account, but she knew that Sansa Stark had no reason to trust her. Nor did Willas Tyrell, arrived from Highgarden, proud and tall despite his crippled leg.

The wolf maid certainly was beautiful, and remembered her courtesies well. Her smile did not reach her eyes, however, and Daenerys knew Sansa’s heart ached to be in King’s Landing once more. Her eldest brother lost his head fighting for the North, and King’s Landing held nothing but painful memories of the Lannisters and her father’s murder. Sadness weighed on her, seemingly enveloping her like the heavy grey winter cloak she wore. The North suffered in a different vein than did the south, stricken by the hordes of Others coming down from beyond the Wall. Daenerys saw the devastation from dragonback, having turned her attentions north after claiming King’s Landing for House Targaryen once more. Tyrion Lannister, having proven himself to her, governed as Hand of the King in her absence, with Missandei and Ser Barristan by his side.

At the Wall she met the Lady Stark’s bastard half brother, and heard from his own lips what horrors his family had borne.

It was with this in mind that when Sansa Stark knelt before her, she raised her up with her own hands and kissed her direwolf ring in turn.

“Lady Sansa, I thank you for honoring us with your presence here today. I know it is a difficult journey south in the winter, made even more difficult by the memories you carry from this place. But I am grateful to have you to represent your House, and to tell us how we can best help the North rebuild. House Stark was long a treasured ally of House Targaryen, and I mean to honor that alliance and the memory of your lost family members.”

Sansa nodded, standing elegantly and straight before all assembled. She was a tall woman, bearing the gravitas of the Starks with the coloring of the Tullys.

“I thank you for your warm welcome, Your Grace,” she replied. “There is much yet to be done in the North; the women and children gathered at Winterfell have borne much hardship in addition to the loss of their men in the war against the Others. I ask that you honor my brother Jon’s alliance with the wildling folk, and allow them to remain south of the Wall as my vassals. I also ask that you send some of your troops North, to help us rebuild and to plant what we can in this slight thaw.”

“It shall be done,” Daenerys said, stepping down from the Iron Throne and raising Sansa up once more.

“We shall continue discussing our plans for both the North and South tomorrow. You must be hungry and tired after your long journey, Lady Stark. We invite you to dine with us tonight, and then you may retire and see to your own comfort, as it suits you.”

To Daenerys’s great relief, Sansa readily agreed to join her for dinner after freshening herself in the suite provided for her.

Sansa was relieved that the chambers provided for her were not the same ones in which she stayed when she was last in King’s Landing.

“I am told these were once Queen Rhaella’s chambers,” a young Dothraki woman informed Sansa. Though the girl who would have swooned at such an honor was long gone, Sansa was still grateful for it. She did have to admit she was looking forward to a hot bath after dinner with Daenerys, and hoped that there would not be a great many people in attendance.

Over dinner, the two women became better acquainted. At first, neither was sure where to begin their conversation, as there was so much to discuss and yet so much they did not wish to discuss, from Sansa’s captivity to Daenerys’s fears. They both had borne many losses, and had overcome them, and so eventually were able to find common ground.

“I admire your grace and strength, Lady Stark,” Daenerys said as they enjoyed a now rare glass of Arbor gold.

“Call me Sansa, please, Your Grace,” Sansa said.

Daenerys nodded and raised her goblet. “To a new alliance, then, Sansa.”

Sansa raised her glass in turn. “To a new alliance.”

…

Time seemed to pass faster in King’s Landing. Perhaps it was that there was so much to do, or perhaps it was that it was not as cold as in the North, but several days had passed and Sansa had not yet made her plans to return to Winterfell.

The smallfolk on the street whispered about the strange new world in which they lived where two women controlled Westeros.

“The wolf maid and the dragon queen!” they exclaimed, watching overhead for the dragons and locking their doors at night for fear of wolves or Others. It was feared that the Stark she-wolf brought horrors down from the North with her, just as they had feared the Dothraki and Unsullied. And each day that went by without a massacre turned the exclamations and whispers into begrudging respect for the dragon and wolf women.

