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houseofhurricane · 2 years

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Rules for Spies: Chapter Eight

Summary: While Azriel and Gwyn work to free Koschei’s captives, attraction turns into something more.

Chapter Word Count: 4,521

Warnings: This chapter has no warnings, but this fic includes mature consensual sexual situations, references to past assault, and torture.

Art & Banner: cosmikla

All chapters are available on Archive of Our Own. All previous chapters linked here.

They’re almost through with training when the horizon erupts in fire. Instantly, Azriel shoots up into the sky, Cassian’s booming wingbeats sounding alongside him. As he tries to locate the source of the attack, he hears Nesta and Gwyn down below, telling the priestesses to run for the exits, their voices low but urgent enough that the answering footsteps are swift.

The flash of gold pulls swiftly from the horizon, revealing wings covered by feathers of flame. The firebird.

“Shit,” Cassian groans, but he flies toward the bird without hesitation, trailing a crimson shield behind him. Azriel follows, sending his shadows to the training ring, down into Velaris, near as possible to the firebird herself. He needs as many vantages as possible.

There’s something wrong with this magic, his advance guard hisses as it returns. It is not a part of this world.

He’d suspected Koschei’s interference the minute he’d identified Vassa’s daytime form, but at the confirmation, he speeds forward until he reaches Cassian.

“Koschei’s controlling her,” he says, knowing better than to tell his brother to be careful, that the words would have the opposite effect, just as they would for him.

“Just when I thought every human queen had gone evil.”

Azriel chuckles and then resumes strategizing. As far as they know, Koschei has never held control of Merrill for very long, but Vassa has flown the length of Prythian in hours. Even from the little time he’s spent with her, he doubts the Queen of Scythia would attack if she were in her right mind, and her alliance is too valuable to risk harming her.

“We need to find a way to contain her.”

“Then we’re going to have to flush her into the Illyrian mountains until she’s too tired to stay in the air,” Cassian says, his expression grim as he turns to Azriel. Trying to calculate his willingness to go into Illyria.

There’s a reason, after all, that Rhys assigns him missions all over this world, but gives all the work in the northern territories to Cassian and Mor. What Azriel would like to do to Merrill is nothing compared to what, in the darkest corners of his mind, he’d like to do to Illyria and nearly all its citizens.

“We’d just have to make it to sunset.” They can both fly for longer, but likely not at the speed that Vassa’s marking. She’s already halfway across Velaris, bright as a second sun. Her path is aimed directly at Cassian and Azriel, at the House of Wind beyond them.

“Thankfully the days are short.” Cassian’s smile is brutal and a farce. In his mind, he’s already marked out their required speed, the direction and force of the winds, the route they’ll have to take. The biting cold of the wind at their altitude. Just as Azriel’s own mind and body and power were made for spying, Cassian was meant to make these swift battlefield calculations, the decisive shifts of strategy and force.

So when Cassian changes his direction, veering away from Vassa and towards his homeland, Azriel follows him without hesitation.

She wants to speak with you, his rear guard whispers, racing to catch up to his flight. He realizes that the “she” is Gwyn and wonders that his shadows would refer to her so generally, as if she is the only female in the world.

Why?

She wants to use her powers. She thinks that this is her fault.

Azriel is just about to tell his shadow that there’s no way this is Gwyn’s fault when a glance behind him reveals no change in Vassa’s trajectory.

She’s still flying directly toward the House of Wind, where Gwyn and Nesta wait, their swords glittering with those magical flames, the red and blue of their own shields, which the firebird is about to cross.

“She’s not following us,” he calls to Cassian, and without waiting for his brother to turn back, he swoops toward the House of Wind.

There’s a swell of fire and nothingness, and Vassa emerges through a hole in the shield.

“Definitely the death-lord,” Cassian mutters from over his shoulder. “He must be desperate to put on such a show.”

“Or he needs what we have.” Which could be anything: Nesta, Feyre, the Dread Trove. Gwyn.

When he reaches the training floor, Gwyn’s face is so pale that her freckles look like ink spattered on her nose and cheeks, and for seconds they don’t have, Azriel wants to kiss each one.

Instead, he wheels on her. “You should have run with the other priestesses,” he says, crossing his arms even as he glances at the sky, monitoring Vassa’s approach. She will be here in a minute or two.

“I found something yesterday, and Koschei has come to claim it.” Her voice is flat but her eyes are burning with a dozen emotions he doesn’t have time to catalogue. “Let me see if I can command her.”

“I’ve seen Vassa tear armies apart when she’s in this form. Without any of Koschei’s power running through her.”

“It’s going to be worse if she sets this mountain aflame,” Gwyn says, and though he sees Cassian shaking his head, Azriel knows that she’s not wrong. “Fly me to her.”

“You haven’t figured out how to command a guarded mind.”

“Can a human guard their mind from any of us?” She asks the question as if he is a bright student who is missing the point, and then wraps her arms around his neck, so that he has to catch her body against his.

Not wanting to see the expressions on Cassian or Nesta’s faces, he launches them into the air, vowing that he will throw himself in front of Gwyn if she cannot force Vassa to turn back. Because for all his experience, in this moment Azriel doesn’t have a better strategy.

Against him, Gwyn reverberates with power, a bell ringing in reverse as some fundamental tone builds inside her, sound into a note that cannot be ignored, the opening salvo in a melody that’s haunting and lovely. She glows with the song, her hair rising in a copper halo, so that he cannot look away from her radiance.

The firebird slows her approach just slightly.

Her magic is working, the shadow reports, the one he sent to follow Vassa’s movements.

“What do you want with this city?” Gwyn asks, and it is a shock to hear how her voice is both like and so unlike the way he usually hears her. Insistent but also bright and pleasant, as if this could simply be a light diplomatic discussion over an extravagant meal. She sounds more convincing than when she commanded Merrill. Then, she had been imperious and wrathful. Now, even knowing it’s not what she seeks, Azriel himself wants to provide an answer.

The firebird screams.

The resonance intensifies. Azriel’s ears ring from the sound and the power that propels it. Gwyn glows brighter, even more brilliant than the firebird.

“Tell me what you want with this city.” It’s not a question now, and there is anger in Gwyn’s voice, and sadness.

“You took something from him,” the firebird says in Vassa’s voice, as if the words are pulled painfully from her lungs. Her wings barely beat against the wind. Her body sags in the air, and he stays alert to any change in Koschei’s magic. Whether he’s preparing to strike Vassa or Gwyn. “He sent me to retrieve it.”

“What was he hiding in the library?” He had expected Gwyn to soften her words, to be compelled by Vassa’s suffering, but her tone is steely, maybe a product of her training.

“He will not tell me.”

The firebird’s wings stop for one second, then another.

For a moment, she seems to hang aloft as though suspended by will or magic, but then Azriel blinks and Vassa is falling through the air. Her eyes are open, panicked, as if she is trying to will herself into flight.

Azriel casts a shield below her, too hasty to hold her for long, right as Gwyn shouts, “FLY HOME, VASSA!”

The magic in the words is an explosion, rippling through the air.

Vassa’s wings beat a booming answer, and within seconds she is flying by her own will, turning back to the south and the human realm.

Gwyn does not dampen her power until the firebird disappears over the horizon, and then she slumps against him, the air around them falling into silence.

“She was fighting against him,” she says as he turns back to the House of Wind. “She wanted to follow each one of my commands. Not just because of my magic. But he held her, and then--”

“His hold on her was too strong.”

“No,” she says, biting her lip, “he abandoned her. He’d driven her all this way, at an incredible pace, and she had no strength to fly. I could feel her weakness as she fell.”

“Then how is she getting home?” He suspects the answer, but needs to hear her confirmation.

“The strength of my command.”

“Your magic is flying her to the human realm?”

Already she has slumped against him, an answer to his question.

When he reaches Cassian and Nesta, they hold out their arms for Gwyn, but Azriel waves them off.

“Get Madja,” he says, crossing the training ring, “And Rhys.”

“You’re the one who can winnow,” Nesta says, not falling a step off his brutal pace as he takes the stairs into the House, where the priestesses have gathered, weapons in their hands. When they see Gwyn, they gasp and murmur, and he acknowledges them only with a little nod, then returns his eyes to her pale face, the violet circles around her eyes, the arm that slumps out of his embrace. When he listens closely, he can still hear her heart beating, her inhale and exhale, but the fact that Gwyn is still alive does not calm the panic that roars inside his mind. The voice inside insisting that Gwyn is hurt and in danger and needs him.

“I’m not leaving her,” is all he says before he kicks open the door of Gwyn’s room and lays her gently on the bed, grateful when he hears Cassian’s quick steps for the exit so he can fly and summon the healer.

The House has already turned back the quilts on Gwyn’s bed and provided flannel pajamas on the nightstand, atop her formidable pile of books.

“Then turn around,” Nesta growls, her fingers pausing on the pulse point on her friend’s neck before they reach for the fastening of her leathers. She stares at Azriel until he obeys, shuffling to face the wall. He tries not to think about Gwyn’s limp, pale body, untouched by the brightness of her smile, her casual grace.

“Is she injured?”

“Her body looks unharmed,” Nesta says, dropping the leathers on the floor in a pile. “But her skin is-- she feels cold to the touch.”

There’s a scraping sound, crockery against wood, as the House provides a soup fragrant with sage and garlic, along with three large mugs of tea.

“Are you going to keep these warm until she wakes?” Nesta asks, bemusement breaking through her fear and anger as she addresses the wall. The steam rises a little thicker from each offering, and Azriel can hear Nesta smoothing her fingers over Gwyn’s hair, her cheek.

“All done?” He can’t keep the impatience out of his voice.

“You can turn around.”

Gwyn is leaning against Nesta’s shoulder, and Azriel braces her head one with one hand, her back with the other, as he and Nesta lower her to the pillow and tuck the quilts around her. He watches her for a long moment to reassure himself that she’s still breathing.

“She used too much power, didn’t she?” Nesta says, holding one of Gwyn’s hands in both of hers, her voice almost gentle as she awaits his confirmation. Once he gives it, she says, “She’ll wake up in a few hours with a headache, and she’ll be fine.”

“Koschei is hunting her.”

“Someone is always hunting one of us, Az. I would think you’d be used to it by now.”

He takes Gwyn’s other hand, his thumb resting over the rhythmic presence of her pulse, and knows that Nesta is right. Rhys has been hunted nearly all his life, and Azriel is pained at the threat and the loss, but never to the point where he’s reduced to inaction. Cassian, Feyre, Elain, and Nesta have all been harmed or captured and he’s continued with the work at hand, to save them or to continue the battle they were fighting. Now he wants only to lay his body over Gwyn’s, to warm her and to shield her against whoever might come bearing Koschei’s magic.

He only shakes his head at Nesta, not knowing how to express all of that in words.

“She said she’d found something in the library,” he says instead. “Koschei sent Vassa to get it back.”

He knows he should be searching the room to see if the object is here, but he can’t take his eyes or his awareness off of Gwyn. Can’t stop wondering if her lips look a little rosier. But Nesta is scanning the room. He can feel her gaze from the way the bed shifts under her, and he notes it, vaguely, as something he needs to teach in their training sessions, how to look without giving away the intentions of your awareness.

Gwyn murmurs a little but does not wake, and Nesta lays her hand on the quilt and walks toward her desk, then moves the chair away and squats.

“There’s something strange here. It feels like magic that’s trying not to exist.”

“That sounds like Koschei.”

She emerges from beneath the desk with an onyx box that fits neatly in the bend of her elbow, which might seem innocuous if not for two things that are immediately clear to Azriel. The first is the raging onslaught of the magic that emanates from the box like some foul wind. The second is a prophecy Elain made while they prepared for the war with Hybern.

There is an onyx box that he possesses, Elain had said, her eyes and maybe her mind only half in their world, more vital than anything… save for them. The girls.

“Put it down.” The words are a command, and Nesta, incredibly, scrambles to the floor, depositing the box on the rug with concern on her face.

“What’s inside of it?”

“We need to ask Elain.”

Nesta doesn’t quite glare at him as much as threaten to flay him with her eyes.

“My sister is receiving Lucien Vanserra at the river estate this week.” The warning is clear in the words, especially when she turns back to Gwyn on the bed. How obvious he’d been in his pining, if even Nesta in her grief and anger had been able to see through his absences.

“I don’t care about that,” he says, taking his eyes off Gwyn only long enough to glance at the box. “But she made a vision about a sorcerer-lord and his onyx box. I’d like to see if she can identify it. Lucien can come if he likes.”

“I think she’s really happy,” Nesta says, and he suspects that if he asks whether she’s talking about Elain or Gwyn, she won’t be able to answer.

A moment later, the door snicks open and Madja and Rhys walk inside, the former fragrant with herbs as she moves to Gwyn, shooing Nesta and Azriel away with a gentle wave of her hand.

“She will be all right,” Madja says, her warm golden gaze fixing on Azriel. “Let me see what I can do to speed her healing.”

She takes Gwyn’s hands and a white glow envelops her body.

Meanwhile, Rhys has crouched next to the box on the floor, tilting his head as he considers it.

“She said she was going to bring it to you during today’s session,” Azriel says, unable to keep from sneaking glances at Gwyn, who is breathing a little easier under the glow of Madja’s magic. It might be his own will that colors his perception, but her face no longer looks quite so pale. “Koschei came looking for it.”

“Whatever’s hidden behind it is locked behind one hell of a binding spell,” Rhys says, reaching out his fingers. Nesta hisses and he pulls them away, frowning as he looks at her.

“What happened?”

Nesta and Azriel tell him the whole story, and, once he’s reassured the priestesses and sent them back to the library, Cassian joins in with his own report.

“So we’ll have to anticipate that this is just the first attack.” Rhys runs his fingers through his hair. He turns to Azriel, his tone too neutral. “Once Gwyn is able, I want the two of you to meet with Lucien. Aside from Helion himself, he’s the only person I know who might be able to unravel this binding spell, and as it happens he’s coming to my home tomorrow.”

“We’ll want to meet with Vassa as well.”

“Can she tell you anything more?”

“Gwyn can get that information.” Without thinking, he reaches for her on the bed and takes her hand. It’s instinct, this desire to be near her, to know that she will be all right.

Something softens in Rhys’ expression and he nods. “We’ll talk more about this later. Let me know when she wakes up.”

“And try to keep her from depleting her power to this extent,” Madja says, circling the bed to where they’ve clustered. “She will be tired for a few days, but there could be permanent damage if she doesn’t learn to be careful.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Azriel says, though Rhys is the one handling that portion of her training. He can feel Rhys and Cassian watching him, the weight of their eyes, but as he’s learned to do over the centuries, he stays silent, outwaiting them.

Madja leaves with instructions on a simple restorative potion, and Cassian leads a protesting Nesta from the room, his arm curled tight over her shoulders. Only Rhys remains.

“I didn’t realize it was a slow day for you,” Azriel says.

“You care for her.”

A year ago, at solstice, Rhys had spoken to him in the voice of the High Lord, powerful and deadly, and in spite of his anger at his command to keep away from Elain, on instinct alone, Azriel would have had to follow his command. He has resented Rhys for that moment for months, even if he’s come to understand why it happened. How wrong he was. Yet there remains a distance between them, which Azriel maintains because his friend had no faith in him.

But now, Rhys speaks with the voice of his oldest friend, kind and concerned, and that’s the only thing that makes Azriel lift his gaze from Gwyn’s face, the small rise and fall of her body as she breathes.

“I can’t help it,” he says, finally.

The words seem too small for what’s inside of him.

Rhys only nods, and then Azriel says, “I will try not to hurt her.”

“I know,” Rhys says, then picks up the onyx box and carries it out of the room.

Azriel pulls a chair close to the bed and picks up one of the books on Gwyn’s nightstand. Published long ago, the words are formed differently enough that he’s fully absorbed in the legend, the sorcerer from another world, and, hours later, he hardly hears her stirring until she says his name, and then he’s so struck by the sound of it that for a moment he forgets how to form words.

“What happened?” she asks, pushing herself to sit up.

“You drew on too much of your power too quickly,” he says, putting his hand on her back, to hold her up. “Madja says you’ll be back to normal in a few days. But Rhys and I will help you learn to manage things better.”

She nods, and he sees she’s already back to herself, curious and perceptive, made for this kind of life, and there’s a clenching in his chest as if his heart is being squeezed. “The box is gone.”

“Rhys is going to ward it securely. We’re to meet with Lucien, see what he knows about the binding spell.”

“I tried to break it open but I couldn’t,” she says, and he hears the sadness in her voice, and something deep inside him hurts with her.

Something is different. He’s been drawn to Gwyn for a while, even before he was ready to acknowledge it, but she’s never had this effect on him.

