#a very fletcher spooky day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Co-written with @southerngracela

Part 1

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Series Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide.

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone.

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue.

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood.

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you.

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places. Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room. The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host.

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone. With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream.

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. “Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat “Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall.

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne.

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize” you bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Aalongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background. And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway.

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath.

And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his.

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes. With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!"

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet.

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away.

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask.

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system.

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow.

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand.

His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission.

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you Princess? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did.

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even,

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out 3 vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby.

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his.

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** WIYPT Tag List:

Everything

@momobaby227 @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @nerdofthefandoms @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @what-just-happened-bro @jennmurawski13 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @jtargaryen18 @redhairedfeistynerd @charmed-asylum @saiyanprincessswanie @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @jhayes6984 @anika-ann @icanfeelastormbrewing @gigglegirl77 @princess-evans-addict @mes-2016 @theladybiers @void-hoechlin

Ransom Drysdale

@patzammit @icandothisallday @capsiclewinter @this-is-serenaa @alexakeyloveloki @perplexed3001 @twittytelly @kelbabyblue @maan24

If your name appears above but the tag isn’t live please let me know.

#halloween challenge #j's haunted house 2020 #jshauntedhouse2020 #dark ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #murder he wrote #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale fanfiction #knives out #knives out fanfic

391 notes · View notes

animaniahq · 3 years

Photo

Danny Fenton || 24 || Paranormal Investigator || Amity Park

"Actually dad, I want to be an astronaut."

✨ Biography:

Growing up Danny Fenton was a pretty average kid. He wanted to be an astronaut, but his grades weren’t the best. He didn’t have many friends, but he did have Sam and Tucker. The three were the best of friends, though Danny often felt closer to Tucker. Sam was their token goth friend, Tucker was the brains, and Danny was, well, Danny. He never thought of himself as anything special, though his mother always told him otherwise. He had an annoying older sister, Jazz, who always seemed to butt her nose in where it didn’t belong. His dad was very eccentric. Both of his parents were, but his dad was a little insane. Not really in a bad way, just that he was obsessed with ghosts. His parents wanted to rid the world of ghosts while also studying them. The basement of their house was practically a science lab for studying the supernatural and one day Danny and Sam were looking around at his parents’ newly build ‘ghost portal.’ Supposedly it teleported one to the ghost realm but they could never get it to work. After messing around with the portal one day something happened. Danny’s DNA was crossed with ectoplasm and he became a hybrid of a ghost and human. It was strange, because he could kind of turn it on and off. He wasn’t always sure how to control his powers, but he managed. With becoming part ghost though he accidentally released actual ghosts from the portal and into Amity Park. He made a vow though; to rid Amity Park of ghosts and keep the town safe.

He’s been doing it since he was fourteen. A decade later he’s pretty much mastered his ghost powers. Sam and Tucker have been there for him the whole time to support him, as well as keep his ghost powers a secret. His dreams of being an astronaut were abandoned, but he did end up going to school. Until he was kicked out for having poor grades. That didn’t stop him from trying his best though! He may have been a lazy student, but he knew he needed to get his butt in gear to be successful in life. It was difficult somedays as he was pretty much a freak by societal standards, but hey, he manages. Currently, he works for himself and sometimes his parents. He’s deemed himself a paranormal investigator and works mostly with Tucker and Sam. It’s crazy how many people come to him, telling them their house is haunted and such. With the knowledge he’s gained of ghosts over the years he’s pretty much perfected the art of ridding the world of ghosts. The problem is that there’s just so many and he can never seem to catch a break. He’s sure one day things will slow down, but for now he uses his ghost powers to help people while trying to live a somewhat normal life.

✨Personal:

Species: Half-Ghost Sexuality: up to player Pronouns: up to player Favorite Song: up to player Big Three: up to player

✨Connections:

Norman Babcock: He’s probably the only person who can see Danny in his ghost form. It scares Danny that he can and he tries to steer clear of the guy as much as he can. Somehow, though, Norman always seems to pop up.

Shaggy Rogers: Danny thinks the guy is super cool, but for some reason he seems terrified of Danny. He never understood why, maybe Shaggy just has some sort of internal radar that can sense all things ghostly and spooky. Regardless, Danny just tries his best to be friendly to him.

Dipper Pines: The kid asks way too many questions. He’s a huge fan of Danny’s work, but can be a bit overbearing for Danny’s taste. He’s a nice kid and all, but Danny tries to keep his answers vague when talking to him.

Based On: Danny from Danny Phantom Faceclaim: Elliot Fletcher FC Change: Not Allowed Availability: Open

#disney rp #disney rpg #rp #rpg #cartoon rp #cartoon rpg #town rp #town rpg #bio rp #bio rpg #open rp #open rpg #danny phantom #danny fenton #elliot fletcher #20s #male #open #open male

2 notes · View notes

roman-writing · 4 years

Text

you search the mountain (5/6)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmore / Sylvanas Windrunner

Rating: M

Wordcount: 21,557

Summary: The borders of Kul Tiras are closed to all outsiders. Sylvanas, Banshee Queen, hopes to use the impending civil war in Boralus to her advantage, and thereby lure Kul Tiras to the side of the Horde. A Drust AU

Content Advisory: horror, blood, gore, typical Drustvar spooky deer shit

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

On the road to Watermill Hill, it began to snow. Sylvanas could smell it before it arrived. The sky grew heavy and grey. The first flakes dusted the shoulders of the troops. They cottoned onto buff coats and helms, onto cuirasses and the curve of pauldrons. The fields were blanketed, and the boughs of trees began to sag beneath the additional weight. Slowly, the land went quiet and white, until the stamp of feet and horse's hooves faded to a shadow of itself, until the mountains to the west were utterly shrouded from sight, until not even the heavy carts pulled by teams of oxen could churn together the snow and mud, so that the world seemed pall-wrapt.

It was deep enough that it cast a strange spell over Drustvar, but not so deep that it deterred their march. The long line of troops headed ever northward. They had left behind a garrison at Barrowknoll, but only as few as they could spare. Most of the troops were all they would have for the winter ahead and the battles that awaited them. Yet even the thunderous march of an army faded beneath the weight of snow in the air and on the ground, until they walked, ghost-like, through the pale haze of the earth.

By the time they reached the river south of Fallhaven on the second day, the snow had lost all of its charm. More often than not, Sylvanas could hear the grumblings of soldiers as they pitched their tents at night. They would rub their gloved hands together and stamp their feet, cursing the temperature which lowered with every passing day.

In her opinion, it was an improvement on the constant rain. But it would not last that way for long. Soon, the snow would freeze. The icy winds would come racing down from the glacial spine of Drustvar. The horses would starve first. The living would eat them. And then the oxen. And then -- well. That was a gruesome thought. They were far from that point yet. And if Jaina were to be believed, they would not want for food.

The river between them and Fallhaven was broad and deep and brackish. It washed directly out to sea due east. Through the drift of snow, Sylvanas could make out the shape of canvas sheets. The masts of Ashvane merchant ships modified for war raked against the pale grey sky. There were five of them anchored in the river, choking any relief to Fallhaven by water. More ships still were stationed at Carver's Harbour, controlling the inlet to Fallhaven. Where once there had been a bridge on the westernmost end of the river, there now was nothing but smoke-blackened stumps poking out of the fast-flowing water. Without ships of their own, they would need to spend more time going all the way around to find a suitable fording spot west of their current position.

Had this been summer, Sylvanas might have been tempted to order a bridge to be built. But summer was a distant memory, now. The city of Fallhaven itself wasn't much of a city to begin with. Its most prominent features were its belltower commanding the city square near the river, and the squat stone walls that surrounded the city's entire perimeter. It had been built with a siege in mind, commanding the river and surrounded by rolling farmland for miles around. It was the breadbasket of Drustvar. Normally, shipments of grain would sail out to the rest of Kul Tiras from the river, but the Ashvane fleet had made quick work of that. The only ground near enough to threaten it was a rise to the northeast, which Sylvanas could just make out over the top of the city if she stood up in her stirrups and craned her neck.

"It looks so peaceful, doesn't it?" Lucille said, seated on her own horse not far off. "One could almost be fooled into thinking it wasn't under siege."

"Mmm," said Sylvanas noncommittally.

She guided her skeletal mount along the road, while Lucille rode beside her. To Sylvanas' left rode Velonara on a dark horse that looked almost exactly like Lucille's but for its white-socked legs. The three of them traveled midway along with the army, neither front and center, nor bringing up the rear. A group of Forsaken soldiers trailed after Sylvanas, whilst Kul Tiran guardsmen followed in Lucille's wake bearing the banners of House Waycrest, emblazoned with a grey falcon.

"I can remember the first time I came to Fallhaven. I was only seven," Lucille continued blithely on. "Even then, Cyril White was in charge. A Proudmoore man through and through. He had just left a position in the Navy serving under Daelin, and my mother endorsed him as Lord Mayor of Fallhaven as a show of goodwill between our two Houses." Lucille sighed, shifting her reins between her hands. "How times change."

"Hmm," Sylvanas said again.

Velonara remained completely silent. She rode with one leg swung idly over the saddle as though sitting half cross-legged. A small glass vial of varnish was balanced in the crook of her knee. In one hand she was wielding a small brush, which she dipped into the vial and then stroked along her fingernails to apply a careful coat of blood red paint. How she managed to not smear herself with the stuff while she rode a horse was a complete mystery.

"Cyril's father's family are good sturdy yeoman stock," said Lucille. "Very popular with the demographic in this area. Primarily farmers, really. He made a good move by marrying into the White family, who are the local lords -- minor cousins of mine, in fact. Though more closely related to the Greys of Katherine's family, who hail further south in Fletcher's Hollow. Both of them share the same family motto, strangely enough. ‘Freely we serve.’"

"Mmm." Sylvanas made a small gesture with her hand, a Ranger symbol to try to get Velonara's attention, but Velonara was too busy blowing on her nails to dry them.

"So, of course, being rather politically ambitious himself, Cyril gave up his father's name and decided to adopt his mother's line for the titles and prestige. Though from what I understand he was a great success in the Navy through force of character alone. Titles tend these things, of course. One never goes beyond Captain without some sort of patronage."

Ever since that night at Barrowknoll three days ago, Lucille had somehow gotten it into her head that she and Sylvanas were now close friends. This rather inconvenient liberty was only exacerbated by the fact that Katherine was cross with the whole lot of them, after discovering that both Lucille and Sylvanas had known about Jaina’s true identity without telling her. Where once Lucille would have ridden at Katherine’s side, now she haunted either Sylvanas or Jaina’s footsteps. After three days of unending lectures about Drustvar’s political families and constitutional climates, Sylvanas was just about ready to jump into the river.

“Velonara,” Sylvanas turned to her Ranger. “Didn’t you say something about how the High Thornspeaker wished to speak with the Lord Admiral and Lady Waycrest?”

“Oh?” Lucille glanced over her shoulder, looking for Katherine. She had a sudden anxious air about her at the thought.

Sylvanas nodded. “Yes. I distinctly remember it. I believe it had something to do with changes to land laws and ownership structures after the war.”

That certainly got Lucille’s attention. For all her nerves where the Lord Admiral was concerned, her expression hardened somewhat. She began tugging at the reins of her horse. “That sounds like it requires my attention. Excuse me. I will be back shortly.”

Sylvanas waited until Lucille had ridden off, before she rounded on Velonara with a glare. “Why didn’t you save me?”

Velonara pretended not to have heard, and continued painstakingly painting her nails.

“You are heartless,” Sylvanas accused in a complete deadpan tone.

“Consider this your just reward, my Queen,” Velonara countered. She lifted her hand in front of her face to inspect her work, then lowered it back down to her thigh for another coat. “Now you know what I’ve had to deal with ever since you assigned me to watch her.”

“I have learned the error of my ways. Have pity on me.”

“Give it a few more days. She hasn’t even told you about her deepest darkest fears yet.”

“Which are?”

“Being killed by her mother and raised to serve her in undeath. Which, I’ve been told, was a real threat at one point in time.”

“My my,” Sylvanas murmured, looking over her shoulder after Lucille. “It seems we have more in common with our dear Lady Waycrest than previously thought. What a horrifying concept.”

Fortunately for them, Sylvanas had not been lying when she’d said that Jaina wanted to speak with Katherine and Lucille about land reforms. Lucille did not return for hours. As the army marched past the burned bridge, Sylvanas made a disgruntled noise.

“This will add another three days to our trip,” she said. “What a nuisance.”

Velonara had long since finished her nails, and was now looking utterly bored. “Don’t worry, my Queen. That just means there’s more time for Lady Waycrest to kindly regale us with local history. She’s a wonderfully thoughtful hostess like that.”

Sylvanas groaned.

It was a long march around the river. Fallhaven faded into the distance, obscured by snow, until only the mountains to the west loomed. Sylvanas managed to elude Lucille for most of the day, slipping away when the army made camp to her own tent and staying there as night fell. The Forsaken kept the night watch, allowing the living to sleep.

Sylvanas herself worked through to the morning. She did not bother with amenities in her tent apart from a foldable desk and a few chairs. She needed nothing else. When dawn began to inch over the horizon, grey and flecked with the promise of more snow, Nathanos entered her tent with a parcel of missives. Without comment, he crossed the space and handed them over. She took them, leaning back in her chair to begin perusing the latest reports.

“Anything good?” she asked as she ran her thumb beneath the seal of a letter from Orgrimmar to break the red wax.

“Second from the top,” Nathanos answered.

She set the unread letter from Orgrimmar aside and turned over a small bit of folded up parchment. Unfurling the page, her eyes scanned the few lines hastily scrawled onto the note. With every sentence her eyebrows crept higher up her brow, and she sat a little straighter until she was resting her elbows upon the desk, reading avidly.

“Well, well.” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she set down the piece of parchment. “I must admit. I am impressed. Who would have thought our new Zandalari friends would be so efficient?”

“I believe their Princess is rather keen to make an impression,” said Nathanos.

“And she has succeeded.”

Sylvanas tapped her finger against the parchment thoughtfully. The ships from Zandalar would be arriving at Fallhaven almost a week early. She laughed softly. “They might just beat us there, you know.”

“You always did prefer arriving to events fashionably late.”

A shadowy chuckle escaped her at that. “And they’re sure they weren’t spotted by Stormsong’s insurgents?”

Nathanos nodded firmly. “Indeed. They are small force. Only five ships. And I understand they have a talented young shaman aboard one of them, who was able to shroud them in a fog as they sailed up the Sounds.”

“I hope you have more good news for me,” she said, picking up the next letter.

Clearing his throat delicately, Nathanos gave a slight shake of his head.

“Go on,” she ordered.

“As of last night the Ashvane forces have begun their assault of Watermill Hill.”

With a grunt, Sylvanas broke the seal of the next letter and began to unfold the parchment. Her eyes were already scanning the page. “As was expected,” she murmured. “I am amazed they did not begin sooner. I would have taken it a month ago.”

“Not everyone has the resources or expertise you do, my Queen.”

“That much is clear.” She glanced at him over the top of the page. “Anything else?”

Nathanos shook his head. “No. Nothing of much interest. The usual. Trade deals. A Mak’gora was called in Orgrimmar to settle a border dispute between two parties.”

“Anyone whose death would be inconvenient for me?”

“No.”

“Good.” Sylvanas waved a dismissive hand at him, and with a bow he left.

The next few days passed without further incident. The army crossed the river at last, taking care not to freeze on the way, and marched back east towards Fallhaven until the city crept over the hills. The morning before they were set to arrive at Watermill Hill, both Anya and Nathanos entered Sylvanas’ tent this time, their expressions harried.

Sylvanas had her feet propped up on a corner of the desk. A light dusting of snow on Anya and Nathanos’ shoulders told her that it was already snowing again outside. Or perhaps it had never stopped, snow drifting lazily down straight through the night. She arched an eyebrow at the sight of them and said, “It is rare for the two of you to grace me with your company at the same time these days. Which means something’s wrong.”

“A new ship has arrived in Fallhaven’s river harbour,” Anya said.

Sylvanas waved her away. “That will be one of our Zandalari sloops scouting ahead of the others, I imagine.”

“No,” Anya said firmly, undeterred. “It is a Kul Tiran ship. Far bigger than a sloop. You would recognise it yourself, in fact.”

Scoffing, Sylvanas said, “I highly doubt that. You know I can’t spot the difference between naval vessels, Anya.”

“You would remember this one, my Queen,” Nathanos said darkly. “We saw its ceremonial launch ourselves on the docks of Boralus.”

Sylvanas froze. Slowly, she lowered her feet to the ground. “Lady Ashvane’s ship is here? Right now?”

“That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you, yes.”

Straightening in her seat, Sylvanas looked down at the detailed map of Fallhaven, all her copious scribbled notes of Windmill Hill, and the open ledger filled with rows and rows of supplies and troops and costs. Then abruptly she pushed back from the table and rose to her feet. “Have you seen Jaina this morning?” she asked Nathanos.

He shook his head. “Still in her tent, as far as I know. Unless she took a portal from the tent itself. I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Somehow Sylvanas could not imagine Jaina fleeing from a battle. Especially not one like this. Jaina had not shied from battle at Barrowknoll, and Windmill Hill was supposed to be a skirmish. If Lady Ashvane’s ship was here though, that might have just changed.

"Nathanos, find out exactly who is aboard that flagship," Sylvanas ordered, already ducking from her tent and striding in the direction of Jaina's tent with hasty steps.

"Using what?" Nathanos asked.

"Your imagination, preferably," Sylvanas drawled. She did not slow down or look over her shoulder as she spoke. "Bribe someone. Kill someone. Impersonate someone. I don't care. Just get me eyes on that flagship."

When Nathanos and Anya started trailing after her, she gestured for them to be elsewhere. Nathanos frowned and Anya huffed, but they both did as they were told. He veered off, already heading towards the river. Sylvanas paid them no heed.

There was no raven or sabre cat guarding Jaina’s tent. Sylvanas looked around for any sign of Arthur or Adalyn, but neither were to be seen. Slowly, she approached the tent’s entrance. Her fingers parted the heavy canvas flap, and she peered in. There was motion and darkness, but she could hear nothing within. The cloying taste of magic settled in the back of Sylvanas’ mouth, but it always tended to do that whenever Jaina was nearby. Dim lamplight did little to illuminate the tent’s interior, where outside the glare of the morning sun dazzled against the snow. Sylvanas squinted, but the contrast made spots appear in her sensitive vision.

“You might as well come in,” Jaina’s voice said, sounding exasperated. “You’re letting out all the warm air.”

Stomping her boots free of snow first, Sylvanas ducked beneath the tent flap and entered. It was indeed far warmer inside than out, though she could see no brazier. A rune had been scorched into the ground at the centre of the tent, glowing faintly. Whether that was the source of heat, or simply a ward against prying ears, she did not know.

Most of Jaina’s personal things had been packed up into a traveling trunk at the foot of her foldable cot. The bedding had been rolled up, revealing the wooden cot frame. Jaina herself was bent almost double on the far side of the tent. She stood peering into a tiny scratched mirror that was propped against a nightstand and a few books. Sylvanas blinked in surprise. In lieu of her usual druidic robes, Jaina was wearing dark high-waisted breeches and white stockings tucked in at the knee. Her boots were gone, and instead she wore shiny black shoes with gold buckles. A greatcoat and waistcoat were slung over a chair, leaving her in nothing else but her shirtsleeves and suspenders. The skull mask and staff were nowhere in sight.

She did not turn around when Sylvanas entered the tent. Instead, she continued to fiddle with a long strip of white cloth, which she was trying to wind around her neck to form a cravat. When the cravat refused to cooperate, she straightened slightly and swore vehemently under her breath, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Ears quirked at a curious angle, Sylvanas wandered across the tent until she stood behind her. “I assume there’s a reason why you’re wearing this instead of your usual robes?”

Grumbling, Jaina undid the messy cravat knot with jerky impatient movements. “It is part of the plan. My mother thinks I ought to be seen wearing the uniform instead of -- well, you know.”

“The horrible deer skull, and some leaves you found on the forest floor?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Jaina started tugging up the stiff collar of her shirt once more, trying to get it to stay in the right position so she could try tying the cravat again. Impatiently, Sylvanas watched her struggle and fail to wrap the cloth around her neck properly, before she finally interrupted. “Do you need some help?”

“No.”

Sylvanas lifted an incredulous eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

With a sigh, Jaina fully straightened and turned away from the mirror. “No,” she said again, this time holding out the fabric with a defeated expression.

Eyes fixed on Jaina’s face, Sylvanas slowly reached out for the cravat. When Jaina had been angled away from her, she had not been able to get a good look at her. Now it was apparent that the clothing wasn’t the only thing to have changed. She had never seen Jaina wearing cosmetics before. They had been tastefully applied. Kohl lining her eyes, and rouge darkening her lips to a sinful shade of red.