Daenerys had spoken truly when she told Sansa she admired her at their first dinner. She was a capable administrator, having a good head for sums and a calm demeanor for negotiation.

In turn, Sansa learned to admire Daenerys, who also had been forced into difficult marriages with men she did not love and had suffered the loss of her only family. They shared stories of their experiences each night over dinner, learning to trust and rely on each other.

Sansa watched from a high tower in the Red Keep as a contingent of Dothraki and Unsullied took the Kingsroad north. Daenerys kept her word, and Sansa would do the same. Ned Stark’s daughter could do no less. Sansa had learned much in the years since she first went to King’s Landing, and she thought now that her parents would be proud of her and her siblings. There was once again a Stark in Winterfell; the pack had survived. Now, she could look past mere survival, and plan for the future with the Queen of Westeros. Her thoughts and plans excited her, and for the first time in far too long, Sansa Stark truly smiled. Surviving would turn to thriving, soon enough, and their dreams of spring would come to fruition.

Daenerys had told herself her entire life that she was the blood of the dragon, and so she must be strong. She was strong for the Dothraki, strong for the Unsullied, strong for Missandei and Barristan, strong for the Meereenese. Now she was strong for the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, and strong for Sansa Stark, who had truly become her friend and confidante. She could not help but wonder, however, if she could be more than just strong now. Despite the maegi’s curse and her lost husbands, Daenerys did not want to spend the rest of her life alone, strong and untouchable atop the Iron Throne. She knew Sansa felt the same, yet neither woman would settle for just any man from a good House as their wedded husband. Both women valued their independence and their power far too much.

Both women went to bed that night with songs on their lips and thoughts of the other in their minds and hearts.

I loved a maid as red as autumn with sunset in her hair...

I loved a maid as white as winter with moonglow in her hair...

…

Their peace was sealed with a kiss late one night atop the battlements, a full moon shining high in the sky. The air was cold, but both Sansa and Daenerys had warm winter furs on, furs that were soon abandoned to the floor in Daenerys’s chamber, a great fire crackling and roaring on the hearth.

Several years had passed since Irri slipped into Dany’s bed and they made love. A woman’s love was different from a man’s, but no less pleasurable, if more gentle. Dany longed for her lost Drogo when she made love to Irri, but with Sansa, it was something else entirely. Her skin glowed pale as the moonlight; her lips were red as Highgarden’s storied roses. Daenerys loved to twine her fingers in Sansa’s long auburn locks, while Sansa enjoyed braiding her hair.

The tongues would wag, the singers would sing their songs, but Daenerys Targaryen and Sansa Stark cared nothing for gossip. Let them sing of the Maid of Winter and the Mother of Dragons, for their love would change a land ripe for healing and renewal.

#sansa x daenerys #daensa #Sansa Stark #daenerys targaryen #women of asoiaf #asoiaf #game of thrones #fan fiction #my writing #femslash #lenuca #tumblr friends

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nintendotreehouse · 7 years

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Exploring Skyrim Part I: Welcome to Skyrim

In the 100+ hours I’ve clocked in The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild game, at least 70 were spent just exploring and discovering fun ways to interact with everything (tossing bombs into Bokoblin caves causes such lovely chaos). I couldn’t help being reminded of another game I’ve spent hundreds of hours doing whatever I want to in: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. Experiences vary, of course, but given my “do everything” playstyle, it’s hard not to see similarities peek through.

Dragons spawn randomly, though you can also find their lairs scattered throughout the continent.

Both games feature robust worlds to explore. Both let you do what you want, when you want. And both offer up a ton of content beyond the main story. Delve into dungeons packed with enemies and traps. Try to discover the right mix of materials to create effective (and lucrative) potions. Cook up delectable dishes to help restore stamina and health. Dive into the story and the many side-quests. Or just hunt out new locations (and then use them to fast-travel around the map). There’s always something to do!

This series of posts will dive into some important concepts to keep in mind as you head into the world of The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. If you’re a returning fan, we’ve got some Nintendo Switch version exclusive insights (like the aforementioned motion controls) for you, too.

