#People are concerned about this group of elves or whatever the fuck this family is

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 226

"Mother. Mother. Mom. Mum. Mother. Mom-"

Danny sighed as Dan did his best to annoy him, no doubt revenge for the child leash. Which wouldn't have been needed if not for his continued attempts to go off on his own.

As a five year old.

Which wasn't going to happen, no thanks. They had to deal with people trying to kidnap them as "elf people" or something in this dimension already. Ancients, can't people let him travel with his kids for vacation in peace?!

[loominggaia]

“Okay New York Anon here. I’m really sorry about this chapter and regret writing it, the way i did. Thinking about it post production I’m realizing I made it come off as transphobic and tasteless. Angry guy was supposed to be a parody of the stereotypical sjw you’d see in a cringe comp violently going off on people for accidentally being mis gendered. Sorry if this train wreak of a chapter offends anyone.”

Anon, I’m so honored that you would spend the time to write fanfiction about my series. Not everyone is a perfect writer (I’m sure not), and personally I don’t believe that every piece of writing has to “set a good example” when it comes to politics and morality. The Looming Gaia series is for ages 18+, not preschoolers. I think adults have the mental capacity to differentiate between right and wrong and form their own opinions when they’re reading something (at least I hope they do), so I’m going to go ahead and post your story.

But I also care about my followers’ well-beings, so I’m going to compromise and: 1) Put this chapter under a cut so they don’t have to see it if they don’t want to. 2) Put a content warning ahead of it so they can decide if it’s worth the risk.

If anyone proceeds from here and gets offended, that’s 100% their own fault. I care a lot about writing an inclusive series that doesn’t alienate anyone based on race, gender, sexuality, and so on. At the same time, I’m hugely against censorship, so I always welcome fan content even if it’s off-color or I don’t personally agree with what it’s trying to say (barring anything illegal or blatantly hateful towards any group; i.e. glorification of pedophilia or abuse, calls to real-world violence, supporting real-world hate groups, etc. I will never accept that kind of content. If anyone comes in here praising nazi ideaologies or calling for action against LGBT folks, they can fuck right off.)

Readers, you’ve been thoroughly warned.

You can read the other parts here.

CONTENT WARNINGS: This fan content contains scenes of captivity, mental hospitals, depictions of violence, off-color depiction of a transgender individual, and (censored) racial slurs. While reading this, I personally didn’t get the impression that Anon meant any harm. It comes off as goofy, edgy, over-the-top satire to me, like something you’d see in an episode of South Park. Use your best judgement and proceed at your own risk.

(content under cut)

The crew had squatted in an abandoned building on the outskirts of the city that night. They already knew that only humans existed in this world and the reaction that lady had to seeing Elska only compounded the need for stealth. Their only plan right now being find Evan and get back to Gaia. That morning the crew split up, Alaine and Lukus where to continue searching for Evan, Issac and Jeimos where to go shopping, Elska would search the outskirts out of sight and Zeffer would search at night.

Evan was not mad at doctors for keeping him hear. He knew they where just doing their jobs and where concerned for him, since magic, elves and werewolves where fictional to them he understood he looked like a crazy person to them. That didn’t take away from how annoying it was to be trapped here in this stupid hospital. Knowing his crew was out their somewhere he knew he needed to leave and contact them somehow, he needed a escape plan.

He had two plans so far, plan A was to butter up the therapist into letting him go. Behave himself, take his meds, admit Gaia’s not real and say he’s feeling better. Hoping that upon seeing this drastic improvement the therapist will approve his release and he can finally go out and find his friends. Plan B was in case plan A failed. He would bust himself out of here and go on the run. He really didn’t want to hurt anybody, just slip out unnoticed, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy.

Issac and Jeimos wandered around the city streets aimlessly in absolute awe of the sights and sounds all around them. Jeimos was getting more unnerved by not being capable of feeling any magic in their surroundings and was starting to wonder if it was just all the iron nearby or something more? Not being able to read any of the signs around them made trying to find a store to stock up on supplies difficult. Finding a food place with golden arch’s they go their as their first stop.

The pair enter this strange restaurant, the place smelling of grease and fry oil. Theirs quite the line so they just wait, taking a look around and absorbing the experience. They see a lot of interesting people and things from pictures of a clown holding a burger, groups of people on strange devices and messy families eating, an extremely obese man the two mistook for a troll horking down a massive pile of greasy food. Kids running in and out of a indoor jungle gym. This place had it all.

They waited their turn almost at the register, waiting behind a mother and her kids who kept changing her order every three seconds and trying to corral her kids. The cashier, a young man around issacs age but with a tired, dead look in his eyes that made him look as if he’s seen a war zone rang the lady up and ushers our pair to the register, asking in a flat, apathetic voice what they would like to order. Neither of them can read the electronic menu so using the numbers and pictures they order

The disgruntled cashier rang them up, totaling their order up to over $55! Him not being pleased by Jeimos’s constant questions and issac playfully asking for a kids toy. They try to pay, placing some gold coins on the counter. The cashier just looks at the coins then back to them, and, in an even more annoyed voice, told them they only take usd, not foreign currency. Telling them they can either pay in cash or card or just leave, the line was building up behind them and getting restless.

Jeimos trying to salvage this, nervously ask if theirs anything they can work out. Not wanting to have wasted their time. The cashier breaths deeply, saying he’ll get the manager, leaving the counter behind. The people in line are angrily starting at the two, Issac having a ball and Jeimos being highly uncomfortable with all the staring and swearing from them. The cashier returns with a fat, sleezy looking middle age man, presumably the manager. Him asking what’s going on here?

The cashier explains the situation in his most annoyed, apathetic tone with the manager glancing over the two. He repeats what the cashier told them, they only take usd and if they can’t pay then just leave, their clogging up the line. Jeimos try’s to explain this is all they have and is about to give up when Issac speaks up and tells them the coins are solid gold. That catch’s the managers attention, who in a greedy smile picks up the coins to check, seeing yes, their real gold!!!

His greedy smile grows wider and he tells them they can understand work something out! Snatching up the gold coins and apologizing for the inconvenience, talking about his no good employees and starts berating the cashier right in front of them for being “rude and unhelpful” to such fine paying customers! The cashier takes one look at his boss, takes off his hat and apron shoving them into his bosses hands and just says, completely monotone “I quit” and walks out without a second glance.

Meanwhile, Lukus and Alaine where walking down the streets through the massive crowds looking for any sign of Evan. Despite trying to keep a low profile they where gathering a lot of attention, walking through down town in medieval armor and brandishing weapons tends to do that. While walking outside a storefront Alaines eyes are caught by a beautiful blue dress, he being mesmerized by. “Nice cosplay” she hears suddenly from behind, Turing around to see a short, well dressed women behind her.

Alaine jut awkwardly thanks her for the compliment. The women also compliments Alaines scales, believing them to be a make up design for whatever cosplay she’s doing. The women introduces herself as Kimi and ask if she was looking at that dress in the window. Alaine answers yes and now both are both gawking at and gushing over the dresses beauty. Kimi complaining about the ludicrously high price tag but before their conversation can continue Lukus calls back to her, wondering where she is?

Alaine snaps back on into mission mode as Lukus returns. She apologizes to Kimi for leaving and tells her their looking for someone, asking if she’s seen a large blonde man with a metal leg. She says no but wishes them luck on trying to find their friend. The two head off once again search the city streets for Evan and once again have no luck, it didn’t help that a lot of people where stopping them, asking for photos of their “costumes” and asking what characters their dressed as?

After hours of searching and coming up empty handed both where rather hungry. Stopping at a cafe looking place to grab a quick bite. The place smelled of coffee and a sign outside had a picture of a twin tailed mermaid on a green background. As they where waiting in line observing all the weird people around them they saw a familiar face ahead of them, Kimi. She had a coffee in her hands and was thanking the barista but didn’t see them. Neither did she see the weird guy she bumped into.

The guy she bumped into looked ridiculous to Alaine and Lukus, having fluorescent pink cloths, big goofy glasses and a oversized beanie I’ve this colorful hair. The guy yelled at her to watch where she’s going, she apologized but then she said sir. The pair could already sense this guy would be trouble as the moment kimi said “sir” it looked as if the weird guys was about to explode. SIR!!! He screamed, grabbing everyone’s attention, his face beat red and eyes bulging in rage!

To say he exploded on Kimi would be an understatement, he started loudly screaming at her “ did you just misgender me”!!! The screaming got even louder as he started listing off a bunch of gibberish and loudly insulting her, calling her sexist, anti-lgbt, telling to kill herself and die in a hole. His screaming getting more incoherent and seemed to be literally frothing at the mouth. Kimi was just backing away, scared and trying to apologize but the guy just kept screaming over her plea’s.

(Feel like I need to put a trigger warning for this one so here it is. Trigger warning for Lukus and Alaine getting in a fight with ‘that kind’ of trans guy, the kind responsible for all the negative stereotypes about the trans community. And Issac being called a racial slur. You have been warned.)

Alaine and Lukus stepped in to stop this dude from hurting Kimi. He seriously looked like he was about ready to punch her. They stepped in and tried to diffuse the situation, putting themselves between kimi and the angry man. They try to explain to him that how could she have known he wasn’t cis, that’s it’s an honest mistake and to let it slide. That only seemed to pissed him off more as he threw a drink in Alaines face and shoved Lukus in anger, wrong move.

Just as Lukus was winding up a punch Alaine beat him to it, knocking the asshole clean to the floor in a single strike. He went down like a sack of potato’s and was laying out cold. The three just left, taking Kimi and leaving. Alaine was fuming but if she where calmer she would have noticed it was water he threw at her, and would have also noticed she didn’t flop to the floor in her aquatic form, she was too pissed off the notices.

Kimi thanks them for saving her from that crazy guy and try’s frantically to explains to them she’s pro-lgbt, always try’s to respect peoples pronouns and is actually a lesbian herself. They cut her off, she didn’t need to explain herself to them. On the flip side Jeimos and Issac are carrying back their huge bags of fast food back to the groups hideout waiting to hear any news. Issac see’s a downed old man and the street and rushed to help him.

Just as Issac was reaching out to help him the old man swats him away, screaming at him. “Keep your hands off me you filthy N@$$#r”! Heads turn and people stop dead in their tracks in pure shock at what they just heard. Issac and Jeimos had no idea what that weird word meant but it guessing by the crowds reaction, it was really bad. The old man gets himself up and goes off on a racist rant, accusing Issac of trying to steal from him, calling all his “kind” low-life scum and just screams at him.

*

First of all Anon, your depiction of working at a fast food place is a whole-ass mood and I felt it lol. I’m interested to see what role this character Kimi plays! Maybe she has ties to the hospital? Seeing the crew clash with real-world culture is very interesting. I’m enjoying their adventure so far. TO BE CONTINUED…?

[felassan]

Tevinter Nights: Non-Solas major stuff

This is a rundown of the other major stuff in Tevinter Nights; big developments in Thedosian current events and significant new additions to the lore, things which are unrelated to Solas. Not speculation or theorizing, it’s intended as just a broadstrokes short-form report for ease of consumption. Organized into the major factions/groups. (The Solas motherpost is here.) Obvious spoiler warning for the whole book under the cut.

The Qunari and their invasion

The Antaam have invaded the south without the permission of the rest of the Qunari branches. Their efforts are somewhat hampered without the usual support of workers, healers etc. Small things aren’t going well like supply lines and ship repairs. They’re taking many prisoners and enslaving them in work-camps. With no Ben-Hassrath to judge or regulate, they’re intentionally giving mentally-lethal doses of qamek to all captured bas mages. Small doses shackle the mind. Large doses completely break it and leave the recipient effectively lobotomized forever. Ben-Hassrath who investigated this are disappointed in the Antaam, believing they’re not acting in accordance with the Qun and that it’s these actions that are what threaten it. Although fractured and without the Ben-Hassrath the Antaam still have assassins. The Ben-Hassrath have been staying out of the war, remaining neutral on the sidelines. They do not work for hire but can be persuaded. The Antaam are agitating for the Ben-Hassrath to assist openly but they are remaining officially neutral and trying to blunt the Antaam’s strike. There’s also a new Darvaarad. Because the last one’s walls were ineffective (lol), this one is a ship; they want to keep it moving with speed and secrecy instead of fortifications. 

The invasion passes Ventus and moves into Rivain. Many Tevinter relics were uncovered and sent rolling thanks to the Antaam chaos in the north. The Antaam kicked up all sorts of ancient, dangerous objects. Many women and children have been injured in the northern battles between Tevinter and the Antaam and several makeshift hospitals have sprung up. The invasion has the southern nations on edge. It also seems to be a certainty that they’re going to invade Antiva (see below in the section about Antiva and the Crows). The southerners assumed lack of workers and priests would hobble the Antaam but they were wrong, those Qunari would have been a moderating influence. We’re told that in Tevinter the Antaam have crushed the Vint opposition in the east and that it’s possible everything east of Vyrantium will be under their control inside a year, and northern Antiva as well. Some Ben-Hassrath infiltrated the Archon’s palace to steal an artifact. Interestingly at one point some Antaam led by Rasaan appears and she refers to them as “her” Antaam. Attention is drawn to this.

The Dalish

Some intrepid Dalish elves snuck into Ventus as it fell to steal info about the Qunari’s invasion plans. They succeed and dispatch a messenger to warn the clans in/beyond Rivain before the Qunari land there. We learn a new clan name, Oranavra. This clan sell their goods. At one point recently a group of them - a family - were wiped out by Vint soldiers on the order of a Magister. The clan saved up money and hire a Crow to kill those involved. The Crow succeeds. The Magister had also stolen an ironbark halla from the clan, which was a symbol of Ghilan’nain. The clan don’t remember how they came to own it, but they believed that as long as they kept it safe, the goddess would protect them and guide them to new fertile lands to grow food, areas to hunt and beautiful lands in which to raise their children. The Crow they hire has a helper whose uncle is in the clan - the Crow is the helper’s mistress and his cousins are Dalish. Tevinter soldiers, it seems, regularly scour the countryside for Dalish to drive away/eradicate. Some have truly horrendous views concerning them.

The Executors

An Executor appears at a meeting with Carta, Mortalitasi and Inquisition. It speaks in italics. For their opinions on and interactions with Solas, go to the Solas post. It’s unclear whether it’s male, female or other, or young or old. It’s covered head to toe in leather gloves and dark robes of Vyrantium samite with a thin mesh covering the face. Underneath the hood it’s featureless black. The robes are trimmed in an unknown pattern. It doesn’t appear to drink. A faint whiff of the ocean and something beyond it comes from its robes. Its voice is less a voice than the idea of a voice, rendered acceptably but no more. Its words carry a weight that made a drink ripple. At one point it comments another char stinks of lies and fear. It’s not clear if it is a mage or not.

The Wardens and darkspawn

The Wardens have discovered a new kind of darkspawn in Hormok Thaig which is ancient and below a mountain near a Nevarran forest. Some have extra heads and limbs or the wrong parts attached, like a genlock with a hurlock head. Others have weird parts like avian skulls, scorpion tails, wings, snake heads for fists. They’re also strangely cunning. In the same place the Wardens also discovered twisted grotesqueries like a halla with a serpent’s maw and varterral legs and a giant centipede creature whose ‘head’ is the fucked up fused torso of a missing Warden. The creature refers to a “she” and “her”. The origin of all this stuff is a big pool of gross gray liquid. Above a huge lyrium crystal is suspended glowing green. Streams of energy flow from it into the pool. Darkspawn walk in, the water flows round them and when the cocoon shatters another fucked up darkspawn comes out. The pool also changes people who drink from it, like the lost Warden was forced to do. This is an army, but not of darkspawn, of something worse. This stuff is going on under 11 other mountains too.

