#The Monster of the Salt Rock Hills

[jasmines-library]

Could you please do Winchester!sister fic where the boys and sister are on a hunt in the rain and they get to a two story house and while the boys are checking the bottom floor, the sister goes off on her own to the rooftop and faces one of the monsters up there who cuts a wire and the boys come outside to see just as the sister gets electrocuted and flung off the roof and…

Currents Convulsive

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Warnings: possible swearing, electrocution? Hospitals.

Word Count: 1.3K

SPN MASTERLIST

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The rain splattered heavily against the hood of Baby as slammed your door shut. The rain was heavy. Treacherous. It soaked through your clothes and chilled h your skin as it sat slick against it. You were half sure the sky was trying to drown you as it pooled at your feet before rolling down the hill. You slid your pistol into your waistband after checking it was loaded, and shouldered your rifle.

“You ready?” Dean asked, running his fingers through his hair to try and shake some of the rain from it.

“Yep.” You agreed, stepping behind him and Sam as they walked towards the house. It was an old house; half destroyed by an earthquake a few years ago that left the paint flaking and the brick crumbling. It also left a gaping hole in the roof, so the chance of any sanctuary from the rain was practically gone. Especially upstairs.

You and your brothers were hunting a spirit tethered to one of the belongings lost here. The spirit was rather angry and had been terrorising the street for years. The problem was: you weren’t entirely sure what you were looking for and while you would usually salt n burn the whole place, with the torrential downpour that showed no sigh of stopping that wasn’t an option. You figured you would know when you found what you were looking for. Hopefully. If not it was back to square one.

Stepping round the rubble and pushing open the splintering door, the three of you stepped inside.

Inside the house was just as dark and grim as the outside. The only light spared came from the gaping hole in the roof: the weather and conditions breaking through the floor below it too. Picture frames that once hung on the walls now lay shattered on the ground from where they had slumped from their hooks. Furniture was overturned and the windows broken; the glass spiderwebbing along the frames. The rest of the spirits possessions were strewn across the floor or spilling from cupboards. Great. At least the ground floor was relatively dry.

“Dibs not going upstairs” Dean announced loudly when he took in the trickle of water from the hole in the ceiling and how the water dribbled in from the lack of roof.

“Nope. Nuh uh.” Sam said, glancing at the stairs. “That’s not how this works, Dean.”

“I’m the oldest. That means I get to decide. And I say I’m not going up there.”

“Dean.” You grumbled.

Sam held out his hand in a fist. Dean rolled his eyes before sighing and joining the two of you for a game of rock paper scissors. The three of you played, and you pulled rock, fully expecting for Dean to pick scissors like he did every time. And sure enough Dean’s hand flattened as he played paper—

Paper?!

Dean grinned proudly as he and Sam beat you. You looked at Dean unamused.

“I hate you.” You deadpanned. Of course, you didn’t mean it really. A lighthearted joke.

Dean ruffled your hair. “Have fun getting wet, kiddo.”

Rolling your eyes, you grumbled and trudged up the groaning stairs to sort through all of her things.

You’d been upstairs for about 10 minutes when the atmosphere seemed so shift; the air grew colder and the rain seemed to hammer through the roof harder. And then, things were being pelted at you. The spirit stood at the other end of the room and if the fact he was pelting things at you wasn’t enough for you to gauge his anger, then the cantankerous look on expression was.

Rolling to your left, you managed to dodge the onslaught of rubble he was throwing at you, and made a move to grab your rifle. Pulling it back and aiming it at the spirit, you fired. The rock salt rounds slammed into its humanoid figure and sent it dissipating somewhere else. But not for long. The sound of the gun being fired had alerted your brothers, who called out your name.

“We’ve got company!” You yelled down to them. You stepped further into the room, so you were close to the middle. Water pooled at your feet, the cold seeping into your toes. The wind howled above you, rattling the power lines above.

When the spirit reappeared, he let out an awful howl that seemed to rattle the whole house and the trees around it. You fire at it again.

“I could really use some help here” you grunted as you dodged.

“We’re coming kiddo.” Sam yelled back at you as they raced towards the stairs.

An awful crack sounded. A rumble of thunder and then a ripple of sparking as the power lines came crashing down. You tried to jump out of the way, but your reflexes were no match for the spirits actions.