I’ve played a few versions of Skyrim now, but I had some time to kill before The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild DLC packs…and when we started getting builds of Skyrim in for Nintendo Switch, I was drawn back in immediately. It feels natural to be able to carry Skyrim to meetings or sneak in a bit of dungeon crawling during caffeine breaks. As someone who likes to play ranged characters, at first I just wanted to see how aiming a bow with motion controls felt (and I have good news: it feels natural—especially after playing Breath of the Wild). However, motion controls can be disabled if you prefer. But, before long, I was experimenting with battle styles and characters and exploring locations I hadn’t found on previous playthroughs (it helps that the game’s finally portable; maybe I’ll finally 100% the game and add-on content).

Each time I play, the depth of customization, flexibility, and the fact that this huge, open world changes dynamically based on my decisions blows my mind. Whether you are a diehard Elder Scrolls fan or someone dipping your toes in for the first time, you’ve got a heck of an adventure ahead of you, and it’s yours to shape however you like.

Understanding Skills and Archetypes

Your character in Skyrim is VERY customizable, and skills are a big part of that—the time you spend developing your character’s skills determines how effectively you’ll accomplish a wide variety of tasks, from swinging a sword to picking a lock. Using a skill will help raise both the level of that skill and the level of your overall character. The more time you invest in your skills, the more they will improve.

There are 18 different skill trees in the game, and each is associated with one of three archetypes: Mage, Warrior, or Thief. Whichever you choose to develop depends on what sort of character you want to play. I’m generally someone who likes to experiment, so my characters end up with pretty diverse skills, but what works for you might be quite different. Let’s explore your options!

Generally speaking, Mage skills involve an array of spells right at your fingertips. If you want to hurl lighting at your foes, reanimate the dead, or fool your enemies with illusions, you’ll have a (likely literal) blast. Spells can have a very wide range of effects! There are five different types of magic that you can mix and match as you like, each one offering something slightly different than the next.

Magic is a great way to take down Frost Trolls.

Warrior skills involve combat with short- and long-ranged weapons. If you want to snipe enemies with a bow, swing giant two-handed axes, stagger enemies with a shield bash, and be an unstoppable force of heavy armor and steel, this archetype is for you. It’s worth mentioning that certain light armor wearers, such as shielded skirmishers and hawkish archers, fall under this archetype. It offers some great variety.

Glass may not be the first option you think of for armor, but it’s surprisingly durable and gorgeous as well!

Thief skills involve agility, light armor, stealth, and charismatic speech (someone has to sweet talk the merchants for better prices). Archers, assassins, and spellswords lean heavily on these skills, though they will also leverage some abilities from the other two archetypes as well.

So that’s the three archtypes in a nutshell, but the beauty of the game is that they aren’t mutually exclusive. You aren’t forced to stick to just one. A Warrior can cast spells, just as a Mage can swing a battle axe (though they might squish faster if hit by one... Robes can only offer so much armor, after all). And diversification can be helpful! My first time in Skyrim, I decided to go straight melee with no magic. While I got rather skilled at two-handed weapons and blocking, it made it brutal to go up against dragon fire and casters like Hargravens and Necromancers. Many times, the only way I could get close enough was to try taking them down by surprise…with mixed results. Usually it ended with a rather spectacular critical blow that would leave my corpse sprawled in the snow. Visiting again with my dual wielding assassin meant that I still got my sweet, sweet revenge (and loot) in the end.

One of our video editors, Cait, made one of my favorite builds by mixing skills together to create a fully armored “sneak tank.” In her own words:

“The first time I picked up Skyrim, I wanted to try everything: I found myself blacksmithing, making potions, doing archery, and harboring exotic cheeses and sweet rolls just because I could. During that initial playthrough, I invented my favored class: The Sneak Tank. Imagine, if you will, a Barbarian-style Redguard—heavy armor, giant axe, armed to the teeth—and yet somehow…undetectable. It was utterly laughable, having this stocky woman in Daedric armor sneaking around guards like it’s nothing. To this day, it’s one of my favorite ways to play Skyrim.”

