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spooky-scary-imagines · 5 years

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Just poppin in to say that Chop Top story was 👌 and I’d love to hear a continuation. He’s gotten himself and the reader into quite a mess considering how Drayton reacted to Bubba and Stretch, and now you’ve got me all curious about how they’re gonna get out of it.

((You are very correct. Meeting the family on the first date? Lord knows what he was thinking. AND GUESS WHAT! I saved this bad boy so it’s my 69th post. *smacks lips and looks at the camera* Noice. It’s what Chop would have wanted. Also, I am trying my best to stick to the canon story-line like I did in the first part but like…the canon story-line as is does not allow much wiggle room. I’ve cranked the forced 70’s slang up to 11 so I hope the context clues work. ;P Also, it’s pretty much canon that Chop only listens to shitty “experimental” prog-rock. In any-case, thanks so much to all of y’all who’ve encouraged me to write the sequel as well as write in general. Your support means a lot to me. TW For Drayton being…the way that he is. Most of his dialogue is straight from the script but if that’s upsetting feel free to skip this one. Tagging: @i-cant-get-with-it

From outside, the abandoned theme park was just an empty husk of long-forgotten family trips and worn plastic over a warped metal skeleton. Inside however, the old Texas Battle Land had found a second life as home to some of the most wanted people in Texas. When the youngest members of the Sawyer clan arrived home, it was just as they had left it. Fluorescent lights casting a dull glow over the filthy environment, made even more unpleasant by the ever-present smell of decayed flesh and dried blood.

As they carried the bodies they’d gotten earlier inside, the older of the two stopped his brother before they entered the threshold. “H-Hey Bubba, I, uh, I’m just gonna take this one alright?” he asked, gesturing to the body whose head wasn’t a gross mess of blood and pulp. The younger, Bubba, looked at his brother curiously, and while it was impossible to tell from beneath the mask, his eyes conveyed that he definitely was raising an eyebrow at this behavior. Chop-Top fidgeted under his gaze, “I-I g-got a, er, project I wanna do with it.” Bubba just shook his head and shrugged the limp body off his shoulders, into his brothers arms. He grinned up at Bubba and turned to walk away before quickly whipping back. “W-Wait!” he held onto Bubba’s arm, “Don’t-Don’t tell Drayton about this one, ya dig? He’s joanin’ on us enough already.” Bubba nodded solemnly and he and Chop parted ways down into the labyrinthine tunnels.

…

When you finally woke up, you had no clue where you were. Your first instinct was t scream but you held it back as you tried to analyze your situation. The room was dark and looked like the inside of the Devil’s Shaggin’ Wagon. The walls were lined in colorful, yet dingy carpets and miscellaneous oddities, ranging from bones, to old and blurry Polaroids, to worn and torn band posters, and age-bleached centerfolds of woman and men, naked as they day they were born. After quickly taking in your surroundings, you groggily moved to stand up, but were cut short as you finally took notice of the rope tying you arms and legs to the chair you sat in. You instantly wanted to panic, memories of what happened suddenly flooding back. But you knew that, whoever these people were, you were at their mercy, and it was in your own best interest to just try and play along. Just thinking like that was frying you, but you had to keep it together, or you didn’t have a chance

.After what felt like ages of waiting for a bomb to go off, the door directly across from you opened up to reveal the pale face of the man from the radio station. His glasses and wig were gone revealing an exposed metal plate embedded into his skull, the edges where it met skin were raw and torn, indicating they had not been allowed to heal. He turned to you, and when his eyes met yours his face lit up. “Y-You’re awake! I-uh, well, groovy!” he said, scrambling over to you. He sat beside you, and started messing with your still-trapped hand, picking at the skin and bringing it to his face. If you remembered right, this man mostly responded nicely to you, so he was probably your best option.

“Um, hey man, not-not that I can’t dig it but-either I’m tripping or you’ve got some ‘splaining to do Lucy.”

The man laughed at that and moved away, crossing the room to a shoddy looking record player. “You-You like At-t-tomic Rooster?” the man asked, though the record was in place before you could answer. Distorted keyboarding and some bitchin’ guitar riffs blared through the tinny speakers as the man bared his teeth in a manic grin. “Th-this one’s called Ger-Gershazer,” at that word, he started giggling to himself. Disappointed, you tried again.

“So is this your pad?”

“Damn straight!” the man yelled before more quietly adding, “Well, I-I don’t live alone…But-But I paid for this place!” He pointed at the metal plate, “What I got for this chrome-dome ‘Nam gave me?”“You…you were in Vietnam?”

The man’s eyes got a weird glint to them and his head whipped back in a loud cackle, “NAAAPALM! FIRE IN THE HOLE! The ole’ AGENT O!” He gripped your shoulders tightly, “It’s the dream baby, Nam Land!” You just stared at him in a mix of shock and horror. Before you could respond, from somewhere outside the door, you could make out the sound of a someone yelling. The man’s eyes narrowed and whipped towards the door. “Just-Just w-wait here. Don’t bug out on me now,” he said before bolting out the door. You didn’t bother to mention that you couldn’t even if you wanted to, well, of course you wanted to, it’s just…it doesn’t matter. There’s certainly nothing you can do right now. Worry about your apparent susceptibility to Stockholm Syndrome later.

When the trippy hippie finally returned, he wasn’t alone. “Hey sunshine, he crooned, seemingly having gotten over whatever caused him to freak-out last time, “I got someone I want you to meet…” He gestured to the other person revealing a gnarled old corpse wearing a camo army jacket, and you bit back a scream. The thing was on the rough side of decomposition and looked like a prop from the guy who did Dead of Night. The man broke into a near falsetto and reached the corpses hand out as if it were a puppet, “H-Hi my name’s Nubbins! You’re-You’re a r-r-real f-fox.” Despite the horror of the whole situation, you couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. The man swatted at the corpse and turned to you, with a noticeable pink to his cheeks that wasn’t there before, “J-Just ignore m-my brother. He’s a j-jelly brain.

You decided not to address the obvious taxidermied elephant in the room, “So you two are brothers?”

“Yeah. We’re twins! But I got the good looks.” the man argued. Given the state of the other one, you’d have to agree. “Ya see those pictures on the wall?” You nodded. “Nubbins is the one who took them. He always liked artsy stuff…” he drifted off, lost in thought or perhaps memories, of a happier time you couldn’t picture. You were about to offer some comfort when the door slammed open, revealing the giant from before. “DON’T YOU EVER KNOCK!” the smaller man shrieked, leaping up to try and block the other from you. You heard the masked man mumble indignantly. “SO WHAT IF I DON’T USUALLY CARE!” Despite the hippie’s best efforts the large man pushed past him and was struck dumb when he saw you. He turned to the other and yanked him off to a somewhat separate part of the room. While you couldn’t tell what all they were saying, you could tell it was a heated argument. Before they could return to you, the yelling voice from earlier called for them both and you were left alone again.

…

Drayton was on one again, this time, he was convinced that there was some intruder in the house and had been yelling at the two of them to FIND THEM DAMN IT. Finally Chop-Top and Drayton caught up to where Bubba had some girl cornered at the end of a tunnel. It wasn’t surprising to find a cave-in or a dead-end and end up lost for hours. “What the hell’s going on here?” Drayton looked from Bubba to the young woman, confused and angry, “Bubba, you nap-haired idiot. Get out of here. Who’s this? I get it. Are you the saboteur that’s fucking up our house? Tryin’ to put me out of business? Thousands of dollars lost. You got that kind of money?” “No!” the woman finally responded, and Chop-Top finally recognized that voice.

“It’s the DJ. My faaaaave.”

“That dirty thing?” Drayton sneered, “Told me you boys got her!”

“Well, yeah,” Chop butted in, “Leatherface killed her once already tonight. But look, she’s red-faced. Bubba’s been playing with her. Bubba likes her!” With a exaggerated gasp, he broke into an obnoxious chant, “Bubba’s got a girlfriend. Bubba’s got a girlfriend! Bubba’s got a girlfriend! Bubba’s got a girlfriend!Bubba’s got a girlfriend! Bubba’s got a girl-BLEAH” he jumped and erupted into cackles again.

“Is that what this is, Bubba?” Drayton asked, “The old cock-and-cunt swindle, huh? S-C-E-X. Sex. And you had to find out about it, didn’t you? You just couldn’t leave it alone. If you wanted to know about it so bad, why didn’t you ask me? You wanna know about it? Ask me. Ask me! It’s a swindle, that’s all. So don’t get mixed up in it…”

Bubba grunted angrily and pointed to Chop-Top, who had lost his playful expression. “What are you going on about?” Bubba communicated in his own way what he had seen in Chop and Nubbin’s room. “Cheese-eating fink…” Chop-Top mumbled under his breath. Drayton threw his arms in the air, “Are both of you falling for it! What would Grandpa say!” Bubba hung his head sadly and Chop just rolled his eyes. Drayton sighed, “Alright, Chop-Top, take this one away,” he thumbed towards the DJ and glared at the his second-youngest brother, “Then we’re going to see this little cock-monger of yours!”

…

After a more than awkward first meeting with the eldest of the Sawyer clan in which he called you every name under the sun, you were brought to a large dining table and were sat across from Vanita. She briefly stopped screaming when she saw you and sobbed, realizing the fate she had doomed you and L.G. to. You tried to comfort her but there was only so much you could say over Drayton raggin’ and monologuing his totally square life story. “There’s Grandpa now!” he crowed as the two other Sawyers brought in what appeared to be a decrepit corpse in on a throne like dining chair. As Drayton began rambling again about the man “Grandpa” used to be, you noticed that the thing in the chair wasn’t a corpse at all! “Refracto…” you muttered as you watched the ancient man move, albeit slowly. The man who had captured you, “Chop-Top” you had heard the others call him, kept scrambling around, alternating between taunting Stretch and nuzzling against you. “Get the hammer!” the cook squawked and the hippie scampered off. Drayton ordered them around, yelling to “Just get on with it!” and soon they had a small tub set down in front of the old man.

“Wait, uh,” Chop spoke up, “Maybe we ain’t g-gotta kill ‘em.” He looked nervously back to you, “I mean, at least n-not both of ‘em. Mine ain’t gonna be an-any trouble. A-And I’m the one bankrollin’ this place! I should decide!”Drayton sneered, “I can’t believe both you shit-heads are gonna pussy-out on me at the last minute. You know the country’s in the shitter when a man can’t even rely on his own family! The plight of the American businessman! Quick fucking around and bring them down!” The two younger brothers looked at each other, neither moving. Slowly, the larger one, Bubba, hung his head and starting walking towards Stretch who started screaming again, pleading for him to let her go. You were too scared to scream and could only watch as Vanita was dragged from her chair and made to bear her head over the bucket at Grandpa’s feet. Chop muttered something into your ear about “Not tripping” and “Just letting him handle it.” But something told you it was gonna take a miracle to get you out of here alive.

That miracle came in the form of a disembodied voice singing “Bringing in the Sheaves.” From your position at the table you couldn’t really make out what was happening, but you could hear Drayton talking to someone, apparently some competition in the catering biz? You heard Stretch pitifully say “Lefty…” Wait, wasn’t Lefty the name of the guy you two were waiting at the station for? Before you could even call out to him, everything exploded into chaos. All you could hear was chainsaws revving and the screams and yelling from the whole family. You saw Stretch run past you into the tunnels, Chop-Top hot on her heels. Bubba was chainsaw-dueling with a guy who looked like a love-child of Sheriff Buford T. Justice and Major Kong. Drayton was nowhere to be seen.

In all the excitement, they seemed to have forgotten about you. You seized your chance to escape, wiggling out of the ropes Chop-Top seemed to have purposely tied a little loose.

You made your way through the seemingly endless tunnels, finally making your way outside. As you finally reached the surface, you realized night had turned to day. Exhausted on all levels, you collapsed inside the metal tunnels leading to the main body of the park. You heard the sound of explosions, chainsaws and screaming in the distance, but they barely seemed to break through the daze you were in. You had no idea how long you sat there, but you were suddenly broken out of your stupor by a gangling shadow looming over you.

You looked up, only to see the grinning mug of that crazy Head you just couldn’t seem to lose. He looked more than worse for wear, blood dripping from his neck and a gaping hole in his abdomen. Despite everything he had put you through, you found yourself still feeling pity for him. “Hey, rock b-bunny,” he crowed weakly, “Figured you’d blown this p-pop-stand.” You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, instead leaning in to look over his wound. He brushed you off, “Don’tcha’ know?” He grinned, “Sawyers are like cockroaches, it’ll take more than a lil’ rough stuff and and a wayward Smokey to take us down. Now c’mon.” He held out a hand to help you up, then started off back towards the park, “Let’s go round up the rest of ‘em.” You took one last glance behind you towards the horizon, your freedom, the rest of the life you had always believed you wanted…then turned back and followed your new life into the caverns. Into his, and now your, hell, or perhaps…heaven.

#chop top sawyer #bubba sawyer #leatherface #texas chainsaw massacre #slasher imagines #slasher

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brian-wellson · 5 years

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...this is not a pact to take lightly...

Lord Doctor Brian Wellson is shaking. It is all he can do. He had been stripped of his armour, his weaponry, his dignity. Gagged, dangling above the dampened stone of this Darkshore cave, he was powerless. His arms had long since burned themselves to numbness; his face is bruised and filthy. He had heard the stories of what became of those who opposed the Horde Warchief. She wanted them to herself, to make them part of her cult of undead. To surrender their free will. To turn his back on their friends, his life, and Elune.

Wellson had tried everything he knew with respect to escape. He had used the Shadows to slip his bonds the first day. He was stopped at the entrance to the holding camp. The second day, he was placed in solitary confinement without restraints. He had picked the locks using two small bone needles he had pilfered the day before. Once again, he was stopped at the gate by a sentry hound; well, what had once been a sentry hound, anyhow. There was not much left when the guards dragged him into the cave. He lost track of time. He longed to pray to Elune. Instead, the goblins had conjured some kind of recording device that blasted Pandaren tavern music at all hours. After a time, he started refusing the disgusting, rotten bread they had been feeding him. So they stuck a gag in his mouth. One way or another, he reasoned, they were intent on making him an agent of the undead.

More than anything, he misses Quai. In the weeks since his internment, he had pictured every centimetre of her. He can remember her scent, the way her leather creaked, the raspy sound of her voice. He had spent hours inside his own head, conversing with those he missed most — Quai, Justine, Kyara, Dr. Thalsian, the Vicar. Even Andrew and Birdhat and Selene. All of them had visited him at some point to remind him of his sanity, to force him to remember just for whom he was fighting. Thinking about Quai’s chest rising and falling when she was asleep, it was like meditation to him. Reminiscing about Justine and just how much she had fallen for that girl, that had sustained him. In the darker hours, however, that was when he would be confronted by Venifica, and the Shade, and the visage of Rìona.

II.

It was Rìona who prompted memories of his doctoral teachings. He methodically recalled each and every page of the incunabular text in which he had also compiled his dissertation research notes — Saronite and the effects it had on the psyche. And as he continued to recount the text in his mind, he noticed a peculiar item about which almost nothing had been written. It was a lead he had not chased down; his advisory committee had steered him away from it, saying he had already taken on enough of those artifacts to place him at risk of insanity.

Nevertheless, the item continued to appear in his research: anecdotes from those who had met a person who had actually used it and then lost their minds. They had called it a ‘puzzle box’. Specifically, they had said ‘The Puzzle Box of N’Zoth’.

Unable to squelch his curiosity, he kept chasing leads in his free time. The only thing which was consistent was that N’Zoth, much like the other Old Ones, reached out to the people, and filled their minds with maddening ideas. Someone in Crystalsong Forest, a member of his cohort who would disappear days later, had given him a sketch of the box just before the slaughter at Netherguard Keep. So he had carved a replica from a single block of wood. He had used it as a paperweight — until its face shifted, morphing into something else entirely, something almost alive. He picked it up, and that was when he had first felt ‘touched’; when his thoughts began to trend to the darker, when he had been impelled to punish himself for each errant kill, when he had decided to become an arms smuggler.

Wellson had pushed against the whispers in his mind for years. Every now and again, he would lose control, slipping into madness. After Trin had died, he remembered all of the things he had heard echoing in his mind: that his friends would die, that he would fail, that he was a pawn. Yet, he pressed and suppressed; he knew the effects even a graven image had on his psyche — a stupid paperweight! — and he needed to defend his family, the Masons, and keep them safe. (Even Andrew.)

III.

When the moon had turned black, the Darnassian military activated him. The Army of the Black Moon, they had called the detachment. He thought it to be a bit on the nose, but it was as good a name as any. In exchange, he would get his long awaited promotion in the Grand Alliance Navy — First Lieutenant – when the job was done. A group of saboteurs needed to a destroy a plague camp; by crushing the manufacturing process, the Sentinels and the rest of the Army could make headway. He dispatched the mana cub to Quai just before capture.

IV.

Our pact, thinks Wellson.

…our pact, came the response.

Wellson feels his bonds loosening.

You ensure my escape. You heal my wounds and take away my pain. You never speak to Quai or Andrew. Ever, thought Wellson.

...and you will cease chasing my servant, Rìona. You will kill anyone who tries to stop her. If you fail in this, you belong to me...

Wellson’s mind goes silent for a moment.

...do you accept my terms?... It asks.

The rock around into which the chain suspending him begins to crack. His arms drop slightly, and blood rushes through his veins and arteries. Gasping, he starts to cramp, moving his legs. Like he is riding a bicycle. He needs to get his blood circulating.

...do you?...

Yes, thinks Wellson.

His bonds and shackles drop to the floor. The muscle cramps are subsiding. He can feel darkness coursing through his body, his head, and mind. He can focus more intensely than he had at any point since Northrend. The gag in his mouth dissolves, consumed by Shadow. With a bestial shout, he punches the door, and it blasts off its hinges, smashing against the opposite wall; he feels nothing. A goblin jailor is pinned behind the door. He is pleading for his life. Wellson has no empathy – only rage, determination. He peels the door off the jailor, and throws it aside.

“No...” Wellson croaks. He raises his fist just long enough for the goblin to wish he had been born a gnome, and drives his Shadow-imbued fist through the jailor’s face, connecting with the wall. The goblin’s caves in like a gore-soaked doughnut. With his free hand, Wellson reaches down, pulling the keyring off the dead man’s belt. He withdraws his fist, and the body crumples to the floor, splatting the bright red blood. He systematically goes from one cell to the next, freeing the Sentinels. As he takes small sips of spring water trickling into his hand from the algae-covered wall, the saboteurs emerge from their cells, ready to fulfill their mission.

“Secure the armoury,” shouts Wellson, pointing toward a small room deeper in the improvised cellblock. “Move! Now!”