Smoothing out the length of silk between her hands, Sylvanas said, “You could have just asked your mother for help. I’m sure the Lord Admiral has worn enough cravats in her lifetime to know how to tie one.”

Jaina’s brow furrowed in a thunderous scowl. “I would rather eat a rusty old horseshoe.”

With a snort, Sylvanas said, “Lucille could have shown you, then.”

Jaina shifted her feet and her cheeks were tinged slightly pink with embarrassment. Finally she admitted sheepishly, “I thought I could figure it out on my own. I mean, how hard can it be?”

Giving her a pointed look, Sylvanas held up the long narrow length of silk and said, “Lean down for me.”

Jaina did so without question, and Sylvanas began to wrap the cravat around her neck. She had to reach around Jaina, rising up onto her toes to be able to do so.

“Why are you so tall?” Sylvanas grumbled under her breath as she moved Jaina’s braid out of the way.

“I think a better question is: how do you know how to tie a cravat?”

“I thought the answer to that was obvious.” Now that the ends of the cravat were doubly wrapped back around Jaina’s throat and hung down her chest, Sylvanas was able to sink back down to the flat of her feet to finish the job. She tugged lightly at the ends of the cravat to tighten it, and quipped, “All elves are snobs and slaves to fashion.”

Jaina laughed softly. The corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled. She kept her head slightly bowed while Sylvanas straightened the upturned collar beneath the wide strip of fabric. “That makes sense,” Jaina said with faux solemnity. “Though I do wonder what that says about all the skulls and spikes you wear.”

Sylvanas clucked her tongue in admonishment. “Skulls and spikes are all the rage in the major cities these days. Very chic. I wouldn’t expect a human from a backwater like Kul Tiras to understand.”

“Of course. My mistake.”

Sylvanas was far too concerned with the dimple that appeared when Jaina’s smile broadened. Her hands slowed in tying the cravat, and her fingers lingered against the warm skin of Jaina’s pulsepoint. The rope scar was a raised band of tissue looped around Jaina’s neck. Sylvanas pulled the cravat material a little higher to hide it from view.

Jaina noticed. Her eyes flickered down to where Sylvanas’ hands rested beneath her chin, then up again to her face. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Sylvanas’ only answer was a hum. That heartbeat quickened, fluttering like a bird’s wings under her thumb. Jaina was watching her very closely, as though waiting for Sylvanas to speak. The air felt far too warm for a Kul Tiran winter.

Sylvanas bid her hands move again. Her fingers made quick work of the last knot. She took an extra few seconds to pull the knot a little tighter before lowering her hands. That seemed to break whatever spell had settled over them. The air did not feel quite so heavy when Sylvanas was no longer touching her.

“I should really learn how to do this myself someday,” Jaina sighed, tugging at the knot so that it was arranged just so beneath her neck and loosening it in the process. “Since apparently I’m going to be wearing this outfit quite a lot.”

“I would offer some instruction, but I am a terrible teacher. Never had the disposition for it.”

“Too used to giving orders instead?”

“Something like that, yes.” She swatted Jaina’s hand away, and scolded her softly, “Stop that.”

Jaina huffed in annoyance, but lowered her hands and allowed Sylvanas to fix the cravat and tighten it again. When Sylvanas stepped away, she reached for the waistcoat slung over a chair and handed it over. Jaina took it with a murmur of thanks, shrugging into it. Sylvanas had to tamp down the urge to move forward again and do up the row of small dark buttons. Instead, she clasped her hands firmly behind her back, watching Jaina button up the waistcoat and tuck the ends of the cravat away.

Swinging the Admiralty greatcoat over her shoulders, Jaina next fixed a green sash into place before fussing with the wide sleeves of her coat. She tugged at them, rolling her broad shoulders beneath the fabric and muttering curses to herself about how it inhibited her movement. In this outfit, she looked uncomfortable. She also -- Sylvanas had to admit silently -- looked incredibly good. It was a far cry from her usual druidic rags. Instead, she appeared sleek and polished. Perhaps it was the unprecedented kohl lining her eyes. Perhaps it was the red lipstick that made her mouth appear brighter and more alive. Or perhaps Sylvanas really was just staring, now.

Jaina glanced up with a worried frown. "Do I have something on my face?" she asked, and ducked her head to gaze at herself in the tiny mirror again. "I thought I'd done the makeup all right? I'm not very good at this. I think this eye is uneven. Does it look uneven to you?"

"No," Sylvanas said. "You look fine."

Still, Jaina took a finger and carefully tried to correct the dark kohl around her blind eye. She swore to herself again. "This would be a lot easier if I could see properly."

"If I tell you that you look very striking, will that convince you?"

Jaina straightened and turned. "That depends," she said. "Are you being honest? Or just kind?"

"When have you ever known me to do something purely out of kindness?"

"That's a fair point."

"You look very striking," Sylvanas said, more firmly this time. "Apart from all the lint on your back."

Eyes widening, Jaina tried to peer over her own shoulder. "What? Where?"

"I am joking. Your outfit is faultless."

Jaina glowered. “You are an ass.”

“So I’ve been told,” Sylvanas drawled. “And stop fiddling with the cravat. You’ll make it come undone.”

Jaina continued her fidgeting with the fabric wound tight around her neck. “It’s suffocating. I don’t like it.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” Sylvanas broke off her next sarcastic remark. Her ears twitched, hearing approaching footsteps outside, and then a hand pushing aside the tent flap.

"Am I interrupting something?" Katherine asked, her voice cool.

Immediately, the warmth in Jaina's gaze vanished, as though poured out onto the ground. She glanced over Sylvanas' shoulder at her mother, then turned back towards the mirror to straighten her lapels. "Nothing at all," Jaina said. "What do you need?"

Sylvanas was not bothered by cold weather -- apart from the unpleasant wet -- but it was very chilly in the tent all of a sudden. She took a step towards the tent entrance and murmured, "Excuse me. I will go and come back in just a -"

"No. Stay," Jaina said. Then she added a little more softly, "Please."

She was caught. She could make some excuse to leave, but Jaina shot her an imploring look. And it was probably better if both Katherine and Jaina received the news. So with a sigh, Sylvanas stayed put.

For a brief moment, Katherine hesitated at the entrance to the tent, before ducking beneath the flap and stepping fully inside. The bright morning light dimmed when the flap swung back down, enclosing them all in the tent. Katherine's pale gaze took inventory of Jaina's appearance, roving over the golden bands of rank at the sleeves of the greatcoat, and the shining tasselled epaulettes. Finally, she said, "I'm glad to see it fits well. Sylvanas is right. You look very good."

Jaina's reflection in the little mirror frowned, and she turned around to face her mother fully. "I sense a 'but' coming."

"But -" said Katherine gamely. "You are missing a few things. May I?”

Reaching into her pocket, Katherine pulled out what appeared to be braided cords made of thick gold threads. It took Sylvanas a moment to recognise them for what they were. Aiguillettes did not feature often in elven military uniforms, if at all. They were a uniquely human trimming.

Jaina hesitated, then gave a stiff nod of consent. Katherine limped closer, but paused when she stood before her daughter. She looked between the aiguillettes and her cane. Silently, Sylvanas reached out a hand.

“Thank you,” Katherine said, giving the cane to her.

The chased silver falcon’s head retained traces of the warmth of Katherine’s hand. Sylvanas placed the tip of the cane onto the floor and leaned her weight upon it while she watched. Katherine worked quickly and efficiently, tying the complex braiding into place so that it hung from one of Jaina’s shoulders and was pinned with a silver anchor fastener right over the green sash. Jaina was absolutely still throughout the entire affair. She looked like a statue made flesh. A figure of Kul Tiran myth carved for public appreciation.

Katherine stroked her thumb over the pin. "This belonged to your father," she said, then stepped back. "I thought you should have it."

Something darkened across Jaina's face, then was gone again, like a cloud passing between the earth and the sun. "How thoughtful of you," she said, though she sounded less than thrilled at the idea.

"Yes. Well." Katherine cleared her throat as though trying to clear the chilliness in the air. "More importantly, other people will remember it as such."

Jaina’s expression soured. "Of course, they will."

"I mean this as a favour."

"I'm sure you did."

"Enough with the act, my dear. We are all very tired of it."

"Act? What act?" Jaina smiled thinly. "This is very real."

To that Katherine had no reply. She and Jaina seemed to be having some sort of silent conversation featuring nothing but hard glares and unyielding stubbornness. Eventually however, Katherine relented with a sigh and held out a hand for her cane. Sylvanas gladly took this as a sign that the awkward moment was over, and handed it back to her.

"Now, if only you walked like you didn't have a stick up your ass, you might be a bit more convincing in that outfit," Katherine said.

Sylvanas had to bite back a snort of laughter. Jaina fumed quietly, and gave her a warning look.

"She has a point, though," Sylvanas said in her own defense.

"You try wearing this stupid outfit," Jaina growled. She was tugging hard at the cravat again. "I feel like I'm hog-tied and on my way to be butchered at market."

It finally dawned on Sylvanas, then. Why Jaina was so preoccupied with the cravat. Why she did not like having things tied tightly around her neck. How foolish of her to have not noticed before. Especially since she had just been touching the very scars on Jaina’s throat not a few minutes ago.

It was one thing to hide the scars with a bit of loose fabric. It was quite another to emulate their making.

Katherine sniffed. “You’re being overly dramatic. As always.”

Sylvanas’ coal-bright eyes darted to Katherine, then to Jaina. Neither of them were paying her any attention. They were too preoccupied with one another's presence, like two wild cats meeting in a dark alleyway. Not for the first time, Sylvanas wondered what exactly had transpired back at the Church in Barrowknoll. The two must have discussed a great deal of things, but that had clearly not included a full reveal of exactly how Jaina came to be in the position of High Thornspeaker.

“I have worn my fair share of uncomfortable military outfits,” Sylvanas said before Jaina could fire back a retort at her mother. She carefully kept her tone smooth and light. “You get used to them. Eventually.”

For a brief moment it seemed Jaina was still inclined to a fight, but she lowered her hand and left the cravat alone. “Yes,” she said, sounding tired now. “Yes, you’re right.” Then she shot Sylvanas a puzzled look. “Why did you come here, anyway?”

“I received news from one of my Rangers,” Sylvanas said delicately.

“Good news, I should hope,” Katherine said.

“That remains to be seen.” Hands clasped firmly behind her back, Sylvanas announced, “As of early this morning, Lady Ashvane’s flagship has arrived in the harbour.”

That certainly got their attention. They both glanced at her sharply, their movements and expressions terrifyingly identical.

“The LAS Integrity?” Katherine asked as though she had misheard. “Here?”

“Is it really a Lord Admiral’s Ship if she’s rebelling against the Admiralty? And with that kind of name?” Jaina asked.

“Yes, we all appreciate the irony of the situation. Thank you, my dear,” Katherine said, her tone bordering on waspish. Then she said to Sylvanas, “Do we know if Priscilla is aboard the ship?”

Sylvanas shrugged. “I cannot say for sure. But I intend to find out.”

“She is,” said Jaina.

Both Sylvanas and Katherine blinked and turned to look at her.

“How do you know?” Katherine asked.

“Did one of your druids fly over it already?” said Sylvanas.

But Jaina only shook her head. She reached over to the chair, where a pair of white gloves were neatly folded. One after the other she began to tug them into place, the last of her ensemble until she appeared every inch the Lord Admiral’s Heir. “No,” she said, pushing the finely stitched quirks more firmly between the webbing of her fingers. “I just know.”

Katherine shot Sylvanas an exasperated glance, as though seeking some sort of solidarity. Sylvanas offered none, keeping her gaze fixed on Jaina.

“Vagueness helps nobody,” Katherine said. “Especially not in times of war.”

Jaina’s only answer was a shrug. Garbed now in the full military dress of the Navy, she strode past them both and pushed open the flap of the tent. “Shall we begin the march? I want to reach Watermill Hill as soon as possible. I have a good feeling about today.”

“Again with the vagueness,” Katherine sighed, though she followed her daughter out without further question.

Once outside, Sylvanas took her leave, making her way towards the cavalry and reserve units. Katherine and Jaina did not speculate on her absence. They had already discussed the plan the night before. They swept off in one direction already calling for their horses, and the march began anew.

When Watermill Hill came into sight, Sylvanas perked up a bit in her stirrups for a better look. It was one thing to hear about something in reports, and quite another to see it in person. Where she had expected a meagre fortification, there stood a small castle in its stead atop a hill overlooking Fallhaven and commanding the surrounding terrain. The eponymous watermill was stationed with a small village nestled between the hill and the river.

More importantly however was the Ashvane army attacking it. A large force was assailing the southwest gatehouse, trying to seize entry to the west bailey. From this distance Sylvanas could see the occasional tuft of gunpowder from either side, as they returned fire on one another. Hayles and his men had already run down a number of Ashvane scouting groups on their approach to Watermill Hill, but they could not catch all of them. The ascent to Watermill Hill was a narrow road that sloped up to the main gate. All around the rest of the hill, the earth was too steep to assail without building further groundworks. The Ashvanes had funneled themselves onto this road to assault the castle. By the time the combined forces arrived to pin their quarry against the castle, the Ashvanes had raised the call of harried trumpets and were attempting to reposition themselves. It was all far too late. In a matter of moments they would be surrounded and trapped like prey in a snare.

Had Sylvanas been alive, she would have felt the hunter’s itch under her skin. As it was, she tamped down the urge to kick her skeletal steed to a faster pace and shout commands for double time. Strictly speaking, this was not her fight. Jaina was supposed to be leading the charge. And indeed, Jaina, Katherine and Lucille were all riding at the fore of the main body in order to make a symbolic statement with their presence. Which left Sylvanas restlessly commanding the left flank and bringing up the rear of the procession.

Seated high atop her horse, she frowned over the ranks, her gaze roving in search of a particular cluster of officers. From this position she could barely make out Jaina in her stiff Admiralty greatcoat. Sylvanas saw her white-gloved hands make a sharp gesture, the motion followed by the blaring of a horn. Immediately, the troops increased their pace, the stamp of their feet like a thunderous heartbeat through the snowy fields.

“Finally,” Sylvanas grumbled under her breath.

Beside her, Hayles glanced up from his conversation with Anya. “Something wrong, my Lady?”

Sylvanas answered with an irritable wave. “Your future Lord Admiral is rather slow on the uptake.”

He shot her a puzzled look beneath his helm, but made no further remark. Meanwhile, Anya’s ears tilted at a curious angle and she said, “I’m not so sure about that, my Queen. Two minutes too slow isn’t bad for someone without a few centuries of experience under her belt.”

“A lot can happen in two minutes,” Sylvanas said with a warning slant of her own ears that Anya would understand but which would have left Hayles even more bemused.

Anya bowed in her saddle and murmured, “Of course.” Her words and tone were deferential, but everything else was mocking.

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. “Anya, take a scouting party and bring me back the latest report on the walls,” she ordered.

With another low bow, Anya did as commanded, leaving Hayles riding in uncomfortable silence at Sylvanas’ side. He made no attempt at small talk, which she appreciated. Nor did any of the other officers trailing in her wake, awaiting their commands. She craned her neck back to look up, spying a raven wheeling slowly overhead, its broad black wings a spot of black against a backdrop of white. A few minutes later, Arthur flapped down through the gentle sprinkling of snow, landing atop the bony neck of Sylvanas’ horse.

“They’ve engaged the Ashvanes just now,” he reported, shuffling a bit on the exposed vertebrae in an attempt to find better purchase with his talons.

Sylvanas nodded. “Good. And the Ashvane guns?”

“Still pointing to the castle. They couldn’t turn them around in time.”

“You and your men are to be commended, Hayles,” Sylvanas said without looking in his direction. “The scouts you ran down could not give away our advance.”

He shifted his weight in the saddle and knuckled his forehead beneath the flat brim of his helmet almost bashfully. Ever since their encounter with Captain Ashvane last week, when Sylvanas had lost her temper, he had been remarkably more docile when she presumed to give orders.

Some time later, Anya’s horse loped easily towards them. She pulled back on the reins, slowing to a trot, and then finally a stop before them. Her horse’s dark coat was spotted with snow. When it snorted and shook its head, small plumes of white steam trailed from its nostrils.

“Anything?” Sylvanas asked.

But Anya shook her head even as she reached forward to pat her horse on its neck. “Nothing yet.”

With a resigned sigh, Sylvanas leaned back in her saddle. “Then, we continue to wait.”

Whereas Hayles and the others seemed perfectly content to do so, Sylvanas did not share in their leisure. They formed a separate little group a few paces away from her. Anya chatted easily with the others, joking about her latest conquests over cards the night previous with the group of officers. Sylvanas ignored them, keeping her eye upon the main body of their forces, watching the toil of a fight beginning. She did not begrudge Anya’s ease with the others. Far from it. Her orders had been for Anya to endear herself with the locals, to make herself a crux of information. And judging by the way a number of the officers laughed at one of Anya’s crude jokes, she was doing an excellent job of it.

“Not like that,” Sylvanas muttered to herself as she watched Jaina’s movements from a distance. She made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat and tightened her grip upon the reins.

Arthur was preening himself, still perched on the neck of her horse. “Did Jaina do something wrong?”

Mouth pursed to a thin line, Sylvanas shook her head. Jaina hadn’t done anything wrong. It just wasn’t exactly how Sylvanas would do it. She was not suited for sitting in the wings and watching. The last time Sylvanas had done this had been when her mother was Ranger General and given her young daughter a colonel’s command as a learning experience.

The snow was deepening. As the afternoon dragged on, flurries of white drifted from the sky like flour through a sieve. Hayles’ cavalry and the infantry battalion of the left flank stamped their feet in an attempt to warm them. The soldiers huddled as close together as they dared without breaking ranks. Sargents rustled along the lines, keeping calm and order while they waited and watched the main force continue to fight. At least Sylvanas wasn’t alone in her restlessness.

In the distance a rallying cry went up along the Ashvane ranks. Sylvanas straightened in her saddle, and she could hear Anya and the others do the same. She opened her mouth to give a command, but stopped and frowned in confusion. Rather than begin pushing against where Jaina’s combined troops had pinned them against the castle, the Ashvane’s right flank surged forward towards the eastern walls.

Rounding on Anya, Sylvanas snapped, "Get me vision on that area.”

Anya tugged at the reins of her horse, but before she could urge her mount forward, Arthur said, "I got it! It'll be faster if I fly over."

With a flap of his wings, he flew off into the air. Sylvanas kept an eye on him for as long as she could, but he was soon lost through the veil of snowfall. Various other reports from scouting groups trickled in while she waited for his return, officers in drab Forsaken uniforms giving detailed accounts of the front lines’ actions.

By the time Arthur returned, she had set her horse to pacing, her crimson gaze trying to pierce through the snow. The sunlight filtering through the clouds reflected across the blanketed ground. She had to blink away the blinding glare. She did not want to think of what this would be like if she had still been alive and her oversensitive eyesight had been exposed to the glare.

Arthur landed on her shoulder. "There's some Fallhaven soldiers caught outside the westernmost walls," he said. "They're fighting with the Ashvanes over a little door in the walls."

Sylvanas' eyes widened. "A sally port?"

In reply Arthur shrugged his wings.

Swearing under her breath, Sylvanas yanked on the reins. Her skeletal horse bounded forward. Snow was cast about by every heavy fall of its hooves. “All troops march to the western walls! Double time! I want us there post-haste!”

The group of officers went scurrying about in her wake. Flags were raised, standards waving signals to relay orders to the regiment, as well as to alert their allies of their actions.

“How many did you see?” Sylvanas asked.

“A few thousand Ashvanes?” Arthur said uncertainly. “Far less Fallhaven soldiers, that’s for sure.”

Hayles was urging his horse to catch up to her.

“Screen our left flank!” Sylvanas said to him. “And if the enemy try to run, chase them down!”

“Yes, my Lady.” And with a salute, he began shouting orders to round up his men.

She only pulled back on the reins and sat firmly in her saddle to stop her horse when she had reached the foremost ranks of Forsaken infantry. Anya shadowed her movements rather than stay with the cavalry; her bow was already drawn, expression wary as though expecting an attack on her queen at any moment despite the fact that the enemy was still a good distance away. For their part the Forsaken infantry seemed emboldened by Sylvanas’ presence. Their ranks bristled like a wall of spears and axes and ranks of muskets six deep.

As they advanced, a few junior officers kept sending daunted glances in her direction. It seemed to get even worse when the cluster of higher ranking officers found her again and gathered to her side, waiting for any other orders she might give.

When they drew closer to the enemy, a cavalry company broke away from the Ashvane flank. They rode forward, skirting around the hill further west. Already Sylvanas could see Hayles riding out to meet them, screening their flank and keeping the Ashvane cavalry at bay, allowing them to advance. Pistols fired, their shots muted across the snow and distance so that they sounded less like a volley and more like the patter of rain. Meanwhile the Ashvane infantry were caught. Most of them had turned to face the attack, but Sylvanas could still see skirmishing near the walls just behind them.