…So, she basically made a ninja who can pull off incredibly stealthy maneuvers while tucked into a mass of heavy plate armor. To understand how she pulled this off, let’s dig a little deeper into the “Perks” of these skills.

Customizing with Perks

Each skill has its own perks, which collectively make up that skill’s “tree.” (Think of a skill as a tree, and the perks become its branches.) Across all the skills, there are over 200 perks to choose from. Each time your character gains a level, you gain a “Perk Point” that you can spend on one (Perk points can be saved or used immediately—it’s totally up to you).

This skill tree, for Two-Handed combat (which falls under the Warrior archetype), shows off the perks “Barbarian” and “Champion’s Stance.”

Each time you gain a level in a particular skill (as opposed to an overall character level), new perks in that skill tree become available for you to choose. However, you may have to invest in some prerequisite perks or level up in that skill before you can select it. For example, an aspiring archer who wants the “Steady Hand” perk that helps with aiming at multiple enemies (by slowing down time) must first have their Archery skill leveled up to 40, the “Overdraw” perk (which increases bow damage), and the “Eagle Eye” perk (which provides zoom while aiming).

It’s not just random encounters in the field. Dragons can attack everything from tiny villages to huge towns.

While you aren’t forced to stay in a skill tree just because you’ve invested points in its perks, keep in mind that, once made, for the most part those choices can’t be undone.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this overview of some basic concepts and how they play into customizing your Skyrim experience. In our next post, we’ll be delving deeper into combat skills and comrades, so check back and see what else you can discover about Skyrim!

—Lindsey N.

#Elder Scrolls V #Skyrim #Nintendo Switch #Nintendo #Treehouse

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thetakenpokemon · 7 years

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Interlude - Return of the Strike Team

[PoV: Jezebel]

Although word spreads quickly within the GoT HQ, being the leader of Purging Light as well as a high-standing member gives me the benefit of learning things far faster than that of others.

Specifically the return of the Strike Team and the other teams that worked with them in the recent attack on a HWDP facility.

I was in my room working on some overdue paperwork before receiving a call from Colossus on my terminal, telling me to report to the ‘Meeting Hall’ immediately.

And so I dropped what I was doing and began making my way over, since if he’s calling for my presence immediately...then it must be very important.

...

Taking a quiet breath I push the door opens of the Meeting Hall, which is a large room containing a giant round table. Sitting at the table I immediately spy Colossus, however there are others accompanying him.

The Strike Team.

The first one that catches my eye at the table is Samantha, also known as Snowstorm. She’s a hybrid between a Salazzle, Aurorus, and Tyrantrum. Her body looks dinosaur in appearance, similar to that of a raptor. Her form is covered in shiny blue scales, her hands and feet ending in sharp claws and talons. On her back is a massive fin that glows with bright colors while her predatory blue eyes watch me as I enter the room.

The second is Godfrey, who goes by the alias of Paladin. Godfrey is a hybrid between that of a Bisharp, Rapidash, and Escavalier. The Bisharp and Rapidash genes have granted him the body that of an armored centaur, the style of said armor resembling that of a knight. The Escavalier genes however show itself by the gray color of his armor, the sharp lance ending on his left arm, and the metal plume poking out from his helmeted head.

The third member of the Strike Team is Jarvis, known for the name of Trojan in the field. He is a very special case of a hybrid, being a cross between a Porygon-Z and Rotom. What makes Jarvis unique is that his body is actually made of pure energy, due to this case he inhabits a mechanical body built in the likeness of a Porygon-Z, constructed by the HWDP themself before his eventual breakout. His frame is built of a bright white metal, his floating head and arms connected by tethers of blue energy. His head swivels at my direction, the two bright blue eyes of light locking onto my form.

And lastly, is the leader of the Strike Team.

Chimera.

Sitting right next to Colossus is his humanoid frame, his features just barely concealed by a blue cloak that covers his entire body. Between them all, he’s the most careful in keeping his appearance hidden. Although many of us already know what he really is, he still tends to keep himself covered out of pure habit.