(( @quai-mason @justinegrotius @killerkyara @juniper-rose-blower @trin-llewellyn @the-shade-wra @thalsianiii ))

#Wellson #Blackbay #Darkshore #Uh oh #Abdication #After Blackbay

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timeshuffles · 5 years

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this blog is like 90% worldbuilding presently and i would apologize for that but i’m not actually sorry so HERE HAVE SOME MORE

mer folk:

live in large schools in warm, shallow waters. sociable and curious. the most humanlike in nature of the marine peoples

often build sprawling cities along the contours of coral reefs. coral, stone, wood salvaged from shipwrecks, and woven kelp are common building materials. barnacles are encouraged to grow on permanent structures, as they offer an extra layer of durability and protection from the elements.

vast forests of kelp are tended to and carefully farmed; farming communities often weave their homes into the upper reaches of the kelp forests

diet primarily composed of various seaweeds, though dishes composed of plankton are an important staple as well. eating fish, mollusks, and crustaceans is a huge taboo. historically shark meat has been considered a delicacy, but it has since fallen out of fashion as the role of agriculture in mer society grows

most mer speak a common tongue they share with most of the fish / mollusks / crustaceans they share their waters with. this, as you might imagine, is why eating those things is so taboo.

there have been many, many, many dolphin wars. absolutely no love lost between mer folk and the dolphins

mer folk are not sirens, and do not have any common ancestry with sirens, but maintain friendly relationships with them, and mermaids with vocal talent and violent inclinations will sometimes travel to siren colonies to learn the art of hypnotizing human sailors with their voices.

human fishing vessels are a perennial hazard for mer schools, and getting caught in a human net is widely considered a worse fate than death for a mer; there are many, many horror stories about what happens to those who fall into human hands.

on the other hand, mer occasionally join the crews of human pirate ships, a lifestyle that mostly appeals to the young, reckless, adventuresome types. they are typically welcomed for their skill in hunting for treasures in ancient shipwrecks and sabotaging enemy ships from below.

female mer lay eggs, usually just one or two per year. these are then fertilized in extremely private ceremonies by male mer, and hatch after several months into fry about the length of a human forearm. mer folk have absolutely no concept of sex, and are absolutely baffled by human art depicting, for example, mermaids kissing human men.

language composed of clicks and languid, flowing calls that sound very much like music to human ears. they are capable of mastering human speech, though as it is nearly useless underwater they seldom bother to do so.

sirens:

are not actually one of the marine peoples, but nest along rocky coastlines and coastal cliffs and are often confused with siren-trained mer folk by human sailors (and after all, if a half-human creature is trying to sing you to your watery doom, are you really going to look close enough to see whether she has feathers or fins?)

demonstrate extreme sexual dimorphism, with males being large, flightless, powerful swimmers and females much smaller, more birdlike, and capable of extended flight.

seagulls are extremely popular pets for siren families, and are commonly trained to dive-bomb, scream at, and generally harass human sailors

sirens are opportunistic omnivores who will eat anything. this is the biggest point of friction between mer and siren communities, and in the past has been the catalyst of several wars. (sirens are now obligated by treaty to refrain from hunting in mer territories.)

siren colonies are visible from a great distance on sunny days, as they like to decorate their nests with sea glass, polished shells, and jewelry stolen from their human victims.

form intense pair bonds and mate for life. a mated pair will typically produce 4-6 chicks over the course of their adult lives.

their language is a patchwork of corrupted mer and human tongues, with a collection of whistling calls and chattering sounds woven in.

selkies:

selkies are masters of disguise known for their great skill in crafting magical illusions and glamors. they are the elfin kin of ordinary pinnipeds, and will typically shape their true form to match that of their favored type of seal. sea lions and sea leopards are by far the most common, for the lithe frames of the former and terrifying strength of the latter are widely admired attributes.

unlike other marine peoples, selkies are a shapeshifting rather than chimerical race; they spend most of their time as seals, living fin-to-fin with their nonmagical kin, but sometimes shed their seal skins and take on human forms instead.

a selkie in human form is distinguishable from ordinary humans by their eyes, which are large and black without any white around the iris, their teeth, which are very sharp, and their fingers, which are webbed. they are exquisitely beautiful, but humans unwary enough to be entranced by their beauty quickly learn that the teeth are not for show.

in case i’m not being clear enough: they will eat you.

their one vulnerability is their sealskin. if it is stolen from them, the thief will have immense power over them—though it is still unwise to do so, for they will never stop searching for it, and vengeance is brutal and swift if they succeed.

on the other hand, humans who do them great favors and approach them with utmost respect can receive great rewards for their troubles, and it is not uncommon for remote fishing villages to intentionally court the favor of the local selkies.

mer folk regard them in much the same way that humans regard the fae—selkies are, after all, the elves of the sea. very, very carnivorous elves.

selkies mate freely both with other selkies and ordinary seals, and there is no cultural distinction between the two pairings; whether the offspring is a seal or a selkie is determined largely by the phases of the moon and the tides at birth.

the offspring of humans and selkies are often sickly and frail, and always cursed with insatiable wanderlust. many drown at a young age, for they are always fascinated with water; those who survive to adulthood almost invariably become sailors.

they speak as seals do, with a barking, guttural sort of language, regardless of whether they are in seal or human form. they readily understand, but seldom choose to speak, human languages.

cecaelia:

the most reclusive and feared of the marine peoples, cecaelia live solitary, semi-nomadic lives, prowling the ocean floor and building dens in dark caves and narrow crevices. they are venomous, predatory, and reputed to be exceptionally selfish and cruel.

they do not have teeth; they have a very hard, very sharp beak, concealed behind human-like lips. their venom is delivered through the beak and is neurotoxic, paralyzing its victims and causing swift death via asphyxiation.

like other cephalopods, they are invertebrates. their humanoid mantles are given shape by a chitinous internal structure similar to the gladius of a squid.

their ink has a number of magical properties, and is especially prized for its efficacy as a base in spells and potions involving invisibility, disguise, and deception.

most of their body is taken up by the digestive system, and they eat a lot. they also have three hearts, and can propel themselves very quickly through the water by forcing air rapidly through their gills.

their brain is not where you think it is. a blow to their human head will not even phase them.

some of them grow very, very large. these are the krakens of the deep, and they are known for feasting on whales.

as a group, they value intellectual prowess above quite nearly everything else, and knowledge is their currency of choice; the only truly safe way to approach a cecaelia is to teach them something new, and their primary avenue of contact with other members of their species is through the enormous universities they build in the deep.

possess extraordinarily good vision, seeing well in both light and dark environments and being particularly sensitive to color.

they are unique among the marine peoples in that their language is entirely nonverbal; meaning is encoded in the rapid shifting of colors and patterns along their flesh, and supplemented with a complex vocabulary of gestures that engages all ten of their arms. the language is, accordingly, impossible for outsiders to learn, which naturally contributes a great deal to their fearsome reputation.

the cecaelian equivalent of a stutter is poor proprioception, which significantly inhibits the precision of gestures with limbs the individual cannot see. this is a fairly common affliction, and in educational settings is accommodated with mirrors, which allow the speaker to watch their whole body as they speak.

they make excellent thieves, assassins, and saboteurs thanks to their innate camouflage, their superior dexterity, and their ability to squeeze into exceptionally tiny spaces.

cecaelia have a set of peculiar beliefs surrounding death and reproduction, largely due to the fact that 1) reproduction is always, without exception, fatal for both parents, and 2) memories are generational, with cecaelia hatchlings being born with residual memories they inherit from their parents. it is therefore believed that reproduction involves the sacrifice of self and transmission of the soul into one’s offspring, and a great deal of mysticism and ritual surrounds the process.

since cecaelia can theoretically live forever if they choose not to reproduce, those who do reproduce are quietly revered, and little shrines are built in their honor along commonly-traveled routes. it is good luck to leave a trinket of respect at any shrine one should happen to pass.

the actual act of reproduction is a private, intimate affair; afterwards, the father will swiftly wither away and die in a matter of days, and the mother will ritually consume his body. then she will retreat into a secluded den or cave to lay a clutch of eggs—anywhere from four to twelve—and enter the long fast, a period of six to ten months during which she does nothing but zealously guard and tend to her eggs. once the eggs begin to hatch, she, too, will quickly die, and her body will sustain her children until they are large enough to venture from the den and make their way in the world.

as you can probably imagine, the other marine people find this entire production exceptionally disturbing, and frightened, wildly exaggerated rumors of cannibalistic cecaelian death magic abound.

#⌈ AND NOW DARK SHALL REIGN FOREVER OVER OCEAN SEA & SHOAL ⌋ ( ursula. )#⌈ SHEER ABUSE OF POWER ⌋ ( hc : ursula. )#⌈ PERSONAL FILES ⌋ ( muse things. )

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anon-e-miss · 6 years

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Mitigation 2 - Smut of the Month Club

There will be smut, though not just yet. Honestly if you aren’t following this ficlet for smut I don’t know why you’re ready it, it has no other redeeming qualities.

With the passing joors, the storm only grew in strength. It howled and hissed through the gap in the boulders, with no signs of weakening. Meister realized it would be mega-cycles, even a full orn or more before the Autobots would be able to mobilize a rescue, and even then they would have to find this blocked off cave. Prowl was not the only Autobot lost in the storm, unless the rescuers passed the cave on accidents, it was going to be a while before they found the tactician, and Meister. This was bad, in fact it was hard to imagine how it could be much worse. Joors passed in silence, both mechs wrapped tightly in their warming blankets. They would not last, the Polihexian realized, warming blankets only had so much built in charge, before they needed to recharge by means of their solar panels. Of course there was no sun, and not electrical conduits. He did not know how many blankets the Autobot had in his subspace, the saboteur had only one left. As they waited for rescue, they would not starve to death, but they just might freeze.

They drank another cube of fuel, shared more rust sticks, and recharged in short spurts. By the time a full mega-cycle had passed since the cave in, Meister’s warming blanket had given up the ghost. As the storm screech beyond the boulders, the Polihexian’s temperature began to drop uncomfortably low, despite the residual heat, and Meister had a bolt of inspiration. He stood, ignoring the stiffness of his limbs, and tossed the blanket over his shoulder, and he walked the short distance to the gap. Bracing himself for the cold, Meister rooted through his subspace before finding the vial wanted. With special care he applied the sludge to the edge of the warming blanket it and stuck it against the rock. Though they were plunged into total darkness, the blanket did what the saboteur had hoped it would, it blocked out the wind, and insulated the cave.

“How many more blankets do you have?” Prowl asked.

“One,” Meister replied, with a hiss. He rubbed his plating, warming himself with a bit of kinetic energy. “Whatcha got?”

“One,” the Praxian replied. “That adhesive you use looked familiar.”

“Stole it from Wheeljack,” the saboteur replied, without shame, he took out his last warming blanket and prayed the storm would fragging end. “How ya doin’.”

“Maintaining my core temperature,” Prowl replied. He... looked annoyed, which was a little laughable since Meister was not actually convinced the mech’s expression had changed at all. When he switched his visor to infrared settings he found his unintended companion’s frame temperature was below ideal levels, but holding mostly stable, despite the blanket’s lack of output. The temperature at his core, his chassis and midsection were fluctuating, but not dangerously. Meister felt a little envious.

“Some Praxian trick?” He asked.

“More or less,” the tactician replied. “I am hoping to delay utilizing my second warming blanket as long as I might.”

“How about sharin’ one?” Meister asked. “Stretch it out another ‘cycle.”

“That is a wise idea,” Prowl replied. He dropped his depleted blanket from his shoulders as he stood, and with a flick of his wrists he laid it out on the ground, adding another small layer of insulation. Smart.

“Here,” the Polihexian said and he held out the corner of his remaining warming blanket. “Get it over yer doors ‘n we’ll figure this out.”

They did work it out, at least as best as they could. It was not quite wide enough to wrap fully around both mechs, thanks to the width of the Praxian’s doorwings, but it was good enough. The blanket Meister had glued to the opening was keeping at least the worst of the storm out. Their exposed plating was cold, but they were in not danger of freezing, not yet. Being shoulder to doorwing with the mech who had hunted him across Praxus was a bit bizarre, but Meister was actually pretty thrilled. He had toasted the mech, privately of course, when he had learned of Praxus’ destruction and had assumed the Praefectus Vigilum was dead with his city-state. Only Ricochet had known how horrified his twin had felt over the genocide, their procreators, their kin in the Fellowship would have thought his processor glitched if he had ever told them he was mourning his nemesis, a mech he had publically cursed a thousand times over a vorn. Meister was more glad than he could have predicted that the mech was alive, and while he would not say he relished the this opportunity to sit with Prowl, he was nonetheless glad the Praefect Vigilum had survived the slaughter.

As another joor ticked by, they shared fuel, but only barely spoke. It became darker and darker as mid-cycle gave way to dark. From his subspace, Meister withdrew a small lantern and activated it by twisting the bottom. He set it down on the ground above their heads, and it caste them in a soft purple light. The silence was not exactly companionable but it was not outright awkward. Meister had a hundred questions for Prowl, but enough sense not to speak them. They were only allies because they were stuck in this cave, and the tactician’s offer hung in the air.

You did not survive even younglinghood in the Fellowship with a sharp processor, the saboteur was not naive. He knew Straxus had sunk his claws deep into the Fellowship. It had been stellar-cycles since they council had taken a client not tied to the Decepticons. Their guild was no longer independent of their principality’s lord, and Meister was wary, had been wary for sometime, over what this meant for their future. Before Praxus, he might have been able to enlist, if that had been the path his community took, but now? No, not a chance, and he was not alone in that feeling. The Fellowship was made up of assassins, thieves, and villains of all sorts, but they slaughter of Praxus had knocked most of them back a step. Those that had shown no shock or horror were the ones Meister now knew better than to trust, and he was not the only one. The very framework of the Fellowship was cracking. It would be a logical time to jump ship, but no one had ever claimed Meister was logical.

His chronometer told him it was getting late, recharge was in order. The nip of the cold on his exposed plating made this more of a challenge than he would have liked. He shifted, here and there, but some part of him, and Prowl, was inevitably exposed. For his part, the Praxian did not move, at all, though he was not in recharge either, though his optics were dark. If they could get just a bit closer, the warming blanket would cover them both completely. Meister was not an idiot, he knew exactly how to accomplish this, and he had a feeling Prowl did too. But if the cool-helmed tactician had not made the suggestion, that could imply he was against it.

Prowl was frowning, at least Meister interpreted the ever so slightly turned down mouth as a frown. Trying to be considerate, the Polihexian did his best to stop fidgeting though stillness, outside of necessity, had never been one of his strengths. Cold nibbled at his leg and face, and though he tried, Meister could not distract himself from it enough to successfully initiate recharge. He glanced at Prowl again, and found the faint frown seemed to have deepened, as a whole his expression was not so smooth, but rather tight.

“Freezin’ a bit?” Meister asked. His companion’s optics brightened.

“It is not pleasant,” Prowl replied.

“If we lay down, chassis to chassis we might get some real recharge,” the saboteur offered. “Blanket below us should absorb some o’ the heat.”

“It would be worth attempting,” the Praxian said. “I am not certain my doorwings will fit.”

“We’ll make it work,” Meister declared. “Lay down first, lemme figure this out.”

The Praxian laid on his side, and arranged his doorwings as out of the way as he could. He positioned himself on his left side, his doorways arranged as unobtrusive as they could be. Kneeling, Meister draped the functioning warming blanket over Prowl’s doorwings, and laid down himself. Both of them had pronounced chassis and it took a little figuring but if he curled up a little higher on the blanket than the tactician it worked, so long as both mech tucked up their legs. Satisfied with the arrangement, he careful tossed the end of the blanket over his back, and just a bit up over his helm. For the first time in joors, he felt properly warm, and he shamelessly basked in it. Slowly, his optics dimmed, and he listened for Prowl to drop into recharge. Once the Praxian did, Meister was content to follow suit.

He woke joors later, still warm, and still about as comfortable as you could be laying on a cave floor. At some point in their recharge, Prowl’s helm had fallen forward to rest against Meister’s chassis. His ventilation added another warmth, something the operative was not going to complain about. Since he had not been murdered in his recharge, the saboteur elected to call the dark-cycle a success. Before it was time to recharge again, this blanket would also be depleted, and they would only have one more dark-cycle worth of heat left. Meister had hoped with the blanket below them the heat might be retained in someway. While the blanket below them had indeed absorbed some of the heat, he could already tell it would not be enough to last them long. Could there be away of charging the blankets with the heat thrown from their own frames? There were a few ways to overheat your frame, driving circles in the cave was not an option, it was not remotely close to big enough for one car, let alone two to drive around in.

Prowl stirred, easing himself back, away from Meister, his doorwings inched free of the blanket it. He froze. The saboteur raised himself up on one arm, and hummed. The air around them was noticeably warmer. Maybe it was only a difference of a few degrees, but it was a marked improvement. Meister had hoped the warming blanket would keep some heat in the cave as it kept the storm out, and it looked like they had gotten lucky. If it rose a few more degrees, they would be even better off. Feeling more at ease than he had in a few mega-cycles, the Polihexian smiled wide.

“We mighta gotten lucky,” he said as he smiled down at Prowl.

“I believe we have,” the Praxian agreed, and he pushed himself up on his arms, and stretched out his doorwings. Twisting slightly, he accessed his subspace, and pulled out one cube, and then another. “I have an orn’s worth of rations, not including the rust sticks. You?”

“Two orns,” the saboteur replied. “We got fuel enough. Just gotta make sure we don’t freeze.”

They would not die of boredom either, though Meister doubted Prowl was susceptible to that fate anyways. He, on the other servo, did not like idleness. Though the Polihexian could tolerate it with music pumping, he thought better of playing anything, given the whole rock slide and explosive mineral thing. Instead, he pulled a board game from his subspace and laid it on the blanket. With the press of a button, three holographic tiers rose from the base. If Prowl did not know how to play Triad, then Meister would teach him, at least it would pass the time. As he programmed his own game pieces, the Praxian reached a servo to the board and programmed his own. Teaching would have been amusing enough for the saboteur, but playing against a skilled opponent was even better. Knowing the processor power Prowl had, this was bound to be a challenge. Meister’s smile widened.

“Universal rules?” he asked.

“Agreed,” Prowl replied. “You carry a Triad board with you on missions?”

“Ya never know when y’re gonna be stuck somewhere a while,” Meister said. “Good game can last a while, figured it’d be a good way to wait out the storm.”

They remained sprawled under the blanket as they played the game. Meister did not know if his opponent had expected an easy win, he had not expected one himself, but what he got was something altogether unexpected. The game crawled. Prowl countered him, he counter Prowl. It was the best match the Polihexian thought he had ever played, certainly the most challenging. His lantern continued to glow, the purple light played off the holo-images in an almost eerie way. Between moves, they fuelled, and spoke little as the game evolved into a war of attrition.

Eventually, the warming blanket ran out of charge. Though the spent one Meister had stuck over the gap was doing its job insulating the cave, the heat they had gained had not been lost yet, it was still bitterly cold. They would likely manage to recharge, eventually despite the discomfort but there was a real risk that they would not online in the light-cycle. It was both galling and baffling that Prowl was retaining his core temperatures considerably better that he was. Infrared sensor did not lie, the Praxian’s temperature was several degrees higher than Meister’s, and he did not know what to make of it. He watched his long time nemesis in hopes of unravelling the mystery, it was not like he could just go right out and ask. They might have had an unofficial truce going, that did not mean the operative was going to confess a vulnerability, his procreators would never let him hear the end of it.

Under the glow of the lantern, Meister watched the Praxian’s face, the direction of his optics was concealed by his visor. As it was Prowl’s turn to make a move, the saboteur had time enough to study the mech. He had figured out early on that the Autobot had an excellent poker face, it had cracked when Prowl had spoken of Praxus, it had cracked now. Why, though? It was not a look of concentration. As Meister kept watching, he thought it was a look of irritation, but he was not convinced. The Praxian doorwing’s shifted slowly, back and forth against the blanket. Somehow, Prowl did not seem like the time to fidget. Finally, the tactician made his play, and now the Polihexian was certain, Prowl was distracted. He made his counter play, and one the game. Prowl looked down at the board, a look of chagrin in his optics.

“What’s up wit ya?” Meister asked. Pushing the board aside, he leaned a little closer. The corners of Prowl’s optics were tight. Was he hurting? “Do ya need a blocker? Some more gel?”

“I am fine,” Prowl said. His doorwings stilled. “The cave is not warm enough to recharge without using my warming blanket.”

“Y’re right there,” the saboteur replied. “How long do ya think it’ll take yer friends to come lookin’ for ya?”

“However long it takes the storm to break,” the Praxian said. “The forecast I received before the mission suggested it would last mega-cycles whenever it rolled.”

“Well it won’t do us any good next-cycle if we freeze this dark-cycle,” Meister replied. “Ya got some good insulation there, think y’re at least five degrees warmer than me right now.”

“It is inconsistent,” Prowl said, a true frown on his lips. He pulled his warming blanket from his subspace and set it aside. When the Praxian pulled the expended blanket over his doorwings, he flinched ever so slighted. Meister had pulled his side over his own shoulders. With that settled, Prowl tossed the fresh warming blanket over them both.

“Sure ya don’t need more gel,” the Polihexian asked. “I ain’t short on it.”

“I am fine,” the tactician insisted. “We should fuel, and recharge.”

“No argument from me, Boss Bot,” Meister replied. As they had the dark-cycle before, they arranged themselves with the Polihexian just a little higher up on the blanket below them, and as before Meister waited for Prowl to drop into recharge before doing the same. This dark-cycle, however Prowl remained online for considerably longer.

The light-cycle came, though the cave stayed dark. Meister onlined to see Prowl was online already, but at the same time he was not... there. His optics were lit but out of focus, like he was lost in thought, the saboteur was familiar with the look. Prowl was a brilliant mech, Meister knew this from experience. As Praefectus, the Praxian had stifled him time and again, an accomplishment no other mechanism could also claim. Since the fall of his city-state, Prowl had been exposed to the warfare and to the tactics of war, and he had proven to be a foil in Megatron’s side. If anyone could figure out how to stretch two dark-cycles worth of warmth over three or for, it was this mech. Waiting out the storm was the only plan Meister had, and it was a pretty rotten plan. This warming blanket would not last through the next dark-cycle, at least he could not see how, and though the temperature of the cave might have warmed a few degrees, he was painfully aware it was not warm enough for them to survive without some kind of heat source. Early on, he had considered setting a fire but he had no way to confirm if the dextrodium helite was only in the boulders, no way to ensure that a fire would not send them straight to the Pit. But once the warming blanket ran out, would they have any other choice but to risk it? It was a full bream before Prowl’s optics came into focus, and when he locked optics with Meister, realized he been watched for sometime, and cocked his chin up.

“Hope ya come up with a plan,” Meister said. Of course the other mech was embarrassed but he was not about to rub it in, not with his own aft on the line.

“It is the same plan I have had since we became trapped,” Prowl replied, and there was no mistaking it, the mech was annoyed.

“I get the vibe ya don’t like it but will it keep us alive?” The saboteur asked, imagining it could be no worse than his own. “’M partial to stayin’ alive.”

“My frame throws off considerable heat,” the Praxian explained. “When condition are met. I have attempted to meet these conditions and I have been unable to do so.”

“So what do ya need?” Meister asked, now he was certain that Prowl’s plan was loads better than risking an explosion. “So long as ya aren’t plannin’ on any mechfluid sacrifices to Unicron, ‘m pretty flexible.”

“I need to be aroused,” Prowl said. The operative outright stared at the sombre mech. He shook his helm. Prowl made a point of looking over his shoulder, and not at Meister’s face.

“Say that again,” the Polihexian said. “Pretty sure I just hallucinated.”

#valveplug #maccadams #ficlet #smut of the month club #jazz #prowl #cave in #is smut a redeeming quality?

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bardicfoxes · 5 years

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[D&D] Sastasha Levelileur Demanx - Rogue

Sastasha is one of my favourite characters I’ve ever written up. My first attempt at playing a rogue after years of being infatuated by dashing highwaymen, Assassins creeping through the shadows, and thieves pulling off the impossible heists. Unlike many of my characters, Sasha’s life events were rolled for using the character generation tables in the Dungeon Masters Guide which is why her story is particularly long. Sasha is still with me (If temporarily unavailable due to a deck of many things accident...void card...) and her story has only grown in time, stories I would like to write up at some point. Anyway enjoy my wonderful Rogue girl!

War has been nature for living beings since the dawn of time, sometimes loud, brash, and overt, others silent, subtle, carried out in the shadows. Deep in the forests, hidden from the eyes of mere men, the Elvish waywatchers of Athel Loren battled the bestial tribes that inhabited the forest they called home. Many beast tribes were crushed beneath the martial prowess of the Elves. Dryad, Satyr, Gorgan, all were felled. However one tribe proved too cunning, too quick, and too sly to be destroyed quite so easily. For over a hundred years, the Kitsune ran rings around the Elves, able to melt into the forest, whisper into the ears of generals, and strike from anywhere, they proved themselves more than a match for the Elves.