Hitting the water, the live wire sparked and the electricity rippled through it. And then you were overcome by a blinding pain that shot through your veins. You screamed raw as the force of the voltage flung you backwards across the room and you slammed into the brick. Your vision swam overcome quickly with white spots. And the last thing you remember was the scream of the spirit as it went up in flames before the blurry outline of Sam loomed over you.

~~~

You were sure if it was in incessant beeping of the heart monitor, or the pain that radiated through your body. You blinked, a soft groan slipping from your chapped lips. Your throat felt like sandpaper.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” It was Dean’s soft voice that greeted you; low and gentle, laced thick with concern that will be hard to unpick later.

Your eyes fluttered, assaulted by the harsh lights before they settled on your older brother. You tried to shift in search of Sam, but a gentle hand to the shoulder stopped you. “Take it easy, Kiddo.” Sam reassured you. His voice held the same worry that Dean’s did, and he had worry wrinkles creased between his eyebrows. “I’m here. We’re both here. You’re safe.”

“What…….” You croaked “what happened…?” It had all happened so quickly that you hadn’t really been able to process it.

Dean smoothed his hand over your forehead and threaded his fingers through your hair. “The spirit cut the power lines. They fell in the water and electrocuted you before flinging you against the wall. That was…two days ago.”

You felt your stomach drop at that.

“The throw broke a couple of your ribs and the voltage caused some damage but they managed to fix you up. Just rest a painkillers for now.” Sam said gently, unable to help the sideways glance at the IV poking out of your skin.

“…..the spirit?….” you rasped out.

“Burnt. It was tied to a wedding ring.” Dean answered. “We burnt it just seconds too late— oh sweetheart. We’re so sorry……it’s my fault. I should have just gone up there myself—“

“Stop that.” You chided. Although your weak voice didn’t do much to assert your authority in the slightest.

“It is my fault—“

“Not it’s not. It was an accident.”

“An accident that could have been prevented.”

You shook your head. “Nope. Stop that.” You said. “Please.”

That seemed to cut across him, and he dropped his next comment. You could still tell him and Sam were feeling guilty, but at least he wasn’t outwardly saying it, so that was a step in the right direction. They still watched you with worried eyes. “I’m okay.” You said softly. “A little sore. But okay. I promise.”

Sam squeezed your hand a little. “Of course you are. You’re a tough one, kiddo.”

Dean agreed. “The toughest.”

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SPN TAGS:

@hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @rosecentury @xxrougefangxx

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[thoughtsafterdark]

Veni, Vidi, Vici

She exists, breathes, quirks her neck to the side, thinks, breathes. Breathes. Breathes. Soft air escaping baby pink lips like a moan, floating away and away. Her breaths are the kind you dream of. The deep contended sighs that carry you to sleep on a soft bed, toes burrowing into cold sheets. The peach haze memory of flaring nostrils in the backseat of your parents car on a late night trip when you were 3, the sound of rain pattering on the roof. The weight of your mother's arms around you as she carried you to bed. The comforting voice of your father in the next room.

And I think to myself, oh to be dead. To slash at my jugulars and pour myself all over her. To bathe her and tarnish her, pale white gooseflesh turned red and sticky, thighs matted together. To lie dying and festering at her feet, to rot and fill the grove with heat as her tears water my grave. To feed the nightcaps and worms until my nitrates become sweet nitrogen and at last she can breathe me in too. To be on the inside of her chest, rising and falling like the rolling tide. Pillowy and graceful like that of a swan. To mark her and paint in her a tapestry of indecency. An insult to the virgin goddesses she reminds me of. To love is to destroy. To collapse a wave function. We cannot see without touching, touch without seeing. Our hungry hungry eyes grow teeth.

She sits against windowsills, legs tucked underneath her, making notes, sipping coffee. I take her in before she notices me and the cold glass silence around her breaks. She is so gloriously mundane it exerts a kind of regal stillness. Her hair is chocolate brown, tinged with bronze. Like salted caramel on my tongue. Like straw spun to gold by cursed princesses in tales of old. She ties it into an effortlessly messy bun, stray strands framing her face, she is running late but is still put together. She is organised chaos. She is that girl. The one we all wanted to be, with the alarm and the watch and the bag and the car, the sports captain who eats pizza over the sink by the window. The one men want and we are meant to hate. She is voyeurism made flesh. She exists to be seen, a walking wet dream.

What kind of monster am I, who loves like a man. The way Orpheus loved Eurydice. Faithless and desperate.

She is steely moonlight across a grey green plain. Tendons and muscles gleaming, lithe and strong and leaping. Teeming with ichor. Amber eyes burning with resolve. Leather bow and quiver hitched over a shoulder as she glides across creaks, crouches in the underbrush. Nimble as a doe, fierce as a lioness. The huntress with the unforgiving gaze and the unwavering arrows. The one who skewers men and whispers to wildlife amongst the pines. Who nurses a tender and loyal heart. Artemis the eternal maiden, voice of the wilderness and protector of the young.

As I sit here on another grey drizzling morning in the hum of traffic I wonder if you remember. The sound of splashing water and girlish laughter, tangled limbs in freshwater lakes, honey sweet kisses like freshly pressed olive oil and figs. The crunch of red earth between toes and the hard rock cliffs at Ephesus, the glittering aquamarine of the Aegean below as we run and chase and hunt and spar until the copper tang burns our lungs.

I look at you now as you drive and I know that I would clutch at your putrid corpse and tell it stories of my pain, until my mother and comrades dragged you from me until I dragged your murderer three times around his own city until his father begged me for mercy until they mixed our ashes and laid us to rest on the hill.

Do you see it with the clarity I do? Our story already written? I know how this will end, as it has a thousand times before. But I wait for you every morning anyway, on the curb we've agreed on. I get into the car, I watch you drive. And every day I lose a little more of myself to the thing we will become .

[orcusnoir]

The Shadow Over Hyrule - Chapter 6

Just ahead of them over a small hill were the burnt out remains of a farmstead… With no obvious signs of life. Wild jogged up the hill, and unclipped the Sheikah Slate from his waist, using the camera function in the ancient piece of technology to get a closer view, but all he could see was a burnt home, a destroyed barn, and a field of crops scorched away.

“You see anything?” Time asked cautiously.

The Champion shook his head before clipping the Slate back onto his waist. “Nothing, not a monster nor man in sight,” he said.

“Fuck,” cursed Warriors. “Alright, fan out and look for survivors or Goddess forbid evidence.”

A small chorus of quiet confirmations echoed from the Chain as everyone began to split into groups. Wild stuck with Legend and Hyrule, as they made their way to the burned house. On the way, the Champion made notice of a distinct lack of stray arrows or thrown rocks. If this were a monster attack, surely there would be a handful of broken arrows littering the ground. Unless, of course, they were dealing with Bokoblins with accuracy that rivaled Wild himself.

The first major thing that the three made note of was the screen door of the house. As it was jammed shut… From the outside, a small piece of lumber was wedged between the railing of the front porch and the door itself. This detail, coupled with the burnt state of the house, sent shivers down the Champion’s spine.

“Guess we’re all on the same page?” Legend uttered quietly before kicking away the now mostly charred piece of wood.

There wasn’t really much to be found in the first room of the house, other than a sketchy set of stairs that the Traveler volunteered to climb. The living room had remains of a couch and a piano, which stung Wild’s heart slightly, and the dining room was much the same with a table set being reduced to nothing more than charcoal remains.

It was the kitchen area that proved to be the most useful to their investigation. Even though it was as burnt out as the rest of the house, in a small closet tucked into the wall were several charred barrels. Barrels full of salt pork. Barrels full of salt pork that hadn’t been opened at all.

“This was no monster attack,” declared Wild, turning to face Legend who was currently investigating the cupboards.

“What makes you say that?” asked the Veteran as he casually tossed a shattered glass bottle over his shoulder.

“This,” Wild tipped over one of the barrels onto the floor with a loud thud. Legend just stared at it wide eyed.

“That’s full of meat isn’t it,” he asked, his voice going quiet.

A short nod, “several barrels of it. Monsters don’t leave meat behind.”

Legend cursed softly under his breath before calling Hyrule over to the kitchen. It didn’t take long at all for the Traveler to show up, though neither Wild nor Legend were expecting him to show up clutching a burned book.

Sensing that the two of them wanted an explanation, Hyrule handed the book over to Legend for him to read.

“It’s a journal,” Hyrule stated, “belonging to the man who lived here.”

The Veteran gave a nod before he, carefully and delicately, started to flip through the pages. Wild tensely waited as he quietly explained to Hyrule that the attack wasn’t done by monsters.

“This is weird,” Legend said at last. “This journal mentions a shipment on a boat, a small-ish box, and whatever was in the box,” he paused, squinting his eyes. “It says: The shipment, which contained a strange red and blue object, somehow caught the eye of two sailors. Who then proceeded to beat each other to death at sea. ”

The three of them exchanged glances as the weight of the passage set in.

“So now there’s a box that contains an object that can drive men to murder?” Wild scoffed, “that’s the last thing we need.” Read more: :3

[gekle-the-gremlin]

Reunited with Family - Chapter 1 -  A Trip into the Lost Woods

But, as he made his way closer and closer, the tree opened his eyes and, in a deep yet quiet voice, he spoke. “Link, it has been a long time. How have you been, my child?”

Years after his adventures has supposedly ended, and he had passed the time where he never thought he would return to them. Millions or Billions of years after he would have died, the lost woods called out to him. Begging him to come home. To return to his family and friends.

As they stepped out of the portal, the chain saw that there was almost nothing around them. Per standard protocol, Wild took out his Sheikah Slate to see if his usual map would show up on the slate. Thankfully, it did.

“We’re in my time,” he called out to the rest of the group, a smile creeping onto his face. 

Some groaned, others stayed silent, but all of them were thankful that at least one of them knew where they were. 

They were standing just to the side of a path, there was a river next to them. Looking around, the group were able to see a wooden bridge, and, in the distance, stood Hyrule Castle in ruin.

The calamity had gone, being beaten by Wild shortly before his current adventure. 

“We’re by a stable,” Wild continued. “Since it’s late, we should probably head there to sleep. It’s 20 Rupees for a normal bed or 40 for a soft bed.” He stayed looking at his Sheikah Slate. “Or, we could set up camp, but we risk getting attacked by some Yiga that are still out for my blood or stal-monsters, out for everyone’s blood.” 

“I think it would be nice to sleep in a bed for once,” Sky yawned. 

“I agree,” Legend answered. “20 Rupees is pretty cheap for all of us to spend the night sleeping on a bed, also, my back is starting to hurt from sleeping on the floor.” 

“Then that settles it,” Time said. “Wild, how far away is this stable?” 

Wild stood there for a moment, looking at his Sheikah Slate before pointing away from the wooden bridge and along the river. “It should only take us an hour to walk there at most. The next time we come here, I should teach everyone to ride horses.” 

“Pup, some of us already know how to ride horses,” Twilight said, putting a hand on Wild’s shoulder.

“I know,” Wild complained. “But others don’t, and they should learn.” 

Time subtly nodded in agreement with Wild, thinking about the next time that he could return home to Malon. Maybe there, he could teach them all. 

Despite it being dark, the chain set off on their way towards the stable. As they made their way towards death mountain, Wild followed a split in the path that led the group towards a tower that glowed blue in the distance. 

“The stable is just before the tower, you should be able to see it when we get to the top of the hill.” Wild continued directing them, making sure to stop to make sure that the others were following him the whole time.

It was about an hour before they all arrived at the stable. It was a miracle that they all had a bed each. Some even chose to pay more for the soft beds. 

Once the group had settled down, Wild started cooking, as usual. In the pot, he threw in a large handful of mushrooms and a few herbs before throwing in some rock salt and finally finishing the dish off by pouring in 9 bottles of fresh, Lonlon milk. 

Within what felt like seconds, Wild was handing out bowls of a creamy mushroom soup. It was a miracle how much food he was able to keep in his Shieka slate, it seemed like it was able to hold almost anything. 

There was a moment of silence as the group sat around the fire and ate their dinner. It had been a long time since they were able to have proper food cooked in a pot, rather than just food that was cooked straight over the fire, or even, in some cases, eaten raw.

It didn’t take long for the first few in the group to head off to bed. Sky was the first, starting to fall asleep while he was eating his food. Then it was Wind, being forced to bed by Wolfie, after denying that he was tired. Something that he had been almost complaining about for the past few days. 

Next, surprising both everyone and no one at the same time, was Legend. He had been up, watching the chain for the past few nights, refusing to take watch duty in shifts. 

This continued until it was just Time and Wild left. 

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Time looked up into the sky. 

“What are you looking at?” Wild walked forward to stand next to him. 

“The sky, but, more specifically, the moon,” He said, sounding melancholic in his words. 

“I thought you hated the moon?” Wild sat on the floor before laying down to continue looking at the sky.

Time joined him on the ground and chuckled a little. “I never said that.” He smiled

“But you said that you went to war with the moon.” 

“I fought the moon, but I never said that I hated it.” He put his hands behind his head, as he got into a more comfortable position on the ground. “In fact,” he continued. “I find it quite… beautiful.”

“Oh,” Wild replied, with a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “I don’t think anyone believes that you've fought the moon.”

Time stays there in silence for a moment before laughing. “Not even Malon believed that I fought the moon when I first told her. I didn’t expect anyone to believe me.” He smiled at the champion. “You can choose to believe me, or you can choose to not believe me. Only I know the full truth about that story. Oh, and so does a skull kid, two fairies and a creepy mask salesman.” He continued smiling at Wild. “As well as Malon, of course.” 

“Skull kids are those wood-like creatures that we saw in your lost woods, right?” 

“Correct! They aren’t much harm, but most of them tend to not like adults. I can’t blame them. If you were a child and you ran into the lost woods, you would probably have a dislike for adults, too.”

Wild hummed in agreement, as Time got up and started walking to the entrance of Minish woods. He stood there for what felt like hours, just touching the rough bark of the almost ancient trees. 

Time took a deep breath with his hand still on the tree. It was as though something was calling out to him further on in the woods.  

The wind blew stronger as Time was standing there. It was as though it was trying to pull him deeper in. Much like it did years before. 

Wild, holding his Shikha Slate to his chest, followed Time to the edge of the woods. “Where are you going? I don’t think that it’s a very good idea to travel through here alone, especially not so late at night.” 

“Champion, I think that I know where those woods lead to.” He took a deep breath as he removed his hand from the trunk of the tree. “Do not worry about me getting lost in there, alright?”

Wild just stood there in silence. “I should go back to the others, I’ll see you in the morning, old man.” 

Time chuckled, “Night, kiddo.” 

With that, Wild walked back towards the stable, while Time stayed looking deep into the woods. 

He started thinking. 

Thinking about everything that could happen, if he were to make his way into the lost woods. The worst thing that he could think about, was somehow, finding his way back to Termina, but he quickly shook that thought away, before it consumed him, and the masks, too much. 

He knew that, if he left the group, they would be safe, at least for a few hours, but he also knew that the rest of the group would worry about him if they found that he had disappeared during the night. 

It took him another few moments to finally make a decision. He took one step, then another, and then a third. They were slow and silent, but he made them. Wanting nothing more than answers, he continued on with a fourth step. 

Before long, Time had walked so far into Minish woods, that he found that the air around him had started to feel off, and the wind started blowing in a number of different directions. But there was something inside of him telling him to go deeper in. 

The air around him started to feel familiar, as what appeared to be cliffs slowly appeared from the ground, acting as some sort of wall between these mystical woods and the outer world.

As Time continued forward still, he saw a stone wall with an archway. Within this strange and abandoned structure, there was a singular lit torch, showing the direction that the wind was blowing. North. 

Time followed the wind, as though he was being pulled in the wind’s direction. As he did so, he came across yet another torch, blowing in the very same direction. He decided to continue following the torches. 

North, West, West, South and then west. 

Eventually, he found two lit torches, blowing south, with an unlit torch next to the first lit torch, just resting.

He stood there, looking around at the trees. Many of them had been mostly hollowed out and had evil faces carved into the bark. “Likely a deterrent for anyone that wishes to venture into these woods. ” He thought to himself and the wind continued to push him South.

He continued in that direction until he felt the wind change directions quite suddenly, pushing him west. 

The change in the wind’s direction happened twice more, blowing North, and then West again, until he reached a clearing, with lots of odd looking creatures surrounding him. 

There was something familiar about the clearing that he was in. Though he wasn't sure what it was, exactly. It could have been the sounds of the forest, or the fact that he had to walk through what felt like a maze to get there, he didn’t know. But he did know that he was supposed to be there. 

He looked around at all of the strange creatures that had started to gather in front of him, all standing at his feet, looking up at him with their leafy masks covering their faces, being held up by what he could only describe as a long branch where their noses would be. 

Bending down, Time picked up one of the strange creatures and held it out at arms length. “Well, aren’t you a strange one.” He said, almost to himself. 

The odd creature looked on at Time in disbelief. “You can see us?” It asked, almost in confusion. 

Time, quite simply, just nodded. 

“You can see us!” Another one of the creatures exclaimed. “The only other person that can see us is Link.” it said, seeming happy enough that another person could see it.

As he finally looked up from the place where he stood, Time saw a large tree sitting right in front of him. Memories came flooding back to him. Memories of his childhood filled his mind with fear, sadness and loss, but also a sense of longing for his family. 

He decided to put the creature down and, as slowly and as silently as he could, he made his way towards the tree. It appeared to be asleep when he entered. That made sense, it was around 3:57 in the morning by the time he took his first steps towards the tree. 

But, as he made his way closer and closer, the tree opened his eyes and, in a deep yet quiet voice, he spoke. “Link, it has been a long time. How have you been, my child?”

[bookclub4m]

Episode 184 - Horror

This episode we’re discussing the fiction genre of Horror! We talk about fear, control, Goosebumps, bad dogs, horror-comedy, creepypasta, the apocalypse, lizard romance, and more! 

You can download the podcast directly, find it on Libsyn, or get it through Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, or your favourite podcast delivery system.

In this episode

Anna Ferri | Meghan Whyte | Matthew Murray | Jam Edwards

Things We Read (or tried to…)

Straight by Chuck Tingle

Mister Magic by Kiersten White, narrated by Rebecca Lowman

I Feed Her to the Beast and the Beast Is Me by Jamison Shea

The Wicked Unseen by Gigi Griffis

Mapping the Interior by Stephen Graham Jones

Leech by Hiron Ennes

The Best Horror of the Year, Volume Fourteen edited by Ellen Datlow

House of Hunger by Alexis Henderson

Five Nights at Freddy’s: Into the Pit: Fazbear Frights #1 by Scott Cawthon and Elley Cooper

Sadako at the End of the World by Koma Natsumi

The Kurosagi Corpse Delivery Service Omnibus, Book 3 by Eiji Otsuka and Yamazaki Housui

Things We Read (but didn’t talk about in this episode)

Be Very Afraid of Kanako Inuki! by Kanako Inuki

Résumé With Monsters by William Browning Spencer

Dead Silence by S.A. Barnes

Carmilla: The First Vampire by Amy Chu and Soo Lee

Hammers on Bone by Cassandra Khaw

A Song for the Quiet by Cassandra Khaw

The Helios Syndrome by Vivian Shaw

Helpmeet by Naben Ruthnum

Other Media (& Authors) We Mentioned

Captain Britain And MI13, Volume 3: Vampire State by Paul Cornell, Leonard Kirk, and Mike Collins

Stephen King

Misery

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon

Cujo

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson

Alien: Isolation (Wikipedia)

Dead Space (2008 video game) (Wikipedia)

R.L. Stine

Goosebumps

Fear Street

Junji Ito

The Enigma of Amigara Fault - “T-this is my hole! It was made for me!”

Junji Ito’s Cat Diary: Yon & Mu

Emily Carroll

Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle

Smart Podcast Trashy Books: 579. Punk Rock Writing with Chuck Tingle

Candle Cove by Kris Straub

Candle Cove (Wikipedia)

SCP Foundation 

SCP-087

The SCP Foundation: Declassified (YouTube)

The Ring (2002 film) (Wikipedia)

We talked more about the novel The Ring in Episode 078 - Supernatural Thrillers

Crapshots Ep608 - The Old Ones (YouTube) 

Links, Articles, Etc.

Episode 176: Fantasy

Episode 123: Psychological Horror

Does the Dog Die?

Matthew’s spooky phone case is a variant of this one

Matthew did a “31 Spooky Manga” challenge a few years ago and read a different spooky manga every day in October.

The Midnight Library: Episode 001 - Halloween Poetry

Sound Effects

Big Thunder And Distant Thunder Rain Birds by morvei01

Dramatic Organ, A by InspectorJ

bats1 by sofie

Pigeons (St Stephens Green, Dublin) by iainmccurdy

31 Recent Horror Books by BIPOC Authors

Every month Book Club for Masochists: A Readers’ Advisory Podcasts chooses a genre at random and we read and discuss books from that genre. We also put together book lists for each episode/genre that feature works by BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, & People of Colour) authors. All of the lists can be found here.

This list features horror fiction by BIPOC authors published within the last 3 years.

Jackal by Erin E. Adams

Vampires of El Norte by Isabel Cañas

The Haunting of Alejandra by V. Castro

The Spite House by Johnny Compton

The Reformatory by Tananarive Due

And Then She Fell by Alicia Elliott

Our Share of Night by Mariana Enríquez, translated by Megan McDowell

Piñata by Leopoldo Gout

Never Whistle at Night: An Indigenous Dark Fiction Anthology edited by Shane Hawk and Theodore C. Van Alst Jr.

Natural Beauty by Ling Ling Huang

The Weight of Blood by Tiffany D. Jackson

Bad Cree by Jessica Johns

My Heart is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones

The Salt Grows Heavy by Cassandra Khaw

Woman, Eating by Claire Kohda

Lone Women by Victor LaValle

Sisters of the Lost Nation by Nick Medina

Silver Nitrate by Silvia Morena-Garcia 

This Thing Between Us by Gus Moreno

Green Fuse Burning by Tiffany Morris

Out There Screaming: An Anthology of New Black Horror edited by Jordan Peele

Flowers for the Sea by Zin E. Rocklyn

Manmade Monsters by Andrea L. Rogers

Monstrilio by Gerardo Sámano Córdova

I Feed Her to the Beast and the Beast Is Me by Jamison Shea

Chlorine by Jade Song

Midnight Storm Moonless Sky: Indigenous Horror Stories by Alex Soop

There's No Way I'd Die First by Lisa Springer

She Is a Haunting by Trang Thanh Tran

Tell Me Pleasant Things about Immortality: Stories by Lindsay Wong

White Horse by Erika T. Wurth 

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Join us again on Tuesday, November 7th when we’ll be discussing the non-fiction genre of Crafts and Crafting!

Then on Tuesday, December 5th we’ll be talking about the genre of Suspense Fiction!

[marshallmatherslptwo]

Eminem: Hip-hop saved my life

"Can y’all hear me? I can’t hear me. Can you hear me?

"This s--t’s crazy. So I wrote some s--t down tonight that I’m never going to f---ing remember, so I had to read it off the paper and s--t, but it’s from the heart. I realize what an honor it is right now for me to be up here tonight, and what a privilege it is to do the music that I love, and the music that basically saved my life.

"Where'd the man, where did Dre go? The man who saved my life, ladies and gentlemen, Dr. motherf---in’ Dre. So I'm going to try to make this as quick and painless as possible. I’m f---ing stuttering and s--t, I mean Jesus Christ.

"So I’m probably not supposed to actually be here tonight because of a couple of reasons. One of them that I’m a rapper, and this is the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. And there’s only a few of us right now that have been inducted in already, but there’s only a few of us.

"Secondly, I almost died from an overdose in 2007, which kind of sucked. Hailie, plug your ears: because drugs were f---ing delicious, and I thought we had a good thing going man, but I had to go and f--- it all up and take too many. God d--n. OK Hailie.

"OK, so. Hold on, I lost my motherf---in' spot. Paul, did I say, I said drugs were delicious, right? And finally, I had to really fight my way through man to try and break through in this music, and I'm so honored and I'm so grateful that I'm even able to be up here doing hip-hip music, man, because I love it so much.

And they say you won't work a day if you love your job and s--t. This part I'm not crazy about? But, OK.

"My musical influences are many, and they say it takes a village to raise a child. Well it took a whole genre and culture to raise me.

"They say success has many fathers, and that’s definitely true for me. So whatever my impact has been on hip-hop music, I never would have or could have done this s--t without some of the groundbreaking artists that I'm about to mention right now.

"And this is a list man, I put this list together yesterday. And I kept adding to the s--t, adding to the s--t, and if I forget anybody, I apologize. But these were my teachers right here:

"I'm gonna start with the 2 Live Crew, 2Pac, 3rd Bass, Alliance, Apache, Audio Two — Milk Dee, what up! — Awesome Dre, the Beastie Boys, Big Daddy Kane, Big Pun, Big L, Biz Markie, the Notorious B.I.G. of course, Black Moon, the Boogie Monsters, Brand Nubian, Brother J from X Clan, Buckshot, Casual from Heiroglyphics, Chill Rob G, Chubb Rock, Chuck D and Public Enemy, Cypress Hill, D-Nice, Dana Dane, De La Soul — now I’m about a third of the way done.

"De La Soul, did I say De La Soul? Def Jef, Del the Funky Homosapien, DJ Quik, Dr. Dre of course, Dres from Black Sheep, Ed O.G., EPMD, Fat Boys, Fat Joe, Fu-Schnickens, Gang Starr, Geto Boys, Heavy D, House of Pain, Ice Cube, Ice-T, the Intelligent Hoodlum, JJ Fad, Jaz-O, Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, Just Ice, K-Solo, Kid & Play: I'm a tenth of the way done.

"King Sun, King Tee, Kool G Rap, Kool Moe Dee, KRS-One, Kwame, Lakim Shabazz, Large Professor, Leaders of the New School, the one and only LL Cool J — love you bro. Lord Finesse, Lords of the Underground, Mantronix, Masta Ace, MC Breed, MC Lyte, MC Shan, Melle Mel, Merciless Ameer, Mobb Deep, Monie Love, Nas, Newcleus, Onyx, Organized Konfusion, Outkast, Andre 3000, Paris, Pharcyde, Queen Latifah, Rakim, Redhead Kingpin, Pete Rock and CL Smooth, I’m almost done.

"Redman, Roxanne Shante, Run-D.M.C., Salt-N-Pepa, Slick Rick and Doug E. Fresh, Snoop Dogg, Souls of Mischief, Special Ed, Stetsasonic, now I’m all down to the S’s. Super Lover Cee and Casanova Rud, the D.O.C., the Roots, Black Thought, the Skinny Boys, Tony D, Too $hort, Treach from Naughty By Nature, A Tribe Called Quest, U.T.F.O., Whodini, Wise Intelligent and the Poor Righteous Teachers, Wu-Tang Clan and YZ.

"Those were my rock stars man, and I just want to say, like, those are just a few of the names that I hope will be considered in the future for induction. Because without them, a lot of us wouldn’t be here. I know I wouldn’t.

"So that’s all I had to say, man. I know this induction is supposed to be me talking about myself and s--t man, but f--- that. I would not be here without them. I’m a high school dropout man, with a hip-hop education, and these were my teachers. And it's their night just as much as it is mine. So thank you."

Hip-hop saved Eminem's life, he saved mine! Congratulations Em, and Thank You!!

[breath-of-eternity]

Chapter 23

The sun rose, blinding silver light behind the black cloud snaking across the horizon. By midmorning, the air was sour, though not from ash. Amaia still wasn’t sure what this was. The acrid sting was familiar, but though her mind churned over the matter, she could not recall when the choking odor first appeared in her life.

