#I am naught but a fool and I never learn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rainswept · 7 months

Text

little writing event so i can get back into the swing of things! length will be determined by how motivated i am by the specific prompts. no set end date, but it won’t stay open forever.

pick 2+ characters for me to choose from (i’ll only pick/write for one). — feel free to request anyone from genshin or hsr, but i’m less likely to prioritize genshin and it’s more just if it catches my eye.

lyrics! pick 1-3. i’ll include them all. all by the crane wives, a couple by emilee petersmark alone. 1. don’t buy me flowers (it pains me to watch the pretty little things wilt away) 2. i tried to do the best i could, but try as i might, i couldn’t bring myself to hold you 3. years of imitating mastery only made me a better thief 4. there is love that doesn’t have a place to rest, but it would have buried you if it had settled on your shoulders 5. i cut my teeth on second hand sentiment (you can’t trust a single thing i say) 6. on some level i think i always understood that these hands of mine were clumsy, not clever 7. tie me up by my callow belief someday i’ll make something out of me 8. it’s a secret i keep tucked inside my chest, with this heart of mine that’s guilty, not remorseful 9. i have hands that shake when there are cuts to make 10. there are times i still wonder about you 11. it was a march we made towards ruin and despair, but we held hands all the while 12. you’ll never see the reasons i had for keeping my claws away when they were close enough to hurt you 13. when i’m gone and you have naught, when you’re hollowed out and empty 14. i have gasoline in my veins; i am always burning, burning, burning 15. i am selfish, i am broken, i am cruel — i am all the things they might’ve said to you 16. we didn’t give up, we wouldn’t dare surrender — it was an honest loss 17. for as winsome as you may be, all you’re doing now is losing me 18. you are someone i have loved, but never known 19. i am a falling axe; i am a sharpened knife; i am a poison asp; i am a risk to your life, my love 20. you’re the culprit, so don’t blame me 21. so kiss me quick, steal every secret i keep (you can have anything that you want from me) 22. can it be easy for once? ‘cause i’m no good at being kind to myself (or anyone) 23. desire, desire ‘til there’s nothing left of me 24. and as for time, i am powerless to stop it 25. i am the beast at your back (you better run for your life) 26. so let my hope grow cold and atrophy, ‘cause there is no more room in your heart for me 27. how long have i been here all alone? 28. you kissed my mouth, you pushed me out, and now i’m struggling to free myself 29. i am not brave, i keep my focus on what is safe

30. with no more roots to tie me down, it’s just a different kind of lonely 31. do you ever feel nothing at all? i do (i would not wish that on you) 32. build yourself a citadel amid the foothills of regret 33. ain’t it a shame with time our dreams turned into jokes? i won’t let that be us 34. i learned to lie, i learned to grow, i learned to hold it for awhile and let it go 35. don’t just watch me go, you fool, run with me, keep up 36. those of us who vow never to love again are making liars out of honest men 37. i saw your eyes, so sweet, go cold 38. the only peace i have ever known is the peace i made with you 39. how long is forever? 40. i learned to take, i learned to keep, please tell me someday i’ll at least be able to sleep 41. i can take for better, but for worse i can’t condone 42. i won’t move but i can’t stay here, so what the hell am i supposed to do? 43. it’s not you i’m leaving, are you listening? 44. i’ve grown a mouth so sharp and cruel, it’s all that i can give to you, my dear — and when you come in quick to steal a kiss, my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear 45. i want to kindle a love that doesn’t age, even when all the years carve lines into your face; tell me i will be surprised, when i think i’ve memorized every touch and every thought, i want you to prove me wrong 46. red sky morning, lover’s warning; oh i know that the promise you wear, well, it ain’t for me 47. only my lover, not i, can keep my soul 48. i will only break your pretty things — i will only wring you dry of everything (but if you’re fine with that, you can be mine like that) 49. you could still carry me away, but you’d leave me here to die 50. bring it down on my head if these sins are mine; call it down on my head, for these sins are mine 51. far too soon for this, but i am all in, no matter how it ends 52. i am lost, i am wandering, love, through the withering greens, while you’re busy in love with the colors you see — and i dream of dying trees while you see yellow leaves 53. swallow the poison, i don’t want to spit bitter medicine — i think it’s making me sick 54. break my bones, turn me inside out again (‘cause i can’t hold on to what i’ll be in the end) 55. nothing could’ve been done, is that right? ‘cause i was born with a hole in my heart — we were fucked from the start 56. i think i might learn to linger, but not now 57. i am not afraid to give you everything 58. when azaleas bloom, he said, when the flower blossoms spread — that’s the day, that’s the day, that’s the day i’ll love you 59. bleeding together, the nights seem to stretch on forever 60. the moon will sing a song for me, i loved you like the sun; bore the shadows that you made with no light of my own 61. swallowing your doubt, like swords to the pit of my belly — i wanna feel the fire that you kept from me 62. i shine only with the light you gave me (i could’ve been anyone, anyone) 63. the words i speak are wildfires and weeds, they spread like some awful damn disease; and i swear i didn’t mean what i said, i swear, i didn’t mean it 64. now listen close, you owe me ears for dropping eaves; forget it all, you caught me in a moment weak 65. are we allies or enemies? this will be the death of me 66. remember when i could tell you not to smile when you were mad, and you would always crack? and we’d both be laughing in the end — now you’re not so quick to forget 67. all is fair in love and war, but i can’t fight with you anymore

might add more later. also, if you know the crane wives, feel free to send a lyric that isn’t listed here! these are just some i took from shuffling on spotify. they have way more music and it’s all worth a listen!

current favs are acheron, aventurine, blade, dan heng, and sunday, but i’ll do all the hsr ones i get!

#rolling around on thr floor.#may or may not have forgotten how to write so. good luck!

1 note · View note

diamondshapedcat · 1 year

Text

Joy has left me this day

Another day under the sun and again I am haunted by the actions of my past. They ask why the job advisor failed in their task and I weep once more. Not due to the suffering nor the pain, but time. Time lost fighting for the impossible. I spent my years without thought on this single goal and in return i got neither gold nor glory.

I weep for the times that will never be. Times of joy, times of adventure and the little moments where I just sat back and smiled. Fool that I was, I thought that the job was the key I needed to belong, to pass among others as an equal, and all too late I learn that the gate was always unlocked, silently waiting for me to push it open.

The days that passed without me, the parties with a vacant place left absent and sights that went unseen. Oh how I wish I could unwind the fabric of time to pull myself back there. The gate is now open but all is gone, naught but trash and debris of the good times remain. I am standing in the ashes of a fallen dream, never to be loved and cherished.

Why do I let myself be led down paths that I do not belong on? How can I learn when all they say is said in riddles and rules I do not understand? Do I not have a place among the fire on a cold winter night?

I bleed, I taste, I smell, I run, I think, I feel! All things we humans do, our claim to who we are and yet I am ostracized because I feel wrong, I taste strange, I think different. No humans are the same and still I am somehow classed as a lesser, unworthy of love nor respect due to an unspoken and unjust rule, enforced without my voice of consent.

The world is forgetting me, and my voice sparks no memory, no reason to look back and help those left behind.

I weep becasue I had hope, but no more.

#vent #autism #full of regrets #what could have been

0 notes

aetherstories · 2 years

Note

Lahabrea adjusted his vessel’s coat. He had not wanted to take this fool’s body again but his wife had insisted — at least he was already familiar with it. His attention returned to Emmerololth. The sundered soul in his body recoiled in knowledge that his colleague has taken by the Paragon’s as well though there was nothing he could do about it.

“Tell me, Emmerololth, why does the Warrior of Light and their allies operate in Sharlayan? Did I not tell you to keep them away from this place?”

He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Or did the faces of your children make you weak?”

@avalcn | Lahabrea has words for Emmerololth!Fourchenault

He might never cease to find it distasteful and terrifying both, the ease with which the Unsundered, and some other overlords, took over the living as if they were coats to be discarded. The ease with which they controlled such a large part of the Source and the shards beyond it.

It spoke to their web of control that Fourchenault had wished to learn and oppose them and now Emmerololth served them as their pawn, when he could not thwart them. That he was what he had wished to oppose and destroy, as he regarded Lahabrea wearing Sevestre's body, despite how the two of them had never been close, and dipped his head.

The only reaction to the mention of his children was the barest tension of his shoulders, despite the flare of rage within his chest. It was not wrong, it was nevertheless dangerous. And perhaps before Emet-Selch or Elidibus Emmerololth would have bit his tongue, but he did not, this time.

"Your accusations offend me, Lahabrea." He spoke, recovering with ease. "The Warrior of Light has few allies, and their support is dwindling. That they have set foot on this land is but a matter of time, and exposing those who would support them. Once all that is in motion is finished, they will have no support, and no allies in Sharlayan." He spoke, with ease. "I am, however, being thorough."

And he would indeed cut at their allies, force them to move to the shadows if he could. Ensure enough of them remained to keep Sharlayan safe, and perhaps bring the twins home, but keep the Warrior themself away. Naught else was safe.

#avalcn #avalcn || lahabrea #|| muse | fourchenault ||#|| ascian verse: the healer | fourchenault ||

1 note · View note

kootiepatra · 2 years

Text

#FFxivWrite2022 - Day 19 Prompt: "Turn a Blind Eye"

I'm not sure this is my strongest entry, but I have to imagine that Keimwyda and Ardbert had some chats that did not make it into cutscenes. This would be one of them.

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

“You don’t have to let them use you like this, you know,” Ardbert said.

Keimwyda jumped. While she was no longer frightened by his presence, she was far from being able to anticipate when he would suddenly make himself known.

“I’m sorry?” she asked.

“Which is not to say I’m not grateful,” he continued. “I have to admit I find myself hoping that you actually pull this off. It would be of some comfort to see that this world doesn’t entirely perish for our mistakes. But… you do know you don’t have to take up this cause, right?”

A sad smile crossed her lips. “I fear that is not fully an option I am free to take. My own world hangs in the balance as well—as I believe you know.”

The phantom’s face fell, a fresh wave of shame hitting him for his attempted part in the Ardor.

“But even without that…” she continued, “...I think I would go through with it all the same.”

“I don’t think it’s fair to you,” he objected.

“It is not.”

He was startled to hear her say it so frankly. “You see it too, then. I was beginning to wonder.”

“I am not a fool,” she answered quietly. “Well. At least not on this count.”

The two stood in silence for a moment; she, leaning on the dresser where she had paused to gather her breath after a bout of soul-shattering pain, and he standing intangibly by the door, not at all sure what to do with himself.

“You have told me some about the toll this is taking on you, and I can see it for myself in how you cried out a moment ago. It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

Keimwyda nodded.

“I mislike this,” he said. “It isn’t fair. And you still intend to go and deliver Kholousia?”

“I do.”

Ardbert scowled. “You are quite sure you must deal with all of the wardens in order to stave off the Rejoining?”

She laughed despite herself. “I do not know that, no, but those more learned than me seem to believe it to be true. Besides,” she said, “you have seen the havoc and death those things sow in their wake. You have seen the way they gather strength and spread their influence. If we do not strike now when they are already on the run, we may never have a chance to do it again.”

“But Eulmore, of all places. Those cankers would happily fling you from the nearest balcony should they think you a threat to their comfortable retirement. Surely you cannot believe that they would endure even half as much pain for you.”

She lowered her eyes, blinking away the white at the edges of her vision. “As I said, I am no fool.”

He folded his arms and regarded her seriously. “One would not guess it to look at what you are choosing to do.”

“Good.”