As in any war, each side had its key players, many a battle had been won with the sheer prowess, accuracy, and skill displayed by Kerillian Aidenish, lieutenant of a squad of elite Elvish archers, and trackers, conversely the Kitsunes had dealt near crippling blows to Elvish supply lines, and reinforcements with the cunning, guile, and daring antics of Takeda Yoshiro, roguish thief turned saboteur. Both Kerillian, and Takeda always seemed to find themselves two sides of the same coin, Kerillian would diligently follow the trail of Takeda, who in turn would loop, and twist in order to strike behind her lines. The pair crossed blades many on many occasions, their battles being recounted in stories time, after time, sometimes Kerillian would loose an arrow into Takeda, sometimes Takeda would catch Kerillian in an explosion, neither seeming to ever truly defeat the other.

The seasons rolled on, Spring into Summer, Summer to Autumn, and Autumn cascading into Winter. One Winter was particularly colder than others, blizzards pinning down entire armies, and burying the forest in a suffocating blanket of snow, and chilling sheets of ice. Colder than any Winter before it, Elf, and Kitsune fell to the cold, those strong enough to resist being driven into caves, sheltering from the elements. For the first time in over two centuries, the shadow war for the forest stopped…

In a strange turn of circumstance, both Kerillian, and Takeda found themselves separated from their allies, and trapped within the same cave network. The pair hunted one another, sparring all throughout the day, and night, clashing to an exhausted standstill. Without food, water, and warmth, they would both perish, and so an uneasy alliance between the pair formed. With her natural Elvish atunement to nature, and it’s magics, Kerillian fashioned them warmth, and shelter within the cave, and with the trademark penchant for luck, and perception Takeda possessed, he provided food, and water, through gathering, and hunting even despite the conditions. At first the pair was silent, weapons remained drawn and the taught thickness of mistrust hung over the makeshift home, however as the days stretched into weeks, which stretched further into months, even these vicious enemies began to talk, both longing for even the most base social contact. The hate they once held for each other became an uneasy relationship of sorts, which in the darkest, coldest night, when food ran scarce, and ice clawed at even the deepest parts of the cave, became an odd sort of Love. By the light of their flickering campfire, Kerillian Aidenish, and Takeda Yoshiro consummated their relationship.

As the blizzard finally rolled past, and Spring sunshine pierced the permafrost coating every tree, both Elf, and Kitsune began to feel the pull of war once more, with supplies lower than they’d ever been both factions were determined to become the dominant residents of this vast forest. Within their cave, even Kerillian, and Takeda began to grow weary of each other's presence, their love turning toxic as their dependence on each other waned, one morning Kerillian awoke to find Takeda gone, he had vanished into the night, Kerillian while thankful her throat had not been slit, cursed his name and their hunt began again. This time however, Kerillian felt a tug against her talents, like something was holding her back, concerned her unit coerced her into seeing a healer, who gave news that Kerillian would rather have never received, she was with child, two in fact, Kerillian was holding twins… No one dared question who the father was for fear of invoking the her wrath, but as no man came forward, rumors began to spread. Removed from the front lines for the safety of her children, Kerillian found herself taking care of menial tasks, her responsibilities dwindling as she became more heavily pregnant with each day. When the children were due, Kerillian chose to give birth in secret, with only a handful of her most trusted handmaidens by her side.

In the middle of the night, Kerillian gave birth, the children's names leaving her lips before she even set eyes upon them “Calcifer, Sastasha” she whispered to a Handmaiden as she shut her eyes, she couldn’t bare to look upon her children, Elves were pure in nature, untainted by lesser beings, lying with a human was one thing, but lying with a beast man of the forest, was one of the greatest dishonours she could have brought upon herself. Finally she opened her eyes and gazed upon her children. She noted dark hair, nothing like her own, a soft rounded face, reminding her not of her own sharp features, and to her disappointment, and the horror of the Handmaidens around her a pair of dark midnight ears, and a sleek black tails… Too much of a fox to be raised amongst Elves, and far too much of an Elf to be raised amongst Kitsune, Kerillian, and her Handmaidens pledged to keep the children a secret, the infant Calcifer, and Sastasha would be smuggled out of the forest, and disposed of, while everyone else would be told the infants had perished during birth.

And so, the same night, Kerillian’s most trusted Handmaiden Arryn Demanx, took the child under her cloak, and journeyed for three nights, in order to reach the edge of the forest, however as she stood, dagger in hand, she could not bring herself to execute an innocent child, she rationalised that neither Calcifer, nor Sastasha had chosen the controversy of their births, why should they receive punishment for it. Instead, Arryn took pity on them, if the beings of the forest couldn’t raise her, then perhaps the beings of the towns, and cities could. Arryn traveled further not to the first closest settlement, not to the second, but to the third, a city. The chances of the children ever finding their way back to the hidden Elvish city was minute. Sastasha was left in a basket alone, swaddled in cloth at the foot of the stone steps to a temple, men of God seemed to attract an abundance of unwanted children after all. Arryn left a note on the basket, weighed down with an Elvish Kukri which read Abandoned out of circumstance, we have left Sastasha Leveileur Demanx in your care, may you care for her more than we could...

-A But of course Sastasha, knew none of this.

---

Sastasha grew up under the tutelage of the temples various preachers, and clergymen, she learnt how to read, and write, and for the most part, kept herself busy with chores, after chores, after chores. What little time she did get for herself was spent kicking her heels in her room, or playing by herself. The people of the city of Anordal were a varied people, vast spires from the free mages college stretched into the sky, overseeing the rich markets, and magical item workshops. Despite this, Half-Kitsune such as Sastasha were rare, and as of such, she found the children around her would exclude her, to them she was weird, and foreign. With no friends to play with, Sastasha found herself wandering the halls of the temple, she would climb the belfry, or sit behind the altar listening to the organ. In fact it was during one of her sit ins to the music that the Organist called her over “Skulking in shadows” he asked as he played, Sastasha paused warily, people normally only spoke to her with cutting jibes, or to tell her she hadn’t been paying attention in her studies, however the organist seemed different “Just listening” she replied inquisitively truth be told she’d never really considered the organist existed, he rarely seemed to do anything other than play “Listening and skulking” he smiled, his teeth crooked “Good skills” he said with an added mutter “Malik Uredi” he introduced himself, never ceasing his playing, Sastasha frowned “Sastasha Leveilleur Demanx” before noting Malik’s own frown, her name was a bit of a mouthful “Sasha works though” she added before pausing for a beat “People don’t normally talk to me” she mentioned, her inquisitive nature showing. Malik mused for a second “Hm, and why do you think that is” he asked with a small smile, Sastasha frowned again “Well you know, because of how I look” she mentioned, her hand trailing through her hair, and touching the two soft ears that sat atop her head, she had taken to covering them with a hood, and tucking her brushy tail under her clothes, and around her waist. For the first time since their conversation began Malik stopped and chuckled “Sasha was it” he asked as he turned to her “Your appearance is of little consideration to me” he chuckled throatily as he gazed upon her, his eyes a sickly, milky white, he was blind.

Sastasha found herself making firm friends with Malik, helped by the fact he was the only person who would engage her socially, however on days when Malik was busy, or not there, Sastasha would wander the district in her free time, getting to know every street, every stall, and every secret alleyway. For a growing girl, with precious little to do, sometimes fun came from the most unusual places. The first time Sastasha picked a pocket was on a particularly sunny day, her lessons had been cancelled, and Malik was away, and most importantly, she was bored. Sastasha had an affinity with all things shiny, she coveted the glint of gold, or the shine of silver, and on this day, the sun caught the metallic shine of a golden pocket watch just right. Sastasha was filled with want as she watched it hang from the side of the large bestial man, it looked so delicate, and the clasp was so small, surely it wouldn’t be hard to. There was a dull click as Sastasha pulled her fingers over the clasp, and lifted the watch gently out of the man's pocket, her movements disguised by the jostling crowd, and her identity concealed by her cloaked androgynous appearance, once the watch was stowed safely in her pouch, she melted away into the crowd, and scurried off to the nearest alleyway, heart pounding against her chest. Sastasha clutched the pocket watch in her hands, it was beautiful, ornate, and meticulously polished, but most importantly, it was now hers. Sastasha took to her new hobby with gusto, her quick fingers, and delicate form making the art of pick pocketing as easy as anything, she started small, coins, loose buttons, jewelry, before moving bigger, entire money purses, pouches, jewelry, even taking things from market stalls, and on occasion slipping through open windows, and into peoples homes.

One morning, Sastasha was chatting with Malik, when he mentioned his birthday had been a week ago, Sastasha scolded him “If I’d known I would have got you something, she grumbled. Malik chuckled darkly “Oh my dear, I covet no material possessions” he rambled as he played “Although” he paused “I’ve always had a fondness for wine” he added guiltily. Sastasha sulked “I could have gotten you wine” she remarked, Malik sighed “Not the stuff you can buy in the market, I prefer something far more eclectic” he shuffled in his seat slightly, licking his lips as he remembered his choice wine “Fion Scathithe” he smiled softly “Elvish in nature, very old, very sweet, and very expensive” the thin man chuckled “You’d never be able to get your hands on any”. Sastasha frowned, something in her pulled, she was used to people telling her she couldn’t do something but this? This felt different “What makes you say that” she retorted indignantly, ignoring the explanation that Malik attempted to give “I’ll sort you something out” she smirked, before spinning on her heel, and leaving the building.

Sastasha scoured the city for the name ‘Fion Scathithe’ merchants, traders, and even smugglers turned nothing up, however there was one place she hadn’t yet checked. In the centre of Anordal lay the airship dock, where vast airships from Heavantis, bellies full of tradeable cargo from across the continent would dock, and sell their wares. Sastasha took a small collection of her favourite pieces of loot, and ventured into the bazaars within the docking tower. While Sastasha was unable to find the Wine she was hunting for, she did find information on an owner, a Wizard who lived in the Whitestone district for a touch more payment, she found his address, and set off. She had never intended to purchase the Wine from him, if it truly was as rare, and as delicious as Malic had said, there was no way a Wizard would part with it. Instead, Sastasha put her new found talents to use, crawling up a drainpipe, and slipping through a skylight, had she not been trying to keep quiet, she would of remarked how little security this Wizard seemed to have.

Sastasha dropped into a vast library, it seemed to stretch further than the building itself...Wizards were an odd folk. She scoured the vast halls, and multiple rooms until she stumbled through an office of sorts, and into a Wine cellar, there she found a beautiful elegant crystalline bottle, with a ruby red liquid inside, it was the wine she had sought out. With gloved hands she delicately removed the bottle from it’s shelf, curiously behind it there was a blue sigil, which as she pulled the bottle free, turned an angry red “Uh oh” Sastasha whispered before the air around her filled with horns of alarm, this place was better secured than she had thought. Dashing back into the office she panicked as she heard voices from outside, Wizards could be an unruly lot, and she was not looking to be on the receiving end of their scorn. On the desk next to her, were a pile of arcane scrolls, her head cocked as she looked at them before tucking the bottle securely into a pouch. She picked up a scroll, running her fingers over the dry paper, as she tried to unfurl it she found herself unable to undo the bindings, she cursed and pocketed it, before snatching up another, which thankfully was more compliant. She gazed over the foreign inscriptions, biting her lip as she heard footsteps outside, the markings made no sense to her at all, except. She paused as words came to her “Aperta...Ianua” she said, almost tentatively. There was a dull pop in front of her.

When the honoured Wizard Garrat finally mounted the courage to burst into his office, flanked by his own personal retinue of students, and serfs he found no intruder, rather instead he found a gaping passageway where his wall had been only this morning, whoever had been in his office, had clearly vanished… Sastasha sprinted through the streets, desperate to return before anyone could threaten her spoils, she practically fell through the doors to the Temple, remembering herself and straightening up, before nonchalantly wandering up to Malik “Hm Sasha” he greeted “Out of breath, have you gotten in trouble” the old man asked with a sly smirk. Sastasha growled, her triumphantly casual entrance ruined “Happy Birthday old man” she grinned regaining her composure as she produced the elegant bottle. Malik stopped playing as his hands ran over the bottle “Oh” he said simply, the interest in his voice palpable “Now this is interesting” he murmured “Who was it taken from” Malik said directly, his voice a little more colder than usual. Sastasha spluttered “What do you mean who was it taken-” Malik cut her off “Sasha” he said, turning his milky gaze to her “I’m blind, not stupid” he said gesturing to her thieves pouch “You think I don’t hear the collections you’ve been bringing home Hm” he asked “Or understand that a single bottle of Fion Scathithe can cost more than I could ever hope to earn, let alone a half spawn such as yourself” his words were almost scathing, but not out of hate, almost annoyance, as if he was disappointed Sastasha had even tried to lie to him. The Vulpine ears atop her head sank underneath her hood, Malik smirked “Do not despair Sasha, your secret is safe with me” he cut in before she could leave “In fact, I’m rather impressed with your work, I feel that maybe we could form a” he licked his lips as he held the wine bottle “partnership of sorts”. Sastasha cocked her head, Malik may have been blind, but his intuition, and perception was incredible “Now run along little Sasha” he smirked “I’ll be in touch” he added as he waved Sastasha away, who returned to her room in contemplation, who really was Malik Uredi….

Malik Uredi called Sastasha to his side the next evening, “Follow me” he said simply, as he tapped a cane on the floor, holding an arm out to Sastasha “We’re going on a walk” the aging man mentioned. Almost out of bewilderment, Sastasha looped her arm around his, allowing him to take her through streets, and back alleys, and though Sastasha would never admit it, through areas that even she didn’t know. After an hours walk in relative silence save for the chattering crowds, and tapping of Maliks cane, they arrived in a large graveyard. Malik strode forward, his cane no longer tapping the floor, as if he knew this place from memory, approaching a large stone casket shaped memorial he tapped his cane three times on a central ornament, then another twice, then finally three more times. Nothing happened, Sastasha looked up at him “What are we doi-” a heavy grinding noise sounded, as the caskets lid slid back, revealing a set of dark stairs “Patience my child, patience” Malik chuckled darkly as he lead her down the staircase.

The staircase went down to a tunnel, which was as black as pitch, Sastasha’s eyesight could just make out the walls, and how they twisted, and turned into the depths of the city. Presently, she found the light levels raising, as they entered a large antichamber. Torches burnt brightly in brackets on the walls, and crates, chairs, tables, and benches were placed around giving the place a surprisingly homely touch. A basic bar had been set up, and clustered around it were a group of different figures. Sastasha looked to Malik, who picked up on her confusion “The Jackdaws of Anordal” Malik nodded with a wry smile “A group of like minded men, and women” he mentioned as he pulled her forward “Thieves, pickpockets, burgarlers, and well” he smirked “Criminals”. Sastasha looked upon the diverse group of men, and women who turned to her “Until now, you’ve been nothing but a meer child, dancing through the crowds, swiping scraps, and being nothing more than a minor nuisance” Malik said derisively “But” he added quickly “Under the tutelage of the Jackdaws, I feel we could really make something of you”. Sastasha cocked her head in confusion “Wait, I don’t understa-” Malik sighed, interrupting her “It’s a thievery syndicate” he said testily “One that I believe might be of great benefit to you”. Sastasha nodded slowly, it couldn’t hurt to receive some advice…

Displaying her natural prowess, and potential, Sastasha was a fast learner, devouring any, and all lessons given to her. While her pick pocketing was good, there was always room for improvement Alexi,a red skinned Teifling taught her the finer arts of concealment, and how to slip through crowds undetected. Barouq, a wiry Kenku corrected her stances, and strikes, teaching her how to take care of herself in combat. The minor inconsistencies displayed in her pickpocketing were highlighted by Chenni a particularly deft, and mischievous Halfling. And finally a proficiency in lock breaking, utilising the thieves tools, and secretive thieves cant were taught to her by none other than the blind Malik, who despite his disability, was able to pick locks with the greatest of ease.

Despite balancing chores, her temple duties, and keeping Maugh unaware, Sastasha learnt what would take any ordinary thief years, in just a matter of months, and while Malik was apprehensive to offer her the position as a fully fledged member of the Jackdaws, she was considered an honorary ally, able to use their knowledge, and facilities whenever she saw fit. With these new facilities she had the means to expand her work, no prize too daring for her, the Jackdaws applauding her work. One evening, Sastasha crouched above the city, balancing on a narrow beam, a dark hood, and mask obscuring her features. Tonight wasn’t about her, Malik had made a special request. Housed in a glass cabinet proudly displayed above the dining table of the honourable magistrate Hadvir Angast, was a beautiful sculpture known as the ‘Frozen Flower’ a delicate rose crafted from enchanted ice, that could never melt. Malik wanted to feel the cold ridges, and smooth petals for himself, Sasha wanted a challenge. It was a win, win situation.

With an increased range of skills, and experience, Sastasha slipped into the magistrates house, picking the lock to his cellar. From there she made her way past his scant guardsmen, and into his luxurious dining chamber. Though she longed to take the glinting silverware, or gleaming crystalline glasses, she suppressed her desire, where she rounded the corner, and locked eyes on the glass cabinet, and a young man eagerly reaching inside. Sastasha waited patiently for him to pick up the frozen flower, he was unmasked, and seemed to have no tools on his person, he looked like an amateur. As he turned he saw Sastasha, his face was soft, and if Sastasha had to admit it, he was a rather attractive human. He smiled, almost melting Sastasha’s heart “Ah, how awkward” he said softly, his accent clipped, and clean “I assume you’re looking for this too” he asked, almost politely, as he held out the ornate flower, made out of the cleanest ice Sastasha had ever seen. Unwilling to reveal her voice, she simply nodded, stepped forward, and held out her palm flat, she would give him the choice of handing it over. The blonde retreated “Ah, I do apologise, but it seems I got here first” he continued, the words pouring out in a softly spoken symphony “Maybe next time you might be a little quicker perhaps” he mentioned “If you don’t mind my advice” he added with a half smile as he backed away. This wasn’t the place for games, Sastasha strode forward, stopping suddenly as she felt a crunch under her feet as she trod on a circle of glass that had been cut out of the case. When she looked up, the young man had delicately placed the icy flower between his lips, as he untucked the front of his shirt, loosened his tie, and ruffled his hair into an untidy mess. Sastasha cocked her head, placing a hand on her dagger “I do apologise my dear” he said as he retrieved the rose, wrapping it in a white handkerchief, and placing it in his pocket “But a patsy is exactly what I need” and with that, the young man yelled for the guards, he cried a warning out, which was almost instantly answered by the thudding of heavy boots from the guards at the end of the floor “Farewell” he said with a smirk, as Sastasha spun on her heels, and bolted for the nearby window.

After an hour of running, climbing, dodging, and leaping, Sastasha finally lost her pursuers, she was hot, tired, thirsty, and more ticked off than she’d ever been before. Nobody beat her to the prize like that, and she never came home empty handed. She seethed for another hour before returning to Malik, who seemed rather non fussed with the whole situation. For Sastasha this was the beginning of a long series of run ins with the handsome blonde thief, art seemed to be his particular love, and he forever seemed to be a step ahead of Sastasha. Despite his larceny he never obscured his face, nor did he ever seem to really hide, it was as if he had a natural trustworthiness about him. Every time he beat Sastasha to a prize, or called the guards on her she would seethe, and fume for hours, sometimes days afterwards. On occasion, her escapes were aided by the king of the beggars, who agreed to hide her, always stating she would pay him back in time. On a particularly sunny day, Sastasha found herself in a library in the Whitestone District, picking up a series of books for a deacon who was staying at the Temple. While there, she heard a familiar boyish chuckle. There, at the other end of the library, was the thief that had plagued her every attempt at art theft, but if she could find out who he was, she could find his home, and steal what he had stolen, it would be perfect.

Even with her hood up, people had commented on Sastasha’s soft features, dark silken hair, and fair nature, it would help she was a near natural flirt, and an even better manipulator. She took her time, casually making her way around the library, until she found herself next to the devilishly handsome thief, where she coyly let a book slide off her pile and onto the ground in front of him. As she had predicted, he practically dove on the book in a display of chivalry, and passed it up to her “Be careful my lady, the Wizards here don’t tend to allow rough treatments of the tomes, even by somebody as pretty as yourself” he smiled charmingly. Though Sastasha had expected this, she couldn’t help but be momentarily taken aback by his warming smile, she stammered, and almost forgot her plan “A-ah thank you s-sir” she stuttered as she collected herself “I feel maybe I didn’t have the grip I first thought” she continued, playing the part of a sweet, and innocent maiden “Sorry I didn’t catch your name” she asked with a soft smile. The young man chuckled “That’s alright” he replied “I didn’t tell it to you” he responded slyly before gesturing at the sigil of Selune on her broach “From the Temple on the other side of the Whitestone district” he asked with a raised eyebrow “I suspect you’ll have a carriage waiting outside correct” he added astutely. Sastasha blinked, unwilling to let the act go “Oh, yes” she answered, keeping her cool, despite the anger boiling underneath “Excellent, so how about we check these books out for you, and I’ll help you to your carriage”, he was undeniably sickly sweet…

After checking the books out, and letting the young man guide her to her carriage, he bowed as she climbed in “Charmed to meet you….again” he said with a small smirk “I must say, you are rather pretty without the mask” he purred. Sastasha growled in response as she tightened her hands into fists “Oh come on” he smirked “I could recognise those eyes anywhere” as he took a step back. The carriage began to roll off “Nathaniel” he grinned as he faded into the crowd. Sastasha fumed extra hard that night. The Vulpine girl would not see Nathaniel for some time, her forays didn’t take her back to the art world for a short while, instead she busied herself with her own endeavours. After a few months, Chenni, the halfling girl from the Jackdaws recommended Sasha a job for one of her clients. A Heavantis shipment of finery was due to reach Anordal within the week, and a certain client of Chenni desired an opulent oil canvas aboard the shipment. Eager to impress the Jackdaws, Sastasha snapped up the job. She poured every skill she had at her disposal, casing the airship dock, snatching shipping manifests, and running through a perfect plan of action in her head.

