#Guardsmans Pass Overlook

[travelella]

Guardsmans Pass Overlook, Park City, Utah, United States

Olivia Hutcherson

[westmoor]

the ocean still roars

↞ ↞  | main post |  ao3

(2.5k // tw: blood and violence)

When Jaskier left him on that mountain, something had shifted.

Geralt had found excuses for it at first. Told himself it was the sound or lack thereof; songs unsung, no lute strings plucked, no stories told or tangents pursued with details growing grander with each telling. That it was just the lingering smell fading over time, the perfumed oils and musk underneath, the trailing scent of herbs or flowers stooped for and picked on their way. Of dandelions in spring and apples in autumn, of wild berries and clovers at the height of summer.

But Jaskier had left before, too. Taken his voice and his scent and his lute with him, and it was not the same. 

Something in the air had changed, its taste or its weight in his lungs. Colours looked strange to his eyes, like someone had changed their hue and no one else could tell. It was as though the world had tilted slightly on its axis, without proof or reason as to why.

Geralt found meaningful excuses for what he could and pinned his heart as the cause of the rest.

He still does.

But too much has happened since, too many solemn notes making his medallion tremble with the beat of the other’s heart to only blame his own. 

There is a memory of lights in the forest and a woman in green, the taste of blood in his mouth and gentle hands turning his face to the sky, slipping from the grasp of his mind like fevered dreams.

At the bottom of his saddlebag, wrapped in cloth, is a broken silver bell.

He had hoped that the flicker of emotion that crossed the other man's face had been a sign that perhaps it could be fixed - that he’d be allowed near enough to start to chip away the wedge he had driven between them. That maybe, just maybe, his friend would walk back into his life and he’d be afforded a chance to make things right.

Most of that hope had gone down the storm drains by the time he made it back to Hagge.

Ever since waking up in his half-made camp beyond the forest's edge, head fuzzy and the taste of foreign magic on his tongue, news of his former travelling companion had dwindled. Jaskier hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been anywhere. No note or song, not even a rumour, not for weeks.

It seems that now, for the first time since the day a fresh-faced youth approached him in a tavern in a valley of flowers, the position in his life occupied by Jaskier the bard is truly vacant. 

And still, he can’t give up. 

He doesn’t know what Jaskier is, exactly, nor where, but he knows now there are places to look. In caverns and hollows where they first crawled into legend, glades and groves where their roots have grown deep with power and patience. Nooks and crannies where, with luck and circumstance, one can slip from this world into the one below. 

He also knows that for whatever purpose, if they wish to find him, they will.

There are questions.

He doesn’t give a damn about the answers.

--

When it comes, it comes in the form of a guardsman with a debt to pay.

Odd things afoot, the man claims. A diseased harvest, unseasonably sour weather. Livestock acting strange and wildlife even stranger. And an overheard conversation in the next town over - word of a band of lawless men having captured the White Wolf’s companion.

If true, Geralt doubts they know what they have captured. In fairness, neither does he, but he knows this: They have his bard.

Geralt takes the bait.

No veiled pretense. No loosened horseshoes or impish little children, no stolen potions or fox tracks in the dirt. 

He rides north toward the town in question, a hamlet nestled at the mouth of a river valley, along a road flanked by firs. The trees near the road are willowy and young, felled in rotation to keep the villages with firewood and kindling. But above, further up the slope of the mountain, they tower tall and dark against the afternoon sky.

His medallion stirs before they even leave the road. 

He brings Roach as far as he deems safe, until the forest grows too dense to pass through with ease. Too far in and she’ll be more a hindrance than a help. He leaves her at the edge of a deertrodden glade, where the canopy opens enough to retain the light for a few more hours. 

It’s a bit of a hike - needles of spruce and dead branches crunching underfoot, nothing to hear but the rustle of wind and birdsong, present but frantic in a way that sets his teeth on edge, as though they too can feel the thrum of foreboding reining him in - but eventually the trunks space out and give way to what seems to once have been a wide trail.

Years must’ve gone by since the last wagon passed this way, overtaken as it is by bushes and undergrowth. Life claws its way out of the grasp of barren darkness, to stretch its shrubs and saplings towards the sun.

There are no tracks but the ones behind him. He didn’t expect there to be.

--

It had been an outpost once, perched at a height to overlook wide open fields to the east and narrow passes to the north, sheltered from the west by the steep rise of the mountain proper.

Now it’s a derelict ruin, crumbling timber roof cast in shadow by the jagged rock face above. What had been a tidied yard for corralled horses and the loading of carts shrivels by the season as the forest eats its way closer, devouring fertile ground and reaching with many-fingered hands to a weathered tower hunched against the rock from which it once was built.

Standing in front of it, Geralt weighs his options. 

It’s too quiet, too still, as though he stands at the shrine of a god he can’t name. Despite the open air and sinking sun, it feels enclosed. Walled in by trees as tall as city gates - their spiny crowns like battlements - the acrid scent of junipers is even thicker than it ought to be; the sound of the woods too uniform and dull.

On one hand, he has no hint, no proof, no true sign at all that the ramshackle structure hides what he seeks. On the other - 

The hinges have rusted nearly solid, the frame warped by age and moisture, and he has to put the full force of his weight on it to shoulder it open.

His body blocks the light and when his eyes adjust, he is faced with a rough wall and a narrow walkway, moss creeping along the cracks between hewn stone. The air inside is as cold and damp as an earth cellar, except for the sour coniferous tinge prickling like needles at the back of his throat and burning his sinuses. 

He rounds a corner and faces another door - this one slightly agape, tilting at a steep angle from its fastenings. Prying it open and sidling through, he scans another, longer hall, this one winding inwards to the mountain. It slams shut behind him and the world plunges into darkness. 

And then it's blinding.

And then the scream.

Guttural and wild like a dying beast. Geralt is knocked back by the force of it, bile rising in his throat.

People never scream like that. In terror or pain, he never heard a human make a sound like that. 

His heart knows the sound when his mind doesn’t.

There is a boy in a tavern and a man on a mountain and a creature in a clearing, and Jaskier was never human. 

It rises and ricochets too loud in too small a space. Notes bend until they break, echoing and doubling back until he fears his skull might split.

Flashes of light and dark beating at his vision like frenzied wings, too quick to catch and too fast to adjust to. His eyes are burning with it and he screws them shut. Ears still ringing and he can’t see, can’t hear. He needs to get out, but he needs to find Jaskier.

Something scrapes against his shoulder like talons or teeth and he spins around, a lunge for his ankle nearly has him off his feet. When the walls prove too close for swords he pulls his hunting knife instead. 

Fighting deaf and blind and hampered by the pounding in his head, there is still a weapon in his hand. He digs his heels in. Roots himself.

He finds his rhythm soon enough. The practiced ease of combat gives respite from his battered senses as he learns the pattern of his adversary. 

There are noises around him, differing like voices, but melding together to a single mass of sound.

A shift in the order and a change of pace, his space is empty and he thinks his opponent has retreated - then a cry like a call of a name, and he adapts without thought. Rushing air and the warmt of a body provides direction; near-hits become deflections. 

With a twist and a turn his blade hits home, sinking into solid flesh and grating against bone.

If life could give me one blessing - 

Blood wells hot between his fingers and the feel of it, smell of it, is so close and so familiar -

Horror turns his gut.

- it would be to take you off my hands. 

He can hardly hear himself shouting. Jaskier slumps against him.

--

Panic consumes the moment and the next, and he is staggering out into the fading light of day. 

Jaskier's knees fold in the grass and Geralt follows him down, grappling at his shoulders, his clothes, anything to keep him righted and assess the damage he has done.

It’s a decent hit. Certain. Deep enough to stay embedded between his ribs. Had it been a contract - 

He knows he’s talking, feels his mouth curl around Jaskier’s name, swearing, curses, promises he can’t keep - and all he can see is red, and tawny brown, and blue.

Jaskier is staring, silenced for once by shock and the fear rolling off him in waves. But when he is stopped from grabbing at the hilt of the knife to pull at it, he grasps for Geralt like a plea. Like he can save him, in spite of it all.

It can’t be real. He should wake in his camp, clouded and drained and relieved.

Pale silk drenches red, slow and steady, like ripples in a pond.

That fire in his eyes, lighting them like moonlight reflecting in a clear tarn, is burning white-hot, burning out. There’s no grounding but the shaking hands fisted in his shirt. He prays for that grip to stay firm.

He doesn’t know how this works, or if it works at all, but there is no choice but to try.

Geralt gathers him up, one arm below his shoulders and the other under his knees, and he runs.

It seems impossibly far. His own tracks through the grass make an even trail to follow. The forest passes in a blur.

At the sight of Roach, he grinds to a halt and lowers Jaskier to the ground as slowly as he can afford, ignoring the whimper in protest when he goes out of reach.

He ignores, too, the uncertain shift of his horse as he rifles through saddlebags without care for their contents, digging blindly under blankets and supplies for what has weighed on his mind for a month. And there, beyond a scrap of cloth wrapped around a warped piece of silver, his fingers find a bundle of twigs.

Rushing back and cradling his bard in his arms with as much gentleness as he can bear, he nearly hesitates, then. Jaskier is already too pale, life ebbing steadily out of him and this - this is a waste of time.

But the hilt of his own blade moves with each laboured breath and he’s not- he can’t- it can’t end like this. He curls his and around the knife, and braces for the strangled scream and struggle that comes.

Presses the handful of now-dried heather against the wound in Jaskier’s chest as he begs for whatever power, whatever luck or chance has followed them this far to take hold. 

The prickly stems soak quickly, white flowers dyed red, then black, in seconds. 

Willing his voice to some semblance of steadiness he taps a pale cheek, trying not to cringe at the cold creeping in.

“Jaskier.” He shakes the arm beneath his back to keep him waking, and is rewarded with a flicker of attention. “I need you to sing for me, lark. Can you do that?”

A grimace, or possibly a smile, sluggish and wan but he tries - the notes sound roughened in his throat, words garbled, more a mumble than a song but he tries.

The silver pendant between them quivers in response to each rising sound and for a moment, he hopes, maybe - but the heart beneath the press of his touch staggers on, rabbit-quick and panicked. Geralt can’t see his own hands for all that red.

There are lessons to this, ones imprinted in him since childhood, the cost of loving what is mortal. Reasons for tempering your heart, for why Witchers do not feel. None of them matter now. 

In their place is a barrage of moments, fleeting glances, the hand at his elbow by instinct when he comes back weary and injured, half-formed melodies by dying fires hummed to no one in particular. The scent of camomile and lavender and ink, ringing laughter, the rustle of silk. The lightness of a pack with provisions just for one, the deafening silence of a thousand lonely mornings, the chill of a bed too narrow for two.

Jaskier’s voice dwindles and fades and he doesn’t know what to do, he does the only thing he can think of. He pulls him so close he fears his bones might break, and he kisses him.

It’s desperate and too forceful and wet with his own tears and Jaskier gasps for air against his lips, and it’s nothing like the stories. 

And nothing happens.

“Please, Jaskier, I can’t -” he chokes out, and it’s all he can muster against the waves that clog and tear at his chest. “I can’t lose you. Not like this. Fuck, I wish I hadn’t let you go.”

There is a deep, ragged breath shaking the body in his arms. His medallion stills on its chain.

And then another breath. 

And when Geralt forces his eyes open the ones that meet his gaze are wet and dull with pain, but awake and alive, blinking up at him with confusion and something like disbelief.

“Geralt?” 

Something breaks in him, then. A wall or a barricade, something old and rigid, shatters like glass and he crumbles with it. 

“I’m here,” he murmurs into Jaskier’s brow, and for now his world is only that: Hair tickling his nose. The smell of blood, still, but less bitter; tempered by earthy musk and summer flowers. Grass under his knees. Jaskier in his arms.

Breath against his neck, calmer, pained but not panicked. Stutters a few times, stops and starts before the words form softly to his collarbones. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never.” It’s barely a whisper, but he doubles down, makes it a promise. “Never.”

 And the world tilts slightly on its axis.

--------

Tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @elliestormfound @love-more-today-than-yesterday @fontegagrilledcheese @geraskier-trashh

[honeyjaez]

Maze of Miroh- Chapter 14 “Woojin’s past”

Their walk was…interesting or so to speak.

The tall masked guard-Emo Legolas as Jisung referred to him as pulled Woojin up roughly, ripping Chan’s unconscious body from him, and handling him over to one of the soldiers standing nearby.

Then suddenly he quickly spun back around and pushed them all forward, soldiers taking up on either sides, surrounding them. Minho quietly started to move forward quickly fell in pace with Jisung who was supporting a somewhat injured Woojin.

It was all rather quiet.

There was an immense amount of tension fluttering through the group, most of it coming from the tall archer in front of them, but Minho took this chance to size the man up and down, taking note of his overall aura.

The boy was rather tall from what he could tell but he still wore his mask perfectly, obscuring Minho’s vision of his real face.  He eyed the guards’ weapon, a large bow strapped perfectly against his back and noticed the arrows knocking up against his thigh every time he took a step.  Even from this distance Minho could see the calloused hands, worn from an obvious tremendous strain.

This guy was dangerous.

Eventually Minho saw a sliding glass door come into view, which stuck out like a sore thumb in this rocky terrain. Emo Legolas didn’t even hesitate before slamming the door wide open bowing his head to the guards that stood by. One by one, they followed him through and Minho’s jaw slung open as he was met with something he didn’t think he would see.

A beautiful underground garden paradise.

Small fractions of a river ran through the wide clearing that was hollowed out with various plants in-between each of them. Minho noticed people working out in these fields, carrying wicker baskets full of plants and heading into various white tents.

It seemed oddly domestic and peaceful despite their rude welcome they had received.

Woojin, who was still somewhat quiet must have noticed Minho’s confused expression because he gave a small side smile, looking out to the scenery in front of him. “It’s their herbal garden” he explained. “This is The Under’s Healing Quarters. They use this garden for the medicinal herbs” he continued to explain, looking around. “Growing plants underground isn’t ideal without sunlight but they get by with what they have.”

Emo Legolas soon stopped them, halting in front of a nearby tent. His mouth seemed to be moving and Minho only assumed he was barking some sort of orders at the soldier’s carrying Chan and San’s bodies because he then saw both rush inside the tent.

Minho watched as the guard carrying Chan’s body disappeared behind the closed flaps and felt his stomach churn with unease.

“Let me stay!” Woojin suddenly rushed forward. Minho turned his head and saw the elder boys gaze was also locked on the closed entrance, wide with worry.  He rushed forward, but before he could make it in, a gun appeared near his head and he was pushed backwards.

“Not on your life” the guard at the door growled, blocking the entrance with his body.

In the corner of his eye Minho noticed Emo-Legolas - Damn you Jisung stop the solider who was carrying San’s body and saw him gently wiped the dirt off from the unconscious boy’s face. He before softly, saying something quietly, but Minho couldn’t quite catch it and in the blink of an eye it was over and he sent the guard away.

Once San’s body disappeared behind closed doors the tall guard clenched his fists tight and turned back around. He ripped off his hood in a sudden fit of rage, and Minho couldn’t help but gape his mouth open slightly. He was strikingly handsome-quite possibly the handsomest person he had ever seen….and that was saying something since he hung around Hyunjin and Felix. Despite his intense aura, the man didn’t seem much older than himself, if anything they were the same age.  He had jet black hair that fell just below his ears, a sharp jawline and proud eyes.

Minho was quite possibly intimidated by him now…. in more ways than one.

“So which one of you did that to San?” the beautiful man questioned, glaring at them with an intense rage.

All three of them stayed silent. Jisung was standing next to Minho, who was as tense as a board. Meanwhile Woojin was off to the side, seemingly uninterested in the guards rage as he was still trying to look for Chan’s body inside the tent.

Minho felt eyes on him and he turned his head around to lock eyes with Jisung. He stared at Minho with such an intense gaze. It was stern and full of warning. Minho knew what he was trying to say- Don’t admit to it or he will kill you. Minho gazed back at him, a feeling of defiance rising in him. “If I don’t say it was me, you or Woojin might get hurt….” he glared back.

When no one answered him, the bowman seemed to growl and stomp his way towards them, taking turns staring down the three of them individually. As Minho guessed it, the beautiful man seemed to take an interest in Jisung and Minho felt his body react on instinct. When his eyes rested on younger, they lingered a bit too long for Minho’s own comfort and he began to grow fearful that the fiery guardsman was going to attack.

As he opened his mouth, he reached for Jisung, but before he could touch him, Minho found himself quickly shoving his way in-between them.

“I did it. It was my fault.” Minho announced “He stole something from me and I fought for it back. They have nothing to do with.” he said with a wave behind him.

The black haired boy’s gaze was full of rage, now all directed at him, and the air around suddenly swirling with tension.

…..

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now” he suddenly growled out.

As if taking his statement as a silent signal, guards began to surround them, weapons poised and ready to strike. Minho wanted to hide, to apologize, but he knew that with Chan out, he was representing their group.

This was not a time to appear weak.

Minho dug down deep for an ounce of courage and he found himself staring back at the boy without blinking, trying to match his serious gaze evenly as if challenging him to a silent duel.

But Woojin seemed to finally wake up from his worry for Chan, for he pushed his way in between the two of them, separating them.

“Seonghwa if you so much as touch him you’ll have to answer to me!” the elder snapped.

Seonghwa?

The beautiful boy in question seemed to respond to this name and turned his attention away from Minho to then stare directly at his Woojin, a flash of anger and hatred passing through his eyes as he had his stare down.

“You” Seonghwa practically spat “Don’t think for one minute that you have any sort of authority down here anymore….Woojin” he growled

Alright….what the FUCK is going on?

Minho’s eyes snapped to Jisung who stayed quiet in hopes for answers, but saw that Jisung’s face was just as lost as his, eyes wide as he looked at the two boys.

Seonghwa whistled suddenly, breaking his stare down and Minho watched as solider rushed to his side.

“You!” he barked, pointing towards the nearest solider “Inform the boss that we have guests!”

“Sir!”

He turned towards two guards on his other side “You two keep an eye out on Chan getting medical help right now. Inform me right away when he awakes!”

“Sir!”

“The rest of you!” he growled while looking at them. “Go back outside and make sure The Order didn’t hear any of those explosions! We already have surface rats in our midst, the last thing we want are Order dogs sniffing around!”

“Sir Yes Sir!”

As the remaining soldiers disappeared from view, Minho heard Woojin let out a muttered breath, crossing his arms in annoyance. Seonghwa made no notice of this and motioned for them to continue down the path.

“Follow me”

After a few more moments Seonghwa led them to another nearby opening, this one much larger and wider than the others. One by one the stepped through the entrance and the view Minho found himself with took the air right out of him.

They found themselves standing on a rather large cliff, the party overlooking a magnificent city in the far distance. Lights erupted from each side of the city reflecting off their rock encasement. It truly was a city underground. Even from the overlook far away, Minho could hear the city bussing with people. It was almost like a mini Spector underground.  It was all amazing.

“It’s….. Beautiful” Minho ghosted out, eyes still wide with awe.

“We try” a voice responded nearby.

Minho’s and Jisung head snapped over at the source of the new voice while both Seonghwa and Woojin remained unaffected.  As he looked over, Minho was met with a somewhat taller male with ash brown hair that was spiked out in all different directions. He wore a rather worn down jean jacket and white shirt to match, but his face was what gained Minho’s attention. A large scar cross his face starting from the eye and ending at the corner of his lip. His eyes were sharp and piercing and Minho felt like he was being choked just from being looked at. Like he knew what Minho was feeling, the Stanger smiled slyly, making steps towards them. Minho saw movement behind the stranger and saw a shorter red hair by following behind much more slowly.

“Helloooooo my little stray rats!” the spiky haired man yelled out almost jubilantly, stopping in front of the party and clapping his hands together in excitement. “As leader, I feel the need to welcome you to my empire, despite the fact that most of you have been here before.”

He voiced lowered near the end and Minho watched as his sharp eyes slip towards Woojin who still refused to acknowledge the newcomer. After a few more moments, the elder seemingly licked his lips as he stared at the young doctor but he quickly tore his gaze away and turned his attention to Jisung who had found his way next to Minho.

“Long time no see Squirrely! Made any deals lately?” There was something dark in his voice, nearly hidden by the playfulness in it, like his words meant something darker, and he quickly felt Jisung tense up beside him, body trembling slightly.

Minho suddenly decided he didn’t like this guy anymore.

“Zico.” The younger hissed in sudden rage. Minho’s eyes widened at the name and turned back towards the spikey haired individual with widened eyes.

So this was Zico. Leader of The Under and ruthless killer as Woojin put it.

The red haired boy standing off nearby made his way past the boisterous man, and walked up to Seonghwa who seemed to be waiting for him. A quick silent exchange of words were made between the two boys before the Minho caught the eye of the red haired boy and saw a flash of anger pass through them. He then turned towards Zico, face grim.

“Looks like they snuck in through the south entrance” he reported “Seonghwa apprehended them after they brutally attacked San.”

Minho let out an annoyed groaned knowing it was his turn to speak “How many times do I have to say it?” he complained, starring at the 3 men defiantly “He started it! He stole something from me, and I was only getting it back!”

Seonghwa glared daggers at him but saw that Zico only whistled, eyes narrowing him down in curiosity “So you are the one that did a number on our Sannie……” he paused and checked Minho up and down before ending it with a wink at him “Impressive”

“Sir” the red haired boy spoke out, displeased with the compliments “With all due respect, he could have seriously hurt San. Are we not going to punish the intrud-“

Zico raised a single hand up in the air, silencing the boy without a single glance.

“Quiet Hongjoong. If you are going to be in charge one day then you need to know some fundamental tips. First, you need to learn when to make deals and secondly you need to know when-” he gave Minho a sly smirk “- to compliment the enemy”

The red haired man-Hongjoong, didn’t seem to argue but gave Minho one last look of anger causing Minho to silently gulp with unease. He has a feeling he hasn’t heard the last from them on this matter.

“You” Zico directed towards him, snapping Minho back to the conversation “What’s your name?”

Minho breathed in harshly, trying to gain some more confidence and eyed Zico as evenly as he could “….Minho”

“Sooo Minho…” he began walking forward until he was mere steps away “What are a bunch of rebel rats doing in my underground empire?” he hissed playfully.

“We need to speak to Dowoon, Zico.” Jisung interrupted, pushing his way through and separating them.

Zico’s gaze remained unchanged as he continued to eye Minho down. Minho himself felt uneasy at the older man’s piercing gaze. He found it harder and harder to breathe and felt like Zico was sucking the air out from him just from one single gaze. Zico seemed to know it too because as Minho’s breath began to get harder, his smirk got wider…almost wicked. After what felt like years, he finally released Minho from his prison gaze and like a rush of water breaking through, Minho suddenly felt the sweet taste of air again.

He watched as Zico took a few steps back and looked at Jisung, a smirk still gracing his face. “Dowoon? What business do you have with my boy?”

“None of your business” Jisung hissed.

Zico chuckled darkly at Jisung’s reaction and fixed the younger with a taunting smile “Oh I do love that feistiness of yours Squirrely. You sure we can’t make another deal?” But Jisung ignored the obvious taunt and pushed his way forward until he was chest to chest with Zico, challenge in his eyes “Let us speak to him.”