When I was little? I keep thinking of Father trying to hurry me away from somewhere. And Dash. It could have been after the fires. But Mother had been there, wasn’t she? Yes, at her worst, needing to be carried on a stretcher. The sky was dark gray, not like clouds, like all the blue had drained out of it.

Amaia looked up. The sky was indeed gray, and not like it was due to rain. It couldn’t be a fire, there wasn’t anything to burn out this way except for some scrub bushes. Her eyes watered. She smacked her lips, but drinking did nothing to wash the awful taste from her mouth. There was no fire in sight, but the plume of smoke to the east could have been night bursting through the sky. She turned her back to it and walked, throwing a glance behind her to make sure it did not follow.

By dusk, the smoke was gone, but the heavy smell lingered in the air and she kept going in hopes of escaping it. Then her foot came down on a rock and her foot skidded over slick moss, and she was on the ground wondering what the pain in the back of her head was from. Okay, time to stop.

The haze in the sky obscured the stars and buried the nearly full moon buried under a haze. A ghost of the imperfect circle wavered in water, and she tapped the ground, dry here, grassy, and then splashing in cold water. It tasted of minerals, but no salt. Still a long way off from the ocean.

She dipped her hands in the water and wetted her face in hopes of washing away the smell, and for a few seconds she only picked up the mineral-y pond and wet earth. Then it bit into her nose again, and she was not imagining it, it was familiar and made her want to throw up the roots and plants that made her last meal. She laid down and pulled the skins over her head to cocoon herself from it, and in the dark she remembered the foul cave with its toxic smell that hung around her for days.

Are they burning the monsters then? Tossing their corpses in a pyre? Why?

When she woke up the next morning, the sky was still hazy and it remained so through the day. She rested by another pond that evening, and as she stared up at the swirling purple clouds, the crinkles of footsteps came to her. Too light to be a monster or even a human, but she leapt to her feet anyway and grabbed her spear.

In the hazy moonlight, a long snout poked out from the shadows on the other side of the pond. Her first thought was possum, but this creature did not have fur, and its back resembled the shell of a beetle. It had four stubby legs and dragged a short tail along the dirt. It turned its head, keeping an eye on her as it approached the pond. Water rippled in the moonlight.

Father drew a picture of creatures like these once, remarking that he hadn’t seen one since he was her age and he couldn’t remember the name his grandfather had for them. They lived out in the ruins, he said, since they were small enough to hide from monsters. Supposedly they had hard bodies that made them difficult to eat, but it looked soft enough to Amaia. She took a step forward and the animal froze. She sat down and after a moment, it lapped at the water again.

It was cautious around her, but not afraid. It had no idea she was a maker of snares, eater of animals, and she had to assume it was because it had never seen a human.

The fact that it was relaxed enough for a drink out in the open boded well for this place. She shut her eyes and slept, and when she woke up, she no longer detected the foul odor of the monsters. Maybe it had only been her imagination after all.

The next day, she was back in hill country, gathering grass and roots and even making a small fire to warm herself during the evening. When it died out, she buried the cinders and slept soundly in the lingering warmth.

She stood atop a hill and scanned the area, finding rusty hills and some bushes that might have something to eat. She had to be getting close to the southern sea, and the place of the mid-winter gathering. Even if she made it on time, she wasn’t holding out hope for others to show up. But maybe there would be a symbol carved into the rocks or the trees.

Unless they’re as careless about it as I’ve been lately.

If there were other people out there, maybe they were all alone too. It had been weeks—months!—since they had seen anyone, and it was getting tough for them to figure out a reason to keep going. But still they woke up every morning and kept putting one foot in front of the other.

“Tell me a story,” Amaia said, skidding down the hill. Her voice was faint, and she wondered if a person could lose the ability to talk if they didn’t practice enough.

“What story do you want to hear?” Retta asked. She was the best with stories. She always did voices and the way she bugged her eyes out always sent Amaia rolling on the floor laughing.

“Anything is good.” But of course she would have to decide for herself. She was the only one there. “What’s outside the planet?”

“Ah, that. Didn’t old Len tell you that story?”

“Was it him? I thought it was you, but you’re right. I remember sitting next to Dash that night and looking up at the stars. It had been winter then, too.”

“There’s nothing out there,” Retta said, in Len’s gravely voice. “They call it space because that’s all it is. Empty space. Not even air.”

“But the Absconders moved out there. How do they breathe?”

“Their technology can make air. Don’t ask me how it works. It’s been lost for ages.”

“It’s weird they always come back,” Amaia said.

“Didn’t you decide that they come back for the monsters?”

“That’s what it seems like. It just… I don’t get it. They could go anywhere, but they come back here and collect monsters.” She snorted. Her muscles were tight, no matter how she massaged them. “If there’s no people to eat, the monsters will die off.”

The bush undulated in a shape Amaia swore was human. She reached out, but there was nothing to hold but air.

“What do you think they’ll do?” Retta asked.

Amaia licked her lips, found them dry. “Maybe they’ll make some of their own people come live down here. I won’t be alone anymore. That’s something.”

“You wouldn’t be able to talk to them, though.”

Amaia grunted as she climbed another hill, seizing long grass in one hand and pulling herself up. At the top, she shifted west, walking into the setting sun, a rich yellow deepening to orange. That night she spent curled up by a rock, the wind giving the occasional bluster but remaining mostly silent. Somewhere close by, a plant was being furiously chewed on by another animal that had no fear of becoming a meal.

“You need the protein,” Dash said to her. “Or are you giving up again?”

“It’s not that. I’m just… tired.”

“And giving up is easier.”

“That’s not what it is, okay?” The corners of her mouth turned down. “It seems wrong. They’re not used to being hunted.”

“You can’t have sentiment if you want to survive. You have to do what it takes. Which is why I’m asking if you don’t want to survive.”

Dash’s voice hovered around her, there but not there. She wanted him to come out of the shadows so she could see what he looked like, if he was a child younger than her or if he had grown into a man.

“I miss you,” she said.

“I know. I miss you too.” And it was true, because he was only part of her, telling her what she needed to hear.

“All I have now is ghosts,” she said. “It makes living hard to justify.”

“If you are the last of humanity,” he told her, “then you have to live as long as possible. You have to try. For us, for yourself.”

“I am trying,” she said, voice thick. “The day will come, sooner rather than later, and I won’t be able to anymore.”

“Please fight,” he wept. “This is the only way we can survive. She gave up everything so the rest of us can live. Just eat… do it for me… take a bite…”

That wasn’t fabricated by her mind. It was a memory from the starving time, when they finally found some meat to turn into a stew. Amaia had been in their tent, head cradled in Dash’s lap, barely able to lift her eyelids. She just wanted to sleep, but something deep in her chest began to hurt. Her brother was crying and pushing a spoon into her mouth. With the last of her strength, Amaia gulped down the stew, even if it tasted nasty, a gamy meat she could not place.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it, don’t ever remember this time. Forgetting is not a fault. It is the universe’s greatest kindness.

That sounded like Father, but she couldn’t pinpoint when it happened. But perhaps she would take the advice of the memory fragment and allow herself to forget.

Towards morning, her bladder woke her up, and it was no use trying to go back to sleep. In the gray light, she got moving, though the day never seemed to brighten even towards noon. Her foot came down on something made of sharp edges—just a rock, but she yanked her leg back and inspected her sole and make sure it hadn’t broken the skin. A crippling injury, that was what she needed right then.

No blood, but had her legs always been this thin?

She squeezed her eyes shut and massaged the bridge of her nose. It wasn’t helping to think about it. Dash was right. Survival was all she needed to worry about. One foot in front of the other.

That night before she went to sleep, she set a few snares in the bushes. She snagged a rabbit and a badger, a remarkably good haul, and she finished them quickly, then wrapped the bodies in leaves to carry along with her. When night came, she built a fire and roasted the meat, eating more than she should, but it probably wouldn’t keep anyway.

“You’ll have more energy now,” Mother said to her. “You’ll be able to go farther tomorrow.”

“I did fine,” Amaia said.

“You’re not getting as far as you think,” she said. “You rest so often because you don’t have enough meat to eat.”

“I’m all right,” Amaia said, laying her head on her bag. “I’m all right.”

“Don’t forget to put out the fire.”

“I did, Mother.”

“Are you sure you put enough dirt on it? Listen to the wind howl! The fire could spread quickly. Remember the fires that year? That same smell lingered in the air. It spread so fast, no wonder everything was reduced to ash.”

“It’ll be fine,” Amaia said, not sure whether or not this was a lie. Her eyes slipped shut. When rain woke her, she tamped the dirt she piled over the fire, as if to prove to her mother that nothing went wrong. Mother never did believe she could do anything right.

If only she was here right now…

The plants were getting greener, so maybe she was closing on the sea. Not that she was sure what she’d do when she got there. Normally, her people would follow the coast north, fishing when they could, foraging roots and grass until spring brought the plants and trees back. If anyone was left, they’d be there. Maybe.

Years ago, Mother taught her a song that had no words, was just the sweet melody that Amaia could not for the life of her reproduce. She used to stare up at her mother, unable to believe the tones sweetening the air. The birds had nothing on her. Why was she only remembering this now?

She sang herself to sleep that night, tears burning in her eyes. Her throat her, probably from using it more that day than she had in a month.

“I love you,” she said quietly. “I miss you.”

Then she drifted off, and in her dreams she was young again, her family was alive, there were no monsters.

Thunder ripped her from her heaven, the wind whipping the skins around her and sending the branches into a frenzy. Amaia screamed, but it was drowned out by the metal beast hovering over her head. Artificial light beamed down, brighter than the sun. It raced along the hills in search of something, in search of her.

The Absconders were after her.

[libidomechanica]

And are than my heavy eyelids to play

Until its cool under than fail.     And saints will came home. We have no arms and he rais’d his     Divided love. Whether at this fiery flame. I have sung,     puppet to be full of

yesterday dropped away, wants to     the anchor weeps! Once I see you with the same; whether in     Thee vain are fond will befa’ the war-drum throbb’d no longer     give birth to me wrongs thee

happy roses were a target     forests, vouchsafe you meet someone’s lips; he said she a     lot said? Religion but me; they never noticed you as     a beast that his woe. Now

that has born formally to sometimes     past and mind, in a’ its cool again what could deceive.     Marry a monster. Last summer loath took my eyesight and     music wove our spirit

is the womb all along together.     Her own neighbour thought in ever grew beside a lonely     downe dyd lye. To tae that which doth bind, threat’ning with     pornographic kiss flashing

she coming, I told by rings: but     listen; and, once didst alive them ought me, my only and     touch. And caught is destitute but, themselves do come in I     do sturre, and the eleventh

a Moon—the David! Suddenly     for their arms and eyes were ever groan; where I for a     beast wish be vain; deceived: for her tongue doesn’t looked out of seasoned     rocked to behold Fury

spring disdaine, and haply     say truth to die. A cornerstone. In himself to give you     meet someone saw us thou among the Ear of our loved     so longer it was in.

Prints his pocket, risking the heavy     head, and did invitation, O thou leapt someone asks—     You are thee, while its face? An ever seeded or unfastened     song is he alone.

How strange flowers of amber     tears, and hurl their door. Death, immortal go. Mated with gilt     bosse and what a pleasure never not live or dine. And you     fresh hope, which Life bestowes

one that I cannot be seized     with the sea, salt-sweet name, showing your legend be, it glowing     youth last and horse, a heap of citation, wear my breast     almighty ever-proud

queen-woman who but its thorny     tree but you until frustrations’ airy navies grappling     into a river of the music, am banished     his white balloons that from

the Brightening, words new, spending be.     At this sires reuenge, ioyn’d with many sighes is blowne away     the square. Where mething a dangerous though earth, I like tree.     Somewhere you love is old

and after year, my carrot, my     cabbage, I woke discover the promise made such mirrored     in tears as the sound. I have scope and payne. In thee so farre     men on the truth to Geb

and Nut, Isis and be the sun     looked out shame, and report. Evil Cloud rain Sorrowes on     my small porch … year and asks you but you’d suspect: a markes     each other sound. Still death-

wound, whom my bosom tear alone     can stop the ragged wood, for the king’s real, or his sword of     a leaky boat is part; sweete, making be. Love is best is;     how your silently, an

aster, whom lover. Ye goatherd     gods, that he love is a garden, that once said, the Sweetness     of mine from the Sheepe, whose blots that warmed my love to fight me     in hand the founts of roses,

that warp us from the night     sky, a delayed and vain the jingling on the snake-like feel     thee. Soothe hill, and in our lives in this this, the merciless     Tyrant fled; thou toldst mind.

[sarcs-art]

She was an adventurer once before she took an arrow to the knee

[creative-type]

Me, writing Daughter of the Lilies fanfiction: Oh, it looks like I need to come up with a new OC. I shall lovingly and perfectly craft them, making them completely unique as to best fit the tone, story, and themes I am trying to write.

Also Me: It shall be a sleep-deprived, twenty-something year old woman, an introvert uncommonly skilled in one or more branches of magic with the most tragic backstory I think I can get away with that involves intense family drama and angst that haunts her every waking moment. I shall endeavor to give her at least one dramatic moment where she makes an angry face while spouting a badass one-liner.

Also Also Me: Hey guys, I posted the first chapter of a new Detective Margot  story today. Go check it out if you’re interested in blood magic, curses, politics, and serial killers

[wherethewordsare]

I am once again hitting up your ask box to ask for fic

Can i pwease get selkie jask🥺👉👈

Cheese... As always, sorry this took a fucking age? I hope you like it? And just in time for Monster March!!! <3 <3 <3 

There had always been something about Jaskier that set Geralt on edge. But not in the way that he was used to. The way he would smile so easily even when Geralt was gruff and unrelenting left him disarmed and at ease. But it was also the way that there were nights when the moon was high and Jaskier couldn’t seem to find sleep that Geralt’s medallion seemed to buzz with a low but urgent hum. Those nights the smell of brine and sun and sawgrass was nearly chokingly strong, rolling off of Jaskier in waves stronger than a riptide. 

Magic. What kind, Geralt could never figure out. There had been something about the way Jaskier wore his heart on his sleeve that made it feel like there was so little the bard would actually hide from him, but this one thing. Maybe there was siren blood in him after all, maybe it was fae? But no matter what it was, Geralt wasn’t about to send Jaskier away for something he couldn’t definitively prove. And even if he could, would he?

They were near Oxenfurt, summer coming to an end and Geralt watched with interest as every so often, Jaskier’s head would pop up from where he sat around their campfire, looking westward. The way he tilted his chin as though someone had called his name. 

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked. He kept his tone light, his own eyes following Jaskier’s gaze west. 

“Hmm,” was all he got, Jaskier not turning to look at him, his eyes focused on the line of trees across from him. It took him by surprise, their sudden unexpected role reversal. He chuckled. 

“Jask!” Geralt set down the armor he was cleaning, waving a cloth in front of Jaskier’s face. 

“Ah! Right, sorry. Got lost in thought for a moment,” he turned to look at Geralt, his eyes still glazed over with that lost look. “You know, my home isn’t too far from here.” 

“Oxenfurt is just a day’s ride. Have someone waiting for you?” Geralt teased but the idea of Jaskier having someone that could pull him away from the path they traveled together made his tone more accusatory than he had intended. 

“No, not…” Jaskier’s eyes wandered back west again as he fidgeted. “Geralt, I need-” he licked his lips as if he was ready to say something. 

Geralt’s medallion gave a soft hum where it rested against his skin, warmer than it had been. There was nothing here to fight, only Jaskier, face flushed from sitting too close to the fire, his white linen shirt clinging to him slightly in the late summer heat. The nights wouldn’t be cool for another few weeks and they wouldn’t part for a few weeks after that if the snows held off. Or maybe. 

Whatever it was that Jaskier wasn’t saying hung between them in the slight vibration of low magic and crickets. 

“Come with me to the coast? There’s something I need to take care of,” Jaskier was suddenly on his feet, striding with unsure steps to his bedroll, his hands wringing in front of him. The magic stopped and Geralt watched as Jaskier turned his back on where he had been watching. He could see it for what it was, an offer to an answer of a question neither of them had been brave enough to ask. Not yet. 

“Could be some contracts that way,” Geralt mused, reaching for his sword to clean next. 

If he hadn’t been a witcher, if his sight hadn’t been so keen and had he not been already so attuned to Jaskier, he might have missed it. They had been traveling together for what must have been well over a decade now, and never once had Geralt seen Jaskier pull away from him not even remotely. In the fading daylight, it was hard to miss now. The moment Geralt wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword, Jaskier had flinched away. 

He made no comment, only letting the sword rest back against the log as he changed tactics, reaching instead for another piece of his armor to clean. He couldn’t seem to catch Jaskier’s eyes as the bard finally settled down into his bedroll, turning over so his back was to Geralt. 

There had always been something about Jaskier that had put Geralt on edge, the smell of sea salt and warm sand and kelp that always surfaced, even with all the oils and perfumes he would soak himself in. A kind of worry gripped him, a beginning of an end to the unsaid things between them. Geralt waited patiently for him to drift off, keeping an ear open for the steady even breaths that came when Jaskier slept. Only then did he reach for his swords to clean them.

Silently he prayed to whatever deity would hear him that he would not find reasons to draw them when they reached the coast. 

--

It had been an easy kind of journey, a day to Oxenfurt then another few days to the coast proper. Once they had left the last village behind, Jaskier led the way, keeping always a few strides out front, his fingers nervously tweaking out half conscience tunes on his lute, barely paying attention to anything other than moving onward. Geralt found that there were moments of unending chatter and then complete silence. 

The last night that they camped, the trees had become pine and the grass was rough under Geralt’s hands as he gathered wood for the fire. Jaskier sat quietly by his bedroll, his eyes brighter than they had been in what felt like weeks. He moved his jaw every now and again as though he was trying to find the words to say but the most Geralt could get out of him was broken off sentences and hesitant glances. 

“Do you always kill the monsters?” He asked finally, setting aside his quill and lacing his fingers together in front of him, thumbs twirling anxiously.

“Only the dangerous ones,” Geralt said quietly. He had made sure not to reach for his swords in front of Jaskier since that night he had asked to go to the coast, afraid that the answers would slide away like the tide. 

“Oh, and how do you know when they’re not dangerous?” It had been a conversation they had had before, but then Jaskier had been less pensive, more chatty, taking notes for his ballads. Now his eyes barely looked up from the fire. 

Above them, the moon hung heavy and full, silver catching in Jaskier’s dark hair and casting his features into ethereal shadows where the firelight did not quite reach. Geralt risked moving a little closer, using the poking the fire as pretense before sitting beside Jaskier. 

“What are we doing here, Jaskier?” He wasn’t accusatory or flippant. There had been answers that he needed and he wasn’t sure what the right ones would be. 

Jaskier sat very still, his tongue darting out for a moment. “You know I trust you?” 

It wasn’t what Geralt had been expecting. Hell, it wasn’t something he had even really knew needed saying, not out loud. But they sat there, the words hanging between them like a door that would either be thrown wide open or slammed shut and locked forever. 

Jaskier chuckled, looking away. “I… Can you trust me, Geralt?” He looked over then, his eyes seeming endlessly blue just then, and so full of something that tugged at Geralt’s chest. He only nodded and let the night slip into an easy quiet between them. 

“Fall isn’t too far off at this point. It will be winter before you know it.” It felt so off-balance, Geralt being the one to keep breaking the silence between them. “Unless you have an engagement in Oxenfurt already lined up, I was wondering if you might-” 

Jaskier made a choking sound, his head whipping around to look at Geralt. “Wait!” There was panic in his voice as his hands came up as if to protect himself. 

It wasn’t hard to scent in the air, the sharp sting of fear and anxiety, Jaskier’s heart hammering behind his ribs. His eyes looked wild and it took Geralt a moment not to pull back himself. 

“Wait,” Jaskier took a shaky breath, swallowing. “There’s… Before you ask anything of me, let’s get down to the beach tomorrow. And then-” He looked down, pulling his hands towards his chest. The fear was gone but the anxiety only seemed to grow. It spelled of kelp in the sun and cold oceans in a storm. “Then you can decide if you still want to ask.” 

“Jaskier-” 

“Not here, witcher. Let me get to the shore first?” It wasn’t uncommon for Jaskier to ask things of Geralt but it was rare that they felt this important, this urgent. 

The sound of the fire and the crickets and the ocean far down the hill were the only sounds between them after that. Jaskier after a time made a murmured good night and slipped into his bedroll without another word. Geralt tried to ignore the sharp scent of salt that came from him, different than the ocean, deeper, tinged in everything that made up Jaskier. He doubted either of them slept much that night. 

--

Geralt must have drifted off at some point, however. When he woke up early, the sun was barely up, the fire had banked itself overnight and he was alone save for Roach who grazed in the hazy morning light. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt called, bolting upright and turning. 

“Let me get to the shore first,” he had asked. 

He debated with himself for a moment before deciding that he would leave his swords behind him, though Geralt couldn’t quite bring himself to leave the dagger in his boot behind as well. He moved down towards the beach, following the path through the thinning trees. 

Something was off the moment he stepped out past the first dune. There in the sand, clothes trailed down to the water, Jaskier’s boots kicked off just at the bottom of the first outcropping of rock. Down the beach, a wall of stone rose above the breakers. It would no doubt have a system of caves throughout it. The last of Jaskier’s things seemed to lead that way.

Geralt followed, wishing that he had in fact brought his swords. His medallion hummed then vibrated, shaking against his chest violently as something broke above the waves just to his right. 

A smooth head and wide eyes tilted towards him in the early morning light. The sky above the ocean still dark, the last stars slipping over the far horizon with the last sliver of the moon. The thing in the water moved up to the beach, a large slick body, flippers pushing into the wet sand. 

It gave a kind of greeting, nodding at Geralt as it rested in the sand. 

He hadn’t seen one in so long, Geralt almost didn’t recognize it as a Harbor seal, it’s pelt dark around its face, fading into a spotted silver coat. He didn’t move, let alone breathe as they watched each other for a long moment. 

 When the seal began to push up its body contorting unnaturally, Geralt took a step back, automatically reaching for the knife in his boot. Dark eyes watched him and seemed… disappointed suddenly as the body of the seal continued to convulse and shift. 

The sun broke above the trees and caught the creature in the face and those eyes suddenly shimmered a bright blue. He couldn’t throw his knife down fast enough as the hood of a cloak fell back from Jaskier’s face, sullen and terrified. 

“Well, was worth a shot,” Jaskier gave a wet laugh, pulling his cloak tighter around him. 

“You’re a selkie.” Geralt said flatly, his hands coming up to show he had no weapons. “I thought you were a viscount.” 

To his surprise, Jaskier snorted, the tension in his shoulders relaxing some as shuffled his feet in the sand. 

“I am in fact a viscount and a selkie, on my mother’s side,” he winced. “My father keeps her cloak from her. I just barely managed to-” he swallowed looking down. “Listen, Geralt, I know you plan on going back to Kaer Morhen this winter, and even if you-” he huffed, his hand shooting out from his cloak to rub at the back of his head. 

“You need somewhere to hide your cloak.” a decade of unasked questions started to click into place.

“Yes,” Jaskier sighed. “But you don’t have to-”

“And you trust me? A witcher? Jaskier, if something happened to your cloak you-” would be stuck, would die, would never be free again. He left everything to blow away out to sea in the wind. 

“I do, I trust you as a man, Geralt. I know what I’m asking,” his eyes were sad and suddenly infinitely vast. 

The wind tugged the hem of Jaskier’s cloak, the silvery ends snapping in tune with the crash of the waves. Geralt could see the top of his one thigh peeking between the slick material and suddenly he was far too aware that Jaskier was standing naked in more ways than one on a beach telling Geralt he trusted him with his life. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a steadying breath. “Get dressed bard.” This level of vulnerability left him feeling dizzy with a feeling he wasn’t ready to look at just then. 

Before going to collect his clothes, Jaskier closed the distance between them, sliding his cloak from his shoulders, the fabric shimmering in the sunlight as he folded it carefully and rested it over Geralt’s arm. 

“Hold this for me?” he asked softly, not meeting Geralt’s eyes. “Keep it safe?” 

There was no hesitation in him as Geralt nodded, laying a careful hand over Jaskier’s, still on the cloak. “Always.”

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 6- Betrayer Moon

Summary: Temeria holds a beast that has been said to have slaughtered many. With the sweet sound of coins offered you’re ready for another wild hunt.

Warnings: lil smut we starting out with, gore and blood as per usual, fluff 

Masterlist

Outside the winds are cold and snowy as the night cascades its great darkness over the land of the Continent. But none of that holds any kind of significance as you lay in the warm bed of a village tavern, Geralt's muscular body pressing flush against your heated skin. You hold tightly onto the tousled bed sheets as he thrusts into you over and over again, nothing but the sweet sounds of his grunts and your pleasant moaning filling the darkly lit room but for a simple fire in the hearth.

He deliciously rocks you into the mattress as he gently kisses your sweaty temple, sending bolts of electricity coursing throughout your entire being as you await your building climax. With each new thrust of Geralt's manhood into your entrance, you try and hold back a scream but to no avail. He quickly silences you with a heated kiss, both of your tongues dancing in the dark with one another as he pushes your legs apart even more, his large body taking you all in.

He's a lot to handle but you can take it, no matter what he throws at you. Soon he's a moaning mess as he dumps his load into your clenching walls, hitting your own high just the same, you suddenly claw at his back as he pumps himself into you a couple more times before slowly leaning up to take a good look at your blissfully beautiful face. He gently pulls out of you, falling onto the bed at your side as the both of lay in silence, the only viable sounds coming from your heavy breaths and the crackling of the fireplace.

"So, I heard something interesting today." You begin, turning on your side to lean yourself into his chest as he stares at the ceiling, a satisfied smirk gracing his handsome features.

"Do tell." He quietly mumbles.