It was late when Sastasha slipped out of the temple, and skulked through the streets to the airship dock, keeping her hooded figure obscured by the crowds, and bustling merchants, until she could find her way up to the dock itself, where she positioned herself in the shadows of the wooden rafters and waited for the ship to arrive. As if by clockwork the Heavantis airship ‘Noctis Opulentos’ drifted silently into its moorings. Sastasha’s movements would need to be precise, and disciplined, very few had managed to successfully steal from one of these ships. She leapt from the rafters onto the ships rigging, and slid down a rope, darting past dock workers, deck hands, and merchants as if she were blinking from shadow, to shadow. Despite the sheer amount of people between her, and her destination, she managed to find her way into the holds of the ship, tracking her progress through the map she had memorised, it had been rather expensive to bribe for that particular piece of information. Before long, she arrived at the cargo compartment she was searching for, there were less people down here at this moment, most of them were further up the ship, unloading the more perishable cargo. With a small struggle, Sastasha picked the lock into the compartment, and began scouring the finery for her prize, she longed to fill her pockets with the shining diamonds, and clear cut emeralds, or the ornate wooden carvings, and brass statues that shined so invitingly, she resisted and stayed on target, a girl such as her could lose her mind with greed in here, and maybe she would have, if Chenni’s client had not promised such a hefty reward. She picked the lock on a large wooden chest, her eyes scanning the ornate frames inside, it was exactly what she was looking for. Getting this painting off the ship was a challenge already, doing it contained in the huge ornamental frame would be nigh impossible, she begrudgingly levered the top panel off the frame, flinching as it splintered away, she could almost hear some distant artisan screaming as she did so. With the cation that one would exhibit while handling a glass butterfly, Sastasha gently slipped the canvas out, it was a gorgeous picture depicting a icy night, and a blood red aurora splitting the sky, it was a rather chilling sight that spread a sense of unease through Sasha, when she had been but a child, she had gazed out her window at the same cosmic pattern, it had become a sort of omen to her. She shook off the notion, and rolled the parchment up, slipping it into a protective tube which was slung over her back.

There was a prick of cold steel against the back of her neck “My, my” an infuriatingly sweet voice crooned “You must be improving, you beat me to this one” Sastasha raised her palms, gritting her teeth as she did so “I must say, I’m impressed, did you really manage to slip down here unnoticed” her rival asked, she should have known such an artistic catch would have attracted him. Sastasha took a breath as she felt his dagger point against the nape of her neck “It took some planning” she admitted “And a fair amount of groundwork, and coin” the raven haired girl added “But I’m good enough to pull it off” Sastasha added with a touch of confidence “And yourself” she asked “You don’t strike me as one to hide in the shadows”. Her rival chuckled “Yes, you’ve got me there” he admitted as he took a step back “Turn to face me, nice and slow” he ordered “Keep your hands where I can see them”. Sastasha complied, locking eyes with his, he was a devilishly handsome young man, and in other circumstances she might find herself quite infatuated with him, unlike her dark, functional clothes, he wore a lavish blue, and gold attire, a long coat with a smart white ruffled neck piece “You’re right” he smiled “I don’t take to the shadows as you do, I prefer a far more direct approach” he lectured, touching the point of the knife to his gloved finger “Nathaniel Kadgar Cradagast” he said, bowing his head softly, never taking his eyes off Sastasha “My father is Eobus Cradagast of the council of free mages, it allows me certain allowances when talking my way into places” he continued “It’s also a perfect shield, not one soul would believe that the son of the great Cradagast would stoop to such debauchery” the blonde chuckled “But, I digress, time is still of the essence” Nathaniel sighed as he stepped forward, pulling Sastasha’s face mask down exposing her fair features “I’d hate to have to hurt you” he whispered “So how about you just hand over the canvas, and I’ll” he paused as he flirtatiously tugged her hood down “O-oh” he breathed, as his eyes gazed at her soft black ears, his stare tracing the frosted white tips. He was distracted for only a split second, but his theatrics had given Sasha the opportunity she needed.

With a sharp thrust, she jabbed her palm upwards into his nose, before bringing the edge of her open palm down on his wrist, knocking the knife from his grip, she spun her body, rolling around him, and bolted for the door, she wasn’t losing her prize to him, not again. Before she could leave the hold however, she felt the air behind her crystallise, and chill. Sastasha threw herself to the side not a moment too soon, as a beam of blue white light shot past her, spidering into frost on the wall ahead of her. Behind her, Nathaniel heald his palm outstretched, a deep blue sigil traced in the air ahead of him, contrasting the crimson trickle of blood from his nose “That was impolite” he smirked “We can of course do this the hard way, it’s been a while since I’ve stretched my magics” He darted forward, Sasha’s hand going for her dagger when he caught her wrist. Her wrist was encompassed by another dark blue sigil, and suddenly began to feel painfully cold, she tugged at her dagger, but it refused to draw, Nathaniel smirked “Frost can make the blade stick” Sastasha pulled back, tearing Nathaniel's hand from her wrist, without a weapon, she couldn’t fight him, so instead, she pulled back and retreated, dancing past another ray of frost as it hurtled towards her. Stealth was no longer an option, she would have to rely on her speed, and agility, she tugged her hood up over her ears, and mask over her face, and sprinted through the holds, spinning around those who got in her way, and dodging past anyone who tried to stop her.

She burst out onto the deck of the airship, there was a single beat of silence as she felt the eyes of every member of the crew upon her, before someone yelled, and all hell broke loose. Dodging just out of the grasp of those around her she ran for the edge of the ship, making a leap of faith through the air, she became very aware of the distance that stretched out below her, and for a second, thought she had made a terrible mistake, before her fingers wrapped around one of the thick mooring ropes that bound ships to the side of the dock. With only seconds to formulate a plan, she gripped with her boots, and gloved hands, this was not going to be an easy escape. Gently loosening her grip, she allowed herself to slide down the rope, picking up speed as she followed the long cable down, and down the outside of the tower, the yells above her being drowned out by the whining of her leathers against the rope, and her nose picked up the smell of burning, and a touch of smoke. Looking over her shoulder, she judged her distance, and tightened her grip with all the strength she could muster. She slowed, the acrid burning smell from her gloves swelling as she ground to a stop several meters off the ground. She dropped from the rope onto a small awning, and rolled off into a crouch on the ground. With legs trembling from the adrenaline, and hands itching from the heat of her gloves she looked up at the docked ship, she had just pulled off the ultimate job.

Not eager to hang around she dropped her mask, and headed in the direction of the Jackdaws hideout, only when she reached sanctuary would she feel that the task had been completed. It was late, the streets were empty, and Heavantis would never admit something had been taken from them, and yet something felt off? A noise emanated from behind her, she only caught it because of the astute hearing of her ears, it sounded like metal being drawn from a sheath, she spun around, too late as a there was a sharp rending pain in her side that drove the breath from her lungs. She struggled against her attacker, pulling away with the blade still jutting from her, out of the corner of her eye she saw her assailant, a bizarley well dressed Tabaxi, with a delicate white mask over his eyes. Sastasha turned and ran, each step forcing more breath from her lungs, in her hobbled state, she was unable to move too fast. She was very aware of her assailant, he wasn’t pressing the attack any further, rather he was following, keeping pace a few meters behind her as she ran. She kept her pace for fifteen minutes, before a combination of shock, tiredness, and blood loss brought her to the floor in a dusty alleyway. Try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to her feet, nor could she even begin to drag herself away, she was at her attackers mercy. Her attacker crouched next to her, a long, jagged dagger in his left hand “Forfeit your stolen property” he said emotionlessly as he held an outstretched palm towards Sastasha, she didn’t respond, rather she clutched the tube tightly in her hands as she bled freely onto the floor, the thick crimson liquid filling the cracks in the stone around her. Her attacker sighed “Now” he growled as he forcefully pulled the tube away from Sastasha. Until now, she hadn’t realised her strength leaving her, but as her well dressed assailant took the tube away from her with no resistance, the severity of her situation began to dawn on her.

A voice rang out from behind her assailant “What’s going on here”, both Sastasha, and the agent of Heavantis turned to the source of the voice, it was Nathaniel, the agent stowed his blade “By order of the merchant republic of Heaveantis, stolen goods were reclaimed” he said confidently “Find this citizen a doctor, my business is done with them”. Nathaniel smiled warmley “Of course sir, I congratulate your ability to dispense justice” the blonde continued charismatically as he shook the agents hand. There was a soft glow of rosy pink light from his hand, as a sigil enveloped his glove, traveling up the agents arm “Would you like me to hold that while you clean your blade” he asked warmly. The agent nodded with an odd familiarity, and handed over the tube willingly before setting to work cleaning Sastasha’s blood of his jagged dagger. Sasha looked up at Nathaniel as he looped the strap of the tube over his shoulder, he mouthed a soft apology to Sasha, before turning on his heal and calmly walking away. A span of five minutes passed before the agent looked up, he paused for a second before cursing in a foreign language, and bolting in the direction of Nathaniel, Sastasha was alone...

She tried to pull herself to her feet, but she was far too weak to do so, collapsing she felt her eyes close, she was dying here, in some alley way, she couldn’t help but think of Maugh, he would never know what happened to her… As she lay shivering on the floor, she became aware of a being nearby, she was too weak to look up, or resist when the figure lay a hand on her, checking her over, and pulling her hood down, she felt him pause before drawing her close, she tried to pull away, but there was something about him, his smell was almost familiar, safe, instead of pulling away, she huddled closer to him, letting him pick her up and move her. She was only dimly aware of the events that followed, she knew she was taken somewhere, she could feel someone patch up her wound, and was aware she was being taken care of. She finally got the strength to open her eyes and look around one morning, she was in a humble room, the bed was comfortable, and several candles kept the room warm, and light. She winced as she pulled herself to her feet, she wasn’t wearing her clothes, instead she was wearing a pair of surprisingly soft pajamas. Sastasha instantly became paranoid, she had no idea where she was, and whoever she was with had clearly undressed her which meant! She turned to a long mirror on the wall and looked at herself, her ears were on display atop her head, and to her horror her vulpine tail was hanging from behind her, whoever’s home she was staying in, knew about her more bestial aspects…

Sastasha paused and considered escaping via a window, but her belongings were missing, her leathers, equipment, and her dagger, and there was no way she was leaving without it. She tried the door, locked. Sasha returned to the bed and sat down trying to plan her next move. A short while later, she heard a key turn in the door, she stood and prepared for anything, however, she never could have truly prepared for what came through the door.

Standing in front of her, was a young male, a similar in height to her, his features were sharp, and he had a single small scar across his left cheek. However the most striking feature about him lay atop his head, he too was adorned with a pair of silken vulpine ears of midnight black, frosted with white. Sasha was taken aback, she paced around him taking in every detail, from the tip of his ears to the base of his, yes, he too had a dark tail “W-who are you” she muttered quietly, his scent was the same as the scent of the man who had saved her. The two stared at each other, each nearly as taken aback as the other, Sasha noticed his weapon, a dark hilted Kukri, it’s sheath inscribed with a similar set of markings as hers. The male nodded “Calcifer” he replied simply as now he paced around her “I feel like I know you” he added “Your name” the raven haired boy asked. “Sastasha” she responded “I feel I know you too, you’re familiar, but I’ve never met anyone like me” she responded, gesturing to the ears atop her head. Sasha paused “Where am I” she asked “And how long have I been here”, Calcifer paused for a second “You’re in the ‘Whitestone Ash’ Tavern, and you’ve been here” he mulled the answer over “Two days, you heal quickly” he remarked with a smile. Sastasha nodded “And my things” she accused, Calcifer held his hands up “Okrid took them, he said they needed a wash, and that we probably shouldn’t leave you with a weapon when you woke up” Sastasha cocked her head “Oh er, Okrid is my dad” he explained “Adopted, not by birth, he’s nice” the young man added with a smile. Sastasha nodded, relaxing a little, Calcifer seemed trustworthy after all.

Sasha’s gear was returned to her by a large half orc, she was told she was welcome any time. Neither Okrid, nor his Tiefling wife Astrid questioned her on the events leading up to her injury, they were just glad she was safe. When she arrived back at the abbey, she told Maugh about who she had met, casually leaving out her injury, theft, and near death experience. Initially she was unwilling to pry any further, it was in fact Maugh who pushed her to visit Calcifer once more. Over the course of the next few days Sastasha spent a lot of time at the Whitestone Ash, talking to Calcifer, and his adopted parents, it was only a matter of hours however that she made her biggest discovery. Calcifer was left in the Whitestone Ash, much as Sastasha had been left at the temple of Selune, and to make matters even more interesting, as well as a matching dagger, he was also left with a near identical note to her. Sastasha compared the note to hers “Calcifer Leveileur Demanx” she whispered, Calcifer’s cheeks glowed red “Ah yeah, I’ve always hated that surname” he admitted. Sastasha nodded, smiling as she suppressed the urge to cry “Yeah me too” for the first time since she and Maugh had shared the sight of the moon rising in their room together, she had found family.

Sastasha, and Calcifer became almost as firm friends as Sasha, and Maugh. Sastasha would explore the city with her brother whenever Maugh was otherwise indisposed with the various duties a paladin in training was tasked with. When Maugh was available, the three misfits would wander the streets, and markets, or simply relax at the Whitestone Ash, where they got to know Okrid, and Astrid. Both Sasha, and Maugh had never felt so popular. Sastasha even shared her more criminal secrets with Calcifer, spinning him long tales of intrigue, daring escapes, and fine thefts. Calcifer lay hooked on every word. Like Sastasha, Calcifer also found comfort in a less than legal profession. While he wouldn’t share much with his sister, it seemed he had found his calling as a state appointed Assassin. Sasha knew they had existed, but never truly believed they were active. Like finger, and thumb, the two grew closer, and closer, more than making up for lost time. Soon they began to include one another in their respective professions. When Calcifer needed a particularly difficult lock cracked, or someone to help him slip past watchful eyes, he would call upon Sastasha. Likewise, if Sasha simply needed somebody to watch her back, or to give her aid with a tough series of guards, she wouldn’t hesitate to enlist Calcifer in her activities. The pair swept across the city, no lock too tight, no patrol too tough. They felt invincible.

It was after one of these successful team ups, that both Calcifer, and Sastasha sat on a balcony, legs dangling above the city, that the pair found themselves talking about a future. Sastasha didn’t want to spend her life living amongst the thinly labeled prejudices of the temple of Selune, and Calcifer, as much as he loved Okrid, and Astrid, didn’t want to constantly live under their feet. So they talked. What if they...acquired, the funds to purchase their own place, where they could make the rules, Sastasha even suggested opening the idea to Maugh, three oddities who could live under the same roof, in a place they could all call home, Calcifer himself admitted interest in opening a tavern of his own. Over the course of the night, what started as a distant fantasy, began to seem more, and more a reality as they talked about it, all they would need, was money, and if there were two people in the city that could obtain a vast quantity of money, in a short time. It was them.

As well as being a hub for mages, Anordal boasted a hefty population of merchants, hundreds of stalls, and shops littered the markets, and all of those needed places to keep their money. The Vidulum was a large compound of storage rooms, and safes designed for that purpose. The plan was simple, break in, steal the money they needed, and escape via the sewer tunnels. It wouldn’t be the hardest job they had pulled, but it would require complete synergy on their part.

So, on a moonlit night, the two fox children skipped across rooftops, and slid down drain pipes, until they made their way to the Vidulum. Slipping in through the shadows they set to work, Sasha picking the locks, and Calcifer watching her back, as well as holding the gold. They were smart, taking only a skimming from each vault, as opposed to a large take from one, this way, each Merchant would only record a loss of a few gold pieces, enough to be written off as an accounting mistake. The pair went undiscovered until closing the final vault, when a Merchant, and his retinue made an unexpected visit to the Vidulum. Both parties stared at each other for a second, before chaos erupted. Arrows flew, and shouts of alarm were sounded, Calcifer grabbed his sister and pulled her towards their escape route. They climbed over the wall of the Vidulum, and dropped into the streets, the eyes of the night markets all on them. There was no time to lose, they darted forward, and dropped through a hole into the sewer tunnels, feet pounding, echoing against the stone walls as they ran through the maze of tunnels, they couldn’t help but laugh as they ran, they were almost home free. The end of the tunnel opened up to a five meter drop into a deep canal, Sastasha leapt, barley breaking her stride as she crossed the waters, and landed on the other side with a smart roll. That was when she heard a large splash behind her. She spun on one heel, only ripples decorated the water's surface. In the early dawns light, everything was silent.

The next month dragged for Sastasha, and she was only dimly aware of the proceedings. She had sat by the waters edge, shivering for quite some time, before Maugh tracked her down, she knew Maugh had entered the water, and recovered the still form of Calcifer, wrapping him in a cloak. It was funny, he almost looked as if he was just sleeping… Sasha was taken home by Martin, a squire of Maughs, while Maugh broke the news to Okrid, and Astrid. To this day they refuse to blame Sastasha for what happened, but the guilt gnawing at Sasha refuses to die. Maugh also returned the gold to the Vidulum, stating he’d simply found it, and heard the news it had been stolen. The only thing Sasha was left with, was the dark kukri dagger, now the soul owner she had lost the only blood family she ever knew, Sasha lived in a haze, it would be quite some time before she picked herself out of it.

A year later, Sastasha was almost back to her old self, besides private moments in the corners of her own mind, where guilt, and sadness still bit at her thoughts, she was once again smiling, joking, and socialising with Maugh, on the odd occasions they found themselves at the Whitestone Ash she would take some coaxing to come out of her shell, but Okrid, and Astrid were still as welcoming as ever. During one of her excursions with Maugh, to preach the word of Selune at the main entrance to the city, Sastasha met a most peculiar fellow. He wasn’t dressed like the others who milled through the gates, rather he wore a strange attire, that while seeming functional, and protective, had the appearance of something formal. He stopped to listen to Maugh for a short while. This wasn’t the first time Maugh had been sent to speak the word of their Goddess, and it wasn’t the first time Maugh had drawn a small crowd, if only for those in the crowd to stare at his unique form. As Maugh preached, Sastasha carried out various rituals, and blessings, spreading salt, handing out moon lilies, and the like. When she reached the well dressed stranger, he gently took a lilly from her basket, and smiled in thanks. His smile near melted Sastasha, smiles from handsome men had long been her weakness, and this new figure was unknowingly exploiting that.

After Maugh’s sermon had finished, the stranger waited behind until the crowd of gawking onlookers had dispersed, Sasha saw him approach and mutter some words to Maugh, it always put her on edge watching people approach the giant Lizard man, but both seemed happy, The stranger even shook Maugh’s hand before leaving. Sastasha was captivated, nobody had ever reacted so, well, kindly to Maugh before. As the man walked past she bumped into him, he turned to face her “My apologies” he said in a foreign accent, Sastasha bowed her head “No sir, my apologies, I must have let my mind wander” the man smiled again and Sastasha had to hold herself up, before excusing himself and turning to leave. Sasha stood next to Maugh “Hey big guy” she mentioned, staring after the man “Who was he” the raven haired girl asked. Maugh shrugged “Just a member of the crowd, wanted to thank me for the Sermon” he hissed. Sasha nodded “Hm” she muttered, casually opening her hand and dropping a silver pocket watch onto the floor subtly “Hey” she asked bending down, making a show of picking it up “Did he leave this behind” she asked. Maugh raised a scaly eyebrow at her, they’d known each other a long time, and it was hard to pull a fast one on him, Sasha smirked “I guess I’ll go return it….see you back at the Temple” she chirped before slipping off into the crowd after the mysterious man.

She dashed past merchants, and between families of travellers before finding the man, and falling into line a few meters behind him, she followed with inquisitive steps as he turned off the main road, and into a side street. Without such a crowd around him she might actually get a chance to talk to him “Hey” she called out as she jogged up to him, the man turned around, a thick head of red hair atop his head, the fringe falling over his eyes “Oh, from the entrance right” he asked as she came to a stop “Yeah” Sastasha replied “You dropped this” she said proudly holding the pocket watch out to him. The man paused for a second, taking it from her hand “Curious” he muttered “I dropped it you say” the red head added, a touch of disbelief to his voice, Sasha nodded “yeah, I thought I’d get it back to yo-” the man cut in “It was clasped quite firmly to my inner pocket you see” he said simply “Are you sure it didn’t find its way into your possession when you bumped into me” he asked knowingly. Sasha’s breath caught in her throat, she was sure she’d been more careful than that, her deft fingers had never got her caught before. The man continued “Though it’s strange, if you took it from me, why would you rush to return it, were you planning on me offering a reward” he asked “The watch itself would sell for a high price as it is” the man folded his arms “No, you’re smarter than that I feel” he rationalised as he looked her over “Which means you knew what you were doing, but just didn’t expect me to realise” he frowned “Though I must say your end is rather obscure to me, what was your goal here”. Sastasha blinked, almost letting the warmth of a blush spill onto her cheeks “well you know” she stammered, excuses flying through her mind “You were just very nice to Maugh, and I wanted to” she paused letting the words form in her head “Thank you for it” she finished. The man chuckled “So you stole my watch” he asked with disbelief “That seems rather backwards”, Sastasha coughed “Look clearly it didn’t work out the way I thought it would so, I guess I’ll take my leave”. The man shook his head “No come on, you’ve got this far, Maugh” he mentioned, rolling the name around his tongue as if sampling a fine wine “Interesting, so that would make you Sastasha then right” he asked. Sastasha took a step back “You’ve heard of me” she asked a with a small touch of accusation to her voice. The man shook his head and smiled “No, no, should I have” he asked with a raised eyebrow “It’s your necklace” he said, pointing at the flint stone just poking out of her top “It has your name on it right” he asked, gently taking the flint pendent in his hand. Sastasha smiled softly “You can read it” she asked, her interest growing with each word, “So you know my name, what do I call you” she asked. The man responded in kind “Sahelanthropus of Kynesgrove” Sastasha blinked twice, the name near flying completely over her head “Sa-ha-lan” she frowned, messing up the name. Sahelanthropus gave a boyish chuckle “Maybe I could teach you the pronunciation over dinner” he asked casually “It would give you a chance to apologise for taking my watch” he added slipping the silver watch into his pocket “How about I meet you at the Temple early evening” he asked. Sastasha stammered a yes as Sahelanthropus turned on his heel “Excellent, I’ll see you then” he called over his shoulder, as he strode off down the street.