Ardbert took to pacing about the room. He had been in her shoes, more or less. He knew how it had ended for him. He wanted it to end better for her. “So tell me then,” he ordered. A deep wound in his heart wanted to hear it for himself, but he suspected she might need to hear it again, too. “What could possibly justify what you’re doing? Why is it reasonable for you to be brought over from another world against your wishes, thrust into chaos that you are not responsible for, to then risk your very existence for people who live only for themselves? You said there were reasons beyond saving your own world. I want to hear them.”

She was silent for a long moment. “Reasonableness does not come into it,” she said at last. “But… I must do what I can. It is true that full many people in this world think of naught but themselves. As is also true in mine. But… I have seen what these creatures can do. I witnessed the transformation firsthand—and of a good woman, at that. The agony on her face—the monster she was made to become—the others who would now suffer at her unwilling existence—no one deserves that.

“If I can do anything to prevent it, I must. As a dear friend once put it: ‘For those we have lost. For those we can yet save’. How could I live with myself if I had a chance to put a stop to this, and simply chose to look the other way?

“So instead I will look the other way at the slights and the failures of the people I fight for. Gods know I have enough failures of my own. Let the wheels of justice turn for such people in their own time. That part is neither my purview nor my strength. I can but strive to extend the mercy that they would live another day, long enough to perhaps make things right. All I can do is choose to believe there may yet be hope for them all.”

Ardbert took her words in silently. They reverberated with him. They reminded him of things he had once held dear, but had begun to lose sight of by the end.

He had heard what he needed, and what he hoped she needed. “Of course you must. And you will. Go crush that accursed lightwarden like only a Warrior of Darkness can.”

She smiled weakly. “I shall try, my friend. I shall try.” Tears began to form in her eyes. “Would that I were not so frightened.”

“But you are resolved. This will not be your first tangle with fear, I imagine.”

“Oh, most certainly not.”

“Then you shall do it again.” He smiled for the first time this evening. “It is what heroes do.”

#FFxivWrite2022 #FFxivWrite #ffxiv #shadowbringers spoilers #my writing #Ardbert

11 notes · View notes

sitp-recs · 3 years

Text

The Secret Keeper by @the-fools-errand / Artwork by @razielim

Harry/Draco (2021, Mature, 225k)

On Halloween 1981, Albus Dumbledore made a decision that would change the course of history, concealing Harry Potter’s survival at the hands of Lord Voldemort underneath a Fidelius Charm. But when Harry comes of age in the Muggle world, Dumbledore realises too late that the fate of the world may depend on a boy who has never held a wand.

“While I am naught but ghost when by your side,

A shadow o’er your radiance concealed,

Your burden to be seen and mine to hide,

I’d give to you my curse to be your shield.

Are we without the other incomplete,

Or bishops, forced to pass but never meet?”

As someone who a) hasn’t felt any interest in canon rewrites since the glorious Hermione’s Hogwarts Crammer and b) hasn’t read anything over 200k in pretty much a year, I spent the better part of last week utterly and completely absorbed in this fic. My initial idea was to only check 1-2 chapters to get a sense of it and go back once I had more time, next thing I knew I was devouring this as if there’s no tomorrow 😂 despite loving the castle I don’t read Hogwarts fics very often, and now I resent myself for almost forgetting how fun and moving it is to see Muggle Harry exploring the wonders and dangers of the Wizarding World for the 1st time.

It was amazing to see this version of him, witty, defiant, creative and excited to learn, guided by these equally fascinating versions of Draco and Hermione. Both characters are full of nuance and personality, each one with strong virtues and ugly flaws (except Luna - she’s flawless of course) and I’m amazed at how organically and realistically the character development and growing camaraderie were executed. Not to mention the fabulous supporting cast - smart and fierce Charlotte! Morally grey Dumbledore and McGonagall! Plus melancholique Snape, sympathetique Pansy, brave Neville, competent Cedric, and the genius Bard with his poignant love sonnet that inspired this rec banner. Each character feels distinct, complex and unique, and I’m gonna miss them now the Fellowship of the Ring (haha) is over.

For starters the plot is brilliant, simple yet not simplistic, engaging, exciting (did I mention there’s multiverse??? I die) and also effective thanks to alternating POVs and the masterful tension building. It takes a little bit for Harry and Draco to meet in this story, but when they do things are so well established you already know a storm is brewing and hell will break loose sooner or later. The pacing balances moments of calmness and urgency but you watch these two characters learn and change each other, all but waiting for that big reveal moment to come. And because we’re talking about stopping Voldemort, stakes are high and go way beyond the Drarry romance - which is soft in a heartbreakingly young way - and includes Draco’s own redemption arc as he rises to confront his fate.

This is getting too long (as always) but 2 things I need to mention are first, the stunning, vibrant and atmospheric art pieces created by Razielim for this fic - holy wow they capture the fic mood and aesthetics perfectly, and I’m so so pleased that I got to visualize my personal fave scenes. The second big shoutout goes to the delicious nostalgia I got out of all those 80s and 90s references, from movies to football to Sirius’ excellent taste in music without even showing up. On a personal note (honestly, what isn’t in this rec), Rumours by Fleetwood Mac is my all-time favorite album and seeing it in this story filled my heart with such warmth and longing, I suddenly felt seen and realized that this might as well have been written for me, which is such a heartwarming feeling ❤️

Reading this fic took me days but it definitely didn’t feel like 220k either. I’m impressed by how smoothly the narrative combined plot development, thrilling action and slow, tender romance. Every decision made sense and felt earned, leading us through an epic retelling with these characters that feel both foreign and familiar to us. I had a blast reading this, fell in love with these characters, and would love to see this fic getting more attention and praise, especially being the author’s second work in the fandom (and their first completed fic!). Now I’ve done my duty screaming about this, I’m off to check the other two :D enjoy!

Read on AO3

#drarry fic rec #canon rewrite #muggle Harry AU #horcrux hunt #the secret keeper #harrydracobang 2021 #fave

103 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

Text

Letter 30: 🐉🐲 The First in Forever 🐲🐉

A letter arrives in the mail. It comes in a jet black envelope with a thorny design. At the top of the paper is an ornate family crest—a mighty dragon amid bramble branches and flames, its eyes glistening green. A silent, but deadly creature that seems to see straight through your soul. It seems to guard the words contained in the letter, each sentence eloquently crafted.

A flowery card, styled similarly to the envelope and sealed with a spindle sticker, comes with the letter. A myrid of black thorns grace its face, accompanied by a single rose amid the darkness. Calligraphy, set in neon green ink, flows across the card in greeting.

***Main story spoilers!***

To the Child of Man residing in Ramshackle Dorm,

The truth has now been revealed to you. “Tsunotarou” is, in actuality, “Malleus Draconia”. Perhaps that name does not hold much meaning to you, seeing as you appear to be ignorant of the ways of this world—names have power.

There is a method to my madness, of course.

The name “Draconia” holds more weight than you may realize.

I am no fool—I am very much cognizant of how I am perceived, from my imposing appearance to my terrible power. Those who know of the Draconia bloodline tremble at the mere mention of the name. The very thought of me frightens them. There are not many who have gone without hearing of the Valley of Thorns’ ruling family without shuddering in the night.

That is why I was shocked to discover an individual who had no such knowledge. Even more shocking was how... affable a person you were. There was no apprehension, no malice, no coldness, in your eyes. Only curiousity and something warm.

It caught me off guard.

And I, too, was curious—curious about this child of man, who sires strangers with odd names such as “Tsunotarou”.

I often stroll by Ramshackle by my lonesome. It is quiet, abandoned. I feel a certain... kinship with it, as odd as it sounds. Ramshackle is tranquil. Decrepit, yes, but tranquil nonetheless. I was concerned that new residents would sully that tranquility that it offered—but instead, I found a new peace with you.

Very few are eager to converse with me. Most would turn tail and flee, or simply cower in my presence. There is the occasional hooligan who believes himself to be superior and foolishly challenges me, and there ones who show me the proper respect; those of Diasomnia.

But oftentimes, I am forgotten altogether by the school populace. As if erased from their memories altogether. Not the case with you. You spoke of yourself, and asked things of me, treated me as a commoner, a peer, an equal. Not a young master to revere, a rival to defeat, or a monster to flee from. Just... a person.

I found that I did not mind this new resident of Ramshackle.

Ah, but it is not only our conversations late into the evenings that amused me. You’ve gone and tempted fate itself a number of times—knocked a few of my fellow dorm leaders down a peg. I also heard through the briar that you played a part in suppressing a stampede spearheaded by Kingscholar. As if a mere kitten such as he could harm me—though your sentiment is certainly well-intentioned.

I will admit, it was a disappointment when Ashengrotto claimed Ramshackle property. I have always found that eatery he runs to be garish and noisy. It would have been a horrible fate if Ramshackle had been converted into an extension of his lounge. I thank the Great Seven that it did not. Somehow, you wrenched the property back from his greedy tentacles. Because of that, our peaceful days can continue.

Again and again, you continue to surprise me.

I traveled back to my home country for winter break. There, I am not so easily overlooked or forgotten. There, I command great respect. However... In the depths of my slumber, I came to miss my evening strolls on campus, and our casual conversations under the stars. And, for the first time in what seems like forever, I had something to look forward to upon my return to Night Raven College.

(I sent Lilia to deliver a holiday card on my behalf; I trust it made its way to you safely?)

The cultural festival season brought with it yet another surprise. You invited me to watch a performance out on by Schoenheit and the others. Rarely am I ever summoned to events—so I took the opporunity when it was offered to me. Admittedly, I was curious about the show to come.

And yet I came upon a ruined stage. Al-Asim and Felmier on the brink of tears. Trappola, Spade, Hunt, and Viper, with defeated expressions. The haughty Schoenheit himself was barely able to stand on his own two feet. You, hopelessly hopeless.

How tragic.

Fate had determined that the show was not to go on. But, child of man... a little magic can easily defy the powers that be. A wave of my hand, a flick of the wrist, and the stage was repaired. The long-awaited performance able to continue. Your smiles restored.

The performance was a beautiful one, as expected of Schoenheit, but I found your awestruck look to be just as amusing. It was then and there that you learned who I was: Malleus Draconia.

I do not know how your awareness of my identity will change your thoughts on me. Perhaps you will recoil in fright, as your friends do, or perhaps you wil laugh in the face of fear, as you always have. No matter which path you may choose to walk, know this:

For fae with long lifespans, we perceive time differently than your kind. To us, a human's lifetime is naught but a blink of the eye. Insignificant, trivial, and easily forgotten. But for you, time is precious. Every second is cherished. Thus... the time spent with you will never be forgotten, kept close to my heart.

I am happy to call you my friend. The first one in quite some time.

May fortune smile upon you, Child of Man.

And may we meet again.

Cordially,

🐉 M.D. 🐉

(Malleus Draconia)

Diasomnia Dorm Leader

Crown Prince of the Valley of Thorns

Gargoyle Research Society Founder

Third Year NRC Student

#Malleus Draconia #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland anni #twst anni #twisted wonderland anniversary #twst anniversary #disney twisted wonderland #spoilers #magic mystery letters

352 notes · View notes

chipper-smol · 3 years

Text

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Pale Jester Chain 1

Prompt: PJ finds himself alone with the Grimmchild after the bug who finished the ritual abandons the Grimmchild charm

By @alaska-ren-works

“Oh, the red casts great and terrifying spells Ones which no one knows The drums go bang and the bats ignite ‘Lo and behold a toad!”

The Pale Jester hummed to the beat of his steps, the atmosphere of King’s Pass having a little color now, PJ thinks. Little taps from crawlids and squawks of vengeflies adding a little harmony to his cheery bells. Ah, to have an orchestra of his own to play and dance to. Never the mind, there’s always his friends he could sneak away with. He’s sure Brumm wouldn’t mind if he borrowed him and his accordian. Brumm was always a lovely companion with his somber mood. Hm, now if only he could remember where he left his lute he’d be on his way to play with the troupe.