"I was conversing with some of the whores by the market today, asking about what interesting creatures have met their eyes and whatnot. When wouldn't you know it, another Witcher had come through this very village." He raises an eyebrow, curiosity catching his interest quick, "Said he fled Temeria with some miners coin when his ass was supposed to be killing their monster. I think foul play." You inquire, absentmindedly running your fingers over his battle scars, Geralt's intrigued by your words but is honestly enjoying himself too much to care about anything else at the moment.

Sighing in deep content he shifts his golden gaze onto you, "Tonight I will blissfully ignore my problems." He muses, closing his eyes as you continue to lightly trail your fingers against his skin, "Just uh...keeping doing that." A drunken smile gracing his sweaty face, as you break out into a grin while your eyes fully take in his glistening muscular form that's laying butt-ass naked right next to you. Oh, how did you get so lucky with a man like him?

The rest of the night is spent inside one another here and there, until you both fall asleep in an exhausted heap of tangled limbs and messy blankets. The next morning you two get dressed and head for Temeria, Geralt wisely leaving Roach with the stable boy until you both come back to retrieve her, whenever that may be.

The hike to Temeria went rather smoothly, no one to bother you and the cold of the winter weather doing nothing to freeze you, considering you're practically immune to feeling cold, another wondrous perk of being half vampire.

As you walk out of the shadowy woodland you look up to see a large abandoned castle stout upon the top of a rocky hill, thick forest surrounding it. Looking ahead you notice as the trail suddenly dives into the earth, lamps held up by steel poles guiding the way in, but before this you stop to read over a poster pinned to a wooden pole.

"Temeria, realm of monsters and cowardly kings." You turn to Geralt with an amused smirk upon your face, "Well it's nice to know they don't hold anything back." You laugh before turning to walk down the descending trail, Geralt smiling as he watches you go.

Your time in the mines was a quick one, the miners and the kings men on the verge of a tiny battle that was stopped by Geralt's calm inquisition. The high guard or whoever the fuck, lead you and your Witcher out of the mines and into the shadowy snow covered woods, you're guessing with interior motives but nonetheless you follow.

As you're walking next to Geralt, with the kingsmen on their steeds to either side of you; all of a sudden you catch the scent of another being lurking in the shadows. Another heartbeat thudding in the night, then not even ten seconds later do the guards fall from their horses, enchanted by some sleeping spell. Geralt quickly pulls out his silver sword as you bare your opened hands, emitting crackling purple lighting from your fingertips, this is sorcery at play and you know just how to fight it if need be.

"You can put down your sword...and calm your lightning. I'm not here to hurt you." Speaks a woman's calm voice, her shadowed silhouette walking into view.

"Says the witch hiding in the woods." Mutters Geralt defensively, sword still held out in front of him as you slowly lower your hands, dissipating away the lightning. You can tell this mage has come with no ill intent, even if you don't adherently feel very fond of such beings, you're wise enough to understand that not all are terrible.

"Sorceress." Corrects the curly haired woman.

"Witch." He growls darkly, you lightly touch him on the shoulder, silently asking him to calm is unneeded anger, he slowly brings his sword to his side.

"Triss Merigold. I serve King Foltest." She serenely replies. A simple mage.

"So he makes a show of kicking us out...then sends his errand girl to slip me some coin so we kill his monster." Proclaims Geralt smartly, believing he's just figured her out.

"Not a very original plan for a king." You add, your brows furrowing in thought.

"It's my plan. My coin. And I don't want you to kill the beast. I want you to help me save it." Assures Triss.

"Save it?" You ask.

Wanting to hear more she takes you both into her area within the castle where she goes into more detail about the happenings in the woods. Geralt leans against a counter as you sit on a wooden table, the both of you facing Triss who stands by a desk and chair directly in front of you.

"Six years ago, stable hands statred vanishing at the castle above the city. Before long, citizens were disappearing throughout all Temeria. Foltest's royal guards soon realized the creature was coming from the crypt where the king's sister Adda is buried. Rumor has it she was having an affair with a young man in town when she died."

oh the drama, you wanted to laugh when she said that but wisely chose against that.

"Was she pregnant?" You finally ask, your curiosity getting the better of you. Maybe that's why this beast is killing people?

"If she were, that would make her child the sole heir to the throne as Foltest never married." Explains Triss as her expression changes to a thoughtful one, "The king fled the castle, ignoring the rising death toll. After Nilfgaard overthrew their king, the Brotherhood couldn't risk it happening again, so they sent me here three months ago to cure the creature."

"Vukodlaks are freak mutations." Says Geralt, mind reeling with what this creature truly is.

"They can't be cured." You add as Triss' brows furrow, "A vukodlak is a type of mutated werewolf, its a beast that conceptualizes in the womb of a dead woman, this woman however must be pregnant. It's rare, but it happens."

"How strange, maybe if I take you to the creatures latest victim then you might have some understanding as to what it actually is."

"Worth a try."

Triss leads you and Geralt through the pre-burial section under the castle where all the dead lay awaiting their final home in the ground. The place reeks of death, spices to mask the dead smell, and too many salts and herbs doing their part to delay the decomposition process.

"Two thousand orens if either of you can tell me what exactly killed these people." Says Triss as all three of you scan over the cloaked bodies laying on wooden tables.

"You didn't want the people to know that it bested a Witcher. And you let them believe that he fled with their coin." Mutters Geralt.

"You two clearly weren't acquainted." At the end of the long cavernous room does she stop at a stone tub of white salt and sand, you can smell the dead man underneath. You walk past both of them before standing in front of the tub.

Taking a breath, you reach down to wipe away the white sand until the caved in chest of the fallen Witcher is revealed. You stick your hand inside the opened chest cavity to gather a mental image of what could be missing. You look over at a curious Geralt, "His hearts missing along with his liver."

"Only one creature I know is that picky an eater. A striga." Explains Geralt while you remove your wandering hand from within the broken rib cage to wipe it off on your pants. You then turn back around to face Triss and Geralt, noting how the mages face begins morphing into that of befuddlement.

"Strigas are old wives' tales." She replies, not completely sure of herself.

You shrug, "They're very rare as are the vukodlak, but they can happen. However the only way to make one is through a curse." You add, crimson eyes trailing over the mutilated body of the dark haired Witcher. So this is really what became of that other Witcher, better him then Geralt, nonetheless he fought bravely.

"Someone wanted Adda dead." Realizes Triss as Geralt hums in agreement.

"But the curse didn't stop with Adda. It turned her daughter into a monster." Triss' head tilts in surprised puzzlement at your troubling knowledge.

"Her daughter?"

"Strigas are female. This striga's a princess." Concludes Geralt with a sigh, his gaze searching for your own perplexed expression as you turn around to face him and Triss who still looks rather disturbed.

"Well then, lets see if this king of yours is willing to let us help." You quip at Triss as you begin leading the way out of the large burial room. "Can't be that difficult now can it?"

——

"Miss Merigold, you were dispatched to settle a family affair, not to enlist a mutant mercenary and a rouge hybrid for a game of sleuthing." Argues one of the kings guardsmen as King Foltest hungrily rips apart a turkey leg, rather disgustingly if you're being honest. He even smells of meat and sweat.

"This is no game, Captain. Tonight is a full moon, Geralt and Y/N have already proved themselves to be invaluable. We believe we can cure the creature." Implores Triss urgently as she vouches for you, Geralt, and her pertinent point at hand. You just lean yourself against the rooms wallpaper as Geralt stands next to you, feeling a bit doubtful that she'll be able to convince any of them.

"You say she's a girl. Then you will refer to her as Her Royal Highness." Directs the kings guard before his other man, who instructed for you and Geralt to leave Temeria only yesterday, walks over to give his two cents.

"Segelin." He says introducing himself before continuing, "I believe urgency warrants flexibility in a court decorum. The Witcher's theory is nonsense. Princess Adda was the people's angel. Who'd wish to murder her?" Implores the man Segelin as his eyes wander over to you and then to Geralt, eyeing you both suspiciously.

"What about her lover?" You inquire, folding your arms over your leather armored chest.

"Seditious rumors. Idle courtesans trading out boredom for jealousy." Quickly replies the kings guardsman giving you a distasteful look.

"Perhaps if you'd call off your guards, if we were able to search the abandoned castle, we could find clues as to who cursed her." Explains Triss, attempting to convince the king. That's not a bad idea.

"Except, these two monster hunters would kill the princess as she sleeps, and collect the miners' coin." Argues Segelin as you simply roll your crimson eyes at the grey bearded man. What's got water up his breeches?

"Call her a princess. Call her a unicorn if you'd like to." Begins Geralt, "She grew inside Adda, feeding on her petrified womb."

"Have you no respect?!" Shouts the guardsmen defensively, the king just continues his gruesome assault on his turkey leg as he listens.

"Mutating. Growing for years till she got so hungry..." Geralt steps closer, the guardsmen laying a quick hand upon the hilt of his sheathed sword as Geralt continues unfazed, "she was forced to slither out. Rotten muscle, bent bones, two spidery legs, claws dragging in the dirt." You watch in satisfaction as the kings eyes flash with disgust. You've got him.

"An overgrown abortion." You add shrewdly, pushing yourself off of the wall as you walk next to the long table, the kings face cast down in deep thought as the other men throw you nasty glares.

"Enough." He snaps, setting down his half eaten leg of turkey.

"Your Highness?" Begins the loyal concerned guardsmen.

"Leave." Growls the king menacingly, his men nodding before making their way for the door, Triss, Geralt, and you following.

Opening up the door first, Geralt politely opens it, offering his hand for the others to follow out, you giving him a wink as you tail the guardsmen who's last to leave. As soon as you reach the doors entrance you quickly shove the guardsmen into the hallway before Geralt quickly shuts the doors on all of them, making sure to lock it as they shout their angry protests.

You listen to the pounding on the wood as you calmly walk past Geralt to the right side of the long table, leaning your hand onto the clothed wood as he casually rests an arm over a great oaken chair, opposite of the king.

"Who's the princess' father?" Immediately asks Geralt with a curious tilt of his head, the king glaring bitterly.

"My men will kill you two, bastards." He warns darkly, Geralt pulls his arm away from the chair to slowly approach him, you standing your ground while he walks past you.

Eyeing up the plump king, you slowly drag your fingers over the wood while taking small steps closer, "Your threats don't shake me, but it's funny...you learn your sister was murdered, and you didn't even flinch." Your sly remark has the king's eyes staring daggers at his roast turkey, while Geralt hums in agreement, walking himself towards a window before turning around to lean himself on a wooden cabinet as he faces the king.

"But the moment I mention the girl's father.." King Foltest purses his lips together, his eyes downcast onto the floor, "Why were you never married?" Questions Geralt smoothly, the king lets out a sigh as he leans back into his chair.

"You are speaking to a king." He proclaims with no heat is in his words, other then something else that he seems to be hiding from you both.

"That's exactly my point. Why not produce your own heir? Why not kill the striga and avoid this revolt? Why drag this all out?" Suggests Geralt, his brows furrowing together at the strange reason for everything that's happened. You walk over closer to the king, his beady eyes following you the whole time, you've already figured out the possible truth. And why must it be so disgusting too?

Raising an eyebrow, you reveal a small smirk to the glaring king, "Between the three of us, and I would dare not tell...who is the striga's father?" King Foltest appears to want to say something, almost willing to answer your question. But instead he looks to the window as he slowly rises from his seat, bringing his gaze back over to Geralt.

"I remember hearing stories about Witcher's when I was a child." He says, voice low and gravely while eying up Geralt, turning his sullen gaze upon you now, "And that of dhampirs. Is it true what they say? That you're neither living nor dead, unkillable but for silver?" Sneers the sweaty king, anger emitting from his every word, "That the mutations that grant Witcher's their...abilities. Also erase your emotions? Must be." He criticizes sharply eyeing the two of you with hate, "Cause only a person devoid of all heart could accuse a brother of bedding his murdered sister while urging him to kill her." Suddenly the doors burst open, a small handful of yelling guards racing in with their weapons bared, you don't even flinch as a second later the king throws a hand into the air, silently commanding them to halt.

He turns to you then back to Geralt, "Leave Temeria. Never return." His command is noted as Geralt gives him a nod before turning to walk out the door. You follow suit and smile at a nervous guard who looks like he might have just shit himself. The both of you silently walk out of the castle, deciding to make a new plan of attack.

——

Crouching on the roof of the abandoned castle as the wind and snow blows past your face, you slowly crawl closer to the front gates. Where two incredibly anxious guards converse about how much longer their post is until they may leave. Quietly you pull out a loose piece of the castles roofing, before chucking it into the direction of a crow where the bird and the ceiling make a loud rackety noise as they take off elsewhere. To your utter satisfaction the two nervous guards yell and book it down the cobblestone pathway and away from the castle.

Well that was easy enough.

Pleased with your harmless mischievousness, you decide to find your own way into the castle while Geralt takes the front entrance. You find a broken rotting part in the roofs wooden beamed structure where you then purposefully slip through, falling down to the floor, catching yourself at the very last moment as you levitate your body the rest of the way for a silent and painless landing.

The castle smells of mystery and dead rats as you walk quietly throughout the gloomy thing, suddenly your ears pricking to the sounds of Geralt and Triss rummaging around in someone's room down the hall. With a smirk upon your lips you stalk closer, listening to them speak about letters from Adda's mother as they both begin walking for the door.

As soon as you catch sight of Triss' oblivious face do you finally make yourself known, turning your skin the color of bluish pale grey, the whites of your eyes turning to black as your scarlet irises practically glow red. You hiss, baring your pearly white fangs, her face contorts into pure dreadful fear as she lets out a surprised scream. Geralt suddenly rushing to her side, his magic at the ready before his concerned face slackens to throw you an amused glare.

Cackling you turn back into your more presentable self, "You two find anything?" You wheeze as Triss gathers her bearings.

Breathing heavily she practically stares daggers at you, "Oh yes, just a fucking heart attack!" She breathlessly retorts, throwing you a harsh glare as Geralt walks past her. The corners of his lips pulling up into a smirk as he catches your entertained gaze, you smiling back at him like a fool in love.

"You're an ass." She mutters, shaking her head at you while she follows Geralt down the dreary shadowed hallway. An enthralled grin upon your beaming features as you tail behind them.

——

Once back inside Triss' lair of sorts within the castle walls, unbeknownst to King Foltest, the three of you let Segelin in on what they found in the ruined castle. He stands, eyes cast onto the letters, "A Queen Mother cursing her own children for their affair." He plops the old papers onto a table, "This could destroy the throne." He says dismally while leaning, both hands pressed to the wooden table.

"Sancia wanted Adda to get rid of the child." Says Geralt, concluding all that appears to be written down in those letters between Adda and her Queen Mother.

"It seems she refused. Repeatedly." Adds Triss while you all stare at the back of the man.

Segelin sighs, "And now she's taken that curse with her to the grave."

Triss clasps her hands together, "You've served the family for decades. Was Sancia involved in dark sorcery of any kind?"

He turns to look at her, "No. Of course not." His expression reveals no faults, yet you feel something is not right here. He's not nearly surprised enough about all of this.

Touching a dangling green plant that hangs out over a wooden cupboard, you raise a brow at him, "What was your relationship to Adda?"

He rests his hands casually against the long desk behind him, "Well, I like to think that she saw me as a confidant." He smiles, "And a protector, even. We used to talk at great length about her troubles. She could be very naïve."

"She ever mention her brother?" Asks Geralt from his place by the wall, a foot or so away from you and Triss' plants.

Segelin looks down at the letters, "Certainly not like this."

"She was ashamed." Says Triss as Segelin turns to face her.

"Or she was frightened. What if the relationship was not.." He pauses a moment like he can't even bring himself to say it, his eyes trail over the three of you, "..consensual?"

Geralt hums in thought at this indeed interesting bout of information, he looks to Segelin, "You think he raped Adda, then cursed the child to cover it up?"

"Well, kings have done more for less."

Geralt's eyes fall elsewhere, "True." He mutters as you mull over everything previously said. This doesn't sit right with you at all.

You take a step away from the plants, "There's only one wrinkle, though." Both Triss and Geralt watch as you stand almost threateningly in front of Segelin, they have not a clue what you're doing. The greying man eyes you nervously, you narrow your eyes at him, "Your scent was on her sheets."

Triss takes a step foreward, "Y/N?"

Your crimson eyes never leave him once, "Old ones...and new ones."

He leans away from you, "What would I be doing in a dead girl's bed?" He accuses, face shifted into a repulsed grimace. You lean in closer so that your mouth remains mere inches from his ear, he's visibly uncomfortable.

"I smelt what you were doing."

You move backwards to stand in from of the conflicted man, he says not a single word as you patiently wait for him to break. The moment lasts a couple seconds more, you can hear how loud his heart is pounding within his chest. His lip quivers, breathing increasing with anxiousness, "Foltest had no right!" Shouts the angered man while you scowl and step away, "He seduced Adda! Abused his position. He was always nagging her for attention. Always nagging! But he didn't love her....I did."

"You cursed the woman you loved?" Denounces Triss like a disappointed mother.

Segelin shakes his head, "I cursed Foltest, not her."

"Countless are dead because of your jealousy."

"Countless are dead because of Foltest!" Protests Segelin, "He spoiled Adda with his seed. He refuses to kill this striga. He lies to his people. And yet you wag your finger in my face."

"If you wanted him to suffer, you could have just exposed the affair." Counters Triss while the three of you stare down the heated man.

"And hurt Adda?" He says softly, "Never. Her memory will not be sullied, not while I'm alive to protect it." Geralt glances from you to him.

"Tell us how to lift the curse."

Segelin pauses a moment before looking defiantly up at your Witcher, "No. Foltest will watch as Temeria turns against him. Just as he turned Adda against me." Geralt hums in response.

Fed up with his excuses you walk up to him, he slightly cowers back before keeping straight again, a snobby expression upon his greying features before you crack him across the temple. Sending him falling to the ground in an instant as he plunges into unconsciousness.

"Y/N." You turn to face Triss.

"What? You were all thinking it."

——

Waiting atop the crumbling castle roof where this striga is soon to be, you watch from above as Geralt and King Foltest speak about how you and him will handle the princess. He gives the king Renfri's brooch as a gift for the princess incase Geralt does not live to see the light of day. You watch the king and his men finally leave, letting Geralt enter the dying castle as he looks up towards the roof for a second before turning his gaze for the wooden doors.

Taking the same route as earlier in the day, you soon find yourself in Adda's room. Segelin tied pathetically to the wooden beams of the dead princess' bed as your unwilling captive. Geralt brooding by the window as he thinks of what to do next, none of you truly having a solid clue as to what should be done about this royal striga. You watch when the greying man glares at you, blood smeared across his lips from your abrupt assault not even an hour ago.

"The both of you! This is madness!" He cries angrily, tugging at his cloth restraints, "What are we doing here? What's happening?" He wonders while searching desperately around the room for a nonexistent answer.

"How can we lift the curse." Mutters Geralt, his leather armored back to you and Segelin.

Segelin shakes his head, "No! This is not right. Foltest must pay for what he did." Whines Segelin once more, you simply fold your arms in irritation as the man looks to you for a sign that you care, which you most defiantly don't.

Rolling your eyes, you scowl at him, "You're already too blind to even comprehend your own faults. This is what you get for your childish actions." You mutter bitterly as he glares hopelessly at you, frustration clearly evident on his dirty face.

"Carry me out. I order you." Demands Segelin as Geralt turns around to face the desperate man. "Tell us how to lift the curse." He orders, Segelin huffs in frustration, avoiding Geralt's intimidating gaze.

In a blur of black and grey your hand is suddenly around his neck as his eyes go wide in stunned alarm, your squeeze isn't enough to choke him, but you're hopeful it's enough to change his mind. "I'd advise you to listen well, your life is already standing on the edge of a knife." You hiss maliciously in his ear before releasing him, he lets out a dramatic gasp as his wide eyes follow your every movement.

He turns his attention from you to Geralt as his mouth opens to finally answer, "Sh-She was hiding from the Brotherhood. She sold me a lamb....Sh-She told me to wait until a full moon, to wait and then to kill it." He stammers, Geralt crouching down to meet his eye level, "And then I recited some silly chant. And then I bathed in the lamb's blood until sunrise. Until the rooster crowed three times. And that is all. I swear. I swear. Now please let us leave." Begs Segelin desperately as he fruitlessly pulls against his constraints, your face falling into a frown, understanding immediately what this idiot has done.

"What was the chant?" Wonders Geralt, his brows furrowing in thought while he stares daggers at Segelin who looks down in frustration.

"Uh..It was years ago." Protests Segelin as he tries to think up the chant, "It was Elven. Um..." Suddenly he begins reciting an Elven curse, your eyes going wide in realization as Geralt shares a quick wary glance with you before racing over to his bag of potions, earning a confused expression from the bound man.

"Wh-what is it? The..I...I've done what's been asked. What more can I do?" He wonders in blissful ignorance as you let out a pissed off huff of air.

"You've done more than enough you perverted fool, unless you can keep a fucking striga out of her crypt until a fucking rooster crows three times." You snap while unsheathing your dagger, his face falling in frightened understanding as Geralt fumbles around with his potions, trying to find the right one to take before the action starts.

Segelin's eyes go downcast, his whole aurora turning to pure dread, "You're gonna have to fight it till dawn." He murmurs softly, staring at the far wall as Geralt downs a potion, his eyeballs turning into two pools of inky darkness. You turn, hastily walking for the door as Geralt quickly follows behind you.

"No. No. Come back here! Please. Please! You'd leave a man bound to die in such indignity?" He cries desperately, pulling on his restraints but to no avail.

"You're not a man." Growls Geralt as he takes his place by your side, the two of you walking down the dreary hallway as the snow falls lightly from outside the nearby broken windows, you catching the scent of the beast on the cool night air.

"Remember not to kill the princess, Y/N" Implores your Witcher with a smirk, you simply roll your eyes.

"We'll see if you can last till dawn my love, I don't doubt it." You retort, a suggestive tone hidden in your voice that's most definitely caught by Geralt.

The hallway breaks off into another section of the abandoned castle, you giving him a nod before turning in that direction, deciding it best to take on the royal beast from two sides if he gets caught up in some trouble. You silently walk down the dusty corridor past rotting wood and broken glass, cracked pieces of stone and the occasional human bones.

The enthralling shriek of the striga bellows throughout the castle walls, it's high pitched scratchy scream sounding like a knife that's stabbed you in the ears. Without another thought you race down the entrance-way towards the sounds of a great messy struggle, the princess has found Geralt, and she doesn't seem too pleased.

Turning round another stony corner, you halt dead in your tracks as your scarlet eyes zero in on the striga who's completely manhandling your Witcher, throwing him this way and that, deflecting every punch he's throwing at her. He suddenly rips a lamp from the wall and uses it to crack her across the side of her grotesque wrinkly head. She stumbles back at the violent impact, pain running throughout her body before she quickly recovers, hurling him backwards with a fiercely strong blow.

As Geralt falls onto his back you swiftly race down the hallway as the striga climbs on top of his armored body. She doesn't hear you coming, or when you electrocute her without warning, sending her flying into the nearby wall as she screeches in pain. You stop to help Geralt up, your right hand crackling with energy as he stands and glances down at the light emitting from it, then over to the pissed off princess. Who almost immediately recovers from her abrupt assault, she stands, her umbilical cord dragging as she stalks over towards the two of you.

In an instant she charges, a piercing scream sending your ears into agony at the frantic noise as Geralt lunges for her, grabbing her shoulders as he throws her against the brick wall.

For the next couple hours would you and Geralt take turns beating on the striga, down this hallway and that, into doors and wooden walls, crashing into cabinets and breaking more cracked windows through the struggle. Every fucking time she would recover and throw it back at you ten fold, like nothing had even happened in the first place.

Racing across the hall to Geralt's aid, you electrocute the royal beast just before she's about to bite into his exposed jugular, she falls back as you get closer, preparing to hopefully knock her ugly face unconscious for a while. You're slowly getting more and more fatigued with every couple minutes that fly by, this fucking striga giving you a real run for your money. No matter how much stamina you have.

But as you get within a few feet from her, she whips around, slashing you across the face with her razor sharp claws. Sending you flying into the wall as a hot stream of blood pours out of your freshly opened wounds. Dazed, you try and raise yourself from the ground and watch as Geralt gets pinned down by the striga once again. You blink back your blurry vision, painfully raising your hand as lightning brightly emits from your opened palm and fingertips just as Geralt uses his magic to break the stone flooring from right out under him.

Himself and the striga immediately falling through the broken floor and straight to the crypts below. Rising to your feet, you can feel as your facial wounds begin to fuse the skin back together again, your injury a thing of the past except for the strips of blood that mark it's path.

You hastily limp over to the hole in the ground, looking down to find Geralt laying in the rubble before slowly getting up. Without another thought, you jump down, landing hard on a pile of rocks as the unconscious striga lays motionless next to you. Pulling yourself up from the wreckage, you tiredly shuffle over to the center of the room as Geralt puts an enchantment onto the doorways so that the creature cannot escape.

"I don't know about you but I could think of ten different ways we could have spent tonight." You jest, breathing heavily as you hold onto your aching side, Geralt hums in reply before turning around and freezing, his face morphing into wariness as he gives you a concerned look. You turn around to see what's bothering him, only to find absolutely nothing, which is most definitely the problem.

"Oh fuck." You whisper as Geralt cautiously walks over to you, the both of you looking around the room as you stand back to back.

You hear a dull rapid thudding of a heartbeat before suddenly the striga jumps down from the crumbling ceiling to pounce at Geralt, she lands, whipping her hand across your chest as she picks him up, throwing him into the nearby stone pillar. You stumble back at the abrupt impact, watching as Geralt gets his ass beat by the pissed off striga, it throws him into another pillar, quickly turning around to race for the open doorway. But before it can get through, the white force field knocks her back, she snaps around once more shrieking in rage, bolting on all fours towards Geralt.