But Zico didn’t back down and he just pushed back, eyes wide with anticipation “And what if I say no?”

“Zico” a new voice said, interjecting in the conversation “Let us see him.”

Zico’s eyes narrowed slightly as he forgot all about Jisung’s existence before turning towards the source.

“Woojin. I almost forgot you were there”

His voice was so sweet, yet so dark. Minho could hear the quiet strain in his voice and the slight tremble of his body as he looked at Woojin. Almost like the presence of the boy made him excited. Minho suddenly felt very afraid at that moment for his hyung.

“Quit the act Zico,” Woojin growled again, not backing down “You know why we are here. You know we stole a virus from The Order. You’ve got your spies all up above ground.  Why even act shocked at this point?”

Zico’s face didn’t change but he stayed silent for a few more moments before ripping his body away from the tense stare down, breaking character “Ahh Woojin, you were always the smartest of my boys….it’s a shame you left.”

Woojin ignored him and continued to stare Zico down, all humor spent from his gaze. “So are you going to let us see him or not?”

Minho found himself watching Zico’s reaction closely, but was unable to ascertain anything from it. Zico seemed to ponder this question seriously walking away towards the cliff again.

“Annnnd if I do let you speak to him….you’ve yet to tell me what I will receive in return.

“What is it you want?” Woojin asked simply.

“You” he revealed “more specifically a chat. You want to talk to Dowoon? Well I want to chat with you. Sound simple enough?”

“Hyung!” Jisung hissed quietly

But before he could get anything else out, Woojin stopped him by placing a comforting hand on the younger boy’s shoulder without taking his gaze from Zico “It’s okay Jisungie….I’ll be fine. It’s not my first time dealing with him.”

“So then we have a deal?” Zico was almost comical at the big smile he gave the party, and it all gave Minho chills over his body. There was something about Zico that he really didn’t like.

“It’s a deal.” Woojin confirmed “But first we talk to Dowoon” he continued, looking Zico straight in the eye with a hard expression. “With Chan unconscious, I’m the next best person to talk to Dowoon about this.”

Zico nodded, waving a single hand in disinterest “That’s fine. I want Chan awake for when we talk anyways. Those hero types always gets super-heated when someone is in trouble…. and you always were a soft spot for him.”

Zico double meaning threat hit their ears and Jisung couldn’t help but let a growl slip out. But if he heard it, he made no notion towards it and motioned towards Hongjoong who was with Seonghwa off to the sides.

“Hongjoong. Show them to our friend would you?” he chided causally “And afterwards, show them to where they will be staying for the night.”

“No need” Jisung hissed “We will get our information and leave tonight.”

Zico’s smile grew even wider as he turned back to Jisung, eyes glowing “I thought you were smarter than that Squirrely. Even if your precious leader wakes up in the next few hours, no one dares to sneak in the tunnels after dark. No one knows that kind of monsters that can be crawling around…” He turned his back towards the group, heading towards the stairs that lead down to the city “Trust me…if you want to live… you’ll stay here for the night.”

And without another word Zico disappeared from site, leaving the party with Zico’s two lackeys nearby. As Minho turned around he found both Seonghwa and Hongjoong glaring at him specifically and he suddenly felt very awkward in this situation. None of them spoke.

Thankfully Woojin finally broke the tension rising as he made his way at the front of the packed, looking at the two nearby. They switched their attention on Woojin but still seemed intent on silence. The 3 individuals seemed to have a silent conversation pass between them all as they had their standoff. Finally Woojin sighed “You heard Zico. Is Dowoon still in the same place?”

Seonghwa let out a snarl in defiance, taking stance “If you think you can just walk around here ag-“

“Seonghwa.” Hongjoong interrupted “Stand down. Woojin is right. Orders are orders.”

Hongjoong’s voice was quiet, but Minho noted something bolder in it, almost commanding like.  He was then shocked to see Seonghwa immediately shut up and returned to a normal stance.  He still was harboring a look of anger and resentment on his face, but Minho was convinced the man could do anything but.

“Have it your way” he growled quietly, obviously only trying to talk to the other boy. “But when this is all over, I’m going to avenge San.”

And with that, Seonghwa briskly turned around, stomping his way back towards the medical tents and leaving the party with Hongjoong. The red haired boy watched Seonghwa leave, a soft, sad smile on his face and Minho could tell right away how fond the boy was of the tall Archer.

Seemingly feeling Minho’s gaze, Hongjoong turned back around, eyes passing over Minho’s before latching onto Woojin’s. He motioned with his head to follow him and the group began walking down the same steps Zico did a few minute prior.

With Zico’s presence now gone, Minho felt his body finally giving way to wobbling and he could feel his anxiety starting to pick back up. Jisung must have to because he stuck even closer to Minho’s side than before, arms brushing against each other as they walked. Minho found himself suddenly very grateful for the younger once again for his acute senses in situations like this.

Woojin was a few steps ahead of them, having a small conversation with Hongjoong. Minho strained his ears forward, trying to hear better at what was being said.

“Seonghwa hasn’t changed much...” Woojin mused, almost to himself.

“He has to be like that” Hongjoong responded quietly, almost sad like “It’s the only way he knows how to protect us.”

“And San?” Woojin challenged “He wasn’t always a homicidal psycho….he almost killed Minho” he warned.

Hongjoong’s body froze and Minho watched as his body tensed up, stopping halfway down the steps. Finally the red haired boy let out a long, painful sigh and turned his head until it was halfway looking at a rather shocked Minho.

“As leader of them….on behalf of Seonghwa, I am sorry for his abrupt attitude. All I can say is that he has good intentions…..as for San…well I am truly sorry about San…” he apologized “He used to know better….”

Minho’s eyes widened and he found he was lost for words at the unexpected apology. He didn’t think this guy owed him any sort of apology,

Jisung snorted in disbelief before Minho could continue to stare at him like a dumb-ass. “I never heard of a thief knowing better. Certainly never apologizing for it.”

Hongjoong eyes flashed towards Jisung, a look of contempt on his face. “Prior to contrary belief, we weren’t always thieves.”

Jisung laughed humorlessly “Yeah sure. The Under has always been fille-“

“Jisung” Woojin interrupted “He is telling the truth.” He said “The Under might be filled with thieves and murders, but Hongjoong, Seonghwa and yes even San weren’t always like that.”

Jisung bit his lip, hiding his retort as he looked at his hyung. His eyes narrowed slightly as he continued to stare Hongjoong down, but eventually bowed his head in apology.

“Hyung” Minho interjected, trying to take some of the heat off of his friend “Is now a good time to ask you about how connections here? I mean you called San and Seonghwa by name….”

Woojin stared sadly back at Minho and nodded quickly as he motioned for Hongjoong to continue down the steps.  The 4 began walking slowly down, edging closer to the city limits. Woojin seemed to be contemplating his next words carefully because he didn’t say anything for a few more moments.

“I was born and raised here in The Under”

Jisung nodded next to him, unsurprised. ‘That much I gathered.”

Woojin let out another long sigh. “I was told both my parents were citizens of Spector and that they never wanted a child, but were stuck with me.….” he paused, gulping loudly “They found me as a baby floating in the sewers,  and on deaths door…. “Woojin trailed off, like the painful memory was haunting him right then and there.

“The doctors here took me in….taught me how to heal others….how to fight…..and for a time… I was happy.”

His voice wobbled slightly, like he was trying hard not to cry. Minho found himself softening at seeing the elder boy so vulnerable. “What happened? Why did you leave?” he asked gently.

“Zico happened” he almost hissed out. “Zico had always been brash and a little deviant. The Under back then was not as it is now. Back then we were a safe haven away from The Order. Filled with refuges and the forgotten ones…we lived our lives in peace.  But 7 years ago we found ourselves leaderless after a scuffle with The Order and he suddenly rose to power, letting out his true intentions. He began to invite thugs, and thieves, and murders into our city….making shady deals under the table and hiding secrets from the city.”

“By this time, I had become the head doctor here… I was still very young, but Zico relayed on me more than he relied on most of his officers. I… I got him drugs…and other things… that he claimed he needed for the good of the city and I could do nothing but comply because I was scared. And he was my leader.”

Woojin gave a wave toward Hongjoong, not tearing his gaze from in front of him.

“It was 6 years ago when I found Hongjoong and the others….I was doing a morning patrol with Zico when we came across 8 boys, barley younger than me huddled in the dark. They were all nearly frozen to death and so we took them in and nursed them back to health.” He turned his head to look back at Minho, eyes glaze over in the past memory. “You asked how I knew them…..this is how. “

“He saved us all from death” Hongjoong mused quietly.

Woojin turned his head back around and continued “I grew close to the 8 of them. Even taught one of them about medicine….he is just as good as me….We ate together, slept together…we took care of each other. I began to feel hopeful. Hopeful that life wasn’t as bad as I made it seem. I thought things with Zico might get better…but they never did. If anything…Zico’s homicidal tendencies got worse over time. And then the incident 5 years ago……” He paused, trying to figure out his next set of words.

Jisung looked off to the side as he knew what Woojin was referring to. “After The Order killed our brothers…when we brought Dowoon to hide down here…”

Woojin nodded, reaching his hand back slightly to comfort the younger. “I still remember seeing the lot of you bringing Dowoon down here…Seeing those who lived-truly lived above ground. I was everything jealous. Jealous because I wanted to escape too. Escape my hell that was down here.” He explained with a twinge of guilt ridden in it.  “I never introduced myself though because I knew Zico would question my loyalty to the cause and so I stayed to the shadows….or at least tried…”

“So what changed?”

This entire time during Woojin’s explanation, Hongjoong has stayed quiet and off to the side. But now the red haired boy was interjecting himself in the explanation as Minho saw him look at Woojin with hurt curiosity on his face.

He must not know the full extent of Woojin’s defection from The Under either.

Woojin let out a long sigh and stared up at the glittering rock ceiling, reminiscing old memories’. “In the first year Dowoon came to live with us, Chan continued his visits down here alone.”

“W-what?” Jisung gasped out, obviously having no clue. Woojin gave him a sad smile, nodding.

“He was worried about taking over Sungjin’s mission and being in charge of the group so he would often ask Dowoon for advice….He never told you guys because he knew you would worry. But Zico allowed him to come down here periodically to visit with Dowoon. Him and only him.”

“At first, I did my best to ignore Chan. But he was ever so interesting.” Woojin explained with a pink tint to his cheeks “One day I seemed to catch his attention and it was like he knew what was wrong with my heart almost immediately…..” He trailed off, looking back down towards the floor.  “With every visit to Dowoon, Chan would also begin visiting me and our talks were like a breath of fresh air in this stuffy underground and I began to yearn for his world above. I began to believe in his mission that he wanted to achieve. I believed in him which was more than I can say about Zico….”

“So you left….” Minho breathed out, empathetic towards his feelings.

Woojin nodded, casting him a side glance. “One day Chan came by my tent and told me that it was going to be his last visit down here….I got scared because Chan made the pain go away in my heart from living in this underground hell….I thought if he left…I would go back to being sad….. so… I asked him if he needed a doctor above ground….and the rest is history.”

Jisung nodded, finally understanding “That’s why Chan brought you home randomly one day claiming to find you on the streets…”

Woojin dipped his head towards the younger but turned back to face Hongjoong who had gotten rather quiet in the last few minutes. “My only regret is that I didn’t take you and the others with me Hongjoong. You, Seonghwa, San, Yunho, …..all of you….” He placed a strong hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder in an attempt to bargain with him. “I wanted so badly to come down here and whisk you away from the evil that is Zico….but I knew being a defector was a death sentence…and I thought it was unfair to you all to ask you of the same sentence….”

But with a heavy heart, Minho watched as Hongjoong softly slap Woojin’s hand away, rejecting his comfort. “We would have done it you know” he muttered bitterly “We would have left with you…..to us, you were our family…never Zico….you only had to ask…”

Woojin recoiled at his words slightly but pain and understanding was clear in his eyes.

“Now it’s too late” he continued angrily, causing Minho to cock his head to the side in confusion.

“Why is that?” he asked innocently. Hongjoong turned his head to the side and gave Minho a sad and frustrated look. “When Woojin hyung left us, Zico told everyone blatant lies about him and while I and a few others knew the real Woojin hyung would never do what Zico said he did, some of them gave into their pain and hurt. They began to only trust in Zico, becoming exactly what Zico wanted them to. Thieves and murders.” Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed to the cut on Minho’s cheek “San being one of them.”

Hongjoong turned back around and let his shoulders drop in exhaustion “The other people and soldiers aside, I won’t ever leave without all 7 of them and not all 7 of them want to leave Zico….”

“Brainwashing….” Woojin mused.

But Hongjoong shook his head “No brainwashing….just fear and pain…. That’s how he controls them. And even now, I am considered Zico’s right hand man, but only so that I can protect them from him.”

“That’s…..” Jisung started “..very admirable of you….”

Minho nodded in agreement and felt his heart going out to the red haired boy in front of him. He must really love his members.

Hongjoong shook his body after hearing Jisung’s compliment and gave the group a sad smile “Let’s just hope it doesn’t bite me in the ass late on. Meanwhile, you all have someone to talk to.”

Through Woojin’s whole explanation, Minho hadn’t even realized that they had made it down the steps and into the outer city limits.  Hongjoong led them to a small blacked out hut off on its own in the corner. He walked up to the rusty door, knocking twice before stepping back to allow the door to swing open. On the other side of the door stood a man, few years older than himself with dark brown hair and big round glasses that sat on his face. He had a rather soft and round face that almost reminded Minho of Jisung’s.

The boy in question looked down at Hongjoong with a soft smile before moving down towards Woojin, Minho and then finally resting on Jisung’s big round eyes. His smile dropped immediately and was replaced with that of shocked amazement.  He moved slowly out the door, keeping his eyes locked on Jisung who seemed to be frozen in spot. Minho caught tears in the older man’s eyes and suddenly and without warning, launched himself forward, latching onto the youngest.

Hongjoong took this time and quietly muttered to Woojin “I’ll take my leave now. Call me when you are done. And if Chan wakes up while you are still here…I’ll send him over here.”

Woojin nodded once, muttering his sincerity to the younger boy as he left.

“Jisung! Oh Jisung! Is it really you?”

Jisung seemed frozen. Minho caught sight of his face over the man’s shoulders and saw with slightly armament, the younger trying hard to not cry. He bit his quivering lip and threw his face into the older boys’ neck. “D-Dowoon!” he hiccuped.

“I’ve missed you little buddy!” Dowoon choked out, pulling away slightly while still keeping arms attacked to Jisung’s back.  Jisung looked back at the older boy, giving him a wide toothy grin. “I’ve missed you too!” Minho’s heart swelled at seeing Jisung happy for once. He deserves it.

“Is Changbin or Seungmin here too?” Dowoon asked looking around. Jisung shook his head, a smile still gracing his face. “They are back at the hideout. Chan is here too but something happened and he is at the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Dowoon looked up at Woojin who only shook his head in response. “He got hit in the head with a rock… Yunho is looking at him now.”

At this, Dowoon closed his eyes and sighed in relief. “Good. That boy isn’t allowed to die.”

“Agreed” Woojin said, taking Dowoon’s extended hand in greeting. Dowoon began to slowly stand up with Jisung still in his embrace, who was shaking slightly as he cried. Minho’s’ eyes softened at the younger boy who was covering his face in the older man’s chest as he cried. He couldn’t help but think back to the loud mouth brat he first met and how that boy was nothing but a facade to the real Jisung in front of him.

“And who is this?”

Dowoon’s question caught Minho off guard and he found the older man looking down at him with soft, warm eyes. Minho suddenly found himself felling shy and unable to look Dowoon in the eyes. “M-My name is Lee Minho.”

“He is the newest addition” Woojin explained with a stone of pride in his voice.

Dowoon took his free hand and latched it onto Minho’s head, ruffling it slightly “Then you are family here. Nice to meet you Minho.”

“A-Ah”

“Now tell me” Dowoon directed towards Woojin “Why have you all come here…?”

Woojin’s faced turned grim as he knew the subject was starting to change. He motioned for the 4 of them to move inside before closing the door shut. Jisung detangled himself from Dowoon and stood off to the side as Woojin pulled out the canister and handed it to the elder.

Dowoon eyes widened and quickly snatched up the canister in his hand.  Minho noticed his hand shaking as he traced the lettering on the outside, a horrified look on his face beginning to form.

“Dowoon…do you know what this is?”

Time seemed to move suddenly slower as the young researcher raised his head from the canister eyes wide with dismay.

“I do…and it’s nothing good.”

  As always, likes and reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 

[samhain-oldworld]

Haunted

There are several places all over the world which claim to be the most haunted building/place of their respective countries. Many are also conflicting but each has their own unique and sometimes chilling history. These are the top five that stood out to me

NUMBER ONE :

Eastern state penitentiary Pennsylvania.

Built in 1829, Eastern State Penitentiary is a former prison in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It’s known for being the very first prison of its kind to introduce solitary confinement, or what they used to call, the Pennsylvania System. Prisoners were sent to solitary during this time as a form of rehabilitation. They would be completely isolated, living alone, eating alone, and even exercising alone in their own individual yards. Whenever an inmate left his cell, a black hood would be placed over his head to assure he remained in confinement. Due to Eastern States’ harsh approach, many prisoners were driven to insanity, and as a result, the Pennsylvania System was scrapped in 1913. From then until 1970 it was used as a regular prison and held the likes of Al Capone and the bank robber, Willie Sutton.

NUMBER TWO

Monte Cristo Homestead Australia

The historic Monte Cristo Homestead in Junee, New South Wales is regarded as the most haunted location in Australia. Its reputation is believed to stem from a number of tragic events that have occurred there since it was built in 1885. From the time of its construction up to 1948, the Crawley family owned and resided in the property. During this time the family laid witness to many deaths, including the tragic death of a young child who was dropped down the stairs. A maid to the family is believed to have fallen from the balcony, and a stable boy apparently burned to death on the property.

There was also a mentally ill man named Harold (the son of a caretaker) who was chained up in the caretaker’s cottage for 40 years. He was found curled up next to the body of his dead mother and sent to a mental institute where he died shortly after.

The tragedy doesn’t end with the Crawley’s. After the house was left in 1948, it was taken over by a group of caretakers, one of whom was murdered in the caretaker’s cottage.

NUMBER THREE

Castle Of Good Hope South Africa

The Castle of Good Hope in Cape Town, South Africa was built in the 17th century by the Dutch East India Company. It’s the country’s oldest colonial building, originally serving as a replenishment station for ships passing the treacherous waters of the Cape.

The first reported paranormal occurrence was when the apparition of a tall gentleman was seen in 1915 on one of the castles’ ramparts. The man wasn’t seen again until 1947 when he was seen on a regular basis over a two week period. He would be seen jumping off the side of one of the castle walls and walking between the bastions Leerdam and Oranje.

One of the most popular stories associated with the Castle is the former governor Pieter Gysbert van Noodt. He died on 23 April 1728, the same day he had sentenced to death seven soldiers who were caught attempting to desert the military. It’s believed one of the soldiers placed a curse on him and demanded he came to watch the execution, which he didn’t. Later that day, Van Noodt was found dead slouched over his desk with a look of terror on his face.

Another famous haunting is the Lady in Grey. She has been witnessed running through the castle holding her face and crying hysterically. However, since a woman’s body was found during recent excavations her ghost hasn’t been reported.

Sometime in the 1700’s, a soldier was found hanging from the bell rope in the bell tower, which overlooks the entrance to the castle. After his death, the bell tower was sealed off, however, to this day the bell has been known to strike off its own accord. There’s also the ghost of a black dog who has been known to pounce on unsuspecting visitors, then simply vanish into thin air.

NUMBER FOUR

The Tower Of London England

With a history of torture and execution going back over 900 years, the Tower of London is regarded by many as one of the most haunted places in the UK. It was originally built in 1078 by William the Conqueror and has served a major role in the history of England ever since.

There have been many reports of the paranormal at the Tower of London over the years. The most famous of all the ghosts that live within its walls, is Anne Boleyn, the wife of King Henry VIII. She was beheaded in 1536, and her headless body has been seen walking the Tower’s corridors and often near the spot of her demise.

Other full bodied apparitions have also been seen including Lady Jane Grey, who was spotted by a guardsman in 1957. In the White Tower, the White Lady has been seen, often standing at the window, where she once stood waving to her children on the other side of the building.

Perhaps the most spine chilling of all reports includes the mysterious appearance of two children. They have been witnessed throughout the rooms of the castle. They’re often seen in their nightgowns, holding hands and with a look of terror on their faces. It is believed these are two former Prince’s, who was sent to the Tower after they were deemed illegitimate by Parliament. They vanished one day and it was assumed that they were murdered by order of their uncle, the Duke of Gloucester. Apparently, two small skeletons were exhumed beneath a staircase in the White Tower

NUMBER FIVE

Ancient Ram Inn England

Built in 1145, the Ancient Ram Inn is believed to be the most haunted house in the entire British Isles, and perhaps the most haunted house in the world. The tales of child sacrifices, devil worship, and evil spirits are believed to be behind the terrifying happenings in this building. The Inn was built on the intersection of 2 ley lines, what many people believe is a conductor for spiritual activity. In addition, an ancient Pagan burial ground is said to have resided in the property over 5,000 years ago.

During its time as a bed and breakfast, people would often flee in the middle of the night, often seeing full bodied apparitions in their rooms, the feeling of being touched/pulled, disembodied voices, and the just the general feeling of evil.

John, the current owner, and resident of the Ram Inn, has reported that on his first night in the house in 1968, he felt a presence grab his arm, before being dragged out of bed and across the room! John has since found evidence of devil worship and ritual sacrifice. He found two child skeletons underneath the staircase, as well as broken daggers. He continues to experience the hauntings and the attacks to this day.

So here you have it some of the most haunted place in the world feel free to add any more information or locations and comment what you think.

[troutpopulation]

Transformers: Antebellum ch.1

Cybertron, millions of years ago. While the working class carries the gilded society on their backs, the Senate perches at the top reaping the rewards. The system is rigid, and unchanging. The way things are now are they thing always have been and always will be. That is, until a miner from Tarn begins to plant seeds of autonomy. Revolution and revelation is growing like a weed, and soon the senate crumbles beneath a forest of ideas.

•••••

A discarded can had toppled from the stoop it had been abandoned on, and the clank and grind of it rolling down the street startled Gasket. He watched the mangled logo disappear and reappear along the circumference of it. The crumpled container seemed to drag itself down the pavement as if to flee from the alley’s gaping maw. It bumped into a fissure in the sidewalk and rolled back a bit, closer to where it had started. A bump in the road prevented escape. Just like anything else that tried to get out of the Dead End.

Gasket leaned against the wall of a building, overlooking the bright city lights that shot into the sky. Nighttime in the slums of Polyhex was dangerous, but it did at least have one hell of a view. Skyscrapers reached for the stars with unyielding hands, and the break in their canopies let the light-polluted sky peek through, their matte veins of coal murky against the lively cerulean of Cybertron’s nightlife.

