#Like damn nobody ever tried to kill each other over my half-orc

[iamapoopmuffin]

The only time I've ever gotten the cutscene of Lae'zel and Shadowheart arguing about the relic followed by Shadowheart trying to kill Lae'zel has been immediately after Lae'zel tried to proposition Shadowheart's lover for sex in front of her. Quite a ways into the journey, long after the relic was brought up and made relevant.

Lae'zel wasn't fond of the player before that, so it was quite a shock. Not sure how my approval shot up so fast, but it more gave the vibe that she was doing it mostly to anger Shadowheart.

Which then gave the fight a vibe of 'I'm using this as an excuse to fight with you but really I want to pick a catfight over the camp's hottest Gith' which is such a stupid funny thought, just total camp discord because my Gith cleric is too sexy for this world.

[thecandywrites]

Of Heaven and Fire Part 2

Woo! Part 2! @probablyclever​ wanted to be tagged, so here you go- and if anyone else wants to be tagged- let me know. 

The next day you managed to wake up before sunrise, creeping up over the horizon, you managed to leap out of the skylight and sit on the roof, your leg and the chain hanging down into the room, gently letting your leg swing as the sun rose, your feather cloak turning into a large fan like disc around you, the feathers turning black with a holographic sheen to attract and keep the sun’s rays. The first light was always some of the best light. 

“There you are.” Came a voice as you turned to see Rhoslan walking up to the roof before she sat next to you. “Good morning.” She greeted you as she was wrapped in a heavy shall before she offered you one of her own which you gratefully took and wrapped it around you. 

“Good morning.” You returned politely as you two sat next to each other and soaked up the sunrise for a few long moments in companionable silence. 

“Am I really going to grow old here?” You asked softly after a while. 

“That’s up to you. Don’t moura’s only age when they’re happy and in love?” She returned. 

“To a degree, yes, but even hundreds of years age anyone.” You countered, keeping your voice a soft murmur. 

“Well, then it’s a good thing orcs don’t live that long.” She pointed out as she pulled her shawl a little tighter around herself. 

“How long do orcs live for?” You asked curiously. 

“Most don’t live to see thirty.” She sighed. “It’s because orcs have such a violent life, with all the wars and raiding. It’s a hazardous life. But this clan is lucky, we have a port, it’s small and humble and we do a lot of fishing, less raiding and warring, well except for last night of course. Otherwise, the average life span in this clan is twice that.” She smiled fondly. “Drad is 40. An elder by orc standards.” She added as you stowed that piece of information away.  

“It’s a decent life in this clan though. We get to buy whatever doesn’t sell at either Suchi or the other colonies, but the vendors make it sound like they are being charitable by even selling to us, they give us the leftovers so they can make it out of the river into the sea with all their gold. Most don’t even come through this port even though this port is on the best river that leads to the mountains, the others are barely creeks, even the shallow flat bottomed boats get moored, they’re trying to build a canal over there, to redirect the river outside of our territory so they can avoid us altogether.” She revealed as she pointed south as you followed her line of sight to see a construction crew just now coming to work. 

“The problem is that if they succeed, half our clan will starve because the estuary has fish that only exist in estuaries and they make up a large portion of our diet. The next estuary is over there.” She pointed out as she pointed her arm in the opposite direction as you turned and followed it again. 

“And that estuary is the territory of a much bigger, stronger, fiercer clan who would kill us in our sleep and take over our territory if they knew what real wealth would be coming through our river.” She added. 

“So what am I supposed to do about any of that?” You asked. 

“Nothing, just telling you so you know. Besides, the one with all the big plans, that would be Brock, I’m sure he has an idea or two about how you could help if you wanted to.” She answered. 

“Why him?” You asked, your lip curling in disgust and the very thought of him. 

“Because he’s the first born son of Drad, he’ll inherit the title and station of warchief from his father. It’s his job to do all he can for the clan, if he doesn’t have any good ideas on how to improve things or at the very least honor the old ways, the clan could over throw him, leave this one to join another.” she sighed as she nodded over to the larger clan’s territory. 

“Like any other king.” You realized. 

“Yup. So far Brock has done good, last night was the first time he’s ever seen defeat and he took it better than I thought he would.” She revealed. 

“Considering a nobody with absolutely no military training with nothing but magical abilities was able to talk her friends into doing something that cost us everything, especially our most precious possession, our secrecy, I’ve put every moura into jeopardy.” You explained. 

“Nah, I wouldn’t worry about it, everyone you told has very good reasons to keep it to themselves, mainly their own lives- because if that clan finds out- it wouldn’t take but a few hours for them to come over here and stomp us out, just the fact that you’re tethered to us is enough of a temptation for them to do so.” She reassured you. 

“Then why attack Suchi?” You asked. 

“Bruised egos and hurt feelings are powerful motivators and make you deaf to reason.” She huffed a laugh. 

“That’s true, the adults tried to stop us and talk reason into us, but we wouldn’t listen either.” You revealed in turn. 

“Wait, so all those hawks were all younglings?” She asked. 

“Yeah, all of them were teens, the youngest I think was 15 and the oldest was not even 20. To turn all those meteorites and weapons to gold took all of our reserves. Usually those reserves are reserved our entire childhood until we are old enough to participate in our coming of age solstice flight. This summer was supposed to be our first. Even if I wasn’t captured, my friends and I wouldn’t have been able to participate. So it cost all of us our chances at finding a mate this year. Which means we would have to wait for next year and would have missed out on everyone else in our age group. Now all of us will just have to make due with someone younger than us, which will suck because most of us had our eyes on several others but very few of them would ever wait for us.” You answered as you pulled your knees up to your chest and rested your folded arms over your knees, continuing to watch the sun rise over the horizon. 

“Well I for one am sorry for your loss, hopefully one day we’ll be able to make it up to you.” She genuinely offered. 

“Thanks.” You thanked her graciously. 