Sastasha had been on dates before, she’d even had a couple of short relationships before, it was amazing how quickly people forget their prejudices around a pretty girl. As a daughter of the temple, she wasn’t strictly supposed to behave in such a way, but they way she saw it, if Salune had a problem with it, she was bound to let her know...right? She bid farewell to Maugh, who had playfully teased her about her upcoming date all evening, as she had thought earlier, it was hard to keep things from him. Sahelanthropus awaited Sastasha across the street from the Temple, wearing a fine long coat, boots, and smart scarf, he was dressed far more finely than Sastasha, who was in what she considered her ‘best’ clothes, a White set of clothing with gold buckles, and a red trim, officially it was supposed to be her temple duties attire, for use during the sermons, and rituals inside the Temple, and it’s grounds. However a previous fling had remarked how good it looked on her, and sealed it’s fate as her go to date wear. To say her and Sahelanthropus hit it off would be an understatement, she hung off his every word, and story, enamored by the tapestries of adventure he spun with his words, he was well travelled to say the least, and Sasha found herself asking questions on every city, and every land he talked of, he explained the thin air of Heavantis, and the strange warmth of Catedrala with such detail, the vulpine girl could almost feel herself walking the streets of these strange places. She had been afraid her own stories couldn’t possible match up, but Sahelanthropus was more than interested enough in her Temple duties, her relationship with Maugh, and what she busied herself with in her day, to day life, even though Sastasha kept the more illegal activities she partook in secret, she still found the red head enamoured by every word.

When their dinner had finished, Sahelanthropus refused to let Sasha pay, despite the fact it was supposed to be an apology for the light theft of earlier “So” Sasha said, rocking back, and forth on her heels as they stood in the chilly night air “Will I see you again” she asked with a playful smirk. The red head mulled it over, rubbing his dark chin “Well” he paused “I suppose you managed to keep your fingers to yourself this time” he muttered with a teasing tone “And you enjoyed yourself” Sasha pointed out, almost impatiently. The finely dressed man chuckled “And I did enjoy myself” he repeated “Alright, I’ll meet with you again” he said “Well Sastasha Leveilleur Demanx” he said with perfect diction, causing a small shudder of disgust from Sastasha “I’ll be seeing you soon” he said with a more than perfect smile.

Sastasha, and Sahelanthropus met several more times after that, relishing each others company, it was a near seamless transition into a deeper relationship, and though it wasn’t the first romance Sastasha had experienced, it was the best. Sastasha introduced Sahelanthropus to Maugh, and in turn to Okrid, and Astrid when the three of them visited the Whitestone Ash, Maugh, Okrid, and Astrid all teased Sastasha in a playful family kind of way, Maugh never letting the jokes grow old. Both Sastasha, and Sahelanthropus were seemingly made for each other, and even when Sahelanthropus took his frequent excursions out of the town for what he called ‘business trips’, when they reunited they would more than make up for lost time.

The pair had been together for three months now, and on occasion Sahelanthropus would take Sastasha on short excursions, be it a night in an Inn in another town, or just a wander through the plains, and forests. While Sastasha had always been warned not to stray too far from the city walls for fear of beasts of the wilds, she had previously accompanied Maugh on some of his jobs in the nearby towns, regardless however, Sahelanthropus promised himself a capable fighter, and vowed to protect Sastasha should she need it, and despite the fact Sasha was positive she’d never seen Sahelanthropus draw the ornate rapier on his hip, she was more than willing to let him offer to be her proverbial knight in shining armour. On a particularly mild day, Sasha found herself wandering through one of the many forests around Anordal with Sahelanthropus, it had started like any other walk, although Sastasha felt them going deeper into the forest then they had before “Should we go this deep” she asked, doubt in her voice, Sahelanthropus paused, almost conflicted “You know” he said quietly “You’re right, how foolish of me, come let’s return to th-” Sastasha cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips “Shh” she hushed sharply, her ears twitching freely, after all Sahelanthropus had seen more than just her head, it seemed silly to keep things obscured from him. As her ears honed in on a noise emanating around them, her eyes widened “Duck” she yelped as she pulled Sahelanthropus down on top of her, as she did a man sized serpent struck out, it’s jaws closing around the space where Sahelanthropus had been not two moments ago. Like a bolt of lightning Sahelanthropus drew the fine silver blade from its sheath and stabbed upwards, piercing the serpent through its mouth, the reptile recoiled, dragging the sword, and redhead with it, deeper into the forest.

Sastasha leapt to her feet and took off after him, she had never heard of Serpent’s in these forests, the northern lands were supposed to be too cold, it was a miracle that Maugh was so comfortable up here. She drew her twin blades and slashed through the dense trees, her ears swiveling atop her head as she chased the noise of combat ahead of her. She burst into a clearing in time to see a second serpent wrap itself around Sahelanthropus, she plunged her daggers into the back of it’s head without hesitation, twisting, and tearing them out as she felt it’s body shiver, and twist beneath her. Sahelanthropus rolled out from beneath its body “You should leave” he growled defensively as he slashed out at a third Serpent, it’s body a sickly gray blue “Run the way we came in, I’ll hold them off”, Sastasha huffed as she pulled him backwards, out of the way of a fourth Serpent, they seemed hell bent on targeting him “No way” she protested, “I just cut you out from under one of those things” the raven haired girl growled as she twisted around him, covering his offhand side with her daggers “I’m not leaving you here to become snake food”. Sasha heard a chuckle leave Salhelanthropus’s lips “I knew there was a reason I kept you around” he muttered.

The pair fought hard against the Serpents as they coiled, and twisted maliciously, at first they strangely seemed to focus Sahelanthropus, practically ignoring her to snap, and lash out at him, however once she felled another Serpent, they began to attack at her too, trying to drive themselves between the pair, and separate them. After what felt like an eternity the tide of serpents stopped, their sickly bodies fizzling into the ground as if someone had doused them in acid. Sasha panted heavily “Now, let’s get away from he-” Sahelanthropus held a hand up, he was almost unnervingly collected, had Sasha not seen it herself, she never would have believed he had fought as hard as ten men only moments ago, his gaze was fixed on a shadowed patch of trees not far from them, maybe fifty meters in front, she slowly turned, and followed his gaze, her darkvision kicking in, what she saw caused a shaky exclamation of fear to leave her throat. Waiting, no, watching, only two meters behind the shadow of the trees, was the head of an enormous Serpent, vicious red in colour, with eyes like daggers, Sasha could feel them upon her, hungrily staring, it slowly began to move forward, slithering it’s massive girth through the tree’s. Sastasha turned to run, but Sahelanthropus caught her wrist “Don’t” he snapped “If you run I can’t protect you from her”. Sasha looked up at his, eyes wide with fear “H-her” she stammered. Sahelanthropus nodded “I’ve not been strictly truthful with you Sastasha” he said with a look of determination “You asked why I came to Anordal so long ago”, Sasha pulled against him as the titanic beast crested the treeline and glared angrily at them, a tongue bigger than her tasting the air, tasting her fear “Truth be told” Sahelanthropus said, his cold voice calming her, she loved the sound of his voice “I was hunting her” he nodded towards the beast as it coiled itself, why wouldn’t it attack? It seemed almost apprehensive “Andskoti” he growled at the Serpent in a foreign tongue. The serpent hissed something in return. Sahelanthropus turned to Sastasha, and took her face gently in his hands “Listen to me” he said sweetly “No matter what you see, I’m still me, I’ll explain everything to you in time, but for now I need you not to run, no matter what, I cannot protect you if you leave me” he said hurriedly “Wh-whu” Sasha tried to question, but her worries were cut off when Sahelanthropus leaned into her, and kissed her on the lips, a long, lingering kiss that seemed to stretch for eternity “I’ve got you” he whispered as he pulled away.

Sahelanthropus turned, a silver glow to his body, he yelled something in an odd language, sounding similar to both a hiss, and the noise one makes when one clears their throat. It was familiar, in fact Sasha was sure she had heard Maugh speak such words. However before she could rationalise the language longer, Sahelanthropus began to change in front of her eyes, his very form changing as silvery clouds steamed from his body, frosting the ground beneath him, his size more than tripled, a long thick tail began to stretch out behind him, vast wings sprouting from his back, he tipped his head back and yelled, but the roar of thunderous clouds echoed from his mouth, as his head shifted into a predatory jaw full of knife length teeth. Sahelanthropus was no mere man anymore, what stood in front of Sastasha, on four muscular legs, was a Dragon of brilliant shining silver.

Dragon and Serpent roared and clashed against each other, their blows shaking the ground beneath Sasha’s feet, she was so awestruck with the sight, she couldn’t have ran if she wanted to. The two titanic creatures tore trees from their roots, and dealt rending blows to each other. Sastasha’s breath caught in her throat as the serpent wrapped itself around the dragon, tighter, and tighter as it tried to crush the beast between it’s coils. Suddenly, the dragons freed its front claws, and drove them deep into the serpents eyes. There was a screech of pain, before the dragon pulled the beasts mouth wide open with a sickening crunch, leaning down it roared a roar of pure icy cold down the serpents gullet. The serpent thrashed, before finally settling, exhuming its last breath, before clashing to the floor, and melting away into nothing…

Sasha sat in shock as the mighty dragon stared down at her, after an eternity she swallowed and looked up at it “Y-y-your Sal” she asked timidly. The dragon nodded before speaking with surprising softness, it’s voice was different to Salhelanthropus’s, and yet so similar “yes” the Dragon said “It’s still me”. Sasha nodded and gently reached out to touch him, his scales were smooth, and shiny, like pearls in a jewelry box “are you afraid” the Dragon asked, Sasha nodded “Yeah” she chuckled in shock “You’re terrifying” she muttered with uncertainty as she looked across the injuries that marked the silver scales, years, upon years of scars, each no doubt telling a story of battle, and triumph, including one particularly large scar noting a heavy puncture wound of old in the side of his neck “Are you hurt” she asked, the Dragon shook it’s huge head “Of course not, My strength is unwavering” Sasha knew he was lying out of pride “I-I didn’t think so” she recovered “Can you” she paused “Change back” the vulpine girl asked looking up at him. With the reverse of before, his body began to change back, his wings folding up, and becoming the long tails of his coat, and his claws shifting into the silvered blade of his dagger.

Despite this rather grand secret, Sastasha, and Sahelanthropus stayed together, it definitely took some adjusting, but the pair were open with each other. With this openness came honesty. Sahelanthropus confessed that while he would never tell Sasha what to do, he had never been comfortable with her thieving nature. In the next few months, Sahelanthropus began to take more frequent, and longer business trips, instead of days, he would be gone weeks, often with little notice to Sastasha. On one occasion in particular, he missed a dinner the two had planned for some time, when he returned, he had seemingly forgot all about it. The relationship began to strain, and it was Sastasha who broke first, she had noticed Sahelanthropus growing more, and more distant from her, and confronted him. Sahelanthropus, infuriatingly didn’t see the issue, as far as he was concerned, his duties to justice, and peace came before anything, and like many Dragons, he was never going to stay rooted to one place. Sastasha argued with him, souring the night they had planned somewhat, until he interrupted her. “Sastasha” he said firmly “I’m a Silver Dragon, my priority will always be my duty” the red head frowned “And those duties will take me away from this city” he continued “I can’t promise to be here every night, or ready to drop everything for you” there was a touch of wisened understanding to his voice. As he went to explain further Sastasha held up a hand “I” she paused, gathering the words “I won’t be an anchor to you” she murmured as she began to see the bigger picture. She was a young thief of indeterminate species, he was a Silver Dragon, defender of peace, justice, and law, more than twenty times older than her. It was never going to be a permanent relationship.

Sastasha heald a lot of unfair resentment towards Sahelanthropus for some time, despite their surprisingly mature, and good natured breakup. They had promised each other to remain firm friends, and if they were ever in the same place, at the same time? Who knows. In a short time, Sastasha forgot her resentment, and once again remembered Sahelanthropus as fondly as she had when she first met him. For now however, she lives in the present, the only things on her mind are Maugh, and her own well being, the thrill of the next theft, and whatever handsome smile catches her eye.

#dungeons and dragons #character bio #creative writing #rogue #kitsune

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empresskatariah · 6 years

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Juno’s backstory is not fun.

She was an aspiring mage who got turned into a vampire while stuck in an Ayleid ruin, where she and some friends had been hunting for treasure. Vampires killed her companions and infected her, and while she managed to barricade herself inside a chamber to fend them off she succumbed to the disease after three days. Now undead and royally pissed off, she fought her way out of the ruin and defeated her former hunters. Desperate for a cure, she went on a quest for information which eventually led her to Count Janus Hassildor. But by the time she met him, she had become accustomed to certain aspects of her new unlife and instead of asking for a cure, she asked him how she might live as he did, in a manner that ensured as few people would be harmed as possible. She got lucky in that Hassildor was lonely, having remained single after his wife’s death, and he offered to teach her as long as she behaved herself. He would later admit that her reluctance to feed on people reminded him of his late wife and he didn’t want her to end up the same way, or driven to madness from hunger.

She became an adoptive daughter of sorts to the Count, who made various official pretenses to excuse her presence in his castle. To most outsiders she was his apprentice, learning sorcery from him. In addition to magic she also learned how to navigate the tedious world of politics, how to conceal her condition from those who might notice certain aspects, and how to stave off bloodthirst through self-discipline.

Everything went up in flames, quite literally, when the Great War came to Skingrad. Count Hassildor was initially willing to make concessions to the Dominion in order to spare his people from further harm, but the Thalmor commander figured out Hassildor was a vampire and had him burned. Juno escaped in the chaos and lurked in the countryside for the remainder of the war, preying on Thalmor soldiers who were unlucky enough to cross her path. She grieved for the loss of her father figure and swore to hate the Aldmeri Dominion as long as she lived.

Things changed when she was recruited by the Order. She joined their shadowy organization because she didn’t want to end up a feral vampire living in some cave. Her time with the Count had taught her the importance of connections and group ties, so she devoted herself to serving the Order as best she could. She became a spy, a thief, an assassin, a saboteur — whatever her new masters needed done, she did. Already bitter and jaded from the loss of Hassildor and her comfortable life, she descended into cold pragmatism and the belief that power was the only way to ensure her survival. She never quite fell into the worship of Molag Bal, regarding him as something unpleasant, but found having Clavicus Vile as a patron was bearable.

By 4E 201, she’s been tasked by the Order with traveling to Skyrim and finding out the truth behind rumors of Volkihar activity and a resurgent Dawnguard. Basically she’s been given free reign to ensure nothing happens that could threaten the Order. So she heads north full of ambition, knowing there are courts she can weasel her way into and guilds she can infiltrate to gather info. Her goals are to acquire as much political and societal influence as possible while furthering the Order’s goals and acting against enemy groups. Smiles and good deeds in the light, underhanded dealings and brute force in the dark.

Which basically means she’s primed and ready for a “do all the things” playthrough, which is very hard for me to justify in most RP settings I’ve found :P

#skyrim #my writing #juno hassildor #vampire

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fallout4holmes · 6 years

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Far Harbor 8

We couldn't put off Dima’s plan any longer. Along the way we checked on the status of the Last Plank bartender's uncle, still living out on the island in the Fog thanks to some condensers, and we promised an enterprising young girl called Bertha to clear the old lumber mill of ferals for future settlers. A sole remaining trapper had claimed the mill as his own, but Bertha’s friends should have no trouble chasing him off.

We found Confessor Martin’s private… hermitage, I suppose. According to the tapes we found, Martin truly did have an amicable relationship with the strange synth that had welcomed them to their new home. He blamed himself for not realizing how bad Far Harbor’s hostility had become, and then blamed Dima when his own people turned against him because of Dima’s refusal to help drive the Harbormen off the island. Martin demanded Dima leave the Nucleus, and then when Tektus took over with his calls for blood, Martin retreated into seclusion. A few written notes revealed he was visited by Sister Gwyneth, early in her doubts. He started to believe she was right, and never regained his faith, quietly disappearing.

We returned to Acadia, our prize in hand. Dima was alone in his observatory. It was a… tense, moment. Neither brother was exactly certain how to interact with the other.

“You’ve returned,” Dima said, with some small surprise.

“We said we would. Will these suffice?” I handed him the tapes.

“Yes, these look like they’ll serve. Let me listen…” he smiled softly to himself, “It’s good to hear his voice aga- ah. Some… grim material to work with.” After a few moments, he had copied excerpts onto a new tape. “I take no pleasure from twisting the words of an old friend, but I believe Martin would understand. This tape should pique the interest of the High Confessor, but Tektus is nothing if not wary.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve set a trap,” I took the new tape. “How are preparations coming along for a replacement?”

“The initial stages have gone well. He should be ready in time.” Dima hesitated, but asked, “You said something when we last spoke, when you agreed to this plan. My mind keeps coming back to it… ‘In some corner of Hell, he’s laughing at me.’ May I ask…”

“The Director of the Institute.”

Dima was stunned, “I don’t understand.”

“The Institute used whatever means to their end, no matter the cost, the collateral damage caused. There were no questions of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ only ‘necessary.’ Unfortunately, the wrong of destroying a person often leads to the right of saving many.”

“… and the wrong of letting a person live who shouldn’t?”

“We’re going to find out, aren’t we?”

He winced. “So the Director is dead. And the Institute?”

“Destroyed.”

“Then it’s over?” Relief and hope filled him, “No more Courser hunts? No more slavery? Oh, but…” as suddenly as it seemed to come, the hope faded to something sadder. “But that also means the technology to make the synths is lost. Our origins have been buried. Not to mention, the loss of human life…” He glanced at us both with some chagrin, “I know that must sound disingenuous given my actions, but -”

“I sounded an evacuation before it was destroyed,” I said. “Everyone had a chance to get out. Not all of them did. It’s a truth I have to live with, that I don’t think I’ll ever forget.”

Dima glanced at Valentine, “Nor should anyone.” He sighed, “I’m sorry if I sounded as though I was judging you. You’ve wiped out a great evil in the world, and knowing the Institute is gone will bring peace of mind to many of my people. I’m grateful.”

We were invited to stay the night before going to the Nucleus in the morning. I think he hoped to have a chance to speak to Valentine, and so I resolved to be close by and listen in, just in case. My partner wasn't going to make it easy on him. And yet, for all his doubts, Valentine still wants to know his brother, this piece of family he never knew he might have had.

So it was with some false flippancy later that he answered a simple, “How have you been, Nick?” with “Haven't woken up discovering any new missing parts in a while, so I call that a win.”

Dima smiled. “I stopped counting the number of repairs I had decades ago. I have bad actuators, frayed wires…”

Whether innate sibling rivalry, or simple relief at a safe topic, Valentine continued the list, “Rusty joints, patched power couplings, and don't even get my secretary started whenever I tell her I literally have a screw loose.”

Dima chuckled, “You know, it's actually pretty nice being able to complain about this with someone who understands.”

Valentine nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Silence settled a moment before Valentine asked, “Dima, why do you even call me Nick? Didn’t you know me from before the personality imprint?”

“We didn't have names inside the Institute. And after the personality experiments started, the only name you ever called yourself was Nick Valentine. If there's another name you'd prefer, I'd be happy to -”

“No. No, I... I like the name. When you wear something for a long time, it kind of seeps into ya, you know?”

“Of course. And yet your… friend, only calls you Valentine.”

“Habit. Calls me Nick when it’s important. So, what happened after the Institute? To you, I mean.”

“After our escape, after the… fight… I eventually made my way here, simply wandering North, hiding on a ship, anything to get as far away from the Institute as I could. Once my escape felt secured, I was left with nothing. No programmed task, no false memories. I spent a year just sitting in a cave. Just sitting. One day, it finally occurred that maybe I could decide for myself what to do, who I was. It was decades before I met another of my kind. At first, I didn't believe it. I thought the person I was talking to was deluded. And then I realized the truth. That we were the same. I didn't know it then, but that's when Acadia really started. And you, Nick? What happened after?”

“Woke up one day in a garbage heap, a body in tatters and a head full of memories belonging to a man who'd been dead for 200 years. Suffice to say it was a confusing couple of weeks.”

“I am sorry -”

“I know. I was still confused, you didn’t want to hurt me, but… anyway. My first human contact in the world was actually a kid. I think his name was Jim. Grilled me for an hour. Once they'd seen I wasn't going to hurt anyone, the other folks in the neighborhood came out to ogle the mechanical man. It eventually turned into a pretty swell soiree. Local mechanic even gave me a once over, free of charge. Those people, they treated me like a human being. I've been trying to return the favor ever since.”

“That sounds wonderful. It's… not what I expected.”

“Don’t get me wrong, took me a long damn time to get a feel for the Commonwealth. Eventually made my way to Diamond City. Plenty of people assumed I was just a saboteur, moving in to melt down the reactor or poison the drinking water. But they couldn't exactly turn me away.”