“You can’t just break open strange boxes,” he says, more harshly than he intended.

“Why not?” For all that she can barely hold herself up, Gwyn does not sound weak, but bright and brazen.

Right then, Azriel realizes. What’s between them. Why he could not leave her side.

His mate glares at him with eyes as bright as the sunlit sea, and Azriel feels the warmth rising from her body, the insistent thumping of her heart, the heat and will and mind and radiance that make her up. He wants to pull her close against him and simultaneously he wants to remove her from the mission, lock her in some gorgeous tower where she’ll be safe and happy always.

“You could get hurt,” he says, finally, aware of how stupid it sounds, how insufficient to the moment.

“And why would that matter, if it helped advance the mission?” She leans back against his grip, her eyes intent on his. As if she suspects the magnitude of the question.

“Because it will hurt me. If you’re harmed.”

She reaches out her hands and links them behind his neck. He can feel her breath on his cheek.

“It will hurt me too, if you are harmed,” she says, and he could spend a thousand years cataloguing every emotion that forms, half-revealed, on her face, “But Koschei is scared now, of whatever we have in that box.”

“You should have told me you had it in your room.”

“I should have. Last night was hard.”

She had been a little quiet at dinner, after she’d come from singing at the evening service, then had begged off to continue her research. He’d thought about knocking on her door and hadn’t, not wanting to intrude.

“You can tell me.”

“You mean that?” And he realizes that she doesn’t know that they’re mates. But that it might not be unwelcome.

“I want to know when you have a bad night. Not just because of the mission.” His shadows twine around her shoulders, move through her hair like smoke.

“All right. Then it was realizing Merrill had stolen the manuscripts on Koschei. And finding the box in her office. And not being able to open it. And realizing that I can only use my power on people, how horrible that is. And singing at the evening services and feeling -- I think it might be time for me to leave the library. And I have been so happy there, coming back to life. I’ve felt so safe. Though maybe this whole time that was a lie. And it was too much. I could barely sleep, even with a tonic.”

He lowers her gently to the bed, then gently unclasps her arms so that he won’t loom over her, though he can’t make himself let go of her hands.

“Next time, I’ll stay up with you. We can talk about all of it, if you like.”

“And if I don’t want to talk?” Her lips quirk upward.

He so badly wants there to be an invitation in the question that he doesn’t trust what he hears in her voice.

“Then,” he says, swallowing, “we can be quiet together.”

She takes a deep breath, pushes herself upright again, and he catches her against his chest. It’s an instinct, he realizes, to pull her towards himself.

“When are you going to kiss me?” she asks, the words a little breathless, muffled against his leathers. As if she’s been wanting to ask the question for a while, but has held herself back. He thinks of all the hours they’ve spent, since she started staying at the House,

“I didn’t want to force you,” he says, and it’s an effort to keep from covering her mouth with his own, to lick her sweet lips until he finds out what kinds of sounds she makes when she’s aroused. “And you can barely sit up straight, now.”

She levers herself up, fingers pressing into his armor, and when he looks into her eyes, he sees the desire that darkens her irises, which make him think of the plumes of exotic birds, the depths of the ocean.

“I thought I would never want to be touched by any male,” she says, “let alone kissed. But with you -- I’m not scared to want all of it.”

This time, when she twines her arms around his shoulders, he lets the motion pull his mouth toward hers. He savors that first press of her lips against his, soft and full and sweet, feeling them lift into a little smile as her eyes drift shut. Her fingertips stroke the nape of his neck, and there is something so easy about the way they fit together.

My mate, his heart pounds.

But he does not allow his need to drive him onward. He’s alert, instead, to the movements of Gwyn’s body. If she stiffens or hesitates, he will pull himself away from her, give her space and air.

Instead, incredibly, she opens her mouth against him, her tongue licking his lips, and he opens for her, trying to memorize her taste, her scent, the feeling of her hot sweet mouth.

“Nightingale,” he whispers against her lips. The bird, his companion on so many missions to the continent, that turns the darkest night into the setting for the sweetest melody. A name he gives her to be spoken just between them, for her power and the beauty he hopes he will one day find inside it.

“Shadowsinger,” she whispers back, pushing her fingers into his hair, her lips on his cheek, his ear, his jaw, even as he feels her begin to slump against him, the falling of her hands, the exhaustion of the day and the outlay of her magic catching her.

As gently as possible, he settles her against the pillows, watching for any sign that she’s overexerted herself, to make sure that her flushed cheeks are not from a rising fever. Though he can feel her falling into sleep, she extends her hand, reaching to cup his cheek.

“You’d tell me if this were a dream?”

“I’ll still be here when you wake up,” he promises, “though Nesta might be here to chaperone.”

Gwyn only lets out half a laugh before sleep claims her. It’s a long while before Azriel lets go of her hand.

Notes: So... big chapter, lots of developments! I hope you enjoyed it.

For more theories, thoughts, and occasional sneak peeks, follow me on Instagram at house.of.hurricane or TikTok at houseofhurricane.

Thank you so much for reading! 🧡

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66 notes · View notes

theseerasures · 3 years

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What are askboxes for if not for shamelessly enabling your friends so please do tell us about Winter's technician vs Weiss's performer

what’s so interesting about Winter and Weiss specifically wrt this trope is that it’s usually the performer who is the Prodigy while the technician is, idk, some hapless second banana who has to work twice as hard just to keep up and has to learn to Let Go and Have Fun or whatever the fuck

it's not that Winter DOESN'T need to learn those things, but the subtext is fairly overt in painting her as the prodigy out of the two of them. she's the oldest, the paragon, the chosen heiress (though in retrospect as the Heir and also Not the Boy she was probably the Unfavorite for both Willow and Jacques). her little tutoring session with Weiss in season 3 reads very much as "why isn't this coming naturally to you it did for me," and every scene she's in during that season paints her as "Weiss, but the Finished Version, who can make it look easy."

Weiss certainly sees (or...saw) her that way. even beyond incredibly obvious hints (mirror help me who am i--Winter!), it's amazing to return to episodes prior to Winter's introduction after we meet her, because only then does it become clear that her fingerprints are all over Weiss. remember i'm not perfect! not yet? or her first combat encounter: head up, shoulders back, right foot forward--not that forward--early Weiss placed so much importance on having the Exact Right Technique, Executing an Attack at the Right Moment, not a hair out of place, and now that we've gotten a fuller sense of Winter's fighting style...

we can see exactly where she got it from. (i made a gif y'all!)

this entire sequence lasts less than four seconds. Ironwood halts her Summon in its tracks, forcing both Winter and Oscar off; Winter pauses her momentum in midair by...idk, the power of anime, fires three icicles from a Glyph, simultaneously pushing off it so she lands before Oscar, even though Oscar DIDN'T stop for a counterattack, and then--without even looking--sends another Glyph to catch Oscar and propel him forward.

some of this bullshit you can definitely just attribute to Rule of Cool, but the point is that this is Winter at Her Best, the Winter that Weiss wanted to be: not a single second or gesture wasted, not a hair out of place. i've already waxed pretentious on why it's so significant that we only see her like this now where in every prior fight she's been ruffled and defensive, but it's relevant here too; Weiss wanted to believe that the Winter we see here is Pure Uncut Winter Schnee, but WE know that's not true.

this has nothing to do with talent. Winter definitely has that in spades, and who knows? maybe she IS more naturally gifted than Weiss, but the point is that she had to discipline it. Winter at her best is Winter honed to a sharp point (the point of a bullet, or the tip of a sword); streamlined and optimized and stripped of all excess, all maddening sloppy touches. she is above all controlled, but her control, as far as we can tell, extends (just like in out of combat situations) to one thing at a time. she is either attacking herself or helping others attack, and she does not give ground. every second is used to press the offense.

so it makes sense why she's dismissive of Weiss and her at least three strikes missed, but it also makes sense why Weiss a) had so much difficulty doing what Winter does and b) has since given up on it to pursue her own style. Weiss was never intended to be anything more than the spare, meant to generate press and money through her artsy performer gig. this was deeply damaging to her self-image, especially when she compared herself to Winter, but it also gave Weiss more room to be the unruly creative, and that's the part she ultimately chooses to nurture.

Weiss Schnee does not move laterally on the battlefield. she spins and pirouettes around in a FUCKING DRESS, she stabs and slashes her sword with relish (though one suspects Winter taught her that part, along with the yelling), and despite months of practice now her Summoning (in contrast to her sister, who once Summoned a Manticore while plummeting to her death) still takes time and a lot of Intense Posing. but she is nonetheless a force to be reckoned with, because she's compensated for those flourishes, and then some. Winter controls the players, with herself as the principle; Weiss controls the entire stage. she creates environmental hazards. she obfuscates. she buffs her friends. she does a twirl before nuking Marrow with four fireballs at once, because she trusts her own ability--and that of her team--to keep the enemy occupied for the duration of the performance.

and at this point performing is a choice. if Weiss had wanted to keep emulating Winter, she could have done it, but at some point she decided not to. at some point she decided to turn what she'd thought was a weakness into a strength. at some point she decided to take the ways her family wounded her, the role they forced her into, and make it her own, and make it willfully, joyfully, into art.

Winter...hasn't allowed herself that luxury. for Winter, her Semblance--and the family, the name, that are inextricable from it--it cannot be anything more than a tool. to think of it as anything else would mean letting it control her, hurt her, but it is too valuable to discard entirely. the only thing she can do is put it to good use.

it's how she thinks about every part of her, in the end.

#alexkablob #weiss schnee #winter schnee #rwby #helen writes meta #winter is...at this point she's staked her entire identity on Distancing Herself from the schnee name #which means that it is IMPOSSIBLE to untie her from the schnee name

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antiquitiesandlabyrinths · 3 years

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The Impact of Religion and the Mother Goddess on Human Culture

Notes: This essay is compiled from a number of sources ranging from books, university publications, youtube videos, and museum articles. This essay is also not just about Egypt, like the rest of this blog is––it concerns early civilizations ranging from Britains to Harappans.

As we all know, religion inhabits much of our daily life in modern times, and even more so in ancient times. The origins of our existence have been explained many times over with many different ideas––how these ideas are presented to the world and the common man influences the actions of the people and government who follow that religion.

The oldest religions in the world tend to worship a Mother Goddess––a feminine figure that represents the ability to create life which, for a while, was confined entirely to the efforts of women and the miracle of childbirth. We know very little about these people beyond what the archaeological record can tell, as there is no written language for pre-history hominids who created the first works of art; women, with full hips and breasts, carved into wood and stone. What we do know about them is that they had forms of empathy––healed femur bones from old, preserved skeletons reveal that people healed from grievous injuries that, in many other species, would mark death. Jaws, hunched in like the pursed lips of old men, were also found without their teeth, but still living to an impressive age of around 80. Someone had to physically chew this person's food, and they did, for what could've been decades. This shows that same pattern; a tribe that fed, clothed, and took care of someone who otherwise would not have survived on their own.

All of this points not only to intelligence in early hominids, but also a form of empathy that some people even today lack in our society––a society that doesn't worship a Mother Goddess, whose origins in humanity are entirely different from the beliefs of the first humans.

The Sumerian civilization is among the oldest, including the four civilizations birthed in cradles of humanity––the Harappan civilization along the Indus Valley river, Mesopotamian culture along the Euphrates––or the fertile crescent––, as well as Egypt along the Nile and the rivers in China. This topic of Sumerian religion, the changes it went through, and the effect that had on its' people, are discussed in great detail in the book 'The Alphabet Versus the Goddess' by Leonard Shlain, but I will attempt to summarize the religious history of Sumeria and Mesopotamia.

When the first towns and cities began to prop up around the Euphrates and Tigris rivers, the people who lived there worshipped a wide pantheon of Gods like many of the other first civilizations. Their creation myth involves the work of a primeval mother Goddess named Namma, who created humanity. These people who lived under this creation myth, this belief that they were created out of nothing and out of love, allowed for times of relative peace, as well as a rapid growth in art, structure, and other such refinements of city life. Later on, however, this idea was obstructed by a rising Babylonian culture coming into the fertile crescent. These people believed in a much more gruesome birth of humanity, and is a strikingly, and horrifying, difference from the myths of early Sumerians.

The Babylonian creation myth was written or told as a way of confirming Marduk as the main God of the world. This story is called Enuma Elish, and acted as a way to legitimize Marduk replacing Enlil, the previous God King. The telling of it occurred during the Kassite inhabitation of Babylon.

Tiamat, the Goddess of the Sea (salty water) mated with her husband Apsu, a God who represented fresh water. From this several Gods emerged in couplets. Most were boisterous and loud, as young children are, producing so much noise that Apsu was incensed to destroy them. He was stopped soon by his wife, Tiamat, who urged him to exhibit more patience; a request he did not heed. Their sons soon heard of this danger and, in fear of death, called upon the god Ea to help them. Ea was an incredibly resourceful God, and put the angered Apsu to sleep with a spell. They killed the sleeping God and stole his vizier, Mummu. After this, Ea birthed his own child with his consort, Damkina. This is the origin of Marduk.

Marduk was the tallest and the mightiest of all the Gods, who held power to control the four winds, a power given by the God Anu. Anu told him to let the winds whirl; it created a storm that picked up dust from the earth, the winds roaring loud enough to antagonize the usually patient Tiamat. Other Gods faced this same irritation and urged Tiamat to take action––to slay down the God, Marduk.

Another telling of this story has a slightly different timeline, that tells a significantly different story––instead of Ea and lesser Gods killing Apsu, Apsu is killed by Marduk, which directs Tiamat's anger more reasonably to Marduk.

When she comes to face Marduk on the battlefield, she has with her eleven monsters created by the Mother Goddess for this quest. While Ea tries to find a way to end this confrontation with magic spells, he is eventually told that it isn't exactly possible, and thus Marduk puts forth an offer that the other Gods take. He will face the Goddess Tiamat, and if he should win, he would be the King of all Gods. This battle is long and difficult, but eventually Marduk does win in a horrifying way. He blows massive gusts of wind down Tiamat's mouth, swelling her stomach and abdomen so massively she appears to be a woman in the final stages of pregnancy. While she is thoroughly and painfully stretched with Marduk's wind, he slays her with an arrow down her gullet, killing a woman who had the image of the feminine creation of life, an ending violently estranged from the myth of a mother Goddess creating things by her own magic, and not the death of others.

Once Tiamat is slain, her corpse is large, and Marduk puts it to use. He stretches her skin out to become the sky. Her pierced eyes, heavy with tears, are the origins of the Euphrates and the Tigris, flooded with her crying. Her tail is made into the Milky Way. Her split head, torn by the heavy club of Marduk, is used to make the mountains, and her body created the earth. He pricked her breasts in many places for the tributaries of the rivers. From her blood Marduk creates humans in a disturbingly dark way, a stark difference––humans made by magic, versus humans made by the murder of a Goddess mirroring the image of a pregnant woman.

As God-King, Marduk received complaints from lesser Gods that they had to toil on the earth themselves to create their own tributes, taken care of by worshippers. To remedy this, Marduk decides to create humans. He singled out Tiamat's favorite son, Kingu, who ruled with her after her husband's death, and accused him of instigating Tiamat's rage. He placed all blame on this one God, freeing everyone else of the blame but Kingu. Marduk then ordered his father, Ea, to knead the flesh and blood of Kingu's executed form, this sacrifice, molding it like clay in his hands. After the images of many humans were created, Marduk sentenced them to toil on Tiamat's corpse for all their lives in order to create offerings and worship for the Gods.

This violent origin creates a culture indebted to its' gods, forever attempting to repent from the sins of their past, the gruesomeness of their creation, to make up for Kingu's sacrifice. Compared to the simple origins of the mother Goddess Nammu, the people who worshipped her in Sumer didn't have this responsibility––they were created of love. But Babylonians lived forever attempting to make up for their own creations, a theme that is reflected clearly in Christianity. A savior, and worshippers forever trying to repent for their own existence.

This story also reflects the growth of monetary gain in a society. For example, the Indus Valley civilization on the Indus river had no such array of Gods that required tributes so often like that. It is hard to say what exactly the people of Harappa and Mohenjo-Daro truly believed in, as we have yet to decipher their written language, but archaeological evidence shows no presence of temples for Gods in any of the cities. Instead, the cities are laid out in a straight, clearly preplanned manner that allowed wind to channel through the streets like air conditioning. There were no ways for these city-states to hold immense power over the people, as there was no reason that would excuse the abuse put upon lower-class citizens; there were no violent 'Gods' to which such offerings were necessary, meaning the class system most likely worked in a very different way to that of Babylonia, who had massive temples. The creation and building of these temples fuelled the Mesopotamian economy greatly, as money that was collected in taxes was actually put to use, not stored up and saved like what can happen in a capitalistic society. It's the difference between a city built for its' people or a city built for its' gods, and, in extension, the god-Kings that ruled on earth. Something interesting to note as well, is that the Indus Valley civilization didn't have any weapons or mass wars––as far as we know––in its' history from 5,000 BC to 1500 BC. There could be other reasons for this, but I believe it may have something to do with the feminine cult religion and the absence of temples.