Out of them all, they share one giant thing in common. They’re all artificial hybrids made by the HWDP, each of them considered elite in their capabilities and thus leading the attacks on the the facilities of the organization.

“Greetings Jezebel, it is very good to meet again.” Godfrey speaks out first, the centaur tapping his chest with the knuckles of his right hand in greeting.

I nod my head, my lips widening into a small smile. “To you as well, Godfrey.” I respond back before turning my head to the rest. “And the rest of you as well.”

“I see you haven’t changed your hair whatsoever.” Samantha muses playfully, picking at her large fangs with a claw. “If I had hair, I would most definitely be trying out different styles.” She rolls her reptilian eyes. “But if you want to be boring by dressing it in only one way, I won’t judge you.”

I give the reptile an amused look, however Jarvis cuts me off before I could prepare a witty retort.

“Could we perhaps hold the pleasantries for after the meeting?” He asks with a mild annoyed tone, the speakers built within him giving an almost computerized voice.

“Yes, my apologies.” I nod before taking a seat next to Chimera, said individual gives me a small nod of his own in greetings before turning his focus back to the table.

“Now that we’re all here...” Colossus says before gesturing to Chimera. “Even though you’ve already told me a good deal of it, would you care to repeat it for Jezebel?”

“Very well.” The cloaked hybrid responds, his voice sounding...off, as if there’s something more to it. Through the sleeves of his cloak I see his orange and blue hands clasp each other. “The result of the strike mission was an outstanding success, we infiltrated the facility and managed to take it down with only non-life threatening injuries sustained by our members.” Through the hood I see his glowing yellow eyes look at me. “Sadly however they’ve transported most of the hybrids out of the facility, most likely due to them suspecting us to target them. The few that remained were either not fully developed or wild and uncontrollable, so we put them down.”

I feel a frown form on my lips at this, but in the end I didn’t question their methods since I’m in no place to question them. With a gesture of my hand I urge him to continue.

However to my surprise, Chimera instead nods at Jarvis to take over.

“The main reason on why we’ve brought you here is to inform you of our discoveries.” The Porygon-Z tells me. “As always they’ve wiped their computers when we began the assault, making it impossible to retrieve any data on their experiments or whereabouts of other facilities.” He rests his metal hands onto the table, the digits tapping the metallic surface of the furniture. “However there was an error on their part, for on the body of one of their security staff we found a USB drive.”

Now this piqued my interest even more. “What did it contain?” I ask eagerly.

“Sadly not much.” Jarvis sighs. “However it did contain a very vital piece of information.” The glow in his eyes intensifies for a brief second. “Inside it was a report of a recent occurrence in one of their facilities, specifically of how several hybrids managed to break themselves out.”

I feel my jaw drop. “Break...themselves out?” I repeat slowly. “I thought their security measures prevented such a thing from ever occurring.”

Jarvis’ head bobs up and down. “That’s what we also believed, however the hybrids were very smart and...quite powerful. They waited for the right moment to break out, working together to fight through the security before eventually escaping.”

“So we have rogue hybrids out there?” I voice out, my tone filling with worry.

“Yes.” Chimera speaks up, his clasped hands gripping each other a bit more tightly. “The report left out on the specific details of what these hybrids are, but the information tells us that they were purposed to be soldiers. So they’re not some random experiment to see what works together.” He shakes his hooded head. “No, their genes were specifically chosen and spliced together in order to make them into what they are.”

That’s...definitely not good.

“And they’ve killed several of the Humans in those facilities in order to escape.” Jarvis adds. “To have killed them so efficiently when they’re armed with guns, it shows that they are very dangerous.” His blue eyes dim somewhat. “We have no idea on what their motivations are, but since they’ve broken themselves out and most likely have had no contact with civilization after their transformation...they will most likely be a great threat to the public.”

With my staff resting by my side I feel my grip tighten around it. “So with these hybrids out and about, we need to make it our priority to find them and hunt them down.” I say grimly, however a question comes to my mind. “How...do you intend to deal with them?”