“Believe me, if it were up to me you’d be free now but Brock is...he’s incredibly stubborn, once he sets his mind and heart on something, he doesn’t stop until he finds success. So what I can tell you- is to be patient, your time will come.” She explained before she looked out over the sea and groaned. 

“What?” You asked as you followed her line of sight and saw a fleet coming back into the port, half the ships half crusted with ice though. 

“That damn dragon.” She growled. 

“Dragon?” You frowned. 

“There’s an ice dragon, just on the horizon, all the fish swarm around it’s cave because all the currents seem to converge on it. But every time they get too close, the dragon freezes the ships and then it’s a lot of work to chip all the ice off the ships and the fish gets frozen in the holds and it’s almost impossible to get them out. She grumped as an idea bloomed in your head. 

“If I could get the dragon to not- ice your ships, do you think Brock would let me go?” You asked hopefully.  

“I don’t know but I know the whole clan would be grateful to you if you did.” She figured. 

“When will the boats go out again?” You asked. 

“Not for another couple of days, it’ll take time to de-ice them now. Brock’s cousin Cugas is the captain of the fleet. You can’t miss him, he looks like Brock’s twin, but you’d actually like him- he’s a hard ass to his crew because he’s particular about how things are supposed to be, but when everyone listens, things go really smoothly. But otherwise he’s as easy going as a summer breeze when he’s off the ships.” She revealed. 

“Well, most mouras are in alliance with dragons, I could try communicating with it. The fact that the dragon is simply icing the ships instead of drowning them- that shows benevolence and a patience in giving warnings, the ice ships being the warning. You’re probably encroaching not just on it’s territory but food supply too.” You reasoned. 

“True,” Rhoslan nodded in agreement before you heard everyone else start to stir awake. 

“Since there are a few kinds of ice dragons, do you think you could take me down to the docks to inspect the ice?” You asked. 

“Yeah, after breakfast.” She nodded in agreement before she beckoned you off the roof, taking the stairs down this time as you gathered the chain and held it yourself and tuck it into a pocket. 

You managed to get through breakfast without arguing with Brock, but you did give him several long suspicious looks and after breakfast, the family went with you to the docks to look at the ships. 

Jade green ice crusted the ships. That was your first clue that you were dealing with a breed of oriental water dragon, who spewed that particular shade of green in their ice, because the color of the waters themselves were a gorgeous aquamarine that melted into a gorgeous sea blue before you pulled another feather from your cloak to make a chisel and chipped away at it. The ice was particularly thick and very hard and opaque, just like jade. A small hunk came off and you picked it up to inspect it more closely. You tasted the saltiness but you also tasted something more, you could smell the sulfur and taste the other minerals, the dragon was over a vent, not in a cave. There is only one reason why a water dragon would be over a vent- nesting. 

You looked up and noticed Brock talking to someone who looked eerily just like him, like he could be a twin or something. Must be Cugas you supposed. You picked up your hunk of ice and found your feet and walked over to them as they were talking at the end of the docks. 

“Excuse me.” You interrupted them. 

“Yes ma’am?” He answered. Oh he was respectful, you liked that which made you smile. And while he matched Brock in appearance, something about his voice was wholly different, not bad but just different. 

“Hi, I’m Benyana, pleasure to meet you Captain...” You greeted respectfully as he smiled in turn. 

“Cugas,” he answered as he shook your outstretched hand. 

“Pleasure to meet you Captain Cugas, now, can you tell me more about this phenomenon?” You asked him politely as you put the ice in your skirt to keep it from freezing your hands because this ice was somehow even colder than normal ice. 

“Uh yeah, sure, this has been happening for a number of years now, we know there’s a dragon there and we try not to fish directly over it. But it’s like it’s not there all the time, usually right before the fish migrate here in the spring and stay all summer until the fall when the fish migrate south to warmer waters then it stops.” He answered. 

“So about 4 months, 5 months?” You surmised. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. 

“Do you ever see it? Right before it ices your boats?” You asked. 

“No, well, a little, it stays about 50 feet under the surface of the water and spits ice and then dives down again.” He answered. “It’s huge though and very long.” He answered. 

“Do you ever see hints of other colors? Gold? Red? Black? Or any patterns?” You asked. 

“It’s actually more green than the ocean around it, but sometimes it has more pattern, sometimes not, I guess it depends on the clarity of the water.” He realized. 

“Do you notice any whiskers?” You asked thoughtfully.  

“Yeah, sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t, they look, orange, with purple ends.” He realized. 

“Ok, well, as I’m sure my captor has informed you,” You explained with a pointed look at Brock who rolled his eyes. “I’m a moura, mouras are allies with dragons, and while I’m not an expert by any means, I have an idea of what you might be working with, when you unpack your ships from all this ice and try to fish again - if you would take me out with you, I think I may be able to get somewhere. Mouras have a way of communicating with dragons, I can try asking it not to ice your ships.” 

“Forgive me ma’am but that thing would no sooner eat you than listen to you.” He tried to gently argue. 

“It won’t. The fact that it’s just icing your ships, shows it’s being benevolent, trust me, with this kind of dragon that you’re dealing with, it could just as easily open it’s jaws and chomp each of your ships into pieces the way we would take a bite from an apple. It could also just grab your ships with its claws, which are definitely big enough to wrap around your ships and crush them like you’d crush an insect in your palm. It could even just leap out of the water and topple all your ships. It’s trying to deter you from fishing there right now. Do you smell the sulfur and other minerals in this ice?” You asked as you picked it up and gave it to him to sniff before he did and it was like he was seeing and smelling it for the first time before he handed it to Brock to inspect as he followed suit. 

“Yeah,” they agreed. 

“Water dragons suck in a big “breath” of water -if you will- right before they spit. Because this smells like sulfur and other minerals, that means it’s sucking in water where it is at the bottom before it comes to the surface and the water it’s sucking in…” 

“Is from a vent.” Cugas finished for you. 