There is a similar theme in Egyptian culture, surprisingly. Egypt is known as an ancient civilization that had forward-thinking rights for women and men, including divorce proceedings and the ability to hold a job and property. Like Sumer, its original creation myth dealt mainly with the creative, coming-together of powerful forces; this time two women, something that very rarely happens in religion. There are no male Gods that inspire or order the two Goddesses––they act alone, and of their own volition. This tale is one of the oldest creation myths we've found yet in Egypt, dating all the way back to the Early Dynastic Period of the Old Kingdom.

Nekhbet was the Goddess of Upper Egypt, a vulture Goddess (whose imagery and meaning we will discuss later). Wadjet was the serpent Goddess of Lower Egypt. These two Goddesses were primordial deities, existing before the creation of earth. They emerged from the waters of chaos, which was thought to be all that the world was back then, bringing with them land and air, and eventually the loving creations of humans. Like cobras that twist around each other into a double helix, the Egyptians were intrinsically entwined with the Nile, an image that is reflected even in modern times, with the symbol of two entwined snakes being the symbol for healing, often displayed in hospitals, and the formation of DNA in its ladder-like structure.

It may seem a little strange that the two Goddesses who created the earth––in this Divine Feminine mythology––are represented by a cobra and a vulture, but in Egyptian society, that was simply what they were.

In hieroglyphics, vultures denote a woman. They are in the spelling of mother, of daughter, of wife, and of Goddesses. In fact, the word mother is written the exact same way as vulture. These birds appeared to have foresight to the Egyptians as well––they circled their prey before a meal was assured, remarking a sort of prophecy. They also denoted a divine manifestation of death, an important trait to share with the goddess Nekhbet, who carried exceptional power.

The snake was also a feminine symbol, though strangely explained by the Egyptians, whose ideas on life differ greatly from the modern, more monotheistic view (Christianity, Islam, and Judaism). The sinuous like movements of its' 'step' mimicked the swaying of a woman's hips in a dance, evocative and nubile, and her movements in the throes of passion mimicked a similar serpentine state. Snakes resembled the meandering shapes of rivers, the roots of trees and plants, and the umbilical cord of mammalians. They live deep within the earth, making their home within the Great Mother, and they appeared to live forever, shedding their skin whenever renewal was required. This specifically was a trait revered by Egyptians, who had a great love and zest for life, and wished to live forever. Renewal connected snakes to the Nile's inundation and the sun's revival every morning after its' death the night before. Hieroglyphs come into play with snakes, as well––the hieroglyphs for serpent are the same as the hieroglyphs for Goddess.

It can be difficult to say how exactly this myth was thought of during the Old Kingdom. This is an incredibly old myth, and by the time writing started to really take hold of the country, the myth was replaced with a new, more masculine one. While it wasn't as violent as the Babylonian creation myth, it contained an incredible amount of masculine energy. Female goddesses faded from the light as a particular two Gods shot up in popularity––Amun and Ra, or Amun-Re (there are many different spellings, including Atum, Re, Aten, etc.).

There is an incredibly theory put forth in the previously mentioned book "The Alphabet Versus the Goddess" that inspired me to truly think about the connection between religion and society, as well as the impact of writing on the ideas of feminine and masculine energies within that society. Leonard Shlain, the author of the book, posits that "... any written method of communication skews society toward masculine vales."

The new, masculine myth that took the place of the Goddesses Nekhbet and Wadjet was a little more simple––Atum stood on a mound of earth, surrounded by the primordial sea. Atum masturbated, and from his seed sprouted the Ennead––nine deities making up a family of powerful Gods and Goddesses. This story was found to have its origins nearly 1500 years after the myth of Nekhbet and Wadjet.

So how did this change in mythology reflect in society?

Again, it is hard to say. In the Old Kingdom, Pharaohs tended to their people, and their was a feudal-type system ruled by an all-powerful King. Art flourished in the time, and even today many people claim that the art of Egypt peaked in the Old/Middle Kingdom and fizzled out during the New Kingdom. Another notable change is after the invasion of the Hyksos––and an occupation that lasted only a little over a century, one that was despised heavily––Egypt began to take on a new sort of mindset. Pharaohs now went out beyond the borders of Egypt, even up into Canaan and completing quests of great magnitude, erecting monuments in honor of their victory. Such behavior is found more in violent, masculine-powered societies than anywhere else.

Viking and Medieval UK faced this same problem––women were hardly considered people during this age, unable to own their own land or divorce. This was a masculine honoring society, praising the violence of colonizing and shunning empathy. There was a need within the people to 'spread their greatness' to others, but in reality, the greatness was nothing more than violence; a theme also seen in the Avatar: The Last Airbender, as the Fire nation brainwashed its' child citizens to believe the Fire Nation had a right to the rest of the world. I'm afraid I have little else to say on the topic of Europe because that is not my area of study, but the similarities are easy to draw.

Our society today is, despite our best efforts, a masculine-drawn society. Our God is chiefly referred to as 'He' and representation in our media for women is scant beyond superficial characters, as men, who rule most of the business in the world, can have trouble seeing women as something more than a pretty, talking toy. This, of course, isn't universal, but it is incredibly common and would be more so if women weren't trying to make a stand. Like Babylonians, Christians are born with innate guilt, attempting to make up and repent for the sacrifice of their savior, another masculine form of a deity. Like Atum-worshipping Egyptians, our world was created alone at the hands of an all powerful male God.

But, unlike Sumerians, we never had a Mother Goddess. Unlike the earliest myths of Egypt, the world was not birthed at the hands of a fertile woman. And, unlike early Egypt, we are not happy. Our 'life after death' is somewhere unlike Earth, somewhere that is perfect, unlike earth. But for Egyptians? Life after death was earth, just another form of it, and life in that afterlife was just the same as life during life. Whether or not that has anything to do with our method of governing, our economy, or our massive differences in religion––there is no evidence. It is a simple outlook on life that is only translated in holy texts and the remains of dead people, and dead people very rarely talk.

Like most things, religion isn't contained to a Sunday every week or to Muslim prayer mats every day––such things spread into our food, our way of life, our infrastructure, how we respect and treat each other, and how we treat the Earth. I believe it is important to remember that the oldest Gods are things seen every day––the water, the earth, the sky, the sun, and the stars. These are what influenced the first humans, the first beings to care for one another in old age, to heal what was thought to be forever broken, and to take up the mantle of kindness for each other without the threat of a violent God condemning them. Many modern people base their ethics on the threat of punishment from God(s), in which case we can all learn from atheists, who continue to do good without threat, simply because they believe it is right to help others, just as our ancestors did.

#ancient religion #ancient history #egyptian mythology #ancient sumeria #sumerian mythology #babylonian mythology #indus valley civilization #divine feminine #divine masculine

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sanktnikolais · 3 years

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Fool Truth

A/N: yep this is an old work to cover up the fact that i haven’t been able to write anything new ;-; so have this for now

set in the same universe as this other fic

Word count: 2176

Nikolai is tired of hearing his father's nonsense about his need to get married every time he sees him. So when the universe allowed his father to reprimand him about marriage again, Nikolai is able to say an excuse that would get him out of the situation and put him in a more complicated one.

Nikolai was ready to bolt from the battlefield.

To hell with dessert, he thought, and yet his feet were still planted on the ground. Even after years of being away from their household, he could say he had missed their old, grumpy cook Baghra's chocolate mousse cake.

Maybe he should try holding on a bit longer, but one look from the man at the head of the table was only making running look like the most reasonable choice.

He braced himself over his father's next words, all too aware of what they would be.

"I've been talking to one of our partners yesterday," Alexander Lantsov started, his tone neutral as if he was delivering a monologue during one of their board meetings. He gave Nikolai an expectant look. "She's agreed to introduce you to her daughter."

Nikolai felt his jaw tick in annoyance. He had expected this from his father; it was already old news. If there was one thing he got from him, it was stubbornness, and it was one of the rare times Nikolai hated inheriting that same trait.

Alexander continued to stare at him, and Nikolai could feel the gaze getting heavier with each second.

"Don't you ever get tired of trying to set me up with random people?" He put down his fork beside his plate as gently as possible even when slamming it down was inviting. "Because I'm exhausted, dad. Just drop it."

The atmosphere in the room grew darker, the tension in the air crackling like electricity. Nikolai should have declined coming here, but his mother had insisted and she was sometimes the only one who could make the household a bit more bearable for him.

He looked over to his older brother from across the table, seeing the amused smirk on Vasily's lips as he toyed with the glass of wine in his hand. Being the eldest came with a life perk; he was free to do anything he wanted and as he pleased. Whether it's scandalous or the barest minimum for their company, he would still be the favorite one.

Where his brother was pertained as Perfect Vasily, Nikolai was always Nikolai Nothing. Someone who would never appease his father's expectations of him.

So much for being the unfavorable second son.

Nikolai leaned back in his chair, already losing his appetite. He regarded Vasily with a nod. "Why won’t he be the one you introduce to your partner's daughter?" he said. "Besides, isn't he the one who will inherit all this? I think it's better for him to get married for a potential merging, and I see no benefit for anyone if I were to be engaged to someone of a big name."

Alexander huffed in disbelief as if he just said the stupidest thing in the world. "You still don't get it, do you?" he said, his voice dropping to what it could sound was a threatening one. “I’m doing this for your own good.”

“Oh, wow. Really now?” Nikolai’s voice had already risen, and it earned a look of warning from his mother but he didn’t bother acknowledging it. The rush of blood in his ears was raging. “My own good or for your own? As far as I remember, Lantsov Trading’s image wasn’t looking so good because of a certain scandal in one of the famous clubs in the city.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vasily shift uncomfortably in his seat and Nikolai basked in the triumph of seeing his perfect big brother squirm. He fought the urge to smirk.

“Now tell me,” he goaded, not knowing where his confidence of talking back to his father was coming from, “is it for mine, or for your own image?”

“Hey,” Vasily snapped. “Watch your mouth, Nikolai.”

But Nikolai was having none of it and gave his older brother a pointed glance. “Shut it, I’m not talking to you.”

The look of shock on Vasily’s face was priceless and Nikolai would have etched it in his mind if it weren’t for his anger taking over. He turned back to his father, whose face was now twisted into a full scowl as if he could lunge at Nikolai anytime he wanted to. Nikolai thought he could try to poke the beast out of its cage a bit more and see where it would go.

He put on an easy grin, the kind that he knew ticked at his father’s patience. “Please enlighten me, dad.”

“You are no use in this family if you’re just going to continue your hobbies and not focus on doing important matters—”

“Like trying to live quietly without you breathing down my neck and forcing me to marriage?”

Alexander was visibly fuming, and Nikolai had to commend him for holding back. “You will not disgrace our name with your lack of achievements,” his father growled. Nikolai felt the words sting at his pride but he didn’t dare let it show. “Comply, else I will cut you off.”

Nikolai chuckled humorlessly. Finally, something that makes sense. He put his hands up and shrugged. “Then cut me off. I’d gladly take it, father.”

This somehow drained the last of his father’s patience because the old man almost threw the table up when he stood, his expression darker than the stormy sky. “You will comply whether you like it or not—”

“I’m already married.”

Everything went silent. Even breathing wasn’t even audible, as if everyone just decided to hold their breaths or some invisible force had forced them to stop breathing.

And for Nikolai, he might as well have stopped breathing. Panic overwhelmed the anger in his mind.

Shitshitshitshitshit—

The only thing keeping him from going insane and bolting off from their old home was the look of utter shock on their faces. It was one of the rare times they gave him their full attention, and Nikolai felt bitter when he realized it was a blatant lie that would make it happen again.

But it didn’t change the fact the words he had just blurted out of control.

You’re an idiot, Nikolai, an all too familiar voice echoed in his head, and for once, he found that he agreed with it.

Another long moment passed. Nikolai’s legs were already shaking violently from under the table but he refused to break eye contact with his father. Doing so would only make his lie more uncertain than it already was.

“What did you just say?” Alexander asked him when he finally found his voice. His grip on the table became impossibly tighter.

The calmness in Nikolai’s voice surprised even himself when he replied, “I said I’m already married.”

“Since when?” his father asked in disbelief. “And to whom?”

Nikolai was already expecting that question, and yet he still didn’t have anything to cover up for it. Who would he say? It wasn’t as if he had anyone that was convincing enough to be his girlfriend, let alone his wife. He had just dug his own grave with his recklessness and his family would see him lay rest in it.

You should’ve run when you had the chance, Lantsov, he silently berated himself as he continued to rack his mind for an answer.

Apparently, his distress didn’t go unnoticed by Vasily, as Nikolai could feel his gaze on him, and when he turned, he saw the first signs of a smirk on his older brother’s lips. If there was another thing Nikolai hated from his brother, it was Vasily always seeming to see right through everything.

Maybe he should just say something snarky enough to make them drop the subject—he didn’t owe them an explanation, not after treating him like he didn’t belong to their lives. He could just tell them to give up and leave it at that. He wouldn't mind another argument that would follow if it means straying from the current subject.

But of course, knowing his family, they wouldn’t stop until they got what they wanted.

Vasily huffed, catching everyone’s attention. He almost looked like he was about to say something more when Nikolai’s ringtone blared.

With a startled glance down his pants pocket, he slowly got his phone. The caller ID at the top of the screen glared at him in big letters.

Attorney Grumpy.

A thought suddenly formed in his head. He hesitated for a second when he realized he was going to get himself killed with the idea. But he figured that if he was going to die either way, he would prefer it to be by her hand.

Nikolai put on his usual grin. “Look,” he said, waving his phone up for emphasis, “she’s actually calling me.” He slid the answer icon to the right and put the phone to his ear, trying to keep his hand from shaking. He mustered up his most cheery tone. “Yes, dear?”

A beat, and then, “Are you still in that family dinner and somehow gotten drunk?” Zoya asked incredulously, and Nikolai had to fight off a wince from hearing her tone. He opened his mouth to reply, but it seemed like she already knew his answer. “Because I’m not fixing your shit if you ever do something beyond compare. But I would make an exception if it involves punching your brother.”

Her statement made him laugh genuinely, and the looks his family was giving him only became more curious. “What’s up?”

“I’m crashing over tonight.”

He waited for another moment before answering something that would surely be the reason for his death later. But he had to keep up the pretense going. “I know that all too well, dear. Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon. No need to miss me that much.”

Zoya didn’t answer him right away, and he could already imagine the scowl on her face as she processed his words, and she was most likely thinking of the ways to murder him too. “Lantsov, what the fuck are you blabbering about?”

One of his legs was already down the grave, and Nikolai sent a silent prayer to any deity who could hear him. Please protect me from her wrath later. He tried to smile, but he was sure it looked more of a grimace. “Yes, dear. I’ll be home in a bit.” He risked a furtive glance to his older brother, who was still looking at him quite suspiciously. And to sound more convincing, he went along with his instincts and blurted, “Love you.”

Then he ended the call before he could be given an earful of curses that would send his mother to a dead faint if she would ever hear it. As he put his phone back in his pocket, he could feel his heart beating erratically in his chest. Whether it was over his nervousness over the mess he’d thrown himself into or the last words he told Zoya, he didn’t know.

When he turned his attention back to his brother, he found that Vasily had his eyebrows raised as if he still didn’t want to believe about Nikolai’s married status. Nikolai challenged his brother’s look with his own, and a moment later, Vasily huffed and shook his head.

Alexander glared down at Nikolai, a mixture of rage and confusion in his eyes, but it was the former that overwhelmed his gaze. “Who is she?” he asked, his tone demanding and angry. Nikolai suddenly felt nervous for no reason. His gut told him that there was something bad about to happen. An angry Alexander Lantsov wasn’t a man to be messed with, and Nikolai had just taunted the beast out of its cage. “And why didn’t you tell us?”

A wave of protectiveness washed over Nikolai, and he glared back at his father as he said, “So you can break the marriage before it even happened? I don’t think so.”

He grabbed the napkin at the side and used it to wipe at his hands before standing up. He was as tall as his father, but the old man always had the power to make someone shrink under his gaze, but Nikolai didn’t let it faze him.

The scowl on Alexander’s face deepened. “Where are you going?”