Recently a summons has called available Wardens to Weisshaupt Fortress.

Nevarra and the Mortalitasi

Every mage in Nevarra is part of the Mortalitasi. They are a group that train the gifted in the mysteries of magic and serve as Nevarra’s arcane protectors and priests. They believe that when someone dies a spirit is pushed out of the Fade into our world. In exchange they invite those spirits to inhabit the empty bodies left behind. This is common orthodoxy for the Nevarran populace. Nevarrans believe the Grand Necropolis is a fitting resting place for the bodies of all good souls who go to the Maker. Mortalitasi spend most of their time in or around the Necropolis. They rarely go into Nevarra City unless tending to a death. Mortalitasi raise spirits in the dead to do menial chores for them. Other spirits give consent to inhabit the dead and work for the death mages in roles such as librarians. The Mortalitasi have a branch called the Mourn Watch, a select group within and an old fraternity. Watchers’ jobs are to serve as elite guardians, keepers of the Necropolis. They have absolute authority over funerary dead. They assist both the dead and the living and help confused/unbalanced spirits resolve themselves, dealing with magic gone awry. Another sect is the Guides of the Path who shepherd the corpses. Yet another sect are described as the “truest” mages as they bind spirits and the Fade and in doing so can bend the world beneath to their will. A bunch of Nevarrans think the Mortalitasi were sent to save the kingdom from civil war. Another bunch of them think they do “secret rituals” and “mind-control experiments”. Many Nevarrans have great respect for the Mortalitasi. Prior lore suggested the Mortalitasi rule through influencing the King, whose mind is weak. This is confirmed. They rule the king with a small investment of time and through him rule others. This is in contrast to Tevinter Magisters who rule directly. 

The Necropolis is full of weird and wonderful shit and has amazing bewildering architecture. Public gardens, trees in sunless tunnels, ornate carvings, open-air mausoleums, walking dead, uncatalogued dead-creature things, streams. Flowering Gates, a bridge made of giants’ bones, a maze of mirrors, spacious tombs, exotic terrors. Its lower halls are not always in the same place at the same time. Some parts of it are forbidden even to the dead. Some parts are very old, even to the Tower Age. 

In Nevarra the royal families have tumultuous histories and ever-changing status in the King’s court. There’s currently so much tension between the Nevarran royal families that it wouldn’t take much to tip the whole country into chaos. At present, the centuries-old feud between the Van Markhams and the Pentaghasts is the most imporant thing going on to most Nevarrans. When the King dies with no successor, the Markham-Pentaghast conflict will probably become more than just a squabble over the heir in spirited discussions behind closed doors. They might drag their war into the streets. Some nobles are worried that the empty throne might prompt Mortalitasi to slither into it. Other noble houses are doing what they can to increase their current standing in the court also, including assassinating rivals. We come across one plot where a noble wanted to take down the Mortalitasi, and a Mortalitasi who thinks it’s time for them to intervene and step in to rule the country directly.

New spirit lore: complex/’complete’ entities in Cole-like situations are rare. Some Mortalitasi argue these ‘higher dead’ still have their mortal souls. Others say this is impossible and that these entities are actually caught between 2 opposing spirits e.g. anger and curiosity. Whatever the case they are unbalanced.

Elfy stuff

Arlathan Forest is full of old and powerful spirits. It’s also home to rare entities known as forest guardians, which are large quadrupedal structures made out of wood, stone, runes and lyrium. They have two lethal blade arms which they swing around in combat and may be powered by magic, but it is not clear. They are not usually hostile to elves in the forest but are shown responding aggressively to hostile Qunari.

Ghilan’nain is implicated historically in fucked up monster shit (see the Wardens section). Elven bas-reliefs and carvings are found which are eerie and disquieting and show elves with prison-ship aravels and insectile halla carting victims to what are essentially fucked-up-experiment-dungeons in mountains; elven mages doing horrid things; and contemptuous elven rulers over their terrified subjects. There’s also a repeating painting showing a person/supplicant, a priestess/queen and a monster. Each time it repeats the person and monster change and the priestess looks crueler. This painting appears to be OF elves, but IN dwarven style (done by dwarves). Curious.

Tevinter and the Venatori

There’s now an anti-slavery movement in Tevinter. Tevinter has a less than cordial relationship with Rivain. We meet a Tevinter mage who is a thief and one who is a private investigator. Tevinter is full of advanced magical marvels like floating buildings and barman-less bars, and magic use there is so common-place that defective magical lightning flasks (for example) are even just thrown out into the gutter. We hear of one mage healer who could attach a severed hand. There are chemist mages. One mage tried to perform a ritual to influence and direct the Fade against the Antaam so that demons, spirits and dreams would urge them back north. This was supposed to weaken the Qunari resolve and crumble the invasion, but he fails. Livius Erimond’s sister is involved in the Venatori (racist blood mages!). One especially effed up high-ranking Venatori has been using red lyrium to do horrid experiments on slaves to create ‘art’. This guy was in possession of one of the ancient elven artifacts that strengthen the Veil and is such a supremacist that he gets super triggered when he even hears a foreign language being spoken.

Corypheus wanted Tevinter reborn. He trusted Minrathous to be the jewel of his new world. He planned to return there after his victory in the south. After the fall of Cory, the Venatori cult lost its bite. A good number of cultists, who never admitted they were Venatori in the first place, distanced themselves from the whole affair. That doesn’t stop remaining loyalist fanatics from acting delusional and stirring up trouble. Some Venatori recruit others by saying they will end slavery. There are Venatori street prophets who try to spread the good word. It’s noted that it’s not illegal to be a cultist. Venatori believe that Tevinter was once glorious and is a lot shitter now, and want to rectify that, even though the old empire was even more corrupt and heartless than the present day. Some believe that Cory’s machinations live on in them. They think their gods would see them lifted and believe in their veins runs true Vint blood passed down from the dreamers. They still want to enter the Black City. They think Minrathous has lost its way and would give their lives for the glory of Tevinter reborn. The Loyal believe Cory’s fall is a test.

There are ancient Catacombs beneath Minrathous, old as the city itself, officially for storage in case of seige. Unofficially they hold many shady corners, forgotten places, and dark secrets. Weird pendants start turning up in the city. They are seals, round clay discs seated in polished black shell on gold chains. A long, thin 4-winged dragon is etched on the front, rising from a dark sea. They have blood magic enchantments on them and there’s 8 of them. There’s a man who looks at objects people don’t want others to know about. He realizes a pendant is blood magic but he says he hasn’t seen blood magic like this since Cory. This makes him scared and he clams up and refuses to study it any further, throwing the POV char out. It turns out the Venatori have been doing expeditions beneath Minrathous looking for a specific cave. The cave is hidden in the Catacombs and contains a trapped demon sealed beneath the city. The Venatori want to release it and have been unfolding the seal enchantments so they snap. They refer to the demon’s coming as “The Hour [of Minrathous’ return]”. Demon probably isn’t even the right word, it’s not like any demon Minrathous has fought before, and it’s something only a god or godlike figure could summon. It seems like the plan was originally for Cory to release it and then he could rebuild Tevinter. Then if Minrathous wasn’t ready to kneel, the demon would have made sure it did. Even though Cory is gone the Venatori wanted to proceed with this. Apparently releasing it will kill most of Minrathous and destroy the city.

About 30 Venatori attempt the release ritual, which involves blood magic sacrifice and a stone obelisk. There’s a strange sick buzzing in peoples’ heads and an “expansive need for emptiness” pervades the area. A formless shadow beneath moves at odds with the lights that cast it. The demon is described as “the edge of something deeper”. If it’s a demon at all, it’s older and larger and more nameless than any demon regular folk have heard of and so much worse. It’s implied the ‘demon’ doesn’t care about Minrathous/Tevinter glory and that the Venatori wouldn’t be able to control it. At one point someone stumbles into the shadow, it wraps around his wrists, he convulses and his body sinks into it. The Venatori’s attempt to release the thing is foiled and it’s sealed. Nobody talks about it because doing so admits the Venatori still have too much power. Some Venatori will face their crimes, others will claim they’re victims of blood-magic control, especially those with money. Sounds to me like the demon was maybe the Formless One, of the Forbidden Ones. Possibly a Forgotten One, remember the lore suggests a link between the 2 groups (Band of Three). Or maybe even a remaining old god, why is the seal pattern a weird 4-winged dragon? But the Formless One seems like the most likely candidate given the way it’s described and considering that it’s the only one of the Forbidden Ones left for us to encounter.

Tevinter Templars

The templars in Tevinter, unlike the rest of the world, lack the ability to stop magic. They’re only guards with fancy equipment doused in lyrium, often armed with swords or maces. It gives them chips the size of trees on their shoulders, and probably explains their surliness. They’re basically cops in shiny metal armor. A Tevinter mage in one bit wonders if the Tevinter templars could prove they’re worth the Chantry’s levies and hunt a monster plaguing Minrathous. Some mages think they’re useless. In Tevinter, templars only act when magic is used outside the law, except in special cases where a bribe makes it special or the mage-based justicars step in. If a job doesn’t need justicar attention or the templars want to consult a mage without being walked all over, they hire outside assistance like from PIs. Some of their offices/buildings seem cramped, it seems they’re not held in high respects by the Circles and aren’t allocated lots of resources. They have enchanted weapons made of Fade-touched metal and marked with the Circle’s seal designed to subdue mages, but in order to keep the mages happy they aren’t always allowed access to them. The weapons are assigned for specific and approved circumstances only. These weapons can shoots beam of light.

Antiva and the Crows

We meet old Crows who are still active in the field. Some of the Crow leaders are also old. The Crows are known for usually putting on a show and being bird-masked, ornate, flashy and jester-motley. The Crows are mostly heroes in Antiva. Antivans tend to romanticize them as freedom fighters. In the Towers Age they were hired to kill the top templars in retribution for them enacting the Right of Annulment and covering up the slaughter. Crows’ tattoos mark which house they belong to.

We learn the identities and names of the Eight Talons - a mix of men and women, old and young, humans and elves - and the names of the 8 houses. One of them is a bastard son of the Antivan king (his illegitimate children are given the choice of joining the Crows or living a life of luxury in exile). He sometimes briefs his father on Crow business. Another Talon is a lyrium addict. At 28 another is an elven woman who is the youngest Talon in history - to her, the Crows are family. There are various romantic entanglements and associated jealousies between some of the Talons. Between them on the business side of things are various plots, intrigues, deals, maneuvers for position etc. Houses can gain and lose ground/standing. Some of the Talons have rules like don’t kill the help/servants, unless they’re guilty. Rarely do the Talons meet in 1 location but a summit was called by the First Talon because the Qunari invasion has left them with no choice. Without an army, Antiva’s only line of defense is the Crows. If the Qunari attack, the Talons need to be a united front. The Talons attend the summit to plot a course of action and discuss the security of Antiva. Two of the Talons have recently run a lot of contracts together in Qunari-occupied Ventus and seen the dangers of the Qun first hand. They believe that if they present a united front between their houses, it will be easier to sway the other houses into an alliance. The Crows are also worried that if Vints and Qunari wipe each other out it will be bad for their business.

They know the Qunari will not just be satisfied with Tevinter. The Qunari invaded northern Antiva 200 years ago and that part of the country still bears the scars of this. The Talon of Arainai is an elf woman called Guili. She doesn’t often stand up to the others because her House lost face when Zevran failed the contract on the HoF’s life. Her position is still precarious after a long bloody battle back to the top. Crow Houses are sometimes referred to as “families”, sounding mafia-esque. Talons are supposed to be untouchable but at the summit several of them are assassinated one after the other. Antivan Crows don’t run so they stay to solve the crime. One Crow trick is an influencer serum that causes a warm feeling in a person and makes them feel safe, that they can say or do anything. It turns out 2 of the other Talons were engaged in secret (kept secret from the First Talon) to make an alliance between their houses. The First Talon would have never approved of this because united they could have overruled her, and they didn’t want to go to war against the Qunari. Before houses, masks and tattoos Crows were monks near Treviso. They poisoned a duke who was terrorizing a village. They were a group of individuals who did what was needed to be done to protect the Antivan people. Over the years, they’ve lost sight of that. Now, it’s all about family and blood instead of being a claw working as one.

It turns out one of the Talons had plotted to kill the others at the summit. They catch him out before he can complete the lot and assume he did it for money. He says he didn’t and disparages that it’s always about money for the Crows now, when in the beginning they were protectors who fought for Antiva, for the people. He feels they’ve chosen profit over patriotism somewhere along the way. The Qunari approached him and said if he killed the other 7 Talons their invasion of Antiva would be peaceful and the Antivans could keep their way of life without submitting to the Qun. He believed them because he believes Qunari honorable. One of the Talons who saw Ventus says there was no honor there. The guilty party says he made the deal so it would be different here. The First Talon asserts he made the deal to be the only house left, so he wouldn’t have anymore annoying contract-sharing or territorial disputes. He says that under one Talon at least they could stop squabbling and get things done and that Crows are nothing more than glorified mercs now. One of the Talons who was in Ventus says they do have standards and that he’s beneath them. They kill him. (There is also a reference to a former ninth house that used to exist and no longer does due to the ruthless First Talon.)

Now with half her Talons dead, Antiva is more vulnerable than ever. The remaining Talons settle in to come up with a plan to protect Antiva, knowing that the Qunari invasion of Antiva is now not an ‘if’ but a ‘when’. They want to be ready for any eventuality. The Qunari have struck a mighty first blow killing so many Talons but failed to finish the job, which is a fatal error. The remaining Talons inform the heirs to the now-empty Talon positions of what’s occurred and hope they’ll join their cause. The remaining Talons resolve that the Qunari will regret this and to show all of Thedas why no one messes with the Antivan Crows.

Elsewhere, someone mysterious has contracted the Crows to kill a bunch of prominent Venatori, 9 so far. Some of the Venatori are scared, particularly of a notorious Crow known as “the Demon”, who has been doing a lot of these contracts. He’s the great Lucanis Dellamorte, grandson of the First Talon. His cousin Illario is also a Crow. Lucanis is the rumored favorite to be heir to his house, but he doesn’t want it. The Venatori say they won’t cower to foreign mercenaries like the Crows. It’s implied the mysterious Crow-hirer/anonymous client is connected to elves as they gave the cousins info about a magical secret passage inside a statue of a vhenadahl to help them on their way. The passage is lit with veilfire and guarded by an elf in a scarlet coat who seems to be a mage. Lucanis knows some things about demons and the supernatural, and can tell when the Veil is thin. He’s somewhat sympathetic to elves/the downtrodden and has a sense of justice/morals despite being a Crow and gruff. He releases a bunch of elven slaves on a job and gets them to safety, his cousin chiding him that Crows aren’t revolutionaries. Lucanis thinks death is his calling and doesn’t want to quit. He is going to kill a bunch of other Venatori, and enjoys killing racist evil blood-mage supremacists for top dollar, but they now know he has a heart and plot to exploit his weaknesses.

