#all the other characters are great though I must say. I do a great Volo. it's just the goblins. they do my head in

[cheetour]

when I was writing the goblin chapter, I was like, 'This is really a struggle, I can barely get the words out. Is my interest in writing this book dying?', but now having posted the goblin chapter and moved on I am 100% back in the groove I was before it started. it was just the goblins. I wasn't able for Dror Ragzlin

[leggerefiore]

How would Poke villains react to their s/o asking if they'd kill for them? Just as a hypothetical, but I imagine some of them would take it seriously haha

cw: consideration of murder(?)

characters: Lysandre, Maxie, Archie, Cyrus, Guzma, Volo

The moment the words leave your mouth during what would have otherwise been a quiet evening in, he turned to look at you. His face was clearly twisted in minor confusion, which prompted you to repeat the statement. "Would you kill for me?" It almost sounded partly like a tease. What could have brought up such a statement? He thought on it for a moment...

🔥Lysandre🍷

☕️ Lysandre becomes stuck between it being a joke and you truly having someone you must want dead. The Flare Boss understands. He understands very well. His connections could easily see most people dead, should that truly be what you desired. Though, it likely would be easier to simply wait until after he completed his plans. Though, of course, you could just as easily be joking. He blinked a few times. You never spoke a name, however.

☕️ “Perhaps,” Lysandre eventually replied, “Though, I doubt you have anyone in particular you wish dead, do you?” You let out a laugh and shook your head. He joined you in laughing, fully able to play along. Of course not. You were much too kind. That was a trait in you that he deeply admired. He leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. “All you would need to do is ask, however,” he whispered quietly, “I would do anything to make you happy, my love.” Though, whether you realised how honest his words were would remain unknown. Either way, it was just pleasant to have his reassurance.

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 He freezes for a moment. Kill for you? His glasses almost fall off his face from how he angles his head. What? The Magma Leader was quite a few things, but a killer he was not. Most of the time, he refused to even resort to violence. Your words almost made him recoil before he recalled that exaggeration was quite common these days. Yes. You must have meant that as a question of how deep and strong his love for you was. Not as an actual request. If you had, his answer would have been a firm “no.” Maxie was no killer.

🪨 “Figuratively, yes,” he agreed with a nod, “Literally? No. I'd be happy to help you find other options, however.” You sighed. That was the expected answer from Maxie. He seemed to catch on to your mild disappointment and leaned forward to peck your cheek. “Dear, I'm not going to lie and say I will do something like that,” he felt his cheeks grow warm as he looked away nervously, “I do love you greatly despite that.” You laughed and hugged him tightly. Then, you teased him by saying the Great Maxie is a pacifist. He just grumbled.

🌧Archie🌊

💧 Archie blinked a few times. Kill? Would he kill for you? Objective situations entered his head of what might warrant such a reaction, but none of them seemed like places you would be. Especially not with him nearby. Archie then remembered Shelly's complaint that he was killing her with work and chuckled. Ah, you must have meant like that. An exaggeration of love. A guffaw left him as he pulled you close to him. The Aqua Leader would do a lot for you, but killing, sadly, would not be one of them. He would throw down with someone for you, though.

💧 “Nah,” he said simply, then spoke again, “Well maybe. Depends. But I'm gonna say no.” You rolled your eyes. Archie seemed a bit scattered on his reply. He pressed a sudden sweet kiss to your cheek. “Now, I might fight a guy for ya, Luvdisc,” he grinned, “Like that time I chased off that Gorebyss that was after you.” You laughed. Well, that was about what you had expected from Archie. He was not exactly the violent sort. You tugged his bandana lightly to make him look up at you. He got the hint and kissed you again. Well, the pirate man was good at expressing his love in other ways, at least.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ Cyrus blinked. Kill? As in murder? He almost scrunched up his face at your words. Naturally, he knew you were not serious. There was no one reasonably that you would want dead, nor would he seem like a reasonable candidate to get rid of someone. Well… He believed that anyway. The tablet was turned off as he moved to face you. What was going through your head? Why say such a thing? The Galactic Boss was aware that he was being far too analytical for such a basic statement. He supposed he had heard Mars tease that she would kill someone for him. (At least, he hoped it was spoken in exaggeration, but…)

☄️ “Beloved, I would rather simply make you a world where that feeling needn't exist,” he replied, “There is no need for such grizzly actions to be taken.” His hand came to cup your cheek unconsciously as he gazed into your eyes. You blinked, unsure of his words. “I dream of a world where such vile emotions don't cause these kinds of situations,” he continued, “I only wish to bring you and I to some kind of peace.” Cyrus's lips lightly pressed against your temple got a moment before he pulled away to return to what work he was doing on his tablet. You blinked again. What was that? It felt more intense than if he had just said yes and proceeded to describe a form of murder. Well, you certainly felt assured in his love towards you, at least.

💀Guzma🕶

□ Not even missing a beat, he laughed. Kill? Well, maybe. Probably not ever, but why not? Guzma was more than ready to throw hands for you usually, so why not just lie and say he would kill, too. Granted, he most likely would not ever, no. Killing seemed far too intense. He got what you meant, though. Some situations did cross his mind that might warrant it. Very few seemed even partially likely to ever happen. Alola was simply too peaceful for any of that shit.

□ “Sure,” he said plainly, “Why not.” His arm pulled you closer to him as he grinned at you. The hypothetical was pretty common, he thought. No different from being asked if he would still love you if you were a bug. (In which you had asked him a few times. Him of all people. Like he would ever say no.) You leaned closer to him and laughed lightly. “I mean, I love you,” Guzma continued, “Now, would you kill for me?” You thought on it for a moment. He nearly jumped out of his skin at your reply. A deadpan, yes.

💫Volo📜

⭐️ The merchant was stricken by your words. Kill? Him? Well… He was not going to pretend that he was some upstanding moral type, but he was not exactly the type to handle things directly. Even when it came to his plans, he figured actually killing someone would be a do-or-die situation. Though he supposed that as a merchant, he was quite ready to defend himself should the situation arise. He did have a knife on him, just for a situation in which bandits dared threaten his life. For you… He closed his eyes. Well, certainly, he would not say no.

⭐️ “If the situation called for it,” Volo spoke with a playful tone despite his words, “You never know what may be required in the wilds of Hisui.” You smiled at him so sweetly. He could not help but lean over and press a kiss to your head. “Though, I do expect the same from you,” his voice seemed to take on a different cadence, “Should I ever be in danger, I hope you would act to protect me as well?” His hand held yours delicately as you went quiet. It was all too easy to assume these were just common requests for the time period. You nodded in reply, and Volo's grin seemed a bit more intense than usual.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

Well about the perception of Volo vs Kamado thing, and why more people don’t hate Volo, I have my own reflections (pretty privilege is absolutely a factor tho let’s be real 😂)

Everyone growing up has at least one story of an adult being super unfair to you, even though you were doing everything right. Their own biases and experiences could be understood later once you were older and calmer reflecting back on the incident, like a teacher who snapped at you maybe had a super long day of wrangling hundreds of children. But we never forget how it feels in that moment to have those who should be guiding us be unfair and seemingly unreasonable. So naturally that’s gonna hurt when you get kamado being paranoid.

Volo on the other hand is just absolutely delightful I’m sorry maybe if Kamado put on a silly outfit and hair for his boss battle instead of plate mail he’d have more art. Like you said Volos betrayal is one and done really, he acts like a theater kid and then dips. You have to keep seeing kamado being in charge in the game after his blunders for a while which can rub people the wrong way. (Also this is maybe just me but I never trusted Volo just like I never trusted Cynthia as a kid, and finding out he was evil was a great moment of vindication I CANT be the only one who experienced this)

TLDR we see unfairness way more than we see someone betray us while making their hair like a god horse

well, you heard them, kamado. time to go get the jester outfit. cmon chop chop it's to redeem your image

yeah, the point abt getting burned by adults in authority is also very fair. most of us were not scarred for life by theater kid antics lol. the other thing abt it is that often those same adults never really face any consequences. you were always just expected to move on, suck it up etc. cause that's life as a kid right. sometimes ppl will use their power over you just to flex their limited authority, or to vent whatever's going on in their home life, and this doesn't really stop when you grow up it's just that when you're a kid basically every adult has that authority position. so it's just expected that there's nothing you can do. i mean unless you decide to be the karmic force of justice in your own life by being the most stubborn bitch of a child to walk the earth. not that i would know anything about that cough

uh anyway. the thing is the thing btwn you and kamado isn't about about child vs adult. you're more or less considered an adult yourself by jubilife, albeit a rather young and more importantly low ranking one. like we've said (a million times already lol) kamado's not doing it just to grasp at a sense of control, he's reacting to what he perceives as a very real threat to his village (and also because the writers clocked him in the face with the idiot ball for plot advancement reasons lbr).

and the thing is kamado DOES, kind of, face consequences and own up to his mistakes by the end of the game. also after the red sky event he's like, REALLY nice to you lol. not just briefly either! imo you can tell that he sincerely respects you and regrets his actions in the red sky. go look at his late game quotes-

"Perhaps you are a divine being yourself, sent to bring us gifts from above... "I know I've no right to say this... But we are truly fortunate to have been able to count you among the Survey Corps' ranks. If you had not joined us, we would have fallen on Mount Coronet. We would have lost our home. We would have lost our future." "I'm grateful to you for showing me what a heartening presence Pokémon can be. We must spar again sometime!" "<player>, forgive me for taking so much of your time [telling you about the Galaxy name.] Please accept this as a sort of apology."

like he's trying to make up for the way they were treated earlier and give them the proper treatment they're owed for all their help.

idk i don't have a good way to conclude this i guess. i just think he's a cool character

[micropoe10]

Dumb Ways to Die... BG3 edition! PART: 1

Long post EXTREMELY LONG POST...okay maybe, probably not that long?? DEFINITELY LONG and Possible spoilers?!? I'm not sure read at your own peril! IT'S TOTALLY WORTH IT THOUGH🤣

I've been playing BG3 for a collective of well over 250 hours now. I CAN'T express how much I absolutely LOVE this game! I adore my OG character she is perfect (as Astarion loves to tell me)! I will ALWAYS choose ASTARION to romance and too fall in love with repeatedly! ⬇️⬇️❤️❤️⬇️⬇️

That has not changed in the other 2 characters I have made so far alongside my OG campaign. I have save scummed SO hard. (Listen...I want to watch THOSE scenes with my OG character over and over again whenever I want lmao😂 I also love watching the wholesome fluff scenes too) ❤️That being said this is not that kind of post.. this post is my, lets call it....DUMB WAYS TO DIE .....To the story.....

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE STORY: The Goblin Horde

I would like to stress the importance of what I'm going to say next!

☠️☠️ALWAYS GROUP YOUR PARTY MEMBERS!!!!☠️☠️

So there I was playing on an ALT campaign that I made because I wanted to see what Dark Urge was all about. (I should clarify that I have NOT finished the story yet...no, not even on my OG campaign, im enjoying the game at my own pace and I have a lot of IRL responsibilities too.) So.. there I was, Astarion is madly in love with me ❤️ I just saved Halsin from the Goblins 🐻 everything is going so well, and he wants me to kill the BIG THREE leaders of the Goblin Camp. 👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

I got this....or so I thought...*(rolls a NAT 1 on Confidence)*

In my party I have Astarion, Shadowheart and Wyll. I also have a summoned wolf but for the sake of this story we're gonna leave them out of it. On my OG character I have already gone through the Goblin camp so on my Dark Urge alt I was feeling pretty good about my survival chances this time around...I start by picking off small groups of Goblins, the ones that are secluded, around corners, away from the big packs so it doesnt alert all of them. I close doors to keep them hidden...you know...