“Why, home to my wife, of course. She’s waiting,” replied Nikolai with a sneer, and he could already sense the last remains of his father’s patience dwindling with the way he gripped the table again. But Nikolai was disappointed when Alexander didn’t decide to act out on it. Politely, he said, “Thank you for dinner.”

With a final smile in his mother’s direction, he walked out of the dining room without as much as a glance back. When he felt that he was finally out of their sight, he let out a relieved breath. But there was still no denying that his hands were trembling as he got out of the mansion, and it wasn’t from the cold.

What had he just gotten himself into?

Nikolai shook himself out of his daze. At least he was out of their tight hold around his neck.

For now.

#zoyalai #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #king of scars #fake married au #I DONT HAVE ANY NEW CONTENT #SO HAVE THIS OLD ONE #FROM MY FAKE MARRIED AU #sigh idk #no energy #and burnt out season #that's why no new content T-T #will still keep trying for this fandom for another few months maybe HAHAHAH

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thecandywrites · 2 years

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Burn Without You Chapter 22

Now let’s tempt a man beyond what he can bear shall we?

Burn Without You

Chapter 22

“Incredible!” Bature praised as Maisarra pinned him down with her blade held carefully at his throat so as not to cause him real harm which made Maisarra smile brightly and happily as she eased off and helped him back to his feet.

“Again?” She asked.

“Yes, please, again.” Bature invited as he got in position again as his men were sitting all around the courtyard, all of them happily drinking wine and continued with the afternoon feast as they watched Bature and Maisarra spar and so far, Maisarra, even though she was a smaller person and technically weaker, she used those “disadvantages” to her advantage and could move about him so much faster and with much more nimble dexterity than he could and was practically fighting circles around him and showing more heart, courage, spirit, art and finesse than he ever could. And that was because she had a decade and a half of advanced lessons and he only had what he was able to learn and survive with and be taught by Dorierran Generals who had come to help him lead his army and turn him from a frustrated man in a small villiage to a conquieror to a Sultan.

He was used to using brute strength with only the most basic of moves, simply kill shots or simple disarming moves. But she was outmaneuvering him with apparent ease as the smarter of his men watched her closely to see if they could imitate her style or even find any weakness in her fighting style. But there was none. If she had been a male, she would have been recruited to be the army’s drill sargent so that she could teach his army these techniques. Pity she was a female and none of her brothers or brothers in law present here even compared to her. But Bature also knew that most of the men took offense that a woman was besting their Conqueror. Bature’s Dorierran Generals and Councilors simply sat back and watched and just shook their heads as they inwardly groaned.

Maisarra, while impressing Bature, was insulting his patriarchal followers and thus showing how much their champion and conqueror lacked in comparison with her which should have been humiliating for Bature and was actually embarrassing to them and most of his own men. A girl who had barely reached womanhood and had never seen a battlefield or fought against an opponent that was actively trying to kill her and while they appreciated that she showed restraint at the killing blow, they were being insulted and incensed that she was even sparring in the first place and especially when she was clearly the better fighter.

They too had known Vienne and knew her family’s tradition of all the women especially being excellent fighters with any weapon they picked up. But as far as first impressions were concerned, Maisarra was showing off while also exposing Bature to weaknesses that they didn’t want to admit he had. It was a wonder Bature survived his battles at all. And if Maisarra didn’t have so much control over her body and movements, she would have killed him in over a few dozen ways by now. And they could tell that Bature was getting tired and fatigued, but Maisarra still had a lot of strength, stamina, endurance and spirit now than when she started and had not grown tired or weary at all, even though they had been sparing for over two hours already and were approaching a third.

She had blended the traditional styles she was brought up with as well as the Yekmenian one as she used only Yekmenian weapons because they were the best weapons she had and she had already sliced and practically broke, dented and chopped four of his swords into pieces because her steel was sharper, stronger and much better than his own and because of her weapons and techniques- Bature couldn’t even get a good strike in while Maisarra was striking like viper and could have been deadly if she only wanted to be.

“Whoever your bladesmith is, I must meet him, because your weapons alone are better than any of mine or any other I’ve ever known and your skill in using them is phenomenal and exquisite! What I would give for every man in my army to have weapons only half as good as yours! We could conquer the world and if I could ever have the pleasure of having you fight beside me instead of against me, we would be unstoppable. I must come tomorrow and every day I am here so you can teach me all of these wonderful techniques. Please, I would be honored to be your pupil.” Bature praised as he did his best to keep her swinging and stabbing blade away from his vital areas as even chainmail was of little use against such weapons and his leather battle suit was already in a heap of cut leather strips and pieces off to the side while his metal armor was actually denting with the force of Maisarra’s blows and actually getting holes in it too and he knew he was going to have to invest in better armor and the fact that Maisarra was wearing some simple armor but had not even gotten a single mark on it yet, other than dust or dirt from the courtyard.

“I would love to teach such a willing pupil. But I don’t know who the bladesmith is. No one in the envoy from Yekmeni told me or anyone else who their weapons makers were. Yekmeni itself holds the secrets to it’s weapons closely and only gave Dorierra a dozen steel ingots, of which even our best master blacksmiths can not figure out how to work - with any kind of proficiency. Even by brother Noe is dumbfounded how they made such perfect ingots to begin with. Not even Dorierra knows how to make the adani steel itself and since it hasn’t been a month since Audrey’s wedding, she has not gotten her stipend to even attempt to send back anything else and finished her wedding week only a couple of days ago so she has been too busy to find out much of anything.” Maisarra explained as she easily evaded his attacks and counter attacked with more power and ferocity and practically brought him to his knees as he did his best not to let her push him to the ground again.

“Not even information on how to unlock such precious metals, because once adani is added to a metal, it can never be taken out of it again, because all attempts to even try- have all failed so far. Adani gold, silver, copper and steel have no equal. We have yet to receive any adani mineral by itself or anything else that contains adani other than what was already given to the High Council as a sample of their goods, and to the individual brides, of which there was only six and to myself and Ashurah as rewards for helping and protecting Audrey before she left for Yekmeni. I will admit, they are the best and greatest weapons I have ever used. As if they had been customed made just for me the way Audrey’s were to her.” Maisarra panted in delight as Bature managed to find his feet again before she used a sweeping motion with her leg to knock him off of his own feet as he barely jumped up to keep from falling to that tactic again as she practically pounced on him like a tiger and they were both loving every moment of this spar.

Here Bature had been told by the High Council of Dorierra how Maisarra would be this “perfect” Sultana Supreme with the perfect pedigree with unbeatable connections while his own generals who kept in closer touch with you, had revealed her “imperfections” and “faults” from your own mouth so to speak, which he had his most loyal men who he had earned their trust and loyalty completely- intercept some of the correspondence as his most loyal men who had more schooling- read to him your correspondence with his Advisors and Generals who were the same Advisors and Generals on his Council from Dorierra who also kept in close contact with you in addition to keeping in close contact with Dorierra.

He did so in order to make sure that he wasn’t going to be used as just a weapon by them because while he was appreciative for the gift of food, funds and support, and he knew to ‘not look a gift horse in the mouth’ he didn’t want to be sold on something that was too good to be true either and to see that you seemed to be very intelligent, attentive to his efforts and success but not breathing down his neck about it like some of the other Generals and Councilors from Dorierra were, but you kept a respectful distance and you seemed to be happy to let him do as he saw fit and conquer this region the best way he could without impeding him, or judging him on how he did it, which he appreciated greatly.

He was also struck how even though you clearly loved your sister, you also tempered that love with the concern of if she really was the best choice for such a lofty and high position in his harem as he was curious to see if these “faults” really were what they appeared to be because while most of his Councilors who had read your correspondence agreed that such a woman as Maisarra with her “faults” would not make a good Sultana Supreme, and the fact that she had yet to really make a stance and her “undecided” answer did not invoke the best hopes and faith either. And while he could see his advisor’s points that perhaps Maisarra wouldn’t be a good choice as Sultana Supreme, he also knew that it was still ultimately up to him to really make a decision when he could see her and judge her himself and he was relieved when she had not instantly agreed and was undecided. Because while he made the proposal at the insistence of the Commanders and Generals from Dorierra who got their orders from the High Council, he had done so out of duty. Not out of any natural affection and he didn’t want his Sultana Supreme to be someone he didn’t even like. Let alone couldn’t get along with or tolerate.

Bature knew he wasn’t the smartest man, he knew he wasn’t that clever, but he had heart and courage and it mattered to him that if he was going to give such a high status and honor to a woman, he wanted to at least like her, if not love her to a degree. But never to the point that she would have more power over him than he would have over himself. And right now, he was absolutely enamored with Maisarra because all of her “faults” were not faults at all, they were strengths and he loved everything that was “unconventional” about her. And the fact that she kept besting him with ease, only inspired him to try to rise to the challenge and try to instantly imitate her and her fighting style and learn all he could while fighting off his own instant arousal because this might as well have been foreplay for him. This was more alluring and sexy than any dancer scantily clad. He could see her soul and spirit burn brighter than the sun in her dark eyes and it was a delight to see it and he could tell this wasn’t an act for her, this was the real her and he felt honored that she would let him see the real her.

He had learned in his path of conquest that anyone who was won over too easily could be lost and turned against him just as easily. And he appreciated that when he worked and fought hard, for his respect, authority and victories- they were that much sweeter and felt that much better to him. And if this Maisarra was going to put up a fight and make him work and earn her good opinion, she was a better woman for it and thus- worth it in his opinion. Because he was both “traditional” yet “unconventional”. He let those men who had earned trust and respect with skill and success advance in his army. And if Maisarra could prove that she was more than what she seemed on paper and if she actually lived up to these “imperfections” and “flaws” then she would be worthy to be his Sultana Supreme. He wanted a real woman, not a false pretense and pleasant smile but something of his equal and similar to himself in temperament or at least compatible with his own character to be in such a position. Just fighting with her like this he was ready to take a knee and propose but knew that would probably push her away and he didn’t want that, he wanted to draw her in and he could now afford to be patient and do that and to him, any efforts with her would be efforts worth the expense.

He didn’t want boring, polished and proper perfection. He wanted a challenge, he wanted raw and whole personality, and not a pretense. He wanted fun and excitement. It did pique Bature’s interest that such a woman as Maisarra was allowed to live in Dorierra, here he thought Dorierra was where all the perfectly boring, cold, heartless queens and sultanas were practically bred to be docile, to be submissive yet intelligent but never to the point of exposing their partner’s stupidity or his own faults but only flatter him and make him look good while concealing anything other than pleasantness. And he couldn’t be happier about the fact that Maisarra was none of those things.

And he was so happy that her “faults” were not exaggerated or diminished either. She had such an intense fire burning inside of her, it was clear in her words, that once she grew a little comfortable around him and began testing him out and found that she could actually tease and play verbally with him and match him remark for remark, each remark and bit of wit sharper and faster than the last and she was very fun to be around and even more enjoyable to spar and fight with and he was very sure that if he tried to mount her, she’d be the best lay of his life and give him a ride like the wild arabian she was and he would be happy to let her mount him if she was ever so inclined.

“Stop holding back!” Maisarra roared, finding it hard to believe that he had conquered Tahir with just this little bit of swordsmanship and rather pitiful fighting effort.

“Well you’re not actually trying to cut my head off or dismember me limb from limb like my opponents usually do and since I can see that you hold restraint from killing me, I wish to restrain myself from hurting you, much less kill you.” Bature confessed.

“I understand that predicament Bature, but when you hold back from giving me your all and your best, especially in front of your men who I can hear taunting me and insulting me that I am “a kitten with little claws”, you make it appear like you are a cat toying with a mouse, or do you see me as just “a little kitten with little claws” too? I have fought The Lions of Persia, The Leopards of Arabia, Tigers of Sumatra and Kashmir, surely I can take on the Champion of Tahir if he gave me a worthy effort and a proper chance. I do not fear breaking a nail or blood from my nose or a cut on my lip or a bruise to my ribs if it means my opponent is giving as good as he’s getting. Or else, “this kitten” shall grow bored with your games and go find someone else to play with, someone who will play more fairly.” Maisarra warned as she put the tip of her sword at his throat and let it dig just enough to break the skin and let her blade taste his blood and suddenly Bature’s men stopped laughing and suddenly found their feet when they saw how with just a little more pressure from her blade, she could kill him.

“You are right, this has not been fair to you and the last thing I want is for anyone ever to give you any kind of disrespect- ever- including myself, and if my best and all my strength is what you want, I will happily give it to you, if that will make it fair and make you happy.” Bature practically purred before he kicked at her own feet and made her stumble before she quickly tucked and rolled away and found her footing again as Bature addressed his men who were seated around the courtyard.

“I take it as a great insult that you would taunt this lioness, that she is only a kitten with little claws when she is clearly much more than that and has- for your benefit, kept her claws sheathed. I do not wish for her to gain any embarrassment or lose face, she has already endured enough of it before we ever came and no more will ever be tolerated against her or her family! And anyone who dares, if Maisarra wishes for it, my blades will taste their blood, their flesh and their bones. Enough, no more toys, no more games, she is no kitten! She’s a lioness! Don’t you see?! Anyone who can not see that is blind and has no place in my company or my army. And she deserves to fight a lion in turn and anyone who disrespects her either to her face or behind her back or especially to me, shall be beheaded! Since she has given me due respect and dignity in fighting with her all, I will do the same. She is owed that much honor, respect and dignity as well!” Bature bellowed to his men as they sheepishly sat back down and didn’t say anything further as they watched as Maisarra and Bature circled each other.

Maisarra had already found some weaknesses but was now wondering and second guessing if they were really weaknesses of if they were just false weak points to throw her off completely as she decided to throw everything that she had used and learned up to that point out and decided she would fight him like this was the first time she was fighting him as she regained control of her breathing and strengthened her stance and posture as she simply waited on him to make the first move and react accordingly as he tried to make a little jab which she quickly used her sword to deflect away but kept her sword down as her gaze narrowed onto him and his body, waiting to see how he would move as she could see it now, the predator in his eyes, the hunter, the conqueror, whereas before he had simply been charming but rather foolish. No, that was clearly an act- this was the real him and she could still see his desire for her burn in his eyes which was never an act- but was genuine and Maisarra almost hated to admit it, but she liked it.

Bature on the other hand looked at her and saw that the appraisal of her being as fiery as a phoenix was true and her being as intense as a hurricane had not been an understatement in the least. She was pure, raw fire and it was lighting him up like lightning in the best way. He usually only felt this kind of thrill in the heat of battle, not even his favorites could make him feel this kind of thrill when he was close to finishing them and himself.

Oh yes, he could foresee some epic sex in their future because if she was even half as fiery in her lovemaking as she was in her fighting, they would make a mighty pair indeed and their children would be the fiercest and mightiest of all and the way her clothes and armor had hugged her body, she had real power in her small size and yet planty of soft curves and ample cleavage for nursing many babes and hips large and round enough to carry them with ease and that pinch of a waist? Oh he was nearly done for. But she asked for a fair fight, she asked to see and feel his best and he was not going to disappoint her. So he threw everything he had at her and Maisarra matched him blow for blow, strike for strike and then some as Maisarra could tell he wasn’t holding back anymore and it thrilled her. Now he was a worthy opponent and one worth fighting.

“Much better.” Maisarra practically giggled as she used her last little bit of strength to keep his own blade from cutting off her head as she was keeping him at bay as he pinned her down.

“I’m happy you’re pleased.” Bature practically cooed.

“Very.” Miasarra insisted as she moved her legs up to his chest and kicked him off, sending him flying back and was forceful enough to get upright and ran towards him just as he found his feet and kicked him squarely in the chest and knocked the wind clear out of him and throwing his body further back even more and practically flattened him out on the ground before she used his own dagger as well as hers to land on his chest and had then crossed the blades over his neck and pinned his neck down with the daggers while pinning his arms and wrists with her knees while sitting on his upper chest and despite struggling for a moment, Bature had to admit, she had him beat, even his best was not enough to beat her and he couldn’t be more happy about losing because of who he had lost to. She had earned his highest of opinions and respect just in this instance. This was the best possible start.

“I give, I gave you my best and you still bested me. You are no kitten, not at all, maybe as a small child you were but for a long time now, you have been a full lioness and any man who says otherwise shall have his manhood removed!” Bature bellowed from the ground as he fought to breathe with her sitting on his chest like this as he wished he could move her to sit on her face and really have her ride him that way but it was worth it as Maisarra beamed happily at him before she got off of him, returned his dagger to his hand before she helped him up to his feet as the men gave a round of applause because while she was small, she was fierce. And they respected that and they could see that Bature had not held back but still, Maisarra bested him and only held back from dealing a deathblow but had not pulled any other punches, or kicks for that matter.