The Fifth and Seventh Talons first appeared in the comic Dragon Age: Deception.

The Lords of Fortune

A new addition to the lore, Lords “beholden to Fortune”. They are a famed Rivaini guild of treasure hunters, dungeoneers and glory-seekers - roguish daring lucky scoundrels that live thrilling lives essentially, a level above ordinary thieves. The guild contains members of different races and genders. Members of all genders are “Lords”. Indiana Jones-esque, they take jobs and travel all over the world stealing and adventuring, and “specialize in pulling gems from the eyes of statues” from places like lost temples, dealing with ancient curses and resurrected beasts along the way. They’re the best treasure hunters in the world and in Rivain stories are told of their exploits. For an added cost they lead and protect/guard the softer people who hire them to do so on the expeditions. They usually wear colorful sashes, capes, pants, shirts, belts, scarves, charms, gold jewelry, ancient coins, trinkets they’ve found and trophies of their exploits - this is the the right and privilege of any Lord of Fortune that lasts a year or two. This practise is described as “wearing their expertise”. They also do things like infiltrating buildings and retrieving artifacts from rich collectors or which were stolen. They do jobs for a cut or to sell onto others. Some seem to pickpocket and take contracts killing monsters. Sometimes they operate in pairs or crews. They seem to put stock in ‘spending’ luck and in what ‘hand of cards’ they think they’ve recently been dealt. It seems like they’re known for usually completing their jobs with a flair for the dramatic/causing clamor. Many individual Lords seem to have different specialties and how they do their jobs differs for all of them. Some Lords steal an artifact from Starkhaven to sell to Vaea. (the Inquisition therefore have contact with the LoFs) It’s a big red amulet with great healing properties. it also seems to have anti-aging effects. It doesn’t work on the dead though. It seems like people from other countries can also join the LoFs.

Named Lords are ‘Hollix’, Elim, Bharv, Herold and Mateo. ‘Hollix’ (a pseudonym) is genderfluid/nonbinary or similar and a master of disguise; clothes, makeup, wigs, vocal changes, different genders, even different species i.e. human, elf etc. They are a former circus acrobat and use a saber and smoke pellets. Bharv is a dwarf nearing retirement with 4 daughters, whose specialty is escapes and exit strategies. He lives on a farm in Rivain. His friend Herold was also a Lord. Herold was a friend of Vaea. A little girl Mizzy is remarked to act like a LoF in the making. Elim was a female elf with a gift for imitating accents, knowing 12 or more. Within the Lords she was a renowned specialist at things like lockpicking. Mateo is a ‘delver’, which seems to mean an expert in underground things. He has an appreciation for history and is described as a warrior. His weapon is a dao. 

The aftermath of the Inquisition

After the Inquisition defeated Cory, “10,000″, a deliberately-inflated-to-be-alarming guess of how many soldiers, assassins, diplomats and others the Inquisitor had amassed, floated around. Nobility thought the Inquisition was a massive, destabilizing militia with allegiance to an ideal, not borders, and feared this. They were worried what this big force would become if controlled by a lesser hand. Sutherland and Co sometimes still carry out tasks relating to the Inquisition. Sutherland and Co were dispatched to Skyhold to deal with a demon that appeared there. Sutherland however suspects they were really sent there to fail and disappear during the effort; to confirm Skyhold was a problem and give officials license to permanently erase the Inquisition’s legacy. Sutherland and Co were perfect candidates for this because they’re loyal/true enough to be discreet but small enough to disappear. (That doesn’t happen though, they suceed).

For info on what the actual remains of the Inquisition have been and are currently doing, see the Solas post.

What became of Skyhold

Skyhold valley is abandoned now, spotted with the stones of dead fires of the many who once gathered there. The fortress itself was left only with a skeleton crew of caretakers, a permanent staff of 7. Ten other people were in the supply caravan. The main caretaker was carefully chosen, a Chantry brother with distant family and an unremarkable name, who welcomed long pilgrimages and repetitive but important work. After the Inquisition downsized or disbanded, Skyhold itself posed a unique problem. Too symbolic to be razed, too fortified to be left for just anyone to claim. It was eventually decided Skyhold would be shuttered, preserved but defanged, a distant beacon so all would remember the Inquisitor’s deeds. Many departing Inquisition recruits took a keepsake with them when they departed, to remember the place that so completely changed their lives. Officials promised the Inquisition would fade away. “If there was doubt, if lingering assets proved troublesome, fear and fighting over its legacy would resume. Skyhold had to be boring and safe.” It’s now set up almost like an exhibit, just with no visitors coming. Everything is monkish-ly clean, the remaining furniture is arranged like they’re in a display and people are still using them. What seems to be a commemorative plaque is put up commending the efforts of the Inquisition members both large and small, and wishing them well in the future.

Dorian, Mae and their efforts in Tevinter

Dorian’s House no longer has slaves and now only employs paid servants, a change he says he’s ashamed to have only made recently. Someone he met in the south, obviously Inky, changed his mind on the matter. He’s one of the few mages of his station to do this. Dorian and Mae are on the outs with most of the rest of the Magisterium because of their efforts to make it better/enact change. The state of the Magisterium makes Dorian raggedly depressed. He and Mae’s duty to their country that they feel means they have to be well-informed. Lately the foul political rumblings in the Magisterium mean they’ve had to spend all their time keeping their eyes on scoundrels. They are trying to win a few of them over. It’s been slow but they’re giving them a chance to prove they’re not complete fools. They also do things like posting flyers with rewards to get monster-hunters to kill monsters that are plaguing Minrathous. They’re so busy crusading for change that they don’t have time to hunt them themselves. Dorian and Mae want to show that not all Vints are heartless and don’t like the idea of bad things in their city. They hire a Lord of Fortune to kill a monster in the city. At one point House Pavus hired expert thieves to break into the Archon’s Palace but the thieves didn’t manage to succeed.

----------

We also get updates on what’s become of some minor chars and some insights into the backgrounds of some minor chars.

Give me a shout if you have any questions/desires for clarification/further stuff you wanna know.

[metalandmagi]

December End of the Year Media Madness!

It’s a new month and a new year! And what a crazy month it was what with Tumblr imploding and all. But I’ll still throw this on here just because I’ll be on this site until it literally boots me out. But I do have a twitter now…@metalandmagi where I’m also barely active at all.

Anyway, why make top 10 lists for the entire year when I can just ramble about all the media I consumed this month? There’s only a marginal amount of holiday things on here by my standards!

November media

Movies!

Give me some credit there’s only four Christmas movies on here.

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?: A documentary about Mr. Rogers starting with the birth of the television show to his death. This is the fluffiest most heartwarming thing I could have possibly picked to watch on Christmas, and I encourage everyone, even people who hate documentaries and/or never grew up with Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, to watch it. There’s a lot of important messages about acceptance, dealing with tragedy, and mental health that people can learn from and feel good about. Not to mention how he completely revolutionized children’s television. So yeah, he was awesome.10/10

Spider-man Into the Spider-verse: When a rip between dimensions is opened, a bunch of different spider themed superheroes from every comic fan’s wet dreams all get together to close it. Guys I’m not that big of a Spider-man fan, but dang this movie was a ton of fun. I came for the amazing visual effects and stayed for the amazing...everything else. The music, the performances, and the story were all top notch. Also I now have a new favorite Nick Cage role. If you thought the trailer made the animation look interesting, it was just the tip of the iceberg because it is the most visually interesting movie I’ve seen in the last three years. I strongly suggest any fan of animation...or even any fan of great stories and movies in general go see it even if you’re not that big on Spider-Man. Now I’m demanding a Spider-verse Aunt May movie because I have so many questions! And the post credits scene was the best out of any Marvel movie. Period. 10,000/10

The Wiz (2015 musical): I should start making a section for musicals or plays instead of just lumping it in with the movies. It’s the Wizard of Oz...but cool. I’ve never seen any iteration of The Wiz and it seems like I’m constantly hearing about it. So I watched the 2015 version of the 1975 Broadway musical that NBC aired. And yeah it’s good. There were some great performances. But I wasn’t very impressed with the songs themselves, and it’s not really the same without a dog along for the ride, but whatever. 7.5/10

Jumanji Welcome to the Jungle: The surprisingly fun reboot/sequel thing of Jumanji where four teenagers get stuck in a video game that follows every “stuck in a video game” trope you can imagine but actually does it well. It’s a sweet, funny romp through the jungle with some great comedic performances. I really don’t have much to say about it except that this movie is better than it has any right to be. 8/10

The Christmas Chronicles: Two children stow away on Kurt Russell’s, I mean Santa’s sleigh and go on a dangerous, balls to the wall adventure throughout Chicago trying to save Christmas or something. After everyone started talking about how crazy this Netflix movie is I had to watch it to verify if it is indeed as wild as they said. And yes...yes it is. It is so laughably ridiculous and questionable that it’s impossible to actually hate. The elves are some unholy mixture of minions and gremlins, one of the children is a literal felon that no one is concerned about, and Kurt Russell is super into the role but has some sort of thing about fat-shaming Santa. I just...have so many questions! But it was certainly a trip, so I’d have to recommend it just so you too can witness the insanity. -10 “savvy, straight-talking St. Nicks”/10

Arthur Christmas: No, it’s not a Christmas special related to the aardvark cartoon! This is the 2011 animated movie that no one remembers exists. Santa’s clumsy but enthusiastic son Arthur must deliver a forgotten present in less than two hours while the rest of his family deals with some Arrested Development style family drama. This is by far the most underrated Christmas movie of all time; even I didn’t realize it was actually good until I watched it for the first time in 2016! The fun road-trip style plot and the entertaining characters were victims of bad marketing. Arthur is hilariously endearing, and there was so much heart and effort put into it that I can find new things to notice every time I watch it. Not to mention the amazingly animated opening spy sequence! And also Mrs. Claus is secretly a total badass and Bryony the elf is the coolest female character in a Christmas movie ever. The movie’s message of old vs new is nothing we haven’t seen before, but I really don’t care because at the heart of it all, it’s about making people happy on Christmas. If you’re like me and just assumed this movie would suck...or didn’t know it exists, please give it a chance. It’s not perfect, but it’s worth seeing. 9/10

Neo Yokio Pink Christmas: Yes, it’s the Christmas special for Neo Yokio. No I cannot accurately describe it with mere words. There’s a rich bachelor gift exchange, demon possession, and pompous French aunts slinging insults at each other. It is unironically my favorite holiday episode of a show ever, and to me it’s the best Christmas special ever made. I thought I was prepared for the absolute bat-shit ride I would go on, but no...I wasn’t even close. At this point I don’t know if it’s written like this on purpose or if some divine twist of fate made the executives believe this is truly brilliant television. Either way, it is a masterpiece in its own right. There’s even a somewhat intriguing plot and a message about gift giving and capitalism under all the crazy! If you haven’t jumped down the rabbit hole yet, I implore you to watch the insanity that is Neo Yokio and follow it up with Pink Christmas because it will truly make your holiday season. 100,000 demon DNA drugs out of 100,000!

Die Hard: Nothing says Christmas like terrorists taking over a skyscraper and Bruce Willis having to take them all down by himself. Yeah...so I’ve never seen Die Hard before, but this is one of those movies that is so famous that I felt like I’d already absorbed everything important through cultural osmosis. And even though it’s pretty good, I would have liked it better if I didn’t know what was going to happen. My only real complaint is that I think it goes on way too long. More than anything it just made me sad to remember that Alan Rickman is gone. And it bothers me so much that John McClane goes through this building that’s under construction WITHOUT SHOES! 8/10

Books!

The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis: The 4th/6th book in the Chronicles of Narnia, in which Eustace Scrubb and his classmate Jill Pole go to the underworld to find King Caspian’s long lost son. Even though my children- the Pevensies aren’t in it, I actually think this book is my favorite of the series so far. Jill and Eustace are both sassy enough to play off each other, Puddleglum absolutely hilarious, and the book actually has a clear cut plot! It reads much more like a Greek myth than a children’s fairy tale since there aren’t nearly as many of Lewis’s trademark author interjections, and you know...it’s a literal journey to the underworld. And can I just say that it’s super refreshing to have an author write two main characters WITH ZERO ROMANTIC INTENTIONS! Especially since they’re freaking children! Now I just wish Disney had continued the movies even more! 9/10

Queen of Air and Darkness by Cassandra Clare: I’m going to do this with only minor spoilers. It’s the final book in The Dark Artifices trilogy. Will Emma and Julian break the parabatai bond? Will the reflection of the modern day American government- I mean the Cohort/ the Clave fuck up the relationships between Shadowhunters and Downworlders forever? You’ll have to suffer like the rest of us to find out! In my opinion, 99% of this book is amazing, but in the last 50 pages there are some...bullshit ways of solving problems. Like everything that went down with the Cohort in Idris. Not to mention we’ve been so invested in the parabatai curse and how Julian and Emma’s bond would go down and...let’s just say the resolution was way too easy. And if you thought Clare’s other finales were jam packed, you ain't seen nothin’ yet. My copy is 880 pages and there was still more stuff that I wanted to happen...like any sort of scene between Dru and Ash...or an ending between Kit and Ty that doesn’t make me want to cry (the Wicked Powers is going to be brutal). But the rest of that 99% is mind-blowing! There’s so much good I can say that it mostly outranks anything I didn’t like...I mean we finally got a Malec wedding and a proper polyamorous relationship for the Angel’s sake! It may be my least favorite of her finales by default but it was still a fun ride! 9/10

TV shows!

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018): An elite soldier finds a sword that can transform her into a super buff magical girl who helps princesses take down the forces of evil. It’s a reboot of the 1980s cartoon, and holy crap it’s AMAZING! I have a whole new group of children to adopt, each episode is entertaining in its own way, and there’s so...many...good...ships! And it gives Steven Universe a run for its money with the care that went into making every character a different kind of warrior, which I love because the cast is 99% female. My only real complaint is that I never warmed up to Catra because she wasn’t particularly sympathetic to me from the beginning. But I understand why some people love her. If you love well crafted adventurous character driven cartoons and haven’t watched it yet WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?  10/10

Nailed It Holiday: Yes, my favorite baking show (and by that I mean the only baking show I watch) has a holiday season out on Netflix, in which newbie bakers are tasked with making incredibly professional desserts with a very short time limit. And whoever makes the best treat gets 10,000 dollars. I’ve talked about this show before in my June media madness, and I don’t know what it is but I’m so addicted to it. 10/10

Brooklyn nine-nine (season 5): Come on we all know the cop sitcom. It’s the best sitcom. Just in general it’s the best. Great characters that subvert expectations, great humor, and a lot of heart. I’ve known that this show is supposed to be amazing for years, but I only started watching it a few months ago. And since I couldn’t find season 5 anywhere...I got a Hulu subscription just to watch it before season 6 comes out. That’s how good this show is. 10/10

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (season 2): Our favorite underdog comedian is back, and she’s slowly gaining popularity and doing...stuff. Like going on tour. And hanging out with Zachary Levi. Yes, this season is great, but my problem with this series is that every character aside from Midge and Susie are the fucking worst, especially the parents. Midge’s parents suck, Joel’s parents suck, Midge and Joel are appropriately neglectful parents for the time period...I could go on. And it’s not even in a funny way; like it’s just disgusting to watch these power dynamics. Not to mention how old the comedic bits for the parents get (how many times can we hear about Joel needing to date or Midge needing to get married?!) Yes, I realize that we’re supposed to be annoyed AND YES I realize that this is a product of culture and how society was, but none of the parents have any redeeming qualities. In episode one, we’re led to believe that Midge’s parents will grow and change through the season and they never do! At least there are moments where Joel can kind of be redeeming and expand on his actual character before he reverts back to being an asshole. Anyway, my thoughts are pretty much the same as the first season. It’s funny and interesting to watch, but it can be ridiculously frustrating when you hate almost all the characters!  8/10

Fuller House (season 4): Yes I do watch the ridiculous Netflix reboot of Full House. And yes, it is absolutely terrible! I really really hate it! But will I stop watching it? Let’s just say you can pry this pile of garbage from my cold dead hands. I don’t know if I’d call this a guilty pleasure or a hate watch type of show... it’s certainly not so bad it’s good territory like Neo Yokio...but Full House was pretty much my entire childhood. And yes, the original show is also not great. I loved it as a kid, and it was my first real exposure to a non-traditional family in live action, but yeah it doesn’t age well. What I’m trying to say is...I have no good reason for watching this.