  The feeling of dirt against his body had long ago ceased to bother Gasket, and he sighed, pressing the back of his black horned helm against the grimy alley wall as he gazed down at the event below. When he used to watch, he used to watch longingly. How he used to wish he could go down into that valley and mingle amongst the upper class. But even in the cover of night his pasty yellow form was tarnished and dirty, and his alternate mode deemed him second class. He long since abandoned that dream, but not the affinity for spectating the lightshow in place of it. At least he could have that. And besides, in the day, there wasn’t much to see anyways. Only at night was the stage anything more than just a stage.

  From the distance behind him, heavy stomps echoed rhythmically from the belly of the alleyways. Gasket shifted, turning his head to the source and instinctively pressing himself into the wall, shrinking back, out of the path of the towering officer that patrolled alone past him. Though his armor was shrouded in the night, it was clear who it was from the robust crimson frame and blue two-pronged helm. He watched silently as Orion Pax prowled past him, out of the alley, and down the sidewalk. His handgun glinted in the dim glow of the street lights.

Orion Pax made his way back to the police station, another patrol successfully executed. He hadn’t needed to arrest anyone, which struck him as a relief. The Dead End, unfortunately, was home to quite a few surly mechs who would be prone to disturbing the peace, especially while the city’s attention was directed to the Senate’s latest celebration. Trouble always seemed to be more prevalent while eyes were turned away.

Tonight, though, all he had to do was make his rounds and crises were averted. His presence alone and a scrutinizing glare had caused a sleazy looking thug to cower in fear, and scurry away from the tipsy bot he appeared to have been fixing to pounce on. That had been tonight’s worst incidents. Despite that, he kept his gaze flickering down the corridors between buildings, scanning as one would the isles of an upgrade shop. Nothing but the occasional huddle of homeless mechs. They accumulated at the mouth of the alleys the way dirt and grime accumulated in the seams of their armor. Orion’s shadow in the white streetlight prowled behind him. The homeless bots flinched as it lapped over their faces like a predacon's tongue.

They watched him pass like he was the reaper.

  Automatic doors darted with a hiss from Orion Pax’s path and he stepped into the stuffy orange lobby of the police station. A fellow cop looked up from the computer at the front desk. He nodded in greeting, the large fins on either side of his head prodding the air.

“Not at the gala?” Sunstreaker sneered, still typing. Of course he wasn’t. Mechs from their precinct were never invited.

“Evidently.” Orion made a bee line for his cubicle. He was sure there were reports waiting to be filled.

“I’d like to go. But,” Sunstreaker lamented, more to himself than Orion. “Senate’s only letting Iacon police do security shifts. It’s stupid. Gala’s not even hosted in Iacon. They’re literally celebrating the knew Polyhexian senator, but nobody from Polyhex can go.”

“They think Polyhexian police are too ‘uncouth’,” Arcee rolled her eyes, skulking out from the corridor past Orion. “Hey Pax.”

“Hello, Arcee.” He returned the greeting and left the two to carp about being blacklisted from the senate’s lavish events.

“I mean, come on! Crystal city? That’s right next to Polyhex! That’s right next to us!” “It’s not about convenience, Sunny, they think we’re common .”

“Maybe you, but me? That’s stupid, I’m incredibly refined.”

“Obviously.”

  Orion was growing restless. He considered for a moment going back out for another patrol, but shook the thought away. They all had better things to be worried about. But, Arcee was right; they were banned from attending specifically because they were from Polyhex. The senate’s supposed reasoning? It’d be bad for conversation. Polyhex, Kaon, Stanix, they were dirty cities, full of dirty bots. Any honest answer about the nature of their work would make guests, and the Crystal City elite guard, uncomfortable. Worse yet, none of them looked any good in blue and gold. Best they just keep to their patrols and let the Iaconians delegate in place of them.

Sunstreaker also had a point; it was more than a little disappointing to be told you simply lacked class for something. Orion supposed that was honestly the issue he had with the blacklist. He wasn’t ever interested in galas, it was the principle, it was being told short and plainly: You are not good enough for this. You will never be good enough for this.That’s what left him with a bitter taste.

He glanced up at the live feed and hollowly watched shots of smiling ambassadors shaking hands and drinking, and the tall, uniform formation of Crystal City’s elite guard standing proudly amongst Iacon’s best force captains. The guardsmen were painted in uniform, white with gold and blue trim, all sporting visors. Gold on the jets, blue on the cars. Orion had considered at one point in getting a visor. He tried one on, but felt that he looked rather stupid in it. Nothing at all like the distinguished mechs that saluted the senators as their newest member cut the ribbon around the new bridge: his first act as senator, and therefore initiating him into the ranks. He waved to the flashing cameras, and the recording panned to the rest of the soiree. Orion recognized a force captain conversing beside a guardsman as someone he graduated with from the academy. He felt a twist in his mechanisms as they smiled and spoke.

Perhaps a walk wouldn’t hurt.

  Arcee and Sunstreaker gave him half attentive goodbyes as he left, and once again found himself taking to trekking the streets. Although he didn’t have an exact plan or destination, his mechanisms surely seemed to. With his head light years away, his body carried him deliberately to the archives. He pushed the heavy doors in and peeked inside. As usual, at this hour it was empty of patrons.

“Alpha Trion?” He called upon arrival. “Are you in?”

“Aye, lad.” A familiar voice echoed from somewhere far in the forest of datapad filled shelves. Orion squeezed past the doors, and they thundered shut as he strolled inside.

“It’s empty tonight.” He noted, looking around at the vast trove of rentable data.

“Ah, you know where everybody is.” The sage had appeared from the depths of the library, and gave Orion an amicable pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you, Pax. You look well.”

“You too.” He replied as he followed the datakeeper down the isles. “I'm surprised you weren't invited to go.”

“Ha! I was. But you know I've no interest in those. Really nothing but an excuse for the higher ups to get drunk.” The burgundy mech seemed to be compelled by whatever whimsical force tugged him along through his actions, as without warning he waltzed towards a random shelf, inspecting it with optics that twinkled with amusement. He chuckled. “They're celebrating fixing the bridge. Can you believe that? Celebrating using the people’s shanix for something important by blowing it out on something less so.”

“I don’t understand how they could do that.” Orion muttered, running his servo over the racks of information, gazing upwards at the endless bounty of it all. “I always believed they acted in our best interest. That’s what my superiors always told us, at least.”

Alpha Trion hummed in response, and handed Orion a datapad.

“For shame.” The librarian chided playfully,mirth lifting his mustache. “Here lad, this one’s got your name on it.”

  Orion took the datapad, turning it over curiously in his servos. He’d spent the majority of his free time indulging in the vast expanse of the library, but not once had he seen this work before.

“‘On Our Six Foundations’... Is this new?” Orion’s digits grazed the cover slide. The title stood out in a cold, proud font.

“Aye,” Alpha Trion nodded, watching expectantly as Orion tentatively studied the book, shy and bold so very curious, a young animal finding a new scent. “Brand new. Provocative stuff. I suggest you give it a read, though. I feel it’ll answer a lot of questions you’ve had on your mind.”

“Thank you, Trion.” Orion looked hopeful, delighted even. He gingerly clutching the datapad with a firm grip as though the ornery contents of it would writhe angrily from his fingers.

“Think not of it. Instead,” Alpha Trion smiled, his house’s white facial insignia lifting as he did. He give the fascinated young bot a pat on the back as he ushered him outside. “Think about what you read. Goodnight, Orion, get home safely.”

  “I will. Goodnight- wait, Alpha Trion, are you giving this to me?” Orion stopped in his tracks, holding up the datapad and looking so penitent he may as well have stolen it. It was uncustomary to take the physical copy of the datapad from the library. One simply downloaded the data, and read through it during the duration it was rented before time was up. When it was, the data either got wiped or you renewed it.

“It’s yours if you want it lad. The mech that came buy to deliver that brought a whole stack of them.” Alpha Trion noted, looking fondly at the tablet in the younger bot’s servos. “I think he wants people to have them.” Orion was nearly giddy as he thanked the librarian again; he couldn’t help but wonder ardently what could be so inflaming, so controversial in this one work of writing. He rushed home, eager to devour the contents.

He had forgotten all about the gala downtown.

  That was no matter. Quite a while ago, it had forgotten about him too.

  “Do we really need so many guards?” One mech whispered, more to himself than the diminutive minibot he trailed behind. Neon lights danced off of his polished armor and fresh, gleaming white paint job that was accented by regal golds and sapphire. His extravagant build, though dripping in high status, was betrayed by slumped shoulders and droopy optics that lingered over the murmuring line of elite guardsmen and Iaconian police. Their conversations ceased and they saluted as he passed.  His name was Shockwave, and this was his party.

“They are no cause for concern, Senator. Merely here as formality. If you’d like, we could request them relocated.” The minicon that escorted him piped up reassuringly.

  “No, thank you. They’re fine.” Shockwave sighed, glancing once more over his shoulder at the mechs in their line. When he again faced forward, Shockwave was greeted with the appraising smiles of the other senators. They watched him expectantly, as he strode towards them, one gesturing Shockwave to the empty seat reserved in his honor. The minicon, all waxed and polished in uniform blue and gold, bowed deeply as they pulled the chair and presented it to the senator to sit down in. Too late was Shockwave in opening his mouth to thank the tiny bot for escorting him, as he'd already been dismissed and was now ushering another distinguished mech to his table.

“Senator Shockwave!” The mech beside him clasped his gilded servos together, the silver sweeps of his mouth curled smoothly in a grin. “Welcome to the table, are you enjoying yourself so far?”

“Why, yes, I am, thank you,” Shockwave returned a kind smile, his hands folded politely in front of him. “I’m surprised so many people showed up for… A bridge reopening.”

“But of course they did,” Senator Pylon cooed. He swirled his drink, taking a thoughtful sip of the glowing liquid. “It is, as well, your coronation.”

“Right…” The young politician averted his gaze, the accented armor atop his shoulders drooped ever so slightly. He seemed to catch himself, forcing his chest to puff out. Poor posture, he was told repeatedly, was unbecoming of an elite.

“I sense a ‘but’.” Pylon raised his eyebrows. He sat back in his seat, his narrow chin tilting downward. From this angle, one could see clearly the pink stripes that streaked upwards atop his green helm in lavish designs. One could also feel expectant yellow optics peering into their spark from beneath the brow of it. Shockwave’s own furrowed under the scrutiny.

  “I just, well… I just feel as though I could have done more. As my first action taken as Senator, I mean.” Shockwave explained, stifling a dejected sigh. His words seemed to go into one of Pylon’s audials and promptly out the other. “It is wonderful to see someone so young and ready to contribute, is it not?” Pylon raised his glass, grinning at the others seated at the table. There was a gentle rumble of agreement as the senators all voiced praise at once. He then elected to opening a tiny hatch on the table, and a small beacon lit up. Almost at once, a servant minicon appeared beside the senator.

“Yes sir, how may I be of service?” They said with a curtsy, voice soaked almost sickeningly in reverence.

“A round of your finest, for the table.” Pylon ordered, the sweep of his servo producing a grand gesture to the seated senate. Like birds of paradise, the figureheads of glorious city states all perched in their finery. Their presence alone caused the servant to bend their brow, deep in deference.

“Yes sir, right away sir.” The bot again curtsied, and the beacon flickered off as they scampered away to the bar. Pylon turned back to Shockwave.

“Don’t worry, you will have plenty of chances to make contributions.” He sipped his drink. “Your ambition will take you far. But tonight? Tonight we drink.”

  Shockwave could only offer a halfhearted nod. The other senators dismissed his concerns with laughter, sampling fine concoction of solidified energon placed in intricate designs on platters and insisting he indulged. He did, the shame of weighing down the lively mood of the soiree overpowering the embarrassment of how small his feat was. All he did was call for a bridge to be fixed. He hadn’t even noticed it was broken, Senator Sherma did. He hadn’t even built it, Senator Decimus had. He didn’t even instruct the construction team in their repair, Senator Momus did. All Shockwave had done was issue the order. It simply did not feel like his accomplishment.

He stared down at the table, watching neon lights dance along the topography of the polished brass. When the senator shifted, his preened features were distorted by the designs etched in the gilded mirror surface. His frown looked deeper reflected in gold.

  His rippled reflection was obscured by a glass of radiating violet liquid that was slid in front of him. He murmured a thanks to the servant, who only bowed deeply in response before turning and briskly making their way to the next table. Senator Pylon stood up and pressed a button. A loud chime sounded among the gala, the music softened, conversations hushed, the bots perched in the rafters with the spotlight alt modes focused their beams on the senator. He absorbed the light and radiated back glory. Glossy verdant armor shone, the rose stripes and swirls among it gleaming near white. He was the star in the dark of the galaxy, the luxurious image of cosmic brilliance. Seated beside him, Shockwave squinted against how garishly Pylon’s frame caught the light. Stars were much better appreciated from afar.

  “Thank you all for attending! I hope you all have enjoyed our humble hospitality.” He paused and smiled, the uproar of laughter thundering on queue. “As this city’s representative, I am beyond honored that, in every sense of the phrase, a bridge has been mended between our glorious Crystal City…”

Senator Pylon gestured down at Shockwave, and from above, two of the many spotlights trained on Pylon shifted their focus to the newest member of the oligarchy. Shockwave blinked in the blinding light, rising slowly to the gala’s roaring applause as if pulled by string.

“And Polyhex.” The mech beamed in pride, as if sparing a slice of his distinguished radiance for him to borrow and wear. He still had plenty to spare; brilliance exuded from him like an endless stream of liquid gold.

  Pylon’s approving smile, the cheer of the attendees, and the high grade in his systems all at once teased their presence over Shockwave’s worries and escorted them further and further from the young politician. His qualms seduced out of mind by the attention, Shockwave found himself dazed by the glory of it all. Blinded, he smiled, waving to the press and basking in the flash of cameras.

“And so, let us toast.” Pylon continued, raising his chalice. “To the newest member of the Senate, to his grand achievement, and the many more to come. To the noble state of Polyhex. To Shockwave!”

“To Shockwave!” The gala roared in unison and downed their drinks. The soiree’s festivities had  truly began. Music pounded from the small mechs with speakers on their armor that sat on the outskirts of the venue. Their bodies shook with the bass, and they signed to each other in a silent language, commenting on the elite’s taste in music. They gesticulated back in forth; their heads hurt, their speakers ached, they wanted this shift to be over.

Dazzling neon light danced from the outdoor rafters. So high up, the bots producing the lightshow were nearly invisible in the cloak of night. They undulated, revolved, and swayed to the music. Their dance was not one of celebration. As they gyrated, they flashed their biolights in code to one another, complaining of how tired they were. How they wished to go home, how the filaments in their light bulbs were sore.

How they all hated the Senators.

[moody-nature]

Guardsmans Pass Overlook, Park City, United States // By Patrick Hendry

[stripestheboar]

Day 5 - Alphyne (Undefell)

This one was even harder to do than the last one. Why?..... I’m running out of Alphyne ideas.

Pairing: Alphyne

Word Count: 2,045

Despite what one might expect, Waterfall was a rather peaceful place. Monsters did not disturb you as long as you minded your own business, and it was a common sight to see children and various monsters playing in some of the many bodies of water. Alphys didn’t visit here often, mostly because she found no need to. She preferred the warmth of Hotlands opposed to the cold dampness of the Underground’s swamplands. But, right now, she just needed time to herself, and the only place she could think to find solace was in Waterfall, away from everyone and everything, especially those things she kept locked up in the lab. So here she stood, overlooking the seemingly bottomless pit that their never-ending stream of water poured into, disappearing into the blackness and never to be seen again. Alphys vaguely puzzled over if anyone would ever miss that water, or if they ever wondered where that water went after it disappeared. Did it really matter? Water, like all things, was easily replaceable, and so no one ever cared for where it went or what it did, or whether or not there was enough to go around and use to their liking.

Alphys found herself grimacing at her own thoughts. “You sound like a child,” she scolded herself, clenching her fists slightly. “Though, at least a child would be missed…”  

She stepped closer to the edge, looking down at the smoothly flowing waters that glided past her feet and off the ground, into the black depths of the pit. She sighed and sat down then and there, not caring about her clothes becoming soaked. Those were easily replaceable as well. She let out a small sigh, attempting to unwind from a hard day’s work. She was tired. Of what, she could not be specific; she was just tired of everything. She let her small, thick legs hang off of the ledge, making a small break in the smooth shine of the waterfall. This was foolish. How easy it would be for someone, possibly looking for a bit of easy EXP, to just come up behind her and push her into the pit. It would also be rather easy to just slip, or to accidentally fall, or to just… drop. Maybe if she were to accidentally slip, she could finally see where the water goes. Maybe then she would see what it was like to truly be alone, just her and the rushing water, gone and forgotten by all. That would surely bring a few some satisfaction.

Alphys barely noticed when her hands gripped the ledge tightly, ready to push off at a single command. She frowned lightly as she watched the pit. Maybe she should just…

“Hey, punk! What’re you doing so close to the edge?”

Alphys blinked in surprised, jumping slightly for a moment as she looked back, her once blank and tired expression now replaced with a trained and hardened glare at whoever came to disturb the peace. To her slight interest, it was a denizen of Waterfall; a fish monster to be exact. Semi-aquatic as well, apparently, as she walked on two legs without breaking a sweat. Alphys gave a small huff of annoyance, peering at her from over her spiraled glasses as she slowly withdrew from the edge and stood up.

“Wh-what is it?” she muttered, looking away from the monster that approached, as she usually did when others talked to her.  

“Well you were awfully close to that ledge,” the other monster responded, crossing her arms just out of Alphys’ vision. “You ain’t gonna jump, are ya?” The small lizard glared up at her from behind her large glasses. This female was a blue fish, standing rather tall and had an eyepatch covering one eye. She was also rather thin, but taut muscles showed that she was no monster to be messed with. With her slick crimson hair tied back, sharp teeth bared, and her more than formal stance, she looked rather intimidating. She reminded her a bit of one of her animes, in fact, but she’d never say that aloud. Still, Alphys kept her composure up as she quickly looked away again. “And? What’s it to you?” The monster frowned, placing her hands on her hips. “What? Can’t do my job?” she scoffed. “The only useless monster is a dead one. If I just let every suicidal monster wander over and throw themselves off, believe me when I say we wouldn’t have a very big population.”

Alphys couldn’t help but give a small chuckle at the statement, finding it rather humorous despite the dark subject. “Oh? And just who are you?” she sighed, glancing up at her once again very briefly. The monster didn’t seem to bothered by her uptight tone. “Undyne,” she introduced. Head of the Royal Guard.” Alphys froze up completely. Fuck. She should have known. Any regular monster would have just taken the chance and pushed her straight off. Of course, she was a Royal Guardsman. It was just her luck. This was sure to get her a stern talking to by the big guy himself. Again. After fuck up with the Amalgamates, she was already on thin ice with him. Any more berating from him, his guards, or his subjects, and she felt as though she would have a meltdown. Hell, maybe she’d already had it.

“So, you gonna answer my question?” Undyne asked, looking down at her with a stern expression whilst awaiting an answer to her first question. “Or are you just gonna stand there like a dumb ass?”  

You know what? Fuck Asgore.

“Okay, so maybe I was,” Alphys spat, raising her voice for the first time that night. “Why the fuck would you care? It’s not like anyone would miss me while I was gone.” Undyne blinked in surprise, opening her mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off by Alphys, who was going on a bit of an angry rant. “I mean, what use am I anymore, right? Other than to make Asgore look like he’s got shit under control. Which, by the way, he does, especially without me, seeing as he has six souls and doesn’t need me with his hundreds of guards around. It’s not like anyone wants me either; I mean, what else have I done besides fuck up, huh? Citizens, guards, colleagues; who is there that wouldn’t care if I just jumped off, huh? Anyone besides you, of course, for god knows what reason. Though, I suppose I’m not totally unwanted. After all, who else would keep Undernet up and running when no one’s here to-“

Alphys was finally shut up by a forceful hand slapped over her mouth. “Geeze, you never stop talking, huh?” Undyne chuckled. “Sounds like you need to blow off a bit of steam, yeah?” Alphys only glared and shoved her hand away, attempting to hide her frayed emotions behind her large glasses, something she used to be rather talented at. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working so well as of late.  

“Look, I don’t usually get involved with this kind of stuff,” the fish sighed, crouching down to the lizard’s level. “You’re Alphys, right? Head Royal Scientist? Well, that’s at least what I gathered from your little rant.” Said monster looked away, somewhat embarrassed at her mentioned outburst. “No matter who you are,” Undyne continued, “you’re obviously in need of a bit of help.” The much smaller monster blinked at her, wondering where this was going. The other just chuckled. “You need to stop being such a little bitch.”

Alphys just stared for a moment, before immediately turning around to throw herself off the ledge. Undyne quickly grabbed her arm before she could fully turn, letting out a little laugh. “I mean, look at you, you’re like a walking doormat. You let everyone just step all over you, like you’re worthless,” she pointed out. “Gee, you’re such a fucking help,” Alphys muttered, looking away from her as she tried to shove her emotions back into that broken bottle. She paused, however, when she felt a large hand grab hold of her much smaller one, wrapping around it tightly. Not a beat passed before Undyne continued to speak. “How about you prove them wrong?” The seconds ticked by before Alphys slowly looked up at the other monster, the inquisitive look clear even past her thickly framed glasses, meant to hide her away from others. The Royal Guardsman merely grinned at her before she kept going. “You’re the Head Royal Scientist. If anything, you deserve nothing but respect. Fuck anyone who thinks otherwise. Show them you’re not gonna be stepped on like some doormat, even if you have to bust a few heads in the process.”

Alphys watched her for a few seconds, looking for any sign of mockery or spite, but there was none to be seen. She felt a strange warmth in her soul for a few seconds, and instead of disappearing, it only grew as Undyne lifted another hand to cup the other one. “And besides,” she sighed, “we’re almost free. We’re gonna bust out of here and we’re gonna eradicate those humans off of our planet, yeah? And you’re gonna show those pesky humans and all monsters that you’re a scientist to be feared.” He squeezed her hands. “So don’t quit now, okay? Hang in there, and don’t quit no matter what these fuckers say. You gotta stay determined and put one hundred percent into your work, because what you do is important.”

That grinned turned into a light smile. “So don’t throw everything away just yet, okay?”

Alphys said nothing at first, before she looked away, magic rushing up to her cheeks for the first time in several months. Who was this monster? Who did she think she was, bringing an emotion as weak and despised as compassion into a place like this? Still, Alphys didn’t give a damn over what was taboo at the moment. All she knew was her soul fluttered even more as Undyne’s grip gently squeezed Alphys’ much smaller hands. She felt something other than frustration in response for the first time in years, and by god was it relief. She looked back at the fish, giving a sort of nervous laugh. “Well… I do suppose I was a tad unreasonable there for a second…”

Undyne could only give a laugh in response, before standing up fully. “Yeah, ya think? You got me being all sentimental and everything,” she chuckled. “Papyrus’ll be on a five-month rant if he ever catches me being nice.” She looked down at Alphys. “Seems like you need a bit of a break. Tell you what: my break comin’ in within a few minutes. How about some Spite Cream? I hear the Spite Cream Vendor is just a few rooms away from here. On me.” The much smaller monster looked up at her new companion. How could she refuse? “Y-yeah. Sounds great,” she smiled, her soul beginning to soar upon seeing Undyne grin triumphantly in response. “Here, I’ll even give you boost. Royal Guard style.”