"It depends.” Colossus chimes, his expression neutral. “To see that they’ve managed to free themselves without outside assistance, they are definitely not Feral Pokemon by far and perhaps could be reasoned with. So if we can manage to convince them to come quietly or incapacitate them, then we could try to bring them back here and try to rehabilitate them.”

With the way he’s spoken, there’s still more to the sentence.

“But if they’ve proven to be too much of a threat to everyone around them, then they will be killed instead.” I finish.

“Yes.” Colossus sighs, rubbing the side of his metal face with a hand. “It’s the last thing we want to do, but if they show any signs of being unable to be helped...then we’ll have no other choice but to remove them through extensive means.”

“However let us hope that it doesn’t come to that!” Godfrey says passionately, stomping the floor with one of his metal hooves. “If my brothers and sisters can be rescued, then we must take the chance.”

“I hear you.” Samantha nods in agreement. “The more victims of that hellhole we can save the better” She lets out an angry huff, causing a faint stream of mist to escape from her nostrils and cause frost to form on the surface of the table.

“However that requires us to locate them first.” Jarvis deadpans. “We’ve sent out word to Penumbra to inform Night Watchers to keep an eye out for any Hybrid activity in the meanwhile.”

“However if you do locate them, who do you intend to send?” I ask, turning my attention back to Colossus. “Are they dangerous enough to require a Night Warden team?”

The Aggron shakes his head. “Although they’re powerful hybrids, they’re definitely not on a level that requires a Night Warden team’s interference. Instead we’ll be sending some of the stronger Night Hunter teams.”

I blink once at this, then twice.

Night Hunters...? Then why...

“If the Night Wardens won’t be needed, then why isn’t Kaiser in this meeting?” I point out, feeling very confused. “And why did you call me?”

Samantha couldn’t help but laugh at this, increasing my confusion tenfold. “It’s because the Dragon drunk herself into a stupor!”

“Drunk herself into a stupor?” I repeat, my expression quickly shifting to a deadpan look as I already feeling a headache coming on. “I’m afraid to ask this, but...how and why?”

Kaiser is a very big Garchomp, because of this she should be able to hold her liquor incredibly well. But what really boggles my mind is why the leader of the Night Hunter branch would be so irresponsible.

Jarvis points a thumb at Colossus, his eyes dimming even more. “This guy is responsible for it.”

The Aggron raises his hands in defense. “Hey now! Even though we have our responsibilities, we’re allowed time to enjoy ourselves!” He defends himself. “Not to mention we had a bet on how much she could drink before she passed out.”

“Really now? Did you win this bet?” Godfrey asks, a wide grin on his face.

“Indeed I did!” The Aggron laughs. “When she wakes up she’'s definitely not gonna be in a very pleasant mood.”

I suppress the urge to facepalm. “You still didn’t answer the question as to why I’m here.” I grumble.

“To put it simply, you’ll be taking over for her until she’s fit to work again.” Colossus nods at me. “She won’t be in a working state for a little while since she did drink a very large amount.” He couldn’t help but snicker. “However even though she can hold her own, recovering from a hangover is a completely different story. It’ll take her a few days to properly recover from that fiasco.”

...

Wait...

...

I’m taking over for Kaiser.

...

So I’m in charge of the Night Hunter branch now?

...

You’ve got to be kidding me...

#nightshadedelphox #snowstormsalortrum #paladinbishapilier #trojanrotogonz #chimera???#guardiansoftwilight #interlude #plot

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mrluvian · 5 years

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AVENGERS: ENDGAME SPOILERS!