⬆️⬆️YEA THAT⬆️⬆️

I destroy EVERY SINGLE war drum cause obvious reasons⬆️ I DONT want to alert everybody! I even saved Volo because...I have a soft spot for his annoying humor, and quite litterally I'm pretty sure he is the NPC equivalent of the games damsel in distress but *spoilers* lol. When I've picked off the stragglers all that is left is the BIG THREE and their packs of mobs around them. I figure my best bet is kill off Grannie Gut first so I remember that there are some spiders in the makeshift cages below and if you're like me well...🕷️☠️

☠️🕷️Same Ron, Same🕷️☠️

But I ➡️ UNGROUP Wyll⬅️..remember this.. I ungroup only Wyll, because he is the only one in my party who can speak too animals and I was determined to Dr. Dolittle Bullshit my way through a convo with these spiders to make them do my biding! Even if it killed me, and if the RNG/DICE gods were displeased with me it could, would and probably should have. (Also this would be a good time to mention that yes I know there are potions, and scrolls for speak to animals...but I am a complete and utter MONEY GREMLIN sooo it all gets sold). So, I sweet talk my way through that convo while also trying not to stare directly at my screen cause. 🕷️=☠️.

The spiders tell me you need to open the door for us and im like that is simple enough. I walk over, I try to unlock the doors and the guards on the other side (nice chaps, great convo) say noooo the gates must stay closed spiders are dangerous, they are not trained. (I KNOW, kinda the point here). So if I couldnt open the doors I was just going to do what I've done best so far and KILL THEM.

As wyll is shooting at these two "innocent" guards they are trying to spam unlock the door and all I'm seeing is:

.....Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked,Locked......

At this point I have Astarion jump down and help me kill these goblins, but not before another "innocent bystanding" goblin joins the fight. At this point Shadowheart, and my ALT are trying to kill this extra goblin. Astarion is trying to unlock the door, the spiders are saying FREE us. And Wyll is just standing there living his best life, When Grannie Gut gets involved...

Stay tuned PART: 2 will be up shortly!

[knittastically]

A Lioness Amongst the Wolves Pt 28

POSS/PROB NSFW, Depends on your POV. THE DECISION IS YOURS

This is a looooong  Chapter be warned.

Thank you all for your patience this chapter has been a long time coming but serious Family issues took precedence, as indeed  they should. It is likely that this will be the last chapter for a little while. However I am not abandoning the idiots just yet and have several ideas for future chapters. By way of a change I might have a dalliance with the rather lovely John Porter.

Raymond de Merville did not die on a beach in Ireland, of course he didn’t. He made it back to Rouen and has decided to marry a feisty little baggage called Isabé.

A fiction, based hardly at all on a fiction, with the addition of some other fictional characters and one or two real ones

Part 1  Part 2   Part 3  Part 4  Part 5   Part 6 Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10

Part 11   Part 12   Part 13  Part 14  Part 15 Part 16   Part 17  Part 18

Part 19    Part 20   Part 21  Part 22  Part 23  Part 24  Part 25   Part 26       

Part 27

You can also find all chapters here on AO3

If you want in or out of the Tag List (at the bottom of the page) just let me know via message and it’ll be done in a flash.

Squinting against the first vicious rays of sunlight, my head pounds. Not for a moment did I think I would spend my wedding night sleeping in a hard chair. My back and neck are stiff. Ribs and chest ache from the effort of screaming, yelling and crying, and each time I swallow my throat burns. Raymond was right, I did not close my eyes that night but not in the way he insinuated. I need something to drink, to slake my thirst and ease my throat but there’s nothing to hand, more fool me! The water ewer and basin are in pieces on the floor, the cups are God knows where; as for wine all that’s left is a dark stain on the wall ending in a sticky puddle glueing potsherds to the floor.

The bedchamber looks like a battlefield and most things that could be used as a missile have been. The footstool is upended in the corner, food is scattered on the floor, and along with my shift, my wedding gown is a crumpled, wine stained, rag flung under the table. Turning stiffly, I look across to where Raymond is sprawled face down across the mattress, his head is turned away from me and one of my shoes lies next to him on the pillow. It was the last thing I threw at him but I missed; it bounced off the wall, and all night it has laid where it fell, bastard I hate him! Raymond mumbles in his sleep but barely moves, and the distance between chair and bed might as well be a chasm between us.

My eyes prick with tears as I remember him speaking the words that bound us together. His beautiful eyes sparkling as starting with my thumb, he placed the ring over it and then each finger as he declared. “In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” Finally, he placed it over my ring finger with the words; *Lo te esposy, Molher* and slid it gently down over the knuckles. Then drawing me towards him he whispered. “Mon amour, Mon coeur, Ma Vie." "The words are inscribed inside the ring Isabé, never forget them.” Despite his large, calloused, soldiers’ hands, his touch was gentle as he cupped my face, his lips soft and warm as he brushed them against mine, but his eyes, oh God, his eye sparkled and flashed, speaking silently of things to come.”

I pull my cloak tightly round me; not for warmth, just the comfort of it. My eyes are gritty, and with a sigh I lean back in the chair praying for sleep. I am in that drowsy half world between sleeping and waking, and I feel as if I am floating.

“Mon Amour, Mon Coeur, Ma Vie:” The soothing words slide into my ears as I feel the gentle brush of lips and beard against my forehead. “Raymond?” “Shhh my love, hush. He settles me down into softness and slides in beside me.

“Fuck” I feel him jolt, then something hits the floor...the shoe 

Earlier

Raymonds fingers snag a little on the delicate fabric of my gown as he slides his hand oh so slowly up the inside of my leg and as he presses a kiss to my knee, I feel the heat of his mouth through the silk of my wedding gown. A slow, easy, confident smile settles on his lips as he hesitates for a moment before brushing the tips of his long fingers up along the crease of my hip and hidden from view cups his hand gently over the mound of soft flesh between my thighs. It was the lightest touch, but my breath catches, and my eyes widen as I hold his look hoping to stare him down and conceal the fact that I burn for him. He is so sure of himself I swat his hand away and hiss at him  “You are too forward My Lord, are you trying to claim a husbands rights before you are my husband, be I careful I don’t say no to you and leave you on the Cathedral steps.”

“Mon Coeur, we both know that I have already claimed a husbands rights in part, and I don’t recall any complaints from you.” The slight breeze ruffles his unfashionably short hair, Raymond is ever the soldier and doesn’t subscribe to the longer, sleek styles favoured by the courtiers. His broad smile reaches his eyes and settles into creases around them; eyes full of mischief. “Chérie, be careful” He warns me with a low growl that it’s a mistake to dare him, because where I am concerned, he will always take up the challenge.

“I said nothing.” “Perhaps not in words my darling, but your eyes, they say a great deal” He smirks at me. “Now we should go, it would not do to keep His Grace waiting.” And as he mounts up on Diable, Mattieu barks out the order to the escort and we make our way into the city and towards the Cathedral.

“Raymond why couldn’t we have married in the family Chapel?”

“I should have preferred that Chérie, all this overblown nonsense just for show but protocol demands that the Baron de Merville marries in the Cathedral, in full view of everyone. Perhaps I should have eloped with you that would have been easier still.”

“Pfft, eloping is a young man’s game, I wouldn’t have wished to put such a strain on an old soldier” His eyebrows fly almost to his fringe, then he raises just the left one. “Most considerate of you.” He drawls, “I shall ask you in the morning whether you still believe me to be an old man or not.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a lazy smile, and heat rising in my cheeks isn’t entirely due to the sun beating down. It is only as we are being greeted by His Grace that I realise Raymond has called himself Baron.

Archbishop Robert III Poulain waits before the great West Doorway of what is no more than a glorified building site. A raging fire 9 years ago saw to that and not much remains of the once magnificent Cathedral; a few stones here and there, some of the columns and the Tour Saint Romain. I catch sight of Henri and he blows me a kiss it’s the sign we agreed and I heave a sigh of relief.

We stand before His Grace as he blesses us with Holy water and begins the ceremony. **“Raymond Christophe de Merville vis accipere Isabé Aaliz Pelletier hic præséntem in tuam legítimam uxórem iuxta ritum sanctaæ matris Ecclésiæ?”**

Now is my moment, and taking a deep breath, I draw myself to my full height, which is to say the top of my head is somewhere near Raymonds shoulder and I speak out in as firm a voice as I can manage. “Your Grace, Pelletier is not my name.” Surprise registers on his face and he gapes a little as he looks from me, to Raymond, to The King and back again to me. I hear the gasps and muttering of the congregation nearest to us.

“Isabé, what are you up to.?”  Raymond hisses. “Don’t worry.” I slip my hand into his, gently squeezing his fingers, it gives me courage and I continue.

“My name was created to protect me.” Archbishop Poulain regards me through narrowed eyes, I hesitate and wonder if I am doing right but it is too late now, and I plough on. “The name I wish to have recorded is Isabé Aaliz Fournier – Bouvier” Those nearest to us gasp, the significance of birth and ancestry is not lost on them, and both men are well known. Blanche, Henri and of course Sebastien are the focus of everyone’s attention; Sebastien Fournier smiles at me whith such a look of pride and joy on his face. Henri nods, Blanche presses her fingers to her lips and blows me a kiss, she is the one who will have to bear the gossip and tittle-tattle, yet she has agreed to this.

“I love you, my beautiful, fearless Lioness.” Raymond raises my hand to his lips.

The sun beats down hot and unrelenting and my heart is pounding so much I can hear it.

“What are you waiting for Poulain?”  The King’s words ring out above the commotion. “Record the name and continue with the ceremony.” and with his voice only a little shaky the Archbishop begins again.

“Raymond Christophe de Merville, vis accipere Isabé Aaliz Fournier - Bouvier hic præséntem in tuam legítimam uxórem iuxta ritum sanctaæ matris Ecclésiæ?” It’s credit to Raymond than when he answers his voice carries only the faintest hint of a laugh

“Volo”

His Grace still glowering asks in a sharp voice. Isabé Aaliz Fournier - Bouvier, vis accípere Raymond Christophe de Merville hic præséntern in tuum legítimum marítum iuxta ritum sanctæ matris Ecclésiæ?

“Volo”

I smile up at Raymond as he removes the small gold ring from the little finger of his right hand, it is blessed by the Archbishop, returned, and Raymond speaks the words which make me his wife.

We are married in law and all I want is for us to leave now, to escape from the clamour of the guests and the heat of the day but the Nuptial Mass must be endured, and it is interminable. At last we kneel as the canopy is lowered over us, a pristine white veil the size of a bed sheet; sheilding us from everyone but God, and as we prostrate ourselves on the cool newly swept  floor, it is held only inches above us. We are now one body, one flesh and protected by the Almighty. I’d rather be protected by Raymond; he is a far more ruthless bodyguard. As we wait for the final blessing, he shuffles closer to me and not caring whether anyone sees him strokes his hand down over my back, though the whole congregation must surely have heard my squeak of surprise as he squeezes my arse. I glare across at him, his face is a picture of innocence as he whispers. “Soon, Mon Coeur, Soon.” “You are shameless My Lord” I hiss back at him, but my feigned annoyance doesn’t stop the heat I feel.

The moment we stand to make our way to the great door, a blur of dark hair and blue gown speeds towards Raymond. “Papa,” With a squeal, Nicolette launches herself at her father and  he sweeps her straight up into his arms, beaming at her. “Papa, can I ride home with you on Diable?” he kisses her cheek. “Oh, little sparrow I don’t think that is a good idea.” The corners of her mouth turn down as she frowns at him, then wheedles. “Please Papa, please.” “Sweetheart, you know he is an ill-tempered brute and with these crowds he might not behave.”

From the corner of my eye I see Eleanor pushing her way towards us, ignoring the contemptuous, disapproving looks of her “Betters”. “Nicolette, that is not the way to behave in church child.” Her boisterous daughter flashes her a mutinous look then settles herself against Raymond, then twines her arms around his neck as she nuzzles her nose into his beard and kisses him “But he likes me Papa and I’m not scared of him, I feed him apples.” I hear the slightly strangled noise in his throat as he croaks. “Eleanor?”

“Don’t look to me on this Raymond.”