Ahead of her, the first line of Forsaken infantry dropped to their stomachs, the second kneeling behind them, and the third remaining standing. All three aimed down the sights of their muskets, awaiting the command to fire. Officers roared out the order, and gunsmoke tinged the air a dirty grey. The three ranks shuffled back as quickly as possible, while the three behind them stepped forward to do the same.

Slowly they advanced up the hill towards the enemy position, exchanging fire. If the Ashvanes had been better equipped and had a larger force, they might have been able to stave off the attack until they could retreat back to the safety of their main lines. But whatever they sought at the sally port was too valuable to give up so easily. They held their ground even as the Forsaken crept ever closer, close enough that the rows of pikemen could step forward and stab at one another. Blood sprayed across the snowy hillside. The Ashvanes’ red coats hid most of the gore, while the Forsaken bled black and sluggish.

For every Undead that fell -- pinned by spears, or chopped at with axes, or shot -- three more Ashvanes fell before them. From her position near the front ranks, Sylvanas could see the fear on their faces as they realised exactly what kind of enemy they were facing. She heard panicked cries go up -- some nonsense about Drust ghouls -- and the enemy line began to falter. A musket ball went spinning past her, near enough that she could hear it whistle through the air, but she did not flinch. She could hear Arthur give a great squawk of protest and launch himself into the air with a hurried flap of wings.

Well, if the Kul Tirans were squeamish about the Undead, she ought to give them a show to remember.

Kicking her horse forward and pulling her bow from her back, Sylvanas barked orders at the group of officers behind her. “Push forward! Drive them against the walls! And make it look rabid! The rest of you, with me!”

A few of the humans appeared puzzled at these commands, but the Forsaken officers’ eyes glowed a keen and sickly gold. The orders swept quickly through the ranks, and the fighting reached frenzied heights. With a company of soldiers at her back, Sylvanas leapt from her horse and strode to the right flank to cut off the enemy’s route back to the west bailey, leaving only one retreat. Every arrow she fired into the enemy’s flank shrieked as it soared through the air, streaking with veins of black energy. When they struck into the sensitive exposed flesh of a neck or shoulder, tendrils of dark necrotic magic would lash along their bodies so that they fell, twitching and bloated as though they had been drowned in a fetid lake.

It did not take long for the Ashvane line to break. They were outnumbered and pinned against the castle walls on a steep slope. Soon, they were routed and scrambling down the hill towards the snowy western fields, where Hayles and his cavalry would chase them down. Sylvanas fired a few shots after them, her arrows arcing through the air and finding their targets with deadly accuracy. Red-coated soldiers stumbled to their knees, choking on blood and falling into the bank of snow.

“Anya, get your horse and join Captain Hayles. Take Arthur with you. He can help track down anyone who runs,” Sylvanas said. She did not need to look over her shoulder to know that Anya had been beside her through the thick of the fight, ensuring her safety. “If the Ashvanes even think about regrouping, kill them.”

With a silent bow, Anya darted off through the snow in search of her horse near the base of the hill. Overhead a black speck in the sky soared after her. Sylvanas shouldered her bow and turned back towards the castle. Her soldiers had surrounded a group of grey-coated Fallhaven troops near the sally port while the Ashvanes fled. Her ears twitched when she heard raised human voices. Frowning, she rose up on her toes to see over the warren of tall Forsaken soldiers, but could only catch glimpses of steel and snow and grey stone walls.

Rows of undead soldiers parted before her like a wave, making way for their Dark Lady as she walked towards the ruckus. A cohort of Fallhaven infantrymen held their rows of pikes at the ready, aiming down the sights of their muskets, ready to fire should any of the undead get too close. They were gathered round what appeared to be their leader, a greying man with a bushy mutton-chop beard and fierce pale eyes, who had one hand clenched around the handle of a gilded silver pistol and the other around the hilt of a fine sword.

“Get that bloody door open, already!” he roared over his shoulder. His cocked hat was silver-trimmed and dark. When Sylvanas stepped forward from the ranks of the Forsaken, he pointed his pistol at her, his expression hard. “Not another step!”

Lifting her hands to show she was unarmed, Sylvanas continued walking forward. “I mean you no harm. Are you the garrison commander?”

He pulled the trigger, firing a warning shot at her feet. A plume of snow burst up around her greaves and she froze.

“I said -” he snarled, “- not another step.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I have just helped drive off your invaders,” Sylvanas said. She kept her hands up; it would be easier to reach for her bow and quiver if this turned messy.

Flinging aside his pistol, he held out his hand and an officer near him gave him another, which he again levelled at her. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’ve helped us. But I do know you lead an army of ghouls, and you yourself are no living creature.”

“Oh, good. You have eyes. I was beginning to wonder.”

With his thumb he cocked the pistol. She arched an unimpressed eyebrow at him, though her hands were ready to snatch up her bow. Before he could shoot her properly this time, the heavily fortified gate swung open behind him with a great groan, and four men stumbled out in its wake. “Lord Cyril!” one of them cried, “You must come to the battlements at once! The -!”

“Quiet, lad!” he snapped, not once looking away from Sylvanas.

Sylvanas’ hands lowered a fraction. “Lord Cyril, did you say? Cyril White?”

“And what of it?” Cyril growled.

She remembered that name. She remembered Lucille’s local history lessons, and the utter boredom that had come with them. Finally she said, “I have come with your cousin. Perhaps you remember her?”

His bushy brows furrowed in bemusement. “My cousin? What are you talking about -?” Suddenly his eyes widened. “Wait. You’re here with Kath?”

“I am.”

The moment of hesitation vanished, followed by suspicion. “And why should I believe the Lord Admiral would be here? Let alone with the aid of -” He waved his pistol at her overall appearance with a disparaging look. “- someone like you.”

Sylvanas’ mind raced. The fact that he still called Katherine ‘The Lord Admiral’ even after she had technically been deposed by Lord Stormsong was a good start at least. She thought back to every inane thing Lucille had told her about on the march north, trying to scrape together any information that might be useful. Cyril’s frown was deepening with every passing second, and she said quickly, “Freely we serve.”

It was the first thing that she could think of, and it was just enough to give him pause. Cyril blinked at her, though he did not relax a whit.

“If I tell you that she takes her tea with milk and no sugar, will you believe me?” Sylvanas said. “What about if I said she can beat anyone at a game of whist? Or that she enjoys needlework? Or that her grandfather used to tell her stories of the Old Bear that haunted the Crimson Forest?”

Cyril’s face screwed up in confusion, but his stance relaxed. Slowly, he lowered his flintlock. “Who the bloody hell are you?”

Lowering her hands fully now, Sylvanas said, “I am a friend. And I am here to reinforce Watermill Hill, along with Lady Waycrest, the Lord Admiral, and the Lord Admiral’s Heir.”

“Heir?”

Behind him one of the soldiers who had burst through the sally port from before said, “That’s what we’re telling you, my Lord! It’s not Lady Waycrest leading the army!”

Momentary flummoxed, Cyril stood there without speaking or moving until with a shake of his head he sheathed his sword and tucked his flintlock away into his belt. “Get everyone inside!” he ordered his own men, then turned to Sylvanas. “What role would you play in all of this?”

“Let me and my soldiers in, and we will help you man the walls,” Sylvanas said, already giving a significant look to a nearby officer of her own, who bowed and trotted off to relay her orders.

Cyril looked less than pleased at the prospect of letting in her and the other undead. When he pursed his lips and scowled, the resemblance between him and Katherine was far more pronounced. “Very well,” he said, already turning and ducking through the sally port.

The sally port was small enough that she had to duck as well to pass beneath it. Inside, the narrow stone corridors of the castle were a hive of activity. People rushed about, carrying munitions, carrying gunpowder and arrows, their arms filled with gauze for the medical wing or other supplies. Everyone had to press themselves against the walls to pass one another, soldiers hugging their weapons and shuffling sideways until they could reach the mustering grounds.

Most took little notice of Sylvanas. A few puzzled frowns were cast in her direction. Her Forsaken infantry garnered more attention. Some people swore, startled, when they saw an undead soldier looming beside them. A fight nearly broke out somewhere behind her. Sylvanas heard shouting and people shoving one another, until a sergeant roared at them to cease the kerfuffle. She paid them no heed, trailing close on Cyril’s heels.

The castle mustering grounds were a small square of churned mud and snow. Cyril lengthened his stride and trotted up a set of narrow stairs leading to the nearest parapets. His sword clanked against his greaves. When they reached the top, it was a struggle to even get to the crenellated battlements. Archers and musketmen were clustered along the walls, firing from their positions down into the amassed Ashvanes at the gates. Every now and then a cannon would boom out, and bits of rock would be knocked loose from the walls while men crouched down and covered their heads, shrinking away from the blast.

Cyril shoved his way to the front to get a good look at the battlefield below. “Where?” he demanded of the soldier that had opened the sally port and followed in Sylvanas’ wake. “Show me.”

Before the soldier could answer, Sylvanas pointed. “There.”

Cyril squinted, shielding his eyes with the flat of his gloved hand. True enough, just behind the Waycrest lines rode Jaina beneath the standards of House Waycrest. Somewhere along the way, Katherine and Lucille had managed to procure a gold-tasseled, anchor-stamped standard of the Admiralty, which waved proudly beside the dull gray banners bearing the falcon of Drustvar. Even from this distance Jaina was impossible to miss, her pale braid a stark contrast to the dark wool of her greatcoat, surrounded by officers in their glittering finery, Katherine and Lucille riding behind her like personal guards.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Cyril muttered under his breath, slowly lowering his hand.

Another boom of cannons crashed through the air. This time the massive iron-bound doors to the castle shook. Pieces of wood splintered and buckled beneath the concentrated barrage.

Immediately Sylvanas turned and snapped at one of her Forsaken officers, “Get all of our reserve troops onto the mustering grounds and into formation! Prepare for a breach!” Then she turned her attention back to Cyril. “Do you have any cannons of your own?”

“We do, but we ran out of shot yesterday afternoon. We’re under-resourced, and we’ve already had to repel two attacks on Watermill. Everything else we have is in reserve in the city, should we have to fall back.”

Swearing in Thalassian, she glanced over the parapets. The Ashvanes were scrambling to reload their cannons. Everything they had was facing the castle gates. They had already taken the bailey and set down planks to cross to the main motte. This castle was old. Its walls were flat and tall, neither sloped nor angled. It was not built to withstand more modern artillery fire.

“They need to break through and take the keep to regain a defensible position, otherwise they’ve lost,” she said.

Cyril nodded. “I will bring everyone I have to the mustering grounds. We will hold them off as long as we can.”

Sylvanas reached over her shoulder and counted the number of remaining arrows in her quiver. “Bring me as many arrows as you can spare. I will stay on the battlements.”

He barked an order at someone nearby, who scurried off to do just that. Then with one last parting glance in her direction, Cyril strode back down to the grounds to gather his men in the courtyard and wait for the worst.

The soldiers along the walls gave her odd looks but said nothing to her as they continued to fire down into the mass of the enemy. Sylvanas drew back her bow and fired alongside them. Someone brought her another large quiver bristling with arrows, which she placed on the ground at her feet. When her own quiver ran out, she exchanged the two. The Ashvanes would return fire, and musket balls would go whizzing past her. She along with the soldiers beside her would duck behind the crenellation. Several of the others slipped in the snow gathered along the walkways, and they would scramble to press their backs against solid stone, holding their weapons over their heads in an attempt to protect themselves. Chips of stone would scatter from the old walls like shrapnel as the barrage peppered the battlements.

Peeking carefully back over the walls, her hands were already drawing back on the bowstring, the fletching of a fresh arrow brushing against her fingers. Then she paused. She blinked through the glare of light against the snow, and tried to get a better look through the constant flurry drifting from the sky.

New sails had appeared in the distance. A group of ships were sailing in formation towards Fallhaven.

“Who the fuck are they?” said a soldier beside her.

“No idea,” said another. “More Ashvanes, probably. Look at them red sails.”

“Those aren’t Ashvanes,” Sylvanas said, startling them though she did not raise her voice. A dangerous fanged smile had spread across her face. “Those are mine.”

A distant boom sounded out and a puff of smoke trailed through the air. The Zandalari ships were engaging the Ashvanes, going right for the throat and aiming for Integrity with a boldness that bordered on madness. The Kul Tirans may have been a seafaring people, but the Zandalari were just as formidable on the waves. And the Ashvanes were traders at heart. This was not the pride of the Great Fleet of Kul Tiras. These were merchant ships that just so happened to be outfitted with guns.

Their only hope of winning relied on the fact that Lady Waycrest could muster no ships of her own in time to contend with them. They had not expected to test their mettle against battle-hardened Trollish warships.

“Not a moment too soon, either,” Sylvanas muttered to herself.

The soldiers beside her were watching avidly. A few of them gave whoops of excitement and slapped each other on the back, their grins fierce and broad. One of them even patted her on the shoulder in a comradely fashion. She slowly turned to fix him with an incredulous glare, and he snatched his hand back as though suddenly afraid she would bite it off.

“Celebrate later!” she snapped at them. Rising to her feet, she shot another arrow down onto the invaders. “Keep firing!”

Immediately they straightened their backs and leapt to do as they were told. The roar of cannons filled the air once more as the Ashvanes fired off another desperate barrage directly at the gate. Wood splintered and chunks of the door rained down with the snow. Ashvane soldiers thundered across their makeshift bridge, pushing and shoving at the gap that had been gouged into the iron-banded wood. Above them, Fallhaven troops manning the walls strained at the handles of enormous wrought-iron bowls heated over coals. They turned the bowls over, tipping their contents through slits in the stone at their feet and pouring hot oil onto the invaders. Below Sylvanas could hear a muted splash followed by hair-raising screams.

A cry came from somewhere along the walls. “Damn your eyes! Are you blind? Lower the portcullis already!”

Two men sprinted for a windlass. They heaved their weight against the spokes of the crank, and the stones beneath them groaned and creaked as the mechanism began to slowly turn. The heavy portcullis shuddered in its place and crept lower. Then there was a grinding snapping sound, like that of a tree being felled, and the windlass turned no more.

“It’s stuck!” one of them shouted.

Two more people raced over and began hauling on the spokes of the windlass, but the mechanism was as old and rusted as the castle itself. Below them, Sylvanas could hear the sounds of fighting breaking out in the courtyard. Leaning over the walls as far as she dared, Sylvanas peered down at the mouth of the gate. Red-coated soldiers boiled like an upended nest of ants, shoving at the gates, hacking with axes and swords to widen the breach and get inside as quickly as possible. Behind them, Jaina’s troops were breathing down their necks, trapping them into place.

Reaching over her shoulder, Sylvanas counted only three arrows left in the spare quiver that had been brought to her. Resolutely she shouldered her bow, squared her jaw and hauled herself up so that she crouched atop the crenellation. It felt all too familiar. Standing on the edge of a frozen keep, flecks of ice and snow drifting around her as she stared down the long steep drop.

“Ma’am!” one of the nearby soldiers called out to her in a panic. “Ma’am, what are you doing? You are going to fall!”

“Yes, soldier,” she said calmly without glancing over at him. “That is the point.”

And she stepped off the ledge.

The castle walls were not perfectly smooth and uniform. They were far too old for that. Bits of stone stuck out at odd ends, dislodged by time and the slow shifting of the earth beneath them. And somewhere along the way, the owners of this castle had repaired the arrowslits staggered along the walls, and they had done a poor job of it. Blocks of stone created little ledges like steps at various points. Nimbly, she dropped atop the nearest arrowslit. She did not stop to take a moment and steady herself before leaping to the next. One of her hands kept touching the wall, ready to cling to a bit of stone should she need to dodge any incoming fire. But none came.

The Ashvanes were now so preoccupied with what was before them, they did not think to look up. Swiftly and silently, she picked her way to just above the gates, and then leapt down. She drew the bow from her back midair, and fired two shots onto the ground below. The arrows snapped with black necrotic energy and their impact was accompanied by a blast like cannon fire, flinging soldiers back. Landing with a lithe roll, Sylvanas did not stop. She continued towards the gate until she was between it and the portcullis which guarded the outer section of the wall. With the last arrow, she pointed her bow not at the incoming Ashvanes, but up. The arrow struck the mechanism that locked the portcullis into place, and blasted it into a mess of splinters and frayed rope.

With a great clanging groan, the portcullis was released. It slammed down onto the ground, its spiked ends landing atop a row of red-coated soldiers and impaling them against the floor. A few of them were dead immediately. Others writhed, coughing up blood or pulling at their pinned limbs in a futile attempt to free themselves. Already the Ashvanes locked out were trying to move the portcullis, but it was a web of thick dark iron. They would need to batter it aside with more than just the strength of their arms and backs.

Over a dozen soldiers were trapped between the gate and the portcullis with her. They turned, pointing their swords and flintlocks in Sylvanas’ direction. They formed a crescent shape, bearing down upon her, their faces hard. She was outnumbered and completely out of arrows. So, Sylvanas shrugged her bow back over her shoulder and reached for the only weapon she had left.

When she pulled the silver hunting knife from her boot, they laughed.

It took her less than two minutes to kill them all. Calmly, she tugged her knife free from the last one’s chest. It caught against a rib, and she had to yank. She took a moment to clean the blade on the dead man’s coat, bodies strewn on the ground around her in various states of disassembly. The men outside the portcullis that had watched the whole affair were staring at her in silent horror. Sylvanas ignored them and strode towards the half-broken gates. Without glancing back, she hauled herself through a fractured gap in the wood and into the courtyard on the other side.

The moment she had climbed through, a staccato of shots fired in her direction. She felt the sting of one find its mark in her thigh. Gritting her teeth and hissing, Sylvanas raised her hands and shouted, “Cease fire! It’s me, you idiots! Cease fire!”

A few yells echoed her command, and the volley stopped. With a vicious glower, she stalked forward, her stride completely unimpeded by the musketball now lodged in her femur. She could feel the cold sludge of her blood oozing down her leg. Soldiers were arrayed in various sections of the mustering grounds, her Forsaken guarding a ramp that led up the walls, but most of the human soldiers positioned along the walls to fire down into the enemy if they managed to break through. Those that had shot at her from the walls shrank back, cowed, when Sylvanas aimed a baleful glare in their direction.

Cyril waved her over with his hat. When she approached his position, he eyed her over. “Are you quite all right?”

She waved his concern aside. “I am fine.”

“I could have sworn they hit you.”

“They did,” she said. She would need to see the Apothecary again. What an absolute pain. “I have managed to buy us a bit of time, but not much.”

Jamming his hat back onto his head, Cyril nodded. “When they break through, we’ll be ready for them.”

“I don’t suppose you have any more arrows, Lord Mayor?”

Rather than answer, Cyril reached behind him for a musket that was leaning against a crate along with a series of other firearms. He tossed the musket at her, and she snatched it from the air. Sylvanas wrinkled her nose at the weapon, but took it regardless. It was heavy and cumbersome, but she would have to make do.

“Place yourself where you like,” Cyril told her with a gesture towards the castle at large. “I’ll be staying here.”

Sylvanas turned to walk away, but paused. “Why are you stationed here instead of a garrison commander?” she asked.

Cyril had already pulled another flintlock from the pile behind him and was inspecting its sights. “She died. Last night, I’m told. So, I sallied forth from Fallhaven with a small force in the hopes that I could give Watermill a fighting chance. Thank the Tides you lot came when you did, otherwise we’d be buggered six ways to Tuesday.”

With a grunt, Sylvanas strode off towards the nearest steps that would lead her to the wall-walk above. She made quick work of the stairs, the pain in her leg having faded to a dull ache by now. After a few curt questions and pointed fingers, she found the squad that had shot at her.

“Gentlemen,” she murmured silkily when she drew up beside them.

They shuffled their feet, their faces alternatively pale or flushed with a mixture of fear and apprehension. A few of them touched the brims of their hats. None of them wanted to meet her eye.

“Which one of you shot me?”

A series of nervous coughs and clearing of throats followed her question. Nobody said anything. Eventually, a young man was shoved forward, the others backing away as though he were a sheep placed upon a sacrificial altar to appease the wrath of some god. He clutched his musket like it was a buoy keeping him afloat in a storm. His hands shook so badly she thought he might drop the weapon.

“Congratulations,” Sylvanas said blandly. “You are the only one here who can aim to save their life.”

“M-Ma’am,” he mumbled, touching the brim of his hat and quailing under her scarlet gaze.

“Do not shoot me again.”

“N-No, ma’am.”

“And fetch me more muskets. As many as you can carry.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was a beat in which he did nothing.

“Now,” she hissed.

He started at the dark and slithering echo of her voice. Kneeling down slowly, he placed his own musket at her feet like an offering. And then he scrambled away, sprinting off to bring her more.