Overall I hate the plot (time travel) cause it creates more plot holes. I’m open to these points that I stated and open for revisions. Let me state this: I do not accept the time jump concept in Endgame, I’d rather tihink its as a Dimension Jump. since you can move to a point in time, like a Tesseract in the movie Interstellar, you can go back to a specific point in a something we consider “past” or a point in time and take whatever physical stuff there without changing the future. I would rather accept dimension jump, it is much more make sense to me. If you do dimension jump, past or present of your dimension won’t be affected (i.e killing baby thanos), and you merely go to a parallel or a copy of a world that can be accessed at certain point of time (again, like Tesseract in Interstellar movie) Therefore you can take anything you like there and return it, for the sake of maybe courtesy/promises. Some of the points I hate/bothers me a lot:

With the dimension jump concept, every opponent in the future will be easier (morre access to option in defeating) to defeat. Just jump back and borrow the Infinity Gauntlet or Power Stones, or get everyone a Bifrosts and frost Thanos, or get Captain America 2 Mjollnirs, or maybe grab another Hulk or Thor, or get another time stone and return any enemy into a baby, like Hishe did, or get another Power Stone to defeat that one hard enemy, or use the Space Stone to solve energy crisis for a while. Then, return them back to the point you borrow em. Heck, you can even not return to them if Hulk does not remind it. Just return 80 years later to that same point. Easy.

No penalty or payment, such as age reduction, muscle loss/degradation, etc for each jump.

Thanos’s weapons and armors are very limited for someone who has conquered many planets. He should have given many various trophies or strong weapons, just like Odin collected Bifrost, Eternal Fire, etc. Sure he mustered his resources on his allies (his 5 followers and 2 daughters, and giant ships and dragon robots) and armies, maybe he’s “the looking for challenge type” guy. Maybe he was like Hulk, powerful and invicible.

For such a wide, vast thousand planets on galaxy, it’s a very strange occasion that only homo sapiens, humans on earth, that has the ability to go dimension jumping and mess with infinity stones (and bringing them to another dimension or time, should render them useless), and even shrink like Ant Man did (no other alien so far possesed that power on MCU). Yet, Thanos seemed did not posses the technology (or know about it)?

Ant man didn’t even face Thanos with the talked about theory: go inside Thanos and go large. The movie should have debunked it (i.e Thanos can see small stuff and therefore able to prevent ant man going in)

Captain Marvel was like deus ex machina, like Superman. When he came, he solves problem. She had no weaknesses, too unfair. Yet in all her powers, Thanos was able to withstand any blows and even land counter attacks.

Thanos seemed “invicible”, took multiple godlike hits, even from Cap Marvel, yet we were not revealed what’s his true weaknesses (i.e does not even bled) (even Thor who used 2 weapons were not effective, but I can assume that’s due to Thor’s slacking off and Thanos on a bit younger years), and in the end, the final blow was a simple “i get the trump card” and Iron man snapped his finger. Seemed they were not be able to defeat Thanos without Infinity Gaunlet. Sure, they worked as a team in the beginning of movie and the team defeated him easily. I mean, the movie should’ve disclosed his weaknesses,(i.e: multiple attacks on same times/teamwork) like Superman has Kryptonite, Batman is just a human, for example.

#endgame #timejump #dimensionjump

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thatfantasybroad · 8 years

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CHOICE PARALYSIS, AAAAHHHHH!

So Nytha is basically a slightly nicer, less intelligent Regina George with a sword and horns. She’s really squishy and gets into some serious scrapes bc of her sword... but she only has 50 HP ;A: (our dm does the point buy character build thing in conjunction with nonrandom HP... it hurts esp bc when I rolled her I rolled SO GOOD, but them’s the breaks!) I COULD try to find a necklace of constitution, but that’s certainly not guaranteed. I dunno what to do!

Full inventory listed below:

Hand crossbow 25 hand crossbow bolts 5 Silver hand crossbow bolts Component pouch

Sharp Tongue +3 Magic Rapier: When you deal damage to a creature with Sharptongue, you learn that creature's deepest insecurity. Sharptongue's wielder may immediately cast vicious mockery on the damaged creature, requiring no additional action and if they the creature's insecurity, the creature has disadvantage on their saving throw. Vicious Mockery can be cast in this way no more than once per round.

Glamoured Studded Leather While wearing this armor, you gain a +1 bonus to AC. You can also use a Bonus Action to speak the armor's Command Word and cause the armor to assume the appearance of a normal set of clothing or some other kind of armor. You decide what it looks like, including color, style, and accessories, but the armor retains its normal bulk and weight. The illusory appearance last until you use this property again or remove the armor.