“And the only reason a water dragon stays in one place for five months straight in a place that’s super heated…” You hinted. 

“Oh! It’s because it’s nesting! How come I didn’t think of that?” Cugas grinned brightly. 

“Exactly. You have on your hands oriental jade water dragons, that’s why the ice looks like green jade despite the blue of the ocean. And you have a mated pair. Females are drab but have whiskers, males have more vibrant patterns but smaller whiskers and the whiskers have their own lures at the end, that’s why you see bulbs. But they’re old, which means they’re wise, older dragons have a routine pattern and migration, if they keep coming back year after year to the same spot- it’s because they know that it’s a successful nesting site, it’s safe they won’t be disturbed, at least by other dragons, except by your nets which they find a nuisance, younger dragons would defend the spot with deadly force, older dragons have learned that sometimes a little goes a long way and if they actually harm the ships, more ships come and investigate. They’re doing just enough to try to deter you. I would suggest, raising your nets so that they run at a higher depth, the lower the depths of the nets, the more you’ll disturb them and try not to take too much of a mated pair’s food supply, especially when they’re guarding their nests because dragons rarely like to leave their nests to guard from egg theft or egg replacement.” You suggested as you gestured to the hunk of ice still in their hands. 

“Consider it done, easy fix.” Cugas nodded. 

“Awesome, just let me know when you’re ready to leave, I’ll be ready.” You promised him sweetly as Brock finally smiled- happy that you were helping before Kari pulled you away, wanting to go get a snack before you tossed the ice into the water. 

Once you were out of earshot Cugas whistled lowly. 

“Wow is she pretty! She sure hates you though.” Cugas appraised as he watched your retreating form. 

“She’ll get over it.” Brock insisted which made Cugas snort a laugh. 

“Your head is still in the clouds then. She looked like she was ready to set you on fire.” Cugas insisted. 

“She’s a moura, fire is in her nature.” Brock argued. 

“Heaven is in their nature too but I didn’t see any heaven when she looked at you. She did when she looked at me though.” Cugas jabbed playfully which made Brock give him an unimpressed look. 

“Hey she smiled at me and shook my hand and was all kinds of nice and polite to me.” Cugas noted. 

“She was just trying to be helpful.” Brock dismissed. 

“Sure,” Cugas placated. “I’ll see you at dinner, I got work to do.” Cugas excused himself and grabbed a chisel and helped his crew try to de-ice the ships. 

Cugas joined you for dinner and brought huge bushel baskets of seafood with him, the servants in the kitchen very well pleased as you sat in the living room, helping Kari learn her letters and numbers before he sat down across from you, a peculiar look on his face. 

“What?” You asked as his grin grew fond. 

“Before today, I had never seen a moura before, especially up this close, only heard about ‘em. They say you’re born of heaven and fire.” He praised which made you smile as Brock frowned from his spot nearby. 

“That’s true, we are.” You confirmed with a nod. 

“So what does the heaven and fire refer to?” He asked curiously. 

“Actually, heaven refers to the fact that we originated in the clouds themselves, if you could fly straight up into them you’d see how there’s a whole world up there, grand castles and estates that look like clouds on the outside but on the inside are magnificent palaces and estates. And the fire- well that comes from our ability to breath fire because one of our forms can be a phoenix- who breathe fire just like dragons.” You explained and Brock’s jaw was on the floor, as his brow could not get any more furrowed. How in the world had Cugas just asked that nonchalantly and gotten that from you so easily? He had to use a magicked shackle to tell him the truth. 

“So you share ancestry with true pheonixs then?” Cugas wondered. 

“Yup, we do. Angels are our closest relatives in species and it’s almost impossible to tell us apart when we are in angel form, but angels get to inhabit the different realms but we only get to enjoy this one, humans however are our second but we have very high compatibilities with other races too because shapeshifter genes are versatile.  As long as they have our body layout as in- head up here, arms, legs, hands, feet and toes, that kind of thing.” You revealed casually as you gestured to your extremities. 

“So if you share ancestry with phoenix's does that mean you can be reborn in the ashes?” Cugas wondered and you just grinned and playfully narrowed your eyes at him. Orcs were much smarter than you gave them credit for. 

“Yes, however it is an extremely painful process with a lot of variables and should only be used in extreme circumstances. It’s primarily just the elders who do it when they feel their current form is getting too old to function, although currently there is a competition to see how long someone can go in one form. The current record is held by Elder TriKeng, he made it 145 years before he finally called it quits and was reborn in the ashes about 37 years ago…” you said before you noticed Rhoslan bristle at the name as you frowned and turned your attention to her. 

“So..” Cugas began before you lifted your hand to silence him before you watched Rhoslan quickly leave the room before you gently got Kari to sit next to your spot before you got up and excused yourself before you followed Rhoslan out of the room and followed her to her own bedroom where she was finding some solace. 

“Rhos?” You asked as you knocked on her door softly and put your ear to the door. 

“Rhos are you ok?” You asked worriedly. 

“No.” you heard a sob before you opened the door and found her at her vanity wiping her eyes. 

“I’m so sorry if I said something upsetting.” You began before you touched her shoulder and she pulled from your touch and growled which made you recoil and step back. 

“Sorry.” She apologized. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t...you’re not the problem and it isn’t your fault. But you are wrong about something, exactly 34 years ago, before you were born, there were two moura orc halflings presented to Suchi,” she began and you gasped before you pulled lira light into your palm and laid it on the center of her back which made her gasp and sit straight up as moura marks lit up her skin. 

“What did you do?” She demanded as she looked at herself in the mirror. Having never seen her skin look like this before, like she had glowing tattoos on her skin.  

“I...I...I’m sorry, I...I did uh, I did a lira light touch, it’s a tradition we do when we want to see if a person has moura genes and how strong they are.” You answered as you watched as there were moura marks haloing around her body. 