“The rest of you!” Sylvanas said, lifting her voice to be heard even though the squad was already hanging off her every word. “Get into formation! We are going to have a lesson in trigger discipline! If anyone fires without my command, I will have you flogged!”

There was very little chance that she could actually make good on that threat -- Lord Cyril was lenient letting her loose in Windmill Castle as it was -- but they certainly did not know that. Sylvanas spoke with the weight of centuries of military experience behind every syllable. A squad of only twelve men, most of whom looked like they had just come off the farm, did not have enough wherewithal to question her. Even the corporal, who was supposedly in charge of this squad, scurried to do as he was told.

There was a banging and crashing from the walls as the Ashvanes attempted to batter down the portcullis. The young man who had shot her returned, puffing up the stairs with his arms laden with muskets and extra bags of shot tied at his belt. He started arraying them all before her so that she could fire them in rapid succession, when the portcullis finally gave way with a squeal of warped metal and a clang that reverberated through the stone ground.

Picking up a musket, Sylvanas shooed the young man away until he stood beside her, ready to hand her a firearm when she needed it. “Ready!” she yelled.

Everyone checked their weapons. A row of soldiers were kneeling on the wall-walk, while behind them another row stood to fire over their heads. The sounds of Ashvanes battering down the door to the courtyard grew louder.

“Aim!”

They shouldered their muskets. Their faces were pale but determined. In a snap of wood and iron, the gates caved inwards, and red-coated soldiers poured into the courtyard below them. Sylvanas waited until they were within range, carefully gauging the distance.

“Fire!”

The kick of the musket punched into Sylvanas’ shoulder, but her shot flew true as any arrow. A volley of musket fire showered the enemy, and a row of Ashvane soldiers staggered to the snowy ground. Puffs of smoke trailed from the long muzzles of the muskets into the air. Sylvanas roared out the order for them to rotate and reload, watching the squad’s actions carefully even as she cast aside her single-shot flintlock and reached for another. The young man passed on to her without question, taking the used musket and reloading it for her so that she could continue to shoot. For every one that a Fallhaven soldier fired, she fired three, her movements smooth and rapid.

The Ashvanes never made it further than the courtyard. The moment they set foot on the ramp, her Forsaken troops bore down upon them, shoving them back into the killing zone, where they were shot at from every angle. Red was painted in slops and sprays along the snow-strewn earth. Soldiers littered the ground, their corpses piling up with a blanket of white as snow continued to drift down from the sky.

Overhead, a loud caw caught Sylvanas’ attention. She paused in swapping out her muskets, craning her neck to look up. The dark form of a raven flecked the sky, circling high above her and then careening off towards the gate. When she glanced down, the Ashvane soldiers had been driven to the point of exhaustion and were beginning to throw down their weapons and kneel in the snow.

“Cease fire!” Sylvanas called out, and not a single trigger from her section of the walls was pulled further. All of the soldiers tucked their weapons against their sides, looking tired but elated. Some of them glanced in her direction as though seeking a pat on the head for their good behaviour. She rolled her eyes and drawled, “Yes. You can obey simple orders. Very good.”

Despite her dry tone, they beamed. Shaking her head, Sylvanas turned her attention back to the courtyard.

Cyril and his men had begun the process of capturing the enemy soldiers and gathering their weapons so they could not pose a threat. A tired cheer went up throughout the castle at the sight of red-coated soldiers being lined up along the side of the courtyard to await their fate. Sylvanas did not join them. She was watching Cyril. A Fallhaven soldier had rushed up to him and was now making excited gestures towards the castle entrance. Cyril straightened his hat and said something she could not hear, before moving to stand in the centre of the courtyard and facing the entrance.

The sound of a horn sang a single high note that shivered through the air. The cheers died down, and everyone turned to the castle entrance. At the fore of a procession through the gate rode Lucille and Katherine, and ahead of them both, like the centrepiece of a painting, was Jaina astride a white horse. Her coat was scuffed. There was a bloody tear in the sleeve from where a musket ball or sword had grazed her in the fray. A streak of blood rested high upon her cheek, as though a man had clawed at her as he died. She sat straight and tall and poised in the saddle.

"Lord Mayor," Jaina said to Cyril, her voice carrying across the stone walls. She tugged back on the reins so that her horse stopped in the middle of the mustering grounds right before him. "I heard you were in a bit of trouble."

Cyril stared between Jaina and her mother, realisation dawning in his eyes. He nodded and replied, “Your arrival could not have been more perfect, Lady Proudmoore. You have my gratitude.”

She tilted her head to the side. Beneath her the white horse stamped its hoof and she rocked easily with the motion. “I hope I have more than that. Times are changing, Cyril, and we have much to discuss.”

Slowly, he swept his hat from his head and placed it over his heart. When he bowed, a hush fell across the mustering grounds and extended all across the walls where onlookers watched en masse. Cyril straightened, but kept his hat clasped over his chest and said firmly, “I am your servant, madam."

The castle interior was as damp and old as its exterior. As far as Sylvanas was concerned, Windmill Castle was a perfect reflection of the country itself. Sturdy. Defensible. Outdated and out of touch. By no means a jewel in anyone’s proverbial crown, but reliable nonetheless.

After hours spent rounding up what remained of the Ashvane forces and getting the combined Waycrest and Horde soldiers settled, Cyril had led them to a side chamber that had turned into a command centre for the now deceased garrison commander of Windmill Castle. The hearth was cold and dark. A long wooden table was positioned in the centre of the room, strewn with maps and inkwells and quills and candlesticks dripping with hard pale wax. The walls were hung with moth-eaten tapestries that had seen better days and probably ought to be thrown into the tip, truth be told. Likely it would cost more to remove them than to simply leave them be. Whatever scenes they had once portrayed were long since faded from both sight and memory.

Upon entering the room, Sylvanas had fully expected Jaina to cross over to the hearth and light it with a snap of her fingers. She did not. Instead, Jaina conversed in low tones with Cyril and her mother, while Sylvanas, Velonara and Lucille went over the latest figures from the field. Casualties. Injuries. Stock reports.

“Hayles and Anya are still rounding up stragglers,” Sylvanas told them.

Lucille nodded, not at all surprised by this news. “Yes. Arthur told us.”

Two soldiers trotted into the room. One carried an armful of ice-dusted firewood, which he dutifully began stacking in the hearth and coaxed a spark to life with flint and tinder from his pocket. The other was carrying a piece of parchment, which he gave to Jaina with a bow, as though offering her a great treasure. Sylvanas could hear Jaina’s murmur of thanks as she took the long unfurled scroll, and immediately set it on the table for later.

Slowly the room began to warm, but a chill lingered along the stone walls and floors further away from the fireplace. The soldiers took their leave. Outside, the snow was coming down thick and fast now. If they had been delayed any further, their army would have been in serious trouble. Sylvanas would glance at the windows every so often and dwell on unpleasant memories of wintering with an army through unpleasant conditions. Their quiet conversation was broken up by the arrival of a few familiar faces.

Nathanos was striding towards them. Behind him, flanked by two tall Trolls in gleaming golden finery as though they were an honour guard, was Lady Priscilla Ashvane. She was not bound in any way, but the Zandalari kept a careful eye on her movements, preventing any escape. Their hands rested against the pommels of their cutlasses with an ease that belied how carefully they were monitoring their captive. Lady Ashvane herself walked with her head held high. Her eyes glittered darkly. She wore nearly as much gold as the Zandalari, whose gilded tusks and various piercings gleamed in the lamp light.

When they had reached the table, Nathanos bowed. “May I present, Lady Priscilla of House Ashvane, whose ship has been claimed as a prize by the Golden Fleet of Zandalar.”

At the mention of the fate of Integrity, Priscilla’s lips pressed into a thin white line and her hands clenched at her sides in silent anger. Nathanos escorted her to a free seat at the table, pulling out the chair like a butler. Jaina, Katherine and the others watched her like hawks. Priscilla did not flounder beneath their gazes, shoulders back and head held high as though she were being escorted not to a chair but to a gallows.

“How good of you to join us, Priscilla,” Katherine greeted coolly. “I trust your travels were uneventful?”

Priscilla gave a snort of derisive laughter. “Quite. Thank you.”

Offering her a thin smile, Jaina gestured to the table and said to the others, “Shall we begin?”

Meanwhile the Trolls stood aside, waiting. Rather than sit with the others, Sylvanas stepped forward to greet the Zandalari. “Which one of you fine gentlemen is the -?” She paused for a moment, thinking back about naval ranks and which one would apply here. Finally she said cautiously, “- brigadier?”

The Troll to the left bowed deeply to her, before straightening to his full height once more. He was staggeringly tall like all of his kin. What she had previously thought to be an angular gold necklace across his partially bare chest was actually a series of detailed tattoos carved into skin the colour of a sea at storm.

“Commodore Issoufu,” he said by way of introduction. “It is an honour to meet you in person, Warchief.”

“I can say the same of you, Commodore,” she replied, offering him a small rare smile. “From what I’ve been told, you and your shaman are personally responsible for our victory on the river today. You are to be commended.”

He shook his head, his own smile wide and revealing sharp teeth. “The crew of the Rhunok did the real work.”

“And you should all be proud. I shall remember you to Princess Talanji.”

With another low bow, Issoufu clasped his hand over his heart then gently touched his forehead at the mention of his princess’ name. “May she live forever,” he murmured. “I would be most grateful, Warchief.”

“Of course.” Sylvanas made a quick Ranger gesture with her fingers at Nathanos, who had returned to her side after Lady Ashvane was seated. When he answered with a silent nod of understanding, she then said to Issoufu, “You are to scout Carver’s Harbour, but do not engage the enemy. I doubt further action will be necessary. In the meantime, I will write to Dazar’alor of your valour. I hope it is not too much of an imposition for you to take Nathanos aboard one of your ships? He will be there to report back to me only, I assure you.”

Issoufu laughed, the sound deep and short and booming. “No imposition at all. We will have plenty for him to do. There are no idle hands on my ships. I will put him to work.”

She smirked, ignoring Nathanos’ flat glower in her direction. “Very good. You are dismissed.”

He left, taking his men with him. Nathanos waited until the Trolls had gone before he growled, “Put me to work?”

“I hear life at sea is very bracing. Good for the spirit. Besides, you heard the man.” She patted him on the shoulder. “There is always work to be done on a ship.”

“He can hire enough sailors to sink a first rate with the prize money he’s getting from Integrity alone.”

“And I am sure the good Commodore deserves every copper piece.”

When Sylvanas had turned back to claim her seat at the table, conversation had already been struck up between the others. She sat down as quietly and unobtrusively as she could, content to watch events unfold from the sidelines for now.

Jaina sat at the head of the table, with Katherine at her right and Lucille at her left. She had her hands clasped calmly over the page the soldier had brought to her earlier. Her hands were bare, her white gloves tucked into a pocket of her greatcoat. Somewhere along the way, she had found the time to rebraid her hair so that it did not look so messy as it had after the battle. The smear of blood had also been wiped away, though it did little to make her appear less foreboding.

Priscilla sneered at her. "You can't honestly expect me to sign that."

Jaina's stare was unflinching. She tapped her clasped hands against the parchment. "I can. And I do."

"Why on earth would I even entertain the thought? This isn't over."

"In case you haven't noticed," Lucille said from her seat. "We captured your flagship. You are our prisoner."

"And I still have a dozen more ships at anchor in Carver's Harbour. Not to mention the hundreds of merchant vessels fueling the Kul Tiran economy." Priscilla folded her arms and sat back in her chair. "What do you have? A few ragtag Trollish frigates and a prayer. Fallhaven will starve before the winter ends, and the city will fold like a house of cards."

Jaina turned a questioning look to Cyril. He cleared his throat and nodded. "It's true. We barely have enough food to feed ourselves for the next four weeks. Damn Ashvanes burned the crops a few months ago right around harvest time. We're already tightening our belts as it is."

"That won't be a problem," said Katherine smoothly. She nodded towards Jaina. "We have a solution to that."

Cyril turned a curious gaze upon Jaina, who sat at the head of the table. In her fine waistcoat and her shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, she appeared every inch the Heir to the Admiralty. When everyone at the table gave her their full attention, she made an abortive motion with her hand, as though about to scratch her face only to think better of it. Her fingers closed into a fist and she placed it deliberately in her lap.

She was, Sylvanas realised, trying not to tug at the cravat still tied tightly around her neck.

"Have you given shelter to the farmers in the area," Jaina asked.

Cyril nodded. "Of course," he said. "As many as could safely be housed in the city."

"Good. Bring as many of them as you can to the fields north of the city tomorrow morning."

Face screwing up in confusion, Cyril said, "Might I be so bold as to ask what for?"

"To harvest crops," Jaina answered in a very matter-of-fact tone.

Katherine appeared startled. She leaned closer to her daughter and lowered her voice to a hushed whisper, which Sylvanas' keen ears could still pick up across the table. "This isn't what we agreed."

"No," Jaina said firmly, not bothering to lower her voice at all. "It isn't. But it is what will happen nonetheless."

"We should bring them after you've -" Katherine made a fluttering gesture with her fingers, trying to hide the movement from Priscilla's keen eyes.

Jaina's expression was chilly. "Say it."

Blinking, Katherine leaned back in her seat. "What?"

"Say it," Jaina repeated, and now her words could have been carved from ice. "Say: 'after I have used magic to make the plants grow.'"

Lips pursed in a thin line, Katherine sat ramrod straight in her seat. In spite of her affected poise, her pale eyes darted to Cyril and Priscilla, then flicked back to Jaina. "We talked about this," she said her voice hushed and hurried, as though explaining something to an unruly child. "Kul Tiras has never had a Lord Admiral who was also able to use magic before."

"Magic is part of who I am. I will not hide it."

Before Katherine could retort, Sylvanas interrupted calmly, "She couldn't, even if she wanted to."

Now every pair of eyes swung towards her at the opposite end of the table.

"What do you mean?" Katherine asked. "If she just didn't use it in front of people, then -"

But Sylvanas shook her head. "I do not think you quite understand. Most people might not notice, yes. However, others will only have to stand in her presence to know. Powerful magic users cannot hide what they are."

Katherine scoffed. "And I suppose you can sense her presence, or some such rubbish?"

"Yes." Sylvanas caught Jaina's gaze across the table and held it. "She reeks of arcane. Like a thunderstorm in summer. It is very distracting, truth be told."

Jaina appeared taken aback by the odd confession. On the other hand, Katherine wrinkled her nose -- more in distaste than in disbelief -- an expression that was shared by Lady Ashvane.

"So, it's true. I thought Alfred was just spouting some Tidesage bollocks about the Drust, but he was right. You’re a witch." Priscilla shook her head and leaned an elbow heavily upon the armrest of her chair. She spoke to Katherine, now. "I thought we had finally rooted out this damned Drust infiltration when Meredith died, but now it has hooked it's claws into the Admiralty itself. You ought to be ashamed, Katherine."

Jaina's face darkened. Her eyes blazed. When she spoke her voice was wintry. “You have nothing, and you will sign this treaty or reap the consequences.”

“You can’t hang me.”

“I don’t need to hang you to win.”

An ugly look crossed Priscilla’s face, and she hissed, “I haven’t lost, yet. My people will ransom me back. I will buy the rest of your army. You have nothing.”

Leaning back, Jaina drummed her fingers against the page. Her fingertips created a dull staccato rhythm against the solid wood. For a moment Sylvanas thought Katherine or Cyril might interject and take charge of the conversation, but then Jaina spoke, "It was obvious you could never attempt to invade western Drustvar until you had secured Fallhaven and the east. It would be too difficult to supply your army when the pass at Arom’s Stand was inaccessible during winter. To say nothing of what would have happened if your men had dared come into the Crimson Forest. From there it was only a matter of time. You have money, yes, but nothing else. You're not the Navy. I can break any siege with food. But most of all, I knew I could always depend on you being as untrusting as you are untrustworthy. So, of course, you came here personally. Because war is expensive. Because you believe your officers are incompetent fools. Because you wanted this over as quickly as possible. The moment you sailed to Drustvar, you lost. All I had to do was wait."

Silence fell over the room. Priscilla glared at her, but the effect was dampened by the way she darted her eyes towards Katherine and Sylvanas, as though weighing up her chances.

Jaina cocked her head to the side, considering Priscilla with an unblinking gaze, as if looking right through her. Then, she reached out and slid the paper across the table closer towards Priscilla. "Sign it."

Priscilla's throat bobbed when she swallowed thickly. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, as though she were cornered. Slowly, she lifted the page and began to read it more closely. Her brows furrowed darkly as she scanned the lines of flowery script. By the time she reached the bottom, her cheeks were flushed with incredulous anger.

"You can't be serious," she snapped, though she did not push the treaty aside. "Severe munitions limitations on merchant vessels? Removing the press and running the Navy on volunteers alone? Giving Drust the ability to own land? And opening the borders to the likes of -?" She suddenly pointed towards Sylvanas and spluttered, "- her?"

Sylvanas bared her teeth in a smile, but remained silent.

Meanwhile Jaina said firmly, "The borders of Kul Tiras will open whether we like it or not. By force. By attrition. By choice. It will happen. All we can do is choose how."

Even Lucille and Katherine looked a bit uncomfortable at that declaration. No one at the table said anything to the contrary however. Cyril shifted in his seat but nodded with a small resigned shrug.

Priscilla narrowed her eyes. “What else is there? Surely this can’t be everything?”

“No, you’re right. It isn’t.” Jaina’s face was a cold unwavering mask. “I want you to travel with me to Boralus as soon as this is all over. We will call a meeting of the Great Houses, and I want you to vote for me to become the next Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras.”

“Any why would I do this?”

“I can offer you incentives.”

“Which are?”

"You will vote for me, and not only will I permit you to keep your life, you will keep your station, your name, your wealth -"

"But not my pride," Priscilla sneered.

"No," Jaina murmured. "Your pride belongs to me."

A log slipped in the hearth and the fire popped, casting a cascade of sparks onto the soot-blackened stones before it. Outside it was beginning to grow dark. Night came early to Drustvar in winter. Priscilla worried a corner of the parchment between her ringed-bright fingers. Then she sighed. Her shoulders slumped and she gestured for Jaina to pass her the quill. Wordlessly, Jaina slid the inkwell and quill towards her. The rest of the table seemed to hold its breath -- apart from Sylvanas and Nathanos -- as Priscilla scratched her signature onto the bottom of the document with an angry scribble.

Jaina rose to her feet and pulled the document back towards herself. “Cyril,” she said, “Would you be so good as to witness this for us?”

“Certainly, madam.”

“Good.”

She signed the document herself, then passed it to both her mother and Lucille in turn. Eventually it made its way into Cyril’s hands, and he checked that everything was in order before he picked up a quill and signed beneath all their names.

As if not believing his own words, Cyril said, “I hereby witness that all present parties have sworn that this document shall be observed in good faith and without deceit, given by our hand, and so pass the Treaty of Windmill.”

“Jolly good,” Lucille said, sounding relieved.

Priscilla was pinching the bridge of her nose. “I need a stiff drink. Or five.”

By the time they rode into Boralus, the snow had faded and it was -- predictably -- raining. Sylvanas had almost grown accustomed to the rugged terrain of Drustvar, so that the countryside of Tiragarde Sound felt tame in comparison. Here there were no vast and wooded forests, no plains of dun and purple heath as far as the eye could see. Instead the snow-capped peaks dwindled on the horizon.

People had stared and pointed when they had entered the capital. Word had quickly spread that Katherine, Lucille, and Priscilla had all entered the city together. There were confused murmurs at the sight of Jaina, speculation running wild.

Meanwhile, Sylvanas, riding at the back of the procession, had her cowl drawn low over her head. She remained as inconspicuous as possible and garnered very little attention. No Forsaken or Tauren accompanied her, and she was trailed only by the three Rangers she had first brought with her to Kul Tiras. As soon the Treaty of Windmill had been signed, she had ordered her Horde troops to begin their travels back to Kalimdor. The last thing they needed was for Jaina to be seen riding into the city with the Horde at her back.

Not yet, anyway. But that would come later. Sylvanas was greatly looking forward to seeing a Horde banner flying on the docks of Boralus. Or perhaps even from Proudmoore Keep. She hadn’t decided yet.

Proudmoore Keep itself was as draughty and incommodious as ever. She could not tell who looked more uncomfortable being there: Jaina or Priscilla. It was a close match. Whereas Lucille and Katherine strode through the halls, chatting idly, Lady Ashvane grimaced at a butler who came to take her cloak. On the other hand, Jaina just looked like she was going to be ill.

A steward was speaking in low courteous tones to Katherine, “Lord Stormsong arrived just before you, madam. I took the initiative of escorting him to the audience chamber.”

“Very good, Bernard. Tell him we’ll be there shortly. And bring some tea while you’re at it.”

The steward bowed. “Right away.”

Jaina’s face seemed to lose a bit more of its colour. “Lord Stormsong is already here?”