“What have you been up to you little imp, the truth now hein.” She drops her head and pouts; Raymond catches my eye and I press my lips together in an effort not to laugh. “I just go to the stables and hide until the boys go away, then give them to him, it’s alright I do it just the way you showed me with my pony, and he doesn’t hurt me, it tickles my hand when he takes them.” She giggles. “He puts his head down and lets me stroke him.”

“Christ and all his saints, I’ll have the hides of those idiot stable lads.”

“No Papa, I go in and hide until they’ve gone away.”

“Oh, she is definitely her father’s daughter Raymond.” I grin at him he gives me “That” look, rolling his eyes at me

“Sweetheart, he’s dangerous.” He kisses the tip of Nicolette’s nose. “Not with me.” Nicolette sets her mouth in a tight little line and juts her chin out.

“Nor me.” I remind him quietly as I rest my hand lightly on his arm. “Now stop trying to frighten her and let her ride with you.” I wink at Eleanor; her smile is warm and genuine.

“Before you go Madame.” Eleanor steps towards me. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

“For God’s sake then ask me Eleanor, there is no need of formality, it is Isabé to you” I drop a sisterly kiss to her cheek. The wife acknowledges the "Sometime Mistress," she and Nicolette have my friendship and protection.” let the hypocrites think what they like.

“Isabé, when his Majesty leaves here, I am ordered travel with him to Paris and then I go South. I have no idea how long my commission will take me away from home and from Nicolette; would you be willing to care for her whilst I’m away?” “Of course Eleanor, don’t worry on that score. Besides, I think she would run rings around her Grandfather in a very short time” “Between you and me, Isabé she already does.” I lay a hand on her arm. “We shall take great care of her;" Raymond is standing beside me and I smile up at him in time to catch the look that passes between them and it unsettles me.

By the time we reach the Chateau, I fell hot, sticky and more than a little crabby; people have been crowding around us pressing and shoving and I am glad the Hall is cooler, sweet with the scent of herbs and decked out in as much finery as could be gathered together. The colourful banners sway in what little breeze comes through the doors. Every table is covered with a linen cloth, cleaned and bleached until it is pristine white and the best of the household table ware is set on it, heaven knows where it was dug it out from, but I suspect most of it hasn’t been used in years.

Fournier strides over, and I move to embrace him, I know that all eyes are on us, but he catches hold of my right hand and bows to me. His voice is solemn but his eyes twinkle. “Welcome, Madame de Merville.” Quietly he adds, “Daughter” Protocol has been preserved,

“Forgive me for yesterday…. Father, I…” He cuts me off quietly, “Daughter, there is nothing to forgive.” And with a broad smile he steps back, turns to face the high table and slams the point of his staff to the floor to bring everyone to order as Philip Augustus King of France takes his place as guest of honour.

Du Four has surpassed himself, and my Father has likely bankrupted the household. A wedding feast is a costly business but when The King is guest of honour, then you had best be ready to ignore the expense and simply raid the coffers. Imported wines and the best Ales flow freely, attentive pages make sure that cups are never drained. Dish after dish of food is served all bathed in rich sauces thickened with almonds or cream and flavoured with herbs or expensive spices, dried fruits, lemons and bitter oranges. When you feed a king, then there is no budget.

But I have little appetite, excitement and nerves have seen to that and so I only manage to pick at one or two mouthfuls. A stream of guests keeps me occupied as they offer gifts and congratulations and my face aches from smiling politely. Raymond coaxes me to eat, offering me choice morsels speared from his own platter. “Isabé” he strokes my leg “I wish you would eat something, because I can promise that you will need your strength, you won’t close your eyes before daybreak.” His voice is husky and seductive as he offers me another titbit, this time from his fingers, brushing them gently against my lips, coaxing me to part them.

I see the wolfish glint in his eyes, he is playing me the bastard. Too little food and a little too much wine, makes me reckless and two can play at those games. I keep my own eyes firmly fixed on his as he pops the morsel into my mouth. Closing my lips around the tips of his fingers, I gently suck the rich sauce from them. Does anyone notice? I don’t care if they do. Even bolder now, I slide my hand up the inside of his leg, barely ghosting over the fabric, but he feels it.  Up and up to the join of hip and thigh until I can go no further, still our gaze is locked, still he is daring me, and I take the challenge, rippling my fingers over his groin. There it is, that soft rumble in the back of his throat, as his eyes widen, then flutter closed for a moment: suddenly he slaps his large hand over mine. From beneath his heavy-lidded eyes he watches me for a moment and catches his lower lip between his teeth biting hard. Then he leans across to me. “Mon Coeur, you had best be careful what games you choose to play, because if you keep teasing I’ll not wait to get you into bed, I’ll haul you behind the screens passage and fuck you where we stand no matter who sees.”

Oh, and he would do it, I know he wood and though his voice is no more than a whisper, it is as hot as hellfire, I turn away and reach for my wine, the cup shakes in my hand as I take a mouthful. I am served right; I should know better than to dare him. There are times when I can barely withstand Raymond’s powerful heat, it makes me wary and wanton in equal measure, as I glance back at him, he is grinning, I still can’t hold his look so I bury my face in my wine cup once more, and thank God I am rescued by His Majesty.

“You know Madame, not once did I imagine I should ever see Raymond married, except of course to his chosen profession”

“Not even when the redoubtable Eleanor Forrestier crossed his path Sire?

“Not even then, nor even after the birth of their daughter, despite scandalising everyone by living as man and wife. Somehow the thought of marriage didn’t seem to appeal to either of them.” He smiles reassuringly at me; does he sense, I wonder, that deep down I still have fears and misgivings concerning them?

“Well Sire I can see how a life  in your service that is dedicated to diplomacy, espionage, and assassination wouldn’t easily lend itself to marriage, particularly if both husband and wife are employed in the same profession.” My voice is sharper than I’d intended, but Philip choses to ignore it, other than to raise a brow. He steeples his fingers, pressing them against his lips as he watches me closely. His smile broadens.

“But then, he came across you Isabé, and…” A string of foul oaths to my right interrupts the conversation, and I turn in time to see Raymond trying to get out of his seat. I hadn’t realised he was so drunk, though no doubt he’s had years of practice hiding the effects when it was necessary to do so; but tonight he has failed and has managed not only to entangle himself in his cloak but has somehow caught the hem of it firmly around chair.                                                  I snigger as he tries to free himself; glowering at me, he wobbles, trips and lands flat on his arse with chair on top of him. I try not to laugh, but it’s impossible, the shock on his face is comical. I hold my breath waiting for the tirade, but he just blinks, clearly confused as to how he ended up on the floor. Then starts to giggle like an idiot, whilst an unfortunate page tries to haul him back onto his feet. No easy task as the lad is slight, no taller than I am, and Raymond is flailing around like a cat on ice. Finally, he is upright.

Swaying, he points at me, leers and pokes me on the breast. “Soft” he slurs, then adds in a whisper, which is anything but. “Need to piss, will come back and we’ll dance.” He turns away too quickly, sweeps around in a full circle and looks mightily confused when he sees me still in front of him, rather than the exit to the kitchen. With careful, over deliberate steps he shuffles himself about then lurches through into the screens passage, presumably heading for the courtyard. I shudder, God help him trying to negotiate his layers of clothing.

“Your husband seems to have a liking for the wine tonight Madame de Merville.” I hesitate for a moment; the sound of my new name is still very strange to my ears.

“Indeed, sire too much of a liking it seems,  and forgive me, but I think what you really mean is that he’s as drunk as a fiddlers bitch, if he drinks any more I should think he will have difficulty in raising a smile let alone much else this night; though at the moment Majesty I am more concerned that he will stamp my feet to a bloody pulp whilst we are dancing. I look away, oh God my tongue has run away with me and I will no doubt be disgraced by my over familiarity.

Even over the racket, anyone close by, hears me. Conversation tails away, Gaultier presses his lips into a tight thin line fighting a laugh. His Grace the Archbishop splutters into his wine cup, then frowns at me clearly shocked by my impertinence. “Isabé Aaliz”, Maman gives me my full name; a clear sign she is displeased, and Philip Augustus just stares at me. Then I see the twinkle in his eyes: his lips twitch, curl, then widen into a smile as he throws his head back, and he slaps both hands down flat on the table as he roars with laughter. “God and all his saints, but Raymond will have his work cut out with you Madame.” Then he whispers, “Now I know why the hard-bitten bastard fell for you Isabé; you are definitely the woman for him.”

He takes my left hand and raises it to his lips; then plucks the exquisite brooch from his own cloak and pins it to mine; the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed it marks me out as being in the King’s favour. Philip’s smile is broad and genuine, it’s clear that he has a real affection for Raymond. “Oh, and what a wife, quick, clever and beautiful: He is my Wolf Isabé, my eyes and ears, the guardian of my peace and dispenser of my justice. I appoint you "Keeper of my Wolf," keep him well, I wish you both long life, great happiness and God willing an heir.”

Before I can reply a page sidles up to me.” Madame, a message for you from the Seneschal, he regrets the intrusion, but he requests your assistance with an urgent matter” Frowning I scan his face. “Urgent?” “Yes Madame, it something he insists only you can resolve.”

Raymond, it can only be Raymond, blind drunk, and belligerent or slumped in a heap somewhere, sleeping it off and snoring like a hog, well he can damned well wait.

“You may tell the Seneschal I shall be there as soon as I can.” The lad is flustered. “Madame I am to say the Seneschal begs your pardon, but it is something that must be done straight away.” With shrug I turn to Philip.

“Majesty, I beg you to excuse me, it seems….”

Go, Isabé and when you return, then honour me with a dance.” He waves me away with a broad grin. I drop him an untidy curtesy, I have never really mastered that art, then follow the page towards the kitchens. The heat, smell and noise is enough to almost knock me flat and I stand in the doorway, peering through the smoke and steam, Fournier is not in the kitchen, nor is he in his makeshift office, I can’t see him amongst swearing, sweating pot boys and kitchen maids. Du Four is bellowing at the top of his voice, but he catches sight of me and jerks his head towards the door, yelling “Outside Madame.” I push my way over to the door, but Fournier is nowhere to be seen.

A strong arm snakes firmly around my waist, as a large hand is clamped firmly over my mouth, stifling my strangled scream, and in a panic I thrash and squirm to free myself “Hush my love, hush, be still.” The voice, the familiar chuckle, it’s Raymond, my first thought had been Théo. He presses his lips to my temple and as he sets me set down wrapping his arms more gently around me, I am conscious of the hard-muscled chest rising and falling against my back. It dawns on me that he isn’t slurring his words and relief gives way to anger as I twist around. “You aren’t drunk at all you bastard” I confront him punctuating the words with smacks to his chest. Raymond laughs “Forgive me my darling, I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just needed to get you out from the hall and this seemed the best way.”

He lowers his voice, to a seductive growl and it washes over me. “This is our wedding night Chérie and I’m not fool enough to render myself drunk and incapable; you see I intend to give you my absolute attention and nothing is going to hinder me in that.” His mouth is a feather touch on mine, he flicks his tongue against my lips, and I can’t help the mewl that escapes me. I know well    what that tongue can do and can already feel heat flaring in my belly. “As for the other question, there is no way on this earth that we will spend our first night together to the accompaniment of a drunken rabble, prancing around outside our chamber, singing filthy songs and yelling even filthier jokes to encourage us.” Another kiss, his tongue flickers against mine. “Nor do we have need of the Archbishop, sprinkling Holy water and muttering incantations over the bed.” The third kiss and he scrapes his teeth over my lower lip and whispers against my mouth. “Because I am sure we can devise a suitable benediction of our own.” There is no mistaking the desire I his voice, but we have been missed, and the rowdy guests are already spilling out into the courtyard, and are dammed if they are going to be denied the traditional wedding night revels. “To bed, to bed, to bed.” The chanting grows louder, and the cry goes up. We have been seen Raymond is ready to fly.