I don’t mean to say that there’s nothing good about it, especially this season. They really back off on the more cringe-worthy catch phrases, Stephanie being aware of how stupid the writing is and constantly pointing it out is actually funny, their Christmas episode was surprisingly genuine, and they impressed me by actually make two female characters try and work through their difficulties instead of pitting them against each other for laughs. It has its moments, just like the original but definitely not enough to make up for the worst of it. Maybe this generation of children will like it the way lots of my generation used to like Full House...but yeah it’s awful, I hate it so much. -1 missing Tanner child out of 3

Voltron Legendary Defender (season 8) SPOILERS: It’s the final season of Netflix’s Voltron, and boy it was...something. I didn’t want to make this a big rant/defense of the show...but I feel like I have to highlight some things because this fandom is a shithole that refuses to see the good in anything.

There is so much good and so much...not good I can say about it, so here’s a couple things. I know this show didn’t go the direction anyone wanted, but that doesn’t make it bad. In addition to the stunning fight scenes and music, the performances this season were just amazing! I literally wanted to cry every other episode even though sometimes I didn’t know why the fuck something was happening. I don’t know how I feel about Honerva’s plan. I understand her motivation, but I was constantly questioning how we got from point A to point B... so yeah the plot and writing could be...weird at times. Also everyone seemed to have super pointy chins this season...

Spoiler alert: Not many of us wanted Lance and Allura to happen, but I truly believe it wasn’t done in a half assed way. At the very least, I appreciate that they had a genuine bond that developed over so many seasons. BECAUSE YES IT DID! Anyone who says they had no development or that it felt forced never paid attention. I wanted it to stay platonic; I wanted Klance to happen, but...I can’t be too mad at the writers because they at least tried. I still believe that Klance was endgame and the creators were forced to change the outcome of the show later on. AND YES LANCE DID GET A CHARACTER ARC! It may not have been the one we wanted to see, but I’m baffled that people think Lance living with his family, surrounded by people he loves-which is what he wanted all along- is not a happy ending. I just wish his relationship with Keith wasn’t pretty much ignored all season. But I believe Allura is his past that taught him to genuinely love and Keith is his future who will make Lance his “first choice”. And I’m not even gonna try to explain how I feel about Shiro and Allura’s endings because everything I feel is so complicated and layered. There is good and there is bad.

TLDR: This show teaches us that we’re stronger together, and I think the “fandom” completely missed the point because they do nothing but tear others down and refuse to look at things from other perspectives. YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO NOT LIKE IT, BUT YOU DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT TO TAKE AWAY OTHER PEOPLE’S ENJOYMENT AND BE A DICK ABOUT IT. It may not have been everything I wanted, but I’m glad I went on this ride. Besides, there are canonically infinite realities so there’s got to be a reality where all your dreams for the show come true. As a season, I’d say it’s a 7.5/10.

Honorable Mentions

I watched Avengers: Infinity War again. And yes it’s still great.

I’m watching Superstore because when another sitcom comes on before The Good Place, why not? Also since I finished season 5 of Brooklyn 99 I had to use my Hulu subscription for something.

Camp Camp has a holiday episode...so naturally I watched it...several times. Please watch Camp Camp.

Hellsing Ultimate Abridged finally ended, and I feel obligated to shout this out because, hey when you put out one episode a year it’s a big accomplishment to finish it!

Super Smash Bros Ultimate is finally here!!!!!!!!!!!

ALL THE WINTER ANIME IS ENDING!!! They were all so amazing! So shout out to Iroduku-The world in colors, Bloom into You, Hinomaru Sumo, Dakaichi, Banana Fish, Jingai no Yomen, Golden Kamuy, Skull-faced Bookseller Honda-san, Tsurune, AND RUN WITH THE WIND even though they’re not finished yet.

[redeemed-gunslinger]

Bad Company

(art source)

What had been a month to gather a crew fit for sailing, and combat, had turned into a week. Thus for the past few days, Grant had been scrambling to find willing men and women to press into service. Was this how Hugsby felt when he was pestering Grant to sign on again? He almost felt bad for the man. Almost.

So far Grant had, amongst old contacts, comrades, and friends, found enough sailors to almost resemble a skeleton crew, and that was including Cherry, William, and the officers given to him by the admiralty. He needed more -- a lot more -- if they were to stand any chance against an Orcish galleon. His concerns however were graciously seen to, and the now Captain Grant Cousland was given military authorization to enact ‘Order 332′.

He had the power to press stockade prisoners into his crew, and though he would prefer people a little more trustworthy, they would have to do.

He arrived at the gates of the Stormwind stockades, and was promptly escorted into the prison blocks within. A short wiry man with a thick moustache, and a balding head explained to him the situation.

“If I’m being completely honest I wasn’t expecting his majesty to approve of the order,” Spoke the prison warden. “Doesn’t seem his type, you know? But I suppose our boys on the front need as many bodies out there as they can get. What better choice than thieves, and murderers?”

“I was promised convicts sailin’ experience,” Grant interjected. “Ex-sailors, smugglers, stowaways, and deserters.”

“Oh, you’ll get them.” The warden reassured. “Wasn’t hard to round them up. Just a lot of bullshit paperwork.”

“And I also want copies of their criminal record,” The captain added. “I want to know who I’m lettin’ aboard my ship.”

“We’ll have that for you before you leave, captain. Now... we will be leading you to the women’s block of the stockades. At the moment the 11th Penal Battalion is having their pick of the boys in the western wing.”

“Includin’ my sailors?”

“Aye, including your sailors.” The shorter man shrugged apologetically.

What was presented before Grant were dozens of malnourished, and weathered women of all shapes and backgrounds. They weren’t all human Grant was surprised to learn. He saw dwarfs, gnomes, elves, worgen, and even a few pandaren in their number. Each of them were shackled, and the whole group was escorted by six prison guards. Some of them eyed Grant with derision, though most didn’t seem to give a damn.

“They’re yours, captain.” The warden said.

“I only want volunteers.” Grant protested. “Don’t want a single sailor on my ship that doesn’t want to be there.”

The warden stifled a laugh. “Well... good luck convincing them.”

Grant met the prisoners and their gazes of disdain and indifference. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure y’all know why you’re here,” He began. “Y’all know war is comin’, and I have no doubts and Sylvanas and her horde would march south, and torch this city, and everyone you’ve known and cared about if we did nothin’ about it. Rather than wastin’ away here y’all can join my crew beneath open skies, and upon roarin’ waves. And if you survive I will guarantee upon y’all a royal pardon. Your crimes will be washed away by blood. Whether the blood of the enemy, or your own.”

The prisoners were silent, though a few hurled insults at him. Frowning, Grant continued. “If you don’t want to come that’s your choice. I ain’t forcin’ anybody to sail with me. However, join me... and I will treat you equally. With the same expectations I put upon the honest sailors already servin’ under me. We ain’t fightin’ for a fleet. We’re privateers in his majesty’s service. Free to loot, and plunder our enemy to our heart’s content.”

That drew some interested whispers among the prisoner. Grinning, grant continued his sale’s pitch. “And I promise each and every man and woman servin’ aboard my ship equal shares of any loot we find. My share is your share. Don’t matter if you’re an officer, or a swabby.”

More whispers. Some of them at least appeared to be willing.

“All who want in please step forward.” Grant finished.

Out of the fifty prisoners presented to him only fifteen stepped forward. The promise of loot really was powerful, but he had been hoping for more. Nodding, Grant turned to the warden. “These will do. I-”

“I will join.”

A tall Kaldorei woman sitting lazily in one of the cells above spoke up. She wasn’t as skinny as the other prisoners, nor as dirty, so Grant figured she was new.

“I had friends who perished in Teldrassil,” She said. “Friends, family... old lovers. I wish to join. I wish to fight.”

“She was caught stealing from a nobleman’s estate,” The warden explained. “She’s supposed to be executed.”

“For simple thievery?” Grant asked, frowning.

“You know how them nobles can be. They’re awfully protective of their jewels.”

Grant shook his head, then frowned. “Who are you?” He asked of the kaldorei. “Tell me your name.”

“Only if you introduce yourself first.”

“Name’s Grant. Grant Cousland.”

“Lyn.”

Grant nodded. “Just Lyn?”

“Just Lyn.”

“How’d your find yourself in there?” Grant asked.

“Tried stealing like the bald one over there says,” Lyn explained. “Would’ve gotten away with it too, but how was I supposed to know the lord was a mage?”

“Why’d you decide to rob him?”

“Because he’s a racist little prick,” Lyn said. “He’s campaigning for the removal of my people from the city. He thinks refugees are going to ruin property values or something. He’s also very rich, and influential, or something.”

Grant nodded, then turned to the warden. “I want her out of that cage, and I want them all fed. Properly... whatever you feed your men feed these women.”

“Sure,” The warden said. “But... I can’t exactly just let the Elf go.”

“Why not?”

The warden scratched the back of his head. “The Baron...”

“Can fuck himself,” Grant interrupted. “By royal decree, I hereby invoke order 332, and formally conscript this woman into my service.”

“You need that in writing.” The warden stammered.

“Then write it down...”

Grant received fewer volunteers at the men’s block. Ten stepped forward out of forty-five.

[maydaymadier]

oh hey, it’s the Twenty upbringing post

head’s up for: Shitty Parents but not the shittiest, okay enough that were you in that situation you would feel conflicted about calling it abusive.  Some fleeting mentions of casual homophobia.

So, where do we start?  It starts with a low-to-mid level elven noblewoman, Alexandra Bellisario, gaining an alliance with a powerful air elemental, Telis.  Alexandra knows that influence can be far more effective than outright rank and Telis is quite frankly just amused by this elf who's making pacts with anyone interested and sticks around to see where this going. Heirs is where this is going. Sure they've amassed a good deal of influence by now but there isn't anyone to keep up the legacy of the name. So they decide it's about time they have a child, someone magically powerful that they can train to be a diplomat. Basically, a walking billboard to show all of the other politically important nobility their power and influence.

But how do you guarantee a magically powerful child? 

 Well, Telis is an elemental so any resulting child will likely be a genasi, so at least a little inborn magic not much but a good starting point. Warlock pacts are gauche in their circles. Wizardry is a promising option but they can't guarantee that he's going to be the studious sort. Clerics and paladins are beholdened to greater moral codes that could get in the way. Bards are unpredictable and unprofessional. That leaves sorcerer. But how to ensure a sorcerer's level of inborn magic?  Get a witch to curse your firstborn obviously.  So Alexandra and Telis go set out to find a witch to piss off.  What ‘going well’ means in this context is a bit wonky but we’ll say it went well.

Nine months later we have a cursed but otherwise healthy baby air genasi boy.  Sure the air around him crackles with potential and wild magic but they got what they wanted.

Telis returns to the Elemental Plane of Air, Alexandra to her court with the infant in tow.  The two are certainly more allies than romantic partners but they stay in direct collaboration.  Alexandra does most of the child-rearing (she’s a noblewoman, she can afford nursemaids and stuff) out of the two of them in the early years.  Telis visits regularly but they’d agreed that their child would primarily live in the Prime Material Plane.  Once Twenty is of schooling age, Alexandra takes charge of his education, personally teaching him the politics/diplomacy angle of their grand plan, and the plots.  Part of the influence comes from the ability to manipulate without being obvious or seeming malicious.  If Twenty is going to be The Real Power in any given rule they need to start training him early.  The first ‘con’ they ever taught him he was about 12 and it was a simple thing barely counting as a con, to separate out anyone too gullible to not be worth his time (the kind that would only drag him down with them), insist upon meeting someone you plan to get in with “Give me 20 gold and I’ll tell you my name.”  Now during the summers, Alexandra sent her son off to the Elemental Plane of Air to visit his father, where he would train him in magic.  Though as he got older it was also a good chance for him to apply his mother’s lessons by following at his father’s heels during his machinations.  Twenty was a regular face on Telis’s estate and upon finishing his schooling worked there for a brief time before setting off on his own. 

Twenty is at his parent’s beck and call.  He reports back to them monthly, it is expected of him that he will keep them posted on his activities and movements.  Everything he does is in the Bellisario name.  He travels, from kingdom to kingdom, to kingdom, to kingdom, living the life of a diplomat eagerly giving counsel.  After a time he gets tired of the whole twenty gold spiel and starts telling people his name is Twenty.  He likes the ring of it, it suits him, it puts a step between himself and his family.  

He has one and only goal and that’s simply to leave a good and more importantly powerful impression upon the people he works for.  He doesn’t really have any other concerns.  And he actually grows to enjoy having so much influence over people.  It doesn’t matter that he has no friends, no real connections, travelling alone from place.  He has the know-how to get whatever he wants so why would he need anything else.

Twenty was not treated like a child, he was an adult-in-training.  Twenty didn’t grow up with friends for the most part, not in the Prime Material anyway.  He probably didn’t make any friends until he started following at his father’s heels on his estate, where he met another air genasi boy named Zephyros, they frequently had to work on things together and became friends over time due to proximity.  Zephyr was there with his uncle (his elemental relative) and vocally complained about him.  Twenty could never fathom how he could talk so flippantly about hating the man who was essentially his father.

Having only ever had the one friend his whole life, he doesn’t know what to do when he suddenly has six.  He’s only further confused by the protectiveness he feels for one of the bards, the first of the bunch he met, Kimiko, a young dark purple/black tiefling woman.  And it doesn’t take long for him to start lying and claiming that he’s her father, just to get some pushy npcs off her back.  He cares for her, and wants to see her happy and protect her in a way he doesn’t associate with his own father.  And then she starts calling him “dad” and it’s an absolutely lost cause.  This isn’t the way his father ever treated him.  He was a pawn on the estate, thinking of Kimiko as a pawn makes him want to gag.  

Grax, the lizardfolk shadow monk he prefers to room with, is also confusing to his worldview.  He goes around with a baby-doll-turned-into-an-actual-baby named Luna strapped to his chest.  That happened before he met the group but apparently the doll was supposed to be a ‘practice’ baby so he could prepare to be a good father.  While he certainly doesn’t think that everywhere they go is an appropriate place to bring Luna he’s more confused and surprised that Grax is such a dedicated father to his surprise doll-child.  And takes great insult to any implication that he’s doing a bad job, but in the way where he wants to know what he’s doing wrong.  Grax is protective of Luna in a similar way to how he’s protective of Kimiko.  But neither of these feelings are close to how Telis treated him.  And now is not the time to linger on it.