“Of course, my dear,” Katherine said, already striding off in the direction of the audience chamber. Every alternate footsteps clacked as her cane contacted the stone floors. “Alfred always was a stickler about being on time.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Priscilla said, her lip curling just slightly. “For the leaders of the Great Houses to meet so you could rub your victory in our faces?”

Jaina scowled at her. “No.”

“Well, if you’re getting cold feet, you could elect me Lord Admiral instead.”

At that, Lucille said firmly, “Not to be crude, Priscilla, but I would rather vote for a shit-farmer from Dampwick.”

Ahead of her, Katherine snorted in amusement.

Jaina wrung out her braid while they walked, sending drops of water splattering to the floor. “I just thought I would have time to change into something dry.”

“Welcome back to Boralus,” Sylvanas muttered under her breath.

Just outside of the audience chamber, Lord Stormsong stood flanked by two Tidepriests with their faces deeply cowled and their eyes blazing. The shadows seemed to cling to them, and the lanterns strung from their belts glowed with a faint blue light. Lord Stormsong himself was a tall man with dark eyes. His height was only accentuated by the mitre of office he wore. He clutched a scrolled staff in one hand and glowered as the group approached.

A butler was trying to serve him tea, but he waved the man away irritably. “No, thank you,” he said.

“A cup for me, please,” Katherine said, drawing up to the butler and hooking her cane beneath her elbow so she could take the tea. “Hello again, Alfred. You’re looking as cunning as ever.”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed. “Katherine,” he greeted. “I thought you’d died when I sunk your flag off the coast of Tol Dagor.”

Katherine sipped primly at her tea. “And give you the satisfaction of having killed me? Never.”

His only response was a sour grunt.

Sylvanas watched this interaction from the sidelines with a muted kind of glee. She had spent the last few years enduring the politics of Orgrimmar, most of which involved a great deal of fisticuffs and beating of chests. This veiled cutting back and forth however, was far more similar to what she had grown up with back in Silvermoon. She almost felt a touch nostalgic. It was difficult to keep her expression neutral.

Alfred’s dark eyes moved to Lucille. “You look even younger than when I last saw you.”

“And you’re just as insufferable as I remember,” Lucille said cheerfully. She held out her hand to the butler bearing a tea tray and said, “I think I need one of those too, if you please.”

“Tides,” said Priscilla. “Can we just get this bloody thing over with?”

Alfred turned to her. “I don’t know what you mean. A meeting of the Great Houses has been called, and so I have come as summoned. But so far nobody has deigned to tell me why.”

With a contemptuous sniff, Katherine said, “Don’t play dumb. It really doesn’t suit you.”

Alfred opened his mouth, but stopped when Jaina cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention. All eyes swung towards her, and she straightened her shoulders somewhat. “I called the meeting.”

His eyes roved over her from head to toe. “And who are you?”

“That’s my daughter,” Katherine answered before Jaina could speak. “Perhaps you remember her. Though the last time you would have seen her, she was about yea high.” She held a hand up to her waist to indicate Jaina’s height as a child.

Some dark expression flickered across Alfred’s face. “The child you sent to be raised by those wood savages?”

Sylvanas could see Jaina’s jaw tighten, though she said nothing in reply.

“The very same,” Katherine murmured into her cup of tea. “I’ve named her my Heir.”

"If you really expect me to vote for a Drust witch, then -!"

"I don't," Jaina interrupted him. "In fact I fully expect for you to vote against me, and lose anyway. I have already secured a majority. You are only here as a courtesy."

His face went pale, then red, then an unpleasant shade of purple. He rounded on Lady Ashvane. "If you'd just listened to my proposal, then we never would have been in this situation."

Priscilla's lip curled, and she snapped, "Oh, go hang yourself, Alfred."

“Well,” said Lucille. “This is getting off to a wonderful start. Shall we go in?”

“Please,” Katherine sighed, setting aside her finished cup and saucer onto the butler’s silver tray.

Two Proudmoore guardsmen flanking the large double doors to the audience chamber moved to push the doors open. The old hinges groaned beneath the weight. Still bickering, Priscilla, Alfred, Lucille and Katherine began walking inside. The Tidesages did not follow after their master, instead taking up residence in the shadows of a corner of the hallway to mutter amongst themselves quietly, their murmurs like the lap of waves against the shore.

Jaina took a step after the others, then paused. She turned to Sylvanas and said, “I’m afraid outsiders are not permitted to watch the proceedings. You may wait outside if you wish.”

“I think I would prefer to change into some dry clothes,” Sylvanas replied.

“I am green with envy.”

From inside the audience chamber, raised voices could be heard. Jaina winced. Sylvanas glanced over her shoulder to see what was going on. It appeared that Alfred and Priscilla were already getting into a heated argument, while Lucille was mournfully gazing into her empty cup of tea, and Katherine rubbed wearily at her brow.

Jaina made a face, scrunching up her nose. “I’m going to be here a while. I don’t suppose you would make a distraction for me, so I can flee back to the Crimson Forest?”

“And ruin all my hard work?”

“You’re evil.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that.” Turning on her heel, Sylvanas gave a little wave over her shoulder. “Try not to have too much fun without me.”

Behind her she could hear Jaina sigh.

The last time she had been in Proudmoore Keep, the butler had escorted her around with a leery glance at her weapons, as though she might attack its inhabitants. Now, warm quarters had been provided for her and her Rangers. They were a far cry from the sumptuous amenities of Silvermoon -- or even Dalaran, for that matter -- but they were some of the best Kul Tiras had to offer foreign dignitaries.

Hours had passed. Night had washed over Boralus. And still the meeting of the Great Houses had not finished. Velonara was lounging on a couch with her feet up, filing her fingernails to be repainted. Anya sat at a table, practising sleight of hand tricks with coins and a well-worn deck of cards. Meanwhile, Nathanos paced before the fireplace. He would wear a ditch into the carpet before long.

"You look troubled, Nathanos," Sylvanas remarked. Her fingers were laced behind her head, and she had her feet propped atop a cushioned footrest before a blazing hearth. For the first time in months, her clothes were completely dry. It felt like heaven.

"I wish I had your confidence," he said.

"You don't trust that they will open the borders to us?"

"All I know is that I have no idea what they are discussing in that chamber."

"Are you telling me you don't have spies in the room?" She tsked, tapping her tongue against the back of her teeth. "For shame."

"I tried," he growled, continuing to pace. "But there are two very powerful magic users inside. They don't want to be overheard."

“And they needn’t be.” When Nathanos opened his mouth to retort, she waved him away. “Relax. Or haven’t you realised yet?”

His pacing slowed. “Realise what?”

Sylvanas smiled, and her fangs glinted in the firelight. “We’ve won.”

The ascension of the Lord Admiral's Heir demanded a ceremony before the citizenry of Boralus. Sylvanas kept out of the way during the preparations. Servants and guardsmen scurried about in Proudmoore livery, ordered to and fro by Katherine, who barked commands as though she were back on a flagship. Though she was not the only one to be kept busy. More than once, Sylvanas could spy Lucille fussing over decorations and ledgers. Apparently there was to be a large dinner at the Keep after the ceremony itself. More like a military ball than anything else.

Lucille had even personally delivered an invitation written in her own flawless hand. Sylvanas had turned the cream-coloured cardstock over between her fingers before tossing it into the fireplace. She would have to attend, of course. It wouldn’t do to snub her new allies by not making her appearances. Especially not when everyone of name and worth in the city was going to be in attendance.

If Lucille was put out by the way Sylvanas had discarded the invitation she did not show it. “There is a dress code,” she said. “Formal military, if you please.”

In answer, Sylvanas gestured to her current armoured outfit.

“Oh. Hmm.” Lucille reached out and touched one of the spikes on Sylvanas’ pauldron. “I don’t suppose you have anything a little less...er….lugubrious?”

Sylvanas gave her a flat look and said, “No.”

“Right. Of course. Would you mind if I sent over my tailor? She can whip something up for you in a jiffy. She is really very good, and I think a Kul Tiran tailcoat would look very fine on you indeed.”

“No.”

"But -!"

In the end, Sylvanas had to all but steer Lucille towards the door to get her out of her private quarters in the Keep. And to think that only just a few months ago Lucille had been too afraid of her to step foot in her personal space alone.

“She’s right, you know,” Anya said from a chair by the hearth once Sylvanas had slammed the door shut behind Lucille.

“About what?”

“You would look good in a Kul Tiran tailcoat. And they’re very comfortable.”

“Not you, too, Anya.”

Anya only shrugged. “Velonara made me get one with her.”

Aiming a glare at the two of them, Sylvanas said, “Wear what you like, but I shall be representing the Horde as Warchief.”

At that, Velonara’s expression turned dubious. She shared a silent meaningful look with Anya, who shrugged and mouthed, “I tried.”

“All right. I am leaving.” Sylvanas tugged the door back open and stalked out.

It was a winding walk through the draughty halls of the Keep to reach Jaina’s personal quarters. A guard was stationed outside. He kept stealing nervous looks at the enormous bone and branch sabre cat that lounged just beside the door like a common house pet. Its tail twitched when Sylvanas strode forwards.

Stopping before the door, Sylvanas spared Adalyn a glance before speaking to the guard. “Is she inside?”

The guard came to attention without needing to be prompted. “Lady Proudmoore is getting ready for the ceremony, ma’am. The Lord Admiral is with her.”

“Oh?” Sylvanas’ ears cocked forward slightly. “I don’t hear any yelling.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then they won’t mind if I intrude. Unless someone else objects?” Sylvanas said, looking at Adalyn again.

The cat yawned broadly, revealing fangs that could shred her to pieces, and Adalyn lowered her head back down to her crossed paws for a snooze.

Wordlessly, the guard opened the door for her, and Sylvanas walked inside. The door shut softly behind her. As the Lord Admiral’s Heir, Jaina’s personal apartments were sprawling with multiple rooms. The sitting room was empty, though there was evidence that people had recently inhabited it. A fire was crackling in the hearth. Two empty cups of tea sat atop a table beside a teapot. The spout still steamed faintly. A silver spoon was turned over so that it leaned against the saucer. The tip of a quill was balanced in its well, and ink was still glistening and fresh on a small piece of paper.

Sylvanas could hear the faint murmur of voices through one of the doors leading to another chamber. On silent feet, she approached, but did not push the door open immediately. She leaned against the wall beside it and listened.

“...and whatever you do: don’t lift the sword above shoulder-height.”

“I know, mother. We’ve been over this a hundred times, now.”

There was a momentary pause, before Katherine continued softly. “Yes. Of course.” The sound of rustling fabric followed, and then Katherine said, “Here. Let me.”

“You don’t have to -”

“But I would like to. Please.”

Jaina gave no verbal answer. The soft whisper of fabric returned, and then Katherine said, “You should have told me sooner.”

“I didn’t want to make that conversation at Barrowknoll any worse than it already was.”

“All the same. I would’ve liked to have known about this.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Jaina, you died.”

“You don’t have to remind me. I was there. No, don’t. Stop. Please.” Jaina drew in a deep shuddering breath. “It’s in the past. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

A sigh, and then the sound of uneven footsteps. “Well, you certainly look the part of Lord Admiral, in any case.”

“That’s all I have at the moment,” Jaina grumbled. “Appearances.”

“You will learn.”

“Hmm.”

“You are not alone. The Admiralty is not without its resources. And you have me, as well.” The gentle tap of Katherine’s cane joined the fray, and her voice drifted as though she were walking about the room. “I may not have much time left in this world, but what time I do have is yours.”

“Thank you,” Jaina said softly.

Katherine made a wordless scoffing noise. “Don’t thank me, my dear. It really is the least I can do.”

Jaina lowered her voice, and Sylvanas strained to hear it.

“I see,” Katherine said. Then, she said very clearly, “You may come in now, Warchief. I was just leaving.”

Before Sylvanas could even touch the handle however, the door swung inwards and Katherine began limping through it.

“Lord Admiral,” Sylvanas greeted.

“You won’t be able to call me that for much longer,” Katherine drawled without pausing. “Just ‘Kath’ will do. But never in public, if you please.”

Sylvanas wasn’t sure she would ever call her that, regardless of whether they were in private or not. For her part, Katherine did not give her the opportunity to respond. She was already heading towards the main exit, leaning heavily on her cane with every step. Sylvanas watched her go until the door shut behind her. Then, she glanced into the room beyond.

Jaina’s bedroom looked like any other bedroom in the Keep. There were no personal touches to it, as though she hardly spent any time here apart from what daily sleep her body required. The four-poster bed was ornately carved and canopied with green drapes. A trunk sat at the foot of the bed. A large wooden wardrobe was open, revealing a panoply of military clothes that could have belonged to any high-ranking Naval officer.

Jaina herself stood before a narrow, full length, silver-backed mirror. She was tying a white silk cravat around her neck, except this time she was actually accomplishing the feat.

“The only good thing about being back here,” Jaina said while still studying the movement of her hands in the mirror, “is that I can ask a valet to teach me how to tie one of these wretched things.”

“I see they’ve succeeded,” Sylvanas said. She stopped by the bed, crossing her arms and leaning her shoulder against one of the carved pillars.

Jaina huffed with self-deprecating laughter. “Barely.” She continued fiddling with the cravat, tucking the ends away just so into her waistcoat. Her greatcoat was draped across the mattress beside Sylvanas alongside her gloves. "This all feels like it's moving so fast. Weren't we just fighting in Drustvar?"

"Three weeks ago."

"Like I said. Fast."

"Would you prefer to keep fighting?"

"Of course not." Jaina had finished with the cravat and now smoothed her hands down the front of her waistcoat. "I do wish I could vanish back to my little cabin, though. Life was simpler as the High Thornspeaker."

Sylvanas cocked her head to the side. “Is that a title you will retain?”

“It is. Though I will be ceding many of my duties to the other Thornspeakers. I am not giving them up by becoming Lord Admiral. I am - I am ensuring their future.”

She sounded firm, like she was trying to convince herself.

Without responding, Sylvanas continued to watch the way Jaina nervously fiddled with her clothing. Then she picked up the greatcoat from the bed and approached, holding the article of clothing up so that Jaina could slip her arms into it and shrug it into place over her shoulders.

“Thank you,” Jaina said. She straightened the lapels of her greatcoat, but her hands slowed, and then stopped. For a long silent moment, she stared at her reflection in the long mirror, her face going strangely slack.

When Jaina continued to stare and not speak, Sylvanas asked, “Is everything all right?”

"I've - I’ve dreamed of this moment," she breathed.

"Really?" Sylvanas said dryly. "Because you certainly fought against it long enough."

"No. I mean: I've Dreamed of this moment."

It was only then that Sylvanas noticed the trembling in Jaina's fingers. Her shoulders were beginning to shake. Her face was pale. Her eyes were wide, gazing at herself in horror. Her breaths grew rapid, turning into short sharp gasps.

Startled, Sylvanas reached out. The moment she touched Jaina's shoulder, the tension in the air went sharp as a whip and the mirror cracked. Jaina flinched. A long jagged line now ran down a section of the glass, exactly mirroring the scar down her cheek.

Shaking her head, unable to look away and slowly stumbling back a step, Jaina mumbled, "No, no, no, no, no -"

Sylvanas opened her mouth to speak, but froze when she caught sight of the mirror. Jaina’s reflection did not match. In the mirror, she still wore her Naval uniform, but there was a sword through her chest. She was bound and gagged, her face a bloodied mess, her eye gouged out, dangling by a rope from her neck. Sylvanas blinked, and the image was gone, replaced by a completely normal reflection once more.

Beside her, Jaina was panting now. Her hands flew to her throat. She started tugging at the cravat, ripping it free and gasping as though struggling to breathe. Sylvanas tried to manoeuvre herself into Jaina's sight, stepping between her and the mirror so she could not look at herself again. Wary, she reached out and gently grasped Jaina’s shoulders.

“Listen to me,” she said, keeping her voice low and calm. “You are awake. You are alive and you are safe.”

Jaina flinched.

“Do you want me to leave?” Sylvanas asked.

Immediately and fervently Jaina shook her head. She grabbed hold of Sylvanas’ arms as if afraid she might go anyway.

“All right,” Sylvanas murmured. “I will stay.”

Jaina’s breathing still came short and harsh and fast. Her fingers dug into Sylvanas’ forearms, clinging to her as though she were the only thing keeping her afloat. The cravat was a mess of silk hanging around her neck like a noose that had not yet been tightened, revealing the ropey scar tissue of her throat, bracketed by her high collar.

After a few minutes where the only noise in the room was Jaina’s sharp gasps for breath, Sylvanas said idly, “You know, Lucille wants me to wear a tailcoat to this military ball you’re throwing tonight. She was very adamant, but I think I would rather die a fourth time than wear that drab. What do you think?”

Jaina had hung her head, and now she lifted it to blink at Sylvanas in muddled confusion.

Sylvanas gave Jaina’s shoulders a comforting squeeze. “Shall we show them what it means to have real taste? You can wear the deer skull, and I, the foreign armour with spikes. We will be the scandal of the capital on your first day as Lord Admiral.”

At that Jaina gave a weak huff of laughter. She nodded, closing her eyes and trying to take a deeper breath. Her pulse was a rapid rhythm at her neck, fluttering beneath the skin, but her breathing began to slow. Finally she managed to say, “Keep talking.”

“Now, that is an invitation you are going to regret.”

Sylvanas spoke. She kept the topics inane and rambling. The latest news from Durotar. Some juicy outdated gossip about a few of the noble families at the old court of Silvermoon. A humorous war story about a lance corporal who was literally caught with his pants around his ankles during a night exercise. The last was a tale she had always reserved for dinner parties to make the more uptight people in the room laugh and relax. She hadn’t needed to employ it for years.

Jaina wasn’t smiling though. Over the last few minutes she had gotten her breathing under control. She swallowed thickly and rasped, "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can."

Jaina shook her head. She was staring down at their feet. "No. No, I'm going to be bad for Kul Tiras. These people deserve better than me. I can't. I'm not the right person."

"There is no other person,” Sylvanas insisted. "And you know what is bad for Kul Tiras? More conflict. More fighting. More death. You have already stopped that."

"I will make it worse again. I know I will. I've seen it."

"The ceremony is in just a few hours. They are waiting for you. They want you. They don't want someone else."

But Jaina's voice was watery and weak, like she was choking on the words. "I can't. I'm not - I'm not Derek. I'm not Tandred. I'm not good. Not like them."

"Look at me. Jaina."

When she did not respond, Sylvanas grasped Jaina's chin and nudged her face up so that she was forced to look at her. Jaina's cheeks were wet, her eyes red-rimmed and frightened.

"No, you're not going to be good. You are going to be great," Sylvanas said vehemently. "I have seen it. Not in a dream. Damn the Dream. I have seen it here. In this life. The place where it matters. And I know it to be true."

Jaina was staring at her with wide eyes, utterly silent. It was only after she had finished speaking that Sylvanas realised she was cupping Jaina's face in both hands, tenderly stroking her thumb over one cheek. She tried to let go and step away, but Jaina slipped a hand to the back of her neck and tugged her gently forward.

It was not at all the kiss Sylvanas had expected. Jaina’s mouth was soft and warm, and even a touch fearful. As though she wanted something to ground her, and this was the only thing she could think of doing.

Though Sylvanas would have been lying if she’d said she hadn’t thought of doing this before. Perhaps back at camp, or in that cosy cliffside cabin. When Jaina still did not know how to tie a cravat. When Jaina hadn’t been desperate and crying just moments ago.

Jaina broke the kiss but her hand remained on the back of Sylvanas’ neck. “I wish we hadn’t done that.”

“Why?” Sylvanas murmured. “Did you not want to?”

“No. I did.” They were still close enough that the words ghosted across Jaina’s mouth. Her eyes flickered down and she swayed forward. Sylvanas tilted her head to the side, but Jaina stopped before they could kiss again. Jaina bit at her own lower lip and said, “That’s what’s going to make this next part harder.”

Moving her hands, Sylvanas smoothed down the lapels of Jaina’s greatcoat so that they rested flush against her collar. “I know I gave you some advice about your personal wants and the needs of your nation -”

Jaina chuckled weakly. “It was more of a speech, really.”

“A fantastic speech, I might add.”

“It was very poignant, if I recall,” Jaina agreed.

“I have had many years to practice. Just as you will.” Sylvanas could not justify keeping her hands on Jaina any longer -- her greatcoat was sharp and pristine -- but she let her touch linger nonetheless. “Kul Tiras cannot expect you to be a spinster.”

“No. I imagine not. In fact, I think they’d want me to produce an Heir as quickly as possible.”

“I’m not sure I can help you there,” said Sylvanas dryly.

Jaina’s answering laugh was exhausted. She shook her head. “Unfortunately for them, they’ll be waiting a good long while for anything like that.”

Sylvanas toyed with a burnished button bearing a fouled anchor. “In which case, we are free to entertain ourselves in the meantime.”