Alphys gasped in surprise when she was suddenly heaved up by her waist and tucked under the other’s arm. Within seconds, she was springing down the halls of Waterfall, nimbly avoiding each and every monster that got in their way as they passed. Alphys pulled away from her surprise to look up at Undyne, her glasses nearly sliding off her face to reveal large, curious, and amazed blue eyes as she watched the much stronger monster navigate the halls with ease. As they neared the end of their destination, she realized that Undyne was looking back down at her, a confident grin spread across her fact as she slowed her pace. The smaller monster blushed and hurriedly straightened the glasses back on her face, mumbling small curses to herself. Still, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander. It had only been a span of less than ten minutes, and yet this beast of a woman had already swept her up off her feet. She knew she had work to do and people to see, but for now, she couldn’t give a damn.  

Tonight, she was walking home with a new stride in her step and determination in her soul.

[siren-dragon]

Long Live the King - (Ardyn Izunia x Reader) Ch.1

I finally finished the first (technically second) chapter! ^_^

First off, I want to say thank you to everyone who liked/reblogged/read this story, I was amazed at the responses I got. Second, even though I am writing this story, the prompt was @maty-yami idea, so be sure to thank her and send her some love too. Also, I am sorry if this chapter seems a little messy, as I am writing this at an ungodly hour XD

Anyway, let’s get this started!

Your head felt heavy as you slowly opened your eyes. Sunlight flittered through the window to your left as a light breeze blew the sheer curtains hanging beside it. As the fog cleared away from your mind you willed your arms to move, managing to clench your hand against soft cotton. Where were you? And was the one who brought you here to be branded a friend or foe?

“I see you are awake,” a deep voice spoke.

Slowly turning your head to the doorway, you took a moment to observe your visitors. A middle aged man stood before you with another man standing behind, their clothing suggesting the possession of influence. He wore a tailored black suit with a indigo vest and blue scarf; completed with a navy over-coat that came to his knees. His hair was a dark grey, matching that of his full beard and he carried himself with the air of a man of station. Though his intimidating appearance slowly diminished as he gave you a kind smile.

The second man reminded you much of Gilgamesh, his stoic expression betraying none of his thoughts as he kept his gaze focused on you. His appearance screamed that of a man of strength, the katana at his hip clearly not a mere piece of decoration. The man kept his eyes focused on you with his hand hovering near his weapon, ready to unleash it’s wrath upon you should anything occur.

“You have managed to cause quite a stir when my son found you in the lake this morning.” The bearded man chuckled, coming to sit in the chair beside the bed you laid in.

“I am sorry…” you croaked out, your voice raspy and soft from lack of use. “It was not my intention to cause trouble...”

“There is no need for apologizes, no lasting harm has occurred. Though I am curious as how you managed to enter the Citadel undetected.”

“I’ve always lived within the Citadel.”

The two men frowned in confusion at your answer, sharing a look that made you rather nervous. “Miss, no one has ever seen you before until today. Please answer our questions honestly.” The standing man spoke, his pale blue eyes hardening into ice chips at your response.

“I do not understand….I’ve lived here all my life…” You spoke, your voice changing pitch as panic began to settle in your stomach.

“Please calm down, Miss; we just want to know who you are and how you came here.” The bearded man said in an attempt to soothe your nerves.

“No, I-I don’t know you! Leave me alone!”

You shoved the man aside and out of his chair, taking him and his guard both by surprise before running for the exit. Yanking open the door you ran out into the corridor, causing the servants you passed to shout in shock. Blindly you ran through the corridors with the sound of boots echoing behind you, trying to escape whatever mad fantasy you had fallen into. You came to a halt when the shouting of what seemed like guardsman came from the front while footsteps came from behind. Immediately you turned right and bolted down the corridor toward the light that shone at the end as fear pumped your feet to move faster. The sudden exposure of sunlight caused you to wince, raising your arm to shade your vision as your eyes adjusted. You tried to catch your breath and paused; recognizing the scent of fresh grass and flowers.

You were within the Royal Garden, the place you had so often tended to with your father. Where your beloved knelt before you to ask for your hand in marriage. It all looked as before; cherry blossom trees surrounding the lake with the bridge, gazebo with roses twisted all around, even the gardenias you’re your father had planted when you were a child. And yet…you could not help but stare in wonder and horror at the city skyline that the garden overlooked.

Buildings as far as the eye could see, some even taller than the Statues of the Old Wall, no longer made of stone but metal and glass. Long, winding bridges flowed through the city like rivers of black water while large metal boxes upon wheels moved like salmon up a stream. Above your head you saw the tell-tale shimmer of a magic-barrier, encasing the entire metropolis within it. You fell to your knees at the sight, staring in disbelief at the appearance of the Crown-City. What happened to your home? What was going on?! You felt as if the world was crumbling beneath your feet as you tugged at your hair in a panic, wishing with all your might for someone to save....

“Hey, it’s you.”

The voice startled you out of your mental breakdown, causing you to turn around to the source of the voice. Behind you stood a young black-haired boy, dressed head-to-toe in black, gazing at you curiously. “Are you okay Miss? When we saw you floating in the lake, we thought you had drowned.”

“Yes….I am fine. And I believe it is you who I owe my life.” You gave a small, shaky smile to the young boy, bowing your head in gratitude, “thank you.”

“Er, your welcome.” The boy said, a slight blush dusting his pale face. “So, what’s your name?”

“….(f/n). May I…ask what your name is?”

“Noctis, but you can call me Noct.” The boy cocked his head to the side as he stared at you, “how did you end up in the lake?”

“I am not sure. I remember…ice….and a cold chill. Then darkness….”

Noctis frowned at your words, “that sounds weird.”

“Yes, I’m suppose it does,” you laughed, his innocence feeling like a breath of fresh air. “But…it is all I have. And that will have to due for now.”

“Noctis!”

You both turned to see the beard man who had spoke to you earlier alongside the katana wielding soldier and another bald man, both glaring at you with hardened eyes. The bearded man kept the kind smile on his face, but his tense posture spoke volumes of his emotional state. “Noctis, I see you have found our…guest.”

“Yeah, I wanted to show her the gardens,” the black-haired boy spoke. His excuse was a poor one, but it caused you to smile nonetheless.

“That is rather kind of you. But I must speak with our guest privately now. Will you please excuse us?”

The boy nodded before tossing you a smile. “Bye (f/n)! I’ll see you later!”

You waved a silent farewell to Noctis as a maid ushered him away from the gardens, leaving you alone with the three men. The tension was so thick it could be sliced with a knife, making the serene garden seem more like a blood-covered battleground. You turned to look at the three men before you, the tears falling from your eyes taking them by surprise.

“I believe you had some questions.”

“I see…so you are as much in the dark as we are.” Regis sighed, resting his chin upon his laced fingers.

You nodded, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze and instead focusing upon the edge of the grand, oak desk sitting before you. Cor, the man with the katana, had his eyes closed in thought while Clarus, the bald man, kept a neutral face though his eyes shot you a look of pity.

“I am sorry I could not help you,” you mumbled softly.

“It is I who should apologize to you, Miss (f/n). It was our intention to help you, not submit you to a prison interrogation.”

“Yet you choose to tend to my wounds instead of tossing me within your dungeon. For that, you have my eternal gratitude, King Regis.”

Regis gave you a small smile, “your most welcome (f/n). Though with the gaps in your memory being present, there remains the situation regarding your livelihood.”

Though it was only a partial lie, you felt horrible about saying it to the very people who saved your life. Yet there was so much you did not understand, and explaining it to someone would only worsen your situation. No, you had to first discover the truth for yourself, if only for the time-being. “I will take any job you have, so long as I have room and board,” you pleaded.

“Your Majesty…the Kingsglaive is still recruiting members.” Cor spoke for the first time since the start of the meeting. “Perhaps we could send Miss (f/n) there.”

“That’s a rather serious occupation,” Clarus added.

“It will be no trouble to me. I can do it.”

Your answer was said with such conviction, even Cor raised an eyebrow in surprise. The three men all shared a look before turning to face you once more.

“Very well then; welcome to the Kingsglaive Miss (f/n).”

The sound of music echoed around all around as he walked through the familiar garden, like an alluring call to weary travelers. You sat perched upon the same bench, beneath the gazebo of white roses, ocarina pressed to your lips. Beside you sat the small cradle where your son laughed at the cheerful notes you let dance around the air.  Glancing upward you smiled, the very sight taking his very breathe away.

“My love, you’ve returned!” holding out your arms you moved to embrace him, allowing Ardyn to bury his nose within your (h/c) hair.

“Yes my dear, I have come home….”

“But I’m afraid your too late.” You spoke, moving away to show the dagger that was imbedded in your heart, blood pouring down your dress. “You could not protect us…”

Ardyn backed away from you in horror as the once beautiful garden transformed into a decaying ruin. He stared at your body lying upon the floor with the corpse of your son as he fell to his knees, black tears falling from golden eyes. “No! Don’t leave me! Don’t take her too, please! Stop, stop, STOP!”

Ardyn’s eyes snapped open immediately, sitting up right as sweat-drenched sheets pooled around his waist. He rubbed a hand down his face in exhaustion, sleep alluding him once more. Once more he dreamed of you, the sweet music you once played a light within the shadows of his mind. Yet the fantasy never lasted long when the nightmare revealed itself. Oh, how he missed you, his beloved Queen. The suffering you and your innocent child had endured at the hand of those accursed gods…they will pay.

“I will avenge you my nymph, I swear it.” Ardyn snarled as black tears fell from his eyes.

And that is the end of chapter one! I hope you guys enjoyed it and I will start on the next chapter as fast as I can. Take care everyone and have a good night! ^_^

[travelella]

Guardsmans Pass Overlook, Park City, Utah, United States

Olivia Hutcherson

[amelriah-edrickton]

In the Line of Duty

@regalswag @bloodoflordaeron

Perched upon the overlooking balcony, the newest royal guard made her vigil. Amelriah stood watching the affairs below. The crowd was exceptionally dense today; matters to be brought to court and petitions to be announced, she thought with a short, wistful sigh. It wasn’t that she held contempt to them - but, for the shortest of moments, she had often found herself bored in her duties. Upon the dais, she felt prideful - yet, the tedium of the court life was crushing as the days progressed on.

The familiar weight of the Scourgebreaker over her back was reassuring; Vann had fixed it to her specifications well. It had cost a considerable amount of her inheritance, yet, it was well worth it. It had been perhaps the only thing of importance her uncle had left her.

 Her gaze continued to scan the crowd, looking for everything Sir Rhoen had mentioned. Individuals who would not meet her eyes, unsettled men, the shape of a blade or pistol. The prohibition of blades had made it much easier to search, yet, she saw few. Amelriah found her gaze lingering upon a tall blonde man. The finery he wore did not match his otherwise worn appearance. An attendant, she thought.

Their gazes met, as the man sensed her gaze - turning his body to meet her for a moment. There was a flash of mutual recognition - though, Amelriah knew not where they’d encountered each other before. The man’s heraldry was strange - a fox burnished upon an empty crimson field.

Her vigil continued as the first petitioners arrived before both King and Queen. Dame Mallister stood nearby, alongside the newest of guards, Sir Lanthil. It was peculiar she thought, that the Lord Commander was absent. Amelriah knew little of the Lord Commander -- or his history. He was always loathe to speak of it, instead, content to glower in silence. It was peculiar, she thought, that they knew next to nothing of each other.

She’d fought against Sir Lanthil, and though he was a half-breed, he was becoming more respected and adept with a blade as the days passed. He was perhaps a bit too cheerful; talkative. He made good company, if little else. As the two youngest in the Royal Guard they’d found some common ground.

Of the remainder she knew very little. They exchanged words very little. Sir Sigurd seemed a tolerable sorts; silent with a brow perpetually furrowed. He said even less, and was often absent the guard’s cloister. Catelynne Mallister, however, was not - much to her chagrin. Amelriah found the woman intolerable, and in truth, the dame’s reliance upon title and position was frustrating. The rumors between her and the Edrickton name further added to Amelriah’s disdain, though, it was something she’d never voiced.

“Dame Amelriah,” the voice started - scaring the blonde from her thoughts. She’d found herself leaning against the balcony, arms pressed against the stonework. “It appears you’ve managed to see yourself busy.”  Like a bowstring, the younger knight snapped at attention - poised with all the practice of the Dawn’s academy.

Lord Commander Rhoen was a tall man; hulking in his plate yet bearing some refined edge. His eyes were sharp, and though he was starting to show some of his age, always alert. His deeds and origin were only known partially to those outside the Queen’s Army - and even then, only those who’d served since the start. Something to do with an axe, and a dragon.

Amelriah remained at attention, awaiting Rhoen’s word. The man looked her over, one of those eyes long since dead and kept without an eyepatch. Whether that be for intimidation she did not know truly, though, the woman kept her gaze directly forward. “Enough of that,” the Lord Commander grunted and nodded towards the crowd - voice gravelly and coarse. “Anything to note?”

The younger knight relaxed for a moment, yet, never let her guard down. “Nothing to note, Lord-Commander. All is well.” She could complain about her placement, yet, did not. She could offer that mismatched herald, yet did not. If she spoke too hastily, she could find herself in trouble with the nobility. Best not to cause a problem.

The answer appeared to satisfy Rhoen, though, he stepped to the edge of the balcony and studied the crowd. His brow furrowed in concentration, and Amelriah joined him in studying the crowd. Below them, the thronging masses had been made well into neat, orderly courtiers and petitioners all - a queue formed that trailed out and around the great hall. The attendant from previous and the lord he was minding were both approaching the front of the line.

Wordlessly, Sir Rhoen pushed off the stone and walked back the way he came - evidently satisfied with having seen the court from atop. Amelriah thus returned to watching the courtiers and petitioners advance - taking a particular interest in the livery of the attendant. As they advanced in line, waiting patiently and quietly, Amelriah took particular interest - noting the subtle glances towards the guardsmen, and then the dais.

 De Voss.

She stood a bit straighter. The fox upon a field of red. House De Voss’ colors had long since been banned after the Dawnford incident. The presence of those colors had set her ill at ease, and, from the looks of the guards below - she’d doubted they’d yet been discovered from the guards who were far too busy minding the Queen’s proximity.

Equal feelings of frustration and anxiety flooded through her. What if they never saw it? Something could go wrong. Something would go wrong. The tightness in her chest grew, until, finally, she found herself making towards the lower levels - shoving off the balcony and traversing the transept of the hall and arriving at the lower floor by the Queen’s dais.

Each measured step sounded out, though, she tried her best to muffle the noise as she’d been taught by Sir Rhoen. Yet, a few heads turned to her - including the attendant’s. At a closer glimpse she could see everything about his attire in plain sight - searching the man intently. She caught the odd shape tucked within the man’s coat; eyes narrowed. Amelriah’s blood ran cold when she saw the wooden handle of a pistol tucked into a man’s coat. The royal guard brushed shoulders with the nearby guardsman, remaining utterly silent and cutting into the line - right before the noble and attendant.

Her hand found rest upon grip of the Scourgebreaker, staring at the odd pair of attendant and lord. “My lord. You and your attendant will be coming with me.” It was only in this proximity that she could smell it - a thick, almost dense smell of perfumes - as though they’d been applied liberally to hide a smell, rather than accentuate it. Both men startled, though, did not speak. A shared glance between them was all that was required.

The first masquerading as a lord reached into his sleeve with a smile; a knife coming away from the inner fold. It was keen and wicked causing her to start. Amelriah drew the Scourgebreaker, but, the knife was quicker - slicing through the air where only previously her throat had been. As the entire court snapped into action, the young knight’s combat shifted. The knight drew her blade, releasing the guard and drawing her arm upwards to catch the blade slamming back towards her torso.

Her forearm collided with the man’s wrist - wrestling for control as the blade came nearer towards her flesh. The knife-wielding opponent jerked suddenly and the knife slipped from the former lord’s grasp. It was only then that Amelriah was aware of a hulking figure shadowing her opponent. Sir Rhoen’s axe stood firmly lodged within the man’s spine. He tried to wrench it free of the man’s back, noise rushing Amelriah’s ear as the entire court reacted.

 The other one.

Guards rushed the trio remaining. One guard lay his arm upon the gun-wielding attendant - displaced by an elbow from the assassin. Amelriah moved forward in an attempt to catch him off - yet moved too slowly. The pistol’s barrel lifted towards the royal dais, pointed squarely at the Queen - even as Sir Lanthil and Dame Mallister began to form around the family.

 Not enough time.

Amelriah threw herself infront of the man, making to draw the blade. A thunderous roar resounded from the pistol, smoke billowing from the striking pan and decorating both Amelriah and the shooter in fine gunsmoke. Undeterred, she drew the blade - and brought it across the assailant’s torso. The coup de grace came shortly after -- a spear taking the man in the gut following the slash -- from one of the guardsmen behind.

Once certain the duo were slain, Amelriah turned on the dais - glancing around with blade still in hand. The Scourgebreaker did not shimmer; remaining dormant in her hand. A sense of revulsion and panic manifested in her chest once more - searching intently those present upon the dais. Madelynne remained uninjured, with the Royal Guard enclosing upon them. Sir Rhoen began barking commands, Amelriah moving forward without further hesitation - the Scourgebreaker matting blood over the floor.

The shooting pain throughout her torso elicited an urgent noise of pain. Placing a hand to her tabard, she saw the red beginning to stain pristine white cloth - mingling with the iconic falcon emblazoned across her chest. Bringing back a hand, she stared at the red which stained the platemail - jostled when Rhoen’s hand landed upon her shoulder. He muttered a few words.

Nodding weakly, Amelriah straightened her torso despite the pain - following in short order. The burning pain remained, breath coming staggered from her lungs. She tasted blood in the back of her mouth. Her feet became unresponsive - weak - and with Sir Rhoen’s guidance she managed to bring herself towards the hallway.

 As the Royal Family departed, Amelriah caught sight of a momentary glance thrown over their shoulders. She composed herself enough for them to be brought out of sight - then promptly fell unconscious.

[saberswann]

Vanguard Ch. 4

   Erend looked at Aloy for the millionth time in the trip from Pitchcliff and admired how she looked in Oseram armor. She’d not complained once about the heavy metal that he was sure she wasn’t used to, only a pleasant smile sat on her face as the thick leather warded off the cold. 

   The new armor had seen battle almost immediately after leaving Pitchcliff, a ravager leaping out from behind a large rock formation to attack Aloy’s strider. She’d been sent flying off the machine, and rolled when she hit the ground across the road. Immediately she’d turned and sent a tearblast arrow rocketing into the ravager’s heavy cannon, ripping it from the machine with a loud screech. Erend barely had time to draw his bow before she was across the road and hefting the large cannon at the machine while it tousled with her mount. The heavy weapon quickly dispatched both machines, and Aloy only frowned slightly at the inconvenience of killing her own mount.

   Erend gaped slightly at the ease with which she’d taken out the fierce machine, and the vanguardsmen openly whooped in support. Aloy only grinned back at them and set upon the machine corpse, stripping it off all valuable parts faster than Erend had seen anyone do before. Occasionally she’d make a satisfied noise as she was elbow deep in the ravager’s corpse, pulling out a pristine piece of machinery that he knew was worth a good chunk of shards.

   When she’d finished looting the machine it wasn’t much more than a metal skeleton. She looked contemplatively at her dead strider, and then back at Erend.

   "Mind if I ride with you until we find another herd?“ She asked with such casualness that Erend simply accepted without thinking. When she was on his strider ahead of him though, her back pressed to his chest, he realized the mistake he’d made. She was leaned slightly back against him, his arms around her sides to grip the wires from the neck of the machine, and his heart was beating as he were in battle. He was sure that she’d feel it beating through his armor and question it, but she never brought it up, which helped to slightly lessen it’s frantic pace.

   Her red mane of hair was almost touching his chin, and when the breeze blew it carried her scent into his nose, making his spine stiffen. She smelled of pine needles and leather, with a hint of grass after rain, and he decided that she was his new favorite smell. The Oseram armor added a slight metal and explosive tinge to her scent that reminded him of home and made something in his chest twist that he didn’t recognize. Occasionally she would move to make herself more comfortable on the strider and he had to grit his teeth more than once as her ass moved between his legs.

   Only a short time later they stumbled upon a herd of broadheads, and Aloy left him to retrieve a new mount. He was almost glad to have her not against him, if only so that she wouldn’t feel his growing need for her every time she fidgeted against him. As soon as she left, however, he felt colder. Not from the wind that now hit him from in front of them, but from missing her form against his.

____________________________________________

   They were now nearing the final ascent to Dervahl’s camp, the sun setting over the mountains ahead of them, making a halo around the intimidating figure of a stormbird in the distance. Aloy had herded all their mounts into a sheltered area at the base of the nearby mountain, to hide them from other machines until they returned to them, and was now stoking a fire that they would stay near until dark.

  She felt the tension of an upcoming battle in the men, and she was arguably more calm than she thought she should be. The ease with which she’d taken out the ravager earlier that day had seemed to encourage the men, their proud remarks still ringing in her ears as she sat in front of the fire. The other men were passing a flask around as Erend cooked rabbits, still talking about her machine fight earlier. She laughed at one of the guard’s comments - his name is Ford she chastised herself - he’d been joking about the look on Erend’s face as she took down the ravager.

   "Maybe cap was just jealous, the ‘savage’ can take down machines better than he can,” another member of the guard - Kiln she reminded herself - laughed as he put air questions around the word savage. She grinned widely at him when he used the exaggerated air quotes around the word she’d been described with for so long. 

   "Hey, I’ve never seen you lot take down a ravager like that either, if you’re not jealous then you should be, Aloy is a master huntress,“ a smirk pulled at the corner of Erend’s lips and he poked a half-cooked rabbit at Kiln to accentuate his statement. The men chuckled, but agreed with him, muttering various praise in her direction again, and she waved them off.

   "You’d all be this good if you’d been fighting for your life since you were born. I’ve just got more experience than you all,” she shrugged noncommittally, but a sly smile appeared on her face as she continued, “but I’d be happy to give you lessons if you need them, I don’t charge much!”

   Erend’s deep laugh was reward enough for her joke, but after the vanguardsmen finished with their mock offense they also broke into throaty laughter. The third guard spoke then, jokingly moving to take her up on her offer, and she had to think for a moment before his name resurfaced in her mind - Flint. He laughed at his own joke and then winked at Aloy from under his helmet, saying something about spending more time with her.

   Erend’s spine went rigid when he watched Flint wink at Aloy, and then she laughed. His knuckles went white around the spit that he was roasting rabbits on, and his teeth ground together almost audibly. Ford laughed uncomfortably at Flint’s joke as he heard the small growl that came from Erend’s throat, and hastily changed the subject. Erend’s grip on the spit loosened as Ford launched into a story about the time he failed to seduce a Carja huntress named Talanah.

   Aloy watched as the tension drained from Erend’s shoulders and wondered what had caused it so suddenly, perhaps it was because his guardsman joked about needing training. She watched as he glowered at Flint, but lightened as Ford changed the subject, and Aloy nearly jumped when she heard the name of her potential sponsor in the Hunter’s Lodge. By the end of Ford’s story Aloy was clutching at her stomach with laughter, knowing how handily Talanah had turned down the guardsman gave her a new respect for the woman. The sun had finished setting by the end of his story, and they dug into the cooked rabbits before putting out the fire and getting ready for the assault.