People usually listen to him, he is adept in the art of persuasion, he has no trouble getting people to do what he wants.  So when suddenly someone is too dense to get the hint, doesn’t understand subtle manipulation, it sticks out in his mind.  It sticks out even more when the person turns out to be a good sport and is willing to play along with helping him with Kimiko.  And it helps that Thirty is easy on the eyes.  It’s not long before he cares about Thirty’s opinion in a way he normally doesn’t.  People’s opinions should only matter to him as far as they can gain him power/leverage, that’s what he was taught.  Maybe he shouldn’t be pursuing this.  But his friends have picked up on his interest, and no force can stop them from matchmaking.  

Though by this point, he doesn’t care anymore if pursuing this greatly reduces the likelihood of him producing an heir.  There are still ways for him to do so.  He hasn’t reported back to his family in months.  It’s not a big deal.  He can do what he wants.  And he wants this.  No one’s pestering him for reports and asking for his whereabouts so it’s probably fine.  Maybe the Bellisarios have lost interest in him for the time being.  No one has asked after him in so long, it should be fine.  He doesn’t have to worry about it.  Until he does.

He does and suddenly he’s forced with the prospect of potentially losing this new life that he’s cultivated, the new person he’s become.  Oh, he’s, he’s become someone else.  He’s not the perfect son his parents sent him out into the world as.  He failed.  He’s not the person he was or was supposed to be.  Gods he’s a fucking failure now...  He’s an only child, this is all his fault, he’s wasted all of his parents’ teaching, hasn’t he?  All he had to do was obey, listen to their simple instructions and he would be just fine.  This is his fucking fault.  He ruined it.  He ruined it.  He ruined it.

It doesn’t occur to him that most people don’t feel this way about coming home and seeing their parents.  And most adult children probably aren’t or shouldn’t be this fearful of their parents.  But the truth is he knows he’s failed and is terrified of how they’ll react.  He just knows that he’s never going to know peace about it.  They won’t yell at him.  But they’ll look at him with disdain and vague sadness.  And he’ll know that he’s a failure.  No one has ever raised a hand against him but they don’t need to when cleverly worded disappointment is so much more effective.  And they dismiss it out of hand when he calls himself “Twenty.”  It is at best a phase that Telis finds amusing.  At worst, Alexandra takes it as a direct insult since he’s named after her.  It’s not until he finally has his breakdown and starts to explain to Thirty what his relationship with his parents are like, that he learns that’s not healthy.  He still hasn’t managed to tell him everything, about the whole “adult-in-training” thing and how he was raised to be “perfect” and how that was all fine until he suddenly wasn’t anymore.  (Or how Telis made a glib comment about how it was a shame/unfortunate that Twenty ended up with a man, that they’d been expecting an heir from him.  And when Twenty tried to defend himself Telis scolded him for being disrespectful and put the pressure on him by reminding him that he’s their only child and continuing the family name depends on him, that he’s lucky to have been born ‘elves don’t pump out children like humans do.’)

Twenty, now middle-aged, was an adult-in-training, born not for his own sake, and he is only now learning how to be.

[dalsethel]

Hybrid bit five: the day that we met.

After that little reveal, the rest of the day seemed boring by comparison. We ate dinner- Rothe steak, which somehow tasted better than regular cows, and was particularly spectacular today for whatever reason- I hung out on lightwave and some other games for a few more hours, changed into pjs and went to bed. I didn't really dream much, there was just a vague sensation of being in bed with someone I was comfy with. Four hours later, my alarm went off, jarring me awake. Yes, i know four hours doesnt sound like much, but it's all elves really need. I got up and stretched some. Today was the big day. To think that only 48 or so hours ago i’d had no clue about any of this. I changed into jeans and a plain white T-shirt, slipping on my jacket. I nearly went downstairs without putting in the stud. I still hated how the illusion felt. The damp feeling seemed to grow more intense every time. A few minutes and a car drive later, I was in the school library munching on a toaster strudel while waiting for Val to show up. I looked over at some of the books. The Chronicles of Bilbo and Frodo Baggins, The Boy who Lived… Great classics, very realistic tales of adventurers and prophecy… the kind of stuff that really didn't seem to happen anymore. That was depressing. A slim finger tapped on my shoulder, nearly shocking me out of my skin. I whipped around to see Val standing there, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Caught ya napping ‘gain, didn I?”

I smiled a little bit. “That you did. How was your night after i logged off?”

The smirk slipped down to a normal smile. “Boring without you. Aunt Vierna came around and talked everyone's ears off for a few hours. Dad seemed a bit tense the whole time. He always does when family comes around.” I nodded knowingly. It was a kinda well know fact that her dad had gone through a lot when he was younger. It was way before the treaty, so most of his kind were still assholes, especially towards males. “So, how was your night? Sleep well?”

“Yeah. Had a vague dream of cuddling. Felt nice. Also…” I leaned in close to her ear so no one else could hear. “I found out that my family has fucktons of valuables just sitting there for just in case. Gold and platinum bars, a few old weapons, lots of stuff.” Her eyes widened.

“Now where does a baker come by that kind of stuff?” She looked amazed yet disbelieving.

“Dad left it as a gift.” I don't know how, but Val's eyes got even wider.

“Yer… yer pa… just had that sitting around to give?” I nodded slowly. “H-how?” I thought about the best way to answer.

“It's… part of what I'm revealing tonight. It's complicated, and I'm not sure about all the details, but… yeah.” She nodded slowly, and her expression shifted thoughtfully.

“Illusion magic… Massive amounts of money… being secretive… yer pa wasn't an elf was he?” I nodded again. Dammit, sometimes Val's intellect made things complicated. “Well, guess we'll see exactly what he was tonight.” She pulled me a bit closer. “I just want ya t’ know, I won't judge ya. Yer too good for that, half breed or not.” The tone in those words was soul crushingly sad. I knew what she was referring to. The time we met.

It was freshman year, about Midway through first semester. I was changing clothes for gym when I heard muffled yelling from the showers. Then, a harsh smack. I disregarded the rest of my clothes and ran over to find a group of wood elves standing over a naked dark elf, curled into the fetal position. They were taunting her, calling her names I refuse to repeat. One kicked at her. I don't know exactly what happened in the next few seconds. All I know is that I charged, then the bitches were scrambling away from me on their asses, expressions of terror on their face. The leader had a bloody nose worse than any I'd seen before. “That's right, RUN ASSHOLES!” I was literally seeing red. I felt like I could knock a hole in the wall. Then, just like that, the anger disappeared, replaced with concern. I knelt down next to the drow and gently touched her shoulder. She flinched away, curling up tighter. I spoke as softly as I could. “Hey, it's ok. They're gone. I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? You're safe.” She slowly pulled her head out of her balled up position. Just seeing her face was enough to let me know the rest of her was just as beautiful. No face that pretty had any business looking that scared.

“Ya… ya saved me? Why…?” She groaned and pressed a hand to a piece of darkening skin. I held out a hand to help her up.

“Because that's what decent people are supposed to do? I mean… is there any other reason needed?” she took the hand and struggled to her feet while awkwardly trying to cover herself.

“There's always another reason. That's how the world works.” Those words revealed a lot about her.

“Well, it doesn't have to work that way. Not always.” she turned and looked at me. I quickly realized my tits were on full display and tried to cover them. She almost smiled at that. She told me later that, at that moment, I was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen. It was part of why we got together. We exchanged numbers and started texting pretty frequently, meeting up in the library. A few weeks later, I let her know that no matter what she was, no one deserved to be treated the way she was that day.

A year or two of TLC can change a person a lot. She was less shy, less scared. She'd come into her own, especially as she grew, reaching the point where she was taller and more muscular than any other elf in school. She was beautiful. She was perfect in my eyes. I knew that, at any point, I could ask her to come over to my house and fuck and she'd be willing. That's part of why I'm so shy around her at times. I don't want to take advantage of that immense trust. She's too good for that. I stared into her violet eyes as she held my arm. I slowly reached a hand around, drawing her close and locking lips. It was good. The bell rang, forcing us to separate. She pulled away and smiled softly, a little sadness mixed in.

“See you tonight Blue. Love ya.”

[shazyloren]

The Room: Chapter 17 - Accusing the Cult

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12710496/chapters/29896455

------

Daenerys felt sick as she plonked herself on a seat in the headmasters office. How they just got away from whatever it was that happened, she did not know but she was thankful that Jon had kept his wits about him. She on the other hand, pretty much crumbled and without him she probably would've been stunned into an oblivion.

There was this swirling feeling inside her stomach which kept causing a retching reaction as her lungs burned and her chest ached from the running to get to the Headmasters office. There was no one in the corridors, they'd kept running in case the attacker had managed to get into the passage or had heard their conversation about where they were going. But once they reached the gargoyle and Daenerys shouted 'Cherry soda' at it, they'd tried to catch their breath on the steps.

The Headmaster had been meeting with two ministry officials when Daenerys had kicked the door down and almost collapsed on his rug by the fire. The portraits ragged onto them about manners and interrupting when they shouldn't be.

They'd explained in panicked breaths that they'd been attacked on the way back from their prefect meeting by someone very powerful and had escaped via Shanks portrait on the Seventh floor before coming here. The two ministry officials who looked shocked by this point, accompanied Headmaster Lannister as they left the room immediately to go and check the scene out for themselves. This left Jon and Daenerys by themselves in the office with just the portraits still muttering about lack of respect.

"What the hell just happened?" Jon raggedly breathed as he laid on the floor spread out as an eagle. Daenerys felt the adrenaline still kicking in her lungs. She shrugged and rubbed her face with her hands. What had happened? She thought to herself. She did not know was the answer she told herself. "So much for Fish and Chips night"

"I'm sure you can scrounge something up by the elves in the Kitchen" Daenerys rolled her eyes so hard at his comment she gave herself a headache. This was not a time for jokes however. "That guy was going to kill us, Jon. What have we ever done to this person?"

As she spoke she found herself drifting off of the end of the sentence... She considered it to be Viserys for a small nano-second. It was not his laugh, she knew his cruel laughter all too well, but could he have hired someone to finish his sister off and so he has the whole family name and money and estate? She wouldn't put it past him. He was vile and harsh but he never struck Daenerys as someone very calculating. He was always one to think with emotion and not with his mind.

There was no one else Daenerys thought of that could be mad at her enough to want to kill her. It could be a random attack, but it did not feel like it. And when she voiced this to Jon he agreed. "They knew we'd be walking that route to the Great Hall, it was either a teacher who knew where we would be or a prefect who waited for us after the meeting was done"

"Are you sure?" Daenerys felt the anger inside her then when he nodded. How dare someone try and kill them at school of all place, security was going to be twice as tight now and life at Hogwarts was about to get a whole lot more constricted. "This person would have killed us had it not been for your quick thinking, Jon.  I swear when we find out who did this I'm going to-"

"Do what? We can't do anything about when we die Daenerys, it could have been tonight. We all will at some point. I'm just more concerned with the traitor we quite clearly have in the school. We just have to let the ministry deal with this" Jon said with a shrug of the shoulders. "God I'm hungry"

"Well you certainly have made a mess of the Seventh floor corridor" Professor Lannister entered with the two ministry officials behind him. He was holding a wand that wasn't his own and that was in three broken pieces while they were dragging a man in by his hair and he screamed and grunted. Daenerys leapt up onto her feet as she saw the attacker being dragged into the room. He'd not managed to get away, and his thigh was still bleeding. "What spell was that?"

"Merlin's beard" Jon gasped as the man spat at them both while he was dragged across the floor. Professor Dumbledore's portrait looked shocked as the man's leg smeared blood on the rug in front of his old desk. He muttered something about it being a '400 year old' rug in his portrait. Professor Snape's portrait looked on at the man with disgust too, in fact, when Daenerys looked around they were all tutting.

"Jon, answer Professor Lannister's question" Daenerys nudged him.

"Sorry Professor" Jon blinked as he stopped staring at the man. "A spell I invented, I call it the ice bomb, Professor"

"And you used this spell you created on this unknown assailant" Professor Lannister asked with a raised eyebrow. Daenerys saw the look of horror in Jon's eye as if he was about to be told off for the level of destruction he'd caused.

"Professor I'm sorry for using a spell that I had technically only tested out once on an unknown assailant but given that he was trying to murder us I don't think it was a huge over reaction to use this spell" Jon defended himself. Daenerys had to agree with him, he said it was mad. He'd said it might have a hell of a kick back, btu there was no way they were getting out of that situation without it. Short of using fiendfyre that was. And so she told him so.

"Do you at least have the incantation to reverse it?" Professor Lannister asked. Jon flushed red. Daenery face palmed.

"Jon, do you mean to say you just used a spell you invented on a whim this summer in the seventh floor corridor without any way to reverse the effects of it" Daenerys asked incredulously. He just blushed a deep red. Daenerys felt her face become expressionless. Why was she not surprised? "This was the kind of wayward behaviour I usually expected from you, nice to know you don't really change Jon. Couldn't you have just done something normal like the shield again? Did you have to do something cool to show off?"

"I swear, Dany if you just gave that whole spiel so you could make the cool joke about my ice-bomb, then you are officially the biggest nerd in this world" Jon giggled as Daenerys frowned. "Sorry, we were being serious. Yes, I don't have the counter curse to my ice-bomb"

"And you call me a nerd, 'ice-bomb' for goodness sakes" She hadn't realised at this point that she'd spent six hours straight now with Jon, a new record for them both, it must be. And she was only just now getting around to wanting him to be anywhere else. It was a step in the right direction for them both. But as the two ministry officials tied the man to a chair, so secure he could not escape, she couldn't help but be brought back to reality again.

Who would do such a thing?

Professor Lannister pulled up a chair next to him and hopped up onto it to meet the man's eye level. Daenerys saw the man had strange raised markings on the back of his neck. As if he was in some sort of cult. His head was shaved but covered in tattooes, some on his ears too. The man wasn't anyone Daenerys recognised, but that didn't mean someone wasn't pulling his strings.

"Hello my friend" He said quietly. The man just grumbled something in a foreign language. Daenerys had chills all down her body, she knew instantly where he was from. But she couldn't understand why. It was then she nudged Jon and pointed to the small tattoo that moved on the back of his head behind his ear. Jon froze. It meant something to both of them. It was a symbol she'd seen on walls in bulgaria. A group of people very similar to death eaters used this mark. She did not know the name of the group.

Daenerys noticed one of the ministry officials disappeared in the fireplace, perhaps to inform the Minister of what has happened tonight. Daenerys wouldn't be surprised if the Minister of Magic flooed into the room within minutes. She turned her head from there back to Professor Lannister, where an intense eye contact battle was going on. "Now then, you attacked two of my students. My best students... my head boy and girl-"

"-Fuck your students-" The mans thick accent purrs.

"-And that makes me very unhappy, angry even. You don't want that, know one does. I love my students, I care for them as they are my own children, and you have come into this school and attempted to kill two of them. Of course, someone let you into this school, tell me who" Daenerys had never seen Professor Lannister act this way before. He was angry, it almost came across as vicious to an untrained eye, but after years of knowing what viciousness looked like, she could see the difference. This was wild protectiveness. "You will tell me"

"T' only t'ing I will be telling you, bastard is the colour of your eyes as I drain the life from them" He grumbled menacingly as he tried to shuffle on the chair.