“Why?”

“Because I'd rescued the mayor's daughter.”

I softly laughed. “I'll never tire of hearing this story,” I said to Faraday behind me. “As you've been standing there a few minutes, I imagine you'd like to hear the rest?”

He sounded a bit embarrassed. “I was going to ask if you were spying again. I suppose you were, but not quite like I thought. I have to say, I hoped Nick would come back. Dima really is glad to see him again. But I don't quite understand why you want to help.”

“I am a man of my word, and I am not in the habit of abandoning those in need.”

We listened for a time. “Did he really pretend to be a bomb?” Faraday asked.

“So he says.”

“No one could be stupid enough to fall for that.”

“Clearly you haven't met many raiders.”

“Um. Well, no, I guess I haven't.”

We were joined by Chase. “What in the world are you two doing?”

We moved away before we could be discovered. “We didn't want to interrupt!” Faraday protested.

Chase rolled her eyes and turned to me, “You're a detective, right? You've had experience finding missing people.”

I must admit, there is a certain comfort that comes with the anticipation of a case. “What's happened?”

“A synth was supposed to arrive from the Commonwealth, but he's gone missing. Brooks in Far Harbor has all the details, he's the one who was supposed to watch for his arrival. Tell him I sent you.”

She gave me Brooks’ unit designation from the Institute, just in case he didn't want to cooperate. Valentine and Dima were still talking. The sun would be setting by the time I reached Far Harbor; hardly an ideal time to track down a missing person, but given the dangers of the island, there was no time to waste. I resolved to head into town at least, and see what Brooks could tell me. I left Valentine to catch up with his brother. I didn’t know if it would help or not, but I think it’s important he get some sense of the old synth on the mountain… and, more importantly, that Dima gets a sense of the sort of man his brother is.

I hurried into Far Harbor and found Brooks cleaning up. The missing synth, a young man called Derrick, had arrived ahead of schedule in a panic. Brooks tried to calm him down but Derrick, convinced he was being pursued, ran off. Brooks was unable to stop him, or find him when he disappeared. He feels terrible about it. The only information he could give me was that Derrick had white hair and had run off down the south road.

“Then I suppose I’ll head south,” I sighed.

“Sure you want to be out an' about in the dark, cap'n?”

I turned and saw Longfellow approaching from the Last Plank, a bottle of whiskey in hand. “The sun hasn't set just yet, and if there's the slightest chance that he is still alive we must move quickly.”

“We?”

“If I had my dog with me, tracking Derrick down would be simple, sunshine or no,” I grinned, “but I’d gladly take a septuagenarian hunter instead.”

“Hmph,” he seemed amused, I think, though honestly it’s hard to tell. “And where’s your friend?”

“Acadia. He’s catching up with his brother, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Brother, huh?” Longfellow was supremely skeptical, but shrugged and said, “Brooks, watch this for me.” He put his whiskey on the counter, “I’ll be back as soon as this young pup makes a fool of himself tracking at night.”

I did not, in fact, make a fool of myself. To the contrary, Longfellow was impressed with my ability to observe details, and only corrected me once when I confused the blood trail of a wounded radstag with the trail of blood we’d been following. Given the nature of the trail, I knew the young man was likely dead… but nothing prepared me for the grisly nature of his fate. We tracked him to a house where trappers had set up camp. They’d eaten him, and left his head among the remains.

The Institute was gone, what had he been running from? A lone Courser? The Brotherhood? An imagined foe born from paranoia? Whatever the reason for his fear, Brooks had been in no position to stop his flight, through no fault of his own. How many people have died trying to reach a place of refuge?

Longfellow was grim, “Damn shame. Suppose you’ll let Acadia know?”

“Yes. Will you tell Brooks?”

“I’ll tell him. He’ll probably blame himself, even though it’s not his fault. I'll see to him, don't worry.”

I thanked him, and hurried back to Acadia. Chase was distressed to hear the news. This does, in fact, happen often. I don't mean the cannibalism, specifically, but synths being killed en route to Acadia. The island is a death trap for those ill prepared. This place doesn’t need ideals of peace and isolation, it needs practical help for the physical challenges of survival.

Valentine just found me. I'd managed to find an empty spot to sleep for the night, and was writing the above as he sat down next to me.

“You snuck out on me,” he said, perhaps a touch put out.

“I didn't want to interrupt. I found Longfellow in town.”

“Just want to make sure you get home in one piece,” he held my hand. “Chase mentioned something about finding a missing synth?”

I told him what I'd found. He shook his head with a heavy sigh. “This place…”

“Acadia is a worthy idea severely lacking in execution.”

“Considering what they've got to work with, it's amazing they've got this much.” It was true, the resources are limited, the neighbors unfriendly… “If only there were some sort of organization that could lend a helping hand,” he finished sardonically.

I chuckled, “The thought had crossed my mind, but would Dima accept help?”

“It’ll be a surprise, that’s for sure. He’s not fond of the Railroad, doesn’t understand why they’d remove synth identities instead of embracing them, but no one here knows what the Minutemen under their current management are about.”

“It is a bit out of our jurisdiction,” I said with a grin, “but perhaps some trade could be set up at the very least. Did you enjoy talking to him?”

“It was… nice. Strange. He was alone on this rock for a long time before he met another person. He’s… removed from a lot of life. Most of what he knows about the Commonwealth is second-hand knowledge, what he’s heard and stored in his memory banks. I think he got more out of the conversation than I did, listening to stories about the world. I still can't quite crack what makes him tick.”

“Beyond protecting his people?”

“Protecting is fine and good, but every time he mentions ideals and synths having their own culture and way of life… well, that would be nice, but it'll take a long time for that to happen. Not sure the people here are as in it for the long haul as Dima is… or as willing to do whatever it takes to make it happen.”

There certainly seems to be a disconnect. We'll find out soon enough if it's all worth it.

#fallout 4 #sherlock holmes #crossover #fan fiction #nick valentine #dima #far harbor

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destiny-islanders · 7 years

Text

FFXV x KH Headcanons That I Have But Probably Won’t Doodle Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You know how sometimes in FFXV when you’re out in the woods next to animals that won’t attack you, you end up hitting one by accident while you’re fending off MTs?

SORA DOES THIS AND IT RUINS HIS LIFE

HE HITS AN ANAK.

NOT JUST AN ANAK

AN ANAK CALF

He uses a Megalixir on it… Gladio is ready to End Him for wasting that on a stupid-looking giraffe cow!!!!

(Ignis: “Prompto, Noctis, go distract Sora while I take some of the mother’s meat to cook for dinner. I’ve come up with a new recipe, and the secret ingredient is ATTEMPTED INFANTICIDE.”)

While we’re talking about Sora and killing things– he doesn’t like to kill bugs. That puts him at odds with Noct and Prom on multiple occasions. Those two are the embodiment of those Internet memes depicting people burning their houses down to kill a single crazy-looking insect. Meanwhile Sora is over there feeling guilty about accidentally stepping on a snail

A talking cricket capable of reading and writing lived in Sora’s hoodie for like two years okay HE HAS A SOFT SPOT

Yes Sora is that guy to catch a spider and let it outside

Yes Gladio has killed bugs that Sora wanted to save while he scrambled around trying to find a paper towel… because yeah. He doesn’t want to touch that creepy crawly with his bare hands, even if his motives are Pure

“BORIS THE SPIDER! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

Sora is able to see Gentiana and Carbuncle without the use of a camera

Cue the bros using Sora’s Actual Sixth Sense to their advantage by having him guide them to make silly poses with the invisible deities

Noctis can’t believe Gentiana plays along. What a good sport.

Sora checking his phone during one of Carbuncle’s visits and beginning to giggle uncontrollably

THIS LITTLE FLUFF BALL HAS THE DIRT ON EMBARRASSING CHILD NOCT STORIES

Noct: “How tf did he get your number”

Since Sora is a couple of years younger than everyone else (I headcanon him as 17/18 when he first comes to Eos), Ignis and Gladio are Very Protective of him

Honestly it’s like Sora has four big brothers

Gladio is floored by the fact that Sora is more or less a self-taught swordsman

He still helps train Sora because technique is important

He swells up with So Much Pride when he catches Sora using a move he’d taught him during training on an MT

Gladio is so excited to take Sora to try his first meal of Cup Noodles

Sora ends up being a bit of a purist; he doesn’t like meat or veggies– just ramen and broth.

Ignis is baffled by nearly everything Sora does and how nonchalantly he does it

This kid can jump nine feet in the air and even executes a fussy little flip when he does it wtf

Oh, well. At least Sora can pick those fruit over there by jumping and reaching so no one has to climb the tree and risk a broken neck

(Noctis: “I didn’t break my neck, Specs– I sprained my wrist!!”

Ignis: “Which wouldn’t have happened if you’d been more careful.”)

Sora is dared (hmm by whom?? I wonder…….) to prank Ignis by putting a rogue ingredient into the stew one night.

He and his cohorts (you know who they are) watch Ignis do a taste-test nonchalantly

Who am I kidding they are totally obvious as they try to stop themselves from laughing

Dunno why you’re laughing, though, boys– that’s your dinner you’re sabotaging

Ignis is obviously disgusted by what he tastes. He stands there for a moment… and then he fumbles around in his pack for new ingredients

You bet your ass Ignis salvages the stew. In fact, it actually tastes better than before?? “I’ve come up with a new recipe, and the secret ingredient is ATTEMPTED SABOTAGE.”

Don’t ask Sora what the rogue ingredient was, Ignis. He’s not from around here and wouldn’t really know a Lieden pepper from a Duscaean potato

Prompto caves and tells him

The next day… how strange… it seems that Ignis only made enough dinner for himself and Gladio to enjoy… looks like it’s time for Toast for the Culinary Saboteurs

Ignis drags it out for a bit before giving the boys their share.

Noctis reminds Sora of Riku a lot.

Yes, by that I mean he tries to have a cool exterior but is actually a Giant Goober

Noct fishing while sitting at the end of the pier with Sora, long after the other bros have lost interest and wandered elsewhere

Long talks about friends and hopes for the future

Noctis feeling a little guilty because Sora seems so… comfortable with the burden of protecting not just one world, but a whole bunch.

Meanwhile, Noctis is reluctant to accept a king’s responsibility. He never asked for this. He just wants to be… normal.

Sora eventually admitting to having doubts about why the Keyblade stayed with him, and quietly wishing for the day to come that the worlds won’t need a single Keyblade master.

Turns out the two of them have more in common than Noct first thought.

Noctis trying to reel in the DEMON FISH from the VR game and Sora is in such a panic and so desperate to help that he PUNCHES THE MONSTER FISH IN THE FACE and BREAKS EVERY KNUCKLE IN HIS RIGHT HAND

Prompto and Sora are BEST FRIENDS and honestly IT HAPPENS SO FAST

Prom gives Sora some photography lessons and lets him loose in Galdin Quay

He ends up with a memory card full of cat photos of various angles and degrees of blurriness

Somehow a local reporter overhears Sora talking with Prompto about his intention to take a photo with every single Kenny Crow statue in Lucis and ends up having a little article published about him. Just seems like one of those slice-of-life stories that the media would eat up

They use one of Prompto’s photos of Sora and Kenny for the newspaper!!! It’s on like the 85th page nestled into a corner, but he’s!!! Officially!! A published photographer!!!

In the long night, there are several instances that find Prom and Sora on a hunt near a Crow’s Nest they never had a chance to visit during their road trip. Taking a photo is a matter of obligation at this point

Prompto scrolling through the Caw, Kids! It’s Sora Crow! folder and tearing up as he starts from the first photo and scrolls forward. By year seven of the long night, Sora’s smile as he stands under Kenny’s wing doesn’t reach his eyes

Starscourge!Sora headcanons that aren’t completely miserable??? Look at them, hanging out above the angst cut????

It eventually gets to the point that Sora’s left eye glows in the dark like a nightlight

Prompto finds himself using the glow of Sora’s fuckin’ daemon eye to try and read the map after his flashlight’s battery dies

omfg

It’s just so absurd that the two of them burst out laughing

It’s the first time either of them had laughed in a while. It felt… nice…

Gladio pressing a hand over Sora’s eye when they’re trying to sneak up on a daemon because it will give them away

Prompto’s response is to give Sora an eyepatch he swiped from the clinic for their next hunt

Sora: “I always wanted to be a pirate as a kid. Who says dreams don’t come true, even in this horrific post-apocalyptic hellscape”

Also Sora: “Srsly Gladio I can see better in the dark with this eye maybe don’t”

Head into the misery dojo if you dare under the cut

Uh-oh. It is.

Pls don’t think about Sora desperately trying to break into the Crystal after he discovers that it’s dragged Noctis inside of it.

The Keyblade’s strength depends on the heart of its wielder. He should be able to cut through this! He can cut through anything!!!!

It takes a very long time before Sora or any of the Chocobros leave that chamber.

Yes they stay there for days hoping beyond hope that Noct will come out

During the long night, Sora becomes a daemon hunter and a team leader for a group of search and rescue teams

His first retrieval mission ends… badly. The people who’d sent the distress signal were long gone by the time Sora and his team got there

One of the kids was in mid-transformation after being afflicted with the Starscourge…

Sora can’t land the fatal blow. He goes outside and throws up while Dave finishes the job

Search and rescue missions are a source of extreme anxiety for Sora after that… but he has to try and save as many people as he can

Sora tries not to think about Riku, Kairi, or any of his friends beyond Eos. It hurts too much. He tries to put his Wayfinder in a shoebox in his apartment to avoid its constant reminder of what he’s lost… but he just can’t bring himself to part with it

He wishes he did when he takes a nasty spill into a ravine during a solo mission two years into the long night. Smashes his Wayfinder into pieces.

He’s too injured to climb out of the ravine, too. He gives up after a couple of attempts and just gathers up the pieces of the good luck charm that he can. He just lay there in a heap and watches the stars

Prompto, Ignis, and Gladio hear about Sora’s disappearance and team up for the first time in almost a year to find him

They make it in time. Lots of potions and a piggyback ride to safety courtesy of Gladio see our dorkupine boy right

Prompto notices Sora throw something in the trash before leaving the clinic and finds the Wayfinder pieces. He knows what the charm represents and how devastated Sora must be that it’s been irreparably destroyed.

He gathers up the pieces, puts them in a pouch, and leaves it on the table in the kitchen of Sora’s tiny apartment. He leaves a note, too: I know they haven’t given up on you. So don’t give up on them.

A few days later, Sora gives Prompto, Ignis, and Gladio each a piece of the charm. So that all of us will find each other, in the end

Noctis takes a piece of the charm with him to the throne

#final fantasy xv #kingdom hearts #ffxv x kh #sora #noctis #prompto #ignis #gladio #ff #ffxv #destiny headcanons #text #headcanons #long post #starscourge sora

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stygian-omadas-epic-chronicles · 6 years

Text

Death Doesn’t Bargain (Deadman’s Cross #2) extended excerpt

Kalder was stunned by Thorn’s unexpected confession. How could the demon bastard have set him free into the world again, if he really knew who and what Kalder was? What he was capable of doing? It made no sense. . “You knew?” Savitar accused. “Of course, I knew.” Thorn was indignant. “I’m not stupid. I leave that precarious state up to you, surf-for-brains.” Savitar sent a blast of fire straight at Thorn. Thorn returned it in full measure. “Don’t you even start with me, Chthonian. Or I’ll wedge your surfboard sideways into a piece of your anatomy you won’t ever forget.” “You traitorous bastard!” That sobered Thorn who stalked Savitar like a savage predator after the beast who’d wounded it. Rage bled out from every part of his body. “How dare you of all creatures accuse me of that!” Now it was Savitar’s turn to be indignant. “I beg your pardon?” “Beg all you want, but you won’t get it. And you heard me. As if your hands are any cleaner in this fight than mine, or that you’d be any less likely to switch sides. If you ever think for one heartbeat that I’d shift loyalties to my father, then you’d best think again, and remember that the day I do, I’d kill my son and wife in the process. So fuck you, Chthonian! And your suspicions! You can take them both and shove them up your ass and down your throat! My ties to the right side of this fight are a whole lot stronger than yours will ever be!” “Wife?” The captain gaped. Thorn froze instantly. Then took a step back as if suddenly remembering that he and Savitar weren’t the only two on the island. His features paled as he glanced about, and he became acutely aware of just how many had borne witness to his slip of the tongue. Savitar gave him an evil smirk. “Yes, punkin’ we all heard what you said. Want to keep going? What other interesting tidbits are you planning to let out in the midst of your verbal spewage?” Thorn narrowed his gaze. “Careful, punkin’, you know what they say about those who live in glass houses.” “They get a lot of sunshine?” Thorn sneered at his sarcasm. “I was thinking they get covered in a lot of bug shit, myself. But tomato, tamahto.” Savitar twisted his jaw in a way that said he was barely restraining the urge to punch him. “You really make it hard not to gut you some days.” “Ditto.” “Well, I should have known . . .” Cameron gaped as a man appeared next to her and Kalder who was equal in height to Savitar. Which was to say, he was gigantic. Only instead of muscular, he was lean, yet every bit as lethal and powerful. There was no mistaking his power that said he could easily match the rest of them. And then some. The only difference was that he had exceptionally long black hair and eyes of mercury silver that swirled like the sea during a storm. Aged eyes that said he’d seen more than his fair share of trouble and misery. And he wore a plain black woolen coat more akin to the captain’s than an ornate one that was favored by Thorn, Bart or Will. At his approach, Thorn and Savitar stepped apart like two errant children who’d been caught squabbling by their parents, and wanted to hide their misbehavior before a grand spanking ensued. “He started it.” Savitar jerked his chin at Thorn. “Acheron!” Janice shouted in happiness. “Get me away from these idiots!” Cameron’s eyes widened as she realized that this was the mysterious Acheron Parthenopaeus who led the Dark-Hunters— the group of warriors charged with protecting mankind from the Daimons who preyed on them and their souls. Unlike Thorn’s Hellchasers who sent demons back to their dimensions after they escaped or broke whatever rule had allowed them a temporary reprieve, or the Necrodemians such as her brother who killed the dark demons who refused to go, or were too dangerous to be corralled without risking danger to the world or to humanity. Pausing in front of Savitar, Acheron arched a quizzical brow. “Question. Who locked my Huntress in a cave?” Kalder raised his hand. “That would me, but she’s free to leave at any time. I only did it to protect her from the sunlight.” “Then I won’t kill you.” Acheron made a sharp turn back toward Savitar and Thorn. “And you two idiots. . . . Seriously? We have a major demon infestation, buckling gates, and a Malachai on the loose, and you two are fighting like infants right in the middle of it all?” With a perturbed sneer, Savitar crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, you’re not so old, or so big, that I can’t spank you.” Sancha raised her hand to volunteer. “Might I have the honor of it? Or I could hold him down if you’d like. If he struggles, all the better, I say.” Acheron scoffed at her offer. “Careful, love. My bite is much worse than my bark.” She flashed an inviting grin. “Counting on that, love. Definitely, counting on that.” She gave him an inviting wink.

Now it was Thorn’s turn to smirk. “What can I say, old Ack? They were damned for a reason. And some, more so than others.”

Acheron shook his head. “Makes me glad I just have to wrangle Dark-Hunters. And a few stray Dream-Hunters and Weres.” “And I have to wrangle morons.” Savitar gestured at Thorn. “With the Lord King of them all standing right there in front of us. So I dare you to ask him about (parts removed for SPOILERS ). Go ahead. I dare you.” Acheron went still for about a heartbeat and a half. His eyes rippled red as his black hair fanned out. Yet unlike Savitar, he didn’t react. Instead, he pressed one finger to his temple as if suppressing a migraine. “Thorn . . . tell me you had a good reason for what you did.” (parts removed for SPOILERS ) Sadly, I miscalculated how long it’d take me to get to him, and Vine’s resourcefulness (parts removed for SPOILERS ) For that, I apologize.” Thorn cleared his throat pointedly. “To you, Ash. Not to surf-bum.” Thorn sighed heavily. “Hindsight, stupid plan. But given that I was in battle at the time, with Michael and Gabriel breathing down my throat and all manner of hell breaking loose, it was the best I could come up with.” Savitar finally calmed down. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?” “You didn’t give me a chance, psycho-douche.” Acheron held his hand up. “Enough, children! With Adarian running loose in the Caribbean, we have enough problems without you two going at each other. Now play nicely, or I’m feeding you both to she who won’t be named.” Thorn rolled his eyes, then turned to curse at Kalder. “Of all the islands in all the worlds. You had to land on this one? Really?” Kalder shrugged. “I’ve always had bad aim.” Zumari laughed at that. Unlike him, the Maasai warrior was renowned for his skills at throwing knives and spears. “No lie to that. You should see him at a spear toss.” Growling low in the back of his throat, Thorn faced Mara and Devyl. “How long will it take for you to make a new ship?” Mara bit her lip as she considered it. “From scratch? Months. But I could bond with one quickly.” Her amber eyes danced with amusement. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare one just lying about, would you?” They all turned toward Acheron. At first he appeared irritated by the fact that they deferred to him, but with a sigh, he resigned himself to it. “Frigate or sloop?” he asked the captain. Devyl grinned. “First-rate, man-o’-war. I’ve always been partial. Besides, me aeromages need the room to maneuver in battle. And me lady doesn’t like to be cramped.” Acheron nodded slowly. “All right. I’ll have one docked and ready by dusk.” He jerked his chin at Savitar. “Can you manage to be hospitable until then?” “I’d rather be disemboweled. Or better yet, disembowel them.” “Sav . . .” He sneered at Acheron. “Don’t give me no lip, twerp. How’d you come by that wonderful pirate coat you’re wearing again?” Acheron gave him a droll stare. “Moral of the story isn’t to draw first blood. It’s to draw last.” Savitar rolled his eyes. “Fine. But remember you owe me. And Thorn owes me twice.” “Me?” Thorn groused. “Why do I owe you?” “I didn’t eat your little Thornkateers when they showed up on my beach without an invitation.” Thorn sputtered in indignation. “Need I remind you that you personally recommended about half of them for my crew? Doesn’t that make them Saviteers?” “Or would that be saboteurs?” Belle asked with a wicked gleam in her eye. In complete synchronicity with one another, Savitar and Thorn turned their heads to glare at her. And with the same, exact grimace of disdain. An impressive feat, indeed. Bart laughed while William grimaced. “Do those two always argue like an old married couple?” “They do,” Acheron said with a sigh. “Be grateful, you’ve only had to listen to them for a few minutes. I’ve had this shite ringing in my ears for over ten thousand years.” Bart scratched at his beard. “And you’re still sane?” Acheron shrugged. “That’s a matter of opinion. Besides, sanity’s overrated.” “But silence isn’t. So let there be silence on my island. And peace, boys and girls. You can camp in the Omegrion chambers since I doubt the Were-Hunters will be visiting— and they better not be visiting ‘cause I can’t take any more creatures here today. There’s a reason I live in seclusion! Means I tend to eat anything that intrudes on it!” Savitar growled again. “Acheron, since he apparently has nothing better to do with his immortality than stick his skinny little nose in where it doesn’t belong, can show you where that is, then see about your ship so that you’ll be gone before I finish with my siesta. Thorn will watch you while you’re there, and make sure none of you piss on my rugs.” Thorn sputtered. “Excuse me?” “I tried to make an excuse for you once and this is what happened. I got stuck with you being a pain in my eternity. So be a good parent and mind your children while I nap. Keep them out of my underwear drawers and off my furniture for the duration of their stay.” And with that, Savitar vanished into thin air. Thorn ground his teeth. “Is it too late to summon an angry sea deity and sink this place?” Acheron gave him a cocky grin. “I can think of a vicious goddess of destruction who would love to help you out in that department. Especially since she’s not overly fond of him. However, there is one serious downside to releasing her.” Will cocked his head. “That is?” “End of the world,” the captain answered. “Hence the whole goddess of destruction moniker, lad. Goes with the territory.” “Mmm,” Acheron concurred. “Much like Sallie’s soul, once she comes out of her container, she’s a little hard to put back in it.” “Aye, but the last time she came out, she sank Atlantis.” Thorn glanced about the island. “This is considerably smaller than that. I’m thinking . . .” A bolt of lightning flew at his head. Thorn deflected it. “You missed me, Savitar.” A coconut hit him in the back so hard that it left him face down in the sand. “No, I didn’t.” The disembodied voice was plain and clearly Savitar’s. “I seriously hate you, Chthonian.”