“Chérie, hold tight to my hand, stay close by and when I say run, then run like hell.”

I catch sight of His Grace, walking towards us Philip is beside him, the guests are getting closer yelling and singing, Raymond grips my hand and growls, “Now, Isabé, move, now!” turning quickly he drags me along with him. I gather my skirts up out of the way and even though he shortens his stride, I struggle to keep pace with him as we dash across the courtyard; Raymond slows, dips and lifts me up slinging me over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Before I even have chance to settle, he quickens his pace and with his arms wrapped around my thighs to keep me steady, runs towards the exercise yard as I bounce up and down on his shoulder. My veil and hair hang down and as I grip his belt with my right hand, I wriggle to get more comfortable’ “You have a very nice arse Raymond.” I yell up at him “very nice not an old man’s arse at all nice and firm.” I can’t help but giggle as I stroke my other hand over his backside then squeeze, hard. He missteps slightly and growls. “Behave woman, else I shall wallop yours and you’ll not sit down for a week.”

The laugh bubbles up in me. “Pfft I doubt I shall be doing much sitting My Lord.” Without answering he sets me down beside the massive gates leading to the exercise yard, shoves open the wicket and pushes me inside. I hear the door being slammed and barred shut behind us as we head for the tower in the far corner and I wonder what the hell we are doing going into a storeroom; when my eyes become accustomed to the dim light, I realise it’s not a storeroom, it’s a sally port. Guillaume is waiting inside for us with his own horse and Diable, who is snickering and pawing at the ground. The floor slopes downwards to another doorway directly opposite; it’s as high and wide as the one we have just entered, large enough for a mounted horse to pass straight through from one side to the other without the rider even lowering his head.

“All is ready as you ordered Monseigneur, Matthieu is out there and waiting.

“Thank you, Guillaume” Raymond heads through the second door to speak to Matthieu and has soon as he is gone, Guillaume whispers to me.

“Isabé I beg you if you can’t love him, then for my sake be kind to him, he deserves that at least, but I hope you can love him and love him well.” Before I can answer Raymond has returned and without a word lifts me up onto the stallions back and springs up behind me, as soon as he has gathered the reins up in his right hand, he clamps his left arm around me and with the slightest kick to the horse we are off. “Are you happy Mon Coeur?” His lips are soft against my temple and I purr a “Hmmm” in reply, as I lean back against him and close my eyes, lulled by the rhythm of the horse’s gait and the sway of our bodies. But as we pass through the city and finally through Western gate, I realise that this must have been well planned, we are not challenged by any of the watch or the guard despite it being long past curfew. And I know that for protection we are being followed by Guillaume and Matthieu, because occasionally, I hear other horses behind us, not too far distant.

It seems Blanche and Henri have given over the Manor to us and in turn they will occupy our chamber at the Chateau. The guest chamber is newly decorated, the bed is piled with pillows and draped with the best of the household linens and coverlets, the walls have been freshly lime washed. Lanterns with beeswax candles are placed around the room casting patches of soft light on the walls and floor; trays of food and wine have been set out and the well-wishers from the household have left, all that is except for Jehanne. She busies herself pouring scented water for me to wash, then sets too detaching the necklace she has used as a jewelled fillet to secure my veil. Raymond lounges against the far wall and glances out of the window, not that there is much to see in the dusk.

“Jehanne you may leave that; my wife has no need of you now.” There is a tenderness in his voice as he says, “my wife”, but Jehanne only looks up sharply and stares at him, from her expression, you’d think Raymond had asked her to strip naked and juggle candle spikes.

“M’amselle Mercier I am asking you to leave, I am perfectly capable and more than willing to help Madame disrobe, I’m sure you understand.” He winks at her; she sets her jaw and squares up to him feet planted slightly apart, hands on hips

“Raymond forgive me, but Jehanne is not your servant to dismiss, even though she is now part of your household.” “My love.” He smiles indulgently. “We have no need of Jehanne, these rough hands will do just as well. He strokes his fingers down my cheek.

“Monseigneur, tonight most of all, it is right and proper that I am here to help Madame.” Jehanne is on her high horse, her tone is cool, polite, and completely lacking in any respect whatsoever.

“Jehanne.” Raymond steps towards her. “Tonight, of all nights I have no mind to allow anyone other than myself to help my Bride disrobe. The choice is yours, go now, else I shall sling you over my shoulder and dump you on your backside out in the corridor.” Raymond growls at her, but it is not very. The time for curfew has passed, but no one stops us as we make our way through the city threatening, and she will not give.

“I have my duties. Monseigneur” and as she steps towards me again, Raymond hefts her up off her feet and shrieks like a doused cat; he strides towards the door and as promised carries her out: her face is purple with fury. “Descoteaux, to me now!” he bellows and immediately I hear the Captain thudding up the stairs, just in time to see his Lord setting Jehanne down on her backside. “Take this baggage away man, and tell whoever is to bring our food in the morning to knock then leave it outside the door.” Stifling his laughter, Mathieu helps Jehanne to her feet, and before he can answer Raymond, the chamber door is slammed shut.

He sees me struggling to unpin the necklace Jehanne used as a fillet, it is fixed so securely to my veil and the band beneath, that if I continue to worry at it, I’ll likely tear the delicate fabric. “Isabé let me.” He is careful, deft and practiced, of course he is; I wonder how many times he has done the same for Eleanor, he lays the necklace on the table, then unpins the veil from the band. “Chérie,” He draws me towards him, and threads his fingers through my hair, his lips are warm and soft against mine. “Mon Coeur,” he whispers. “I have some news that you should hear, though I doubt you will like it; I had planned to tell you this tomorrow but there is no easy way and I suppose sooner is better than later.” He smiles at the anxious look on my face. “Sweetheart, I have an assignment from His Majesty, a week from tomorrow I must leave Rouen and travel to Paris, where I shall take command of the Kings forces and then travel South.” He flashes me a rueful smile as he pours two cups of wine handing one to me.

I can only stare at him and feel a knot forming in my stomach. “Be calm Isabé.” I tell myself, “Be calm you are not a silly girl you are the bride, if not yet the wife of Raymond De Merville.” But it seems my heart is hell bent on ignoring my head.

“You must think I’m an idiot Raymond. Now I understand the look that passed between you and Eleanor, when she asked me to take care of Nicolette.” I had meant my words to be cool and calm, but I sound like a petulant child.

“What?” Cocking his head on one side his face smooths and slides into a benign mask.

“There.” I poke him in the chest and step back. “There, is the, inoffensive, calm expression of the King’s Ambassador, I see what the two of you are about now, conniving and scheming. You promised, me, the pair of you that you would not fuck each other in your bed Raymond, but I grant there was no mention made of any other.” As I raise my hand to wallop his face, he grabs my wrist stalling the blow; his fingers digging hard into my flesh. When he speaks, he is considered and careful, as if he is trying to make Nicolette understand something. “No, Isabé, you do not see; you do not see at all.”

“Then forgive me for being stupid and help me to grasp what you mean, My Lord; what stamp of man waits until his wedding night to tell his Bride that he is leaving in a week to travel South, and with his bloody Mistress.” I wrench my arm free and as I step back, he steps forward, his eyes burning like blue fire, we are almost toe to toe, he towers over me, but he lets go a breathy grunt as I slam my balled fists into his chest.

“Don’t you dare tell me that you hadn’t planned all along to keep her as your Mistress you scheming bastard. No, you have taken great pains pretending to put her aside, just to mollify little Isabé.” I aim my fists at his chest again, but this time he grabs at both my wrists.

“Shut up Isabé, I made a promise and so did Eleanor, as I stand by mine, so she will stand by hers.”

“You can’t tell me that your paths won’t cross Raymond, if you do, I shan’t believe you.”

“Mother of God, listen to yourself woman!”

“Let go of me you arse.” Twisting and turning, I try to wrench myself free of him, but he tightens his grip on my wrists. “I said let go, if you think I’m spending my wedding night with you, then you had best think again, you are lying, conniving shit.”

I’m in no mood to play the Lady, I scream and curse him with every barrack room oath I have ever heard Hénri use. He loosens his grip slightly and as I yank my arm away, I aim a kick at his shins for good measure; he shifts smartly to one side  so I miss, of course.

His eyes are even darker now, I know that look, he is fiercely angry, and though his voice is low it sends a shiver down my spine; calm, angry Raymond is enough to chill my blood, and I step back quickly.

“There is no plan between us Madame. “I have my assignment, Eleanor will have hers, our paths may cross but it is unlikely and that is an end to it, she will be well on her way before I even leave Rouen.

“So, you say. His Majesty says jump and you ask, “How High” then run off South to fuck Eleanor up, down and sideways. Well do it and get a bastard son on her and name him heir into the bargain. It will save me the trouble of it all. You should have married her she would make you a far better wife than I will.” I will not let the tears fall no matter how much they sting and burn; I refuse to let him see me weep because of her. Suddenly he lunges at me and grabs at my shoulders hauling me forward until I slam into his chest. Pressing his forehead to mine, he is so close that I can’t see his features only the furrows and frown lines on his brow. His eyes glitter, but not with anger, with sadness and I feel the heat of him through my gown.

“I have no need to get a son on Eleanor, nor even on you Isabé, I already have a son.” He breathes out the words like the last whisper of a dying man, nonetheless, they are as solid as a punch to my stomach. I can’t speak, my heart is pounding and as he steps away the words slowly seep into my brain. Raymond’s face is so pale in the soft light, that his scar seems even more livid against his ashen skin, and realise from his shocked expression that he had not intended to tell me about his son; at least not yet.

The keening starts deep in my chest, rises and when it escapes, the howl of a wounded animal echoes around the room. I lurch towards the table, grab anything within easy reach and launch it at him, apples, chunks of bread, platters. Few of them connect as I hurl them, but I need to smash, break and destroy something, anything to help release the anger and pain. “My God you bastard, you conniving, scheming, lying bastard.” The words drop from my mouth like venom.

“I did not lie to you Isabé”

“Bollocks!” I step toe to toe with him. I swear I see the slightest grin ghosting across his lips, but when I blink it’s gone. “So you did not lie, but were you ever going to tell me I wonder?” I have to tilt my head back a little to stare him in the eyes. Or were you just going to keep quiet, until the day a strapping young man strides into the Chateau, demanding his right of inheritance. Strutting around while I smile graciously, forced accept that any son, I may bear you is disinherited.  Am I to sit there like some silly, obedient little fool as the bastard is made heir while the household looks on in pity?” There is no answer from him.

“Where is he Raymond” I growl at him. “Is he in Rouen with his whore of a mother or have you hidden the bastard elsewhere, Paris perhaps? “Answer me Raymond. You miserable prick, damn you ANSWER ME!” I snatch up the ewer then send it crashing to the floor, sprays of water and shards of pot spatter over Raymond’s boots. The wine jug is next  and as I grab for it, Raymond lunges across, but I snatch it out of his reach, slopping some of the contents down my wedding gown. An arc of wine shimmers in the candlelight as the pot sails past him and smashes to pieces against the wall, staining the new plaster.

In a flash, he has me whirled around and pinned against the table, knocking the breath from me. “A warning Isabé, I beg of you, for your own sake, never, never  speak of them in that way again, you know nothing of it”  His voice is breathy and cracked, his eyes full of such pain, and sadness as he blinks furiously, and I realise he is blinking back tears, but my heart won’t soften “They have names, they are Theodora and Christophe and I have neither seen, nor heard of them for over five years.” With a deep shuddering sigh, he scrubs the palms of his hands up and down over his face and back up through his hair making it stick out at wild angles, and he looks every one of his forty-eight battered, hard fought, years.

“I am going to bed Isabé.” His voice is barely a whisper, he seems broken as he stretches out his hand to me. I answer him so quietly I doubt he hears, “If you think I’m going to lie with you, wedding night or no, then you had best think again Raymond; you would have no joy of it, and you would be as well to shove your pizzle into a knot hole than force me.” Oh, he hears me, and grabs arms digging into the flesh above my elbows. “You are my wife Isabé, mine in body and soul; my property to do with as I wish, and no one would condemn me if took you against your will. But think on this; whether drunk, sober or crazed, I have never, in my life forced a woman against her will and never shall.