Daenerys was stood at the back of the room now, Jon by her side, the both of them scared out of their wits. Unconsciously, she reached her hand out to Jon, an electrical zap between them that was present in this room. She felt his fingers respond and intertwine with her own. While the alarms were going off in her head, she couldn't help but grab onto his hand tightly.

Professor Lannister chuckled. "You will tell me, willingly or not"

Just at this, the fireplace crackled again and the ministry official who Daenerys recognised as Horace from her abuse case, returned with the Minister of Magic Tywin Lannister. He was a stoic looking man, old looking in his appearance but he carried a certain weight with him. He looked menacing and almost demanded respect by walking in. He stood taller than everyone in the room and didn't say a word as he strolled up to the man in the chair.

"You've been busy" He said to the man's whose leg was bleeding so badly it was a steady trickle on the floor.

"Minister" Professor Lannister spoke, being professional and not calling him father. They shared a steely gaze, revealing so much history that Daenerys couldn't even begin to break it down. It was well documented that these two heavyweights of Lannister House had been in a public scrap for years. Many had suggested that Professor Lannister would be a better fit for Minister of Magic than his father but he'd never wanted it. He enjoyed being headmaster here at Hogwarts. It still didn't stop him from speaking out against decisions his father would make in power. "Did Horace fill you in?"

"Indeed" He said not even looking at his son. "We need to get this one to a nice comfy cell in Azkaban I think"

"Thank you, Minister" Professor Lannister nodded as the two ministry officials left with the prisoner still tied to the chair via the stairs. "You know what this means, don't you?" The Minister Of Magic nodded. "We need to find the mole in this school soon, or other people might get hurt"

"But more importantly, why did this man attack two of your students? Your head boy and girl" Jon and Daenerys coughed to remind them both they were still in the room. As they did, they realised their hands were still connected and they abruptly parted hands. "The Head girl I've heard so much about, Daenerys correct?" She nodded as she looked down at the floor. "And the Stark boy?"

"Snow, sir. Stark is my father's name" Jon said with a slight grin on his face. The minister did not look impressed.

"Yes well, charming. Tyrion I'm afraid I must get back, we will deal with this, thanks for moving quickly over such a matter" His gaze pierced into eyes of all three of them. "And thank you both, your bravery shall be rewarded. You should both enter the tournament, with school like that"

"We have" Jon said straight away without thinking. He started laughing. "Maybe that's why the man tried to kill us, betting on another horse"

There was a small chuckle from the minister until his face fell. Jon had a point... Daenerys then spoke up. "It's those people in Bulgaria isn't it? They're going to try and come over here? Why? What's their purpose?"

"Good question, for another time" Tyrion answered. He turned to his father, a glint of anger still in his eyes. Daenerys knew it was time for her and Jon to leave. Well, she thought so. "Speaking of another time, have you been getting my messages about Miss. Targaryen, Minister?"

Daenerys froze. She did not want this conversation to happen in front of Jon, she did not want him to know. It wasn't his place to know and she wasn't comfortable with him doing so. How can she put that all on him, how can she drop the bomb on him that her brother has been sexually assaulting her for years. She can barely acknowledge it herself. Never mind tell someone else about it. And Professor Lannister was different, he sensed the pain, he sensed the tongue-tying curse.

All of this ran through her head in about the space of five seconds, she felt her chest constrict and her breathing become raspy. She dare not look at Jon, her eyes just became steely as they stared down Professor Lannister for even mentioning it in front of him. Before she could control her mouth, she spoke abruptly. "I think Jon should leave, this is a personal matter"

"Of course" Tyrion nodded.

"Are you alright?" Jon asked, putting a hand on Dany's shoulder. She shrugged it off and walked away from him. She sat in a chair by the Headmaster's desk and waited until she could hear Jon had left. It was a few minutes of him saying 'I'm the head boy, I should know if my head girl is upset' before he left with thank yous for his actions that night. She felt horrible to have him kicked out in such a way, but it was needed. She didn't need the school knowing she was fucked up in the way she was, or in the way she thought she was at least.

"What do you need?" The minister spoke as the door closed.

"Memory extraction and it's authenticity checked" Dany replied. "I'll take Veritaserum too"

"There will be no need for you to take Veritaserum, but your brother will when we arrest him. However, I need good grounds to do so. So I will granted memory extraction, how many?" The Minister nodded.

"I remember all of them, all Two hundred and twenty seven" Daenerys challenged, she did not think he would grant a memory extraction for that many. Professor Lannister was pacing slowly, as his father mulled over their case. "I lost my father over the summer, one brother is estranged, and my mother just killed herself. I'm not lying, I have enough rubbish to deal with instead of a trial. But it needs doing, I need to be free of him"

"Memory extraction, granted" He nodded.

Daenerys breathed a sigh of relief.

[flowerboylian]

adrastos’s background story

His family was bat-shit crazy, and ever since his birth, Adrastos had been subject to many rituals and ceremonies, some deemed to be torture, all because a demon had infused its blood into his family’s way too long ago. Because that damn demon—Abraxas, as Adrastos would come to grow uncomfortably familiar with—wanted a vessel, Adrastos’s family decided, without any regard for any living creature, to do a ritual on Adrastos’s mother—who completely agreed to it, too—to birth the strongest child within their clan since the demon tainted their blood.

And thus Adrastos Fessedrri was born. Whenever people whispered in groups around him, or bowed to him, or talked about him like he was a piece of meat, Adrastos always asked why. “Our Lord had waited long enough for a vessel,” he was continuously told whenever he asked that question. Why did they birth him? Why did they continue to keep him? Why? And for one-hundred godforsaken years he was subject to what some would call torture, all because of that answer to why. But because of Adrastos’s uncanny strength, the rituals weren’t too painful. The psychological damage, however, took more than its toll on Adrastos in the years to come.

He was indoctrinated at the age of 35, still considerably young for elves, when he was forced into a nightmare to meet that demon that was going to be the bane of his entire existence on this plain. Shockingly, the demon didn’t show his face to Adrastos, something he was anticipating since he could understand his “purpose” in life.

You’ll die of fright, my puppet, it mocked, and I can’t have my vessel die so young. Maybe some day.

When he was 50, Adrastos had managed to venture away from Kiernassal—his clan’s town—to a nearby town, where he met people. Actual, real, normal people. Because of his appearance, a few of them glanced at him and sneered, but who wouldn’t? He was a nearing-sic-foot tall pitch-black coloured elf with claws. The majority left him be and didn’t take notice. But it was within this town, the name completely forgotten to Adrastos now, that he met his first ever friend. He forgot their name, repressed the memory more like, because within a month’s time that friend was used in a sacrifice within his clan to appease the demon. Adrastos knew it was to teach him some twisted lesson.

Companionship doesn’t suit you, it spoke to him one night some time after as Adrastos wept, they were more useful dead. Their blood held knowledge unknown, knowledge that they wanted. You can’t deny your kin that, can you?

It was then that Adrastos decided to denounce this purpose he was given at birth; his family didn’t care about him, they only cared about the knowledge that this demon could provide them, perverted by darkness and sin. If all they cared about was this magic, dark and treacherous as it was, he wanted no part in it.

At 87, Adrastos was forced into a trance where his clan tattooed the demon’s symbol all over his body. He was awake for all of it, and felt all of the pain. It started with a few markings on his face at the beginning of that year, and that was something he hated more and more the more he had to look into a mirror or saw his reflection in water. Eventually, he broke all the mirrors in the entire town. They didn’t care, whatever placated him and kept him within their clutches was fine to any of them.

“Break a few earthly possessions,” His mother said to him one day, as blood ran down his knuckles from smashing the mirror in her room with his fist. She showed no concern for his injury, “They matter not, it matters not, so long as you know your place in this world, pawn.”

He spent that evening hyperventilating in the woods as anxiety wracked through his body. He could feel it, sense it, the presence of the demon hovering around him in another plain, laughing at him, mocking him for his emotions. These keep me sane, Adrastos told himself, these remind me that I am not like them.

A few months later, he was made into that trance again, where they added the winding snake pattern that started from his left shoulder, where the head was, looking as if it were biting his shoulder. It twisted and curved and moved around his body in a spiral and then down his right leg, where the tail ended at his outer ankle.

He kept those tattoos hidden at all times, even to this day, no matter the weather of where he traveled to.

But that was the last straw. They had tortured him, destroyed his mental will, desecrated his body all within the first decades of his life, and for what? Some fucking demon. Within the next years, he had managed to escape innumerable amounts of time but was always hunted down and returned by the same group of trackers. Adrastos thought it was magic sometimes, other times he thought it was because of the distinctive tattoos that gave him away no matter where he went to within this area.

But finally, finally, when he was recently turned 112, he was able to successfully do it. He finally escaped for good, and never looked back. He knew that they had let him go, for whatever twisted reason, but he took the chance regardless.

And now, at 150, Adrastos was in Beltany at a tavern called The Ruby Goblet, at a table, playing a game of chance with some unlikely characters.

[lyonface]

World building, characters, and the DA Fandom’s propensity to ignore nuance.

I have borne witness to both some serious Cullen Critical posts and Pro Anders posts in the last twenty-four hours and...ugh. I feel the need to put something out there.

As people who have played the protagonists of the Dragon Age games, we are skewed to be more magic-leaning and forgiving than the normal, average joe of Thedas, and it’s disheartening and irritating that a lot of the fandom seems to have a very basic issue with noticing this and applying that mindset when they look at issues in the game, particularly with certain characters.

Under a Read More for length, and there’s a TL;DR at the bottom.

We started off as a member of a very misunderstood sect of warriors that dealt with a very vague threat that most people do not understand and were recruited into that militia/army/whatever 70% of the time due to committing crimes or somehow acting against an authority that forced us into the ultimatum between choosing the Wardens or death/imprisonment/banishment. In other words, we were Wardens only because we already were unsatisfied with the way things were, whether we were a City Elf murdering an entire estate of corrupt rapist humans or a Noble Human dealing with the politics and uncovered atrocities of their fellow countrymen. Or, you know, we could have started as a mage going through the Right of Passage and starting in the Circle to witness all that fuckery first hand. Basically, none of us were average by circumstance, otherwise we would never have become Wardens to begin with. Even then, the wealth of very diverse people we meet and fantastical circumstances we encounter educate us and change our mindsets regardless of our starting point.

Then we go to DA2 where we are just another run away Ferelden trying to escape the Blight. Again, luck and circumstance elevate us to extraordinary, and we are pitted firmly between fighting powers of protection and freedom, between Templars and Mages, among plenty of other shit. We, by that point if they had played Origins, are already predisposed to the plight of mages, we know to some extent what they can go through thanks to Wynne and Morrigan as our previous companions, doubly so if you play Awakening and meet Anders pre-Justice. Although Origins was decently framed as morally ambiguous between helping or hurting mages for various crimes (killing/helping the Circle mages or Keeper Zathrian or Jowain, etc.) we are forced to pick a side in DA2 and, not for nothing, but mages were the very clearly oppressed people in that game. It was a lot less ambiguous, despite the rampant blood magic because it was clear that most cases went to it out of desperation and not the pure desire for power over others. Meredith, no matter how she’s framed, is wrong with flexibly “good intentions” and Orsino is the only thing stemming the incoming tidal wave by Act 3. Origins is not ambiguous about the plight of elves, or the urgency of the darkspawn threat, or the danger presented in Ferelden’s political arena, but it leaves magic more or less up to you. DA2 does not.

In Inquisition, the civil war is in full swing and, if you were hot on the heels of it after DA2 like I was, the image of the Chantry exploding is one of the freshest things in your mind. By then, you understand at the very least the sheer power of magic when concentrated into one place, and you also understand that fighting magic with non-magic, by and large, does not work. You must use magic to curb magic. If you start Inquisition without playing the others, the prologue only further demonstrates this with your magic mark being the only thing that cures magic tears. In the beginning, most long term players go to help Redcliffe because of our nostalgia for it from Origins, or because we’ve known since Origins that Tevinter Magisters are shit and that’s only been reinforced for the last two games. If you’re new, Alexius is basically painted with a “Evil Bad Guy” brush and also time magic is terrifying; fuck the Templars, whatever their issue is isn’t nearly as bad. It’s a no-brainer. The only thing that really tests our understanding of things in Inquisition is nearly 90% about the Fade and magic and Elvhen history, a little less if you have Descent and you played it, then a bit about Dwarven history, but it turns out that just relates to Elves too, in the end. Magic is acceptable in Inquisition, as far as the narrative is concerned, and there is really no room for those that contest its merit or the use of it that can break that idea. The only character who comes close to being persuasive about Circles is Vivienne, and she harbors the middle ground and comes from a place of being a mage, but she has a high social status, so if you weren’t interested in playing the middle ground or being challenged, you can easily dismiss her.

Throughout the games, no matter where you start, the narrative increasingly treats magic as not only something that is normal for someone to accept but is harbored by people who are seen and generally treated as lower class, and thus are the most sympathetic and in need of assistance. Tevinter is an exception, but being a nation that uses people for sacrifices and slave labor can make it hard for people to find redeeming qualities in other practices. Before Dorian, all we saw of Tevinter were magisters that manipulated for power and elven slaves, so whatever their progressive stance on magic is gets covered under the oily grime of awful practices and racism. Dorian is an exception to his countrymen, even in Inquisition, and he’s framed that way in the narrative.

It’s easy to forget when we’ve been surrounded by magic and the Fade and spirits and shit for three games that mages make up just a fraction of the population of Thedas, and the Circle is just a concept to most of the people that live there. The average person in Thedas doesn’t encounter magic on a daily basis and isn’t educated or experienced in what mages are like or what the Fade does or how spirits work. In Ferelden, Orlais, and much of the Free Marches, the average citizen is educated through history and the Chantry which tells them that magic is dangerous and that Circles are to benefit mages by teaching them control and protecting them from hurting themselves or others. We have only seen the absolute worst case scenario for Circles, the one at Lake Calenhad and the one in Kirkwall, the former which fell apart and most only saw it in that state and the latter fucked up the second you reach the shores of the island. We’ve never seen a Circle function as its intended unless you played a mage origin in Origins, and that goes to shit real quick, so most players when proposed with the idea to reinstate them will obviously reject it.

Pro-Anders posts and Anti-Cullen posts seem to all stem from this predisposition about magic, both in terms of forgiving Anders for his terrorism and condemning Cullen for his words and mindset in DA2 and thus using it to dismiss his character arc in Inquisition. It is apparently very difficult to keep in mind what the normal, average, standard Thedasian thinks about mages and magic and I get that it’s stupid to dismiss what we’ve learned in the meta narrative, but it’s important to contextualize where characters are coming from and the application of their actions in the world they live in. Anders came from a place of oppression, pain, and fear due to his capabilities. Cullen came from a place of mental torture, pain, and fear due to the misuse of those capabilities. That helps to explain their actions, but it does not excuse them, and people like to excuse one and explain the other when they’re only showing their bias by doing so.