#Death doesn't bargain #deadman's cross #deadman's cross trilogy #Sherrilyn Kenyon #Dark Hunter series #Dark Hunter world #oh gawd thor and savitar are killing me with this #so funny #OMG! THIS IS HILARIOUS!#can't wait to read it

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necromancer-kala · 3 years

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Homebrew plans

I didn’t do much reading on any lore in the existing books, so just a reminder to myself that I’m not going into this trying to match my story up with canon events from the books. Especially since it takes place in Waterdeep/Neverwinter region, and delves into the Underdark.

I plan to set up the campaign in the midst of a war, something that will constantly drag players back to the main story by nature of the main story constantly happening around them. It’s nothing too elaborate. The Drow have aligned themselves with demons and devils, waging war on the surface races. Necromancers send hoards of undead out during the day to terrorize civilians, and in the dead of night, Drow wreck havoc on towns and cities. Among the chaos, spies and saboteurs have snuck into society, sending misleading information out, intercepting messages, and gathering information. Tension is high, and an aura of distrust haunts the people of Neverwinter. Dark Elves and Tieflings, now more than ever, have become societal outcasts, only feeling comfortable in their small social circles and families.

My three players will be dropped into a small quest on session 0 to help Viren(My wood elf sorcerer) recover the Lyre of Istus(Homebrew artifact that controls time, it’s importance will be revealed later) which was stolen from them. Their presence picks right up from the last campaign I had them running in, where they defeated Strahd. It’s 35 years later, they’ve retired from their adventuring but keeps getting dragged back in. (Not to worry, they will not be stealing attention from the main trio, they’re here to info dump, enchant items, and hand out side quests. At level 8, the players may attempt to persuade them to journey up to Neverwinter with them if they want, but they also have 3 other companion options) Viren is level 10, but suffering level 4 exhaustion that completely destroys their chances of retrieving it on their own, so they hired help. The lyre was stolen by a drow who has taken it to a cave and is attempting to learn it’s power. This will be the players’ introduction to the war and Drow.

Upon successful recovery of the lyre, the party will be rewarded with 100 gold each and return to Waterdeep. Viren will go their separate way, and the main campaign will become open world for the players. They will be allowed to split off from each other, make 3 actions a day (something to do in the morning, evening and night), and go on side quests. They’ll be reunited for major events and story quests.

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metrcnome · 3 years

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WARNINGS FOR: language, character death, suicidal behavior, Jazz is a major idiot, ANGST, nobody is happy, bad end. Written to: this song

For @petrexian I’m sorry

If you love somebody, set them free

The hardest choice he’d ever made was staring him right in the face; the warning of what he had to do and the prayer that he would chicken out. He lit up his world in a way he didn’t know it could be set alight anymore; brought a song to his spark that he’d long thought deceased. A rap on the office door and that voice (oh that voice) beckoned him to enter. The weight of his decision like boulders crushing in on him had him in an unusual slouch. There was no coming back from this, but then he wasn’t planning on coming back. The slight twitch of a smile is a blow he’s not prepared to face. It forces him to rock on his pedes, tension lacing his frame so intricately he’s not sure it will ever go away. Prowl is beautiful in the way he’s a force of nature; he crashes against Jazz and pulls him under til he revels in the sensation of drowning. He could bask forever in the others presence and never grow tired of him, but he knows that would be too cruel. What he intends to do is no less cruel, but then he’s only thinking of how he wants to save the love of his life from as much pain as he can. The selfish part of the saboteur begs him to just forget about his whole plan--to lean forward and press his lips to that smile; memorize the feel of everything he’s ever wanted.

Instead he sits in a chair, tense and bored looking--enough that the small smile is lost (he’s committed it to memory all the same). “We need ta talk...” He keeps the tremor out of his voice, but barely. He watches the others blank expression and finds he doesn’t want to read into it, so he doesn’t. For once he doesn’t want to think about how Prowl will feel. He already knows. “Look this...” he gestures between them, feeling sick even before the words have left him. “...is nice and all but I think I’ve had enough.” Tension; it’s so thick now you could physically cut it with a knife. He presses on even as his tanks flip about inside him. “You’re too cold, I think we should break up.” He expects screaming, yelling, being thrown into a wall and beaten, maybe even tears. The cold calm; the eerie ‘I see’ do nothing to alleviate the guilt so rampant throughout his core he’s shocked it’s not showing on his face. “I must ask you to leave.” It’s so polite that without another word he gets up and does as asked. He’s barely two steps down the hall when he hears the crash of furniture and data pads scattering around the office. His spark clenches painfully and he almost turns; almost scurries back into that room and begs on his knees for forgiveness. Jazz almost goes back, but he doesn’t. He faces ahead and swallows back the tears. “This is goodbye...” he whispers to no one.

It is months before he sees his ex again; months before he even glimpses the inside of the autobot base. He’s tired, sore, and bruised--but he’s alive. The first thing that he feels when he runs into Prowl is remorse. He’s cold; reserved in a way that speaks volumes of how he feels. Conversation is kept short and to the point. Jazz crumbles under the guilt of it all. At first he avoids him; attempts to keep their interactions to a minimum and pretend that he’s alright. But he’s not alright, he’s anything but. Music is shockingly devoid of everything he does, leaving an eerie quiet where once others had expected some sort of noise to fill the emptiness. Missions go south more often than not and finally, finally it’s agreed that he’s losing his touch. When he’s broken, beyond hope of carrying on, that’s when they finally talk. He finds himself cornered in an office with an irritated Prowl. Clearly neither of them is interested in prolonging their time together and he caves. “Oh primus...” he whispers, falling to his knees. “Oh primus what have I done...” and it’s enough to stop the lecture; enough to give him the opening he had longed for.

“Prowl...” His intake feels as if its full of sandpaper; dry and rasping as he fights the tears. “I didn’t mean it.” But even that sounds false so he tries again. “I was a coward.” It’s the truth. “I was afraid...this deep cover...I was afraid I wouldn’t be comin back. I thought I was gonna die so I...” The words stick and he shakes under the force of the others gaze so he drops it, turns off his visor and allows himself to be blind. “So I broke yer spark. I pushed ya away because I was afraid. I didn’t...didn’t believe in you enough to trust that ya could handle my death if...if we were still together. So I lied...I lied and I told ya that ya were...” Oh but what had he done. Tears begin to drip down his face and he finally lets himself cry. It’s soft, like a childs, as he remains kneeling on the ground in his agony. “I won’t ask ya to forgive me...” because there is no forgiveness from this. He hears the punch before is lands. His visor cracks, splintering from his helm as he’s sent tumbling backward. He accepts it, knows he deserved it. “Right...” he rasps. “Right I won’t bring it up again.”

They’re over, he knows. Any hope of redemption was gone the minute he opened his stupid mouth. He knows he’s a fool but oh he just can’t go on. He tries so hard to forget; to let the memory of softness fade into nothing. He can’t let go. Jazz was prepared for many things, but he was not prepared to live a life without Prowl. He threw himself into his work as if it could ease the pain he had brought upon himself; the agony that tore at his sanity. To have been so close and yet lose it all in a single moment haunted him. He barely slept, barely ate, and took risks that he really shouldn’t. The persona of merriment vanished completely and he became as cold to the rest as Prowl. He pushed away every friend he ever had. What use were friends to a dead mech walking? And oh how he craved the sweet relief of death. He had known tenderness and love and now found that he could not live without it. If he could not have Prowl then he could not live. Dramatic and foolhardy, but a thought he could not rid himself of. He haunted the base like a ghost; a shell of himself.

If Prowl knew or cared, he did not show it. In fact, the saboteur was certain he’d decided not to care. He had hurt him, quite irredeemably so, and it made sense he’d lost any place in the others spark. That did not mean Jazz did not care. He cared so deeply that when no one was looking he did quiet things to ease the strain of the others work. He cleaned his office, touched up his desk, even left him cubes of energon. He knew not how the gifts were received, but then he wasn’t doing it to win favor. He simply cared so deeply and so wholly for the other it just seemed more illogical to not help. So he slunk about the shadows like a thief and paid no heed to whether he was noticed or not. His spark, for better or for worse, belonged solely to Prowl.

Routine when broken when the decepticons attacked. It was a shock to them all and had their ranks hopelessly scattered. In his desperation the silver mech only had one goal in mind: find Prowl. Nothing mattered to him but the black and white mech who, in spite of everything, meant the world to him. Without him the was no music, no light, no anything. He found him, back turned to the enemy and grappling with a decepticon over his blaster. It didn’t take but a second for his faster frame to go shooting across the field, a desperate cry on his lips as he took the blow meant for Prowl. It ripped at his spark, tearing at the delicate edges of the chamber and dooming him. In a final act of defiance he threw one of his daggers into the enemy that had tried to murder the love of his life. With the danger gone he crumpled into waiting arms.

He was cradled tenderly towards a warmth he knew all too well. Regret pulsed up inside him that he’d caused this gorgeous face to pinch into something pained once more. He reaches up, smearing energon across the others cheek. “I’m sorry Prowl...” He didn’t mean dying, nor saving the others life. Oh no--he would never regret anything more than foolishly pushing away the best thing to ever happen to him. “I love you...” A broken whisper meant only for him. Darkness bubbled around him and pain seared through his censors. In a desperate moment he arched up, lips pressing to Prowls as he tried to whisper the words back. Nothing ever came, he slumped back in the embrace and his spark went out.

Jazz died in Prowls arms, a smile on his face.

#( now if you'll excuse me I'm gonna go cry )#( I need at least 80 does of fluff after this mess )#( I regret writing this )#greek tragedy ;; drabble

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prehistoricsounds · 4 years

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This week's arrivals

Heaps of new releases this week from Ball Park Music with a self-titled effort, Bridgette Chappell "Undertow", Sydney punks C.O.F.F.I.N. "Children Of Finland Fighting In Norway", Clipping "Visions Of Bodies Being Burned", Deftones "Ohms", Dumb Punts "The Big One Two", Kurt Baker "After Party", METZ "Atlas Vending", new 12" single from Pixies "Hear Me Out", Skullcrusher "Skullcrusher", Smarts "Who Needs Smarts, Anyway?" Vacations "Forever In Bloom" and Stiff Richards "State Of Mind".

Reissues and legacy releases from Emmylou Harris "Wrecking Ball", Green Day offshoot Foxboro Hot Tubs "Stop Drop & Roll", Greg Lake, Ian Dury and much more!

There has actually been more titles arrived! There will be a bunch not listed hitting the racks in Geelong and Warrnambool tomorrow. Just not enough hours in the day!

A Tribe Called Quest - Midnight Marauders [LP] (sold) All Them Witches - Nothing As The Ideal [LP] Ball Park Music - Ball Park Music [LP] (one left, more soon) Bob Mould - Blue Hearts (Tri~colour) [LP] (sold) Bob Mould - Blue Hearts [LP] Bon Iver - 22, A Million [LP] Bon Iver - Bon Iver [LP] Boys Next Door - Door Door (Red) [LP] (sold) Bridgette Chappell - Undertow [LP] C.O.F.F.I.N. - Children Of Finland Fighting In Norway [LP] Canned Heat - Record Store Day Party With Canned Heat [LP] RSD Charli XCX - How I'm Feeling (Neon Orange) [LP] Childish Gambino - Awaken, My Love [LP] (sold) Clipping - Visions Of Bodies Being Burned [2LP] Courtney Barnett - Tell Me How You Really Feel [LP] Cub Sport - Like Nirvana (Pink) [LP] Deftones - Ohms (Gold) [LP] Doors - Soft Parade Stripped (Clear) [LP] (sold) Dumb Punts - The Big One Two [LP] Emmylou Harris - Wrecking Ball [LP] Faith No More - Album Of The Year [LP] Fleetwood Mac - Greatest Hits [LP] Foxboro Hot Tubs - Stop Drop & Roll!!! (Green) [LP] Freddie Gibbs & The Alchemist - Alfredo [LP] (sold) Greg Lake - The Anthology: A Musical Journey [2LP] Hank Williams - March Of Dimes [10"] RSD Harry Styles - Fine Lines [2LP] Ian Dury - Hit Me! The Best Of [2LP] Khruangbin - Con Todo El Mundo [LP] Khruangbin - Hasta El Cielo (Con Todo El Mundo In Dub) [LP] Khruangbin - Mordechai [LP] Khruangbin - Universe Smiles Upon You [LP] King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - 12 Bar Bruise (Green) [LP] King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Eyes Like The Sky (Orange) [LP] King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Float Along...Fill Your Lungs (Yellow) [LP] Kurt Baker - After Party [LP] Link Wray - Link Wray [LP] Love - Forever Changes (Mono) [LP] (sold) Mac Miller - Best Day Ever [2LP] (sold) Mac Miller - Circles [2LP] (sold) Massappeal - Nobody Likes A Thinker (Coloured) [LP+7”] Metallica - ...And Justice For All [2LP] (sold, more soon) Metz - Atlas Vending [LP] Mildlife - Automatic [LP] Motörhead - No Sleep 'til Hammersmith [LP] Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Live From KCRW [2LP] Nightmares On Wax - Smokers Delight: Sonic Buds [12"] Osees - Protean Threat [LP] (sold) Pennywise - About Time [LP] Pixies - Hear Me Out / Mambo Sun [12"] Queen - Day At The Races [LP] Radiohead - Amnesiac [2LP] Radiohead - Kid A [2LP] Radiohead - OK Computer OKNOTOK (1997—2017) [3LP] Radiohead - The Bends [LP] Rex Orange County - Bcos U Will Never B Free [LP] Skegss - My Own Mess [LP] Skullcrusher - Skullcrusher [LP] Smarts - Who Needs Smarts, Anyway? [LP] Stereolab - Sound Dust [3LP] Stiff Richards - State Of Mind [LP] Sweet Whirl - How Much Works [LP] Tegan & Sara - Tonight In The Dark (Violet/Black) [LP] RSD The Casanovas - Reptilian Overlord [LP] (sold, more soon) The Meanies - Desperate Measures [LP] The Onyas - Get Shitfaced With The Onyas (Green) [LP] The Onyas - Six! (Purple) [LP] The Prodigy - Music For A Gilted Generation [2LP] The Saboteurs (Raconteurs) - Help Us Stranger (White) [LP] The Smith Street Band - Dont Waste Your Anger (Neon Violet) [LP] Trickfinger - She Smiles Because She Presses The Button [LP] Urge Overkill - Saturation (Blue) [LP] Vacations - Forever In Bloom [LP] Various - Dance Craze [LP] RSD Various - GTRRC: 20 Cover Tracks From Rock N Rolls Most Demented [LP] Various - If I Have To Wreck L.A. ~ Kent & Modern [CD] (sold) Various - Outside Providence OST (Red & Orange) [2LP] Various - Stone Free: Jimi Hendrix Tribute (Black & Clear) [2LP] Various - This Are Two Tone [LP] RSD Various - Wilcovered [2LP] RSD Wheeler Walker Jr. - Fuck You Bitch: All-Time Greatest Hits [LP]

#prehistoricsounds newarrivals

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catsvrsdogscatswin · 5 years

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Higurashi Month 2019, Day 13: Secret Message

The bracing scent of salty sea air whisked throughout the perfectly-trimmed riggings of the Bludgeon, and Keiichi Maebara, that selfsame ship’s proud captain, whooped in unholy glee as the wooden craft cut through the rolling ocean like a hot knife through butter. The brisk sea breeze danced among the gleaming mahogany and violet plumes of his feathered captain’s hat, sending them ruffling and quivering in every direction as he inhaled and filled his lungs with that delightful scent of adventure.

“Bring her about, first mate Rena!” he bellowed from his place amongst the riggings, and heard a chipper “aye-aye” from the poop deck as his auburn-headed right hand spun the ship’s wheel about, sending them scudding towards the faint smudge of greenish darkness against the horizon.

Their destination.

Keiichi and his scurvy crew were some of the most fearsome pirates to terrorize the balmy waters of the Caribbean, and they were on the hunt for gold today, a buried treasure said to have come from the very hands of a god many leagues to the east, around the cape of Africa and out towards the Orient. Since Keiichi’s own parents had come from that fabled land, he reckoned he had just as good of a chance as anyone else to find and snatch up that treasure, especially with the talents of his mighty and loyal crew at his disposal.

Rena, his first mate and best friend, was an absolute demon with the cutlass, and furthermore, a skilled navigator and something of a mother hen –she ran the ship nearly as much as he did, and she kept the entire crew all in one contented unit. If someone had a scratch or a problem, they came to Rena.

Rika, the petite thief, was a past master of skullduggery and sneaking around, and her adorable, doll-like tiny figure only served to further throw off any suspicions. Keiichi had known her to steal a man almost blind, and then be crooned over in sympathy and given his last remaining farthing, her waiflike appearance was so pitifully convincing.

Hanyuu, their cabin girl, was a timid scholar, and while she wasn’t much cop in a fight of any kind, she knew dusty tomes and strangely-written old scrolls like the back of her ink-smudged hand, and Keiichi was counting on her to give him the information he and the others needed to work their way to the cave on this remote island where, allegedly, this fantastic treasure was buried. The scrolls Hanyuu had found were all full of “bliss and joy everlasting” and “a treasure the richest kings would weep to possess,” which made Keiichi all but rub his hands in glee as he envisioned the gigantic heap of jewels and gold and other priceless artifacts waiting for him and his crew in that cave.

“Captain!” a shrill voice interrupted his pleasant daydreams abruptly, Rika pointing ahead from her place near the bow. “Trouble up ahead!”

Blinking, Keiichi looked up at the island they were approaching, and his jaw gaped in astounded stupefaction.

There was another ship in their secret harbor, in their secret island, flying a pirate flag and thus undoubtably intent on stealing their treasure before Keiichi and his crew could so much as clap eyes on it.

The brunet scowled and grabbed a rope, beginning to descend down to the deck. “Full speed ahead, Rena! We won’t let those bastards get away with our treasure!”

“Aye-aye, sir!” Rena cried, her blue eyes fierce as she unconsciously shifted her stance, making sure her cutlass was within easy reach.

They swooped into the cove with all the righteous fury a ship could possibly give off, and Keiichi’s rage was only further increased when he saw the green hair and ridiculously outsized hat of the captain of their foes.

“Mion Sonozaki!” he cried with a voice of thunder, withdrawing his reinforced belaying pin and waving it angrily as the female captain looked up from where she was supervising the retrieval of a mid-sized iron chest by her two lieutenants, her twin Shion and the doctor Satoshi. “Avaunt and lay down my treasure, you pox-riddled wench!”

The other captain grinned mockingly and folded her arms across her bounteous, lapel-covered chest, her emerald-green cloak hanging down to her knees, all a-sparkle with gold tags and fastenings, with gold-braided shoulders. His was way better, and more tasteful. “Finders keepers, you lily-livered scut-faced coward!” she bellowed back as Satoko, the ship’s saboteur, peeked over the edge of the Demon’s rails and grinned upon seeing the Bludgeon and all her rivals thereon.

“I’ll keep what I find when I nail your gizzard to the sands, you moldy-haired prancing pestilence!” Keiichi yelled, near frothing at the mouth, and pointed his minions on as Shion and Satoshi dropped the box of what was assuredly the treasure, drawing a poison-bearing dagger and a belaying pin of his own respectively. “Attack!”