Jaina was watching her intently, as though trying to scour her face to memory. Her eyes dropped to Sylvanas’ mouth and fixed there. Her fingertips traced a hesitant line across the nape of Sylvanas’ neck. “I don’t think you’ll want me after I -”

With a soft tug at the lapels of her greatcoat, Sylvanas brought their mouths together again. Jaina made a small noise into the kiss when Sylvanas lightly traced her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Any hesitation vanished, and suddenly Jaina was gripping her close, one hand at Sylvanas’ hip, the other bunched in her long ashen hair.

Sylvanas had to remind herself to take care, to not rumple Jaina’s outfit or her hair overly much. It was more difficult than it should have been. The slight brushes of Jaina’s skin against her fingertips burned like the noonday sun of her homeland, and the only thing Sylvanas could think of was wanting to reveal more of it, her hands already slipping beneath the greatcoat and settling on the warmth of Jaina’s sides. A heady sensation rushed sluggishly through her, and it took her a moment to give it a name -- it had been far too long since Sylvanas had felt desire like this. Years. Now, it prickled at the base of her spine, crawling up her back as Jaina held her closer.

Slightly breathless, Jaina broke away. Her hand tightened for a moment and something flickered across her face. After a split second of hesitation however, Jaina stepped back, swallowing thickly. “I really ought to finish getting ready. Can we meet here after? We should talk." She gestured between the two of them. "About this. And other things."

Sylvanas nodded. "I will return here before the ball. We’ll talk."

A crowd was gathered on the main docks of the harbour. Banners of all the Great Houses swung in an icy breeze, most prominent among them the green flag bearing the anchor of the Admiralty. Citizens of every stripe huddled together, the gentry rubbing elbows with dockworkers and fullers from Dampwick Ward, finely clothed merchants and ash-streaked farriers, their leather belts draped with rasps and large pliers, fishermen and stevedores with the collars of their worn coats turned up against the chill.

Sylvanas stood well in the back. She did not bother trying to get closer, preferring to remain out of sight, lingering in the shade of a shop awning, which had been abandoned by its owner in favour of watching the ceremony. A sleek frigate was anchored and lashed at the docks. The name ‘Restoration’ was emblazoned across its stern in gold. It was not, so Sylvanas had been informed, a flagship, but it was a perfectly serviceable first-rate. Which, of course, meant it was massive beyond compare, a veritable floating barracks filled to bursting with sailors, marines, and enough gunpowder and shot to blow away a small city.

She did not take her eyes off the ship. Officers stood at attention in their glittering finery, while five figures were arrayed before them. Even had Sylvanas not known who they were, their silhouettes were impossible to misrepresent. Each of the leaders of the Great Houses and Jaina Proudmoore in the very middle of them all, like the focal point of an old painting.

This was not a ship blessing ceremony, but it felt exactly like the one Sylvanas had attended almost exactly a year ago in this very city. The only thing that was missing was the rain. For once, Boralus was merely overcast, pale watery sunlight shunting through a part in the clouds and illuminating the vast stretches of canvas sails.

For all Jaina’s hesitation at the Keep, she stood straight-backed as a pillar now. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her pale hair stark against the dark fabric of her military greatcoat. Beside her, Katherine had a ceremonial sword buckled at her waist, and in a smooth motion she drew it, her gloved hand clenched around the wire-wrapt hilt. She passed the blade to Jaina, who took it without a word. When Jaina held the sword out before her, Lucille was the first to step forward.

Lucille’s words were loud and clear, carrying across the docks as the onlookers watched in a silence broken only by the whistle of the wind and the creaking planks of the ship. “I, Lady Lucille Waycrest, head of House Waycrest, do truly and sincerely acknowledge, profess, testify, and declare in my conscience before the Tides and the world, that Jaina Proudmoore is the lawful and rightful Lord Admiral of the realm of Kul Tiras. I swear that I will well and truly serve the office of the Lord Admiral, and I will do right to all manner of people after the laws and usages of this realm, without fear or favour, affection or ill will. And I do make this recognition heartily, willingly, and truly, upon the Tides.”

After speaking she leaned down in a low bow and kissed the flat of the blade held before her. She stepped back, and Lord Stormsong stepped forward in her place. The same words and rituals were repeated by each of them, ending with Katherine.

Everyone on the docks seemed utterly rapt by this ceremony. Sylvanas tuned out the repetition after the second time they were said. She was too busy studying how striking a figure Jaina cut atop the stern of the ship. She was still thinking about resuming that kiss from earlier -- hopefully with less crying and self-loathing this time -- when she realised Jaina had pulled out a small folded piece of parchment and had started to give a speech.

“...a long road lies before us,” she was saying, her voice carrying too clearly across the chilly air. She must have been amplifying her words with a subtle spell. “And I know that I am not the leader you expected. And though you have had and will have many wiser and stronger Lord Admirals, you never had nor will you ever have one as grateful or as dedicated. There is nothing I hold in higher regard than the well-being of Kul Tiras and its people. Everything I do henceforth will be for you and you alone. This I swear.

“The times shift as the Tides, and in the shadow of adversity all we can hope to do is steer a course that sees us safe and victorious. Which is why, for my first act as Lord Admiral, I will ensure that this nation is a safe harbour for everyone.”

As Jaina continued to speak, Sylvanas could feel a satisfied smirk pull at the corner of her mouth. She did nothing to quell it.

“Effective immediately as voted by the Great Houses, Kul Tiras will open its borders,” Jaina said. “No longer will we drown in our isolation beyond the waves, and instead we will become greater than we ever were alone. I have struck favourable deals with representatives abroad from both the Horde and the Alliance, which will make Kul Tiras a haven to all.”

It took a moment for that statement to register. Slowly, Sylvanas uncrossed her arms and stood straighter as she digested the words. The smile slipped from her face and she hissed, “What?”

Jaina was still talking. She addressed the crowd, refusing to look in Sylvanas’ direction. With every word, the sensation of icy horror gripped at her stomach like a clenched fist. Standing there -- anger rising to rage, then to some ineffable emotion that sang in her jaws -- Sylvanas finally realised that she had been played.

#jaina proudmoore #sylvanas windrunner #sylvaina #you search the mountain #roman writes #drust au #time for me to sleep for one million years

73 notes · View notes

alexsfictionaddiction · 4 years

Text

Spookiest Middle-Grade Books For Halloween

There’s something very special about books that set you up for a cosy ride and then take a dark turn. I find that most middle-grade horror and supernatural books do this and the clever offsetting of places that should be so familiar -schools, family homes and small suburban towns- can be so unsettling. Whether it’s encounters with spirits, investigating grisly mysteries or fighting monsters, spooky middle-grade books are the ideal whimsical companion to a night in front of the fire. Enjoy my selection! -Love, Alex x

1. Coraline by Neil Gaiman

When Coraline moves into a new house with her parents, it’s not long before she discovers a door to a world that perfectly mirrors the one she came from, only things look ever so slightly... different. This incredibly creepy macabre and wonderfully written story is an October staple for me and it’s the perfect introduction to dark fantasy for children. The film is one of my favourites of all time, so be sure to watch that after you’ve read it!

2. The House With A Clock In Its Walls by John Bellairs

When orphan Lewis goes to stay with his uncle Jonathan, he has no idea that he’s about to discover that both Jonathan and his neighbour Mrs Zimmermann are magic wielders. Through a string of unfortunate experiments, Lewis ends up unleashing the angry spirit of the evil previous owner of the house who is hell-bent on destroying the human race. This whimsical book was published in the 1970s but it still holds up as strong, dark, magical tomfoolery with a just-scary-enough Gothic vibe, which is perfect for young spooksters.

3. City of Ghosts by Victoria Schwab

Cassidy’s parents have a ghosthunting TV show but it’s Cass who can really see ghosts, including her best friend Jacob who happens to be one. When her parents’ TV show takes them to the haunted streets of Edinburgh, Cass comes face to face with a less than pleasant mission and a deadly threat. Coated in a mist that dawdles on every page, Schwab’s middle-grade novel is a fantastic ghost adventure story, full of darkness and friendship.

4. Small Spaces by Katherine Arden

When the bus breaks down on the way back from a school trip to an old farm, the driver warns the kids that they’d better run. Only Ollie and two of her friends heed his warning and enter the dark woods, flanked by scarecrows... It has a wonderfully disturbing, folksy, rural vibe and Arden is a master at conjuring an ominous unseen presence. If you weren’t afraid of scarecrows before reading this book, you will be after!

5. The Jumbies by Tracey Baptiste

Fearless Corinne finds herself following a suspected jumbie into the forest and the next day, she spots a strange woman in town. When this strange woman begins to get close to her father, Corinne learns an ancient magic to try to stop the jumbies from taking over the island. Drawing on Haitian folklore, this is a wonderfully unique tale of threat and magic that thoroughly transports its readers.

6. Crater Lake by Jennifer Killick

When a Year Six class turn up to a deserted Crater Lake activity camp, the extra-terrestrial horrors are only just about to begin and no one is getting any sleep. There is a lot of humour in this book, which juxtaposes the bizarre, horrific events that are happening and it makes for the perfect light-hearted, sci-fi horror story. Indulge in a quick fix of alien madness alongside a fantastic band of characters.

7. The Hungry Ghost by H. S. Norup

When Danish-born Freja arrives in Singapore to spend the summer with her father and stepmother, she is just in time for The Hungry Ghost festival, the time of year where spirits can roam amongst the living. Suddenly, she is seeing and spending time with a mysterious ghost girl who seems to have a connection to her family. Set against a stunning backdrop, this is a beautiful new novel, full of mythology and Asian culture as well as a compelling story and fantastic characterisations.

8. The Creakers by Tom Fletcher

When Lucy wakes up one morning and all of the adults in her town have vanished, she’s a little confused to say the least. All the kids are causing chaos but Lucy just wants to find out what really happened. The Creakers have other ideas though... Full of imagination and intrigue, this is a mystery novel like no other. The Creakers serve just the right amount of creep to unsettle you and it’s dotted with smile-inducing moments. It’s the ideal Halloween read for the younger end of middle-graders.

9. The Haunting of Aveline Jones by Phil Hickes

When ghost story lover Aveline spends some time at her aunt’s house in a small coastal town, she uncovers the key to a long-buried mystery. A tale of friendship, tragedy and spook ensues. Hickes is great at developing a brooding, unfeeling atmosphere and this haunts every page of his book. I did cry at several parts because it is such a beautiful, chilling read. Wrap up warm for this one!

10. The Ghost of Gosswater by Lucy Strange

When Lady Agatha is thrown out of her family home, she has to make a new life for herself in a small cottage while dealing with the fact that a stranger may be her real father. But a ghost girl is haunting the local lake and she could hold the answers as to who Agatha really is. Set in 1899, this Gothic ghost story is thoroughly compelling, incredibly eerie and expertly written in an almost poetic fashion. A fantastic reading choice for a Halloween night!

#middle-grade #horror #fantasy #middle-grade books #books #book recommendations #halloween #children's books #bookworm

14 notes · View notes

tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors · 5 years

Note

so, in favor, before virgil actually intervenes, what's his thought process during the build up as he's getting elliot's negative emotions through the bracelet?

OH that was a fun scene to write, so-

Elliot was panicking about Chad showing up all day - they make a big show in their own Internal Monologue of like, “I’m not... really scared of Chad...” but trust - they very much are.

Virgil shows up, but Elliot has Expressed The Thumbs Up, and this is a New Friend, and the others told him he might have been a little spooky and he doesn’t want to scare Elliot himself, so...

So he sorta half keeps an eye on Elliot’s thread for the rest of the day, and then Chad stops at Fletcher park, Elliot’s officially in petrified town, and Virgil’s like “okay, no”

He was hurrying, but he had Patton with him so he was going the Meatspace Route - Logan and Roman are not afraid of Chad fucking Pennybacker, so at that point, Virgil doesn’t even know the altercation Elliot’s panicking about involves them

And then Chad shoves Roman.

And Virgil, who’s sole focus is currently on “empathic lo-jack web” when this happens, essentially gets the full brunt of Roman’s fear from a flashback airhorned directly in his face.

yall it is a M I R A C L E Chad Pennybacker lived through that encounter. The man - with NO exaggeration whatsoever - owes Patton his LIFE.

It takes Virgil a hot second to put two-and-two together and realized this is the Same Asshole - and then there’s Elliot, who looks like theyre about to burst into tears from sheer terror and still, with their voice shaking, is trying to help Roman.

It’s the hospital room all over again - this kid. Virgil can tell now that a lot of this fear is directed at him, and he feels super gross about it, but Elliot is not running away - they are fifteen and tiny and terrified and hopelessly outmatched... and very clearly not going anywhere until theyre sure Roman is okay

And that my friend, is truly the exact moment in which Virgil said “Ah. My Sibling Now.”

#love and other fairytales ask #laoft virgil #laoft elliot #Anonymous #ask

124 notes · View notes

aion-rsa · 4 years

Text

13 Best Blumhouse Horror Movies Ranked

https://ift.tt/3pr9EwE

Has any single person had a greater impact on horror this century than Jason Blum? The one-time Miramax executive struck out on his own in the 2000s when he founded Blumhouse Productions, a company where he remains the CEO. And in the ensuing years, Blum’s production label would define, and redefine again, the trends of horror movies and thrillers.

Operating on the philosophy that a horror film with a micro-budget will almost always turn a profit, Blum frequently allows directors broad freedom to make what they want within the genre, and in the process has kept multiplexes perpetually spooky. In 2009 Blumhouse helped reinvent the found footage horror aesthetic, and in the 2010s, the modern phenomenon of talent-focused horror gems began with Blumhouse’s gambles.

Working with filmmakers like James Wan, Scott Derrickson, Ethan Hawke, and Jordan Peele, Blumhouse Productions’ title card is now a promise of something different, if still eminently commercial and entertaining. It even paved the way for the controversial modern discourse around “elevated” horror, with Peele’s Get Out being the first chiller to win an Oscar for screenwriting since The Silence of the Lambs.

So with a new Blumhouse horror movie in theaters this Friday the 13th, we thought it a good time to count down the 13 best Blumhouse efforts that paid off with a bloody good time.

13. Hush

At the bottom of our top 13 is this taut thriller from Mike Flanagan, director The Haunting of series and Doctor Sleep fame. Flanagan and his co-writer and star (and also wife), Kate Siegel, wanted to make a horror movie with little to no dialogue. So they came up with this concept of a deaf-mute woman (Siegel) in a remote house, who is stalked by a killer with a crossbow. Hush is at its peak in the first 20 minutes as the masked man (10 Cloverfield Lane’s John Gallagher Jr.) realizes his quarry can’t actually hear him and begins to play games.

Movies

Doctor Sleep Director Mike Flanagan Teases Future Stephen King Projects

By John Saavedra

Movies

A24 Horror Movies Ranked From Worst to Best

By David Crow and 3 others

The pair’s relationship with sound makes an interesting dynamic in this tense home invasion movie, though the cat and mouse chase does grow somewhat repetitive and generic as the film progresses. Still, a fine performance from Siegel and an indication of what Flanagan could do on a small budget make this very much worth checking out. – Rosie Fletcher

12. Happy Death Day

The Groundhog Day formula where an odious person is doomed to relive the same day countless times has proven remarkably flexible. And Happy Death Day is no exception with its horror-comedy blend of Punxsutawney hijinks and ‘80s slasher movie clichés. Starring a ridiculously game Jessica Rothe as Tree, the sorority girl who is constantly waking up with the hangover from hell, Happy Death Day follows the typical “Queen Bee” slasher archetype, and forces her to relive the same horror movie again and again. Until she can figure out who her masked killer is, and maybe how to be a better person, she’s condemned to die in increasingly preposterous ways. Worse still, she must also wake up in a dormitory afterward.

It’s derivative in a million different ways, but delightful in many more thanks to a cheeky atmosphere from director Christopher Landon and a very savvy, self-aware script by Scott Lobdell. Most of all though, it benefits from Rothe’s comedic talents on full display, as she backflips between initial verbal bitchiness and constant physical comedy. She even manages to find a little pathos, one stab wound at a time. – David Crow

11. The Visit

The Sixth Sense may remain M. Night Shyamalan’s masterpiece, but it was an oft-referenced moment from a different film that became key to Blumhouse pulling him back from the brink of irrelevance.

Having made four objectively terrible movies in a row, including the notoriously bad wind-smeller The Happening, Shyamalan seemingly decided to use what he’d learned from a very effective part of 2002’s Signs, where Joaquin Phoenix reacts to a tense home movie of an alien sighting, and took the next logical step: What if the director put together 90 minutes of unsettling home movie moments just like that?

Your mileage may vary with the handheld, mockumentary style of The Visit, but it’s hard to argue that this brisk, low-budget tale of two young siblings staying with some very, very odd grandparents they’ve never met before could play out more wildly than it does here. And Shyamalan certainly doesn’t pull many punches when it comes to putting those poor kids in peril during the film’s climax. – Kirsten Howard

10. Creep

No, not the one set on the subway, this Creep, directed by Patrick Brice, written by Brice and Mark Duplass, and also starring them both in a tense two-hander, is an altogether more unsettling affair. Brice plays Aaron, a videographer who answers an ad posted by Josef (Duplass), the latter saying he’s dying and wants a video diary made to leave to his son. But Josef’s behavior is weird – exactly how weird is too weird is the challenge faced by Aaron.

At just 77 mins long, this is a compact, unusual, often funny movie which picks at male relationships in the modern day, and how far kindness and politeness can override instinct. Duplass and Brice are incredibly natural in a film that’s extremely unusual, steeped in unease but not really like a traditional horror, with laughter and tension relief keeping you on your toes throughout. There’s a sequel which is good too, though if you can watch the first without spoilers it delivers a particular kind of dread that’s hard to replicate. – RF

9. Upgrade

A couple of decades ago, there were plenty of films around like Upgrade. You didn’t even have to move for fun sci-fi action movies, really! But the glory days of never having to wait for the next Equilibrium, Gattaca, Cypher, or even Jet Li’s The One are long behind us. It’s pretty tough to get a slick little concept movie made when you’re expected to compete with huge action tentpoles at the box office—unless you’re Leigh Whannell, one of Blumhouse’s integral puzzle pieces.

Whannell paid his dues at the production house for 15 years as both a writer and helmer before unleashing his sophomore directorial effort, Upgrade. The film, which follows ludicrously named technophobe Grey Trace after he loses his beloved wife in a violent mugging, sees a paralyzed hero get implanted with a chatty chip that allows him to regain the use of his whole body. Soon Trace become virtually superhuman—imagine an internal K.I.T.T.—but all is not as it seems.

It shouldn’t be as delightful as it is. Admittedly, the whole thing isn’t too far removed from an elevated episode of The Outer Limits. But if you miss old school sci-fi nonsense and feel nostalgic for a time when smart sci-fi projects didn’t end up as eight drawn out episodes on a major streaming service instead, Upgrade really scratches an itch.

Of course now might be a bad time to mention that an Upgrade TV series is in the works… – KH

8. Halloween

In resurrecting one of horror’s most enduring—yet stubbornly uneven—franchises, director David Gordon Green (working with screenwriters Danny McBride and Jeff Fradley) made the smartest move he could: He stripped away the ridiculously convoluted and nonsensical mythology the franchise had built up over decades. Instead he simply made a direct sequel to Carpenter’s 1978 masterpiece.

Movies

Best Modern Horror Movies

By Don Kaye

Movies

Halloween: A Legacy Unmasked

By David Crow

The result was easily the best Halloween movie since the original itself, bringing the characters and the story into the present while reverting Michael Myers back to the enigmatic, unstoppable, unknowable force that was so terrifying in the first film. Jamie Lee Curtis, Judy Greer, and Andi Matichak as three generations of Strode women bring healthy feminine empowerment to the proceedings while the intense violence and uneasy psychological underpinnings give this Halloween a resonance that has been lacking for so long. – Don Kaye

7. Split

As the movie that suggested M. Night Shyamalan’s renaissance was real, Split is still a surprising box office win for the eclectic filmmaker. With a grizzly premise about a man suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder (formerly known as split personality) kidnapping teen girls to hold in a zoo, this could be the stuff of ‘70s grindhouse sleaze. While there is a touch of that to Split, more critically the movie acts as a buoyant showcase for James McAvoy at his most unbound.

Playing a character with 24 different personalities, a shaved and beefy McAvoy is visibly giddy bouncing between multiple alters that include a deceptively sweet little boy, an OCD fashion designer, and a bestial final form. The commitment he shows to each also becomes its own special effect, causing you to swear his physical shape is changing with his expressions.