The jester paused when mued noise echoed from a tunnel above. Shrugging, his bells jingled as he scaled the stone up and up while wondering what this little mystery was. A statue of a great bug with red eyes a-plenty loomed from the jester's place on the edge, guarding over a single opened chest. The noise echoed from its hollow depths.

A grub? It must be. Unless something else can make such high-pitched sounds.

The jester jingled quietly to the chest, preparing a little song to cheer the poor sap out. Who would leave a child in a desolate place such as this?

He'd have a word with the young one's parents. A strongly worded one at that. If he had a child, he would never abandon them when they needed him most.

Indeed. You have done far, far worse. Strange. Is the wind howling voices? What a peculiar land this is.

The sound whimpered louder and at this the jester froze. It couldn't be. No, of course not. Master had made sure the bug was to be trusted. They would never... They would never do such a thing...!

He hurried and his claws dug into the chest's metal. His heart stopped when he saw what, or who, was inside. The black gleaming horns. The scarlet flame stuttering under glassy eyes.

No.

"Grimmchild?"

A stuttered whimper his only reply.

How dare that excuse of a life betray our child.

Grimmchild did not respond when the jester picked them up, cradling them in his puy-sleeved arms. Dark red stained their cheeks. Dark, sorrowful red.

"Child," he gently cooed, frowning when they hardly moved their head. "How long were you left here?"

No reply. What have they done to you?

“Let’s go home, little one. I am certain you are tired after your long adventure,” he sang with restrained tones, his fury marbled with his grief for this little one. "I have a few tricks I want to show you! Made them perfect while Brumm learned how to juggle. He's not the most dexterous of us all but perhaps one day he can handle flaming darts! What fun that would be!"

No reply.

The Jester trembled with every rocking of his arms for the child. He remembered how the child laughed and beamed when the bug took them to gather the scarlet flames. The child sang with such glee at the bug's performance with the master. The child grew more brilliant with every step this bug took with them down to the kingdom's last flame.

Come to think of it, he had not seen the bug once the heart was defeated. ... No.

"O, child," the jester piped. Taking one step, a stalactite fell from above. His hand moved on its own and in moments, the rock turned to powder under his clenched fist. The child merely curled in his arms, eyes dimming to a close. "Child, you need rest! Once you wake, you'll be in such a lovelier place with the most delightful of games to play with!"

That... fiend... left the child when the ritual was over? Like a mere toy to be buried once play time ends?

That abomination will pay. For every tear this child shed.

Every. Damned. One.

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

By @lametinkerer

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

By The Grimm Chronicler

At first, it was easily muffled by all the noise outside. Then he heard it. A thud, a sudden cry of desperation.

Investigating at the source, there he found it, hidden away within a small chest. A child. A weeping, frightened child, clinging to his robes so tight and desperately as though the mere mention of legging go could mean that they would return to the chest and be trapped once again.   "Oh, child..." The Jester whispers. "Who could do something like this to you? How long have you been there?" Questioned the Jester, though he knew he'd receive naught but silence. Embracing them as gently as possible, he rocked them evenly back and forth until they stilled, having given in to slumber.

His investigation has proven itself to be quite uncomplicated. Within no time, he found out about the child's former guardian and how they were so utterly left aside to simply rot away in the confines of an ornate chest in a secluded area. The mere thought brought forth despicable, hideous emotions he never thought himself capable of experiencing.

Anger. Pure, unbridled anger.

He swore that he'd find the one responsible for this sick malevolence and bring them to justice. Mayhaps even the Master would offer his aid. It mattered little whether he did so or not, the Jester sought naught but to seek out the evil being and he would do so relentlessly. He promised that. As he held the child in his hands, their crimson eyes staring innocently at the funny man with a strange makeup and even stranger outfit and pointy prongs on his head, they giggled at the sight. "That abomination shall pay for every. Single. Tear you ever shed. I shall see to it. They will not go unpunished for such atrocity."

The Jester brought them closer to him, closing his eyes. They giggled at the contact, embracing him back.

"I promise you."

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

By @lagt-duck

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

By @al-the-frog

the unexpected isn’t always desirable

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

By @largeegg

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

By @wasabi-arts

The audience departed, the stage left empty, not a sound. Usually Brumm’s pleasant tune filled the halls draped in red with faint echoes of the notes, but tonight remained silent. It wasn’t often the bug was left with the distinct lack of noise, with no joke to entertain himself or company to keep. All that greeted him was the faint whispers of an audience no more, the spirits that haunted the troupe.

And to think at first you loathed him- a creature created by the king of all nightmares after humiliating your very existence as the king’s little fool. However. . now? You feel pity for him while you watch the jester in red with his head in his hand, sitting on the edge of the stage. He’s weighed by a misery he can’t understand, memories he’ll never recall, all in a world through the holes of a stice striped mask. The stamp of the Grimm Troupe.

On the stage, the jester just stared at something in one of his hands, round and white. Normally, it's something you’d dismiss- perhaps a relic spawning a curiosity that would be short lived- but the curled carving, the white charm shape- it was unmistakable. Something that he and his wife had once shared, then split in two- was suddenly regained.

Several emotions filled your mind as you, in your ghostly shadow of self that remained trapped in the nightmare realm bound by a red string, inched closer to your physical counterpart. The kingsoul. Last you remembered- no, last you knew you held it on your cold dead corpse in the palace long since gone, hidden within a lingering dream. The other half was to your wife, if she even still considered you as much after everything you had done.

Tears ran down his face while he laughed, unaware of the peeking figure standing by the entrance- Grimm, though not the one bound by nightmares. Though the cloaked one’s look of pained sympathy wasn’t where your interest lay.

“Ah. . . .h . a . . ha h.” He laughed through tears, some falling on the kingsoul he held in his hand. “Isn’t this hilarious- laughing over a rock!”

He cringes at calling it such a thing as you do, staring with a mix of disgust and sadness, watching the red flame’s reflection flicker in the charm. The broken crown even seemed to sag even more, a dinky replica of what you yourself once were.

“Did-” A pause from the fool sitting on the edge of the stage- his stage that was built for him in this troupe of misfits. “Did she give this to me to make me cry? Hah-ha! M-Maybe it has a crying effect.”

Your annoyance and anger switched into a deep sadness, watching your counterpart laugh through tears, tears of which he knew not where the source was.

“That’s not what that is-” You say to no one, letting out a sigh as you turn away, responding to a world that wouldn’t hear you regardless. “You won’t know, and I doubt anyone would tell.”

The jester and the peeking Grimm didn't respond, as you expected. Though, finally your counterpart peeked up, catching the taller, monstrous bug in a spare glance. In an instant he hopped up on his feet, charm in hand, greeting the master of the troupe with four open arms- the charm in one.

“H-Hello hello!” He cheered, voice cracking through his tears, the unfamiliar sense of deja-vu crippling his very being. He bowed. “Why, my performance as long since ended, but if my master himself wants another show- then I shall prepare for one-!”

“That is not needed, dear Jester.” Grimm said simply, waving a hand to pause the jester’s actions, finally deciding to enter the room. “While I do enjoy a good show- I didn’t wish to disturb your thought.”

“Thought. . ?” The jester questioned, stature changing from fun to a distinct slouch. You huff- and he looks in your direction, though he doesn’t see you. You’re merely a shadow haunting this jester’s mind. Soon enough his focus drifted back to the round object in his hand. “Ah.”

“Are you feeling alright-”

“Splendid! I am doing fantastically, Master!” He exclaimed as you scowled. Master- what a disgraceful word for a wyrm to call such a makeshift god. Though he’s not a wyrm, nor are you. Not anymore. “I have just been given a cute little charm by a fair lady deep within the gardens. Well- half of it! The beauty said I had the other half, haha!”

Grimm cocks his head, in worry and curiosity, making you wish your counterpart- the one born for the stage and as a mockery of yourself- wasn’t nearly as tone-deaf.

“Hm, you had the other half, she said?” Grimm asked, moving closer to the jester.

“Why, yes! And you’ll never believe where I found it- in some dark little place deep below. How odd!” Grimm let out a ‘hrm’ in response as he spoke. “Found it on a corpse of all things- a hollow shell of armour! Don’t you find it curious, Master?”

“Hmm- that is quite odd. What do you plan to do with it?”

You watch the jester flinch in a rather odd fashion at the question.

“Well- I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll hang it on to it- or perhaps I’ll wear the darling little thing! Maybe it will help me cry on command, wouldn’t that be hilarious?” Silence. A long, agonizing silence greeted both for a moment, the red flame glittering in the dark room. All these tents had for light were shades upon shades of red- you quite hated the color.

“I suppose it is.” Grimm said, extending out a hand. Long, bony, black. He seemed to lack a lot of the segmentation that typical bugs had. “Why don’t you allow me to hold on to that until you decide what to do with it? We certainly don’t need such a thing getting sawed in half during one of your splendid performances!”

“Why- of course, Master! If you would like it- who am I to refuse such a request!” He hummed back, reaching out to give it to the taller bug. The action disgusted you. Giving away such a precious charm that was your’s and no one else’s, let alone to that made your blood boil.

“Are you going to let go?”

You turn, finding that the jester hadn’t let away his grip of the carved white stone. In fact- it was almost like he couldn’t.

“I--I apologize, Master. I feel like. . . I don’t want to let it go? That’s not very funny, though! Ha-ha! I-”

“Then you can keep it.” he said, the slight smile of his pointed teeth not hidden under his collar for once. “It is yours- so you will do with it what you wish.” The Pale Jester turned his gaze from Grimm to the charm once more, turning it in his hands once. Twice. “However, let’s not focus on that- you have a grand show tomorrow, and I would love to view it from the audience this time around.” He turned to leave with a bow. “I expect an even grander performance than before! ANd I am greatly looking forward, my dear Jester. Have a pleasant night.”

“Goodnight, Master.”

And with Grimm gone, you look back on your counterpart, giving a joyful wave with a solemn, sad expression on his face. The charm lay loosely in his hand. And for once, you wonder what he was thinking in that separated mind of his as he left the stage.

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

By @ded-lime

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

By @vivifrage

The wyrm was in tears.

In times like these, it was even harder to remember that the broken, warped Jester dancing around the Troupe’s grounds used to be these lands’ god-king. Cold. Stoic. Unfeeling, many claimed. Ruled by and ruling over pure logic and calculation.

Easily enough disproved with sufficiently annoying input; Grimm’s own memories trotted out tales of delighting in that knowledge over and over. The wyrm was a stick in the mud, a hardass, arrogant and prim and so fun to bother until he was literally incandescent with anger he’d deny up and down and up again.

Yet here the wyrm stood, muddied white carapace given a pink cast from the tent’s fabric all around, tears still slicking the black tracks in his mask, giving them an obsidian shine. And for the life of him, Grimm couldn’t feel that spark of delight in seeing the pale bastard showing some kind of emotion.

(The Heart certainly could, but its smug pulse felt oh-so-alien versus this dismal thing dampening all the rest of his core more thoroughly than any rain could soak an eternally-burning god.)

He couldn’t quite bring himself to a smile, even a polite one, when the Jester hopped over, something clutched tight in one hand. He settled for an inquisitive look, a soft tilt of the head, eyes alert and bright, hands raised in greeting.

The Jester waved back, in that brief moment as cheery and oblivious as ever. But the moment passed, and he hesitated, hands sinking back against his sides, the closed fist kept close to his collar.

Whatever he held, he pressed it to the lower third of his mask, be it in hesitance or reverence.

Or both.

Grimm let him take his time.