“You’re...you’re the daughter of nobility. I haven’t seen moura marks like these...since…” You said to her breathlessly, her marks were beautiful, utterly mesmerizing as they began to swirl and dance around her body. “Sorry, these are extraordinary! I’ve never seen anything close to these, usually only noble heavenly moura have marks like these. These are far better than my own. How many forms can you change into?” You asked. 

“None! This is the only form I have.” She growled in frustration. 

“Surely when you get angry, you must be able to spew fire or heal or…” You began to argue.

“No! None of that, I have none of that!” She argued, you could tell she was frustrated and angry and hurt. 

“All I have are these.” She angrily spat as she yanked open a drawer and it was full of tear diamonds as you gasped again, this time in sadness. 

“Do you know what these are?” You asked her as you reverently touched them, the pads of your fingers barely touching the surface of them, feeling the pain and anger from them as your heart broke. 

“Crystal tears?” She guessed before you crouched down next to her. 

“They’re called benar- it’s a sign of extreme duress for a moura to cry them. I cried them myself last night, my first time, and they hurt like hell. This is a sign you have had extreme heartache and hardship in your life. My mother has a collection like this.”  You explained as you reached up and held her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. 

“What happened that she would cry like this?” She asked before you grabbed a stool and sat down next to her. 

“My mother is the product of an affair. Only the sire never came forward when- after she was born because she came out much different than my grandmother’s husband and the rest of her children. Now affairs are not uncommon, however among nobility, it’s more politically upsetting if a very prestigious figure is known to publically stray. Several problems arose from this. To heavenly moura- their lineage is everything. Because your lineage you can prove out your own genetic potential because those bastards have nothing better to do than have as many kids as possible to explore every conceivable variations of their genetics, on one hand you get some really amazing and beautiful results, you get magnificent moura marks- wing colors and shapes and aesthetics, but on the other hand- those inbred motherfuckers have bred out functionality and in some cases fertility and verilty in favor of aesthetics, to the point they’ve lost their own powers, their own abilities, they can’t change forms anymore, or if they do- they can only go human form or angel form- no phoenix, no bird, nothing. They’ve lost their fire abilities completely and their own strength and stamina is next to none- they get winded flying from cloud to cloud. LIke have you seen those dogs, bred until they’re nothing like the original and shouldn’t even be allowed to be called dogs?” You asked. 

“Yeah,” she nodded. 

“Same thing, only they do it to themselves. And they stud themselves out. And to them- your genetics, they dictate your worth as an individual, no one would be caught dead without their own pedigrees on them at all times. And to them- who and what you are as a person, is one of the last things they care about.” You explained. “So you can imagine, with my mother only having one side of her lineage and therefore one set of genetics, the other half was considered a mystery. And that is a gamble no heavenly moura would normally wish to take. My mother is also of nobility- but the majority of that nobility came from her mother’s husband, not her biological father, whoever he was. Such is the way for daughters of affairs- sons however- sons are usually always claimed. Only the extraordinary daughters are claimed, my mother was, for a heavenly moura- drab, which to them is as close to a crime as you could commit even though she was perfectly innocent. Granted perfectly healthy and functional too, the first in many generations to be so, things the heavenly moura count as non-consequential. Many lower ranking women practically throw themselves at the higher ups, hoping to topple the current ladies by producing handsome heirs. It’s a gamble. A gamble my grandmother made and lost. And she lost everything, her husband’s tolerance for her because heavenly moura partners simply tolerate each other most of the time.” You explained as Rhos listened closely. 

“And so my mother because- as you would call it, is the black sheep of the family- she left at barely 20, very young for a heavenly moura, took her own benar with her and went to the same palace her sister was enlisted to go to. But her sister couldn’t risk her newfound political place and power to shelter my mother, so she was turned away and cast out. She tried exchanging her benar for coins, but she was stopped by my father, because who she was about to sell them to, would be taking all of them and only giving her a tiny fraction of a thousandth of what they were really worth. And my father just helped her- without any thought of being paid back because it was the right thing to do and the kindest thing he could do. He helped her find a nice if not very safe place to live- he helped her become money savvy because heavenly moura don’t use money,, they have no need or use for it. And when she got up on her feet and came to terms with her own situation and got her bearings, then they started to court. And he had to really compete for her. But he was the first to help her and not try to take advantage of her in any way and have nothing but the best intentions with her. So now they live in Suchi, aging beautifully together and my mother is making a mural of the family in her benar on the walls. Because she is choosing to take years of pain and turn it into something beautiful and to use that to celebrate what she has now.” You explained, your smile proud if not bittersweet, feeling sad yourself that you would probably never get to see the finished product of your mother’s mural, not for another 30-50 years at least. 

“Now I’m not saying that that’s what you should do with these, these are yours and yours alone to do with as you please. However I know of some that would fill every room in this house with treasures for a handful of these. All those traders that snub your people? Oh they would be giving you the best of the best of what they have if they knew you had these and this port would be five times as big because all moura- any moura- is a friend to any merchant. And they would eat their words about you for the sake of business, I can only imagine the apology gift they’d offer if they only knew.” You mused. 

“Well that’s just it, I don’t want anyone to know, no one can know this, now turn this off!” She demanded. 

“Ok,” you agreed before you put your hand over the center of her chest and pulled the lira light back into yourself, her moura marks fading to nothing. 

“Rhos, do you know who your father is?” You asked softly as the sensation of the lira light coming back into yourself revealed many things to you. 

“No, my sister and I were presented to Suchi- we were wrapped in our feather cloaks and everything. But that damn council- in particular- TriKeng…” she spat that particular name with the most hateful disgust. “Wanted to weigh it over night- in the middle of the night- someone came in and stole our feather cloaks from us and all we were left with was a sack of gold. That didn’t even last us down the mountains and a warning never to come back for any reason.” She sneered. “And in our culture- that’s seen as a huge disgrace.” She whimpered as she cried yet more benar before she added them to her collection. 