Similarly, scenes with theater legend Betty Buckley as his psychiatrist also rivet with the energy of a stage play, and suggest a sincere sympathy for mental illness. A rarity in horror. Nevertheless, the movie still comes down to his alters’ obsessions with their kidnapped prize (Anya Taylor-Joy), a young woman who hides demons of her own. When these true selves finally cross paths in a genuinely tense finale, Split is maniacally thrilling. – DC

6. Sinister

An unsettling entry in the horror subgenre of writers who destroy their families, Sinister marked director/co-writer Scott Derrickson’s (The Exorcism of Emily Rose) return to horror after he detoured with an ill-fated remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still. Thus Derrickson and co-writer C. Robert Cargill concocted a unique, if somewhat scattershot, mythology about a pagan deity that murders entire families in the ghastliest ways imaginable.

Movies

M. Night Shyamalan Movies Ranked

By John Saavedra

Movies

Best Horror Movies on Netflix: Scariest Films to Stream

By David Crow and 2 others

True crime writer Ethan Hawke discovers the extent of those murders in a box of 8mm films left in the attic of his new home (where the last killings took place), and it’s the unspooling of those films—along with long sequences of Hawke moving through the shadows and silence of the house—that provide Sinister with its sickening core and palpable dread. Derrickson sustains the film’s foreboding mood for the entire running time, making the movie an authentically frightening experience. – DK

5. Oculus

The film that brought much of the world’s attention to Mike Flanagan, Oculus turned out to be a preview for the horror filmmaker’s interests. It also remains a truly unnerving ghost story. Not since the days of Dead of Night has a film so successfully made you scared of looking in a mirror.

Officially titled the Lasser Glass, the mirror in question is the apparent supernatural cause of hundreds of deaths, including the parents of Kaylie Russell (Karen Gillan) and her brother Tim (Brenton Thwaites). When they were children, their mother starved and mutilated herself before their father killed her. But now as an adult, Kaylie is convinced she can prove the antique glass is the true culprit, and she’ll document its evil power before destroying it. But the funny thing about evil mirrors is they have ways of protecting themselves, and wreaking havoc on a sense of time, place, and certainly self-image.

The Haunting of Bly Manor: Mike Flanagan Discusses Standout Eighth Episode

By Alec Bojalad

The Haunting of Bly Manor: The Poignant Tale of Hannah Grose

By Louisa Mellor

With the movie’s near masterful blending of events occurring 11 years ago and in the present, Flanagan revealed a knack for dreamlike structure, and stories about the past damning the future. These are ideas he’s gone on to explore in richer detail with The Haunting of Hill House and Doctor Sleep, but Flanagan’s ability to juxtapose childhood trauma with a nightmarish present was never more potent, or tragic, than in Oculus’ refracted gaze. – DC

4. Paranormal Activity

It may take some mental gymnastics, but if you can take a step back and ignore all the sequels that followed in the wake of this surprise 2009 blockbuster, then you’d remember Paranormal Activity is a stone cold classic. It is also the movie that put Blumhouse on the map. Already mostly finished when Jason Blum saw a DVD screener of Oren Peli’s Paranormal Activity, this $15,000-budgeted terror is arguably the most evocative use of found footage in all of horror.

While Peli is obviously influenced by 1999’s The Blair Witch Project, that earlier movie is as famous for its shaky disorientation as it is its scares. By contrast what occurs in Paranormal Activity is excruciatingly clear. Seriously, the camera barely moves! Instead we’re asked to sit back and watch in near slow motion as an unwise couple (Katie Featherston and Micah Sloat) meddle with forces that were better off left undisturbed.

Movies

How Jason Blum Changed Horror Movies

By Rosie Fletcher

Movies

The Best Horror Movies to Stream

By Alec Bojalad and 1 other

It begins when Micah brings a home video camera into their house to track apparent ghosts in the dark; it ends in a demonic rush of violence. Everything in between is tracked by a disinterested lens, which usually sits statically in a corner or on a tripod, capturing the tedium of everyday life in its everyday natural lighting. Only occasionally does the horned shadow on the wall manifest. But then Paranormal Activity is chilling in its isolation. – DC

3. Insidious

As the fourth feature film directed by Australian filmmaker James Wan, Insidious follows a couple named Josh and Renai Lambert (Patrick Wilson and Rose Byrne), whose son inexplicably falls into a coma and becomes a vessel for malevolent entities from a dimension called the Further. The family enlists a psychic named Elise Rainier (Lin Shaye) in a battle involving astral projection and demonic possession.

Following an era of horror films that were more torture porn or police procedural (including Wan’s own Saw), Insidious was a return to the kind of horror filmmaking that was dependent on atmosphere, suspense, and what you don’t see lurking in the shadows. And Wan seemed to imbue that creepiness around the edges of every shot. Using actual adult characters and developing them (as opposed to the hipster teens that infested nearly every horror movie for at least 10 years previously) also set the film apart as a serious attempt at a genre that had been too often exploited in a tossed-off fashion.

Movies

Universal Monsters: The Invisible Man Shows Life After Dark Universe Death

By David Crow

Movies

Blumhouse Horror Movies Update: Halloween Kills, Insidious 5 and More

By Don Kaye

The world-building of Insidious left the door open for sequels, of course, and while the three produced so far have had their moments, none has matched the sheer invention and terrifying fun of the original. – DK

2. The Invisible Man

Leigh Whannell’s reimagining of the classic Universal Monster, the Invisible Man, was as much of a surprise when it hit screens earlier this year as the titular villain himself. As a smart social commentary on domestic abuse and gaslighting, while also being enormously effective as a straight up horror, this was a highly fresh take on an old standard.

At the core was the terrific performance of Elisabeth Moss as Cecilia, a woman stuck with her controlling boyfriend Adrian (Oliver Jackson-Cohen) in their high-tech, high security fortress of a home. When Cece finally manages to escape and Adrian appears to take his own life, she hopes her ordeal can finally be over. But in fact it’s just beginning.

Movies

How Leigh Whannell Made The Invisible Man Scary Again

By Rosie Fletcher

Movies

How The Invisible Man Channels the Original Tale

By Don Kaye

Playing on the true horror of not being believed, Whannell’s Invisible Man is as harrowing at times as it is thrilling. Yes, there are some extraordinarily shocking set pieces – the restaurant scene of course stands out – but it’s the increasing desperation of Cece, whose world is falling apart at the manipulative hands of a man who won’t let her go, which stays with you.

The Invisible Man is a thrilling horror, for sure, with a feel good ending (if you want to read it that way…), but it’s something altogether more exciting than that too: a fresh, relevant take on a classic, expertly directed and boasting star power delivered on a moderate budget, which flexes exactly what horror can do. – RF

1. Get Out

More impressive than any awards it won, Jordan Peele’s Get Out encapsulates the essential draw of horror: through entertaining “scares,” it unmasks truths folks might find too horrifying or uncomfortable to acknowledge. In the case of Get Out, it is the despair of Blackness and Black bodies still being commodified by a predatory American culture.

Wearing influences like Rosemary’s Baby and Stepford Wives on his sleeve, Peele pulls from classic horror conventions for his directorial debut, but gives them a startling 21st century sheen. His movie’s insidious conspiracy is neither an obvious coven of witches or the openly racist heavies of a period piece. Rather Peele sets his story about a Black man (Daniel Kaluuya) coming to meet his white girlfriend’s parents in a liberal conclave of wealthy suburbia. Written during the final days of the Obama years, Peele casts these parents (Bradley Whitford and Catherine Keener) as genial and welcoming, shielding cries of racism behind fashionable political correctness.

Yet once Peele moves past that trendy veneer, he finds a potent allegory in which the ghosts of slavery are still alive and well, even in Upstate New York. Peele also packs anxieties about interracial relationships, culture clash, and childhood trauma into a film that is nevertheless gregariously funny. Ultimately though, its final effect is triggering in the best way. Get Out offers an opportunity to confront real dread, one uneasy laugh, and then sudden jump scare, at a time. – DC

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post 13 Best Blumhouse Horror Movies Ranked appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2Uqblw1

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

5 notes · View notes

comicteaparty · 4 years

Text

July 25th-July 31st, 2020 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from July 25th, 2020 to July 31st, 2020. The chat focused on the following question:

Where can your comic be read, what is it about, and why should people read it?

carcarchu

last one

mariah (rainy day dreams)

You can read Rainy Day Dreams on it's homesite: http://rainydaydreams.mariahcurrey.com/ Book 1 of RDD is also currently in pre-orders for both physical and digital books. This volume collects the newly redrawn and remastered first five charters. Currently not all of those pages are online so book buyers will get to see them first https://gumroad.com/mariahcurrey Rainy Day Dreams is a manga influenced, character driven supernatural story with dreamlike pacing. It follows the lives Tristin, an excitable and friendly human who becomes trapped in the Nameless World after a treasure hunt gone wrong, Mara, a reclusive retired knight belonging to an ancient lineage of psychics, and Michael, a sad vampire torn between his vampire instincts and being the soft boy he is deep down. Come for the compelling characters, interpersonal drama, and found family, stay for the underlying slow build of the cosmic machinations of the Nameless World's gods and a villain from the past bent on undoing the very fabric of reality. Reasons you should read it beyond the above pitch: - I've been told by frequently people find it's relaxing to read. We all need a little relaxation - Has a female driven narrative - I take every chance I get to put my characters in ball gowns or party dresses - Monsters! Cute monsters, scary monsters! Monsters that want to eat you, monsters that want to smooch you! - I make this comic traditionally with ink wash so enjoy all the beautiful ink blooms! - Chapter 18 starts this week

CoppertheCarutor

Oh wow, I missed out on A LOT! Dang! Well, here it goes I guess. To start off, please read with discretion, this project is rated R/17+ and for now contains: Abuse, discussion of suicide, blood, violence, queerphobia, trauma, mental illness, self-harm, mild body horror, substance abuse, profanity and full-frontal nudity. You can read my comic, The Guide to a Healthy Relationship, on it's main site: http://tgtahr.spiderforest.com/ I also have it posted on Tapas, Webtoons (nudity censored), Comicfury, FlowFo and Itch.io. The Guide to a Healthy Relationship is a slowburn character driven psychological drama about an emotionally immature alcoholic trying to make amends, and fix his friendship with his ex-childhood friend upon discovering they're not dead. Unfortunately the situation is much more complicated and serious than he can comprehend. Why you should check it out: - Possibly interesting if you enjoy non-fantastical character studies and/or Psychology. - May be cathartic if you like consuming heavy content in a controlled environment. - Has some light horror elements. - Contains an extremely flawed LGBT+ cast. - No romance. - This comic is drawn traditionally with pens and color pencils. - The story is a little over halfway finished. - Contains/will contain beaches if you like the beach. - Lots of sky shots.(edited)

Krispy §[Ghost Junk Sickness]§

(Ahhh this was hard to write out, i'll really miss this server) Ghost Junk Sickness is a free to read LGBTQ+ sci-fi that tackles themes of found family, accountability, and acceptance. It rated T for it's course language and violence, and can be read on it's official website, < https://www.ghostjunksickness.com/ > . Books 1-3 are available on the store (link on site) and we're currently on our way to wrap up and print vol 4! Ghost Junk Sickness is about two bounty hunters with an unstable dynamic who are pushed to pursue the elusive and deadly bounty dubbed The Ghost. It updates mondays and fridays, features an extensive cast with queer rep, topics about dealing with trauma, responsibility, and taking control. GJS has: -Space ships! -Lived in worlds/ extensive world building through illustrative backgrounds and characters - Slow burn character growth, expanding relationships, and new love -Drawn traditionally and worked on by a team of two! -Long run story that reached the halfway point, GJS has a huge buffer of over 800 pages now, so it's a time sinker! - hot lizard lady (best part)

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

holy shit 800 page buffr

OH wait by buffer you mean archive omg

Krispy §[Ghost Junk Sickness]§

(oh YE we only have 70 page buffer now woohopps lol)

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

holy shit 70 page buffer

that's like 10 months

eliushi [Keyspace]

KEYSPACE: A Winged Tale is a story about kids with wings for hair, and can be found at https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/keyspace-a-winged-tale/list?title_no=322364 https://tapas.io/series/KEYSPACE-A-Winged-Tale/ TW: Body Horror (comes with having wings sprouting from the head and more) Keyspace is my passion project about a world between portals that is dying. A Winged Tale is the first story of this series and touches upon the deeper magic that unites the work. It’s about a wingless girl trying to find her missing scientist mother in a laboratory beneath a forest, winged children discovering their origins and Machines that once ravaged the world, now lost. It’s a story for those who grew up with Studio Ghibli stories but want a little more complications and lore but still retain hope for the future. TL;DR: Come for winged hair, sad robots, possibly dragons, lots of science. The comic returns August 1

CoppertheCarutor

AH! Thank you for reminding about a couple content warnings I forgot to add.

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

Phantomarine is a story about a haunted ocean, a ghostly princess, and her journey to save her soul from a death god known as the Red Tide King. http://www.phantomarine.com/ TW: death, body horror, limb loss Princess Phaedra's untimely and mysterious death casts her out into the dark waters of the Candlelight Sea, forcing her to wander the world as an ethereal seaghost. Her journey toward resurrection quickly evolves into a grand maritime adventure on her ship, the Mantaluna, along with a crew of similarly-cursed friends and familiars. But Phaedra's mission has a dark undercurrent to it - a divine mystery that, when solved, will force her to question everything about her life, her death, and her world's long-dead past. If you like:

-THE COLOR BLUE (or just the ocean) -general spookiness that never gets too dark or gory -flamboyant villains of various kinds -swashbuckling pirate-y stories -fancy boats and pretty islands -big elemental animal gods fighting -friends and family fighting for each other -lots of hero-vs-villain salt and sass -DOGS

then heck yeah, this is your comic (edited)

Miranda (Into the Swell)

Into the Swell is about a Pirate with nothing left to lose but his life and a Wizard who wants more than a life of entertaining royals with party tricks being thrown together on the treasure hunt of their lives. The official blurb is: Ocean swells are remnants of storms hundreds of miles away. So do past actions cause swells of destiny on the shores of the present. Fate will always find a way. Given the choice between a one way trip to the gallows or a return to high sea adventure, imprisoned pirate Fletcher makes the obvious choice. With Court appointed wizard Kelwyn watching his every move, the two set off to reclaim a stolen treasure for King and Country. The ocean journey leads the duo through uncharted waters that hide dangers and secrets that could unravel the very fabric of their lives. Could this treasure hunt prove more adventure than they bargained for? TW: deaths? You can find it on https://tapas.io/series/into-the-swell or Webtoons It’s just starting out so there’s not much yet but you gotta start somewhere!

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

Heyo! For all you who don't yet know me, I work on Whispers of the Past, a fantasy comic about a farm girl and an amnesiac elf man going on a journey to learn who they really are. https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/whispers-of-the-past/list?title_no=191366 Age Rating: PG-13 or T+ TW: death and corpses, blood and violence, bladed weapons, profanity, depictions of racial discrimination, alcohol, miscarriage, suicide, suggestive content Magical powers can only come from the other side... When Aniya discovers a foreigner with amnesia, she sets out to help him find the answers to his nightmares. Along with their growing feelings for one another, they will uncover an identity riddled with magic, bloodlines, and betrayal. What WotP has to offer: - a unique painterly art style - in-depth world-building (including a conlang) - hurt/comfort themes - hella family drama - MAGIC - ace, bi, and POC representation - cute romance - If you like high fantasy like ATLA, this might be right up your alley

Nutty (Court of Roses)

I wanna say first of all that thank you for this server. Even if I couldn't participate often, it was a lovely place, love you all!! Court of Roses is in several places, but its main site on Spiderforest is a page ahead! Best place to read it is here: http://courtofroses.spiderforest.com/ As summer comes to an end in the kingdom of Prismal, the Bardic Festival is in full swing, bringing together musicians and minstrels from all over. But amidst the celebration, a sinister plot of murder unfolds... Follow a ragtag group of bards as they band together and travel the realm of Prismal; Merlow the Rose, half-elf, charismatic leader, bagpiper, and perpetual drunk; Diana the Fleetfoot Fletcher, human tidinit player with a heart of gold; Nocturne, brooding but classy Infernal and violinist; Sven Rockscreamer, goliath drummer and seeker of justice; and Feliks Halfdance, curious gnome who plays accordion and magically conjures their entire backup. And who knows! Mayhaps they'll solve a murder mystery together! The comic is greatly LGBTQ-friendly, and takes inspiration from both classic fantasy themes (Dungeons and Dragons, Lord of the Rings, The Elder Scrolls, etc.) as well as music across all genres. Specific pages and scenes might even include their own suggested theme songs in the author notes. Contains Fantasy Violence and Alcohol Use(edited)

AntiBunny

You can as always read my comic at http://AntiBunny.net/ and is a film noir inspired story about anthropomorphic rabbits and the difficulty with coexisting with humanity. Crime and conspiracies move the plot along, but in film noir there's rarely a clear black and white. Why should you read it? Do you like stories about crime and conspiracies? Do you like bunnies? Do you want to see a contrast of cute and grim, and see relatable characters who deal with mental health issues, and fight a struggle for acceptance? Do you ask yourself the question what is identity? Well then this is for you.

You can find my other comic at http://nailbat.AntiBunny.net/. Nailbat is part of the AntiBunny universe, and deals with many of the same issues, but using a more straightforward and action packed superhero story. If you love superheroes and action you'll enjoy it, and maybe along the way get into the deeper lore of the AntiBunny world.

Holmeaa - working on WAYFINDERS

Thanks everyone who I have chattet with in here, it has been a delight <3 Wayfinders: Off Course Can be read on Tapas or Webtoons (I prefer tapas ) https://linktr.ee/snackbagstudios Whats it about? You may ask. In a world where magic is as natural as breathing, and the gods are known to actually answer some prayers, a ship is sent to keep the fragile peace between 2 countries that has been at war for 60 years. But guess what? The ship crashes almost immediately. Now the 3 only survivors, a runaway monk, with unexplained powers, the noble son and peace advocate, and a chaos child with an affinity for magic washes ashore on an unknown island and is forced together by a magical compass. With navigation, and magic being broken, it is not an easy task to cross the ocean. If only they knew of the chaos which is unravelling outside their comfortable lives. If they thought this adventure was going to be uneventful, they are in for a surprise. Why should you read it? It is a mix between the Road to Eldorado, and Avatar the Last Airbender, and if that short pitch is not enough, I don't know how else to sell it. It has fun colors, anime reference, and a lot of ocean and sinister magics Thanks to all the admins for putting in so much work in this server

Feather J. Fern

Okay, I have like three comics, and the fourth one coming soon so.....Lets get the easy ones out of the way. On Webtoons, you can read Teasday or Don't you hate it when...(DYHIW) https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/dont-you-hate-it-when/list?title_no=486501 https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/teasday/list?title_no=169870&page=1 DYHIW is a gag comic, so if you want a little laugh to brighten your week, feel free to check it out. Teasday is a tea informative comic, but it's on a bit of a hiatus and ending soon. My current project is Gravitational Pull, a story about a depressed magical girl trying to save the world while also trying to get the energy to leave her bed that day. Read it if you like magical girls, space and representation of anxiety, depression, inferiority complex and learning to take each day slowly. http://gravitationalpull.featheryterrarium.com/ And when it comes out, Go Figure is my comedy action webtoon about someone who wants to use a powerful wish to cure their asthma and allergies over anything else.

sssfrs (JOE IS DEAD)

JOE IS DEAD A band of pirates are visiting an island and they discover the dead body of their astronomer JOSEPH CINNABAR. He leaves behind a will with mysterious instructions that none of the pirates really feel like following. The crew decide to send the least-liked and least responsible pirate of them all on a solo mission to carry out Joe's final wishes. If you like: - Alternate historical timelines where the United States doesn't exist - Gay, lesbian, and transgender pirates - Morbid humor, death, dying - Biblical allusion - Warm colors - Alliteration - My handwriting - Birds or anything else, you will love to read JOE IS DEAD, a webcomic worked on entirely by me that will be at 150 pages within a week or so. My background is in marine biology and satirical writing, so I promise you this comic is funny and scientifically accurate. Rated PG 13, mild violence and swearing Where can I read it Read it on http://joeisdead.com/ (the main hosting website with some functional html) or on Tapas: https://tapas.io/series/JoeIsDead It's also on Webtoons but it's a couple chapters behind on there You can follow me on Twitter for information about updates https://twitter.com/sssfrs_

boogeymadam

Sink Your Hookteeth An LGBT+ Cosmic Horror/Love story about eldritch merfolk that fall for a pair of humans who are studying mermaids to cure a supernatural illness. CW: bodyhorror, gore, upperbody nudity, sickness, drowning, tryophobia, eye trauma, If you like:

-sea monsters

-big teeth

-painted comics

-nonbinary and binary transgender, lesbian, bisexual, and pansexual protagonists

-neurodivergent protagonists

-goofy friendship dynamics

-nasty and imperfect wlw couples

-enemies to lovers trope

-childhood friends to lovers trope

then this is a comic you might enjoy :D! It finished chapter 1 a few months ago with 195 pages, takes maybe an hour or two to read, and is currently on hiatus while I am building chapter 2's buffer. You can read it on Its own site https://hookteethcomic.com/ Webtoons https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/hookteeth/list?title_no=300709 Tapas https://tapas.io/series/Hookteeth/info

also i need to read more of these but joe is dead, wayfinders, keyspace: a winged tale, phantomarine, ghost junk sickness, the guide to a healthy relationship, and court of roses are all absolutely amazing and -chefs kiss- please give them all read if you aren't yet!

varethane

Comics!! Chirault A young half-demon named Teeko has been forced from her home, and to make matters worse, is now the size of a squirrel thanks to a wayward magic spell. Her only protection is the demon-hunter Kiran, who is a demon himself and lacks patience for children. Together, they must seek the help of a mage to reverse the spell on Teeko, but the journey is far from straightforward.. My first webcomic-- it's complete, it's a high fantasy adventure comic about finding family, fighting monsters, and also making friends with monsters (both outside and... inside). Check it out if you enjoy any of those things! http://chirault.sevensmith.net/ Wychwood Tiara is a delinquent who has been using a mysterious power to goof around for years without realizing the kind of attention it could attract. When a powerful organization finally tracks her down and attempts to recruit her, she has to decide what she really stands for. This is my new/current webcomic! It's a sci-fantasy genre-blender, with bits of post-apocalypse and urban fantasy thrown in as a treat just for fun. If you enjoy stories involving evil organizations, fire-flinging delinquents, and angsty supersoldiers, give it a look :U (Chapter 4 has just gotten started!) http://wychwood.sevensmith.net/

TaliePlume

Feather Cleanse (French: Nettoyage des plumes, Haitian Creole: Plim Geri) is a supernatural, sci-fi and military Shonen manga. Set in the year 2034 in the Haitian kingdom, Vérité Kindgom, the story follows 14 year old Soleil Andirans, her two older brothers and their cousin who joins their kingdom's military program to help Soleil find a wanted criminal and stopping a mad scientist from taking over the kingdom. This is a personal project that is very dear to me and I can't wait to share with you all hopefully around June of 2023. Why should you read it: -A positive Haitian representation -Strong female protagonist -Learning about a new culture - Family Bonds -Mad Scientists and experimentations - Criminal MasterMinds - Servant and Master relationships -Kings and Queens/Royalties -Dynamic and Impactful Fights Then, this is the comic for you.

shadowhood {SunnyxRain}

Alrighty cracks knuckles SunnyxRain, a webcomic about monsters surviving college.....BY THE POWER OF FANFICTION. Follow Sunny Dupont, a gluttony demon as she navigates college life and fanfic writing with the help of her housemates Liam (a qilin she roped in as her beta/editor) and Aron (an ocean naga as a fan). A story of trauma recovery and learning lessons about life and love. If you like: -housemate shenanigans -fanfic/fandom culture exploration -kickass but seriously flawed protagonists recovering from trauma - VOID CAT -LGBTQ+ cast because I can -coffee gremlin cryptid dudes -sweet slow burn romance -lesser known mythological creature representation Then this webcomic is for you to read, and y'all can come read it here! https://tapas.io/series/SunnyxRain/info and HERE https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/sunnyxrain/list?title_no=409335(edited)

Deo101 [Millennium]

Well, Here we go ^^ I have 2 comics right now, so: Millennium: A sci fi adventure featuring two best friends as they seek to help anyone and everyone they can, where we put together a bit of a misfit crew who are all intent on bettering themselves and the world around them. It's a lighthearted, LGBT+ Slowburn The sci fi is soft and so are the characters It's got found family, hurt/comfort, and gentle handling of heavier themes. It's easy to read and shouldn't make you think too much, it's just an hour or two of simple adventure between friends! It can be read a lot of places! My personal site: https://millennium.spiderforest.com/ Webtoons: https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/millennium/list?title_no=110866&page=1 Tapas: https://tapas.io/series/Millennium Comic Fury: http://millennium.thecomicseries.com/ and Tumblr!: https://millennium-comic.tumblr.com/ Time and Time Again: A noir mystery about time traveling vampires! We follow Adam, a vampire, and his subject of study, Steve, the first werewolf/vampire. The two of them are trapped in the 20's, looking to solve the mystery of a missing relic. It's a limited palette, scroll style comic if you're looking for a bit more action and higher stakes, and a more serious tone, then this one might be a better fit for you than Millennium ^^ I'm planning on finishing it up relatively soon, so get in on it now! (It's currently on a short hiatus while school is doing me in) It can only be read on tapas! https://tapas.io/series/Time-and-Time-again

kayotics

Ingress Adventuring Company You can read Ingress Adventuring Company at https://www.ingress-comic.com/ TW: some gore, blood, violence Saving the world is a pretty big deal, but what do you do once you’re done with that and no one needs you anymore? Do you become a magic professor? Do you study a convoluted thesis that no one understands? Maybe you relive the glory days by starting up a one-man adventuring party to gather mystical artifacts for people who may or may not pay you. Or, if you’re Toivo Kissa, you do all of those things. Reasons to check it out! - You like D&D or other stories inspired by it - It’s got bittersweet comedy - Very fun villains - Expressive art - Elves. Just a lot of elves. - Sad Dads and old men - LGBTQ+ cast

maxwestart

Poison Ivy Gulch is hosted on its own WordPress site: http://www.poisonivygulch.com/ Poison Ivy Gulch is a funny Western set in a frontier town in the 1870s. The protagonists are Lotta Doler, a gambler, and her kid sidekick Ace. Other characters include a marshal, an undertaker, a prospector and many extras. Poison Ivy Gulch is a spiritual successor to Tumbleweeds. If you like Blazing Saddles, you'll love this!

sagaholmgaard

Ahh dang, thanks for the heads up!! Here it is: https://tapas.io/series/_Reclaim_ My comic, Reclaim, is about a prince that has to deal with the aftermath of a successful coup. His father is imprisoned and sentenced to death, and he's in hiding with his dear bodyguard. Now he has to save his dad and reclaim the throne from the power-hungry witch warrior Irene, but how can the two of them hope to stand a chance against the entire force of the empire? And what was the real reason for the coup in the first place? This is for people who want a heartfelt fantasy story, with inspiration from Steven Universe and themes around being a better person than you were yesterday, and sticking together through hardships!

PiraPiranha

DEPARTURE is a story about dead brothers, hot guys and competent women! Lights! Camera! Action! The flaws of our predecessors are the burdens that we carry today! As galactic governance has been passed down from generation to generation of divine beings, the wars and insecurities of the previous pantheons are weighing down on our world. Whether it’s vanquishing your greatest enemies, or buying tomorrow’s cereal, keeping this flaming shipwreck of a universe together is going to require a little elbow grease, and a lot of flashy super powers! Follow Kovit, a space fighter turned part-time cook and his friends Casey (Cool, has a nice jacket) and Vermillion (Dumb, has stupid hair) as he tries to help the most powerful beings in the universe keep it together (Ostensibly by beating them up). Check it out here! http://departurecomic.cfw.me/(edited)

seetherabbit

Vulperra is an anthology comic featuring superheros, cowboys and regular common folk in the fantasy world of Vulperra. Most of the stories are about the hero Flash Gauntlet, who travels from place to place to solve problems with his magical gauntlets which were bestowed to him by the goddess of the land. https://vulperra.com/

NAAN

Legendary Beings Ara & Celi is about a young girl, Miyara, who is chosen to be the successor to a specific line of Angels – headed by none other than Ara–and with it, duties that extend beyond the physical world. Only one problem: Miyara has no desire to do the job! What will happen then, especially with Celi, Ara’s counterpart, is intent on causing chaos in her life?! You can read Ara & Celi at its main site: http://ac.jadinerhinestudios.com/ Here is the Webtoons mirror: https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/legendary-beings-ara-celi/list?title_no=59422 Doesn't have any trigger warnings (maybe that (1) page in chapter 2 is too creepy-crawly for anyone?), and it's currently on hiatus because I'm working on chapter 4, will update again when I have completed it! So enjoy the 3 chapters so far! If you like: • MAGICAL GOILS • an old school b&w shoujo manga style (according to some people, and I don't even do it on purpose ) • on that note, since the 3rd chapter, the comic is drawn traditionally! (all covers are in color and traditional) • expressive comedy • language jokes and notes • angels and demons, yes, it's one of those but is anybody really the bad guy here • a lion and a jinn walk into a bar-- • slow worldbuilding and character development • heck if I know what else, you should just check it out and tell me what you think later like in the good ol' days

L Hornsby

Heyo, I haven't been very active. I'm not used to Discord. If anybody would like some silly comics about puppies that live in the clouds and enjoy parties (and also happen to be princesses) my comic Princess Pups has you covered. It's all ages friendly so if you have younger kids you want to get into comics, it's a swell read according to my 3 years old :) https://tapas.io/series/Princess-Pups/info

carcarchu

@L Hornsby oh i didn't know you were in this server! i actually read your comic because our comics have really similar names ahaha

L Hornsby

Oh wow hey there! :)

I usually lurk on Instagram and Twitter these days and have been crocheting more than comics lately

mathtans

What the heck, been on hiatus more than a year but there's an archive and it's not like there's any dangling plot points. I personify mathematics! Because equations are people too. The hairstyles are the graphs, and there are puns.

Main site: http://mathtans.ca/

Tapas mirror: https://tapas.io/series/Any-Q

It's called "Any ~Qs" because notQ is the symbol for irrational numbers. So anything irrational, in a sense. Very G rated - maybe PG, some discussion of biological sex and tangential politics. Enjoy, possibly.(edited)

Spring-heeled Jack

Hey all! My comic is a horror comic that features some LGBTQA+ characters in the main cast. Today is also my monthly update on public sites. I do four pages at the end of the month on Tapas, Webtoons, and my website. (Patreon gets weekly updates.) It is a story of a picturesque town with a dark secret and what will be done to keep that secret. I follow a few characters through the the twisting plot and show how the darker side of this town affects them. I think this would be PG13 mostly because there will be some blood, but there are no sexual situations. Currently Tapas has the most recent free pages as I will have to do Webtoon and the website manually later today. Happy reading and please do let me know what you think! <3 Website: https://www.iamfilledwithstatic.com/crocus Tapas: https://tapas.io/series/crocusheights Webtoon: https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/the-secret-of-crocus-heights/list?title_no=405820 Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/iamfilledwithstatic

DanielHookerArt

I have a series of self published graphic novels. When all copies of the first volume sold out I posted it on Webtoon. It's sort of a Isekai Mystery Adventure, inspired by the 1980's movie Labyrinth.

https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/line-of-ruin/list?title_no=232705

StickFreeks

Hi I'm Christy! I make the webcomic / graphic novel series EXTRA! It's about Extras in the backgrounds of a movie world escaping their fates of getting killed off... by going to go ask the Producer to stop killing them off. (Sort of like The Truman Show, but everyone is in on it.) You can read it at https://extra-comic.com/ I'm always looking to make new comic buddies! (edited)

Annausagi2

Hello! I joined right at the announcement of the channel shutting down, so bad timing. :,O I've been working on my webcomic Helix since 2012: Read from the start here: http://helixcomic.com/ Description/warnings: A street rat is given a second chance when he is dragged from the gutter and into a new life. Will he accept his position at the side of royalty, or fight every step of the way? -Rated M for sex (M/M, consensual), violence, nudity, language, and dark themes.- Warnings: -References to child abuse and sexual abuse.- If you can handle these subjects, I hope you'll enjoy the comic. :) Thanks for reading! UPDATES EVERY WEDNESDAY! ~ Support me on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Annausagi2 ~ Join us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/Annausagi2

Kalli

I joined right when things were shutting down too :( Just my luck Anyway! I'm Kalli and I have a fully traditionally drawn webcomic, called World of Ruan! https://www.worldofruan.com/ It's a post apocalyptic, sci fi adventure type story, following Cait, a mutant mouse/human hybrid and Roxy, her robot companion! I update every Saturday~ And I'm always down for meeting new comic friends!

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

I make Children of Shadow: Ashes and Dark Wings: Eryl. Ashes is an urban fantasy / horror about teens with supernatural powers who have to team up with woodland critters to save the world from twisted monsters. It’s rated PG-13 and has mild language, graphic violence, and intense scenes. Eryl is a dark high fantasy about a fallen angel, a woman on a journey to find a dragon, and a wyvern who has been kidnapped. It’s rated 16+ and contains strong language, nonsexual nudity, and graphic violence. https://twitter.com/kickyourwrasse/status/1277315129793826816?s=21

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

Only In Your Dreams! is a rom-com Drama comic featuring shoujo and future LGBT+ elements. Also a mainly BIPOC cast! Rated: PG16+ There are some suggestive language & content, and partial nudity. “Cara Luong is tired of her failed dating attempts and settles for Richie, her imaginary lover every night in her sleep. When given a chance to meet him in person for the first time, she suddenly forgets their long-term romance! Now it’s up to Cara to decide if Richie can live as a real boyfriend. That is, if she wants him to exist in the first place!” What it contains: - Dumbassery moments between a dreamer and a dream boi - Expressions that you can feel it in your soul - Main romantic interest participating in healthy masculinity and embracing femmine traits - horror elements in a romance comic? huh-- - Himbo appreciation - A mixed-Black Vietnamese protag for this romantic rollercoaster lol If you're looking something self indulgent, read it why don't you? I release pages early on patreon! https://www.patreon.com/tuyetnhip Otherwise you can check out the site! It updates once bi-weekly on Wednesdays usually! http://oiydcomic.com/ Tapas: https://tapas.io/series/Only-In-Your-Dreams Webtoon: https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/only-in-your-dreams/list?title_no=115046 Other links: https://linktr.ee/oiydcomic

alizarin

I joined near the end of the server but I can't wait to participate in the reboot! So many interesting comics in here * _ * I make a comic called Patent the Sun, it basically reads like a big puzzle. It's about two characters who wake up without any memory, but slowly we learn about their whole universe and what happened to them. Oh and there's also magic, aliens, murder, and crossdressing https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/patent-the-sun/list?title_no=123560 https://tapas.io/series/Patent-the-Sun(edited)

Las Pinter

It is a pity that I was not so active here. I create the Tales From Somewhere comics, currently there are two of them: The Legend and The Secret. Both of them are high fantasy stories taking place in a fantasy world. The Legend is about three adventurers trying to survive in their realm. They are aware of being DnD like characters in a cruel world, where the DM wants to kill them as fast as he can... without luck so far. It has some comedy, action, horror and weird elements. This comic is ongoing since a long time, so expect to have big changes in the style and writing. The Secret is about an elf, who begins his journey from the world's end after an apocalyptic event. Accidentally meets a human thief girl, and now they are travelling together and figuring out what is happening to their world. This comic is currently being revamped and the story is continued parallelly. I would rate them R/17+ since they have some blood, violence, profanity and nudity. Website: https://www.talesfromsomewhere.com/ Tapas: - The Legend: https://tapas.io/series/Tales-From-Somewhere-The-Legend - The Secret: https://tapas.io/series/Tales-From-Somewhere-The-Secret Webtoons: - The Legend: https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/tales-from-somewhere-the-legend/list?title_no=77159 - The Secret: https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/tales-from-somewhere-the-secret/list?title_no=78355 And I'm on Twitter: https://twitter.com/thelaspinter

quietsnooze

Radio Silence is an award winning queer coming of age webcomic about a British rock band’s rise to fame. Hitting the road on a journey of self discovery and acceptance, this coming-of-age tale gives a backstage look at friendships and the plights of fame as experienced by a modern British rock band. On the fast track toward fame, the five members of the fictional British rock band, Radio Silence, enter into an exciting new life on the road with their best friends. As they tour across the United Kingdom, they excitedly embrace this new lifestyle and all the resulting challenges, including living in close quarters with each other with little privacy, and the overwhelming reaction of the public to their new-found success. Main site: http://radiosilencecomic.com/ Webtoons: https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/radio-silence/list?title_no=35242 Twitter: http://twitter.com/quietsnooze

Tired Programmer

This is mine. There will be update tomorrow (in 10 hours). https://tapas.io/series/The-story-of-how-humanity-has-thrown-itself-into-the-scrapyard Civilization, technologically advanced in the past, is now in decline. Killer and hacker are trying to survive and find the answers to their questions among the ruins. What will they meet in this crazy and cruel world of misused technologies? WARNING: strong language, violence and nudity. Only for adults.

JUNK

If any creators or readers are looking for another webcomic server to hang out in, you can check out this one: https://discord.gg/qjWJt7

I'll post it in the general channel too. :3

sierrabravo (Hans Vogel is Dead)

I wish we could have had a bit more time, but thanks everyone for creating such a great space for webcomic creators!! I make HANS VOGEL IS DEAD: an antifascist fairy tale with elements of historical fantasy. A German fighter pilot is shot down and killed during the Battle of Britain. When he wakes up in a fairytale afterlife, he learns what the evil he served has destroyed, and must undo the damage of fascism to become a better person. The end of Volume 1 is coming in the next two weeks, and September will be the fifth anniversary! You can read it on Webtoons: https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/hans-vogel-is-dead/list?title_no=62633 and find me on twitter! https://twitter.com/chjorniy_voron

Haruh2 (Colony Life)

This was such a great discord, hopefully we can keep in touch and still chat about comics and such my twitter is : https://twitter.com/Haruh2 Here is my comic Colony Life, ive been working on this for abit and will always love making this comic no matter what https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/colony-life/list?title_no=193784

boniae

I regret that I wasn't more active in here besides occasional lurking, but I always think back fondly to the CTP chat that my comic was discussed in, it was the first time I ever got to see so much in depth feedback and analysis on my comic and I will forever appreciate this server Four Corners is set in 1995, Yokohama, as the story follows Kazuhiro Tsuchiya who now leads his deceased brother's legendary gang, the Four Corners. Kazuhiro is approached by Hideki Yuhara, a schoolmate who claims to have vital information that Kazuhiro should be wary of. The two unlikely delinquents pair up to figure out the reason as to why gangs in the city are being brutally eliminated...though the unraveling of the mystery is darker than it appears. How far will Kazuhiro and Hideki go to rest their case? If you're looking for a slow burn lgbt romance, 90s manga nostalgia, drama, mystery, and a story with a general theme of: misfits who come together against dangerous odds to protect others, especially the ones they love—come check it out! https://tapas.io/series/four-corners/ http://fourcornerscomic.com/ https://twitter.com/boniaeart

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

I'll really miss having a new comic to read every week! My comic is called Super Galaxy Knights Deluxe R. It's a story of a small woman from a small town who goes on adventures across a strange kingdom. Action, comedy, and very, very slow burn romance... http://sgkdr.thecomicseries.com/ https://tapas.io/series/sgkdr https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/super-galaxy-knights-deluxe-r/list?title_no=41795

LeahVillart

I haven't done much work or anything in general these past months because they've been utter shit for me. This year had stuff breaking in my home, my grandma died from covid, family issues, found out my 9yo dog has lymphoma (blood cancer) and I got to a break point and I'm trying to recover from all the shit. Now it's late and I'm tired so I'm gonna make a super sleepy pitching~ I make Teach Me To Kill a horror-comedy webcomic about a school of villains and killers where a new seemingly innocent teacher arrives to help the worst class become the horror legends they are "destined" to become. [IN ENGLISH AND SPANISH] If you like contradicting/opposite genres or themes you'll find it here, violence, blood, kills, but all done with a cute colorful style where nothing is as it seems. With a cast made of crazy humans, detectives, monstergirls and guys like -our sexy looking hybrid vampire Daki who didn't ask for any of the cards she's been dealt and only wants to find true love and not something attracted by her vampiric aura. - Our lil raven kid Nayla who is a sugar bomb ready to explode, but can break a mountain in two. - Kyllian, a boy who's managed to make a personality out of each of his expressions, which sometimes is helpful and others a horrible mistake. - Q.Bee, an innocent looking girl who radiates sensuality in some weird way luring her victims into her trap. You never know what she's thinking or could do at any moment. the cast and world is really huge and don't want to spoil more, but it's filled with slice of life, mystery, action, dark humor, romance, fantasy, paranormal stuff. A total mix. If you give it a read, thanks for doing so and hope you like it! <3 http://teachmetokill.com/(edited)

Comic Tea Party

This concludes our final #creator_babble chat. Thank you so much to all the wonderful creators who have participated in this chat over its existence. It has been great to see your enthusiasm for the craft of webcomics, as well as learn your unique stories of how you pursue it. We are positive these conversations have helped many other creators out, so we appreciate you having them. For this conversation, and all past #creator_babble chats, you’ll be able to find them archived here: https://comicteaparty.com/creatorbabble

#ctparchive #comics #webcomics #indie comics #comic chat #comic discussion #comic tea party #ctp #creator interview #comic creator interview #creator babble

2 notes · View notes