Let’s break down the viewpoints:

- Anders blew up a large facility that housed hundreds of people, including Chantry affiliates and leaders as well as low ranking sisters and other members of the faithful. These were people who had not contributed to the pain mages experienced in Kirkwall. Yes, they didn’t help them, but they didn’t help Meredith either, and remained neutral until their demise before Meredith or Orsino could argue their case to the Grand Cleric. Anders killed these people to make a statement, costing the lives of everyone inside that building for a political and social idea. In doing so, not only did he plunge the continent into civil war, he helped bolster the Andrastian narrative to the uneducated masses: that mages are dangerous, that magic can result in massive loss of life, and that people who wield it cannot be trusted at face value. An average citizen isn’t going to care about the oppression or tensions or abuse on either side, and they’re likely never going to hear about Anders’s good deeds in having that clinic in Darktown for all those years either; they’re going to care that their livelihood and their families are in danger as a direct result of his actions. That is why Varric speaks ill of Anders and why people do not forgive him for his actions en masse. No matter his agenda, murdering innocent people and thus causing the deaths of so many more due to some upheaval is not worth his intangible ideas.

- Cullen facilitated and assisted Meredith in the capture, torture, and deaths of mages and his fellow templars during his station in Kirkwall. No matter how you dice his conversations, particularly in Act 1 where he’s pretty fresh from the Calenhad Circle, he is terrified, severe, and staunch in his distrust toward mages and easily sanctions death as a punishment for blood magic. Meredith wants order, and he wants order, so he does what he’s told in eradicating rebel groups and assisting in keeping his men in line. Players seem to forget that Cullen gradually over the course of the decade starts to question Meredith more and more. When it becomes clear to him that she’s unhinged he tries to lie to himself about it until it’s far far too late. Normal Kirkwall citizens are going to see his actions as a good thing, despite the fear of Meredith. Once she uses her status to usurp control of the Viscount station is when they start to feel uncomfortable or afraid. The average person is either going to see Cullen as just another templar or recognize his services, and only a few will consider his actions to be against the common good. When he finally turns against Meredith, his loyal men follow him. He leaves the Order not long after that due to his disillusionment in what the organization stands for and what it actually does, including his own actions.

Thus, due to his previous ideas and oft-quoted “Mages aren’t people like you and me,” any chance that Cullen has for redemption is scoffed at despite his obvious change and his struggle to be a better person than he believes he’s ever been. Does his redeeming himself and being better excuse his actions? Of course not. Should his struggle to be better count for something? Yes, it should. Leaving behind his PTSD, his trauma, his lyrium addiction, the basic fact that he is doing better or attempting to be a force for positive change for the future of Thedas is a great thing and should at least be recognized, even if you don’t like him as a character for his past actions or his personality. Likewise, people can actively give Anders a pass in agreement or a chance to redeem himself as Hawke, but so far in the story we have not seen Anders or heard of him attempting to redeem his actions or reconsidering whether he did the right thing or not. By the end of DA2 and from what a romanced Hawke says in Inquisition, Anders assists Circles in disbanding to join the rebellion and aid the conflict in the civil war. At least for the foreseeable future, Anders continues to support his decision and assist in freedom despite the consequences to his fellows and to others.

Jesus this has gone on far too long. Let’s just...try and summarize whatever the fuck is in my head before this becomes a dissertation:

tl;dr - The average person of Thedas is told to be weary and distrustful of magic and mages and anyone who grows up in any place that isn’t Tevinter or a wandering tribe of Elves or Avaar is predisposed to think this way. We as players are in a unique position to see Thedas from many angles and thus experience and see things in the world that most people would never have the chance to encounter or understand. People don’t dislike mages because they’re unjustifiably prejudiced: they do it because there is a cultural and social predisposition to do so. Anders does not understand this, and thus only exacerbated the problem by committing terrorism, and continues to do so due to his continued assistance in the war effort without offering a proper solution. Cullen does understand this, but also learns that mages are not creatures to leash, and thus attempts to rectify not only his transgressions but help those that are being hurt.

Feel free to like/dislike either of these characters; I’m not here to police anyone’s opinions or their rights to have them. Just make sure that when you make an opinion and decide to stick to your guns that you’ve attempted to  consider everything that goes into it. Thedas has a lot of layers to it, just like any culture does, and no action from any character is as simple as “He hurt those people” or “It’s what needed to be done.” You don’t have to participate in character discussions or discourse either, but when you write something like that, expect criticism or responses. I always do.

[cuddlywritesthings]

Midnight Drink

Genre: World of Warcraft

Characters: Taviast Duskwither, Guntharius Plaguespitter

Characters mentioned: Ghelror Ebonfang, Crescida Evenfall (not my character)

Timeline: BFA, shortly after Saurfang’s death.

Trigger warnings: Strong language, alcohol mentioning

-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -

“I thought I might find you here.”

Taviast Duskwither reluctantly pulled his attention away from his glass of wine. He looked up at the unannounced guest of his, and he couldn’t help but let a weary frown tug at the corners of his mouth.

He had retreated to his personal study for further research on their next potential target. They had plenty to choose from, of course. Azeroth was rife with conflict from both sides, but it seemed the warring factions could not come together and eliminate the more worrisome targets-- those who posed a real threat to everyone, factions be damned.

The foreboding castle that The Circle called headquarters had been long since evacuated by whatever clan, or family or even cult had used it. It had been repurposed by a certain warlock, and had become the group’s main source of sanctuary.

It was late into the night, and after dinner everyone had made their way to their individual rooms. Taviast thought he was the only soul awake, but he always seemed to forget about--

“Dr. Guntharius Plaguespitter.”

“Just doctor is fine. Or Dr. Plaguespitter, if you want to sound snooty and annoying.” The Forsaken stood in the doorway of Taviast’s private studies, his hand raised and fingers trailing along the intricate stonework with a sense of reserved reverence. “You elves, having to be so formal about every fucking thing.”

“Notwithstanding the roots of my heritage,” Taviast calmly replied, with just the slightest hint of amusement lacing his words, “I do try to remain proper and display the decorum expected of me when addressing people. It stems from my time spent as a Magister for the state of Quel’thalas. Decorum comes as naturally as breathing, good sir.”  

Letting out a derisive snort, the Forsaken made his way further into the studies. Despite the elf’s sharp sense of hearing (and, no, it wasn’t a joke about their pointed ears), the necrotic doctor, steeped in the energies of the fel, made naught a sound as he approached.

“Alcohol.”

“Mmm?” Tavast blinked a moment in confusion before it dawned on him what the ‘good doctor’ meant by that. Guntharius was good for that. Liked to start conversations abruptly, with a single word, or topic, thrown out there on a whim. “Ah, yes, well,” he lifted up his glass in the vague gesture of toasting the warlock, “must finish the bottle before it goes bad, hmm?”

“You always were an alcoholic.”

A fair bit confused, the Archmage quirked an eyebrow. “I… beg your pardon?”

“It’s true.”

“I must refute this claim of yours. I am not--”

“In denial,” snapped the Forsaken, cutting the elf off at the pass by refusing to let him finish his own sentence. “Covering up your anxieties, doubts and fears by taking the edge off. The edge of this life and this world, all of your responsibilities and guilt, and all that blood on your pretty little hands.” The Forsaken’s one glowing eye seemed a bit brighter than before. His sharp, yet somehow still handsome features were hardened; as resolute and emotionless as a stone fortress. “Blurring the lines of your stress until you can no longer recognize them.”

Unsettling as the tension in the air was, Taviast remained calm. Even as the warlock placed his hands (soundlessly, always soundlessly! He moved, like a giest!) on the table, the ex-Magister, now Archmage, made no move and no sound as to betray his surge of anxious nervousness.

“And you,” Taviast began pleasantly, tone airy and delicate, “have always been good at analyzing others, especially when it comes to one’s health or their unhealthy habits. And that,” he made a subtle gesture with his raised glass, further putting emphasis on his words, “makes you an excellent doctor.”

“Your flattery is not going to change the subject.”

“Ah, yes. And how could I possibly forget your stubborn bullheadedness?”

“Obsession to details,” the Forsaken cut in, offering the Archmage a humored smile (such ghastly pointed teeth!). “Call it as it is.”

“Fair enough.”

A minute passed, and the awkward silence settled about them like a lumbering, intrusive beast. The Archmage stared at the deadman before him, and the warlock spent his time clearly studying the exhausted elf, sitting down at a table, surrounded by piles of books, and scrolls and half finished documents. Oh, and nearly an empty bottle of wine. Can’t forget that.

“Dr. Gunth--”

“Plaguespitter,” the Forsaken hissed out, slightly annoyed.

“Dr. Plaguespitter,” Taviast cordially replied, rectifying his quite common mistake. “Please, tell me-- what can I do for you?”

The Forsaken was not known for any sort of expressive nature. He built walls up to keep the world from identifying what it was he was feeling. And, yes, by far, he could feel. He could feel quite well. Most Forsaken felt nothing. They were numbed to the world and to the world’s tragedies. Some felt grief, or rage, or some other caustic type of emotional taint. They were like walking geists made manifest; stuck in a walking routine, trapped in a haunt, unable to release themselves from the residual episode.

But Guntharius felt. Guntharius could feel more than just rage and grief, confusion and madness. He felt more than what the others felt. But that alone helped drive him mad. Far madder, perhaps, than many of the other warlocks within the Black Harvest. He felt, he remembered emotions. And, as a result, he became passionate when it came to believing in things. Rage and frustration were, indeed, common emotional responses with him. But those only occurred due to how much he cared, and how much he wanted to help. How, oh, how he wanted to be human again. To find the cure for undeath. To be able to taste things properly again, and to stop being so cold. He wanted to feel. He wanted to express himself fully again.

Despite his well known flaw in the department of expressing himself (often far too caught up in his emotions to properly handle them), he was rarely ever prompt in admitting his feelings verbally. And so, as the Archmage posed his question, he would have never expected such a confident reply from the deadman.

“I’m worried about you.”

“--me?” The Archmage made a motion to push back his chair and rise to his feet, but halted his actions upon seeing the subtle hand gestures, offered up by his coworker and comrade. “Whatever for?”

“Don’t play dumb,” softly hissed the warlock.

“I can assure you, I never play ‘dumb’.”

The Forsaken gave him a rather deadpan look and, in a dry, sardonic tone, drawled out, “and all those times you pretended to be an oblivious old fool in order to trick guards into--”

“That’s not the same thing!”

“Of course it isn’t.”

Taviast Duskwither gave a great, weary sigh as the Forsaken sat down across from him. He had stolen away to his personal study room in order to get some peace and quiet. He felt safe in this room. It reminded him of his home. He had decorated the walls with scrolls and baubles of magicry. Here and there crystals peppered shelves weighed down by tomes and ancient books of magical lore. It was his personal study room and library in one. He spent many a night toiling away before drawn our charts, graphs and maps, hoping to produce a foolproof mission plan.

After all… he lead this group of rebels. He was the first member and soul founder of The Circle. And he had an oath to upkeep. Sleep be damned! The welfare of his soldiers were of top priority.

“You’re trying to deflect me.”

Wagging a finger at the warlock, the Archmage coyly replied, “ah, ah, ah! But I’m not the one who brought up my previous roles for past Circle endeavors.”

Guntharius quietly hissed as he bared his unusually sharp teeth (even by standards for typical Forsaken) at the elf. “Smartass.”

“Aren’t most elves?”

Smarmy and smug, Taviast felt he had won that round of wit against the ‘good doctor’. Guntharius was known for his cunning brilliance and his silver tongue. But getting a one-up on him always felt good, even though it was incredibly rare to do so.

Feeling proud of himself, Taviast raised the wine glass to take a well deserved swig of mulled wine when he felt his actions halted by a cold hand. The warlock was not wearing gloves tonight-- his attire for when he didn’t have any missions, and was merely living about in his castle-- and, as such, he felt his hand, unhindered. It was the cold grip of death itself, ready to take him.

Shivering from the contact, Taviast opened his mouth to protest. Anything he wanted to say died in his throat, withered and dry, upon seeing the Forsaken’s unmistakably concerned expression.

“Stop deflecting with humor,” Guntharius uncharacteristically murmured. His hand-- wrapped around Taviast’s slender wrist-- squeezed ever so slightly. It wasn’t a hostile sense of pressure but, rather, a reassuring one. A comforting one. “Stop. For once in your long-lived life, stop.”

A wedge formed itself in the Archmage’s throat, and he found himself willingly lowering the glass of wine. His chest felt tight.

“I don’t unders--”

“Of course you wouldn’t. And of course you don’t.” Guntharius released the Archmage’s wrist, freeing him from his entrapment. “But you’ve always been in denial about everything. In denial that you need to talk to someone, instead of busying yourself with work and the consumption of alcohol in hopes you’ll forget about your guilt.”

“I, I…” Grasping at metaphorical straws, the Archmage felt frustrated. “Alright. Plaguespitter, I understand you enjoy being cryptic about your messages and with your given advice, but I really don’t have the patience--”

“Saurfang.”

It struck him with the cracking reverberation of a whip. He swore he could hear it. The shattering of glass, the crumbling of an infrastructure. He felt that dagger twist deeper into his gut, and he inaudibly sucked in his breath. The air was suddenly so thin to him, and it burned his lungs to take in oxygen.

Varok Saurfang. The noble, honrable Orc who, quite possibly, could have led the Horde into an era of peace. The brave warrior who stood up to challenge their tyrannous Warchief, in hopes to dismantle her psychotically twisted regime and to further spur on the true spirit of a united Horde.

And he fell.

He had fallen by her darkness, her sinister corruption. Around The Circle, there had been in depth discussions as to what it was their ‘Warchief’ had used in order to slay the proud soldier. Some spoke of a darkness, greater than the void. Some warned it, quite possibly, stemmed from the energies of the fel, of warlock magic. Some declared she had soul her soul to a demon, and had become a corrupted dreadlord. And a few whispered fears that the old ones were involved-- The Old Gods themselves.

Whatever it was, and whatever the case, it had become quite clear what her intentions were. And it had been quite a devastating blow to lose such an honorable Orc as that; one who could have lead them to something better, something grander.

It didn’t sting as much as losing Vol’jin, but, by the Gods, Taviast mourned the Orc.

“A...Ah,” Taviast shakily replied, realizing that a good minute or two had passed, and he had been sitting there, in absolute silence, staring at the pale warlock. “I, I… I mean, his passing is a great loss for…. For, for everyone…”

“Stop lying.”

“I speak the truth,” Taviast nearly shouted as he abruptly rose from his chair, slamming his hands down on the table out of frustration. “His passing-- his death-- was a blow to the Horde’s morale! He could have lead us to peace! Helped us better enhance the… the, the Horde with…”

Suddenly weary, Taviast sank back down to his seat. Another sigh escaped him but, unlike before, this one was heavy with exhaustion.

Guntharius calmly watched him, like some plagued, undead feline staring at something it found utterly and sensibly fascinating.

“...Are you done?”

“Quite,” Taviast softly murmured. He reached for his glass and, upon consideration, snatched up the entire bottle. Taking a hearty swig from that, he waved Guntharius on, allowing the warlock to speak, if he so desired to.

In which he desired to. Oh, yes, he very much desired to.

“Don’t think I’m a fool. Don’t take my allegiance and loyalty with the Alliance as proof that I don’t care about the Horde and everything that goes on within it. I am not human anymore,” he hissed with some bitterness, “but I am Forsaken. As such, I have to care about this Horde, the races within it, and I have grown to… to like some of the people here. Including,” he snatched the bottle from Taviast before the elf could drown himself in booze, “Saurfang.”