   The hike up the mountain was relatively short, Aloy on constant alert. The cliffs rose high above them on either side and made Aloy feel claustrophobic, always looking for an ambush from above. As they neared the camp she heard the distinctive call of a longleg in the distance and tensed. They settled on a ridge overlooking the front gate, Aloy watching as some Oseram secured the chains that held down the machine she’d heard a moment ago. Aloy threw a confused look at Erend quickly, but did not remove her eyes from the camp for long.

   "Dervahl is a tinker, he probably keeps the machines to test his weapons. Or experiment on them,“ he almost sounded disgusted at the thought of Dervahl’s experiments, and a flash of concern coursed through Aloy, thinking of the machine that paralyzed Ersa and her team.

   "Let me go in first and try and catch them by surprise, and then you and your men can come in later,” Aloy turned to look at Erend and watched as he examined the gates slowly. She flicked on her focus and counted the figures on the walls, registering several other machines within the gates, but couldn’t see far enough to know how many in total there were.

   Erend looked uncomfortable and Aloy could see him grinding his teeth slightly as he thought over her plan, a frown seated firmly on his lips. After a moment he looked to the other guardsmen and they nodded at him, which encouraged him to agree, nodding back at Aloy.

   "Be careful, but don’t worry, we’ve got your back. Right men?“ He looked expectantly at his men and they replied in unison, clearly more quiet than they were used to. A bright smile flashed into the night from Aloy’s face as he turned back to her, and immediately she was off. He watched as she snuck across the ridge and dropped down into some brush, sneaking through the grass and silently pulling down a man at the edge who did not stand back up. She swiftly executed the Oseram in the guard towers, the whoosh of her arrow the only noise that announced their deaths. Erend was shocked then, when he watched her nock a tearblast arrow and level it at the chained ravager in front of the gates. A loud blast echoed around the canyon and the ravager roared at its’ captors and wrenched free of the lighter chains that held it’s limbs. Another tearblast arrow whooshed across the field and ripped the cannon from the back of the ravager and it hardly noticed, assuming its captors had continued to injure it. Erend watched in amazement as the machine took out man upon man, ripping through the camp of unexpectant Oseram.

   Eventually, he heard the sound of the machine falling and some cheers from within the gates, and he watched as Aloy sprinted toward the cannon she’d taken off the ravager. He signaled his men then, leaping off the ridge with a shout as Aloy reached the cannon. The men that were left turned and rushed through the gates, unaware of the huntress just outside the gates, weilding the machine cannon. Before the vanguardsmen got to the gates Aloy had killed five men, moving slowly as she held the heavy weapon. She moved through the gates with them, firing constantly at anything ahead of her that moved. By the time the cannon spent its rounds there were only three men left, finished off quickly by the vanguard.

   Erend left his men at the gates in case of reinforcements and ran with Aloy up the stairs and toward the main building of the camp. Aloy leveled an arrow at a man who jumped out from behind a building and Erend watched as her arrow pierced his chest. Her face was a sheet of stone as blood spurted from the man, nocking another arrow in preparation for a continued fight. When she found none, she followed Erend to the doorway of the main building, throwing a hand to his chest when he nearly barreled down the stairs immediately.

   "Wait, Erend- there could be traps- let me check it with my focus,” Erend growled at her instinctively but relented when he saw the concern written in the lines on her face. She scanned the hallway and started walking down the stairs, barely preventing a scream when a horribly high pitched noise assaulted her ears. She stumbled back up the stairs and watched as a man with a firespitter rounded the corner in front of her. The noise still hampering her movement, she barely made it behind cover before the man unleashed fire from the doorway. Erend let out a noise that she didn’t know he could make and loosed several frost arrows at the man to slow his advancement. Aloy cleared her head with a shake and nocked her sharpest arrows at the man, letting three fly at once, all of them burrowing through his leather armor and earning her a flinch from him. Erend saw his opening and ran at the man with a shout, his Warhammer raised high. Aloy continuously loosed arrows to cover his approach, and watched as Erend’s hammer crashed through the man’s breastplate and crushed his torso.

   He was panting heavily as Aloy approached, an angry grimace glued to his face. Aloy examined the man’s corpse, finding some strange ear pieces under his helmet and removing them. As she inspected them she realized their function and placed them over her own ears. Quickly she disarmed the weapon in the stairwell and waved Erend down with her. They were prepared for more of a fight when they rounded the corner down the stairs, but only found another of the strange weapons pointed at a cell with a prone female figure within.

   "Ersa!“ Erend ran forward and brought his hammer down on the machine several times until it turned off. He rushed forward and kicked in the door of her cell, immediately dropping his hammer to lift her into his arms. Aloy trailed behind him, waiting a moment before approaching the cell, offering up her pouch of healing herbs silently. Ersa smiled at her but pushed her hand away, causing a panicked look from Erend.

   "Ersa, I’m so sorry we didn’t find you sooner, I’m sorry that I’m such a drunk idiot that you didn’t take me with you in the first place, I…” He spat words out with much difficulty, trying to apologize for everything at once before she stopped him with a look.

   "I didn’t bring you because I knew it was a trap, little brother. I just didn’t think it’d be such a good trap. But Meridian needs you now Erend, you’ve got to grow up now. Promise me,“ Ersa coughed out her words with some difficulty, and Aloy realized with a sinking feeling why she’d refused the herbs. They were wasted on her.

   "I will Ersa, I promise, I’ll grow up, just you’ve gotta- Ersa? Ersa!” Erend shook his sister lightly, the panic rising in his voice as he realized what was happening. His head lowered toward hers as a choked sob left his throat. Aloy felt his grief keenly, reminding her off herself when she watched Rost die at the Proving.

   "Erend, I’m so sorry,“ Aloy knew that her sympathy didn’t even begin to be comforting, and so she offered to do what she was good at, “I’ll look around in Dervahl’s things, maybe we can find where he’s gone.” Erend looked as if he couldn’t speak if he tried, and only nodded at her before turning back to his sister. Aloy examined the room slowly, wanting to give Erend space she knew he needed. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he picked up her body and lifted her out of her cell, placing her gently on a table outside the barred room. Aloy listened to a recording of Dervahl with his family and tears welled in her eyes as she thought of Erend and Ersa’s family, also taken away from them by the mad Sun-King. Eventually she approached Erend, knowing Dervahl’s next target.

   "Erend… We have to get back to Meridian. Dervahl’s next target, it’s Avad,“ she stood uncomfortably over his shoulder, wanting desperately to pull him into an embrace, hold him until she’d never see that look on his face again. But she knew, she knew that this was not the time. She heard him take a deep breath and held his face in his hands for a moment before he could turn and face her.

   "All right, I understand. But, I can’t just leave Ersa here. We… I have to lay her to rest. Oseram, we typically don’t bury our dead… We build them pyres, letting them become one with the fire that we are forged in. I’d like to build one, for Ersa. You don’t have to stay, the vanguard and I will meet you back in Meridian…” He stood then, with his sister in his arms, the tear tracks evident in the soot on his face, and looked at her with a grief that nearly broke her heart.

   "Of course I’m not going anywhere. I’m with you Erend, no matter what.“ She spoke with a strength she didn’t know was in her, and Erend’s heart swelled. He hadn’t expected her to stay, after all, she’d never met his sister. But her presence made this easier, whether she knew it or not.

____________________________________________

   The vanguardsmen and Aloy all helped build the pyre, moving in silent solidarity under the cloudless night sky. By the time the pyre was built, Aloy’s muscles were sore and she could feel the fatigue from the day, but she refused to show it. Erend needed support now, more than ever, and she would do her best to be that support. There was a deep sadness felt throughout the valley as Kiln sang an Oseram song, low and soft, and Erend placed Ersa’s body on the wooden altar. Flint and Ford joined in at the high point of the song, their deep voices echoing off the walls of the canyon in a sorrowful harmony. Erend lit the pyre with a torch and came to stand next to Aloy, his usually bright blue eyes glistening darkly with tears. Aloy could hear the grief in the voices of the vanguard, their words coming out with a choked tightness that Aloy knew too well. Aloy heard Erend breath in a ragged deep breath, and she brushed her hand up against his experimentally. He didn’t move his away, so she softly twined her fingers through his. Erend felt a lump in his heart when her hand twined with his, his sorrow mixing with his affection for her, and he gently squeezed back, eternally glad that she’d stayed.

“I'm with you Erend, no matter what.”

[serainovel]

Prologue Part Two: Smoke

Serai Kingdom, Brackenshire County, the Eastern Barracks.

Satisfied with a job well done, and a dummy well vanquished, Michael left the warehouse and headed back to his quarters with a spring in his step. His day had been a productive one, and he was content now to retire to bed, and rise early again in the morning. His battle with the dummy had likely cost him a few extra minutes of sleep, but getting out of bed in time to be the first to arrive at the mess hall, when the food was still plenty and the bread was still fresh, was always worth a slight bit of grogginess.

He slung the strap of his scabbard over his back, and kicked a stone out of his way. Moonlight guided his every step as he crossed the stone path leading from the warehouses to the trainee accommodation block.

When the kingdom’s need for new military trainees had increased, so had the need for adequate housing. And it had to be done quick. The Northern and Western Barracks were best equipped to handle this shortage, but the Eastern Barracks, the smallest of the four, did not have the space to accommodate. Buildings were erected in every available field, from the warehouses all the way to the southern wall, until they became indistinguishable from one another. And it still wasn’t enough. The architects were forced to come up with a more creative solution. When there was no room left to expand on the ground, the only way to go was up.

The result was a hodgepodge of precariously placed materials and poor planning. The towers stretched their snaking bodies into the night sky, standing proud in bold defiance of architecture. What had started as a humble stone house had transformed into a structural nightmare, a patchwork of brick and mortar, as more and more rooms had been slapped on to its yielding structure. The internal layout had been twisted into a series of uneven tunnels. They were so difficult to navigate that building connecting stairwells between each floor had become an impossibility. Trainees had resorted to knocking down walls, slinging rope ladders from windows, and creating crawlspaces in the ceilings and floors to gain access to adjacent rooms. It was eventually decided that the stairs should be built on the outside of the towers instead. This took the tedium out of navigating the flats, but trainees would climb them at their own peril.

With a practiced jump, Michael hopped up onto the first foothold, and began his ascent.

He had quite a ways to climb. His room was situated at the very top, teetering at the precipice of the tower, overlooking all the others. Michael saw this as a mixed blessing. One the one hand, it gave him a wonderful view of the horizon. He knew of no better place to watch the sunsets and the sunrises, and he could see all the way to the capital city from the comfort of his bed. But on the other hand, there were no stairs leading to his room. Plans for building extra stairwells had been abandoned several floors below. The only door leading out of his room opened directly onto a rooftop, and he was completely reliant on hanging ropes and the external stairwell to get down from there. If he wanted to take anything heavy up to his room, like a chair or a stack of books, he would have to make use of the pulley system the trainees had attached to the side of the building.

It hadn’t escaped Michael’s notice that he had been housed in the room that sat at the greatest distance away from all the others. He wasted none of his time dwelling on whether or not this had been a deliberate decision on his superiors’ part.

He was sure it had been.

He climbed with practiced ease. The stairway ended at a rooftop, which lead to a rope ladder, the ladder to a doorway, to an arch that lead to another roof. He crossed a bridge made of only a single wooden plank nailed to a wall and a windowsill. Just beyond the window pane, a group of trainees were deep in slumber, piled into bunk-beds and hammocks. One had fallen from his mattress and had landed with his face and tongue pressed right up against the window. Michael was sure to tread lightly as he passed by. He had incurred the wrath of sleep-deprived soldiers once before, and never again since, for he had no desire to spend another night locked in the stables.

He escaped without incident, and continued his ascent until he ran out of stairs to climb. He allowed himself a moment of pause while he caught his breath; he would need it for the last leg of his journey, where he would walk across another preciously placed beam, clamber up a ladder with three broken rungs, scale a steep roof, avoid the overprotective mother gull that made her nest at its precipice, climb a rope, throw himself through his open window and finally tumble onto his mattress and promptly fall asleep.

His gaze strayed to the moon. Though it wasn’t quite full, it still shone with such brilliance it illuminated all Michael could see, from the towers to the walls to the fields beyond. And beyond that lied the silhouette of the capital city, which glowed with its own luminescence, as though it had no need nor want of the moon’s guiding light.

A moonbeam caught Michael’s hand, and warmed his skin with a touch more soothing than any sunbeam had ever offered him. His breathing calmed, and a smile came unbidden to his lips.

He sat, just to enjoy the moonlight, just for a while. He had time.

He thought of his father. As he so often did.

He thought of his toothy grins, his booming laughter, his broad and calloused yet gentle hands. He remembered those hands wrapped around the hilt of a sword, demonstrating to him how to grip it properly. He remembered the day his father’s knighthood was announced, and how the barracks had rejoiced for their comrade’s success.

He remembered the day he left.

Michael had watched his departure from the guard towers. He wasn't supposed to be up there, for he wasn’t a guardsman, not even a squire yet, but no one had the heart to remove him. He watched his father’s carriage roll away, until it was only a speck on the horizon, until it was swallowed up by the capital city and its burning sunrise. The carriage that took his father from him was emblazoned with the Seraian insignia, a searing golden sun breaking over a hill, like a lock on a wooden casket. It had sealed him away, and now he was their possession, and would be forevermore.

He looked to the moon, and wondered if his father was looking at it too.

There was something on the horizon. Something dark, something grim, sliding languidly into Michael’s peripheral vision.

His blood turned cold at the sight.

He should have reacted. He knew that. His first response should have been to alert the other trainees, and to prepare himself for battle. Instead, it brought forth a memory.

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

Sir Romanenkov had taught him that phrase many years ago, back when he was still too small to even pick up a sword. It had happened on a snowy winter’s eve, when it felt as though the entire kingdom been engulfed in white and dark and cold. He remembered the inviting glow from the kitchen window, which to him looked all the world like a lighthouse beacon, signalling the end of their perilous journey all the way from their sleeping quarters.

This was when Michael heard his father recite the saying. It confused him at first, for there was no smoke, only steam mingling with the inviting light, and there was no fire, only the meagre yet appetising soup that the steam was rising from.

Ever since then, whenever Michael heard the phrase “where there’s smoke there’s fire”, he thought: “Lunchtime!”

As he grew older, he’d come to doubt that his definition of the phrase had been correct.

And when he caught sight of the thick plumes of black smoke spilling into the night sky, he felt he was finally starting to understand what it really meant.

Barbarians. An army of them.

Not that a barbarian army was particularly intimidating. Not when compared to the standards of the Serai Kingdom’s military. Even the limited numbers of the Eastern Barracks’ battalions vastly outnumbered theirs. Michael hadn’t even noticed them until they were over the hill. He had mistaken the smoke rising from their torches for clouds, their racket for the barracks windmill, until their fire broke over the horizon. This was a sight unmistakable to Michael. Their lack of formation, their patchwork armour, their down-turned faces. They came armed with pikes, axes, rakes, shovels and knives. Anything they could get their hands on Michael couldn't make out the minutia of their weapons from where he stood, but he already knew their equipment would be in poor condition. Their health wouldn't be much better.

There was something else. Something far more alarming. A low rumbling, like a rising omen, a dark undercurrent slowly surfacing. The sound of earth being crushed, of grinding gears, of screaming wood: the warning call of dreadful machinery crawling ever closer.

The firing mechanism came into view first. The counterweight, the beam, then the frame in its entirety. The trebuchet trundled clumsily over hill, dragged and pulled by starving horses and starving men, its creaky wheels crying with the effort. Its twin followed reluctantly behind.  

Both were emblazoned with the royal Seraian insignia.

“Oh no,” Michael said, his voice barely above a whisper. He wasn’t aware he was voicing his thoughts out loud until they hit his ears. “No, no, no, not again!”

He scurried to the edge of the roof to get a better look at them, and the view didn not improve. Their numbers were few, their battalions (if they could even be called that) were in complete disarray, and less than half of them looked properly equipped for battle. They looked more like a mob of angry townspeople than an army preparing to lay siege to an enemy barracks.

“What are you doing?” he cried out to them, dismayed, knowing full well they couldn't hear him, but hoping for it all the same. “Why do you keep coming back?!”

The barbarians pressed on, and did not reply.

“Oi!”

A window behind him crashed against the wall as it was swung open, making Michael jump in surprise. A trainee was leaning out of the frame, still half-asleep, his eyes barely open even as they glared in Michael’s direction. If he hadn't been holding onto the window, he would have fallen right out.

“Wass’all the ruckus about?” he slurred, and Michael recognised his country accent and balding head as belonging to a man named Brion. “I’m tryin’ to sleep!”

Michael felt instant regret. The vision of another night spent in the stables flashed before his eyes, and filled him with more dread than even the barbarians had.

“Nothing!” he said, and couldn't speak fast enough. “Sorry! Nothing’s happening- go back to bed!”

But his attempts to calm Brion were in vain. He couldn’t rightly convince him that what he was seeing with his own wide eyes wasn’t real.

“Hold on. What’s that? Izzat smoke?”

“Um! No! Just a cloud - a raincloud - a storm’s coming-”

“Will you lot shut up?!”

Another disturbed trainee appeared, emerging from behind a wooden latch in a crawlspace two floors higher. Michael didn’t even get a chance to plead for him to return to his slumber before Brion butted in.

“Hey Rob, look!” he shouted, waving a pointed finger at the horizon. “Look at that over there! Don’t that look like smoke to you?”

“Eh?” Robert blinked his still bleary eyes at the horizon. When that didn’t work, he rubbed them both with the back of his sleeve, and tried again. Michael watched as the colour drained from his face. “Oh- Jesus Christ!”

“Yeah! Can you see where it’s coming from?” Brion asked.

“Don’t!” Michael blurted out before thinking, and the single demanding syllable earned him a pair of filthy looks. Shrinking under their glares, he wracked his brain for a better idea, one that would look far less peculiar to his peers.

“Don’t, uh, trouble yourselves!” he stammered, backing up his unconvincing gesture of selflessness with an equally unconvincing smile. “I’ll deal with it, so you two can stop worrying about it and go back to sleep-”

It hadn’t taken long for Robert to lose interest in Michael’s ramblings, and he identified the true source of the smog almost immediately, and with great horror.

“Holy shit! It’s a barbarian army! They’re coming this way!”

“Wot?!”

“Yeh! There’s at least a hundred of ‘em!”

The jig was up before it had even began. Kicking himself inwardly, and outwardly smacking a hand on his face, Michael could only watch as the bad news spread like wildfire throughout the towers. Like a hundred rickety cuckoo-clocks, windows and doors from each and every block popped open, and out sprang the gormless faces of Michael’s fellow trainees, gawking at the smoky sky, all in a fuss over the approaching danger.

“You’re jokin’!”

“He’s right- look!”

“They’re already over the hill!”

“Are we gonna have to fight them?”

“Ugh, I can’t, I’m too hungover!”

“Speak for yerself, mate, I’m still pissed!”

That last one was followed by a proud guffaw. Somehow, that reaction irritated Michael even more than his own blunder.

“Calm it down!”

A sharp voice called from above, cutting through the commotion and taking command of it. Every face turned to look in its direction, its sharp cadence and nasally tone instantly recognisable to all of them. Kale was leaning out of a window frame, one foot on the sill and his eyes set on the horizon. His scraggly hair was blowing in the wind, his clothes billowed about his scrawny arms, and the moonlight reflected off of his bald spot.

“Prepare yourselves for battle, lads!” he said, grinning heroically, despite how it made his already patchy beard appear even more barren. “We haven't had a good fight in a while! Someone hurry up and sound the alarm!”

“I’ll do it!” Robert volunteered, but Brion stopped him before he could run off.

“Hold on,” he said, “shouldn’t someone at the wall have done that alrea-”

As if on cue, the night was filled with the raucous screams of blowing horns. First from the southern wall, then from the east, until the uproarious clamouring came together and rose into a tumultuous disharmony. Michael couldn't hear the approaching trebuchets anymore, couldn't hear the voices of his peers, couldn't hear himself think, and he knew his chance to act was gone.

A repetitive thumping dispersed the noise. Kale was smacking the wall of the building, excitement in his gaping grin.

“That’s the Call to Arms, boys!” he said. “Come on, look lively! If we don't get to the armoury within ten minutes, Sir Leon will put us all on mucking duty again! And you won’t catch me dead doing that: I already put up with enough shit from you lot as it is!”

“Back at ya, Kale!”

“Move it! Oi, and don't let any barbs past the gate this time-”

“Stop!”

The word tore itself out of Michael’s throat before he could choke it down. It drew the attention of every man within earshot. All eyes were on him, their mumbling and murmuring bubbling up from under the hubbub, and what scant confidence Michael had summoned was gone in an instant. He felt the pressure of their expectant stares, like a great weight settling on his shoulders, as though gravity itself was trying to pull him through the floor. But he stood firm.

He set his jaw, and spoke his mind.

“Why are we doing this again?” he said, with an indignant shrug of his arms. “You lot can’t be serious. It’s an unfair fight, you know it is!”

Even from two floors below him, Michael could hear Brion mutter under his breath: “Oh not this again-”

“What do you mean ‘unfair’?” Robert said, the first to retort. “Didn’t you see those trebuchets they have with ’em?”

“What, you mean those trebuchets that look exactly like the ones we’ve got?”

Without looking, Michael gestured to the warehouses, and the Barracks’ impressive range of siege weapons stationed nearby. It only took a glance to discern the staggering differences between the Seraian trainee army and the barbarians. The southern wall, standing taller than even their catapults, was lined with cannons and manned archery towers, the largest of which were stationed either side of the southern wall’s only exit: a robust drawbridge, held shut by steel chains. From between the crinolines, men could be seen running from post to post, hurriedly lighting torches and delivering full quivers to the awaiting archers. On the ground, horses were being lead from their stables in droves. Not all of the soldiers’ mounts were adequately trained for battle, but they were in far better condition than the handful of gaunt pack mules the barbarians had brought with them. And, though their selection of  weaponry was not as broad or well-forged as what would be afforded to the Northern Barracks’ trainees, it would be more than enough to topple an army of villagers armed with pitchforks.

The contrast of strength between the two armies was wider than the fields between the barracks and the capital city. The barbarians marched on, crossing that gaping chasm with fearful eyes set on their target. Just as they had so many times before. Just as they had a few months ago, at the capital city’s northern wall.

The memories of that battle rekindled Michael’s determination.

“This happens every time they come,” Michael continued, undeterred by the disgruntled mutterings of his peers and the way his own hands trembled. “We’re mobilising our full forces against an army of women and children!”

“And farmers!” someone chimed in. “They’ve got rakes!”

“They’re not a threat!” Michael continued unabated. “They've not even got a hundred troops with ’em!”

“And how do you know that?” Robert said, lip curled. “Did you count?”

“Look at them!”

“All right, that's enough of that,” Kale said, stepping forward to dispel the tension, his attempt at being the kind mediator too obvious a pantomime. “I understand your concern, mate, I really do, but I’m gonna need you to listen to me, Michael.”