It was the least he could do, really. For the both of them. The wyrm to find his words, Grimm to settle the dread rising in his throat. That rather particular sort of dread, too, that one that anticipated an ugly, ugly task.

“Master?” the Jester asked at last, “May I tell you a story?”

“Of course,” Grim said. It was not a lie. It felt like it was.

“Well, once upon a time, there was a- a-” He clicked his fingers together. “Something bright, almost shining. Resplendent. White, white as snow or ash or death. A tree! No, a tree’s root. And she had crystals for eyes, but they’ve long clouded.

“And in exchange for a laugh, a smile, and a goodbye, she told the funniest tragedy. One of two lovers who saw in each other the world, and whose deeds drove them apart. She gave me a token of their story, of their love, and told me to do with it as I will.”

He opened his fist.

Cradled in his palm was half a charm. White, a colder color than even pale ore, so white and with such a sheen that it seemed to cast the tent in winter tones, the most direct reflections twinkling like evening stars. All save for a black stripe cutting across the face, through the hole of the eye, dug through the detail in the same way the marks on the Jester’s and Grimm’s own masks featured their otherwise plain faces.

Grimm’s stomach dropped. He clenched his jaw to keep it from hanging open. Deep within his chest, the Heart sang in shock, confusion, and uncertainty.

That was wrong.

That was so, so very wrong. In so, so many ways. In ways the Jester could not know.

His eyes traced the mark from halved forehead to fractured jawline. That should not be there. It never should have been in the Jester’s hands but that should not be there-

The Heart swallowed his burst of flame-hot anger, echoed it back with the roar of a furnace.

Grimm put on a polite face. It just so happened to bare his teeth.

The wyrm continued.

“Personally, what I would like to do is mug the other half of the other lover’s no-good corpse!” He twittered with laughter in a way the dour king never would have. The sound just made his carapace crawl. “Ah, but that would require finding it, and the Ritual has us so busy, Master. It must be a matter for later fools.

But, in the meantime, I don’t- It hurts. Such a story. It’s cliché, is it not? The doomed lovers? I could tell you six like that with my tongue tied, and I’m sure you could tell me twelve right back, and we’d both laugh at how silly they all are, to think their love could ever be enough. Perhaps it’s something about holding this little trinket but-” He closed his fist again, held it to his throat. When he spoke, his voice was choked, and he pressed two hands to his temples, another two covering his mask. “The sight of her stung my eyes and I drank her words as sorrowful wine, and now my tears fall and my tongue bleeds in all the pretty reds-”

“Jester?”

The wyrm stared at the waiting hand Grimm held out between them, eyes slowly rising to meet his. There was a spark in there, shadowed behind those vacant carvings in the mask, something bright and cold staring back at him. He smiled at it, and let the chill sink into his teeth.

“If it upsets you so, may I hold it for a time? For your respite, of course. I seek no undue pain from my people, and perhaps I could look into this local legend myself, so we could discuss it together. Besides, it is quite the curious artifact, and I would love a closer look.” His hand bobbed, palm up and curved into a perfect receptacle for the little broken charm.

(Well, not perfect. Only two beings in the world had ever had hands for that.)

Wordlessly, the Jester handed it over. It clinked into Grimm’s hand, its weight off-balance in a way that itched at his mind. And, for everything he knew it was, it struck him as so mundane. Like there should have been something to it, holding a wyrm and a root’s wedding charm. Even half of it. But rather, the thing felt…

Dead, it felt dead.

Comatose, at best.

(Or worst.)

(He glanced back at the Jester. The spark had faded from his eyes, replaced with mellow-warm embers.)

(The Heart thudded its relief.)

“Thank you,” he said, and stepped back.

The Jester blinked, visible only as the slightest hint of eyelids moving behind the mask. He stared at his empty palm, touched the tracks of his mask and rubbed the lingering wet he found. “Was I upset?”

He stared up at Grimm, searching his face. “What was I upset about?”

Grimm offered only a shrug before he turned away, and left the Jester standing alone.

“Brumm,” he muttered, clasping the other bug’s shoulder as he passed by, “Prepare a fire. I must commune.”

Brumm hummed in that low, doubtful way he always did when he sensed Grimm was up to something he ought not to ask about directly. “Are you sure you can’t rest for it? I’d not blame you a moment’s respite.”

Grimm paused, reached back, took his wrist and squeezed it gently. “I know. But I must be of clear mind for this.”

His thumb rubbed the halved charm, stroking up and down the new line carved into its face. The Jester’s story turned over in his head, biting in like a sliver of carapace caught between the teeth.

The dread grew sour.

This could not go on.

The Jester didn’t come to dinner. An odd happening; his appetite easily rivaled Divine’s, and he knew it had been suppressed. Allegedly for how recognizable a wyrm trait that was. But also, the Troupe only had so much in their stocks.

Still, a Troupe member in poor state was a Troupe member in poor state, and Grimm sought him out.

He wasn’t hard to find, exactly. Easier than it used to be by far. The Jester was loud, extroverted, and flashy. But even in his quiet moments, he had a pull to him.

No matter his background, though, Grimm should not have found him in the first tent he checked, hidden away under the first curtain he got a suspicious feeling from.

The Heart sank, staring at the Jester’s back as he curled up, sobbing into his hands. Something was going horribly, horribly wrong. The Jester was the dancing fool the wyrm had shown himself to be, that was all. If he cried, it was when something got too close, and Grimm had told the Grimmkin to ensure he stayed very clear of anything that could trigger that again.

Grimm sunk to the floor beside him, letting the curtain fall back into place. It brushed his back, the fabric thick and heavy, and absorbed everything but their breaths and the sound of the wyrm’s sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, with all the fireplace warmth he could muster. His hand ghosted against the Jester’s back, bumping over the rings dangling where wings once laid.

(Going back up, stroking again, this time pressing harder, he swore he felt slight swells where the buds should have been burned out.)

“I don’t know.” Desperation bit through the wyrm’s voice, through all the tears and despondence. He shuddered, sucked in a raspy breath. “I don’t-”

He turned his face away, pressing his knuckles into his eyes. He keened, the low sound of a hurt creature, kept close and intimate by all the fabric they’d hidden in.

Grimm just rubbed his back, and let him find the words.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have. Perhaps he should have taken a more directorial role in this two-bug production, and told the Jester what was going on, what his poor soul ought to be feeling. How he was new to the Troupe, and some of the changes took time to settle in, he would be fine. Most everyone had been upset for at least one Ritual, especially their first, and sometimes it was hard to place those feelings, wasn’t it? It would pass, it would get better, it meant nothing, really. Not in the long run.

And, if his memory ran long, that sometimes stories just struck a chord, but he need not be upset at simple trinkets and tragic stories with doomed lovers. They were all so silly, weren’t they? Thinking that, in the end, their love would matter.

Why, he ought to set all of it out of mind, and come to dinner. Surely he was hungry?

His tongue laid still, his mouth stayed shut.

“I- I miss- I don’t know. Someone? Something? I don’t know. I can’t find them, they’re slipping through my hands every time I reach. But Master-” His voice broke, cracking into a plaintive cry. He clutched at his chest, hands pawing uselessly at the fabric over his heart. “It hurts.”

Grimm clucked his tongue and cooed. His arms wrapped around the Jester, drawing his form, at once limp to his touch and much too tense, close, until he tucked him against his chest. Head held to heart, listening to its steady beat. All four arms wrapped around his abdomen, knees bumping against his thigh, while Grimm held him and drew his wings from their resting place to wrap around them, shielding the Jester even further from the world beyond.

“I’ve got you,” he purred. The side of his jaw brushed against the wyrm’s horns. “I’ll make it better.”

The Jester shifted in his arms, head tilting up til Grimm found himself cradling its back. When he stared down to meet his eyes, he found that spark staring back, cold as ice and with just as sharp an edge. “How?” he asked.

It could have been a coincidence. A slip of the tongue, the familiarity in how he spoke, with a voice like a lone gust of wind trailing through a cavern. The weight to just that one word, the melancholy it steeped in.

Grimm fought the chill clawing at his back to give him a smile. Gently, he rested the wyrm’s head against his chest again, where the Nightmare Heart beat. “A nightmare feels so very real, does it not? As false as it may be?”

(Again, the sickly sweetness of a lie on his tongue.)

The Jester hummed. After a moment, he snuggled close, full body up against Grimm’s, cool against the Troupe Master’s warmth. “I guess.”

“Take your respite, Jester. Let me care for you.” He leaned back as far as he could, letting the Jester’s weight rest on him. “Then we can get dinner, yes? I bet you’re hungry.”

“Oh!” The Jester’s hand curled against his stomach. “Yes, that would be good. But… a moment, first. To catch my breath.”

“Of course.”

Forgetting was the greatest kindness he could offer the Jester, and the cruelest punishment the wyrm deserved. Let his troubles slip his mind. Let him cry and wail for things he didn’t know, acting out grief for the horrors he didn’t know he committed.

But there was not supposed to be such a gouge in the Kingsoul’s face. There was not supposed to be that soul behind his eyes. There were not supposed to be stories of beautiful roots or jokes about horrible wyrms. There were not supposed to be wing buds in the Jester’s back. The side of him that resided within the Nightmare was not supposed to have such a strain in its voice, nor was he supposed to feel the snap of spellwork.

Something was going wrong.

And all he could do was watch and try to stuff the wyrm back into the Jester’s shell.

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

By @artisticdragons

#hollowknight #hollow knight #palejesterau #telephoneknight #troupe master grimm #pale king #grimmchild #shadelord #(briefly)

116 notes · View notes

autumnslance · 3 years

Text

FFXIV Write 2021 #24: Illustrious

1 notably or brilliantly outstanding because of dignity or achievements or actions: eminent 2 archaic a: shining brightly with light. b: clearly evident -Merriam-Webster

(Borrows and adjusts a little dialogue from the intro RDM quest to fit my altered timeline of events. Revised 10/26/2021. Now on Ao3.)

“Miss Striker,” the adjunct instructor was gentle as he pulled the test papers aside. “This is getting us nowhere.”

“I know the material,” she whispered, eyes swimming, but godsdammit she would not cry, not here, not again.

“Better than anyone,” he replied, keeping his tone warm. “But you haven’t managed to cast a single spell.”

Aeryn bit her lip and clenched her hands. She dared not look at the students that were watching. At this point, she was older than most other candidates.

“It’s there,” she croaked. “I can feel it, I just…”

“Miss Striker,” the adjunct said her name carefully. “Perhaps it is time you considered an alternate path.”

Rage welled up, her face burning, tears no longer contained. Aeryn rushed out of the examination hall, past various students and professors, other hopeful learners, and visiting instructors, seeing none of them. She almost slammed into one administrator, knocked over a stack of folders a weary assistant had on a table as they ate lunch, and was nearly run over by a cart as she made her way outside into the bright, hot sunlight.

Aeryn didn’t stop until she reached the thin, sandy shoreline, panting, and screamed her frustration, letting the crashing waves swallow the sound.

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

“A better student I’ve never met,” Ekatan said, tracking Aeryn as she sped through the course, her arrows striking every target dead center.

“Indeed,” his wife Amiya agreed. “Too bad her heart isn’t in it.”

Ekatan frowned. “She works harder than any other–not that she needs to. She is a natural at whatever weapon I put in her hand. Like she was born for war.”

Amiya hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps so, but I am uncertain that is a virtue. And I can see it is not what she truly wishes. She is here because she has no other choice. Not if she wants to follow her fool brother.”

“The boy hasn’t been heard from in years,” Ekatan said. “He is either dead or a fugitive. Either will finish killing their poor mother.”

“Aeryn’s ever followed in his shadow,” Amiya said as the younger woman completed the course. They waved to her, smiling, as she cleaned her gear and put everything away. “She only wishes to keep following. Even the path she first tried was determined by that singular desire to follow him.”