“Thank you.” Maisarra thanked him gratefully.

“Enough, I have had my ass kicked enough for one day, return, I will rejoin you shortly.” Bature told his men before they reluctantly obeyed his command and got up and started to leave her palace.

“I understand that because of your sister’s betrothal and marriage to the inhabitants of Yekmeni, your family was served vulture feathers at her Cisora.” Bature noted as he wiped the blood from his cuts and abrasions on his face as they stood next to each other, partly facing each other as they both attended to their weapons.

“Yes, they were demoted to the lowest class possible, the true perpetrators though, still roam the world free. And have, according to Audrey, haven’t been able to be found again.” Maisarra confessed.

“I understand that the male…” Bature began to say.

“It’s ok, you can say his name, Haydar. It was Haydar that I was secretly engaged to, he broke it off when Audrey accepted Lukher’s marriage proposal all because he was an orc and he found the thought of being a brother in law to such person from that species was too much of an insult to his very fragile ego and pride. But Yekmenian orcs are unlike any and every other orc I’ve known, they are only slightly larger than us but just as intelligent, speak several complex languages and have an equally complex, rich and advanced culture, traditions and society. They hold firmly onto a famed fortress, the last of it’s kind- that is impenetrable and have held successfully against any other attacker for the last 15 generations and have invented weapons and technology without equal. And Haydar could not see their superiority to other orcs, even compared with our own native ones- past his own prejudice and his petty jealousy.” Maisarra explained.

“Why would Haydar get jealous?” Bature asked curiously.

“Because the envoy’s Ambassador, Sunco, her son, Daon, he became my friend while they were here, Sunco is the Clan Chief’s or- the Orc King- I guess you could call him- she’s his sister, Lukher is his son and thus next in line to be Clan Chief or King whichever term you’re more comfortable with. Daon is Lukher’s cousin and a good friend of his. At first I befriended him only to see what I could glean about Lukher for Audrey’s benefit but the more I got to know him, and the more he got to know me- the better friends we became and through messengerari’s we’ve kept in touch ever since and if people didn’t judge him based on his appearance, I’m sure a lot more people would see that he’s actually a really good person. He’s one of the best fighters I’ve ever faced off against and he’s the one who taught me the Yekmenian style of fighting and he didn’t pull his punches or hold back when he sparred with me either, of course I had to ask him to not hold back too after the first round because at first he did not wish to hurt me either but I needed and wanted the challenge, so he indulged me and did as I asked and I have never been put into the dirt so hard before and I was sore for days after, but it was well worth the pain because I grew in skill a lot with him and by the end of his stay we were almost evenly matched, granted he will always be bigger and stronger than me but that just meant that he fell harder and faster too, but I was never happier to lose to such an opponent- I appreciated the fact that he didn’t take it easy on me and really made me earn every inch of ground and I obviously learned quite a bit from him too.” Maisarra revealed.

“Sounds like you admire him a great deal.” Bature realized.

“That’s because I do, I hold him in very high regard and esteem. He earned my trust as much I had earned his and while he is far from perfect, as am I. He has honor, integrity, a sense of justice, intuition, conscience, ethics, morality and intelligence that matches and might even surpass my own. He has learned the common tongue as well as marinai, aramaic and persian so he can teach those languages to Lukher so that Lukher can speak the languages of Audrey’s heart as easily as she speaks the languages of his. And I helped him learn all of them and he made so much progress in learning not just to speak but to read and write in those languages in such a short amount of time- to be fluent in all of those languages in just three short months because he learned those four languages simultaneously. It was very impressive and he’s so much smarter than anyone else is willing to give him or his family or his people credit for. It was Daon who gave me these weapons and other generous gifts as a reward when I asked for him help to keep the generalley brides from beguiling Audrey and attempting to bribe her to go along with their lies to get into Lukher’s harem which Audrey refused to be bought off and exposed them and their plan to Sunco and Sunco was furious with them and wanted to behead them but she couldn’t do such things here in Dorierra, or at all, sneaky snakes they are. Although, much good it did them, a truthsayer was brought and they were forced to kneel at her feet to tell the truth and when their plot was exposed, he rejected them completely in favor of Audrey. He rejected all of them in favor of Audrey because his love and affection for her is the strongest of all.” Maisarra explained.

“Your sister highly prizes truthfulness.” Bature realized.

“Yes, as do I. And the fact that those generalley bitches squeaked by based on a tiny technicality and the biggest stretch of a teeny tiny truth- ended up costing them a lot more in the long run. My sister has always insisted that she ‘would rather be hurt by the ugly truth than be led astray by a pretty lie’ and it’s a sentiment I share as well. Honesty, integrity, honor, to me they are all interwoven and interconnected within a person.” Maisarra added.

“I like that sentiment very much. That’s probably the wisest piece of advice and stance any one could take, do you think your sister will mind if I steal it and use it myself?” Bature asked, rather jokingly but was actually serious.

“By all means, it’s just a principle, free for anyone to take and use.” Maisarra encouraged him.

“Plus Lukher feels the same way she does about that and he’s wonderful too, he’s the perfect partner for Audrey and she to him…I’m so jealous of them actually.” Maisarra confessed.

“Why? Did you desire him as well?” Bature asked.

“Nope, I’ve only seen him through a messengerari once, and it was when the messengerari was pointed at them as they gave their wedding vows. Which ended up being way more complicated than anyone thought it would be.” Maisarra revealed.

“Complicated how?” Bature asked.

“When the githyanki last attacked the fortress about I think 7 almost 8 months ago now- he was wounded, very badly, a cannon failed and he was too close to it, it killed his eldest brother, which is why he inherited the next place to inherit his father’s throne and while the explosion killed his half brother Kingu, because Clan Chief Wardeen has three wives and Kingu was the eldest son of his first wife, Lukher was the oldest son of his second wife, and they were actually born only six months apart. But in the battle, when the cannon failed- a piece of shrapnel hit him in the face, it broke his jaw, destroyed his right eardrum and tore muscles in his neck, like this.” Maisarra traced the trajectory across Bature’s face to illustrate.

“How did he not die? There are vessels for blood to your brain in your neck, how did it not damage any of that? Or even the rest of his skull?” Bature asked, intrigued even further.

“Luck I think. After that moment, when the cannon exploded, because he was so close, he was instantly deaf and because of the injury from the shrapnel, his jaw was shattered and he lost teeth and could barely eat because he was just in so much pain and agony. And he had to wait six long months for Audrey to come but because she was uncollared, as am I and everyone else in our family, the only way to heal him was through the healing stones our native orcs have. It helped heal his jaw and make it’s once shattered state whole again and it brought back a measure of hearing but ever since Audrey has had to learn nadasi sign language to communicate with him best. And so you can imagine, him with a shattered, broken jaw, and deaf, trying to say his wedding vows was painful for even us because we could see how much pain he was in and how difficult it was for him. He lost so much weight and muscle mass because his metabolism was still high but he couldn’t hardly eat. It was awful. But Audrey, she didn’t care and wasn’t phased in the least. She was just sorry she was uncollared and couldn’t heal him in that instant.” Maisarra explained.

“Wow, what a shock, meet your groom after a three month journey only to find he’s deaf, deformed and starving to death. Most women would have walked away and backed out of that situation.” Bature realized.

“Well then you don’t know Audrey. She knew that he had been fighting most of his life, she knew he would have injuries and wounds, granted I don’t think she understood how severe they would end up being but they have adapted wonderfully and accepted each other as perfectly imperfect as they are. She didn’t waiver for a moment, steadfast to the last. Which I think means more to both of them, especially to Lukher. He felt bad that here was my sister, this perfect goddess in his eyes and he didn’t feel worthy of her. And for Audrey, it didn’t matter if he was deaf of partially deformed or could barely speak or eat, his soul and who he was as a person had not changed and that’s all she cared about. And for Audrey, she could care less if Lukher were to step down or have any of his other brothers take his place to inherit his father’s throne, Audrey’s love for him would never diminish or waiver for an instant because she married Lukher, not a prince, not a Warchief, not a future Clan Chief or King. But him. Just him. And she’s perfectly happy and content with him.“ Maisarra explained with a fond smile.

“That’s what makes me so jealous is that because she feels that way about him, he feels the same way about her. He’s perfectly happy and content with her and only her, no title, no collar, no power or abilities or connections or anything else and we just found out a few hours ago that his seed took root and is sprouting already and they are both so incredibly happy. I think that’s probably what I’m most jealous of. Because Audrey’s free from this place.” Maisarra admitted as she looked up at the high walls of their courtyard and the tree tops above them.

“She’s free to live her life with the love of her life half a world away, bear all of his children and he won’t care if they were sons or daughters, he will love them all equally and just as wholly as he loves her. Even my brothers and sisters who stay here and got married already, their own children will always be used as future workers for the Dorierran state if they are sons or their daughters- future potential brides. And even the ones in your own harem, they will need to guard their sons while also training their daughters to be foreign princesses or pawns in a game of strategic politics. It’s just…the normal way of life for a Dorierran moura. And I’m jealous that Audrey broke free of it because the Aki-Aya clan doesn’t believe in such things, that before Audrey’s marriage to Lukher, all their marriage matches are made out of love, never out of anything else and all of Audrey and Lukher’s children will be the same and what really isn’t fair is that even though it’s a political marraige and alliances, they ended loving each other and practically being each other’s soulmate anyway. That’s probably the most unfair about all of it. Is that even the sister who married in the bride system found true love and gets to enjoy all of it’s monogamous fidelity and she doesn’t have to share him with anyone just like my other brothers and sisters don’t have to share their own spouses either.” Maisarra gripped and complained as Bature looked at her appreciatively as he was practically biting his tongue to keep himself from offering that to her because he kenw it was impossible to do, but maybe if he conquered Cabbar also, all of his harem would be for that place and she would be the only one in Tahir’s palace and when he would visit there, she would be his one and only wife and Sultana Supreme there, and move everyone else to Cabbar. Could be done, it was possible.

“How do you know that they were soulmates?” Bature asked, intrigued by that statement.

“Because the lucky of a bitch, he took one look at my sister, saw past her beauty, past her body, all he saw was her eyes and her soul beyond that, and he instantly fell in love with her. His soul saw hers just as much as she saw his and in just a small moment, that was all they needed to see. They both took a leap of faith and caught each other and never looked back, never regretted their decision because their souls recognized each other and instantly knew they were meant to be together and they both felt the same exact thing at the same time and even though, for most, it’s hard to believe that such a fairytale romance would be true, it’s been true for them and I’m happy for them. Jealous but happy.” Maisarra answered.

“And now that she’s there and living with him?” Bature asked.

“Oh now that she’s there, they won’t leave each other’s sides, and they consult each other about everything, and they see each other as equals in everything and their own private room is their sanctuary where they don’t have to be a prince and princess or for them it’s technically Warchief and Warchieftess, they leave rank and position and everything else at the door and inside their sanctuary they just get to be their whole selves and honestly enjoy each other’s company as husband and wife only and get along and they are unquestioningly loyal to each other and faithful to each other to the point that Lukher dismissed all the notions of having a harem all together because all he wants is Audrey to be his one and only wife and give all of himself to her the way she gives all of herself to him. And, again, they know how lucky they are that it ended up working out for the best for them and they don’t take anything or each other for granted and even if Lukher lost his position and wouldn’t inherit the throne. Audrey would not love him any less and would be happy and content that their lives would actually be simpler and no other man I know of would give up a throne to pursue love like that. And the more I grow up and understand the world, the more I realize how rare the kind of man Lukher is- exists in the world.” Maisarra revealed as Bature hummed in contemplation as even he was weary to believe such a thing.

“And it’s also why I realize that that is the kind of person my own father is. My father is the same way. He’s happy and content just to be a jeweler, he’s happy and content with just my mother and loves her as wholly and completely as she loves him and every child they’ve ever had has been made in love and just how precious and rare such a thing is despite it being all around me, I feel like it alludes me. All my brothers who are of age are now married and their wives are already with child and they’re becoming fathers and they love their wives the same way my father has loved my mother and always treated her with the utmost respect and dignity, care, attention and affection and even my other sisters, they too have their husbands who treat them the same way too. And I feel it’s entirely unfair that I can’t have that too, that I’ve never been that lucky or will ever be that lucky, all because the man I chose to give all of myself to, rejected me in every sense and I’m still not over it and most days I feel like I never will either.” Maisarra explained as she fought to keep her composure as there was a soft bittersweetness that filled her eyes as she wouldn’t look up at Bature since she didn’t want to show him how glassy her eyes instantly became but kept her focus on cleaning every nook and cranny of her weapons as Bature considered her and felt his heart pull towards her and while he knew that she was right, part of him wanted to see justice for her and to hunt down this Haydar himself and give his head to her on a platter because while you were half a world a way, your reach had shrunk, whereas his had grown, and he was sure he could dispatch a group of his most ruthless and vicious of men to hunt this Haydar and his sister down and kill them. Maisarra deserved that much at least.

“Don’t sell yourself so short Maisarra, maybe there’s hope for you yet.” Bature offered.

“Maybe.” Maisarra reluctantly allowed.

“My parents though, they grew up here, my father’s brothers instead of being their victim of fraticide of a sultan’s throne, they get to be his friends. My parents’ life is so simple yet they enjoy pure love and that while Audrey’s life is much more complicated than she would have wanted, it’s worth it for her to be with Lukher and to have his undivided love, attention and affection and I had hoped I would have enjoyed the same, but it looks like Hadyar destroyed every hope I ever had of that and with you here, and with your harem and your two or maybe three dozen locked in favorites. I know it’s not something you can give me either and it would be unfair and very selfish and unreasonable for me to ask such a thing from you which is why I have been undecided so far. Because while you are a good fighter, you have heart and courage, and a willingness to learn and you have a lot of potential to grow and learn and adapt, which has brought you far and will bring you father still. But right now, with you being in your position and myself being in mine, I think we should remain just friends for now, because wanting any more than that, will not make any of us very happy in the end. Because for all your success, and all your wealth…” Maisarra confessed lowly, as Maisarra and Bature cleaned the little bits of blood off of their weapons but were otherwise alone in the middle of the courtyard with Maisarra’s family keeping a respectful distance.

“But none of that matters to you. Only the person, their heart, mind, soul and character does and you have every right to feel that way. And if that’s what you really want. That’s what you should go after. But I can’t help but wonder if you feel that because of that son of a bitch Hadyar’s actions, that you’ll never love again?” Bature asked thoughtfully, delighted that she was comfortable enough to cuss around him which gave him the go ahead to cuss around her and the snort of laughter from her nose and an appreciative smile was worth it.

“Yes and no. It’s only reasonable that I’ll eventually find someone, somewhere, but…I will never love anyone the way I did Haydar, he was my first and he had my whole heart, mind and soul and I was willing to do anything for him, excpet turn my back on my family and when he rejected me, rebuked me and chastised me because I was loyal to my family, loyal to Audrey- he accused me of being a whore for adani gold and steel, which I never was and cursed me even when he was half buried and bound and ready to be stoned to death by his own brothers. Still, he never yielded, and every tiny shred of love he had turned from love to hate in what felt like only a heartbeat of time and two and a half years of nurturing our relationship, completely unwravelled in just two weeks, and I don’t think I will heal from his wounds, at least easily or anytime soon.” Maisarra confessed as she couldn’t help but let a few tears from falling at the painful memories that were practically burned into her memory.

“What a prick.” Bature spat in disgust.

“Oh I know. I know. Bature, I really appreciate your efforts. But that old saying- once bitten- twice shy. We’ve only known each other a day, dueled for three hours and spilled some blood. It’s going to take me a while to ever be ready for anything romantic with anyone. But you asked to be my friend. And I will agree to be that. But surely even you can understand my hesitance and…my reluctance. You are a Sultan, with a harem of over a hundred and favorites in the dozens. And in just a week or two so, the same brides who tried their best to woo Lukher and failed because Audrey stole his heart completely before they ever got a chance, will be coming back. And what’s more is, that two of them, Serhan and Merrattah, while they were in Yekmeni, they found colonies, and they both got the one thing every moura wants more than anything, a collar. So I have no doubt that the moment, they land, if you’re not ushered to meet one of them. Either one or both of them would actually make much more sense as your Sultana Supreme. To have a fully collared moura mate- it’s been the ultimate dream for any man since the convergence.” Maisarra revealed.

“Really? A colony gave them each a collar?” Bature asked.