The ship beached itself with a thunderous shudder of wood and a crunch, and Keiichi leapt down onto the sands of the beach, charging forward to meet Mion’s cutlass with his embossed wooden club as Rena darted for Shion and Rika rushed to engage her partner. Hanyuu squeaked and clumsily swung over onto the Demon, well aware of how crucial her role was in keeping Satoko away from their precious ship.

Sparks flew and the crash and impact of steel against steel, steel against hardened and lacquered wood, echoed across the beaches of the deserted island as both crews of pirates engaged in furious battle for possession of the iron chest now innocuously laying on the salt-washed sand. Rena and Shion were well-matched, for Rena knew by experience that a single prick of the blade Shion carried would paralyze her for hour, and though her cutlass was longer, the younger Sonozaki twin cut and parried with such skill that she was hard-pressed to use her advantage. Rika was so much smaller than Satoshi, that despite her nimble ability to dodge, she was equally-hampered in trying to land a blow on him, and Hanyuu of course was barely skilled enough to keep Satoko from doing anything, and the only reason she wasn’t unconscious was because Satoko was rather weak in direct combat herself, and the two young girls rolled around, undignified, on the deck of the Demon, squealing and hitting at each other with their bare fists.

No, only Keiichi and Mion were dueling as equals, and even as he swung and battered his belaying pin against her cutlass’s implacable defense, Keiichi felt a liquid thrill run through his veins, white-hot excitement burning as adrenaline through his veins as the two of them parried and dueled up and down the sands, panting for breath and caught up entirely in the skill of his opponent.

That is, until Hanyuu fell (thrown, most likely) from the deck of the Demon, directly onto the chest they were so desperately fighting for, and tumbled off. Keiichi barely caught the movement out of the corner of his eyes, too focused on Mion, but he certainly heard her indignant squeal rising above the sounds of battle as Hanyuu scrambled back up again, saw that her impact had bounced open the lid of the chest, and discovered that-

“It’s empty!”

All movement stopped, and all eyes turned to the stunned-looking young girl as she stared, jaw low, into the open chest. Without looking at each other, Keiichi and Mion disengaged their weapons and rushed over simultaneously, as the members of their crew followed quickly after. All eight pairs of eyes stared into the bottom of the chest, which was indeed, absolutely empty.

“Did someone take the treasure before we did?” Shion asked out loud in confusion, scratching her head.

“No…there’s a note here, and in the sacred language the directions were written in!” Hanyuu exclaimed, and Rika swatted aside Satoko’s eager hand as Hanyuu bent down to pick it up.

There was tense silence as the scholar slowly read through the note –turning red, oddly enough– before she finally cleared her throat and put it down.

“Well?” Mion asked expectantly, hand on her hip, and Hanyuu squirmed. Keiichi, knowing that this was never a good sign, groaned, and Rena sighed as she sheathed her cutlass once more.

“It, um, it says that the greatest treasure of all is the love of others, so…”

Groans sounded throughout both crews as more weapons were put away, and Mion swore as she threw her hat upon the ground.

“All this effort wasted, and for what? A smarmy peace message!” Shion grumbled as she picked up her sister’s hat, both crews grumbling as they neatened themselves and headed back to their ships.

Hanyuu was left, scowling, by the treasure chest. One would think it would be easy to get two groups of thickheaded pirates to properly fall in love with each other, but alas, even for a goddess such as her, it was proving frustratingly difficult.

She sighed as she tersely folded her note and tossed it back in the chest, starting to trudge back to the ship with Keiichi’s crew.

Maybe I could ask some help from Cupid?

#Higurashi no Naku Koro ni #Higurashi When They Cry #Higurashi Month #Higurashi Month 2019

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anon-e-miss · 6 years

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Mitigation, Pt 1 - Smut of the Month

“Ya really outta get away from out o’ the wind,” the Polihexian said. To be fair, he had claimed the best corner of the cavern, an alcove of sorts in the back of the cave, safe from the vicious wind. He had no intention of surrendering it to the Autobot, regardless as to whether or not he might have owed the mech his life, but he was willing to considering sharing it. If the mech said please.

The Autobots’ prized tactician did not answer, and for a moment, Meister bristled. It only took a klik or two for the saboteur to realize that the Praxian was not ignoring him, but rather focused on the boulders blocking the cave’s entrance. Giving up on any conversation, and the mech’s capacity for common sense, Meister sat back, and observed. He liked to watch mechanisms, liked to study them, to figure out what made them tick, and all their strengths and weaknesses. His ‘genitor had taught him to watch, and his origin had taught him how to take advantage. The Polihexian thought he had been an excellent student. Absorbed by whatever he was looking at, the Autobot tactician’s back was plainly exposed. It could have been naivety or carelessness. Prowl, as the Praxian was known, though this could have been an alias, was a desk jockey.

There were stories, amongst the Decepticons, that he was known to spent joors, even mega-cycles at his desk, oblivious to the world around him. They suggested that the mech would be easy to capture, if he was ever unguarded. But the Decepticons and their hired guns had never yet managed to get a digit on the mech, and Meister knew they had tried. Members of the Fellowship had been hired to catch him, just as he himself had been, so far all had failed. Maybe the Decepticons talent might have been fool enough to go for the tactician through his guards, Fellowship assassins were considerably better trained, and yet none had laid a digit on the Praxian, neither had they returned to Polihex to explain their failure. That was why Meister had been given the assignment, because he watched, and he learned and if he could not get close, he would slip off into the darkness, he would not be captured. He had never been captured.

Curiosity peeked, and just maybe thinking two moves a head, the saboteur inched a little beyond his alcove, and just a little to the left. The Praxian’s doorwings shifted ever so slightly. Meister moved again, this time to the right, and again those pretty doorwings followed him. So the tactician was not oblivious, and maybe not so defenceless as Decepticon stories suggested. Sure, any Praxian could have watched him with their doorwings, but it was the way the Autobot moved them that made the Polihexian question those stories. Those movements were smooth, and so precisely, Meister was absolutely certain that this mech was trained.

It then begged the question as to whether or not the mech had been tested, or if he had only ever practised his moves on the training mat. Maybe the Polihexian would find out, maybe he would not. As of right now, all plans for capturing and delivering the tactician were on hold. Rescue was not going to come in the form of Decepticons, it would come in the form of Autobots. Surely they would come for their tactician. One thing was certain, neither the Decepticons nor the Fellowship would come for Meister. So far as the Cons were concerned, the Polihexian was completely indispensable, just hired help, not one of them. And so far as the Fellowship was concerned, if you were captured you were left to your fate, rescues were absolutely forbidden. Which was why Ric was rusting away in some Autobot prison, and why their procreators had lifted no digit to go after him, they knew the code. They would not come for Meister either, though he had no intention of falling into Autobot servos. The nanoklik they blasted open the cave, he would be gone. Maybe he would go home to Polihex, the mission a failure, or maybe he would slip into Iacon and wait for another chance to get his digits on the Praxian.

Those doorwings were scraped up, Meister observed, and he felt a twinge, not of remorse, or guilt but respect. When Prowl had shoved him into the cave when the rocks had begun to rain down, he had risked his life. Why? There had been no mistaking why the saboteur had been there, no mistaking what he was, and yet when the rockslide had begun, rather than push him into it, or simply leaving him to save his own plating, Prowl had pushed him to safety. Why? Meister refused to feel indebted to this mech, refused to feel anything but ambivalence. It was not working. Prowl had intrigued him prior to the Polihexian ever laying optics on the Autobot. Now that he had actually consciously made the decision to rescue him, well now Meister was very intrigued. He wanted to figure out just what was going on in this mech’s infamous processor.

Meister stood, and watched the Praxian’s doorwings shift in response. They were high on the mech’s back, and spread wide, watching the saboteur realized, his every move. He smiled, optics glowing bright behind his opaque visor. Meister did not know why this pleased him so much, but it did. Prowl was worthy, of what the Polihexian would decide later. The smiling never leaving his mouth, Meister strolled over to the Praxian, and the cave’s blocked opening. Those same boulders that had trapped them in the cavern, also blocked out the worst of the wind. There was no question, the cave was painfully cold, but it was not so unbearable out of the wind. While he was reputed to be brilliant, Prowl was not off to the side gap in the boulders, but right in front of it, right in front of the clawing wind.

“Ya really should get outta the wind,” he repeated. “Or are ya already frozen?”

“I believe this vein is dextrodium helite,” the Praxian said, voice soft and rough from the cold. At the naming of the crystal, the saboteur straightened, and without thinking, put himself between the rock and the Autobot. Ignoring the sudden cutting cold as the wind lashed through the narrow opening, and without touching it, he examined the vein of dark blue and gold crystals. He knelt, and looked carefully at the seam.

“I think yer right,” Meister agreed, and he stood and turned to face the Autobot. “Which makes me wonder how the frag we’re still alive. Frag, makes me wonder how this mountain is still standing.”

“I was considering the same question,” Prowl replied. The saboteur shifted his visor’s settings, and took another look at the Praxian, this time in infrared.

“Consider it outta the wind,” the Polihexian declared.

Rather than wait for the other mech to move, he took the tactician by the arm and strong-armed him into the alcove. Though Prowl was not in imminent danger of locking up from his coolant and energon solidifying, he was not far off. One this Meister was certain of, his escape from the Autobots that would come to dig them out once the storm passed depended on having this mech alive and mobile as a shield. Prowl went along with him with out any real resistance. Either the mech had some basic survival programming, or the cold had winded him. It might have been a bit of both. It was odd, but Meister got the impression that the Autobot was choosing to trust him, and he really did not know how to feel about this idea.

“Can ya move yer digits?” He asked. Prowl opened and closed his servos and gave Meister and even look.

“I am fine,” the Praxian said, voice still quiet, and still rough from the cold.

But when the saboteur thought back to the skirmish between the Cons and Bots. He had been laying in wait, intent on bouncing on the tactician when his compatriots had been caught up in the battle. His voice has never taken an excited or panicked tone. When the avalanche had begun Prowl had ordered his troops to run, or find cover, the voice had been commanding, and firm, and without inflection. Now the Polihexian was considerably more than intrigued, and maybe a bit more wary. Decepticon intel had said this was supposed to be the Autobot’s tactician’s first actual deployment. The mech Meister had been watching had not been a rookie officer, and it had not been the first time he had seen a firefight, the Polihexian was willing to bet his life on it.

“If ya say so,” Meister said.

He lowered himself onto the floor. Rescue would be joors, maybe mega-cycles away, and while he had rations in his subspace, there was no point wasting energy. Beside, curling up conserved heat, and with that in processor he pulled a warming blanket from his subspace, and wrapped it around himself. The Autobot watched him for a klik before following his lead. Meister watched the roughed up but still rather attractive doorwings dip so the tactician could toss his own warming blanket over his back. For a while, neither spoke. For his part, the saboteur was debating if owing this mech his life meant Meister should actually just walk away from his assignment, and his best chance of bringing Ric home, or if love and loyalty for his brother was enough to abandon his personal code. It was not a pleasant debate.

“Hold up,” he said at last, and he took a small kit from his subspace. “Looks like yer doors could use some gel.”

“It is only cosmetic damage,” Prowl replied.

Still, he freed his doorwings free of the blanket, and pulled away from the wall. The mech was not wrong, the damage was cosmetic, but the scrapes were deep in spots, and covered a decent chunk of the upper edges of the Praxians doorwings. There were also a few dents that would probably make the Autobot’s fearsome medic annoyed. Meister had neither the experience nor the tools to deal with the dents, but he had a full pot of nanite gel. In silence he applied the gel to the scrapes, applying the thickest layer to the deepest scrapes. At no point did Prowl flinch or tense. Either the rumours of their sensitivity were inflated, or the mech had good self control. It could very well be a bit of both.

“Thanks for savin’ my platin’,” Meister said, and he put the kit back in his subspace. “Why the frag did ya?”

“I have been waiting for you,” the tactician explained. He left the blanket off his doorwings, and let the gel set. “Having you crushed by rockfall would have disrupted my plans.”

“Waitin’ for me,” the Polihexian echoed. “Now just what makes ya think ya know me.”

“I know precisely what you are, Meister,” Prowl stated, deadpan. “Ricochet spoke at length about you.”

“Ya been talkin’ to my brother?” Meister forced himself to keep his tone light, but he was flipping back and forth between a white hot rage, and outright panic. If Ricochet had told the Autobots his designation, it had to have been under duress. He knew the supposedly morally superior Autobots would stooped to torture quick enough, you did not have to look far back in history to see what ugly practices they were capable of. If they had used mnemosurgery on Meister’s brother helms would roll. The Prime’s helm would roll.

“He suggested you would come for him,” the Autobot said, still not breaking optic contact. “Though other agents have come to capture me, all have come independent of each other. None have suggested any intent to rescue a comrade, or voiced any anticipated rescue.”

“Ric’s a bit o’ a chatterbox,” the Polihexian replied. he sat back against the rock wall, and accessed his subspace, and pulled out two cubes of energon. He placed both on the ground between them. Prowl broke optic contact to look at the cubes. As Meister watched, the Praxian reached into his own subspace and withdrew a box. After placing it next to the cubes, he removed the lid and revealed the contents to be copper coloured, braided energon goodies. For some reason they gave Meister a feeling of déjà vu. Cocking his helm, he asked: “Rust sticks?”

“They are my preferred fuel,” Prowl said. The idea that this dour mech had a sweet tooth amused the Polihexian. It reminded him of another mech, another Praxian. That mech would be dead, however. There had been no survivors in central Praxus.

“So ya been talkin’ wit my brother,” Meister said, putting all thoughts of Praxus to the side. The destruction of the city-state had rattled the Fellowship, rattled him. Genocide was something even the assassin cult he had emerged in would never touch. He waited for the tactician to picked whatever cube wanted, and he wondered. Where had Prowl been when Praxus had been wiped off the surface of Cybertron? Where had the Autobots been hiding him?

“He was not tortured,” the Praxian said. Had Prowl been an operative, he would have debated which cube to take at considerable length, knowing one might well be poison. He did not appear to debate the choice at all, and took the cube closest to him, without hesitation. Meister took the other. “Or exposed to any techniques of persuasion. He spoken to me of his own free will.”

“I suppose y’re gonna take credit for sparin’m?” The saboteur asked with a harsh chuckle.

“Hardly,” Prowl replied. “I informed those responsible for such matters that there would be no point. As a member of the Fellowship he would have been thoroughly trained to resist such techniques.”

“How charitable of ya... So what makes ya think we ain’t Cons in disguise?” Meister asked and he took a sip of his cube.

“It you were a Decepticon I would have pushed you into the rocks,” the tactician said, locking his optics on the Polihexian’s visor. “But I know who you are. Ricochet did not say he thought you would rescue him, or speak at all, until I mentioned you by designation.”

“’N just how did ya know my designation?” The Fellowship operative asked.

“You were a particular thorn in my side, for over a vorn,” Prowl replied. “You were successful in a number of thefts. You only failed in the last, an attempt to steal the very Core of Praxus.”

“Ya were an Enforcer,” Meister said. “Frag ya were the Enforcer! Made it too hot to do my job so I had to cancel the rest o’ my contracts... I figured ya were dead.”

“I was able to escape my captives,” the former Enforcer replied. “I reached the Core and the control for our self-defence grid nanokliks before the missiles struck.”

“Frag,” the Polihexian cursed. “Holy frag. They said no one survived in central Praxus. Just a single bitlet in border town.”

“The Core was built well,” Prowl said. “Nonetheless, I was severely damaged. The Autobot medics spent quartexes putting me back together. It was decided for my safety to keep my actually identity a secret.”

“Praefectus Vigilum,” Meister replied. “I didn’t recognize ya. To be fair ya kept yerself from the cameras... Ya kept a box of rust sticks in yer desk.”

“I did,” the Praxian confirmed. “I thought someone had gone through my office.”

“Was hopin’ ya had a code for the elevator layin’ ‘round,” the Fellowship agent explained. “Ya’d be surprised how many mechanisms right their codes down. Ya didn’t, of course. So I went down the shaft. Which ya had booby-trapped.”

“You did not make a second attempt,” Prowl said.

“Nope,” Meister replied, and he outright laughed. “Pay wasn’t good enough to risk it. Ya made Praxus to hot for me, so I cancelled the rest o’ my contracts ‘n moved on. Ya were a real pain in the aft.”

“I would hope you do not expect an apology,” the tactician said.

“Nah,” the Polihexian replied. “Ya did yer job. I did mine. Scales o’ the Gods would say ya were in the right. ‘M sorry for Praxus. Nothin’ like that should ever happened. I didn’t know it was comin’, don’t think my higher ups did either. It should never o’ happened.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said.

The mech had a good poker face but speaking of his murder city-state had affected him, Meister saw the tells. Prowl’s optics had dimmed slightly, his mandible, and every other cable and component in his frame was drawn taunt. It would have been for any mech to be the sole survivor of his home, it would have been tougher still for the Chief Enforcer of Praxus to survive all the millions he had been meant to safe guard. Meister reached and pulled the Praxian’s blanket over his doorwings, and over his shoulder. The gel must have set by now. He waited in silence for the heat of the warming blanket to permeate Prowl’s frame. After a klik, the former Enforcer lift the cube to his lips, and drank.

“How’d ya figure Ric was my brother,” Meister asked, after a protracted silence.

“You have similar features,” the Praxian explained. “Once you ignore his decals. That similarity could have been dismissed as a matter of framekin, but you have similar accents, similar manners, though . I made an educated guess. He is younger than you.”

“By nine kliks,” the saboteur said. “We’re twins.”

“He nearly had me, but he hesitated,” Prowl revealed. “And allowed me the opportunity to take control, and cuff him.”

“We all got a code o’ our own,” Meister said. “He didn’t like what happened to Praxus. ‘Spose when faced wit it, he wasn’t keen on handin’ the Cons a Praxian.”

“You are having the same internal debate,” the Autobot replied. “I have another option to offer you.”

“Do ya?” the Poliheixan asked. “Just what are ya offerin’?”

“A job,” the Praxian replied.

“’Bots hirin’ assassins now?” The saboteur asked, and he laughed. “That’s different. ‘Fraid we don’t pick our jobs, council hands’em out ‘n I don’t think their takin’ knew customers.”

“I have no desire to hire the Fellowship,” Prowl replied. “I am recruiting operatives for a new unit. Special Operations.”

“Ya want to recruit me into the Autobots,” Meister said. “Are ya outta your helm?”

“I can assure you my processor is in perfect working order,” the tactician replied. “You are particular about your missions, and have a preference towards sabotage rather than assassination. When guards or Enforcers came close, you either outmanoeuvred them, or you restrained them. You did not kill a single mech. I continued to monitor your... career... after you left Praxus. You have maintained the same course.”

“Ya offer Ric a job too?” the Polihexian asked.

“I did,” Prowl confirmed. “He has not made a decision. I believe he is waiting for you.”

“Why in the frag are are ya tryin’ to hire Fellowship mechansism?” Meister asked. He had heard and seen some strange things, but this was a new level of odd.

“The Autobots have historically lacked a skilled division of operatives,” the Praxian explained. He looked straight ahead when he spoke. “Why the Decepticons have been successful in infiltrating Autobot bases, and causing havok, the Autobots have had not adequate response. They have been blind.”

“They mighta saved Praxus if they had the right talent,” the Fellowship agent replied. “They might, ya might save the next city-state if ya can bring in the right mechanisms. Not as crazy as I was thinkin’.”

“At one point the Fellowship was largely independent from the Lord of Polihex,” Prowl said. “Straxus is all but their master now, they are all but Decepticon henchmech, with none of the protection the Decepticons might offer their enlisted.”

“Ya been playin’ a long game,” Meister said. “Does the Prime know ya been usin’ yerself as bait?”

“Prime knows only what he needs too,” the tactician replied. “Consider the offer. It will remain open, even should you choose to make your escape when rescue comes.”

Primes had subjugated Polihex from almost the beginning of recorded history. A mere principality instead of an independent state with full autonomy, it had been agents for passed primes and senates that had originally used the Dead End as a hunting ground. They had stalked the poorest quarter of the principality and had quietly removed any and all those that tried to organize even public protests. Some had been assassins, most had been from the Institute. The senate had been daring enough to take Senator Shockwave of Tarn from the quarter during a visit to Polihex. In private trial they had convicted him of treason and performed Empurata. No one ever had ever revealed what he had been convicted of, and he had been allowed to remain a member of the Senate, something criminals were generally not permitted to do. The mnemosurgery had backfired on Sentinel Prime. Shockwave had not been made agreeable under Empurata. All it had done was strip his morality, and restaint, leaving the rebel senator a cold sparked monster.

Zeta Prime had continued Sentinel Prime’s war on the oppressed, continued on with the New Institute. The mech who now wore the mantle had been one of his followers, though he had not been connected to the Institute, Meister was not charitable towards Optimus Prime. Surely he had inherited his predecessors operatives. Might he have conned Prowl into believing the Autobotos had not known of the Decepticons plans, could he really have done away with the agents of Sentinel, and Zeta. It seemed so unlikely. Being what he was, Meister could not claim much of a moral high ground but he had never kidnapped, mutilated or murder an entire class of mechanisms. Until the slaughter of Praxus, the saboteur had leaned more towards the Decepticons than true Neutral, but the genocide had flipped him on his helm, and he was still trying to find his bearings. He knew he could not turn Prowl over to Darkmount, he respected his former nemesis too much for that. But he could not imagine enlisting in the Autobots.

“’M no Bot,” he said. Neither was he a Decepticon. He was a member of the Fellowship, and he was determined that there was a distinction.

#smut of the month club #no smut yet #sorry #mitigation #plot first #smut later #jazz/prowl #cave in #long ass post #maccadams

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