He is hurting, I can see it in his eyes, but for a second, there is such tenderness there as he strokes his fingers down my cheek, then gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before he turns away. I watch him for a moment as he starts to undress, then turn my back. The bed creaks as he slides beneath the covers and I sneak a glance and he is laying on his side with his back to me. In a last act of pettiness, I fling my shoe at him, it bounces off the wall and lands beside him; he doesn’t even flinch. Arsehole.

 NOW                                                   

The sun has moved, and a soft light filters into the room. With a loud, unladylike yawn, I stretch to ease my aches, my headache has gone, and I feel better than I had expected to. As I lay back against the pillows, I remember strong arms, soft kisses and gentle words. Raymond! at least he cared enough to rescue me from the chair. I catch sight of him, arms folded legs crossed at the ankle, he is leaning against the wall by the window; and my breath stalls in my throat as I stare wide eyed. Except for his bandage, he is naked and I can’t stop myself looking him over from head to foot and back again, then down once more following that narrow line of hair that tracks a path down his belly, to the dark thatch below. Though I am still furious with him, it doesn’t keep me from staring with more than a little lust. Oh, there is no mistake, he is impressive even at rest. I catch him as he watches me from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, a gentle smile lifting one corner of his mouth; Soft light plays on the curves and planes of his broad shoulders and chest, and the lean, hard muscled limbs of a fit, fighting man. Gods saints, he is much more than handsome, he is beautiful.  

Shifting his stance, Raymond holds his arms a little away from his body, palms towards me. The gesture of a supplicant seeking absolution for his sin of omission, and I am the only one who can grant him forgiveness. We need to settle this or live in a bitter sham of a marriage without love or respect, and barely enough politeness for appearances sake. Flinging the covers aside, I slip from the bed and start to cross the room to him. 

“No, let me speak Isabé.” He holds his hands up as a barrier. “Can you forgive this stupid old fool, I had not meant to hurt you, but I have lived too long using secrets as my protection.” He inhales a deep breath, and I wait.

“I will not lie, there is a place in my heart which is held secure for Theodora and Christophe, it is locked to everyone else, even to you Mon Coeur, and, I will never give up trying to discover what became of them. This time when I step forward, he doesn’t stop me. 

“Raymond, I should know better, you are not some idiot youth still wet behind the ears, you have had a hard, dangerous life, you have a past. It was naïve of me to think otherwise. There is room in everyone’s heart for any number of people Raymond, but you must promise that whatever space is left in yours, belongs to me.”I settle my right hand gently against his chest twisting my fingers gently amongst the hairs.

Stretching up on tiptoe, I slide my hands over his cheeks up into the longer hair on his head. Threading my fingers through it I draw his face towards me. My kiss is not tender, it’s fierce and needy as I push myself hard against him and as he groans into my mouth I unlace one hand from his hair and I slide it between us a, laying it almost along the length of him. It would take a hand much larger than mine to cover “La Bite.”

“Have I married a shameless baggage?”

“It will be your good fortune if you have, My Lord” With a deep, rumbling laugh he lifts me up, bracing his arms beneath my backside as I wrap my legs around him, I am greedy for him; Raymond knows it and picks his way carefully through the potsherds and missiles of the battlefield that is our chamber to carry me to bed; or so I think. The bed may be close, the table is closer, and he sets me down on the very edge, and shoving aside those things I didn’t hurl at him, he sends them clattering to the floor as I wrap my legs even more tightly around him. “Raymond!” Laughing and wriggling against him, I pretend to push him away in indignation, but he holds me firm. “You could at least have carried me to the bed.”

“Well it’s a step up from a stable my darling, and at least you won’t get straw stuck in your hair.” he kisses the soft skin beneath my ear then nips it for good measure. I smack his head. “No, but I’ll likely get splinters in my arse.”

His voice is a low murmur, washing over me. “Then my penance shall be to pick them out for you and kiss each wound to soothe it” “Oh that voice, I'm certain he could simply talk me to ecstasy.” I shiver as he skims his hands down over the curve of my hips, over my thighs and he frowns a little as his fingers gently track the long scar.

“Does it still give you pain Chéri?” he clips at my lips with soft kisses.

“Not so much, just sometimes when I have walked too far, or have stood for too long.”

Head on one side, he grins like a naughty little boy as he strokes his hands back up the insides of my thighs, barely touching the skin as he eases them apart slightly; and when he brushes his fingers oh so gently against those dark curls, I shudder and his name bubbles out of my mouth in a curious little squeak.  “Christ Jesus, but you are beautiful, Isabé”

I’m sure he means it; I hear the desire in his growl; but still I must fight down my fears and uncertainties about Theodora and Eleanor. Those fears fade a little when he kisses me, and I realise from his feral look that he is hungry for me. But he is a master of control, and in his own sweet time, he tracks a path down my body, searching out those sweet. sensitive places as he peppers my skin with gentle kisses, nips and sweeps of his tongue. Chuckling with the simple joy of hearing me mewl, sigh and purr out his name. My nipples are tight and aching before he even sets his mouth to one, tracing lazy circles with his tongue raking it with his teeth, caressing and nipping the other with his fingers, lavishing attention on both and as I thread my fingers into his hair, he bites harder, strong teeth leaving marks of love and possession, I can barely think straight, the ache and heat between my thighs is raging and I feel the wetness there.

“Raymond” Whimpering his name, I unhitch my legs completely from around his waist parting them, inviting him. I know where I want that clever mouth and talented tongue to be, I know what it can do, and that thought alone sends that sweet ache searing through me again.

“Tell me what you need my beautiful isabé.” His hands flutter over my body, his touch sends fire through me.

“Your mouth, I need your mouth” I stutter and sob out the words. Eyes sparkling he shoots me a wicked grin. He understands, though he pretends not to. Stroking back my hair he drawls into my ear. “My Mouth, then tell me hein; where is the ache you need me to ease?” he kisses the soft skin between ear and jaw, “Is it here, my sweet?” He slides his lips down my neck. “ Or here?” A nip to my collarbone, “Perhaps this is the place.” Lowering his head further he licks at my left breast and sucks the nipple into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue. I am wriggling against the table keening in desperation as he laces the fingers of one hand into my hair, twisting it tight as he pulls my face towards him. I open my mouth to his and then a sweet shock almost lifts me from the table as he gently trails one finger down between my thighs and slowly slides it inside me. I can hear how wet I am, and he sets a slow, easy, rhythm that matches the dance of his tongue against mine.  A second finger follows, then a third stretching, stroking, coaxing.

“Is this what you need Isabé, is this what you want my sweet wife, does it please you my love, or do you need more from me?” he whispers against my lips. Incapable of speech, I dig my fingers into his shoulders, then rake them hard down his chest, over his nipples, stroking down to his cock, trailing my fingers over the velvety skin. Sweet retalliation as swears, shudders and groans his head lolling back a little. But he snatches my hand away.

“No Isabé, there will be time enough for you to discover my needs and desires but for now.” He drops to knees and looks up at me his eyes burning. “For now, you are everything.” I see the smile on his lips before he dips his head and at that first soft breath, that first teasing kiss my, back arches and my hips snap forwards, but nothing stalls him. Delicate teasing kisses, his beard rasping against tender flesh, as he sucks, laps and scrapes with his teeth; growling out his pleasure. He holds me steady and I whine his name, as again he slides one finger then another inside me setting up that sweet aching rhythm matching the teasing of his tongue. I am burning, but not in hell, though the heat of me is enough to set fire to the air, I am certain of that.

As the tightness settles deep in me, I clench myself; Raymond is relentless with his tongue and fingers. I claw at his scalp, grabbing at his hair as if doing so will stop me flying away, my thighs tense and begin to shake, I am gasping as if there is no air in the room.

“Come for me my darling, break your chains, fly, show me passion, show me your soul.”

I scream oaths, words of love of love and Raymonds name, they bounce from the walls, as I fracture and fall, but not just once. He shatters me again and again before he puts me back together with soothing words. I cling to him as he gentles me with soft caresses, if he leaves go of me I know I shall float away. My shoulders heave as I gasp for breath, sweat trickles between my breasts and long strands of hair stick to my damp skin. Wrapping his arms more tightly around me Raymond holds me steady and whispers; “I am not finished with you yet.” I taste myself on his lips as he kisses me; I barely have strength to wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me and carries me to bed. For certain my own legs would not hold me, they tremble too much.

“We are in no way finished my sweetheart” he settles me among the pillows, Languor has settled in my bones and I watch him from beneath half closed lids, as he slips his arms beneath my thighs, lifting them over his own, and as he settles himself, I catch him licking his lips. Raymond is so tender, and with gentle movements he presses  little by little, pause by pause until he is deep within me. I push my hips upwards wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him deeper still. A long rough sigh of pleasure swirls around and he stills for a moment searching my face. “What’s wrong old man have you tired so quickly?” His eyes fly wide open “You, my darling wife may come to regret those words.” I stop his mouth with my fingers, and wiggle my hips. “Oh, I do hope so, Raymond I do hope so.”

He hovers over me, his forearms either side of my head as a broad smile lights his face. The lines of sorrow and pain have disappeared, replaced by love in the deep, blue fire of his eyes. He is giving me time; my husband is in no way lacking and I remember overhearing a kitchen maid whispering to her friends, she had it on good authority that. “Sieur Raymond is hung better than his stallion.” and I bite my lip trying not to snort. Raymond frowns a little mistaking the sound for one of pain. “Isabé, Mon Coeur, for God’s sake, say if I am hurting you”   I reach a hand up to his face, laying my palm against his cheek. “Raymond, my love I won’t break, though I might bend a little.” There, I’ve said it. “ My Love." I have said it, and meant it.

I hear a clatter and thud somewhere in the distance as our breakfast is set down in the passage and  Raymond bellows towards the door.  “Take it away, it will be long past breakfast before we are done.” I hear a girlish giggle as the housemaid picks up the tray and scuttles off, no doubt to give a lurid account that “Monseigneur and his Lady are “Putting the devil into hell.”

In the shadows of the Chateau stables two figures stand close together, for all the world they look like lovers embracing, but one mistake, one unwary move and the embrace will prove fatal for one of them.

“Be still Fontaine, the knife is exceedingly sharp, a sudden move and it will easily pierce your skin, and should you try to harm me, you would get no further than the courtyard; there are bows trained on you. Her words ghost against his cheek as low and soft as a lover’s. He holds his breath, shifts slightly and feels the point of the dagger press hard against him, it has pierced his clothes, now it pricks against the skin of his groin and he winces. “This is a warning to you Théo, when you travel South, I shall be there watching you every step of the way though you will be hard pressed to see me.

“Do you think I'm frightened by threats from de Merville’s Whore, I am not travelling South bitch.” The point of the double-edged dagger is pushed a little farther and he hisses in his breath.

“Oh’ but you are Fontaine, less chance for you to conspire against the King, with that bastard John Lackland and if you even look sidewise at Monseigner Raymond or Isabé beefore we leave I will slice you into ribbons and feed you to the pigs. Now be a good boy and run back to your Maman” Eleanor stands aside to let him pass and as he walks by she adds. “You might want to tell her, His Majesty knows her trade and recommends she retires, she'll understand. I suggest she takes his advice for if she persists, then one day they'll be fishing her body out of the Seine.” As he turns to look back at her, Eleanor has the pleasure of seeing his face grow pale. 

“I’ll see you dead before I’m done, Fontaine you bastard!”