Michael winced at the sound of that name, clenching his jaw to stop himself from correcting him. Michael Smith was the name he was known by. It was the name he had been given.

But it wasn’t the one he wanted.

“I know this doesn’t feel right,” Kale said, and Michael could see the way he inwardly praised himself for his patience, “but we don’t always get to choose our battles, lad. You have a lot of sympathy for people, and that’s great, but in reality, your enemies won’t always be your equal. But if you’re a true soldier, you’ll fight ‘em anyway. You get me?”

“I don’t want to be a soldier,” Michael corrected him, voice firm and shoulders squared. “I want to be a knight. And true knights obey the laws of chivalry.”

“Well chivalry doesn’t apply to the rest of us soldiers-”

“Clearly not! Do you even know what Forbearance means?”

Kale’s silence said everything. Michael waited for his fury to rise. He waited for his spiteful words to set off a rage, which would mutate into shouting, into threats, into Kale grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and dangling him off the edge of the roof.

It didn’t come. Instead, he did something far worse.

The fire of Kale’s anger never grew bigger than a dull flame, and with a long exhale, he snuffed it completely. His shoulders sank, his fists uncurled, and his glare faded.

“You know what? Don’t worry about it, Mike,” he said, his voice tinged with a reluctant patience. “You stay here. We’ll take care of it.”

Michael’s brow twitched into a frown. “You wot?”

“We’ll take care of it,” he repeated, firmer this time. “Leon’ll understand, you know he will. Go back to your room, he won’t care-”

“I'm not trying to get out of it!” Michael shouted. “I'm asking you to think about who we’re fighting-”

“I hate to break it to you, Smith, but you don’t get to cherry pick who you’re sent to fight.”

“We should show mercy to those weaker than ourselves-”

“Think about yourself, Mike,” Kale insisted, taking Michael by surprise. “What about you, your survival? Don’t you wanna live so you can, you know… go home one day?”

It took a concerted, physical effort for Michael to not react. He choked down the burning retorts rising in his throat, and his muscles ached with the force it took to restrain himself. It hurt, but he managed it.

“No,” he replied, his voice like water beginning to boil. “This kingdom is my home. And I want to fight for it.”

“Good!” Kale said, not pleased at all. He pointed over Michael’s shoulder at the horizon. “There's your chance!”

“I've fought them before,” Michael said, refusing to back down even as Kale tossed his head back in impatience. “They're not an army, Kale: they're women and children and people who have never held a sword in their life! They don't know what they're doing-!”

“Careful, Mike,” Kale said, his voice soft, though it was laced with warning. “Keep that up, and people are gonna think you’re some kind of sympathiser.”

“It’s not sympathy, it’s-” Michael shifted, rubbing his head in frustration, unable to resist glancing at the other trainees, to check who was still staring at him. “It’s sense! It’s mercy! Have you completely forgotten what Chivalry is-”

“Have you forgotten which side you’re supposed to fighting for, Mike?” Brion cut in, snapping at Michael with a tongue far sharper than Kale’s. “What is the problem? You’re a soldier, right? You took an oath to defend and fight for your Kingdom, right?”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“So I can’t help but find it a bit confusing,” Brion continued as though Michael hadn’t spoken, “that you would have a problem doing what you swore to do. What are you playin’ at, Squinty?”

Kale winced. “Don’t call him that, Bri-”

“I am doing exactly what I swore to do,” Michael retorted, stubbornly refusing to back down. “I’m protecting people who can’t protect themselves-”

“That doesn’t include people trying to siege your Kingdom, mate.”

“There are ways to make them stop that don’t include slaughter-!”

“All right, that’s enough,” Kale said, even-tempered as he stepped between the two. “Brion, you leave him alone. And Michael, that’s enough of that. It’s Leon’s decision to make, not yours, and he’s already started the Call To Arms. Nothing to be done about it now, you understand?”

“But-!”

“Just get yourself down to the armoury,” he said, on his last nerve, “and I won’t tell Leon we had this conversation. Deal?”

Brion was already walking away, and, sensing an end to their squabble, the other men followed him. They were leaving. Michael watched, despairing, wordlessly asking them to stop, as they turned their eyes and ears away from him, disinterested now that the tension was dying down. No one turned his way, because no one would hear him. Even if he were to call out to them, yelling as loud as he dared, Michael was sure his words would go ignored.

Desperation gripped his throat, and he choked out a strangled:

“But-!”

“I’ll see you downstairs,” Kale said as he walked away, eyes kind, looking at Michael like a lost cause. “And steer clear of the front lines, yeah?”

He watched his chance to stop the conflict turn its back on him and walk down he stairs. The men chatted casually with their peers, complaining about how sleepy or hungry or hungover they were. They hoped they could get this over and done with quickly. With enough luck, they might kill enough of them that they might finally be scared off for good.

Michael found his words, already too late.

“All I'm asking is we show them some mercy!” he begged. “For once! Please!”

They kept walking, and not one man turned back.

[floralgothpersephone]

Attraction, pt1

It only took a day for Shirayuki to realize how completely screwed she was after her revelation.

The day started normally enough. Shirayuki went to the pharmacy to go through the usual routine of reviewing the stock room, filling medicinal order backlogs, and checking the status of her current projects. She was busying herself with processing some echinacea root and leaf matter when she noticed Ryuu contemplating. Obi had fallen asleep leaning against one of the table legs next to Ryuu’s perch, his head near Ryuu’s knees. It was common for Obi to pass out near them while they worked, especially whenever Obi returned from the previous night’s watch.

But today Shirayuki caught Ryuu silently observing the sleeping Obi at his feet. Without a word Ryuu reached down patted Obi’s head, earning a contented chirp from Obi, and promptly returned back to his work. Shirayuki managed to restrain herself from making any noise that would notify them of the audience. However, the delicate dried leaves in her hand had been momentarily forgotten, and were currently crumpled on her workbench.

Shirayuki took a deep breath and forced herself to relax, trying to distract her mind by quickly reviewing the status on her current project and considering her next steps. She thought it would be best to harvest some of the milk thistle so that she could get the seeds laying out to dry for grinding the next day. It’d also be good to stretch her legs… maybe get some fresh air, and get herself away from the currently very distracting presence that was sleeping Obi.

She looked over to Ryuu and tried to keep her voice down as she called out to him, “Ryuu, I’m going over to the greenhouses, I think the milk thistle will be ready for harvest today.”

Ryuu barely looked up from his work but he nodded in response. Shirayuki went about collecting some small sturdy baskets, a small clipper and the thick gloves she would need to safely work with the prickly leaves of the milk thistle. By the time she had pulled together what she needed and was heading for the door Obi seemed to have woken up and was there waiting for her.

“Oh! Obi, are you going out to the greenhouses?” Shirayuki inquired, hoping it wouldn’t be the case. “Why of course miss, it’s my job.” Obi responded, all hints of drowsiness dissipated.

It wasn’t really his job, at least not anymore. But she knew better than to try to have that argument with him again; it just made him more stubborn. She tried a different tactic instead, “But your nap… are you sure you got enough sleep Obi?” she motioned, trying to see if the temptation of sleep could convince him to stay behind.

“I’m perfectly fine miss, it’s no bother.”  

Oh but it is a bother she couldn’t help thinking. Nevertheless, she lead the way out of the pharmacy with Obi following behind her. She tried convincing herself that this was fine and she could handle it, even if it seemed she wasn’t having much luck.

Once at the greenhouses Shirayuki got to work hoping to lose herself in the task at hand. She walked over to the milk thistle, evaluating the flowers to find their most recently developed seed heads. Setting down her baskets and clippers she put on her heavy gloves and started plucking through the milk thistle to move their leaves out of the way. Once a space had been made she removed her gloves and grabbed the clippers to gently snip a seed head off of the flower without jostling it too much. She then took her acquired seed head and placed it within a small bag and put it in the basket. After going through a few rounds of clipping, Obi sat down next to her and started plucking through the milk thistle for his own harvest. She watched his work from the corner of her eye, but his movements were too aggressive and was damaging the seed heads.

“You might need to take off your gloves if you are going to continue doing that” Obi stilled his movements next to her and looked toward her with a questioning look.

“You’re damaging the seed head so that the seeds come undone” she said simply, trying not to let her embarrassment of her rash statement flood her voice. “You’ll need to be more careful.”

“Of course, miss” Obi muttered, removing his hands from his task to undo the ties on his wrists. Time seemed to slow down as he lifted his hand to his mouth, biting down on the tip of his gloved fingers and pulling his hand out of his gloves. Shirayuki swallowed and tried to regulate her breathing as his lifted up his other hand to repeat the motion.

Shirayuki looked away pointedly, attempting to focus back on the milk thistle but couldn’t seem to drown out the thoughts of what would happen if she was the one removing his gloves with her teeth. After damaging a few of the milk thistle flowers herself, she decided that this task wasn’t going to be successful any longer and needed a different task… something that wasn’t as delicate.

“Oh, Obi, I just remembered! I have to check on the tinctures progress today for my research.”

Obi assessed Shirayuki carefully with his steady gaze but didn’t voice any objections as he slowly put back on his gloves. “Very well mistress, I can walk you back to the pharmacy” Shirayuki didn’t think that was a very good idea herself, but she didn’t know a good way to explain that to him at the moment so she let him walk her back to the pharmacy, wondering whether or not she would be able to regain her composure or if she was doomed to this distraction indefinitely.

---

Shirayuki didn’t get any relief from her distractions at the pharmacy for the majority of the day. It wasn’t until she had cleaned up her workstation and was getting ready to head home that she was granted some reprieve by a guardsmen requesting Obi’s assistance. She was walking along castle grounds, making her way home and trying to make sense of her jumbled thoughts when she found herself no longer alone.

“You look like you’ve been having a rough day”

Shirayuki turned to see Zen walking down the corridor, Mitsuhide and Kiki following behind him. Shirayuki’s shoulders slumped, deciding it would be best to just accept the situation as it was. “You have no idea.” She sighed, wringing her hands in her skirts. “I’ve managed to botch up most everything I’ve touched today. I’ve lacked all focus on any of my projects… this, this just isn’t like me at all.”

“Well then what’s wrong? Is there anything I could do to help?”

Shirayuki looked towards Zen, his concerned expression and eager smile rubbing off on her. He was always so enthusiastic to support her in her goals, she appreciated his friendship even now. “I wonder…” she smiled back at him thoughtfully. “I’m not sure it's something anyone can help me with I’m afraid, just adjusting is all.”

Zen looked disappointed with her response but seemed to have a handle on it. “Well, I’m sure you will figure it out Shirayuki, you always do.”

Shirayuki smiled back at him, and was preparing to take her leave when Zen spoke up again, “Looks like Obi has managed to adjust as well.”

Shirayuki stilled, wary of the context of his statement. But both Kiki and Mitsuhide seemed to be in good spirits, and were looking to the same direction as Zen. Zen locked eyes with her and motioned over the edge of the corridor’s balcony overlooking the courtyard below.

Obi was sparring with a young guardsman, still in training it seemed, and was easily dodging his blows. Her voice left her and she found herself frozen to the spot, she hoped Zen wouldn’t read into it much.

“I’m glad for him, he seems to have found his place in the castle, even without being under my jurisdiction.” Zen continued.

Shirayuki smiled gently, of course he did. He had become one of the most reliable trainers for the castle guard, and his humorous and carefree personality had won the hearts of many in Wistal Castle. He tended to do very well as a castle guardsman, even if he did insist upon watching after her as his previous position had required.

Mitsuhide spoke up first, “He seems to have a real knack for it, working with the recruits. They really like him and they learn well.”

Shirayuki turned towards Mitsuhide, “of course they do, Obi is a very likable person.”

“I suppose his personality does grow on a person after a while.” Kiki remarked, stoic as ever but sporting a small teasing smile in Mitsuhide’s direction. “You say that as if you didn’t find him funny yourself, Kiki.” Zen remarked. “Funny, no. Entertaining, I could agree with.” Both Zen and Shirayuki laughed, Mitsuhide looked pleased. With the lull in conversation Shirayuki looked back to the courtyard where Obi had switched sparring partners and was sparring with someone a little closer to his level. His partner took a swipe at him and he ducked easily, crouching low to the ground. His posture was nimble as usual, but his current position didn’t help with her current situation, and her desire to stare… had his backside always looked so attractive?

Zen was watching too it seemed, since he whistled under his breath. “He really has no idea how tempting he looks when he does that.”

“Oh, I’m sure he knows exactly how tempting he looks when he does that.”

Zen looked up at Shirayuki startled at her statement. Shirayuki was pretty startled at herself, she had not meant to say that out loud. But Zen recovered quickly with a smile that looked far more teasing and troublesome than she thought was a good idea at the moment.

“Oh? Shirayuki, your problems focusing today wouldn’t happen to be related to a certain… attractive person hanging around, would they?” Laughter twinkled in his eyes, he was enjoying this far more than he should. Shirayuki could feel her blush heating up her face. “No!” she started “He’s just… very distracting is all.” “Distracting?” Zen was actually laughing at her now. “Shirayuki, you wouldn’t happen to be compromised by his presence would you?”

Shirayuki had had quite enough of this, thank-you-very-much and was preparing to stop Zen’s teasing remarks when Kiki’s suddenly spoke up her tone pointed.

“I think she is completely compromised; we should ensure Obi’s removal from his post at once.”

“No! That’s not it at all!” Shirayuki could hardly believe what she was saying. Isn’t this what she wanted the whole day? Just some space away from him so she could think? Kiki’s eyebrow raised to her in response, “No? Then what seems to be the problem Shirayuki?”

Zen cut in before she could answer though, “Like you could blame her Kiki, he is really attractive. I would be just as distracted if he was hanging around me every day too!”

“Zen!” Mitsuhide said, scandalized. Kiki’s stoic expression was breaking under the pressure of her restrained chuckles.

“What? It’s true!” Zen exclaimed.

“Why Thank you, Master”

Everyone froze, and turned towards the sound of Obi’s voice, where he was perched on the balcony wall observing their conversation looking very amused. “Now, why are my dashing good looks the topic of conversation today?”

Shirayuki was ready to die, any moment now someone was going to tell him and she would be left to address her very compromising feelings towards Obi in front of an audience and it would be completely Zen’s fault. She reminded herself that whatever happens, she was going to make sure she got even at him for this.

“Zen was commenting that your butt looked good while you sparred.” Kiki said, her voice ever so even. Shirayuki could hardly believe what Kiki was saying. “The rest of us were just agreeing with him.”

“Hey, I never agreed to any of that.” Mitsuhide objected. “Wait. Kiki, were you agreeing with him?”

Obi ignored Mitsuhide’s comments completely and looked at the group quizzingly, “Everybody?”

“Everybody” Kiki confirmed, much to Mitsuhide’s personal horror. A small tilt to her mouth gave away her almost smile as she locked eyes on Shirayuki.

Ohhh Kiki was going to pay for this one. Obi broke out into a grin and looked over to Shirayuki like he was ready to pounce. “Oh miss! You should have told me! I would make sure to give you a chance to observe our training spar sessions more often!”   Shirayuki at least had the grace to look defiant over the situation. “Obi!” That is not the point.  

“What about me?” Zen hummed “Am I invited?”

“Oh Master, I would never dream of forgetting about you.” Obi purred, grinning at him like a Cheshire cat. “All you have to do is ask.”  

“That is quite enough of that.” Mitsuhide grumbled, silencing them both.

Obi continued grinning and Zen looked a little more disappointed then he should have been. But Mitsuhide was not having any of it. “Zen, I expect such behavior from Obi, but I expect better from you!”

Shirayuki was overwhelmed. While the boys continued their bickering Shirayuki looked for a way to escape this madness without creating a further spectacle of herself. She looked to her side to see Kiki standing next to her watching her with her careful gaze. “You should probably go while they are distracted.” Shirayuki breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you Kiki.” she whispered as she turned away.

“This isn’t over Shirayuki.” Kiki whispered, a cheerful lilt to her tone, “Not by a long shot.”  

Shirayuki did not respond as she turned the corner.  

[korkrunchcereal]

Fall of the Lion

Something was wrong. In the brief passing of time that occurred from crossing between Crystal Terra and the Crescent Hills, Amalta could feel something shift. A step into the aetherial bridge between realities found not the open door as how her portals worked, but a strange, immeasurable expanse of solid nothingness. Her steps across glittering starlight and swirling tendrils of arcane energy ended abruptly, as she stared upon a wall that was not there.

Slowly she pushed against it, pressing all of her considerable will against the expanse. Like the walls of the castle she was returning to, she found her passage guarded and fortified. It occurred to her then that this was no accidental misstep on her part. Someone was blocking her return, and she knew precisely who it was. Try as she might, she could not smash through the blockade, and so settled for a different destination. It had all happened in the briefest span of time, proving quicker than even a blink of the eye.

Amalta stepped foot out of her portal not into the hall of Castle Indaris as she had chosen, but upon the far end of the bridge spanning the castle to the rest of the Crescent Hills. Behind her Calithielwen moved quickly, eyebrows narrowing as the intense glow of the sun made her squint. She looked around, more confused than anything else.

"Why are we outside the castle?"

"Someone has put a blockade around the castle. I suspect Calarius put it up once he left us at the Scrying Pool. Judging from its strength, nothing can enter or leave via magical means...though its radius is not large."

"Not large? We're on the other end of the bridge."

"Yes; for most mortals that would be strong, but he is no mortal creature. Were he mortal I would have been able to breach the barrier, but even I cannot. He's sacrificed range to ensure we are delayed."

"But why? Unless..."

"Caledon." Amalta confirmed. She had recognized immediately all the aetherial barrier would was slow them down, meaning whatever Calarius had planned would not take long. She could only assume the vile creature was going to do something to Caledon. Murder? Corrupt? Deceive? The answers became worst than the last, and she shook her head as if to clear it. Nothing would happen to him. Without hesitation she marched forward, bare feet pressing against the cobblestone expanse.

"Does he know we're here?"

"He does. He was alerted as soon as I tried to breach through his spell work."

"And we're brazenly marching into the castle?" Overheard the sunlight was beginning to darken, as large rain filled clouds came over the horizon. They would be upon the castle within the hour, casting a shadow over the skyline. Ahead, the castle walls loomed, the great gates closed. How strange, she thought.

"Yes. Calarius...or more accurately the Nathrezim possessing him, cannot attack us openly, lest he expose himself. I on the other hand have no such qualms." Amalta's fist balled, arcane tendrils dancing along it. She saw what he really was, and she intended to stop him. Too many had died by his hands to allow anything less than his complete destruction.

"I would be careful yet, lest you rouse Caledon to ire."

"Halt!" The sentry upon the gate had called out, his high crested helm catching the sunlight. The man stared downward, spear held in one hand lazily. No one ever truly threatened the castle, and so many of the wall's defenders were lax. Amalta blinked, looking upward. The man knew who both of them were, so why did he not open the gate?

"Why do you keep the gate barred from us, guardsmen?" Calithiel shouted out, irritation lacing her tone. She was to be lady of the Castle, and thus expected complete obedience as was her right.

"My Lady, apologies...allow me to open the gate for you. 'Tis strange rumors we hear and darker times yet. Calarius had ordered us to shut the gate not but less than an hour ago, on the orders of Caledon." Slowly the portcullis began to rise, the great oak doors slowly opening behind it.

"There we go. Shall we?" Calithiel waved her hand forward, letting Amalta take the lead. Silently Amalta hurried into the gateway, brow furrowed. Another minor inconvenience at best, yet one that costed time. At best they slowed the both of them only some few minutes, and yet-

"Halt!" Amalta blinked, startled as her thoughts were interrupted. Three guardsmen were quickly approaching, leaf shaped spears held as if ready to thrust at a moment's notice. The lead guard held not the neutral expression the other two wore. There was something familiar about his cold, unwelcoming features.

"Guardsmen! What in the world are you doing? Do you not see who you stop?" Calithiel's tone grew even more annoyed, though a hand slowly began to fall to the dagger at her side.

"We do, my lady. By order of Lord Caledon Indaris, we are to escort the two of you to the throne room. Lord Caledon awaits. You can accept our escort...or we'll be forced to drag you."

"How dare you-"

"We will allow your escort, guardsman." Amalta interjected, holding a hand for Calithiel to calm. "Please, lead on." The lead guard gave Calithiel a look over before nodding, turning and allowing his cloak to wave through the air at the quick motion. Without hesitation he led on, the other two guards waiting. Amalta gave them not a second look, her feet lifting once more off the ground as her body began to hover. Calithiel shot daggers but followed after, the two guards trailing behind.

"This feels more like a prisoner escort then a summons." Calithiel muttered out softly as they walked. Around them the sky darkened; the rain had reached them far quicker than Amalta had believed. Inside the safety of marble and stone protected from the rainfall, flickering torchlight providing measly light and casting large shadows upon the wall.

"I believe in this instance, the two may be more similar than you think."

"What do you mean?"

"Why send armed guards to escort us unless trouble is expected?"

"So you think this is Calarius' doing? Why would he bring us to Caledon?"

"I know not. My powers of farsight have only begun to return; it will take days if not weeks before they are whole again." Whatever Calithiel was going to say next died upon her lips as they reached the throne room's doors. The lead guard strolled forward, pushing against them. Slowly the doors opened into the vast expanse of the marble floored room. As Amalta and Calithiel were led forward, they saw two figures apart from themselves and the guards. The first was Caledon, a stern and furious expression upon his handsome and tired features as he sat upon the gold throne of Indaris. The second was Calarius, who stood smug and triumphant at Caledon's side.

"My thanks for coming. Guards, remain here for now." Caledon rose slowly, taking a single step down the stairs. Amalta realized he was holding some form of parchment in his hand, her brow raising incuriosity.

"My Lord Caledon, we've come to warn-"

"Silence!" Caledon spat out, interrupting Amalta. Both women blinked back in surprise, sharing a look. What was going on? "Where have you two been?"

"With all due respect, our business is our own, my lord." Calithiel stated, glaring at Calarius in the back.

"Not if your business jeopardizes House Indaris. You both decide to march upon Illova's lands so brazenly? Did neither of you consider the consequences of your actions?" So Calarius had informed Caledon where they had gone. Amalta hovered forward, extending her arms out.

"My lord, I had travelled to my lands in order to restore my powers, for you know they had been lost to me for some time. Calithiel travelled with me to ensure my own safety; we both know Lord Illova's hatred of me was great." Caledon tilted his head, eyes narrowing. By the light he looked exhausted, as if he could barely stand so great was the weight of sleep deprivation.

"I cannot help but notice the usage of past tense. What do you mean 'was'." There was a pause that hung in the air, growing longer and longer. "Well?!"

"Lord Illova is dead." Amalta finally stated, refusing to break Caledon's gaze.

"What do you mean dead?! How!"

"I broke his body upon the tower overlooking the Scrying Pool after he threatened both myself and Calithiel, and after he insulted not only the two of us but that of your house and brother." Caledon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I had hoped that when Calarius informed me you both had travelled there, that he was simply mistaken. Dead? By the light. Do you understand the consequences of your actions! A lord of Quel'thalas was murdered and now I harbor his killer?" Amalta flinched, as if stung by his words.

"Lord Illova gave no choice; he was intending on killing us. Amalta did what was necessary to ensure both of us lived." Calithiel opened her mouth to speak further, yet was silenced as Caledon turned to her, pointing a finger forward.