“Yup, and a third gave Audrey one too. Which is how she was able to fully heal her husband Lukher, so now he’s no longer deaf, they still sign to each other though, like a secret coded message that they don’t have to be side by side to “hear” or understand each other. And if anything it shows how amazing Lukher was because he could have still claimed all of them, and had all of them be his collared mates in his harem, turning mountains of mud and brick into gold for him. But he didn’t care about any of that. All he cared about was Audrey’s happiness and didn’t want to make her jealous and did not want to share any of his attention or affection with anyone but her and any and every child she would give him. He passed up immeasurable wealth, for my sister’s love and if that isn’t a sign of true love, then I don’t know what else it could be. But his loss could very well be your gain Bature. And I can already tell you that your Councilors and Advisors will push either one at you. But don’t let an afternoon of sparring with me deter you from them. I’m practically a lost cause, but with them, Tahir would be much better off if one of them were it’s Sultana Supreme. And who knows maybe you’ll look in their eyes and see their souls and they will look into your eyes and see your soul and both of you will see everything that you want and need to see and your decision about who to make your Sultana Supreme will be a choice that you can make with your head and your heart and maybe you’ll be one of the lucky ones too. To get to have love, glory, power and a sultanate state to boot. Be careful going home Bature, I look forward to seeing you soon and hopefully teach you a thing or two about how to be just as good of a fighter as me.” Maisarra laughed cheekily which made Bature laugh.

“Yes, tomorrow, I will send word when I am ready.” Bature offered.

“As will I, goodbye Bature, it was a pleasure meeting you and sparring with you. I hope it’s not the last time we will get to do so.” Maisarra offered as she finally walked away from him and went back inside after bowing respectfully to dismiss herself as Bature watched her walk away as she absentmindedly took off her armor and carried it with her into the house, revealing more of her body in motion which Bature did not hide his leering before she disappeared.

“So?” His best friend Mihat asked as he came up to Bature after Maisarra had walked away.

“She is better than I had hoped she would be. She is a wild arabian, who can only lead me to paradise and a lioness who will care for her cubs well. She’s perfect to be my Sultana Supreme for Tahir. But now we need to conquer another state, for the lioness does not wish to compete for me among others. So I want her to be the only Sultana Supreme in Tahir with no other wives or concubines there with her, we can put all the others in the other state, that lioness just told me that two collared moura brides are coming back here from Yekmeni, we need to extend our stay here, because Yekmeni’s loss will be our gain and if we can get that lioness to Yekmeni, maybe she too can get a collar and truly become a phoenix. Everyone else can choke on a horse cock. Gather the best people hunters, trackers and killers in the army. The reason she withdraws from me now, is because she is still nursing a near fatal wound and one who gave her- her near fatal wound is still waking free, I want his head on a platter as my proposal to her that never again will another ever dare to harm her, much less disrespect her.” Bature ordered.

“Of course Bature, I’ll see to it personally.” Mihat grinned schemingly.

“So who am I killing?” Mihat asked.

“Haydarsorra Mehmet, and his sister Rasime Mehmet.” Bature answered.

“They were last seen walking out of the country by the southern gate, where there are many ships. Do whatever you have to and track them down. I will give you and your team all the funds needed. I don’t care where they went, travel the whole supersphere to find them or if they have already died, find their corpses and proof of their deaths. Two Dorierrans outside of their country stand out like a dove among ravens. Granted they have a three month headstart on you. We’ve tracked escaped prisoners through worse though, I will get you pictures of them so all of you will know who you’re tracking.” Bature insisted.

“What if they too have collars?” Mihat asked.

“Then I will have two prisoners to turn a hundred times their weight in gold to spare their lives and to keep them from being tortured and when we’ve used them up, poach their collars, I will take Haydar’s give Rasime’s to Maisarra if she can not get her own. But either way. Find them. And then find a witch and find a way to keep Haydar and Rasmie locked in a cage so they won’t fly away and Maisarra, upon receiving proper justice by my hand, will never want to leave me and I will enjoy many years riding her to paradise. I’m confident I can give her enough love to satisfy her. And she’s very understanding of me and my situation. But there is no equal to her. I have made up my mind. Now we just need to make it happen.” Bature insisted.

“Whatever you say Bature, Maisarra gave you the big fight today, I can see why you want her, she’s worth the fight.” Mihat readily agreed.

“Not a fight, a challenge, and no other challenge could be more rewarding.” Bature winked.

“What about this other orc that the others told us about? This Daon? Son of the Ambassador?” Mihat asked.

“He met her at the worst possible time, right when her heart was already taken by someone else just as it was breaking and even now, her heart is too guarded for him. He’s half a world away and she only sees him as a friend, but even I can see that she only learned what she could from them to improve herself and help her sister, which familial loyalty. Plus with him being so far away and too focused on his home of Yekmeni, he can’t do for her what I can. I can offer to be a Sultana Supreme in a palace all to herself. He can only give her a small room in a small and inconsequential fortress. There is no competition and nothing to worry about there. Besides, if he does come back, I’m sure I can keep him busy teaching me these Yekmeni fighting ways and I can always ask Maisarra and her sister Audravienne that in order to fully secure Tahir and Cabbar and possibly Arjun too, I will need three Sultana Supremes, one for each state but only the other two will have a harem. And surely no one could object to that. Audravienne will get what she originally wanted for Maisarra, Maisarra will be happy to get what she wants and the Council and Generals will be happy that two of my three Sultana Supremes will be more to their liking and I can always split my time between them, using the excuse of ‘affairs of the other state’ if I ever get tired of the two boring perfect ones. But my Maisarra, no, her bed will be the best bed to lose sleep in.” Bature laughed licentiously which got Mihat to laugh too.

“Oh by the way, I have received word, just after breakfast, our palace were sent two calls via messengerari- one from Serhan, the other, from Audravienne herself.” Mihat revealed.

“Well it should be the middle of the night there by now, surely they will need their beauty sleep, I will call them back tonight when it is morning for them. I would imagine this Serhan will want to make herself my Sultana Supreme too, which I will let her try her best to seduce me into and agree, but be broad. Say she can be my Sultana Supreme, just not for Tahir, but Cabbar. It won’t take us long to conquer it. Especially if Serhan can talk Audravienne into giving up how to turn those adani steel ingots into proper weapons, because once we do, and have weapons as strong as Maisarra’s if not better, then we will be unstoppable, and all the surrounding territories will give us their tribute to keep from being conquered in addition to having three collared Sultana Supremes, gold will flow out of the Palaces like a mountain river.” Bature ventured.

“I was worried her beauty and fiery nature were going to make you chase after your lust for her and lose your sense.” Mihat admitted.

“No, no woman ever could. She may be a wild arabian, but every horse eventually take a bridal and a saddle. And I will never let any woman, no matter how beautiful or wild, have more control over me than myself.” Bature vowed.

“Good.” Mihat nodded.

“Come, we should get you bandaged up properly.” Mihat urged his friend.

“Yes, of course.” Bature agreed as he took off his armor and picked up his old leather armor and threw them all in the nearest trash can outside the palace.

#Burn Without You #Burn Without You Chapter 22 #See? Typical man #Moura #orc #orc love story #orc reader insert #orc political intrigue drama

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niuttuc · 3 years

Note

Happy Halloween! In honor of the spookiest day of the year it is time for a very spooky ask! Describe your oc if they where completed by the Phyrexians!

Alright, let’s say a few words on the core cast.

Anedia would likely take traits after her spellbugs upon compleation. Sleep doesn't transfer well through a species that doesn't do that, but I would imagine she'd be a spy or informant of some sort, skittering at speeds on walls and ceilings, maybe even equipped with wings if needed.

Arnoss would be a tank of some sort, or a living armor. Simple, assigned to more important phyrexians so that they can wear him or keep him near them from protection when they don’t want to bother with getting their limbs dirty. Bigger than he currently is, scales replaced by metal, and mostly hollow.

Dancing-Hands would have an engine installed to harness the power of his telekinesis inside him to generate a lot of energy and fuel his body and all the weapons and shields that would be integrated into it. He would be a weapon, sent alone to a settlement or a battlefield when whoever controls him wants it razed or depopulated.

Dolores wouldn’t change that much compared to the others. She’d be an ambitious phyrexians and try to climb the ranks wherever she’d be. Her augmentations would mostly be integrating her tools and improving her body’s performances overall, but Azras like her were already engineered to be efficient soldiers.

Farell wouldn’t be changed at all. Compleated, them? Noooo. They don’t look like it. Although they’re a shapeshifter... But they’re one of the good ones, they’d tell us, right? Unless...

Compleated Icalia is the one I have alternate for her. She’d have accentuated bird of prey features, but would still be about balance... And it tipping one way or another. She’d lead a Phyrexian Arena, handling judments by oil and by weapon as well as providing spectacle and entertainment to those that earn it.

Ivegard does not feature flesh nor metal and burns any oil that’d touch her. She cannot be compleated.

Lhur would be compleated towards something not so important for him right now, but would be much more valuable for Phyrexia, and that’s amplifying ideas and desires. As powerful and efficient as Phyrexia is, they tend to have an issue innovating and testing new concepts, which he’d help bring up. In New Phyrexia, he’d probably be plated in the Orthodoxy’s porcelain.

Nyrhen’s magic allows him to resist compleation and possibly even cure phyresis, and his beliefs are completely incompatible with voluntary compleation, he’d not be the same character at all if he was compleated. However, if it somehow happened, he’d be very oriented towards survival of the fittest. Survive until the day of your compleation and you may have earned it. And survive his hand as well.

Vaalin is a Dominarian and beyond that a Barrinite Tolarian. He’d die rather than be compleated, but if it happened he’d likely be repurposed for processing. He’s able to process information incredibly fast in incredibly high quantities, he’d be a very valuable asset and probably would be able to wring that into ways to further his research. A compleated Vaalin would also likely have less taboos about time magic research, which is also not great news.

#mtg #Phyrexian #Compleation #Dolores #Anedia #Arnoss #Dancing-Hands #Farell #Icalia #Lhur #Nyrhen #Vaalin

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leporellian · 4 years

Text

“do you believe in destiny, featherpaw?”

the molly clicks her tongue and looks to the starry-eyed skylight, mulling her brother’s question. it was one of those spur-of-the-moment questions that children ask and then forget about, their tail brushing for a moment against something greater than their skin and then slinking away.

“i don’t think i believe in destiny, stormpaw. but the stars up there are pretty anyways.”

stormkit is thrust into the world with his mother’s blood on the back of the ears. he cannot see, but through his muffled ears he hears commotion, and he feels a brazen tongue clean him as he wails for something he cannot describe.

for a second, in the darkness of his newborn blindness he sees something shimmering before him. he barely manages to tilt his head up and sees the thin outline of a starclan cat, presiding over a warm body that smells of milk.

this is destiny, stormkit. this is purpose.

another moment and the shimmering shape that smells of the forest’s whispers disappears, and stormkit only knows that something is missing. he wails again, and again and again, into the pit of blackness that he will forget about tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

do you believe in destiny?

death has many scents. some are haunting yet serene, daring at a world beyond, like at the moonstone. some can only be described as thick and earth-shattering, like the mist of a battlefield cleared.

but the bonehill’s smell of death was one of rot and finality. it had no grace except for that possessed by the tabby tom who sat at the top, his eyes glittering with control and a speck of fear.

stormpaw’s eyes are transfixed on his mentor, watching as the rubble-colored tom stares down the tabby. his skeleton is on the outside looking in, and his eyes look as if they have a ripple’s rings about them. he knows that stonefur will be ordered to kill him, and yet he hopes against hope that something else will happen, that the bonehill will fade away and stormpaw will wake up in the apprentice’s den with featherpaw beside him like it was all a nightmare that lingered beyond its time, and yet-

‘you’ll have to kill me first, tigerstar.’

the area becomes a blur as two cats, and then three and then one, fling themselves at each other. he could hear stonefur mutter something about being the captain of his own soul- or something, stormpaw could not hear above the roar of blood and the growling sound of claws ripping through fur- and then the tom was gone, his body splayed out across the grass, . stormpaw felt dizzy as he saw a spot of blood that had flown an odd way across his leg.

and then- he saw a thin outline of starclan, and he knew he had seen it before but could not name the place or time.

this is the chosen life. remember it, stormpaw.

stormfur’s only dream is of that destiny. he seeks it like a kitten seeking mother’s milk.

sometimes his clanmates make fun of him for it. “you shouldn’t be so hung up on being starclan’s chosen one,” jokes heavystep. “you young whippersnappers are always lookin’ to be in a prophecy. between you and hawkpaw all i ever hear about is destiny! if you want to know what prophecy really does look at firestar at the next gathering. poor bastard’s already getting white hairs.”

but stormfur hopes. he isn’t sure if it’s the debt he must pay to stonefur, or atonement for his mother’s death. but he knows he wants even a drop of destiny on his pelt. he wants to prove himself.

one night, he sees that familiar thin starry figure again, on a night where his den is just a little too misshapen to sleep on, and he approaches it, his eyes brimming with awe and a haunting sense of- what was it- nostalgia?

but the spirit does not notice him.

its tail brushes against his sleeping sister

and then it is gone.

the journey is, stormfur admits, not as difficult as he thought. sure, he would not have believed it if he had told himself a moon ago that he’d talk to a badger and walk through a mountain, but compared to other things in his life he could never predict it certainly isn’t the most unpleasant- the smell of the bonehill still reeks in the back of his mind.

but somehow he is no longer sure of whether he trusts starclan.

feathertail acts different now. gone was the spark of rebellion and the flame of defiance in her eyes- now, bland starlight peppered them. her fur, which she once prided in for its shagginess, is now uncharacteristically silky. she felt... sterile? stormfur wasn’t sure how to describe it.

she always talked of destiny now, and of fate. she was always eager to see what her fate ultimately was.

the spirits also keep leading her to that windclan boy. there’s something about the windclan boy that stormfur doesn’t trust- perhaps it’s the three odd glints of white light in his eyes or the scent of holly on his breath.

but still, stormfur grasps in the air for that concept of a destiny beyond, something so powerful and profound he struggles to describe it. and when the tribe cats look at him like he’s a messiah- the clan-saving silver cat the stars told of- he finally thinks he’s about to feel it.

but something tells him this is not the feeling he wanted.

the sharptooth looks like a caricature. its claws and teeth are grotesque- something perhaps a particularly daring queen would make up for a story to keep her kits from wandering into the woods- and scars cover its shoulders and nose like nettle. its growling sounds almost like feline speak, but so distorted that its exact words are never clear.

“i think if we corner it-” stormfur began to instruct, but he stopped once he looked up to see fetahertail, at the top of the cave, focused on the spikes above, her ears flicking as the spirits whisper into it, and one of them pushes on her side and another kicks at her feet, and then, and then-

she is falling, and time is fast yet slow, and she slams into the spikes, and she is falling, and she is falling, and she is falling, and then there's a crash, and the sharptooth falls to the floor, and then-

the only thing stormfur remembers, next, is standing over his sister’s dead body. her chin was ajar, blood pooling around it into a perfect circle.

the fur was silky.

stormfur looks up. the spirits. they were here now. so many of them, each carefully examining the body like a hunter analyzing its catch.

stormfur does not have the energy to think. but he has the energy to speak.

“DOES THIS SEEM RIGHT?!?” he challenges them, his face dripping with tears. “IS THIS DESTINY? TO THROW AWAY YOURSELF JUST TO GET A TASTE OF THE CHOSEN LIFE? BECAUSE IF IT IS, I DON’T WANT IT.”

You must, Stormfur.

“DOES THAT FEEL RIGHT?!?”

Stormfur, this is destiny.

“I TOLD YOU, I DON’T WANT IT. LEAVE.” he is surrounded by spirit after spirit, begging him, pleading with him, and then he shuts his eyes- and when they are open, the spirits are gone and the air smells clear.

the air, he thinks, has not smelled clear for a long time.

“do you believe in destiny, dad?”

the tom clicks his tongue and looks to the starry-eyed skylight, mulling his daughter’s question. it was one of those spur-of-the-moment questions that children ask and then forget about, their tail brushing for a moment against something greater than their skin and then slinking away.

there’s a haunted look in stormfur’s eyes, but it is soon replaced by a bittersweet warmth. he clutches a plumy gray feather under one paw.

“i don’t think i believe in destiny, lark. but the stars up there are pretty anyways.”

#warrior cats #stormfur #feathertail #i was going to make this into a pmv but idk if i'll get around to it #stonefur #crowfeather #lark that sings at dawn #rambles

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xsailormobian · 3 years

Note

how would you rank Sonic girls in terms of power levels?

Hi Anon, sorry for taking a while! For this one I’ll proceed with categories, because many of the Sonic ladies are tied to the same rank and/or have fundamental differences between them that need to be acknowledged. This will be mainly about physical strength and won’t be an indicator of the girls’ character or general abilities outside of this criteria.