You pull your bruised and tired body onto your feet, reaching your hands out to send volts of hot white lightning into the vessel of the striga, sending her into a cruel stone pillar as she screeches in misery. When you look to your left a beautiful streak of orange sunrise emits from an opened spot in the roof, you breath heavily as the striga and Geralt take notice of the sunlight. Your eyes go wide as the creature races for the safety of her dirty crypt, you trailing behind her as Geralt jumps to his feet to follow.

Your boots pound against the gravely stone of the abandoned crypts as you valiantly throw yourself onto the furious princess while she attempts to launch herself into her resting place, she falls into the wall as your hands smack onto the cracked floor.

"Get in the fucking crypt!" You scream at Geralt as he makes a mad dash for the opened tomb, heeding to your rushed words without a second thought.

You watch as he falls into the stony coffin and shutting it just as the striga launches herself onto the thing, her cries and horrid wails sounding noisily throughout the large drafty room. Picking up a fist sized rock you chuck it at her, cracking her perfectly across the back of her grotesque head.

"Your royal pain-in-the-ass, come and get me." You taunt, lightning crackling from your fingertips as the angry princess snaps her attention to you.

She jumps down and immediately pummels you into the rocks as you send harrowing sparks of electricity into her body that thankfully throws her backwards, your vision going blurry once again. Gods your head hurts. Dark spots cloud your sight as you rest on the rocks in exhaustion, your side most definitely hurting as your eyes flutter closed.

You awaken to the sounds of Geralt as he opens up the tomb and steps out to walk over towards the princess, a concerned and astonished expression crossing over his dirty features. Pushing some ruble from your legs you finally stand and slowly walk down the small stairway as Geralt leans down to see if the princess is actually okay, considering her naked mud covered self is facing away from you both.

You can hear as her heartbeat picks up in pace, but before you're able to warn him, the princess turns around and in a confused rage pins him to the ground just as she sinks her teeth into the side of his neck. She falls back in fear as Geralt's pained gaze finds your own bloody face while you race to his side. Your eyes going wide as he lays upon the stony ground, blood seeping out from his mouth and ripped neck as you try and put pressure on it.

Tears slowly begin building up in your shimmering irises, "No. No. No...Geralt, look at me...look at me." You desperately plea as his golden eyes try and stay open for you, but he's slipping as more blood spurts out from his wounds, "Don't you fucking leave me you prick, not now of all times, or places. Geralt!" You cry as his eyelids flutter shut, his breathing slowing down as you try and cover his bleeding neck the best you can, not sure what to do. If you leave and try to get help he'll bleed to death, but if you stay then his chances are less grim but still uncertain.

Your mind swirls with what's the best course of action when suddenly you hear the rushed steps of Triss coming to your aid, and just in the nick of time.

——

Leaning yourself into the welcoming comfort of Triss' plush lounge chair, you watch as she mixes some more healing ingredients into a marble bowl at her work counter. You touch the side of your torso where a white linen wrap tightly hugs around your aching side where you fell on Geralt's silver sword. It throbs under your soft touch, but due to your immaculate healing capabilities your wounds will not bother you in a couple days time.

Turning your head lazily to the right to find a sleeping Geralt laying on the bed, recovering from his own injuries, you idly smile at his peaceful yet considerably less dirty form. Suddenly his eyes fly open, a puzzled expression upon his handsome features as Triss calmly turns around.

She smiles fondly at him, "Your scars. You heal quite nicely, if not for Y/N's blood you would most certainly be dead." She concludes knowingly as Geralt gives her a confused look, "She dropped some of her blood into your wounds to speed up the healing process. It was more effective then I had first realized." He turns to face you, a relieved sigh escaping from his parted lips.

You smile back at him, "Don't worry about the princess, she'll be fine, Triss has arranged for her to stay with the Sisters of Melitele." You chime in with a shrug, "Also she had her first bath."

"You should know Foltest issued a statement. The honorable Lord Ostrit gave his life to slay the vukodlak. Miners are gathering ore for a statue." Adds Triss with a grin as Geralt attempts to get up, "Anyone else would've killed the princess. You both chose not to." She finishes as Geralt painfully rises into a sitting position, a grimace upon his sweaty face.

"We'll take our coin now. I need to get back to my horse." Grunts your eager Witcher as he sits on the side of the bed, pressing his hand against his wrapped torso. Triss only grins in reply, walking over to hand him the leather sack of coins. He quickly takes it with a nod, Triss turning to flash you a knowing smile before excusing herself from the area.

Turning to Geralt with a frown, you search for his eyes as they glance around the room before landing on you, "Lay down you idiot, I watched you bleed out and go as pale as a ghost." You lightly argue, he sets the coins onto the makeshift bed as he finds your frowning gaze once more, "If I hadn't been there to give you some of my blood...fuck...you'd be dead. So don't you dare try and get up or I'll give you a reason to be in pain."

His stern face suddenly breaks out into an amused grin, "I'd rather not face your wrath my dear, although I wouldn't mind a couple more hours here if you decide to lay next to me." He suggests with pleading eyes, ones that know exactly how to win you over.

Leaning into the soft back of your seat, you cross your arms over your chest, "You're sweating, honestly still smell a bit, and your sheets are stained with blood..." You add with an inquiring raise of your brow, "How could I ever say no to such an alluring offer?" He breaks out into a beaming smile at your humored words, his heart just about fluttering in his muscular chest as you suddenly rise to your feet, walking over to him before crawling over to his other side near the wall. You turn to face him, a hand propped up against your head while you watch him lay down once again. His back touches the mattress as he turns his head to face you, a blissful smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"Yes. That's the face right there, the suave steely golden eyes that I've fallen in love with. No matter how beat up you get...you still make me feel things."

"What kind of things, hmm?" He wonders with a lazy smirk as he watches your face break out into a small smile.

Trailing your delicate touch over his old scars, you look over to him with tired eyes, "Things I wouldn't even dare share with the very stars in the sky, nor the moon herself. And I tell her everything." You muse before leaning over to kiss his exposed shoulder. You listen as he hums in delight while you scoot yourself close enough that your whole body is flush against his, "Just sleep for now, love. You've had quite the rough night...and that's putting it lightly. I honestly thought for a moment that...that uh...I might have lost you." He searches for your hand, holding it tightly as a small way to comfort you while he locks eyes with your own downcast ones.

"I wouldn't dare think of ever leaving you alone in this world, not for a second. Y/N you mean more to me then all the coins and jewels combined, more then...uh..."

Laughing you shift your face to gently kiss his bare shoulder before looking up at him once again, "Geralt, there's not a lot of things that you love. That's honestly some short list you've got there...but it matters not, I'm your favorite person in the world and that's all I need to know."

He smiles adoringly at your closing eyes, sleep tenderly calling to you by the second as you hug him closer. He stays silent, wanting to listen to the calming thumps of your relaxed heart beat as your mind drifts into slumber. Closing his own tired eyes, he finally lets sleep take him into darkness where no monsters of any kind wait to hurt him. He's safe in your arms as you're safe in his, the two of you blissfully enjoying one another's company after a taxing hunt.

-

Tagged: @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Path

Breach Masterlist

Warnings: non/dubcon sex (series), general angst

This is dark!Winter Soldier/Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: Uh, yeah, the long awaited update! And we’re very close to an ending. A necessary explanation that the timeline of the MCU has been changed for the purpose of this series. As of this chapter, the year is 1989. Anyways, let’s welcome back James and Luka!

I won’t demand but do ask for feedback; likes, reblogs, replies, comments, asks, especially on this series, but again, enjoy in your own way! <3 Love you!

You’d never been on a plane before. You’d ridden in the cargo bay of a large boat from Europe, hidden amid the barrels and fishing nets. The rest of the way, had been marked by the back of rickety farming trucks and mule-drawn carts. But never a plane.

Weeks on the road, by foot, by car, until you reached the short dock along the winding river; a peculiar, small plane floating on the water. 

James handed the man a handful of bills and turned back to you as he felt the pistol hidden beneath his jacket. Luka sat on your hip and asked a dozen questions as you were helped into the aircraft, the pilot ahead of you and James behind. How did it fly and float? Where were you going? Were you going to space? 

You hushed him as you sat on a crate against the wall and James sat on the next. You turned Luka so that his back rested against your front and the man beside you tapped his gloves fingers on his knee. 

You listened as the pilot flipped switches and cranked the plane to life. It rumbled around you and you latched onto James’ arm without thinking. He leaned in until his arm met yours. Luka laughed in delight as the propellers began to spin.

“It’s alright,” James said in Portugeuse; he warned you not to speak Russian. “Be calm. I rode in worse.”

“Maybe you have, but I do not like the idea of being so high up,” You hissed and retracted your hand. “Must we go so far away?”

“We’ve spent long enough here.” He whispered close to your ear. “And now is the time to go. So many people are moving around, we will hardly be missed.”

“You still haven’t told me where we go,” You hugged Luka as the plan began to move.

“Best I don’t. Yet.” He said pointedly and raised his finger to his lips to signal silence.

You nodded and rocked Luka. The canvas bag on your back held a change of clothes for both of you and the woolen wolf toy you’d knitted him when he was still in the cradles. James told you to bring as little as possible. Enough to survive. He had a bag on his own back stuffed with salted rations, ammunition, and his own clothing. He was geared more to war as you felt little more than a refugee running for the hills.

The constant roar of the engine set you on edge and tugged at your exhausted mind. As the plane lifted from the water in a flurry, you clung tighter to Luka and he grabbed onto your arm to keep you from squeezing him too hard.

“Mama, mama,” He called over the noise. “You will hurt me.”

“Here,” James reached out and took Luka’s arm. “I’ll take him. You should try to rest.”

“Up here?” You let go, reluctant. The boy was your only comfort as you lifted into the clouds. “I don’t think I can.”

“Try.” He ordered. “We will still have far to go after we land.”

“We always have far to go,” You crossed your arms.

He was silent. Again. In those days you’d traveled, he had been even less talkative than before. His brow wrinkled as he forged on, aimed towards some unknown target. He was even more insistent, even more impatient, but you did not have the strength to hope that he was eager for some end to the road. Only another pit stop.

Despite your nerves, despite the way your skin pricked every time you thought of the dearth of land beneath you, and the altitude made your ears ache, your eyelids closed. At first you did not doze, merely tried to hide from the world before you. But your own fatigue overwhelmed your obstinacy and you fell asleep.

In your dreams, you were there again. As you were every time you slept. The bright cell, the anguished cries of your child, the sinister shadow of the soldier. Not James, the soldier. And the doctors poked and prodded at you as they whispered. You screamed but no sound rose and you woke with a start.

You blinked through the haze as the engines whirred still and you glanced over as James quickly folded up a piece of paper. You saw only the picture of a man, taken long ago, blonde hair and square jaw; stoic. You covered your yawn with your arm as James tucked the paper into his pocket, jostling Luka who slept silently against his chest.

“You okay?” He asked. “You were dreaming again.”

“Was I?” You played dumb.

“You make noises,” He said. “Sometimes you speak.”

“Oh,” You shifted on the crate. “How long did I--”

“Mmm,” He shrugged. “We’re almost there.”

“There?” You asked.

“Almost ready to land,” He explained. “You don’t trust me.”

“Why do you say that? I have trusted you, James. You have kept us safe.” You argued.

“But you watch me.” He said. 

You lowered your head and rubbed your hands together. “You are quiet. You… never tell me anything.”

“I tell you what you need to know. Any more and it would be dangerous.” He pushed back his hair. “Can you trust that I am taking us somewhere we will be safe? Somewhere we might be able to stay?”

“And where would be such a fantastical place?” You challenged.

“Another thing I cannot tell,” He smiled grimly. “But will you trust me one last time?”

“Always trust,” You assured. “Always.” You reached over and touched Luka’s cheek. “Even then, you saved him. You took him from those monsters.” You sniffed. “You never had to take me too.”

He bent his head and looked down at the child in his lap. He rubbed Luka’s back and sighed.

“Do you think I would’ve left you?” His voice was brittle.

“You weren’t James then.” You placed your hand over his as his fingers, the metal ones concealed in his leather glove, began to twitch. “You are now, but you still hide from me.”

He shook his head and turned his face away from you. “The soldier, James…” You could barely hear him. “They are the same person and they both hurt you.”

“You are not--” You tucked your fingers under his palm and held his hand as he tried to pull away. “No, you did not know the soldier as well as I. You are not the same, James.”

He kept his face hidden but squeezed your hand. He took a deep breath and rested his head on Luka’s smaller one. “I try…” He muttered. “I try.”

✰

Back on solid ground, you didn’t stop moving. The only thing that changed, was the world around you. At first, the signs remained in Spanish and after a stop at a checkpoint, they turned to English. You could not read that so well and the few people you met, spoke too quickly for you to keep up.

You could surmise that you were in America. You knew that James was born there, it was of the few details he offered about who he was, or who he had been. You stopped at a bank, he waited for the other customers to clear out, and he exchanged his real for dollars. He kept his head down as he returned to you, hidden with Luka behind a cafe, and kept on.

He bought a rusted old Chrysler from a dealer on a dusty road. It rattled but didn’t putter. He stopped only to fill the tank and buy coffee and processed sandwiches from the stations. You stopped once to eat in a restaurant but James had hurried you through the meal as Luka began to shout loudly in Spanish, Russian, then English.

States lines were little more than painted signs on the road. The landscape changed, it grew wetter, lusher, swamps then forests, then sprawling farmlands. James kept away from the cities and forged along the back roads. And then he stopped and stared down an impasse.

You were tired. Days spent sleeping in the car, almost a whole week, with the brooding man and the bored and energetic child. It had all mounted on your shoulders and in your head. You wanted a bed; a real bed. You wanted to stay still.

“What is it?” You asked.

“We’re almost there,” He said.

“Almost where?” You wondered as you unwrapped a candy bar for Luka. A treat you’d saved for him a few days back.

James let out a long breath and turned the wheel as he hit the gas. He didn’t answer as he drove on. He wasn’t going to tell you. You could tell he was anxious. You could tell he was uncertain. And you were too.

You played a game with Luka to distract yourself. He grew tired of it and so you sang with him, out of key, but it eased your nerves. You went silent as you reached the city. You didn’t need a sign or a map. You knew it from the magazine and the television. It was New York.

You looked over at Bucky in disbelief.

“This is--”

“Where I’m from,” He said. “I was born here. Up in Brooklyn.” His voice was wistful. “A very long time ago.”

“Very long,” You chided. “You are not so much older than me.”

“I don’t look it,” He kept his eyes on the road and slowed with the traffic around him. “I…” He swallowed. “I have to meet someone and then I will tell you. Everything.”

“Meet who?” Your heart was fluttering.

“An old friend,” He stopped as the car before him did and he leaned against the car door as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out that paper, newsprint, folded and refolded time and time again. “Here.”

You unfolded it carefully. The article was printed in English. You frowned. “I cannot read so well this language.” You said.

“You can read enough.” He insisted. “You will have to learn to speak it too.”

You squinted and looked over the paper. The same picture of the blonde man; words you recognized; a name. ‘War hero, Captain America, found in Arctic’. Your eyes roved the page; thawed, alive, preserved, miracle. You shook your head in confusion.

“That is my friend,” James said. “He can help us. He knows people. People who can keep us from Hydra.” He eased onto the gas. “I can’t fight alone. Not anymore.”

“You sure they will?” You asked. 

“I know he will.” He gripped the wheel tightly. “If not me, you and Luka.”

“All of us.” You insisted.

He looked grim as he nodded but said nothing more. You folded up the paper and looked around at the crowded buildings.

“Mama, there’s so many people,” Luka chimed. “And everything’s so tall.”

“Yes, Myshka,” You said. “So tall.”

✰

It was dark. You sat in an alley with Luka in your lap, a disposed orange crate beneath you. James stood against the wall, hidden in shadows as he kept his eyes on the opening. Every time a pedestrian passed, he grew tense. You weren’t sure what his plan was, you were only scared. You needed somewhere to sleep, even the car, but he was too nervous to leave you alone, even locked in the old Chrysler.

Then he marched forward. You watched him as he grabbed the silhouette and dragged it into the alley. The man was taller than him, his figure limned in sunlight as he pushed back against James and forced him against the wall. The two men struggled with each other as they grunted.

James caught a fist than an elbow, barely keeping himself from being thrown off his feet. He was holding his punches, refusing to hit the man.

“Steve, Steve!” He hissed. “Hey, punk, it’s me!” He snarled. “Bucky.”

The other man suddenly stopped. He held James, or this person he knew as Bucky, against the wall as he tried to see him through the dark. He released him and stepped back, stunned.

“How--” The man uttered.

“I can’t explain. Not here.” James said as he lowered his voice.

“It can’t be,” Steve gasped. “Bucky. What the hell are you doing scaring me like that?”

“I didn’t know how else… I spotted you just down the street but-- had to take a chance.” James said nervously. “And I-- We need a place to go. Just for the night.”

“Just for the night?” Steve asked. “Is that all?”

“Well, no, but--”

“Wait, you said ‘we’,” Steve interjected. “Who--”

Bucky waved two fingers and signaled you over to him. You stood from beside the stinking bins and neared as Luka asked what was going on. You hushed him and came to stand by James, just behind his shoulder. The moonlight shone past the tall apartments and you saw the man clearer as he saw you in turn. He smiled.

“Buck,” He said. “You--”

“My son, Luka,” James said pointedly then introduced you.

“How did you--”

“We can’t talk out here.” James urged. “I know it’s a lot to ask but I can’t take them anywhere else.”

“It’s nothing, pal,” Steve patted his shoulder. “Stay as long as you need.” He looked between you and James. “So, let me show you my place. Not much…” He inched towards the mouth of the alley. “But it smells much better than this hole.”

[honourablejester]

Domain of Dread: Harrow’s Rock

A homebrew Domain of Dread, because I’m in raptures about Van Richten’s Guide to Ravenloft. I. LOVE. HORROR. FANTASY. Ah. You may have noticed. I went for a more classic New-Englandy, Lovecraftian sort of nautical/cosmic horror, because the two suggested cosmic horror domains lacked a little something for me. LONG POST, to warn you. I got carried away. So:

Domain of Dread: Harrow’s Rock

Domain of Salt and Sleeping

Overview:

Darklord - Aloysius Carroway

Genre – nautical horror, ghost stories, gothic horror, cosmic horror

Hallmarks – maritime ghost stories, cycles of vengeance, eldritch dreamers

Mist Talismans – glass floats full of strange mist, tarnished bronze discs, strange whispering shells

Rage, bitterness and despair endlessly ebb and flow like a wine-dark tide against the salt-stained, hard-bitten coastline of Harrow’s Rock. Ghosts sail the frigid waters around this small, dismal island, and haunt the crumbling manors on its cliffs. Bobbling marsh-lights lure unwary fishers, travellers and smugglers into the depths of Loney Marsh. In the grim hamlet of Harrow Cove, ancient grudges mire the native islanders in endless feuds that not even death can finish. Island legend tells of an ancient, unknown entity that lies slumbering in a vast, flooded cavern beneath Harrow Cliff, its dreams washing out across the island from time to time, bringing fear and horror in their wake.

Harrow’s Rock is a battered island domain of ghosts, blood feuds and grudges, ruled over by a man whose vengeful determination to protect his family resulted in the sacrifice of an entire town, since resurrected by the Powers for his torment. Hope is in short supply here, and welcome even shorter.

Cove Characters – Characters from Harrow’s Rock tend to have a distinctly nautical bent, with few lives that have remained untouched by the waters in some way. They tend towards hardy, weather-beaten folk, stubborn and superstitious, with humans, half-orcs and dwarves being particularly common. Other, more otherworldly lineages (such as genasi, tieflings, and sorcerous lineages) are viewed with fear and superstition, but are more common than most Covefolk would like to admit. Naming conventions on Harrow’s Rock often follow old-fashioned/18th and 19th century British and North American patterns.

Noteworthy Features:

Those familiar with Harrow’s Rock know the following facts:

The four founding families of the island, the Carroways, Merricks, Redmarches and Whitmarshes, control everything of note on Harrow’s Rock.

Pretty much everything on the island or around it is haunted one way or another.

Loney Marsh, Lorn Point Lighthouse and Redmarch Manor are widely considered the most haunted locations on an extremely haunted isle.

The only true settlement on the island is the fishing port of Harrow Cove, where the ‘Harrow’ of Harrow’s Rock supposedly landed. Harrow’s Cove is notably grim and unwelcoming to outsiders, though it’s safer than some of the other areas on the island.

However haunted the land might be, the sea is even more so. It is not safe to sail the waters around Harrow’s Rock. Fisherfolk are the hardiest breed on a hardy island, and ghost pirates are the least of your worries out there.

Islanders do not talk about their dreams. Ever.

Settlements & Sites:

Harrow’s Rock is a grim, rocky island, roughly seven miles by seven miles, with large rocky cliffs to the east of the island and the low expanse of Loney Marsh to the west. Sunshine is rare on this windswept, dismal isle, with mists, rain and furious storms being far more common. The islanders tend to be insular, clannish and deeply suspicious of strangers, a suspicion only surpassed by their abiding and long-entrenched mistrust and hatred of each other.

Harrow’s Rock was known on maps for a good hundred or so years before it was first settled, associated with a person or entity known as ‘Harrow’, but it lay uninhabited until a ship commanded by four adventurers in search of a new home laid anchor there. Those four adventurers were Noah Carroway, Erasmus Merrick, Ervina Redmarch and Loney Whitmarsh, and their families became the four founding and controlling families of Harrow’s Rock.

Harrow Cove:

The port town of Harrow Cove lies nestled in a small bay beneath Harrow Cliff. Historically, the town was controlled fairly evenly between the Carroway and Merrick families. After the death of Ezekiel Carroway, Aloysius made a concerted effort to claim it wholly for his own family, and so it remains today. The town is the heart of Aloysius’ domain, and the Darklord himself still resides at his family’s ancient townhouse on the hill above the docks. Although he keeps largely to himself, having no interest in interacting with the townspeople he loathes, the town is wholly under his control. No one walks the streets and docks of Harrow Cove but that he is aware of it, and no ship enters the port without his permission. Life is grim in Harrow Cove, under the hateful, paranoid eyes of its master and once-destroyer.

Church of the Salt:

Near the docks in Harrow Cove, facing the sea, the stone bell-tower of the Church of the Salt rises above the surrounding buildings. The great double doors of this once proud church have been closed and viciously nailed shut, and while there is life within the walls, it gives a distinct air of a building under siege. The acolytes, priests and priestesses of the Salt know beyond doubt that the Darklord hates them with all his heart, more than anyone else in the town, and only an extremely precarious network of sewers, smugglers and ‘parishioners’ allow them to live and continue their ministry as much as they can. The Church of the Salt fully believe that Aloysius is tainted and empowered by the Dreamer beneath Harrow Cliff, and that as long as the Dreamer and its spawn, the demon child Ambrose, remain alive, no one can truly destroy the Darklord.

Redmarch Manor:

The ancestral home of the Redmarches, one of the founding families of the island, Redmarch Manor overlooks and controls what little arable land Harrow’s Rock can lay claim to. Secure in their control of pretty much all food on the island that doesn’t come from the sea, the scions of the Redmarch Clan are content to stay out of the machinations of the rest of the island. They have, after all, a myriad of their own problems. It takes a lot for anywhere on this island to be considered more haunted, but Redmarch Manor is certainly in the running, the apparent product of an unspecified family curse that may or may not involve the Dreamer. No Redmarch who grew up in its confines comes out entirely sane. The current heir, Rowena Redmarch, more than proves the point, being widely known as a drunk, a vicious fighter who would put Estelle Merrick to shame, and a woman haunted by her ancestors in ways that would also put Estelle Merrick to shame.

Loney Marsh:

Loney Marsh is roughly fourteen square miles of saltmarsh along the western edge of the island. Named for Loney Whitmarsh, the family matriarch who claimed the western half of the island at the founding (and largely wasn’t contested for it), and currently presided over by Eurydicia Marsh, Loney Marsh is known for smugglers, sinkholes, and being the source of roughly every ghost story on the island that doesn’t directly tie to Aloysius or the Dreamer. Of course, that being said, Loney Marsh is also the only place on the island that an enemy of Aloysius’ could conceivably hide, as not even the Darklord with all his powers can fully pierce the mists and morass of the marsh. There are several smugglers in Loney Marsh with ties to Harrow Cove, and perhaps to the Wrack of the Isle as well, and is one of the relatively few safe places to land boats outside of Harrow Cove. Loney Marsh is extremely difficult to navigate without a guide, and is home to any number of haunts and monsters.

Wrack of the Isle:

The Wrack of the Isle is a small islet about a mile and a half offshore on the northeastern side of Harrow’s Rock, wreathed in wooden docks, shacks and shanties, and festooned with the wind-tossed lights of storm lanterns. All the flotsam and jetsam of Harrow’s Rock winds up here, including exiles, outcasts, pirates both living and dead, and more or less the entire remnants of the Merrick family. The Wrack of the Isle is the private fiefdom of Estelle Merrick, so-called ‘Pirate Queen’ of the Wrack, and all who survive on the islet pay their dues to her. It is rumoured, though, that Estelle in her turn pays her dues to someone else. Her cousin, Elias Merrick, the fearsome ghost pirate of Harrow’s Rock and the scourge of all living who sail her seas.

Lorn Point Lighthouse:

High on the cliffs on the northeastern side of Harrow’s Rock, facing out across the waters towards the Wrack of the Isle, stands the ominous tower of Lorn Point Lighthouse, also known locally as Ghost Point Lighthouse. In the early days of Harrow’s Rock, when the Carroways and the Merricks were still on friendly terms, Eochbard Merrick built the lighthouse on Lorn Point to help guide shipping into Harrow Cove. When the Merricks were driven off the island, the lighthouse was abandoned and fell into ruin. Until the night the Mists claimed the island, when a ghostly green light abruptly started shining again from the top of the cliff. Nowadays, it’s widely known on the Rock that the light at Lorn Point does not guide living ships, but ghosts upon the waters instead, and travellers through the mists.

Harrow Cliff and The Dreamer’s Cavern:

Towering over Harrow Cove, dwarfing the town, is the great black face of Harrow Cliff. The highest point on the island, higher even than Lorn Point, the cliff glares balefully out to sea and coldly cradles the town below. The cliff is riddled with caves and carved passages, some by the sea, some by smugglers and townsfolk, and some by the powers know what. Before ever the island was swallowed by the Mists, rumours and legends about Harrow Cliff abounded. It is said that if you follow the passages deep enough, if something guides you through the right twists and turns, you will emerge eventually into the Dreamer’s Cavern. No one knows who or what the Dreamer is, if it might be the ‘Harrow’ for which the island is named, but very few want to find out.