“It is to our benefit that the girl can’t cast a spell to save her life,” Ekatan said. “Now Tanzel pays me well to train his stepdaughter in whatever martial skills she desires to learn. I care naught why she wants to do what she does, though I see a fine career for her future, whichever path she takes.”

Amiya only nodded, still watching Aeryn. The magic was there; Amiya’s witch-sense could see its light, flickers and ripples glinting through the cracks. She had the sensation of a deep lake, hidden and unexplored. Not even Aeryn knew yet how to reach it.

So, in the meantime, Aeryn trained in martial weapons, determined to follow her brother to their father’s broken homeland. The stories of Eorzea since the moon had fallen on it were varied and all of them terrible.

It was a land of great magic, Amiya heard. Despite being twisted and warped by the Calamity, damaged more than anywhere else in the world, aether flowed across that realm. There, Aeryn might find the answers that drove her to test her limits–if Dalamud’s fall had not swallowed them.

Perhaps she would learn to step out of her brother’s shadow and allow her own light to shine. Should that happen, Amiya thought, then the girl’s magic could break free.

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

E-Sumi-Yan looked small and slight, but still reminded Aeryn of a great ancient oak, roots deep and wide in the warm earth, branches sheltering those who passed his way over many long years. It was disconcerting, such old eyes in a face so young. She supposed one got used to it.

“There we are,” he said, finishing tending to the injuries she had sustained against the Paragon and his creations. E-Sumi’s magic felt like a warm autumn day; comforting hot woody tea, a touch of spice, a cool wind. “Though I’m surprised you didn’t heal the wounds yourself.”

Aeryn gave him an odd look as she stretched and flexed her arm. “I can’t use magic,” she said. “I tried to learn when I was younger.” She shrugged. “Never worked.” She struggled to keep the hollow, disappointed tone out of her words.

It was E-Sumi’s turn to give her a quizzical look, brows knit together, head tilted. She had the distinct impression he was looking into her. “Odd,” he eventually said. “You have deeper reserves of aether than almost anyone else I’ve met. ‘Tis all waiting, like an untapped mine just below the surface.” His eyes focused again, his tone returning to matter-of-factness. “I wonder at your instructors in Thavnair, that they could not show you how to reach it. I had higher opinions of the nation’s disciplines than that.”

Aeryn frowned. “It wasn’t their fault. Magic doesn’t…work for me.”

“Hrm,” the padjal studied her, then shrugged, a small, sly smile ghosting along his lips. “Perhaps those methods simply did not agree with you; students do learn in different ways. Perhaps something else blocks you from learning. Whatever the case, you’ve more than proven yourself a capable adventurer, and the Seedseer’s invitation is quite the honor to your considerable skills–and your generous nature. Thank you, once again, for keeping our Wood safe.”

She blushed and nodded, stumbling through a goodbye that she hoped did not negate the heroic image he described, her thoughts whirling, wondering at what the guildmaster had said.

In her room in the Carline Canopy, she had time to calm herself and think. To remember the previous years of bitter disappointment. Aeryn shook her head. She wasn’t that naïve little girl anymore. She wasn’t foolish enough to get her hopes up. Not again.

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

“Oh! I’ve remembered whence I know your name!” X’rhun said as they sat at the bar of the Coffer and Coffin, the merchant’s reward split between them with drinks and a decent meal–though Aeryn had done nothing except arrive after X’rhun had fought the bandits, merely helping him escort the lost girls back to the parents.

She raised a brow at the Seeker as she took a sip of her drink.

He grinned. “I learned of you first from a lass named Alisaie, whom I met upon the road. She expressed admiration for your growing exploits, even as she persuaded me to teach her the basics of red magery.” He chuckled. “She’s proved a quick study in the arcane side of things, but fencing is a challenge yet. I have no doubt such a determined young woman will learn to combine spellcraft with swordplay: when to cast from afar, and when to lunge forward with a well-timed thrust!”

If Aeryn recalled correctly, that was Alphinaud’s sister. Technically Alisaie was a member of the Scions, though according to her brother, off on her own path at the moment.

“And what of you, my friend?” X’rhun asked. “Have you any interest in the art? I suspect you would make an exceptional red mage!”

Aeryn blinked at him, sensing the blush creep up her cheeks as she shook her head. While what she had seen of X’rhun, and what she had heard from him and the Ala Mhigan merchant’s girls in these past few bells sounded fascinating…No. Not again. I won’t get my hopes up.

She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid I…wouldn’t be good at it,” she said. After a brief pause she added, “I appreciate you humoring what little help I offered.”

Now X’rhun shook his head. “I am deadly serious. A woman who would rush to the aid of a stranger’s child without fear or hesitation is a woman I would trust with the power of red magic. But even beyond that…I sense in you a kindred spirit.” He smirked. “But bards tend to be cut from a similar cloth.”

Her blush intensified, yet somehow she was not surprised that he had named her new discipline, though she had barely displayed her own skills.

“I…” would love to learn, want to learn “…I can’t do magic.”

His head tilted, tail lashing. “Are your Songs not a form of magic themselves? The abilities called forth with verse and voice? ‘Tis a manipulation of your aether, if not in the same manner as the arcane arts.”

Aeryn frowned, brow creasing in thought. She supposed that was true, though she had not considered it that way.

She recalled what E-Sumi-Yan had said, but a few moons ago–gods, so much had happened already–but shook her head. “I appreciate the offer,” she said. As his expression faltered, she added, “I’ll think about it” and regret.

He hid his disappointment and nodded. “I understand that this is a road not lightly taken. Should you have a change of heart, however, know that you are always welcome to take up the red!”

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

She hadn’t been able to help her brother, so he had left her behind. Now she hadn’t been able to help the Scions, and was alone in the broken, blood-stained building.

If only she could have returned to the Waking Sands sooner. Perhaps she could have saved Noraxia and the others. Maybe stopped the Garleans, or at least held them off so the rest could escape.

Anything.

Something burbled inside, angry and heated, keening to be let out and strike at those who had hurt her friends, had killed or kidnapped her comrades.

But she had no means to release it, no idea how to allow the searing light to break free. Not yet.

Perhaps, given her current state, that was not a bad thing.

All she could do was flee to the church, to fall shaking at Father Iliud’s feet and tell him what had happened.

In the back of the sanctuary, a man in fancy red garb watched and listened in sympathy.

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

It worked!

The spell bloomed in her hand, following X’rhun’s example. Aether unfolded like a flower, the petals falling open and bursting, static prickling her skin, dancing on her tongue, her entire body singing with release of long held tension. A promise of more bubbled like a child’s laugh through her frame.

It felt like beauty.

“Aeryn?” X’rhun called out in concern as she sank to the ground, sobbing in joy as the red flower of her spell broke into motes and scattered among the lichyard’s stones.

“I did it,” she gasped. “I did it!”

He chuckled in relief, stroking her hair. “You did, my dear, and it’s only the beginning. Take a few moments to gather yourself again; we have much more work to do, if I’m to make a proper red mage of you!”

She laughed through relieved tears and nodded.

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

Aeryn Striker had earned the accolades of her people, Gaius thought as he lay in agony on the broken ground of his burning headquarters. He turned his head just enough to see the conflict he could dimly hear, as if far more distant than it was.

He wanted to watch Eorzea’s champion beat that Ascian bastard.

She glowed with power, calling on magic Gaius recognized from old memories of Ala Mhigo’s conquest. Her voice, so quiet and limited in conversation, rang clear as she combined spells with bardic song. She leapt back and away from an attack with distance and height her opponent did not expect, her sword-staff held more like a lance.

As she landed on her feet, another bright spell blossomed over the Ascian’s stolen body and he howled his fury. Her magic came swiftly, brutal and relentless.

The Ascian was a sorcerer of eld, yet seemed unable to score her. What had been devastating blasts of shadows became glancing blows, and then entirely ineffective as the iridescent glow around Aeryn intensified with every incantation, blocking Lahabrea’s dark spells.

The Crystal’s Blessing? Gaius wasn’t so sure; he knew naught of supposed gods in the center of the world. He did know people, and could see the determination in her jaw, the wild joy in her bright eyes at each spell summoned forth, the ozone scent of the arcane competing with the fires and spilled ceruleum left by Ultima.

Her every ilm shook and dripped with sweat, having forced her way through the base, against Gaius, against the Allagan machine, and now against Lahabrea. Yet she did not stop, did not yield. The more she fought, the brighter she seemed, until Gaius felt he looked at a small but explosive star.

There were worse things, he thought, than losing to her.

Lahabrea cursed, staggering under her onslaught. Aeryn dashed forward, rapier gleaming, and the Ascian screamed as her light flared, searing Gaius’ eyes even through his helm’s protection.

Gaius blinked away the afterimage of the shadow fleeing the Archon’s body, the man’s form slumping bonelessly to the ground while Lahabrea vanished–not destroyed, but more damaged than the ancient being had thought possible. That a mortal woman could do such was impressive.

The rogue magitek armor appeared, dancing like an eager beast instead of a war machine. Eorzea’s hero gathered her fallen comrade, hauling him onto the armor with her. She ignored Gaius; perhaps she believed him already dead. More likely, she did not even think of him in her haste to save herself and her colleague.

No matter; he had lost to her power, and deserved to be forgotten by so brilliant a combatant. As he drug himself through the fire and ash, Gaius couldn’t help but laugh, though it hurt like hells.

They would sing her praises and shower her with accolades, all well justified–and she would demure them all, for he had no doubt she would survive. Survive, and fight again, with that same fierce pleasure in her magical puissance, the light breaking forth from her to shine as a warning to her enemies, and a beacon for her allies.

If she was chosen by a god, then her god had chosen well.

#FFXIVWrite2021 #Final Fantasy XIV #Lyn Writing #backstory #A Realm Reborn #E-Sumi-Yan #X'rhun Tia #Gaius Baelsar #Lahabrea #Aeryn Striker

40 notes · View notes

chispas-and-broken-bindings · 3 years

Text

from the next chapter of nothing sacred, all things wild:

Jon had wondered what it would take to see his cousin’s passion unleashed. Now he knew, and he found himself quite regretting the experience. Sansa’s anger was expected, of course. There had been no doubt in his mind that she would be furious over his subterfuge regarding Robb, and when she billowed across the courtyard, her hair wild, in naught but a dressing gown, part of him thrilled at the sight. Finally, he thought, no more feigning indifference. He expected anger, welcomed it even, for once released, it was an emotion quickly spent. Once released, there would be room for new feelings to grow. But then, her face loomed before him, all color leaching from her cheeks, her eyes blank with terror, and the ground tilted beneath his feet.

Even now, as he rose from the bath, the memory of her desperate tears cut him far deeper than her sewing scissors had. For a few heartbreaking moments the fear had overtaken her wrath, and Jon’s own blood had pounded in his temple, stealing the breath from his lungs.

He had misjudged Sansa’s feelings for him, quite terribly. He could handle her anger. It was a dreadful blow to find her afraid of him as well.

And yet...threatened at spearpoint, Sansa Stark had stood her ground.

Jon inspected the small mark at his chest, where she had stabbed him. It was just a scratch, though it had drawn momentary blood. She had flinched upon piercing his skin, and Jon felt certain his cousin had never taken up arms against anyone in her life. Foolish woman, starting with a king.

A knock at the door roused him, and he hurriedly donned a shirt. “Come in.”

Corwyn entered, head bowed. “The lady and the young lord are settled, your Grace, and extra men have been posted at every hallway and door.”

“And Daenerys?”

“My men tell me she has retired to her quarters.”