"And you Lady Riverwind! I allow you to stay within my home; I feed you, shelter you and treat you as family and this is how you repay it?" Venom was upon his tone as he lifted the parchment in his hand.

"My lord?" Calithiel's confusion was clear as she looked to Amalta.

"This was found in your quarters. Did you think me a fool as you told me you had heard nothing from my brother? I confess I had believed you, much to my own error."

"Caledon, I have not a clue what you're talking about. I have not heard from Aurelian in months."

"Then how do you explain this?" He held the parchment before it, reading aloud. "I received your last letter. I confess I am saddened over my sister, though it sounds as if my brother is beginning to crack. Keep spying on him, and try to break him down. When this is over, I will be lord of this house, with you as my wife...as it should have always been. "Stunned, Amalta turned to look at Calithiel. The woman's expression was much as her own was.

"A fabrication I assure you. I haven't heard from Aurelian yet, nor would I ever betray you."

"Then why was this found in your quarters, even as you aided in spilling Illovan blood?! This is Aurelian's handwriting, after all."

"Who found this so called letter?!" Calithiel asked, eyes now looking to the grinning magi in the back. "Was it the serpent that lurks in the shadow of the throne? I know what you are, demon."

"Calarius did as he should have; served the lord of House Indaris. The both of you, however, have betrayed me. I confess I am deeply hurt by this...especially from you, Amalta."

"Caledon, listen to me. Calarius is deceiving you, just as he has deceived everyone else. He is a demon, wearing the body of Calarius!"

"Preposterous, my lord. This is merely the rambling words of two criminals." Calarius stepped forward, extending a hand. His voice was like honey, near seductive in nature. "A murderer and a spy; you continue to shame the house of Indaris with your presence."

"Silence, filth." Amalta spat out, eyes narrowing as she pointed. A sword was unsheathed behind her; one of the guards had drawn their weapon.

"Enough!" Caledon roared out, stepping down from the stairs completely to be at level with the two women. "Calarius is right; Amalta you have committed crimes against the state of Quel'thalas itself, and Calithiel I cannot trust you in my home. I am afraid I am forced to take action."

"Caledon, please you must listen! Calarius is responsible for Cyvar's disappearance and your sister's poisoning!"

"Baseless accusations! I know nothing of Aurelian's second nor of whom was behind Vallera's poisoning."

"And!" Amalta continued, unperturbed by Calarius. "Responsible for the death of Lord Wyrmstorm and the destruction of the Ebonwood." At that Caledon paused, raising a brow.

"Destruction of Ebonwood? What are you talking about?"

"This snake has been setting up an invasion against the Gilded Lands. Even as we speak Valagor and his people are dying by his hands."

"There has been no word of an attack, nor warning from the borders." Caledon answered, nodding to the guards behind the two women. "I am sorry, but I cannot believe your tale. I have no other choice but to arrest you Amalta, and for you Calithiel...I must banish you from this castle and our lands."

"That is not in your power, Caledon."

"Yes it is. As Lord of House Indaris, it is my right to enact the will of my house. Guards, take Amalta to the cells and escort Calithiel to the gates. Go peacefully, before violence enters this hall." One of the guards grabbed Calithiel's arms, the woman struggling to free herself.

"Unhand me! Caledon, you know you will regret this, you blind idiot. Do you think Aurelian will simply allow me to remain banished?"

"He will have no choice." Caledon said dismissively, turning away from the two now. The other guard grabbed Amalta, the woman simply hovering in place with a mournful expression.

"A wise decision, my lord." The hair on the back of Amalta's neck rose. Her saddened features twisted into anger, for she suddenly realized it. Her own senses had been warning her. She had ignored or missed the signs, so engrossed in the absence of her power. Yet even as she remained without her visions, she saw clearly now. A surge of arcanic energy surged forth from her, sending the two guard's flying, only to land in a loud cacophony. Caledon wheeled, eyes widening.

"Calarius has been deceiving you." Amalta repeated, her hair slowly beginning to writhe and flow as if with a life of its own. "He has whispered poison into your ear. And now he turns you against me, who has supported you all her life. No more." Her hands moved forward, a great burst of arcane shooting forth directed straight at Calarius. The magi brought his own hands up quickly, attempting to ward away the blast. It struck against him with full force, as a wave of energy coalesced around his body and shattered the glass of the windows high above. Arcing tendrils of arcane lashed out, though he did not cry out in pain.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Calarius roared out, waving his hands outward. Quickly the magic dissipated, his eyes alight with fury. An audible gasp was heard as Caledon turned to see what had happened.

"Calarius?" Caledon furrowed his brow, shaking his head. He blinked rapidly, as if clearing his sight. Slowly he looked up, as if seeing for the first time. Calarius' healthy skin color had vanished, replaced with a sickly green pallor. Sunken eyes stared outwards, blazing with fel energy. Where once there were fingernails, now there were talons. He appeared to all the world as if in the stages of corruption; Amalta had removed the illusions on the man.

"No, not Calarius. He is no elf nor any being of this plane of existence. He is a Dreadlord." Amalta announced. Calarius looked down at himself, roaring in fury. The roar however faded, to be replaced with a slow, meticulous chuckle. It was not the laugh of a man, for it hurt the ears and chilled the blood. He raised his head, smiling with an impossible amount of teeth.

"Clever, seer. I did not predict you would dissipate my own magic. Alas, it turns out Calarius has been far more tenacious than I gave him credit for...it has been taxing to maintain control. Yes, I am a dreadlord. In the history of mortals across countless worlds I have been known by many names and titles; The Shadow Within the Dark, The Raven King, Orcuuthalox. You however, may know me as Sathorion."

"Sathorion? Tell me then; how long have you been Calarius?" Caledon asked, anger cracking his voice, fists balling at his sides.

"For months. I have hid under your very noses, tearing your lands apart from the inside whilst my magic slowly worked its way to convince you of my words...dreams I have found to be most susceptible to manipulation. I confess my work however was made simple by you and your brother, son of Indaris. Your negligence and open disregard for that of your neighbors made it oh so easy. Your pet seer was right; Wyrmstorm has fallen, and soon the rest of Quel'thalas will as well. But now you have become too difficult to control. Alas...I must bid farewell. Do not worry however; you will have company still." Caledon charged forward, withdrawing the dagger at his side and aiming to stab it into Calarius' heart. The magi simply smirked, and with a wave of his hand vanished into the shadows.

"Damn him! Where did he go?" Amalta tilted her head, as if listening for something.

"He is still within the castle, upon the high balcony overlooking the river. There is something else...something wrong in the air. It feels so heavy, as if a great weight is descending upon it." So transfixed, she did not see the lead guard from before rushing to her, sword raised high.

"Amalta, watch out!" Calithiel's voice broke her reverie. She turned, watching as the guard swung his sword. The blow never came, for the guard stumbled and collapse before Amalta's feet, a dagger imbedded into the side of his neck. Her gaze followed the direction of the dagger to Calithiel, who stood arm held out in a throw. The guard's body began to twist and contort, bones snapping and breaking. Amalta hovered backwards, watching in horror as the body was mutilated by an unseen force. A great burst of blood shot forth from the man's back as it twisted and cracked, the corpse changing in size and stature. Where once there was a guard of Indaris, now there laid a felguard, it's large and veiny musculature evident as it remained lifeless.

"What the hell? Caledon approached slowly, standing beside Amalta.

"I suspect he is not the last. I-" Amalta's words were cut off as the world suddenly shook around them, as if a violent earthquake had struck. The room rocked, marble cracking with the motion. As soon as it started it vanished, leaving the three in a state of confusion. A great boom shook the hall, as if thunder had struck right above. Something was happening outside, Amalta realized. "Quickly, outside." Without waiting she sped outside, tendrils of silk flowing behind her. Her eyes scanned to the upper balconies of the castle, narrowing to see through the rain fall. Where was he? She let out a gasp as she found not him, but a portal overlooking the river.

She sensed it before she truly saw it; a monstrous horror of magic, extending forth from the now ruined balcony far above. Great stone pillars had warped from the stone of the castle, forming a crude gateway. Blazing within its center was a swirling portal that hurt the eyes to watch. She realized it was growing stronger, the stability strengthening as the construct became anchored to this world.

"Amalta, what is it?" Caledon called behind, before stopping to follow her gaze. He let out a curse as he saw the faint glow of fel overhead, fist clenching. "What has he done?"

"He's trying to create a demonic gateway into our world. It's not stable yet, but it will be soon. Judging from how strong it is now, we may only see imps...if we do not consider any guards have been disguised. However that will change quickly. We have to stop him now, before the castle becomes over run in hellish fire." Calithielwen had followed just behind, her bloody dagger held in a tight grip. Beyond her the two guards emerged, clutching their bruised bones.

"My lord, your orders?" Caledon stood for a moment, watching the growing mass of magic.

"Get captain Harluon and have him rally the guards; the castle has been breached. I want the servants escorted to their quarters and guarded as well as Vallera's chambers. I will not have my people nor my sister slaughtered like sheep. The rest of the guards will push upwards into the castle...I suspect some will reveal themselves to be demons. Put them down without hesitation." It had been a long time since Caledon had spoken with such conviction or clarity; it was as if a veil had been lifted from him.

"As you will, my lord."

"Oh, and one more thing. Get me my axe; I have a sorcerer to deal with." The guards nodded, quickly taking off.

"I will go on ahead; while I may not be able to see into the future right now, I still command the powers of the arcane." Amalta did not take her eyes off the portal as she spoke, judging its strength. How did he do it so quickly?

"I'm coming with you. This is to be my home, and I will not see it ruined by vile monsters."

"Calithiel, I insist you remain with the servants. They-"

"I can take care of myself, Caledon. I have for centuries without the help of any Indaris." Calithiel had interrupted, tone final and absolute. Caledon paused, sighing as he waved a hand.

"Of course my brother chooses someone more stubborn then he. Fine, but be careful. Go, the both of you. I will join you shortly." Amalta nodded, finally breaking her gaze to look at Caledon. He looked exhausted, yet the fire and strength of a lion burned in his eyes, muscles taunt against the fabrics of his clothes. She gave a weak smile before taking off, Calithielwen close behind. Her fabrics gained a life of their own, rising to hover above the damp stone pathways and grass as the two crossed the courtyard. Sathorion had fled to the eastern wing of the castle, choosing the highest point of the entire structure to craft his spell.

A sigh of relief was given as the two moved into the shelter of the eastern wing, free from the downpour. Here the torchlights had gone out, leaving the halls dark and foreboding. Amalta waved her hands, conjuring a ball of light that hovered  before them. If there was anyone here there was no sign, of that Amalta was glad. Anyone within this part of the castle would either be unsuspecting guards, demons in disguise, or helpless servants. The two moved in silence, Calithielwen with her dagger drawn and Amalta with tendrils of arcane dancing along the palm of her hand.

The first several floors were without sign of life, giving an almost haunted feel that sent a chill up Amalta's spine. The castle shook around them, dust falling from the roof of the hall. As they rose upwards however they began to hear signs of battle. A voice called out, though neither could hear what was said. What followed was a blood curdling scream, and the sound of steel in flesh. The two women shared a look before hurrying forward, down a long passageway. A hideous, inhuman laughter echoed out as more voices arose. The two emerged into one of the sitting rooms, gasping.

It was a bloodbath. The bodies of several guards lay broken on the floor, their corpses torn to shreds or hacked to pieces. Crimson stained the marble floors and walls, mixed with sizzling black ichor that oozed downwards. There were three felguards in the room, their hulking muscular forms carrying all manner of wicked, bloody weapons. Before them was four Indaris guards, their spears thrusting to keep the demons at bay even as they stepped over the bodies of their comrades.

"More meat has come to the slaughter. Cut down these mortals, quickly. Sathorion still needs time." The demons charged forward, weapons swinging through the air. One of the guards brought up their spear vainly, an axe head smashing through the wooden haft and into the man's chest. A fountain of blood gushed forward, the elf falling to the floor. The others either avoided or dodged the blows, though it was clear they were on the defensive. Amalta let out a curse, hands weaving together. A beam of arcane shot forth, smashing into the demon on the right. A great cavity was formed as the energy smashed into his chest, the demon collapsing as its torso was torn apart.

"That one; kill the wizard." One of the felguard smashed his way forward, knocking over the guards and charging at Amalta. Calithielwen ran to intercept, dagger poised for the kill. With a great swing the demon struck, his sword cutting through air as the woman ducked. She sprung upward, far quicker than Amalta had ever seen her move. She struck not as any noble woman would have, but as a trained killer would. The dagger plunged into the demon's eye socket, burying itself deep. Calithielwen dodged back, ripping out the weapon as the demon roared in fury, swinging wildly.

Like a viper she shot forward again, the dagger's sharp edge dragging along its throat. Fel ichor oozed forth from the wound as the demon collapsed. Now three on one, the guards quickly took down the last felguard, who fell pinned by three spears. In its death throes it struck out vainly, before succumbing to its wounds. The guards gave a cheer, quickly moving to the two elven women.

"Our thanks, my ladies. We were on guard here as we always are when another patrol showed up. Before we could find out why they were here they turned into...those vile monstrosities. What's going on?"

"A demon has infiltrated the castle, and is summoning in more. There will be other guards who are in disguise, I am afraid. Tell me, are there any other patrols up ahead?" Amalta's voice was laced with concern, for she could feel the strength of the portal growing.

"I am not sure, my lady. I think there were two swordmasters, but otherwise nothing. Most of the servants were on the ground floor, and no other guards were stationed up here."

"Good; that will make our approach far easier. Get down into the courtyard and report to Captain Harluon. Judging from the quake earlier, the portal is growing stronger, and he may need help down below."

"What of you two? Should we not come with you?" Amalta shook her head, placing a hand on the man's shoulder.

"No. If I’m right, you'll be needed downstairs far more then we'll need you." The guards shared a look, before nodding.

"As you wish, my lady. Come men, let us make haste." The guards streamed out, Violet cloaks fluttering as they moved. Calithielwen watched them go, kneeling to grab one of the fallen cloaks. She wiped her dagger off on it, before rising again.

"We could have used them."

"The portal is growing quicker than I had anticipated. I am not sure what Sathorion is doing to fuel it, but it'll be at full strength soon. We'll start to see more than imps, I think. Besides, we can handle ourselves. Come on." The two pressed forward, picking their way past the corpses. Aurelian would be furious if he saw the state of the room, Amalta realized with some bitter amusement. Ahead, the rooms began to feel heavier. It was much as she felt when the portal was first summoned; a great weight was pressing upon the very foundation of the castle. Her hand ran along the wall, feeling it almost breath with life.

"Does Aurelian know?" Amalta asked as they moved ever upwards.

"Know what?"

"That you're not merely a helpless noble woman? That was the work of an expert back there." Calithiel did not answer right away, mulling over the question.

"He knows I am not the women he remembers, and that is all. He abandoned me, and so I did what I must to survive. I will never forgive him for that, but it taught me to be quick, and strong. I was taught the harshest lesson of life; to survive with nothing." Amalta gave a soft chuckle, shaking her head. "What?"

"Strange, how the men of Indaris have taught us so. Their own inaction and cruelty have shaped us both yes, but has made us stronger. I have always hoped Aurelian would not become like his father, I confess."

"I fear he has always lived in Arcannon's shadow, too cowardly to emerge from it."

"Why do you go to him then?" Amalta's question was posed politely, for she did not hold judgement. "You do not have fond opinions of your husband to be."

"Because I want him to become more then the son of Arcannon." She said simply. Amalta gave a hum in response, eyebrows narrowing. She could not tell if the woman was lying or not, she realized. Whatever Calithielwen had become, Amalta could not figure out. She knew her part to play would come in the destiny of House Indaris, and in a way that of Aetherveil. What role that would be, she did not know.

"I see." Amalta finally said. "A strange decision, but I can understand the reasoning behind it. I...hold on." Amalta paused, blinking. A sudden wave of nausea fell over her, the woman near doubling over. Her eyes watered, hands gripping her head as a jolt of pain struck her. A surge of power fell over her and through her, extending outwards.

"Amalta? What's wrong?"

"The portal...I know how it's growing so quickly. He's slowly absorbing the enchantments built into the castle's very foundation. The wards and spell work over this place are weakening. We don't have much time." Amalta let out a deep breath, calming herself. She wiped at her eyes, before pressing forward.

"He's taking the energy from the castle itself? How?"

"He's tapped into the very stones themselves here. This castle is old, far older than most other landmarks in Quel'thalas. It was constructed at the pilgrimage of our people across the sea, and bestowed with all manner of enchantments by the sorcerers of old. While the children of Indaris slowly lost the ability to wield arcane, the magic within the castle yet remained. I have always known it existed, yet I never sought to tamper with it. The backlash of magic and the vacuum created could damage or even destroy this place. I-watch out!" Amalta waved a hand, a barrier of arcane forming before Calithiel. Moments later a blast of fire washed over it, before becoming dissipated.

Ahead, a great chorus of cackles emerged from the darkness. Darting forward upon limber feet, a host of imps sprung forward. Though individually they were weak, a group of them could bring down a mortal with ease as felfire ravaged their bodies. Amalta frowned in anger, waving her other hand. A line of arcane, razor thin in its length, shot forward from her hand. With ease it sliced through the imps, sending out curtains of fel blood upon the walls.

The imps' cackle turned to shrieks of fear, the survivors fleeing back into the shadows. Their shrieks were silenced with a great stomping sound. A monstrous wrathguard, skin like a sickly orchard, charged forward, blades held ready. Amalta prepared her spell even as Calithielwen readied her weapon. The demon never reached them, for a large shape flew through the air between the two women. An axe head of intricate make smashed into the demon's skull, sending it collapsing in a heap. Both women turned as Caledon charged forward, hands wrapping around the haft of his axe as he pulled the weapon out.

"This is my home demons! Be gone from it!" Amalta held a hand over her mouth as he saw him. His shirt was shredded as if by claws, blood clearly visible upon the ivory fabric. His left arm had a thin slice over it, the cords of his muscles flexing as he wrenched the axe. Raven locks fell wild around him, his loose braid falling apart.

"Caledon? Are you hurt?"

"I'll be fine. The portals growing quickly; demons like this one and more have begun to emerge. The guards along with the swordmasters hold the courtyard, yet more keep coming. Some form of bat creature tried to get me as I made a break to the wing. I found corpses in one of the sitting room on my way up. Your work, I presume?"

"Yes. Did you see the guards that we sent back?"

"I did. They told me you two had pressed on ahead, and I see you found company."

"Caledon, Sathorion is drawing power from the magic within the castle itself. If he finishes his spell, I fear the castle may collapse. The shaking we've felt? it's the foundation struggling to uphold the magical backlash from the draw of power."

"Damn; we haven't much time then. Come on, the balcony is not much further from here." Calithielwen and Amalta nodded in agreement as Caledon took off. He was always slow to anger, being far more patient than his brother ever was. Yet when that ire was earned, he struck with the ferocity of a lion. It is why he had earned the nickname "The Lion of Indaris", and today would be no exception. His great axe Umoril was held easily, for its enchantments made it light to wield, yet strong enough to strike like a thunderbolt. Aurelian may have been lord of the sword, but Caledon was the undisputed master of the axe.

The three pressed forward, passing scorched bodies and fallen demons. They found the two swordsmen the guards had mentioned earlier, their golden armor and war masks ruined and bloodied as they lay sprawled upon the ground. Around them lay a score of demons, for they were the elite of the House of Indaris and had made the enemy pay in blood for their deaths. Caledon looked grim as he passed, tightening the grip on his axe. More souls to avenge for his errors.

The walls and floor began to change. Cracks had appeared, and like a tumor great fel rocks had struck forth. They became more frequent as they drew closer, and a great humming sound filled the air. At last, another flight of stairs, and they were upon the balcony, or more accurately what remained of it. The stone had been plucked away as had the roof, leaving the crumbling balcony exposed to the rain. Upon the edge the portal remained rooted, as fel tendrils bound it by rock and ash. The portal's swirling, chaotic energy thrummed with power, sending great pulses out. There, slick with rain, hovered Calarius.

The portal had grown far larger than when Amalta last saw it, crackling as if with electricity. A great beast of shadowed wings emerged forth, speeding towards the three. With a great swing Caledon struck, his axe carving through the beast like it was hot butter. It smashed into the stone, alerting Calarius. The wizard turned, grinning maniacally. His skin had begun to all but dissolve off of his flesh, features ashen with a pale hue. Great protrusions of bone had shot forth through his robes, forming a layer of spikes around his arms.

"So, the vaunted lord of House Indaris has finally arrived, and he brings with him the pet seer and the spy." The usual honeyed tone of Calarius had vanished, replaced with a gravelly voice that stung the ears with each word. Amalta's ears perked as the dim sound of steel clashing arose over the rainfall and the hum of the portal. "Do you hear it, little seer? The armies of the legion have begun to pour forth. Soon, this measly little castle will be over run. I must admit I did not plan for this, but we must take a step into the unknown every now and then."

"What has been your plan then, demon." Caledon spat out, eyes narrowing.

"Ah, the fool speaks! The plan was simple really. Chaos; unimaginable, beautiful chaos. Imagine my surprise when the groundwork was already here. You and your brother have done oh so much to aid me; there was already a great deal of distrust before I even arrived. I must apologize for my appearance; the wizard was not quite dead like I thought. It has been difficult to maintain this body."

"Chaos? Why?"

"Come now Caledon. You believe I would so willingly say the details of the great plan? I suppose I can spare a hint; it has been oh so long in the making. You three however have played your part. I admit Caledon I did not wish to kill you... not yet anyways. But, you leave me with little choice." Calarius snarled as he flicked his wrist, great chains of fel and rock latching to the three. they struggled to move, finding themselves locked in place. Amalta pressed her hands together, attempting to break the spell. A shock struck her body, a scream of pain emerging. "Ah ah ah..."

"Amalta!" Caledon grit his teeth, straining against the bindings. The fel dug into his flesh, yet he pressed the very weight of his being against it. Calarius took several steps forward, boots a dull thud against the rain-washed stone. His staff was alight with power, casting a sinister shadow over his face.

"Do you recognize this place, Caledon? It is where your dreams have been leading to all these months; the great balcony overlooking the river, and the raven's cry as you plummet. How fitting that you will die here. Vallera, Cyvar, and now you three? My my, I am racking up quite the prestigious body count. I-" Calarius paused then, blinking. Much like Caledon, he seemed to be straining to move. "What?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WIZARD!" A great, inhuman roar ripped forth from Calarius' lips, before he spoke again, voice elven once more.

"My Lord, I haven't...much time. I have taken back control of my body, but it is only brief. I am so weak, so tired." Slowly he waved his hand, the chains binding Caledon fading. "He thought me beaten...Hah! I am Calarius Ferensus and I will not be beaten by some demon! Yet, I have failed you for months...my lord." he strained to speak, as if the very words caused some great pain. "Kill me, so that I am stopped and the demon is vanquished along with me. I cannot live with the shame of my failings."

"Calarius? There has to be another way."

"There is none! Allow me this one final act of service...allow me to die serving House Indaris." Caledon grimly nodded, stepping up to the man. He hoisted his axe, eyes glimmering.