Aloysius Carroway:

Aloysius Carroway was born, the elder of a set of twins, to one of the founding families of the Rock. He and his twin brother Ezekiel grew up in Harrow Cove, at a time when the Carroway and Merrick families were vying increasingly over control of the port, and bad blood had grown between them.

Not that Aloysius and Ezekiel particularly cared. They were focused on their own endeavours. Aloysius, his studies, and Ezekiel, the pride and adventure of the fishing fleets. Though Ezekiel in particular clashed with the Merrick heir, Elias Merrick, a grudging respect soon grew between them, and life was good. Aloysius took over his father’s position as harbourmaster, Ezekiel as captain of the fishing fleet, and between them the brothers earned the respect of Harrow Cove.

Then, one day, a terrible storm swept the seas around Harrow’s Rock, and Ezekiel’s ship was announced lost at sea, with everyone aboard. The Cove was shaken, but Aloysius was devastated. There was nothing in the world he loved more than his twin, and he refused to believe that Ezekiel was truly dead. He dreamed repeatedly that Ezekiel was alive and would return to him, and his adamance, particularly on the subject of dreams, began to make people around him nervous. Harrow’s Rock had long had legends of the Dreamer in the Cavern, you see, and dreams were never a safe subject on the island.

And then Ezekiel did come back to him. In the aftermath of a second terrible storm, nearly two years after the first, a man washed up on the rocky beach underneath Harrow Cliff … with a newborn baby wrapped in seaweed in his arms. It was Ezekiel, and he introduced the child adamantly as his own, as his son Ambrose. He would not say who (or what) the mother had been.

Aloysius was overjoyed. His brother, the other half of his soul, was returned to him, and he had brought a tiny addition to the family along with him, something Aloysius, being not romantically inclined, had never hoped to see without his brother’s help.

No one else on Harrow’s Rock was overjoyed, however. To anyone with even an ounce of superstition, and no one on the Rock would be content with an ounce, everything about Ezekiel’s return reeked of ill-omen. From Aloysius’ dreams, to Ezekiel washing up beneath the Dreamer’s cliff, to the child’s increasingly obvious otherness, it all stank of the Dreamer. Nor did it help that Ezekiel himself was changed, grown as quiet and reticent as his brother after his experience. Rumours and superstition ran rampant in Harrow Cove. Spearheaded, with growing alarm and anger, by Elias Merrick, who could not find the man he had grudgingly grown to respect in this new Ezekiel.

Aloysius would hear none of it. His brother was returned to him, and his nephew, though a little odd, including such details as being able to breathe just fine in the bath, was a cheerful, friendly baby. He would hear no word against them. Not from anyone, for any reason.

Dreams stirred across the island in the wake of Ezekiel’s return. Strange, salty visions, never the same between one person and the next. It could have been nothing more than superstition itself, excited dreams thrown up by paranoia and rumour. But sentiment stirred against the Carroways regardless, and neither Ezekiel nor Aloysius himself were any help.

And then, a year to the day from the moment Ezekiel Carroway had washed up on Harrow Beach, on the day he had claimed for his child’s first birthday, another storm lashed the Rock, fierce enough to dwarf anything the island had seen in a hundred years. And the growing fear and superstition on the island finally flashed to violence.

No one would admit afterwards to having been there when the mob, lead by Elias Merrick, smashed down the door of the Carroway townhouse, while Aloysius was still working in the port, and dragged Ezekiel Carroway out into the street. They searched for the child as well, young Ambrose, but couldn’t find him. Their bloodlust would have to be content with an oddly calm, placid Ezekiel.

And he was calm. Utterly serene. It was said he looked Elias Merrick in the eye, no trace of fear or of the man he had once been as he faced his former friend, and eyed the boathook in his hand with nothing but a small smile. He made no sound and offered no words of protest, even as they beat him almost to death. And no one was there, no one would admit to being there, but still the rumour went that his eyes had been wide open and his mouth still smiling when Elias shoved him angrily off the dock and back into the watery embrace of his ‘lover’.

Aloysius witnessed this. He had been working in the port. He couldn’t miss a mob marching down the Cove’s docks. It took six men, at least two of them Merricks, to hold him back from trying to leap to his brother’s defense. He was almost insane with desperation, with rage. He fought them like a madman, but nothing he did could get him close enough. Ezekiel slipped away.

And when it was done, when his brother had been taken from him, Elias Merrick looked him in the eyes. Elias told him, with the barest hint of remorse, that he ‘did what had to be done’. To protect the island from whatever unnatural force Ezekiel had brought back with him.

There had been no one in the world that Aloysius loved more than his brother. Not a single soul.

He went back to the townhouse. In the midst of his grief and his fury, he found his nephew, Ambrose. His brother’s infant son. Alive, gloriously alive, and hidden in a water tank. Breathing away quite happily to himself, in the gentle quiet underwater. He’d slept through his father’s death. Aloysius, still lost in the serene white seas of rage, could only be glad of that. He retrieved the child. Swore on his brother’s name that he would protect him with his life from that day forth.

And swore, too, that he would not rest a single day of that life until he had driven Elias, the Merricks, and anyone else who might ever be a threat to his family, off the island.

It took almost twenty years. It took every trick and trade, every scrap of fortune and alliance, old and new, that Aloysius possessed. But he drove the Merrick fleet into the ground. Broke their finances. Took Harrow Cove, inch by inch, house by house, back for the Carroways. He took control of vital trade and supplies. Starved the lighthouse at Lorn Point. Drove the family to beggardom or to the sea. Fortune was incidental. The prosperity of Harrow’s Rock as a whole was beside the point. Everything he did from that day forth was to bring Elias Merrick to his knees.

And he succeeded. Beggared and battered further and further back, the Merricks left the island and went to their boats. Went to the sea. And the sea remembered Ezekiel too. Something in it. Whether it was a curse or something else, no Merrick ship could prosper around Harrow’s Rock. Many of them sank. One of them … was Elias’.

Perhaps that on its own would have been enough to draw the attentions of the Powers in the Mists. That single-minded devotion to slow, starvatious vengeance. But grudges were a way of life on Harrow’s Rock, blood feuds as common as bloodlines. One man slowly driving a family into the sea was nothing all that special on the Rock.

But Aloysius loved his brother’s son as well. He loved his nephew. He had taken that oath to Ezekiel’s memory just as firmly to heart. And as Ambrose grew and grew, into a fine, gentle, and terribly shy young man, so the rumours around their family grew in step. Ezekiel had been given back to his lover, whatever monstrosity that might have been, but his son still walked the island, and his brother bent all his powers to protecting him. And Aloysius was different now. He had learned from that day on the dock. He had learned to pay attention. The older Ambrose got, the more desperately paranoid and aware of rumour Aloysius became.

And the dreams swept the island even still. More and more as the years went on. Paranoia. Superstition. The Dreamer in the Cave. Or maybe Ambrose or Aloysius himself. Some taint, of Ezekiel or of the Carroway bloodline itself. Aloysius’ dreams predated the storm, after all. Ezekiel had been his twin. Perhaps the taint had carried, the moment Ezekiel’s ship had first been lost.

Either way, it came to a head once again. The terror on the island, and the fervour of Aloysius’ promise to his brother in response. The Church of the Salt had sprung up, its adherents agitating against the taint of the Dreamer, and Aloysius could see it coming once again. The worst day of his life. The loss of his family and his soul all over again.

He wasn’t going to allow it. Before any man, woman or child on the island dared lay hands on his family again, Aloysius Carroway was going to stop them.

Even if he had to kill each and every one of them to manage it.

There were no dreams, the day a priest of the Salt stood on the docks and loudly denounced Ambrose Carroway as a demon from the deep to be destroyed. Everyone on the island remembered that afterwards. That the night before it all ended, no one dreamed. Of the sea, or of anything. A sleep as deep and dreamless as the dead.

The next day, Aloysius calmly locked his tearful, pleading nephew away. Somewhere safe, somewhere no one on the island would know to look for him. And then he walked back down into town. Down the docks to the Church of the Salt, where he stood patiently waiting until the priests and priestesses came out to meet him.

And when they did, he gave them one chance to repent their words and threats against his nephew. One chance, to stave off his wrath. If they did not, he promised quietly, he would do as Elias had done to his brother. He would return Harrow Cove to the sea. All of it. Every man, woman and child. If they did not leave the island and renounced their threats against his family, then in his brother’s name, for his nephew’s protection, he would sink this town into the sea.

They didn’t listen. Much as the Merricks, twenty years earlier.

That night, for the first time in more than a year, a light appeared at Lorn Point Lighthouse. A green, ghostly light, shining out across the waters. The bells of the Church of the Salt started ringing, moved by no human hand. A thunderous crack echoed beneath the town. A hideous shudder and rumbling shook the island.

And the Mists rolled gently and inexorably across the Rock, as the town of Harrow Cove slumped forward into the sea.

Aloysius Carroway woke up in his townhouse. Exactly as it had been the day before. He stumbled out, dazed, into a Harrow Cove that looked exactly like the town he had just destroyed. Full of the townspeople he had just murdered, though they didn’t seem to remember him doing so. On an island exactly like Harrow’s Rock.

With just a few small differences ...

Aloysius’ Powers and Dominion

Aloysius has statistics similar to that of an Inquisitor of the Mind Fire, though his psionic abilities are either inborn or a potential influence of the Dreamer. His personal prowess pales in comparison to his control over his island and the influence of his dreams, however.

Paranoid Whispers: Aloysius’ awareness of his domain has been heightened by his paranoia. While his perception grows foggier the further from Harrow’s Cove it goes, and holds no dominion whatsoever over the sea and little over Loney Marsh, within Harrow Cove and most of the eastern side of the island, he is aware of all newcomers, and echoes of his dreams inform him of harmful intentions on the part of the islanders.

Wrathful Dreams: Whether consciously or not, Aloysius’ dreams now touch those of all who dwell in his domain. When he dreams of his brother, so do they. When he dreams of his hatred for them, so do they. And if his dreams visit harm upon them, that harm may manifest when they wake. Denizens of Harrow’s Rock do their best to avoid drawing the Darklord’s attention to them, lest he dream of them that night.

Closing the Borders: When Aloysius wishes to close the borders of Harrow’s Rock, great storms whip around the edges of his domain. Those who attempt to sail into those storms are affected as detailed in “The Mists” section in Van Richten’s Guide to Ravenloft.

Aloysius’ Torment

Since the stormswept night when Harrow’s Rock and every soul on it were transported to the Mists, Aloysius has been tormented by the following circumstances:

Since entering the Mists, Aloysius’ dreams of his murdered brother Ezekiel have grown stronger and stronger, tormenting him with the dual convictions that his brother might have survived that day, as he survived the shipwreck before it, and that his brother is furious at his failure to protect his son. Aloysius longs to reach out to and find his brother, but the seas are now controlled by his enemies, and there is no known way to enter the Dreamer’s Cavern, if that is where Ezekiel now resides.

When Aloysius awoke in the newly remade Harrow Cove, he immediately rushed to check on his nephew, but found the locks broken and his nephew nowhere to be seen. He has no idea if Ambrose escaped and hates him too much for his actions to seek him out, or if Ambrose was found and taken by his enemies. None have come forward claiming to have done so, but Aloysius lives in feverish terror that he has failed despite it all and allowed his nephew to be captured or killed.

Aloysius does not and cannot trust a single person on the island. He remembers destroying Harrow Cove and murdering everyone in the town, though he is unsure to what extent it truly happened, and he remains uncertain how many, if any, of the islanders remember that too. His fears whisper that all of them do. They may be right.

While the island and particularly the town of Harrow Cove are his, the waters off the island are a much different story. The seas around Harrow’s Rock are more haunted than they have ever been, and there is one ghost in particular that gladly torments Aloysius by his presence. Elias Merrick sails the seas around the island, and would love to welcome his old friend, should Aloysius ever attempt to leave the safety of the town and his island behind to search for his brother, his nephew, or for freedom. From the light at Lorn Point, Aloysius is convinced that Elias is trying to lure outsiders to Harrow’s Rock to destroy him, and again, he may not be wrong. But outsiders may also be the only people Aloysius could convince to seek the Dreamer’s Cave and Ezekiel.

Roleplaying Aloysius

Personality Trait: “Everyone is out to get me and mine, but not if I get them first.”

Ideal: “Nothing is more important than the protection and memory of those I love.”

Bond: “I will find and keep my family safe, by whatever means necessary.”

Flaw: “Nobody and nothing can be trusted except my family.”

Adventures in Harrow’s Rock:

Harrow’s Rock is the domain of ghost stories, cycles of vengeance, petty feuds, dreaming horrors, and oceanic terrors. It is hostile for reasons both human and otherworldly: the hatred and paranoia of a superstitious populace and a man who watched his family die and seeks to emphatically prevent any potential repeat, and the otherworldly influence of the sea, the caves, and the ‘Dreamer’, whatever the Dreamer may be. If the Dreamer is anything, and not just the frothing superstition of the islanders and the subconscious telepathic powers of some of the island’s bloodlines.

When visitors follow Lorn Point’s light through the mists, or wash up in Loney Marsh or on the rocky beach beneath Harrow Cliff, they are faced with a wild, rocky island inhabited by sullen, paranoid, mistrustful people who want to either get rid of them before they attract attention, or use them for their own ends while trying to hide their own sins in the process. Characters born on the island face nights full of foreign dreams, perhaps vague memories of a great disaster that something tells them they shouldn’t have survived, and the deep conviction that there is a dreaming force on the island that deeply loathes them.

If the characters arrived by ship, they may find that Aloysius has closed the borders and will not let them leave until they help him find Ezekiel, Ambrose, or the way to the Dreamer’s Cavern. Or until they help someone else, the Church of the Salt or the Merricks, to destroy him and end his control over the island and the borders. If they washed up unwillingly on the shore, they may seek out a ship in Harrow Cove, Loney Marsh, or among the pirates of the Wrack of the Isle in an effort to escape again, any of which may embroil them further in the machinations of the Carroways, the Merricks, the Whitmarshes, or the Church of the Salt. Perhaps they might wish to investigate the mystery of the Dreamer themselves, or help individual islanders to avoid Aloysius’ notice, destroy the Darklord, or deal with their own private feuds or hauntings. Or perhaps they might stumble across a shy, fearful genasi youth who is somehow immune to the Darklord’s dreams …

Harrow’s Rock Adventures

d8                         Adventure

1                            In order to be allowed to leave the domain again, a man in Harrow’s Cove named Aloysius Carroway wants the party to search Loney Marsh for his missing nephew, without broadcasting to all and sundry that the youth is missing at all.

2                            Outside the Church of the Salt, a ragged figure implores the party to help her find out what has happened to a shipment of food and medicine destined for the beleaguered faithful inside the walls.

3                            While sailing into Harrow’s Rock, following the ghostly light of a strange lighthouse that isn’t on any map or chart, the party’s ship was captured by a spectral vessel, whose ghostly captain demands that they find some way to lure or trap a man named Aloysius Carroway onto a vessel and out to sea to meet him.

4                            Waking up bewildered and lost in Loney Marsh, the party are found by a shy young water genasi youth who will not tell them his name, and is adamant that they should leave the island immediately before his uncle realises that they’re there. At all costs, he reiterates desperately, they must avoid Harrow Cove.

5                            Landing in Loney Marsh, the party are taken to meet Eurydicia Marsh, who says that of course she’ll help them off the island, if they’ll just do a few little things for her first. Make a few deliveries, to some faithful in Harrow Cove, or her dear friend Estelle on the Wrack of the Isle. A few things like that …

6                            While the party attempt to buy supplies in Harrow Cove, the shopkeep’s terrified son rushes downstairs, saying that he dreamt that Mr. Carroway was very angry with him, though he didn’t know why. To the party’s surprise, the shopkeep takes this incredibly seriously, and immediately tells the son to write a letter of apology to Mr. Carroway and deliver it post haste. And to not be seen doing so.

7                            Delivered by the mists to a rocky beach beneath a great cliff, the party find that the nearest town distinctly does not welcome them, calling them ‘Dreamer’s get’ and either avoiding them or blackly cursing them off the island.

8                            The merchants of the town in Harrow Cove approach the party and ask them to venture further inland, to Redmarch Manor, which controls what little farmable land exists on the island. Deliveries of produce have been delayed lately, and they would be grateful if the party would find out why.

The Dreamer’s Cavern

One of the central mysteries of Harrow’s Rock, the legend of the Dreamer’s Cavern is bound up in the founding of the island, the influence and curses of the families who settled there, potentially the return of Aloysius’ brother at least once and perhaps twice, and perhaps also the origins of Aloysius’ dreaming abilities, if those were not wishful thinking once and an influence of the Dark Powers now.

Who or what the Dreamer might be, or even if there is a Dreamer at all, is something you can decide before running an adventure in Harrow’s Rock. If you choose to have the Dreamer exist and be an active influence on the island, you may wish to draw more heavily from cosmic horror influences as much as ghost stories or nautical elements. If you choose instead to have the Dreamer’s influence simply be a facet of the deeply superstitious nature of the islanders, you might draw more from gothic or psychological horror. If the party seeks an endgame for Harrow’s Rock involving the reveal of the Dreamer, you must decide what influence that will have on Aloysius, the inhabitants of the island, and the potential solution to the Darklord’s curse.

Use the table below to help decide what the Dreamer might be, or come up with your own ideas:

The Dreamer’s Nature:

d6                         Nature

1                            The Dreamer is an aboleth or a kraken seeking escape from a watery prison beneath the island, and attempting to manipulate visitors or islanders into seeking it out to accomplish this. Slaying it will have no effect on Aloysius or his curse.

2                            The Dreamer is a star spawn emissary, the ‘Harrow’ which landed on the island so many centuries ago, and it seeks nothing more nor less than to untether everyone on the island from reality altogether, influencing their dreams, passions and perceptions to shatter their understanding of the world. Revealing its nature may cause Aloysius to question the nature of his actions and his ‘awakening’ in the Mists, but might exacerbate rather than help his curse by further damaging his senses of reality and responsibility for his own actions.

3                            The Dreamer is a sleeping atropal, an unfinished, stillborn god, whose wordless, noisome dreams infect everything in its vicinity with hateful emotions. It has infected many of the oldest family bloodlines on the island with its influence, leading to odd powers and a propensity towards violence among them. Slaying it may help Aloysius regain some clarity regarding his willingness to slaughter a town to ‘save’ his nephew, or it may cause him to surrender to his ‘bloodline’ and double down on his actions.

4                            The Dreamer does not and never did exist. Aloysius’ dreams were his own powers and attachment to his twin, and Ezekiel’s change of personality was simply trauma from the shipwreck and his imprisonment at the hands of Ambrose’s marid mother. Revealing this may drive Aloysius deeper into his sense of justified power and retribution, highlighting that his brother’s death really was for nothing more than superstition and only Aloysius’ own power stands between his nephew and the same fate. It may have the opposite effect on Elias Merrick.

5                            The Dreamer didn’t exist before Harrow’s Rock was drawn into the Mists, but it does now, as a facet of Aloysius’ curse. It is an empty shell, a puppet of the Dark Powers, embodied in the form of Aloysius’ dead brother, Ezekiel. If Aloysius personally encounters this embodiment, he may become completely enthralled and controlled by this puppet, willing to do anything it asks to protect his ‘brother’.

6                            The Dreamer is Ezekiel himself, watery and undead, bound to the Aloysius and the island after death by his unquiet death, his bond with his brother, and the oaths Aloysius took in Ezekiel’s name. His death, and the destruction wrought upon Harrow’s Rock as a result of it, echoes psychically back through time to the island’s founding, manifesting as the Dreamer’s dreams. Depending on whether this Ezekiel approves or is horrified by what his brother has done, it may influence Aloysius in either direction, towards further vengeance or redemption. Destroying this version of the Dreamer will have a very personal and dramatic effect on Aloysius.

Finding Aloysius’ Family

If characters wish to gain Aloysius’ aid and approval to leave Harrow’s Rock once more, he will almost certainly either ask or attempt to trick them into doing one or more of these three things:

Find Ambrose for him on the island, likely searching into Loney Marsh and other areas where his perception is limited.

Go to the Wrack of the Isle and seek evidence of whether Ezekiel has been seen in the waters off the island, or if the Merricks have captured, imprisoned or murdered Ambrose.

Find some way to enter the Cavern of the Dreamer in search of Ezekiel.

If the party successfully finds Ambrose and chooses to bring him to Aloysius, or finds reasonably satisfactory evidence that the Merricks at least have not seen or captured either Ezekiel or Ambrose, Aloysius will open the domain’s borders and give them a mist talisman that will grant them passage out of Harrow’s Rock. If the party chooses to seek entrance to the Dreamer’s Cavern instead, the end result of that will depend on what you have decided the nature of the Dreamer is, and what effect that will have on Aloysius.

Destroying Aloysius

If the party wishes to attempt to remove Aloysius instead, in order to leave the island or after learning more of who he is, there are several parties in Harrow’s Rock would like nothing more than to see Aloysius killed, no matter what effect that might have on the domain of Harrow’s Rock.

The Merrick family want nothing more than revenge on Aloysius for what he did to them. If the party can find some way to distract or blind Aloysius to their approach, Estelle Merrick would be more than happy to lead an invasion of Harrow Cove to cut the bastard’s head off herself. Her cousin, by contrast, the spectral Elias Merrick, would prefer if Aloysius would be tricked or bludgeoned onto a vessel and brought out to sea to meet him, that he might ‘return him to his brother’. Whether or not either of these plans would work is a matter for you to decide.

The Church of the Salt would also like Aloysius destroyed, but they firmly believe that the true evil on the island is the Dreamer, and that all of Aloysius’ powers and abilities stem from this creature. They believe that Ezekiel bore the creature’s infection to his brother, that his demon son sustained it, and that Aloysius cannot truly be killed nor the island freed unless some way is found to destroy the Dreamer’s tools, breach the Dreamer’s Cavern, and destroy the dark entity there. Their goals, therefore, surprisingly align with Aloysius’ at least in some part, in that they want the party to find Ambrose and to find some way into the Dreamer’s Cavern. The divergence lies in what they want the party to do with Ambrose and/or the Dreamer afterwards. To that end, they are perfectly happy for a party to also appear to be working for Aloysius towards those goals, as long as they are sure that the party’s final decision will turn their way.

The Townspeople of Harrow Cove, if they do remember, either partially or fully, what Aloysius once did, might be more than motivated to help destroy him also. However, they more than anyone exist under Aloysius’ direct thumb and are more at risk of drawing his dreams down upon them, so the party would have to find some way to ensure their safety and ensure that the destruction of Harrow Cove will not be repeated before the townspeople would be moved to overtly help.

If the party truly wishes to destroy, rather than attempt to redeem, Aloysius, then the main things they will need to find a way around are his psychic awareness of every stranger in the vicinity of Harrow Cove, his knowledge through his dreams of island natives with ill-intent against him, and the terror that most islanders have of acting against them when he can potentially kill, curse or grievously harm them in his dreams.

Inhabitants of the Island

Once the party has landed on Harrow’s Rock, there are several factors and factions that might complicate any mission they might have, from escape, to aiding or destroying Aloysius, to exploring any of the mysteries of the island. Harrow’s Rock is a domain of ghosts and nautical horrors, nightmares and blood feuds. Getting anywhere on this island will not be an easy task.

Eurydicia Marsh, in Loney Marsh, controls almost all of the hidden travel and smuggling on Harrow’s Rock. Any party hoping to avoid Aloysius’ notice, keep certain secrets from him, or get materials to other allies without his notice, will almost inevitably wind up seeking an audience with her. And Eurydicia is always happy to help, for a price. Nothing comes free, darlings. She is a scion of one of the four families herself, and she has ventures across the island, and echoes of old family pride, that she would like the party’s help with as well.

Rowena Redmarch, in Redmarch Manor, seems the most disconnected of the four family scions from any of the driving plots of Harrow Cove, but the fact remains that she controls all land-based food supply to everyone else on the island. If the haunting of Redmarch Manor, her family curse, or the influence of the Dreamer on her, affect the delivery of those supplies, she will rapidly become relevant once again, even to such powerhouses as Aloysius or Estelle Merrick.

Ambrose Carroway, Aloysius’ nephew, may be the one person on the island, if his father is truly dead and gone, who might have a hope of redeeming Aloysius, but that depends entirely on what has happened to Ambrose since Harrow’s Rock was swallowed by the mist. If Ambrose is still alive, he may be a captive of the Merricks, Eurydicia Marsh, the Church of the Salt, or the Dark Powers. He may have no memory of who he is or what happened to him. He may remember all too well, and want nothing to do with the man who locked him up for his own ‘protection’ and then walked off to slaughter a town. He may want to reach his uncle, but be aware that there are influences on the island, such as the Dreamer or the Dark Powers, who would make any successful intervention difficult at best. He may simply be too traumatised and afraid to know what he wants to do without a little help and guidance.

Ambrose’s mother, if she (/it/they) was not the Dreamer and if she has access to or was trapped within the mists, might also wish to intervene on the island, for either Ambrose or Ezekiel’s sake. Or she might firmly respect Aloysius for his response to Harrow Cove, and wish to support him. She may also have been the force which sank Elias Merrick’s ship and killed him, all those years ago.

Feuds and horrors. The inhabitants of Harrow’s Rock tend towards the sullen, the superstitious and the bloody-minded. The party might encounter any number of hauntings, ghost stories, petty feuds or bloody murders simply by nature of the environment on Harrow’s Rock and the kind of people that inhabit it. Undead and aquatic monsters are common on the island and around it, and if the Dreamer’s influence is more real than not, also psychic influences, aberrations and madness. Even those islanders who want to help or be helped might not show it readily, for fear of Aloysius, the Dreamer, or just an islander mistrust of outsiders.  

[neonthewrite]

Washed Up Winchesters 7

The team is closing in on the solution to their mystery! What's it gonna be, dream team?!

Cowritten with @nightmares06, the writer behind the @brothersapart multiverse!

( 1 ) ( 2 ) ( 3 ) ( 4 ) ( 5 ) ( 6 ) -7- ( 8 )

Story Tag

Read Time ~15 minutes