Jon nodded, donning a simple, dark jacket. “I have business in the city the rest of the morning, and no, I don’t need an escort.” He did not wish to be seen, and Corwyn had learned not to push him on the matter. Jon was plain enough to pass unnoticed when he wanted to, and dangerous enough to handle the occasional drunkard or cutpurse on his own. “If Dany wishes to entertain guests, she can do so from the maidenvault. There are to be no visitors to Maegor’s holdfast except under Lady Stark’s express invitation.”

“And must that invitation extend to yourself?” Corwyn turned toward the window, hiding his expression, and it took Jon another moment to understand the captain’s meaning.

“Are you asking whether or not you should bar me from entering my own castle?”

“Forgive my boldness, your Grace, but I’d wager that you’d be the last person Lady Stark would allow in, if given the power to deny you.”

Jon sighed, rubbing at the scar across his brow. “I’m not fool enough to take you up on that bet, and I also do not fancy sleeping in the stable. I admit that I do not know how to reach her, Corwyn. You’re a married man. How do I make the lady see that I am not her enemy when she leaves me no opening and gives no quarter?”

The captain of his guard laughed, crossing his arms as he appraised Jon. “I watched you cut your teeth on the battlefield, your grace,” Corwyn said, “and I wager there are few that could match you when it comes to war strategy...but your first mistake may be using military tactics on the would-be object of your affection. You are dealing with a woman, not a sparring partner.”

Military tactics? He’d handed her his bloody heart. “I don’t understand what you mean. I’ve shown the lady every courtesy.”

“You forced her to concede the high ground, and then flush her out into the open every time she finds new cover. You lay constant siege against her, assaulting each wall she constructs. Now you’ve taken her son hostage. How could she view that as anything but an act of war?”

When he put it that way…

“I only thought to bring him to his mother’s side. When I wrote, the Lady Waynwood agreed that it would be best.”

“Then why did you not tell the mother?”

Jon had no ready answer— at least nothing that would appease a man like Corwyn who was brave, honorable, and honest to a fault. He would not admit to waging war against his cousin— that was a step too far.

But had he approached it like a game of cyvasse? Perhaps.

Intuition had driven Jon to call the child down from his mountain stronghold, and intuition held his tongue each time he could have told Sansa. He had tried to be direct, and been met with resounding silence. It was she who placed the screen between them, and she who first placed the pieces on the board. What other recourse did Jon have, than to play his dragon?

“I do not know how else to make my intentions clear.”

“At this point, only a fool would mistake your intentions. The lady does not wish to be wooed and with every advance, you only push her further away.”

“Then what do you propose I do?”

“Leave the poor woman be, and find another quarry.”

Jon closed his eyes, and Sansa’s tear-streaked face swam before his lids.

This had ceased to be a game to her— if it ever had been.

When you were young you used to plead with me to play your silly games.

Corwyn was correct that Jon’s attempts to reach her were only widening the gulf between them, but it made little sense. How could she believe he’d ever hurt her? He’d let his kingdom burn first. Once, she had known that— when they were young. When they were young, they were wolves.

Were they not still?

#wip wednesday #jonsa #jon snow x sansa stark #nothing sacred all things wild #my fic #jonsa ff #jonsa fic #i'm so busy right now #but i just want to stress write fanfic all day

48 notes · View notes

andolinii · 4 years

Text

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

❛ The mind of the subject will desperately struggle to create memories where none exist ❜ ❛ One goes into an experiment knowing one could fail. But one does not undertake an experiment knowing one has failed. ❜ ❛ At least that's something we can agree on. ❜ ❛ It does seem like a dreadful place to be stranded. ❜ ❛ Heaven, friend. Or as close as we'll see till Judgment Day. ❜ ❛ I’m afraid of you. ❜ ❛ We had a deal! Open this door, right now! ❜ ❛ So you expect me to shoulder the burden? ❜ ❛ Just 'cause the city flies don't mean it ain't got its share of fools. ❜ ❛ Heads? Or tails? ❜ ❛ I told you...I'm not gonna do it! Now go away. ❜ ❛ I never find that as satisfying as I'd imagined. ❜ ❛ I guess you're expecting me... Is anyone here? Hello? ❜ ❛ Why are you following me? ❜ ❛ Violence is not the answer! Blood must not be shed. ❜ ❛ Violence is not a foregone conclusion. ❜ ❛ I see every sin that blackens your soul. ❜ ❛ Not all debts can be repaid. ❜ ❛ Chin up. There's always next time. ❜ ❛ Prophecy is my business, as blood as yours ❜ ❛ thy crook is bent and thy path is twisted. ❜ ❛ It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. Just sit down, and everything will be fine. ❜ ❛ Is this some kind of sales pitch? Because I am not interested. ❜ ❛ I'm a friend. I've come to get you out of here. ❜ ❛ I don't dance. C'mon, let's go. ❜ ❛ This will end in blood. But then again, it always does with you, doesn't it? It always ends in blood. ❜ ❛ Oh, can you smell that? I've never smelled anything like that before, have you? ❜ ❛ Give a man a little power, he falls in all kinds of love with himself. ❜ ❛ Coming here was your idea. ❜ ❛ that fall into the water did you no favors. I'll keep an eye out for something that might ease your pain. ❜ ❛ Knock it off! Will you stop it? Will you stop it! I'm not here to hurt you. ❜ ❛ If you're going to be a sore loser, then I shan't do this again. ❜ ❛ You're a roguish type, what does it look like? ❜ ❛ Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt. ❜ ❛ Where did you learn to pick locks? ❜ ❛ Whatever that was, it's got nothing to do with the job at hand. This job's getting worse all the time. ❜ ❛ What interest does a prophet have in a bunch of carnies and carousels? ❜ ❛ I never even heard of this place before I got here. ❜ ❛ They frown on gardens in my part of town. ❜ ❛ I don't really understand what I just saw back there, but it sure as hell looks like a shortcut to getting us killed. ❜ ❛ You've always been different, haven't you? You crave no glory. ❜ ❛ You see? You're a killer, like it or not. ❜ ❛ Now that you're out of yours, you might realize cages have their advantages. ❜ ❛ I can handle whatever comes along. Trust me. ❜ ❛ A choice is better than none. No matter what the outcome. ❜ ❛ What happened back there, that...that's not the last of it, is it? ❜ ❛ Maybe you're the man I remember, maybe not. ❜ ❛ There's survival...and then there's finding pleasure in the act. ❜ ❛ Look, you seem like a decent enough sort. That said, the less you know about me, the better. ❜ ❛ I'm leaving and there's naught you can do to stop me. ❜ ❛ Me busting you out, what do you think that was? Charity? ❜ ❛ I got no quarrel with you. ❜ ❛ Are you afraid of God? ❜ ❛ I never claimed to be no hero. ❜ ❛ There's already a fight. Only question is, which side are you on?❜ ❛ Just hold up for a minute! I'm not angry with you. ❜ ❛ You killed those people. I can't believe you did that...they're all dead... You killed those people. ❜ ❛ I have no need for one such as you. ❜ ❛ Don't get too comfortable with my company. You are a means to an end, no more. ❜ ❛ You’re either a great hero or the worst of scoundrels, depending on who's doing the telling. ❜ ❛ I am a believer, but I am not a fool. ❜ ❛ What is the most admirable creature on God's green earth? ❜ ❛ Does this strike you as good news? It doesn't strike me as good news. ❜ ❛ I don't much care for you… but I must admit, you know your way around a brawl. ❜ ❛ Now, now, All I ask is that you finish what you started. ❜ ❛ Son, I do say I like the cut of your chin. ❜ ❛ You know, when your name was first passed to me, I wasn't quite sure you were the man for the job. ❜ ❛ What could people have done to deserve to be locked up in a place like this? ❜ ❛ You're a lion. But you can't blame me for looking after my own interests, can you? ❜ ❛ Lions walk with lions, not hyenas. ❜ ❛ I killed them. They were dead. ❜ ❛ You must think me some sort of...freak. I must seem ridiculous. ❜ ❛ Like all bastards, we serve it best by smothering it in its crib. ❜ ❛ Let me tell you about sin. ❜ ❛ Are you going to just sit there? ❜ ❛ the biggest sin of all, the mother of all sins, is that we sit back and take it. ❜ ❛ In this world, you were a martyr. ❜ ❛ These folk need a better class of hero. ❜ ❛ This isn't our responsibility - none of it. ❜ ❛ Why, that sort of ambition will serve you well. ❜ ❛ I had a role in this catastrophe, if you want to pretend we're innocents in this, then that's your prerogative. ❜ ❛ I saw you die. Saw it with my own eyes. ❜ ❛ I know how this feels. Listen, I think you should talk to me. ❜ ❛ How do you wash away the things that you've done? ❜ ❛ Once people get their blood up, it ain't easy to settle it down again. ❜ ❛ This prophecy business... You don't think anyone can really see the future, do you? ❜ ❛ These are dire times and I could ever so use your aid. ❜ ❛ That is an oath you cannot keep. ❜ ❛ If you were to take me back...that's death. Or something so like it, I cannot tell the difference. ❜ ❛ A mother who abandons their child doesn't draw a lot of sympathy in my book. ❜ ❛ You just got dealt a bad hand. ❜ ❛ The only difference between past and present is semantics. ❜ ❛ If we could perceive time as it truly was… what reason would grammar professors have to get out of bed? ❜ ❛ You couldn't have known this would happen. ❜ ❛ One doesn't expect a picture of one's corpse to come across so lifelessly. ❜ ❛ Listen to me. what you've been through… ain't nobody in the world deserves that. ❜ ❛ We are gettin' outta here, you got it? And you're never gonna have to look back. ❜ ❛ Child! Child! You are the lie that spewed from my womb. You are the lie, the lie, the lie. ❜ ❛ Some men dream of money, some men dream of love. My father dreamt of a flood of fire. ❜ ❛ I can see all that would be, might be and must not be. ❜ ❛ Child, would you like to pray with me? ❜ ❛ All I ever wanted is to see you live up to your potential. ❜ ❛ Humanity wrote a bad check, and the flood was the only way to settle the accounts. ❜ ❛ You'll need to eat sooner or later. If you hold out, you'll just starve to death. ❜ ❛ God put his faith in men once, too. It seems that we have something in common: disappointment. ❜ ❛ Why do you ask ‘what’ when the delicious question is ‘when?’ ❜ ❛ All I can do is watch as what I set in motion slides into its terminal stage. ❜ ❛ Time rots everything, even hope. ❜ ❛ We're going to cure you. ❜ ❛ When the body cries out, the spirit listens. ❜ ❛ Do you hear that screaming? That is the sound of your interference. ❜ ❛ Is this where you start moralizing? You forget, I know you. ❜ ❛ What are you going to do to stop me?❜ ❛ You struggle against prophecy, like a stone loosed from a sling. ❜ ❛ I don't understand. I heard you screaming, I was… I was coming to get you. ❜ ❛ Do you think...it's possible to redeem the kind of things that we've done? ❜ ❛ We're doing this together, or I'm doing it alone. Either way, I need to know the thing's been done. ❜ ❛ Rejoice! Rejoice! Death has no sting. ❜ ❛ I may be the one who strikes you down, but you've always had a knack for self-destruction. Who's to say you won't beat me to the punch? ❜ ❛ Some sins can't be forgiven.❜ ❛ I'm not going to let you kill him. ❜ ❛ I won't abandon you. ❜ ❛ You come to wipe your slate clean, but time will walk backwards before you find redemption. ❜ ❛ Everything I've done...I've done to keep you safe. ❜ ❛ You killed him. What did he mean? Huh? You tell me, what did he mean? ❜ ❛ Just drop me off if you want to. This isn't your problem. ❜ ❛ I'm a fool. I've sent mighty armies to stop you; I've rained fire on you from above. ❜ ❛ Will you do this for me, just...just this one last thing? Please… ❜ ❛ You thought the streets were paved with gold, but they were paved with blood, sweat and tears. ❜ ❛ Look at that. Thousands of doors...opening all at once. My god, they're beautiful. ❜ ❛ Baptism is the rebirth of the spirit...but sometimes the mind gets in the way. ❜ ❛ There are a million million worlds. All different and all similar. Constants and variables. ❜ ❛ We swim in different oceans but land on the same shore. ❜ ❛ Are you ready to have your past erased? Are you ready to have your sins cleansed? Are you ready to be born again? ❜ ❛ I can see all the doors, and what's behind all the doors. ❜ ❛ Hey, the deal is off, you hear me? The deal is off! ❜ ❛ You think a dunk in the river's gonna change the things that I've done? ❜ ❛ If I don't get caught, it's going to be a very long time before we see each other. ❜ ❛ Do you hate your wickedness? ❜ ❛ Are we worth saving if we will not save ourselves? ❜

#sentence starter #sentence starters #rp meme #rp sentence starter

91 notes · View notes

hallothere · 3 years

Text

Brave the Darkness

Previously titled “Blunt Force Ghost Trauma” but since no ghosts actually get served onscreen I changed it. Also because like Halros and the Very Bad Time it isn’t uhhh.... funny enough for that kind of title!