"Thank you, old friend, for your service." With a cry of anguish and rage Caledon swung. The axe cut through Calarius' neck with ease, severing his head and sending it flying. The headless body fell backwards, a pool of blood forming. His staff cluttered to the ground, leaving only the thrum of the portal and the sound of rain. Caledon straightened himself, turning around to face the two women who yet remained chained, hair damp with rain.

"So it is finished." Calithielwen stated. She had not tried to escape, seeing quickly it would be no use.

"There is still the portal to shut down. Amalta can you break it?"

"Once I am free of these bonds, yes. There is still time for...Caledon watch out!" A great shadow fell over the man. He turned too slow, a mass of darkness wrapping around his throat. His axe fell, hands vainly trying to free himself as he was lifted into the air. The darkness oozed from the corpse of Calarius, beginning to take form. Shadows became muscle and flesh, great wings flapping as large horns rose skywards. Cloven feet stomped on the stone as Sathorion revealed his true form.

"Did you think me killed so easily?" The demon cackled, free of the confines of the mortal shell he wore. "I am Sathorion! I have lived a thousand thousand lifetimes. I destroyed civilizations before your people even existed. You are strong, son of Indaris, but I am beyond your understanding or comprehension. Today, the lion of Indaris falls!" The dreadlord, towering over the three, threw Caledon into the wall. With a sickening crunch he smashed into the stone, collapsing onto the ground in a heap.

"Caledon!" Amalta shrieked out, looking in horror at Caledon's prone form. Blood began to ooze from some wound, as the Lord of Indaris lay still.

"Do not cry for him, for you are about to join him in the beyond. Where are your visions now, child of Aetherveil! Your powers abandon you to die."

"No." Amalta's hands clenched, body shaking with unimaginable fury. A wave of arcane shot forth from her, breaking the fel bindings on her and Calithiel. Slowly she rose skywards, hovering over the stone. Sathorion snarled, bringing a meaty fist against her. His flesh met a barrier of arcane, sending the blow back.

"You dare to defy me?"

"You have taken much from me, lord of shadows. You have killed so many, but today that ends. You mock the strength of mortals? Allow me to show you your folly!" Amalta's eyes blazed with magic, strands of arcane swirling around her. Sathorion sent a wave of shadow upon the barrier, yet it stood strong. Electricity crackled in the air, coalescing into the form of Amalta. With all the rage and despair and fury she held, she unleashed her powers. The tendrils of arcane smashed into Sathorion's body, worming their way in.

"What is this? What have you done!?"

"You tried to tear this land apart. Allow me to show you how it feels." Sathorion clawed at his own body as arcane sliced and speared into his body. Amalta had spoken true, for slowly her magic begun to tear Sathorion apart. Panic began to lace his roars, for the magic was all but devouring him from the inside. The lines of violet raced across his form, ripping him to pieces. With a final roar of defeat Sathorion fell, dissolving to ashes. Amalta's magic did not stop there, for the arcane moved to the portal, smashing through it and destroying it utterly. A great scream escaped as the portal collapsed in on itself, and with it the demons below began to fade away. Her magic completed, Amalta's eyelids fluttered with exhaustion, the woman falling back to the ground.

"Amalta!" Calithiel sprung forward, trying to catch the falling woman. Before she hit the ground Amalta blinked awake, stopping herself. Slowly she eased onto her feet, though her stance was unsteady.

"I am fine...my spell took a great deal of energy out of me, I am afraid." she gave a soft smile, before her eyes opened wide in shock. "Caledon!" Amalta wheeled, running to Caledon's side. The rain had subsided with the destruction of the portal, as if linked to its very existence. Ignoring the pools of water Amalta knelt beside him, hands wrapping around his weakly. "Caledon!" There was no response nor sign of live. Silently Amalta pressed her forehead to his hand, tears beginning to stream down her face. She had failed him, and now they both had paid the price.

"Amalta?" Calithiel's tone was gentle, for she did not wish to disturb the woman. Amalta looked up, letting go of Caledon's hand to wipe at her eyes.

"Sathorion was but one part of this terrible plan...even now another of his kind leads an army of trolls to ravage the south. If he is not stopped, all the Gilded Lands will suffer."

"What must we do then?" Amalta took a deep breath as she looked upon Caledon's battered face.

"We must find Aurelian."

@abyssgoat @airiannagrace

[whfsmilies]

US President Donald Trump has requested the organization of National Guard troops in the three states hardest hit by the coronavirus flare-up. Troops will be utilized in New York, California and Washington to convey clinical guide and set up clinical stations after the quantity of passings across the nation rose to 471 and diseases to 35,244. There are fears of a deficiency of key clinical supplies in New York City. A bill to support national aid projects has been obstructed in the Senate. Restriction Democrats need the crisis improvement charge, which is worth nearly $1.4 trillion (£1.2 trillion), to incorporate more cash for state and nearby governments and clinics, while Mr Trump's Republicans are pushing for brisk activity to console budgetary markets. In different advancements: The leader of the World Health Organization (WHO) says the coronavirus pandemic is "quickening" UK wellbeing secretary tells individuals who disregarding government counsel they're "narrow minded" South Korea reports the least number of new coronavirus cases since disease rates topped a month prior London Underground travelers swarmed on to pressed trains regardless of admonitions to limit travel Loss of life in Spain passes 2,000 and all inclusive almost 15,000 What's the most recent in the US? There are right now more than 35,000 affirmed Covid-19 cases in the US and a little more than 470 passings credited to the infection. The US currently has the third most elevated number of cases on the planet, beneath Italy and China. On Monday, the top US general wellbeing official, Surgeon General Dr Jerome Adams, advised that there "are insufficient individuals out there who are paying attention to this". "I need America to comprehend this week it will get awful," Dr Adams said on the Today TV program. He noticed that youngsters particularly were overlooking direction to rehearse social removing. "Everybody should be making the correct strides, at this moment: remain at home." Michigan on Monday turned into the most recent state to give a stay at home request for occupants. Basic administrations, similar to drug stores and markets, will stay open. National Guard troops are additionally dispersing nourishment and clinical supplies the nation over. The leader of the US National Guard, General Joseph Lengyel, portrayed the circumstance as having "54 distinct tropical storms hitting each state". "Every one of the 50 states, three domains and DC are occupied with fighting Covid-19," Gen Lengyel said. "At the beginning of today 7,300 National Guardsman and ladies are giving basic abilities support." Covid-19 has likewise arrived at top US administrators. Republican Senator Rand Paul, 57, said he tried positive for Covid-19 on Sunday, provoking individual gathering individuals Senators Mitt Romney, 73, and Mike Lee, 48, to likewise self-isolate as they had been in direct contact with him. Neither Mr Romney nor Mr Lee have indicated manifestations up until this point, nearby media report. Why are troops being conveyed? President Trump depicted the emergency confronting the US as a "war", saying: "I need to guarantee the American individuals that we're doing all that we can every day to go up against and at last destruction this repulsive undetectable adversary." The clinical stations the National Guard will set up have a limit of 4,000 beds, 2,000 of which will go to California, 1,000 to New York and 1,000 to Washington state. Furthermore, Mr Trump said he had endorsed solicitations to give a significant debacle revelation for the conditions of New York and Washington, and would do likewise for California "in a matter of seconds". Such presentations make government subsidizes accessible for alleviation work. Prior, a few state governors and nearby specialists begged the government to make increasingly clinical supplies accessible. New York Mayor Bill de Blasio said on Sunday: "We're around 10 days from seeing across the board deficiencies. On the off chance that we don't get more ventilators individuals will kick the bucket." New York state represents practically 50% of the nation's cases. In California, authorities have trained clinics to limit coronavirus testing on account of a lack of clinical supplies. In the interim, an emergency clinic in Washington state - when the focal point of the US flare-up - said it could come up short on ventilators by April. For what reason is the subsidizing bill blocked? It neglected to pass the Senate on Sunday, getting 47 votes and accordingly missing the mark concerning the 60 required in the 100-part chamber. Democrats brought up criticisms regarding the bill with Senate minority pioneer Chuck Schumer saying it had "many, numerous issues". Democrats blamed Republicans for needing to rescue large organizations. Talks among Democrats and the White House are proceeding.

http://whworldnews.blogspot.com/2020/03/coronavirus-trump-to-convey-national.html

[ecotone99]

[FN] The Monster of Loksdale

Prologue to a larger story I've been writing. Thought it'd be good to put some of it out there. Enjoy!

The Monster of Loksdale:

Rain danced on the canopy overhead. The worn path below was splotched with sloppy mud and slick rocks. Birds did not chirp, nor did a tree crackle in the gusts. Something evil abound. A beast. It wasn’t strong, but it wasn’t a swift kill either. This type of beast required skill to take down. No ordinary swordsman, bow-for-hire, or regiment from Ranae’s finest could simply strike at its heart and trade in its head in for coin and glory. It was more complicated than that. The people of Loksdale needed professional help. They needed me. They needed a templar*.

Though, given the circumstances, a beast like this would be simple prey for patient hunters or swarms of footmen if they weren’t so silent, so deadly. They were lanky, blue-skinned humanoids bearing jagged teeth, razors for claws, and beating white eyes that did not function. But even if they couldn’t see with their eyes, their heightened senses dulled the fact. They are called: ‘caecorum’*. Nasty creatures, them. The best way to counter a caecorum was to ignore it. They would, in return, do the same. Not this time, however. This one made a habit out of snatching people, children mostly, from local settlements as a source of food. It needed to die.

Blade’s length hidden behind my robe, hand on its hilt, I had taken on the stance of New Mundi* and waited patiently, eyes darting to and fro. Any proper vision was limited from behind my helmet, but it was enough, all I needed. Moments went by without movement. I shifted my gaze frantically from tree to tree, bush to bush. The only sound was the deafening rain that dropped to the canopy quicker and quicker the longer I stood around. Was the beast on my left? No. Behind me? No. My right? My behind— no. My front.

The monster leapt from the canopy before me, claws ready to sink deep. I dodged to the right as it landed. The quickening rain hazed my vision. I moved to strike but it was gone. I stepped back and took on New Mundi once more. I watched, waited. Where did it go? I closed my eyes and listened, trying to make out an anomaly in the rain.

Then I heard it.

Feet swishing around in muddied water.

It was behind.

I spun around, unsheathed my sword, and thrusted it forward with all my might. The creature's screech pierced through the sound of the beating rain. All fell silent a moment. Dark blood dripped and mixed together with muddy water. I opened my eyes. The caecorum had not met with my plate, but with the end of my sword. I had struck true. It could only nip it’s awkward teeth at me, trying to claw through my gauntlet and blade.

The blow was a fatal strike to the heart. It’s life essence would soon fade regardless of mercy, but I wasn’t hired to be sparing today. I stepped a tad closer to the blue beast and pushed him off my sword with one boot. It fell, back-first, into the mud with a hard splat. It rolled onto its stomach. It didn’t dare try and stand. The wound didn’t allow it. I wouldn’t allow it.

The general of the local fort would need a show of proof that the caecorum was dead if they are to reward me properly for the deed. Watching the rain tap and bounce from the desperate creature, I sat indecisive, asking myself only of which part would be used as a trophy, as proof. I shrugged.

A head always sufficed.

To get to the general who called for me, I needed to go through Loksdale* itself. It was an old, winding settlement with few homes and even fewer people. From the tales I’ve heard, the hamlet was built long ago by the families of Ranae’s Finest*, the regiments of soldiers that are forever tasked with guarding the Overgrowth* from any elven incursions. Just, the thing was, there hadn’t been any elven attacks on the continent in centuries. Perhaps they remain as a precaution or perhaps they were simply forgotten about by their superiors. Maybe someone knows.

“You!” I heard someone call.

Was it for me? I couldn’t say. I kept up my pace through the hamlet’s dirt roads.

“Templar!” The voice called again.

I stopped this time. Turning around, a local stood across the muddy pathway. He was a younger man, full head of brown hair, stiff stubble, and pale blue eyes. They called him Devon. I knew of him, helped me track the monster. I also knew of what he wanted: his little girl; the caecorum’s last victim.

“You find her?” He asked, stepping closer.

“Yes.” I begrudgingly stated.

“Well? Where is she? Where’s my Lil’ Debbie?”

“Dead, sadly. Along with the others who were taken.” I replied.

Devon’s eyes grew wide. He looked to the muck, unable to make eye contact again.

“Dead…” He remarked.

I sighed, my hand tightening around the carcorum’s threaded hairs. I hated this part of the job. Hoped I could skip it this time by not addressing it, not making amends. It didn’t work.

Devon fell completely silent. He clenched his fist and step within inches of me.

“Could’ve saved her if you got ‘ere sooner, I’m sure!” He blurted in a rage. “‘er blood’s on your hands, not that thing you hold!” He gestured toward the head. I had to soothe him before he did something rash, something he’d regret.

“My condolences for not saving her. She’s been avenged, if it counts for anythin—”

“It counts for not a damn thing!” He said in a brash.

Devon huffed. I could smell the foul aroma that irradiated off his tongue. His tears mixed with what few droplets of rain fell from the sky. He gave me a shove backward. My free hand instinctively fell upon the hilt of my blade. A small crowd began to spy on us from nearby huts, hovels, and street corners. I could see him wind up a fist.

Damn fool. I thought. He’d shatter a bone on pure mithril* anywhere he’d strike. I let go of my sword and grabbed hold of his wrist before the blow could land.

“Attacking me won’t change a thing.” I said, releasing his arm.

He fell onto his knees and began to weep. I looked down on him a moment. Devon balled uncontrollably. I turned away and kept walking, lest another spout of anger pour from him. The folk that watched began to disperse with my departure. I hung my head low. Was I at fault? His daughter was taken three nights ahead of my arrival. She was naut but bones and gore when I found the body. The possibilities of ‘what if’ rung throughout my mind but I shook them away.

It’s not befitting of a templar to second guess an action. As I was taught. I couldn’t let it get to me. I needed to return to the task at hand.

My employer resided in an old fort forever perched on a hill that overlooked the vast sprawl of untamed wilderness that lined the eastern coasts. The one I approached was one of the oldest, built just after man found victory in the War of Unity*. They call it: Fort Duvane, appropriately named after the first general to command the garrison.

Village folk from across the continent would tell their children about about the man named Duvane. It is said that, on the first night of a blistering winter, General Duvane ordered his men to stand out in the freezing temperatures and any who caught a cold were deemed unworthy of working the fort’s infrastructure. Duvane supervised them all night and, in a twist of irony, only Duvane caught a cold, thus being removed from power.

In truth, the actual Duvane had forced his men to work endlessly in the cold with little rest which lead to his men hanging their dear general on a nearby tree. Amusing how tales passed down through the generations are blurred. Even more amusing how rowdy and lawless the first ranaens were. Different time, different people, I suppose.

My long walk to the garrison had been stopped by the fort’s large, wooden gate. Outside it, one guard, decorated in cloth, leather, and plate (in that order) stood, arms crossed. He spied my likeness as I approached and signaled for me to halt. I stopped at his command. He uncrossed his arms and looked me over. From his lips, the man spat a wad of gunk off to the side before turning away and banging a fist on the gate.

“Templar here to collect his reward! Open the gate!” He shouted.

On the other side, a man — no, two men — shuffled around, unlocking the gate before slowing pulling it open. The gate’s cracked wood creaked and groaned as if it were in pain. I patiently waited, glancing in every direction. A few moments of admiring the views passed before the gate was finally opened and I was waved inside. A lone soldier waited for me on the inside. He was to be my escort to the general; not like I needed it. I had been here once a few hours earlier. Either way, I obediently followed quietly.

To reach the general’s office, we had to trek across the courtyard, up the ramparts, and along the wall to a stubby tower on the far corner of the fort where we stopped at a door. The guardsman that accompanied me banged on the wood with the palm of his hand.

“Templar’s back, sir!” He shouted.

“Ah, uh, good! A moment, templar!” The general shouted back.

From inside came faint giggling. It wasn’t the giggling of a man but a woman. My companion guard eyed the door and snickered.

“Seems the boss’s got a bit company, eh? Probably one of them wenches that works the inn down the hill.” He said quietly enough for only my ears.

“Possibly.” I replied, leaning back against the ramparts.

We waited there for, what it seemed like, a moon cycle, before he finally called for me to come in. I opened the door and allowed my escort to shut it behind me. On the far end of the room, passed the prestigious decor and hunting trophies, sat the general, an aging man with grey hair, garbed in crimson red armor that proudly sported the ranaen lily on the breast. He was seated behind a solid oak desk cluttered with various knickknacks. Next to him, standing shyly against the wall was a young woman— no, a young elven woman wrapped in a clean, white towel. She had pointed ears, a fair complexion, and a delicate frame. It seemed the general had an escort of his own.

“Come in, templar, make yourself at home.” He beamed. “What’s mine is yours…! Well, maybe not her.” He slyly winked the elf’s direction. She giggled.

“Here for my reward.” I stated, stepping toward his desk and dropping the caecorum’s head on its surface.

A few of the general’s ornaments and papers were misplaced by the head’s sudden arrival. Faint traces of blood fell from the open neck and stained the wooden desktop. The general’s face turned sour at the sight. Looking away from the decapitated head, he opened a desk drawer and dug through the compartment a moment before setting a hefty coin purse next to the head.

“There you are,” He began. “Now leave me, templar, I’ve important... business to attend to.” The elf giggled again, shuffling over to meet the man.

I reached down and took the bag. By its weight, it was roughly two hundred coins worth. I gave the general one firm nod before showing myself out. As I neared the door, he shouted my direction.

“You need somethin’ to spend it on, try the inn at Whitehorse. Wenches there know how to work a bed!” He chuckled at his own joke, the elf giggling along for the third time.

I left the general to his ‘important business’ and found my own way back out of the fort. As I stepped out the main gate, I looked out to the horizon.. The sun had fallen farther over the mountains. Darkness had engulfed the wide sprawl of land around me. There’s was little chance I’d risk the backroads of the continent this late, so I scaled down the hill and returned down to Loksdale to, hopefully, find an inn that supplied a decent bed without a required harlot.

A proud and well-gowned lady stood on a grassy hill, far off in front of me. She was under the shade of a tree, one familiar. I stepped toward her. A man, proud and well-dressed stepped over to join her. He familiar too.

I found myself running to them, my pace quickening. They both turned and looked on in horror. The world behind me began to fall into a deep abyss.

I started the run faster.

Faster.

I began shouting at the couple, but it caught me The abyss was too fast and I was too slow. It’s pressure buckled my knees and dropped me to the ground. I watched it overtake the hill and the couple. There was laughter. Then there was screams.

I was helpless.

I had to watch.

I couldn’t turn away.

The thunder overhead caused my eyes to shoot open. I lay there for at least an hour, still armored, unable to fall back asleep. Every so often the lightning from outside would light my abode in a flash of blue from the small gaps between the walls and the roof near the top of the room. It was a nice (and clever) way to air out a room, even if it makes sleep difficult during storms.

Eventually I sat up. The room flashed blue again. My eyes wandered in the darkness until they caught light from the gap between my door and the floor. Someone was still awake. I rubbed at my eyes before dragging myself out of bed. The room flashed blue once again. To start the day, I stretched my arms and legs before gearing up for my return to the monastery. I redid my sword’s sheath around the waist, slipped on my plated gloves, reattached my helmet, and threw on the standard white shaw every templar wore over my armor, tying it in place by it’s loose strip of cloth that dangled just above the hips. Carefully, I patted it down, making sure the drape fell below my ankles and wasn’t caught on any plate.

Never allow your robe to snag. It could cost you your life. As told by my tutor. He was wise. I trusted his reasoning. Told the whole class of the unkept templar that couldn’t successfully dodge a sword because his robe caught under his plate. Truly, I don’t know if it was a true story or not. Either way, I follow his advice to this day.

When I was ready, I snatched up my bag of gold and quietly retreated from my room. The inn was quiet as I entered the main lodging. The light that shined under the door was the tavern’s large fireplace that crinkled and cracked in hues of orange and yellow. Two others shared the room with me. One was the innkeeper who neatly tidied her station in the light of the fire. The other was Devon who wept at a far-side table.

When I questioned him the day before, he had been drinking away his sorrows. Heavily. It was a miracle I got him to tell me anything about his daughter’s disappearance. In fact, his vague description of the girl was the only reason I found the caecorum’s lair. Now, however, he was without bottle and mug. Seems he was cut off sometime last night before he drank himself to death.

“Morning.” The innkeeper whisper over to me, interrupting my thoughts. Her back was to me as she toyed with bottles, boxes, and cups, but she knew I was there.

“Morning.” I replied.

“Have a good sleep?” She asked.

The main room flashed blue, thunder crackled overhead.

“As good as any in this weather.” I said.

“Understandable. Sorry ‘bout that.” She turned, bottle of ale in hand and a towel in the other. Her green eyes and fair skin sparkled in the orange fire. Very carefully she wiped the bottle clean and sat it on the counter.

“I assume you’ll be leaving now?”

“That’s right.” I replied. “How much do I owe you for the room?” I started to unravel the coin purse’s strings, but her words stopped me.

“Not a copper, templar.” She smiled. “You helped us enough by slaying that monster. A free room is the least I can do for you… but, ah, sure you don’t wanna wait out the storm? It can get pretty bad out there.”

“I’ve survived worse. I’ll be fine, thank you.”

“Well, if that’s what you wish, good luck on the way back to your temple— ”

“Monastery.” I interrupted.

Lightning flashed.

“Of course, my apologies…” She said, trailing off. “Hey, ah, if you’re ever in need of a place to stay, and you’re in the area, you’re always welcome here.” The frown she wore turned into a smile. “Be well and may the Eight watch over your travels.”

I offered over a bow before turning over my room’s key and making off toward the exit. However, just before I got to the door, I stopped. From across the way, Devon’s sniffles mixed with the sounds of rain. I tried to ignore it, ignore him. but I couldn’t. I gripped the doors handle and attempted to pull it open, but I couldn’t. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t do anything, my mind focused on his demeanor.

Lightning flashed.

I found myself at the man’s side, the only place my body would take me. He had not looked at me yet, but he knew I was there.

“What do you want?” Devon said in rugged tone.

Without a ‘hello’, I reluctantly tossed the bag of jingling gold on the table. His ears perked and his eyes wandered over.

“Your daughter’s body is just inside the Overgrowth.” I began. “Take a group of men, follow the dirt road, and make a left when you reach a crossroads. She’s… well, what’s left of her, is there, just inside the underbrush.”

He slowly looked up as I spoke, his tears subsiding. Devon went to speak, but my words came over his.

“The coin is for the tab you built up drinking down all her booze yesterday.” I pointed toward the innkeeper who had been intently watching us from behind the bar. “Anything left over, use it and buy your daughter a nice casket, one from the capital. Spare no expense. Understand?”

As the words left my mouth and he slid the hefty pouch away from my reach, I found myself second-guessing my actions. My hand formed a fist. Should I have done that? Maybe only half the coin was adequate. The grandmaster certainly wouldn’t be pleased I come with no coin… again.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” Came Devon’s voice.

“Don’t have to say anything,” I responded. “I’ll already get an earful for allowing you to run off with my coin.”

Without another word, I strided away and met success in exiting the building this time.

At least someone would be happy.

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