Frost Resistance Necklace Thieves’ Tools: small file, 1 set lock picks, small handle-mounted mirror, narrow-bladed scissors, pair of pliers. 50' silk rope

Personal Effects: An oval locket with portraits of her family and Gilly inside. it has a carved insignia on the front of a flaming claw grasping a Lute. 4/9 fine handkerchiefs Silver Jewelry Mysterious copper coin pendant- earned at crit performance

Bag of Holding: Iakon (Party Sorcerer)- Sickle, Dagger, Shortsword, two draconic scrolls dwarven scrolls Finn (Party Cleric)- two draconic scrolls children's fiction series Persis (Party Rogue)- two draconic scrolls, Painting of a boy 10,000 gp Painting of a tiger 10,000 gp Meredith (Party Barbarian)- Folding Boat, draconic scroll in primordial, magic axe

Nytha: scrolls and books about the history of the Feywild from tower chest pouch containing: 2 ink bottles, 1 ink pen, 12 pieces Parchment, Sealing wax 1 foot Gold Ornate Trim from fey palace crushed golden babies from fey palace Silverware from fey palace 2 Pan Pipe sets Playing card set Fine clothes Dark, common clothes plus cloak Crowbar Perfume Soap & fine washcloth Cosmetics - minus powder Hooded lantern 1 oil flasks Torch Flint and Tinder Steel Mirror leather armor 4 books from Duckbill's lair 1 small painting of a boy in white clothes worth HECKIN MONEY (50,000 gp) 1 rapier Cook's Utensils Ancient music notation- lost to the dragon by crit performance (regained with the return of the marble mouth?) Marble mouth containing the performance of the song from duckbill's lair Playing card set Lute Writing set Paper unicorn horn unicorn tail unicorn mane 2 pairs heavy iron boots 2 sickles Giant's heavy bow Copy of Contract sealed with gryphon claw locket [ I (the undersigned) do hereby solemnly swear to deliver any and all growth, offspring or produce of this Fey specimen of White Bishop Flower Plant (diagram included) to Karlista Marianna Eugenia Ignisermot (Heretofore referred to as KMEI), owner of The Scorched Claw, 584b Pertelote Lane, on the Island of Kallasia. (Portrait Included with Claw insignia stamped below) Should the plant fail to reproduce (or fail to show any signs of reproducing) within forty days of the date this contract is signed (Dated here), the original White Bishop Plant must be delivered to KMEI. Failure to maintain the health and wellbeing of this specimen will result in a favor owed, to be determined by KMEI upon review of this contract by KMEI, owed to KMEI. Determination of said favor will result in an ad hoc page to be negotiated and signed by (the undersigned), an additional impartial witness and KMEI. In the event of KMEI's death, absence, loss of sound mind, or interplanar travel, or other unexplained circumstance preventing delivery, all references to KMEI may be supplanted by the following individuals and only the following individuals: (Portraits included) Glory Iaxemera Rose Ignisermot, Torzin Justice Iaxemedius Ignisermot, Thyrius Eugene Justicar Ignisermot, Iaxes Marius Torzien Ignisermot, Adelinde Iaxana Lillith Torzette Ignisermot, Nythenia Karlisse Justicia Rose Ignisermot. ] All three copies signed by newly anointed cleric guy, space case druid lady, and Nythenia "Nytha" Karlisse Justicia Rose Ignisermot, one copy left with each signing party.

Old: Rakshasa armor (Given to Finn) 2 shorts sword from satyrs (given to Halflings) 2 short bows from satyrs (given to Halflings) Belt pouch containing: 25 GP(criminal bg) [currently ransomed to Goblins] Silver medallion with black jewel- 12 seconds of going to the material plane/feywild (given to Persis) 5 Handkerchiefs (one given to a goblin, one given to a hobgoblin to give to Sprock, one given to Persis, one in the mouth of a worker... which she never recovered, one given to the babe of babe's rock)

Get back: 25 gold pouch from goblins >:(

#critter pc #critter pcs #dnd #Dungeons and Dragons #nytha

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