“That is an unforgivable wrong dealt to you and your sister. And clearly this is the depth of your pain. To take a moura’s cloak- especially an infant’s cloak- when that child is already…” Your voice wavered as tears came to your eyes and bile rose into your throat. “So vulnerable and defenseless.” you whispered. “It’s despicable,” you clipped, your own anger growing before you took a calming breath and looked at her again, noting her rather beautiful high cheekbones- typical for a moura and the more you looked, the more moura traits you found, wondering how you had not seen them before. 

“Make no mistake- whoever did that to you- will suffer, if not by your hands, then by mine.” You swore. 

“It has nothing to do with you.” She argued. 

“It has a lot to do with me! Because I am of daughter of Suchi, the very place that houses the bastard who did this to you and such a thing is normal in the royal houses, because so few are born with it- it’s a gift stolen from one and given to another- only the most important ones wear them. Do you have any idea how many in Suchi are there because of this very crime had been done to them and it is a law in Suchi- that no child born either to it our outside of it would ever have that done to it ever again and the fact that it was done to you- proves that the bastard is the biggest hypocrite.” You growled, righteous anger blazing in your eyes. 

“You say that as if you know who it is.” She pointed out. 

“I don’t know for absolutely certain, but I have an idea- one that I would wager all of these on.” You said as you reached into your own coin purse and showed your own benar as they laid between your fingers. “I’m here now, I know I’m 34 years late- forgive me, I wasn’t born until about 18 of those 34 years ago,” You gently teased which got her to crack a grin. “But I’m tethered to this family. And damn it even if this chain were to fall off right now, I would still fly back to Suchi- expose the son of a bitch who did this to you, take his own feather cloak off of him and then slice him and barbecue him in a sweet glaze.” You threatened as she barked a laugh through her own tears which got you to smile brightly in triumph.  “And I’d come back and offer it to you on the biggest silver platter I could find. Unless there’s a better way you’ve been imagining justice this whole time.” You offered as she just shook her head. 

“I only want the best for my children and this clan, say nothing of this for now- to anyone.” She pressed. 

“Ok,” you nodded in agreement. 

“Are you at all related to who you think did this?” She asked. 

“No, but TriKeng- that village elder who dragged his feet who probably incited a thief or two to steal your cloak because actual evidence of a moura coupling with an orc and you’re proof of that coupling being not only fruitful but alarmingly successful- let alone 30 something years ago, Oh, that would thrown Suchi and every other colony into an uproar because the elders are hypocrites, they love to talk about how warm and inviting and loving and perfect the mountain colonies are, but in the same breath but out of the opposite sides of their faces- want it to be like that only to who and what they deem worthy- mainly elves, another species we blend rather seemlessly with, fae- who hold the keys to the other realms because fey and moura children can cross over from realm to realm no problem to the point angels are more interested in mountain moura than the heavenly ones, which pisses those heavenly moura right off and let’s be realistic- everyone loves power, those elder moura have just as much power and prestiege over their own colonies than the council does over all the royal moura, same game- different rules and different ways to play it.” You explained. 

“And TriKeng is basically my adopted grandfather. He’s sweeter than honey and so doting on my mom who’s he adopted as his daughter and therefore my family- despite not being blood related- are his family because the man is one of those former heavenly moura who supposedly has lost his virility through his own inbreeding.” You explained as she gave you a pained expression. 

“But this doesn’t surprise me, he’s extremely speciesist. He’s been trying to set me and my siblings up with some fae friends of his most of our lives and me being here is probably throwing a huge wrench into those plans. And honestly? Don’t tell anyone- especially Brock but I’m kind of relieved I’m here so I don’t have to dance with those fae boys this year because I know they would have tried to find a way to fly with me this year and just...I don’t like them back that way.” You explained.  

“But this, this makes us family,” You gestured between the two of you. “In a much closer sense than the way I am with TriKeng- all who carry the moura in both name, lineage, gene or spirit are. I will stay and help where I can. First I’ll get this business with the clan’s fleet and the water dragons sorted out. Then, it will take some work- but there is a way to find out exactly who you’re the daughter of if you want to know. But if you don’t- then we’ll get straight to work on improving this clan’s station and reputation and lay a foundation for generations to come.” You vowed. 

“Is this why this clan brought war to Suchi?” You wondered curiously. 

“No, this- me... I had nothing to do with it, no one in my family knows this about me, my sister and I have never told anyone, not even Drad knows.” She maintained. 

“Ok.” You agreed before there was a knock on the door as Rhoslan quickly shut her drawers and locked them before you put your own benar away before you escorted each other to the dinner table where both Brock and Cugas looked particularly worried but a dismissive smile from Rhoslan had them at least looking less worried, but perhaps more concerned. 

“It’s about time, it’s getting cold,” Cugas playfully complained before he sat right next to you as you once again sat and had Kari eagerly climb into your lap again, her and Cugas eager to show you how to eat all of it as Brock sat across from you. 

“Ok, I don’t like the oysters.” You scrunched up your nose before Cugas reached out and booped your nose which made you laugh. 

“Your nose is too cute when you do that, I couldn’t help myself.” Cugas laughed with you and you had to turn and hide your face with your hair in attempt to hide your deep blush as Brock just stared in outraged disbelief. 

“So what about the clams then? The smaller ones are the sweeter ones.” He offered as he held a tiny little clam out as you craned your head out and slurped it from the shell before you chewed. 

“They are sweeter, they’re ok. Prawns are my favorite still.” You maintained as you worked on taking a large one out of its shell, it was almost as big as your hand, 

“Try this then,” Cugas urged as he picked up one shell and scraped the meat off the shell before handing you that one. 

“Ooh!” You oohed as you chewed it. “What’s that one?” You asked. 

“Scallop.” Cugas answered. 

“Ok, yeah, ok, new favorite.” You conceded before he eagerly got a few more from the stock pile that had been cooked in a spicy chili broth and put them onto your plate. 