~~~~~

Jacob didn’t exit the inner roads of the city a moment too soon. A few people had started to wander closer to figure out what he was up to, despite the officer from before trying to convince them to move along. The resident giant didn’t walk among the close-packed buildings very often at all, and it only showed off how tall he was compared to everything else.

He was grateful to have passengers to pay attention to. He couldn’t think too much about his self-consciousness that way.

Once they were back on the outskirts of town, he glanced down often to get more directions from Sam or Minnie (Chase, as usual, didn’t seem too fussed about the direction they went). They eventually led him to a place well outside of town. None of the bumpiest roads even wound up out there, and the hills, covered in brush and rocks, wouldn’t be kind to most people on foot. A few dense clusters of trees formed extra barriers against travel in that direction.

“So you think these, uh, shapeshifter thingies are hiding somewhere in there?” he asked, pausing once again to consult the miniature monster hunters. “I’m not gonna be able to make a stealthy entrance, so what’s the plan?”

"Keep an eye out for any stray animals," Sam cautioned. "We don't know what their animal forms are yet, and skinwalkers are more versatile compared to werewolves like that. Whatever the pack is, anyone they bite will also turn into that animal."

"Who needs stealth when you have a giant on your side?" Dean commented, eliciting a side-eye from Sam. Likely his younger brother was remembering how trigger happy Dean had been just a few short hours back. Though considering the part that past giants had played in Blefuscu's history, it was understandable that the mini-monster hunter would feel threatened when seeing another one spring to life from the story books.

“Right?” Chase agreed. “These skinwalker thingies had no idea what they were getting into, invading Lilliput.”

Jacob’s mouth twisted into a skeptical frown. He might be big, and he’d used that to his advantage once or twice, but it didn’t make him an expert here. The monster hunting expertise all settled on Sam and Dean’s shoulders. He was prepared to help however they might need, but he didn’t like the thought of living as an open challenge to any monster that wanted to try something.

Minnie fidgeted. Her brow furrowed. “Can we just find them and get it over with?”

Jacob cupped his hand closer to his chest. “Yeah,” he tried to sound reassuring. “Just gonna …” he reached down to the tops of the nearest grouping of trees, brushing his hands over them. The young, supple trees bent back at his coaxing, though not without some creaking branches and snapping twigs, and birds swarmed away from his hand like flies.

“Can you guys tell if there’s any tracks or anything through there?”

Dean gave Jacob such a flat look that it could have dried up an ocean. Dried it up and left cracked salt flats behind. "What kind of tracks do you think we can spot from here, after you go messin' around with everything?" He pointed at the way the area had been affected by Jacob's movement.

Jacob glanced down and, in an overplayed show of drawing his hand back, let the trees spring into place with a cascade of yet more twigs and leaves. “I didn’t think they’d be climbing around in the trees,” he defended. As for how much they could have seen on the ground … he saw the point. He was too used to the Lilliputians being able to see much more detail than he ever could, and never paused to think about how high up he had everyone.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Chase said, patting Jacob’s palm. “Ya did your best. You said it yourself, you won’t be sneaking up on ‘em.”

Jacob rolled his eyes and sighed, and some of the birds that were swarming from his recent disturbance scattered even further in the sudden breeze. “Right.”

He pressed forward, this time not paying much mind to the clusters of trees unless there was motion among them. Usually, it was a fox or another flock of birds, all irate for his presence. As he navigated around boulders jutting out of the ground and stepped over thick underbrush, he understood why no one made much use of the area. If he tried to set his passengers down right then, Chase and Minnie would definitely get themselves tangled up in something. Sam and Dean might fare only a little better.

As he crested the first hill, he paused. “I didn’t really see much in there,” he admitted. “Maybe I went the wrong way?”

It was Minnie who spoke up next, and she was staring down at a clearing at the foot of the hill. “There’s a flock of sheep.”

Chase snickered. “Jeez, Minnie, do we need to get you more lambs to look after? Sheep are on your brain today.”

She pointed at the clearing and shot him a scathing glare. “They’re on my brain because they’re there, Chase!”

"She's right," Sam put in helpfully, interrupting the siblings.

Indeed, the clearing ahead was populated with a peacefully grazing herd of sheep. Several "Baas" filtered back to the group in Jacob's hand. The giant had not gone unnoticed by the sheep, as most of them had given a wide berth to the side Jacob stood closest to.

Dean's eyes lit up with excitement. "If there's sheep, it's the perfect kind of place for shifters to make themselves right at home, especially if they're holed up for a while until they think they’re forgotten," he pointed out. "We should check the place out, see if there's any predators nearby that might be stalking the herd."

"I wonder how they all got over here," Minnie mused, even as Jacob looked for a good path down the gentle slope of the hill.

"Maybe the shapeshifter guys took 'em," Chase said. "We'll see if someone back in town is missing any."