(Note: this is a subjective ranking, and not all of the girls are part of this list because there are a lot of female characters, some of which I don’t know enough about to include. Enjoy!)

1) Magical strength ✨

There are characters that, while not necessarily physically strong, can wield some form of magic and thus prove more deadly than someone with raw strength. Blaze with her fire power is a good example of that! Without them I’d probably put her in the fourth category, but her pyrokinesis coupled with her stamina and agility firmly place her as the leader of this category.

Other contenders include Merlina and Shahra, as they can both use magic as well. However we don’t know the full extent of Merlina’s powers, so her relative strength compared to other characters is debatable (though we should note the ease with which she beat Sonic to a pulp in SATBK). As for Shahra, her powers seem to be mostly tied to wish-granting, some of which she isn’t able to grant as a Ring Genie; which would create a lot of limitations to what she can do. And it’s also debatable how much their powers could work outside of their storybook worlds sooo... Blaze basically reigns supreme.

Number one in this category: Blaze the Cat

2) Raw physical strength + regular training 🔥

This is probably what you meant by “power levels” and, if we’re excluding magic users, the characters in this category are the true powerhouses of the Sonic franchise. And uuuh I could only think of two!

Bunnie and Amy are two of the physically strongest female characters, way beyond even the contenders of the third category due to the fact that their strength is one of their defining abilities. Bunnie is a Robian and has been shown to be able to lift people, trees, and many other heavy stuff with relative ease. And obviously she needs her whole body to be as strong as her robotic arm and legs otherwise she might, uh, break her spine trying to lift stuff. As for Amy, she has a giant hammer she can lift without any problems and use in fights, and she also trains a lot to get stronger if Sonic Battle is any indication.

On the whole, they’re pretty equal. If we’re excluding the cartoonish displays of Amy’s strength (Sonic X and co.) I’d say Bunnie is realistically the strongest because she has mastered her own strength. Amy, while really strong, is still young and mostly gets her bouts of energy from powerful emotions: while they temporarily make her surpass Bunnie in terms of raw power, they aren’t a constant and can get her into trouble/exhaust her needlessly. She will definitely surpass Bunnie at some point however because the latter’s cybernetic limbs have their limits, meaning that her strength is pretty much set for life. If Amy keeps on training and gaining discipline, she’ll definitely become the leading character in this category by the time she reaches Bunnie’s age.

Number one in this category: as of now, Bunnie Rabbot

3) Professionally trained and/or often on the field ⚔️

These characters would be the second physically strongest due to them being trained to fight, and thus having more discipline, knowledge, and control over their strength and weaknesses than characters from later categories.

One example would be Rouge since, as a government spy and G.U.N agent, she’d have to be pretty well trained to carry her missions to completion. Plus she tends to attack a lot with her legs, so I’d imagine most of her physical power would be there. Other professionally trained agents include Topaz and Madonna Garnet.

Then we have characters who aren’t exactly professionally trained but who still do train due to spending a lot of time on the battlefield. You’d have (I assume) Julie-Su, who is a melee kind of girl; Sally, who fights with swords and is pretty agile all around (though she’s more of a strategist and doesn’t have as much physical strength as, again I assume, Julie-Su would); and Whisper, who would be last because she’s a long-range fighter and thus tends to fight from a distance, though she’s familiar enough with battlefields to intervene if needed.

Note that while all of them have training and experience, how self-taught they are is up for us to guess. For this reason I would put Rouge as the leading character because she has shown a good display of physical strength and seems to be both the most mature and experienced of the bunch. Coupled with her flying abilities and craftiness, I think she could go toe-to-toe with someone much stronger than her like Bunnie (and defeat Amy pretty easily due to her aforementioned lack of discipline), which I wouldn’t say of the other trained ladies here.

Number one in this category: Rouge the Bat

4) Not trained, but have enhanced abilities putting them above average 👟

The title is pretty uninspired, but it says it all! These characters are rookies in some ways, either because they just started training to fight of simply because they aren’t fighters, but they have special abilities and/or potential putting them above the “average” category. Think Tangle with her tail, Cream with her ability to fly, Mina with her speed, and Honey with her wings.

Of the bunch, I’d say Honey and Mina are the weakest simply because they aren’t interested in fighting. Mina was (and I say it with love) a pretty lame Freedom Fighter and hasn’t used her speed all that much since becoming a pop star; as for Honey, while she can stand her ground in a fight, she’s ultimately a fashion designer above all.

Cream meanwhile wants to grow up and become a hero like the people she admires (mainly Sonic and Amy). This intent, coupled with her being able to fly and carry people, show that she has the potential to one day become leader of this category. Maybe more if she decides to pursue it further, but since she still has seeds of being a pacifist, I can also imagine her deciding to do something else when she’s older (exploring the world, taking care of animals and chao, etc.) For now I’d say Tangle takes the win because... well to start with, she isn’t six anymore haha; but also because she has shown physical strength and has started training herself seriously to become a hero. While still a rookie, she could definitely become an honorable member of the third category in the future.

Number one in this category: Tangle the Lemur

5) Average Jane 🍵

In a world full of fighters and overpowered characters, it’s not that surprising that the “average” category would come second to last. But here it is! Here you’ll find girls that aren’t fighters and don’t have any particular abilities, such as Elise (since she can’t control Iblis, and especially since Solaris has been erased from existence), Vanilla, Tekno and Sonia (who would have some knowledge about fighting but nothing more), Zooey, Perci and Staci, Jewel, and basically every female civilian you can think of.

I’ll also add Marine because although she has shown some kind of aqua powers at the end of Sonic Rush Adventure... I don’t exactly know what it is? She’s complicated haha. If it is really what it is then she’d probably be part of the fourth category alongside Cream.

Otherwise it’s pretty hard to choose a leading character because, well, this is the “average” category. I’ll go with Vanilla because she has mom energy and could intimidate anyone, which is a pretty impressive strength in itself.

Number one in this category: Vanilla the Rabbit

6) Not physically strong 🎐

And lastly, we have the female characters who are physically weaker than average. The most notorious example would be Maria, whose health was very fragile due to contracting NIDS at a young age. I would also include Cosmo by virtue of her being both a “plant” prone to dizziness and having very few offensive abilities, making her one of the weakest characters in the series; as well as Tikal because she’s... literally a spirit, as well as a pacifist (when alive she’d probably be on the weaker side of the fifth category).

And finally I would include Nicole as she is physically a hand-held computer and only has real powers in the digital world. On a physical plane, she can at most simulate a Mobian form for a while; but since she isn’t corporeal, she’d probably have really low physical strength. I would say she is the strongest of this category by virtue of her being versatile and able to carry a fight at the very least in the digital world, and still having a few abilities to defend herself and others in the physical world. (I debated making her part of the fourth category but since she mostly exists either as a computer or as an hologram, I felt it wouldn’t be fair to make her compete with Tangle or Honey).

Number one in this category: Nicole the Lynx

TL;DR: My final classment would be Blaze as the strongest thanks to her powers and her mastery over them, followed by Bunnie (who will one day be surpassed by Amy once she gains discipline), and then Rouge due to her experience as an agent. Thanks for reading!

#Answer #Blaze the Cat #Amy Rose #Bunnie Rabbot #Rouge the Bat #Tangle the Lemur #Vanilla the Rabbit #Nicole the Lynx

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years

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Well. In light of the recent vanessa fic, I am going to request a few things. How about Helena going to MC's high school reunion?

WARNINGS: Intolerable sexist arseholes Referenced rape culture Blood and minor violence Written by: @evoedbd ******************************************

“Helena… my feet hurt.” Kya’s soft, plaintive voice rung like gunshots in Helena’s ears. To hear that Kya was in pain caused a war of sensations within the Sorceress, turning her chest into a battlefield as she aimed to pick out her own thoughts amidst the din. The music was too loud. All pulsing beats and pop hits that all bled into one another in an unpleasant screech. With all the beauty Kya’s people could capture, the fact they abused that power to capture such meaningless garble was bad enough, but the songs that Helena’s ears had picked out went beyond this. The images of men taking what they pleased, or endlessly fucking hoes and capping foes… it set her teeth on edge. Why would anybody wish to put a cap on someone they disliked so much? It was absolutely beyond her. After all, she had seen the selfishness of humanity. She had seen people who would do precisely what the songs fantasized about. She had been one of those prizes. The pet. The mess left behind once a tyrant had finished with her for the night. She had been the violated girl dragging herself across the floors because she couldn’t walk, trailing blood. Why did some of Kya’s people find this concept worth celebrating? How many even knew what they danced to? “Helena?” This time, Kya’s voice was pleading. A gentle touch to Helena’s ravaged senses. This was accompanied by the lightest touch to her forearm, fingertips begging for more yet restraining themselves until Helena gave consent. The Sorceress had to close her eyes, to stop watching and picture a much calmer place. An open field, filled with flowers that had no name, not in this world. Flowers woven through black hair, accompanying laughter that became wings for Helena’s soul. She didn’t particularly want to open her eyes to the gyrating crowds. Around her, she could feel a thousand candles, each flickering in time with the sea of sorry, middle-aged bodies awkwardly trying to reclaim their youth. All dressed in finery above their means as they tried to convince everyone of their success and happiness, even as they reeked of misery. An ocean of people, all smiling politely whilst firing knives from their tongue, shooting daggers from their eyes. Alcohol flowing a little too freely, too dangerously. Control, so willingly abandoned. It was as if none of them knew its value. As if none of these people had ever seen or experienced control torn away completely, until even the breath a body took was at another’s whim. Then there were the lights. A spinning ball reflected everything, casting a thousand fragments of light across the floor, growing larger as they grew further from the centre. Spinning chaos across the wooden floors, illuminating the deep blue lighting, catching in the mist across the dancing masses. An unnatural mist summoned by machines… and Kya said her people possessed no magic. “Helena… are you with me?” The longing to answer hit her harder than a boulder from a catapult against a crumbling castle wall. Gods, how she wanted to open her eyes and find only one person before her. Yet, she was surrounded; drowning in the sea of bodies as the unnatural mist lapped at her ankles. As elbows collided with her, or fingers nipped at the bottom of her hair like vultures testing the fight left in their meat. Her heart pounded, beating against the cage of her chest much like how her magic pulsed with her fears. Limbs tingled; fingers began to move on instinct. Then, warmth. So much warmth. Enough that she gasped. Instantly, her lungs filled with air; her nose with that delicious mix she had never quite learned. Something soft, something smoky and then a hint of spice. Always, it was sweet. So very, very intoxicatingly sweet… but not sugary. The underlying bitterness of coffee tempered sweetness so deliciously that Helena found herself devoured by her craving for that scent. A second inhale gave her more, slowly begun to redirect her roaming senses to a singular focus. It was enough for her to open her eyes. “Welcome back.” A kind voice fell from naked lips. The smile upon them was small, nothing intended for the world to see. A secret amidst the crowd, the last life jacket on the Titanic. Just seeing it was enough for Helena to be saved. Shining grey eyes accompanied that encouraging little smile. Adoration glistened in beautiful grey depths, outshining the tinges of concern playing flecks in bluestone. In the swirling lights and dulled room, stone was more akin to gems than cobble, captivating Helena’s attention for far longer than society deemed polite. She could care less. Museums held marble statues of deities past, depictions of Aphrodite to stare at for hours. Marble was incomparable to the greys, Aphrodite a hag compared to the graceful woman donning such a flowing black dress. Elegance in its purest simplicity. “As if I could ever be parted from you.” Helena gave her best attempt at a purr. It was effective, given the creep of pink over Kya’s pale cheeks. Pale, not bloodless, Helena reminded herself. Bloodless was danger. It was the colour Kya had gone after the Queen’s spell struck her. It was the colour Kya had been when the Queen held a blade to her throat, when the Queen tormented Helena into confessing every pain, tried to make Sorceress scream and kneel. Tried to break her. Bloodless was the Witch Queen leering over a terrified girl, or ordering her most loyal man to ensure said girl was prepared… Helena flinched. Faster than Helena could blink, Kya’s hands left her, gathering in front of said woman’s chest. Kya held her hands there patiently, as if they were to be bound. Somehow, the speed and implications of such a gesture did not spark further fear within Helena, did not reignite the painful memories lapping at the edge of her consciousness. How such gestures could be made soft and welcoming, appealing even, still befuddled her. Flummoxed, her breath caught, even as Kya spoke. “Helena, I’m going to grab your tie, ok? I won’t pull, and my hands won’t move until I know you are ok. If you need to grab me, that’s ok. I know you won’t hurt me. We can just sway.” “The music is too upbeat for such a slow dance.” Came Helena’s rebuttal, even as her body moved to follow Kya’s suggestion. Cautiously, she gathered Kya into her chest, holding the otherworldly beauty there as if the world might snatch her away. Beneath Helena’s pale skin magic simmered. It heated her veins, writhing and bubbling like serpents of heated tar. She could feel the sparks escaping her control, trapped between her skin and her silken black button up. Kya had expressed her appreciation for Helena’s suit, several times, yet Helena had not seen the appeal until just now. The darkness of her shirt slimmed her down a little, whilst also concealing the fact she was sweating bullets. Her turquoise suit jacket was cut to perfection, emphasising both the strength of her shoulders and her feminine curves, without drawing attention to an overly generous bust. The matching pants fit her like a second skin, showing off impossibly long legs right to heels which meant business. Not only did they elevate her above the heads of many men, they also screamed womanly power. That she could, and would, step on any fool who crossed her path. Then, there was her crisp white tie… the very tie currently embraced between Kya’s gentle fingers. “Who cares about the music? We make our own rules, babe, always have. This was meant to be something fun, Helena. I didn’t think it’d be like this. I just thought it’d be romantic. Like going to prom with my soulmate, instead of some boy who expected me to finish the night on the backseat of his car.” “That boy dare-“ “He didn’t try to physically force me. He was confused as to why I wouldn’t, tried to convince me verbally, but he never laid a hand on me. He wasn’t a bad person, just an ignorant one. He was influenced by the wrong people. He actually wrote me an apology. It doesn’t makes my memory of prom the best.” “Yeah, had a bitch, but she ain’t bad as you. So hit me up when you passing through. I’ll give you something big enough to tear your ass in two” “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” Kya exploded, her wrath erupting in an enraged shout. Her voice carried, drawing countless gazes to the human embodiment of furious flames about to claim their penance. Kya’s entire body trembled, almost as if her growls were causing her to vibrate, and her cheeks took on a hue often associated with a devil. The fire in her eyes seemed poised to devour the world in its search for vengeance, yet Kya tempered it to three precise culprits. Three large men, all crowding around an uncomfortable-looking DJ who cringed as the song continued to play across a stagnant dance floor. “What’s wrong? Don’t like the music, dyke?” The first man sneered, his voice grating from between crooked teeth. His mates laughed, playfully jabbing him in his well-padded arms, hooting their drunken approval. His large belly jiggled as he laughed. Helena��s eye was drawn to his shirt, specifically the valiant efforts of a single thread stretched between a disconnected button and said shirt. “You’ve been playing rape culture bullshit for over half an hour. Do you even know what half of this shit means? Slip her a Molly? That is roofies! Drugging a woman’s drink to sleep with her, cause that’s totally sexy. That Nirvana song? It is literally about a rape victim. Did you idiots even stop to think that some people here might have gone through that?” Kya’s accusations were sharp, to the point, a jab of a blade straight to the ribcage. “We thought it was setting the mood. Isn’t your bitch DTF? She looks the type.” The second man taunted, giving a poor attempt at a suggestive wiggle of his brows. This man appeared more in shape, lithe, with the veins standing stark beneath his muscles. However, the stench of alcohol was only smothered by the copious amounts of noisme body spray he stained his wrinkled shirt with. “This isn’t the 1800s, dude. Women have the right to get married and be together outside of a Pornhub video.” Kya’s tone dropped along with her brows, her expression challenging, daring the men to come up with a retort worthy of her. “It isn’t rape if the bitch wants it.” The third man jeered. Unlike his counterparts, he appeared clean and put together, something Helena might have even called attractive before he opened his mouth. A good-looking man, ruined by his horrific mouth or corrupt by the company he kept. “What happened to you three? How can you be so cruel as to deliberately target someone just for existing? I know you’ve been watching us and noticed Helena’s reactions.” Kya’s words struck Helena to the core. Suddenly everything made too much sense. How the songs had seemed to only get worse and worse, their violations and sexist attitude more crudely represented. More stark. How the music had steadily grown louder and louder, until their sounds had burned into Helena’s consciousness. Until they became shadows which she could not be free of. Shadows where leering eyes hid, a pride of lions or a pack of wolves slowly circling their prey. What she had dismissed as a trickle of sweat down her back now stood out, an instinctual twinge, a warning. One she had not taken heed of. It left her wondering, was anywhere truly safe for her aside from Kya’s arms? Even in this strange new world, where nobody knew her crimes, she found herself persecuted. Had coming here truly been the new start she believed it to be? Or had she just fled her own insecurity into a pit of newer, wiser vipers whilst she played catch up for over thirty years of missing knowledge? “This is America, we have the right to listen to what we want.” “You have a constitutional right not to be a colossal dick.” Kya fired back without pause. This earned several snickers from around the room at the man’s expense. She wasn’t done, not even close. Kya continued, launching into a scolding with enough disgust in her tone to cow the watching crowds. “After everything she has done for this damn country, hell, the world, she deserves ONE night without some douchebags throwing shit at her. All we wanted was to come and have a lovely night out, not cop sexual harassment from a failed security guard, an alcoholic and a walking advertisement for how not to be a man all trying to relive their high school glory days.” “What? She got bored of servicing all the real men and went for her own bitch to boss around instead?” The second man taunted, snickering loudly at Kya’s repulsed expression. The expression was barely a flicker on the way to a smile. No, a smile implied genuine joy and happiness. Kya’s expression was something far darker. Ink dropped into water, sinking to the bottom of the glass. Purity tainted by malicious intent. Helena internally flinched. That expression was unlike anything she had seen from Kya before, save when Kya dealt with the Queen. It was the closest Kya could ever come to such wickedness; the closest Helena could bare to see her fall. “Oh I get it now. This is about your inferiority complex that no woman as gorgeous as Helena would want to be within ten feet of you unless it was to deliver a restraining order.” Kya’s voice was so calm, so crisp and clear, yet somehow a sneer. Something that even the Witch Queen could never truly pull off. It all happened so fast. Faster than Helena could even react. One moment, Kya was snarling in the face of some asshole, the next he had reached out in a sloppy attempt to smack her. Kya was faster. In a blink, she had grabbed the man’s wrist, grip unyielding, stepped into his space and twisted her body. Just like Helena had taught her. The man went plummeting to the ground in a flurry of ill-fitting formalwear and disgusting body spray. The collision was bone-jarring, filling the room with an audible thud. Before anybody could do anything more than gasp, the third man launched at Kya’s exposed back. Helena’s heart leapt into her throat, her magic burning beneath her skin in preparation to unleash. It was a pointless endeavour. Kya moved naturally, as fluidly as a trickling stream with the passion of a dancer and the heart of a knight. Her elbow came up, driven into the man’s nose without a moment of hesitation. He too fell, left with only his hands to try and still the raging current of blood pouring between his trembling fingers. His hands desperately palmed the broken mass of his nose, which made his cries sound wet and gargling. A second strike, a vicious kick to his groin, ensured he would not be getting up again. Helena arched a brow. That was not something she had taught Kya. “How?” The most rotund of the three questioned, wisely keeping his hands well away from Kya as she stormed up to him. Helena knew his fear, it was once an intimate companion to her afterall. He looked at Kya as if she were the Witch Queen, something which sat uneasily in Helena’s gut. Even here, Kya was not the Queen. She had not taken evident joy in her power over these men, nor in their fear. Kya wore an entirely too calm expression, as if the violence had been a bore to her. As if the blood running down her arm was something to be nonchalant about. She was silent as she reached out, hooking a single finger into the string stretched between button and shirt. Finally, it gave out, snapping under the added pressure. Then, Kya spoke, her voice kept low as if to protect the man from further humiliation. “My wife is a war hero. I’m not the scary one.” She informed, using the tails of his shirt to wipe the blood from her arm. At Kya’s words, Helena noticed the room focus on her for a moment, awe and respect flooding their eyes in a manner that was entirely too familiar. Too uncomfortable. It was the awe and fear of Reiner’s army. How long would it be until they too saw the monster she could be? Could that be how they now viewed Kya? “She’s earned her peace, and I’ll fuck up anybody who tries to attack that. She shouldn’t have to kill anybody else to protect this country, let alone deal with shitfucks like your friends shaming her for having an ounce of happiness.” Kya continued, eyes blazing dangerously. That. That there was something the Queen never had. The heat in her eyes, the fire and compassion. Helena’s heart rose in her throat. She’d seen this scene before. The Queen, leering over her prey, leaning down to mock their failure before she crushed them. Now Helena could see it. Kya’s connection to the Queen. The heat had faded from her cheeks, yet that heat seemed to have migrated to her eyes. Where the queen froze, Kya blazed, charring the man’s willpower to cinders with but one annoyed glance. Her focused glare had him trembling, fearing what she might do next. Helena felt that fear. Had the queen claimed her lover? Was she to truly lose her happiness now? Was fate so cruel? “Your friends will need medical care. That elbow could have broken more than his nose, and your other buddy smacked his head pretty hard.” Kya added, concern filtering into her expression for a microsecond before she turned. With the grace and confidence of a Queen, she strode over to the first man, her dress fluttering around her knees like wisps of shadows and silk. She leaned down towards the man, crouching so that she could speak directly to him. “If I ever hear you dared touch another soul without their consent, then you will no longer have hands.” Kya warned, her voice a tide of outrage tempered by her own compassion. Her hand upon him reminded him to stay down, but also touched with concern. Feeling how his heart rose to meet her palm. Despite his unfocused gaze, he afforded her his full attention, staring at her as if he was looking upon an Angel. No, not an Angel. A Valkyrie of Nordic legend. A guide to the lost heroes, the one to guide their souls to peace. Helena understood, for she gazed in utter devotion. This Kya was a new creature, one embodying her soulmate, channelling Helena’s protective energy in a uniquely Kya way. Helena couldn’t help but smile, to grace her protector with an approving twitch of her lips and a nod. Kya was not the Queen, nor did she continue her violence when it was not in defence. She had picked up arms in this moment so Helena would not. So Helena did not have to. Just as Kya had promised, she protected Helena’s peace. Kya rose after a few more moments, stony eyes softened to gems as she gazed upon Helena. The Valkyrie extended her hand, fingers imploring Helena’s to weave between them with a silent little wiggle. Helena, a lost soul if ever there was one, was helpless to do anything but reach, to accept the hand offered to her. With the softest of smiles, she entrusted herself entirely to her soulmate, her Valkyrie, trusting that if Kya was not her peace then at least she would lead Helena there.