“Thank you.” You thanked him as Brock just cracked those thick crab legs with his hands, his imagination imagining it was his cousin’s limbs as his jealousy ate him alive. 

“Here, try this, it’s the king of crabs,” Cugas insisted as he took a leg from the pile and cracked it for you, feeding the luscious meat hanging from a knuckle. 

“Oh my gods, that’s...that’s ridiculously good,” you agreed. 

“Don’t moura eat seafood?” Cugas asked. 

“Royal moura do, but us mountain moura- no, it would spoil before it would ever reach us. The only time we all eat fish is when we fly over the oceans and dive for it ourselves, changing to penguins who can dive for sardines or anchovy or mackrel, any swarming fish really, then once we eat we take to the skies again. We only take the flight twice a year, and it’s the only stop we make.” You explained. 

“So what’s so special about the flight?” He asked as your blush came back full force. 

“It’s a moura tradition- on the summer solstice- we make one big flight around the world, following the sun and it’s sunshine and again on the winter solstice, only that one we follow the moon and fly in the northern lights, surely you’ve seen the giant flock of birds that seem to glow and dance in the northern lights on the solstice.” You urged as everyone blinked in surprise. 

“Wait that’s all you guys?” Cugas asked in marveled wonder and awe. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed. 

“I can’t believe it, two of the biggest phenomenons that we use to gauge our year- and they’re moura traditions.” Cugas grinned which made you beam happily. 

“Not just traditions, those are our courting rituals.” You revealed as Cugas’ and Brock’s jaw dropped before Cugas just started laughing in delight. 

“What?! That’s your courting ritual?!” He asked, his smile so bright it would shame the sun and Brock was ready to pull his hair out of his head. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. He was having a nightmare. Five minutes with his cousin and you were already talking about courting rituals like you were confiding in a lover? Just...just shoot him in the face with a fucking canon. 

“Well that’s how mouras with the moura gene court each other- nothing proves the greatness of your own health like a 24 hour flight twice a year. Coupling happens in the air- you ever noticed how most of the birds seem to do feats? Fly in corkscrews and loops? Make hairpin turns and fly in a myriad of formations?” You asked Cugas. 

“Well now that you mention it, yes, yes I do, I was always so jealous, wishing I could be that free.” He confessed as you smiled fondly at him. Oh if he only knew. 

“So what about those who don’t have the gene?” Brock finally interjected and your smile dropped when you looked at him before turning back to Cugas, your smile returning to him, choosing to answer that question as if it had come from him. 

“They dance the whole time. There is always a colony that hosts the event. For a week before the solstice, everyone converges, everyone camps in the valley of the host colony because all the colonies are always built in the mountains surrounding either one big valley or several small valleys and all the vendors from all the colonies come and try to sell the fattiest foods, the fattier the better. Everything is fried and- or smothered in rich sauces and gravies, there’s a few vegetables, but it’s mostly all meat and noodles and rice, lots of breads and stuffed buns and dumplings and things and sweets are king, we go through tones of sugar and honey and nuts, the easier to eat the better, everyone has these bowls with attached spoons and forks that they can walk around and eat and talk and it’s crammed with people, so much so that you squeeze through everyone and little kids have to be literally tied to their parents otherwise they’ll get lost in the crowds and the closer to the countdown- the crazier it gets, everyone is hyper and excited and trying to meet everyone else and everyone is trying to figure out who’s flying, who’s dancing who’s courting who, who’s available, who’s of age, who’s still underage because mouras age funny and it’s hard to tell sometimes. Courting mouras usually seriously court only six months at a time. Between each solstice. And usually if a pair keeps courting two consecutive solstices at a time- then it’s a pretty good sign that they’ll stay together. Now once the sun rises on the solstice in the host colony- the single moura who are taking the flight- take off. And once they do- then the dancing starts and every street in the colony is taken up by the dancers and they do not stop until the others get back. And it’s very vigorous dancing the whole time with only short breaks to eat and relieve yourself and crash. So much so that by the end of it- all the shoes are broken, your feet are swollen and they hurt, everything hurts but you’re so high off of dancing and off of being around so many people because most mouras are naturally gregarious and naturally extroverted. But it’s the best music you’ve ever heard in your life and your body can’t help but dance to it and the party takes up at the very least the very center of town, every street is lined with dancers and in the other sections of the city is where the other age groups converge, there’s even a section dedicated to the elders, although they only make it through a dance or two- usually the first dance and the last dance.” You smiled brightly. 

“Gosh I can’t imagine having that much fun. I would wear myself out in just the first dance.” Cugas sighed dreamily as he rested his chin in his hand as Brock wondered if he reached across the table and smacked Cugas’ elbow if he would do a face plant into the table and crack a tusk. 

“So who’s the host colony this year?” Cugas asked curiously. 

“I don’t know, usually it’s on a rotation, but I can tell you it won’t be Suchi- since the attack I’m sure no one will think it’s safe enough to host such an event.” You answered with a long side eye at Brock who just exhaled out of his nose in defeat, shaking his head ever so slightly but kept right on eating as Cugas took a long sip of his ale and gave his aunt a meaningful look as she returned it. 

“Well that’s a shame, I almost had hopes I could come and crash it this summer.” Cugas allowed. 

“If you did, you’d have more dance partners than you know what to do with of every gender you could handle.” You promised. 

“What? I thought orcs were a no go for mouras.” Cugas asked as you gave him a meaningful look and a mischievous smile. 

“No, the elders are speciesist- us youngins and really anyone else? Oh no we’d eat you alive.” You cackled. “I mean come on- a culture built around strength, stamina, endurance and physical fitness? Aren’t orcs the epitome of all of that? I mean look at these arms.” You urged as you reached out and grabbed his arm muscles and jiggled them which made him giggle which you thought was adorable. “Like I could think of a dozen mouras right now who would love to climb you like a tree if you know what I mean.” You teased as Brock choked on his ale before you turned and considered him before he recovered. 