When I wake, Raymond is sprawled on his back still sleeping, the fingers of his left hand are tangled in my hair; I am curled against him, my left arm is draped over him and my left thigh pins his legs to the bed. Taut and firm beneath my cheek his stomach rises and falls with the steady rhythm of his breathing. If Raymond is asleep then a certain part of him most certainly is not. I giggle to myself as I shift a little and trail a finger down the thick vein along the back of his cock and press my lips together to hide a snort as it twitches upwards. Very gently I curl my hand around him, caressing the velvety softness to set up a gentle rhythm, pulling the skin a little further back each time I stroke my hand up and down him. “You witch Isabé.” His voice is a sleepy, guttural, whisper, and as I brush my lips against the tip of him, his hips snap upwards and he curls his fingers even more tightly in my hair.

Now, it is my turn; and my revenge will be so very sweet.

*I marry you wife* this is later medieval French from the region of Bordeaux, taken from a record held in the cathedral there. It is from a much later date, but I just wanted to create the sense of a service which would have been conducted in a mixture of Latin and Old French

**Do you take (bride's name), here present, for your legal wife according to the rite of our holy mother, the Church?**

[pixelgrotto]

Ladies and lords of Waterdeep

From April of 2019 to June of 2020, I ran Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, a Dungeons & Dragons campaign for levels 1-5, for two groups - a party of three gals and a party of six guys. This was a tricky undertaking - mostly because as written, Dragon Heist is kind of a mess (more on that in a sec) - but also because I had to balance an adventure for two very different audiences that really only shared the commonality of being filled with D&D newbies. It was a worthwhile endeavor, though, and looking back on the experience reveals some interesting food for thought on how to remix an adventure, as well as how some ladies and gents experience roleplaying games differently. 

First, let me briefly discuss the adventure itself. Dragon Heist is meant to be an urban outing set in the Forgotten Realms metropolis of Waterdeep, which I described to my New York-dwelling players as “pretty much a fantasy version of NYC.” Over the course of five levels, players inherit and possibly renovate an old tavern, catch wind of an ancient heap of gold beneath the city and run into a bunch of important figures from Forgotten Realms history, ranging from Laeral Silverhand to Volothamp Geddarm. All of that’s epic, and the only issue is that the adventure’s laid out in a pretty shoddy way. 

There are four chapters in Dragon Heist, and the first is the only one that can be run with a minimum of hacking on the part of the Dungeon Master. The other three present a so-called “toolbox” of vague ideas for missions with Waterdeep’s various adventuring factions, as well as middling advice for scenes like a rooftop chase and a battle with a chain devil in a crypt, but it’s all highly disorganized with a minimum of connective tissue, requiring heavy lifting on the DM’s part to stitch together. The book is also rife with excessive red herrings for players to stumble upon as they search for the treasure trove, way too many characters with overly long names, and last but not least, there’s a lack of an actual “heist” in the grand finale, which is more scavenger hunt than Ocean’s Eleven. 

With all these criticisms, why did I choose to run this book for not one, but two different groups at the same time? It was largely because I’d just finished playing through Dragon Heist with my own character - a mask-wearing teenage street urchin who fancied herself a swashbuckler. I’d had a more-enjoyable-than-not time with the folks I played with, but the guy who DMed had a habit of sending us on the aforementioned red herrings for multiple sessions at a time, with nary an interesting combat encounter or social challenge in sight. I don’t really blame him for this - especially seeing at how poorly the book was laid out afterwards - but immediately after finishing, I was approached by two friend groups who wanted to try their hand at D&D, and this gave me the excuse to see if I could do a better job. 

Since I already had a clear example of which pitfalls to avoid, the version of Dragon Heist that I ran heavily remixed all of the elements in the book, with an emphasis on streamlining whenever possible and always making it feel like my players were accomplishing something. This is usually my underlying philosophy whenever I run a game, but it’s an essential strategy for newbies who might be driven off of roleplaying games altogether by bad pacing. For instance, as written, there’s an annoying series of fetch quests near the end of the story where players have to find a number of keys in order to open the hidden treasure vault. These keys are random as heck, ranging from semi-sensible McGuffins like a bronze dragon scale to bonkers junk like a ballad played by two dwarven bards and a friggin’ unicorn. This whole exercise in randomness reminded me of the worst of video game filler, and I cut it out entirely by having the son of the man who hid the treasure accompany the characters, with a drop of his blood activating the magic needed to open the vault’s doors. (This also led to an amusing situation where the guys were stuck as they ruminated on how to open the vault...until the dude playing the goliath suddenly shouted, “I GRAB RENAER’S HAND, CUT IT AND SMEAR THE BLOOD ALL OVER THE DOOR!” and I was like, “Okay. It...opens!”)

Because my players were nearly all D&D virgins, I also wanted them to get their money’s worth by encountering all four of Dragon Heist’s villains - Xanathar the beholder, the devil-worshipping Cassalanter nobles, Manshoon the cloned wizard and Jarlaxle the drow rogue. As written, Dragon Heist touts itself as highly replayable, since DMs are only supposed to choose one villain for their players to go up against. The problem is that all of the bad guys are teased on the cover, and the beginning chapters dangle most of them into the narrative with the players caught in the middle. This created a lot of confusion when I was a player, as my companions and I kept hearing about Xanathar and Manshoon...only for them to suddenly disappear halfway through as Jarlaxle took center stage as the big bad. And so, in order to circumvent this confusion and make both the boys and the girls feel like they were getting a quintessential experience with a minimum of loose ends, I threw in all the baddies. (I wasn’t the only one to do this - tabletop RPG designer Justin Alexander also recommends this approach on his blog The Alexandrian, where he offers an impressive revision of Dragon Heist that I probably would’ve used if I hadn’t discovered it too late.) 

So, when it came down to actually rolling dice, how’d my two groups interact with the material? I think it’s safe to say that both the girls and the boys hit the same major story beats and had a grand time doing so, but the nuances of their experiences were fascinatingly different. The girls, for instance, dove into the art of roleplaying and devising histories for their characters, and one of them decided to play as an elf from a seafaring clan and gave me a whole backstory involving the ocean that inspired my “final boss” for Dragon Heist, an evil, decaying dragon from the Elemental Plane of Water that isn’t in the book. (Hey, it’s called Dungeons & Dragons, the story’s named Dragon Heist, and since I wasn’t sure if all of my players would stick around for future campaigns, I figured I’d better stick a notable battle with a big scaly lizard in there somewhere.) 

The girls also got way more into some of the social justice subplots that permeated my version of Dragon Heist, pushing hard for Waterdeep to remove the anti-dragon magic bubble that surrounded the city and excluded an entire species from its borders. Their interactions with non-player characters - often progressing along the lines of “well, if you feel like you want us to do this quest for you, then we certainly can” - reflected this sort of empathy, and even though this sounds incredibly stereotypical, by the time the final session wrapped up, all three of the gals had either shipped or flirted with NPCs that they’d encountered during their journey. One of ‘em even ended up hitched with a baby!

The boys, by contrast, were much less likely to devise in-depth character histories beyond “I’M IN THIS CITY TO GET MY MONEY,” and their NPC conversations also frequently waded into “GIMME MY GOLD” territory. I don’t want to make it sound like their characters were just two dimensional mercenaries, though, because definite, organic progression occurred over the course of the campaign - the goliath who couldn’t read gradually worked his way through Volo’s Guide to Monsters and became fluent in Celestial after joining the Order of the Gauntlet, for instance.

Where the boys clearly felt more at home than the girls was in combat, probably because 1) there were six of them as opposed to the three ladies, and 2) they collectively had lots of video game knowledge, and D&D’s influence has kinda trickled down to every video game ever made. It didn’t take long for some of the dudes to begin subconsciously min/maxing their characters, and while there were two major deaths in unpredictable boss fights, the boys did go through a long period where they were just steamrolling everything to come their way and yelling, “LET’S FUCKIN’ GOOOO” as they did so. In contrast, DMing for the girls during combat sequences was occasionally a nail-biting experience where I didn’t know who was going to survive, and since some of this was due to my own slapdash encounter design where I underestimated the abilities of the monsters they were up against, I made sure to give them lots of friendly NPCs who could potentially offer a helping hand, or even resurrection spells if needed. 

Both groups were aware of the other’s existence, and I’d sometimes playfully pit them against one another. (Example: The guys often forgot who was who, and one time one of ‘em looked down at his character sheet and was like, “MY NOTES ARE SUCH SHIT” which made me respond, “Well, y’know the girls take really good notes...”) But at the end of the campaign, when my players asked me which party was more fun to DM for, my answer was that both groups were great. The girls were bursting with imaginative roleplay, and they gave me real moments of glee as they responded to story twists with the legitimate surprise and wonder that comes from people who aren’t already overexposed to fantasy tropes and gaming culture. The boys gave me that feeling of what some fans affectionately call “beer & pretzels D&D,” where you’re shooting the breeze with your buddies, playfully teasing each other and going for broke in combat encounters. 

I want to stress that the ladies I DMed for were absolutely not representative of how all women might approach D&D, and the exact same thing must be said for the fellas. This was no planned sociology or gender studies experiment that I conducted, in other words - it was merely a thing that I did with two friend groups, and the resulting experiences were two opposite yet totally valid sides of the same RPG coin. And while I doubt that I’ll run the same campaign in the future for two different groups at once (let alone a campaign as wonky as Dragon Heist), I like to think that as someone who tries to advocate for how roleplaying games can be fun, welcoming experiences for all, I played a small role (hah) in bringing swords, sorcery and storytelling to the lives of people who might not have experienced such imaginative forays otherwise. 

Already, both the gals and the guys are whipping up ideas for future characters and checking out stuff like Critical Role...which means that my work here, at least for the moment, is done. 

[miraculousmidnightreviews]

War Storm Book Review

By Victoria Aveyard

3.5/5 stars

Spoilers for Red Queen, Glass Sword, and King’s Cage

Summary: Mare has endured the worst of betrayals. But as Maven’s obsession with her grows, Mare, along with Montfort and the Scarlet Guard, must put her tentative trust in Cal and his silvers. It is the only way to win the war. While both sides prepare for an inevitable conclusion, Cal and Mare struggle to establish a world in which reds and silvers can coexist peacefully. In the process, they learn the means by which they accomplish this are just as important as ending years of prejudice and hate.

The Romance (minor spoilers)

I have a feeling this entire review is going to be full of minor spoilers. I’m sorry, but there’s no other way to express my feelings.

First of all, Mare and Cal. Love them. Ship them. So. Hard. This book was torture to get through because Mare and Cal are now little stubborn shitheads who both want basically the same thing but believe in majorly different ways of getting there. I was not okay with the King’s Cage ending, alright? It ruined me. I had hope for War Storm but now...well, read it, and you’ll see what I mean.

On the bright side, I am totally here for the banter between Mare and Cal, especially while they’re at odds. It relieves tension among chapters of suspense and the foreboding sense that someone will soon die.

Cal = Mare’s giant teddy bear.

Evangeline, my love

Yes, Evangeline totally deserves her own section in this review.

I think we can all agree that no one really liked Evangeline until she received her own chapters in King’s Cage. If I’m being honest, I didn’t truly jump on the I-love-Evangeline-Samos bandwagon until this book. Maybe, it’s because spilling Mare’s blood isn’t a priority for her anymore. Probably. Definitely.

I truly enjoyed the relationship (friendship?) that developed between Mare and Evangeline during War Storm. It really showed the growth of these two characters nicely. Plus, I’m a real sucker for that enemies to friends trope.

Also, Evangeline and Elane are really cute together.

   Point of Views (minor spoilers)

As you know from the previous Red Queen books, Aveyard has written from the point of view of other characters in addition to Mare. I’m always wary of series in which authors switch to or include POVs other than the main character’s. What if I don’t like these characters? In the end, it’s a 50/50 chance as to whether or not I’ll enjoy a new perspective. Sometimes, I grow to admire a character I once despised, and other times, I end up favoring one POV over another. (Let’s face it. The latter happens 100% of the time.)