(warnings for Candaith Going Thru It but there’s no like blood or anything)

Somehow, the cold was coming from inside his bones. The chill was ice in his marrow. Radanir visibly shook next to him, as did some of the others. He was hard-pressed not to tremble. Halbarad, his companions, they would all have to stand strong together. They had been warned off once by the Oath-breakers in this cursed place. Candaith supposed these were not the sort of spirits to give a second warning.

The frostbite within only sharpened as he continued further onto the Forsaken Road. With a glance over his shoulder, he wondered if Thurvi- his shadow in this lightless place- had ever felt such a chill in the Mountains of his homeland. The Guardian seldom spoke of the land of his birth, of the Dwarven city of Kechel, nor of Dwimorberg whose fell name lay like a shadow over their quest. Perhaps he hoped not to discourage his companions. Perhaps the dwarves did not venture near enough to these places to know them so well.

Candaith had become accustomed to the mask his friend had acquired in Lhanuch. The Grey Company’s enemies were Thurvi’s enemies as well-- and they knew his face. Though there were likely few Dwarves in Enedwaith, he sought to protect them with his anonymity. It was the same logic behind their ‘uniform’. Though a dwarf traveling with a bunch of Dunedain was going to stand out like a hobbit in Othrikar, Candaith appreciated every precaution.

After all, his friend had kept the company from danger more than once. Though quiet, he was quick to action and sturdier than the rest of them. The last Candaith had seen of Thurvi before his summons, the dwarf had been preparing to head to Angmar with nothing but a large club and a scavenged shield. But the Grey Company’s odd companion out had returned from parts unknown with a dwarf-make axe of strange metal, and a shield with the unmistakable stylings of Khazad-dûm.

It was only too bad there was no time to stop for a fire. If the Guardian could coax a spark from the bed of the Anduin, he would not be much surprised. Still, the Grey Company needed more than warmth to kindle their hopes. This was a desperate gamble, but one Candaith believed in. If they could gather this host of the dead on behalf of their Chieftain, if they could muster an army unhindered by death nor pain nor hunger-

Maybe it was not such a vain hope or a far-fetched plan! Surely the Oath-breakers tired of existing like this? Did they not long for peace? Candaith did. His kin yearned for it, as did the Eglain, the people he had spent so much time near. The heir of Isildur could bring it. He believed that. Surely the Dead- if not motivated by honor- could only see the release from their curse as gain! A swift, deathless army to bring peace to the world. An invincible host at Aragorn’s command…

“This seems to me a good sign, Thurvi!” he whispered, turning back to his companion. It was dimmer still here, but they could both carry on. “If the Oath-breakers will fulfill their oath to Isildur, we will command an army the like of which has never been seen in Middle-earth. Surely victory will not be far behind!” His comment was met with only a tight smile. This place weighed heavily on them all.

But soon they would be free of it. Of this, he was certain.

Another shade flickered into view before them. The Dead all appeared able to hide themselves from sight if they wished, and it was an effective intimidation tactic. Based on the temperature, this could be none other than Britou before them. Idly, he wondered if Dwarves were hardier to this fell atmosphere than Men. Candaith stopped and his Guardian friend came to stand beside him.

If it was a show of force the Dead wanted, so be it. They acquitted themselves well, though Candaith found the glacial air sapped his strength and stiffened his limbs. He looked to Thurvi but could see no sign he was in any way affected. Britou was probing for weakness, but he would find none. There was strength in the Dunedain. Candaith would not fail his brothers.

Back to back they fought on. Ghostly blades rang against their steel, but these Dead did not move with the same fell determination as others had. Doubt began to chip through the frost around Candaith’s heart. Was Britou toying with them? This test was little more than a farce for his amusement. What then? Did he desire proof? More learned foes than he had doubted the line of Kings remained unbroken. What would the Dead on the Forsaken Road know of the way Aragorn’s ancestors had endured?

They cared little for the living, that much was clear. They threw around insults, hurled belittling words without thought. The Dead had nothing but contempt for them. Indeed, with the bones of travelers and the plague of shades above ground, what evidence did they have that any of the Oath-breakers’ intentions were honest?

Hah. He was a fool for giving them the benefit of the doubt. But no longer! If they would not be swayed by words or arms, let them be swayed with power.

“Hold!” He thrust his blade through yet another shade with a shout and commanded the attention of the leader of the Dead. Candaith was breathing hard. The doubt had wormed its way in deep, but he could not let it end like this. Greed was a powerful enough motivator for any Man, even those among the Dead.

“I have the authority to command you and all your kind, Britou!” He straightened up, emboldened by a confidence he could not feel but must not let waver. "For I...I am the Heir of Isildur!"

He could feel Thurvi’s eyes upon him, as well as the attention of the Dead. The cold was like a rock in Candaith’s chest. As long as they were in peril, he could not falter, but every breath became heavier. It seemed the very air was hardening to stone and ice within him.

Britou fell silent. For a long moment he stared, sizing Candaith up. Now was not the time for fear. More than ever, he was grateful for the mask. It was as much a shield as the one his Guardian wielded. Perhaps his and Thurvi’s uses for them were more alike than he had thought.

"What evidence do you have that this be so?"

Britou’s voice reverberated off the frozen walls. Now more than ever the cold pained him. Candaith tried not to wince as he drew the breath to answer. Taking a finger of his glove in his teeth, he slid it off without lowering his sword. "Only this: the Ring of Barahir, heirloom of Isildur's line!"

After all, they had been made for one purpose: to deceive the enemy. Why not use it now, as it had been intended, for their advantage?

It was a long while still before Britou spoke again. “I see.” The cavern was still. “We will fulfill our oath at last, that the Heir may lift the curse. Tell your Men."

Candaith could not breathe a sigh of relief. The cold had taken him, and it was all he could do to nod, to turn around, to look for the relief that must be plain on Thurvi’s face.

It was not there to greet him. Candaith saw only fear.

"But that is not the Ring of Barahir, and you are not the Heir of Isildur."

He did not have time to think. There was ice on his skin now, on his fingers. Cold pierced him. Thurvi was moving faster than Candaith had ever seen him go. There was a horrible rending of metal, and the ice splintered under his skin. Dust and rock rose up to meet him.

There was a black and frozen pause. Trapped within a pincushion of ice, Candaith did not notice at first that he was being moved. He could clear little space in his lungs to cry out, and he could not coax his algid limbs to motion. Too many frosted shards had gathered themselves within him. They cut like glass, tore at his mind, and ate at his heart. He knew naught of what was transpiring, only that he had failed his kin. He had led them to this place of ruin, and now he was to join the miserable Dead.

His whole body was jolted up and sideways. A single pauldron came into view. Thurvi! Candaith’s tears were surely frozen, but he felt the warmth of relief thaw them a little. It mingled with the heat of shame long enough to warm sensation back into him. There was new pain too. His back was taut and tearing as Thurvi hurried him away. With a final cry, his awareness too failed on the cursed road.

Something was trying to crush him. A pressure bound him, constricted his thoughts. He could not will himself to move or to breathe. So Candaith struggled. The now-familiar cold had abated some, but it had not released its stranglehold on him. He had failed, but for now desperation overrode his shame. The others-- his brothers were nearby! If nothing else they needed a warning, they needed to know that no Dead would ride by their side save to run them down.

Candatih fought to turn over. He had fallen flat before Britou in that frozen chamber, and now he must get up! He must get up or let his brothers be slaughtered for his reckless gambit--

“Fool! Be still, Candaith!”

A hand, warm and living, reached him from the darkness. It held his shoulder with a gentle firmness that made him pause. There was no time for this! So far underground, they needed every moment to escape.

The crack of a log fire hoisted him up from the dark then flung him down into awareness. His waking senses hit him with force and the air was driven once more from his lungs. Suddenly Candaith discovered he could feel, only to wish desperately that he could not. What had once been solid ice had thawed, and his whole body burned in the spaces where it had been. He turned to push his face into whatever had been beneath his ear. Candaith was on the ground, and pain trampled him flat.

The hand was joined by another on his other shoulder. He tried to smother a rising scream as the fire was stoked again by his squirming.

“Candaith, listen to me.” The voice was familiar, but it was as full of uncertainty as he was. “We are out of there now, but you are lucky to be with us! Lie still if you can. If you are too stubborn to listen, it will be hard to bring you back to Lhanuch alive! We will give you…” Here the voice paused, and with more clarity came a growing certainty that Candaith had never heard Radanir more distressed. “We will give you something for the pain.”

“Radanir!” Halbarad’s voice cut through the fire and the relief was like a balm. More crushing a blow than the catastrophe he knew would have been the loss of their leader. Halbarad was the cord that held them together in Aragorn’s absence. They would follow him with the same loyalty and should he be lost grieve for him with the same sorrow.

But Halbarad lived. It brought Candaith less comfort than he had hoped.

“Hold him up. We must do something for the wound before we try moving again.” It was not at all what his leaden limbs wanted to hear. This time Candaith could not stifle a groan as Radanir hefted him like a sack of potatoes.

“You could not… be more careful?” The words sounded strained to his own ears, but as his head was being rested over one of Radanir’s shoulders like a sickly infant’s, he would not get to see a reaction.

That did not stop Radanir from having one. “And you could not stop from telling falsehoods to the undying shades of traitors!"

It brought down a deathly quiet. A popping ember rang as loud into the night as a thunderclap. Radanir had gone as stiff as a statue, and only after a long pause could Halbarad get things moving again.

“It is a grave wound, but it might have been much worse.” Candaith could feel the sleeves of his tunic, but the back had been torn asunder. Now exposed to the night air, he wished for the blanket or cover that had seemed so smothering a moment ago. Halbarad was moving the fabric. Every pull jostled the nettles that had taken up residence in his limbs. He tried to push away, but Radanir held him up under his arms.

“If we have to set you back down, there will be less firelight to work by.” The words were terse, but there was an undercurrent of concern nonetheless. Radanir was right, Candaith was a fool. It was becoming more and more obvious just how close he’d been to being a dead one.

To his surprise, Thurvi stepped into his narrow field of vision. The dwarf offered out his hand. Weakly, Candaith took it.

“Distract him if you can, Thurvi.” Halbarad instructed. “We are lucky he is awake but we might have been luckier were he not- at least, not for this.”