#Anonymous #lovestruck #love and legends #love and legends helena #helena klein #lovestruck helena #helena x mc #angst #fluffy angst #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: reference to rape culture #woeful wednesday

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grailfinders · 3 years

Text

Fate and Phantasms #97: Nightingale

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making everyone’s favorite medical practitioner and biting enthusiast, Florence Nightingale! The good Ms. Flo is the most skilled nurse in Chaldea, with a variety of techniques to deal with disease and ill health on and off the battlefield. She’s not afraid to use them, so try not to get sick.

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: RUN! It’s a creature legally distinct from Godzilla!

Race and Background

Nightingale’s a Human, and the variant version gives her +1 Wisdom and Charisma, as well as Insight proficiency and the Crossbow Expert feat. Some settings allow for pistols, but some don’t, and we’re playing it safe here. That feat means you can attack multiple times in a turn with a crossbow, attack within melee range without disadvantage, and if you’re holding a crossbow in your off hand and another weapon in your main hand, you can attack with the weapon as an action and the crossbow as a bonus action.

Nightingale might be a nurse, but she spent most of her time patching up wounds in the army, and the Soldier background gives her proficiency with Athletics and Intimidation, both things she pretty good at.

Ability Scores

Make sure your Wisdom is as high as possible for the best medicine checks and spellcasting. Make your Dexterity the second highest to multiclassing, damage, and to keep your AC up (that’s not exactly heavy armor). Your Charisma is next, you can be “persuasive” when you want to be. And by that I mean you’re terrifying. You may be pretty lucid, but you’re still a berserker; that means you’re hard to take down, and that means your Constitution should be next. Your Strength is pretty low. We don’t need it, but you’re still a berserker, so we’re dropping Intelligence instead. You don’t really care about topics other than medicine, so it’s not like you’ll be using it that much.

Class Levels

1. Cleric 1: Shockingly, the nurse is a Cleric. However, you know the best way to avoid infections to kill anything that could infect you, which definitely makes you more of a War cleric than a life one. As a war cleric, you start out proficient in martial weapons, which means we don’t have to jump through hoops to get your hand crossbow like we did with Shirou’s weapon. You’re also a War Priest, meaning a number of times per day equal to your wisdom modifier you can attack as a bonus action after attacking with your main action. This means you can still have two attacks per turn without having to dual wield like your feat wants you to.

You also learn Spells that you can cast and prepare using your Wisdom. You also get Domain Spells, which always count as prepared and you don’t have to spend prep time getting, like Divine Favor and Shield of Faith. The former makes your gun run a little hotter with radiant damage for up to a minute, and the latter gives a creature extra combat awareness, boosting their AC for up to 10 minutes.

You can also prepare spells outside your domain; healing spells are an obvious choice, but you should also check out Detect Poison and Disease and Purify food and Drink to make sure you have some antidotes on you.

Finally, you also get cantrips. Guidance adds 1d4 to an ability score, so long as they follow your directions for fluids and bedrest. Mending puts two things back together (it’s intended for nonliving things, but I’m sure it works fine on limbs too). Spare the Dying is what you’re actually supposed to use when people’s limbs come off, stabilizing creatures at 0 hp so they don’t have to worry about death saves.

2. Cleric 2: Second level clerics can Channel Divinity, either Turning Undead to make those that fail a wisdom save of DC 8 plus your wisdom modifier plus your proficiency, or making a Guided Strike, adding 10 to your attack roll. Some times the most effective way to end a disease is to end the person it’s afflicting.

3. Cleric 3: At third level you get second level spells, like Magic Weapon and Spiritual Weapon. Despite the similar names, the former improves your existing weapon a bit and makes it magical to avoid resistances, and the latter makes a brand new weapon that you control as a bonus action each turn. Along with your domain spells, you also get the performance enhancing drug Enhance Ability, the tranquilizer Hold Person, and more Protection from Poison.

4. Cleric 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to become a Healer. Now when you stabilize a creature using a healer’s kit they regain 1 HP, and you can spend a use of a healers kit to heal a creature for 1d6+4 HP, plus an extra amount of HP equal to their maximum number of hit dice. This healing can only be done once per short rest for each creature. Doctors gonna doctor.

Also grab Thaumaturgy so your Angel’s Yell can carry further.

5. Fighter 1: Bouncing over to fighter gives you a fighting style, like Unarmed Fighting, which gives you unarmed attacks that deal bludgeoning damage, but more so if you’re not holding your crossbow at the same time. Guns are nice, but sometimes you’ll have to get physical. You also gain a Second Wind, letting you heal yourself as a bonus action. This means you can save your regular materials for your party members.

6. Fighter 2: Second level fighters get an Action Surge, making it a lot easier to heal and shoot people at the same time once per short rest by adding an extra action to your turn.

7. Fighter 3: Grab the Banneret as your subclass to gain a Rallying Cry. Now using your Second Wind also heals your party members for a little bit as well! It’s not much compared to healing spells, but sometimes you run out of slots.

8. Cleric 5: Back in cleric now, your Turn Undead becomes Destroy Undead, instantly killing any undead monsters with a CR of less than 1/2 when they fail their save. You also get third level spells like Crusader’s Mantle and Spirit Guardians. The former causes everyone’s guns to run hot with radiant damage even if they’re using a sword, and the latter summons a couple angelic guards to protect your patients. If you find yourself in a lot of close-quarters combat, you can also use Spirit Shroud for some extra enemy control and damage.

9. Cleric 6: At sixth level you can Channel Divinity twice per short rest, and gain an new option to do so. You can bestow your War God’s Blessing on nearby creatures, spending your reaction to add 10 to their attack roll.

10 Cleric 7: Seventh level clerics get fourth level spells, like your domain spells Freedom of Movement and Stoneskin. The former helps you gnaw off your arm like a rabid coyote to escape capture, and the latter gives you all the relevant benefits of raging without stopping you from casting spells. By that, I mean it gives a creature resistance to nonmagical physical damage types. But you’ll have plenty of competition for your concentration, because you can also cast Aura of Life and Aura of Purity this level. One gives creatures in it resistance to necrotic damage and instantly revives non-hostile creatures who’ve been downed, and the other prevents diseases, weakens poisons, and empowers your party against most status effects.

11. Cleric 8: At this level, you can finally use an ASI to improve an ability score, bumping up your Wisdom for better healing and more bonus action attacks. Your Destroy Undead also bumps up to CR 1, and your Divine Strike makes your weapon attacks a little stronger once per turn. Turns out guns are stronger than crossbows, who knew?

12. Cleric 9: Ninth level clerics get fifth level spells. Flame Strike can be one of those neat little bottle-shaped grenades, and you also get Hold Monster for an even stronger tranquilizer. Beyond that and some healing spells, there isn’t really much at fifth level that screams Nightingale to me, but feel free to play it by ear.

13. Cleric 10: At tenth level you can use Divine Intervention to ask God for a bit of assistance in keeping your dumbass party alive. You can use this once per long rest, but also have to wait a week after it succeeds. Since you’re a full level of spells behind regular spellcasters right now, calling in a favor from time to time might come in handy.

You also pick up your last cantrip; Toll the Dead is another solid way to finish off diseased or injured enemies before they can spread whatever’s affecting them to the party, dealing more damage to creatures who are missing HP.

14. Cleric 11: Eleventh level clerics get sixth level spells, and like last time there’s not much specifically at this level that caught my eye. But that’s only if you’re playing the character religiously close to canon, and you probably shouldn’t be if you want to jive with the rest of the party. Or maybe you’re all playing expies of other characters, idk live your life.

15. Cleric 12: Use this ASI to bump up your Dexterity for better gunplay and AC.

16. Cleric 13: Now you have seventh level spells, and unlike the last few levels, there’s spell outside of your usual healing you might want to check out. Temple of the Gods. lets you build your own temple within a cube of 120′. It lasts 24 hours per cast, but casting it once per day for a year in the same spot makes it permanent. Inside the temple, extraplanar entities can be kept out of it if they fail a charisma save, and they also get 1d4 subtracted from their attacks, checks, and saves while inside. The temple is immune to divinations spells, and the temple also boosts the power of healing spells cast inside of it. Great for giving your keep it’s own medical wing.

17. Cleric 14: Fourteenth level clerics have a Destroy Undead that affects creatures of CR 3 or lower, and their Divine Strike becomes a little more powerful as well. You just learned how to build hospitals from nothing, not every level can be a massive leap forward.

18. Cleric 15: You pick up eighth level spells this level. By this level, most spells are a bit too flashy to fit into Nightingale’s toolkit, but Holy Aura still manages to do it. Creatures within 30′ of you glow, and get advantage on all saves. On top of that, attacking creatures have disadvantage, and fiends and undead have to make a constitution save or become blinded for the duration of the spell.

19. Cleric 16: Use your last ASI to bump up your Constitution for more HP and better concentration saves.

20. Cleric 17: At seventeenth level, your Destroy Undead gets even stronger, you get ninth level spells, and most importantly, you become an Avatar of Battle, granting you a permanent resistance to nonmagical weapons. Effectively, you’re always raging, but still have access to your spells.

Pros:

You’re something of a tough nut to crack, especially for a healer. You’ve got quite a bit of health for a cleric, ways to heal yourself and the party at the same time, and a sort of permanent rage damage resistance going on at the end of it.

Despite being a healer, you’re also pretty skilled in ranged combat, with plenty of ways to add more damage to your crossbow bolts. You might not have multiple attacks like most fighters, but you make your shots count. This also means you don’t have to be quite as deep in combat as your standard “mace and shield” cleric.

The healer feat and your Rallying Cry give you access to nonmagical healing. This is most likely to be a niche skill, but sometimes you’ll have to deal with anti-magic zones or low-magic settings, in which case you’ll still be able to shine.

Cons:

Despite us putting several levels and feats into making your crossbow good, you’ll still always have to deal with the fact that it’s nowhere near as strong as a fighter’s would be. It’s fine for emergencies, but you probably won’t be the standout damage dealer of the group.

Bumping over to fighter for a couple levels also prevents you from getting the Cleric capstone, and they have a really good one. Guaranteed divine intervention is nothing to sneeze at.

You don’t really wear armor, and you don’t get anything like monks or barbarians do to offset that fact, so if you’re playing to character your AC is abysmal. Like I said earlier though, feel free to put on a breastplate or something, there’s no wrong way to play D&D. Except for in person, and not wearing a mask.

#Fate Grand Order #D&D 5e #Florence Nightingale #fgo #Fate and Phantasms

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