In War Storm, Aveyard once again switches up the POVs. I won’t spoil the surprise as to who gets their own chapters since this is the non-spoiler section, but I will say that, of course, Mare still remains the main throughout the book. Speaking of POVs, I wasn’t too pleased with one of them. For me, it ruined the pacing of the book. I would get bored with that chapter, and then I would have to put the book down in favor of doing something else. Those chapters just wrecked my reading flow. Right when I got to an exciting part, racing from page to page, I turned to the next chapter and there it was. My reading block. Ugh.

Thanks for reading! We hoped you enjoyed our non-spoilery review! Come back later for the spoilery stuff, or keep reading at your own risk! Check out our other reviews here.

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

Pacing & POVs but with spoilers

Continuing with the POV thing: Who the fuck is Iris and why should I care? I am not a fan of the different POVs. Just when I was getting used to Cameron in King’s Cage, BAM! She’s gone! And in her place is this girl, Iris. Not a fan, bro. (Yes, I do understand dramatic irony, but I did not think it was necessary for this book.)

But kudos to Victoria Aveyard. After reading, I now know who Iris really is inside, and I do care. A little bit. Not enough for her to get her own chapters, though.

Mare, Cal, and Evangeline keep their POVs in this novel, and I’m cool with that. Actually, I was surprised at how cool I was with that while reading.

Another thing: the pacing. My god, it’s a little bit of torture. First, let me be honest: I really wanted to like this book and give it a better rating than I did. It’s a part of one of my favorite series, and I love the author. Now don’t get me wrong. I still enjoyed it, but not as much as any of the other books in the series. It’s just the pacing. There were really intriguing parts, like Evangeline’s meddling, and Mare secretly planning to take Cal’s throne, but then there would be parts, like anything Iris-related, that bored me a lot.

When War Storm was good it was real good, but when it was bad, it was real boring.

Farley AHHH

I love Farley so freaking much. I’m not one for children, usually, but Clara and Farley are adorable.

Okay, the one thing I really love about this book is the friendship between Farley and Mare. Honestly, it’s more like they’re sisters. Aveyard did such a great job at showing how much they’ve developed as people and how far they’ve come, despite setbacks. Really, Farley stepping into a role as Mare’s big sister is what I live for.

Also, the way she doesn’t judge Mare’s feelings for Cal while simultaneously wanting to flay him alive is just perfection.

Mare & Cal & Maven & Everyone Else

Ever since Maven betrayed Mare, I dropped him hard. I’ve always been a Cal fan (even when he’s a dumbass). I know there are people in the fandom who love Maven for reasons I cannot understand, and I’m not here to judge you or come for you or whatever. But I do think Maven needed to die and he did. The end.

Is it terrible for me to say Ptolemus grew on me? I loved Shade as much as anyone, but I think his death was circumstantial. I’m giving Ptolemus a second chance. I hope he has a short story whenever those come out.

I’m a little disappointed in Evangeline. Yes, it’s in character of her to escape in that way, but I really wanted her to have a badass showdown, helping Mare and Cal. Oh well, I can’t wait for her short story with Elane.

Montfort

Ah, Montfort. Good ole Montfort. I don’t have much to say about this new terrain our characters venture across, but I feel like I should? I liked the way Aveyard described its government. She did a nice job introducing the world to her readers. Yay, democracy!

THAT ENDING WHAT

Alrighty, bitches. Maven Calore is fucking dead like he deserves (by Mare’s hand no less), and it was kind of underwhelming. I liked the way Aveyard wrote it, but no one else died in that battle, really? Like, not even Granny Calore? I just wish she had killed more people, that’s all. It would have been more realistic in a war setting, and also, it would have taken care of some problematic asshats. (Side note: I fucking support Volo’s death. That was good.)

I get it, though. It’s hard to kill off characters. It’s a balancing act; you can’t go all Game of Thrones on this shit, but you can’t let everyone have a happily ever after either. It’s complicated.

Seriously, though, what the fuck? Why are Mare and Cal not together like I dreamt they would be? Come on, Aveyard, why? I’m not cool with this ending. I NEED MORE FROM THEM. WHEN ARE THESE FREAKING SHORT STORIES COMING OUT?!

Thanks for reading! We hoped you enjoyed both our non-spoilery and spoilery reviews! Check out our other reviews here!

—Alexa

[simul16]

The Illusion of a New Edition

So, I've spent a few days thinking about that controversial gaming video on YouTube and have a few thoughts.

No, I'm not talking about the video where Cody from Taking20 says he's quitting Pathfinder 2 because of what he calls the 'illusion of choice'. When I first saw that video, I basically nodded in agreement, because Pathfinder, both 1 and 2, are designed for a particular kind of player who appreciates optimal play and 'builds'. Because a game gets the kind of players it designs for, that lends itself toward a playstyle where you as the DM see your players doing the same thing over and over again simply because it's the most efficient way to get through combat, even when that thing stops being 'fun'.

(I could have a few things to say about the cavalcade of response videos that came out after Cody's video, ranging from 'we've got to stick together as Pathfinder Youtubers' to 'D&D 5E has the same rules, why are you complaining?', but ultimately all of those videos boiled down to either inadvertently or deliberately missing the point in order to maintain a pre-determined opinion: that the style of play the video-maker likes is the best style of play, and since Pathfinder is designed for that style of play it must be by default the best game. Mostly it boils down to my standard screed on how optimization is a bad play style that drives out other play styles, though, so it wouldn't be especially fresh or new as a take.)

No, the video I watched that got me thinking was Treantmonk's "Winter is coming for D&D 5E", where he talks about the likelihood that sometime in the near future -- not the immediate future, but not that far off, either -- D&D will retire 5th Edition and bring out 6th Edition, or at least a revised version of 5E. I have a lot of problems with his analysis, and a good number of the individual points Treantmonk tries to make directly undermine the overall point he wants to make, but let me lead off by saying that it wouldn't surprise me in the least if there is someone at Wizards of the Coast, possibly even Jeremy Crawford, one of the lead designers of D&D Fifth Edition, who spends some amount of his workday thinking about what a 6th Edition would look like and what the circumstances are that would necessitate the release of a new D&D edition. "Failing to plan is planning to fail" and all that. But it's a far cry from saying that someone is actively considering what a 6th Edition would look like to claiming that 6th Edition is right around the corner, and there are good reasons to think that 6th Edition, whatever it looks like, isn't just right around the corner but probably isn't coming along for quite some time. In other words, I believe that the 'gap' between 5th and 6th Editions will likely be larger than the gap for nearly every other set of editions of D&D, with perhaps only the gap between AD&D (2nd) and 3rd Edition D&D being greater.

How can I be so certain of this? Some of it is from data provided by Treantmonk himself. For instance, Treantmonk points out that the D&D 5E 'core books' (the Player's Handbook, Dungeon Master's Guide, and Monster Manual) still show up as Amazon 'best sellers' (though it took me awhile to find the actual category in which they are best sellers -- 'Puzzle & Game Reference'). This is maybe a bit misleading, as the Pathfinder 2E core books aren't ranked by Amazon in the same category, and even the Player's Handbook's ranking is a bit confusing -- #1 in Puzzle & Game Reference, but #2 in Dungeons & Dragons Game (behind Tasha's Cauldron of Everything, which isn't listed in the Puzzle & Game Reference category), but the best apples-to-apples comparison I can find based on the Amazon data suggests that D&D is still far outselling Pathfinder, even though Pathfinder 2E is a newer edition: the 5E Player's Handbook is still in the top 100 bestsellers among all books on Amazon (#1 as I write this is "Promised Land", Barack Obama's autobiography) despite having been published in the late summer of 2014, while the equivalent Pathfinder 2E book, the Core Rulebook, is just barely in the top 11,400 best-selling books on Amazon despite being less than 18 months old. This argues against a 6th Edition partly because at least part of the accepted wisdom for the reason 5th Edition was released was to try to regain the top-selling RPG slot from Pathfinder, which had eclipsed D&D Fourth Edition in sales. If Pathfinder 2E had stormed out of the gate and performed well enough to re-create the original Pathfinder's ascendency over D&D, there would be a more obvious reason for Wizards of the Coast to consider coming up with a new D&D edition to fight for that RPG crown. But with 5E not only regaining the RPG crown from Pathfinder, but also seemingly easily fending off a challenge from a new, improved Pathfinder in Pathfinder 2E, that pressure is effectively non-existent: why mess with success? (And if anything, Cody's video lends further credence to the idea that there's no reason to replace D&D 5E, as Cody explicitly points out that the game he's most likely leaving Pathfinder 2E for, and the game with fewer of the problems he has with Pathfinder 2E, *is* D&D 5E.) Treantmonk continues, though, with an analysis that boils down to 'here are the reasons I wish I was right' instead of the reasons he's actually accurate in his prediction.

His first major point is in discussing the difference between 'fluff' and 'crunch' in RPG books, and making the blanket assertion that "crunch sells better than fluff". You can argue that he's correct in a very limited sense -- consider a book with 100% crunch, an RPG expansion book full of new race, class, and other mechanics, versus a book with 100% fluff, a book which is just background, story, and other narrative items wholly divorced from mechanics. It seems pretty clear that players would certainly look through the crunch book looking for interesting things for their current characters or ideas for new characters, and would likely buy the book if they found them -- that's a pretty clear market for a 'crunch' book. Whereas, for a wholly fluff-based book, players would likely only consider buying the book if they're playing in a setting where they really enjoy the setting, want to know more about it without bothering their DM, and are convinced that the setting details as expressed in the fluff book are the same as those used by their DM. There's still a market there, but particularly if you are a mechanically-focused player, and you game with others who are mechanically focused, you'd easily see much less excitement for such a book than for the strictly crunchy mechanics book.

So although our thought experiment above suggests that a 100% crunch book would likely have a larger audience and thus larger sales than a 100% fluff book, you might expect to see that books Wizards of the Coast has already published that don't contain mechanical game content do appear to not sell quite as well as books that do contain mechanical game content -- but you'd be wrong about that. As an example, while "Heroes' Feast: the Official D&D Cookbook" isn't selling as well as the Player's Handbook (the latter, as discussed, is in the top 100 best-selling books, while the former is 'just' at #160 on that list), it's selling better than the Dungeon Master's Guide (#192), the Monster Manual (#232), and even Xanathar's Guide to Everything (#284), the last 'big crunch' book released for D&D 5E. "Heroes' Feast" is currently selling far better than any Pathfinder crunch book, and as I write this, the book is oddly the #1 bestseller in the category of 'Science Fiction, Fantasy & Horror Television' and #2 in 'Party Cooking' (with the #1 book being Snoop Dogg's cookbook). I don't think anyone at Wizards of the Coast is regretting their decision to publish a cookbook with no races, classes, or feats in it.

And therein lies the rub: no book is 100% crunch or 100% fluff, and fluff does appeal to some consumers. As a proportion of fluff to crunch, D&D 5E books generally fall higher on the fluff side of that balance scale than Pathfinder books do, but this hasn't caused them to be poor sellers. And while one could argue whether Tasha's Cauldron of Everything is selling better now because it's new versus whether it has a higher proportion of crunch to fluff than earlier books like Volo's Guide to Monsters or the Sword Coast Adventurer's Guide, the truth is that Wizards of the Coast can successfully sell high-fluff books to their audience, at least in part because they've cultivated an audience that can appreciate books with a higher fluff content. Now if Paizo tried publishing a Pathfinder cookbook and the book sold horribly, Treantmonk would likely point to the failure of that book as proof of his thesis that fluff doesn't sell as well as crunch, but really, all he's doing is showing that his thesis primarly holds for an audience that looks for crunch over fluff, which the Pathfinder audience clearly does -- Pathfinder is the game that makes breaking campaigns fun, and the audience they have, which is the audience they've designed to attract, is that proportion of gamers who look for some practical way to break their game rather than some entertaining way to impart practical information of no use to the game proper but which might be a great thematic addition to a special gaming event.

(Hold onto this concept of perspective-blindness -- that Treantmonk is writing things he thinks are true in general but are mainly true from his limited perspective -- because it's a common thread in the points he makes, and thus in my critique of them.)