“Aw, you recovered. Damn.” You snapped your fingers in disappointment which caused Cugas to choke on his own ale too before he practically spit it out at Brock before going into a deep belly laugh. 

“Gods, you just hate him! I love it! You’re the first girl to ever hate his guts this badly. Every girl here goes gaga over him every time he sets foot out of the house and you’re the first not to, I like you! I like you a lot.” Cugas insisted. 

“I like you a lot too!” You beamed happily right back at him before he just wrapped his arm around you and squeezed you tight and kissed the crown of your head as you laughed. 

“Hey! Hands off!” Brock barked. 

 “He has my permission to be affectionate to me, just like Kari, your other sisters and your mother do.” You argued as Brock looked like he was about to either kill something or have an aneurysm and stroke out right there at the table. 

“Fine,” Brock growled before he got up and walked out. 

“What’s his deal?” You asked Cugas. 

“You don’t want to know.” Cugas dismissed as you felt a pull on the chain and the shackle on your ankle and you felt something inside you pulled in that direction too as you groaned. 

“And he says I’m dramatic.” You complained as you got up, the chain itself leading you out of the room and towards where Brock was storming away. 

“Hey asshole! What’s your deal?” You called after him as the two of you got some distance as he came to the ocean and threw the biggest rock he could grab into the ocean as far as he could throw it. 

“Go back into the house.” He ordered. 

“I would love to but this shackle would break my ankle if I tried.” You countered as you folded your arms over your chest as the chain finally dropped to the ground at his feet. 

“So I’m here, talk to me and tell me why you’re ready to rip your cousin limb from limb because he had the audacity to talk to me like a friend.” You urged.

“His behavior was inappropriate.” He finally hissed. 

“Was it now.” You raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. 

“Yes it was!” He insisted. 

“Right and if you weren’t already green you’d be greener than an avacado.” You insisted as you walked past him and sat down in the sand and let the waves come up and wash over your suddenly bare feet. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked as you looked at him over your shoulder before you pat the sand next to you so he would sit down. 

“It means you’re jealous of the instant friendliness I have with him that I won’t have with you because you’re my captor and the one I’m tethered to whether I want to be or not like a soldier of war.” You insisted as he sat down next to you, pulling up his pant legs so they wouldn’t get wet as he pouted like a little kid being asked to share his favorite toy. 

“It’s something easy enough to fix though.” You added as he just sighed tiredly next to you. 

“I’m not letting you free yet.” He insisted. 

“Well, it would be easier to take this if I knew that there was hope that there’s at least a chance of me earning my freedom, sooner than later would be ideal.” You insisted as he was quiet for a long moment. 

“Do you really think you can do it?” He asked quietly after a while. 

“What the business with the dragon?” You assumed. “Yeah, it’s just a matter of getting to it.” 

“How are you going to talk to it?” He asked. 

“It’s something you’re going to have to see to believe.” You grinned. 

“So, I get the dragon to stop icing your ships- I’m free- deal?” You bargained as you held out your hand for him to shake. 

“Fine. Deal.” He begrudgingly agreed as he shook your hand.

[garden-ghoul]

two blogs, part 8

“feeling pleased with myself because I own multiple vegetables AND a jam right now”

Just like me, the hobbits are thinking of their next meal:

OF HERBS AND STEWED RABBIT

I’m jazzed because I think my boy Faramir is gonna be in this one. The Shigeo to Boromir’s Ritsu. Anyway, there is supposed to be food and water for the scavenging in the place where our heroes are going! They have to go through Ithilien to get to Cirith Ungol, which we all must agree has a much more pleasant and scavenge-able sound than blasted hell-plains of ultra-despair. So they set off on their way! It says "a single red light burned high up in the Towers of the Teeth,” which is kind of ominous considering I don’t remember those being mentioned, ever. Maybe it’s because I was practically asleep last chapter.

Our heroes find their hearts much lightened to see trees again, and they realize that they’ve come so far south that it’s already spring here. Mm I want to figure out what the actual latitude difference is between the Shire and Cirith Ungol. Hold on a sec. It’s a north-south distance of about 800 miles (nice going guys!!), which is about the same as Boston to Charleston, SC, or from London to Madrid. In ANY case, it’s spring in Ithilien, and “Ithilien, the garden of Gondor now desolate kept still a dishevelled dryad loveliness.” What a great phrase!  really good aesthetic. Tolkien goes in an amazing amount of detail about exactly which kinds of plants there are--one assumes this is Sam POV again, because Frodo probably knows the names of about 12 kinds of plants. Gollum breathes in the strong perfume of the flowers and chokes, which is another relateable Gollum feeling. 

We also observe that even in this beautiful land there are signs of the Enemy; apparently orcs just go around carving random shit on trees, which is kinda endearing. The text describes it as “evil runes,” but come on it’s probably mostly “Yalbakh is a wanker.” “7th company rulez.”

Sam had been giving earnest thought to food as they marched. Now that the despair of the impassable Gate was behind him, he did not feel so inclined as his master to take no thought for their livelihood beyond the end of their errand; and anyway it seemed wiser to him to save the waybread of the Elves for worse times ahead.

My logistics son. He asks Gollum very politely to catch something hobbits can eat; while Gollum is out hunting, Sam just stares at Frodo’s Beautiful Chiselled Sleeping Face and mutters “I love him.” Gaaaaayyyy. Then he starts thinking of how to cook the rabbits Gollum has brought back. Hobbits learn to cook before they learn to read! This delights me greatly. I want to live in a culture that prioritizes having everyone able to cook! Gollum comes back with water and realizes Sam is going to cook the rabbits. Horror of horrors!! This is one of the cute... ish.... Sam and Smeagol interactions, because there’s barely any threats of maiming at all! Just good old fashioned cultural misunderstandings. Sam tries to get Smeagol to find him some herbs or root vegetables, by which Smeagol is Bewildered. What the fuck is taters, precious?? He huffs himself away into the forest somewhere, indignant.