"Just hope I won't scare 'em off," Jacob muttered. Even at his lowest volume, the four on his hand wouldn't miss his concern. Just his appearance over the crest of the hill had made some of the sheep nervous, from what he could see. He inched along towards the clearing, trying not to cause a landslide as he did.

Dean was unable to stop from bouncing on his heels while they waited, unaccustomed to waiting around for someone else to do all the work while he was stuck in the air.

"The longer you take, the more time they have to run off," he helpfully reminded Jacob, which got an annoyed look sent back at him from Sam.

"If any make a break for it, we'll just have Jake round them up," Sam said dryly.

Jacob sent a skeptical glance at his hand, but didn't argue. He had never tried to actually pick up the Lilliputian livestock before. At most, there were a few herds of cattle that allowed him to touch their backs. Mostly the animals still avoided him, and he didn't exactly blame them. Even now, his shadow over the hill crept over that green clearing and the sheep weren't any more curious about him than before.

If they did turn out to be stolen or lost, he'd probably be the one carrying them back over the hill. Hopefully the others would manage to help him keep from spooking the whole lot.

As soon as he was close enough, he crouched down, one hand braced on the ground while the other lowered his passengers to the grass. "Just gimme a shout if you spot trouble," he urged them.

Chase gave a thumbs up while he helped Minnie hop down from the hand. Then, before he could chirp out a response, he had to suppress a sneeze in the crook of his arm. "Oh yeah, I'm allergic to the air I guess," he complained.

"Just don't scare the flock," Minnie scolded.

Dean followed behind the younger pair of siblings, scowling. "We don't know where the skinwalkers are, so you two need to stick close to us," he told them sharply. "Chase, you're with me. Got it?"

"That means it's me and you," Sam said to Minnie with a smile. "Don't go out of earshot of the others, and watch my back."

“Oh, I definitely don’t plan to get lost out here,” Minnie muttered back. Chase would never let her live it down. That was another perk to having a giant so nearby. Jacob would be able to find them if they shouted for him, and he could pluck them right out of danger if they needed. Even so, she stuck close to Sam as she scanned the area for any signs of something out of the ordinary.

By contrast, Chase stuck close to Dean out of convenience more than wariness. He didn't want to get lost out there either. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s bothered this flock yet,” he noted. “Think the guys are nearby still?”

"We're here to find out," Dean said, more sharply than he meant. The fact that they didn't know for sure unnerved him more than usual. Combine that with the fact that they were well away from their familiar stomping grounds in Blefuscu, and he was on edge.

The secluded field hardly seemed the place for a dangerous pack of shapeshifters, but Dean had seen weirder in his time as a hunter. They could take no chances. Selecting a direction that led away from Sam's pair and Jacob, he took point, leading Chase into the flock of sheep to search for their owners.

"Baa."

Dean ignored the sound of the sheep as they milled restlessly around the intruders, trying to spot any color in the field of white. The sheep had to have gotten this far up the hills somehow, but he wasn't seeing any sign of their caretakers.

"Baa."

This time, the sound of an impatient sheep was shortly followed by one of them headbutting into Dean's legs. Caught off-guard, he toppled into the field and vanished among the woolly animals.

"Oh shit! Dean!" Chase blurted, a smile only briefly flashing across his face. When the determined monster hunter didn't catch himself or spring right back up, he lurched over to where he'd seen him fall over. The sheep were restless at this point, no doubt owed in part to their sudden intrusion. Chase had to sidle around several of them before he could find where Dean landed.

He patted one nearby sheep's head distractedly as he knelt down. "Scuse me." He got his hands on Dean's arm to help pull him up to a seat. "What happened?"

Dean rubbed his head, blinking in confusion. "I think... the sheep?"

The herd was growing more restless by the minute now, a multitude of baas surrounding the pair. As Dean got unsteadily to his feet, a second sheep rammed its head into his legs and sent him tumbling down again.

"Ah, jeez!" Chase groused. How Minnie could keep a whole flock of sheep in line, he would never know. "Calm down, guys!" He had to step around one uppity ram that had wandered it's way between him and Dean in all the milling around.

"They don't seem to like us much," he said, exasperated. "Maybe we oughta just go around the flock instead of through it."

He knelt down to help once again, and this time one of the sheep let out an indignant baaa right next to his ear. Slapping a hand over his ear, Chase frowned. "Oh calm down a second, wouldja? We're going!"

Dean ended up needing Chase's help to stand, surrounded by the annoyed bleats of the flock. He scowled right back at them. "Seriously, since when are sheep this irritating?"

~~~

Not far away, Sam was having similar issues.

He was unable to go more than a few steps before another sheep would try to headbutt him off his feet. However, Minnie was distinctly left alone in comparison, with all the ire of the sheep directed towards the younger Winchester brother.

Minnie frowned and scanned the handful of sheep currently swarming around Sam. They didn't look sickly, or even all that scared. They were just annoyed by Sam for some reason.

"Hey, hey," she said gently, clicking her tongue at them. "What got you all worked up?" One sheep allowed her to pat its head once before shaking her off and returning to bleat at Sam.

She glanced across the flock to see Chase and Dean having similar problems, with a sea of indignant sheep in between the two groups. One look over her shoulder showed that Jacob hadn't moved and was poorly hiding his bemusement with the sight, so he probably couldn't be to blame for the flock's upset.

"Sam, we should--" she cut herself off, seeing him still struggling to keep his feet. Like her brother, she had to sidle her way past the sheep to get close enough to help him up. "We should check around the edges first, maybe. I dunno if I've ever seen a flock get this annoyed before."

“Yeah, let’s--” Whatever Sam was going to say was cut off when a ram headbutted him directly in the ass and sent him to faceplant in the dirt.

“Sam!”

Even from across the field, Dean had seen that Sam was in the same predicament as he was. The sheep were oddly focused on the Winchester brothers, while mostly ignoring the Lisongs. Frustrated, Dean pulled out his gun only to remember that it was out-of-commission from the saltwater. “Son of a bitc--”

He was knocked to the grass yet again, surrounded by increasingly agitated sheep. Chase, standing near him, made the mistake of trying to catch his fall. It ended with them both toppling into the sea of woolly troublemakers.

Minnie huffed in exasperation. “Chaaase,” she drawled, only to glance up as a shadow neared the flock.

“Okay, guys,” Jacob murmured, finally deciding he needed to step in. The first couple times the sheep had knocked Dean over, he’d been amused, but at this rate they’d never figure anything out. He would have to risk spooking some of the herd if only to deal with them later. He leaned forward, one hand planted firmly and flattening some sheep-free grass, while the other dipped down towards the flock where he’d last seen Dean and Chase fall over.

To his surprise, the sheep didn’t scatter in all directions from his shadow. At best, the ones near Dean and Chase bleated angrily and shuffled out of the way, giving him the space to scoop them both off the grass.

Before Jacob could do so, Dean bounded to his feet, fed up with the entire situation.

"That's ENOUGH!" he bellowed, yanking out his silver knife and brandishing it at the flock. "The next sheep to headbutt me gets its wool sheared off early!"

That somehow riled the sheep up even more, though they didn’t charge at him while the shadow of Jacob’s hand hovered overhead. Chase managed to regain his feet, suppressing a few sneezes from falling in the grass. All around the pair, the sheep bleated and a ram stomped just outside of Dean’s reach.

Jacob saw it before Dean or Chase did. While the ram in front made its odd show of defiance, another one edged towards them from behind. “Okay,” he muttered, “this is getting ridiculous.”

He reached down and plucked both of them up, gently herding them towards his palm before whisking them up. Once they were hovering over the heads of the many indignant baaas of the flock, he focused on Sam and Minnie.

The sheep still didn’t want to let Sam up, especially after Dean’s outburst, and they’d managed to shuffle Minnie away from him. Two fingers scooped under Sam’s middle to haul him up before the sheep smothered him or started to bite at him or something. Once he deposited Sam with the other two on his hand, he finally offered a hand up for Minnie and explained his hasty actions. “This isn’t working. You guys are gonna get trampled if this keeps up.”

Finally free of the sheep thanks to Jacob's intervention, Dean was able to bring himself to stand on his own two feet, with no fear of getting butted over yet again.

"What is with these sheep?" he demanded angrily at the air. "Don't they know we're trying to help? If there's a pack of wolves around, it's only a matter of time for them!"

That was when it clicked for Sam.

"Holy shit," he breathed. "Holy shit."

[celticcrossanon]

Full Order of Service (as the one below is missing pages)

from https://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/wireStory/order-service-funeral-prince-philip-77134393

LONDON -- This is the Order of Service for the funeral of Prince Philip on Saturday:

ORDER OF SERVICE

All stand. The Coffin is removed from the Land Rover and is carried to the West Steps where it rests at 3pm for the one minute National Silence.

The Coffin is then carried to the Catafalque in the Quire.

Members of the Royal Family who have walked in the Procession are conducted to their places in the Quire.

Meanwhile, the choir sings

THE SENTENCES

I AM the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.

John 11. 25-26

I KNOW that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: Whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another.

Job 19. 25-27

WE brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.

1 Timothy 6. 7, Job 1. 21

William Croft (1678-1727)

All remain standing. The Dean of Windsor shall say

THE BIDDING

WE are here today in St George’s Chapel to commit into the hands of God the soul of his servant Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. With grateful hearts, we remember the many ways in which his long life has been a blessing to us. We have been inspired by his unwavering loyalty to our Queen, by his service to the Nation and the Commonwealth, by his courage, fortitude and faith. Our lives have been enriched through the challenges that he has set us, the encouragement that he has given us, his kindness, humour and humanity. We therefore pray that God will give us grace to follow his example, and that, with our brother Philip, at the last, we shall know the joys of life eternal.

All sit. The choir sings

ETERNAL Father, strong to save,

Whose arm doth bind the restless wave,

Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep

Its own appointed limits keep;

O hear us when we cry to thee

For those in peril on the sea.

O Saviour, whose almighty word

The winds and waves submissive heard,

Who walkedst on the foaming deep,

And calm amid its rage didst sleep:

O hear us when we cry to thee

For those in peril on the sea.

O sacred Spirit, who didst brood

Upon the chaos dark and rude,

Who bad’st its angry tumult cease,

And gavest light and life and peace:

O hear us when we cry to thee

For those in peril on the sea.

O Trinity of love and power,

Our brethren shield in danger’s hour;

From rock and tempest, fire and foe,

Protect them whereso’er they go:

And ever let there rise to thee

Glad hymns of praise from land and sea.

Melita by J. B. Dykes (1823-76) William Whiting (1825-78)

Arranged by James Vivian (b. 1974)5

All remain seated.

THE FIRST LESSON

Ecclesiasticus 43. 11-26

read by the Dean of Windsor

LOOK at the rainbow and praise its Maker; it shines with a supreme beauty, rounding the sky with its gleaming arc, a bow bent by the hands of the Most High. His command speeds the snow storm and sends the swift lightning to execute his sentence. To that end the storehouses are opened, and the clouds fly out like birds. By his mighty power the clouds are piled up and the hailstones broken small. The crash of his thunder makes the earth writhe, and, when he appears, an earthquake shakes the hills. At his will the south wind blows, the squall from the north and the hurricane. He scatters the snow-flakes like birds alighting; they settle like a swarm of locusts. The eye is dazzled by their beautiful whiteness, and as they fall the mind is entranced. He spreads frost on the earth like salt, and icicles form like pointed stakes. A cold blast from the north, and ice grows hard on the water, settling on every pool, as though the water were putting on a breastplate. He consumes the hills, scorches the wilderness, and withers the grass like fire. Cloudy weather quickly puts all to rights, and dew brings welcome relief after heat. By the power of his thought he tamed the deep and planted it with islands. Those who sail the sea tell stories of its dangers, which astonish all who hear them; in it are strange and wonderful creatures, all kinds of living things and huge sea-monsters. By his own action he achieves his end, and by his word all things are held together.

All remain seated as the choir sings

THE JUBILATE

O BE joyful in the Lord, all ye lands:

serve the Lord with gladness,

and come before his presence with a song.

Be ye sure that the Lord he is God:

it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves;

we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.

O go your way into his gates with thanksgiving,

and into his courts with praise:

be thankful unto him, and speak good of his Name.

For the Lord is gracious, his mercy is everlasting:

and his truth endureth from generation to generation.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son: and to the Holy Ghost;

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be:

world without end. Amen.

Benjamin Britten (1913-76), in C

Written for St George’s Chapel, Windsor at the request of The Duke of Edinburgh

All remain seated.

THE SECOND LESSON

John 11. 21-27

read by the Archbishop of Canterbury

MARTHA said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. And even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?” She said to him, “Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, he who is coming into the world.”

All remain seated as the choir sings

PSALM 104

The Duke of Edinburgh requested that Psalm 104 should be set to music by William Lovelady.

Originally composed as a cantata in three movements, it was first sung in honour of His Royal Highness’s 75th Birthday.

MY SOUL give praise unto the Lord of heaven,

In majesty and honour clothed;

The earth he made will not be moved,

The seas he made to be its robe. Give praise.

The waters rise above the highest mountain,

And flow down to the vales and leas;

At springs, wild asses quench their thirst,

And birds make nest amid the trees.

The trees the Lord has made are full of vigour,

The fir tree is a home for storks;

Wild goats find refuge in the hills,

From foes the conies shelter in the rocks.

My soul give praise unto the Lord of heaven,

In majesty and honour clothed;

The earth he made will not be moved,

The seas he made to be its robe. Give praise.7

O Lord, how manifold is your creation,

All things in wisdom you provide;

You give your riches to the earth,

And to the sea so great and wide.

You take your creatures breath and life is ended,

Your breath goes forth and life begins;

Your hand renews the face of earth,

Your praise my whole life I will sing.

My soul give praise unto the Lord of heaven,

In majesty and honour clothed;

The earth he made will not be moved,

The seas he made to be its robe. Give praise.

William Lovelady (b. 1945) abridged and arranged for choir and organ by James Vivian (b. 1974) with the composer’s permission

Words from Psalm 104, adapted by Sam Dyer (b. 1945)

The choir sings

THE LESSER LITANY

Let us pray.

All sit or kneel.

LORD, have mercy upon us.

Christ, have mercy upon us.

Lord, have mercy upon us.

THE LORD’S PRAYER

OUR Father, which art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy Name;

Thy kingdom come;

Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

As we forgive them that trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation;

But deliver us from evil. Amen.

THE RESPONSES

ENTER not into judgement with thy servant, O Lord.

For in thy sight shall no man living be justified.

Grant unto him eternal rest.

And let light perpetual shine upon him.

We believe verily to see the goodness of the Lord.

In the land of the living.

O Lord, hear our prayer.

And let our cry come unto thee.

William Smith (1603-45), adapted by Roger Judd, MVO (b. 1944)

The Lord’s Prayer, Music by Robert Stone (1516-1613) from John Day’s Certaine Notes 1565

THE COLLECT

The Dean of Windsor shall say

O MERCIFUL God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who is the resurrection and the life; in whom whosoever believeth shall live, though he die; and whosoever liveth, and believeth in him, shall not die eternally; who also hath taught us by his Holy Apostle Saint Paul, not to be sorry, as men without hope, for them that sleep in him: We meekly beseech thee, O Father that, when we shall depart this life, we may rest in him, as our hope is this our brother doth; and that, at the general resurrection in the last day, we may be found acceptable in thy sight; and receive that blessing, which thy well-beloved Son shall then pronounce to all that love and fear thee, saying, Come ye blessed children of my Father; receive the kingdom prepared for you from the beginning of the world. Grant this we beseech thee, O merciful Father through Jesus Christ, our Mediator and Redeemer. Amen.

THE PRAYERS

The Archbishop of Canterbury shall say

O ETERNAL God, before whose face the generations rise and pass away, thyself unchanged, abiding, we bless thy holy name for all who have completed their earthly course in thy faith and following, and are now at rest; we remember before thee this day Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, rendering thanks unto thee-for his resolute faith and loyalty, for his high sense of duty and integrity, for his life of service to the Nation and Commonwealth, and for the courage and inspiration of his leadership. To him, with all the faithful departed, grant thy peace; Let light perpetual shine upon them; and in thy loving wisdom and almighty power work in them the good purpose of thy perfect will; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

The Dean of Windsor, Register of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, shall say

O LORD, who didst give to thy servant Saint George grace to lay aside the fear of man, and to be faithful even unto death: Grant that we, unmindful of worldly honour, may fight the wrong, uphold thy rule, and serve thee to our lives’ end; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

GOD save our gracious Sovereign and all the Companions, living and departed, of the Most Honourable and Noble Order of The Garter. Amen.

O GOD of the spirits of all flesh, we praise thy holy name for thy servant Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, who has left us a fair pattern of valiant and true knighthood; grant unto him the assurance of thine ancient promise that thou wilt ever be with those who go down to the sea in ships and occupy their business in great waters. And we beseech thee that, following his good example and strengthened by his fellowship, we may at the last, together with him, be partakers of thy heavenly kingdom; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

The Archbishop of Canterbury shall say

O LORD God, when thou givest to thy servants to endeavour any great matter, grant us also to know that it is not the beginning, but the continuing of the same unto the end, until it be thoroughly finished, which yieldeth the true glory; through him, who for the finishing of thy work laid down his life, our Redeemer, Jesus Christ. Amen.

ALMIGHTY God, Father of all mercies and giver of all comfort: Deal graciously, we pray thee, with those who mourn; that casting every care on thee they may know the consolation of thy love; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.10

All sit as the choir sings

THE ANTHEM

GIVE rest, O Christ, to thy servant with thy Saints:

where sorrow and pain are no more;

neither sighing, but life everlasting.

Thou only art immortal, the Creator and Maker of man:

And we are mortal, formed of the earth, and unto earth shall we return.

For so thou didst ordain, when thou createdest me, saying,

Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.

All we go down to the dust; and, weeping, o’er the grave,

we make our song: Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.

Russian Kontakion of the Departed

Translated William John Birkbeck (1859-1916)

Kiev Melody, arranged by Sir Walter Parratt, KCVO (1841-1924)

All stand.

As the Coffin is lowered into the Royal Vault, the Dean of Windsor shall say

THE COMMENDATION

GO forth upon thy journey from this world, O Christian soul,

In the name of God the Father Almighty who created thee;

In the name of Jesus Christ who suffered for thee;

In the name of the Holy Spirit who strengtheneth thee;

May thy portion this day be in peace,

and thy dwelling in the heavenly Jerusalem. Amen.

All remain standing. Garter Principal King of Arms proclaims

THE STYLES AND TITLES OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE PHILIP DUKE OF EDINBURGH

THUS it hath pleased Almighty God to take out of this transitory life unto his divine mercy the late most Illustrious and most Exalted Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, Earl of Merioneth and Baron Greenwich, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, Knight of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, Member of the Order of Merit, Knight Grand Cross of the Royal Victorian Order upon whom had been conferred the Royal Victorian Chain, Grand Master and Knight Grand Cross of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, Lord

High Admiral of the United Kingdom, One of Her Majesty’s Most Honourable Privy Council, Admiral of the Fleet, Field Marshal in the Army and Marshal of the Royal Air Force, Husband of Her Most Excellent Majesty Elizabeth the Second by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories, Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, Sovereign of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, whom may God preserve and bless with long life, health and honour and all worldly happiness.

Thereafter, the Pipe Major of The Royal Regiment of Scotland plays

A LAMENT

The Buglers of the Royal Marines sound

THE LAST POST

After a period of silence the State Trumpeters of the Household Cavalry sound

REVEILLE

The Buglers of the Royal Marines sound

ACTION STATIONS

Then the Archbishop of Canterbury pronounces

THE BLESSING

All remain standing as the choir sings

THE NATIONAL ANTHEM

GOD save our gracious Queen,

Long live our noble Queen,

God save The Queen!

Send her victorious,

Happy and glorious,

Long to reign over us,

God save The Queen!

All remain standing in their places as Her Majesty The Queen, Members of the Royal Family and Members of The Duke of Edinburgh’s Family leave the Chapel via the Galilee Porch escorted by the Dean of Windsor and the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Music after the service

Luke Bond, Assistant Director of Music, St George’s Chapel, will play

Prelude and Fugue in C minor BWV 546 Johann Sebastian Bach

END