Making a half-hearted gesture as to grab the bottle back, Taviast quickly gave up. “Surprisingly touchy-feely for a Forsaken.” He winced, visibly, upon realizing what he had just said. “My apologies,” he quickly sputtered. “I didn’t mean for that to come out so--”

Waving the elf’s apology aside, the Forsaken nonchalantly shrugged. “You’re speaking the truth about my kind, and about me. Why apologize for what’s on your mind? Like I always say,” he leaned forward a bit, staring the elf down with a hardened gaze, “speak your goddamn mind.”

A nervous chuckle dancing on his breath, Taviast leaned back in his chair, relaxing a little. “Sound advice.”

“You said I’m good at being a doctor. At me analyzing my ‘patients’, figuring out what’s good and healthy for them, and what is not.” Tapping the wooden table with a single finger, he sneered. “Keeping in your negative thoughts can lead to bad health.”

Furrowing his brow, Taviast gave him a puzzled stare.

“...negative thoughts. Keeping them in. Can lower one’s immune system by causing onset depressive moods, and-- feldammit, Duskwither.” Gesturing wildly, the doctor grew increasingly frustrated. “Do I have to spell it out for you? Fucking talk to me.”

“Talk--”

In a sharp, almost vindictive gesture, the warlock gestured at himself with both of his hands. “Ther-a-pist,”

“We already know one. He’s helped members of The Circle already. One Mr. Dreamwe--”

Letting out an exasperated groan, Guntharius had to stop himself from lunging across the table, grabbing the elf’s head, and slamming it down on the table in a rather undignified, and painful, facepalm. It’d be a facetable, of course-- quite potentially the first of its kind. But he thankfully restrained his own surge of negative emotions, swallowing them along with his need to slap this fool across the face.

“For right now,” Guntharius said through gritted teeth, “I… am… your… THER-A-PIST. Fucking talk to me. And talk about what is on your mind. Treat me as if I am that tentacled magician from the void, and talk to me.”

Taviast understood. He understood now what Guntharius was doing for him, and he couldn’t help but feel another overwhelming wave of emotion wash over him.

“You,” the warlock continued, “have not been the same since confirmation of Saurfang’s death. And you were oddly quiet during Crescida’s speech.”

Ah, yes. Crescida Evenfall. Almost fitting to a point, the Night Elf monk raised her glass of wine and spoke before the convergence of The Circle. She gave an exceptionally grand speech, as inspiring as many generals and sergeants would before any army, and any battle. But instead of a speech filled with the zest and verve to conflict harm against one’s enemy, this one had been filled… with hope, and unity. As morale boosting as anything, she spoke the truth of the matter-- and this world-- all the while humbly honoring the life of Saurfang, now legend and true hero to the Horde.

During dinner and the speech, Taviast had remained strangely quiet and aloof. He had hardly spoken on behalf of the members or in memory of Saurfang. He had opted for a nod here or there, or the occasional hand gesture, in order to urge others to talk in his stead. He listened politely to Crescida’s words, but his attention had begun to drift towards the end. So much so that Ghelror Ebonfang-- sitting to the Archmage’s right-- had to gingerly nudge the elf in the arm, signaling that he, too, should join in with the boisterous round of applause.

“I was… being polite,” Taviast replied, his tone half hearted and weak.

“Of course you were. I’m not denying that. But you weren’t yourself. Your mind was elsewhere.”

“I--”

“I know you by now, Duskwither. I have stood on your left for far too long and have overseen many of your operations.” The warlock folded his hands in front of him, posture straight and austere. “I am your second-in-command, representing the Horde. I am to offset Archdruid Ebonfang. I have seen, and done, and performed so many tasks on your behalf. I have murdered, and tortured, and whittled information out of our enemies in order to do what must be right for this order you’ve created. I have even opened my home-- my safe haven, a place I can hide away from the Horde-- to you. To you, and your order.”

“And I thank you for that,” Taviast piped up, rather quickly, hoping to end the conversation. “I am ever so grateful for your hospitality.”

“I have looked after you all as you slept. I have walked the ramparts at night, keeping my gaze to the distant horizon. I am your shadow. I am your darkness. I am everything you wish you could expose to the world.” He narrowed his gaze, jaw tightening. “I kill when you cannot. I torture when your pathetic stomach cannot handle it. I soak my hands in the blood of our enemies when you can’t even so much as look at a twisted corpse.”

“I get it, I get it,” Taviast testily replied. “I’m fucked up in the head, hmm? Is that what you’re getting at here? That I secretly wish to take over the world and harm people, murder, en masse, in order to shape Azeroth as I see fit?”

A sly smirk spread across the Forsaken’s face. “Not quite what I was getting at,” the warlock teasingly replied, “but it’s amusing to imagine you going to the darkside. And, besides… lately you’ve been killing almost as much as me.”

The Archmage fell silent, and he cast the warlock a resentful look. His own golden eyes grew colder, and their glow seemed to darken.

“Excuse me? Are you suggesting--”

“The point is,” Guntharius interjected, “I know you better than anyone else. I know how much darkness you hold inside. And how much you hate yourself for things. How much you blame yourself for things that go wrong. Especially,” he pointed at the elf, “Saurfang’s death.”

Raising his hands up in a gesture of peace, the Archmage shook his head. “Now, now. Where on earth did you get such a peculiar and outlandish notion?”

“It’s not peculiar. And it’s not outlandish. It’s the feldammed truth.”

“I could not prevent Saurfang’s death. I had nothing to do with it.”

“And yet you still blame yourself.”

Taviast was ready for a rebuttal when the warlock stood up. He watched Plaguespitter walk about his studies, examining the shelves heavily burdened with their magical trinkets, and baubles and tomes. He watched as the warlock deftly plucked a thickly bound leather book from one particularly weathered shelf before proceeding to leaf through it’s aged pages.

“Before you try to come up with a reason as to why my logic is wrong, Duskwither… ask yourself, how many times have you mourned the passing of someone?”

“I--”

Snapping the book shut, the warlock sharply turned to face him. “Innocents. Horde, and Alliance alike. Allies. Friends. Leaders.”

“Well--”

“Vol’jin.”

Once more, a well placed imaginary blow struck him, and he felt himself reel from the force. He was grateful he was sitting, for had he been standing, he wasn’t sure he would be able to stay upright at all. The force of the grief, of those memories, were like a sickening tonic that poisoned him each and every time he brought it to the surface.

“Saurfang’s death,” Guntharius continued, “reminds you of the time we, as a Horde, lost Vol’jin.”

The truth. There it was. There was no denying it. The moment he heard of Saurfang’s death, Taviast remembered the Darkspear Troll who once had given him the hope that things could change. That peace could be achieved. That there needn't be any senseless wars and bloodshed. That all of this could have been avoided.

Garrosh Hellscream robbed the world of a chance at seeing peace. And it had set them back quite a bit, ruining alliances both within the Horde and without.

“Crescida’s speech made you think of Vol’jin.”

“Yes, and… and no,” Taviast confessed. “A little bit of it, I admit. But Saurfang can’t be compared to Vol’jin. Both were exceptional people, but incredibly different.”

“In some ways, yes. In some ways, no. Their ideologies may have varied to some degree but, for the most part, Duskwither, you have to admit… they were the same.”

Slumping a little in his seat, the Archmage sadly looked at a shelf. Anything but at the warlock. He let his gaze grow distant, and his focus became unclear. The world seemed a bit more fuzzier, and it wasn’t the wine talking.

“You’re an elf. You have a long lifespan.”

“And with our font of power restored, and the Sunwell purified… quite possibly immortal.”

“Things to consider, yes, yes.”

Taviast knew exactly where Guntharius was going with this. And he couldn’t help but think of everyone within The Circle. He knew what the doctor wanted him to speak about.

As the leader of The Circle, it was his duty to have the final say on who got sent out on various missions. He had to make the final note of approval on which targets to take out. He had so many lives on the line-- lives who were people. People who were friends. And these people who were loyal enough to follow him. He knew that the loss of lives happened with life, especially when war was involved. But he had bent himself over backwards in order to keep his order safe. So much so that he had magically exhausted himself more than once during a mission, keeping those accompanying him safe. He remembered one time waking up after being drug off to safety, only to have Guntharius himself leaning over him, shrieking about how foolish he had been, and how he had to save his ass by using a demonic portal, and some other egregious nonsense that had clearly pissed off the deadman.

“Everyone in The Circle… is family to you.” The necrotic doctor returned to his chair, settling down in it, the book he had been studying since abandoned.

“They are,” he admitted. “Everyone. All of them. They are my family. And I can’t stand the thought of losing any of them.”

“I understand this,” the warlock replied, acknowledging his feelings, “more than you might believe. But, Taviast, the situation still stands. Like Saurfang, and Vol’jin… the time will come. And you, as our leader, will have to come to terms with that.”

“...and I refuse to.”

A little amused, the warlock sat back in his own chair, arms crossed against his thin chest. He let out a small huff of acknowledgement before posing a question. “What if Crescida fell?”

Taviast sharply looked up.

“Or Archdruid Ebonfang. Or Kippen. Or Raustul. Dreamweaver, Petalhoof, or my brother, Brevaar. What about Zinaji, or Tase? Wanja, the rest of the Sul’tusk? Or any of the other Trolls you’ve managed to befriend over time?”

“Died?”

“It will happen one day.”

“May. May happen.”

“Will.”  

“You pessimistic pest,” Taviast grumbled out.

“Part of the package of being Forsaken, peacock.”

Taviast knew that this was a bitter sort of medicine the ‘good doctor’ was prescribing him. But he had to admit… the warlock wasn’t that far off. His friend-- for lack of better terms-- was giving him a dose of medicine he sorely needed. Someone may-- no, will-- eventually fall. Someone will die during a mission of his. So far they have had close calls and closer scrapes. There had been some minor, major and severe injuries to be had. So far… they had been lucky.

That wouldn’t last forever. He knew that.

Archdruid Ebonfang was disabled now. He had lost his arm in a fight to an elite Dreadlord. And though it happened in an event that had not derived from one of The Circle’s missions or chosen targets, it had happened. And now the old Druid existed with a part of him gone, forevermore. Thankfully he could grow his arm back using nature magic-- a sort of nature-bound prosthetic-- and he could repair it, steadily, over time, if it ever got damaged… but it took a lot out of him. To maintain it, and to repair it as needed. And he could no longer feel with that arm. He had lost all sensation (save for the phantom pains that often wracked his body at night, when everyone else was asleep). He had also retained some general weakness. But that was to be expected. After all, bark could be strong, but it could also be brittle, and fragile, and very much a liability.

Ghelror had a lover. He had found a lover, and he had found a purpose in his life. He had found happiness. He had a life outside of The Circle. If only so many could be as blessed as such. Taviast knew only snatches of Ghelror’s history, but he knew that the elf was long lived and was very particular about who he surrounded himself with. He knew of his half-brother, Raustul Shadeshifter. And he knew that the guardian of the claw only occasionally visited The Circle’s headquarters, seeing as he was, mostly, a teacher to the younger, fledgling Druids of the order, and he helped look after orphans in his spare time (children who lost their parents, typically Druids or Shamans, to the war).

But all of this… in an instant, Ghelror had almost lost it all.

Taviast remembered meeting up with Ghelror, not too long after the incident. He remembered the stump where his arm was supposed to be. He remembered the wan, drawn expression on the already worn-down elf’s face. His slightly hunched over posture, body trembling with agony. How Ghelror refused to speak. How gaunt the Druid seemed then. But he remembered his eyes. Hard, gaze ancient and searching. His amber eyes hid the pain exceptionally well. Yes, his eyes hid the pain… but not the shame of it all.

Ghelror Ebonfang was just one example of a close call. A close call that got far too close for comfort. And Taviast had to admit to himself that sometimes, when he caught sight of the Archdruid in the halls of this downtrodden castle, he wondered who would be next. Who would next suffer a catastrophic blow? Who next would come back from a fight-- this never ending, damnable war-- scarred?

And who would come back, at all?

“And one day I just might lose grip with my soul,” Guntharius continued, noticing Taviast’s face had gone pallid, and his gaze had become distant. “Forsaken don’t last forever, Archmage. You, out of all of us, should know that.”

“I… I do.”

“Our minds go before our bodies. Our souls detach from our forms. We can go feral, mad, and utterly lose who we are. I will lose what makes me ‘me’. I will lose my mind, and I will no longer be myself. I will just be a rabid, feral thing. And the only action one can take against what I’ll become... is disposal.”

Taviast felt that great twisting sensation again, and he noted that the Forsaken had gently, almost lovingly, placed his cool hand over his. He took comfort in the sympathetic action, and he gave a weak smile at the warlock.

“I understand,” the elf murmured weakly.

“I’m not sure you do,” the warlock replied, perhaps a bit too testily, “but you seem to understand it a little bit better. Just consider: things will happen. And even if these people-- your family-- don't fall in battle, with your lifespan…”

The pain. It hurt.

“You need to stop feeling guilty for everyone’s pain and the deaths around you. I know you feel guilty when one of us comes back hurt, but it’s our own experiences and actions that lead to our injuries. Or,” he corrected himself, “the lack of experiences or actions taken. That too.”

“I… I know.”

“Vol’jin, and Saurfang. Let them go.”

“It’s just…”

“Future deaths. Future pain. Let it go.”

Taviast numbly nodded.

“What happens happens. You’re leading The Circle--”

“For now,” Taviast meekly responded.

“For… now,” Guntharius wavered, pausing only to shoot him a confused look. That quickly passed, however. “The point is,” he continued, “we are going to follow you. Anything you command us to do, we will do it. Anything you have plotted and planned out to be done, it will be done. And I will continue murdering and torturing in your name.”

“That… that doesn’t sound particularly pleasing to me,” Taviast groaned. “Completely killed the charming atmosphere you had going on there.”

“Completely my point.”

Rising to his feet, the warlock let his hand drift away from the Archmage’s. He reached out, as if to touch the elf’s cheek. The motion was tender, gentle. Almost loving. And it sent the Archmage’s heart into a nervous tick. And yet, seconds before his chilled fingers brushed against the old elf’s skin, he deftly made a snatching motion and took the bottle of booze instead.

“Hey!”

“No more drinking,” Guntharius drawled out. “It’s long past midnight, and you need proper sleep for once.”

“Is it truly that late?” Taviast looked around, as if unsure of his surroundings.

“No changing the subject. No drinking.” The warlock crooked a pale finger at Taviast, beckoning to follow. His tone was low and dark as he resolutely commanded, “bed. Now.”

A violently colored flush spread across Taviast’s cheeks. “I, I-- I, no-- you, wait-- what?”

Groaning, the Forsaken rolled his eyes. “Not my bed, you idiot. What, you think I’m going to take you to bed and see if my inactive libido still works? That my rotted genitalia might actually be functional? You think I’m attracted to you?” He sneered, cutting Taviast off before he could speak. “Elves! You’d think they’d be smarter with all those centuries under their belts, but, no! Naive bastards, the lot of them!”

“I can hear you, you know,” Taviast grumbled out as he cleared his throat.

“Bed.” He jerked his head towards the exit. “Now. Come on. I’ll help you get to your room. Make sure you don’t scamper off back here and try to work yourself to death, like the complete and utter fool you are. Or worse: drink yourself into oblivion.”

“Charming, as always, doctor.”

“Fucking elves.”