Sam and his master sat just within the fern-brake and ate their stew from the pans, sharing the old fork and spoon. They allowed themselves half a piece of the Elvish waybread each. It seemed a feast.

::3

A little later Sam realizes his fire is smoking, and that someone in the forest is sloppily imitating bird calls. He hurries to Frodo’s side, and they hear some people who sound like they’re discussing Gollum. You’d think Gollum would be the stealthiest, the least likely to be spotted, but I’m guessing the Gondorians (Gondorrim?) have seen him before.

‘Nay! Not Elves,' said the fourth, the tallest, and as it appeared the chief among them. 'Elves do not walk in Ithilien in these days. And Elves are wondrous fair to look upon, or so 'tis said.'

'Meaning we're not, I take you,' said Sam. 'Thank you kindly. And when you've finished discussing us, perhaps you'll say who you are, and why you can't let two tired travellers rest.'

At least we still have Sam to be passive-aggressive to gently bewildered humans who may or may not be about to kill him. But Captain Faramir has no choice to believe that they’re from his brother’s company when they share his own prophetic dream with him. Faramir goes, I guess, somewhere, leaving two men to guard the hobbits. The guards turn out to know some kind of elven language! How exciting! Frodo realizes they must be Dunedain. Awww haha and one of them is named Mablung. Faramir’s men are here to harass a company of Haradrim who apparently serve Sauron. It’s a good thing Faramir is captain, Mablung intimates; he leads a charmed life! Nothing unlucky can possibly happen to him! ...well, depending on whether you count his brother dying unlucky. But I guess Frodo and Sam don’t actually know Boromir is dead. Faramir... might, actually? Just now, Faramir is coming back in pursuit of some guy, and--yep--he’s shot him dead full of arrows.

It was Sam's first view of a battle of Men against Men, and he did not like it much. He was glad that he could not see the dead face. He wondered what the man's name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil of heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would not really rather have stayed there in peace.

::( Same. Nobody wonders whether orcs are really evil at heart, though. Wonder, damn you! The battle ends and Sam goes to sleep immediately. Okay.

THE WINDOW ON THE WEST

When Sam wakes up, everyone is sitting in a circle for story time, I mean, watching Faramir interrogate Frodo. Faramir is like, trying to trick Frodo into... admitting he killed Boromir? Maybe? Frodo is just shocked to find out that Boromir is dead, but Sam is having none of this rudeness.

'See here, Captain! ' He planted himself squarely in front of Faramir his hands on his hips, and a look on his face as if he was addressing a young hobbit who had offered him what he called ‘sauce' when questioned about visits to the orchard.

SAUCE. FARAMIR, YOUNG HOBBIT. No I’ll bet Sam is actually a good bit older than Faramir. Also Faramir’s men are kind of delighted to see him being told off by this 3-foot-tall super indignant guy. But Faramir tells Sam off right back and then goes right on, though he’s marginally more polite to Frodo. He tells about finding Boromir’s body in the funeral boat. Frodo fears that this means everyone else is dead too ::( ::( “Will you not put aside your doubt of me and let me go?” says Frodo. “I am weary, and full of grief, and afraid. But I have a deed to do, or to attempt, before I too am slain.” TFW honestly. Our heroes walk with Faramir to a safehouse nearby (actually ten miles away, a long distance for short legs!) and he makes an incredibly good guess at why it sounds like Frodo and Boromir weren’t BFFs. He totally understands that Frodo can’t say any more:

'Alas! it is a crooked fate that seals your lips who saw him last, and holds from me that which I long to know: what was in his heart and thought in his latest hours.’

I love that thing where... there is something someone Absolutely Cannot Say, and everyone knows they’re talking in code and they’re in trouble over that thing. It’s not that common? Right now I can only remember it happening in Full Metal “hostage situations everywhere” Alchemist. Anyway it’s my jam. Faramir talks wistfully about how warlike Boromir always was, and how Faramir just wants to see the White Tree bloom and to see Minas Tirith at peace. I am just CONSTANTLY thinking to myself “Faramir is going to die!” and then I remember he actually survives and is happy and I’m just, utterly astonished. This happens like 3 times a minute. It’s incredibly stupid.

They get to the safehouse, which is Very Beautiful. Faramir’s men prepare some food. “Sam, not used to being waited on, looked with some surprise at the tall man who bowed, holding a basin of water before him.” [begins chanting] Wait on Sam! Wait on Sam! After eating Faramir comes to question Frodo some more, but, like, friendly. Frodo wants to please him so he talks about how Valiant Boromir was. For some reason this is kind of heartbreaking to me. That feel when you are trying hard to remind yourself that you are not safe and never will be again, that you cannot trust anyone... Also when Faramir is talking there’s this sense that Gondor is slowly dying. Maybe that’s why I absolutely can’t believe Faramir survives this trilogy. Rohan is still young and strong though, so that’s good! Gondor’s history is just too long. It’s tired. The civilization is too old and is overdue to crumble. 

‘As the Rohirrim do, we now love war and valour as things good in themselves, both a sport and an end; and though we still hold that a warrior should have more skills and knowledge than only the craft of weapons and slaying, we esteem a warrior, nonetheless, above men of other crafts.’

Faramir does not love war, and he doesn’t want to be a warrior. He’s a good man and I like him. These harsh days make everyone wary and sharp. Sam accidentally gets going on the subject of Galadriel and reveals that Isildur’s Bane is the Ring, and Faramir gets a Weird Look on his face. “A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality! Ha!” But don’t worry, my dears, he’s only quoting some nasty thing his father said to him, I think. He doesn’t want to even see the Ring. He’s a stronger man than his brother. Go to sleep, my good friends, and have no fear he’ll try to take it from you. Frodo suddenly blurts out exactly what their errand is... and then faints. Faramir carries him gently to bed.