Candaith was reluctant to meet the Guardian’s eye. It had been a rather poor performance on the Forsaken Road. He had shamed himself and shamed the entire Company. Only by a miracle was he out under the stars instead of rotting among the Dead. To his surprise, Thurvi did not attempt to make conversation just yet but began sliding up the metal mask that had long covered his face.

Despite everything- or perhaps because of it- Candaith could not bite back a delirious laugh. “You have a line! Clear… right across your face from cheek to cheek, over the bridge of your nose-”

Halbarad chose that moment to strike. Something cold and stinging coursed down his open wounds. He gritted his teeth and tried to crush Thurvi’s hand and Radanir’s arm. The work had begun in earnest. Now, Halbarad would not stop until everything was dressed to his satisfaction.

Thruvi pulled his hand down. Attention diverted, Candaith managed to look up. “Your cloak did not make it, I’m afraid.” The Guardian said in a solemn tone. “Alas, it was the first casualty. And my shield gave its life for yours. Cursed be the blades wielded against the craftsmanship of Khazad-dûm!”

Candaith could not laugh. Thurvi’s heart was not in the attempt at wounded pride. It was hardly the shield of his homeland, and besides that it called to attention a more glaring absence.

Ignoring the agony behind him, he ground out a question. “The others…?” His mind flew to Linnor, his and Saeradan’s friend, to Calithil who he had last seen by Radanir’s side. Old Hodhon and Himeldir had been there as well, they who had been fraught with worry over Dagoras’ capture and thick as thieves again upon his return.

Thurvi’s face was more exposed now than it had been underground. The mask was pushed into his hood on top of his head. Candaith did not know if his friend was old for a Dwarf, but he looked older than he had the last time his face was on display.

“Scattered.” he said at last, “We lost all the torches as the Dead gave chase. You and I were tempting enough targets to allow the others space to run. If they were pursued to the road or to the bluffs, I do not know. We ran into Halbarad and then Radanir in the dark.”

Candaith tried to focus on the words instead of the pain. Whatever salve Halbarad had conjured burned as fiercely as his shame. Loath might he be to admit it under other circumstances, Radanir was right. Who was he to command the Oath-breakers? What right did he have to try!

There was little left of his strength. Candaith used it to first return Thurvi’s grip on his hand, and then to better support himself on Radanir’s arm. Neither he nor Halbarad had spoken again, and it was time for Candaith to acknowledge the disaster on all their minds.

“I should never have-- I would give my life a thousand times... to be even the smallest help to Aragorn… That was all… all I-” Halbarad took his shoulders and started to tip him back. The movement clouded his vision so completely he could hardly be sure he was still awake. Numbness started to overpower him and Candaith did not have the strength to be alarmed by the empty wave.

The void held him captive for a moment. But, vigilant Pain was quick to revive him as bandages met the raw edges of his wounds. He was slumped in a sitting position as Thurvi held him up and Halbarad finished wrapping the tender flesh. Candaith was given something bitter from a water flask, and then worked up the courage to try and speak again.

“I am… sorry-” he croaked from the ice-carved hollow in his chest.

“If you are sorry, Candaith, I am doubly so.” Halbarad’s voice was thick with worry, and regret. “For had I not sought to make copies of the Ring of Barahir, had I been more focused on keeping us from danger, this never would have occurred.”

Halbarad finished tying off the bandages, and Candaith was surprised to find Radanir waiting there at his shoulder. He was without a cloak, as were the others, and did not waste time in guiding his dead-limbed companion to where the collected fabric was balled up into a makeshift bedroll. Far though they were from a suitable camp, he was going to see that Candaith had some small comfort. Not Thurvi, not Halbarad, but Radanir who was rightfully furious with him.

Of all their companions, he was one of the least likely to shy away from saying what he meant. There was no quip too untimely, no sentiment best left unsaid. No doubt it was why he had taken on this task. Halbarad was too noble to scold a man on death’s porch if not it’s doorstep. And something about Thurvi’s tight-lipped expression had told him that the Guardian had seen the events transpire in an entirely different light.

Of one thing Candaith was sure: whatever reproach Radanir had ready for him would be well-deserved. Only, Candaith did not know if he could bear it. He had almost just gotten eight of their number killed in an ill-advised attempt to sway the Dead- the Dead who were known chiefly for their treachery! He feared the long night as he had been frightened of the long road underground. What if the others had not made it out? Their blood would be on his hands, and he would have to meet the rest of the Company alone with his shame.

No doubt his chief critic would be Radanir. Radanir who had been forced to flee with the others, who had stumbled across Thurvi in the dark, who must have been told the tale from the eyes of an observer- and the only one of them who could never have done the same in his place!

Still he could not help but to look. Candaith turned his head to the side and found Radanir’s stare fixed on him. Guilt swept over him again before it was replaced by great confusion and worry. The firelight illuminated anger, yes, but also vivid fear that took a moment for Radanir to conceal.

“I suppose I prefer you a living fool rather than a dead one.” The irritation in his tone was as empty as Candaith felt. “Still,” here an edge of something crept back in, “do not ever attempt such a thing again.”

As much as he wanted to assure Radanir that he would not dream of it- that he was shaken to find a lesson learned had nearly cost his and his kinsmen’s lives- Halbarad had designs of his own. Whatever herbs had been in the water were beginning to take effect. The pain of his wound was no distraction anymore. Already sensation was floating away. It felt as if he would dissolve if it began to rain, like dust on stonework. Candaith could no more keep his eyes open than he could leap up and begin the search for the rest of their group or to share the burden his decision placed on them.

He could no longer see the light of the fire when Radanir’s hand came to rest carefully on his shoulder. Their companions were discussing something too quietly for him to hear. It would not be long now before Halbarad’s bitter potion forced him to rest.

“That was a fear so cold I thought I would never be warm again.” Radanir’s voice was nearly lost to the cushioning effect of the medicine on his ears. “But I would prefer to never be rid of it than to lose even one of my brothers.”

The candor in Radanir’s words did not absolve him, but it was a balm to a hurt no healer could treat. Comforted beyond measure, Candaith could at last bear to face the night and any troubled dreams it could conjure.

#this one went through way less rigor than halros and the bad time so #and i settled on quote/unquote Thurvi because a joke name did not feel right in this context #the context of candaith living but getting rekt #lotro #candaith #writing #umm umm tags it's just more rambling honestly #i did not put down any guardian-specific skills in this bad boy #but please know i meant 1) brutal charge 2) shield smash 3) any of the draw aggro so the other rangers could escape #yes i did end up ambiguously sparing them #i couldn't do it #i couldn't read the transcript of the session play talking about all the dead rangers and NOT get attached #also unpopular opinion but it wasn't the WORST idea Candaith could've come up with especially with all the heavy handed foreshadowing #i mean it makes sense #it was stupid but it made sense

11 notes · View notes

neilmfjosten · 4 years

Text

aftg quotes that make me go absolutely feral

“You were supposed to be a side effect of the drugs.” “I’m not a hallucination,” Neil said, nonplussed. “You are a pipe dream,” Andrew said.”

Thank you," he finally said. He couldn't say he meant thanks for all of it: the keys, the trust, the honesty and the kisses. Hopefully Andrew would figure it out eventually. "You were amazing.”

“Who said 'please' that made you hate the word so much?"Andrew gazed at him in silence for a minute. "I did.”

This,” Neil flicked his finger to indicate the two of them, “isn’t worthless.” “There is no ‘this’. This is nothing.” “And I am nothing,” Neil prompted. When Andrew gestured confirmation, Neil said, “And as you’ve always said, you want nothing.”

“I didn't think I was a personal problem. You hate me, remember?" "Every inch of you," Andrew said. "That doesn't mean I wouldn't blow you." The world tilted a little bit sideways. Neil dug his shoes harder into the floor so he wouldn't fall over. "You like me." "I hate you," Andrew corrected him, but Neil barely heard him.”

“Andrew kissed him like this was a fight with their lives on the line, like his world stopped and started with Neil’s mouth.”

“You know, I get it. Being raised as a superstar must be really, really difficult for you. Always a commodity, never a human being, not a single person in your family thinking you’re worth a damn off the court— yeah, sounds rough. Kevin and I talk about your intricate and endless daddy issues all the time. I know it’s not entirely your fault that you are mentally unbalanced and infected with these delusions of grandeur, and I know you’re physically incapable of holding a decent conversation with anyone like every other normal human being can, but I don’t think any of us should have to put up with this much of your bullshit. Pity only gets you so many concessions, and you used yours up about six insults ago. So please, please, just shut the fuck up and leave us alone.”

“Yes or no?" "It's always yes with you." "Except when it's no." "If you have to keep asking because—I'll answer it as many times as you ask. But this is always going to be yes.”

“Better luck next time, Neil," he said. "I warned you once already, didn't I? I don't feel anything." “Anymore," Neil said, barely a whisper.”

“Ninety percent of the time the very sight of you makes me want to commit murder. I think about carving the skin from your body and hanging it out as a warning to every other fool who thinks he can stand in my way." “What about the other ten?”

“If it means losing you, then no.”

“Truth is irrefutable and untainted by bias. Sunrise, Abram, death: these are truths.”

“Don't look at me like that. I am not your answer, and you sure as fuck aren’t mine.”

“Andrew flicked his pack of cigarettes at Neil. "Give me one good reason to not push you off the side." Neil shook a stick out and lit it. "I'd drag you with me. It's a long way down.”

“Let Riko be King," Kevin said, with the exaggerated enunciation of the thoroughly sloshed. "Most coveted, most protected. He'll sacrifice every piece he has to protect his throne. Whatever. Me?" Kevin gestured again, meaning to indicate himself but too drunk to get his hand higher than his waist. "I'm going to be the deadliest piece on the board."

“It's always been 'go'. It's always been 'lie' and 'hide' and 'disappear'. I've never belonged anywhere or had the right to call anything my own. But Coach gave me keys to the court, and you told me to stay. You gave me a key and called it home.”

“"No, but really," Nicky said, looking wide-eyed at Neil. "What happened?" "Neil hit Riko," Matt said. "It was beautiful.”

“Kevin was silent for an endless minute, then said, "You should be Court." It was barely a whisper, but it cut Neil to the bone. It was a resentful goodbye to the bright future Kevin had wanted for Neil. Kevin recruited Neil because he believed in Neil's potential. He brought him to the Foxes intending to make a star athlete out of him. Despite his condescending attitude and his dismissals of Neil's best efforts Kevin honestly expected Neil to make the national team after graduation. Now Kevin knew it was all for naught; Neil would be dead by May. "Will you still teach me?" Neil asked. Kevin was quiet again, but not for long this time. "Every night.”

“You never explained the change of heart." “Maybe I got tired of seeing Kevin bend. Or maybe it was the zombies. A few weeks back you and Renee argued contingency plans for a zombie apocalypse. She said she'd focus on survivors. You said you'd go back for some of us. Five of us. You weren't counting Abby or Coach. Since you trust Renee to handle the rest of the team, I'm guessing the last spot is for Dobson. I didn't say anything then because I knew I'd look out for only me when the world went to hell. I don't want to be that person anymore. I want to go back for you.”

“Is your learning curve a horizontal line?”

“I won't be like them. I won't let you let me be.”

“I will ask you only once to tone down that animosity." "I can't," Neil said. "I have a bit of an attitude problem."

“My name is Nathaniel Wesninski," he said, "and my father is dead." It wasn't at all funny, but a second later he was laughing. It sounded hysterical but he couldn't stop.”

“You couldn't at least use an Exy idiom? I hate baseball.”

“Neil sucked in a deep breath that ripped him open on its way down. "I'd ask you how it feels, but I guess you've always known what it's like to be second, you worthless piece of shit.”

“This was everything he wanted, everything he needed, and Neil was never letting go.”

82 notes · View notes