Treantmonk then moves on to say that increasing crunch in a game leads to 'bloat', where greater and greater rules complexity (as expressed by having more rules available to choose from) results in players who have access to all the rules options developing characters that are always going to be 'better' than the characters developed by new players who only have access to the core options in the Player's Handbook. There's a lot to unpack here, but I'll simply point out that in both cases where Treantmonk tries to illustrate his 'tons of rules and options' point with a video image, he uses an image consisting of a large number of rulebooks...from D&D Third Edition. That all by itself should be a red flag for his general argument here.

There is one good point Treantmonk makes here, though -- he points out that, in order for an edition to have long-term success, it must successfully attract new players throughout its lifespan, and that traditionally, game systems like D&D (prior to 5th edition, at least) and Pathfinder (in their first edition) did in fact develop greater and greater rules complexity and 'bloat' which was identified as a reason why new players were turned off of the game. The flaw in Treantmonk's argument, though, is again in assuming that D&D 5th edition works in this same way. He does point out that D&D 5e has deliberately slowed the pace of high-crunch books like Xanathar's Guide to Everything and Tasha's Cauldron of Everything, but immedately loses whatever rhetorical points he earned by making this observation by insisting "this hasn't been the best model for short-term sales" (umm, did we miss that Tasha's is currently the top-selling D&D book, period, which means it's selling better than any Pathfinder book and probably every RPG book currently in print, at least on Amazon?), as well as insisting that even this slow pace of releases is causing a reduction in uptake of new players by forcing new players to have to exist with the sub-optimal choices in the core books rather than the 'obviously superior' options in the new books.

Does Treantmonk not watch his own videos? His 'quick and dirty' guide to Tasha's Cauldron of Everything (posted a week after the release of the book) suggested that he didn't think Tasha's was as 'good' as Xanathar's Guide, which jibes with the reactions of other optimizers posting online who seemed disappointed that some of the clearly breakable mechanics that existed in these subclasses in their playtest forms (available via the Unearthed Arcana feature on WotC's website) got 'nerfed' for publication.

To begin with, the simple strategy of putting out a 'big crunch' book only once every three years or so rather than multiple times per year immediately reduces the rate of 'bloat' in the system as Treantmonk defines it -- if you don't publish rules as quickly, it takes longer to get to the point where you can't deal with the overwhelming number of options you have in deciding what to do with your characters. Plus, by taking longer to publish and submitting the ideas to effective public playtest via Unearthed Arcana, the developers can ensure that they don't accidentally push the power envelope farther than they intend by releasing something clearly not ready for play, and thus keep 'core' options competitive with the newer options available in these crunchy books. Both of these strategies are part-and-parcel of an overall desire to continue to maintain the existing edition for as long as it remains viable, which clearly is still the case, given what sales information we have access to. However, a bigger point is simply that new players aren't just introduced to D&D by people who are long-established players any more: in many cases, a new player wants to try out D&D after having seen it played online on a show like Critical Role or Dice, Camera, Action!, or has heard a reference to it in a news article or some viral content, or even by encountering it through some of those zero-crunch works like Heroes' Feast. These players aren't as likely to immediately go out and try to find an established group and join that group -- they may decide to put together their own group based on what they saw online, or go to a convention where they might play D&D Adventurers League games with other new players, and while the existence of new rules sources like Tasha's might occur to them (especially in the dealer room of said convention), the characters they're playing may just be pregenerated characters using the tried-and-true mechanics in the Player's Handbook, or even just using stuff from the freely available Player's Basic Rules -- there's nobody to suggest that they're playing the game the wrong way if they're not using the latest and greatest rule book, which either Treantmonk or his players likely would be doing if those players were playing at his table. Again, this is a case where Treantmonk is mistaking his personal experience of RPGs for the universal one, which truly isn't the case, and certainly isn't the case for D&D 5E.

Treantmonk's conclusion is a masterclass of projecting your own needs into your argument and all but ignoring the stated justification you've made for proposing your argument. He accepts that Critical Role and similar online shows have enticed people into trying out D&D, but insists that WotC has to 'do more' to convert those curious observers into new players. However, his means of doing this is to suggest that WotC either release a revised Fifth Edition Player's Handbook to give experienced players something to be excited about, which has very little to do with bringing new players into the game, or release an entirely new Sixth Edition ruleset which effectively does the same thing (but at least pays lip service to the idea that 'it should be easy for new players'). This shouldn't be surprising -- as I've previously stated, optimizers are more than happy to make bad-faith, self-serving arguments in favor of an outcome they want, and Treantmonk's video essay comes across as just more of the same here, ignoring the many ways in which the D&D game has itself changed and in turn has changed the hobby of RPGs in new and interesting ways, but also in ways that threaten to leave older players who still view the game as an exercise in optimization behind.

There is one other thing from Cody's videos I want to highlight, specifically in his follow-up video where he explains how Pathfinder 2E embodies the thing he calls 'illusion of choice': he points out that the problem where Pathfinder players are incentivized to do the same optimal tasks over and over again in every combat doesn't come from being a 'munchkin' or having some kind of 'rules mastery'; it simply comes from having an idea for a character (like a ranger who shoots a bow) and taking the options that appear to best support that idea. Doing so makes them extremely effective at doing the one task they've set themselves up to do, while seriously hampering their effectiveness in most other situations, and in many cases the game refuses to throw up tactical roadblocks that would make the choices they've chosen less optimal than they 'should be'. Pathfinder 2E thus plays like 'baby's first optimization challenge', and leads to players who either embrace that playstyle, or grow bored with doing the same optimal tasks over and over in every combat, and preferring combat to every other means of resolving conflict in the game because it's best supported in the rules, and decide to either stop playing Pathfinder (as Cody seemingly has) or stop playing RPGs altogether. *This* is the real roadblock preventing curious people from becoming new and regular players of RPGs: that the game won't support the kinds of characters and the kinds of play experiences they want, but will rather try to train them into thinking that the kind of characters and the kind of play experiences the game is designed to deliver are the optimal ones, the ones the player should want.

I have myself occasionally bemoaned the idea that some D&D 5E DMs allow patently outlandish things to happen at the gaming table, even things that are, on their face, violations of the existing game rules. But having taken some time to experience play with less experienced players, I've come to realize that this option -- the option to do something interesting that the rules don't explicitly support but that the player finds satisfying -- *is* the core of turning curious people into regular players. I may not find it very satisfying when I sit down at a table with three other players who are playing:

Themselves with a sword and shield


A character with the most ridiculous accent I've ever heard, and


Deadpool

but I have to agree that, for those players, they each find something worth doing in the characters they've created and the game that results from their play. Not only isn't it my place to tell them how to find the fun in the game we're playing together, I find that if I relax my own preconceptions and let the game play out, that we still end up having a good time and telling an interesting story.

So no, D&D doesn't need a Sixth Edition or even a Fifth Revised Edition any time soon. D&D is going a fine job of meeting players where they want to interact with the game, instead of following the approach of other game systems which presume that there's one best way to play and requiring you to play that way to find any fun in the game at all, if you even can.

[darling-gypsum]

D&D PC: Kriya, Who Races Storms Firbolg Druid, Circle of the Land (neutral good)

DISCLAIMER: PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, AND DO NOT CROP THE SOURCE IMAGES FROM THE CENTRAL "FINAL PRODUCT". I want to make sure that all artists get their due credit, and that I don't appear to be trying to pass off their original art as my own. ANY ARTIST MAY REACH OUT TO ME TO REQUEST THIS BE TAKEN DOWN. See bottom of post for credits and explanation of my process.

A gentle giant from the grasslands who uses the Shilleliegh and Magic Stone cantrips with her roughly-hewn druidic staff and her sling, but primarily her druidic magics aim at crowd and environment control spells. 

There was only one image of a female firbolg online that I could find, so I decided to design my own. I loved coming up with the idea of this character! Kriya, Who Races Storms, is a name that I came up with while riffing off the idea from Volo's Guide to Monsters entry that says

Firbolg adopt elven names when they must deal with outsiders, although the concept of names strikes them as strange. They know the animals and plants of the forest without formal names, and instead identify the forest’s children by their deeds, habits, and other actions. 

So her ‘second name’ which is more of a description, is how her kin would refer to her. Ex, “my child who races storms’ or ‘our storm runner’ or something to that effect.  referencing what some of her people know her as. An anecdote from her past (improvised from the Outlander background) that once, when she was a mere seedling (less than 30, not of age yet) she ran 25 miles without stopping through a thunderstorm to warn her tribe of an impending orc horde, saving her people. She's renowned for that act of valor, and known by it to this day. (she's just over 100 now)

In a party setting, I imagined that Kriya would refer to her party members by their deeds as they got to know eachother: ex, “Friend who slew the giant”, “Friend who holds dominion over the sky”, or her druid mother she’d introduce as “My kin who I am born from, who makes the rocks shudder beneath her step.”

I continued brainstorming this idea and decided that the way the firbolg would refer to each other would be malleable, encompassing however they thought about others in that moment. You could do more good deeds for the tribe, or your status could change. Instead of the abstraction of a name, a single word that points at a person, they address each other in a manner that allow you to know a person more descriptively from the moment you meet. I also figured they’d adopt a common descriptive phrase when introducing themselves to other firbolgs. So Kriya would say to a firbolg stranger, “I am known as one who races storms.”

Or something like that. I really love making up firbolg culture!

As an outlander, she has proficiency in an instrument, and I decided that she plays the tsuur, a mongololian flute instrument that sort of mimics throat/overtone singing. You buzz the low note from one side of your mouth and and the flute plays a lovely whistle tone through your front teeth. It really put me in the headspace for her people, who reside in a nomadic group in a grassland biome. It just makes me think of this tribal group like the firbolg, isolation and meditation, and the sound of the wind through the grasses.

BEHIND THE SCENES

As a serial photoshopper from back in the day, who is obsessed with having visuals for my writing and rpg play, I have a large collection of concept art for my personal use in games. I'm so proud of so much of it that I wanted to share it with you guys, but I wanted to make sure that there was a heavy disclaimer that though I did put a lot of effort into these, and there is quite a bit of custom manipulation and 'art' of my own put into each piece, that these are, at the end of the day, a collage of existing original pieces by some fabulous artists.

I hope it's okay that I posted this, with enthusiastic credit given to every artist who's work I fiddled with.

CREDIT TO ARTISTS USED IN THIS CONCEPT ART:

firbolg base form official WotC firbolg art, from Volo’s guide to Monsters & Tyril Tallguy, from Force Gray Giant Killers https://twitter.com/wizards_dnd/status/804466343751938048?lang=en

base hair, eyes, cheekbone detail Tova, by kiikiibee http://kiikiibee.tumblr.com/post/138211900002/there-was-talk-about-continuing-the-dd-campaign

hair accessory BW Guy by Marina Krivenko https://www.artstation.com/artwork/bw-guy

hair sections, hairline, scalp braids Mardred Tokrak, Dwarf Druid by Marcela Medeiros https://www.artstation.com/artwork/BneWz

jawline Female troll, by Víctor Manuel Leza (Shadowrun)

face shape, eyebrows Revena, Halfing Rogue, by Karen Neil http://krneil.tumblr.com/post/121436876858/revena-halfing-rogue-character-for-an-up-coming

mouth Karla, adventuring thief by Simon D Nyhus http://powersimon.tumblr.com/post/108673575031/i-wanted-to-make-an-original-fantasy-character-for

fur shoulder piece Daisy, by Lin (https://twitter.com/rlinarts) http://mindlesslyred.tumblr.com/post/140772060763/found-some-daisy-stuff-in-the-scrap-folder

feathers Lark, by kimsokol http://kimsokol.deviantart.com/art/Lark-476516551

leather armor The Great Hunt - 2 by dleoblack http://dleoblack.deviantart.com/art/The-Great-Hunt-2-560035206